My So-Called (Non) Life

My So-Called J-O-B

2009-03-20T13:37:00.002-05:00

The headhunter says the job is mine and that I start on Monday. Huh. Weirdness. I'm not understanding the Universe and the mixed bag of signals its been sending me for the past two weeks, but I guess I'll stop questioning the whole process called LIFE.

So many closed-door H.R. meetings! So many people barging around in a snit, charting things, writing things in my file, having meetings about me, sending off drug tests to two different labs to determine whether or not I have a drug problem! It's just too much to even think about. I know these giant companies have to protect themselves, especially these days--what with the economy all topsy-turvy--but come on! Innocent until PROVEN guilty.

This is going to stress me out! I'll feel like I have to be the best employee they've ever seen, ever. In the history of the company. Or else this last two weeks will have been for NOTHING. Not one thing.

So, I have many mixed feelings about starting this gig. I guess I will just do my best and see what happens. That's all I can do.

But I'm still irritated.

Two Weeks of NONSENSE

2009-03-19T16:44:00.002-05:00

This is utterly ridiculous. And I mean UTTERLY.

Two weeks ago I interviewed for a job and was accepted. No problem.

I passed the background check just fine.

I failed the drug test. Big problem.

It was a prescription drug that dinged me. Something my doctor believed would really help (and it has). I got a copy of the prescription. I got a note from my doctor on letterhead.

Not good enough.

Every single day, this company (a drug company, no less!) wants something else, something more; more documents, more pieces of paper, more tests... finally today they got the results from an independent MRO (I believe that stands for Medical Records Officer, or something similar) and just called me to say that someone from "Verification" will be calling me and that I need to answer some questions about this drug: how long I've taken it, blah blah blah.

TWO WEEKS of this nonsense. It's like something out of that awesome movie BRAZIL. I feel like the poor Tuttle or Buttle, or whichever it was, who was killed because of an administrative mistake. I love that movie; it makes my Top Ten easily. I love how the administration makes things so difficult on everyone and the bizarre things the people do to make their lives easier... like put giant magnifying glasses on tiny TV screens so they can see them better, etc. LOVE THAT commentary on desk-jockeys everywhere. The scene where Jonathyn Pryce tries to keep his half of the desk in his office is brilliant.

But a real-life BRAZIL? That I don't like so much.

Crazy hair-splitting freaks who want to make sure they don't get sued for discrimination? Do I really want to work for them? Not really. Do I have a choice in this "economic climate"??? No. I do not.

So, here I sit, frustrated, BLOGGING about my emotions, freaking out a little more every day. Add in to this mix a beleaguered headhunter (who found me) who has a thick Indian accent, and who talks very fast and is incomprehensibe, put a pinch of ass-backwards bureaucratic nonsense tinged with irritation, and you have my daily life for the last two weeks.

I'm tired of this!

And I'm still waiting for the phone to ring.

Maybe I'll blog about this when it's all resolved. I may be employed; I may NOT. If I am, they want me to start TOMORROW.

I don't think so.

More later, if I'm not too irritated.

Some Momentum

2009-03-11T18:59:00.003-05:00

FINALLY!

My life is slowly but surely starting to move in a positive direction. IT'S ABOUT TIME! Months, years I've been waiting for movement, and now it's here with a vengeance!

I got a job. Sure, it's just a three-month contract (which could lead to more months or perhaps another job within the same giant company). BUT it gives me solid money for my summer trip to Peru. I wanted to go last year when a friend asked me, but I had no cash. So my friend and I planned for July, 2009, to head to Peru for the trip of a LIFETIME. More details on Peru as I get them....

A literary agent FINALLY wants to read one of my manuscripts. Years I've been writing query letters to agents and editors. Years of postcard rejections. Cold, impersonal. No real person on the other end to give any feedback. Just rejection after rejection from everyone. And now, an excellent agent wants to actually read (and perhaps comment on, or perhaps agree to represent) one of my manuscripts. HALLELUJAH! It will be so much easier to create books with an agent talking to editors instead of me knocking blindly on doors with my little query letters in my hand. Sure, it's just a children's book. That's how I plan to start: small. Then get bigger. And better. And keep learning and upping my game.

This is just the first step in a series of steps.

When I got my acceptance letter last night, I almost threw it away. I could see another impersonal postcard inside the Self-Addressed Stamped Envelope I'd provided. No, I thought. ANOTHER rejection.

The soon-to-be ex-spouse was standing at the kitchen counter eating tacos from Taco Bell. "Just open it," he said.

"It's just another effing rejection," I said. "I'm just gonna toss it."

"Just OPEN it. Don't be a baby," he said.

So I opened it and read, with utter surprise: "...We were pleased to receive the letter describing your book and we invite you to submit the entire manuscript for consideration...."

WOW! It was even addressed to "Dear Author." AUTHOR! Finally someone besides myself is calling me an author. It all feels a bit late in the game, but I'll take it!

"You go, girlfriend," shouted my friend today. "You're getting jobs, talking to agents. Quick, sign something so I can sell it when you get famous! Oh, and buy a lottery ticket. It's your lucky time!"

Meanwhile, things on the B front continue to improve. My heart is not the same, though, and that influences my head (of course) and while I'm happy to be communicating again, I'm not over the moon like I was. Things are in perspective. FINALLY.

Momentum is good. Good-bye to sprawling on the bed watching hours of Law & Order, petting the cat, folding laundry, poking around the house, reading books, writing in my journal. Hello, momentum!

I might just go buy that lottery ticket.

Compliments Are A Girl's Best Friend

2009-02-24T19:50:00.002-06:00

How nice. Finally. No skeevy weird Grampa fantasy... a real compliment from a so-far normal guy.

I'm in the e-mail stage of forming "relationships," because, frankly, I don't want another man telling me what to do. Had that for 20 years. NO THANK YOU. So I'm taking my time, sticking a toe in the dating pool. Just a toe. Just e-mail. No plans to meet any of these guys. No coffee. No drinks. No dinner. No NOTHING. I am upfront and tell them that, and most of them stomp off the Internet in a huff.

Usually, after e-mailing for a bit, they want, inevitably, to meet. Which is understandable. I get it. I'm just not invested in meeting anyone in person right now. Maybe never. These dating sites are full of bizarre, lonely nutjobs. Among these nuts are some nice men. Everyone seems lonely, which I understand. I'm just not the woman for them.

Sometimes the e-mails are funny, often they are nice, occasionally they are salty. I like the nice, funny ones; the ones that are smart, well thought-out, well-written, and humorous. Like this one... now, this man has never met me. He's seen a black-and-white photo only. He's read a short profile. C'est fini. But this little gem cracked me up:

"I don't get enough replies from women in my own peer group...especially not exceptionally sexy ones with that "naughty intellectual librarian" persona (please don't take offense as this is intended as a compliment)... :) Being in publishing, I have no doubt you've heard it all before, but you definitely project a unique Jane Seymour/Angelina Jolie aura that blends just the right quantity of 'smart' and 'mischievous' with a touch of 'repressed English teacher yearning to break free and dance with reckless abandon on the tables of a Greek restaurant'. I can't quite put my finger on it...but I'd like to...(sorry...sentence ending in preposition...shame on me). Well, you were warned by Mae West, yes? "Give a man a free hand and he'll run it all over you." We're loathsome vile creatures, yes?"

Ah, a funny man who compliments me is priceless. I've never been compared to Angelina Jolie before, and I'm not sure I want to be, as I have no desire to adopt the entire world...but the dancing on tabletops in a Greek restaurant? How did he know? :-)

He quotes Mae West and pokes fun at his male species. Also priceless.

This e-mail made my entire day, especially now that B has left the Internet completely. He closed his profiles on Facebook and MySpace. Nothing left of him anywhere. The e-mails from him have ceased completely, even though he wants to be my "friend." Sorry, B, friends don't leave friends in the lurch during a trying time. Friends are there to listen and console and laugh and celebrate and commiserate and SHARE life. Not run away for reasons unknown.

I'll probably never be friends with these e-mail dudes, even the funny ones who compliment me, but B was different. I thought we'd always be friends. I was, sadly, very very wrong.

Life is funny. I don't appreciate it most of the time, so days like this, when I get a silly complimentary e-mail, I get just a taste of fun and my spirits lift and I think that life is pretty good.

Kinky stuff

2009-02-16T15:52:00.001-06:00

First, a B update. This is bizarre. Totally. B got back to me and not only wants to remain good friends, but he wants to communicate regularly. Like before. So why put me through all of that? He was worried about his own heart, because my divorce seems "stalled." Worried? Stalled? Huh. I must think about this, because my heart is different now and trust is an issue. Parts of me still love him. I must grow UP.

Somewhat in the same vein, but not really, a 60-year-old man (the same one who offered to spank me) sent me his erotic fantasy starring me... ewwww. I know 60 is still young and vital, but COME ON. Even though the Internet is a chance to remain physically anonymous, what ever happened to good manners? WHY did he think sending me an explicit "slut" fantasy would be a good idea? How does that happen? And why send such a skeevy fantasy? To me? Without knowing me? After just seeing a picture and reading a short profile? Nothing about that profile indicates I'm into ANYTHING kinky, so where did he get the idea that would be OK?

I don't think he'd have the guts to say it right to my face. And why would he? He actually signed it, "Can't wait to explore all of this with you." !!!!! AS IF! Guess who is getting reported to the website the e-mail came through? Yes, Grampa Kinkster. He is not technically old enough to be my grampa, I know; he is not even really old enough to be my father, but STILL. I demand and deserve good manners, and whoring me out in some bizarre slut fantasy is not mannerly. Or even that enticing. It featured appalling writing, too. At least WOO me with some good flashy writing if you're going to try to be kinky and SCORE.

For God's sake.

Yes, everyone has their fantasies and I know that. I'm just not used to having blatent sexuality shoved in my face. I wasn't looking for it and certainly didn't ask for it. So now not only am I reporting him, I'm taking my profile off of that particular site so similar things don't happen in the future. No part of me is flattered. No part of me is enticed or interested or even curious. I just feel like I need to take a shower. I wish I knew his real name; I would try to file some kind of police report, too. I wonder if that's even possible in Internet matters like this?

Is THIS what I can expect after I'm divorced? Creepy behavior from older men and lots of general interest from men half my age? Where are the men who are my age? I understand that the male libido is a powerful thing, but these youngsters! They almost seem like children: 22, 25, 28 year olds contacting me because they want to experience an older woman? What am I, a Mrs. Robinson figure? What makes them think that a) I'd be interested and b) that I'm available for that type of thing? I'm no COUGAR (or whatever that term in) and have no interest in sleeping with someone 20 years younger than I am.

My friends joke that the young men have "lots of energy" and "endurance." I ask them how they know and they shut up pretty quickly. I'm not all that interested in my friends' sex lives, and if some or all of them have sampled Generation X or Y or Next or whatever that generation IS, I don't need to know about it.

I am finding out that the older I get, the more Puritanical I seem. I think that whatever consenting adults do together is fine.

I just don't need the details.

As for fantasy talk, that should be a two-way street, as well. That's DEFINITELY not a one-way type of communication. Keep it to yourself, Grampa! If I want to know, I'll ASK.

Or advertise.

They Say It's My Birthday...

2009-02-06T10:30:00.000-06:00

Today I officially become middle-aged.

45.

I caught a bit of the movie "Terms of Endearment" the other night, and the scene that struck me was an innocuous one and not at all any of the famous scenes from that movie. Not Shirley MacLaine shrieking, "Give my daughter the shot!!!" or Jack Nicholson smirking that Jack smirk, or Debra Winger dying, saint-like, from cancer, but rather a dining room scene where Shirley MacLaine's character is celebrating her "50th" birthday.

There are three men, suitors, I believe, and there is one other woman at the table. (Since I read the book I know the backstory of all of these characters, but the movie chose to exclude them, so I will, too.) It's Aurora's birthday and they are celebrating. They toast to her 50th birthday and one of them says that she looks young. She simpers and preens and beams until one other man says, "You turned 50 two years ago. You're really 52. Why are you trying to hide it?"

The thing that struck me was that Aurora did indeed look kind of old. The way she was dressed, her hair, the way she held herself... all matronly trying to look younger. I can't remember what year that movie came out, but fast-forward to today: 50 is still HOT. And smart. And wise. And usually kind. At least women are. Men are usually freaking out and dating women half their age, and while a few women do the same thing, the women I know sometimes sit around and rue the lack of available men.

But one thing these women do not feel is old. They don't shave two years off of their age. They don't look matronly. They kick ass. They feel vital and special and are looking forward to the second half of their lives more eagerly than they did the first half. Most stupid decisions are behind them, and they learned from their mistakes and grew... so I guess where I'm going with this is that I don't feel old, either.

Smarter, sure.

Wiser, of course.

I'm kinder and more willing to cut everyone, including women half my age, much more slack. I don't see those women as competition. I just see them as half as smart as me, half as assured, half as confident, in essence: half the woman I am now.

I'm not all that grateful for the trials I've been through. Most of them did NOT make me a better person; neither did they make me bitter or hateful. But they were personal trials, all the same, and shaped who I am now, for better or worse. Mostly for better, but that's because of the way I responded to the trial rather than the trial itself. I did learn to rise above (mostly) what was thrown at me to prevail. Mostly. I'm sure that I still have much more to learn. And that life will throw more trials at me, but 45 years of living on this earth taught me a lot and the biggest lesson is (corny as it sounds) that there is no one I can depend on except myself. Not a spouse. Not siblings. Not family. Not friends. All of those people have been there for me in the past, but not all together and not when I really needed them.

Just me.

But I'm grateful for the women who came before me. They are paving the way for me now in all ways, the way that I will pave the way for women behind me. They look great at 50, 55, 60 and up. They all smirk at my obsession with 45 being middle-aged. Age is a state of mind, again corny but true. All of these cliches are turning out to be TRUE. Argh.

But the biggest one: that women are somehow less womanly as they grow older--is just wrong. Our bodies may change, but that just means our brains get bigger and our hearts grow, too.

So as I sit here, getting ready for my full day of birthday fun, I guess I'm not that worried about turning 45 today. I'm still here: against ALL odds. And I'm still me, but improved. And no matter how many times gorgeous, sexy men break my heart, I will keep putting myself out there, because the experience matters. Breaks me down sometimes. But it matters. All of it.

I just hope that, when I get to 52, that I don't feel the need to lie about my age.

I'm sure I won't.

Don't Go Breakin' My Heart

2009-02-04T14:13:00.000-06:00

I'm a foolish woman. I gave my long-unused heart to a man and he just broke it. I didn't think my heart was still breakable, because it felt brand new, somehow, and better than ever. I felt better than ever. Walking on air good. Head in the clouds good. Everything was lovely, lovely, lovely because some parts of me, like my heart, were in LOVE.

You have to understand that I've been married for 20 years to the same man. We are in the process of getting a very civil, non-acrimonious divorce. The divorce is taking too long, so the man who had my heart (but who played no part in the dissolution of this marriage at all) just bailed. Two days ago. Via e-mail. My heart was cyber-broken.

This man, whom I will call B, and I reconnected a little over a year ago. We'd dated briefly in college and I had broken his young heart for reasons I no longer recall. He bore no ill will and was more than happy to hear from me last year. We struck up an e-mail correspondence. He had a girlfriend, so it was all very platonic and friendly. But we e-mailed every day, sometimes twice a day; even three or four times.

Reconnecting meant we discovered that we shared all the same likes in books, food, movies, life experiences. A full quarter-century had passed and there we were, formed and informed by all of those years of experiences. It was delightful. And I mean that. Full of delight. We both felt buoyed by each other and we connected very strongly.

He asked me to go to Egypt with him. I didn't go, because I was still married, but how romantic! He e-mailed me every day from Egypt and shared that trip with me. We both felt really young again. How great it felt to feel 19 again! All of those emotions! All of those hormones!

Our e-mails veered into a new direction about six months into our reconnection. They became much saltier in tone, explicit, even, very sexual and very erotic. It was wonderful. Here I was, getting the kind of attention I hadn't had from my spouse in YEARS. Getting a lot of attention from a handsome, accomplished, funny, smart, sexy and sexual man. Both of our sets of hormones went into overdrive.

And the phone calls. Three hours. An hour-and-a-half here, an hour there. Always wonderful and happy and sometimes sexy. Not phone sex, though, because neither of us were or are fans of that. But straight, open, honest talk about sex. Likes and dislikes. Limits. What we each loved and liked and couldn't wait to do.

You may be wondering how the girlfriend fit in. I did, too. I assumed it was a casual thing, not intense at all, because he had said that when he and she got together, they did because there "was nothing better to do." So he couldn't feel all of that for me, and express it the way he did, while involved with another woman, could he? I could barely wait to open my e-mail each day and I did so with butterflies in my stomach, because each e-mail confirmed that his feelings for me were deep and intense, and mine for him were deep and intense.

My spouse does not come into this at all. We began the process of a collaborative divorce long before B came into the picture. So my marriage had no bearing on my relationship with B, which was always just e-mails and phone calls. We hadn't seen each other, except for updated photos, for 25 years. It was delicious. And enticing. And so much FUN. We both needed some passion in our lives and here was a significant amount because we'd found each other again!

The original plan was to meet at a nice hotel for a Weekend. That's how we referred to it: The Weekend. We were going to talk, watch old movies, have as much sex as possible, have fun, hang out... a whole weekend of being together. But B's schedule was very busy, and The Weekend, which was planned for sometime in the Fall of '08, never came to pass. It almost did. Several times. I was dying from sexual frustration and could NOT wait for this Weekend. But it never happened.

What happened instead was B decided that we should spend a long weekend together at his house (we live about three hours apart) and hang out, watch old movies, have as much sex as possible, and do all of the stuff but in real life, not at a hotel. Fine with me! My marriage was over in my mind, and it didn't feel like cheating, although I really wanted to wait to be with B until I was divorced. I was raised Catholic, and the guilt was getting to me. He agreed to wait, broke up with the girlfriend (whom I later found out he was in love with! and part of me had been half in love with him the whole time; I felt like a chump. But he broke it off with her...)

So we began IMing through Facebook. Sometimes the IMs were very hot and intense and sometimes they were just regular conversations, but they were always wonderful. The phone calls continued. All was well in my world. And then he started to withdraw. Just gradually. Less phone calls. Hardly any e-mail, but there were those hot IMs... I thought I was giving him his space. I was hardly in a position to be needy, and I knew it, so I let lots of things slide. I was married and so didn't feel I could complain that he never called or e-mailed anymore. He was sliding away from me, slowly, and I knew I couldn't keep him... so I steeled myself for a kind of breakup. But it never came.

And then the "relationship" morphed into something unhealthy. I had been living in Fantasyland for months regarding B, and it was starting to become toxic for me. I didn't know how to change things so I just let them continue on and they did, until there was little air left in the relationship at all. It didn't go anywhere. My life wasn't moving. I've been having trouble finding a job in this economy and so started to slide into complacency (same house, same soon-to-be ex-spouse, no momentum in my own life... every day the same as the one before: Law & Order episodes, laundry, pet the cat... all of it the same, every single day).

And then, two days ago, an e-mail. Part of me was expecting it, and ending this was the right thing to do, but still it hurt a lot and I felt shame and embarrassment that I had given my heart to this for SO LONG, had let it CONSUME me for MONTHS... so I cried, and felt like a teenager, and cried some more. This quasi-relationship had taken over my entire life. I lived and breathed B. I knew what he was doing, and he knew my life, too. We shared a lot and it was very intimate.

And now it's over.

I can't go on Facebook except when I know he will be busy, because I don't want to "run into" him there. I don't want him to IM me like nothing happened, but I don't want to be cyber-disssed, either. I sign on, and if I see he's on, I sign out right away. It's only been two days, but this is already problematic. I deleted my status because I don't want him to know anything about how I am or how I feel right now. I don't want Facebook to become a bulletin board we both look at to see how the other one is doing. His life appears to be doing just fine. His status posts are upbeat and positive, and he seems to be spending longer and longer amounts of time there, posting photos, commenting on other people's posts and photos--something he rarely did before.

I should grow up. But he hurt me. It was a necessary hurt, but still it hurts a lot. He was a big part of my life for well over a year. We had contact every single day and now it's over? No more contact? Ever? Because he can't wait a few more months for my stupid marriage to end? Because, as he so rightly pointed out, I have to build a life for myself and have nothing going for me NOW, and he can't be anything more except "an occasional platonic e-mail." He's oh so sorry about it. But he's already moved on and there's an absence of B in my life now. A missing B, a missing part, a sliver of my heart gone forever.

I forgot how much this stuff hurts.

I forgot how fragile a heart is.

I forgot myself and got lost.

I miss my B. Now we will probably never meet. And again he is out of my life.

Maybe in 25 years he will be back and we will both be old enough and mature enough and single enough to handle it.

Maybe.

My heart will never be the same.

I must... I must... I must increase my... entries!

2009-01-27T12:09:00.000-06:00

I don't know why I haven't written in a month. Plenty has happened; my journal is FULL of stuff. But things for public consumption, even by the two people who read this ... that, well, THAT I'm having trouble with.

Not that I don't want to share. I do. It's just that day-to-day my life is meh. Taken over a series of weeks, interesting things do happen, but they are the exception and not the norm. And yes, I realize that I am slightly depressed because I'm unemployed and/or unpublished. Plenty of books/manuscripts lying around this place. Some of them suck; some are good; some are really good and are book-worthy, but just getting an editor to look at my stuff is difficult. It's almost impossible to get a foot in the door, but this is the career I want, so I must suck it up and soldier on.

I didn't make New Year's resolutions this year, partly because I don't believe in them, and partly because they set unrealistic expectations in me... but this year I plan to get in shape. Not necessarily drop pounds, although I do want to do that, but really get healthy. It just occurred to me, belatedly, that I have ONE body that is almost 45 years old. I haven't treated it very well. I haven't given it proper nutrition and exercise. No wonder I feel puny all the time. I exist at a subsistence level, never rising to optimum health.

So, to that end, I joined Weight Watchers and am LOVING their online tracking tools. Those are the BEST for tracking every single thing that goes into my mouth. It's about 1500 calories a day, which I can do easily, so I just have to start getting the RIGHT 1500 calories: more fruits and veggies. I also start Pilates tomorrow; the kind on the machines. It's kind of expensive, but I look at it as an investment. I hope my Scrooge-like ALLOWANCE will cover it.

I found it easier to do this for myself instead of doing it for the rendezvous I have planned for after I am divorced. An old college flame and I plan to spend a weekend together, having some fun. Since we are both middle-aged, there are lots of body issues on both sides. So we're both using this endless divorce drag-out time to get in shape. It's kind of fun to anticipate and I certainly don't want to be distracted by any part of my body during that weekend. I want to jump right in and have some FUN, FINALLY.

On that note, I'm going to find something to eat: something with few POINTS but that is filling. After all, I get weighed in two days and am not sure how that whole thing is going yet....

Stay tuned for more body issues posts, more anxiety about THE WEEKEND, and irritation about how long this divorce is taking.

It's Christmas Time...

2008-12-20T11:25:00.000-06:00

Here we are again, and I thought I'd be in a different place, literally and figuratively. I was supposed to be divorced by now, flush with a little settlement money, and my holidays were supposed to go like this: Thanksgiving was PARIS, by myself. Instead, I had my dad, brother and INLAWS over.

Christmas was supposed to be in LONDON, taking in all the sights and sounds of a similar culture's Christmas traditions. Tea in Knightsbridge or at the Savoy, Christmas dinner at Claridge's or someplace equally as awesome.

Then the great one: New Year's Eve. It was to be in Bruges, or Naples, or Iceland, or maybe even that hotel in Sweden that's made completely out of ice. Someplace new to welcome in the new year, someplace where being alone on New Year's Eve would be OK. Someplace I'd be alone but not lonely. A place with a different language, different customs, a different time zone. Anything not to be alone (again) on New Year's Eve here in the same old house doing the same old things. Every other New Year's Eve for the past 20 years was spent at the same cousins' party. I like these particular cousins, but I am tired of the same party, so for the past two years I've stayed home, watching Marx Brothers marathons (fun) or something else fun on TV. Me and the 18-year-old cat. Together, alone, welcoming in a brand new year full of promise.

But this year was supposed to be me welcoming in a whole new life! On another continent! Someplace groovy. Not here, in the same old house, with the same old cat, wishing for the same old things.

That old song, "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve" really gets me. At least it gets me this year. It's a melancholy tune, one that I usually like, but this year I can't bear to hear it.

Here's to a whole new year. A whole new life, maybe? I know it's a couple of weeks off, but I'm girding myself now. Even Barry Manilow had a song about New Year's Eve: "It's just another New Year's Eve, another one like all the rest..." so maybe he stayed alone, too.

Time will tell.

Trans-what?

2008-12-18T19:18:00.000-06:00

Today I had to have an ultrasound and a procedure called a transvaginal something. I have an ovarian cyst, which are common as I understand it, but my cyst (which my doctor has been watching for over a year now) suddenly changed. It went from being clear and round, which is typical, to being frondy-shaped and not clear, which is atypical.

Frondy-shaped sometimes indicates that cancer or pre-cancerous cells are growing. If that's the case, they'll just take the whole damned ovary out and I'll be done with all the twinges and pain. If it's cancer, I guess they'll take out the ovary, radiate the area, and I'll be fine.

I've decided not to panic. It's just that when the doctor says the word "CANCER"--my first response is to freak out.

DO NOT PANIC! is my motto. It's harder to live than I thought.

Tea for Four

2008-12-14T18:45:00.002-06:00

I went to tea at The Drake today with Kathy, Bev and Shayna. It was lovely.

The Drake was decorated for Christmas with a huge tree in the lobby and a really cool gingerbread house with a train running through it. There were poinsettias and lights everywhere, and the fountain where the tearoom is was beautifully lit and everything was very festive.

The only problem was that it was very crowded and LOUD and we sat next to the harpist, which sucked because she played LOUD (all that plucking was really annoying) and then CAROLERS dressed in Victorian attire came around and it was altogether too much Christmas for me.

I mean, shut those carolers up! What a rotten gig, going from table to table, singing Christmas carols. Probably voice majors from any one of the many universities in the area; sucky gig for them! They kept coming back to our table and I wanted to throw money at them to make them go away, but I didn't.

Oh, bah humbug!

I'm Going Straight To Hell

2008-11-26T14:38:00.000-06:00

I'm going straight to HELL. Straight there. No stopping.

Funerals are supposed to be solemn occasions. Especially Catholic funerals, what with their comforting rituals that see the deceased off in style. Since my uncle is a priest, it was quite the send-off my grandmother got... she would have been very pleased. No less than 6 con-celebrants and a full corral of priests, since my uncle used to be head priest at this particular parish and only recently started at another parish....

The problem wasn't the funeral. The problem, if there had to be one--and there was--was MY family. Not the extended family, not cousins or aunts or uncles. My brother, father and me.

We are the black sheep of the enormous extended Irish Catholic family. With good reason, as you will see. My brother likes to drink, for fun. He is not even 30 yet. My father had a massive stroke last year and he is not himself. Me, I'm just a regular gal, living a (non) life.

But this funeral was a most excellent fun time. For my brother and me, at least. After the visitation, the party moved to my aunt's condo and we were not invited. We were staying at a convent/old folks' home (rooms are free to family members) called The Little Sisters of the Poor. Lots of nuns in black habits, taking excellent care of the elderly--my grandmother had been one of the people receiving great care from this small cadre of supreme caregivers (it's their mission to care for the elderly).

The convent is very quiet. At night you can literally hear a pin drop. So my brother and I stared at each other over a bottle of Glenlevit and said, "Let's just go out and find a pub." We left my father there, already in bed, and drove down the street where we found a brew pub. Instead of beer, we had Mojitos.

After a little discussion about where we could score some weed (we argued about which relatives were holding and would share), we finally just asked the waitress if she had any to sell. She did.

Long story short: we had to use a coffee filter for rolling paper. (The convent provided fully-stocked suites...) I rolled a most excellent tight and tasty joint. We inhaled and blew the smoke out the window. The convent soon REEKED of ganja. We could NOT stop laughing. We were freaked out that nuns were living and praying where we were trying to get high. All we did was laugh, smoke pot and drink Scotch. I believe phone calls full of giggling were placed to various people....

I just couldn't stop laughing. I haven't been high in YEARS. At least 20 years.

I'm going straight to HELL.

I'm a bad person.

The morning of the funeral I was still high, because I was too afraid to go to sleep on the rock-like bed the nuns provided. I was afraid they'd smell the weed and throw us out into the street. So, I was still high after three hours of terrible sleep. Got to the funeral LATE (it was a long ways from the convent) and my aunt threw me into the lineup with two cousins to carry up the gifts at the funeral Mass. I didn't actually have a gift to carry up, by my aunt made me go anyway, so I hauled my sorry ass all the way up to the altar. The walk seemed really long... that was the best funeral I've been to in a loooooooong time.

Grandma, please forgive me. If you were looking down, please realize that I do miss you and did love you and only wanted the best for you during your long life. I'm sorry I was stoned in the convent and was still toasted at your funeral.

God bless us, everyone.

Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer

2008-11-20T23:28:00.001-06:00

Well, not really. But she did die this evening at 7:30 PM. She was 92, never learned to drive, raised 8 children and was extremely Catholic. I didn't know her very well. She was very reserved and private; not the kind of grandma you could run up to and hug. She was kind of brittle, but she was kind in her own way.

She died of a number of complications: pneumonia and heart disease among them. She'd been sliding downhill for a number of months and really didn't have a very good quality of life. I'm happy she is at peace.

I don't know when the funeral is; whether it will be Saturday or Monday or whether my crazy family will try to combine her funeral with some kind of wacky Thanksgiving celebration. That side of the family is ODD: kooky, creative, "artistic," out in left field, etc. They can't plan anything very well, so this should be interesting!

I'm going to say some lapsed Catholic-school-girl prayers for my grandmother. If anyone else reads this, please waft some good thoughts grandma Ellen's way. She lived quite a long life.

Well Shut My Mouth!

2008-11-19T09:54:00.000-06:00

People are actually reading this? This silly mind-vomit? I shall have to spice it up. As one reader wrote, so succinctly, "If you have nothing to say, why did you start a blog?" EXCELLENT QUESTION! And from someone in Sweden. Boggles my wee mind that someone across the world from me is reading about my (non) life.

Here is one thing of note that happened.... I am in the midst of a very amicable divorce, but I am still checking out potential dates on match.com. I used to use e-Harmony, but that was just WEIRDNESS. Match is weird, too, but the caliber of guy is a bit different... sometimes they are just more blunt. But ONE GUY sent me a picture of himself, which is great, because I won't even chat with anyone who doesn't have a photo, but his photo was NUDE: FULL FRONTAL.

I didn't really believe in shrinkage until I saw that photo. Really! While I love me the male equipment, there are some things that should stay, well, in the realm of imagination. At least until the first date. LOL

So, that happened.

Despite said photo, I'm getting into the Christmas spirit. Usually the holidays are too busy and stressful for me, but this year, since I don't have to attend any Italian stuff, it will be nice and quiet. I'll describe the Italian festivities someday.

Today I'm just stunned to find out that some random people (and one not-so-random) are reading this.

I will do my best to enlighten and entertain.

And I won't save the best stuff for my journal anymore.

I Don't Like Mondays, ooooh ooooh

2008-10-20T10:43:00.000-05:00

Here it is, the beginning of another week. I managed to stay in my pajamas all weekend and, in fact, am still in them.

Just tried to have fun with Mr. H., but somehow it didn't work out. I will try harder next time.

I have nothing to say, nothing to write. I write all the juicy stuff in my journal, and since I'm still unemployed, there's really nothing to say.

I must get a life. That would be great. Then maybe these lame posts would improve. Ah, well, no one reads them, anyway, so what does it matter?

Another Day in the (non) Life!

2008-10-18T12:12:00.000-05:00

Here it is, a chilly Saturday. Just got back from breakfast with R. Strange that we are getting along so well, considering we are divorcing pretty soon. Nothing to report. Am going to work out later and make nutritious smoothies. Such a day! Oy vey!

How many 59-year-olds does it take?

2008-10-17T20:37:00.001-05:00

Just how many men close to 60 do I have to say NO to? WHY do they want me, or rather, why do they want my PHOTO? What do they see in my photo that makes them want someone 15 years younger than themselves? Damn e-Harmony, anyway. My match ages are 40-59. Some age range. No one my age wants me, which is depressing enough, but when it's JUST the older men, it makes me wonder WHY. WHY ME? Why right now?

No one reads this anyway, so no one can answer the question: How many 59-year-olds does it take to ruin my day???

The answer: ONE.

And So It Goes...

2008-10-14T14:47:00.000-05:00

Here I am, writing to no one again. It feels strange. I'm watching a Law & Order I've already seen. Since this show has been on for 18 years or something like that, I shouldn't be watching re-runs. They should just start at the beginning and run every episode in order, that way I wouldn't be watching repeats.

Am going to be all alone this weekend since R. will be in Philly. Don't have much to do and am bummed about that. I'll have to find some great things to do. I hope I have the energy. I would really like to shake this bronchitis.

And so ends another little bloglet entry. I write much more in my actual journal, stuff I can't possibly put on here, but it's the JUICY stuff...

And so it goes....

So Much Raw Food, So Little Time

2008-10-13T11:47:00.001-05:00

This raw foods cleanse is killing me! KILLING ME. Only raw foods + one new whole food this week. I cheated and had a power bar this morning. The cold foods were getting to me. Even though I picked rice as my "new" food, I only had it once, with sushi. Should have picked a different food.

Am still feeling puny today, but lots better than last week. The driveway guys are at it again, doing something new to the driveway today. Sealing it, I think. The cars are parked on the street and I'm not sure when we can park in the garage again. Another week? Who knows...

And so I keep writing these posts that no one will ever read!

En avant.

BRAZIL!

2008-10-12T12:52:00.001-05:00

I love this movie. I prefer the Director's Cut, because the cut that makes it onto HBO or wherever is always watered down. The soundtrack is funny, and I just love this movie.

Have nothing to say, but since no one reads this, it isn't important.

Everybody Loves the Sound of a Train in the Distance

2008-10-11T11:08:00.000-05:00

The big dilemma: to drive 8 hours to my sister's Iowa farm, or to AmTrak for four hours? Cost of ticket: about $82 (round trip). Cost of gas: unknown at this time. Do I really want the hassle of driving all that way? I love my sister (and her 500-acre farm), and I love visiting.

As of now, I'm going with the train option. It seems much less trouble.

Since no one is reading this, does this blog even really exist? Existential!

First Post

2008-10-10T21:31:00.000-05:00

My very first blog post. I am late to the blogosphere. Not much to say tonight, since I'm recovering from a whopping case of bronchitis and feel well enough to be bored but not well enough to do anything.

I'm still deciding what to write in here. Any input would be helpful. I could talk about my (non) life, which will bore any stray readers who stumble in here to tears....

I shall ponder.