old bitchen

the end

This is it.

This is the end of everything bitchen.blogspot.com.

This blog is so concerned with what happened in what I increasingly consider the past.

This past is one that I leave behind with my impending nuptials.

This blog may have saved my sanity, but LadyCat has saved my life.

I don't want to think about the issues I dealt with here.

I don't want to know how obsessed I was.

I don't want to know how stupid I was.

I don't even want to know how clever I was, if I was ever that clever.

I've learned the things that I've learned. I don't need to go back and relearn them.

I've learned a lot of things without the aid of this blog.

I've learned not to put too much ink on a press.

I've learned that top soil washes off of clay.

I've learned that not all liberals suck and not all conservatives are right.

I've learned Tony's List is a good one.

I've learned that violating too many rules on Tony's List will render a blog ineffective, even if you want to continue.

I've learned that a blog is not more important than people.

I don't need to share my new life with you as I find it fascinating and wonderful, but you'd find it boring as hell.

I am guilty of what I charged my blogging mentor of: being happy rather than being interesting. And that's okay.

The most true thing I've discovered is this: Interesting personal blogs only come from emotionally single people. Refute it if you can, but you won't convince me.

Since I've typed my first character in this blog, I am the least emotionally single person I have ever been.

Don't look for me to come back.

I don't foresee myself being emotionally single again.

Ever.

Really.

in case you were wondering...

LadyCat and Ric are registered at Wal-Mart.

jessica simpson <=> lisa simpson?

Jessica Simpson's mother has told Vanity Fair magazine her daughter is a genius whose IQ is in the 160s.
-- Source

Discuss.

(Thanks, Bad Anonymous)

spam subject extraordinaire

I know it's clichè to post spam subjects, but I thought this deserved mention...

todays be$t z00 p0rn $it-e!! 0ur d0g$ and 0ur g|rl$! h@rd(ore! toastinggruff

uri geller : odd sorta feller

Something I read:

Mr. Geller's claim to fame is that he can bend spoons with his mind. Oh sure, he claims a lot of other kookery, but it's the spoon-bending that most people know him for. He purports to be able to bend a spoon just by concentrating on it. Let's assume for the moment that he really can do this feat. Some observations about it:

1) His method is inefficient. It's not like before Uri came along, we were wondering how on earth we'd get a spoon bent. If the need for a bent spoon arose, we'd grab it in our two hands and bend it, simple as that. We didn't have to concentrate very hard on the task.

2) His method is slow. The "grab it with both hands and bend" method of bending spoons is demonstrably faster than the "concentrate and rub" method.

3) His method is unreliable. Believers in psychic ability call this the "sheep and goats effect." For some reason, when a skeptic is in the room or scientific controls are in place that would eliminate cheating, the spoon will fail to bend through mind power alone. Sometimes the "vibes" aren't right. However, the no-rubbing grab-and-bend method works independently of vibes, regardless of how many people in the room doubt it will work.

4) Most importantly, people don't need spoons bent. In fact, the optimal configuration for a spoon is un-bent. The only purpose for bending a spoon I can think of, is demonstrating one's psychic abilities. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I can't think of a single time I've needed a bent spoon. Fortunately, although I'm not psychic, should the occasion arise, I'm pretty sure I could bend one with just my hands.

So in conclusion — this man enjoys fame and, I presume, wealth, because he has a slow, inefficient, and unreliable method for accomplishing a task that no one needs done. He gets invited to TV shows to demonstrate this completely substandard method of performing this useless task.

I am almost certain I can find some job that no one needs done and find a really poor way to do it. I won't claim psychic abilities, though, just my own inept skill set. Do you think I can get some fame and money? I really only want a little...

from JREF

vast cell phone conspiracy

Something occurred to me the other day.

It's obvious in American society in 2004 that more and more people are giving up their home phone and going with a cell phone instead. It's finally become so cost-effective that it's almost a no-brainer for those without kids or a need for dial-up.

The conclusion one could draw is that technological advancements and competition have driven the costs down and now consumers are simply reaping the rewards of a free market.

Who knew? Right?

I'm here to suggest a more sinister chain of events:

It is 1999. Men and women in business suits sit around a walnut conference table. The Big Boss has decided to grace this planning meeting. It really is an honor to be in a meeting with this guy, as your company employs thousands worldwide. You are sitting with the CEO of one of the largest cellular networks in the country.

You, as an underling, a peon, are focused on the tasks of ever other planning meeting: drive down costs. You negotiate with the subs to get better component prices. That's your job.

The CEO speaks.

All are silent, not out of awe or duty, but because he is the type to sit back and watch a meeting happen until the right time and then drop a few lines of wisdom that make everyone see the big picture at once.

"I think we're missing the overall scope here," he says quietly, but convincingly. You hope to God, he'll do The Big Picture thing 'cause that dilrod across the table is clearly not in the same universe as you on the small stuff.

"We need to replace the home phone. We want to get to the place where the average Joe Consumer says 'I don't need a home phone, it's just as cheap to use a cell.'"

Your jaw drops. There's no freaking way. The average basic cellular subscription is more than twice the average local service bill and the long distance doesn't even come close to competing on a home phone level. Add to that service coverage issues like roaming and rural dead spots and there's just no way.

But you do what the boss says.

We are victims of big business. They set their sights on us and gave us a new service we couldn't refuse. A service that's better and cheaper than what we had before. Not only that, but we give up nothing!

Damn Big Business.

And damn those who promote it.

"greed, for lack of a better word, is good . . . greed works"

Mr. Moore says morality shouldn't take a back seat to greed:

"The motivation for war is simple. The U.S. government started the war with Iraq in order to make it easy for U.S. corporations to do business in other countries. They intend to use cheap labor in those countries, which will make Americans rich." -- Michael Moore

So why did he let terrorists help distribute the movie?

According to Screen Daily, Moore’s film will open in mid-July on ten screens in Lebanon and two screens in Syria. Front Row Managing Director Gianluca Chacra said about this: "We can't go against these organizations as they could strongly boycott the film in Lebanon and Syria."

So he doesn't want to risk the revenue from twelve screens? Two of which are in a known terrorist country? Or maybe he doesn't want to risk losing the prestige and support that comes from showing the movie in these countries.

So maybe it's pride.

For which of the seven deadly sins is it okay to sacrifice morality, Mr. Moore?

Fifty-Six Deceits in Fahrenheit 9/11

fahrenheit 9/11

Tony Pierce cried. "Probably 6-7 times."

Cried? You mean actual tears? Six or Seven times?

Let me start by saying that Tony is a god in my book. The Busblog is the essence of effective and interesting blogging. He has codified what every blogger should do to be read. And he's right.

But, cried?

I saw Fahrenheit 9/11 on Saturday. Ironically, I saw it with Michael Moore. Not the Michael Moore. Another one.

One who's not so annoying.

I was so completely alienated by the condescending and pedantic tone of his voiceover that I was too pissed to even consider crying. Clearly his goal was to convince by bullying the audience into feeling stupid if you didn't see it his way.

Even if I did see it his way, I'd still have been pissed.

By the time stuff came around that I was clearly supposed to cry about, I felt completely manipulated.

I cry at movies (Dead Poet's Society). Hell, I cry over TV commercials ("Do it again, Daddy"). But I cry over truly moving moments. I don't cry because the filmmaker (a la Terms of Endearment) has chosen to show me pictures of someone crying.

I'm not saying that he didn't construct some tragic scenes. Showing a pastoral scene in Baghdad the day of the initial bombing juxtaposed with the actual bombing and burned corpses is certainly a tragic scene, but so clearly manipulative as to piss me off even Moore.

Consider this MSNBC Interview:

TAPPER: You declare in the film that Hussein's regime had never killed an American

MOORE: That isn't what I said. Quote the movie directly.

TAPPER: What is the quote exactly?

MOORE: "Murdered." The government of Iraq did not commit a premeditated murder on an American citizen. I'd like you to point out one.

TAPPER: If the government of Iraq permitted a terrorist named Abu Nidal who is certainly responsible for killing Americans to have Iraq as a safe haven; if Saddam Hussein funded suicide bombers in Israel who did kill Americans; if the Iraqi police--now this is not a murder but it's a plan to murder--to assassinate President Bush which at the time merited airstrikes from President Clinton once that plot was discovered; does that not belie your claim that the Iraqi government never murdered an American or never had a hand in murdering an American?

MOORE: No, because nothing you just said is proof that the Iraqi government ever murdered an American citizen. And I am still waiting for you to present that proof.

Since when is this kind of semantic shell-game anything but manipulation?

The last half of the movie was spent essentially trying to convince us that war is bad. Not necessarily even this war.

Okay, all war is bad--I'll stipulate that. All dentist visits are bad too. But that wasn't the implied point of the film--it was simply off track. It wasn't Bush that made war bad. I think Spielberg and Stone have well-convinced us that war is bad. Why dilute his message?

Did we get into a war under false pretenses? Did Bush have shady connections that may have influenced him? Moore raises many issues, once you cut through the sarcasm and manipulation. He has given me fodder for thought and discussion.

Did Moore convince me of anything? No more than JFK did.

Did Moore make me cry?

Not a chance.

about the invitation

It is printed on translucent, 17 lb vellum and heat embossed, measuring 3.5" x 8" from a magnesium form by Owosso Graphic Arts.

The backing stock is a thin, aromatic, rose-petal handmade paper affixed to 160-lb watercolor paper with spray mount (couldn't find raw hand-made card stock). It measures 4" x 8.5"

This form factor fits in white, 100% cotton, #10 envelopes. They are addressed by ink-jet in Copperplate Gothic Light.

Included is a response card, ink-jet printed in Copperplate Gothic Light on the same 160 lb watercolor paper without the handmade "veneer." Return address on the reverse are pre-printed with recipient's name.

The ribbon is 5/8" non-wire-edged.

The entire package mails for standard USPS envelope rate ($0.37).

This was the first thing I ever printed on my Chandler & Price 12x18 printing press.

you're invited

All (what? seventeen) of you who read this blog are invited to my wedding.

Please email me if you are interested.

atrocious

LadyCat bought this magazine for me 'cause she couldn't pass up the horrid assemblage of headlines. Has anyone at the Star ever heard of leading? Changing the color to make two different thoughts just doesn't work here.

Unless, of course, the point is to imply that Drew is marrying Courteney's baby.

there's something in this list you didn't think of

2000 uses for WD40

Test Blog

body of christ quality control

LadyCat asks: "So at the plant where they make communion wafers--how do they do quality control on the body of Christ?"

now there's a solution

From John Kerry's "The First 100 Days - Complete Action Plan"

(3) End the ‘Era of Ashcroft’
John Ashcroft has launched an all-out assault on individual rights, allowing for a wholesale invasion of attorney-client conversations, e-mails and telephone calls. Immediately after the election, John Kerry will name a new Attorney General whose name is not John Ashcroft. . . (Empahsis mine - Ric)

While you're at it, can you get a new UN Secretary-General who's name isn't "Kofi Annan" or "Butros Butros Gali" or anything silly like that?

trivia quiz

What do these three people all have in common?

Layne Staley (Singer, Alice in Chains)
Margaux Hemingway (Actress)
Alexander Godunov (Ballet Star/Actor)

Post your answer in comments.

Winner gets bragging rights and a link to their blog (if applicable).

UPDATE [2:04 p.m. EST]: Todd was close, but the correct answer has not been given. And I fixed Staley's name, Todd.

UPDATE [3:14 p.m. EST]: Todd is our winner! The correct answer is: All died of a chemical overdose and weren't found until thier bodies were already decomposing. Extra credit if you knew the two actors asphyxiated in their own vomit.

hello...

Which Princess Bride Character are You?
this quiz was made by mysti

[courtesy heart]

bug

I just had a lightening bug crawling up my arm.

I was sitting at my desk.

It's a freaking sauna in here.

response

Thank you for your comments. I'd like to answer a few right now.

Lilfluffy

You're nuts, I tell ya! Why the hell would one post on a public forum if one didn't want folks to read it? If you want to journal, then open up Notepad. I'm here to interact. For catharsis and support. And, yes, to entertain.

T

That's a good point, T. I like my comments on other sites commented upon. I will strive to be better at that. Like right now.

And you not having a blog has nothing to do with anything.

Robin

I blog for an audience, I'll freely admit. The catharsis is only secondary these days.

Todd

Yeah, you're right. I'm not here for therapy anymore and I guess that's the biggest thing the comments did.

I'd still like to hear now and again, though.

blog

Quite frankly, I quit blogging because you quit commenting.

Theories about this range from "you're not posting about crisis" to "you're taken, so women don't comment." (Okay, those are the only two theories).

Any thoughts?

down the road

Author's Note: I wrote this about eight years ago as a preface to a collection of anecdotes. I'd still love to finish the collection one day.

My parents just moved out of the old farmless Indiana farmhouse where I spent the first twenty or so years of my life.

The hundred-and-fifteen-year-old two-story house was only remarkable in two ways. One way was that, regardless of how well we painted it, it always seemed to have paint peeling from it somewhere--the other way was that it sat on The Road. Our Road. The road about which this collection of fact and, sometimes, fiction revolves.

If you could still find it on a map, The Road would be called "South River Road" starting at the westernmost end, and "Nail Road" starting at the easternmost. The map would show it tracing a giant semicircle along the south side of the largest bend of the Maumee River just east of Fort Wayne, and intersecting the blacktopped Parrot Road at each end. My house sat at the northern peak of the semicircle that formed The Road.

Whereas the name "South River" always made perfect sense, "Nail" never made any. Most people only called the far eastern end of the horseshoe-shaped road "Nail" (maybe because it went straight south for a half mile--like a nail--I doubt it). But, rest assured, they only called it that when turning onto the gravel road from Parrot Road, never when hitting the half-mile straight after driving the two and a half miles of washboarded gravel and dust that was indisputably "South River."

Local legend has it that the reason it was never paved was because it was "technically" just a driveway back to Old Dan Beetham's house and not a "road" at all. While this story may explain it's origin, the fact is more likely that no municipality claimed it and The County wouldn't invest in a road that flooded so often.

The Road was three miles from Fort Wayne and four from New Haven. Our address read the former but our phone exchange indicated the latter. Each doubtlessly thought the other would claim it and neither ever did.

We did, though--my two older brothers and I. The three of us staked our childhood--our claim--to that road.

Our Road.

quote from a redneck holiday

I was out in the middle of the night with LadyCat on "Trash Amnesty Day"

Our last stop (about 4:00 a.m.) was in front of a small, old, church on my street. The church has been vacant for years and the owners had apparently thrown out all manner of contents in an attempt to sell the church. There was a bunch of un-church-like stuff: a waterbed, an old dresser and a carnival-style, 5-inch-square mirror with this Freud illustration on it.

As we took in all that was there, LadyCat, noticed a large, hand-lettered sign above the double-doored entrance to the church.

"Look!" says she, "'Jesus Saves.' Do you suppose all this shit is His?"

That my friends, is what keeps me falling in love with her...

tony's honest quiz

Do you have the guts to take Tony Pierce's honest bloggers-only quiz?

1. which political party do you typically agree with? Republican

2. which political party do you typically vote for? Republican

3. list the last five presidents that you voted for? all the Republicans

4. which party do you think is smarter about the economy? Republican

5. which party do you think is smarter about domestic affairs? Libertarian

6. do you think we should keep our troops in Iraq or pull them out? I didn't want them there to begin with, but we have little choice without causing implosion.

7. who, or what country, do you think is most responsible for 9/11? Osama, Saudi Arabia.

8. do you think we will find weapons of mass destruction in iraq? Maybe, but I'd ask the Kurds.

9. yes or no, should the u.s. legalize marijuana? Yes.

10. do you think the republicans stole the last presidental election? No.

11. do you think bill clinton should have been impeached because of what he did with monica lewinski? No.

12. do you think hillary clinton would make a good president? HA! No.

13. name a current democrat who would make a great president: Can't.

14. name a current republican who would make a great president: Colin Powell.

15. do you think that women should have the right to have an abortion? Dunno, too many parameters.

16. what religion are you? Agnostic.

17. have you read the Bible all the way through? Largely.

18. what's your favorite book? A Fire Upon the Deep by Vernor Vinge.

19. who is your favorite band? Styx

20. who do you think you'll vote for president in the next election? Bush.

21. what website did you see this on first? tonypierce.com + busblog

ouch

I have blisters on my left ring and pinky fingers from trying to prematurely remove Cinnamon and Brown Sugar Pop-Tarts from my toaster this a.m.

After packing the fingers in ice, the pain stopped after about three hours.

See also: Strawberry Pop-Tart Blow-Torches

signs, signs, everywhere there's signs

I belong to the LETPRESS email list. The list concerns letterpress issues and other things. This is a recent thread I've compiled for y'all.

At a convenience store in Indiana:
All Checks must be written for $20 over the amount of purchase.

Sign on airport escalator:
Dogs must be carried on escalator.
Where in the world am I going to get a dog at 2 AM at the airport?

Man wanted to wash dishes and two waitresses.

Church sign in our area around Easter time:
COME AND CELEBRATE
OUR RISEN SAVIOR
PASTOR BILL BRANDON

Sign on a Church in Lansing, MI
The Original Church of God - No. 2

When I was a kid, in the early fifties. my classmates and I constantly tittered over the half pint bottles of milk we were served daily, which proudly proclaimed that the milk we were drinking from McDonald's Dairy, (no relation to the hamburger restaurant,) was:
CERTIFIED GRAY DAY.
They had 15,000 bottles misprinted, and the mean Scott that owned the dairy refused to scrap them; so some of the bottles were still floating around in the mid-seventies when they went to paperboard.

Footstone in a cemetery in Richmond, Va.
She always said her feet were killing her.

Sign on Tennessee/Kentucky border:
Tattoos - While You Wait

Nicely painted sign on the side of a small truck:
Reynolds Removals - London Manchester New York San Francisco Tokyo Delhi Peking Sydney and Perth (But mostly around Oldham)

Sign on a copier:
Temporaly out of order
Didn't know that time could be out of order, but I guess, and would hazard a notion, that, yes, I feel that time is totally out of sync.

Until recently there was a large sign just outside Marks Tey reading
ANTIQUE,S
presumably somebody thought the plural required an apostrophe and then put in a comma by mistake. Lynn Truss's book on punctuation Eats, Shoots & Leaves (which was a Christmas best-seller in the UK) mentioned this sign and within weeks it had been replaced.

A road sign outside a gravestone manufacturer:
Take your time. We can wait.

Also in New Zealand,
Williams Rubbish Removals--Guaranteed Satisfaction or Double your Rubbish Back

In the rural south:
NO TRUSTPASSING

All dogs and pushchairs should be carried or folded

Trespassers Keep Out

No Cycling Dogs or Horses Permitted on The Beach

incredulous

I can't fucking believe I just paid $1.98 a gallon for gas.

dream speak

LadyCat and I both talk in our sleep. She claims I talk nightly in mine.

I came home late last night from work (read: 2:00 a.m.) and had the following conversation with a sleeping, panicking, LadyCat:

Mrrrmf

What was that?

But what about playing bridge?

What about playing bridge?

I don't know how!

Why would you want to?

Because I want to succomb to peer pressure!

Okay, well, we can learn.

How?

Well, we can get a deck of cards and a book.

But don't we need a foursome?

Well, I think the girls are old enough to play with us.

[relieved] Okay.

Odd that.

in the garden...

This site is certified 16% EVIL by the Gematriculator

This site is certified 84% GOOD by the Gematriculator

food for thought

Wandering in a vast forest at night, I have only a faint light to guide me. A stranger appears and says to me: 'My friend, you should blow out your candle in order to find your way more clearly.' This stranger is a theologian.

--Diderot, c1762

oh yes, we get mail

humidors asks:
Congrats! A Cigar Band? come on man you can do better than that. At least was it a good cigar?

It was a good cigar. And it was a fitting end to a courtship that started with a take-out Chinese dinner on the floor with candles.

Very Hollywood.

That's one of the many great things about LadyCat. We both saw the cliched-Woody-Allen irony of having Chinese take-out in those little white boxes on the floor of her loft studio on our first date, and we both loved it. We didn't feel pretentious or pseudointellectual or mispronounce 'allegorical' or 'didacticism.' We did it in full knowledge and we enjoyed it. And each other.

And it's been that way ever since. We both enjoy both stupid humor and exceedingly intelligent humor. We--honest to God--read the dictionary together for fun. We watch documentaries. We play word games and cribbage. With her, none of it seems remotely mundane.

So to ask her for her hand with a cigar band as a symbol was not even a divergence from how things are with us. It was as romantic in real life as it seems in the movies. I can't honestly say if it was romantic despite or because of the movies, but I do know it was romantic.

She isn't about things. She's about actions and words and sincerity. The proposal was sincere no matter what the symbol.

And we liked it.

oops

I called Keith, my old bandleader, to see if he could provide live music for my wedding reception.

What are you doing August 7th?

Nothing that I know of.

I wanted to know if you could do two hours for my wedding reception

Sure! I can do that.

Oh, and I'm getting married

Does LadyCat know that?

Ha! Cool, well we'll work out the details later.

He calls me back about a minute later.

Hello?

Um, yeah, well August 7th is bad.

How come?

Well, we're kinda going to be in North Carolina celebrating our 5th anniversary.

Oh, really? What day is your anniversary?

.... August 7th

I can only imagine the conversation that went on during the minute between phone calls.

it happened one night (cont'd)

Tuesday April 6th.

New Orleans.

It happened on the patio of Harrah's Casino.

I sat her down on a concrete star and sat beside her.

"I've had such a good time with you tonight," I said, looking into her eyes.

"Me too," she smiled.

"There's only one thing left to do," I said, kneeling in front of her.

I took her hands in mine.

"For the first time in my life I feel like I've been around enough to know that you're the one I want to go through time with." I said, quoting Jim Croce.

I removed the cigar band from my pinky where I was hiding it in ready and presented it to her.

"Will you be my wife?"

I slid the cigar band with the politically correct plantation illustration on her left ring finger.

"Yes." she nodded mistily.

We held each other for a long time. Then, when I calmed down, I asked, "You did say 'yes,' Right?" I wans't sure I'd heard the answer, though I knew what it would be.

"Yes." she nodded mistily again.

The wedding will be August 7th.

it happened one night

Monday April 5th.

New Orleans.

It started on Bourbon Street.

I looked in every trinket shop as we walked down the street for a glass counter. I found one, but there was only "tobacco paraphenalia" under the glass. The idea had hit me earlier in the day, and now I was getting anxious.

When I gawked into this cigar shop, LadyCat told me to go in.

They made the cigars right there in the press. The foil rings on the cigar show faux 19th century pictures of white people picking tobacco.

The aroma of the fresh tobacco relieved us from the stench of beer and vomit and urine on Bourbon Street.

I bought the fattest cigar they had.

That was after we saw the blues singer with the green wig.

So we walked back toward canal street. I held LadyCat's hand with one hand and smoked the cigar with the other.

We went to Wendy's where we met a homeless guy decked out in full 1960's construction gear who believed he was actually on the job.

LadyCat met him first in the ladies restroom.

Then she saw a mouse run into a hole in the wall while we were eating.

Upon our exit we passed the construction guy addressing a fireplug.

We were having quite a nice time alone together in the Big Easy and we looked around for something more to do.

Down Canal street toward the Mississippi River was something that looked like the Parthanon with Christmas lights. We thought it gaudy but we pressed on to see what it was.

It wasn't the courthouse, as I had guessed, but Harrah's Casino.

LadyCat seemed underwhelmed but went in with me to help me find my fortune. I had a different fortune in mind, but I wanted to play a little first.

Upon playing my twelfth quarter in a quarter slot, I won $13.75. I cashed it out and took ten of the profits and drug LadyCat over to the roulette table. I've always wanted to play roulette and I bet the miniumum of $10 in one dollar increments all over the table.

I lost.

For a moment.

I boasted how I'd walked away from Harrah's with seventy-five cents of their money and they hadn't even seen me coming as we stepped out on the patio.

It was about 2:00 a.m. The sky was clear. The patio was beautifully decorated in a moon-and-stars motif.

And I did it.

to be continued...

new orleans I

Bourbon street homeless guy says: "have a nice weekend and Ric will fill you in very soon."

P.S. Best of wishes, Furhouse, on your wedding tomorrow.

bah

I promise to post my secret, but I want to do it right.

I am clammy right now due to pseudo-fever. I went to the Redi-Med on Friday and found out I have walking pneumonia. It's all I can to to get through the day these days.

Sorry.

hallmark (giggle) channel

Okay, when you choose a name like Hallmark Channel don't you automatically lose a large percentage of your American audience? I'm talking about the guys who go "I don't even like Hallmark Cards! I just open them, count to 10 and nod and smile."

So the new movie coming on Saturday is The Long Shot. Here is the blurb:

Deserted and destitute, a young mother reenters the world of dressage competition to support herself and her child. When her beloved horse is blinded, the gifted equestrian must prove that the bond of love is stronger than any adversity.

What is this? Lifetime Lite? Is the is the channel for those to whom Lifetime is too hardcore?

"Don't give me icky stories about abuse and abortion, I want stories about blind horses that win dressage competitions!"

Oy vey.

wow

So much has happened recently. I'd love to blog it all. Maybe I will. Just a taste:

I bought a 1920's era platen printing press and still haven't printed anything.
I stopped tending bar.
The Ex still has stuff in my garage which will end up on the street for Trash Amnesty Day on May 1 if she doesn't get it out in the next week or so.
I spent spring break (last week) in Lousiana, visiting LadyCat's mom.
Three of the days last week we spent in New Orleans (my first time, tons of pics to process)

And, (drum roll please)...

Something very big happened in New Orleans! (But you'll have to come back to find out what!)

More to come...

fool?

Ironically, I clicked on my link to landoverbaptist.org today and it links to the site I was lambasting: jesussave.us. If you dig into the HTML stream, the redirect page reads "Praise God! Landover Baptist has been shut down!"

I'm thinking it's Landover's April Fool's joke on jesussave.us.

We'll see tomorrow.

the states to which i have been

create your own personalized map of the USA or write about it on the open travel guide

meme maim

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

jesussave.us

NOTE: The following site is NOT a parody. It is real.

Being raised in a brainwashing, fundamentalist cult I cast an eye with pity and no small dose of ironic humor to a site like objective.jesussave.us. Some samples:

Creation Science Fair
"My Uncle Is A Man Named Steve (Not A Monkey)"
"Life Doesn't Come From Non-Life"
"Women Were Designed For Homemaking"
My Favorite: "Using Prayer To Microevolve Latent Antibiotic Resistance In Bacteria"

Apple Macintosh is of the devil.
"Hypnotically encased iMacs trick unsuspecting computer users into accepting Darwinism"
"If you are using a new Macintosh running OS X then you probably have these 'daemons' on your computer, hardly something a good Christian would want!"

Landover Baptist (parody Web site) is run by the Anti-Christ.
Landover Baptist is an "obvious instance of anti-Christian hate crime"
"Blasphemous atrocity"

Make your own Crucifixion nail!
Caution: Pointy edges. Not for children under 5.
Requires: 1 sheet of paper or card stock, scissors, scoring tool, glue or tape.

Unrelated, but hilarious:
The story of a girl who got Chris Rock's old phone number.

top 'o the mornin' to ya

Pictured here is the bar I work at for five hours every other weekend. This pic was taken many decades ago and at the time it was called the "Tally-Ho."

The Tally-Ho. How times change.

Now it's called "O'Brien's Pub" and it's open all day today. LadyCat and I have been invited to come as special guests. Sort of.

Anyway, I'm totally excited about this: I found the picture at left (click to see a larger, less-cropped version) on the local library site. I'm having Kinko's printing it at 18" x 24" and LadyCat and I bought a frame last night. We're giving it to the owners as a St. Patrick's Day/Congratulations on Your Recent Renovations gift.

The place had, until a few weeks ago, an ugly 8' drop-ceiling. They ripped it out to reveal the original 14' rolled tin ceiling. They added new lights and painted and now it looks like a respectable Irish Pub instead of the Dive Bar I started working at.

Green beer tonight.

i never seen what she, uh, seen in him

That's right! It's a new MOL quote for your butts. "I never seen what she, uh, seen in him, y'know."

It's official. The Ex's marriage to PegLeg lasted less time than my singledom. She left him on Monday--less than a year after their nuptials.

I won't dwell on it. Just an update.

I, on the other hand, am doing incredibly well. LadyCat moved in with me shortly after Christmas. She is an amazing woman. To say she's "smart" would be an understatement. The "acts of service" I talked about before continue and never cease to amaze me.

Why would anyone want to do something for me with no strings attached? That is so foreign to me that it's refreshing every single day, a dozen times a day, when she does them. She's a master cook. She's great with budgeting. She finds me, remarkably, attractive. She has dark red hair and green eyes. And she's very much the redhead. "Descended from Cats" as Mark Twain once claimed about redheads.

The fictional author in As Good as it Gets, Melvin Udall (Jack Nicholson) explained how he wrote such good female characters: "I write a man. Then I take away all reason and accountability."

That's not her. When we argue, I can actually follow her train of thought. We can debate without emotion (heaven!). And--she makes me laugh. She is all the things I've looked for.

I think she's a keeper.

king kamehameha biatch

Weeelllll,

My Ex's a bitch, she's a big fat bitch,
She's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world,
She's a stupid bitch, if there ever was a bitch,
She's a bitch to all the boys and girls.

On Monday she's a bitch
On Tuesday she's a bitch
On Wednesday through Saturday she's a bitch
Then on Sunday just for a switch,
She's a super king Kamehameha biatch!

Have you ever met my stupid Ex?
She's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world,
She's a mean old bitch, she has stupid hair,
She's a bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch
Bitch, bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch
She's a stupid bitch, my Ex's a bitch,
And she's such a dirty bitch.

"You cost us $2500," she wrote. "I told PegLeg you were and honorable man and now you've made me look like a liar!"

Riddle me this: Why should a couple that didn't even pay $2500 in taxes get more than that back in taxes? More importantly, why the hell should I let a woman who paid exactly $0 in support claim one of my kids on her taxes?

"We had a deal!" she screamed at me last night, "you were going to reimburse me for the support I paid."

"I said that I'd pay you some back if you went through the system and paid the support. You didn't do that. You didn't pay me; I didn't pay you. Therefore there was no agreement."

"Why should I go through all that if you're just going to pay me back?"

"Because the law says so. Because it's the responsible thing to do."

"Who says?"

"The State of Indiana."

"Nobody cares. You don't see the state hounding me or putting me in jail."

"They would if I filed the paperwork."

"They would if you filed the paperwork..."

Katie, my eldest, tells me and LadyCat later that her mom said she'd sit them down this weekend and tell them about all the evil things their father did to her.

Do I even need to explain how wrong that is? The older two kids don't even want to go but they know their mom will be mad at them for not wanting to come and probably blame me for poisoning them against her.

LadyCat accurately pegged that as "projection"--assuming others are doing the same evil things you are.

I'm going to file the paperwork.

guilty until proven innocent

"An unemployed mechanic with a criminal record has now been charged with kidnapping and murder. Joseph P. Smith, 37, continued to refuse to answer questions about the 11-year-old girl. South Florida authorities said Thursday that "strong evidence" links Smith to Brucia's kidnapping. Authorities believe Smith is the tattooed man in a mechanic's shirt on the tape. He was taken into custody on a tip from a woman who lives with him.

The sheriff choked back tears as he announced the girl's death Friday morning. Regarding Smith, another sheriff's official said, 'We now stand ready to complete our obligation, and assure you that he will pay the ultimate price for what he did to her.' "

Don't get me wrong, the asshole should burn if and when he's proven guilty, but it is totally irresponsible for an officer of the law to state on national television and say that "he" (what other antecedent could there be?) did [it] to her.

This guy might even get a dismissal out of this.

Let's hope he doesn't hire Robert Shapiro.

source

true fact

I used to have cardboard boxes for stuff in my bedroom when I was a kid. My mom worked for Kroger and we'd use boxes from there to put the stuff in that wouldn't fit in my dresser. I think this was before Rubbermaid made anything that wouldn't fit in a refrigerator.

I learned early on that that it was wrong to write on the walls and other nice things. Somehow, I either applied that to cardboard boxes or I was actually reprimanded for marking on cardboard boxes once--I'm not sure which.

Nevertheless, I was drawn toward the carboard boxes whenever I chanced to have a Magic Marker in my hand. I wanted to write graffiti on them. I wanted to be a vandal in my own room, but the consequences (or mistakenly-assumed consequences) terrified me.

What could I do? How could I mark yet not be in trouble?

I did the most logical thing I could think of: I marked the boxes the way a stockman might.

For years I had boxes sitting around my room that I had secretly marked with "3 of 6", "PO 3423" and "Broken Case." Mom and Dad never caught on that the "Hold" on that Del Monte Sliced Peaches in Heavy Syrup box was written by me behind closed doors with a tin-shelled Marks-A-Lot.

I was so slick, I was...

gimme a break

I know it's a meme. But at least it's a post...

LAYER ONE:
-- Name: Ric
-- Birth date: Sept 28
-- Birthplace: Fort Wayne, IN
-- Current Location: Fort Wayne, IN
-- Eye Color: Light Blue-Grey
-- Hair Color: Dark Brown
-- Height: 6' 0"
-- Righty or Lefty: Righty
-- Zodiac Sign: Libra

LAYER TWO:
-- Your heritage: German mostly
-- The shoes you wore today: Black Suede, Slip-On "Superhero" Shoes
-- Your weakness: Carmel DeLights GS Cookies
-- Your fears:
-- Your perfect pizza: East of Chicago Tower Pizza
-- Goal you'd like to achieve:

LAYER THREE:
-- Your most overused phrase on AIM: "Yeah"
-- Your first waking thoughts: Is that a dream or my alarm?
-- Your best physical feature: Eyes
-- Your most missed memory:

LAYER FOUR:
-- Pepsi or Coke: Coke
-- McDonald's or Burger King: McD's
-- Single or group dates: Single
-- Adidas or Nike: Wal-Mart
-- Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Orange Pecoe bags chilled
-- Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate
-- Cappuccino or coffee: Gas Station Cappuccino

LAYER FIVE:
-- Smoke: Frequently
-- Cuss: Usually
-- Sing: Entertainingly
-- Take a shower everyday: Mostly, unless I'm running late
-- Do you think you've been in love: 80 times.
-- Want to go to college: I'd love to go back.
-- Liked high school: Nope.
-- Want to get married: Yep.
-- Believe in yourself: Yes!
-- Get motion sickness: Reading in Car
-- Think you're attractive: No.
-- Think you're a health freak: No.
-- Like thunderstorms: Yes.
-- Play an instrument: Keyboards, Guitar, Pennywhistle, pretty much anything I pick up.

LAYER SIX: In the past month...
-- Drank alcohol: A bit.
-- Smoked: Too Much.
-- Done a drug: Nope.
-- Made Out: Hell, yeah.
-- Gone on a date: Yes!
-- Gone to the mall?: Yes...
-- Eaten an entire box of Oreos?: No.
-- Eaten sushi: Hell no.
-- Been on stage: No.
-- Been dumped: No.
-- Gone skating: I'm terrible. No.
-- Made homemade cookies: Nope.
-- Dyed your hair: Get real.

LAYER SEVEN: Ever...
-- Played a game that required removal of clothing: yes.
-- If so, was it mixed company: no.
-- Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: yep!
-- Been caught "doing something": Yep. Cop knocked on the car window.
-- Been called a tease: Yes!
-- Gotten beaten up: Not to a pulp. But pick on and bullied in HS.
-- Shoplifted: Maybe, not sure.
-- Changed who you were to fit in: Never.

LAYER EIGHT:
-- Age you hope to be married: 38
-- Numbers and Names of Children: Roo: 9, Mal: 11, Katie: 12
-- Describe your Dream Wedding: Quick
-- How do you want to die: I'd like to know what it's like to be shot.
-- Where you want to go to college: Harvard
-- What do you want to be when you grow up: Happy
-- What country would you most like to visit: England

LAYER NINE:
-- Number of drugs taken illegally: less than 10
-- Number of people I could trust with my life: A bunch.
-- Number of CDs that I own: Hundreds, never listen to any but about 10.
-- Number of piercings: Zero
-- Number of tattoos: None, yet.
-- Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper?: Wall Street Journal: 1 Others: 4 or 5
-- Number of scars on my body: Six?
-- Number of things in my past that I regret: Half dozen or so.
-- Who did you get this from: Tony

hahahahahaha

is she doing what i think she's doing?

So, I'm looking at the MSNBC Dogshow Site and this is the picture that comes up. I'm thinking, "is she doing what i think she's doing? Is that the international sign for giving head?" and "Exactly what trick does the dog do when she makes this sign? Does it involve peanut butter?"

Then I thought, "that would be really funny on my blog."
So I right clicked to save it. You know what it was named?

doghead.jpg

How incriminating! One must wonder.

tending

In thirty minutes I start my new part-time job: bartender. I've had my permit for a year. If you're a long time reader, you'll recall my lame-brained fiasco in getting the permit. I was going to tends bar to help pay for child supprt, but then I got custody and didn't have time to tend bar.

I'm not doing this for the money. I'm only doing it when the kids are away. I'm doing it for the experience. and the social aspects. I'm not doing it to meet women. The bar is next door to LadyCat's Antique and Artisans store. If I wanted to tend bar to meet women, I wouldn't do it there. The truth is that it's a really laid-back place (O'Brien's on S. Calhoun if you live in Fort Wayne) and it looks like a hoot.

Stop by and have a beer. You won't regret it.

addiction

I swear to God that this is the most addictive Web site ever.

Random, anonymous, true confessions.

grouphug.us

ladycat says hi

I've decided to call my girlfriend "LadyCat" for reasons known only to me.

LadyCat joined me at my Mom's for Thanksgiving and my brother took this picture. She's a hoot.

We seem to fill in each others gaps, yet we complete each other's sentences. She is strong where I am weak and vice versa. She is helping me with my budget and other parts in my life that are flagging and that means a lot to me.

I've talked a bit about "Love Languages" in the past and it's really a refreshing change to be with someone who shares my love language of "acts of service." It's so natural for her to do things for me and I for her. It's not an effort like giving gifts is for me. (That was The Ex's love language if you recall.) So, by just doing what comes natuarally, we communicate our feelings effortlessly.

You will hear more about her.

my week

Things have been okay. I got my license reinstated. That was cool.

I had a box of checks made and after writing about a dozen of them, I realized that I'd typoed a digit on the account number. One actually hit my account, but most will be rejected. I have no idea what kind of financial hit I'll take on that idiot move. So I ate four hamburgers for lunch yesterday to make me feel better.

On the bright side, my girlfriend's Great Dane is starting to get a long with my Shih-Tzu. But you have to picture the combination. Imagine William "The Refrigerator" Perry trying to find a sport he can play with Verne "Mini-Me" Troyer without scaring the living shit out of Mini-Me.

I mean, Lola (my dog) can walk between The Dane's legs. Not squeeze between them--walk through, with about 18 inches to spare. She could actually walk through his legs without even realizing he was in the room.

He wants to play and so does she. Every time they both go for a squeaky-toy, he wins by her resignation.

So, the other night, The Dane was trying to induce Lola into a squeaky-toy tug-o-war. He kept picking up the toy and dropping it in front of her and giving her a completely heart-melting look that said "will you play with me?" Finally he nudged it over to her with his nose in a very Tramp-nudges-a-meatball-over-to-Lady way.

She tentatively pawed it.

He nudged it again.

She slowly approached it to pick it up with her mouth. As she made contact, The Dane leapt to grab the other end, nearly decapitating the Shih-Tzu in the process.

Lola, well.... screamed and darted clear across the room, startling The Dane in the process, and mayhem washed over us for a few moments.

Lola was shaking for the rest of the evening.

I was so proud of The Dane for trying so hard to play, but when it came to the moment of truth, he showed his true colors as a big, dumb (albeit, totally lovable) animal.

Maybe next time. I think we'll make them a nice, long, tug rope to try...

mupp it

Dr. Bunsen Honeydew here at Muppet labs, where the future is being made today.

My car has working brakes.

My car has a new seat instead of milk crates holding up the floppy back of the old seat.

My car starts with a key rather than a screwdriver.

I got to bed at 2:30 this morning. Or so I thought. My power was out briefly yesterday and my alarm clocks were fifteen minutes ahead because they gained on battery backup. MY kids were heading for the bus when I looked at my watch and told them they were on the wrong time.

Kevin and I used to work with a guy who once insisted that, according to the world time on his new Casio Databank watch, it was twenty minutes later in a town about an hour away. The argument that his world time might be set wrong was not as strong in his mind as the argument that time zones might not generally shift on states lines and might not generally shift by exactly an hour.

The seat was the result of a half an hour of wading through mud and standing rainwater in a drizzle at the junkyard and finding a seat, discovering I have the wrong tools, going back to the office, guessing at the right tools, going back through the mud to the car, discovering that I had actually selected the right tools, taking two of four bolts out, sitting in the junk car--thankfully with all of it's windows and door seals intact--smoking to get my composure back, removing the other two bolts and carrying the seat back to the office over my head as an umbrella to pay for it. Another half hour of work when I got home and I have a perfectly working seat in my car. Thankfully the seat was out of a dry car. The seat has 100,000 fewer miles than my old seat, so maybe it will last as long as the car.

We are working harder, so we can go home earlier!

thanks

Well thanks to a few women (and my brother) who really love me and truly care, my life is better.

My mother and sister-in-law came over last week and did a bunch of organizing and laundry and cleaning. It was unexpected and glorious. I'm not one to ask people around me to help, so it was nice that they volunteered.

My brother came over on Saturday and helped put brakes on my car. (Well, he did pretty much all the work.)

My new girlfriend has been a blessing. We've been going out for a few weeks. I met her online and she's a remarkably intelligent and funny woman. She's been a real port in my storm, keeping me sane and giving me perspective. As an added bonus, her Great Dane loves me too!

She came over last week and helped me cut my dog (well, she pretty much did all the work, I pinned the dog down). I have a Shih-tzu. If you feel that giving a dog a haircut is a luxury, you've never owned a Shih-tzu. Shih-tzu's hair never stops growing. Lola's hair was so matted, it was litterally akin to shearing sheep. The kids took some of Lola's "wool" to school for Show-and-Tell. She looks pretty hacked up, but she's also about half of her prevoius size and is much, much happier. Whereas she used to lie around the yard when she went out before, she bounds about the yard chasing rabbits (both real and imaginary) now that she's lighter and not bound up by fur.

That's your update.

Thanks for reading.

donate

A very close friend, whose judgement I trust, suggested I put a donate link on my site. So, here it is:

Donate to Ric's Single Father Fund
Donations will be used for expenses not due to my own stupidity.

Any amount you feel is appropriate will be appreciated. If you want a mention or a link or a lock of hair, don't hesitate to ask.

[Why am I doing this? See "challenge me this" below.]

challenge me this

I've accepted the NaNoWriMo Novel-in-a-Month challenge.

I'm not going to meet the challenge.

Actually it's not much of a challenge compared to the rest of my life right now, it just one challenge too many.

This morning I woke up too depressed to get out of bed. But I accepted that challenge. I also accepted the challenge of going to work and leaving the Rooster home alone sick from school. This is the longest she's ever been alone. Ever. She's not good with solitude.

Also challenging me is the fact that I have to come up with about $3000 in November to keep my house from going in to foreclosure.

Then there's that challenge of figuring out what food I need to buy so the children don't starve.

And finding time, money and space to put new pads on my brakes to kill the metal-against-metal screech when I stop. And the new seat I should buy to replace the broken one.

And how to not get pulled over because I think my driver's license was suspended today because I forgot to settle a speeding ticket.

And how to come up with the money to satisfy a medical claim judgment to prevent my wages from being garnished on November 25th.

And how to get my dog's hair cut without spending $60 to get her shots updated.

And how to keep my house clean.

And when do I have to pay my gas bill so it doesn't get shut off?

And when will Ex ever get a phone so she can help me with the kids' schedules?

And will I have to leave work early today to take Katie to choir?

When will I have time to practice for the gig Saturday?

Where's the money coming from for Christmas?

Write a novel? Some challenge.

novel excerpt

I've been working 20-hour days. Today was my first opportunity to write. I've only got 800 words, but it was only about 40 minutes work over lunch.

"No Check Accepted"

That's how the sign read when I started down this long road of making this country a better place to live. It was seven years ago when I first succumbed to the call of the demon in my mind. Since I was old enough to understand the grammatical complexities of the English language, an ethereal hand slapped the inside of my skull whenever I saw a grammatically imperfect public notice. A voice attached to the hand screamed "FIX IT!" And I didn't. I couldn't.

At least I couldn't until that day in the Super Delicious Chinese Buffet at the Southwest Isle strip mall. Light from large plate-glass windows across the front of the restaurant lit up the small cardboard sign on the cash register counter.

All I wanted to do was pay my five bucks and head to the buffet for a big bowl of sweet-and-sour sauce and all the Crab Rangoon I could eat, but the hand came. The voice came. They were more insistent than ever--wanting what I didn't want.

The lack of food in my body must have been making me mentally weak. I'm sure that was it.

I succumbed. Seven years ago and seven days after my twenty-second birthday, I asked the Chinese woman for chopsticks. As she bent under the counter to get me some, I took a pen from the pocket of my button-down oxford and scribbled in an "s" so it read "No Checks Accepted," all in red letters except my newly-scrawled "s" in black.

The country was now a better place to live and was liberated--I'd lost my sign-fixing virginity. I was ready to go again. Near the single step down to the seating and eating area there was another sign. This one read "Watch Your Steps."

One quick scribble of my pen later, and the superfluous "s" was obliterated.

The food tasted better than it ever had.

novel

Not that I truely have time, but I signed up for National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel between November 1 and November 30. If you finish 50,000 words, you win!

Tony signed up too.

addendum 3:40 p.m.

I plan to post excerpts as I go.

I was thinking that I post a lot better when I have a mission. When Mary T. pointed out that I had a mission when I was writing about my failing marriage, it set me on fire. When I wrote about the divorce process and all, I was on fire again.

Maybe. Maybe.

celexa again

The 30 mg appears to be doing exactly the right thing. My doctor re-prescribed it this morning.

I'm happier than I have been in weeks.

red sox

Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit

cubs

Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit
Dammit

of course

Someone asked me the other day: "If you could speak with one person, either living or dead, who would it be?"

I said, "the living one?"

words of christ printed in red

"Whosoever shall say Thou fool, shall be in danger of hellfire."
Matthew 5:22

"Ye fools and blind."
Matthew 23:17

celexa

Well, 40 mg did the trick with the depression, but it also made me narcoleptic. I've stepped it back to 30 mg to see if I can stay awake and not be depressed...

this is why

A year ago, I separated from my wife.

A year ago, I started taking Celexa, an antidepressant, that changed my life. It took all my overwhelmedness and converted it into clear-thinking productivity.

About two months ago, the Celexa stopped working for me like it used to. Add to that the additional deadlines at work and my apparent inability to properly budget, and my emotional world has slowly imploded over the last six to eight weeks.

That's why I stopped blogging every day. Of all the things with which I was overwhelmed, the blog seemed to be the easiest one with which to dispense.

I went to the doctor today. He said that he often sees 20 mg of Celexa stop being as effective after about a year and he stepped my dose to 40 mg. He said it's not a tolerance issue and I won't need to step it up again, but I pray to God (in a manner of speaking) that this does the trick. If I get everything sorted out, and the Celexa gives me my brain back, the daily blogging will resume.

There's a chance that won't happen.

There's also a chance that--in my clear-minded task reorganization--I'll rationally decide that I simply don't have time to commit to this.

I hope not.

budget rant

I have negative balances.

It's not money. It's talent for budgeting. I have none.

Why does America stress that everyone can budget if they just try hard enough? I'm sick of this American more that says that you're stupid or lazy if you can't budget.

That's like me saying that everyone can do HTML if they'd just learn it. Kevin is incredibly intelligent, but he can't wrap his brain around HTML. That doesn't make him stupid or lazy.

Anybody can learn to play the piano, but not everyone can get to performance level. Same with everything.

If I'm terrible at landscaping, I hire a landscaper. Why do people think I'm lazy if I want to hire and accountant to do my budget for a percentage of my income?

cake

Mal (my middle daughter) almost made me cry today.

She is turning eleven on Monday. She's having her party tonight. I was up late baking three heart shaped cakes of differing sizes, the largest being 12"-13" at it's widest part, for her birthday.

This morning, when I was trying to get the large cak out of the pan, a 2 1/2" "ring" of heart came out and the center section stayed in the pan, ripping itself out of the cake. I scraped the center section out of the pan and placed it in the middle of the "ring" of cake on the plate.

It looked terrible.

As she was getting ready to head for the bus, I was lathering frosting on it to try to make it presentable.

"I'll try to make it okay," I told her

"I'll be fine no matter what, Daddy, because you made it."

Snif.

I challenge you

Remember this story? The one about the Vietnam soldier who carried around a list of good things about him that was made for his Catholic grade school class?

I think everyone should make a list like that for all of their friends.

I challenge you to do this for your friends. Think of your best friends (or anyone else) and all that you find cool about them. You may think they know, but they need to hear it. Email a list of at least ten cool things about them that they can carry around with them to help them get on when things seem rough.

I'm going to do that. I've done one already, and it felt great.

Leave a comment and tell me how many you sent out.

Don't make the lists public (on your blog, say) but keep them private. Let that person know you're doing it for them alone and not for blog content.

Go to it.

free at last! free at last! thank god almighty, we are free at last!

The Ex called. I'll paraphrase.

"I've decided not to pursue custody. As you know, I called social services on you. I talked to the guy afterwards and he believed everything was okay. I was worried from what the girls told me, but now I'm not. I'm happy if the girls are happy. I don't want to put them through the fight if it's not necessary. We're also not moving into that house if the kids aren't going to be living there."

Now I'll translate.

"My clever ruse was ineffective! I can't afford to fight you in court, so I guess the kids really are happy there. That makes me feel better to believe that at this time. Plus, now I can't move into that house because I won't be getting your support."

Then she said she had big news.

"We're probably moving to Kentucky. He has a lot of family there and the cost of living is so much cheaper."

or

"We're probably moving to Kentucky. That's where his pot connections are and we can't afford to live in Indiana, we're so poor."

Have a great weekend. I will.

bullied?

Were you bullied in school? I was. So much of my personality, I think, comes from this. The reason I hate offending people. My ability to be the butt of humor so readily. My skill for the witty comeback. My fury when I'm being belittled.

So much of my subconscious, I think is always on the lookout for a bully. And remote sign of bulliness and my defenses go into overdrive. I think being rejected by the masses on Yahoo! Personals feels like the rejection from school. So I have a stronger reaction to that them many would. It's tough for me to say "oh well, they don't know what they are missing, their loss" when I feel like I really don't deserve to be liked. As if all the bullies at school had the correct opinion of me and the mature adults I surround myself with are all lying to me.

The major cause of the breakdown of my marriage was made manifest in counseling right before our divorce. It came out that my wife believed she was better than me. That I was a rude geek and offended everyone and she had the social graces and was popular in high school so therefore she was better.

I believe that all men are created equal. She was a victim of what Bruce Springsteen sang in "Glory Days." That she was so active and popular in high school, she peaked then. It's been downhill for her since. She spent most of the marriage trying to be excellent and really wasn't mentally equipped to carry it out. So when she failed (at girl scouts or a job or keeping a house or anything) she became depressed. Most of her great feats (Tupperware, girl scouts) was me in the background up till 3 a.m. doing the grunt work and the brain work to make it happen.

I feel like I haven't peaked yet. I fell that my life improves yearly. Since I had a terrible high school experience, I don't look back at the illusion of greatness in school and hope I can achieve it in real life.

I now know how to be better. How to be a better parent. How to find a better wife. How to be.

social services

Yep, that's right. She called social services. I have the agent's calling card in my wallet. She claimed the kids were going to school in dirty clothes and smelling badly. She told them the house was a total wreck. She also told them she was afraid that the kids were being abused.

Cheaper than a lawyer if it gets her the kids, of course.

The problem is that because it's true in her fantasy world, doesn't make it true in the real world. A very nice gentleman from Child and Family Services called the kids' school and talked to the teacher and principle, then stopped by and talked to my two younger kids. Everyone interviews was dumbfounded by dire disbelief that anyone might think there's anything wrong. The told him that my kids were happy, well-adjusted, came to school dressed appropriately and didn't smell.

I met him at my house today.

"I'll need to see inside your house."

"Okay." I said, leading him through my ubiquitous Indiana screen door.

He stepped into my great room and looked around and shrugged--a shrug that clearly said, "What the hell am I here for?"

We sat in the kitchen over coffee and explained that this was what his department called a "quickie." That is, following up on a totally bogus claim only because the law says they have to. This claim is almost universally called in by a disgruntled ex-spouse that wants custody.

He, of course, gave the situation a clean bill of health and will forward me the report when it's done so I can use it in court if I need to.

So after he left I went to the Clerk's office who directed me to the prosecutor's office who gave me an application to join the "4-D" Support Collection Program. For a $25 one-time registration fee, they'll collect, prosecute, garnish and whatever needs to be done to get the back support she owes. I haven't sent it back, but I plan to.

What's in your wallet?

turned the corner

My trusty '92 Saturn SL2 is sitting out in the parking lot with exactly 200,000 miles on it. I saw, as I left for lunch, that it had only 22 miles to go before the turnover, so I drove 11 miles away and 11 miles back. It turned just as I pulled in the parking place. It was cool. And I'm a geek.

Okay, that's settled.

Ex is a loon.

She presented me with a hand-written, 5-page list of about thirty reasons the kids shouldn't be with me. (This is in response to the list I gave her about two or three entries down.) About twenty-eight of them were either irrelevant or downright fabrication bases loosely on rumor. The bit about how much time the kids spend in a latch-key situation and the fact that my dog isn't housebroken are the only two that really have any merit.

But put yourself in my shoes. Anyone who's presented with a list of thirty criticisms is going to have a bad evening.

And I did.

Luckily, with the help of some dear friends and Ma Bell, I feel a bit better about it today.

I can't give you the list because she hadn't copied it (so she didn't give it to me) and I don't think I will anyway. I need to let it pass and do the best I can. Nothing has changed from the last post. I still believe that's going to be the ultimate outcome, but I'm a little less sure of it now.

She doesn't understand why the court might look down on failure to pay support, failure to take advantage of mid-week visitation, and a willingness to move 15 minutes farther from her kids.

A loon.

Okay, that's settled.

clairvoyant

Let me predict the future.

Given: Ex can't afford an attorney.
Given: Ex is lazy.
Given: I've known Ex for over fifteen years.

Since I mentioned something in our conversation (see last entry) about how, if she'd come to me a year from now, I might have given her the kids; I predict that she'll see it as cheaper and easier just to wait a year before asking me for them again. If she's thinking clearly at all, she'll see that it will cost a ton of money and still take a year to get them if she goes to court.

Who really knows? I just don't think she'll go through with it. The only way we even got divorced was with me doing all the legal footwork. She likely doesn't believe that she is personally able to start the proceedings all by herself and will rely on PegLeg to help get the ball rolling. Just from what I've gleaned, PegLeg is not too reliable when it comes to actually following through on grand plans.

The kids asked me last night what I thought the chances of her going to court were and I told them that I put them about as high as her and PegLeg buying the girls each a go-kart (as is PegLeg's plan.)

How much can you do on $1600 worth of Social Security a month? (Did I mention she was unemployed?)

meeting

The Ex came over last night and, unfortunately, brought PegLeg. After some small talk, we retired to the back porch to smoke and discuss the custody.

After they each bummed a cigarette from me, she explained about the house and about her plans. PegLeg occasionally inserted a comment about how good the schools were because that's where he went to school.

"As much as it'll likely make my life a living hell," I said when she'd come to a stop, "I'm going to have to say 'no.'"

"But why?" she implored, frustrated but not angry.

I handed her the list you all read yesterday, printed especially for the occasion.

"If you get a lawyer," I said casually as she read the single folded sheet, "show that to him. Or I will."

"This support thing is a low blow," she muttered, seeing that I'd put how much she'd owe me in back support if we went to court.

"I would have reimbursed you if you'd filed through the state, but you couldn't be bothered to do that simple thing, so now you have no receipts for support."

She silently perused the rest of the list. "It doesn't matter, Ric, there's no way the court will refuse the mother custody." "I tried it," PegLeg spoke up, "My ex-wife was caught red-handed on crank, had no job and move ten guys in and out of her house, and the court wouldn't give me custody. You'd have to prove Ex is an unfit mother and she's not. Anything you have to say about me is irrelevant because it's about her."

"You're married to her," You fucking idiot, "it's about the household in general."

PegLeg and Ex went on for a while about how it would be hopeless for me to try to keep custody.

"Look, it's just too soon, Ex. If you came to me totally sober a year from now, I'd probably have a different answer. If a judge says they belong with you, then so be it. I won't have any hard feelings. I just don't believe that will be the verdict right now."

"Well, it will be."

"Whatever."

"Plus," chimed the one-legged wonder, "we're married. And the court's going to see a married couple as a better home that a single father. Especially with girls."

Ex: "Yes, girls need their mom" I closed the conversation: "Well, I'll get a lawyer when I see paperwork from you."

We went inside.

I pulled her aside alone and asked her straight out if they could afford rent on the new house without my support. She assured me they could.

After PegLeg made casual mention to my girls about buying them go carts if they got the new house and I reprimanded EX for his bribery, they left.

Katie, my eldest, stopped by the couch where I was sulking shortly after they left. I let her know why mom was here. She's upset that she has to be in the situation this is putting her in.

Unbidden she said, "Mom told me a while back that she'd have more money if us girls came and lived with her, because she'd get your support." (The Ex, despite the number of times I explain it and she agrees, will never quite grasp the notion that the support is solely for the benefit of the children.)

And so I wait. And in the interim, I be the best Father I can be.

new link on left

wanna date me?

hoax

As Yndy so observantly discovered, the drunk driving death I mentioned a few days ago is a hoax.

Sorry for any inconvenient dismay.

sleeping cat


ZZZzz |\      _,,,--,,_  ,)
      /,`.-'`'   -,  ;-;;' 
     |,4-  ) )-,_ ) /\     
    '`--''(_/--' (_/-'

holy hell

The Ex called me at work this afternoon.

This is Ric.

This is Ex!

Hey.

Hey, I have some good news, I think.

Really? We found a four-room house to rent [fifteen minutes father away from you].

Really?

Yeah, and if you can do it without a battle, I'd like custody.

Okay. Umm...

I talked to the girls and they were okay with moving.

Really? They came home and told me that you wanted to get custody and move them but they didn't want to move and they wanted to stay with me. I'm not saying they lied to you or they lied to me--what I am saying is that they seem to be out to please us both.

So, what do you think?

I think this is a conversation I don't really want to have on the phone. I don't care how jealous PegLeg gets, we need to talk about this face to face.

Well, you know there's no judge in this state that's going to keep the kids from their mother.

That's one way to see it.

That's the only way to see it. And it's not going to matter what the kids say, they are too young--I'm going to do what I'm going to do.

What's that?

Get this house and get custody.

This is why I don't want to have this conversation on the phone.

Okay. can we meet tonight? Are you coming straight home from work?

I'm busy.

How about tomorrow?

That's cool. I'll be there after work.

Are we going to talk to the kids or what?

We'll talk alone first and then to the kids maybe.

Okay, I'll see you tomorrow.

Okay let me translate: "I found a house to rent, but since I just lost my job and PegLeg is only on disability, I need your support to be able to afford it. And so I need custody so you'll have to pay support."

Here's a short list of things I'll give her in written form tomorrow that she will need to show her lawyer. She'll be tempted to hide them from him, but I'll assure her I'll bring them up in court:

In the last twelve months:

You married a man eight weeks after our divorce that you met in rehab eight weeks before the divorce.
You were in rehab twice, the first time dismissing yourself out of denial of your problem.
You moved Tattooine in with my kids the day before I moved out.
You were drunk the entire last week of June because you were upset about your job.
You haven't had a phone three out of the last six months.
You lost your job last week.
You haven't paid dime one in support.
Your husband passed out from ~~taking too big of an IV dose of Oxycontin~~ an overdose of Adavan at the dinner table where my kids were eating.
You have taken advantage of hardly any mid-week visitation times.
The kids are in school near my house.
The kids are living in the house that we bought for them to grow up in.

Hopefully that will give her pause.

missouri anecdote

I was about an hour and a half from my initial destination in Olathe, Kansas when I stopped at a gas station in western Missouri.

I performed my usual ritual of checking fluids, refilling my Mountain Dew, urinating and walking the kinks out. As I climbed into my car, I saw a man across the auxiliary parking lot kneeling beside his car. As I am a helpful guy with every tool I owned in the trunk of my car I was tempted to help. I watch him for a few more minutes to see if I could determine if he had bad enough car trouble to warrant assistance.

I noticed that he was kneeling on a towel. I didn't find that strange as he was nicely dressed in charcoal dress pants and warm-colored short-sleeve broadcloth shirt. I saw him lean down as to look in his left-front wheel well and sit upright as if he couldn't see what the matter was.

I hadn't closed my door and I was about to stand up to walk over and ask him if I could be of service when he bent down again. And again.

At that point, I noticed the edge of the towel wasn't aligned with the car (as I would have placed it) but at an arbitrarily skewed angle to the car. In fact it was pointing East.

I climbed back in my car and let the man say his evening prayers in peace.

blogging pays off

One of the half-dozen women who failed to call me over the weekend just sent a stuffed bear and balloons to my office in apology.

I'm speechless.

shit for ~~brians~~ brains

Let me start by apologizing for my lack of bloggage and failure to blog the happenings of my trip. I inadvertatnly ran out of Celexa last weekend (a week ago) and the over-tired and overwhelmedness has overtaken me. Compounding that was the entire last week spent expecting emails or phone calls from no less than a half-dozen members of the fairer sex for one reason or another that--for one reason or another--never came. Women from my past, present and potential future all failed miserably in fulfilling their promises to communicate. Some of those promises were inferred by me and some of those women were inexplicably vexed in their efforts by Verizon wireless, but all-in-all it felt a lot like rejection.

At this point, I've decided never to expect women to call or email even if they promise to. This will save a great deal of grief on my part. If I don't initiate communication, then I'll assume it isn't going to happen. Unfortunate, but I have no other recourse.

Adding to the load, I followed a blogsnob link from FurHouse to this site only to find out he'd been killed a week ago by a drunk driver in Grand Haven, MI who was pissed that the IRS wanted to reposess his transcamero and led police on a three-state chase and appears to be still at large.

Miss Jones, in a disturbing chain of events, publicly informed her new boyfriend that he'd fucked up by obsessing over his old girlfriend and he went and did it again. Some guys never learn.

Maybe I'll post more about vacation, maybe I won't. There's a few nice anecdotes, but a chronological account won't be happening.

A public note to all the women in my life: Call me, okay? Or drop me an email. I need something to bolster me till I get the Celexa coursing throught the veins again...

tide u

I'm working on the rest of the trip for you. I didn't blog it as the week went on as I'd hoped. I just wasn't in the mood.

Here is some travelling trivia to tide you over:

Electric-eye sink faucets in Missouri dispense exactly two cups of water before shutting off.
Kansas and Missori are Quite Proud that thier interstate highway is part of the Eisenhower Interstate System.
You can sleep at a rest area over night even if you're in a car--contratry to all the advice I got before I went.
If you have a dark blu car and no air condidtioning and it's summer, travel at night.
7-Eleven 64 oz Double Big Gulps are the best fountain Mt. Dew value in the country.
Most non 7-Elevens will let you refill a 64 oz cup even though they don't sell them.
Always look for "services" before taking an emergency exit to get gas or you might have to drive twenty miles to find a gas station. Even in Indiana.
The people who tell you Kansas is flat and boring to drive through have never driven the Ohio Turnpike, let alone driven through eastern Iowa.
The majority of the interstate paths in Kansas City and Denver are perpetually under construction.
When travelling through Kansas, stop at Hayes. It's your last chance to see cute girls working at a 24-hour Wal-Mart till you get to Denver or Kansas City.
Don't attempt to drive more than 3000 miles alone without audiobooks.
...or cigarettes.
If you're not used to driving in the Rocky Mountains, it is ill-advised to take any road that has a "pass" along it if you are in a hurry.

Soon, my pretties.

starbucks - golden, colorado 6:38 a.m.

I just arrived after a quaint ten-hour trip from Kansas City. It went as planned. Except I planned for twelve hours instead of ten. Thank God for that sign on the eastern border of Colorado that said "SPEED LIMIT : 75 MPH : STRICTLY ENFORCED"

I'm not sure my '92 Saturn with 196,000 miles on it would survive prolonged speeds above 75 mph.

On Friday, I packed every tool I've ever fixed a car with (including hydraulic floor jack) into the trunk of my car, got the oil changed, changed the air filter and headed off to stay the night with my friend Greg in Urbana, Illinois. He is a graduate student at the UIUC--the birthplace of the World Wide Web, but I'm ahead of myself.

North of Indianapolis (about an hour and a half into my trip, I got stuck in a traffic jam and my car began to overheat. I took the nearest exit and drained the pure water out of my cooling system and refilled it with the proper mix of coolant and water, and I was back on the road.

Finally I made it to Greg's apartment. I've known Greg since college. He is one of the only people in the world that gets almost every obscure joke I make. It's really scary. He took me to supper and then on a tour of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (UIUC) campus. I had no idea what kind of a place that is. It's like a Harvard of the midwest.

There is so much history (especially when it comes to computer technology) there that it's truly awe-inspiring. He showed me buildings that were donated by alumni that have made real differences in how we compute. He showed me the building that housed the ILNIAC (the third large-scale computer following UNIVAC and ENIAC). The build has since had a facade built around it, but the original outer walls still stand as interior walls. These walls still house emergency steel riot shutters that would close in case mobs protesting the war-oriented ballistic calculations being done in that building got out of hand.

He showed me the cluster of Sony PS2's intended to connect the inexpensive machines together to make a super-fast graphics rendering computer. He also pointed out the building that house clusters of 1500 PC's being connected together to make massively parallel supercomputers.

Finally he showed me the building where Mark Andreeson developed the Mosaic application--the world's first Web browser. It was from this development that a system evolved by which you are reading this right now.

After watching Animatrix back at his place I slept and took off Saturday morning for Kansas City...

notes on my last workday before vacation

I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow. The 2003 bitchen.com midwest tour. It will be Champaign, IL, St Louis, Kansas City, Denver, Colorado Springs, Denver, Kansas City, St Louis, Home.

I'm gonna try to blog as often as I do now. I'll at least blog them offline on my laptop and post them all later.

Here's a well-written new blog for your reading enjoyment if I happen not to blog for a while. If you like "Trading Spaces" or "This Old House" or "Get Fuzzy" this one's for you.

I dreamt that an animatronic Marilyn Monroe in a picture frame was signing "Theme from my Alarm Clock" this morning. It sounded like "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"

Finally, why do people always call it a "little soiree?" Is this an attempt by pretentious people to sound modest, yet still be pretentious? Why are "soiree"s always accompanied by "little?" Would un petite soiree sound more French? And aren't there ever large soirees? And what's the matter with the dozen or so English words we have for "party?" Hmmmm?

aw, crap!

I leave Friday on my trip out west and I forgot something:

I have no idea what I'm going to do with the dog!

Kenneling her is about $100 I don't have. She isn't fully housebroken, so nobody wants her in the house. I'm tempted to get a neighborhood kid to housesit or, at least, look in on the dog.

Any volunteers?

good news

I have officially added Denver back on my itinerary for the trip! I happened upon a legitimate business meeting in Denver (I wasn't even looking for it) so the whole Denver leg will be financed by my employer! You people in Denver, email me, and let's set something up, (You know who you are!)

anti-smoking entry #1a

I still need a cigarette.

anti-smoking entry #1

I told you I was gonna blog instead of reaching for a cigarette and here I go.

Since it's stress that always vexes me when I try to quit smoking, I'll blog. Blogging relieves stress for me. Knowing that, within 24 hours of posting this, about fifty people will read it and go (by and large) "yeah, I know what you mean," is really a good feeling.

I also snitch, thinking one here and there to relieve stress (usually over my ex) is not going to set me back. It always does. This time I'm not going to say (which I inevitably do) "fuck it" and buy a pack of smokes.

The Ex left me a note when she picked up the kids today. She picked up the kids so she can have them for the next two weeks, which is her "half" of the summer. And it's only because I'm going out of town that she's taking them. If the Brickyard 400 had been next weekend, she would have had a conflict.

Ponder that.

So I'm sitting here at Hardee's eating six slammers with mustard and extra onions because it's the closest I can get to Power's with driving the half-hour into Fort Wayne to get some. I'm sitting here pissed that she had the gall to write me a note that said she was "disappointed in me" for forgetting what night the kids' open houses were at school.

Disappointed?

How about disappointed that you could only manage two weeks of the summer with the kids? How about disappointed that NASCAR is more important than the girls? How about disappointed that you weren't clean and sober enough to take custody to begin with? How about the fact that it was the STRESS OF BEING A RESPONSIBLE PARENT that sent you into depression to begin with?

I just had to get that out. I can't say it to her. I can't jeopardize my kids' sanity.

God, I'm not gonna be able to finish all six slammers. I'll be lucky to eat four. You may have noticed that I'm short-tempered when I quit smoking. That's why this is a great time to be away from the kids and on vacation.

I'm also stressed about the trip. I've got too much to do before I go. I need to prioritize. I've got a handle on that. That's why I keep a yellow Jr. Legal Pad on a Half-Sized Clipboard stuck between my seat and the console in my car at all times. For writing this shit down. When I turn off the audiobook and just think, that's when it comes. Sometimes, like earlier today, I was terrified to shut off the book.

Slammer number five.

It's like I'm afraid to think about all the shit that's overwhelming me.

I'm a little over a week into the Celexa. That will help.

smoke-free

This is my second cigarette-free day on Zyban. I'm going to make it for good this time. This time instead of buckling under pressure and smoking, I'll blog. Even if it's on the back of a napkin and I type it in later--I'll blog.

Watch this space.

tetherball tourney

Yesterday, the rain held out long enough for me to have my brother, his wife and some friends and a bunch of kids over to have a cookout/volleyball tournament in my back yard.

When I moved into the house three years ago this month, there was a tetherball pole--with the cement anchor still moulded around the base--lying beside my house. This spring I decided to put it back up. A little digging and a new tetherball from Dick's Sporting Goods and I was good to go.

We had an adult and child's double-elimination tournament with the winners of both playing each other. My brother, Robin, won both the adult and the (yay rah) overall championships.

Wish you'd been there.

ah, sweet limerence

Here's an excellent explanation of "limerence."

thursday

Someone took me to lunch yesterday, so I didn't write. Hope you didn't miss me too much.

I'm now beginning to wonder if I can afford to go on that trip at all. Even with the child tax credit, my budget is screwed. Plus I have a speeding ticket to pay for on top of my past-due bills.

Oy.

Nothing profound today. I'm too tired to write much. I may take the last 20 mins of my lunch hour to take a nap.

what about about?

Oh my God! A guy commented that he found me on about.com. That is so cool. It's in the section called "Blogs from Dads or About Dads." It says "Blog content from a divorced dad experiencing the trials of adjustment to divorce and parenthood."

Very cool.

My other site, bitchen.com, has been linked on about.com for a long time, but somehow this seems more special...

kid pic

By the way, my brother posted a picture of my kids (and his) the other day.

Mine are: Mal (Red Bandanna), The Rooster (Red Shirt) and Katie (White Visor)

(These are not their real names, BTW)

autoblogging

I've been blogging in my car lately. Thanks to a car power adapter I got from eBay, I can type on my laptop without fear of this old, free beast dying on me.

It's nice to get away. Take a snack. Sit in the shade and just type what comes to mind. I really feel like writing since I started doing this. I guess it's like all the books say: pick a time to write, have an ending time and then write every day.

I even had writer's block briefly about 10 minutes ago, but I decided to fire this blasted thing up and just start typing. Plus the fact that journaling is damned cathartic, makes it and ideal lunch activity.

That's all. Pretend you care.

the best show ever

Of course Taxi is in it's own league, but I've been watching Sports Night on DVD. It only ran two seasons, but damn! It was created and written by Aaron Sorkin (of The West Wing fame). The first season has a ridiculous laugh track that you need to ignore, but each episode is 22 minutes of the most riveting banter ever put on film.

I laugh and I cry. Literally. This is a thinking man's comedy. This is the perfect example of how networks kill shows based on ratings and not quality. It's good business, I know, but shit.

You need to go out and rent, or better yet buy, both seasons of Sports Night right now. I'll sit here and wait. Go ahead.

Okay, you got it? Let me warn you of something, You can't watch just one episode. They are like Lay's Potato Chips. Every time I sit down to watch one, I watch four. Or five. Or six. Each episode is so packed with good stuff that they only seem ten minutes long. I remember watching it on ABC and thinking "God, was that a half an hour already?"

If you buy this and don't thoroughly enjoy it, I will personally refund your money as long as you donate the discs to someone else.

Honest. If I could afford it, I'd buy each and every one of my readers the set.

barbara called

Hello?

Hello, is the, uh.... "bitchen" Ric Johnson?

Speaking.

This is agent ___________ of the Secret Service, Barbara Bush would like to speak with you.

The former first lady?

No, sir. One of the first daughters, sir. May I put her on the line?

Sure! By all means!

Ric?

Yes.

"Bitchen" [giggle] Ric?

That's me. Is this Miss Bush?

Call me "Barb."

Okay. What can I do for you?

I saw what you wrote about me on your blog. You honestly care about whether I'm sad?

Yes! I do. I care if all people are sad. You called to ask me that?

No, I called because I'm thinking about taking you up on your offer to cheer me up.

I don't think I offered, but I certainly will now!

Well, there's just something I need to ask you about first.

What's that?

Why do you write such nasty stuff about your mother-in-law?

"Mother-Out-Law" I'm not married anymore.

WhatEVER. Why do you write it?

She's a caricature. It's satire. It's parody. Have you read my disclaimer?

What disclaimer?

It's right at the bottom of every post. It's a link that says "read the disclaimer."

Oh. So what does it say?

It says I write whatever I feel like, and readers should respect the fact that it's a personal journal.

It's okay to write bad shit in your personal journal?

Don't you?

I guess I do. But I don't put it on the Internet.

I do.

Oh... So why do you want to console me?

Because you're too beautiful to be sad.

Awww. It's not because my dad is the President?

No. I never offered to console Chelsea or Amy Carter.

You didn't have a blog then did you?

Beside the point. You're better lookin' than all of them.

Don't you lust Jenna? Everyone else in the fucking country does.

No. That's small-minded men who think young blondes that drink publicly are sexy. I don't.

Really? You don't think my sisters sexy?

Nope. I prefer thinner brunettes that go to private naked parties at Yale.

WHAT! Where did you hear that?

It was on the Internet, it must be true.

I'll take The Fifth on that.

So, do you want to get together?

Maybe. I'll have my people call you... You're not still seeing that girl that was dating the accountant too, are you?

No. Why?

Because I don't need the drama.

I have to tell you: I'd drop you in a heartbeat if she asked me back.

WHAT? Forget it, jerk! Nobody will be calling you.

&%$*^(!%

a sad barbara bush

I'm a bad, bad blogger. I missed posting yesterday. Forgive me.

I'm also a sad, sad blogger.
I'm sad like Barbara Bush.

Nothing is going my way right now, I guess. Money is bad. Of course, the fact that I'm really short on sleep is depressing the hell out of me.

It doesn't help that SKB is bringing my stuff back to me tomorrow that I left at her place--an exclamation point to the finality of that situation. We're planning to meet up in a few weeks and see if there's any reason to attempt to continue. It doesn't look good. We just simply aren't that compatible. She remarked the other day that a friend finally convinced her of that. It's sad because I really like her and I have the utmost respect for her. But there are just some things you look for in a mate and sometimes you just have to come to grips that you're looking in the wrong place.

It doesn't help that I may have been looking in exactly the right place last week; and after a wonderful two dates with a woman who seemed to be a very good match, she dumped me for an accountant she was also dating. Devastating.

It doesn't help that I have tons more work to do than I can get done, but thankfully we are looking for a new person to lighten my load.

What does help is that I got a new sound card today so I can properly set up my studio and perhaps record something.

That would be nice.

I'd like to meet Barbara Bush and we could be sad together. And maybe we could cheer each other up.

That, too, would be nice.

garage sale class

I've been off Wednesday, Thursday and Today for my garage sale. I guess it's strange to a lot of people that a single guy has a garage sale. It's not odd to me. Look at it this way: Whenever The Ex had a garage sale I did all the work anyway (except pricing, and I've adopted a "mass pricing" model versus her "individual pricing" model) so I know how it works.

There are some secrets to a successful garage sale in Indiana, and I shall impart my wisdom now. Some of these rules may not apply to your part of the world.

Use day-glo/florescent signs. White signs get lost with other visual flotsam and jetsam on the side of the road.
Mark the entire path from every major thoroughfare to your garage with day-glo "bread crumb" signs with your address on every one.
Color of signs is more important than quality of sings, but both is best. Corrugated plastic and foam core make the best signs. You can also spray-mount florescent posterboard to heavy cardboard or masonite.
Start your garage sale on Thursday, that's when the die hard shoppers come out.
Advertise in the paper starting the night before the sale. Mention a landmark near your house as well as your hours and address.
Fill luggage, backpacks, etc with newspaper. They sell so much quicker.
Rearrange your stock placement. Wal-Mart changes the arrangement of clearance items daily. There may be a table that folks aren't even seeing. Rearrange items on tables and rearrange tables from day to day or even from morning to afternoon. Feature different items on the street side from time to time. You may be surprised.
Put attractive items near the street with prices on a florescent card readable from a car.
Mark things down that don't sell on Thursday if you think the price might be prohibitive.
Address all customers with a smile and light conversation. You're all in this together.
Offer to change any price they don't like.
Don't use "Make Offer" signs. Nobody will.
CLEARANCE: On Saturday, take a few things out that you don't want to give away and price everything else at $0.25.
Alternate Method: Sell everything a $1 for a grocery sack, or $0.50 for a garbage bag. Think about it.
On Friday night, add a small day-glo card (in a contrasting color) to all your signs "Clearance" or "Everything 25 cents"

Have fun! And remember the cardinal rule of garage sales:

The point of garage sales is to get rid of stuff, not to make money--the money is just icing--price stuff accordingly.

cancelled!

Well, abbreviated.

The bitchen.com 2003 US Tour has been cancelled due to me totally screwing up by budget. I still have a vacation scheduled, so I'm going to go see Jimmy 'Fingers' In Kansas City, but that's it. Sorry Yndy and Mag, but the money isn't there.

Jimmy will put me up and feed me (won't you, Fingers?), so all I have to worry about is gas.

I love you all, maybe next year.

disclaimer attached

Upon the wonderful recommendation of an anonymous commenter, I've decided to add a disclaimer link by the comment link at the bottom of each post.

This is a third-party diclaimer on bloggage.com, a blog host.

The author of the disclaimer says so many things that I was thinking. I'm not really sure I realized how universal my objections were to those who "don't get it" till I read it.

From now on, detractors will simply be directed to this...

some people

I was going to comment as a post to LeoKnight, but I won't.

You guys did a great job and said some things I was thinking but couldn't put into words. You even made point I hadn't really noticed. It's nice to have the solid base of friends you all are who "get it" and come back day after day.

I should not have let anyone get my goat with a few pretentious words.

You guys are lifesavers and I love you all.

Except Leo.

blog blog blog

Sorry I didn't post yesterday. I had a ton of anecdotes, but no time. Then when I did get on to post I read a comment to my Rooster post (below) that just pissed me off. Read the comments to see.

Deep breath

Weekend in Review
Thursday I was late getting the kids home do The Ex could pick them up. She never told me a time, but was pissed because they weren't there. I tried calling and leaving messages but she didn't look at her answering machine. I called her work and they said she got off at 4:00 so I left work early to get the chillins from Robin's and get them home by 4:30. She calls at 4:02 and asks where they are. I tell her they are coming (I was running late) but she told me she "couldn't fucking wait" that long as Pegleg expected her home at 4:30. ("Are you saying there's eggshells to walk on with the new husband too?" Go figure).

I was so pissed by the time I got to Rob's that I wrote her a legal notice to remove the rest of her shit from my house in fourteen days or I'd sell it. She gave me a WEEK to get my stuff out when she kicked me out, but it's been seven months for her. Needless to say, she's pissed at me. Oh fucking well.

I ended up driving the kids out there and giving her the notice. On the way back, I dropped by my parent's house to wish them a happy anniversary, but they were out! Whodathunkit? I left a note.

So she had the kids for the long weekend. Thursday night I went to the Princess's house and drank a half-dozen double Bloody Marys with her husband (who wasn't really drinking). I actually blacked out. That's a rarity for me as 1) I don't drink and 2) I generally have full recall when I do. But they said I was a very nice and complimentary drunk.

Friday I came home and napped again. I awoke to a phone call from Mom thanking me for dropping by and letting me know they were out.

Friday night I was supposed to run sound for a 4th party/outdoor concert thrown by my old bandleader, but it got rained out so--after schlepping a schload of soggy band equipment into his garage--I went and saw SKB and went to her Aunt's party. A bunch of Good Old Boys in a horse barn, with a stranger that insisted on arguing the size of his penis with SKB. Not really my bunch of people, but it was okay.

Saturday I went home to get some stuff done without the interruption of my kids, but mostly napped.

At midnight, I heard an explosion outside. I was thinking somebody had blown up a car in my cul-de-sac with fireworks, but it was just the neighbor shooting up 3" skyrocket balls from a sturdy plastic tube sitting in the middle of the court.

I decided to watch. Then a cop came to tell us it was too late at night to be doing that, and to get that tube out of the street. As he pulled away, I yelled to the guy grabbing the tube "Hey! Wait! We can make a BONG out of that!" Luckily Mr. Cop had a sense of humor and just laughed as he pulled away.

Sunday brought a speeding ticket on my way to church. 72 in a 55. Two more weeks and I'm done. I'm just training new sound people.

I stopped by work (it's near church) and got locked into debugging a Web Server installation until 3:00 a.m. Monday morning.

When I got home I was having a smoke in the backyard and accidently beat myself at tetherball,then I went bed. Well. I set my alarm first for 8:30. And I turned it on so I wouldn't oversleep.

I woke up at 1:00 p.m. on Monday.

But I didn't know it was 1:00 p.m. as all the clocks in my house were off due to near-tornado weather and the battery in my pager was dead. Finally I located my watch and stared at it in disbelief. It's not 1:00 is it? I turned the watch over. Maybe it's only 7:30. Nope. the set handle is on the wrong side. Yep. It's 1:00.

I rushed back to work and had a rather uneventful day till I read that comment.

I'm still pissed.

anniversary retroblog

This is my parents' anniversary. Their 44th, I believe. Last year on this day I called them from Fenway Park during the first major league baseball game I ever saw. I wrote about it later, and to this day, the written account remains one of my favorite things on this blog.

It's the story of my first visit to Boston, the majesty of Fenway and how a codger from Cape Cod took me from hating baseball to loving baseball in one hot summer evening.

Enjoy.

atkins

This week's favorite Atkins food: $0.99 Junior Bacon Cheeseburger from Wendy's, without the bun.

Last week's: diet Jell-O

annoying kid story
Originally published 22 April 2002
Photograph taken 6 June 2003

The Rooster

Here's two things I know: the first one is that I'm one of those annoying people that talk about what smart kids they have. Sorry. The other is that my seven-year-old, Roo, thinks in a way I'll never understand. It seems a sort of savant-symbolic-spatial sort of thing. At four, she wanted to show grandma she could write the alphabet. But grandma was laying on the couch on the other side of the coffee table from her, so she wrote it upside-down so grandma could read it. Scary.

At five, you could ask her simple addition problems that many older kids would need fingers or paper to do. "Hey, Roo, what's seven plus eight?" She'd direct her eyes toward the ceiling and you could almost see the gears turning. "Fifteen?" Wow.

Then, over the weekend, The Rooster and I were driving around. "Hey Daddy!" "Yes, Roo?" "You know what fourteen plus fourteen is?" I knew her class only did addition that resulted in sums of less than twenty. "What is it, hon?" "It's twenty-eight! Know how I know that? I knew it had to end in eight, but eighteen was too small, so it must be twenty-eight!"

"Very cool! But you know," I said, "it doesn't always work that way. Like what number should sixteen and sixteen end with?"

Eyes up, gears turn. "Thirty-two!"

"That's right! How'd you know that?" She shrugs. I offered, "did you just see the answer?"

She nodded and I smiled. Proudly.

bitchen!

OooH! I forgot to mention! I started the Atkins Diet on Thursday and I've already lost 7 lbs!

Yaaay.

w00t!

as the blog turns

SKB and I came to an agreement Saturday night to still see each other but to see others. I don't know how it will all turn out, but I think this is the best thing for both of us. I'm just newly divorced and want to date widely and she's in a similar situation.

Just so you know.

springeresque

I talked to the Ex last night. I implored her to stop disappointing the kids by breaking promises. I also told her to 'grow up.' Due to her advanced state of inebriation (and likely, self-loathing) it set her crying on the floor. How do I know? Because Pegleg got me on the phone a bit later to read me the riot act. It was a ten-minute screamfest, but we both got to say things we've been thinking, regardless of how rude or inaccurate. We gave up using names in the first thirty seconds of the conversation and resorted to me punctuating my sentences with "dickhead" and "asshole," and he responding with the predictable "motherfucker."

Him: "Do you think you're smarter than me?!"

Me: "Well, honestly, on an intelligence level I'd say we're about evenly matched. But I'd say I'm smarter than you."

Him: "How so?"

Me: "BECAUSE I'VE NEVER STUCK A FUCKING NEEDLE IN MY ARM, DICKHEAD!!!!"

Then, over and over, he asked me why she was still crying. I repeatedly responded with the truth as I saw it.

"Because she's DRUNK, dillrod. It's a depressant! Don't they teach you guys anything in rehab?"

We went on to debate the more technical aspects of the word "freebasing" and whether it applied to the unique method by which he took Oxycontion or only to his old, retired habit of cocaine.

This is more information than I've ever supplied here, I know. Just treat it as a nice story with questionable facts and move on to the next blog.

Rest assured, I'm keeping my kids safe.

[For a complete transcript of half this conversation, ask my neighbors. I was pacing the cul-de-sac with my cordless phone...]

You have a mysterious kiss. Your partner never
knows what you're going to come up with next;
this creates great excitement and arousal never
knowing what to expect. And it's sure to end
in a kiss as great as your mystery.

What kind of kiss are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

numb ear

My left ear has spontaneously gone numb off and on for the last three months or so. I first noticed it on the phone with SKB the week we met (you do the math). Anyway, it goes numb 30-40% of the time. I saw a doctor about it today and he said that I didn't have a brain tumor (whew!) but rather essentially "carpal tunnel of the ear" or a repetitive stress injury from years and years of cradling the phone on my left shoulder and driving a mouse with my right hand.

Ironically, it's not from the neck-over cradling, but from the compression of the left ear with the handset. The doc told me to get headsets for all my phones. Work has ordered one for me here and I bought a cell-phone one and a cordless-phone one for at home.

Just thought you might want to know.

I don't know abou the Jerry Springer post. I need to find a way to write it so you feel as mad as I was. That'll take some doing.

some more, from comments

shake the dew off my lilly
emtpy the tank
peddle some piddle
shoot some flys
drain the kidney
take a wazz
take a whizz
spend a penny
write my name in the snow
go to the deep end
drain the dragon
change the oil
make room
rotate the stock
introduce Droopy to his brother, Drippy
take target practice on some cigarette buts
pour a cup of "Moutain Don't"
drown some flies
fill the turd swimming pool
habeas penis
make a deposit at the Flushing branch
stare at some wall boogers

Superlatives:
pee like Peggy Guggenheim
piss like a racehorse

I sometimes joke that "I have to piss like a racehorse, but can't find a place to pee standing on all fours."

antiques roadshow

My Mother-Out-Law took her show on the road. With her she brought her two granddaughters, with whom she lives, up to my small town to spend four days with me. In small doses, it's novel to hear the antique talk about who was on the Oprah show and who she saw on "Larry King Alive." She informed me that they "caught number four in the deck, you know, over there in Iraq with them Palestinians."

That number four guy has got to know... That Saddahn is number one and his two sons are two and three. Anyways, that number four guy's gotta know a lot of the secrets, you know, like where Saddahn is and his sons. I bet they've got him somewhere nobody's gonna find him.

Really? Which suit?

I'm Dan Elias, and today the Antiques Roadshow is headed to Columbia City, Indiana, where nothing, including time passes quickly.

[CAPTION: Elmer Winegate, Retired Appraiser] I see what you have here is a fairly rustic Retired Woman. What can you tell me about her?

ME: Well, she's not very well educated and she's got some damage from being moved. She also has a few parts that aren't original.

ELMER: How long has she been in the family?

ME: Well she was in my ex-wife's family for years and years, but somehow I ended up with her in the divorce. I'd say she's a little over 60 years old.

ELMER: Well if you look at the markings on her ass we can determine her exact age to be 64 years old. What did you pay for her?

ME: Thirteen years of marriage.

ELMER: Well, you might be disappointed to learn that your ex-wife got the better end of the deal by leaving her to you. Not only is she not worth anything at auction, she's pretty much a liability at this point.

ME: Gosh! Wow. Well, thank you.

Next: The Jerry Springer Show

here come content

I'm going to try to post good stuff every day. Bunnie's chastisement yesterday really hit home. How dissappointed my regular readers must be. I admit, I read blogs that post every day a lot more faithfully. I guess it's Pavlovian classical conditioning. If I reward the behavoir, it will enforce it.

Wish me luck.

bitchen.com '03 u.s. tour itinerary revised

I've secured (I hope) Aug 8 - 17, 2003 off of work for my trip.

After talking to a few people, I've slimmed down my itinerary. Feel free to speak up if I'm coming through your town. I'd love to go out for a drink or something. Let me know.

Depart	Arrive	Destination	To See	Miles	Hrs
Fri a.m. 8/8	Fri p.m. 8/8	Kansas City	Jimmy 'Fingers'	600	12
Mon a.m. 8/11	Mon p.m. 8/11	Denver	Mag/Yndy	610	12
Tue p.m. 8/12	Tue p.m. 8/12	Colorado Springs	Aunt Karalee	67	1
Wed a.m. 8/13	Wed p.m. 8/13	Albuquerque	Unknown	373	7
Thu a.m. 8/14	Thu p.m. 8/14	Oklahoma City	Cowboy Museum	540	11
Thu p.m. 8/14	Thu p.m. 8/14	Tulsa	SP Halo	105	2
Fri a.m. 8/15	Fri p.m. 8/15	St Louis	Unknown	395	8
Sat p.m. 8/16	Sun a.m. 8/17	Ft Wayne	Home	373	8

What's nice is that this trip gives me a goal. Something to work toward and look forward to. It's really improved my outlook.

road trip!

I'm thinking about taking a week off when The Ex has the kids in August and making a road trip. Here's the first draft:

Depart	Arrive	Destination	To See	Miles
Fri p.m.	Sat a.m.	Kansas City	Jimmy 'Fingers'	600
Mon a.m.	Mon p.m.	Denver	Mag	610
Tue a.m.	Tue p.m.	Albuquerque	Bugs Bunny †	440
Wed a.m.	Wed p.m.	Oklahoma City	SP Halo	540
Thur a.m.	Thur p.m.	Houston/Galveston	Gulf	480
Fri a.m.	Fri noon	New Orleans	French Quarter	350
Sat p.m.	Sun a.m.	Nashville	Hatch Show Print ‡	530
Sun p.m.	Sun p.m.	Ft Wayne	Home	380

I know it's 12 hours of driving a day (except the first weekend) and it's incredibly ambitious, but I have fifteen years of wanderlust to get out of my system. The driving doesn't bother me as long as I have audiobooks and a tape recorder to audio blog with.

Any you people live in any of these towns? I'll stop by and visit!

† Doesn't Bugs always forget to take a left at Albuquerque? I actually know no one there, I don't think. But it's hard to tell on the Internet.

‡ Is Hatch Show Print open on Sunday? Anyone know?

leaving the church : lunch with pastor

"How is your constitution?" I ask him as I set my orange tray of food on his table.

He looks up from his baked ziti, "It depends on what you mean?"

"Well, this is liable to be an uncomfortable conversation."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, but first off let's talk about the email you sent."

The email addressed an issue with the sound system. I am in charge of the sound system. He concluded that the sound had been crappy the last few weeks because we hadn't allotted enough time to set up. This is bullshit. It was crappy because I wasn't doing it for once. We have an alternating schedule, but I usually run the mixer anyway. He said the ideal solution was for me to do it every week unless I couldn't. I had agreed to that, he said. "We only have one chance to make a first impression," he pontificates, "and a good sounding, professional service is the goal."

"Okay," says I, "that being said."

"Hmmm?" He has bad hearing.

"I said, 'that being said.'"

"Oh"

"We reach the uncomfortable part."

"Okay."

"We need to come up with a plan for ramping me down."

"Pardon?" he says, his hand behind his ear.

"We need to ramp me down from the sound system, because in the very near future I won't be attending anymore."

Through a pained expression he says "I know" and tosses his napkin to the table and stands, tears welling up in his eyes. He gathers his tray and keys and apologizes but he has to go now. I explain that it's not personal and it's a theological issue, but he clearly doesn't want to break down in front of me.

At the trash bin, he regains composure and comes back. "Did I get my keys?"

"You picked them up. I hope you didn't throw them away."

He fetches them from his back pocket.

"This happens, you know. Something comes up that takes people away from the church. When do we need to meet about a plan?"

"As soon as possible, I guess"

He sits. "Let's talk about it now. Who can do it?"

I nominate a worthy successor.

"Well, we'll be short-handed once again," he grouses, "it'll be crappy for a while, but we'll stretch people even farther to cover the bases."

Hmm. Self-centeredness and a guilt trip all rolled into one.

"So what's your theological issue?"

"I've basically become an agnostic. I don't believe it's possible to know the true nature of God."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm of two camps."

Hand behind the ear. "Pardon?"

"I said 'I'm of two camps.' There's the camp that says there's no such thing as supernatural and paranormal, and another camp that says 'except on Sunday morning.' I have trouble reconciling that."

He nods.

"I also have trouble reconciling an uninterrupted 60,000-year genetic lineage with the Bible. As in no interruptions like Adam and Noah."

Blank stare.

"Bottom line is that my heart's just not into it."

"Okay." He stands, shakes my hand. "Take it easy, Ric. Send me an email on your timeline."

So essentially he was more worried about losing a sound engineer and less worried about losing a parishoner.

Go figure.

first photo essay

I've proven it. It takes hours to make even the crappiest of photo essays.

I have more respect, now, for what Tony does.

Feel free to link it. Use: http://bitchen.com/images/blog/essays/dells/

note to comments users

If you use my comments system on your blog, there is a change you need to make to make it work with the new Blogger software. (They updated their site.) Email me or drop me a private comment (include your email) and I'll send details on how to fix it.

leaving the church : put yourself in my shoes

I am on the worship team at church, and I lead praise singing next week. Ironic isn't it? I just got this e-mail from the worship-leader-in-chief:

I heard you saved the day on 6/1 when you got Susan's laptop to work with the church projector. What would we do without you??

I almost responded with "you may find out sooner than you'd like," but decided against it. This is typical of the things (along with my mother's attendance) that make it so hard to do this.

[title changed 6/12/2003 --ric]

leaving the church

For more than thirty years (not counting the year I took off to get married) I've been going to church with the same congregation every weekend. For years it was on Saturday, recently on Sunday. Sometimes we kept Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and sometimes it was Christmas and Easter. Sometimes we were saved by our works and at other times we were saved by grace. Early on we were The One True Church, now we're so fucking ecumenical, it's nauseating.

"Why?" you ask? The answer is simple.

I do not know and cannot know if there is a God.

I am, in a word, agnostic. How did I become agnostic? Am I mad at God? No. I can simply no longer rationalize what I believe about the physical world I live in with what I've been taught to believe about the Christian God. There's far more than this. I'll be happy to write all about it unless somebody threatens me with a lighted cross in my yard. As with everything I write about here, I think you'll find my approach logical, sensible and refreshing. No cliché rhetoric here. I won't be quoting things I've read unless someone just happens to say what I already believe more eloquently than I.

I'm setting up a lunch on Thursday with my minister to tell him.

Wish me luck.

bruce allllrighty then

I saw Bruce Almighty the other day. I didn't need to. I could have written that myself. So could you. Just watch the trailer and add the tidbit that at one point in the movie he says "yes" to everyone's prayers, including those who prayed to win the lottery. Now write.

See? You just wrote Bruce Almighty.

Jim Carrey is good. Better than in some recent films. The fellow playing the news anchor performs the astounding task of making the audience believe that he is being controlled by Jim Carrey. So much so, in fact, that you don't really realize it's not Carrey doing that schtick until you see the outtakes.

Wait for the video.

...then for it to rent for a dollar.

something to read

Kevin, nee LilFluffy is posting again. Interesting.

Below is a picture he took of himself. Will sombody please confirm that he bears a striking resemblance to Colin Farrell?

click to enlarge

a quote for all the misunderstood grammar nazis

"Respect for the word is the first commandment in the discipline by which a man can be educated to maturity—intellectual, emotional and moral. Respect for the word—to employ it with scrupulous care and an incorruptible heartfelt love of truth—is essential if there is to be any growth in a society or in the human race. To misuse the word is to show contempt for man. It undermines the bridges and poisons the wells. It causes Man to regress down the long path of his evolution."

Dag Hammarskjold

from here via here.

And for the truly anal: everything you ever need to know about typesetting punctuation in HTML

burning

Why doesn't this girl have archives?

shoulda woulda coulda

It should have been a great day.

It was sunny.
My house was cleaned by other people.
I got tons of sleep over the weekend.
I blogged finally, and I liked what I wrote.
Mary-Kate and Ashley have a new poster out.
Tony Pierce linked me.

But...

It turned cloudy and muggy.
I can't find anything.
I squandered my sleep reserves on bar-hopping and infomercials.
Mary T. thought it missed the mark.
The poster just isn't that sexy.
Well... Tony did link me.

tony pierce is king

funhappy

Dave was fun. Maddie was fun. "Moonlighting" was fun.

Then it happened--they got together.

Dave and Maddie were happy. Dave and Maddie were no longer fun. "Moonlighting" was no longer fun. For a while, after Robin Williams stopped doing cocaine in the mid-eighties, he was very happy, yet not nearly as fun. When Fonzie got a girlfriend on "Happy Days," Fonzie was happy, but no longer fun.

Fun comes from angst sometimes. Sometimes angst comes from fun. Sometimes they seem to be joined at the keister.

The Half Mad Spinster (no hyphen, thankyouverymuch), is gone. Mary T. felt she was beating a dead horse. In it's heyday, halfmadspinster.com was fun. It was fun not only in a sitcom way, but also in a very deep, emotional way that you call a weekend with a new love fun. The kind of fun that comes from sharing tears and tortures as well as aphorisms and anecdotes. She was Half Mad, after all. She was a spinster--an unmarried woman in her mid-thirties searching for her Missing Piece. And we could all, on some level, relate to that. I had fun, the way I had fun walking the ten miles with 25 of my peers to A Safe Place after our church bus broke down on our teen trip to the World's Fair in Knoxville in 1982. The safe place made us happy. But it wasn't fun.

Maybe fun is a journey and happiness is a goal.

Mary T. reached her goal. She met Boyfriend Bob. And she stopped being fun and started being happy. She kept writing, but it was tantamount to my teen group to walking past The Safe Place just because the walking was fun. The walking was more than fun. It was hot, grueling, and exhausting. The Safe Place made us happy. We stopped.

We knew that it was much better to be happy than have fun. And until I wrote that sentence, I always thought they were the same thing.

Godspeed, Mary T.! Congratulations on happiness. We'll miss the blog...

Send a wedding invitation.

for best taste

I came home to two half-empty cans of Mountain Dew on the kitchen table. The cans were upside down, yet not spilling. A cursory inspection revealed that there were holes poked in the bottom of the cans near the date stamp.

Four times I inquired "why are we drinking out of Mountain Dew can with holes in the bottom."

Three times I got no response.

The fourth time, my eldest indicated that my middle child had done this for her and The Rooster. The middle child curled into a ball of embarrassment as Roo pointed out the arrow printed on the side of the can, which read:

"For best taste, drink by date on bottom of can."

Roo said they wanted to see if it really tasted better that way...

ode to a dead mouse

Mr. Mousie, small and quick,
Death, you met, with a measure-stick.
Skittering down the woodwork ledge,
He whacked you with the ruler's edge.
You looked so very picturesque,
Perched upon the foreman's desk.
Your face was fix'd in deep chagrin,
Once rigor mortis settled in.

7 May 1992

from a bathroom wall in celina, oh

"Balls!" said the Queen, "I could be king if I had to."
The king just smiled...because he had to.

it's time to speak of many things...of babes and...babes!

Katie Couric [L] and Lacey Chabert

I know full well there is a league of Katie Couric haters out there, but I am not one of them. I watched her take Leno's place last night. Damn. They even put in a different desk so they could do the ET/Mary Hart thing and light her incredible legs for all the world to gaze at. I'm just a sucker for big smiles and she's certainly the queen of big smiles. For being 46 years old, she looks astounding. She's not married either. Hmmm...

And! I went to see the lackluster Daddy Day Care with Eddie Murphy because my middle daughter wanted to see it. It had a few laughs, but had a woefully inept script in general. But! Lacey Chabert makes the movie worth seeing. She's barely in it, but our little Claudia Salinger (from "Party of Five") has grown up into a twenty-year-old's body! And a body that is perpetually clad in a school-uniform skirt, white button-down shirt and white stockings throughout this movie. Ever since Lost in Space I knew she had real babe potential, this really clinches it.

wrangled!

With the help of another friend on Saturday, I now have a plan to catch up my budget by the end of August. Of course I have to change it already after some new information today, but I get the concept. I need to code it back into a spreadsheet so I can adjust a little here and there and get the numbers to cascade. Robin suggested there was a method in Quicken ("a hard way and an easy way") but I doubt it's compatible with the method we are using (i.e. bills for each week with "carry-over" amt.).

Anyway, if I can stick to it, things should be bitchen.

Let's hope.

wrangling the bills

My brother came over last night and helped me sort through and discover all of my debts. He says I make plenty of money to pay everything back. It's my goal with my other friend tomorrow to figure out how to catch everything up.

Got eight, eight, and seven hours of sleep the last three nights. I was AWAKE! this morning. I didn't even miss the coffee on the way to work. I was on time to work and I've gotten a ton done! Thank God the phone hasn't been ringing.

Roo Note:
The Rooster was taking a turn reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe the other night. When I read it, I use a royal British, Cockney, Scottish and Irish accents for the different characters. When she read it (she's eight) she simply used a British (read Harry Potter) accent for all the characters, but it was a better accent than most adults can seem to muster. She's a little ham, that one is. A chip off the old block.

another relatively good day

...although I can't seem to stop eating. I'm sure it's the quitting thing. Robin is coming over tonight to help me dig out of my pile of bills and figure out what I really owe, then Saturday another friend is stopping by to help with the budget.

I've got some good friends.

The Ex doesn't want to go out of her way to see her children, it seems. This both shocks and dismays me.

no shit

I'm a different person today.

I think the Celexa's kicking in, which is helping me not feel so overwhelmed. The Zyban is doing the trick in helping me quit--hopefully for good this time. And, I thought of Ben Franklin and went to bed last night at the ungodly early hour of 9:00 p.m. I awoke a 5:00 a.m.

Eight whole hours of sleep!

I got some laundry done this morning. I made the kids breakfast. And I came into work an hour earlier than I usually do. I've been productive at work. Wow. A good day.

Let's hope I have more of them.

shit

Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinkin' maybe six feet ain't so far down. --Creed, "One Last Breath"

I only have one answer for anyone who asks me how I am: overwhelmed.

I'm barely hanging in there. Depression encourages me to watch way to much TV and do nothing that I should. Tonight I just got one day closer to everything crumbling on my head emotionally and especially financially. SKB comes and helps me clean and organize. It's great and feels like there's light at the end of the tunnel when she's here, but then she goes and I'm instantly overwhelmed again. Being truly overwhelmed at work doesn't make matters any better. A co-worker, knowing everything both personal and professional about my life told me the other day "Dude, you don't feel overwhelmed, you are overwhelmed."

I can't work overtime to dig out of work 'cause then I'm not home with the kids. To pay a sitter would make me even worse off financially and do the kids a disservice, I think. Plus I have to find time to dig out at home. I've discovered one more way I'm like my father: answering depression with television, then blaming the television for my own shortcomings.

Can someone work a magick spell and sort my finances out? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that foreclosure would be really bad for the kids.

Fuck. Fuckity-fuckity-fuckity-fuck.

Fuck.

bust

What would you do if you threw a great party and no one came? 1st Annual Junkyard Wars was a bust. SKB and my brother were the only ones who showed up Friday night, despite my having invited at least two dozen people. The real problem, I guess, is that I didn't give anyone enough warning. The invites went out late...

So the three of us put away the two dozen Jello shots, meatballs and cheese balls that SKB so graciously (and deliciously) made.

At least I didn't have a mess to clean up.

snappy answer of the year

A college teacher reminds her class of tomorrow's final exam. "Now class, I won't tolerate any excuses for you not being here tomorrow. I might consider a nuclear attack or a serious personal injury or illness, or a death in your immediate family but that's it, no other excuses whatsoever!"

A smart-ass guy in the back of the room raised his hand & asks, "What would you say if tomorrow I said I was suffering from complete & utter sexual exhaustion?"

The entire class does its best to stifle their laughter. When silence is restored, the teacher smiles sympathetically at the student, shakes her head, & sweetly says, "Well, I guess you'd have to write the exam with your other hand."

had to share

The doctor, who had been seeing an 80-year-old woman for most of her life, finally retired.

At her next checkup, the new doctor told her to bring a list of all the medicines that had been prescribed for her.

As the young doctor was looking through these, his eyes grew wide as he realized she has a prescription for birth control pills. "Mrs. Smith, do you realize these are BIRTH CONTROL pills?!?"

"Yes, they help me sleep at night."

"Mrs. Smith, I assure you there is absolutely NOTHING these that could possibly help you sleep!"

She reached out and patted the young Doctor's knee. "Yes, dear, I know that. But every morning, I grind one up and mix it in the glass of orange juice that my 16 year old granddaughter drinks, and believe me, it helps me sleep at night!"

the answer to fucking everything

I dozed in and out watching the Madonna interview last night. Kurt Vonnegut appeared to me in one of those dreams you have while watching TV where the characters in your dream quote the people on TV but it means something completely different--the way your alarm clock always seems to be anything but an alarm clock when you're dreaming. Kurt sounded amazingly like Madonna, but his Material-girl-words meant something else to me. He spelled out the answer to "if I'm so smart, why aren't I rich?" and other questions in my life.

"Assign a daughter as a policeman for each room. Give bonuses for good work.

"Set up a non-profit to create a music studio for starving musicians. Draw an income. Find a grant. Move someplace warm.

"Introduce that brilliant product/project idea you've been pitching to your friends for years. Get the fuck on with it. No one is going to do it, so do it. Get a grant for it. Find someone good at getting grants. You can write a fucking great grant application, it's what you do. Figure it the fuck out.

"Use your God-given talents to make some fucking money. Deep down you know how.

"Break down your entire life into fifteen-minute segments based on the big picture and then don't worry about the big picture. It will fall together. That includes diet and exercise. And cleaning your office at work.

"Take your meds. Get some sleep. Brush your teeth consistently for Christ's sake.

"Quit church if it's causing you so much grief. Find God in your own way. Encourage your kids to do the same.

"Make a list of things that need to absolutely be done every day and complete it. This means timesheets, laundry, dishes, reading to the kids, budgeting and cleaning.

"Go to bed on time! Benjamin Franklin was right 'Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.' You may not get laid a lot, but that will come with the health and wealth."
It will take a while to digest this. I may never get to implement it completely. But it was nice to have it put into words for me.

the deed is done

Well, she did it. She got married. And she wore black.

I wonder if she had a veil.

I wonder how many more times she'll get married--how many other notches on her machete handle other than me?

I wonder how a woman who claims to put her children first can do what she did.

I wonder if she'll ever even attempt custody.

I wonder how fucked up this will make my daughters.

I wonder when I'm going to have to take legal action to get her stuff out of my house.

I wonder if there is a God.

I wonder if the Cubs will ever have a winning season.

First Annual bitchen.com Junkyard Wars Party

Come to my First Annual bitchen.com Junkyard Wars Party

Click the link above for all the details.

What's Going On?

Columbia City, Indiana (near Fort Wayne) has Trash Amnesty Day every year on the first Saturday in May (May 3rd, this year). On Friday, May 2nd, we will me at 'Bitchen' Ric's house and divide into two teams.

Once the teams are assigned, the assignemnt and scoring criteria will be given. The teams will scour the city's trash piles for the materials needed. After that, contestants can go home, party at my house, sleep on my floor, whatever.

On Saturday, May 3rd, we will reconvene, assign any nerw comers to the two teams and start building! At Noon, we will compete. Things should be done by 2:00 p.m.

Click Here to read about Columbia City's Trash Amnesty Day Eve tradition

Hope to see you there!

bitchen.com or this party are not affiliated in any way with TLC, Discovery or the "Junkyard Wars" television show.

honest feelings

My biggest regret over the last week is not only that I haven't had time to blog but I haven't had time to fully read Tony Pierce or Bunnie (warning, explict adult content).

What really depresses me about those two bloggers is not only that they write well (I suppose I can do that) but they also must type blindingly fast, based on what they tell us about themselves. I'm convinced I could have a much better blog if I could type faster than 35 WPM and not look at my fingers.

filler

Sorry I've been gone so long.

SKB (Stunning Kissing Buddy) is officially my girlfriend. She came over last weekend and helped me clean the house. She graciously helped me extricate The Ex's stuff from the bedroom (drawing the line at folding Her undergarments, of course). How could you not love that? She is actually capable of apologizing and appreciates the Acts of Service that I do so natuarally (e.g. I washed her van and put gas in it without her asking). Since the Ex wanted Gifts and that was not my Love Language, it was always hard for me to express it. SKB's love language is Acts of Service also, so expressing our feelings comes naturally and we mutually appreciate it. SKB is also astonished that I am capable of apology, something her Ex was seemingly incapable of.

In other news, I lost a friend this week--not to death, but to circumstances. In honor of that dissolution I tangentially recommend An Open Letter of Apology to the Country of Iceland by Alan Haley from the excellent Timothy McSweeney's Unreserved Embrace Web site.

And, yes, She's still getting married on Saturday. Thanks for asking.

the big news

The Mormons stopped by the other day. I gave them a run for their money, of course. You gotta love those guys in black suits and backpacks running around in the hot sun door to dorr seeking rejection. I offered them a beer and a smoke, which they politely declined. I pressesd them on why a 16th century man would translate stuff into twelfth centry English, and if it was because God told him to, why did he lift mistranslations from Isaiah directly from the King James? Their answers a pat and unconvincing.

Then The Ex comes over to get some things. I introduce her to my new friends:

"Elder Smith, Elder Jones--this is Satan. Satan--the Mormons! Okay, really she's my ex-wife."

We had a good chuckle.

Speaking of The Ex:

Guess who is getting married in nine days?

You guessed it. On Saturday, April 25th, she will be come Mrs. Pegleg. She will wed the man she left nary two weeks ago. She will wed him before she even finds out if he blows his next monthly installment of A Major Orally-Administered Cronic Pain Drug in the first week in an intravenous fashion.

Why?

Well, of course it's because he assured her he'd get baptized the next day! That makes all the difference, doesn't it?

Don't feel bad. Nobody I've told can come up with words to express how fucked up this is. I think The Rooster, in her fine eight-year-old fashion did it best:

Me: "So, Roo, what do you think about Mommy getting married?"

Roo: "No."

teaser

Frigging HUGE news to come later today. Stay tuned.

give me a break!

Lights! Camera! Retake! details how honda uses 606 retakes to do a one-shot, two-minute-long chain reaction commercial. From the article:

The idea for the advert derived partly from the old children's game Mouse Trap, and from the wacky engineering of Caractacus Potts's breakfast-making machine in the Sixties film Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

Has the author never heard of Rube Goldberg? Rube Goldberg, people! Give credit where credit is due!

Sheesh!

explain this to me

Tim Robbins in respose to being uninvited to the Baseball Hall of Fame Celebration of the 15th anniversary of Bull Durham:

I am sorry that you have chosen to use baseball and your position at the Hall of Fame to make a political statement. I know there are many baseball fans that disagree with you and even more that will react with disgust to realize baseball is being politicized.

How is politicizing an event that's tangential to baseball (like this one) any different than politicizing an event tangential to movies (like the Oscars)?

How can he have such a massive blind spot to the double standard he's committing? One of the single most political people in Hollywood is criticizing someone in Sports for being political?

Give me a break.

read the letter

see me? I'm washing my hands

"Mark my words, she'll be back in the trailer in a month," Chris told me yesterday.

I'm glad I didn't bet him.

The Ex visited Pegleg in the "hospital" yesterday. I talked to her last night.

"Well, I can't get the apartment without a cosigner."

"What are you gonna do?" I asked knowingly.

"I'm going to get him from the hospital tomorrow night and I'm going to stay with him at the trailer until we find a house to rent."

"We?"

"Yeah."

Pause.

"You realize I'm never going to help you again."

"I figured you'd say that."

Pause.

"And I'm not helping you move."

"I figured you'd say that."

Insert irrelevant conversation here.

"What about the kids staying with him?"

"It's not going to happen until I'm sure it's safe."

"Thank you. Thank you very much. I really appreciate that."

"Well, Duh! I'm not stupid."

"'My momma always said, "Stupid is as stupid does."'"

This morning she was playing the piano as I left for work. I brushed her hair aside and kissed her on the forehead. "Bye, dear."

She smiled at the humor. "Have a good day, honey."

"You go get your boyfriend and get on with your life."

"Alrighty. Bye."

This is a decision that was made totally without the influence of drugs or alcohol--unlike every other decision she's made in the last year including asking me for a divorce. I guess I was always a little sympathetic toward her actions knowing that she wasn't "in her right mind" when making decisions. She's still not in her right mind, but in a whole new way.

~~This time I don't care anymore~~.
I'm not responsible anymore.

sometimes you can't help but blog about the war

she moved

Becklyn moved her blog and is updating it more now. Check it out.

the lion sleeps tonight

The Ex sleeps on my couch Thursday.

The Ex sleeps on a friend's couch Friday.

The Ex disappears from 11:00 a.m. Saturday to 11:00 a.m. Sunday. Her last known mood: despondent.

Cops insist that if she's homeless then she's not really missing, is she?

She was supposed to meet Pegleg at his mom's on Saturday. He wasn't there.

Friday night, in a fit of utter stupidity, Pegleg reported theft of her items from his mobile home, then punched a door to garner pain medication from the emergency room. E/R refused. Pegleg threatened suicide. Cops committed him.

At 11:00 a.m. Sunday, Ex shows, tells me she slept in his mobile home to get "R & R" and didn't want to have to drive the mile to the gas sation to use the phone. I inform her that the relativly small pain in the ass of driving to said payphone paled in comparison to my frantic search and trip to the police station and calls to hospitals.

Ex visits Pegleg in rehab on Sunday. Despite numerous repeated explanations as to why she left, he asks again and again. Pegleg calls her at my house several times last night.

Ex is deadset on getting an apartment this weekend. To help with her deposit, I offered to purchase large TV and other sundries she took in the divorce. This appears to be a win-win situation.

Meanwhile, three hours of my Saturday are spent removing the front suspension (stablizer arm-to-control arm bushing shattered) of my car in a freezing gas station parking lot in B.F. Egypt due to mechanic's ineptness at re-assembling my car after last week's car-repair escapade.

a twisted life I lead

The Ex called my cell this morning.

"Bring some muscle and trucks. I'm leaving."

I did. (I'd told her that if she wanted to leave Pegleg for good, I'd help.) She has her stuff in my garage and a pull-out couch in the basement till she can find an apt.

Don't you wish your life was a boring as mine?

The weekend with SKB is off. She understands. She is very cool. And remarkably mature in comparison to The Ex. Be happy for me.

The date from last night sent me a "let's just be friends" email this morning. Oh well.

give me a spring break!

The Ex had taken the kids for spring break. I tried to call Tuesday night to tell them I missed them, but her phone was disconnected. Great. A little later I get a call from a Very Upset Ex telling me that Pegleg is abusing select substances while she is at work and he's alone with the kids.

Fuck that.

So I went out int the middle of the night last night and got them. They are back with me for the remainder of spring break. Unfortunately, my Stunning Kissing Buddy was supposed to come up and spend the weekend. So those plans are up in the air now.

My kids are the number one most important thing to me. So I'm not the type to be pissed off if my plans change to make life safer for the kids. I'm simply pissed that The Ex allowed them to get into that situation. SKB has kids and feels the same way. That's very, very cool.

Meanwhile, I met the other girl who's been emailing me tonight. Strange. We were at the same bar and we introduced ourselves and sat a near tables. She was with several girlfriends, so I felt as if I was imposing if I tried to break into their party. Near the end we actually talked and it turns out she's met my brother and her sister works with my sister-in-law. Small World.

Life is in the air, but still better than it was being married.

Peace.

hell yeah

theres a twenty year old marine reservist who now wants to claim that he is a concientious objector.

im a pacifist but if anyone has to fight in the war, it ought to be that dude, for being an idiot.

Tony Pierce is my hero.

bwahahahahaha!

This is freaking hilarious. Keep clicking her face for more insults.

In fact this whole site is a riot...

cubs win!

They have a perfect record now. It's time to start the World Series.

Tony has a delightful prediction for the Cubs season this year.

You know I'm not a sports fan, but I'm going to try damned hard to follow the cubs this season--largely because my goal this year is to see a game at Wrigley. I love to see pro baseball live.

Why don't you people who don't understand baseball or it's appeal try this exercise with me? Follow the Cubs. Then, sometime this summer, come with me to Wrigely. Start by reading this account of my visit to the Red Sox which is geared right at the non-baseball-loving audience.

Write me and we'll get a crew together to make a road trip to Chicago. (Do they still play double-headers?) What do you think?

I promise not to make this blog into a baseball blog. Don't worry.

waffle and steak

Today was the big sales trip to Indianapolis. What Yahoo! claimed was a 2-hour and 33-minute trip and MapQuest claimed was a 2-hour and 26-minute trip, took us exactly two hours. So, being early, we decided to stop at the "Waffle and Steak" in Franklin, IN for breakfast.

It's the first time I ever saw grits on a menu in Yankee Indiana. I ordered a la carte because all of the pre-packaged breakfasts included grits.

"I'll have the waffle, eggs over easy, crispy bacon and a side of toast."

"You want grits with that?"

"No. That's fine."

"Well, honey, grits comes with the toast. If you order toast you get grits. If you order grits you get toast. You can't order one without the other."

"Why?"

"It's complimentary."

"I'm afraid I won't be very complimentary if you serve me grits."

"You sure?"

"Ah, what the hell, give me grits. Can I have rye toast?"

"You can't get rye toast. We've got white, wheat, raison, an' Texas"

"Was 'Texas' on that list?"

Sheepishly. "Well, it's extra."

"Wheat is fine."

My friend and I ate our pseudo-Southern cuisine and listened to the guy in the next booth. He was some sort of an Innerneck Guru, I tell ya.

"You know what I love? I love that I can edit mah Web site right on the Web. I never have to worry about whether I've got my drives configured right or anything. I was at a client's once and I saw an error on the site. I said 'Can you look the other way for a minute?' And I changed the site right there in his office!"

My co-worker and I smirked at each other as the man described new-fangeled technology that we had been writing for six years now.

"Sometimes XP will just forget itself. If you don't validate the registration with Microsoft in three days, you're screwed!"

Really? We don't have the problem with Linux...

As entertaining as that was, I'm glad to be home.

since my blog is boring...

...I'm giving you this link to a movie of a cat masturbating courtesy of Bazima (long "i"). If you try to tell me that's something you see every day, I'm not ever going to speak to you again because you're a lying sack of excrement.

Bazima's blog is pretty damned unique too.

dang

I have an entry for today on my laptop, but none of my other computers can read the floppy I just saved it to. Y'all are gonna hafta wait until tonight for me to post it.

yep!

[woman applies lipstick] first date, second coat -- Yahoo! personals: Believe

The new Yahoo! personals ad pretty much sums up my weekend.

Brody Surprises Berry With Kiss at Oscars
from Yahoo! News

LOS ANGELES - Best-actor winner Adrien Brody created an amorous Oscar moment to remember when he grabbed presenter Halle Berry and planted a long kiss on the mouth of last year's best actress.

AP Photo

A stunned Berry was left openmouthed and gasping Sunday, although she appeared amused by Brody's enthusiasm after he won an Oscar for his role in "The Pianist." Looking on from the audience at the Kodak Theatre was Berry's husband, singer Eric Benet.

"Whoa, I bet they didn't tell you that was in the gift bag," Brody cracked.

Backstage, the 26-year-old Brody was asked about the smooch.

"Well, if you ever have an excuse to do something like that, that's it," he said. "I took my shot."

Did Berry kiss him back?

"Oh yeah," Brody said, grinning.

Ric sez: Now this is what I'm talking about. I love that last line.

my weekend

I've always had a policy on this blog not to kiss and tell, but some dealings with the opposite sex are integral to my life and not sexual conquests. I can't say that I've really had any "conquests" in my life anyway. I don't intend to use this forum to put notches on my bedpost or anything like that.

That being said, I had the indescribable experience of meeting someone this weekend that actually values and enjoys kissing as much as I do. We went to dinner, but we didn't go to the comedy club, or watch much of The Princess Bride, because of the undeniable and irresistible draw of osculation. I felt like a teenager, but I didn't feel foolish.

I am giddy.

respite

I had a pretty good Thursday.

A beautiful woman took pity on me and gave me a head-spinning kiss.

The Ex removed things from my house and cooked supper.

A stunning, intelligent single woman saw value in a two-hour IM then a three-hour phone call with me.

A different stunning, intelligent single woman e-mailed me all day.

Someone gave me a VCR.

My kids hugged me.

A big dog gave me some love.

A small dog gave me some love

On the third try, I got a cordless phone that actually works.

The kids are gone for the weekend. I'm going out when I should be home organizing, but how can I say "no" to a stunning, intelligent single woman after five hours of conversation? The answer is that I can't. And I won't.

I've already called in sick to church.

because your kiss is what I miss when I turn out the lights

Kissing Lovers

I remember every girl I've ever kissed. Vividly. I can tell you if they used tongue and how much and how well. Some were stiff-jawed, some melted onto my face.

My first girlfriend used to chew lightly on my tongue. I didn't know any different so I went along. A couple of girls somehow caught too much air and it escaped making that sound. You know the sound. One sucked on my tongue so hard I thought she would rip it out. But it was erotic all the same. But none of that matters.

Kissing is the whitecap of a wave of limerence. The longer the period between the heart pounding when I see her and the actual kiss, the better the kiss. I knew I was going to kiss one girl for three weeks before we actually did. We even talked about it in email. We'd get together and she was shy and wouldn't want me to kiss her. When the kiss finally came, it was the most incredible kissing experience I ever had. I nearly passed out. It wasn't even a great kiss, but it was so anticipated and so wanted and, at that point, so needed that it totally fulfilled me. And we did nothing but kiss for four months. It was all I needed.

You see, here's the thing: I know I haven't had a lot of experience with sex, but I've never almost passed out from sex. I've never felt completely fulfilled from sex. I don't have any problem enjoying it, but it's not as intimate to me as the kiss.

My Ex was a great kisser. Much to my dismay, along with sex, the kissing dwindled once we got married. In fact the kissing dwindled more quickly, as she would gladly have sex without ever kissing me. Until in December of 2002, she stopped kissing me altogether. I suppose we kissed a few times in the fourteen months between then and our divorce, but by and large, it was over. I was deflated.

I'm looking for dates now. Yes, I'm a bit empty emotionally after the divorce and I want someone to fill the void, if only temporarily. But really, I just need a kiss. From one who means it. And from whom I desire it. It sounds like such a simple formula. Certainly it requires a lot less commitment and less danger than sex. And you can do it in a car without hurting yourself.

Maybe I should put up a dating application like Fish.

no one to watch over me

I couldn't get to sleep last night. Not that I was trying hard, but I felt like I was waiting up for someone. A constant feeling that at any moment someone's going to come in and nag me or bitch at me or whine or inebriately stumble into bed. The girls were all in bed. I have no wife. I have no houseguests. I'm free. For the first time in fourteen years, no one's going to come through that door. When I close it, it's closed for the night. It's exhilirating when I think about it, but rather depressing if I don't think about it. Lonliness is a strange spectre--it haunts you till you try to find it.

The house is mine now. The mess is mine. The schedule is mine. The tabletops are mine. The food and the pots and pans and washer and dryer are all mine. They are no longer ours.

There's more work now, but the work is mine. I'll do it my way.

how does my brother feel about my divorce?

He explains it:

Ric and his ex (I'll call her Ex) on the other hand, got a fairly quick and painless divorce (if there really can be such a thing) because they both recognized in their own way that it was best for them. (I'm not including the children in this story of because the focus is on the "couples") After years of ups and downs progressing to more downs than ups, my brother and his ex were forced to face the fact that they were too different to be "one" any longer.

Read the whole article

a major life change

She left.

I've been acting as a single parent for exactly two days. I think I can do this. I bought a big planning calendar for the kitchen, now I just need one of those 4-color pens to hang by it. (One color for each person.)

Her sons, my former brothers-in-law, came Saturday to move her. I helped. Some. One U-Haul, one pickup truck and one Crown Victoria later, they were gone. I'll never forget her last words to me that day:

When you warsh them kidses clothes, you know, you gotta be sure and spray them spots or them clothes'll be rooned.

I sprayed the spots last night.

mother-in-law from hell justifies divorce
from Reuters Oddly Enough

ROME (Reuters) - The mother-in-law from hell is the butt of jokes and comedies the world over.

In Italy, she is officially a cause for divorce.

The country's highest appeals court on Thursday upheld a ruling that granted a woman from Vasto in southern Italy divorce on the grounds of "excessive and inappropriate interference of the husband's parents in the private life of the couple."

"My husband was his mother's slave. He would hang on her every word while she criticized everything about me, my make-up, my diet, the way I was bringing up my daughter," the woman told the court.

The woman was awarded custody of her daughter and a generous alimony to compensate her for not being allowed to work after she was married.

The ex-husband has returned to live with his mother.

Actually it was the spineless mamma's boy of a husband that caused the divorce...

asya schween, you are my idol

Click to see all of Asya's self-portraits

LilFluffy pointed me to My Own Self, the Web site of Asya Schween. Asya is a photographer and artist (and a Russian exchange student soon to have a PhD in Biomechanics) and all of her work is self-portaits. And there's over a hundred of the most hauting, lovely, terrifying and beautiful portraits I've ever seen.

You won't find out anything about her from her "deaf and mute" Web site, but DPReview did an interview with Ms. Schween. She is quite intelligent and quite driven. She will make your day and visit your dreams.

If you look at no other Web site today, look at this one.

guess what I did on the way to work

Diagram of Serpentine Belt

I was going to be on time for once.

Halfway to work, on a country road, the serpentine belt on my car broke. I knew it was old and worn, and I'd intended to replace it when the weather got warmer. In fact, because I put in a water pump in the middle of winter, and AutoZone gave me the wrong belt, then we put the old one back on, then I got the right belt, I had the new belt and tools in my trunk.

Keep in mind that this is a two-person job. One to route the belt under the hood while the other releases the tensioner pulley through the wheel well (I had to jack the car up and take off the tire). I had no phone to call anyone from work to help. It turns out that my Saturn SL2 is small enough that I could release the tension with my left hand buried in the wheel well as I fiddled the belt into place with my right hand crooked into the engine under the hood.

I was only a half-hour late for work. Only seventeen other items to fix on the car when it gets warmer.

she is leaving!

For those who didn't have time to read yesterday's post, here's a summary:

My Ex-Mother-in-Law is leaving Saturday. No more of her negative, whiney, poorly-worded, grammatically-incorrect, arbitrary, groundless, contradictory kvetching.

Yay!

book 1 -- final chapter

Everybody kept asking me why I didn't just kick MOL (Mother-OutLaw) out. These are the same people who wanted me to grab my middle child kicking and screaming from her mom's house. My reply to both was the same: that's not my way. I don't avoid confrontation, but I do avoid unnecessary confrontation. The Bitchen Manifesto says "never accept an emotionally-charged solution when a civil solution can be had." I got my daughter back and no one raised their voice. No one cried. And my kids are all where they need to be right now--with me.

To these same people I replied concerning MOL:

I'm going to wait until the divorce is final. I'm going to see how the weather changes after that. She may be too stupid to see that things have changed, but certainly she'll have friends whispering in her ear, "you know, he's not related to you anymore..."

Saturday we sat in the living room, alone as the kids were with their mom for the weekend. MOL speaks:

"Well, I've come to a decision."

"Yeah?"

"I'm leaving."

"Okay." Yippeee! Woo-hooo! Happy Dance! Yee-hah!

"I've been talking to my friends and my friends have been telling me things. Things like 'it's not fair to Ric' you know. Me living here."

"Really?"

"Then I heard you talking on the phone the other night. You were joking about me and said 'at least she cooks and cleans' and I knew right then I was going to get throwed out..."

Throwed out? That's not only improper English, it's also semantically inaccurate!

"The kids' mother said that you didn't want me here and that the kids didn't want me here. I talked to your daughter and she said that mommy gets mad sometimes and doesn't know what she's saying."

"That's an accurate statement." But not in this case!

"I was going to just leave and I'd be gone when you got home from work, but I didn't think it was fair to the kids. So they're coming with a U-Haul on Saturday."

"What can I do to help you move?"

I bought her a toaster oven as a housewarming present for her new apartment at her son's house--two hours away. I also bought her dinner at Texas Roadhouse as thanks for her service to my kids and me.

...join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

-- Martin Luther King, Jr. August 28, 1963

boggle

You'll never guess who I just waited in line behind at the gas station! The camo-rapper-homeless dude from Power's Hamburgers. I wasn't anywhere near downtown either. He had the same camo coat on too! Bizarre.

it's oscar time!

"If you pull out a piece of paper and start to read a list of names -- you're done. The orchestra will begin to play and you are finished."

--Academy Awards producer Gil Cates, admonishing Oscar nominees to be brief in their acceptance speeches.

this is my childhood

My brother and I are and always have been very close. We have way too many shared experiences to ever grow apart. We know what each other are thinking and what the other will say next.

He has a new blog. He summed up our childhood nicely with this list.

Go there.

ugly malaprop on Yahoo!

In the Yahoo! Personals article Master the Art of Cyberflirting, I found the following:

If you are the first to initiate an eflirt, keep your message relatively short and simple, but always include an intriguing fact about yourself to illicit curiosity (and inspire a response).

They surely meant "elicit curiosity" not "illicit curiosity."

a red letter day

My former cow-orker (and former Yahoo! employee) Derek has actually written something called "The Missing History of the World" that is not only worth it's bandwidth and disk space, but is also something I agree with. Truly, a remarkable occurrence!

How many more people have simply vanished, because of the poor timing of having not lived in a period when everything ends up in data warehouse of some kind? It's obvious that the next generation isn't going to care a pair of fetid dingo's kidneys about meatspace records, if it's not online, it's not worth knowing, that's the motto of the future.

I wonder what can be done? Sad.

Read the whole article.

save ferris

LilFluffy's got a dilemma about the merits of marriage. I think y'all should go over there and help him out.

this is a post

Roo's birthday went great. My three-cake-mix half-sheet cake looked great until I tried to hand-letter it. Don't ask...

The present I got for her was Yasmine of the Bratz doll collection. My mom bought a pinata the Roo wanted, but I didn't realize they came without candy. So in the middle of the party, I ran to The Wal-Mart and got five pounds of candy to fill it. It was a hoot.

More later.

roo's birthday is coming!

The Rooster is having her eighth birthday tomorrow. Tonight is decorating and cake-baking.

I should probably buy that present too--if I can remember which one she wanted...

Picture on the right.

stinky-poo

You know what? Ryan's poems (read them: 1, 2, 3) from The Bachelorette really, really suck.

that shut her up

MOL (Mother Outlaw) was ranting last night, as usual, about what a Bad Person she thinks The Ex is.

"That's her problem. The only way to make her happy is to buy her something."

"Well," says I, knowingly, "her Love Language is Receiving Gifts. You taught her that. The only way you said 'I Love You' when she was a kid was to buy her things. She didn't grow up in a vacuum."

Silence.

Perhaps she was just wondering what I meant by her daughter not growing up in a vacuum cleaner...

18 hours in february

2/21/03, 7:30 a.m.
Shit! I have to be in court in a half an hour! Hope I have everything ready!

2/21/03, 8:00 a.m.
"Gosh, the last time we were in this courtroom, I was watching you divorce your first husband. Good thing he wasn't there."

2/21/03, 8:07 a.m.
"In the matter of She-who and Ric Johnson..."

2/21/03, 8:17 a.m.
"...must attend Children First within 30 days or show cause why she can't. I will write this up and you will receive it next week. But you are divorced now."

2/21/03, 8:15 a.m.
I saw the sign on the diner door: "No Solicitors." It strikes me that I just represented myself in court. Does that make me a "solicitor?" I take the chance.

I buy The Ex breakfast and lust openly and guiltlessly after the waitress at the next table. It's a good feeling, that. We comment that they've added a salad bar. A salad tub actually. As it was a converted clawfoot tub up on an oak frame with a false floor in the basin. We wonder how that could ever be sanitary. Ah, the joys of living in redneck country.

2/21/03, 8:45 a.m.
"Hey, I still have laundry in my truck, you think I can wash some?"
"Sure, but your mom will be there."
"Oh, I'll survive"

2/21/03, 9:15 a.m.
"You wanna play some cards while the wash is in?"
"Okay, but don't tell Pegleg"

2/21/03, 12:00 p.m.
"See ya later. I'm gonna go take a little nap."

2/21/03, 5:00 p.m.
"Oh, shit! I slept for five hours! I have a party to do!"

2/21/03, 6:00 p.m.
I buy all the champagne and crackers I need and head over to Todd's.

2/21/03, 7:00 p.m.

After a round-table toast that ends with the phrase "...and a collection of pornography" we commence playing trivia games. My three-man team (me, Cowboy and Newman) being the older of the six of us there, won the final three-edition Trivial Pursuit match by being lucky enough to roll our pie full of wedgies into the center hub first.

2/21/03, 11:00 p.m.
"I'm going drinking. Who's with me?" Four of us (two from the party and two late-comers) end up at a dive bar known for it's high percentage of medical-community babes based on it's location. The bar lives up to it's promise and a few tables away, a gaggle of three beautiful brunettes sits to drink. Peer pressure around the table convinces me to buy them a round of drinks. They agree readily and I discover that two of the women are "together" but, to my relief, the really cute one is heterosexual. She returns a shot later. At last call I return the favor and sit down with a woman that was too far gone to even ask for a phone number, but had a nice conversation anyway.

2/22/03, 3:45 a.m.

Newman, with whom I've hung out since we were thirteen and with whom I got drunk the first time in my life, drives me to Power's Hamburgers

This is when the evening took a surreal turn. "Surreal" is the only word to describe it.

Power's is a Fort Wayne institution. A 24-hour art deco diner that serves the most wonderfully horrible grilled onion hamburgers anywhere. White Castle can only dream of being what Power's excels at. The patrons are not simply low-income folks. The patrons (at least at 3:45 a.m.) are truly the dregs of society. All attitudes are checked at the door and everyone who walks in is bonded by the unspoken truth that all are Power's junkies and have come to worship at the shrine. If you like Power's, the atmosphere screams, you must be okay.

An older man with a younger woman converse with a blind karaoke host as Newman and I walk in. The two older men behind the counter, one rotund, one slender, both in filthy T-shirts, are the only other people there. The place is nearly half full at this number with five of the nine bar stools occupied and the lone booth sitting empty. The reek of grilled onions and hamburger grease layered on and left to age on the porcelainized sheet metal interior for the last sixty years gives the little diner a singular, memorable and permeating aroma.

Newman orders five with cheese and I order three without (onions are assumed) and the man and woman bid farewell to the blind man and leave. I know this man. He good-naturedly heckled the Mimi Burns Band when I went to see them and considered joining them. I've sung karaoke when he hosted. But now he's a Power's patron, like all of us.

As our burgers slide in front of us on the bar on unadorned, off-white, oval stoneware plates, a wild-eyed young man in spiky bleached hair and camo fatigues sits a the counter beside me, blocking my karaoke conversation and line-singing with the blind man.

The young man, chemically influenced or mentally imbalanced, immediately starts to diss Eminem, affecting a poor (even by white standards) Ebonics dialect. I nod at the man's rant, but take it in stride--he's a Power's fan after all, so he must be okay. He lulls, and my mind flashes to what the diner must look like from the outside, and can't unconvince myself that I'm in an Edward Hopper painting.

The Three Wise Men whisper in my ear and ask the blind man (through the camo man) if he knows "The Scotsman". He sings a bit of the last verse in a tonal lilt that belied his appearance. "The Scotsman" is one of my trademarks.

"Sing it with me" I call, and the camo guy (who gives the air of a rapper wannabe) looks at me cross-eyed but with Powers Respect.

We sing it together and the cooks seem rather unimpressed. But I had fun. The wild-eyed youth to my left starts to ask us with mock attitude what country we're from (we'd sung it on a Scottish brougue) "What? Fuckin' Turkey or something?!?"

We assured him it was Scottish.

"No problem man, I was just asking. That was cool." Camo-man said as the Power's camaraderie overtook him. Two Rent-a-cops came in and took seats on the opposite side of karaoke guy around the corner of the counter. This inspired a new wave of Anti-Marshall-Mathers-speak from my countermate. Suddenly, he breaks into a well-rehearsed rap of how he's better than Eminem.

What could I do? What would you do? I did the only thing that seemed appropriate at that moment.

I beatboxed.

I snared with my hand on the counter and beat with my voice.

He finished. We left. Laughing till it hurt.

2/22/03, 9:00 a.m.
Wake up in New Haven at Newman's apartment. New Haven, Indiana is a hopping place at 9:00 on a Saturday morning. I walk down to the gas station and buy Advil and coffee.

There are two barber shops and four beauty shops packed with patrons. I thought it might be novel to get my hair cut by a barber, but chose the beauty shop because every stylist was cute. And the cutest one cut my hair. It was nice.

2/22/03, 11:00 a.m.
After a bit of "Girls Gone Wild" on DVD, I went to the library and blogged. Newman joined me and we set off for my car.

2/22/03, 1:30 p.m.
We decide to get breakfast at Denny's. Our waitress was young, cute and smiley.

"Angie, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure!"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No." Smile.
"Would you like to have dinner with me?"
"Do you know how old I am?"
Damn, second time in a week. "Nope."
"I'd love to have dinner with you!"

I gave her my number. She promised to call. She asked if there was anything else I wanted.

"Not that's on the menu."

She blushed and smiled widely.

I tipped her well.

She hasn't called.

oh, this just roasts my chestnuts

She stole my look! Dammit!

I was the one, way back in 1982, who started (or tried to) the tie and wristband look! Honest to God! I wore it as a sophomore in high school! I'm the only person who did, of course. And I was a geek. And it never caught on. And it served as a voluntary stigmata.

Where does Avril Lavigne get off making it cool?

Shit!

yep

". . . you know frankly, going to war without France is like going deer hunting without an accordion. You just leave a lot of useless noisy baggage behind. "
-- Jed Babbin, deputy undersecretary of defense under Bush Sr. on 30 Jan 2003, Hardball

february 22, 2003 3:45 a.m.

Film at eleven...

i am divorced

It took ten minutes.

Then we went out for breakfast.

Then she came over and did some laundry before she had to be at work.

And we played cards while her laundry was in.

So I made her a latte in my new LARGE $1 cups from the Dollar Tree

And we laughed.

And bitched about her mom.

And got our taxes back.

Life is good.

All are invited. Call, email, or private comment me for details.

(She-who-must-not-be-named hates trivia games, so I know she won't be around!)

anticipation

1

day until
my divorce
is FINAL!

Well "Find someplace quiet with a few friends to drink and play games" won the pole with 15 votes over the 12 votes for "Ask everyone I know to meet me at a bar to celebrate." So I'm looking for a place in Fort Wayne to gather and play trivia-based games and drink champange. Any volunteers?

Still haven't done the debt thing. That's lunch today. Not too worried about it. Meeting She-who-must-not-be-named at McDonald's after work to go over everything. I hope she isn't packing a monkey wrench to throw into the mix.

I'm so hoping that the divorce being final changes the atmosphere around the house. I don't know if MIL will see it, but I'm hoping her friends put a bug in her ear. You know, he's not related to you anymore...

woo hoo!

2

days until
my divorce
is FINAL!

On the phone with female bailiff:

"What do I need to bring other than the parenting class certificate and the settlement document?"

"Nothing, really. You don't even need the settlement document if it's uncontested. The judge will make one for you."

"Wow. Really? But if I bring one?"

"Oh, he'll look at it and incorporate it if he feels like it. But he may just make a new one."

"What if my wife hasn't completed the parenting course? How does that affect me?"

"Oh, you'll get divorced anyway. The judge will just make her take the class within 30 days or show cause why she can't."

"So what's the deal on Friday?"

"All pro se uncontested divorces go at 8:15 a.m. What's your name?"

"Johnson"

"Yeah. You're the only one on the docket."

"Well, that was easy."

Happy dance! Happy dance! Happy dance! Happy dance! Happy dance! Happy dance!

nervous

2

days until
my divorce
hearing

Well, I still need to divide the debts (it's done in principle, I just have to write it all down). I'll work on it over lunch. She-who is coming over tomorrow night to read through the agreement and sign off on it. I need to call the clerk today and find out what I need to bring, what effect the parenting class has onthe proceedings and whether I need to have the agreement notarized before I go to court.

*groan*

3

days until
my divorce
hearing

I still have yet to list out the debts/accounts that we are splitting. I can't get a hold of She-who to find out when we're going over the papers or if she'll be able to squeeze in the parenting course. (Probably not.)

I'm very, very sad right now. Feel like I'm neglecting everything...

joe schmillionaire

'Joe Millionaire' Chooses Zora on Finale? How could he choose Zora over Sarah? Just look at the picture! How could just resist such beauty mixed with such blatant subservience? She'd be like the perfect wife. She wouldn't mind being locked away in a closet if you were tired of her. If you look at the other pix over at The Smoking Gun it's clear that not only does she enjoy play with other women, but she like to tie them up too! And if you're in the mood she'll even tie you up!

What more could you ask for in a mate?

And those hooters!

DISCLAIMER: I have never watched "Joe Millionaire" nor do the opinions expressed above necessarily reflect those of 'Bitchen' Ric or the National Baseball League.

oy vey!

4

days until
my divorce
is "final"

I got all depressed over this last night. I'm hoping the judge says "Fine, I'll sign off on this when she proves she's completed the course, but there's no need for another hearing date." I hope.

I still can't find my birth certificate or our marriage license. I'm almost positive I had the license out earlier...

new links

Christine has linked to me for a while I think. I remember reading this before.

Very nice poetry. Also some limerence thrown in there.

Also, I finally got around to linking Midnight Magicka. Sorry about that, Mag.

you've got questions, I've got answers

Moire asks:

What do you want to be when you grow up?
Ironically, I think I've spent my professional and educational career working up to exactly the job I have. I love being an e-commerce Web developer. I have the right blend of programming, big picture, managerial and language skills to do exactly what I'm doing and I'm good at it. Plus the company I work for is incredible. It's almost a college dorm environment.

Let me answer in two ways:

What I would change about my current job:
Shorter hours, and closer to home.

What other jobs I think I would like/be good at:
Writer. Composer/Arranger. Recording Studio Engineer. Independent E-commerce Web Store Manager.

What 10 things would you like to add to your "Lists about you" say in the next 5 years?

Have overcome depression
Published in national magazines
Recorded/produced an album
Have washboard abs
Successfully raising three teenage girls
In love with a beautiful, intelligent, funny woman
Have personally finished my unfinished basement
Have been blogging six years
Discovered a way to shave my own back
Deflowered a few virgins (volunteers?)

crappity crap

5

days until
my divorce
is "final"

I found out tonight that She-who-must-not-be-named hasn't completed the court-mandated parenting course that we have to have completed (a 2-hour course) before the divorce can be final. And it looks like she won't be able to take it this week. I going forward with the proceedings, but it may not be final till she completes the course.

Shit.

yaaay!!!!

6

days until
my divorce
is final

Well, I owe Yndy something large and expensive. I just came back from the library (I got a late start--I slept till 1:20 p.m. after seeing Daredevil last night) where I spent less than an hour completeing the entire divorce decree (in fill-in-the-blank Word doc format) except for debt division. I just need to look up all the amounts and account numbers for that. Whoo-hoo!!!

I still don't know if I need to take birth certificates, marriage liscense etc. to court. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Now I'm off to Fort Wayne with MIL to shop for a washer and dryer (She-who is getting the old ones) at Sears. Thank God for Tax returns.

holy shit! thanks yndy!

Yndy pointed me to this: Self-Service Center: Court Forms: Divorce With Children. There's the form I need to prepare already there in Word format in fill-in-the-blank format. She just saved me days of work! Thank you!!!

excitment!

The poll results are an exciting race right now. "Ask everyone I know to meet me at a bar to celebrate" has 5 votes, but "Find somplace quiet with a few friends to drink and play games" has 6! I will do whatever the final tally is on Feb 20th. So vote now!

Also, thanks to the two men (I assume) who voted for "Go to a meat-market bar with a couple of male friends and look for meaningless sex." Can I assume you are the two guys I'd take with me?

sigh

7

days until
my divorce
is final

Well, yesterday's lunch was spent writing the John Ritter piece below. Last night was no better. I ended up tired anyway and watched the rest of Hearts in Atlantis so I could take it in, and ran to Wal-Mart because MIL needed hamburger and fabric softener. By the time I got home at 9:30, "That 70's Show" was on and I thought I'd watch the end of it before sleeping at 10:00.

I should have known better.

A double episode of "King of the Hill" kept me up until 11:00. Shit.

Doing bank errands over lunch today and that Valentine's thing with a friend tonight. I may have some time after work to get a start, but it looks like tomorrow morning. I'll let you know.

ADDENDUM: I am a bit concerned that I don't know exactly what documents are required for court. Anyone with Indiana experience out there?

john ritter dance
from the TMI department

It happened this morning. I was suddenly possessed by the pratfall poltergeist that somehow escaped from John Ritter.

It happened when I got out of the shower. I went to don my clean, white, folded boxer briefs with the familiar "FTL" logo around the waistband. Except they were a bit tight trying to pull them up my thighs. And they weren't boxer briefs--they were whitey-tighties.

In short, they weren't mine.

The moment I realized they weren't mine, the pratfall poltergeist borrowed from Mr. Ritter invaded my body and I nearly tripped during my one-legged hop-dance to rid myself of the awful entity. I couldn't have been more disgusted or removed them more quickly had it been a king cobra I was trying to don.

A few seconds of flappy-handed shaking and shivering in disgust later, I gingery plucked the poisonous pair and pitched them.

On the waistband, I saw, was an "M," Tattooine's last initial. Prison laundry mark? Do homeless drunks that live in their trucks without a driver's license need to mark their eidy-didies?

See what happens when you clean the bedroom and your mother-in-law washes the bleach load?

Shudder.

new poll

New poll at right.

Vote early. Vote often.

maybe i'll just stay single for a long, long time

how true, how very, very true

progress?

8

days until
my divorce
is final

MIL decided to go out for the evening, which was very good news. I made the kids dinner and got them headed toward bed and found myself dead tired from nearly two weeks of short sleep. I had rented Hearts in Atlantis because it was free when I rented Sweet Home Alabama for the girls. So I decided to read up on the divorce documents (I have a very helpful guide called Divorce Yourself: The National No-Fault Divorce Kit by Daniel Sitarz, ISBN 0-935755-63-2) and watch a little of the movie as I'd just finished the audiobook version of the novel. I read and discovered that the document construction will be easier than I'd imagined--my mind had made it a huge task since the last time I picked up the book.

So I watched about 45 minutes of Hearts and called it a night about 9:00. Then I remembered that I had to get Sweet Home Alabama back to the video store as it was a new release and it was only a one-day rental. So I begrudgingly re-dressed and took the movie back and made it back into the sack about 9:30. I slept till 5:30, so I actually got eight hours of sleep. That's very good for me. Long-time readers know what a major effect sleep has my whole being.

I have now decided that getting to bed by 10:00 every night until the divorce (Friday an exception as I can sleep late on Saturday) is nearly as important as writing the documents. I should be able to get something done over lunch today on the divorce outline anyway.

Thank God for floppy disks.

divorce countdown

9

days until
my divorce
is final

Tell all your friends! For the next 9 nine days I'll be counting down until my divorce is final. I'll even blog over the weekend! I'm am preparing my own settlement document. I was advised by a lawyer that if I'd already come this far on my own and nothing is contested, then filing it myself shouldn't be a problem. So far I've written exactly none of the document. I have a good guide to go by, but I haven't formalized anything. MIL had been leeching my available time and that's going to stop.

I'd like to ask that you refrain from criticism over my decision to file this without a lawyer. I know well most of your stories and arguments. It's too late to do anything about it now anyway. (Unless I file a continuance, and nobody involved wants that.) All comments of support and encouragement are, of course, welcome.

My goal for tonight is to outline the whole document (with empty spaces for each section). Come by tomorrow and see how I did. Hopefully blogging this will help me to be accountable and make me more goal-oriented.

stupid quiz time

YOU RAN OVER A SMALL CHILD AND LEFT HIM TO DIE!!!

what's YOUR deepest secret?
brought to you by Quizilla

request and requests?

Does anyone have a copy of the Parker Brother's game called Pit that they are willing to part with? I'd like to get a deck, but don't feel like paying full retail plus shipping on the Net and I can't find it in town. Anyone?

Also, I'm taking blog requests. Are there any plot lines (of my life) that I've introduced here but haven't revisited? Anything you're dying to know how it came out? Let me know. Also, if you want to send me a list of questions (no matter how personal) I'll be happy to attempt to answer them. (I reserve the right to not answer any question, but I doubt that there's many I won't answer.)

a must-see

Between "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "The X-Files" is "Miracles."

You'll regret not catching it from the beginning.

a must-read

POPSCRATCH in ultra fine point sharpie is Certified Bitchen. Especially check out the personalized fiction in Throat.

That is all.

dammit!

My office manager just handed me my new "Group Benefits" pamplet. Under the list of Non-covered Losses is:

auto-erotic asphixiation

Now I have to get additional insurance for that...

mp3 help

Does anyone have (or can anyone make or find) an mp3 of "Let Me Clear My Throat" by DJ Kool? My girls would be eternally grateful!

UPDATE: LilFluffy got it for me. Thanks, Fluff!

hoo boy

Phone conversation with She-who-must-not-be-named last night:

Your mom is psycho.

I know, she's a real downer, that's why I don't hang around her. I couldn't live with her.

Here's what I'm thinking, I don't know what you'll think about it.

What's that?

I think I'll get you and your two brothers together and say "Look, I know you don't like your mom very much, and you think she's a psycho bitch, but she's your psycho bitch, not mine. I have no responsibility to her. You guys need to help her find a place to go."

That's the smartest thing I've ever heard you say.

"Ever?"

30-06?

How do you divorce your mother-in-law? The apple didn't fall far from the tree I guess.

very nice

Katie maybe katherine is a very engaging read. Thanks to her $10 donation to buy Tony Pierce a Car, and his requisite back link, I've found one of those blogs that you can't stop reading. Even her limerence stories about her boyfriend, Matthew, are terribly endearing.

I need to set up a paypal link...

Impotence Drug Makes Life Hard for Family

Gosh, do you think they could have chosen a better headline?

i think I know why the shuttle broke up...

...it's a wonder it didn't go back in time, too.

housecreeping

Yahoo! Mail
I've finally cured the problem of my perpetually full Yahoo! Mail acct. I wanted to offload some messages, but didn't want to pay $30/yr for the privilege of outgoing POP service. So I found this utility: YahooPops! that allowed me to offload 1600 messages to my local copy of Eudora. It was nice to get those 1400 emails from The Woman Who Never Answers the Phone off of my account. I couldn't bear to delete them. Not yet. They still mean too much to me. So now I won't have to perpetually remove messages to just to make sure there's room for the next Blog Comment email.

Anger Management
The "dog method" of anger management (see pics at right) seems to be a great success. The linked post above details the last major use of it back in June. Of course, not having She-who-must-not-be-named around helps with my stress level, but MIL seems to have taken up that role. So many things don't upset me that used to (of course, it could be Celexa helping) but I am so concious of the things that will upset me and I deal with them. It only took about three turns of the dog to manage it. Less than a month. Very cool.

If you try it and find it successful, email me. I'll post your stories.

angst

How Fresh! is the new blog from the creator of Lavender Kitchen. Her first (and to press time, only) post is frighteningly real and just plain frightening.

I am a child. I am an adult. I’m coming into my own right now, as we speak. I’m surrounded by a government that makes no sense. I see a president whose malapropisms are becoming less and less funny the closer we move to war. There is a possibility that my best friends would lay their lives on the line upon the order of a man who talks big politics at the same time he’s teeing off. ...

I don’t want to be Britney Spears. I don’t want to be Avril Lavigne. I don’t want to be the societal image of ‘girl.’ I’ve become non-gendered.

Good stuff.

bugger!

Rejection and miscommunication from every possible angle in the last twelve hours. My stomach is in knots. I think I'm pissing a lot of people off by accident. Or it could be that another rhymes-with-witch ripped me a new one for no good reason last night. Nothing tears me up more than knowing I pissed someone off, even if it was nothing I did.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa

Now every non-communication is interpreted by me as willful and malicious even when it could simply be that the other party is simply busy or incommunicado for some reason.

she-who-must-update

Last news is that She-who-must-not-be-named is considering moving out of Pegleg's trailer into an apartment near her children. Her Epiphany of a week ago seems to have far-reaching consequences. I'm starting to think her "epiphany" was her "hitting bottom" (in addict-speak) and she might be on an upswing.

To date our verbal agreement to have me have primary physical custody at the time of the divorce (Feb 21st) still stands. I have to write everything up for the court and re-distribute assets to cover the truck, but all should work out fine. Less than a month to go. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

boggle : or chat with a clueless woman

Just now.

bitchen.rm: Something on your profile baffles me.
bitchen.rm: You list one of my turn-ons as a turn-off: Erotica. How can Erotica be a turn off? Are we defining the word in the same way?
clueless_girl: I don't care to take it up the ass.
bitchen.rm: Huh?
clueless_girl: that is what I think when I think Erotica
bitchen.rm: Erotica is sexual stories.
bitchen.rm: They can be very tame.
clueless_girl: I love sex magazines and books
bitchen.rm: That's erotica!
clueless_girl: my bad

boomhauer-in-law

It struck me last night during Nightline that my mother-in-law, when out of her element, turns into Boomhauer from "King of the Hill."

She'd told me that there was a break-in special report during her soaps about the UN and Iraq. Her ineffectual description included intriguing phrases like "look like we're going to attack" and "the U.S. may have to go it alone." I decide to turn on Nightline to get the real facts. We watch it together. I have to translate the pundit-speak for her. Hell, I have to translate the newscaster for her. She lets it cook in the back of her mind for a while and waxes Boomhauer on me:

"You know the, uh, Bible talks about them there uh, dang Palestinians and Israelis and Arabs over there and the fighting and whatever."

"You know that guy... who was that guy? That one who lived 400 years ago. That astrologist?"
"Nostradamus?"
"Yeah, Nosterdamis or whatever, he predicted all of this. He predicted that there'd be a Saddam."

"Ah, them people over there are all nuts anyway, you know? It's nothin' for them to wake up in the morning and chop someone's head off?"
"Yeah, I guess"

Should I bother to mention that the form letter she got from Woman's World magazine was gospel to her? "They want me to send a clearer picture but they think my grandson is cute!" Then I had the decidedly heartbreaking task of explaining the letter she got yesterday after sending a second picture meant what it said--that they'd keep it on file and use it if they needed it. She was in such denial that she was baffled by the simplest of phrases. Never occurred to her that the Beautiful Baby Editor told every grandmother that sent in a picture that their baby was so cute and she must be proud.

Sad that.

mother-in-law visits the gynecologist

This is a story she was fond of repeating a while back. I thought she'd retired it till I overheard her tell it again on the phone the other day.

So I'm at the gynecologist, and it's this other young guy I've never seen before. He asks me when my last paps test was and I'm like "don't you have my chart?" you know. So asked me if I wanted one and I said "sure, since I'm here." It took him forever. I don't know what he was doing, but it hurt like hell. It felt like he was in there with a staple gun or something. After about five minutes he asks me:

"Are you sure you haven't had a hysterectomy? I can't find your cervix!"

At this point I slap my hands to my face and shake my head, kicking myself for listening to that story again.

you too, can know what it's like to live with my mother-in-law

Background: MIL is a widow of seven years, highly opinionated and uncontradictable if you don't want personal offense and a large, loud argument on your hands. In other words, she's always right. She talks to hear herself talk. She's a good storyteller when talking about past events, but her other talking is generally filled with inaccuracies and mispronunciations and statements of fact based on old wives tales.

let's read the store ads
"Now I'm not telling you what to buy or anything, I just want you to know what's a good deal and that. Here's T-bones for $2.99. I've got them for $1.99 but the price of beef is going up."

Huh? It is? You've done the commodities research then?

"It says here that the chuck-eye roast is... well I'm not sure what that is, but it's Angus. That's the best kind of cow, you know."

For what?

"They've got green beans here for twenty-five cents a can. That's cheaper than Aldi's. I think I paid twenty-nine or thirty-nine there."

So you want me to by a gross then? I can save $14.40 on a hundred and forty-four cans of french-style green beans.

"Big Lots gets that gourmet food in sometimes, you know..."

They do? The clearance store goes looking for great deals on food that would normally be served in fine New York french restaurants? What part of a box of really good cornbread mix at a good price makes it gourmet?

"You know your wife bought them special cookies or whatever they are in the cupboard and I asked her what she paid for them. She said 'five dollars, I splurged.' 'Well, Christ,' I said 'You can buy the same damn thing at Big Lots for two bucks!' That's why you never had any money, Ric, that and she used to buy from the Schwann's man the same stuff you can buy at Aldi's for a lot less."

Right, who cares that Aldi's reeks of a white trash salmonella factory and the brands you get are suspect in their misspellings of the products they contain.

"Stick with me, Ric, I'll learn ya how to save money."

Y'know I'm really trying to watch the Super Bowl here and not strangle you.

let's talk to my boss
Me: Hey, Boss, you know I'm living with my mother-in-law?
Boss: Yep! You gettin' any?
Me: Fuck you! (I like that I can say that to my boss...)

Later
Me: Hey, [MIL], I told Boss that I was living with you and he asked if I was "gettin' any" Ha ha.
MIL: Well, you go tell your boss that after seven years, it's probably growed shut.

I'll only tell the gynecologist story by request...

you can't have one without the other

MIL is just a complete mix of good and bad things. She's staying. She actually agreed to be more discrete when talking about She-who-must-not-be-named. I told her that I appreicated all of her cleaning, cooking, and 100 loads/6 weeks of laundry-doing. I also appreciate the way she's teaching the kids to pick up after themselves. And I told her so. I'd rather not live with her as a person, but it's the best thing right now. The girls wanted her to stay and I concurred.

Ironically, I believed what caused my wife's epiphany on Wednesday was sparked by a ranting speech from her mother on the phone. She-who called to bitch at MIL about her badmouthing, and MIL let her have it. Basically told her that if She-who got the kids, her depression and anxiety would plummet again and she's already in bad shape. Apparently her therapist agreed with her. I must say I'm grateful to MIL for saying things to her that I couldn't say.

They hate each other now, but things are for the best otherwise.

P.S. For the rationale behind why I'm paying for the truck to settle this, see comments on previous post.

shower head
...or how my life and wife turned around overnight

My old shower head was spraying streams in random directions. My showers had become frustrating and unfulfilling. The lingering aftereffects of a particularly demeaning taunt by my shower head inspired me to get a new one when I was at Meijer buying stuff to fix my car.

It wasn't displayed nicely with the more expensive, shiny, massaging shower heads. It sat, huddled with a dozen of it's twins--each in it's own hang bag, marked $3.49. It's white plastic shell screamed "economy!" and it's nondescript packaging struck me as what must be like homelessness to new shower heads. It asked me why I would pay a minimum of ten dollars for a low-end Shower Massage, when I could take home the runt mutt puppy of shower heads for less than four dollars? My bank account asked the same thing.

This morning, I removed my chrome-plated plastic nemesis, and screwed my new white friend on before I took my shower. I ran the tap hot before engaging the shower. Then...

The Handel's Messiah of Showers! I heard the weeping, hollow sounds of angel's song as the strong, evenly spaced jets of water assaulted my upper body in concert. No aberrant, arcing spews poked at my eyes. No dribbles fell to the tub suicidally before even attempting to cleanse me. Just strong, even, ruler-straight streams flying in military formation to conquer the despot of my filth.

This morning is a good one.

My mother-in-law is still around but not speaking to me. The best of both worlds.

My wife had an epiphany yesterday and agreed that the kids should be with me until she overcomes her depression and addiction. There will be no custody battle as long as I pay for her truck. Good deal, I say. Divorce should be final on February 21st

And showers are back on my list of tranquilizers.

i think i may have fired my mother-in-law

Now, she might have just felt threatened by my mention that my mom was retiring next week and offered to relieve her from duties for short spans if she wanted, but I'm not convinced of that.

What you have to understand about MIL (Mother-In-Law) is that the way you get along with her is to let her rant. She rants for hours on end--and never contradict her because she's always right. Some of her rants are stories (she's an effective and funny storyteller), some of them true rants about what shit She-who is doing or other relatives or whatever. And she has no problem ranting about She-who in front of the kids--a fact that irritates me to no end.

When she's not ranting to me, she's ranting on the phone to her friend or two. My eldest has often asked why grandma has to tell all of her friends about "us" kids. She does it because she is acting in loco parentis for my wife. She has gone as far as imagining that she's their new mom. Since I'm home with them only for a few hours a night during the week, her live-in babysitting, laundry-doing and child rearing has been welcome. She makes a point of telling me how the kids were that day or when I wasn't around and what she said to the children.

After an hour-and-a-half rant last night I couldn't keep silent. I broke the unspoken law about contradicting her. There was no way I couldn't gently recommend that she not disparage their mother in front of them and to them.

She didn't get it.

She insisted that her daughter was lazy, insolent, incompetent, etc. I told her that, while this may be true, you don't have to constantly repeat it to the kids. You can say "I know you are not used to picking up after yourselves, but we're all going to try to do better," rather than, "I know your mother let you get away with not picking up after yourselves but things are going to be different with me." It's a subtle but important difference. The semantics were lost on her. My long-time readers know that She-who has a problem with understanding why semantics are important, but knows what they are. MIL has no clue.

"I suppose you've never said anything bad about her to the kids?"

"[MIL], I bend over backwards not to talk bad about her in front of them. If I do, it's what's necessary and a fraction of what you do."

She took it as a personal affront and started down to her bedroom weeping, "I'm going to pack up. I'm leaving."

"What? You're packing?"

"You heard me. I'm packing up and leaving. Your mom is retired, let her take care of them."

Sigh.

So, I don't know if it was an empty threat or not, but it did sound like she was down there packing last night. She could be gone today, I don't know.

My mom certainly can't come stay with me--nor would I never allow it, she'd drive me--literally--crazy, plus she has dad to babysit. MIL has nowhere to go. She has so much stuff in my house now...

I don't know...

On the bright side, a beautiful young woman invited me to a party thrown by other people I know this weekend. (A super bowl party on Saturday--go figure. The hostess says she doesn't want to be up too late on Sunday night.)

woo-hoo! i'm number ten!

Google Search: britney spears abs breasts

new years eve 2003

Dr. Ric and the Women

Life is tough when you have such magnetism for the opposite sex. You can't really go anywhere without them swarming. And if there's a camera around, forget it. They all want to be on permanant record as having been seen with me.

Thanks to Catalyst and his trusty digital camera, my New Year's Eve was not a quiet one. Every time he raised the camera, every babe in the room would be right there. On my lap. Around my neck. Thank God that cameras were barred from the Little Boys Room or I would have found no respite. "Take my picture with Bitchen Ric!" "No me!" "No, I want to." Good Lord, it was finally nice to find a room to hide in so I could get some sleep that night. Well, I mean, thank Christ that Keith Richards doesn't want his picture with me or I'd have never gotten any sleep.

I wish Charlton Heston felt the same way. My ass was never really the same after that one.

the middle child

I've never come up with a pseudonym for my middle child, who is ten years old. She doesn't really have a pretend name or anything, so I think I'll call her Mallory after "Malcom in the Middle" (and a little "Family Ties").

Mallory lost a tooth last night. Actually, I pulled it. In the bathroom. It was just hanging there. Afterwards, I closed the bathroom door and asked her confidentially:

"Mal, is there a Tooth Fairy?"

She grinned and giggled, "no..."

"Oh. I wasn't sure if you knew. Did I tell you? How did you find out?"

"I saw you bring in the dollar the last time," she chuckled.

"Oh. So I can just give you a dollar then and eliminate the hassle?"

"Sure."

I pulled a dollar out of my pocket and handed it to her.

"Thanks!" she said joyully.

"Don't tell The Rooster."

"I won't," she grinned and skipped off to her room.

A friend at work tells the story of his last tooth fairy visit when he was seven. He was feigning sleep on the couch one Friday night after watching "Shock Theatre" and when Mom-cum-Tooth-Fairy came to deliver the goods, he lept up and screamed at her, scaring the bejesus out of the poor woman. His dad was so mad about it he blurted, "You're going to be a rich little kid, 'cause I'm gonna knock all your teeth out for that..."

guess what she got for christmas

To My Most

Fabulous Most

Outrageous Daddy!

To my fabulous most outrageous Daddy,
Hey good look'n, you fabulous beyond
fabulous dad. Daddy you are so funny,
awesome and cool. You are my universe. My
dad. The one and only.
Do you know what I want for
Christmas? I know what I want for Christmas.
I want a $50 gift card from Wal-Mart. For
your princess. Your angel. The one and only.
I must, let me repeat, must have this.
I must say that this gift, that I know
that you'll get me, will show you that I can be
responsible, you won't have to take your time
away from us, it will only take ten minutes to
find it, it's the perfect gift for me and always
will. You know that mom used to spend $150 on
gifts for me, so this is a bargain, and again I
must, repeat, must have a $50 gift card to
Wal-Mart.

   Love,
      You Sweet Angel Daughter,
         Katie

custody again

For those of you following along in your Bitchen! Manual, I got custody of my middle child on Saturday. I now have custody of all three. I could not let her stay in the environment that her mother was putting her in. (Suffice it to say that the situation was drug-related.) Until we get a court order, I will only allow her supervised visitation. By law, there's nothing preventing her from taking my kid(s) into her custody, so all I can do is prevent her from having them alone.

Now, if my goddamn lawyer would return my phone calls.

"don't settle for anything less"

I don't know if I've ever told my father of the important lesson he taught me when I was twelve. He wasn't trying to teach me a life lesson. He was trying to teach me how to roll up my sleeves.

My father was a rolled-up-sleeve kind of guy. Hated the button-down shirts he always wore. Every shirt he ever wore when I was a kid was a two-pocket, long-sleeved, button-down broadcloth shirt. (He didn't graduate to Oxford cloth till I was in college.) He always had two pockets--one for cigarettes and one for a notepad and pens. He wore long sleeves to protect his arms at work. (I wear long sleeves because short sleeves give me that "K-Mart Manager" look.)

He was an inventory cycle counter for International Harvester and did a lot of walking around all day. His overweight and the factory environment made it a hot day and he always ended up with his sleeves rolled up by the time he climbed in his car to come home.

As dutiful, emulating sons, my two older brothers and I learned to roll up our sleeves at school when things got steamy. It was not uncommon for the four of us to sit at the dinner table eating mom's meat and potatoes du jour, all with rolled up sleeves.

One day when I was twelve, he watched me clumsily roll up my sleeves and decided to comment:

"What do you call that?" he asked, in a sort of nice belittlement.

"I rolled up my sleeves."

"Let me show you how to do that. Roll them back down."

I pushed the crumpled and rolled cotton cloth back down my arms and smoothed out the wrinkles.

"Here," he said, folding the cuff back right on the seam. "fold it back like this and smooth it out."

Where the cuff fell, he bent the cloth to make another overlapping fold and another, folding the cloth up my arm rather than rolling it.

"You try," he said, indicating my other sleeve.

I folded the cuff back like he had and attempted the second fold. Without the stitching as a guide, the cloth started to wrinkle as I folded. He gently took the cuff from my hand, unfolded the sleeve and began folding it again, showing me how to smooth the cloth from each fold before attempting the next to preserve the clean lines.

"When you fold each one, smooth it out completely," he said, smoothing his most recent fold, "don't settle for anything less."

That statement changed my life. So many times after that when I found myself doing something that was turning out half-assed, I'd hear my father's words. The admonishment was not, to me, just advice in rolling up your sleeves nicely, but in doing all things nicely.

"Line up those pages before you staple, don't settle for anything less."

"Make sure that code is bug-free, don't settle for anything less."

"Make sure the floor is completely clean, don't settle for anything less."

And ultimately:

"Be a total father, don't settle for anything less."

tears

This entry from Chappy has me near tears. Not the entry, but that my middle daughter is ten and that's what her handwriting looks like and that's a note that she'd write.

I haven't seen her since last Friday. She is with her mom and her one-legged boyfriend in a mobile home 40 minutes from everywhere. She was supposed to start a new school this week. Her mom was supposed to get a phone. She-who's cell phone is shut off due to non-payment and she has no phone yet. I didn't get to schedule visitation this week. I'm worried terribly about my daughter. And I miss her. And I can't even get ahold of her or her mom.

I'm just gonna drive up there after work. What other choice do I have?

I hope she's okay.

Daddy's coming, honey.

the savant-symbolic-spatial mathematical rooster, part 2

Back in April I told a story of the amazing "savant-symbolic-spatial" mathematical skills of The Rooster, my seven-year-old daughter. I've seen a couple more astounding examples in the last week, and I thought I'd share. Sorry if I come across as one of those annoying proud parents, but I am one of those annoying proud parents.

Example 1

Me: "Roo! What's seven times five?"

Keep in mind that she hasn't studied multiplication, but has rather gleaned the concept from her older sisters. Her eyes roll up as they have since she was doing addition at age four. You can almost see her moving blocks of data in her mind. She does this for about fifteen seconds.

"Thirty-five?"

"Yes, Rooster! I'm so proud! That's right! How did you do that?"

"Well, seven plus seven is fourteen. Fourteen plus fourteen is twenty-eight. Twenty-eight plus seven is thirty-five."

My God, I think, She's grouping and sub-multiplying. She totally understands the concept and has found a way to not only keep a running sum, but keep track of how many sevens she's used (even though she had an odd number of them and used them in twos), and how many are left.

Example 2

"Hey, Roo! What's eight times three?"

Again the eyes roll and fifteen seconds pass...

"Twenty-four?"

She's only seven? "Yes! That's right" I'm beaming, "how did you do that?"

"Well, I figured eight times three is the same as three times eight. So if you do eight plus eight you get sixteen plus four is twenty, then plus the last four is twenty-four."

Splitting down numbers into managable parts to use easier intermediate sums. AND! she either deduced or learned from her sisters of the commutative property of multiplication. Holy shit.

Her grandmother will be quick to point out that when she woke up every morning before Christmas she could instantly tell you how many days until Christmas before she was even awake--and The Rooster is definitely not a morning person.

setting the lust record straight

Rebecca Romijn-Stamos' classic milk ad

Let me set the record straight right here and now.

Mr. Artist rendered that picture from an inspiration triggered by my musings of having taken my oldest to see her in concert. I told him there were exactly two type of people there: Pre-teen girls who'd love to meet her and get and autograph, and fathers there to stare at her body. He needed a "father" for the picture and asked if I minded being the model. I thought it'd be funny. But let me say this:

I am not a breast man.
I do not stare, leer or even notice breasts unless they are totally out of the ordinary. I've never looked a woman's breasts before looking at her eyes. But let me say this:

I am an ab man.
Well, derriers certianly rank right up there, but there's nothing like a woman with a hint of a six-pack to do the trick. Now Britney's got some great abs, but she's no Rebecca Romijn-Stamos. I mean, just look at that!

I hope that clears things up.

dream, artist's rendering

The artist at work is working on a label for a Britney parody product. He graciously included my likeness as part of the illustration.

This really doesn't go very far in contradicting Allen's mention (in comments) of the Britney Shrine in my office, I guess. What he doesn't realize is that I've removed that shrine and redecorated with a Mary-Kate and Ashley Shrine.

Oh, I also liked Mary T.'s interpretaion of my dream:

"I think it sounds like you wish you could make all
your daughter's dreams come true...and find a place
to exist that is in the middle of a peaceful nowhere!"

Sounds damned innocent of me doesn't it? Awwww....

dream one

I slept a bunch last night. Mostly owing to the fact I fell asleep with all of my clothes on and my contacts in at about 9:00 last night. Hadn't intended to. I've been doing that a lot lately. I don't know if it's depression, lack of sleep, or the fact that She-who-must-not-be-named always yelled at me to wake up when I did that before.

Long story short, I woke up refreshed at 4:30 this morning and remembered a couple of dreams that I'd had. In the second one we were living in a remote, rural house (that I did not recognize) and we'd come from a charity concert that I was in. Evidently, Britney Spears was at the same concert but I didn't realize that.

Apparently, her entourage/convoy got lost leaving the concert and they stopped by our house in the middle of the night. Now mind you, Britney never admitted that they were lost, only that she was really, really tired.

"I know this is really awkward and a bad time and all, but my girls would be thrilled to meet you," said I.

"Of course!" she cheerfully agreed. So I went and woke the younger two up and she said "hi" and they hugged her elatedly. (I refrained, you sickos.) Then I took her into my 11-year-old's room and she hugged Britney sleepily and Britney laid down beside her to catch some Z's. In the morning, all were ecstatic to have breakfast with her.

Then I woke up.

I just love reading stories of dreams, but I seldom remember mine. Since I remembered this one so vividly, I thought I'd share.

mea blogum culpa

I've been off of work all week. It's hard for me to blog at home. I've been doing other stuff.

I seldom blog on weekends. I'm gonna put my laptop in my bedroom, then when I get a PCMCIA modem (or PCMCIA USB + USB modem) I'll probably start blogging from bed. :)

It's a bitch with my computer in the basement.

I am considering setting up a PayPal donation button to offset my legal fees for my upcoming custody battle. Is that gouche? Some people have set them up to finance vacations. Hmmmm...

dingoes ate my baby!

Actually She-who-must-be-named returned only two out of three of my kids yesterday. My middle daughter says she wants to stay with mom. She's only ten and has no idea of the problems She-who is having right now. Trust me, it's not a good environment. She-who says she wants to enroll my daughter in the school near the trailer park on Monday.

There's not much I can do as the legal is still pending. I'm not going to play tug-of-war with my daughter. I can't get my lawyer on the phone (holidays, I think).

I can't prove there's any endangerment going on, either. But I'm relatively certain it is going on. I'm terrified that the courts will see the enrollment as a tacit acceptance on my part. But I don't want to put my kid through hell either. "Get in the car kid!" I can't do that.

Needless to say, it was a bad day yesterday.

away from the manger

Police in Hamilton, N.J., are investigating a kidnapping. Or, rather, a theft: the figure of baby Jesus was taken from its manger in a Nativity display in front of a private home. "Whoever did it must've really planned this out, you know like a bank robbery," said homeowner Candy Konczos. The Messiahnappers left a ransom note demanding $800 "if you ever wanna see your baby Jesus again." The doll was bought from Sears and worth about $69. A police spokesman said the case "does smack of kids playing a prank," but the ransom note is "kind of unsettling." The note was signed "Me, him and the other kid who was really scared and didn't want to take your baby Jesus and the whole time all he did was say stuff like 'you're going to hell.'" (Trenton Trentonian)

...from This is True

all i want for christmas...

Dear Santa,

I've been a good boy this year. I don't want much. All I want is:

Mary T's writing ability
Tony Pierce's mojo
Chappy's dry humor
Fluffy's single parenting ability
Nancy Nall's intestinal fortitude
Edie's urban social circles
Kristín's bilingual talent and cosmoplitan wit
Yndy's casusal reaction to stress
Derek's apathy about how much people like him
Melissa's age-to-insight ratio
This Fish's innate ability to write in Bridget Jones' voice
Moire's ability to get the hell out of Fort Wayne, Indiana

Thanks,
Ric

P.S. Did I mention Tony Pierce's mojo?

asshole

I gave my brother a birthday card today that said:

men may be from mars but brothers are definitely from uranus

I'm convinced that everyone I know and everyone I've met in the past few months believes me a complete asshole. So many things have happened in the last 24 hours to reassure me of this. I'm not going to bother to recount them. I've been told for years that I turn people away with my words. I don't know how the fuck to act. Perhaps She-who-must-not-be-named was correct on this count. I am too emotionally repulsive even to get a date I think. I'm destined to hermitage as a curmudgeonly asshole. How the fuck does anyone put up with me? Why did She?

If I were to pick up the phone right now, I can't think of a single person, when asked for complete honesty, that wouldn't confirm this. Elle? Krisitín? Allen? Fluffy? Mary? Catalyst? Nance? Anyone? Be honest...

love stories told in pictures

The subject of a spam I got this moring was "Love stories told in pictures." Awwwww. Isn't that sweet? Of course, the body of the message read:

HAR.CORE
UNCENSORED
ANIMATED
VIDEO
+ MANGA CARTOONS
[URL deleted]
anime ... BEST ANIME!

Awwwww. Isn't that sweet?

anniversary

I missed it! The 12th was the anniversary of my first post! My blog is one year and one week old! Wow. How long it's been.

Thanks must be given to Mary T. for her inspiration and tutelage and to Tony Pierce for auctioning off his decayed wisdom tooth and drawing me to the ultimate of free-form madcap blogging. A special thanks goes to She-who-must-not-be-named, for without her, this blog would have been completely uninteresting.

NOTE: I fixed both Mary T.'s and Tony Pierce's hyperlinks. They were both wrong. Sorry.

the two towers

I saw Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers this morning at 12:01 a.m. Three theatres at the stadium complex down by my workplace sold out. Geeks-o-plenty. You pretty much have to admit you're a geek seeing the first showing of this movie at 12:01 a.m. on opening day.

The movie itself was stunning if occasionally confusing over who was good and who was bad. Nearly half the film is comprised of the most spectacular battle scenes I've seen. Ever. There are many laugh-out-loud moments, which was refreshing in a movie that could easily have taken itself way too seriously.

For the three hours I slept after the movie (it was 3 hours long not including credits) I kept dreaming of the movie. Except the characters weren't human actors. They were little boxes as derived from meme quizzes like "Which LoTR Character are you?" (see below) The picture boxes with poorly-aliased text were conversing and bonding to fight. Wierd. By the fourth alarm snooze, the Elfs had joined us.

	You are most like Frodo. You're very friendly, and you have a great personality. Although you like to have fun, you can also be pretty serious at times. It's pretty hard to get you mad, but once you're mad...everybody better look out! Keep that temper under control and realize that you're better off than you may think.
What LoTR Character Are You?

see me beaming?

I am driving my 11-yr-old daughter to The Wal-Mart last night to get her glasses fixed.

"So, do you have a boyfriend?"

"Nope."

"No?" exclaims I, in mock incredulity. This is new.

"Well I had one a couple of days ago..."

Okay, this is the daughter I know.

"...but he was acting like a teenager," she explains.

"That's scary" I didn't say. "What do you mean?"

"Well he doesn't understand a relationship at our age. He was like 'do you want to go Putt-Putting with our moms?' and like that."

"Really!"

"He doesn't get that in an 11-year-old relationship all it means is that you hang out together and see each other sometimes around school. He's going to have to wait till he's like seventeen for that 'going out' stuff."

"Yeah," I agree.

"See, he's never had a girlfriend before and he doesn't understand that 'going out' doesn't mean 'going out'. He broke up with me. He lives right over there," she says pointing to a new house near The Wal-Mart.

"I'm so proud of you, honey."

how the US tax system works & what the democrats won't admit...

I was having lunch with one of my friends last week - a very liberal college professor - and the conversation turned to the government's recent round of tax cuts.

"I'm opposed to those tax cuts," the Professor declared, "because they benefit the rich. The rich get much more money back than ordinary taxpayers like you and me and that's not fair."

"But the rich pay more in the first place," I argued, "so it stands to reason they'd get more money back."

I could tell that my friend was unimpressed by this meager argument.

So I said to him, let's put tax cuts in terms everyone can understand: Suppose that every day 10 men go to a restaurant for dinner. The bill for all ten comes to $100.

If it was paid the way we pay our taxes,
The first four men paid nothing;
The fifth paid $1;
The sixth paid $3;
The seventh $7;
The eighth $12;
The ninth $18.
The tenth man (the richest) paid $59.

The 10 men ate dinner in the restaurant every day and seemed quite happy with the arrangement until the owner threw them a curve.

Since you are all such good customers, he said, I'm going to reduce the cost of your daily meal by $20.

Now, dinner for the 10 only costs $80. The first four are unaffected. They still eat for free. Can you figure out how to divide up the $20 savings among the remaining six so that everyone gets his fair share?

The men realize that $20 divided by 6 is $3.33, but if they subtract that from everybody's share, then the fifth man and the sixth man would end up being paid to eat their meal.

The restaurant owner suggested that it would be fair to reduce each man's bill by roughly the same percentage, being sure to give each a break, and he proceeded to work out the amounts each should pay.

And so now:
Along with the first four, the fifth man paid nothing,
The sixth pitched in $2,
The seventh paid $5,
The eighth paid $9,
The ninth paid $12,
Leaving the tenth man with a bill of $52 instead of $59.

Outside the restaurant, the men began to compare their savings, "I only got a dollar out of the $20," complained the sixth man, pointing to the tenth, "and he got $7!"

"Yeah, that's right," exclaimed the fifth man. "I only saved a dollar, too. It's unfair that he got seven times more than me!"

"That's true," shouted the seventh man. "Why should he get $7 back when got only $2? The wealthy get all the breaks!"

"Wait a minute," yelled the first four men. "We didn't get anything at all. The system exploits the poor."

Then, the nine men surrounded the tenth man (the richest one, paying the most) and beat him up.

The next night the richest man didn't show up for dinner, so now the nine men sat down and ate without him. But when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered something very important. They were $52 short!

And that, boys, girls and college professors, is how America's tax system works. The people who pay the highest taxes get the most benefit from a tax reduction. Tax them too much, attack them for being wealthy, and they just may not show up at the table any more.

from various and sundry places on the net.

address

I finally got Her on the phone last night. It was like pulling teeth to get her current address. I don't know what she was afraid of. That I would come over and steal stuff? Harass them? I don't know. I have been very open and relatively cheerful through all of this. She's been closed and dour. It's a bit frustrating.

Then there's my mother-in-law, who talks. All the time. It wouldn't be so bad if she didn't repeat herself so damned much.

oh!

And I finally got caught up on sleep. Should be able to be very productive today. I should sleep more often. My outlook is far rosier today.

parenting

Well, full-time parenting is going well so far. The fact that my mother-in-law is living with me is a big help (and marginally annoying). If you do the math you'll see that She-who was going to move the kids and leave her retired mother out in the cold. I get along better with her mom than she does. Anyway...

It's nice to be able to clean and not worry about Her stuff. Or what She'll think about where things are put away or what's thrown away. I don't think she's going to take her mid-week "parenting time" ("visitation" to those of you in Rio Linda, CA) and I'm even doubting if she's going to take her weekend this weekend. All the more fuel for my fire I guess, but sad for the kids.

mr. mom

My lawyer and I agreed that I'd talk to She-who-must-not-be-named before we got into legal action.

SATURDAY:
"You still going to move?" I ask.
"Yes."
"I think I'd like you to go ahead and move in with your boyfriend and leave the kids here with me."
"You said you couldn't afford the house."
"I said I couldn't afford the house if I were paying you child support. I think the kids would be better off here with me. In the same house. In the same school."
"Oh, they'll be fine."
"No they won't. It's too unstable. You're too unstable."
"Unstable? How am I unstable?"
In a way that everyone in two counties sees you are unstable except for you.
"You know. Moving them to a mobile home in another county. Moving guys in that you hardly know. Wanting to marry a guy you've known for four weeks* and live on his disablity, my support and quit your job so you can pay for your truck. That kind of unstable."
"What do the kids think?"
"Oh, they are all for staying here with me."
"Let's ask them."

I call them in. We ask them. Oldest and Youngest love the idea. Middle doesn't want to have to choose between parents. There is some discussion about splitting the kids up, but I'm not willing to entertain it. Exeunt kids.

"We'll talk when you bring them home Sunday." says She.
"So are you going to think about it and make a decision, or should I go ahead and get a court date?"
"I'll think about it. We'll talk on Sunday."

SUNDAY:
I get home at 6:15. She's been gone all weekend and shows up just before I do. Explorer open and at the front door. Clearly about to move stuff.

Me, after a few tries, and helping She and He move out The Big TV: "So what's up?"
"Well, I've decided to let you play Mr. Mom."
"Thank you," I say, smiling.
Later, we talk about support and truck payment, etc.
"So are you going to fight for custody in the divorce settlement?*"
"No. I'm just going to wait. They'll get sick of you and want to come be with me. I don't know what you and my mom have been telling them..."
We've been brainwashing them. Telling them we'll let them stay in the house and go to the same school and keep the same friends. Not.

I now have de facto custody.

*She wants the divorce ASAP so she can marry this guy.

lawyer

I saw a lawyer today about the custody. We (the lawyer and I) agreed that I'd talk to my wife about it over the weekend and if she flat out refuses to consider a custody swap, we'll get a court date for a temporary custody hearing.

i'll be mellow when i'm dead

I generally loathe posting lyrics, because they are not original content and they are usually hard to follow if you don't know the music. I'm going to make an exception because not only is this 'Weird Al' Yankovic song one of my favorites, it also speaks very strongly to my core being. It's this kind of innate inhibition that's kept me sober for so many years. I don't need to drink to lose my inhibitions. I have none.

I don't care about your karma.
I don't care about what's hip.
No space cadet's gonna tell me what to do.
I won't swim in your Jacuzzi.
You can't make me settle down.
I'd rather kick and jump and bite and scratch,
And scream until I'm blue.
I may as well be hyper,
As long as I'm still around.
'Cause I'll have lots of time to be laid back,
When I'm six feet under ground.

[CHORUS]
I'll be mellow when I'm dead.
I'll be mellow when I'm dead.
I'll be mellow when I'm dead.

When are you cosmic cowboys gonna get it through your head?

I'll be mellow when I'm dead.
I'll be mellow when I'm dead.
I'll be mellow when I'm dead.

I can't stand the smell of incense.
I don't really like to jog.
No Joni Mitchell eight-tracks in my car. (ooh)
I hate anything organic.
Even health food makes me sick.
You won't catch me sipping Perrier
Down in some sushi bar.
I tell you, now's the time to go for
All the gusto you can grab.
You'll have plenty of time to be low-key
When you're laid out on the slab.

[REPEAT CHORUS]

I don't want no part of that vegetarian scene.
I won't buy me a pair of designer jeans.
No redwood hot tub to my name.
I got all that I want,
And if it's all the same to you,
I don't need a course in self-awareness
To find out who I am.
And I'd rather have a
Big Mac or a Jumbo Jack
Than all the bean sprouts in Japan!

So don't ask me what I'm into.
I don't need to prove I'm cool.
I'll break your arm,
If you ask me what's my sign.
I won't tell you where my head's at.
I don't need to see no shrink.
Psychosis may be in this year,
But I'm really not that kind,
And I'm in no hurry to be casual.
In fact I think I'll wait
Until I'm pushing up the daisies.
(Like, wow, man, can you relate?)

[REPEAT CHORUS]
[REPEAT CHORUS]

-- "I'll be Mellow When I'm Dead", 'Weird Al' Yankovic, 'Weird Al' Yankovic (1983)

culmination

The ultra-understanding Bitchen Ric has hit the breaking point.

She will not move my children into a mobile home in a different county and quit her job to live off of my child support and Boyfriend Number Two's social security checks so she can afford to keep her Shiny Red 1999 Ford Explorer.

I'm talking to a lawyer tomorrow. There is little doubt (based on a recent history that I didn't detail here) I will be awarded custody.

The capper was when her brother and mom both told me that I needed to take the kids 'cause She-who-must-not-be-named was off the deep end.

It saddens me greatly because two years ago she was a fairly stable person and a notable mother. But, alas, it's all about the children.

Fuck her.

quick christmas decorating poll

I bought 500 purple mini-lights last night (I love purple, and I hadn't seen them before, and no, I'm not gay.) I just want to know: should I go with gold or silver balls with the all-purple-light tree? Or something else? Please comment.

Oh! I got my kitchen all put together. I had to buy a toaster oven 'cause my gas (for the stove) won't be on until today. I had to, you see, because the only holiday tradition I have (having not celerbrated christmas for the first 30 years of my life, thuse the dilemma in the first paragraph) is to make Pillsbury cinnamon rolls (with Icing!) on Thanksgiving morning. Something we've done since I was too young to remember. So I got a toaster oven (at the recommendation of cow-orkers at my company's deep-fried turkey dinner Wednesday afternoon) so I could make them. An 8" cake pan just fits in it! Damn! that little bugger is useful! I used it all weekend...

lonely and quiet

Well, last night was the first night I was to go straight to my apartment after work and spend the evening moving in. I got there and it was so quiet I felt really alone. I turned on the television and ate some supper. I called my friend who lives just down the street (one of the reasons I moved where I did, proximity of friends) and told her I was lonely. I just wanted to talk to someone. Hopefully this feeling goes away a bit. Either that or I'm going to have to start listening to a lot more music so I don't get sucked into the TV all the time.

Anyway, about ten minutes after I hung up with her, she called back and hurriedly asked me to come over and watch her five-year-old daughter, as her husband had just "sawed his finger" and they were going to the emergency room. I rushed over and watched their little girl dance in front of Nickelodeon for a few hours. Turns out they were going to take her but they couldn't find her shoes and he was about to pass out from the pain.

He returned with eleven stiches, but all fingers intact. I got home at 11:30 and called it a night. Almost. Then I remembered that I was supposed to bring Cranberry sauce for "Deep-Fried Turkey Day" at work today, so I ran back out to the store and picked some up, along with a few essentials like bread and a toilet brush.

Tonight I get the kids for Thanksgiving and return them Friday. I'll have another chance to be lonely over the weekend.

I hope not.

Gotta get the CD player hooked up.

no man is an island; but when you pee, yer a nation

I've complied a list of euphemisms for male urination, as there didn't seem to be an exhaustive one on the Internet. Feel free to submit additions.

drain the main vein
feed the goldfish
go
go number one
hang a wang
lift my leg
look at the crops
pass water
pay a visit to the old soldiers' home
pee
piss
relieve myself
retreat to the holy of holies
see a man about a dog
see a man about a horse
shake hands with the unemployed
shake one
shake the snake
shake the weasel
sharpen the skates
take a leak
test the plumbing
visit the chamber of commerce
void
water the plants
wee
wee-wee
whizz

auugh!

I went "home" to my new apartment for lunch today. After zapping some leftover Carlos O'Kelly's cuisine, I realized I had no silverware!

So I ate it with an ice cream scoop.

moved out (again)

Well I officially moved into my apartment last night. As I was leaving the house, She-who-must-not-be-named drove up with her new boyfriend to spend the night. Just like last time I moved out. Alas. I've known this guy's family for years and he's not the asshole that Tattooine turned out to be. We talked about him briefly.

"Doesn't he have car?" says I.

"Well he does, but it's a..." She makes a face.

"Piece of crap?" I say finishing her thought.

"Yeah, but he's on Social Security..."

I chuckle. "No, no, I can't say it. It's too obvious a joke."

"What?"

"I was just gonna say 'boy, you really know how to pick 'em.'"

She smiles at me coyly, "I'm in in for love now, I'm not in it for money, I've learned what's important."

Under my breath: "So how come I never had that option?"

I don't love my children if I don't want to make more money. She said that. I remember.

unprotected sex from a new angle

Tony Pierce has a remarkable post about--of all things--why women should ask men to wear condoms and men should always obey.

It's easy to miss stuff in Tony's writing 'cause he's so off the wall, but you really need to read this one. He's got the unique perspective thing happening there. Very effective.

want!

I want this for my apartment!

man!

This Fish Needs A Bicycle is a fecking great blog. I just keep forgetting to mention it. She writes in a Bridget jones voice but, unlike other blogs that attempt it, she pulls it off well. Also, there's an intense limerence factor.

Go there.

coolness!

I got the first Art Deco things for my apartment last night. I went to Lowe's and got me this Faux Tiffany Floor Lamp and Desk Lamp Combo set! (If it asks for a ZIP code, put in yours or 46804 if you are foreign.) They are so incredibly cool. Mind you, I don't care if the Art Deco stuff is period or imitation. Doesn't bother me a bit. This is just too cool for words! Yay!!!

bop bop bopping along

Harry Potter II was cool. They left out some non-plot parts. Fine by me. As well-made as the first. Worth seeing on a big screen.

I moved my computer stuff to the apartment last night and set it all up. It felt so good to be there. It was so much like home already. She-who is driving me a little nuts and I'm glad to be fixing to go. Got some Art Deco plans for the living room and bathroom. My landlord is thrilled to have a tenant who respects the place for what it is and doesn't want to destroy it's historical significance. Can't wait to have a housewarming party. Probably in January or so. Hope some of you can come. I hope to webcast it for the rest of you.

I've decided (per Fluff's advice in last comments) to not even consider dating unless it falls into my lap. It's fallen into my lap enough in the past that I have faith that it will fall into my lap in the future. I just need to be sure to hang out in places (real and cyber) where the type of people I want falling into my lap hang out.

Oh, and I'm becoming addicted to taquitos, thanks to some blogger (whom I mistakenly thought was Mary T.) who raved about them about 10 months ago. (If it was you, stand up and take credit.)

moving on

Well, I moved all the stuff out of my friend's house into my apartment last night. She-who is back from her R&R and seems to be coping well. Her mom is probably going to come live with her and the kids. That should be a good thing. Plus it gives me an out. I need to get away from there. She going to date and I'm going to get crazy. I'm going to think every guy she meets is a loser.

I've been poking around the dating world but haven't pursued it out of lack of time. I just want to get moved. Going to have a serious chat with her this weekend about when I'm leaving (again!).

Joe Dirt is out of her life. She says he's "poison." Good! That was just too much stress... Her R&R helped her realize that she needs to learn how to be self-sufficient and not rely on men. Hope she does.

Taking the kids to see Harry Potter at 7:30 tomorrow night. Can't wait!

eminem

Shut up and listen.

I take back all that bad shit I said about him
I should have listened to the stuff before chose to doubt him
A guy at work burned some Slim, said "find out about him"
Got a grip, what a trip, so I've flipped, jumped the ship
Now I can't fuckin' drive without him.

The real Slim Shady's got a bad attitude,
His brains all fucked up, his rhymes are so crude.
But as a master of the art, he's so down, sound real good
Brings it home, got the stones, makes no bones, grab the phone
And tell all your friends 'bout the phat Slim Shady dude.

Word.

shocking?

My mother-in-law is coming tomorrow to help with and visit with the girls. She is v. unsupportive of She-who's situation. She's an ignoramus when it comes to twenty-first century thinking. She want's to visit She-who in her current away-ness, but I don't know if the wife will like that much.

The good news is, she'll babysit so I can get some work done Saturday night and then I think I might even go out. I might even go down to the jam-packed college bar multi-plex and see if someone actually makes eye-contact with me. That would make me feel better. I'm doing so much damned giving right now, a little getting would be nice.

Any meatspacers out there free Saturday so I won't look so lame alone at a college bar?

people, people, people

Foreign Phrase Pronunciation Guide

vice versa - VICE-a VERSE-a (not "vice versa")
en masse - ahn moss (not "in mass")
en route - anh root (not "in rowte")

That is all.

oy vey!

My wife is away again. Has been since Monday. I'm still living at the house with the kids. Struggling with what to do with the apartment. Do I move stuff into it? Do I let it go and move back to Columbia City with the kids? Near the kids? Now there's also a custody issue with her instablilty. So many questions. So much weight. Hard to blog any of it. Sorry I can't say more.

*ralph*

Isn't the name of this promotion nausiating as hell?

too funny for words

Trust me. Click here.

wackos! -or- truth is stranger than fiction

This website is the home of the organization protesting against the second installment of the J.R.R. Tolkien Lord Of The Rings movie being named "The Two Towers"

See the site: twotowersprotest.org

safety first

Police in Ontario, Canada, are on a campaign to ensure motorists wear their seatbelts. They stopped a car in Mississauga after seeing a child unrestrained in the back. The officer found the child couldn't be belted in because the seatbelt was already in use -- to secure a case of beer. "It was like this guy cared more for his precious beer bottles getting smashed than he did for his son going through the windshield," an officer said. (Mississauga News)

from This is True newsletter

progress

Well, She-who-must-not-be-named is home now. I'll be staying with her and the kids for a few days.

Anxiety is high for me right now.

The good news is that I'm getting $1500 in pain and suffering for my accident! The bad news is that it's not quite enough to satisfy my mortgage company. Anybody know where I can get a few hundred dollars overnight? Legally? I wonder how hard it is to become a male prostitute in the bible belt... I don't have my liquor permit yet or I'd go out todaylooking for a bartending job.

update on myself
per Tim Robbins' request

Don't know quite how to treat this subject gently, so I'll be vague and let you fill in any gaps you feel a need to.

I am currently living in three places: my friend's house, my apartment, and my house. I am staying with the children while my wife is away. As you can guess, it is pretty hectic, especially in figuring out which way to drive home each night.

Tattooine appears to be permanently out of the picture (or at least he's not sleeping in the bed with me). Learned many more loser-ish facts about him from She-who, and am glad he's gone. She is making progress toward straightening her life out after bad influences from the band, Tattooine, and generalized depression (over a year now). I've been helpful to her (like staying with the kids) and clearly reconciliation comes to mind when she sees me in such a good light.

We talked last night and have decided to be separated for six months and then decide whether to proceed with the divorce. (There's little doubt it will still happen, but we both need to be on a more even keel to decide that.)

I'm convinced it was the bad influences above that precipitated the request for divorce, but regardless, it still needed to happen. I believe that her unwillingness to accept me for who I am and not compare me to her late father will not go away. And that, my friends, is the absolute bottom line--in my mind--why this divorce is happening. (The selfishness and immaturity come a close second and third, of course.)

I hope that's enought to satisfy your curiosity for now. I love you all.

happy halloween

Go here.

worst

I believe I had the worst day of my life yesterday. I'm sorry I can't give any details. Things are messed up right now. I'll try to keep posting.

for kristiv

The Origin of Halloween

The origin of Halloween dates back 2000 years ago to the Celtic celebration of the dead. A Celtic festival was held on November 1, the first day of the celtic New Year, honoring the Samhain, the Lord of the Dead. Celtic ritual believed that the souls of the dead returned on the evening before November 1. The celebration included burning sacrifices and costumes These early events began as both a celebration of the harvest and an honoring of dead ancestors.

Halloween spread throughout Europe in the seventh century. It began with "All Hallows Eve", the "Night of the Dead". It is immediately followed by "All Souls Day", a Christian holy day.

The first lighted fruit was really carved out gourds and turnips. Sometime along the way, they were replaced by pumpkins which were both larger and much easier to carve. European custom also included the lighting of pumpkins with scary faces to ward of evil spirits, especially spirits who roamed the streets and country during All Hallows Eve.

The Irish brought the tradition of carving turnips and even potatoes with them to America. They quickly discovered that pumpkins were easier to carve.

from The Pumpkin Nook

silly

So, in an effort to suppliment my income, I've decided I'd like to become a barteneder. To do that (at least in Indiana) you have to have a liquor serving permit. I downloaded the permit application and sent it, along with a money order for $20, to the Indiana Alcohol and Tobacco Comission (IATC).

A couple of weeks later I get a rejection form that states:

Your application is being returned to you for the reason(s) indicated below:
[x] Failure to pay outstanding taxes to the Indiana Department of Revenue (IDR)

That didn't surprise me too much, as two years ago I claimed a renter's deduction and neglected to supply the proper paperwork. I decided to call the IDR yesterday to find out what I had to do the clear up my tax status so I could re-apply.

We don't show anything wrong with your tax history.

Well there was [insert explanation of renter's deduction error here]...

Okay, I see that here, but we would not have turned you down for that.

Hmm... I guess the only thing to do is contact the IATC and find out who at the IDR told them what. So I did.

Bartender's section. How can I help you?

Yeah, you guys rejected my application for permit, but the IDR says there's nothing wrong, what's up?

Do you have your application in front of you?

Sure do!

Look at the fourth question from the bottom...

What did you mark?

Oh God! I marked "yes!" What an idiot!!! Hahahahahaha!

That's okay, lots of peole do that. Just correct and initial it and resubmit it.

I'm such an idiot sometimes...

BTW, the girls saw the apartment last night. They love it. A co-worker came by the apartment last night and told me today he was jealous.

got it!

I went and paid the deposit on the apartment. He gave me the keys!!! He said "move in any time!" WooHooo! God, you people need to come to my housewarming! Whenever it happens...

better

I didn't post yesterday. A long story follows...

Last Wednesday and Thursday I missed taking my Celexa. I resumed on Friday and felt no ill effects. I ran short on sleep all last week and Monday night it all caught up with me. I think the residual Celexa in my body bottomed out and I was a mess. Driving home Monday night, I was back to feeling overwhelmed and depressed and panicked and on the verge of tears. I decided to take a "mentally sick" day yesterday and slept till 11:00. I sorted out stuff for the divorce, for my accident "pain and suffering" claim, for the apartment, and balanced my checkbook. The Celexa has kicked in full-force today and I am tons better. Thanks for asking.

I'm so happy. I'm going to put the deposit down on that apartment today. I can't wait to move in. LilFluffy's gonna come by and take pictures when I move in, so hopefully I can post some here.

home!

I think I've found an apartment. I have a couple of more to look at today, but I think I'm going with this one. It is a second-floor two-bedoom loft in a 1920's brick apartment building. It is so very cool, with all wood floors. It's one of 4 apartments in an ivy-covered buliding set among houses on the street. I never even seen the building before even though I've driven past it about 2000 times in my life. It also has a living room, sun room, dining room, kitchen and balcony/deck off the back. The intercom system is a copper pipe that starts with a exterior flange (think: very small trumpet) on the outside of the building, goes through the walls and ends with a second exterior flange in the apartment. Very, very cool. You basically yell in one end and the sound ricochets into the apartment upstairs.

Anyway, it's 1000 sq ft and is only $450/month, which is astounding for that area. It's exactly the neighborhhood I want to be in, about 2 blocks from a major park, and only a few blocks from five different friends. The walls are currently pastels with white trim, and I kinda like it. I may try to redecorate more 20's style, but I don't know. The landlord is very cool and is open to redecoration within reason. He also said he wants to make sure is rents to someone who appreciates it. I'm that guy!

finally: a quiz that gets it right

You Are An Intense Kisser!

Deep tounging, nibbling, and locking lips for hours are on your agenda.
You've been known to wear lovers out with your kiss,
before getting to anything else on the menu.
And given that you kiss so well... imagine how you do everything else.

How Do *You* Kiss?
More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

damn

tony pierce's busblog details an account of something which may or may not be true (his mantra is that nothing is true on his blog):

i could smell candles. i was hoping i wouldn't find a blood soaked corpse and a dramatic farewell note.

i'm barely a reason to click over to while killing time on the web, im certainly not worth

omg

opened the door and saw a blond girl with her back to me, laying in my bed with a pink plaid miniskirt, knee high f me boots, and a see thru black blouse.

mama mia!

Why can't shit like that happen to me? Anyone want keys to my place?

we're looking for a few good blogs

Edie Singleton of A Mating Call in the Concrete Jungle has pointed us to couple of really excellent blogs:

brokentype is a extremely well-written blog with stories of lost limerence.
pearl clutching (excellent name!) is the new blog of two grandmother giving advice to the love-lorn.

Well-worth the visit, both of them.

way-back machine

I was just reading through the first four months of my blog. It's amazing how many of the blogs I started reading way back then are defunct. Almost all of my links are broken. Ephemeral, this Internet.

In my reading, I discovered that the whole divorce started with this post. I see it as a (pardon the pun) "post of no return." Many other people saw the hopelessness before I did. Thanks for being patient with me.

total geek practical joke

We used to have a guy working here who was a real cut up. For a joke on the geek across the hall, he used to search the geek's shared drive for all documents containing the letter "e."

It took the guy months to figure out why his hard drive would suddenly start going nuts and his system would slow to a crawl at random intervals.

Try it on your friends! (And try out the Krauskopizer, to read how this office clown would talk. You kinda had to know him, but I'm proud of writing the software anyway.)

tattooine has left the building

After a bit of a row with my wife, Tattooine packed up and left. I had a long conversation with my semi-enebriated soon-to-be-ex spouse about things when I brought the kids home last night. She confirmed all of our suspicions about Tattooine being "Joe Dirt" reincarnated. I also asked her why she wanted a Camaro:

"For the same reason I would like a Trans-Am."

I chastized her jokingly about relishing the "slippery slope toward white trashdom," and she laughed. She said that she finally felt free to be who she really was.

Sigh. You can take the girl out of the hillbillies, but you can't take the hillbilly out of the girl.

french help

Can somebody provide me with the proper spelling and definition of what is phonetically "j'ne se qua?"

par for the course

Last night, my wife and I did a final run through on asset/debt division for the divorce. I will end up owing her about $4000. She needs to get a new car so we don't have to make payments on the 99 Explorer (which we couldn't afford to begin with, but she "needed" it). So her mechanic boyfriend (who, for the record, is a really nice guy) says he has a friend willing to make him a cash deal on a well-kept car to drive. Turns out the car is $4000. She-who-must-not-be-named asked if I could borrow the money from my grandparents (a viable solution) to buy her the car and then we'd be even on the assets. I'm considering it.

I asked her what kind of car it was. The answer shocked and amused me to no end:

A Camaro.

all-nighter

You ever find a blog you just can't stop reading? The first one I ever found was Mary T's. The latest one is Midnight Magicka's. She actually read all of mine and emailed me that she had (and later blogged it) and I thought I see if she had anything to look at. Occassionally, people will tell me they like my blog, come and read theirs and it's total stinky-poo, but you try to be nice, etc. This was a surprise. I couldn't stop reading. I actually saved it to floppy and finished it on the couch at home. I was up till 3:30 Monday night/Tuesday morning reading.

I guess we think a lot a like plus! her blog is chock-full of drama.

Check it out.

happy happy joy joy

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Two things caused that. For one, I was a bit traumatized by the whole divorce backlash from my posts here, so I'm going to keep the divorce stuff light for a while. As to the other, I was gone all weekend on a mini-break to Michigan, were I picked up a friend in Flint and we went to Casino Windsor and had a blast. Got back Sunday night and went out to do Karaoke. Met a bunch of new people that came in from working at Applebee's and decided to join me where I was sitting. A bunch of cool people.

A note about Casino Windsor: I've never been to a real casino before and the most remarkable thing to me was that there was literally thousands of slot machines using the same four notes from a major triad to give auditory responses to players. They all used the notes in different ways, but the aggregate sound of all the slot machines was a hovering, haunting major chord. Ceaseless and, yea verily, unending--like there was a choir of angels looking down upon the gamblers and delcaring by their song that lo, it was good.

I know some of it is the Clexa talking, but I am happier now than I have been in years. I am short on sleep and I am embroiled in a divorce and I don't see my kids as much, but dammit, I'm fucking happy. And just as I'm typing this, I realize why: I have no guilt! Holy Shit! I can work late with no guilt. I can blog late with no guilt. I can flirt with no guilt. I can skimp on meals without guilt. I had no fucking clue how much guilt She-who-must-not-be-named cast upon me either by commission or by circumstance. Some guilt, like flirting, was not incorrect and not inflicted superficially. Other guilt, like from working overtime, was soley derived from her words and actions. A threat to divorce me here, a hint that I couldn't be a good father if I was at work there--it all fucking builds up after a while.

A weight has been lifted, and I feel fine.

DISCUSSION QUESTION: Where does responsibility end and guilt begin? When does it change from natural to aberrant?

now i've heard everything

CNN Headline News wants to get jiggy with it.

For example: Blitzer: "In essence, Rudi, what tha president is saying to Hussein is 'Check yourself, fool.' Republicans praised tha president's resolve as off tha chain, and said America should smack Hussein upside tha head. But Democrats aren't down wit dat. Know what I'm sayin', Rudi?"

battle of the ads

Mary T. challenged me so....

Actual Yellow Pages Ad

This is the actual ad (the phone number is still good, but area code 290 now) that my company placed in the yellow pages in 1998. That was when the Internet business was so large that you had to be irreverant to stand out. We had fun in those days. See this site for another example of irreverence we did.

He's nearsighted, get it?

"i've been searching my soul tonight"

I've spent the last hour deep in soul-search mode. I'm hesitant to reveal any more details about my divorce-related decisions to anyone. I will do what I feel in my heart is the right thing. Those closest to me in meatspace--those who know my wife personally and know my children--understand why I've decided the things I have and are supportive.

I lament that I cannot impart the whole situation in words alone.

Lacking mostly in my life right now is hugs.

mitigating circumstances

I went over to the house yesterday over lunch and spoke with She-who-must-not-be-named concerning rent. I told her (automatically assuming the fact that Tattooine was living there) that I would give her till November first to decide whether she wanted him to live there and pay the extra $200 in rent or not.

Somehow she'd got it into her head (not by me,I assure you) that we were talking about a land contract (I'm selling her the house) versus a rental agreement. She believed that legally I couldn't raise the payment based on occupancy and was counting on that fact. I explained to her that, indeed, if it were a land contact I could do no such thing. I also explained to her that if it were a land contact her payment (by definition) would be the full mortgage payment, which recently increased to $300 more than the initial rent I discussed with her.

Her reaction was such that I could tell that she would not kick him out and the increased rent would force her to move out. The news to her was devastating. I told her to think about it.

On the drive back to work I thought about the whole situation and decided that if raising the rent would force her to move out, then I'd defeated the whole purpose of renting her the house to begin with: not uprooting my children. She felt she had a full-time position locked in when she asked for the divorce, but circumstances beyond her control changed that. I began to feel more and more like the added rent was simply meant to be punitive, and was not even morally defensible if it meant uprooting the kids.

I called her when I got back to work and offered her the discounted rent for one year, regardless of occupancy. (As her moving out would not prevent her from still living with him.) After one year I may be able to re-finance at a lower mortgage payment and perhaps even sell her the house by land contract. Or, who knows, perhaps she will be in a situation to buy the house from me. This one year will give her a chance to get on her feet financially and give us perspective over the course of the next year.

I do currently make ten times more than she does. I have a responsibility to my children.

i'm so proud!

Over the weekend I jokingly gave my 11-yr-old a boot in the pants. She said "Ow, that hurt!" and I was like "No, it didn't! All I did was this:" and I booted her again.

She said, "I was being sarcastic, Dad."

*snif* She used "sarcastic" properly in a sentence. I'm so proud!

all-nighters

I worked all night Friday night. Had my first "parenting time" weekend with the kids. The weekend was my birthday on Saturday and my middle child's tenth birthday on Sunday. Then I proceed to work all night (until now, at noon) last night.

My wife is lying to me about the residence of her boyfriend and last Saturday noight got drunk and made out with a stranger at a bar and lamented to her friends that she wished she didn't have a nice boyfirend and she hoped he wouldn't show up.

I just hope to God she didn't ask the kids to lie about Tattooine living at my house. I need to raise her rent before she even starts paying it. I hope she breaks it off with him to pursue making out with other stangers at bars. It would at least be a step in the right direction.

I am seriously considering fighting for custody, but have many factors (heretofore undiscussed in this forum) to consider. Please bear with me and refrain from bashing my wife or my indecision in your comments. I'm too fucking tired.

Peace be with you.

CONGREGATION: And to you.

about last night...

"This number," I said, my heart in my throat, pointing to the monthly rent number on a worksheet, "only applies to you and the girls living here. If the residency changes that number will change. Most likely to the full amount of my mortgage payment."

"Well, that's mean."

"No it isn't." She was visibly upset. "If anyone else moves in here, and I'm not saying anyone in particular, even if it's your best girlfriend, they can kick in another 200 bucks for rent."

"Anything else?"

"No, that's all"

She stormed off to get ready for band practice.

Band practice turned out to be cancelled and she came back while I was moving stuff out. We decided to go through the DVDs so I could grab some. I spoke my mind again whilst sorting DVDs.

Me: "I was thinking, and wondered if you'd though about: what if the kids get attached to this guy and then you break up. It'd be like another divorce and they haven't started to deal with this one yet."

Her response?

"I can't let that stop me."

Boggle.

I said: "You can let it slow you down!!!"

Upon reflection with all of her "I'm better than you" talk, it turns out she was always a redneck and I had elevated her.

nervous wreck

I'm a nervous wreck right now, let me tell you why.

She-who-must-not-be-named and I have long agreed that I would own the house and rent it back to her at a subsidized rate. That means that what she pays in rent will be less that what I pay in mortgage. I'm willing to do this for two reasons: 1) I really want to have my kids stay in the house I bought for them to grow up in. I don't want them to have to change schools, friends or busses. 2) I am still building equity in it as an investment.

Tonight I will go over to get the last of my stuff and talk to her about support during the separation period. The stressful part is that I'm going to tell her that if anyone else moves in, the rate will go up to the full amount of my mortgage payment. There's a chance that she'll freak. I hope not.

pity the child

Fool that I was I thought this would bring
Those he had left closer together.

She made her move the moment he crawled away.
I was the last the woman told,
She never let her bed get cold.

Someone moved in I shut my door,
Someone to treat her just the same way as before.

- "Pity the Child", Chess (1984 Concept Album)
- Bjorn Ulvaeus, Time Rice, Benny Andersson

surprising conversation

I actually said what I was thinking to her the other day. I don't know how it came up, but it was a civil conversation.

"I know I have no say in your life, but I'd really like to see you stand on your own and date around. I think it'd be good for you."

"I know what you're saying. But you know, I've always had a boyfriend."

"That's what's scary. I'd like to see you stand on your own and be independent."

"Oh, I've been on my own. I've paid my own bills. I know what it's like."

"When was that?"

"When we were dating."

"But you had me. You 've always had someone to change your lightbulbs and open jars and change your oil."

"But I like to depend on a man. I think men like to be needed."

"Some men do. I like to be needed, but I also like a woman to be independent."

"Well I'm not going to be like Joyce."

Joyce is a very independent woman we know--annoyingly so.

"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that the times I've found you most attractive are the times when you had a good job and you acted more self-assured and independent. I guess I just like that in a woman."

Then she drove off for work. Not mad. Not escaping. But not getting it either.

tattooine

A brief, factual, portrait. Allow me the bitterness this once. (My apologies to those in or from Arkansas).

Both shoulders tattooed to elbows (at least).
Drives 1-ton pickup with Arkansas plates and fifth wheel.
Once was a professional mechanic.
On disablilty due to bad back.
Supports four children from a previous marriage with his disability check.
Enrolled at local technical college.
Wooed She-who with well-toned biceps and the clever line "What would it take to get you to have dinner with me?" instead of her typical "wanna go somehere and fuck?"

Damn! What a catch.

glue stick

After staying up till 1:00 this morning working on student council campaign posters for my two eldest daughters, I've discovered that Elmer's Washable School Glue Stick is a miracle product! It's light-years beyond what we used in elementary school to gule/paste with.

Oh, and I met The Boyfriend yesterday. I had to take the kids home and she refused to ask him to temporarily vacate as I did, so... I'll just call him Tattooine. It goes a long way toward explaining She-who's new "arm art." All they need is a Camaro on blocks in front of the house and the picture will be complete. (He is a mechanic...)

divorce filed

She-who-must-not-be-named formally filed (with the document prepared by me) for divorce at 10:00 this a.m. There is a 60 day waiting period in Indiana which puts our "final" hearing date on November 22.

A weight has been lifted, to be sure.

As I told a friend last night, since Allen's elucidation (see oh. my. god. the answer! below), there's no turning back for me. I realize that even if she wanted reconciliation, our problems would never be solved.

I really am pepe le pew!

You are
Pepe Le Pew!

You are a suave skunk who lives for l'amour. You may not always get the girl (or guy), but there are always many more fish in the sea, no?

Take the What Looney Tunes Character are You? Quiz by contessina_2000@yahoo.com!

moving

Well, I'm about moved out. I got back tonight to pack up the computer and some miscellany. I'm leaving a couple of big pieces till I find an apt, as I'm staying with a friend right now. Feeling better about things. She-who is afraid about being able to afford everything. A full-time promotion fell through at work. I can sympathize but it was her idea all along, so I can't really do or say anything about it. I'm going to officially file tomorrow, I think. Just a matter of finding the time with moving to write up the two-page document.

So it costs like $30 for a marriage license, but $107 to file for divorce. I think there's a conspiracy there somewhere.

I hope to have the kids on my birthday (Sept 28) as I'd rather be with them then go out and drink.

oh. my. god. the answer!

My friend Allen (my Web site artist and best man) just summed it all up on the phone. It's scary.

BACKGROUND: One of the tattoos she got was a heart with a ribbon that said "my heart belongs to daddy."

She moved out and got married for four months to a con artist. She left him and met me two weeks later. I was her second husband. She's got a new guy. She cannot live without a man to replace her late father. She spent thirteen years blaming me for not being like her father.

Her heart never belonged to me. You do the math.

selfishness and immaturity

While I know I'm preaching to the choir, if you didn't believe that selifishness and immaturity were the root of the divorce action, try this on:

While I was in Cincinnati, She-who-must-not-be-named went out and spend about the last $130 in the community bank account on two tattoos. One on each shoulder. Now I have nothing against tattoos--in fact, I encouraged her for a long time to get one if that's what she really wanted to do--the expense, size, placement and lack of regard for financial situation just makes my head spin.

I'm baaaaack!

I'm back from Cincinnati. I had a pretty good time. Met Chappy and saw The Spinster's house (she was out of town). Saw a Reds/Cubs game. Got some pix but don't know when I'll put them up as I moved out last night. I need to move into a new place (I'm staying with a friend this week) and set things up before I can get the pix off my camcorder.

As I just said, I didn't sleep at home last night. The first night of forever. I'm a little more upset this morning than I have been. Most of it to do with a brief argument last night with She-who-must-not-be-named about when it's appropriate to have boyfriends/girlfriends over when the kids are around. She's being predictably immature about it. I really don't want to discuss the specifics here though. To many nuances for me to impart and they are too painful to impart. It just saddens me that she's considering jumping into a serious relationship so soon. It saddens me not as her soon-to-be ex-husband, but as a father and not a little as her friend. I'd like to see her stand on her own and date around. But I have no say there. Perhaps her other friends will convince her. I hope so.

As for me, I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't looking forward to actually having sex with a second woman in my lifetime.

leaving

Well I'm off to Cincinnati. No email. No messenger. No blogging. Till Sunday.

Bye.

what's happening!

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while, it's been crazy with the divorce and all. We pretty much have agreed on everything in principle for the settlement. She has agreed (willingly, joyfully) to joint legal custody. I will own the house and rent it back to her so the kids can live in the house I bought for them, and go to the same school. I want to unselttle them as little as possible. Regardless of the kind of wife she's been, she's a very good mother and always puts the kids first, so I don't have great concern there.

The one great thing about my marriage has always been that we see eye-to-eye on child rearing. We always have. Even before we had kids or were even married. We have never fought about how to raise the kids. We feel like we will do well as divorced parents because the rules won't change (in theory, of course) from my house to hers. I have high hopes. Not only that, but I have legal remedies if things go sour.

On another note: Celexa is a fucking wonder drug. I've been on it a week and already I don't feel overwhelmed any more. I'm almost manic now. I don't want to stay in bed and I'm getting tons done at work. One of the reasons I haven't blogged is because I actually feel like working. It's a good feeling.

I move out next week to friends' houses and look for an apartment and do the actual divorce filing. Meanwhile, I'm looking forward to my trip to Cincinnati tomorrow through Sunday to get away from everything.

Oh! And I fucking love my car!

Corrected at 3:07 due to manic spelling errors.

car

Oh, by the way, I bought a car today. It looks like this. It's a 1992 Saturn SL2.

hey, cincinnati people!

If there's any bloggers, commenters or lurkers out there from Cincinnati that would like to meet me, I'll be there from Fri-Sun this weekend. If so, drop me an email or leave a private message.

appropos

This was in my email today. Ironic.

Recently a "Husband Shopping Center" opened in Houston, where women could go to choose a husband from among many men. It was laid out in five floors, with the men increasing in positive attributes as you ascended up the floors.

The only rule was, once you opened the door to any floor, you must choose a man from that floor, and if you went up a floor, you couldn't go back down except to leave the place never to return. A couple of friends go to the place to find men.

First floor, the door had a sign saying "These men have jobs and love kids." The women read the sign and say, "Well, that's better than not having jobs, or not loving kids, but I wonder what's further up?" So up they go.

Second floor says "These men have high paying jobs, love kids, and are extremely good looking." Hmmm, say the girls. But, I wonder what's further up?

Third floor: "These men have high paying jobs, are extremely good looking, love kids and help with the housework." Wow! say the women. Very tempting, BUT, there's more further up!

And up they go.

Fourth floor: "These men have high paying jobs, love kids, are extremely good looking, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak." Oh, mercy me. But just think! What must be awaiting us further on!

So up to the fifth floor they go. The sign on that door said, "This floor is empty and exists only to prove that women are impossible to please."

No offense intended...

more divorce

We told the kids today. They took it remarkably well (for now). None of them were surprised, but the Rooster may not have grasped it yet. I'm looking for both an apartment and a car now.

chapter ii

"I know you have to leave right away," she said, "but do you have a few minutes to talk?"

Uh-oh. This sounds bad. "Sure!"

We sit on the couch in our dimly-lit living room.

"I've been thinking a lot lately," she was misty, "about my happiness and stuff."

Double uh-oh

Her voice cracked, "I've had some issues with you, and you've done really well, and that's great. But I just don't see myself being happy. We're doing well, but we're just going through the motions."

"I agree," I said sincerely.

"I want a divorce."

My heart skips. "What about a separation?"

She shakes her head vehemently, to indicate she's already considered it. "No, I want a divorce. I don't want to be adversarial, I want to be civil. When you come back from Cincinnati next week, I'd like you to move out."

This is an arrangement we agreed upon many months ago when we almost divorced before. None of this is news, and I feel the same way, and I tell her so. "I can't say I'm shocked. I'm just surprised to hear it from you and not me. I mean you were always the hopeful one."

"I know. I think we could be great friends and great divorced parents, but I just need to be happy."

"It's like we had these three issues to solve that would make us happy. And when we basically solved them, it didn't make us happy."

"I know." She's welling up. "I wanted to have someone here with me because I didn't know how you'd react. I thought you might blow up or hit me or something."

Jesus Christ. You've been married to me for 13 years. "You know me better than that."

"Yeah."

"I gotta go."

"I know."

I head toward the door, and turn back toward her: "I do love you, you know."

"I know."

"I mean if a car was coming at you I'd still push you away and take the hit."

A weary smile. "Yeah. I love you too."

Sometimes love just isn't enough. It's going to happen this time.

quiz time

Are you Addicted to the Internet?

78%

Hardcore Junkie (61% - 80%)
While you do get a bit of sleep every night and sometimes leave the house, you spend as much time as you can online. You usually have a browser, chat clients, server consoles, and your email on auto check open at all times. Phone? What's that? You plan your social events by contacting your friends online. Just be careful you don't get a repetitive wrist injury...

The Are you Addicted to the Internet? Quiz at Stvlive.com!

good night

Last night was a good night. The first in a very long time. Many things contributed to it:

My doctor took the brace/cast off my hand and told me I didn't need it. By the end of the day it wsa feeling pretty good.
My doctor also switched me from Wellbutrin to Celexa. I know there hasn't been a chemical effect yet, but the notion that I'm now treating the anxiety along with the depression is encouraging.
My "boss" took some workload off of me and helped me streamline some everyday tasks. Plus he told me to call a meeting to offload som more work.
A friend gave me a new laptop. He felt sorry for my eBay $30 386SXC/20 and gave me a corporate cast-off Compaq Armada 4131t Pentuim 133 color laptop. Runs Windows 98. Very, very cool. All I need is a new AC adapter. (~$25)
I got my checkbook mostly balanced and discovered I wasn't bouncing checks after all.
Kevin of Hidden City (as mentioned below) sent me some things off my wish list.

Tonight wasn't as good, but I have high hopes for the future.

art is what you enjoy

Now, I know y'all just want to buy me a present. This is only $6.98! Make me a happy, happy man!

Of course, I'll have to figure out where to hang it...

speaking of presents...
MKH got me a couple of things off my Amazon wish list [see right] for a get well soon/brithday present! Wowwee wow wow wow! I never actually thought anyone would buy me anything off of that list. That makes me so happy!

Thanks, Kevin!

august 28, 7:15 am, whitley county road 600 east

I was heading south on 600 East. It is a North-South road differentiated from the surrounding non-roadness chiefly by it's lack of corn stalks. Like most Indiana county roads, it is a straight line of cracked patches on cracked blacktop. At 7:15 I should be off of 600 East and on 500 South, but I'm not and I seldom am. I'm late again.

CR 300 South tees into my path about 200 feet ahead from the West through another break in the cornstalks. At the intersection sits (or so I think) a red 93 Ford 150 Pickup. Clearly he has crept up to peer around the elephant's-eye-high corn corner to check the traffic before pulling out. This is nothing new. He'll stop with his bumper sticking into my path and I'll have to swerve around it, but that's par for the course in autumn in corn country. Only at about thirty feet away, I realize that not only is he not going to stop with his bumper in the road, he's not going to stop at all--he's going to turn left (north), right in front of me.

"How did you break your thumb?" people ask me. I tell them it was when I grabbed the steering wheel to brace myself when I totaled my car. I also locked my knee while pressing the brake so hard that the tires broke free of the black top and sent me sliding as if on ice into and under the side of the pickup--so my leg hurts a bit too.

My Car, 89 Buick Regal Gran Sport, alloy wheels...

My Car, 89 Buick Regal Gran Sport, alloy wheels...

Two thoughts go through my mind during the period from the point of breaking to the point of impact. 1) "I'm going to hit him hard." 2) [After seeing nothing but hood and a cracked windshield in front of my eyes] "I'm going to get a new car!" Seriously. Then after that, "I'm glad I wear a seat belt."

At this point, I realize that the truck is no longer in front of me. I pull my miraculously still-running car off the road, and get out to find the truck. The truck has spun clear around and tipped on it's passenger side in a ditch on the east side of the road. A witness is heading toward the overturned pickup and all I can hear is girls screaming. The driver--a 16-year-old boy--and his 17- and 18-year-old female passengers weren't going to make it to school this morning; Thanks to gravity, they are piled up on the passenger's side of the crumpled cab and I'm thinking for sure they must be pinned. I don't see any blood, and they say they aren't pinned. It seems they were simply suddenly disoriented by the impact and roll. I start screaming for a cell phone, stopping cars that were passing through the scene of the accident of the crushed glass of headlights on the road to no avail. It turns out the only cell phone on the scene belongs to one of the girls trying to re-orient herself in the trucks cab while bawling in mortal fear. The phone is passed up through the driver's window and I called 911. Other people at the scene are opening the sliding back window of the truck and getting the passengers out.

Well, that's the first five minutes. I'll try to sum up the rest for tomorrow.

woo-hoo

CNN says there won't be a baseball strike!

denoument

Well, I took the day off yesterday to recover from stiffness and work out the details of insurance, etc. I've got pix of the car, I'll post them (and whopefully the whole story) this weekend.

I'm typing slower, but I should get "pain and suffering" money from my decresead ablilty to blog, er, type and program. Things are well otherwise. The good news is that this whole event has broken me out of my depressive cycle. Like there was such a major break from routine, that I feel alive again. It's a very good thing.

And it's Friday!!!

Thanks for all your kind words. Forgive me if I'm slow in responding to personal mail. You try to use a mouse without your thumb!!!

film at eleven

bad accident today
totaled my car
not my fault
broke my thumb
hurts to type
burma shave

when you wish upon a URL

Look to the right! I finally built my wish list! Hurrah!

heaven

I caught him leaving my driveway. He'd knocked, but I was tied up. By the time I got to the door, he'd left his Roanoke Baptist Church flyer in my door, and had turned to leave.

"May I help you?" I said, opening the screen door, "what did you need?"

The short, aging, bald man turned and fixed my with a sure stare. He explained that he pastored the Roanoke Baptist Church, but since they had "the fire"--a fire, like the Wal-Mart, is a singular enough thing in a small town to automatically warrant a definite article--they'd moved the church closer to Columbia City.

"We're not trying to steal anyone away from a church, but if you don't have a church we'd like you to stop by."

"I have a church," I dead-panned, "I go every week."

"You do? Well, like I said, we're not out to take people away from their church. Since you have a church, can I ask you another question?"

"Sure." I'm trying to fix supper and the grill's on, but what the hell.

"Are you going to heaven tonight?"

Beat.

"God, I hope not!"

"No, I mean if you were to die tonight, are you sure you'd be going to heaven?" he apologized.

"Well..." I thought for a minute. Do I agree and get him off my drive? Do I ask him to prove that there's a God? I decided to take a third approach that'd been drilled into me by my cultish church from childhood. "No, I'm not sure." I held up a dismissive hand, "But not for the reasons you're thinking."

"Oh?" he said "Why's that?"

"I'm not a hundred percent sure anyone is going to heaven when they die. It's very likely that whatever happens won't happen at the moment of death. I believe that there will be a second coming and there will be a resurrection at that time. I'm still not sure it'll be to heaven though. I mean 'tomorrow you'll be with me in paradise?' What does that mean really? Is paradise necessarily heaven?"

"You don't believe we're going to heaven?"

"Well, I believe we'll be raised in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, when he comes as a thief in the night. I believe, as scripture says, that we will be caught up and meet him in the air, but there's still no assurance we're going to heaven. I don't even know if it's a spiritual or corporeal resurrection, I'm not sure anyone does; it certainly is not stated explicitly."

"Well, I believe that God and Jesus are in heaven and I will be with them. In heaven."

"That's nice, but is it biblical?"

"Well in Revelations it tells us there will be a resurrection and in the gospels He tells us that he goes to prepare a house with many mansions for us."

Whoa! "Revelations?" You're a minister and you just called the last book of the bible "Revelations?" I kept that to myself, I didn't want to make him cry.

"That's all well and good," I plow on, "but He doesn't say that it's in heaven."

"I believe it will be somewhere, perhaps in the new Jerusalem, whether that be in heaven or on earth." he concedes.

"Agreed." Now that wasn't so hard, was it?

"So wherever we end up in the presence of the Savior, you believe you will be there sometime after you die?"

"Sure." I smile.

"So I'll see you there, then?"

"Most likely." I relent.

As he turns to go, I put a friendly arm around his shoulders. "When you go home and pray tonight?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank God that you weren't a Mormon. I would have been a lot harder on you."

the first 3D blogger?

I don't know if I'm the first, but I'm claiming the title. My dad was snapping digital snaps of me at church yesterday (and everyone was so glad to see him!) and accidentally shot this stereogram. So, right now, under the big top, for your viewing pleasure, I present: 3-D Blogger, The First. Thank you, thank you, no applause! (That's right, buddy, no applause!).

NOTE: You may need to get close to your monitor for it to work.

whole-life stewardship and moral relativism

The title of today's sermon is "Whole-life Stewardship." Honest. The minister's giving it as I type this. I'm sitting at the sound board at church (four missed sound cues into the service now) listening for feedback. We're cranked to the max to try to overpower the racket from the floor fans. We have floor fans because we have a lame landlord who won't spend the money to condition the air properly in our rental hall. This is why they want to buy a church.

Back to the sermon.

"You stop doing the things that you don't truly believe in," he says. "All things being equal, someone who advocates the superiority of Ford will not buy a Chevy." Basically he's saying if you're falling away, perhaps you never believed with your whole soul. He is railing against those that compartmentalize religion to Sunday--a "church" compartment that is separate from home, work, hobbies, etc. He has no idea the bell of truth he's ringing in my head. Religion is a compartment with me. And it is something that I'm falling away from because I truly don't believe to the core of my being. His tack is that it's sin, I suppose. "Our lives were entrusted to us by God. We do not own our lives. We need to be good stewards of what was entrusted to us by God."

Therein lies the rub.

That it's wrong to harm puppies is an example of a moral absolute...

That it's wrong to harm puppies is an example of a moral absolute...

The rest of the sermon presupposes the congregation's assent to this notion that we are only stewards of a life given us by a Creator. All Christian teaching (apart from the apologetics) presupposes basic tenants, dogmas if you will, that someone in my situation can't concede (i.e. the thing about there being a Creator). It is exactly those dogmas that I'm struggling with.

But having sat here nearly every week for thirty years, I'm haunted by the feeling that blogging in church is a sin. My core of habit and conditioning and heritage all point in the direction of living a life (or feeling guilty about not living a life) in the "Christian" way. That makes me an odd fellow. I am (currently) a skeptic and am looking seriously at atheism, yet I am a moral absolutist. Is there some law that says that atheists must be moral relativists? Ravi Zacharias and C. S. Lewis both make the claim (Zacharias doesn't even try to prove it, Lewis makes a good argument) that if you believe in moral absolutes--a moral law--then you must believe in a lawgiver. Ergo, a mind that controls the universe--god or God. Why? Why is that necessarily the case? Can anyone tell me?

More on moral relativism later maybe.

the song of solomon

Click This, it gets bigger, you know the drill

Click here if you forgot what I look like.
(Now I can write off my camcorder as a blogging expense in case that's a deduction on next year's taxes...)

christ

Jesus Dance is too funny. That's not right...but hahahaha!

tautology

Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.

progress
this will make a lot more sense if you've read idiot (me), two posts down.

Well, I did it. I got a third good night's sleep in a row. I also had my third panic attack in three days last night. It was that panic attack that sent me driving (driving always calms me), listening to C. S. Lewis, and eventually stopping. I stopped at the gas station (yes, the one where the Psycho Psychic formally worked, she's at "The Wal-Mart" now) and carted in my $30-from-eBay laptop and made a spreadsheet of all the things that I felt pressing in on me. I have a system of prioritizing that I learned at a seminar once that works really well. Unfortunately, the hard part is listing the stuff to begin with. I start to think that I don't have time to sit down and make lists--I just have too much to do to sit down and write! Then I'm smacked with the gut-wrenchingly cliche axiom: "those who fail to plan, plan to fail" (I hear you retching out there!) and I do the thing I already knew would help me. I prioritize.*

So, from 9:00 till 10:00 last night I used my 1987 edition of Lotus 123 and programmed my prioritization scheme into it and listed my personal and work tasks. Then I prioritized them and now I've gotten a bunch done. It's a good feeling. Sleep + Lists = Calm Productivity for me. And I know that. And I've known that. And, like the drowning man who pulls the lifeguard down with him, I get too panicked to see the help in front of my face.

theology
I'm nowhere closer to theological resolution, but damn!, C. S. Lewis was a very intelligent, logical man. And an amazing writer. Almost makes me want to go back and read the Narnia books to see his fiction prose style. I recommend Mere Christianity to anyone of any faith or of no faith. If not as an apologetic work, as an exercise in (nearly) air-tight logical argument.

*If anyone is interested in my super-cool method of prioritizing, leave a comment and I'll blog the method.

yada yada yada

How Are You Smart?
Self Smartie!

How Are You Smart?

You are 35% geek

You are a geek liaison, which means you go both ways. You can hang out with normal people or you can hang out with geeks which means you often have geeks as friends and/or have a job where you have to mediate between geeks and normal people. This is an important role and one of which you should be proud. In fact, you can make a good deal of money as a translator.

Normal: Tell our geek we need him to work this weekend.

You [to Geek]: We need more than that, Scotty. You'll have to stay until you can squeeze more outta them engines!

Geek [to You]: I'm givin' her all she's got, Captain, but we need more dilithium crystals!

You [to Normal]: He wants to know if he gets overtime.

Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com

idiot (me)

Well, I've gotten two good nights of sleep in a row and I feel great this a.m. (Just one good night's sleep never fixes me.) I can't believe how often I come to the conclusion that good sleep is the cure for my ills and then am baffled when I get strung out because I'm short on sleep.

Just yesterday I was near the point of breakdown (after a 10-hour sleep, no less) when the kids missed the bus and I had to chase the bus down in She-who's SUV. (It was a camel-back-breaking-straw, not that stressful in and of itself.) "Overwhelmed," of course, has been my mantra. "Go to bed," should become my mantra.

I don't talk about this much, but next to sleep, the one thing that cures me of the overwhelmed/depressed cycle is to make lists of everything I feel pressing in on me to accomplish and prioritize them. The lists so help to put things into perspective and make me realize that the Big List of Things to Do is indeed finite. I need to do that today. And to be perfectly honest, one of the best times for me to do that is on the commute to and from work (1/2 hour each way). Unfortunately I find myself almost hedonistically addicted to whatever audiobook I'm listening to at the time to the exclusion of all else. Of course my book right now is Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis, the Narnia author, who was a very intelligent and logical apologist. I wanted to review his arguments in my search for theological peace.

So now I need to make a short list:

Listen to Christian apologetics
Make list of priorities

...and prioritize those.

clever slogans

Life is indescribably hectic. Too hectic to blog about it, as much as I'd like to. So here's something from my email that I enjoyed.

Sign over a gynecologist's office: "Dr. Jones, at your cervix."
Door to colonoscopy lab: "To expedite your visit, please back in."
On a plumber's truck: "We repair what your husband fixed."
Another plumber's truck: "Don't sleep with a drip. Call your plumber."
Pizza shop slogan: "7 days without pizza makes one weak."
At a Milwaukee tire shop: "Invite us to your next blowout."
Door of plastic surgeon's office: "Hello. Can we pick your nose?"
At a towing company: "We don't charge an arm and a leg. We want tows."
On an electrician's truck: "Let us remove your shorts."
On a maternity room door: "Push. Push. Push."
At an optometrist's office: "If you don't see what you're looking for, you've come to the right place."
On a taxidermist's window: "We really know our stuff."
In a podiatrist's office: "Time wounds all heels."
At a car dealership: "The best way to get back on your feet --- miss a car payment."
Outside a muffler shop: "No appointment necessary. We hear you coming."
In a veterinarian's waiting room: "Be back in 5 minutes. Sit. Stay."
At a power company: "We would be de-lighted if you pay your bill. However, if you don't, you will be."
On the lawn of a funeral home: "Drive carefully. We'll wait."
At a propane filling station: "Tank heaven for little grills."

monday monday
Well, I had my sleep worked out till Saturday when we didn't got to bed till 6:00 and got up at 9:00 for church. Then slept 3:00-9:00 pm, watched Vanilla Sky then slept all night. I'm tired. But....

For the record the SFB's Mercedes was parked in the cul-de-sac three out of four mornings since my "lusty oats" post. Just for the record.

And this morning was a wake-up-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-bed morning. My bedroom smells like dog urine. I don't think I've mentioned it, but I have two dogs. Portia was the second. We already had a shih tzu named "Lola" with a housebreaking problem. (She-who-must-not-be-named has brought home every one of the last four dogs we've owned without consulting me.) She wanted me to take the dogs out this morning, but the puppy is afraid of me when she's only half-awake and pees before I can get her outside. Plus one of them had an "accident" (read: owners aren't doing their jobs well). Then I couldn't find socks, then I couldn't find the hair gel that one of my daughters was using over the weekend, then there was a stack of towels and cleaning stuff the kids left out in the yard yesterday, and, and, and... I feel like I'm out of control because I have kids and dogs and none of them has any notion of self-discipline.

Oy.

exclusive spinster picture!

A rare picture of Ms. Helmes revealing her freakish third arm.

Happy Birthday, Mary T.!

lusty oats

The rusty cream-colored Mercedes parked in my cul-de-sac pisses me off every time I see it. I think. I think I'm pissed off, it might be more like envy. Or lust. It's most assuredly one of the seven deadly sins.

Let me explain.

It's a girlfriend car. There are two teen-aged guys that live with their parents in a white ranch with black shutters at the summit of the cul-de-sac. One of them has a girlfriend that drives this car. I've seen her--getting out of that car and macking on that kid. She is stunning. I don't know if she stunning because she's actually beautiful or simply stunning in the way that any older teen-aged girl is stunning to men in their thirties, but I'm not sure it matters in this case. And it doesn't bother me when she pulls up. I mean certainly there's a hint of envy that this guy has a girlfriend that looks like that, but that's not the visceral reaction I have when I leave for work in the morning and the German rustbucket is still parked there.

The fact that it's there means only one thing--she stayed the night. At her teen-aged boyfriend's parents' house. For the twenty-second time since the beginning of July.

Besides the obvious questions of "where's her parents?" and "what the hell are his parents thinking?" and "what's this world coming to?" is the realization that there is something really exciting(in my mind at least, greener grass?) going on three doors down that not only am I not a part of, I've never been a part of and likely never will be a part of. There you have the epitome of what my mind's eye sees when I think about the wild oats I never sowed. You have the reckless youth, the lack of responsibility, the sex with a stunning young fuck buddy. What better life is there?

Probably mine.

Everyone tells me it's my life that's the better of the two. Some people have built popular blogs around the notion that marriage and healthy, beautiful, well-behaved daughters, enough income to cover the expenses and 2,400 square feet with a lawn is the ideal goal. I have a hard time internalizing that. Maybe that's why they call it "sowing your wild oats" in such a way that implies you can actually run out of oats (or at least the inclination to sow them wildly) and move on with the whole "settling down" bit. Perhaps someone who started out by farming domestic oats properly never understands the disadvantages of sowing oats wildly. I think that's it. The oats you're not sowing always seem to be growing greener than your own crop.

the thing about religion

Okay, too many people have asked me this both in public comments and privately in email to gloss by it any longer. Y'all keep asking me "what's the rush with the whole theology bit?" The inherent implication is that there is no rush. Many of you have even said I have the rest of my life to decide. On the metaphysical plane, that's absolutely true. On the physical plane it's a whole different ball game.

the dilemma
Sherman, set the wayback machine to a time before my father even went in for tests. This is way back a couple of months ago when we had a large online (and some offline) discussion about John Edward. I am a firm believer (and it turns out that this is about my only absolute belief) that psychics, distance viewers, tarot readers, mediums and the like are all fake. Whether they know it or not, they are cold or warm reading. They are also employing the Law of Truly Large Numbers. For nearly all of my life, I never saw anything in my life that couldn't be explained. I had some things happen to me that I couldn't explain at the time, but they were eventually explainable. (Don't bother telling your ghost stories, we'll save those for a later discussion.) The only supernatural I believed in was the Father, Son, Holy Ghost, heavenly hosts and those spiritual beings cast away after Lucifer's uprising. Period. In fact, while I believed in demons, I never have seen anything attributed to demons that couldn't be explained in some other way.

My lambasting of John Edward (who, by the way, my wife believes is for real) came back to bite me in the ass. How could I insist on there being absolutely no supernatural influence (plink, plink, plink) except the supernatural associated with Christianity. Therein lies the rub. I have not experienced anything that I have attributed to God that I can't explain some other way.

I know what every single Christian reading this is saying: "that's where faith comes in. Hebrews says that 'faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen.'*" Okay. I hear you. I believe that. But wouldn't that apply to any supernatural event? What if I have faith that people go to a better place when they die? Okay, but I've seen nothing to prove it, but most people believe it. What if I have faith that David Copperfield can actually levitate a love seat using supernatural powers? My eyes see it. It's almost believable except for the bit of my brain that knows that nothing Copperfield does is real. What if I have faith that a tarot reader can predict my future or John Edward can talk to my dead relatives? Doesn't Hebrews 11 apply here? Christians will answer that the difference is that God is real. I will let you ponder that whole argument for a while. We can pick it up later. I need to explain the urgency.

the urgency
There are three major factors pushing me to decide something:

My father's newfound conviction since his "near-death" experience.
My church's decision to purchase a church building.
My position as a leader and role-model in my congregation.

The first (father's conviction) is not that much of a stress except how much my mom is clearly looking forward to a family Christian synergy. It's hard for me to look my mom in the eye when she says "your father is coming back to church and wants to renew is faith, isn't that wonderful?" and agree with her. There's a distinct hypocrisy there. This is the most minor of the three.

The second (new church purchase) is stressful as I know that very soon they will be asking for pledges and then money. This is a commitment. It's a commitment that I'm not willing to take lightly. It's one I want to make heartfully or not at all. This is a moderately high stress, but nearly induces an anxiety attack every time the subject comes up.

Finally, I am a worship leader, teen band leader, special music performer and sound engineer for my church. I have no idea how many of you can relate to getting up week after week "heartfully" ministering and leading concerning a subject you're not even sure if you believe. It's a huge lie. This is a lie of commission. Lies of omission come much easier. If you're watching cable and not paying for it, it's much easier to not tell someone that you're really stealing cable than to swear to them that you are not stealing cable. Every other week I stand up in front of 100 believers and tell them to just have faith and God will do the rest. Put yourself in my place.

On the flip side, of course, is the total shock of my mother, wife, minister, friends et al if I simply say I'm not going to church. That sounds minor, but I have gone to church nearly every week for thirty years. At the same church. With the same people. This is a Very Big Deal. The bigger this deal is, the more hypocritical I feel.

The pisser of it is that I don't know. If I knew that I wasn't going to do it anymore, I could gracefully bow out of things. I guess there's no reason to tell every meatspacer I know that I'm "not sure." But something is coming to critical mass.

I'm getting verklemmpt. Discuss this amongst yourselves.

*Hebrews 11:1 [KJV]

proverb from Mad magazine, circa 1977

Where there is no [tele]vision, people perish.

I know it's a 'tired' thing

I know it's a "tired" thing, but God, am I depressed. My schedule over the weekend was worse than last weekend. Both Sat and Sun mornings saw me to bed at 4:00 am with a rise time on Sat of 2 pm and Sun at 10:30 am. So I'm tired. But there is so much laundry to be done (She-who washed all the sheets and comforters at the landromat today and barely touched the stack), so much budgeting to do (bounced two more checks, I was notified today), and work to catch up on (don't get me started). It's killing me. I think it's this whole religion thing that's got me the most out of sorts. I don't even know if I feel strongly enough to bring it up with meatspacers, but I know I almost said something to She-who-must-not-be-named tonight about it. That I don't think that God exists; it's all large number theory. This is such a radical change for me, and I don't want to set it in stone by telliong people if I don't completely believe it. It will change enough people's lives that I have to be sure. But the doubt is killing me.

I gotta go. Sorry.

Fuck you, John Edward.

important to me

This NYTimes article requires (free) registration at the site, but is of such vital importance to what's going on in my brain concerning religion that I recommend registering. (It doesn't take that long, M). Article: The Odds of That

It's a very well-written piece on conspiracy v. coincidence.

What are the odds? The mathematician will answer that even in the most unbelievable situations, the odds are actually very good. The law of large numbers says that with a large enough denominator -- in other words, in a big wide world -- stuff will happen, even very weird stuff. ''The really unusual day would be one where nothing unusual happens,'' explains Persi Diaconis, a Stanford statistician who has spent his career collecting and studying examples of coincidence. Given that there are 280 million people in the United States, he says, ''280 times a day, a one-in-a-million shot is going to occur.''

The law of large numbers also describes how John Edward does his job. Finally, I'm really beginning to believe that events that people point to as "proof" to them of a deity are nothing more than coincidence.

You really must read this.

curse of the spinster

Just when I thought I couldn't be more restive (not to mention overwhelmed) Mary T. resurrects Half Mad Spinster with the statement:

I could stay rooted in one place and allow the self-doubt and self-hatred that was planted so long ago completely overtake my life like kudzu.

And now, once again, her writing has inspired ("inspired" being way too positive a word) me to examine my stagnation. I've moved eleven times in as many years and every place I've lived is within thirty miles of where I was born. I've never even lived away at school. I'm thirty-five fucking years old and too riddled with self-doubt and stupid ties* to try to find my real destiny. What are the chances that my ultimate fulfillment will come within an hour of where I grew up. Even Laura Ingalls Wilder--whom one would associate with having fulfillment all in one little town--began by moving out of Wisconsin.

Welcome back Mary T. And thanks for challenging me to think.

*except the Rush Limbaugh No Boundaries tie, ironically

god.

Some people simply need to die.

Article: 45 children removed in Web porn ring bust.

Authorities say the parents traded photos of themselves sexually abusing their own children and shared tips in online chat rooms.

Fuck.

four days
The two-month stay of my mother-in-law has become only four days. I'm taking her home tonight. As time goes on, her and her daughter (She-who) get along less and less. She's a very negative person and hyper-critical of everything. This is driving us all crazy. She claims to want to go home for a half-dozen lame reasons, it being understood that The Big Reason is that it's just not working for her to be here.

I did realize something last night, though. I was in one of those vicious circle tired-depressed-more tired-more depressed moods last night. I'm overwhelmed at work, on the budget and with housework. I can deal with all of that until Mother-in-Law comes around. Then I have the added benefit of her bitching that I work too much, that I'm not paying the bills and my house is trashed. Adding insult to injury, she criticizes me for staying up late to try to catch up or how I'm doing the laundry.

We get along pretty well--till she starts into a rant about She-who-must-not-be-named and I'm the recipient who's not allowed to say anything--but enough is enough.

sex in the city

LilFluffy's got a blog now. I live in the same city, and I've never seen people having sex in a park, but he claims he's seen it many times. Here he recalls some occasions.

Very entertaining.

enlightenment
dedicated to Ezrael and Mary T. on the occasion of their epiphanies

Milarepa had searched everywhere for enlightenment, but could find no answer. One day, he saw an old man walking slowly down a mountain path, carrying a heavy sack. Immediately, Milarepa sensed that this old man knew the secret he had been desperately seeking for so many years.

"Old man, please tell me what you know. What is enlightenment?"

The old man smiled at him for a moment, and swung the heavy burden off his shoulders, and stood straight.

"Yes, I see!" cried Milarepa. "My everlasting gratitude. But please, one question more. What is after enlightenment?"

Smiling again, the old man picked up the sack once again, slung it over his shoulders, steadied his burden, and continued on his way.

sleepy time

If I haven't responed to your emails in my normal prompt fashion, it's because my work/sleep schedule was all dorked up. It should be okay now. It was:

Fri: sleep at 2:00 am (Sat)
Sat: rise at 8:30 am, sleep from 5:00 to 11:00 pm, then awake for a while
Sun: sleep at 4:00 am rise at 8:30 am, church, etc, sleep 5:00 to 6:00pm, work 9:00 pm to 2:00 am Monday
Mon: sleep at 4:00 am, rise at 6:15 am, work 7:30 am 1:00 pm, go home to go to bed, but don't make it there till 6:30 pm sleep till...
Tue: rise at 5:30 am (11 hours of sleep!)

I think I'm finally caught up. I feel good. I'll reply to those emails soon! And if you've never emailed me, feel free, I generally respond promptly.

death of a symbiont
Scott Allen Vice (1965-2002)

On July 29, Scott Vice, a grad student at University of Denver, was found dead in his apartment. I heard about it third-hand, from Mary T, who heard it from MKH. I immediately felt a loss when I heard, and it was strange. It was strange because until I heard of his passing, I'd never heard of Scott. While I've learned more now, all I knew about him at that moment was that he was a blogger. I quickly realized that he was the first blogger I'd ever heard of to die with an active blog. I felt it had to be some sort of morbid milestone, but more than that, it was like an arm had been chopped off this million-armed monster we call the "blogger community".

Steven Den Beste wrote an insightful piece on how bloggers tend to cluster yet remain all interconnected as well. Scott and I were connected in a way that only bloggers can consider connected--we both linked to another blog we enjoyed and that blog linked to both of us. By that simple mechanism of reciprocal linking, we've become part of a larger body. Not only linked to a cluster, but linked to all bloggers.

I don't mean to say that I feel the same loss or anything even in the same universe of sorrow that Mr. Vice's family and friends surely feel, and I don't mean to detract from meatspace effects of his death. I do mean to say that, while blogs come and go (live and "die", as we say), it's a natural thing. Like hair and skin and toenails on our own appendages, we expect to lose them over time. This, to me, is different. This is an amputation. But more than that, this is a symbiont ripped from it's host. Except it's not a host. It's a mass of symbionts--each with a life of their own, but each greater than itself because of connections with others. This synergism that is a mass of individual thoughts, yet somehow yields common thought. It's a self-correcting, checks-and-balances, spin-controlled being made up of all of us who might just be nothing otherwise. We are affected when one of us is lost.

This will happen again. It will happen more and more as this new form of community continues to evolve and grow. Such is the way of the universe. My universe is subtly yet unmistakably changed.

limerence link

Adultolescent Daria does a nice job of explaining limerence. I think she's got a good handle on it. I think she makes the mistake of differentiating "in love" and "limerence" (they are the same) instead of "love" and "limerence" (which are vastly different). A long, but good, read.

a hundred dollars

Last night, the band played a two hour audition (read: free) at a local bar. At the end of the last set, a regular at the bar asked if we'd play another hour. "Well, they're not paying us," I offered. "No problem," he says, "I'll get you some money." He proceed to "pass the hat" amongst audience members and collected a hundred dollars to give us to play another hour. We took him up on it. Hell, a twenty-dollar night is better than a no-dollar night. Plus, it pretty much locked us in to play there. If the crowd spontaneously throws money at you to play more, I'd say you're a hit.

personal note

Yndy, if you read this, drop me a private message or an email with your email address, m'kay?

If you're not Yndy, ignore this.

reprieve

I found out last night that my mother-in-law is only coming for two weeks. Whew.

also

My dad came home last night. He is doing well. And I put up a lot of favorite links to the right, as well as a couple of poetry links and a link to the instructions for the dog method of agression therapy.

Will write some of that truth-from-the-darkest-heart-of-me stuff soon. Things are calming down a bit. (Until my mother-in-law comes to live with us for two months starting next week. Anyone got an extra bedroom I can use for about eight weeks?)

just heard on WGN-chicago radio

"Hey Cubs fans! Did you know Old Style Beer, Chicago's Beer, is celebrating it 100-year centennial celebration?"

Glad you clarified that it wasn't one of those hyped-up 62-year centennials! Those things bug me!

on the phone with the cellular collections dept just now...

"You can pay your wireless bill with a check over the phone." Mr. Clueless about EFT offers.

"Cool. Let me get my checkbook" [Grabs used-up carbon check pad with checks 7976-8000] "Okay."

"All right. What's your check number?"

"Uh, I don't know, let's just say 3000." [Trust me, it doesn't matter]

"Is that a real paper check number?"

"Uh, no, but it doesn't matter. I'm not going to waste a good paper check on an EFT."

"Then you'll have to come into the store because I need a paper check number."

"Okay. Let's use 3000 then."

"Is that a real check number?"

"Absolutely."

[pause] "Okay, what's your account number?"

"You mean routing number?"

"Yeah, that . . ."

I give him all pertinent info. And he authorizes the payment.

"Your authorization number is 3432, please be sure and tear up that check..."

"Sure!" [I tear up the non-existent check that would have been a good check if I'd used a "real" check number]

". . . because the bank will print a paper one and sent it to us."

WHAT? Why? To hang it on the wall? If you had a paper check, you send it to my bank. Why the hell would they issue a paper check to you and turn around and get it back the next day? Why do you think we were waiting on your computer?

"Okay man, whatever . . ."

father update

For those of you following along at home, my dad should be released from the hospital today. Things look good.

here puppy, puppy, puppy

Mr. Greenjeans used to tell us on Captain Kangaroo's show that all puppies come to the phrase "here puppy, puppy, puppy." I"m inclined to agree.

Last night, She-who-must-not-be-named brought home a new (well, 8-week-old) pure black cocker spaniel mix bitch. (Not to be confused with the 1981 Pure Black Joe Cocker Bitch Mix of Michael Jackson's "Rock With You"). She comes to the call. She needed a name though. Since I didn't have any say in the last two dogs named, I insisted that I have a say in this one, so we had a little family debate.

"Natasha!"
"Sugar!"
"I like Natasha!" My oldest is insistent.
"Wait a minute." Daddy's voice of reason. "She's black! Let's call her something black like Shaniqua or Mercedes!"
Laughter, then guilt.
"I do like Mercedes," From the middle one.
"Yeah, Mercedes!" The Rooster
"Natasha!"
"Okay," say I, "I don't really like Mercedes, but here's a thought..."
She-who, "What?"
"It'd be like a Shakespearean thing plus a parody of Mercedes. Let's call her 'Portia.' P-O-R-T-I-A, It's from the Merchant of Venice, I think. She was a lawyer."
"I love it!" Mom says.
"Can Mercedes be her middle name?"
"Natasha!"
"Nope. Not Natasha, we've decided. It'll be Portia. And Mercedes can be her middle name. 'Portia Mercedes'"
Rooster: "Can we just call her Portia?"
Me: "Sure, we only need her middle name if we're mad at her. That's what middle names are for!"

Housebreaking time.

isn't this an old smothers brothers bit?

Man Dies in Vat of Chocolate.

He should have learned from Tommy Smothers lesson: Yell "FIRE!" when you fall into a vat of chocolate. Why? 'Cause no one will save you if you yell "CHOCOLATE!" ref (halfway down the page)

the evil underbelly of reality

Illustration 1
I finally had to walk my mom (almost forcibly) down to her car tonight. Dad is in a regular room now and she was worrying every single detail of the room to death (I will not describe the behavior as Italian or Jewish, but if my mom had a more Mediterranian look about her, you couldn't tell the difference. Think Raymond's mom from "Raymond" or George's mom from "Seinfeld." See what I mean?). It was driving Dad nuts (think about Raymond and George's dads). He's barely getting back to normal and mom is tying him in knots. Now this is not unusual behavior for my mom, lest you think it's brought on by stress of her husband being in the hospital, this is mode "normal." Usually my dad is strong enough to tell her to stop, but I had to tonight. "I'm going to wait right here till theat nurse brings him water," says she. "Okay she brought the water, I'll walk you to your car. Say goodbye." I think I caught a relieved look from Dad as we left the room.

Illustration 2
Clorox Ready Mops (among 70,000 other products) are soley a money-making product. They are not there to benefit us, the consumers. We've got one of these damned things and it won't even touch spilled pop. You can't wring it out! You have to put on a new, disposable cloth cover at about $1.00 a pop. It's just marginally convenient enough (if you buy thier floor-cleaning solvent bottles) that you want to use it over a standard mop. Annual cost for Ready Mop: about $100. Annual cost for regular mop: $5. Convenience is too expensive sometimes.

Illustration 3
This is too evil. I tuned to the local minor league baseball game on the radio in my car tonight and stayed on the station! I was actually listening to, following and enjoying the game. Crap, there's something wrong with me. I caught something infectious from those Red Hots at Fenway, I think. I'm going with Mary T. and some others to a Reds-Cubs game in Cincinnati after Fray Day 6. Evil.

from my mom

[Your dad] got the rest of his tubes, etc. taken out yesterday. He was sitting up in a chair with his glasses on at 9:15 this morning. He is eating some semi-solid food. He can finally talk and tell me what he wants. ("Scratch my back"). He said he was tired of sitting, so they put him back in bed before I left. They still don't know when he can get in a regular room so the grandkids can see him. Hopefully later today or tomorrow.

That's good news.

i grew up jewish in a gentile home

Deleted due to potentially anti-semetic language. And we don't want any of that...

off the ventilator

Well, my dad is off the ventilator and is only semi-sedated now. I saw him last night and he was fidgiting about trying (it appeared) to sit himself up. He kept saying--in a way that clearly took every ounce of concentration that wasn't sedated out of him--"Up." We thought he wanted the bed up. Nope. We thought he wanted to sit up. Nope. We thought he wanted to get up, and we told him that wasn't allowed.

I told the nurse that my gut was that his back was killing him from being on it for five days. She was like "Oh, nooo. I've had him sitting up, laying down, on his side. He's not been in the same position." Yeah right. You've had him in all those positions for about five minutes each. The rest of the time he's been on his back. But you can't argue with a nurse.

Well my mom and brother were in the ICU with him after that and figured out that he need to be on his side while mom rubbed his back. The nurse, of course, hadn't bothered to find out where his back hurt and it's probably not her job to massage a hurting patient, so mom came to the rescue.

My mom's always been mostly weird, but she's even weirder now. It'll be scary if Dad dies before her. Then there'd be no one around to keep the weirdness in check. Earlier this week, while Dad was yet unconcious from anesthesia, she wanted us to chant/cheer "Rah! Rah! Robert!," something she invented out of her helplessness. I love my mom, but I couldn't do it. It's just, objectively, so incredibly corny that if my dad could hear it it'd just piss him off. I've seen it happen so many times in my youth--her corniness driving him crazy. Her corniness would drive anyone crazy. I felt sorry for Dad, but doubly so in light of the cheer...

slow internet day?

I'm just sitting her astounded by the volume of email I'm not getting. Even from my in-house automated scripts (which implies low traffic to my e-commerce sites). Also it's like my friends (I'm not talking about anyone inparticular) all have important work to do and don't have time to email. I guess that's all fine, just strange for it all to happen to everyone I know on one day.

bitchen blog award

Bobby Burgess' blog is hereby Certified Bitchen.
Very cool. Go there.

the reason

...I'm delayed in posting is that I had a flat tire on the way to work (which I have yet to fix), I went to the hospital (where my Dad is still sedated after a failed attempt at removing the ventilator) and I have like a month of budgeting and checkbook stuff to do tonight as well as visiting the hospital again.

Feeling particuarly overwhelmed right now and can't even prioritize, which would doubtlessly help.

update

My father made it out of only seven hours of surgery with flying colors and six "pretty grafts" (as the gorgeous head surgery nurse descibed them). He's become religious in the last couple of days. It is good blog fodder for me. Just you wait.

two things

my father...
is currently in for quintuple bypass surgery. Will get out about 6:00 p.m., it's an eight-hour surgery.

half mad spinster...
has (semi-)retired her blog. Typically, I would feel a great loss at a situation like this, but I don't. I'm not sure anyone has read so much of her blog as closely as I, and certainly none has memorized it as I have seemed to. But you know what? Mary T. isn't just a blog to me. She is a true friend and perhaps one of the best friends I've ever had. Even though I've never met her in meatspace, she is so 'real' to me that the loss of her blog doesn't mean the loss of her as a person. I am grateful for the inspiration I got from her blogging, but I am more grateful that the forces of the universe made us friends. Good luck, Mary T.

You deserve it.

shit.

I just found out my dad has three arteries 99% blocked and is going in for quadruple bypass surgery this afternoon. His father had the same surgery about 15 years ago. I'm the prime candidate among my brothers for requiring the same urgery down the road. I don't know what else to type...

sleep, glorious sleep

I got eight hours last night. Probably the first time in the month of July that I have. I'm a new man. I've written in the past about how I get terribly "depressed" when I don't get sleep, and that's certainly been me this week. No amount of telling myself that I'm only depressed because I'm tired helps. The depression compels me to stay up later to try to get something done (i.e. the undone things that I perceive are depressing me). So I get to bed late. Then it, of course, becomes a vicious circle. My first course of action when I'm depressed due to tiredness should be to go to bed, but it isn't. I need to train myself (and the rest of my family) to force myself into bed when I get that way. The problem is that going to bed with things undone makes me feel guilty because I'm of the type that really can get things accomplished if I stay up late. But only if I'm otherwise caught up on sleep. I don't realize that after two or three late nights, staying up late doesn't help anymore. This is an old record, I know. Sorry if the scratches bother you.

bork, bork, bork

For anyone following the comments on the last post, here's Google translated (by Google!) into Muppet Swedish Chef.

YAMS - yet another meme survey
from Kristiv

Which song:

reminds you of an ex-lover:
My Girl - Chilliwack

reminds you of an ex-friend:
Star Wars - MECO

makes you cry:
Butterfly Kisses - Bob Carlisle

makes you laugh:
Toledo, Ohio - John Denver

makes you wanna dance:
You Make Me Feel Like Dancing - Leo Sayer

makes you wanna sing:
She's So Unusual [Entire Album] - Cyndi Lauper

reminds you of the one you want:
New Age Girl - Dead Eye Dick

reminds you of the one you love:
Lady in Red - Chris de Burgh

do you wish you wrote:
Like a Prayer - Madonna

do you never want to hear again:
Reunited - Peaches & Herb

do you want to get married to:
Variations On The Kanon By Pachelbel - George Winston
and Building the Barn from Witness Soundtrack - Maurice Jarre

sums up your teenage years:
Jack and Diane - John Cougar

do you like to wake up to:
Renegade - Styx

do you like out of your parents' record collection:
Zombie Jamboree - Kingston Trio

do you love that you wouldn't know about if it wasn't for a friend:
Short Skirt, Long Jacket - Cake

do you love the video more than the tune:
Cry - Godley and Creme

reminds you of your first crush:
Crush on You - The Jets

do you love which is from your favourite movie:
Ride Of The Valkyrie - Apocalypse Now - Richard Wagner

makes you think of the moon:
That's Amore - Dean Martin

makes you think of stars:
You're All I need - Jack Wagner (sorry!)

makes you think of the sun:
Here comes the Sun - George Harrison

makes you think of the night:
In the Air Tonight - Phil Collins

makes you think of sex:
I Want Your Sex - George Michael

makes you think of being alone:
Losing My Religion - REM

blogger 503 workaround

If you're getting the 503 Template not found error a bunch in Blogger, try this.

Edit template.
Cut and Paste template code into a local text editor.
Do same with archive template.
Choose a standard Blogger template and publish. (It will work)
Edit template again, pasting your original code back in.
Do same for archive template.
Republish.

This sees to "remind" blogger where to find your template.

You're welcome.

blog humor

from here

beat and busy

I keep getting not enough sleep. Last night I was cleaning (the best motivator is to invite company over!), then I was working on the Web site for the band. I think the logo turned out nice for a quick (read: 2 hour) hack.

Also, Tony Pierce commented on ("envied") my piece about Fenway. That makes it all worthwhile.

Finally, my oldest (who's eleven and I will begin referring to as "Katie" as that's what she wants to be called, but no one does) is the worst malingerer when it comes to cleaning. The mere mention of cleaning brings on Katie's "hurting stomach" and gradually more flu-like symptoms. Last night, she went through "tired" and "all over hurting" by the time the cleaning was done. She-who and I don't even concern ourselves with thei crying-of-wolf anymore. If it's time to clean and she says her stomach hurts, we make her clean anyway. Someday she'll learn.

fenway park
Boston, Part III (final), 3 July 2002

Let me start by saying that the following experience brought me one step closer toward being a baseball fan--that is to say it brought me the first step ever toward being a fan. I actually watched some of the all-star game the other night because I have, at least a newfound understanding of, if not a newfound respect for the game.

When Tommy and I entered the park, or should say drifted into the park along a rushing current of fans, he suggested we walk straight out into the stands to get a ground-level view of Fenway and The Monstah before finding our roof-top boxes. We hit an eddy of the fan-current on the lower-level at third base just as the Canadian national anthem was being sung. Over the strains of "Oh, Canada" Tommy leaned toward me.

"Do you see The Monstah?"

I did. It was obvious. Where left field should have stretched another thirty feet across Lansdowne Street, a 35-foot green wall stood instead. Later, Tommy explained that when John Taylor built the park there wasn't room to build the whole of left field so he build The Green Monster instead. A 36-foot 9-inch wall that prevented a low flying ball from too easily becoming a home-run hit. For a batter to hit one "out of the park" in left field, the ball would still need to be traveling almost 40 feet above the ground to clear the pale green wall (it wasn't actually green until 1947, but let's not quibble). Anything less would produce a unique "thunk" as it hit the wall and be reflected back into play.

We turned our attention toward the "Star Spangled Banner" (the flag and the song) and then headed back out to find our seats on the roof.

Our seats were high above first base with a remarkable view of the diamond with feeling like you were miles away. Instantly, Tommy (one of the religious himself since childhood) began explaining the displayed stats to me. I always knew that the appeal of professional baseball often comes from a familiarity--if not memorization--of statistics. I did not grow up with baseball fans in my house or hang out with any baseball fans when I was young (let's face it, I didn't hang out with anyone when I was young--I was woefully unpopular) so I've never had baseball stats explained to me. Oh, I've been to a couple of local double-A minor league games, but never saw an appeal over the mascot racing a 5-year-old around the bases between innings. But Tommy was a wealth of information. Over the course of the evening he explained what the designated hitter was, the pinch runner, the pinch hitter and just about everything else that was outside of my limited mental view of baseball.

He explained to me that at the professional level, baseball is like chess. It's not (like in little league) a matter of luck or dominating players or any of the things you tend to associate with professional basketball or soccer. He showed me how he, by strictly being a fan, could predict what would happen next on the field. He could tell me when a steal or a bunt or a walk was coming up.

"How do you know that?"

"It's all statistics. See he's got a man on two and three and the batter up has a decent batting average of .320 with eleven homers so far this season, so he can't afford the risk of throwing strikes and chance that the batter will connect. So he's gotta walk him."

It was becoming clear to me why statistics were so important to the teams and why it made the game interesting for the fans. I could see why keeping a stat of how a player hits against a given pitcher becomes of supreme importance when you're talking about the large money involved in pro sports. A losing season could drive next year's ticket sales down (though not in Boston or Chicago, but that's different).

The big news of the night was Tony Clark. Tommy told me this was his rookie season with the Sox after three consecutive 30-homer seasons with the Tigers. After starting the season strong, he quickly fell into a slump. When he was up to bat, we could feel a collective psychic groan from the crowd. The feeling that Clark could deliver, but probably won't was more than stated to me by Tommy, the collective body language of the entire crowd was screaming it to me. In that sense, they were not disappointed. Clark struck out his first and third at-bats with and inconsequential hit on his second at-bat.

After Clark's second strike-out, Tommy commented that, by the scoreboard, it was still 91 degrees at 9:00 p.m. I though I'd see how the weather was back home so I called Time and Temperature in Fort Wayne and not only did it tell me it was 92 and 8:00 p.m., it also reminded me that it was July 3rd. Shit. It was my parents wedding anniversary. I gave them a call.

"Mom!"
"Hi! Where are you?"
"I'll tell you in a minute, can you get Dad on the phone?"
"Sure, I'll give him the phone and get on the extension in the bedroom."
Dad. "Hey. It's loud there."
"Yes, it is. Is Mom on?"
"I'm here."
"Cool. I just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary from Fenway Park where I'm watching the Red Sox play Toronto."

They were genuinely impressed and thanked me for the call. I told them where I was sitting in case they caught the highlights on the news and wanted to look for me. Back to the game...

It's the bottom of the eighth and the relatively boring game has yielded a 2-2 score. Suddenly excitement breaks out! pinch-runner Rickey Henderson steal second by plowing into a misguided ball thrown by a Toronto infielder (Darren Fletcher, for those of you keeping stats at home) and knocking the ball into the outfield giving him the opening to steal third. After another out and two more single base-hits, the bases are loaded with two outs and guess who's coming to dinner? Mr. Tony Clark steps up to the plate in a left-handed posture (he's a switch-hitter, which means he can bat left- or right-handed). Tommy lets a "jeez" escape under his breath. I didn't need an explanation this time--tie game at the bottom of the eighth and the could-be-except-for-the-slump star is at bat. Toronto's Cliff Politte quickly racks Clark up to a full count--three balls, two strikes. The next pitch is the thing.

"He's thinking he's gonna choke, isn't he?" I ask Tommy.
"Probably"
"The pitcher thinks he will too. He's going to throw a strike. He can't afford to walk in the run."
"Yep. He's going straight up the chute. No doubt there."

Politte winds up and sends a fastball down the middle and Clark swings. And hits! And the ball grounds past the second baseman and into center field. Tony is stunned for a second, as we all are, and bolts for first. The crowd cheers, Henderson bolts from his stolen third base, comes home and 31,777 fans leap to a simultaneous, deafening ovation. Tony Clark has come through! The hero the fans knew was inside of him has finally come out to play.

The ovation continues until Boston's Merloni steps up to the plate. He hits a carbon copy of Clark's center-field grounder to bring in run number 4 and keep the bases loaded. Now that Clark is on second, thew coaching staff sends Rickey Henderson in to pinch run for him. As Clark walks off the field, his teammates high-five him and the ground gives him another standing ovation. He has made good and everyone knows it.

The icing on the cake comes as Shea Hillenbrand is struck by Politte's second pitch and the automatic walks drive a 5th run in and the last nail in Toronto's coffin. A pop-fly out to left field ends the eighth inning.

No here we are at the top of the ninth with a score of 5-2. If this were LA or San Deigo, the fans would be pouring out of the stadium convinced that the game was won and convinced that leaving now will help them beat traffic out of the stadium. I've seen this on television (that's the only reason I know, and then only on the 11 O'Clock news highlights...by accident). But not in Boston. The religion that is the Sox at Fenway keeps the congregation in this classic cathedral until the last drop of opponents blood is spilled. Boston fans are there for real.

Nothing happens to even thing up in the top of the ninth, so the game is over. (They don't play the bottom of the ninth if the home team is ahead.) A few hits, a few runs, a hero redeemed, the sacrament of the dog and the beer and I am bitten, just a bit, by the baseball bug.

I'm bitten enough to be pissed that Bud Selig called the All-Star game after the 11th inning and to know why I'm pissed. I'm bitten enough to want to take my tom-boy middle daughter to a Cubs game. I'm even bitten enough to consider seeing the Reds play the Cubs in Cincinnati the day after Fray Day 6.

We'll see.

bushed

I've been so tired this week. The kids have been at grandma's but I still can't seem to get anything done or to bed on time. I started the final installment of the Boston story over lunch yesterday. I should clean my car today over lunch, but I may finish that story instead.

I've been slow in posting as I've been concentrating on doing my job instead, I hope you all understand. It's hard to find time to post at home without telling She-who-must-not-be-named what I'm doing.

I have a lot of issues right now I could blog about, but don't know which I should blog about or where to start. I've currently been struggling with: budgeting, religion/faith, lust, home organization, and writing/getting published. If any of those topics appeal to you or you want to know what I'm talking about, drop me a comment (private is fine), and I'll see what I can do. Not much marriage-related stuff to post because it's all tentatively working right now. I know I don't want to read blogs about "smug marrieds" 'cause they're boring and seem like bragging. If things change, rest assured, I'll tell you.

Oh, one more thing: an angst-ridden blog about boys and breakups that smacks with the sweet after-tase of limerence.

That is all.

prelude to the sox
Boston, Part II, 03 July 2002

"I'll tell what I thought we'd do, Ricky."

It was Tommy. He always calls me Ricky. His penchant for the diminutive form of everyone's name is remarkable. Mostly remarkable for me as I never know if it's a Tommy thing or a Boston thing. Tommy's a native. You can tell by how he drives.

"What's that Tommy?"

"I thought we'd go catch the Sox at Fenway."

"Wow. Really? I've never been to a pro baseball game before." Nor have I ever wanted to. I'm sure my tone betrayed me.

"Ah, Ricky-boy, yah'll love it. Fenway's a classic. You'll get to see the Green Monstah."

"What's that?"

"What's the Monstah? Oh, God, Ricky, you've nevah heard of the Green Monstah? Well, you have to go then. We'll ah-knock over a coupla brews and head down thah. Call me tomorrow when you're done with your shit and we'll work it out."

"Okay, I will," promised I.

Wednesday, July 3rd was the second 100-degree day in a row. This was some kind of a record for Boston. Every public establishment in Beantown was like a meat locker. I could have sworn I saw cold mist roll out of a couple of doors as I walked into over-compensating air conditioning. I learned that Boston only has about three 90-degree days a summer and this was one of them. In Indiana we have four to six weeks of 90 degrees and most of it more humid than it was when I was out East. On the flip side, they have three times as many snow plows per capita as Indiana, so I guess it all equals out somehow.

I sat sweltering for a half an hour next to a middle-aged man in horn-rims at the McDonald's (apparently I was lucky enough to choose the only under-air-conditioned esablishment in the city to meet Tommy at) near Boston University while Tommy finished his sales rounds. Horn-rimmed Guy would stand up about every five minutes, throw down his paper, straighten his too-small three-button golf shirt and start swearing at...at... himself? his invisible friend? management injustice? no clue, but then he'd sit and go back to his crossword in the paper that he studied without filling in any boxes. He didn't even have a pencil.

Tommy came and got me about three and a half hours before the game and gave me a frenetic, freakishly Bostonian driving tour of downtown. Through the financial district, through the Chinese district, past the rows upon rows of hole-in-the wall authentic Italian restaurants, and down Newbury Street--what he called the "Rodeo Drive of Boston" where merchants paid $175 per square foot for the honor of selling to snooty college students with Mom and Dad's credit cards. We drove past Radcliffe and a dozen other university campuses (there are something like forty universities in the greater Boston area if you count the Cambridge side of the Charles River) and finally onto a very narrow, very rough cobblestone street where he stopped by and oddly out-of-place 18th century wooden house squeezed between 19th century brownstones and storefronts.

"This is Paul Revere's house" Tommy commented proudly. And indeed a small brown sign hung from the front with "Paul Revere's House" Emblazoned in gold, scrolling letters on its painted face. "This is the last un-improved street in the city, they used to all be this cobblestone." I believed him, how could I not?

A few blocks farther he pointed out an art deco parking garage that seemed in remarkably good repair for an eighty-year-old building. "They just rebuilt it." he said, surprising me, "This is what it looked like before they raized it and put up this new one. But the old one looked like stong wind would bring it down. They built the new one to look exactly like the old one down to the big 'garage' sign there on the front."

At this point, I shouldn't have been surprised after noticing how much Boston liked to retain as much old architecture as possible. Truly an enchanting trip that must have taken us miles from downtown, but I was surprised when in moments we were driving past the McDonalds he had picked me up from 2 hours before.

Me: "How'd we get here?"

"I 've been driving yah in circles the whole time."

There's no way I could have told you that from the wicked curves and backtracks all through the city. So in confusion, I heard him say it was time to head down to Fenway for the game.

As we approached the park, the parking prices went up, from $10 to park 5 miles from the stadium to $40 to park next door. Tommy chose to park on the street within walking distance and we fed the meter to give us hour and forty-five minutes parking time.

"Won't you get a ticket?" I asked, knowing we wouldn't see his SUV for another four hours.

"Oh, most definitely, but it's cheapah than pahking in a garage. I get a ticket for thirty bucks but it cost me forty to park in the garage. It's a better deal out here."

We strolled down toward Uno's Bar. Along the way, we stopped at a hack shop to pick me up a Red Sox baseball cap somewhat as a memento, but mostly to insure that my receding hairline didn't get any more sunburnt in the 100-degree heat.

The bar was where he was set to meet his friend of a friend who was a scalper to get the tickets. Apparently there are no tickets available for Red Sox games. The scalping business is so large that organized crime fronts scalpers the money to buy up season tickets for a lot of the good seats. We got lucky though. After squeezing in at the bar (standing room only), Tommy headed out to the street to get our tickets. He came back in with a big smile.

"You are not going to believe what I got."

Having no point of reference, I prepared myself to be amazed by whatever he told me. "What's that?"

"I got roof box seats, they are incredible seats, and cause I know the guys best friend, I got 'em without the sauce!"

Boggle.

"I mean I didn't have to pay him any extra, I got 'em at face value! That means extra money for beer!" To the bartender: "Give us a coupla more here, buddy. Thanks."

Three Sam Adams Light's later we were off to Fenway and the Green Monster, whatever that is....

to be continued...

milestone

Todays' my 13th wedding anniversary. I had four paragraphs written that my browser lost.

Suffice to say: I'm surprised we made it this far; I should feel lucky; I feel like a lot still needs to change.

Wish I had time to re-write it...

my post on HMS

Sorry no post right now (but I am currently working on the other Boston installment), because I poured my heart and soul into this post on Half Mad Spinster.

Enjoy.

boston
04 July 2002 -- Boston

You know what's really scary? Everybody in Boston drives like me. Of course, as most people know, none of the streets are straight or have lane markings. Making matters worse is that the vast majority of the streets are one-way. So if you accidentally get on a street curving the way you don't want to go, you can't just pull a u-turn and go back the way you came; you have to find a roundabout that will take you to a tree that goes back in the general direction you came from. For a guy who loses his sense of direction when a road has nay curve at all, I was totally lost in Boston. Good thing I wasn't actually driving. I was riding with a native Bostonian and it struck me that the thing that unifies Boston drivers is that they all decide at the last moment which way they want to turn. I have never seen so many people make left turns from right lanes and right turns from left lanes in my life. (It's illegal in Indiana.)

Adding insult to injury, you can never be sure how many lanes there are, let alone which one you're in:

'Hey! You just turned left out of the right lane!'
'Oh yeah? Prove it! Do you see any lanes marked here?'

Scary.

Well I did get to see all the famous places: Boston Common (called that because 200 years ago, it was common cattle grazing area for Boston residents who owned cattle. Or rather, their cattle grazed there, not the residents), Harvard Square (which isn't), the boat houses, the harbor, Paul Revere's House and Fenway Park. Seeing the Sox at Fenway was the highlight of my trip. I'll tell the story very soon, I promise....

to be continued...

coming home
28 June 2002 -- Wisconsin Dells

We just got on the interstate leaving the Wisconsin Dells/Lake Delton Area (in Wisconsin, of course). My wife twisted some time-share condominium telemarker's arm and got us nearly a whole 3-day vacation for next to nothing. Keeping in mind that The Dells is a major Tourist Trap (read "overpriced"), we did well to go three days and two nights for only $300 total. Lodging was free and some of the other stuff we got free tickets or discounts to.

Other than the 2-hour long forty-five minute presentation by Bluegreen's Chrismas Mountain resort sales pitch, we had a great time. Nearly every major hotel (ours: Antigua Bay) has it's own water slides and nubile lifeguards.

I'd been there a dozen times as a kid, and a lot of it was a bi trite and old hat for me, but it was nice to relive the wonder through my children's eyes. The new wonderment to me was the kitsch factor. When I was a kid in the seventies and eighties, all the hotels built in the fifties and early sixties seemed sad and time-worn. Now, cruising down the strip of hotels in Lake Delton and the shops of the downtown Dells shopping district, I was awe-struck by the often well-preserved kitschiness of the whole thing. I've taken about a hundred digital pictures of the largest collection of early sixties kitsch hotel signs and retail signs I've ever seen. (I would guess that the Poconos in Pennsylvania has a similar offering, but I haven't been there.) What South Beach in Miami is to art deco, Wisconsin Dells is to this stuff.

Adding to the entertainment (in a tragic sort of way, like seeing has-been stars in a Branson show) of the trip was to witness the bastardization of every scrap of local Native American heritage-- "Big Chief Karts and Coasters," "Native Sun" swimwear, "Chippewa Motel," and "Ericsons Tepee Park and Campground" to name but a few. As icing, those who didn't have a sixties-era hotel sign to restore or a Native American phrase to twist, there was always room for random adulteration of other Bits of Americana. Don't forget to stop by "Paul Bunyan's Up-North Gift House and Bakery", stay at the "Robin Hood Resort" or party at the "Copa Cabana" (not Copacabana, mind you, that would be to obvious).

Anyway, we had a swell, if bourgeois, time. And She-who-must-not-be-named got a hell of a package out of a time-share telemarketer to go. The time-share presentation wasn't the hell most people make them out to be and it wasn't hard to say no. So we sacrificed two hours of a three day vacation to save about $400 in expenses. I can't complain.

I'll get that photo essay up soon.

it's me

Well, I have a travelogue for both Wisconsin Dells and Boston. They are upstairs on my laptop. If I get up the gumption, I'll go get them on floppy and post them. I'm so far behind on my blog reading. I hate it when I read a blog a few days after a friend (in this case two friends) report a crisis and I'm not there to be supportive. I'm just a supportive king of guy, I guess.

What does that say about me? What does it mean that I'm dismayed when my fellow bloggers anguish and I'm too late to comment or email or call. I guess one thing it says is that I count these people I've never met in meatspace as real people. It also says that problems come and go without my comments. Encouraging, yet humbling.

logan

I'm at a public access terminal at Logan waiting for my connection to Cincinatti where I'll wave to Mary, Robin and Jeff before flying home. Thought I'd say "hi!"

Saw a Red Sox game (client bought) last night. I am not a sports fan, least of a baseball, but I had a totally rockin time even if it was 92 degees at 9:00 at Fenway Park. Fenway is a very cool culture. Fights over foul balls, and they don't leave even when the Sox are up by three in the bahttom of the 8th. They stay to see Toronto (or the much-despised Yankees) bleed. Real christian-and-lion shit thah, I'll tell yah.

Boston is a cool town. Will blog about the trip later. Maybe on the flight, maybe not.

outta here

I'm leaving for the airport. See you soon!

I'm getting verklemmpt... one moment ... talk amongst yourselves; here's a topic:

The "Children of God" are neither children nor gods.

Discuss.

...on a jet plane

Well I have a post about my vacation last week to Wisconsin Dells to post, but it ain't done. I'm flying to the Boston area Tues-Thur of this week. So if you don't see a post, that's why, plases don't go away forever I'll be back on Friday. But! If I can get the vacation post typed on the plane and I get to a browser (likely) I'll post it tomorrow or Wednesday.

I love you all and appreciate your support. Be patient, constant reader, the time will come.

Oh, did I mention that I'm returning on the Fourth of July, with terrorist warnings on that day on a lightly-populated jet flying out of Logan? Scary. A list of items you can't take on a plane. Very Scary.

Note to Kristín: I still would like to answer your comment about what we've learned from history, but I want to do it right. Not emotionally, but thoughtfully. I haven't forgotten you.

definitely not off the deep end

Tyson pointed out this site. A site for "Trixies" that live in Lincoln Park, IL. This is the single most shallow thing I've seen in months. (And I read all the way through an issue of "Girl's Life" yesterday!) Is anyone really that shallow?

(Okay, so the site is tongue-in-cheek, but there's a ring of truth to the whole bit that screams ephatically that there ARE people that shallow in Lincon Park! )

well, crap

Had a good session with the counselor on Tuesday, a rather nice mini-break with the family in Wisconsin (boy, do I have a photo essay for you!), and a spontaneous side trip to visit other relatives. Nothing too bad happened and I guess my marriage isn't ending right now. I should be happy, but I'm not.

I woke up in the middle of the night with stomach cramps and nausea (convinced it was something I ate whilst travelling) and have had a sour stomach all day. I've been tired from the weekend, but none of that is the Big Thing. The Big Thing is that today was a special day for my church in the sense that we had a special conference and a walk-through of a building that might become the home for our congregation. For thirty years we have rented halls and never owned a church building (long story short: it was cult policy not to own land if Christ was returning soon). The big talk was about all the new types of outreach ministry and community evangelism and all I could think about was that at the very best I'm a terribly nominal Christian (I got to church, that's it) and at the worst I might even be an atheist. I don't even know anymore. It's hard for me to be all gung ho for a church building when I'm considering not going to church at all anymore. I've spent thirty years playing church and I do it well. I can convince the most die-hard, true Christian that I am devout and repentant and God-fearing and, and, and... but it all feels stupid right now. My Christian friends right now are going to tell me that I should pray for a re-ignition from God that He can bring me back into the fold--but my response is (at the moment at least) that my "coming back into the fold" would be exactly as much self-fulfilling prophecy as me swearing that the Tarot reader did indeed predict my future. I would believe that God affected me only because I believed God could affect me. I would believe that a Tarot reader predicted my future only because I believed that the reader could predict my future. I looked for the fulfillment, so I saw it. Thank you John Edward.

This sheds a whole new light on the future of my marriage. If I were to trot upstairs and tell She-who-must-not-be-named that I don't believe in God and I'm not going to church anymore, she might well try to save me then--if that fails--consider divorcing me. Who could blame her? It was my "zeal" that brought her to "God" to begin with. Ironic isn't it?

Fuck.

chicken with my head cut off

I have a marriage counseling appt this afternoon. (I hope we can get some money things agreed on and talk about semantics more.) I have a big Web site facelift due today. Plus, I'm leaving for vacation in Wisconsin Dells tomorrow through Saturday.

I haven't got time to write much, and probably won't get to the Internet in the Dells unless there are public terminals. (It's a tourist trap, so it's possible.) So this may be my last blog till Sunday. So much I want to talk about, but no time to write it. I'll be taking my $30 laptop on the trip, so I'll probably blog off-line and post a slew of stuff on Sunday.

Be faithful, constant reader, and I shall reward.

In the meantime Alex's site is back up (the writer I mentioned earlier) and worth the time to read.

Oh, oh, oh! One more thing! Here's a clip [200 k MP3] from Shooglenifty. Shooglenifty is a Scottish band I just learned about that I can only describe as a celtic Tangerine Dream on severe caffiene. More bitchen Shooglenifty clips can be found at their Web site. Truly bitchen.

you can help!

Don't let Tony quit! If you've ever been to tonypierce.com and liked it (or just went there and liked it) link him! He says he's going to take down his blog if he doesn't get linked by 100 sites by July 9th! How Oral Roberts of him... .

God knows if he's serious (everything he says could be fiction), but it would truly be a crime against the Web if his unique style of blogging combined with photo essays were to go away.

Plus, he'll link you back. I'll bet he gets a bunch of traffic...

wow.

The days of a Writer chronicles the life of a late-20's woman who left her job April 8, 2001 to become a writer. The journal starts on April 8th with her decision to quit.

I've decided to read it in chronological order (the navigation to do this is easy) and I'm only up to May 2002, but man, what a good writer and a compelling story. Her story is an inspiration. I feel I can learn from her trials on my path to becoming a writer myself.

The site is self-coded and very, very well laid out. She even inserts text as graphics sometimes with incredible effectiveness.

Do yourself a favor.

[6/24/02 am: This site appears to be gone, but it seems to be a problem with her host. Check back later.]
[6/24/02 pm: This site is back!]

limerence story alert!

I love limerence stories!

Edie details how she "very nearly had an epic summer fling" in the Mediterranean on her blog, Adventures in Dating. She's on my link list already, but this is worth the special trip.

P.S. There's a new link to Sar on my list. It's her LiveJournal and she's (predictably) wondering how she'll survive the summer without contact from the object her nearly-year-long crush.

wal-mart postscript

I went back later last night and noticed that, next to the remote-controlled air conditioners, they had remote-controlled fans...

the end of civilization

I saw this at Wal-Mart tonight. One question:

What kind of neandrathal sloth are you if you need an air conditioner with a REMOTE CONTROL?!?

Jeez.

question for liberals

Despite my bumper sticker, I really am very tolerant and even sympathetic to many liberal causes. I listen to NPR more and Rush a lot less, so don't crucify me. I really want to ask you all (Mary T, Nancy?) if this article about how a Santa Monica elementary school has banned the game of tag illustrates a sentiment that is shared by the left.

The bottom line is, this stuff really busts my buttons. Outlawing tag because it may affect self-esteem? That is so Fahrenheit 451 ("We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal...then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower"). Is this a typical left-wing view, or do you consider it extreme also?

I'm not looking for an argument or fight or to lose any friends over this. I just would really like a liberal perspective on this.

revision-correction-update-upgrade

I talked with She-who-must-not-be-named about the issues I addressed in "so much to tell" below. My theory--which I incorrectly stated as fact--that it was my statement to the counselor on Thursday that I wanted a divorce that shocked her into rethinking her semantic approach. This is incorrect. It was my friend's suicide scare on Friday that shocked her. She said the reason was two-fold:

The whole thing [suicide scare] made me realize that there was a lot I had to live for and a lot of things I wanted to do in my life. And I realized that I want to do then with you. Also, I saw your concern and distress over it and I realized that you are a very caring person, and the yelling isn't you, it's just yelling, and you're working on that.

That's not an exact quote, but it's more accurate than a paraphrase. It was a very kind statement. We are going on vacation as a family next week. I honestly don't see it as stressful. She's already planning to pack enough food so we don't have to eat out if we don't want to cut costs.

my first 9-11 related post ever

World Trade Center Steel to Travel Cross Country from Transport News details the eleven-day, eighteen-state journey that sixteen tons of WTC steel and an FDNY fire truck will take next week from NYC to California. California will spend nine million dollars fabricating it into a memorial as a gift to New York. Check the article for dates and times near you.

john edward

Salon has a nice article written in layman's terms of how John Edward and other psychics do what they do. Read it with an open mind.

the times they are a-changing

It's just not Jarts, is it now? How are you supposed to skewer the neighbor kids with these?

so much to tell

I've got so much to say I may have to come back and put a table of contents on this.

grateful
Let me fill in a gap. When my friend sent his ultimate email, I traced the mail back to the terminal cluster he was at in a public library (oh yes, we Internet guys can do that), and I called him. The librarian said he was still sitting there and she got him on the phone. The conversation was about ten words long and he said "bye" and hung up, leaving me even more worried. By the time I'd called the library back, he'd left. Many other things happened after that, but that's pretty much where my involvement ended. I spoke with my friend on Saturday and with his wife yesterday. While neither of them explicitly said so, I sensed deep gratitude from my quick thinking. They both told me in round about ways that I may have saved his life. Sometimes you just have to do what you can. Sometimes it's really nice to have the power of the Internet on your side.

intent
I discussed the uncharacteristic (to say the least) behavior of my wife with her last night. It turns out her benevolence was intentional and completed with great concentration and effort. The only way she'd put forth that kind of effort was if she felt she needed to change and it wasn't all my imagination. That's a very cool sign. Tonight was as satisfying.

an admission -or- why my marriage nearly failed
Attention perusers, skimmers and concerned citizens! This is it. This is the bitchen! blog's version of the answer to life, the universe and everything. I am going to make an admission. It's something I've known but buried deep out of resentment. The key that unlocks the door to saving my marriage. The key that I've known about, but disregarded. One that I threw down into the linty corner of the suitcase that is my subconscious. Ready?

The core problem with my marriage has nothing to do with attitudes.

Regardless of what I've written and admittedly skewed here, my wife doesn't think she is better than me. She doesn't treat me like a kid, and she doesn't reject my opinions.

Huh? That's right. If you stood in my house you'd think that she did all of those things. She doesn't. It just sounds like she does. I can sum up the number one problem with my marriage in one word. Ready?

Semantics.

As you might guess, I'm a literal person. I take all things literally. I write the conversations down in my blog literally. I intend you to read them literally. I think literally. It's the way I'm wired. She's not. Her foundational premise in speaking the English language is "forget what I said, you know what I mean."

Okay, let's cast off the basic logical fact that I couldn't possibly know what she means all the time unless she tells me. Even if I know what she means, the samurai semantic slash of the tongue she inherited from her mother eventually shreds me. I can only hear "You should do it this way" and hear it as "I would do it this way if it were me" so many times before I start hearing "You are an idiot if you don't do it this way."

I fell in love with who she was and still is deep down. In love (in deep limerence) it's easy, nay a joy, to reinterpret everything your lover says as positive. It's the blindness of love working in our favor in this situation. At some point we started being human beings that had to live together, work together as parents and love each other without the icing of limerence on our daily crumb cake. It became harder and harder to overlook how she said things. Let me tell you that fifteen years is right about the "full" point of this kind of poor semantics.

We have fought about her insulting way of saying things to me for years. Her response has always been "you're too literal and/or too sensitive." She was perfectly justified in communicating however she wanted to, it was my fault for listening to how she said things. That's the way it was until Thursday.

the watershed
Do you know how I finally got the point across? If you're a faithful reader you already know--I told a therapist that I couldn't live with it anymore and I wanted a divorce. It nearly kills me that it took that. I didn't say it as manipulation. On Thursday I really did want a divorce. The reality of it shocked her into finally hearing that her words were killing me. But I'm glad something worked. We still have so much to work out with the therapist now--semantics, budget, housecleaning, child rearing--but it's all fixable.

lexicon
And finally, a translation guide for the misled reader (and me):

"I'm better than you" actually means "I have more social grace than you. But you're better at a ton of other things."

I agree with her one hundred percent.

this is true

David Ray Hill, 44, of Great Falls, Mont., was released six years into his 10-year sentence for felony drunk driving. Five days later, employees at a mini mart called police saying a drunk man drove to the store to buy alcohol. Hill was arrested. If found guilty, officers say, it will be Hill's 11th DUI conviction. "I hope it was a good five days for him," a police spokesman said. (Great Falls Tribune)

from the This is True newsletter. I still highly recommend a subscription.

red letter day

This was the first day in recent memory (hell all memory) that my wife wasn't condescending, didn't take my opinion for granted, didn't spend money frivolously, in short, showed me respect.

Maybe she does get it.

a long, stressful, period

It's been the biggest roller coaster of the year. Perhaps of my life. After stewing over the counseling session on Thursday, She-who and I had a tense conversation wherein she stated she wanted to work on it, but demonstrated a complete lack of grasp of the "better than" issue. She's being very nice and loving but still making daily comments that come across as a parent talking to a child.She's starting to realize that she's going to have to bend if this is going to work. That's a start.

Friday morning at 11:15 I receive and e-mail from a very close friend who lives over an hour away that simply said "Good bye." I sensed it was a suicide note and it turned out it was. Skipping a world of details, just suffice to say that he came home and was admitted to a hospital and seems to be doing much better.

In the interim (between getting the e-mail and finding out he was safe) I did a lot of agonizing. I called my wife to tell her about the situation and in the course of the conversation offered even more flexibility and asked me to make another counseling appointment.

Imagine the stress level of nearing divorce coupled with the attempted/threatened suicide of a very close friend and you'll understand why my stomach was tied in knots (such that I couldn't get out of bed) until I finally spoke with said friend at 9:00 Saturday evening.

Sorry this is chronologically disjointed, but Friday night, the wife and I had a short, terse (due to my stress) conversation where she was inadvertently motherly and made overly simplistic suggestions to save our marriage ("We need to date more.", "We should get a couples devotional bible and read together daily."). Good suggestions, but barely band-aids at this point. But it shows she wants to try. Forgive me, but at this point I don't see how she'll ever see the "superiority" issue (she changes the subject when I bring it up, because she doesn't know what I mean.) let alone fix it. But I'm willing to give the therapist a shot at fixing it.

Perhaps the number one thing is showing respect for my feelings half as much as she shows respect for the girls' feelings. She never asks me how I feel about things, just say how and what we are going to do. She blamed me Thursday night for not putting my foot down more. Not putting my foot down more is the "meeting half-way" that the therapist said needs to happen. I've been meeting her half-way (or "all the way," if you look at it mathematically) for 13 years. Bending to her will to avoid arguments. The therapist said "if only one is meeting half-way, they'll end up resenting it." Guess what? I'm there now. I'm tired of being the one to make things work. She's going to have to show me something--some bending, some effort to show respect before I have any notion that this will ever right itself.

I've said it before, I'll say it again, I owe it to the kids if there's even a 2% chance of it getting fixed. I'd put the odds about 3% right now that she'll actually change enough that I can feel like my own person again, but I have to take the odds for now.

Tonight was a perfectly wonderful Father's Day gift night. As my kids get more articulate, they write such incredible cards to me. I've never seen so much love expressed to me as in the hand-made cards they gave me. It really outweighed the resentment I was feeling earlier Saturday when I discovered that we'd somehow acquired the Jerry McGuire DVD in the last two days. (We probably own 90 DVDs. At an average of $15 per, that's $1300 worth of DVDs. How many have I picked out and bought? Eight. Maybe. "Go ask your father why we can't afford to send you to camp." I'm so tempted to tell them, but I'll never poison them against their mom. That's my daily battle.)

This is probably the most rambling and shuffled post ever, as my head is a little bump-and-rattly from the stress. Sorry about that.

i'm so old

I have an original 1979 Breaking Away movie poster on the always-open door to my office. The 20-yr-old intern just came in to ask me something and, in lieu of knocking, tapped on the poster with his pencil to get my attention.

What was my response?

"Careful with the poster, son, it's older than you are."

Shoot me now.

light bulb moment

I just had an epiphany. I don't know where to start. The bottom line is that I'm cursed in my marriage with the same thing that cursed me in high school. Everyone in high school treated me like crap because of the loser I was in jr. high and early high school. Round about my junior year, I really came into my own. I started being me and being more "normal" or "cool" or whatever. But by the 11th grade, everyone already had this picture of me whom they all knew they were better than. Everyone in high school thought they were better than me. I knew I was "okay" by the time I graduated, but no one else cared. When I got into college, I was suddenly not only accepted but looked up to--in my very first semester. Now I didn't change that much over the summer, I changed the people I hung around.

Now She-who-must-not-be-named has a perception of me of who I was when we were married. She had been "on her own" for a while (a couple of years). She had other sex partners. She had to keep her own budget. I, on the other hand, moved from my parent's to her apartment, never had to keep my own budget and never had any other sex partners. In her mind she was more "worldly and experienced" than I. (by about 2 years, ooo!).

She brought this up in counseling today (except the sex part, I brought that up to fill in the picture.) As if to say "this is a reason I'm better than him." (She told the therapist that she thought she was better than me.) What burns my ass is that it's like the last thirteen years of experience and maturation has no bearing on who I am. Because I never lived on my own and kept my own budget, I clearly don't know how to so it now.

The epiphany was that she will never change that perception of me. Divorce would be like graduating from high school and getting away from the losers that thought they were all better than me. College did so much for my self-esteem. To know I was worth having as a friend. That I was an adult.

A friend of mine summed it up this afternoon: "She's the adult." That is, it is her perception that she's the adult one and I'm a child. And it has so much to do with all that I mentioned above.

She told the therapist she was willing to work. I can't honestly see anything that's going to change. I just don't know...

marriage counseling

We had a session today.
Perhaps the only session.
Separation is imminent. (I said that before in haiku, I know.)
Divorce is probable.

I'll blog more later, when I grasp it all myself.

heh

Can I make up a phrase?

pot purim - n - A hodge-podge of things commemorating the deliverance of the Jews from massacre by Haman.

Thought I'd share.

limerence (sort of) alert

my dating world is a clever blog about dating in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. An entertaining read, and you guys can certainly give her some good comments/advice. Stop by. Tell her I sent ya!

about last night...

I'm currently hiding in an upstairs conference room with my $30 eBay laptop in an effort to get one contiguous hour of lunch. Such is the nature of my job. I've left instructions with the receptionist to tell no one I'm even in the building. We need to talk. Let me tell you about last night.

6:55 pm
Arrive at Sienna Counseling. Park in front as instructed by Mr. Sienna.

6:57 pm
Go around the back of the building to the wife-beater's entrance. Get stopped by a rent-a-cop. "Did you park up front?" "Yes," says I. "You'll need to move your car around back--" "But Mr. Sienna said to park up front this time." "Well, okay, if Mr. Sienna said so."

Buzz in on video intercom. I must not look dangerous (I did, after all, leave my Swiss Army Knife in the car) and they buzz me in. After signing a mutual confidentiality agreement, I sit in a room by myself while Mr. Fredman and the receptionist talk about why "this guy" is sitting in his session.

7:02 pm
Invited into group session in a room meant to hold eight with about eight other gentleman, plus Mr. Fredman and another Sienna staff member. Watch poorly-made video of a skit illustrating closed thinking (summary: "Nobody can tell me what to do. I don't know why I'm even in this class.") likely in an effort to defuse any ticking time bomb just starting the class tonight. After waiting interminably for the convicts to answer mind-numbingly simple questions, I (in proper Hermione Granger style) raise my hand and answer them. We are also treated to the details of the crimes that put half the guys into this room to begin with.

7:30 pm
Watch another poorly-made video of another poorly-acted (read:unbelievable) skit of victim stance (summary: "It's not my fault I got arrested/beat my wife/came to this class, it's the judge/cop/wife/society's fault.") apparently in an effort to combat an attitude readily apparent in my room-mates.

7:55 pm
Volunteer the information that I could blame my Father for me yelling at the kids, but I don't. They take the bait and explain that when yelling doesn't work and I beat the crap out of my kids, I'll eventually get arrested and have to come to this class. Thank you.

8:00 pm
Sweet release. Let me be perfectly honest. The two principles discussed (in spite of their trite presentation and ham-handed discussion) are very helpful ones to me. Closed Thinking and Victim Stance easily play a part in any argument. I love the idea of Behavior Modification (the goal of the class) and want to learn these principles, but I feel like I got ten minutes of content in fifty-five minutes. (Kinda like an episode of "Knight Rider.") I'd like to find a way to do this one-on-one with an anger management therapist to get the principles more efficiently so I can begin to apply them right now. We'll see. I'll bring it up in marriage counseling tomorrow.

8:05 pm
Arrive at LilFluffy's house two blocks away and talk for an hour about the right way to get divorced. (Agree on everything and bring a lawyer in at the end.)

9:00 pm
Call She-who-must-not-be-named and tell her where we are and that we'd talked about divorce.
"sigh"
"What's the sigh for?"
"Well you keep talking about how you want to make it work, now you're planning a divorce."
"No, we're just talking about divorce in general, should it come to that. You said on Sunday that you were resigned to it."
"Well, I'm not a quitter. I'm going to try."
"Good. I'm hoping the counseling works."
"So do I."

So, when faced with the reality that we may actually divorce she performs an elegant about-face. Boggle.

So I tell her I'm meeting a guy about playing guitar on a recording of the song I just finished, and she tells me to have a good time. And she means it.

9:18 pm
Meet former co-worker at trendy coffee shop on open mic night to talk about him playing guitar for me. He's cool with it. So we sit and look at the largest gathering of gorgeous women in the tri-state area. I find myself thinking about divorce in a different light. Then I stop myself and go home about 10:00.

10:30 pm till 12:30 am
Sit in my basement recording a rough MP3 of the guitar part (WaveLab is the sucky instrumentalist's friend. Bad note? Clip that right out!) to send to my drummer and guitarist. I really hope this comes together. It's a very cool song.

skipping

I skip. I skip, holding my daughters' hands going from the car into Wal-mart. Everybody smiles at us. It's uncanny. I'm a nut. Ask anyone.

Tonight is my first (trial) anger-management class.

Examine the above two paragraphs. Then recall from earlier that the guy said I could sit in to see if it was "for me." I'm not prejudging it, but I'm already thinking it's not for me.

The Dog is for me.

e-communicado

I coined this term a few years back to mean: I'm really busy, don't call me or come into my office univited, I'm trying to concentrate. If you want to tell/ask me something, use e-mail."

Using e-mail takes us fromthe realm of synchronus communication to asynchronus communication, which means that I can answer when I want to rather than when you ask me.

In my office today I am e-communicado which also means I really won't be blogging today. Sorry.

On a happy note, I wrote a song yesterday. The first complete song since I was married 13 years ago. What does that mean?

say what?

AH FOR THE GOOD OLD DAYS, WHEN "PC" MEANT "POLICE CONSTABLE": As John Denham, the British Home Office Minister for Police and Crime Reduction, addressed a gathering of police constables, he used the term "nitty gritty." There was a "chorus" of objections from the audience; the word is "banned" from police use, he was told. "If I used 'nitty gritty' I would face a disciplinary charge," PC Chris Jefford said. The Metropolitan Police says the term "is thought" to originate from the 18th century slave trade. The phrase "good egg" is also banned by the department, officers told Denham, because it's "closely associated" with "egg and spoon" which in Cockney rhyming slang means "coon" which is a racial epithet. A Met spokesman said there's not a list of banned words per se, but PCs are required to "make sure the language they use would not cause offence." (The Guardian)

from the This is True newsletter. I highly recommend a subscription.

some news is no news

We were in the Explorer, crusing to Meijer to get a card and cash for Becklyn's graduation party, when we had the most enlightening conversation. I guess I should have predicted the whole conversation if I weren't in denial or so damned optimistic:

I broke the silence: "I want to ask you a question..."

"What?"

"We've had a pretty peaceful time this week. Do you think it's because we're just avoiding the things we fight about? Or at least that that's the big reason, plus The Dog?"

"No, I guess I'm just at peace because I've already resigned myself to the fact we're getting a divorce."

So her peace is akin to that of a suicidal person who suddenly becomes happy once they've made the decision to "jump."

Scary.

I'm still open to the notion that we might be fixable. I'm not, however, about to bring any critical issues up before we see the counselor on Thursday. (That should be interesting.)

For the record, I nearly had an aneurysm tonight entering her debit receipts into Quicken. I could scan a page full of receipts tonight to bitch about, but I've played that tune already. I don't want to give the impression that money is the only issue or even the main issue. Just lather, rinse and repeat with the $25 hair care products from Ulta a few posts back and you'll be up to speed.

bitchen! poll

Take my poll! Make your visits more rewarding. I don't want you to be bored when you come here, so let me know. (I won't stop posting what I want, but what I want to post might change. :-)

grammarical rules to live By
something for a Friday afternoon

Verbs HAS to agree with their subjects.
Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.
And don't start a sentence with a conjunction.
It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.
Avoid cliches like the plague. (They're old hat)
Also, always avoid annoying alliteration.
Be more or less specific.
Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are (usually) unnecessary.
Also too, never, ever use repetitive redundancies.
No sentence fragments.
Contractions aren't necessary and shouldn't be used.
Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.
Do not be redundant; do not use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.
One should NEVER generalize.
Comparisons are as bad as cliches.
Don't use no double negatives.
Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.
One-word sentences? Eliminate.
Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.
The passive voice is to be ignored.
Eliminate commas, that are, not necessary. Parenthetical words however should be enclosed in commas.
Never use a big word when a diminutive one would suffice.
Kill all exclamation points!!!
Use words correctly, irregardless of how others use them.
Understatement is always the absolute best way to put forth earth shaking ideas.
Use the apostrophe in it's proper place and omit it when its not needed.
Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."
If you've heard it once, you've heard it a thousand times: Resist hyperbole; not one writer in a million can use it correctly.
Puns are for children, not groan readers.
Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.
Even IF a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.
Who needs rhetorical questions?
Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.

Proofread carefully to see if you any words out.

from here.

is your city dying?

Nancy Nall pointed out this article (and the book that it's about) in Salon. It's about how cities need to attract creative types to survive. How Detroit and Pittsburg are dying because of their anglo-saxon nine-to-five mentality, and how Austin and San Francisco are thriving due to their multi-cultural tolerance, accepeting attitudes of many lifestyles, and strong arts scenes.

Well worth the read.

marshal blathers

In honor of Eminem's new album, I post this clever parody MP3 of "Slim Shady" created by some national countdown radio show somewhere. Will the Real Slim Shady Please Shut Up?

I've put it on the left menu if you want to point your friends to it.

ULTA-mately baffled

Tell me something:

ULTA receipt for two bottles of hair care products totalling $25.98

Is this stuff really good enough that it could be considered a "necessity?" Can any hair care product be that good? What does this do that Neutrogena T-Gel doesn't? (And we already get that at cost from Johnson & Johnson.)

Do you really think she can't answer the question why we can't afford to send the kids to camp? The funny thing is, she really can't answer it.

And did we really need an olive oil bottle/dispenser from Bed, Bath and Beyond? Does the Olive Oil bottle that it comes in not pour it well enough? How many different ways can I say that whenever wants become needs, our standard of living increases?

I'm currently blue in the face.

the other method

I mentioned a couple of posts below that there was another method of anger management I was working with that I'd describe when relevant. It's relevant now.

My boss used to have a real anger problem. It affected the whole company. We were all on pins and needles when he was in a bad mood. He's cured now. The thing that cured him was The Dog. The Dog is a two-sided laminated color picture. On one side is a headshot of a happy, lappy Doberman; on the other is a snarling, foaming-at-the-mouth Doberman. (I'll post a picture of it soon.) It was pinned to a bulletin board in a high-traffic area. When he was in a good mood, the happy Doberman would show; when in a foul mood the angry Doberman would show. The catch was, he couldn't touch it. Only the rest of us could. It would serve two purposes:

A warning to everyone when he was on the warpath.
An indication to him of our perception of his mood.

It didn't take too many turns of the dog for him to understand how much his moods were noticed by and affecting us. After a month or two, we never had to turn the dog again. Last week, he bequeathed it to me. I pinned The Dog up in my home on Sunday. Only the kids and my wife are allowed to turn it. It merely being present on the wall has really helped me keep my moodiness in check.

This morning was the first time it'd needed to be turned to the snarling dog, and that's because I growled at my daughter that "she'd better turn the dog" because I was near rage. I learned tons about what set me into the state just by reflecting this morning on why the dog had to be turned. I know that it wasn't my kids behavior that caused it, only what triggered it. They were being less than forthcoming about messes they'd made (lying out of omission, rather than commission) and I flew off the handle. But that's not the whole story. I'd been up late last night finishing the organization of the three pounds of unopened mail I found last month (see the archives) and I was very tired. Then in reaching for the coffee, I knocked a heavy plastic Coca-Cola toothpick dispenser onto the floor. The noise startled me (which set the adrenalin flowing in a "fight-or-flight" way) and the toothpicks flew (which made me mad in a Rain Man sort of way) and I was well on my way to supreme frustration. Once I'd set it back in the cupboard, I promptly knocked it down again eliciting the same--yet more severe--response. It was only after I was in this state that I was confronted with the kids omitting facts, and became furious.

As I write this, I realize that the kids were probably trying to escape my wrath by not 'fessing up to the messes they'd made. They must have sensed the frustration (via tiredness and toothpicks) in my demeanor and had already turned The Dog in their own minds. That would make perfect sense. I used to do that with my father--not admit fault if he seemed in a particularly bad mood. Ironically, had they been honest and simply cleaned up their messes I would have not been mad, but they couldn't have predicted that. I shouldn't have expected them to act any differently.

By the time I left, The Dog had magically been restored to happiness as had I. My happiness came with the understanding of my rage, and the forgiveness of my children.

And as contradictory to all I've whined about for two weeks as this seems, I think I might just buy them a little something on the way home. Not instead of telling them I love them, but to acknowledge that I know what happened and that I'm no longer blind to it.

from the 'I shouldn't have to make a rule about this' dept.

Last night, The Rooster was covering up the part in her hair with her hands after her shower and looking mischievously at me. I looked under her hands and there was a multi-colored marker-drawn line running down her scalp.

"Who did that?"

She told me it was my oldest daughter who'd colored it. I mused and forgot it.

This morning after a brief conflict over why there were markers on the sink in the guest bathroom, I was telling their mom about the markers.

"Yeah, she colored in Roo's part yesterday. I don't want them doing that."

So I walked into the bedroom where the color-culprit was dressing for school.

"Honey? This is kinda from the 'I shouldn't have to make a rule about this' department, but please don't color your sister's head."

"Okay, dad."

*shaking head*

Jimformation documents and extremely ugly case of zero-tolerace meets airline security. The upshot of his take is that our airport security should be looking for terrorists not weapons.

perspective

A lot of people, both publicly and privately, have sided with me in this arena. Most feedback I get now (as opposed to a few weeks ago) expresses the opinion that my marriage is doomed. And it may well be. Keep in mind that my story here is only one side and probably skewed in it's perspective. Pretend you're my best friend (some of you are). I will tell you two things about me. One you don't know and one you should already know.

what you don't know
What you don't know is that I do yell a lot at home. Mostly at the kids. People who don't live with me will never see that side of me. It's not a side I'm proud of, but it's something that I never realized was that wrong until I started blogging. I know now that just because my dad did it doesn't make it right. Do I need to sit in a class with felony batterers? Maybe not. But do I still need behavior modification? Absolutely. I'm actually pursuing a couple of solutions. Details will come when relevant.

what you surely must know about me
I am indefatigably optimistic. I know that signing up for the anger class will prompt She-who-must-not-be-named into going to regular marriage therapy. If she is convinced that I am trying to fix what she perceives is wrong, she will make some attempt to fix whatever I think is wrong. She is sensible that way sometimes. Maybe our problems aren't fixable, but I feel that we should do what lawyers and stock brokers call "due diligence," that is, we should make completely sure that things aren't fixable before bailing out.

I owe it to my kids.

Thank you all for coming and sticking by me. I can tell you it has probably saved me from deep depression and abysmal despair. It means so much to me, like a birthday or a pretty view....

so i made the appointment

I called the folks about anger management.

"Are you calling about substance abuse or violence abatement?"
"Er. Um, anger management."
"I'll send you to Mr. Sienna's voice mail"

He calls back

"This is Mr. George Sienna III of Sienna Counseling. How may I help you?"
"I'm interested in anger management."
"You're interested in our class on violence abatement?"
"Yeah, I guess. They say I yell a lot."
"Has there been any battery?"
"Uh... not specifically?"
"Son, there's no such thing as half-pregnant here. Was there battery or not?"
"I'm sorry, but that sounds like a specific term, I'm not sure."
"Has there been any emotional, physical or...or verbal abuse?"
"Verbal, I guess. I yell a lot."
"Are there charges pending?"
"No sir."
"So, you have not hit your wife?"
"No sir. Just some yelling."
"Why don't you come in next Tuesday and sit through one of our classes to see if it's for you."
"Okay."
"How about six o'clock? Wait. You haven't hit anyone? Okay lets do Mr. Fredman at seven then."
"Okay. How many sessions is typical?"
"Well usually twenty-nine..."
Twenty-nine?
"...but since it's only verbal, probably ten to fifteen."
etc.

Call to wife

"I got signed up for the anger management thing."
"Good!" cheerfully.
[Insert retelling of above Pythonesque conversation.]
"I think you shoud go through the whole twenty-nine, just to be sure our marriage will survive."
"Well, we'll see. If I take twelve, that's three months. I think we'll be able to tell from the marriage counselor whether the other sessions are necessary to pursue after three months."

Once again, the only problem with our marriage is that I yell too much.

One day at a time.

the most relevant link post ever
it's about my blog!

How often do you get to link to an article written in the conventional press about your blog? If you're me, probably only once. Online diaries daring, delicious is an article from my hometown paper. It's what I was interviewed about last Wednesday.

It's thrilling, yet scary.

she-who-must-not-be-named superiority checklist If you checked any or all of the above boxes, congratulations! You are superior!

the film at eleven

DATELINE THURSDAY:
"You obviously don't care about your wife and children."
"Why?"
"Because you won't even try for that job that pays a lot more."
"I'm not even going to try to explain salaried professional prostitution to you again, because you obviously don't get it."
"What's wrong with wanting your family to have better?"
"Nothing."
"They ask me why they can't go to camp and I tell them to talk to their father because I can't explain to them why we can't afford it."
"It's a matter of priorities."
"When the kids want to be popular and wear the name brand clothes, I want to be able to give them that. When they need gymnastics so they can do cheerleading we need to afford that. And you want us to shop Goodwill?"
"I'd rather shop Goodwill and take fewer vacations if it means sending them to camp and saving for their college. Have you ever even heard of a savings account?"
She smirk-squints at me. "You're a real piece of work."
"What? Look at it this way: you grew up with all of that. With the color TV in your bedroom and the popularity and the name-brands and the extra-curricular activities and I grew up with none of that. I was a geek and an outcast and did nothing extra curricular and never wore name brands. Now sitting here at 35 years old, there's really not that much difference between us."
"Pffft!"
"What does 'pffft' mean? Does that mean you don't think were equals?"
Blank "isn't it obvious" stare.
"Oh, it means that I'm better than you?"
"Think whatever you want, honey."
"Oh! It means you're better than me?"
"You're damned right I'm better than you!"
"See? That's the whole problem! You think you're better than me, you've always thought you were better than me, and you always will! It comes across in everything condescending thing you say!"
She fumes.
"So you're saying if I made twice as much money, it would save our marriage?"
"Probably. It'd be a good start."

additional footage

"The guidance counselor told me that our daughter told her that you yell too much. She said that when she was in that situation, she got the hell out of there."
"Great."
"You are like Jekyll and Hyde. My therapist gave me the names of a couple of anger therapy groups."
"Okay. I'll admit I have an anger management problem. I yell too much. I'll take one of those classes. Will that help?"
"If I see a real change in you I might change."
Of course not your equation that money equals love.

Later (after the conversation in the first part of this entry):
Me: "So it's obvious there's some things about me you think are wrong with me that I don't and won't change and vice versa. Sounds like we got some differences we'll never work out."
"I guess so."
"Ironically, I'm glad we shut off the TV and had this conversation, even though we didn't resolve anything."
"Oh, I think we resolved something."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. So, what if I go through the anger management course?"
"Great! It'll help your relationship with the girls, but it won't solve ours."
No shit.

update

I had a lot of conversations with a lot of friends. I've had a pretty sane weekend at home, despite the fact she told some friends we were definitely getting divorced and it was just a matter of time till we could sell the house. (This was news to me, did we decide this?)

Where we stand now is we're staying together and I will go to anger management and she will ask her current therapist (originally recommended as a marriage counselor) to counsel us instead of her solo sessions. (I don't think they were being productive from what she said.) My first question will be whether she thinks we should separate to gain perspective. A conversation with my psycho-tarot- reader last night revealed the apparently obvious fact that we fight over such little stuff that we are obviously to deep in it together to dig out.

I'm not totally optimistic because of her skewed interpretation that my yelling is the only problem in our marriage, as exemplified by this conversation last night:

"Today has been a great day. You didn't yell and you were a total joy to be with. Why can't you be like this all the time instead of Jekyll and Hyde?"

"I'm going to try, but it's still not going to solve our other issues--like a complete paradigm difference in money management, and the other problem I won't even bring up or we'll fight again." Referring to the "better than you" attitude.

In the past couple of days, I've wondered if she married me as a project. That maybe she thought she could change what she didn't like. I don't know.

I can tell you one thing: our parents have taught us to be a poor match. My father taught me that losing your temper and yelling is okay if you feel like it's warranted. Her parents taught her that the best way to say I love you is not with words, but with color TVs and name-brand clothes and everything else the Joneses have-- even if it means thousands of dollars in credit card debt. And finally, they taught us that all-important coping fact:

Depression is the best escape.

[Editor's Note: I didn't mean to suggest that depression is learned. I have no idea how much is hereditary, learned or simply is. But I do know that my father and her mother often suffer from depression as do we. Seems too coincidental.]

a tragic turn
in haiku (for no reason)

all my nerves are shot
our separation seems imminent
film at eleven

the explanation of everything

I know this is long. Much is revealed by my fable. I think it will be worth your time if you've been following my story.

I'm pissed. At her. I'm usually the peacemaker, the one to apologize first, the one to stop being mad first. I made an exception today. Consciously. I know the whole deal is stupid, but dammit, I just tired of making peace over stuff like this. Here's the story.

We had a small Christmas tree this year because She-who-must-not- be-named was too depressed about the disarray of our home to set up one of the three seven-foot Christmas trees we own. (Of course, it's because I don't make enough money that the kids can't go to summer camp, not because of insane shit like we own three seven- foot Christmas trees, but that's another blog.) So we set up a white four-footer and decked it out with $1000 worth of Hallmark, Ashton-Drake and Franklin Mint Wizard of Oz collector's ornaments. (To be fair, most were gifts from her mother, so the value is only important in that they'd be expensive to replace if broken.) It remained set-up until last weekend (Memorial Day). Her rationalization was that it was "nice decoration" and "not very Christmasy" so it was left up. I never took it down because I didn't want to be responsible for breaking any of the ornaments putting them back into the Styrofoam (that's x.p. to your Brits) containers. I have injured her Oz collection in the past and didn't feel like going through that wrath again.

Last weekend I coaxed her out of her sprained-ankle-milking and depression cave and had her come out to the living room to help pack them away. I was very grateful of her help and not disparaging about it being Memorial Day before we got to it. But it was late at night and due to one reason or another, the tree sat (and sits) barren in the living room awaiting de-lighting and storage.

This morning, my middle daughter asks to stay overnight at a friend's house on Friday. I asked my wife her thoughts. (Keep in mind that we agree that a certain amount of chores and responsibilities must be completed before such an event can be allowed, plus she slept over last weekend...) My wife responded:

"I thought you guys were going to take down that tree."

What is it? Fucking Thursday? Three days after we took the ornaments off of a tree it took you five months to get around to stripping? How much nerve does that take?

I asked her.

"Well, it looked okay with the ornaments on it, but now it's icky and bare."

I'm at a loss for a civil response. The only reason that occurs to me to apologize is that her attitude has less to do with the tree and more to do with depression. She is on anti-depressants (as am I) and is seeing a counselor (today even). She has some grief issues I'll choose not to explain and it all has a significant effect on the health of my marriage.

the dilemma
How tolerant is tolerant? How much is too much? How long is long enough? How much of a trial do I have to endure before I'm not considered a clod for throwing in the towel? The loving husband helps his wife through all adversity, right? Through sickness and depression? How long before you don't even have a life anymore? I want to be the hero. I want to be the perfect father and husband. I keep hoping that if I am those things then she won't grieve over her father anymore. That if I can be as perfect as she remembers him to be that she won't blame me for not being able to fill the hole he left in her life when he died. How big do I have to get before the hole is filled? Why do I feel guilty because I just want to scream "there's no way I'll ever be who you need" and pack a bag.

Who can tell me? Nobody can, I guess. Do me a favor though? Don't tell me I or we need counseling. We do. I do. But I already know that. I'm working on it.

similar minds?

SimilarMinds.com Compatibility Test

Your match with Mary T.:

you are 81% similar

you are 85% complimentary

How Compatible are You with me?

Okay... now what? Take the test, post your results in comments (or on your blog, or both).

sanitation conspiracy?

So a few weeks ago, I decided to act as if I were a single dad. I decided there's no point in expecting help from the other responsible party in my house, so I'm just going to try to do everything as if she isn't going to be there to help. Which she isn't. Well, she's there, but not helping. I mean, I know she sprained her ankle nigh unto six weeks ago, but I'm sure there's a large element of depression and marital hopelessness contributing to her inactivity with respect to housework (and, of course, the budget.) I'm really not posting this to disparage her, but rather to set the stage for my observations to follow.

Sometimes I think (and I've said since day one) that it's a good thing I got married, or I wouldn't know when to take out the trash or mow the lawn. Her ability to remind me of those two tasks has not diminished at all. So I spent a good portion of the night completely reconstructing the lawnmower--literally, I had to/got to use nearly every major tool I had to repair the push handle and tune it up. At about 3:00 a.m. (I had the day off today) it was time to take out the trash so she didn't blow a gasket in the morning. (Mind you, she's the one claiming to be walking on eggshells all the time.) So I carry it out to the brown plastic dumpster of the type that seem to bring new meaning to "ubiquitous" and roll it down to the curb. Now, Tuesday is trash pickup day on my street, but there were no other dumpsters out. By this writing my trash hadn't been picked up. Why? Wasn't today trash pickup day? I'm guessing it really isn't because Monday was a holiday and that set the pickup schedule off. But I was never officially informed of that. But everyone else seems to have known. I also didn't know Trash Amnesty Day was the first Saturday in May, but everyone else in town started piling shit in their yard on May first. And the real capper is that it seems that the entire township knows which alternate Wednesday is recycling pickup and which isn't. I got a cryptic schedule once labelling each alternate Wednesday as "A" or "B" but no indication of what A or B meant or which letter pertained to me.

How does everyone else know? Are there secret meetings? Are there unspeakable sacrificial rituals? Did I not splash blood on my doorframe on Passover? What? Was it a mistake to turn down the opportunity to have a county-sponsored microtransmitter installed in my corpus colossum? I'm thinking it was.

All I know is that this is just One More Example of the neighborhood talking behind my back. Isn't it bad enough that they've worked out a rotating schedule of people to knock on my door every time I settle in to watch "WKRP in Cincinnati?" Why can't they interrupt "Everyone Loves Raymond" instead?

Your mileage may vary.

P.S. If a Monday holiday pushes trash pickup out one day, when do they ever catch up? If anyone knows the answer, please post it.

jeez

Mary-Kate and Ashley are trying to innoculate my dour mood. The kids are watching, I'm typing, She-who-must-not-be-named is at band practice with the band that has soundly rejected everything about me. Imagine, I was in the band first. Shit.

So I spent the day filling, then pumping out, then bailing out, then sweeping and mopping and clipping and readjusting and patching the fecking vinyl liner for my above-ground pool. My advice: never take down your pool for the winter. If you do, buy a new liner the next summer. It's not worth it to try to use the old one. Now I am sunburned and the pool is sitting on a 15-foot diameter mud pit.

On the bright side, the grill that caught fire last Fall and I filled with white fire-extinguisher shit, is actually perfectly intact--just needed cleaning. I even got the igniter to work--sometimes. I didn't have to replace the burners after all.

I'm currently extremely depressed. I've been hollering at the kids for no reason. Again, I realize that it's not "real" depression, it's extreme exhaustion. I didn't get to bed till 5:00 this morning. I was sequencing the last song I won't fucking be playing with the band. But I was so into it, I lost track of time. That hasn't happened to me in years. It was a good feeling--to be so caught up in something so engrossing that the sun is up before you realize it's even past midnight. I can't wait to finish this arrangement and get on to writing an sequencing original music. Hopefully.

If I didn't mention it, I'm having lunch with a reporter on Wednesday to talk about blogging. I may fill two spots: one as anonymous blogger and one as local Internet blogging/guru. We'll see. I'll tell you about it then.

I'm off to the in-laws for a cookout tomorrow, but I may blog anyway. I've got them all hooked on the Internet. I won't be far away.

if you read one article this year, make it this one

Still on the Outside Looking In (Leonard Pitts Jr., The Miami Herald, 05/09/2002)

I can't stress it enough or say anything that will make you go there. Just do it.

novel

A local reporter wants to talk to me about blogging. Hmmm. She said that no blogger she's talked to wants their name mentioned in the paper. No surprise.

Maybe I'll talk to her about getting published (see "Finally, something interesting " here.). A win-win conversation, perhaps.

bitchen! ...sort of

Well, version 8.1 is a bit more tolerable without the "crabby" girl in the corner as one visitor put it.

If you have any layout suggestions, ever, feel free to leave a private comment. [Even you, Jen! :-) ] Please don't post them publicly. I want to learn, but I don't want to be embarassed!

ick

Boy, I hate this layout! Those two graphical elements have no earthly business on the same page. (Unless we spray-paint a moustache on the girl!)

Look for v8.1 or v9, like tomorrow.

version 8

Well it's not as impressive as it was in PhotoShop! But it'll do until the next one. [Wait, something's wrong...]
EDIT: Okay, it's better now.

thinner

I'll try not to obsess, but I'm down about 27 lbs and I'm at my lowest weight in eight or ten years! I am happy.

vote now!

All in favor of me posting the new layout I created last night say "Aye!"

(That reminds me of a comic strip of a board room I saw once. The chairman was saying "All who want to sound like pirates say 'aye' and all who want to sound like horses say 'nay'.")

blah

Don't feel like posting today. So I'll share with you another timeless Web classic:

Ever feel like it's Friday on Wednesday? Do you want to know what to expect tomorrow will feel like? Check The "Feels Like" Forecast. Nowhere else can you get this information.

defused

The wife offended me publicly by accident last night. I was furious. But I took my own advice and calmed down. I told her a couple of hours later, calmly, that she (the Head Girl Scout leader of my daughters' group) had omitted my name at the Girl Scout end-of-year ceremony when thanking all the parents who had volunteered to help with the troop activites.

I did more volunteer work than any other "non-leader" parent (she usually volunteered me) and she basically stated loudly that she takes me for granted by not saying anything. I really wouldn't have been so upset if she hadn't done the same damned thing last year.

Her response was that she didn't mean to. Not really an apology, but I'll accept it. I'm so glad she didn't call me a 'big baby' (which she easily could have), I would have hated to have to pack my bags at 10:00 last night...

microsoft XP

This is an informative article from the Microsoft case.

Two quotes:

"It is no exaggeration to say that the national security is also implicated by the efforts of hackers to break into computing networks," Allchin testified.

WTF?? "implicated?" Thank you Mr. Malaprop! So he's saying that whenever we see hackers working it's evidence of "the national security?" Huh? Do you suppose he meant "imperiled" or perhaps "impeded"?

He later acknowledged that some Microsoft code was so flawed it could not be safely disclosed.

Vote Linux. Vote Often.

NOTE: XP is a neo-emoticon for "distasteful" Eyes closed a la "South Park" and tongue out. Ironic isn't it?

by popular demand: my DJ story
Well by happenstance I had a couple of CD players, a Radio Shack DJ mixing console (remember LilFluff? Cross-fader and everything!), amp and 15" monitor/speaker.

The wedding was between a two 70-yr-old people. The bride works with my wife and is a total air-head. "Oh" she says on Wednesday, "can your husband play music at our reception?"

I stock up at the library (see below), and head off to the wedding. There's a total of maybe a hundred people, most of retirement age. No one is dressed in wedding wear. We have a little sit-down reception in a small fellowship room in the basement of the church as I played music (softly! softly!) in the adjacent choir room. I hit 'em with Sinatra, Duke Ellington, Tony Bennett, Dean Martin ("That's Amore'") and tons of Carpenters and Manilow.

Coincidentally, a friend of mine from church (a different church) was best man and sang a song to them through my system with an accomaniment tape, then it was time for gifts and then dancing! (Finally! The photographer was getting antsy.)

I played The Carpenter's "We've Only Just Begun" as their first dance as a married couple, then "Ready to Take a Chance Again" by Barry Manilow for the rest of the party to dance. They'd requested "Brown-Eyed Girl" because they "always dance to that down at the legion and we really like that one." I burned a KaZaA MP3 of it just for the occasion.

By the end (a whole 45 minutes later) there was one ancient couple who wanted to salsa. They wanted "Latin" music and, I swear to God, all I had was Santana's "Smooth" and "I Need to Know" by Marc Anthony, so I played them. The couple looked at me weird but salsed away.

Closed the gig with Sinatra's "Witchcraft", "Lady is a Tramp" (in honor of Riding in Cars with Boys) and Cake's "Short Skirt, Long Jacket" (a nod to Mary's influence on my musical tastes.) That song pretty much sent the few stragglers out of the room so I could tear down...

The bride said I did a great job. She was probably just being nice.

work with me, okay?

I hate to harken back to the mea culpa binge I was on a few weeks ago, but I need to say something.

I frequently and unintentionally say things, write things, blog things, sing things or email things that piss people off. I've become very aware of this just as I've become much more aware of many other things about myself since I started blogging. I am trying not to communicate offensively. I am trying to be better, less obtuse.

But here's where you come in...

If I say, write, blog, sing or email anything to you (or in general) that pisses you off, just stop for a second. Ask youself "did he mean to piss me off?" If I meant to piss you off, it will be both rare and obvious. If it's clear that I didn't intend to make you mad, please take it in it's intended form or, if you feel very offended, write to me and explain that you are offended and explain why. I guarantee an apology, retraction and/or silence--whatever your preferred remedy.

Bottom Line: If I've committed an act of infuriating communication, it is--in all likelyhood--unintentional. Please be flexible as I attempt to mend my ways.

Thank you.

P.S. This was not meant to piss you off.

i'm a library geek

I'm here at the public library. I have the day off. I was asked Wedneday night if I could provide music for the reception of a sixty-something couple suddenly getting married on Saturday (why so sudden? did they have to?)

Do I have music for 60-yr-old people? I think not. Well there's my wife's collection of Barry Manilow. So I just came here and scafed about 40 CD's of big bands, Tony Bennet, Frank Sinatra, Cab Calloway, Bert Bacharach(?), and other selections from the "Easy Listening" section. I also found Herbie Hancock's "Future Shock" in the Jazz section. I think I'll slip "Rockit" in the mix somewhere. I hope it's the right stuff. They didn't say what they wanted.

Oh well, they're not paying me; you get what you pay for.

elated!

Well, I got my e-bay-for-thirty-dollar-386 laptop working. Had to buy a battery charger (it's charging circuit was dead), but now I get close to two hours out of a charge. I'm even thinking about converting it to use NiMH rechargables so that I'll have the longest-lasting 386 laptop in the world. Probably four or five hours of life.

Anyway, I've been carting it around in my car for a week and over lunch I spent a half-hour just writing. Not even blog stuff, just writing. I felt so free! No Internet or boss or phone or kids to distract me, I was on my own island. Bitchen!

Now it's to make the cigarette-lighter adapter...

just now

"We" just sat in bed and had a discussion. Nothing was solved, really. She still can't grasp salaried professional prostitution. She thinks it's okay if it gives the kids money for summer camp. My view is that prostitution [for what I mean see important comment from earlier (thanks Mary)] is okay to put food on the table and a roof over your head, but not okay simply to buy more Pampered Chef.

We decided the bottom line is that we've realized that all those faults we've spent 12 years overlooking are never going away.

Uh-oh

Got a call from my wife. Apparently she got a call from the school guidance counselor who told her that my oldest daughter has been talking to the counselor about us.

She says we need to talk and then asked me for the number of her therapist...

I think the couselor call might be sparking her into action. That maybe it's too soon to give up. I hope so.

more limerence! yaay!

Sniper just posted a delightful limerence story! Love/Hate limerence is the best kind! I'm telling you! Nothing like that roller coaster. Especially when coupled with phone sex. (Er..uhh..I mean, I'm guessing.)

Let the dopamine flow!

embarassing/strange

When you've been married as long as I have, you learn what words calm your spouse. In my case, saying "I love you" relieves her stress and has become (sorry to say) almost a reflex action with me.

I was half asleep Saturday morning as She-who-must-not-be-named was getting the children ready to go out of town to visit her mom. The kids were lollygagging and she was stressed about not leaving when she'd intended. I heard all of this, her barking and the kids' whining, in my semi-concious state. My reflex kicked in.

"I love you..." I said, only partially awake. And then it happened. I punctuated the statement with another woman's name!

Thank God she didn't hear the fourth word. Thank God mostly because the name was strange even to me in that context. Sure, it was the name of a woman I care for, but not in the way that she would assume. And why, at the moment of my awakening, did this name roll off my tongue? It's not someone I'm in love with or even would rather be in a relationship with. I don't even recall dreaming about her. But there it was.

My heart starts every time I think about it. In a sort of "boy that was close" and "why did I even say that?" Odd. I must have been dreaming, that's the only thing that makes sense.

another great comment

I'll try not to make a habit of this but here's a comment exchange that really turned a light on for me.

Akeru:
Your comments about "lack of common sense" and "condescension" struck a note with me. I have been guilty of this for quite a while with my long-term boyfriend. He just...doesn't...GET...some things that (to me) anyone with common sense would see and understand. Like driving the mower over the lawn sprinkler head that was sticking up because he thought the mower would just push it down again. (No, we had to dig up the sprinkler and replace it.) ... How he has ruined a number of my expensive clothing items (silk, linen, etc.) on several occasions by tossing them unasked into the dryer and forgetting to look at either the clothing care labels or the previous settings -- 60 minutes, on high heat -- before turning on the dryer. How you don't "just forget" to lock the front door at night or check each day to see if the pets have fresh water; these things should become ingrained, ritual activities that require only autopilot functions from the human brain.

All of these things scream COMMON SENSE to me. But if I bring it up, he says I'm "nagging," "critical," or "too anal." He's actually a very intelligent, kind, fun person, but after a while I've noticed a real attitude of condescension sneaking into my feelings toward him whenever these kinds of things come up. I think (but don't say) things like "idiot" and "dumbass" that I would never otherwise apply to him. I also sometimes wonder if he does things like this on purpose?? -- ruining the sprinkler so that, maybe, next time the grass needs cutting I'll say NO, FORGET IT, I'll do it myself. Passive-aggressive, and all that. I love him a lot and this is one of the few things that really gets to me.

Anyway, my point was...well, are you sure that there isn't perhaps some slight justification for her opinions on this matter? Not trying to take sides, just wondering

'Bitchen' Ric:
Oh yes! There is *definitely* justification for her beliefs! You just described me! I'll admit I don't have what you or her call "common sense." A lot of it is not stupidity, though. It's three things:
Absentmindedness (Disney professor stuff like the locking the doors thing)
Overthinking things intellectually out of context. (Sprinkler)
True lack of common sense. (Dryer shrinking.)
I've done most of the things you've mentioned. Here's my point:

You admit that you become condescending, and that it's hurtful. I don't understand why you and her can't just resolve yourself to who we are and love us for who we are instead of "nagging" common sense in to us. We don't (and won't) learn it. Our brains don't work that way. We don't nag you because you can't format a hard drive. We love you anyway.

He DOESN'T do them on purpose. Our brains just work differently.

And we do "just forget" incredibly important things. It hurts us deeply that we forget, but it happens. We just want you to love us *despite* the fact that our brains work differently.

I read this to a coworker (a very good friend) and he had an interesting take. He said that he believes a lot of nagging and condescension derives from perception. That one of the people perceives the other as "incorrect," when the whole notion of "correct" is subjective. He also theorizes that condescension is a symptom of something deeper. And the greater the "deep" problem gets, the more "incorrect" the partner seems and thus more condescension. Is it incorrect to take a different route to someplace or do household chores in a different order? Not likely. Does that mean that no one has ever been nagged by their spouse for those exact reasons? Do I need to answer that?

These comments also make me wonder if there's a support group for "common sense" individuals married to "absentminded professor" types. You'd think that enough people have live through it to supply solid advice. Have you lived through it? Do you have advice?

this is why

If you are a long-time reader, you know I work for a site with an advice column. If you've ever wondered why advice columnists don't answer every question, this is why:

THERE'S THIS GUY ACROSS MY HOUSE WELL ACTUALLY THEIR 2.AND THE FIRST ONE IS OLDER LIKE 24 AND HIS OTHER BROTHER IS 20.. I'M 16.. WELL THE GUY WHO IS 24 I KNOW THEM FROM A LONG TIME ESPECIALLY FOR 8 YEARS..THEY ALWAYZ LOOK AT ME WELL GIVING ME EYE CONTACT AND SOME TIMES SMILES..BUT ONE DAY I TOLD THE OLDER ONE I WANNA BE HIS FRIEND AND HE SAID TO ME THAT HE HAS LOTS OF FRIENDS AND DON'T NEED MORE. BUT LAST WEEK HIS YOUNGER BROTHER TOLD ME THE SAME THING BUT HE SAID SORRY.. THEN I TOLD HIM DON'T BE SHY TO TALK TO ME HE SAID I'LL TRY.. BUT THE NEXT DAY HE SMILED AT ME..MY FRIEND HAD HEARD THAT HIS OLDER BROTHER TOLD HIS BROTHER AND FRIEND THAT HE LOVES ME AND WANTED TO ASK ME OUT. BUT HE NEVER DID.. THEY DON'T EVEN TALK TO ME NOTHING THE ONLY THING IS STAIR AT MY EYES FOR A LONG TIME AND I WOULD STAIR BACK.. BUT LIKE WHEN THEY TALK TO ME BACK IT'S LIKE THEY HIDE SOMETHING.BUT AFTER HIS FRIEND ASK HIM WERE SHE LIVES HE POINTED TO MY WINDOW AND HIS YOUNGER BROTHER SAID SHE IS NOT THAT BAD.BUT NOW HIS BROTHER ALWYZ LOOKS AT ME DANCING, TALKING ANYTHING I DO..BUT THERES ONE THING I DON'T UNDERSTAND ON MY MSN CHAT THEIRS THE E-MAIL OF THE GUY ACROSS MY HOUSE WITH MY NAME FOREVER BUT HE TOLD ME HIS BROTHER IS IN FLORIDA NOW AND I TOLDD HIM I KNOW BUT I TOLD THEM HE ACTS LIKE U TOO BUT HE DIDN'T ANSWER ABOUT HIM BUT THE ONLY THING HE TOLD ME IS THAT HE DOESN'T KNOW ANYTHING IN COMPUTER BUT I DON'T BELIEVE THAT A GUY WON'T KNOW.. SO I REALLY WANNA KNOW WHAT ALL THIS MEANS CAUSE I AHVE BEING WONDERING FOR 3 YEARS. THANX AND LET ME KNOW PLEASE!

Sometimes you have to pick your battles...

I love limerence stories

Sar's got a clever wit for her age. This is classic...

If there is anyone out there who does not like hearing about Ben, let me know... It's not that I don't enjoy writing about him, believe me, I love it, but it gets a bit tedious putting it in my blog and in my journal. My journal always comes first, it is my child, it is my life, and I love it so much. My journal and I are so tight that we make fun of the blog for being superficial sometimes.

I know I've said it before, but go and follow her account of her crush on Ben this school year. I'll eat my blog if it doesn't put you back in school, crushing on that someone...

important comment

I'm going to re-post the first two comments from the last entry because I think this exchange is relevant and should be highlighted.

LilFluffy:
Well, one glaring thing about this entry. Her quick response to your question. You asked a straightforward question, offering to 'help' with the budgeting. The nature of the question makes it obvious that you are 'giving' in this discussion. Her short response, "Make more money", says many things. First, no consideration. This is not an easily accomplished option. Secondly, a very selfish answer on her part. There's no 'give' in it, she's not offering anything, just making a demand, and an unreasonable one at that. In just this two line exchange between the two of you, I see you giving and her taking. Very, very selfish and somewhat mean on her part. How old is she again? Sounds like somewhere around 17 mentally.

'Bitchen' Ric:
In all fairness, there is someplace I could probably go, get hired and make more money. There are three problems with this:

Impact on my current company (not a huge concern, but I don't want to screw my friends, either).
Our standard of living would just inflate, it wouldn't solve the problem.
The new job would be prostitution. 70% office politics and 30% doing a job I wouldn't like to begin with. She doesn't comprehend this. "Providing for the family should be more important than anything."

I'd like to feel that my sanity is a concern here, I guess. And, to answer his question, she's older than me.

Tense Mother's Day

Don't get me wrong, we got my wife nice presents and she appreciated them, but there was just a hint of disappointment over the high-thread-count sheet I'd bought her. And I blew it out of proportion. My fault. Mea culpa.

It turned into a very tense discussion of her condescension. She said I was paranoid, and I told her that it was obvious she thought I was somehow lesser (in terms of "common sense") and that she felt it was warranted. I finally convinced her to listen to herself for a day and see if she heard it or not, and I'd drop it.

In essence, she seems baffled that things don't occur to me that are "common sense" to her. She belittles me for it. When I tried to explain that it'd be like me browbeating her for not understanding higher math, she blew up.

"Enough already! She's wrong, she's wrong! Beat me up with it."

It wasn't an admission of error, mind you. It was defense. I'm the evil one. She is blameless. Always blameless.

Later, after minutes of silence trying to figure the most innocuous way of asking, I asked "What can I do to help you with the budget?"

"Make more money."

I can't even go there right now... But suffice to say it isn't poor budgeting/spending habits that are to blame, it's how much I make. Or don't make, I guess.

I'm just venting. I skew things here a bit, because it's my blog. Her side would be just as convincing, I'd bet.

I just keep going back to the question of whether our differences are irreconcilable.

this is cool

via srah blah blah

Pick a band and answer using only that band's lyrics.
Band: Billy Joel

1. Are you male or female?

"He said play us a song, you're the Piano Man" (Piano Man)

2. Describe yourself:

"The other night I fought a good fight,
But I'm getting close to the borderline"
(Close to the Borderline)

3. How do they feel about you?

"I don't want clever conversation,
I never want to work that hard."
(Just the Way You Are)

4. How do you feel about yourself?

"Only the good die young."
(Only the Good Die Young)

5. Describe your girlfriend/boyfriend:

"She'll bring out the best and the worst you can be
Blame it all on yourself cause she's always a woman to me."
(Always a Woman)

6. What would you rather be doing?

"The piano sounds like a carvinal,
The microphone smells like a beer.
They sit at the bar and put breadin my jar,
And say 'Man, what are you doing here?'"
(Piano Man)

7. Describe where you live.

"Saturday night and you're still hangin' around
Tired of livin' in your one-horse town
Like to find a little hole in the ground
For a while"
(Captain Jack)

8. Describe how you love.

"Tell her about it. Tell her all the things you feel.
Give her every reason to accept that you're for real."
(Tell Her About It)

9. Share a few words of wisdom.

"Don't forget your second wind.
Wait in your corner until that breeze blows in."
(You're Only Human)

I learned it from my dad

I had lunch with Mom yesterday and asked her why she never divorced Dad. She made excuses for him and said it was never abusive. I set her straight on that. It was abuse. She said "we've been together 42 years, what would we do?" I said "Mom, we've been having this discussion for twenty-five years."

Someone asked me the other day what the theme of my blog was. I'd never thought about it, but I summed it up with "It's about how my father's influence is ruining my marriage."

I don't blame him. I'm not that guy. I know it's my issue. But I know where I learned it.

(Great Scott! The fourth post in like an hour. Sorry 'bout all the reading!)

it's the tone

The more I think about it, the more I realize that it's her tone that sets me off more than anything. It's not what she's saying it's that when she says it it's in a way that makes her sound like she's smarter than me or better than me or my mother or... I'm an intelligent, fairly well-adjusted guy and it just makes me feel like shit every time she does it.

That being said, let me tell you that she doesn't even know she's doing it. I think it's been happening since day one of our marriage. When I confront her about it she insists it's all in my head. When I came back from washing sleeping bags and a couple of very large comforters at the laundromat, she pointed out a small (easily-washable at home) blanket on the floor and said "I don't know why you didn't take that and wash it too!" It wasn't "Hey, hon, how come you didn't wash that blanket while you were there?" But she doesn't see that. All I can hope is that a third party (read: marriage counselor) can illustrate that.

That being said, I was informed by a good friend the other night that I often come across as condescending to everyone. Ask Becklyn. My wife has pointed this out to me many times and I can't see it either. But I'm more aware of it since it was pointed out to my by someone other than she.

A long way to go.

I fixed blogger! Sort of.

Well, I'm sure Ev did most of the work. The email:

From: Williams, Evan [mailto:ev@pyra.com]
Sent: Thursday, May 09, 2002 5:47 PM
To: Ric -------
Subject: RE: Error on Blogger

thanks for the heads-up. should be fixed now.

> -----Original Message-----
> From: Ric

> Sent: Thursday, May 09, 2002 3:32 PM
> To: Williams, Evan
> Subject: Error on Blogger
>
> I consistently get this error when trying to blog from
> non-Pro Blogger. You probably know, but I thought
> I'd give you a heads up. You may try truncating some SQL
> Server logs. Don't know if they get stored in the group
> with the database or not.

> Microsoft OLE DB Provider for ODBC Drivers
> error '80004005'
>
> [Microsoft][ODBC SQL Server Driver][SQL Server]Could
> not allocate space for object 'Items' in database 'blogger'
> because the 'PRIMARY' filegroup is full.
>
> /blog_form-action.pyra, line 54

*snif* I'm so proud...

go figure

Two of the winners in a sexual abstinence essay contest in Paterson, NJ are pregnant.

One said in her essay: "having sex with a condom is like playing Russian roulette with your life." Really?

gratitude

A big dose of thanks goes to all those who responded to my plea both privately and publicly. You've made me feel like somebody cares. That means a lot. I even thought briefly about killing the blog for good yesterday, but I'll leave it around for now. Thanks T, Mary, Robin, Sniper, Greg, Aldo, LMB, Allen, LilFluffy, ruler, yndygo and Krista. You can find links to many of their blogs in the comments for the last two posts. I enourage you all to go to each other sites. Let the traffic counters be my thanks for this little community of good people.

I'll add you guys to my permanent list soon if you're not already there.

I have a lot to think about. I haven't even begun to process all the notes I got. You guys even sent me notes that were clearly honest about divorce and not just what I wanted to hear. I really appreciate that. An important decision requires objective advice. Feel free to send your two cents to me if you haven't already.

Thanks again.

to clarify

Thank you all for your comments on the note below. Thanks to Mary T. for pointing it out.

Just to clarify, I'm not upset that she wants to stay with Mom if there's a divorce. That's understood. It's not a point of contention with us at all. If you lived in my house, it would be completely natural to assume that the girls would stay with her in the event of the worst-case scenario. She a good mother and far better equipped to raise three girls alone than I.

What upsets me about the note is the clarity and depth of a seven-year-old's understanding of the world around her. It really drove home how much all this affects the kids in general. It's a poignant illustration, I felt, and it has pretty much solidified my resolve to work things out.

If you want to be helpful post in comments or email me every conceivable argument for not getting divorced you can think of. Yes, it's biased and closed-minded of me, but it's what I need right now. Sell me on it.

Thanks.

found while cleaning

A note from my 7-yr-old, Roo, that I found while cleaning the kitchen.

Redneck Holiday

I am really sore. My abs are killing me! I'll tell you why.

I don't know if you have this in your town, but once a year, my little rural podunk has a "Trash Amnesty Day." You're allowed to throw anything away (no matter how big or how much) and they pick it up on the first Saturday morning in May. This is like a redneck holiday. Imagine a town full of pickup truck owners (with requisite gunracks) and piles of junk sitting in front of every other house! Just imagine: "Hay Martha! Sumbuddy throwed away this perfect set of antlers. Whut a waste! Get out here and throw them in the truck!"

Since I live in Rome, I did as the Romans (hey, if it were New Orleans, I'd throw beads for breasts instead...) and at the stroke of eleven last Friday night, I loaded the kids up in the (1999 candy-apple red with power windows and locks Ford Explorer) pick-em-up truck and set off. My goal was 2 x 4's. The wife's been wanting steps from the back patio to the yard for a long time, so I thought I'd get enough wood to build her some. Yes, I'm that cheap. (I have to keep the kids in Tommy Hilfiger...don't get me started.)

By midnight I'd gathered close to seventy linear feet of 2 x 4's and 2 x 6's. I made out like a bandit. I didn't even have to fight off the hundred or so others out there. I was in hog heaven!

So my weekend was spent pulling nails and screws out of my prized seventy linear feet with a crow bar so I could get it out of my yard. Did you know that pulling sixteen-penny nails and screws is an incredible ab workout? Neither did I. I see an invention and an infomercial in the works...

Smitten

By the way, I think I'm in love with this girl from the eDiets ad on Yahoo! mail. Oh, hey, wait a minute! Isn't that Krista from Mental?

Sorry, sorry, sorry....

I know I haven't posted in three days. I had one written on Friday about a terse conversation with She-who-must-not-be-named on Thursday, but I lost it and didn't feel like re-writing it. Suffice to say, things are calm now.

Then my fecking ISP was down all weekend. I hate those numb-nutted neandrathals. They claim the highest uptime in the city and I can't dial up from 3:30 pm on Staurday till 3:30 pm on Sunday. I tried to call them, but to no avail. They don't have tech support on the weekends. Somebody needs to get on the ball over there.

Of course, at some point I have to concede that the ISP was my employer and I was lead tech in charge of keeping the Internet up this weekend...

Oops.

nothing in here is true

Tony Pierce has a blog and a site that are a wonder to behold. He claims "nothing in here is true" and proceeds to relate a plethora of conversations he's had with Anna Kournikova and more recently, Kirsten Dunst.

One of the most riveting things I've read is his account of Ashley. He claims it's not true, but it smacks of authenticity. Browse the photo essay, but be sure to read the whole story.

Truly riveting. The rest of the site is a riot.

A Night Away

A woman has the last word in any argument.
Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.
--Anonymous

That's pretty much the story of my life. I didn't even sleep at my house on Monday. Didn't want to fight anymore. A screaming match about nothing. According to her, I was the only one screaming and cussing; she only raised her voice to be heard over my swearing.

A night away was a nice break. I got nicely toasted and nicely forgot my worries for a while.

I'm back home now. Things are calmer. But still, it's the general air that hell could break loose between us at the drop of a hat. She called me "Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde" last night, and it's probably not a bad description. But she knows exactly which buttons bring out Mr. Hyde and she pushes them anyway.

I'm back, but it may just be so that we can negotiate a proper separation and not a heated one. I don't know right now. We love each other, but we just can't get along. It's been a long battle of what I call "inferences and implications." If one of us isn't implying malice in our words, the other one is inferring it. No one ever really starts a fight, do they?

The kids are up to speed on it and they're doing well and not blaming themselves as far as I can tell. Thanks for asking.

More later.

New look

I'm not sure I like it, but I was going nuts over the old one. I was inspired by the designs I mentioned the other day.

(This is actually the image from version 2. This design is version 7.)

Long Weekend

Well, I'm back. Spent the weekend walking around Paramount King's Island amusement park near Cincinnati (but outside the beltway) in every imaginable weather condition--rain, sunny, overscast, humidity, gale-force winds, you name it. It was rather fun because the lines were short.

Paramount has dumped a ton of money into it and it isn't the rathole it was ten years ago when I went there. They actually have rides that compare favorably to Cedar Point. It used to be that The Beast was the only thing worth going for, but we found there were enough coasters to fill up two days of casual park-going. (As opposed to racing from one attraction to the next.)

Due to it being April and the inclimate weather, the longest line we were in was forty-five minutes for Son of Beast. If you've ever been to a major amusement park, you know that's remarkable. Son of Beast, Flight of Fear and the new Tomb Raider ride were truly unique experiences and were as "thrilling" as any I've ever been on.

The only drawback was having eighteen people in our party with different ride-tolerance levels. (Me, four moms and thirteen brownie and junior girl scouts. Oy. And one--guess who--on crutches.) But, ironically, it wasn't as painful as doing DisneyWorld with a party of eleven in-laws.

If you want any details of what the rides were like, feel free to inquire and I'll describe them.

I'm sore. Very sore.

Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy!

I'm a happy, happy camper! I got this quote done today. I had no idea it had been weighing on me that much, till I sent it out. Plus! It's sunny and warm and I'm getting the bills paid! And I'm going to an amusement park all weekend. And I'm getting a laptop!

Hope you're having a good Friday!

Eye Candy

Hey! Brooke has an incredibly well-laid-out blog. We could take lessons from a design like this. It ranks right up there with words mean things.

Whip and chair

We talked/fought about the bill thing bit last night. She is terribly depressed (probably clinically so) about a great number of things. I asked what she wanted of me, she said to hold her and make her feel safe.

I told her "You're like an injured lion cub. I want to hold it and help it heal, but I get scratched and bitten so much I'm afraid to hold it anymore. I just want it to get better with or without me."

Maybe that's callous, but it's how I felt. I'll still keep trying. She needs me and pushes me away at the same time.

Addenedum

To be fair, she had settled up the check mentioned parenthetically in the last post. No warrant was issued.

Slit. Slit. Slit.

Can't post right now. I'm spending my lunch hour opening THREE POUNDS of unopened mail.

(Oh, look! Fancy that! I just opened a note from the County Prosecutor to take care of a bounced check by Feburary 7th "before issuance of a warrant of arrest." Hmmm.)

This is why! This is why!

Three inches. Three inches.

That's how much unopened non-junk mail I found under the microwave cart this morning. The "bills" my wife was supposed to be taking care of. To say that I am disappointed would be a gross understatement. I was just continuing to tie up the loose ends and I find an fecking afghan's worth of loose ends. Shit.

I take the stack of sealed envelopes into the bedroom where she's convalescing and show them to her.

"I'm very disappointed." Should I say more? Yes. "How can you be 'taking care of the budget' if there's a stack of unopened bills under the microwave dating back to January?"

Long Pause. "Well, January was about when my stress started, if you'll recall."

"No. I don't recall, and I don't appreciate the attitude. Lose the attitude and tell me what you're talking about."

"January was when I started really wanting you out of the house." Silence.

That's it? That's the whole response? Now, let me just say that--objectively speaking--I don't have a problem taking care of the bills, catching them up because she was under stress or whatever. I'm a loving father and I have a household to run, so doing that is something I would gladly do. But--

"Fine. But you know what kills me? That if the tables were turned and I had a stack of bills four months old and I told you I had stress, that wouldn't fly. You would be absolutely furious." Breathe. "I'll take care of it."

And it occurs to me at that point that the one underlying stress in our relationship for me is the double standard. I'd imagine this isn't unique to my relationship, and some sort of double standard is expected (otherwise chivalry would be truly dead), but...

Odd day

Didn't go to work till two. Didn't get to be last night till five. Tying up the loose ends. (See below.) Bills haven't been kept up on since She-who-must-not-be-named sprained her ankle.

That's my task tonight. Catch up the bills. And catch up on sleep. And consider my next post. I know the story I want to tell--something postitive about my father. I just need a block of time to tell it.

On the bright side, I should have my Laptop on Monday. Maybe even Friday. The weekend will be spent in what one Cincinnatian called a horrid thing, Kings Island. With a dozen girl scouts. (And assorted adults! Get your mind out of the gutter.)

I'm driving in my car, I turn on the radio

I was out driving tonight, trying to tie up some loose ends for my family. I had to return videos, get some bread, buy a videotape so I could edit a pen-pal video for my middle daughter--you know, dad stuff. I turn on the radio. and it blares out a "Magic Organ"-style song that must be "Jazz" on the new NPR station. I guess "Marketplace" is over now. I quickly punch the AM selector hoping for some thought-provoking talk. (I haven't been in the mood for popular music lately since a good friend steered me back to NPR news.) On comes "Savage Nation." Now, I'm a conservative, but this guy's a jackass, so I hit the next AM channel--commercial. Next--sports. Next--fuzz. Next--fuzz. Oh yeah, Fort Wayne only has three AM channels. My '89 Regal has a radio that only has five AM buttons and five FM buttons, so I pop back over to FM. Plink--classic rock (odd that it's "classic," because I've never heard it before.) Plink--

Then it occurs to me that I might have to manually tune the radio to find something good. God, that's such work. I hope one of the last three buttons has something good.

Commercial. Plink--

This describes much of my life. I'm limited to about ten different things I do each day. I have radio buttons for things like eating, showering, driving, working and parenting. There's even one I hate, but like the country music/farm reports/sports AM button that's programmed in my car because it makes one less fuzz channel, I end up hitting the "apologize" button at least once a day. At times, each of the buttons is rewarding; at other times, disappointing. Each day I reach for the buttons because I hope one will bring that day's joy. I know I can find pleasure or joy or escape if I make the effort to manually tune to things that aren't pre-programmed--a different route to work, a vacation, a night out--but I'm always hoping that one of the buttons will do the trick. Less work that way. Less thought.

Some days I'm rested and happy and I'm actually capable of something different; I can tune to a new station. When I'm happy, I love to try new things. When I'm tired or overwhelmed or depressed it's all I can do to lift my arm to press a button--to hear the familiar. And then even "All Things Considered" may not even help me. Sometimes I just leave the radio off--I don't press any buttons because it's doesn't seem worth the effort.

Tonight I'm weary, a bit harried, but hopeful. Plink--Peter Gabriel's falsetto nails me with "Shock the Monkey!" and I smile. The buttons are working tonight. Maybe I'll actually tune around tomorrow.

It's Official!

I declare this officially "Blogger is Fucked Day!"

Grrr.

Take a Five-minute Break

This is the funniest damned lesbian story I've ever read.

Some Housekeeping

WARNING: Eclectic post ahead.

Annoying Diet Story
Two things struck me over the weekend. One was that I'm one of those really annoying people that talk about their diets when they're on one. Sorry. The other is that one of the main reasons I've lost weight is because I've increased my Wellbutrin intake and that (as I posted back in January or February) serves as an appetite suppressant (at least until your body adjusts.) I guess that makes me less of a bastion of willpower and more a victim of chemistry.

Annoying Kid Story
Cue Batman bumper music. Whip pan to new topic. Two more things. One, I'm one of those annoying people that talk about what smart kids they have. Sorry. The other is that my seven-year-old, Roo, thinks in a way I'll never understand. It seems a sort of savant-symbolic-spatial sort of thing. At four, she wanted to show grandma she could write the alphabet. But grandma was laying on the couch on the other side of the coffee table from her, so she wrote it upside-down so grandma could read it. Scary.

At five, you could ask her simple addition problems that many older kids would need fingers or paper to do. "Hey, Roo, what seven plus eight?" She'd direct her eyes toward the ceiling and you could almost see the gears turning. "Fifteen?" Wow.

Then, over the weekend, The Rooster and I were driving around. "Hey Daddy!" "Yes, Roo?" "You know what fourteen plus fourteen is?" I knew her class only did addition that resulted in sums of less than twenty. "What is it, hon?" "It's twenty-eight! Know how I know that? I knew it had to end in eight, but eighteen was too small, so it must be twenty-eight!"

"Very cool! But you know," I said, "it doesn't always work that way. Like what number should sixteen and sixteen end with?"

Eyes up, gears turn. "Thirty-two!"

"That's right! How'd you know that?" She shrugs. I offered, "did you just see the answer?"

She nodded and I smiled. Proudly.

Finally, something interesting
I have made it my goal to improve my writing and get published this year. I don't care where or even what genre really. I'm flexible. I just bought an ancient laptop from eBay, and I have--sitting on my desk--the submission guidelines for my local paper. (Circulation: 17 and a half. The half is for Carl down at the truck stop who's only got one eye. He convinced them to charge him less.)

Now, I think I'll start my lowest ebb story for the Low-Ebb-a-thon. Coming Soon.

HEY! Albion People!

Leave me a comment! Make me feel loved! Give me a warm fuzzy! Or correct my grammar! All you girls and guys coming over here from Krista's site, mental, are hereby requested to click the comment link below. Thanks!

Earlier Today...

Dad: Thanks girls for helping me clean the kitchen! We got so much done, you were a big help!

Girls: You're welcome.

Dad: I always do better when I'm working with other people. I think you guys like it when Mommy or Daddy cleans with you, don't you?

9-yr-old daughter: "Many hands make light work!"

Dad: [gasping, kneeling, waving arms] I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!

A properly applied aphorism! I'm so proud!

I'm Number One!

Google Search: bitchen dog food lists me as the first hit! I'm soooo proud!

Stop screwing with my head!

I was on vacation the first week of April. My wife made me watch John Edward. To her, he is legitimate. I am a skeptic--at the moment. But he did some pretty convincing stuff. I find myself wondering, despite my better judgement, if John Edward might be legit; if all that stuff may be really out there.

I keep thinking about the wack-job that read me. She wasn't wrong so far. Who knows? Then I struggle with the basic conflict that has with my theology. I can't concientiously have it both ways. Some people can. They can reconcile all that parapsychology with basic Christianity. I can't. I feel like I'd have to choose.

I'm just in a writing mood today I guess. Trying to push through the amorphous white blobstrocity that's impeding every aspect of my life right now.

I really just want to start from scratch. All new house, job, friends. Live my life as if it were just beginning, but bringing into it all of my past experience. I finally feel like I've learned just enough to succeed. Right now, my failures hang on me like boat anchors.

What does my future hold? Can anyone really see it? How could that possibly be? But yet I wonder now...

Mediocre

Go ahead.

Insist I have talents. Insist I have redeeming qualities. Insist I have a good life. That's what everyone does when I feel like this. Right now, I can't think of a single aspect of my life where I'm truly succeeding. I'm not being an effective employee, a gentle father, a loving husband, a decent housekeeper, a competent musician or a good friend. I'm not saying this as an exaggeration or a pity party, it's just how I feel. All the evidence I see before me (including the posts here, add "great writer" to the things I'm not) paints a vibrant picture of sheer mediocrity.

The strangest part is that I know it's not true. No amount of telling me what I have will convince my brain to tell my soul it not true. I also know that it's probably just one thing weighing heavily on me that causes all else to be weighted by it's shadow. I've been me long enough to know this about myself. I also know it's very hard for me to find out that one thing till I accidentally solve it. Then the realization comes. Is it the lousy practice last night? Is it my overreactive anger toward my daughter the other night? Is it the three or four or five people who I regard as "best" friends that don't talk to me unless I talk to them? Is it that I'm too pissed about it to call them? Is it that I've pissed too many people off with my words? Is it my growing frustration--brought on by blogging--that I'm, more my father than my father was sometimes, and I hate that version of me? Is it that I'm fucking blogging instead of working? Is it simply money?

Something has blocked out my sun. Everything I have is under Pink Floyd's sun that is eclipsed by the moon. And I can never tell what the moon is.

Oh, I can make lists and get sleep and take Wellbutrin and they all help, but the weight is still there casting it's lunar shadow on the rest of my life. What needs to change? Whom do I embrace or learn to ignore. What do I do or stop doing? Is it my fault or am I just a victim of circumstance?

The moon is beautiful. The sun is even more beautiful. Heh-heh. Oh, Yeah...
"Oh Yeah" -- Yello

McDonald's Rant

Been to McDonald's lately? When I worked at McDonald's I was reprimanded for not double-folding my sacks (folding the top down twice to hold in the heat). It's been years since I've gotten a properly double-folded sack from a McDonald's employee.

"Crew Member." That's what they're called. I know. I used to work there. So did nearly 40% of the entire workforce today (or some such propaganda from McOpCo). That's what they told me when I worked there. But that was back in the days when the little aluminium numbers actually carried meaning. They used to mean, "Throw this food away when the big hand reaches this number." Now it means, "you may have to deal with an irate customer if you serve this after the big hand reaches the number, but if you feel you can chance it (for, say, a DRIVE-THRU customer, go right ahead and pack it up."

And, please, if you're gonna make me wait for my food, at least "clean as you go." How many times did I hear "if you're leanin', you could be cleanin'?" Fire up that rag (sorry "cloth"), son, I want my old food to be sanitary.

[NOTE: I found this in my archives. I wrote it probably eight years ago. I probably should have deleted it then too...]

Unsympathetic Benevolence

How does a fight start anyway? No one ever starts a fight do they? Each party universally feels the other has started it. A odd paradox that. That being said, she started it. Saturday morning. She came out of the bedroom after sleeping in (her first Saturday off in a long time) and commenced criticism. "I heard the spawn of Satan out here." This is what started the fight for her. Harsh words through gritted teeth to children who have been told three times in the span of five minutes to wash the dishes yet haven't started. The criticism is where I mark the beginning. Funny, huh?

I continually pull punches when I argue with anyone. I know how badly my tongue can hurt accidentally, and I try not to do it intentionally. This time I didn't care. This time I alienated my arguee in a severe way by taking her tack of saying exactly how she feels. It was not pretty. I escaped via chemistry, she escaped via Ford Explorer.

A shopping trip and two wine coolers later, I--universally considered the peacemaker between us by counselors--was ready to apologize and work things out. Nothing doing. I left to help my mom throw my dad's 40-year collection of useless junk out of the garage while he was gone at work. (That's a whole 'nother story.) While I was organizing boxes of Boy Scout equipment (I'm the youngest son at 35), college notes and textbooks (he's been out of college since 1988) and ham radios that still employ vacuum tubes, my wife was getting ready for the band gig.

I showed up a the bar at about 9:00 to take pictures and play a few songs and she was cool toward me. I couldn't blame her. I was evil.

We'd driven different cars, so I went home before the gig was over to sleep and/or await her arrival. At 3:30, she still wasn't home (the bar being less than five minutes from home, it was strange). I called her cell and she was still at the bar. The band was long gone, but she hadn't had her fill of free Tequila shots. Her friend was with her. They were doubtlessly bitching about me.

I called the cell again at 4:00 and yet again at 5:00 with no response. (I found out later she'd driven to "the" truck stop for breakfast and then back to sleep it off at her friend's.) She called at 7:30 Sunday morning. "I'm here at my friend's but I'm hungover, so I'm going to sleep some more."

Waking the children, we set about getting ready for church. At about 9:30, when we were loading in the car, she was exiting said friend's house dressed in her stage outfit. Most of it is inconsequential (you can look at the pictures) except the three-inch platform heels. Factor the tall shoes, a half-dozen snakebites still in her system and a two-step cement porch at her friend's and you can guess that she slipped and fell.

She drives in about 9:35, so I hurriedly shift the kids to the Explorer and listen to her slurred complaints about her sore ankle. Then we take off, leaving her to go back to bed once more.

Upon our return home, we find her in bed, leg propped up, in a velcro and plastic splint (her friend had decided she needed to go the the emergency room) to relieve the baseball-sized lump on the side of her ankle that was a "severe sprain."

I found (and still find) it hard not to be cynical about the sprain, but I found myself later that day at Wal-Mart buying feminine hygiene products and 7-up, renting DVD's and catering to her, regardless.

Sometimes I find myself torn between loving her and wanting to get the hell away. Sometimes in the same day. Sometimes over the span of ten minutes.

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to write this in detail. But here it is, in all of it's banal glory.

Thanks for reading.

Interesting

I'm not a big fan of community blogs, but this one seems to be consitently intelligent and funny.

"Love is what life feels like when you aren't being scared of it."

[ soul kitchen ]

Mood Swing

I was going to blog last night but I didn't. To explain why, I'll just post what I would have:

I am so out of sorts right now. Earlier today I was fine, now I'm totally depressed. Can't even find the words... Maybe it's because I'm short on sleep for about five or six nights straight or that I've been consuming about 50% of my standard caloric intake for a couple of weeks. I don't know. I feel like I'm depressed, but about nothing. I know it's only 8:15 but I think I'll just go to bed and see how things look in the morning.

Well, I did indeed go to bed at 8:15 and woke up exactly nine hours later at 5:15 (for those of you not up to post-graduate-level advanced time-math). I feel incredible! I got some laundry done this morning, got the kids ready for school, made me and my bed-ridden wife (story still coming, I promise) eggs and toast for breakfast and still left for work early. Actually got here on time (7:30). What's remarkable is that if I get here at 7:30, I'm the first or second one here (out of about ten). But none of us leave at 5:30 anyway. Plus, 10-hour work days suck, so we all clip the mornings.

So I've come to the realization that I occasionally mistake extreme tiredness for depression. I guess I've been doing it all my life. (I do, however, get actual depression sometimes that isn't sleep-related.) I guess that's probably not a revelation to the rest of you guys, but sometimes I am blind to obvious things until the light switch clicks on. (What a stupidly obvious statement! Oh, well, I'll leave it in.)

I hadn't planned to mention it, but it was a similar light switch that is helping me lose weight. I was reading a blog (and have no idea whose it was; if it was you, let me know) where the blogger (I'm thinking it was a guy) was commenting about his dieting. He said something like "I know I'll be hungry, but I guess it builds character, right?" And, bam, it hit me. All of my adult life, whenever I've thought about dieting and "willpower," I've always thought of willpower in terms of the strength to not eat bad foods. I now realize that a big part of the willpower/dieting equation is the strength to not eat just because you're hungry. I've never done that. It's always been "I'm hungry, find something that's on my diet so I can eat. And hurry, or I might eat that donut." Now it's "I'm hungry, but that's okay, it builds character, I'll eat soon enough."

Thank you, mystery blogger.

Lookee!

Bunch of new blog links (lower left). Check them out. Tell 'em I sent ya!

A Countdown Meme
So sue me

Nine things you wear daily:

Shirt

Pants

Underpants

Socks

Shoes

Wedding Ring

Geeky Casio Databank Watch

Contact Lenses

My Heart on my Sleeve

Eight movies you'd watch over and over:

Raiders of the Lost Ark

Blues Brothers

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

The Matrix

Dead Poet's Society

JFK [no, I don't think it's the truth, just a well-made movie]

Risky Business

Arsenic and Old Lace

Seven albums that matter:

Chess -- 1984 concept album

Watermark -- Enya

90125 -- Yes

Glass Houses -- Billy Joel

Upstairs at Eric's -- Yaz

Blues Brothers -- Soundtrack

Stella -- Yello

Six objects you touch every day:

Keyboard, Computer

Keyboard, Musical

Mouse

Steering Wheel

Coffee Cup

Johnson

Five things you do every day:

Drink Caffiene

Surf and Blog

Sing

Talk

Apologize

Four bands/singers that you couldn't live without:

Billy Joel

Elton John

Phil Collins

The Beatles

Three of your favorite songs at this moment:

Drops of Jupiter -- Train

Short Skirt, Long Jacket -- Cake

Family Portrait -- Pink

Two people that have influenced your life the most:

My Father [not always (not usually?) in a good way]

Kevin Bassett

One thing you could spend the rest of your life with:

A Piano

Feh.

You need a new blog to read

Krista's site mental is a well-written blog by a college student studying Creative Writing. She makes the banalities of day-to-day life interesting.

Check out her content site too. Very nice design.

Thanks to Mary T. for the link.

Pleased with myself

I've been on a diet. I weighed myself today. I'm down seventeen pounds! Hurrah!

Now, if can actually start the ab exercises...

Busy

Sorry I haven't posted for a couple of days. I've been terrifically busy. My list from last night was something like:

Buy kitchen trash bags
Return Videos
Pay Bills
Do state taxes
Watch "The X-Files"
Do ab crunches
Do last week's timesheets

Plus, my wife sprained her ankle yesterday. It's a good story and one I'd like to take my time to write it effectively. Hope you don't mind.

To keep you occupied, here is some pictures from the band gig Saturday. I took them, so I'm not in them. (Not like I'm really in the band anymore anyway.) The blond is my wife. Enjoy.

ADDENDUM [4:01 pm]:
What I failed to mention is that last night's "completed" list looked something like:

Return videos
Play with PhotoShop
Watch "The X-Files" (three episodes)
Play with PhotoShop
Crap! Do taxes
Play with PhotoShop
Piss off office lady this morning 'cause my timesheets weren't done.

Gotta go pay some bills...

Limerence & Googling

Here is a Real Audio commentary from "All Things Considered" about people "googling" each other before a first date.

Very cute. And a boon for the limerence meter. (Robin?)

(no words)

Read this now. It is amazing.

Thanks to Aldo Alvarez for the heads up.

Open it Right

You know, that's the thing about "cling" wrap—you have to open it carefully. You have to open it right. You have to follow instructions. You have to be gentle. You know why? 'Cause if you don't you'll never be able to tear it off right and you'll be stuck with an ill-tearing box and crappily wrapped leftovers for the next fecking year till you finally use up that roll and get to start a new one! That's why.

It seems that what I just wrote should be allegorical. Like everyone (including the president) thought Chance (Peter Sellers) was a brilliant man with fantastic metaphors for the solving the country's problems (not LeAnn Rimes, "America" the country, silly) in Being There. In reality he was a mentally slow gardener who simply told everyone the best way to raise a garden.

So when I log in and type stupid stuff, maybe I'm actually saying something really profound. Look for the Chance in me.

And I will look for him in you.

Damned Freud

My ego has helped me drop ten pounds, but my id just fed me a quart of Rocky Road ice cream.

Dammit.

Holy Toledo!

My blog got a hit from Saudi Arabia this afternoon! I've never seen traffic from Saudi Arabia on the 100 or so sites I've developed or helped develop. Astounding. No referrer though, wonder why.

Also, welcome Sniper! I've added her to my read list. She found me and kept coming back and left a comment to that effect. It made my day! Thanks!

The Subjective School of Hard Knocks

There's a bunch of teens out there that perceive the 1980's the same way I perceive the 1960's--as a long time ago.

I was born in 1966, so I don't remember anything about 1960's except the Apollo 11 moon shot in 1969. I can recall in the seventies and eighties thinking that the sixties were a terrifically long time ago. The Vietnam war is ancient history to me. You know what isn't ancient history to me? Watergate. I remember the coverage of the Watergate trials and the resignation of Richard Nixon. The phrase "Judge John Sirica said today...," is branded in my earliest memories.

So how long was it between the end of the Vietnam war and the impeachment hearings of Richard Nixon? Less than a year? The Watergate break-in actually occurred before we pulled out of Vietnam. [see PBS timeline]

Memory is a tricky thing. We tend to remember things in a mental timeline, with things father back fading with some neurological half-life. But things in history we didn't experience (or don't remember experiencing) take a giant leap back.

Is this why they say that those who don't recall history are doomed to repeat it? We tend to put less weight on un-remembered historical events. I love "That 80's Show" because that my exciting youth. Oliver Stone is passionate about the sixties because that's his exciting youth. I think this is why older, experienced but uneducated advisors are often better that younger yet educated advisors. You can have all the book-learning you want, but there's nothing like being there.

We used to joke in college how the teachers didn't seem to grasp what it was like in the real world. And we were right. The real world is a far better teacher. And a far better teacher of history.

I hate that I and my ilk are damned to repeating the mistakes we haven't lived through. I just now occurs to me that perhaps when virtual reality gets good enough we may be able actually experience historical events. To "be there" rather than read a book or watch a movie about it.

I hope so.

Yes, you

she, a map
confirming good paths

when absent
proceeding on instinct
driving by gut
without correction
meandering
redundant

I may arrive
alone without her
more frustrated than happy

maybe not at all

Epiphany of a Teen-aged Christian Virgin and Former Self-mutilator
My review for the The Peer-to-Peer Review Project

Epiphany is a blog by Heather, who is nearly sixteen. It has the standard stuff you'd expect in a teen blog: size 1 fonts, ever-changing grunge layouts, clique links, occasional meme-test results and current music lists.

But it has something more. Through the fog of misspellings and unfortunate font choices lies an affecting account of a maligned Christian girl climbing victoriously out of a vicious self-mutilation cycle only to be laid bare on the sharpness of those to whom she's made every attempt to be kind.

Could you write about your own experience of self-mutilation? What if you were fifteen? Could you describe the slanderous words of your "friends" that cut deeper than any blade?

Heather does. And not in a self-pitying way. She doesn't expect pity, she explains what went through her head. And now she is haunted by the unanswerable questions of post-adolescence. She is plagued by mea culpa, but she doesn't know it yet. At least not in those terms.

Her words are powerful if immature. She will write well as the years pass. She evokes emotion completely from her honesty. I envy that degree of honesty. It's that sort of honesty that makes me want to start a new, anonymous blog to tell my real story because too many meatspace friends know about my current one.

The only thing truly lacking is a link for archives. I'd love to go read her whole story from the beginning. I hope she can help us out.

Pure Limerence

Sar has a new blog up. It's replacing her LiveJournal. It's such a great read if you watch for the "Ben" entries. A true tale of limerence at it's purest.

Depravity at the Wal-Mart
Damn the Sexual Revolution

This may shock or disappoint some of you, but I'm a relatively typical guy. The one inexorable fact of my existence since I was thirteen is:

I look at pretty girls.

I seldom have immediate, imagined sexual fantasies with every pretty girl or beautiful women I see (some guys do, trust me). A friend once told me that what is wicked "isn't the glance, but the stare." Well, I do stare sometimes. As a typical conservative, I am occasionally(!) a moral hypocrite.

Live with it.

Last night I was at the Wal-Mart (in my small Hoosier town, you'd swear it's actually called "the Wal-Mart") in the middle of the night buying garage sale signs and Braun ear-thermometer shields. On my way to Health and Beauty Aids, I found my self walking behind four stunning, young blonde girls probably averaging eighteen years old heading down the main aisle with intent. Most hetero, white, American males would have had a hard time not watching them walk from behind, smiling and giggling at seemingly illicit inside humor. My glance had certainly mutated into a stare and I became conscious that this was a rare occasion when fantasy did start to enter in.

My conservative side kicked in and yelled at me about how it wasn't right that a 35-year-old guy should be looking at this foursome the way I was. Society had pounded into me that old men are guilty, perverted and highly persuasive and young girls are innocent, pure and easily persuaded. That it is my responsibility not to allow thoughts, let alone deeds, encroach upon unacceptability.

I shut my mind to the thoughts and headed straight toward the ear thermometers. Coincidentally, this beeline kept me behind the foursome (strictly coincidence, I think) until we reached our respective destinations at almost exactly the same moment. You see, the ear thermometers are three scant yards from the rack of condoms. They promptly burst into a discussion of what brand and type to buy. I grabbed a pack of thermometer shields and left for my other destinations. (After catching a final glance, of course.)

I'm going to have to tell you that I felt gypped. (Oh. My. God. I just realized "gypped" is a bigoted slur of gypsy. Damn me.) I was beating myself up for imagining exactly the act that they were already preparing to do through no action or coercion by me. What's up with that?

Why is it becoming more and more acceptable for teenaged girls to have sex but no more acceptable for older men to think of having sex with teenaged girls? I don't buy that distributing condoms to teens in high schools isn't condoning this activity. The lead argument for this is "they are going to do it anyway, so give them protection." That sounds like condoning to me. But where's those "going to do it anyway" people when an older male is labeled a sexual predator because he has a girlfriend half his age?

I apologize for the random tone this post has taken. I'm not writing an essay this time. I'm journaling to get my thoughts down "on paper" about something that is such a non sequitur in my brain that it simply pisses me off.

If anyone is actually reading this, your comments are appreciated.

Kids are Cool (or: Why We're Such Bigots)

I'm convinced that bigotry is strictly nurture and not nature. This seems like an obvious thought, but consider that many children make fun of the strangers in their midst. I believe, in a very Jungian tabula rasa sort of way, that children are taught to be cruel to the children among them that are different. Parents, I believe, unconsciously teach their young ones to belittle the things in life that are unknown or unfamiliar and thus feared. I don't think this is an instinctive reaction, but rather a learned one. My children have taught me this.

When she was in pre-school, my middle daughter befriended another girl with an obvious congenital disorder replete with thick glasses and back brace. My daughter didn't see why it was remarkable to us that she had chosen to befriend a classmate that no one else would sit alongside, talk to or color with. I was never taught to ridicule the unfamiliar, so I believe that she hasn't really learned that. She sees bigotry as strange when manifested in others.

Then, the other day, my girls (seven, nine and ten years old now) and I were talking about Teletubbies. Grandma was visiting and related that their eighteen-month-old cousin was a big fan of the Teletubbies. I, on a typical trivia whim, was trying to name all four of them without the aid of my children. Stuck for the name of the purple one with the handbag and super-cranial triangle, I asked the kids "which one is the gay one?" To which they replied in unison, "Tinky-Winky!" No distaste, discomfort or disrespect in their answer, simply a statement of how they understood a world with Teletubbies.

I don't know how they learned of Reverend Falwell's disparagement of The Violet One's character, but they apparently saw no problem with his assessment. I'm not here to say whether or not Tink is gay, but my kids have no problem accepting that a character on a show aimed at tiny children could be so. I think that's very cool. To them, it's normal.

As ashamed as I am to say it, I still have a very slight twinge of bigotry when I encounter gays. When I was a kid, in the days of Billy Crystal's "Jodie Dallas" on Soap, it was popular demean gays as outcasts. I would imagine that my father feels the same way about African-Americans. He grew up in a world of condoned racism, and I'm sure he's repressed a twinge of racial bigotry all of his life.

I'm proud to say my kids are colorblind to both race and sexual orientation. I wonder what bigotry they will have that their children won't? Probably something that we wouldn't even consider bigotry today.

Food for thought.

Entertainment Epitomized

Disturbing Search Requests lists odd requests from search engines that people have found in their referrer logs. You can submit the ones that you find in yours. A total riot.

UPDATE: I've just been reading this site. I'm actually crying from laughing so hard. Don't miss this one.

Parental Advice: A True Story

A long time ago, when my ten-year-old daughter was about two or so, she, my wife and I were shopping at Sears. She-who-must-not-be-named was trying on clothes in the fitting room and I was sitting in those chairs outside the dressing room (you know the chairs--where husbands sit when their wives have been shopping just way to long?) next to a young woman of about my age.

My daughter was entertaining herself by prancing around in circles, her long blonde hair and pale calico dress flying and flowing with each bouncy step.

"Wow," said the woman next to me, bemused. "She reminds me of my son."

Picturing a boy in my daughter's place, I said the first thing that popped into my head.

"You should cut his hair and stop putting dresses on him."

Luckily, she thought it was funny...

100% Me

Robin pointed me to this wonderful post at BlackRobot.

Excerpt:

I found someone with everything. She's not close, she's it. Fucking it. It's terrifying just thinking about it, and the only way I'm level-headed at all about it is hearing her talk about how scared she is being in this type of situation. We've gone out once, sat around her place talking twice, and talked on the phone once, and I think we're already closer to one another than anyone else we've ever met. It really started out with her sense of humor, (laughing at WW II documentaries), naming her cat Chairman Mao (many years before others came up with said name), not only catching very obscure music references but being able to rattle off her own without skipping a beat, I secretly watch her lying in bed and can see her turning things over in her head, rather than just sitting there thinking about clothes or how cute a certain type of animal is...anyway, it started off being about all of that, but I'm actually comfortable around her in a way I've never been with other girls. Being yourself at 100% instead of 75% is fucking huge. I could go on indefinitely.

This makes me so happy for her, yet somewhat sad for me. I'm glad I found someone and that I'm married. I know it's hell being single. But I've seen hell in marriage. Recently.

This post reminds me of what I've never forgotten: that I married too young. That I hadn't "been around enough to know that [she was] the one I wanted to go through time with"*. I've never been 100% me in my marriage. I can't be. There are very few people who "get" me. I can count on one hand the number of people who I feel "get" who I am. (And only one of my brothers is on the list. My wife is not.)

Don't get me wrong, there's potential for great joy in my marriage, and I think very recently it has begun to rear it's beautiful head. I'm hopeful. But I don't know if things will work out. I don't know if this round of counseling will permanently stave off divorce. I have my doubts.

And the doubts arise from the percent of me I can be with her--how much she does or doesn't get me. It's been fifteen years since we met. She still doesn't know all of me. She doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to know how to debate without emotion or verbally spar in flirtation or even have make-up sex. (I've never experienced make-up sex, but I know I'd be up for it.) And that's just a whiff of what she doesn't get.

I can't isolate myself from the world so I meet new people. Many of them I inadvertently keep at arm's length with my personality. But there are a very few that I don't. Or rather they don't feel a need to keep away me. With them, there is a synchronicity that unlocks the inner-most doors to my soul (the "catching very obscure music references" from BlackRobot, above). And it can be overwhelming when the shared thoughts come so rapidly that we talk without ceasing for hours, knowing what the other will say after only an hour of conversation. (I know what my wife will say next. But it's taken years. And she still surprises me.)

When the synchronicity happens to the wrong people at the wrong time (or is that the right people at the wrong time?), it is not only overwhelming, but devastating in its sheer futility.

But the idiosyncratic commonality with that one who 'gets' me is a porch-light to my moth. Terrifically dangerous, yet too beautiful to fly away from. In the morning I see that I've burnt myself on that light bulb, but somehow I can't wait till the next nightfall when it's switched on again.

If you were a porch-light in my life, you know it. Thanks. Those burns will heal, but your light will be with me always.

^*from "Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce for those of you born after Star Wars left the theater.

Angst-Free Day

Jen and Hoopty are declaring an "angst-free" day. I'm game. I'll post nothing about mea culpa or my body or anything else I might be upset about.

Plus Jen sent me a random thank-you. And that was very nice. And helped alleviate my angst today. Thanks, Jen!

Snow!

After getting virtually no snow all winter, my little dale of Columbia City got seven inches yesterday! They even sent us home from work early.

I inherited (literally) a snowblower from my Grandfather last year and I finally got chance to use it. What a blast! God, I hate to shovel, and this is just the ticket!

Bitchen!

*sigh*

Dammit. I'm in fecking mea culpa mode again. In all likelihood over an offense I didn't actually commit. But somehow it's not the certainty that I offended that puts me into this mode, it's the mere possibility that I could have offended someone that does it.

Since I started this journal--actually in the last month of writing and talking privately with some of you--I've really begun to see how much of a product of my parents I am. My father taught me how to overreact to my children's mistakes, and my mother educated me in the proper ways of tactlessness.

Sometimes I wonder if mom is as haunted by remorse as I am. On the other hand, I wonder if I have remorse because she showed so little over some of her offenses.

My parents, I guess, are the ultimate tag team of subtle verbal warfare. I am a soldier in that war, trained commando-sharp by years of example. My tongue can be a tremendous weapon. Often accidentally, a samurai sword left lying about.

The difference is that I have so often been cut by a honed edge that I truly empathize with those I slice.

If I didn't carry the sword, my soul would be a lot less weary of carrying around so many bandages.

Mea non culpa

She-who:[in mock anger] Hey! You're drinking out my E.T. glass!

Me:I didn't know; I'm sorry. [pause] Wait! I'm not sorry! I didn't know it was your glass. I'm not the least bit sorry. In fact, I'm glad I did it!

She-who:[smiles]

Well, it's a start...

Now Listen

At the left is a link to "Family Portrait" by Pink. If you haven't heard it, it's a real tear-jerker--especially if you have kids and are having a bad go at it.

Trust me.

(Mary T: This is the one I wanted you to hear.)

Random Childhood Memory #1

When I was in elementary school at Sunnymede in Fort Wayne, Indiana, I had a physical education teacher named Mr. Coffman. One day--probably in the 3rd or 4th grade--I passed him in the hallway on the way to our Christmas party in the cafeteria, waved and said "Hi, Coff!"

I thought he was going to kill me.

He grabbed me fiercely by the upper arm, brought his face down to mine and growled at me.

"Show some respect, young man. The name is 'Mr. Coffman.' That's what you'll call me!"

I believe I was shaking for the rest of the day. Mea culpa from very early on...

Bitchen! Version 6.0

Well I got Allen's new art up. I'm sure he'd like to read any comments you might have. Compliments, suggestions for improvement, etc.

The HTML and words on the layout are mine. The art is his. He reads the comments...

Mea Culpa. Rinse. Repeat.

She-who-must-not-be-named informed me last night that I'd offended yet another friend of hers (a long time ago) by saying the first one-liner that popped in my head. (see #14 on my 100 things list). Then she asked me to "not say anything to him about it."

This is a typical conversation between her and me. She tells me how I offend everyone she knows and belittles me and then tells me to not mention it to them.

Well, if you recall from this article, I simply can't do that. If I've offended someone, a) I want to know and b) I want to make amends.

She gives me a) but disallows b). So my self-esteem just sinks lower. If she doesn't tell me and I find out, then I'm upset that she knew I offended somone and didn't tell me.

Well, after this exact battle last night, we worked out a plan. I told her (and she agreed) that when she finds out a friend was offended by me to tell them:

My husband really hates to offend people. He knows that acccidentally he does sometimes. If I tell him, he'd really want to make amends. Do you want me to mention it?

And at that point the friend will either say yes or will say something like "I'm over it."

As far as I'm concerned that's a much better solution all the way around.

But I'd like to know what you think.

Lewd Barbie Flick Banned by Mattel
from The Guardian

Barbie's been getting frisky, and parent company Mattel Corp aren't too happy about it. An Argentinian movie, Barbie Gets Sad Too, shows the curvacious plastic doll having sex with her Latino maid. Mattel has received a court order to ban the movie, which was due to be shown for the first time at Mexico City's Urban-Fest film festival.

Oh my.

Las Vegas Mercury: Goldberg: Dear Diary...

Be careful what you blog...

Thanks to Hidden City for the link.

The Door and the Giant

It was the summer of 1974, and I was seven. I'd had a really hard summer day playing with my neighbor, Jeff, aged six. We were playing in the yard with my new Hot-Wheels-scale plastic car wash and filling station that my mommy had bought me at the SuperRx drug store, next to the Kroger where she worked until I was ten or twelve. It was soon lunch time. Then nap time.

I heard her call me for supper, I think, upstairs in my bunk bed. But I slept. The hot summer sun and concentration of pushing my Red Baron Hot Wheels and my scale-size El Camino under and past the foam "washing" cylinders in the car wash part of the toy filling station must have tuckered me out.

Eventually I woke up in what seemed to me to be the middle of the night. Mom was still up, so it must have been before midnight, but it was dark and my brothers were asleep.

I awoke hungry, of course, and headed downstairs to see if Mommy would make me something to eat. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I encountered something strange--a closed door. The farmhouse I grew up in had long since settled to the point where the jamb was far from square and the door wouldn't latch, but you could force it shut if you needed to.

We never did. Usually. Unless Mom and Dad were fighting and we were asleep, then they would shut it as not to wake us.

Flash forward about four years to the night when I was eleven and stayed up past nine o'clock to see who won the "Gumball Rally" on the movie's Network Television Premier. I was supposed to be in bed, but kept coming down to watch the last hour, hidden in the darkness of the dining room. Long story, short: Dad found me and threatened me with the "spanking stick" (a hand-carved 5/8" switch). He cornered me at the back door and rapped "the stick" hard on the door to drive his point about "bedtime" home. A poorly-aimed rap broke a hole in the Plexiglass window that remained till I moved out nine years later. That's the way my dad was about bedtime.

Back to closed stair door.

I sat down on the second-to-bottom step. It was wooden, painted a long-ago-glossy brown, and cold. The heat didn't feed upstairs with the door closed, which is why we seldom closed it. I remember listening at the door for the sound of a fight. I remember the musty smell of dust and 110-yr-old wood and pink texture paint that had been applied in the stairwell before my parents moved in ten years before and remained for the next twenty*. I inhaled and held the air in my tiny lungs and, with a tiny hand, rapped lightly on the door.

Somehow I felt that if I knocked quietly, maybe only Mommy would hear. I didn't want to make Dad mad again. (I assumed a fight had just ended. In retrospect, maybe not.) I waited without a response.

I tapped my white knuckles against the door again, making sure it was still only Mommy-hearing level.

Nothing.

A little louder rap, this time I was aware the it might awaken the sleeping giant (though I could hear him talking to Mommy). This time I heard my dad stop talking and walk toward the door that separated us.

"I think I heard a knock," he informed her as he pulled open the door.

He looked surprised, yet delighted to see me. "Ricky!"

"You don't have to knock," he said jovially.

"I'm hungry," I said to both of them. They sat me at the table.

After asking me what I wanted, Mommy made me some cinnamon toast. We read the paper, me sitting on her lap, as I ate the toast. I still hear the sugar granules as the fell from my toast and lit on the paper.

Once I my belly stopped complaining, my heart took up the chorus.

"Mommy! I left my car wash outside!"

"Where, honey?"

"In Jeff's yard."

She took me out into the night with a flashlight and we found the Car Wash in the dewy grass next door, and ran back to the house.

My dad was a boy scout leader for my older brothers and working with camping gear when we came back in. He'd just put a new handle on an axe (perhaps the door was closed to block out the pounding that it requires to do such a task) and was admiring his handiwork.

He called me over and carefully handed me the axe at the base of it shiny, red head. I had no idea how heavy an axe was and nearly dropped it before he took it back from me. I must have looked surprised, because he laughed at my reaction and I smiled back at him.

That's where the memory ends. I don't know how I got to bed or anything after the axe. I inherited my memory for trivia from my dad so maybe he does. But I do know a few more things about the occasion.

I know it was one of the fondest memories of my father. I learned that when my dad's not under a lot of stress, he really can be a nice guy. And today I know that gentle giant still exists within my father every time he sees my middle daughter--his granddaughter--and brightens up in exactly the same way he looked at me sitting on the stairs that night, and delightedly exclaims "Ricki!" as she clambers onto his ever-waiting lap.

* Jeff's brother owns the house now. He has completely restored it and I have faith that he finally painted over every last remaining square inch of the pink texture paint that had been applied in the early sixties and my parents had never painted over by the time they moved out in 1994.

More Interesting Than Mine Right Now

Feral Living is very intelligent, well-written and arid with dry humor.

...and it's more interesting than my site right now.

Lavender Kitchen

Lavender Kitchen is a diary with a delightfully cynical edge.

Added it to my read list.

Ernst & Young

By the way, I had a ton of visits from somebody(s) at Ernst & Young last week. I wonder why . . .

If you know why, drop me a private comment below. It will email me but never be published.

Just curious.

Honesty and Scarcity.

Sorry about the lack of posts. I'm reprioritizing in an effort to save my marriage. I have many stories to tell, but they'll wait. They'll wait for lunch hours and times when there's nobody more important than this blog in the same building as me.

Avoiding the epithet "pitiful and pathetic," for a while at least. I hope you understand. I don't think I'll be away, just scarce for a while.

A point of clarification: the blog is not the thing destroying my home life, but avoiding it while I'm at home will certainly help to save it, if it is indeed savable.

Oh, and . . .

. . . go visit becklyn. She keeps talking about me.

Eat It!

Picture of Arby's Market Fresh sandwiches.

Do yourself a favor and go get an Arby's Roast Chicken Ceaser Market Fresh sandwich. It's heaven on earth.

But don't do what I did: I told the cashier who was opening and stacking large fry containers by sticking her fingers way inside of them instead of handling them by the outside edges: "Yes, I'd like anything that doesn't come in a container that you've had your fingers in."

And she was old enough to know better.

She wasn't happy.

For Publishers and Writers Only

You know what really toasts my biscuits? There's no freaking em-dash in HTML!

Cripes!

Sometimes You Just Have to Say It

I got an email response from the friend I mentioned in Passion Master (three articles down). He wrote:

I'm really touched, I didn't know I had any impact.

Now, here's a guy (God, I sound like John Madden!) that I've known for eighteen years. We talk all the time and we share many secrets. And I've always enjoyed listening to him tell me about the lastest toy. (Hell, a few months back, the local paper wrote an article that interviewed him because he had one of the first Palm-based celluar phones in the city.)

But I never told him what I wrote yesterday. It's hard (more so for men, I think) to say this kind of stuff to friends. But he needed to know. All of our friends need to know.

How many of us have a friend who's made a big difference in our lives that would say, "I didn't know I had any impact?"

Think about it. Do something about it.

Still Relevant

sweat not blood in your garden
your fate is not a cup to be taken
but a grail to be sought
you have glimpsed it
you know it exists
it has to

For Public Record

This has been the worst mea culpa day since I started blogging.*

*I don't want sympathy. And don't ask about it; I won't tell you. Don't speculate, even if you know. It wasn't my imagination this time. I really was an asshole. I just wanted this here to mark this day in my journal, and to let you know that I probably won't write today because I can't write about the only thing on my mind, and I can't seem to push that aside to write about anything interesting. Ignore this.

Passion Master

Let me take my own advice from the last post and thank the one person who has instilled more passion for more different things than anyone else in my life. He's been a close friend since 1984 when we worked at a computer store together. He lived with me for a while, and forgave me when I lay down and bent up his Honda Ascot the one and only time I've driven a motorcycle.

When he gets interested in a new technology or art form or whatever, he exudes passion for that thing until the next rolls around. It's a comfort to be near that flame sometimes when life turns cold through depression. Here's a short list of passions he's passed on since 1984:

Amiga
Deluxe Paint III
Digital Image Capture
Trick Photography
MIDI Sequencing
Dance Mixing
Compaq Concerto [pen-based laptop. very cool]
Animation Compression
Ray-Tracing [circa 1985]
Virtual Memory at the PC level [circa 1985]
Kraftwerk
X10
Songwriting
Contact Juggling [a la Michael Moschen]
Desktop Publishing
Korg M1

That's only what I could think of in three minutes.

He's around. We've never lost touch. He lurks here and comments under a pseudonym. A link to his current passion resides in my exits list.

He knows who I'm talking about.

Thanks.

Passion Slave

Let's think about a couple of TOP 40 music statistics:

In 1986, "Twist and Shout" by the Beatles soared back on to the charts.
In 1992, "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen performed a similar feat.

In both cases, twenty-year-old songs suddenly became popular again. Why? Did they suddenly become better? Did they spontaneously get more interesting? I'll tell you why.

In 1986, Matthew Broderick lip-synched "Twist and Shout" to a real-time crowd of thousands and a theatre-going crowd of millions in Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
In 1992, Mike Myers and friends rocked out to "Bohemian Rhapsody" in an AMC Pacer in Wayne's World.

So the answer is mass market you say. Nope. Plenty of songs were resurrected for use in movies. Why didn't "Chain of Fools" re-hit the charts when Michael came out? Why didn't we see a resurgence of popularity for a score of other 20-yr-old pop tunes when featured in popular Vietnam War films?

Why? Passion.

Myers and Broderick showed a passion for the songs they rocked to in those movies. They were on fire over what a great old tune this was. You knew their characters (and likely the actors) loved these songs. So, consequently, did we.

Passion is like a fire. We (the record-buying public) saw characters in those movies exuding a fire for these songs. The flame licked off the screen and caught many of us on fire. We started requesting them from radio stations and looking for copies of the singles. The fire of Wayne and Ferris caught us on fire for a couple of tunes that were good, but had been off the charts for decades.

In my hundred things list at #98 was "I love Chess, the 1984 concept album for the musical that spawned the hit 'One Night in Bangkok'. It is my favorite." Why is it my favorite? One of my best friends sat me down with it and said "this is great, here's why, listen to it." And I did, because he felt so strongly about the quality of the album that his face would show an ecstasy like one who had just eaten the best devil's food cake he'd ever had when he talked about Chess. I caught the fire and still love the album.

I've found that I can request the passion from the passionate. Let's say I know someone, whose opinion I respect, who is passionate about Picasso and I don't understand why everyone raves about Picasso. If I ask my friend to tell me why he likes Picasso's work, I may well find myself infected with a newfound respect (and possibly love) for Picasso.

This brings me--finally--to my story.

I didn't understand highly symbolic or non-narrative poetry. I was an Odgen Nash fan through-and-through. Give me rhyme and meter with a narrative voice and I'm in heaven. T.S. Elliot? Fuggedaboudit. I noticed a journal that posted many symbolic [what I now call "right-brained"] poems. I glazed over when I read it. I wrote the owner of the site and told her that I "glazed" when I read some of the poetry she posted and would she please impart her passion to me. I asked to her to explain how to read right-brained poetry. To give me the key.

She did. And gave me a new world. She gave me the world of half the poetry that I'd never understood. Not only that, but she awakend the long-dormant left-brained, technical rhyme-and-meter poet (for instance) in me. With the passion she imparted my re-awakend brain not only wrote better technical poetry, but I also could write some semblance of symbolic, free-verse poetry.

I can't thank her enough. I rank her with my favorite schoolteachers, the ones who imparted their passion for physics or fiction or technical writing. And I am grateful for the magic she bestowed via both her poetry and other's poetry to my life.

You know what? Find someone who gave thier passion to you and thank them.

Right now.

Sue me

I know this isn't what you expect to see here probably, and it's not my regular tone. I might not even spell check it till tomorrow.

Sue me.

I have a great big problem. I look for hurt I caused in others. Even when I didn't. I look at every nuance, every tone, every word, every gesture for any possible variance that I could attribute to pissed-off-ness. If I detect it, not only is it true, but it's my fault until proven otherwise.

I'm am so fecking hell-bent on everyone in the damned world liking me that not only do I punish myself when they don't, I look (and invent) signs that someone who normally likes me suddenly doesn't. And, God in heaven, if this misread of nuance isn't quadrupled over email. Or chat. Or even the phone. When I can't see the face, the posture, the gesture I fill them in. Generally in the worst possible way.

Once I'm convinced (which is usually) that I'm the culprit, I'll lose sleep till I can make amends or apologize. Why can't I just not care how some people feel about me? Why do I think that my slightest misstep will permanently alienate someone. Why does that terrify me?

Why is my life one giant fucking mea culpa?

One more question: Did I piss my friend off again tonight?

If I can even get to sleep, I hope to God I don't wake up as depressed as I am right now.

[Editor's Note--we woke up much better this morning. - 3/12/02]

Ten Things That Make Me Lovable
Courtesy Jen

Most dogs love me.
I have a large store of involuntary empathy.
I have a quick wit.
I'm a respectable Trivial Pursuit partner or Phone-A-Friend.
I'm a musician.
I can understand and debate other's viewpoints calmly and with good humor.
I can fix things.
I'm a compulsive limerent, so I can relate to your tales of love and woe.
I give really good neck rubs.
I'm not Regis Philbin.

Lessons from Hollandaise Sauce

Ever made Hollandaise sauce? It's the only thing that I've ever cooked that you have to care about. Truly nurture it into being. I'm not talking about making food "with love." I'm talking about total commitment to making the sauce work. It involves slow, steady heating and constant stirring without interruption.

In a double-boiler, mix egg yolks and lemon juice heat it up and add butter. Sounds easy.

There's a catch.

It starts out runny and yellow--like one would expect egg yolks and lemon juice to look. As it's heated, the egg yolks start to stiffen. The sauce begins to thicken. The goal is to make a fairly thick sauce when it's done. So when it starts to thicken with the gentle, careful stirring, an excitement builds. As it heats, as it's stirred, it progressively gets thicker. Sweeter. Starts smelling like Hollandaise! For a cook who's a rookie at this, the temptation to carefully stir and heat it into an ever-thicker sauce is overwhelming. Thicker! Magic! Then...

It happens.

The yolk coagulates. The lemon juice and the egg yolks separate. Instead of a thick, creamy sauce, it's a disgusting lumpy, runny mess. It has turned bad. Very, very bad. The only option is to crack some more eggs and start from scratch.

Relationships are like Hollandaise sauce sometimes. We nurture and care an egg-and-lemon mixture of two people. We slowly and lovingly stir things up. Heat them up. The feeling of success is overwhelming. The thought that we could make it even better by applying more heat and more care is often irresistible.

But sometimes we try too hard. Care too much. Stir too fast. And the relationship turns bad. Separation--mentally, emotionally, physically. It's devastating. We've worked so hard. We've cared so much. But the only option we have is to start over. And hope.

I stirred too much yesterday.

I hope I have more eggs.

New Layout

New layout. Leave problems with viewing it in comments. Thanks!
(The top is supposed to be right-justified. If you are in Netscape, it probably isn't.)

My Friday Five

1. What makes you homesick? Large lawns. Lots of grass. Treehouses.
2. Where is "home" for you? New Haven, Indiana.
3. What makes it home for you? People? Things? Landscape, smell, vegitation, road quality.
4. Where is the furthest you've been from home, miles-wise> Los Angeles or Freeport, Bahamas. I think LA is farther. 2000 miles or so.
5. What are your plans for this weekend? Band Gig. Laundry. Phone calls to far away friends.

Courtesy smattering.org.

WWBRD?

I was just reading this and something ocurred to me:

If I'm in an elevator alone singing, and someone comes into the elevator, I don't stop singing. That's just the kind of guy I am.

Now, some aspirin. Seriously.

Happiness is a warm puppy

I've been down. Mary T told me to make a list of things that make me happy. I'll try...

The overwhelming, permiating pinkness that comes about twice a year for 5 minutes at sunset in Indiana. I've never seen St. Elmo's Fire, but I'd imagine it's a similar experience.
A woman honestly smiling due to some action of mine.
A pointed, small wind just above the bridge of my nose. Try it sometime. (Hint: turkey baster)
When the phone call is actually for me, and it's a friend.
Walking past skyscrapers.
Finding hard-to-find information or rare items for others.
Mr. Kevin Spacey in any movie.
Learning all about a new topic I had no clue about before.
Cheerleaders washing cars. [Sue me.]
Accomplishing/completing a task. ("A Job Well Done")
A. A. Milne's writing style in the Pooh stories.
Listening to Mr. Frank Muller read anything.
A dog licking my face.
Kissing.

Saved the best for last. (No wonder I'm down.)

Alas.

And another thing...

Just one more quote from last night:

Me: How do you feel about counseling?
She: Sounds expensive.

Oy.

To kiss, or not to be. That is my life.

Remember what I said about not being kissed? I talked to She-who-must-not-be-named last night about it. She said, "you don't realize how phobic I am about getting sick. I don't even let the girls [our daughters -ed] kiss me when they're sick. I make people at work use different pens than me. I get artifical nails so I won't bite them and catch disease that way."

My answer was: "I don't think you understand how core kissing is to my being. My being a husband, my being a couple, my very existence in general."

But my head was screaming [and how did I manage to not say it out loud?]: "YOU WEREN'T TOO FRIGGING WORRIED ABOUT GETTING SICK ON NEW YEAR'S EVE WHEN YOU WERE KISSING TWO TOTAL STRANGERS!"

I'm done whining. And still haven't been kissed.

The tarot reader noticed.

Mystic Traveller Tip #47

If you ever find yourself in Columbia City, Indiana in the middle of a weeknight, always remember that the girl who works at the Citgo station on highway 30 reads tarot.

File that back. (She's also a nutcase*, but sweet. And sincere.)

She has a brand-new deck of Bicycle playing cards now. That was my fee.

[*Editor's Note: Before you start flaming me, I did not say all tarot readers are nutcases. Just this one in particular.]

Rude Awakening, But Nice
A rather dated story

There was this girl.

Her name was Karen. She was a dancer at the community theater where I volunteered for a few years. She was older than me. (She was twenty, I was only seventeen.)

We used to sit in the green room and talk about the people that we were attracted to in the different casts that we dealt with. I'd hear about her guy escapades, and she would commiserate with me on my lack of dates. When we talked about who we were attracted to, I always left her off the list.

Intentionally.

How could I say it? She was so much older than me and wanted to date guys older than her. I didn't even allow myself to crush on her. I viewed her as a friend and relationship mentor despite my attraction.

The major thing she taught me was physical-contact and close-range flirting. She was an amazing footsie player and would demonstrate her techniques and we'd talk about it. She'd coach me. She used to do this thing where she'd drag her fingernails up and down the front and back of my hand, sending odd chills down my spine. And, boy, could she every verbally spar. Wow.

When we stopped the theatre thing, we discovered that we both prepared for class on the same floor in the same building in our local college. (She was a junior; I was a freshman) We continued the tutelage and the "mock" flirtation for another semester or so.

When she went to New York to find her Dancing Fortune, I was dismayed, but happy for her. She was a good dancer and a capable choreographer. I wished her well on the last day of school.

I'd often thought I'd call her parents over the years. Get her address, phone, catch up. But I never did.

Flash forward. Thirteen years. My five and six year old daughters sign up for "Karen's School of Dance" in a tiny, rural poe-dunk near my small town. For months their mom took them to class and I didn't think twice about the name.

Then, recital time.

I couldn't be there, so a videotape was made. Of course, the moment I watched the tape and saw the instructor, I knew it was her. A decade has added 20 lbs but only five years of aging. She looked good. (She was too skinny before). My heart skips. I grill my wife for information to confirm it's her. It is.

But classes are over for the year. She's married (new name) and I feel I have no legitimate reason to call her. So I wait till next dance class comes around.

I tell my wife to ask her if she knows me. She reports that Karen told her that the only person she knows by my name is gay.

Huh?

Next class, I take the girls. I confront her after class (whilst paying the fees) and she knows me instantly. She just smiles coyly.

"I'm not gay." I say.

"I know." She smiles, this time teasingly.

That's it. It's all that was ever said. Her lack of interest bruised my ego, but I packed the girls in the car and headed home.

On the ride home it hits me: She liked me. All those years ago. She wasn't teaching me to flirt. She was flirting. The eyes she made at me were for me. The way she chose to rationalize why I didn't take the bait [based on our theater background] was that I was gay.

Dammit.

it happened
unexpected yet expected
well, she said

familiar artist
unfamilar medium
each stroke peculiar to the artist
with new paint

always sardonic she
brings new dimension
enhanced mock derision
upon different canvas

thrilling joy of new
familiar joy of old
comfort of talent
independent of form

painting beauty

Darkend the background and eliminated the iframe to make it faster, more Mac compatible and workplace friendly.

Everything I do, I do it for you.*

*Bryan Adams

100 More Things You May Not Know about 'Bitchen' Ric

I lieu of actual interesting content, I'm posting this list of things that occurred to me while reading other's 100 lists.
Thanks again to Mary T.

101. I started programming at 14, so 3/5ths (21 years) of my life I've been a programmer.
102. I masquerade as a female advice columnist on a Web site.
103. My parents never owned a new car when I was growing up.
104. I have never owned a new car.
105. I do all my own car repair except transmissions.
106. I can tell at a glance if a TV show is shot on film or video.
107. As a kid, I wanted to work in movie special effects.
108. I kinda still do.
109. I developed a minor cat allergy at puberty.
110. I lost my voice for 6 months during high school as a result of the aftermath of chicken pox that coincidentally occurred with my voice changing.
111. When I lost my voice, the saddest thing for me was that I couldn't do my Mr. Rogers impression. (Very big in the early 80's).
112. I was outcast in high school, but immediately popular in college with those who didn't know me in high school
113. I remember when we thought AIDS was peculiar to Haitians.
114. I remember when no one knew about AIDS.
115. I listened to Neil Armstrong step on the moon in the car on the way home from The Lake.
116. It is one of my earliest memories.
117. The other is one of riding my trike through clotheslined sheets in the fall.
118. I can quote tons of Monty Python.
119. I was proud of that till I met Mary T.
120. I can grow a full beard in a week.
121. My only grey hairs are in my beard.
122. I'm a big Elvis fan, and I don't know why.
123. I wonder whatever happened to Robin Leach.
124. I loved "SportsNight" and "Nowhere Man" and both were cancelled very early.
125. There is nothing sexier than a woman who can verbally spar.
126. I'm driven by the need to be liked.
127. I love Dennis Miller's obscure humor.
128. I love to get throw-away humor that no one else in the room gets.
129. It took me 20 years to get every joke on Robin Williams first comedy album. The man was brilliant early on.
130. I've never found Madonna sexy.
131. I'm terrible at sports.
132. I have a slightly twisted ankle from a birth defect that you'd never notice, but that affects my running and cycling.
133. My 5th grade teacher called me "duckwaddles" because I ran funny.
134. I had the same teacher for 5th and 6th grade.
135. He called me "duckwaddles" in the 6th grade too.
136. I'm a sporadic collector of movie posters.
137. I have a 6'3" x 3'6" Raiders of the Lost Ark 3-sheet poster in my office. It's breathtaking.
138. I sing "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" as Elvis for karaoke.
139. I claim Elvis is still alive and I saw him sing it in Atlantic City two months ago.
140. I think shoes are just a pain in the ass.
141. I tried to talk to a cow once. She slowly turned her head to look at me with a "are you talking to me?" stare.
142. All dogs like me (except #180). Everybody's dog immediately wants to be petted by me even if I've never seen the dog before.
143. I think Frank Zappa was brilliant at times, but just weird the rest of the time.
144. I'm often caught off-guard by Gene Simmons' intelligence. But never by his arrogance.
145. It took me eight years to finish college. (Some part time).
146. I'll never commit suicide, but if I did it'd be with a gun, because I've always wanted to know what it was like to be shot.
147. Someone once called American Beauty the "Biography of Ric".
148. I agreed when I saw it.
149. I believe I have at least one novel in me, but lack the time and discipline to write it down.
150. I have always believed I would die in a car accident.
151. As much knowledge as I possess, I'm still naive in being able to spot a prostitute or a drug deal. Maybe I'm just too trusting.
152. I have an incredibly nervous stomach. When nervous, I sometimes experience severe nausea, but have never thrown up due to nerves.
153. Common fears like public speaking and public performance and leading groups don't make me even marginally nervous anymore.
154. I often talk so fast that even members of my own family can't understand me.
155. An old woman at church once called me an "auctioneer for God" after I spoke to the congregation.
156. Changing plans on me at the last minute often infuriates me momentarily. But then I'm very flexible.
157. Ouija boards scare the hell out of me.
158. I never cut a class in high school. I was terrified of getting caught.
159. I believe that remembering a woman's name is very attractive.
160. I have no idea if that's true.
161. I've tried to force myself to follow a pro sports team through just a single season. I can't do it.
162. I can't see someone familiar somewhere and leave without knowing where I know them from. It'll keep me up at night.
163. I generally dream about things that are weighing on me, but I didn't have time to think about during the day.
164. I am an etymology nut.
165. I couldn't care less about entomology.
166. My mom sent me to kindergarten in elastic-waist corduroy pants. It's my earliest recollection of embarrassment.
167. I earned a stuffed Snoopy from my mom for not sucking the Snoopy drawings off the medical tape around my thumbs when I was napping. I was four.
168. I did the laundry for my family of five at a laundromat every Sunday during my teen years.
169. My family didn't own a color television until 1980.
170. I scored the best of out of three classes in a VCR repair course at a local technical college.
171. I have no clue whatsoever how to fix a VCR. Never have.
172. I used to install hard drives when they were $10 a meg. Now they're 5 cents a meg. 1/200th the price.
173. I once charged the exact price of a pair of Yes tickets for some PC hardware work. The concert was cancelled.
174. I have a copy of Prince's "Black Album." It sucks. That's why he didn't release it.
175. I thought Michael Jackson was innovative until his last album.
176. I know more about decorating cakes than any man should ever know.
177. When I was seven, I cried until my mom agreed to throw my favorite stuffed frog (with poseable legs) in a box being sent to my newborn cousin. I don't know why I wanted to send it to him so badly. I missed that frog terribly for years.
178. People tell me I have an innate talent for explaining highly technical or complex ideas in simple terms using metaphors.
179. I never leave home or work the first time. I always come back to grab something I absent-mindedly left behind.
180. I had a previously-abused border collie that hated me (the only that dog ever did). She would wait till I left the second time to jump up on the bed.
181. I only ever think to warm my car up on days that the windows aren't frosted.
182. I can instantly tell you where I went for vacation 25 years ago, but I have to think really hard to tell you what I did over the weekend.
183. I grew up believing that what you ate and what day you went to church made the difference between heaven and hell, and that--figuratively speaking--I was going to heaven.
184. I now believe it's a matter of works, faith, repentance and grace, and that--figuratively speaking--I'm going to hell.
185. I lived in the same house for the first twenty-three years of my life until I got married.
186. After that, I moved I moved ten times in eleven years.
187. My wife's best friend's husband has helped me move all ten times.
188. I feel really guilty about that.
189. I absolutely believe everything in my philosophy essay.
190. I am a procrastinator.
191. I work in small, extremely productive spurts.
192. I once had a crush on a cousin.
193. I have never mastered touch typing, despite many attempts to learn.
194. I have a really annoying habit of explaining the difference between "centrifugal force" and "centripetal force" when the wrong term is used. Nobody cares.
195. I have spent time in a sensory deprivation chamber (a la Altered States).
196. I met Charleton Heston once. I have a picture that makes it look like his hand is on my ass.
197. I can hit a strong high G without falsetto.
198. I know the names of all fifty states in alphabetical order.
199. I've never been asked or required to learn anything about presidential chronology. I have no idea who the 19th president was or what century that was even in.
200. I love riddles, but generally can't solve them. My brain doesn't seem to work that way.

I will never come up with another hundred things. So you're off the hook. Your suffering is over.

Due to some personnel changes at work, I spent the morning changing passwords. Plus, my job responsibilites will double.

I have one hell of a headache. I think it was bad sleep at the retreat...

Okay. One of the volunteer activites referred to below was a church teen retreat. I was the counsellor in charge of music. Becklyn has posted a list of ten good things and ten bad things about the weekend and challenged me to do the same.

Nice Things about the Teen Retreat

The collection of affirmations from everyone else at the retreat. (Every one got one.)
Heart-to-heart talk with Becklyn and Wade in the kitchen.
Being the bandleader instead of being led by a megalomanic as in the other band.
Playing music with Becklyn, Josh, and Lisa
A vacation from being the "man of the house."
The candle-lighting thing.
Playing "Finish Lines" was very cool. Wade's the master.
Mini-concert I performed for the group.
That teens came that weren't from our church.
Teaching a guy how to play acoustic guitar and a girl how to play electric.

Not-so-nice Things about the Teen Retreat

Inablility to keep a beat.
No internet. No blogs. No AIM.
It was just plain cold.
Except when playing music, when I was sweating because I was standing on the furnace grate.
I regret opting out of some of the activities. I felt like I missed important interaction.
Not everyone stuck around all weekend due to scheduling conflicts.
Not practicing the music more before we went.
Forgot my towel. [Don't Panic]
Misscheduling that made She-who-must-not-be-named miss the mini-concert [she was supposed to sing, I had to learn some songs in 2 hours.].
One of the songs on a CD I made only recorded the left channel. That just bugged me.

Keep an eye out for Becklyn's 100 list. Coming Soon!
[By the way, I'm working on another 100 things. All those other 100 things lists made me think of a bunch more things...]

I am so tired.

I'm overextended with volunteer activites and extended in overtly voluntary activites while active with extended covert volunteers.

I need sleep...

100 Things You May Not Know about 'Bitchen' Ric

Inspired by this

1. My other site, bitchen.com averages 7500% more visitors per day than this blog. (528 vs 7)
2. I seldom update my other site.
3. I have been called the "Walter Mitty of Limerence."
4. Nearly every car I've ever regularly driven leaked oil like a sieve.
5. I didn't celebrate Christmas for the first 25 years of my life.
6. I'm not Jewish nor Jehovah's Witness.
7. I'd rather watch movies than clean the house and often do.
8. I have an indescribable backlog of laundry to wash.
9. I prefer to write rhyme and meter over blank or free verse.
10. I believe that satire is the pinnacle of humor genres.
11. I believe that parody is the best form of satire.
12. I believe that self-parody is the funniest thing anyone can do. [The more straight-laced the better.]
13. I often indulge in self-parody.
14. I occasionally alienate people because I can't pass up an opportunity for a great one-liner.
15. Lilacs bring back my childhood.
16. I shared a prescient dream with my brother when we were kids that came true when we were adults.
17. I like to think I'm musically talented.
18. I'm actually far more talented at programming.
19. When surrounded by buffoons, I can't help but take charge.
20. I want cable television.
21. I simply can't justify the cost of cable television with my current budget.
22. I am a huge movie trivia buff.
23. I wanted nothing but daughters and got three of them.
24. I know some Yiddish.
25. I took four years of German, know grammar and syntax cold, but have lost nearly the entire vocabulary.
26. I used to be friends with Rod Woodson's brother, but I've never met Rod Woodson.
27. I cried when John Lennon was shot.
28. The public library has billed me many times for books my daughters have lost in the black hole of their bedroom.
29. I always find the books so I don't have to pay for them.
30. My commute to work is 30 minutes.
31. I listen to audiobooks religiously.
32. My favorite English phrase is "Palindromic Binary Representation."
33. I can't stand to listen to a song I don't know really loud.
34. I have to turn down the radio to find a house number.
35. I am excellent at reading maps and finding my way to places.
36. It baffles me that I know really intelligent people who don't have the first clue how to solve a logic puzzle.
37. I believe JFK is a brilliantly-crafted, well-produced, Oscar-quality bucket of lies.
38. I believe that kissing is more important and often more thrilling than sex.
39. Until I married a blonde, I was only attracted to brunettes.
40. Until my brother married a redhead, I never saw the appeal of redheads.
41. Only God knows if my oldest brother will ever date, let alone get married.
42. I am the youngest of three brothers with the common initials "R.E.J."
43. My dad is a mainframe-programming ham-radio geek with the initials "R.E.J." :)
44. If you've ever seen George Castanza's parents on Seinfeld, you already know mine.
45. My parents differ from The Castanzas by exactly the same degree they resemble Archie and Edith Bunker.
46. When I was growing up, my family never missed an episode of M*A*S*H, All in the Family, or The Mary Tyler Moore show.
47. I believe that Taxi is perhaps the best television show ever.
48. I think the "Yellow Light" scene in Taxi where Reverend Jim is taking the written driving test is absolutely the funniest thing ever shown on television.
49. I believe WKRP in Cincinnati (early in the first run) was the most consistently funny thing ever aired on network television.
50. I really wanted Claire Danes to fall for the geeky kid when they unceremoniously killed My So-Called Life
Ric trying to webcam his nasal lining

51. I've never seen Freaks and Geeks
52. I believe Mel Gibson is a very attractive man.
53. I regret not going away to college.
54. I regret never having lived single.
55. I don't regret basically giving up drinking at age 21.
56. I'm addicted to Mountain Dew.
57. I think the rush of performing music is second only to the rush associated with a first kiss.
58. I feel fortunate to be within driving distance of the best roller coaster park in the world, Cedar Point.
59. I only go to Cedar Point about once every two years.
60. I prefer Chicago over LA or NYC.
61. I think Laguna Beach, CA is about the nicest "touristy" place in the country.
62. The only foreign and remotely exotic place I've ever been is the Bahamas.
63. I've been to the Bahamas once, for a total of ten hours.
64. I kissed a girl for the first time at 17.
65. I was a virgin (from fear of pregnancy) till I was 20.
66. Statistically speaking, 18 was my best dating year with 3 girlfriends and an incredible chance encounter (but remember #65).
67. I often scan the checklanes when I walk into Wal-Mart or a grocery store so I can decide which lane to check out from, based on the attractiveness or familiarity of the checker.
68. I'm an incorrigible flirt.
69. I currently own about 90 DVDs and about 500 CDs.
70. I think Kirstie Alley is stupid and remarkably unfunny.
71. I think John Edwards is a fake.
72. I'm not sure about Ms. Cleo. ;)
73. I believe Stephen King is a brilliant writer, even if it's not great literature.
74. I like the blues and have spontaneously taken the stage on several occasions to sing "Sweet Home Chicago," twice in a fairly significant venue.
75. I enjoy Karaoke, but don't force it on anyone.
76. I used to hate Chinese food, now I love it.
77. I am excellent with chopsticks and will not eat Chinese food without them, even Ramen noodles.
78. I've never had anyone really, really close to me die young or unexpectedly.
79. My two favorite professors from college are dead. One drank potassium cyanide while I was still in college, the other (a chain-smoker) died of cancer shortly after taking me to lunch to tell me he was dying.
80. I think if someone could take a Tom Clancy plot and Stephen King's characters and put them in the same book, it'd be an incredibly entertaining experience.
81. I got email from Roger Ebert once, agreeing with my assessment of Stephen King movies.
82. I think "Mmm Bop" is a really catchy song.
83. I sometimes write erotica.
84. I think "Late in the Evening", "Marlena on the Wall" and especially "Like a Prayer" are examples of perfectly crafted pop songs.
85. I've been able to play most of Billy Joel's "My Life" on the piano for 20 years(!) but never learned the bridge, which is probably only two chords. ("I never said..")
86. I often succumb to SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) if it's overcast for long periods.
87. My first major depression was in my junior year of high school when the sun didn't come out for an entire 9-week grading period (I failed many things). When the sun came out, I was cured.
88. I cry at movies that feature an underdog garnering the support of the crowd. (Even if they don't win.)
89. I never cry at sadness in a movie, only happiness.
90. I fear drowning after a few close calls as a kid.
91. I am deeply acrophobic to the point of vertigo if there's only a railing. Being high in a glassed-in building or airplane doesn't phase me.
92. Sometimes when I drive, I am overwhelmed by the fact that a very small error could kill me.
93. I hit curbs when I drive.
94. I have terrible hand-eye coordination.
95. I'm terrible at video games.
96. I've never "finished" a video game in my life.
97. I love chess, but I'm terrible at it. I can't picture the moves ahead for some reason.
98. I love "Chess," the 1984 concept album for the musical that spawned the hit "One Night in Bangkok". It is my favorite.
99. My next favorite albums include "90125," "Glass Houses," "Watermark," "The Prince's Trust 10th Anniversary," and "Upstairs at Eric's"
100. I wish the respective artists would bring back "The Far Side" and "Calvin & Hobbes."

Is it just me, or does this look like R2D2?

Seen my ad on BlogHop? It's worth a chuckle...

So I've had a fever, cold or residual (non-communicable) cough since Dec 22. She-who-must-not-be-named has no concept of communicability cycles of colds. She is also a professional singer. (More than I am a musician).

Bottom line: I'm married and I haven't been kissed so far in 2002. That just sucks. Nobody. She's kissing guys on New Year's, I get nothing...

Have you seen this: Acronym Finder: Look up 228,000 acronyms/abbreviations & their definitions? I've used it for years, but I suspect there's a ton of people who could use it but never knew it existed.

Confused by that acronym being tossed around the Web, but are afraid to ask? Go there.

Worried

So worried.

Can't break the rules. What is there to do?

Play by the rules and worry for the next 12 hours? 24 hours? Week? Lifetime?
Break the rules and risk losing everything?

I guess worrying is better than losing everything. I guess.

Tell me you've never felt this way...
Never had the internal debate.

Never worried so much that you're willing to risk everything rather than not knowing.
Why is not knowing so hard?

Why is hearing that the worst has happened so much easier than not knowing if the worst has happened?

When I was a kid, my brother would torment me with this ancient, metal, toy gun. You'd pull the trigger "Click." Release the trigger "Clack." Never a click without a clack. One day he figured out that he could carefully release the trigger and avoid The Clack. He would click-clack it within hearing range several times, then click it and suppress The Clack.

It would drive me nuts waiting for The Clack that never came. (Brothers are good for driving us nuts.)

My mother's generation called it "waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Is that the same phenomenon that makes worry so painful? Is worry a divine Click-Clack obsession?

Hell is "shave and a haircut" without "two bits."

Boo!

Whaddya lookin at? Get back to work!

I'll post later...

Bitchen Ric on Rare Meat:

Rare anything turns me away. It's the Republican in me, I guess. [What the hell does *that* mean?] I say if we're gonna violate an animal's rights by eating it, then we should go full bore and ice the evil cake with flames!

Your mileage may vary. [Thanks for the correction, M!]

I don't generally do stuff like this, but I thought it was clever... [Saw it here.]

R

You are restricted. Well done, you're now
practically adult in nature, and plus, you
get to see nudity - have fun.

"Which Movie Classification Are You?"
Test created by Jamie - take it here.

Hurrah! I have a new layout up! Version 4! The third in a series by my good friend Allen--who has the odd, but delightful, propensity for painting clothes on nude figures in photoshop. Thanks Allen! (And thanks for making it wide enought to use a bigger font!)

And thanks to you few people who look here and make it worth my while..

Blah, Blah, Blah and Blog is the new Wired article on blogs. A cool quote:

As increasing hordes take on the task of trying to keep new sites looking nice, sounding original and free from banalities, more hordes just seem to fail.

That's what I'm on about...

Atlanta : Why it's not in Indiana

Rather than give my full impression of Atalanta, I think I can condense by comparing and contrasting Atlanta to Fort Wayne, Indiana where I live. Probably silly and pointless--but this is a blog.

Driving in Atlanta

All points can be reached by using exclusively interstate highways or exclusively surface roads or any combination. Be careful. Do one or the other. Combining them doubles your travel time.

Outside of downtown, no roads are straight. You cannot predict where the hell turning left will take you. Ever.

"Peachtree" is not specific enough of a street name to find anything. There are 762 different streets in the greater Atlanta area that have "Peachtree" in their name.

People actually heed your lane-change turn signaling. Wow. In NYC, people heed your lane change indications but they give you only 14 millimeters more than your car will fit in to change lanes. In Indiana, people have a singular attitude toward lane changes: "To hell with that, he ain't gettin in in front of me. He can rot in that other lane before I let him in." It's true.

Driving to Atlanta

For the same twelve hours spent, it's one heck of a lot less boring then the Ohio-Pennsylvania route to NYC. You actually see interesting places like Louisville, Nashville, and Indianapolis.

People in Atlanta

Are far more color-blind (racially speaking) than Hoosiers.

Seldom have Georgia accents. Because, like Florida, almost no one is a native.

Miscellaneous

Cost of living is higher, restaurants more expensive.

WebTV in your hotel room sucks no matter where you are.

There are more Radio Shacks in Atlanta than churches in Fort Wayne. That is a very significant fact. (Fort Wayne is known as a "city of churches").

Nashville's interstate system is far less confusing than Atlanta's.

As in LA, car pool lanes in Atlanta are a slice of heaven for the family traveller.

You can't get into CNN even if your wife's best friend works there. (Thanks, Osama!)

Atlantans fought a different war in the 1860's than Hoosiers did.

And, Mary--since you asked--you don't really want details of what I did. Trust me. But here's one: we met this guy whose shop is below the Italian restaurant where we spent $160 feeding four adults and three kids family-style. (If you go to the site, notice he gives his location as "Peachtree." That wouldn't actually get you there...)

Wow.

Can I just say "wow?" O_o

Wish I could tell you why...

Or maybe you already know...

Rant Warning

Even the most well thought-out thesis can be irrevocably stymied by poor writing.

Someone sent me a blog passage today (I can't tell you which one) that I had to read twice before I could even grasp what the hell the author was saying. I'm not a stupid person. This is just silly.

There is no substitute for simple declarative writing. Especially if you have a point worth explaining.

I'm not saying the author's point was not a valid one. I'm saying he took three convoluted paragraphs to say it. Like many pseudo-intellectuals the theme underlying the construction of the "essay" was one of "if I can make it sound metaphorical or passionate, then that will make up for the fact that I'm expressing a rather weak and universally agreed-upon point."

So much blog-writing I have to bleep over. Not because it's some interesting right-brained puzzle (like good poetry) that I can't make the time to decypher, but because it simply wastes my time *not* communicating.

And by the way, I read some poetry today that was just bad same type of thing that "if I use extra carriage returns and no punctuation, then it must be art." It's simply dada.

End of Rant Area

Back from Atlanta. Lots to tell, but you'll have to ask. Will answer any specific questions...

Leave questions in "comments" below this post. :P

Well, I'm off to Atlanta for four days. Be back Tuesday. Don't know if I'll get the chance to blog. I will if I can.

In the interim, go see this blog and this blog and even this blog if you're in the mood.

Becklyn had this to say. She's absolutely right.

And what kills me is that it's not the first time I've made that mistake. Why does the School of Hard Knocks make you repeat classes? Sorry Beck.

Sorry I haven't posted much. I was sick yesterday. I'm still pretty upset that something I wrote in my blog upset someone else.

Anyone remember that WKRP episode where Johnny Fever told everyone to dump garbage at City Hall during a garbage strike? And everyone did? Then he realized that there were people out there actually listening and caring. He froze. He couldn't go back on the air knowing that he wasn't simply talking to a microphone, but that he was affecting lives. That was too much responsibility.

Well the same thing has happened to me this week. I was so used to people not even reading what I wrote here and assuming that no one cared, that I was flippant about something I should not have been. Now someone's deeply offended and I fear I've lost a friend.

Now the posting comes very hard thinking that I could easily lose another friend or worse by posting. That my words actually might influence somebody scares me.

And, once again, I'm sorry...

Ick, just read the last post. I mean "I'm the kind of guy that gets sick over offending other people" not "I'm just the kind of guy who's offensive."

Home sick today...

Still upset about upsetting becklyn. I'm just that kind of guy. Write me, okay?

Here are pictures and coverage of the benefit I went to in NY a week and half ago. A nice pic of Stephen King reading his own book is on this page too.

One of my favorites:

The Purist

I give you now Professor Twist,
A conscientious scientist,
Trustees exclaimed, "He never bungles!"
And sent him off to distant jungles.
Camped on a tropic riverside,
One day he missed his loving bride.
She had, the guide informed him later,
Been eaten by an alligator.
Professor Twist could not but smile.
"You mean," he said, "a crocodile."

Ogden Nash

Thought I'd share.

Dang! Major-league Nyquil hangover. Worse than having the cold, I think.

What is the plural of "Mardi Gras?" Any french-speakers out there?

This post shamed me. I was just frustrated when I posted that. Becklyn's mom is fine. Probably no worse than any other mom.

My own mom drives me crazy! O_o

Tried to blog last night, but blogger wasn't responding! Becklyn's blog has moved. We fixed it last night. It has the "bitchen" comment engine working now. Go see!

Read her blog and "random thoughts" on becklyn.com. [Edited 02-13-02]

I just have to toot my own horn! Over lunch I changed the way I count the comments from my content server. A common way to do it is to make an HTTP request (via javascript) for every message to see if it has any comments. Very Slow.

I made it so you call a single JavaScript HTTP request at the top that loads an associative array (an array indexed by article id's rather than a numeric index) of all comment counts for this whole blog. (I know it's a lot more data than I need as it gives me counts for the archives too, but it's less time-consuming that all those HTTP calls.)

Anyway, you'll notice the page loads TONS faster.

P.S. I know GreyMatter or anything else (I use Embperl, very cool) that's server side would do this better. I could have made it server-side, but I wanted to implement a client-side solution so I could give comments to my friends...

what you grasp
you cannot touch
what you touch
you cannot hold
what you hold
you cannot have
what you have
you cannot grasp

yes, you... who else?

I'm so happy! I found my Gig Bag! Been missing since before Christmas. It has my RP100 guitar FX pedal in it. After a hypnosis session (really!) with a friend to figure out what the hell happened to it, I came to the conclusion that it'd been stolen out of my car.

Well remember back in December (check the archives) when I was cleaning for the arrival of my childhood friend? You guessed it, it got shuffled off into a hidden mountain of dirty laundry.

Trying to find socks to wash for the kids, I found it! (Hurrah!)

Well last night was the first gig I didn't play. I didn't really even run sound. I ran out of gas (water in tank) and wasn't sure I'd make it on time, so they got another guy, and I learned a lot from him.

Will tell you about how I felt later. Going to go play guitar at church.

So, a little about NY, then I gotta go. Let's see...

650 miles each way. 1300 miles in a single weekend. Left 4:00 a.m. Saturday, got back 10:30m p.m. Sunday. Jayo had told me exactly how to get to the theatre where the benefit was (Town Hall on 43rd st. at 5th ave. aka Times Square). What he neglected to mention was that I can't actually turn left on 6th Ave off of 42nd st before 7:00 p.m. and we were all (Frank Muller's friends and family) to meet at Cafe 1,2,3 (that's "un, deux, trois" to us unwashed) on 44th street at 6:00 p.m..

So it's Saturday night, Times Square, World Economic Summit going on, and I'm battling taxis try to figure out how hell to get north to 43rd St, when I can't turn left off of 42nd St. I ended up going south to 40th St where ALL THE N-S STREET NAMES CHANGED! It wasn't 4th and 5th Avenue anymore, it was Madison and Park Ave. Dang.

Anyway I finally got parked (in a garage I lost later when it was time to leave) and got to the restaurant at 5:50 p.m. Not bad timing after a 14-hour trip. (Of course 45 minutes of the trip was taken up by getting someone to get the keys out of my car at the Eastbound Snow Shoe rest area on I-80 in Pennsylvania. A funny coincidence, but that's another blog.)

We ate, then went to the benefit to watch Stephen King, Pat Conroy, Peter Straub and John Grisham speak. I'll have more details about the benefit at my other site soon.

Stay tuned.

Yaaay! I got my new layout up. This one's not an IE bigot! Can you read this better Mary? O_o Now I'm off to fix comments in Netscape.

My sincere apologies to whoever's visiting from New Haven using Netscape on a Mac. The site's gotta look like crap. Can you scarf IE from somehwere?

I'll write about New York soon! Right now read about Great Mobile Homes of Mississippi. An oldie but a goodie.

Japanese Engrish is the funniest thing on the Web right now. You MUST go there. Now!

Becklyn's got a boyfriend! Good going girl! Don't drink too much coffee...

Back from NY. Plenty to tell. PA is boring. More later...

Becklyn wants more comments from me. Well, how 'bout commenting on one of mine. Hmmm? See the link below? ^_^ (Oh, hey, sorry 'bout the 'puter, wrong power supply...)

NYC or Bust!

I'm so excited! I'm driving to NYC tommorrow for the Frank Muller Benefit with Stephen King and Jay O Sanders (of JFK and Kiss the Girls fame) invited me (and 30 others) to have dinner before the benefit with some of the biggest names in audiobooks.

Well I've bought a case of Mt Dew, a deli pack of cold meat, two packs of hamburger buns and two tubes of Pringles 1/3 less fat Sour Cream and Onions chips. That's my food for the weekend (except the dinner with Jayo). It'll be 12 or 13 hours each way from Indiana and I'm coming back on Sunday.

It's so cool to travel without the family. I can eat lunch meat the whole way, and only stop when I need to stop. Plus I can listen to Muller's 28.5 hour reading of Pat Conroy's Beach Music without worring about annoying anyone else.

Wish me luck!

I just got a spam for an "adult entertainment site" with the subject line "Real Asian Women"

You know? That's what I'm really tired of: Adult sites featuring FAKE Asians.

"Heeeeyy, she's not really Asian..."

Stupid.

Wellbutrin is Aphrodesiac for Some

You gotta trust me on this one. Wellbutrin is a fecking wonder drug. (see this post for more on the wonders of Wellbutrin)

Mary pointed to Truth in Advertising in her blog. It's one of the funniest videos I've seen since "George Lucas in Love."

WARNING! Total geek blog entry to follow.
"Linux (for PlayStation 2)" Release 1.0 is ready to ship! (hurrah!) Requires "real" monitor and $199.

Look at this! It's hilarious. From Kiplinger's TaxCut. I was doing my taxes just now (v.g.!) and this was a bit of irony somebody put in the program. Notice parts outlined in red. XD

Groom Killed By Stripper's Boobs

What a way to die. Hilarious, true article. Quote: "Who could have known that when he was waving his hands around, he was signaling for help?"

I'll write some actual content soon. Niles is still very confused and feeling a bit, well, let's leave it at confused. Never underestimate the magnetism of a Dell power adapter.

Florida town casts out Satan

...and it's not even from The Onion.

Milwaukee Woman Sees Jesus in a Tree

No comment.
Feel free to comment below. (Click the "Speak?" link.)

Niles is very confused. Index is high, but negative.

UPS sues over anatomically correct doll

The courier's lawyer notes that the product is advertised as "'anatomically complete' and ...is grotesquely so." Full story (and pictures).

$650,000 found in bag at O'Hare

Erm. It's mine! I swear!

Former Enron Vice Chairman J. Clifford Baxter "committed suicide." Hmmm. Something there doesn't work for me. If he told "all who would listen about the inappropriateness of our transactions with LJM" and was subpoenaed by the Government, it seems that he was about to get a bunch of rich people in trouble. And who, deciding to commit suicide and writing a note, goes out in the median of a road to shoot themselves in a car? Does this make any sense? Sure "[t]here were no signs of foul play", but what halfway decent enforcer (or secretive gov't agency) doesn't know how to fake a suicide?

I'm honestly not a conspiracy theorist by nature, but this seems fishy...

words mean things is a very nice blog. Good writing, nice photography.

Blogger Pro™ is actually out! Post in the future or past. Post via Email ["coming soon"]. Very nice.

Ride the roller coaster?

I feel sorry for anyone that doesn't live within driving distance of Cedar Point in Ohio. It is widely considered the best coaster park in the world.

Niles Index: 10 *whew*, *better*

Don't know if I'll sleep tonight.

Niles Index: 11 [but bending the needle.]

Stephen King is linking to bitchen.com! (My content site.) That's way cool!

Also, I'm driving to New York (10 hours) on Feb 2nd to see him, John Grisham, Peter Straub, and Pat Conroy read at the Frank Muller benefit. [read more]

The drive will be fine 'cause I'll be listening to Frank read either a Stephen King book [Wizard and Glass] or a Pat Conroy book [Beach Music]. Bitchen!

Go here. Smart, clever, creative, bitchy. This girl's got it all. Spoinky!

Yaaay I got comments! Wrote 'em myself. I'm so proud!

Comment, people, comment!

I'm wondering if I have Adult ADD. Hmmm. I read today they treat that with Wellbutrin. Guess what? I just started taking that. It is truly a wonder drug. Supresses appetite, anti-depressant, anti-craving. As far as I'm concerned, Wellbutrin (sold as Zyban) would be good at curbing any craving. Not just cigarettes. Junk food, too. Actually it seems to be reduing all addicitve behaviors. Of course addictive behavior is one of the many symptoms for ADD. So maybe that's it.

Alas.

Niles Index still at 11. XD

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I'm forced to add a Spinal-Tap-esque setting to the Niles Factor.

Niles Factor:11 ^_^

Okay, so now I'm starting to get bit by the Ego Bug. She-who went to rehersal last night (the first without me) and came home reporting that they would add to their list of musicans a MIDI sequencer! Of course, I fat-fingered every song I ever played, but it still hurts to think you can be replaced by a machine.

Anyway, I still want the band to sound good, so I just hope that it doesn't become Karoake night because they have too many sequences.

Still upsets me a hair. I just hope it either sounds worse or a lotbetter. I can live with a lot better. I just can't live with marginally better.

Hey, sorry no entries over the weekend. Very busy; plus the one time I tried, Blogger was down. Go figure.

Spent Saturday learning a Rich Mullins song on guitar to do for church (where were you Becklyn?) and Sunday helping the girls clean up the landfill that their bedroom has become.

Red letter day yesterday, She-who-must-not-be-named actually issued an apology! That would be about the eighth in 15 years.

Plus! Positive events are sending my Niles Index all over the map. O_o Thanks, Daph.

Niles Index [at the moment]: 9

WooHoo! Daphne wrote me! She wasn't ignoring me after all!

Niles Factor: 10XD Woot!

Random email sig: "I normally avoid all needle drugs... but you are a dope worth shooting."

My blogdex link info. Just a note for me. Ignore this. O_o

Well, it was a nice little ride while it lasted.

I am unofficially out of the band. I'm staying on for five or so songs a night and running sound (and they're paying me.) While a blow to my ego, this is actually good news for many reasons:

The old soundperson was the drummer's wife and what she didn't know about sound you could barely fit in the Grand Canyon.
I am the least accomplished musician of the lot. It's no secret. I often wondered why I was hired to play with these guys to begin with. I was out of my league.
She-who-must-not-be-named is still singing for them, and this will give me a chance to still be "in a band" with her without the stress of learning new songs. [See earlier blog entries.]
I love running sound. I do it at church. My ear is okay, but I know the technology well.
This gives me more time at home. No songs to learn/perfect. Few rehearsals. So I may finally have time to get organized and set up my studio.
When the band sucks, I'll know it's not my fault. XD

(So that's it Quixx, no reason to come anymore unless you just want to sit and help me mix. I'd like that actually. Give me some pointers.)

Well, Princess (yes you), I guess you'll have to see me on stage some other way. We still need to go out and party soon. Miss that. Miss you.

What the hell, go here to read my philsophy of life. Really!

The Blogger Code is novel. How deep are you into it? My code is under "semicrits" at the right. (Till I change my layout...)

Also check out blogdex and find out how in-touch your blog is. Very intelligent.

Go Here! This is one of the oldest novelty sites on the Web. If you haven't seen it you've never truly hyper-surfed. This ranks right up there with Bert is Evil, "Walter Cronkite Spit in My Food", and the original Hampster Dance which apparently doesn't fecking exist anymore. (Anyone got an archive?) That was the silliest thing on the Web. You couldn't help but laugh.

Changed the layout image. Darkend the right third so you can read the text better and moved "bitchen" down to where it's supposed to be.

Go here! Stare at it for a minute. Bizarre!

Mimi has a new layout worthy of a plug.

Now, that's odd. If you look at my december archive, blogger renders it with my old layout. Wonder why. Wonder if it'll change after some update job is run... Hmmmm...

I'm not sure if that's cool or not.

Woohoo! Finally a new layout! bitchen v2!!! Plug Me! Plug Me! PLUG ME! Tell me what you think.

A very special thanks to my friend, Allen, for the original art. I just blog-ified it and grunged it.

It works now. Go figure. Didn't do anything... Oh, shoot, I bet I had a cached 404, cause it wasn't out there the first time I tried...

Arrgh! Can't get my freaking background image to come in! See that little blue pic at the bottom? That's it, but I can't get it to load as a BODY param or a CSS BODY-style param. Any hints? Let me know...

Spent the entire weekend putting new brakes on my car. Then a new caliper, then new wheel studs. What a pain.

We did have a gig saturday night. She-who-must-not-be-named was too sick to show up to sing, so that cut 10 songs out of the playlist, then the rest of us had the worst night ever.

Everyone! Sing like the muchkin coroner:
It did not only merely suck,
it really most sincerely sucked!

Daphne's ignoring me...

Hello IPFW! Too many things going on to even type them. Home life very rocky.

Niles Factor: 4 Wish she'd write...

Colin's got a new layout and wants a plug. From what I read elsewhere, he's an intelligent guy and a competent hacker. God, I wish I had time to do a new layout. Wish I was a teenager again. XD

If you haven't seen it, go to my content site, bitchen.com. FYI, my blog isn't there because I don't necessarily want everyone who sees that site to see this stuff. But if you've read this, seeing that site is just bitchen.

Does anyone remember (besides Quixx) remember the old Amiga Demo "Hypnotic Hammer?" That goes way back, but that'd make a good layout... [Hey, Quixx, you need a site I can link to.]

Quixx runs Blender Radio, an eclectic mix of everything but country. XP If you have broadband, you should go there.

Man, blogger was down for almost a whole day. Sorry for the missed update day... XP

Hmmm. A couple of visits from someone at IPFW (my alma mater) and another from FWI (a local ISP). Wonder who...

Anyone care to fess up? -_o

Niles Factor: 10
God...

I think Daphne stopped by. Even if not, it send my Niles Factor into the stratosphere. Mail me, Daph.

Emmy plugged me! Wow. And I got a bunch of hits. Thanks guys! XD

I was getting so little traffic that my blog almost committed suicide! Well, I might just have to update my layout! [And get a friggin comment server working]...
And Em, dear, feel free to refer to me as "him." -_o

Emmy has yet another new layout. Man I gotta do something else.

Saw LOTR on Sunday. Bitchen movie. I'm sure I missed a ton of stuff. Got to see it again.

The New Years gig was great, at least until about 3:30, when she-who-must-not-be-named started making out with some guy at the bar. Then it became bizarre. This is why I don't drink. [Well, that and the prayers to the porcelin god.]

I got to announce the dildo races, that was truly surreal.

I'll try to get comments and a guestbook up soon, but for now, if you're even reading this (stats are WAY down) drop me an email.

Niles factor: 6.5

The past day has me awash with the nagging feeling that Daphne's gone for good. Niles factor: 9

Emmy is back up with her new layout and hoster. Plugging everybody in sight but the one stalwart fan who has monitored her uppage through the XMas downage.

Still no plug, Em? *pouts*

Just started reading Bridget Jones's Diary. Who the hell writes diaries that detailed? I've seen detailed blogs, but nothing like this. Clearly fiction, but entertaining.

Oy, three songs to learn by New Year's Gig. "Smooth," "Drive" [Incubus, not Cars], and "Another Thing/Think Coming" by Judas Priest.

You should come celebrate with me and my band on New Years...

Emmy has moved, but doesn't have her site up yet! Emmy!!!O_o

I'm in Emu-shaped-object-web-cam withdrawal...

Christmas has sent my "Niles Index" soaring. I'm at 8 or 9 out of 10. So if you see Daphne, tell her I'm pining...

Wow. I was so sick, then Christmas, then Blogger.com got hacked... Sorry no posts. More soon. Feel free to bitch at me when I don't post! ^_^

On the good side, Eliza's back online! O_O

Well, I got cleaned up before my friend got here. Congratulate me! He's here now. Gotta go!

Well, it's down to the wire. I've been up past midnight for two weeks cleaning and blogging, then cleaning just to get ready. My best friend from childhood is coming to see me tomorrow! I haven't seen him in at least ten years. In our mutual absence we have both joined bands. He plays guitar. I picked up guitar and he keyboards (he got one exactly like mine, conicidence) at just about the same time.

I'm so excited! Hope I get it all done by noon tomorrow. Wish me luck.

This guy(?) Sam(?) is a total riot. Go there and read the archive. Especially Fun with Pictures.
If not, at least look at the look into the Harriet Carter catalogue. Do yourself a favor...

Ooop! Eliza got busted by the 'rents! We're pulling for you, hon . . . cristina always has the most bitchen layout! Go there!

Visit nikki! Assure her there are guys out there that don't care about breast size! I'm sure there are tons of us guys who like an intelligent, musical woman.. Let her know!

Daphne! you there? Miss you!

My first manga art thing! And my second!.

Email me your critique! Be sure it's constructive. I really would like to hear it. BTW, I know the eyes are too far apart on both of them. XP But anything else would be appreciated! (I sorta ran out of room on the page on the first one. I was just drawing eyes and decided to finish the face. I had to erase an eye to make room. Then the page ran out... O_o) Media: Crayola drawing pad and a #1 and a #3 pencil. [Don't have the guts to ink yet. Don't know anything about coloring...]

Welcome, becklyn! Get that blog up girly-girl! ^_^

I'm so happy! I just drew my first Manga-style face. I'm not an artist by a long shot, and it's made me very happy. w00t! I'll try to scan it for you. A special thanks to howtodrawmanga.com for the easy-to-understand tutorials...

I know, I'm probably just a sheep, but I wanted some original Manga/Anime for my blog. Baaaahhhh!

Sigh, bed time.

"wow, you're 17 already." why must everyone do that?! do you KNOW how much it freaks me out to say i'm old?" I commented on that line (17? Old? Feh!), and have gotten a bunch of refers from there. So, I'll tell ya, go see jen's blog. So there.

Plus anywhere I can see pics of Claire Daines is okey-dokey by me XD!

This is bitchen [if you're old XD]: 10 in 1 TV Games. Built-in Activision games include River Raid, Pitfall, Tennis, Freeway, Spider Fighter, Atlantis, Crackpots, Boxing, Ice Hockey and Grand Prix. Review. Manufacturer. Spiegle Listing.

I gotta figure out this "Grundge Brush" thing. Any hints? Can you email me? Throw me a bone here, Skippy. [And I mean "Skippy" in the figurative sense. You can email me even if you name's not Skippy.]

Current Music: KraftWerk.
I'd forgotton how much I liked their stuff.

This is hilarious. And true.

Wow! O_o Blogspot just removed my banner on the last publish! Yaaaay! Or in EmuSpeak: w00t!

Did I tell you? We did the Amy Grant song for a Christmas-y service yesterday. It went well. Thanks for asking. She-who-must-not-be-named even complimented us on the sound. Will wonders never cease?

Britney [teardrops] plugged me! Thanks, dear! Why is this "weird" though? I have not yet begun to fight. Then you'll see weird my pretty! (And your little blog too!)

My blog is only 5 days old today and already I need a new layout!

How long doth it take blogspot to get rid of that stinking ad once I've paid? Hmmm? Someone light a fire under their butt!

Did I mention I saw Harry Potter again today? (Well, yesterday.)

I saw it on opening day too. Both times I actually got choked up over how much the movie looked exactly like what I pictured as I read the books. Frightening.

The only movie adapation that came closer to the actual book was The Shawshank Redemption, but it had about 200 less pages of material to cover. :-)

Cool! My first "clique" (sort of) Eliza Dushku Fans. And I got an honest-to-goodness plug from sar. [Except she thinks I'm female, alas...]

In case any of you constant readers didn't get it, that's Dark Angel's Jessica Alba in my grax up there...

Wow. Someone saw my blog via Xander's Stats (his site). Which is odd, cause I though he left for OZ yesterday. Someone else looking at his stats saw my blog? Unlikely, but as Sherlock used to say "when all alternatives are eliminated, that which remains, however improbable, is the answer." [Not an exact quote, despite the delimiters.]

Somebody email me!!!

There's a lot of blog with some cool design out there, BUT IF I SEE ONE MORE BLOG WITH DHTML SNOWFLAKES I'M GONNA HAVE A FREAKING ANEURYSM !!!!

Well, I've about got the song learned. It's amazing how much faster that [figuring out songs] goes when you do it all the time. I remember being asked in high school (as a junior) if I could figure out a song, and I looked at them cross-eyed XD.

oh, this is cera's site...

cera has a very cool blog. She a strugging(?) songstress somewhere in california. She's a vegan and probably very "lilith fair"-y but she has a haunting voice. And knack for lyrics. You should stop by there and nab some MP3's from her journal. Cause I say so.

Wow. Just read that [below]. What a pity party. Sorry 'bout that.

Still haven't touched the Amy Grant song. Gotta set up my keyboard, still packed away from the last gig. Guess I should practice. Plus I gotta figure out "Everybody Have Fun Tonite" by Wang Chung. Didn't realize how many freaking keyboards there were in that. Oyay. 'Course Wang Chung used a sequencer...

I need to set up a site for the band. We're called Arena and the band itself has been around for years. Even opened for Kansas once. I've only been with them since August ['01].

I'm feeling pretty worthless today. Might be the failing diet or lack of sleep. Mostly I think it's cause no one's emailing me! Like I'm just ancillary to everyones lives.

As many times as my life has revolved around someone else, no one else's even remotely hovers near mine. A lot of time I feel like I could drop off the earth and the only ones who'd miss me are my daughters, and then not even them so much. Daddy yells too much.

Too much to do. Gotta practice an Amy Grant song for church and learn five new songs for a New Year's eve party.

That reminds me, I have to invite people to it. If you live near northeastern Indiana and 21 or over, email me and I'll send you details.

Well I've got the new graphic up and an email link. So.. I guess you have to tell me what you think. Be honest. I'm becoming addicted to blogging after two days... Time to find a clique, I guess.

Somone has too much time on their hands! Paste the following line into the "Start" -> "Run..." command [in Windows] and hit "OK".
telnet towel.blinkenlights.nl
(...or just type it at the prompt in unix.)

It all started here. I was looking for a Gryffindor sweatshirt on google and came across sar's site.

She says: "In my free time I like to watch Emmy and Xander have sex. Really." I don't even know what that means for sure, but it got me looking at emmy and xander's blogs. Then linking to thier blogger friends and eventually their cliques.

All very intriguing to find this subculture I'd never heard of. And with bitchen Web design. I've been a Web developer for years as a profession and didn't know this existed.

Go figure. It might be because I'm American or old enough to be emmy and xander's fath-- er.. older cousin. :-)

I thought I'd give it a shot. Here I am. I'll work on the look and feel later.

Well, I'm done dinking with it, I'll post some tomorrow...

could this be catharsis? let's find out.

old bitchen

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the end

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in case you were wondering...

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jessica simpson <=> lisa simpson?

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spam subject extraordinaire

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uri geller : odd sorta feller

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vast cell phone conspiracy

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"greed, for lack of a better word, is good . . . greed works"

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fahrenheit 9/11

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about the invitation

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Test Blog

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