Another Day...

...that's all it is. I'm content. Who could ask for more?

Peaches

Watch this. Please. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvcohzJvviQ
But really, just listen to it. The video is strange.

Today, I had the best peach I've had in a very long time. My three favorite foods are: peaches, olives and tomatoes. Olives are consistent. Peaches and tomatoes, however, aren't. They're so seasonal and unique. Good peaches and tomatoes are rare. Rarer, lately. And so very transitory. Excruciatingly so. Which makes them that much better.

I had another of my favorite foods today. Rare filet mignon. It was so good. I ordered it rare, but I think extra rare would've been better. One of these days I'm going to order steak tartare. What is it with me and the bloody meat? I think I'm anemic. Is that why I bruise so easily?

Ok, all this talk of food makes me hungry. I happen to have peaches, olives and tomatoes in this house. But I'd rather go try on my new treasures. And finish my book. And change purses.

Nice Things

I'm frugal. I almost never pay full price. I don't know why but I got it into my head that I wanted another Dooney & Bourke purse. I have one I bought at least 25 years ago (full price) and every fall, I bring it out and place it back into service. The last few years, I get compliments galore. From young girls. I tell them it's vintage. Which it is.

I haven't bought one since. Today, I decided to run into Dillard's. I got an email that there's a 30% off clearance sale. That's to say 30% off the sale price. I got the email yesterday - thought it was just for one day and didn't make it, but I got another email today, saying today's the last day. Since I was right there, I went. Oh my god. The purse. The one and only D&B left. $218 full price, but I got it for $91. That's a lot for a purse (for me), but it's a beautiful ivory, pebble grain leather, a classic style, and not emblazened boldly with a logo. It's substantial, simple, and it'll last. And the leather smells so good. And feels like butter.

I headed to the sterling silver jewelry. Oh, my. So many great earrings. Necklaces. For a song.

Two more purses, three necklaces, a Cole Haan wallet and several other nice gifts. That was my rationale. I'm shopping ahead for Christmas.

The D's Heart

Forgot to mention. The Daddler's test went well. It took 2 1/2 hours, exactly as promised. He didn't seem bothered by it at all. The doc will call with the results Monday.

We stopped and got Wendy's on the way home - he was hungry after having to fast. Damn he loves Wendy's. He eats way too many chocolate frosties, though. Oh, well. If I make it to 80, I'll eat whatever the hell I please.

The Best Laid* Plans

So much for my early wake up. I'd hoped for 3:00 but set my alarm for 4. When it went off, I thought it was 6. Realized it was only 4, so went back to sleep. The 6:00 alarm went off, and I lay* there another 45 minutes. So now, by the time I finish this quick post and get my coffee, it'll be 7 and I'll only have 5 hours to get ready for my 1:00 meeting. Here's where I get good at prioritizing.

And blogging needs to drop way to the bottom of my priorities. So that's all for now!

* If you have trouble with lie/lay/laid, etc., check this link - it's great!
http://web.ku.edu/~edit/lie.html
Cute little excerpt, not to miss: Tip: Always remember that lay is a transitive verb and requires a direct object. (A transitive verb acts as a conveyor belt, transmitting action or influence from the subject to the object.) The common saying, “Let's lay out in the sun,” is not only incorrect grammatically, it suggests a public promiscuity that's frowned on even in this age of sexual permissiveness because you're implying the existence of a direct object of lay: “Let's lay (her/him?) out in the sun.” Not that there's anything wrong with THAT! It's just ungrammatical unless you're talking about sex.

All's Well...

...that ends well.

That's a stretch. Nothing with me ever ends well. I've been told I sabotage myself. Every relationship. That's probably true. I keep trying to sabotage things with FF, and he doesn't disappear into the ether. So far, he's lasted way longer than the rest of my fantasy Prince Charmings. Which is not saying much. Except, it does say that he's fearless, intuitive, and maybe very, very patient. Or just weirder than I am.

I really do miss him. I don't know about this long-distance thing. I feel like a nun, married to the church. He's an athiest though. Probably not the best analogy.

Ok, I'm exhausted all of a sudden. If I go to bed now, I can get 8 hours in by 3:00 a.m. tomorrow and that'll give me a good 9 hours to get ready for my 1:00 p.m. Saturday client meeting. I can get a shitload done in 9 hours.

Signing off...

Frantic Friday

My insomnia is raging. That doesn't help my focus. After a really productive day Wednesday, I had another one of those ADD-fueled, extremely scattered days yesterday. It didn't help that I had to go to Sam's Club under duress. That's a blog post unto itself. I'm sitting here right now with cortisol and caffiene coursing through my veins. Worried about how much I have to accomplish between now and my regular Saturday afternoon client meeting.

Speaking of blood vessels, we have another test on The D's heart today. This one takes 2 1/2 hours, so that shoots the afternoon. If I could think about it sooner than five minutes before we need to walk out the door, I could figure out some work to take with me. I usually take 10 pounds of magazines. The thought of having nothing to occupy my mind terrifies me.

The other day, there was a soap opera on the TV in the waiting room. No one was watching it. Except maybe the receptionists. So I didn't ask them to change it because I didn't want to remain in waiting-room purgatory any longer than necessary. Instead I sat and tried to tune out the hysterical wailing and gnashing of teeth by the poor, perfectly coiffed and made-up addict in the throes of withdrawal while the other woman (who could have been her half-sister, evil stepmother, brother's girlfriend, or all of the above) confronted her about her addiction. They were both chewing the scenery. It was disturbing. Today I'll try to remember to take my MP3 player.

Ok, I'm gonna get back to work now. Later...

Better Day

Wow. I've been so very focused. I actually slept a good eight hours last night. I've worked hard since 6 a.m. Accomplished everything on my list that was urgent and made progress on some others.

My housekeeper came today and my Enchanted Aerie no longer looks like a pig sty or a frat house. I fixed The Daddler a good lunch. I'm going to figure out his dinner and stick it in the fridge and head to my surrogate mom's house (who happens to be my Future Fantasy Mother-in-Law) and hang out. I might take some pictures from our Boston trip.

She said she has lots of leftovers, so I won't worry about dinner.

I added major value to my clients today (more than paid my fees for the month), so I feel good about my work.

The Daddler's been nicer. My house is clean. I have fresh sheets on my bed. Kiddo did errands for me without complaining. So it's all good.

Still lots to do. JoJo wants me to go to Salsa lessons tomorrow night. If I have another day like today, I can manage. Not that I give a shit about Salsa dancing. I'm just a good friend.

All for now...

The End of Innocence

I saw "it" today. I knew this day would come. I took The Daddler to the urologist for a test. I won't go into details, except to say that not once, but twice, I unwittingly glimpsed something I'd never hoped to see. Is there an emoticon for cringing? How about }}})))$%*#@&((({{{ ?

The whole daddy/toddler thing is happening before my very eyes. Quite literally.

Too much to tell and too much to do. More later...

AFU

That's UrbanDictionary's word of the day. Acronym. All Fucked Up. Wow. Fitting.

Do I have a sign stuck on my back that says, "Kick me"?

I spent all morning putting out fires. Work-related. Then a good four hours at the cardiologist's office this afternoon. On top of that, The D's been awful. And I won't even get started on another sitch.

Tomorrow promises to be another day of crazy, busy client work followed by an agonizing afternoon at a specialist's office. For a test. Luckily, no prep involved in this. The D loves going to the doctor. I'm sure he'll remember and start asking me about our departure time every 30 minutes or so.

I've seen a decline in his cognitive ability since the thing Saturday. Maybe it's just a function of my depleted patience. Or not. It's subtle. I hope it's not a harbinger of things to come.

I'm tired. That's all for tonight...

Monday Morning

Here it is. And I don't mind it one bit. After accomplishing next to nothing this weekend, I'm ready to get back in the saddle. I'll head to a client's office this morning and wait for a phone call from the cardiologist's nurse to tell me when to bring The Daddler in this afternoon for a pacemaker check. There's a chip in it and they can see exactly what it's been doing. We'll let them know the episode happened Saturday morning and they can take a look at it. I suppose they'll know if it was a mechanical problem. I'm thinking that's the best answer. If it's not a pulled muscle, which doesn't make sense to me.

The on-call nurse asked me what brand The D had. No idea. She said to check the card in his wallet. She asked me if it was Medtronic. It was Boston Scientific. I asked her if there'd been a problem with a certain brand, and she said no, but I'm not sure I believe her. If there is a problem with the device, I wonder if they'll have to replace it. When we went for a checkup two weeks ago, they ran the usual test and said it looked good and the battery was fine. I asked them what happened when the battery runs down. Minor outpatient surgery. Ugh. Scary. On more than one level. The D's kind of a baby when it comes to being sick. I can't criticize because I'm every bit as bad, if not worse. But more than the idea of waiting on him hand and foot, is any surgery minor when you're 80 years old?

That's better than a problem with his heart, though. So if it's not the pacemaker, they'll run tests. Bloodwork. The enzymes show if there's been a heart attack. Lots of imaging, I suppose. A stress test, maybe. We've been through all this before. He has some blockage in one of his coronary arteries, but it wasn't bad enough to do anything about at the time. After all these milkshakes I've been giving him, I'm feeling a little guilty. How bad is bad enough to do surgery? That would be really risky, I'm sure. But he's pretty tough. Well, I'm not gonna go there. He cannot die. I'm not ready for that. I'm not over Mother. Guess I never will be.

Ok, I already have some work emails to answer and cash balances to check. An investment report to do before the market opens. And I need to undo a stupid decision I made this weekend. Should be doable, but I'll feel better when it's done. Too stupid to blog about.

Over and out...

Milking It

I think he is. Said he was ok, but clutched his pacemaker. I asked him if he'd had any chest pain during the night. No. Later on, he said he didn't sleep well because he was sore around the pacemaker. He said he wasn't going to church. I told him I'd drive him if he was afraid to walk there. No.

I sat on the sofa, read the Sunday paper and watched CBS Sunday Morning. That reminds me. Did you know that Amy Winehouse died yesterday? She was 27 years old. It's kinda weird, but these people also died at that age: Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. Weird, huh?

It makes me sad.

Sentry Duty, Part II

This was me this morning, peeking in on The Daddler. I guess it's a good thing that he doesn't snore, but it makes my job harder. In fact, he doesn't make a sound when he sleeps. I can't even see his chest moving because he sleeps in a fetal position. Reminds me of a little kid. I stop short of holding a mirror in front of his nose because he startles easily. That would be kind of counter-productive. I'd hate to be the one to trigger a cardio-infarction (technical name for heart attack).

Sometimes, if I walk into the living room too briskly, shouting something (he's hard of hearing), I swear he jumps three feet out of his recliner. You should've seen him the day I forgot to use conditioner and walked in with my hair fresh out of the towel looking a tangled Tina Turner.

That reminds me. After having my day derailed yesterday, and not getting a chance to run the last few days, I had a little excess energy last night. So I cranked up the radio and started dancing around the den. The D walked past and saw me. He made the worst face and said, "What's wrong with you?" Ouch. I told him I was exercising since it had been too hot to go running. And I started pretending to jump rope. He shook his head and walked away. Kind of the same way he did when I backed my car into the house. And when I was in college and came flying under the carport in my yellow Rabbit (remember those?) and hit the wooden post at the corner and knocked it down completely. He and Mother were puttering around outside. It's pretty funny when you think about it. Mother and I always laughed about it.

We laughed about lots of my dumb stunts. One of the funniest was when The D, Mother, Deb and I were heading to Myrtle Beach to see my brother when he finished basic training. I was about 15 years old, I suppose. We were crammed into the cab of D's truck. There was a camper in the back - one of those that fits into the bed of the truck. We slept (or tried to, in my case) in that tin can in the middle of the summer in South Carolina. But that's another story. What I'm getting to is what happened when we stopped in Cookville for some famed Holiday Inn buffet. I'm sure my legs were numb from being compressed between my mother and the door. So when we pulled up to the Mecca of Buffets, I opened the door to the truck and rolled right out onto the pavement. They laughed a little too hard and way too long. Many years, in fact. Mother called me Grace from time to time.

Well, The D just emerged from his room. He seems fine. I, on the other hand, am not so great. Didn't sleep a wink. Because that's frowned up when you're on sentry duty.

Sentry Duty

I'm standing guard tonight. The Daddler had some chest pain today. He didn't mention it to me until I was about to sashay out to lunch with my girl, Jo. After extensive interrogation and deliberation and consultation with the cardio group, I decided to stick around here. They think the pain is just related to the pacemaker (which is how The D described it), so I resisted my original impulse to hightail it to the emergency room. I resisted my desire for Mexican food, too. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a selfless, caring vessel pouring out the milk of human kindness.

Kiddo's out of town, so I'm forsaking my Enchanted Aerie so I can sleep in his room across the hall from The Daddler. So I can hear him if he needs me during the night.

Wow, all of a sudden, I'm so tired. Hope I'll be able to sleep...

Orgasmic Macaroni & Cheese

Is it possible to trigger an orgasm with Mac & Cheese? I contend that it is. But then, I'm very hard up. Also, I've mastered M&C. Not to be confused with mastering my domain.

See, here's the deal. I get fixated on something until I perfect it. Pralines come to mind. Chocolate chip cookies. And M&C. The key, as any good cook will tell you, is good ingredients. Unless you're an old southern lady, and in that case, you can open five cans and make the most incredible casserole known to man. I have a feeling these are the same ladies who leave out an ingredient when they give you a recipe you've begged them for. Still.

My M&C recipe requires a roux. It's not that tricky and but it requires total devotion, and is so satisfying. If you don't think lump or two are the end of the world.

So, I had medium cheddar, Jarlsburg, and some good Parm Reggiano. The real deal. Plus, I had a pound of macaroni. Stroke of luck. Plenty of butter. Some flour without weevils.

Did it by the book. It's in the oven now. Gotta figure out something to serve with it. Unlike me, The D is not content with one perfect thing. And believe me, this is perfect.

If I were serious about FF, I'd make it for him. But I'm afraid it would put his frittata to shame and that would hurt his pride. Plus, I can only devote myself to one man at a time. And The Daddler gets that honor for now.

Going Out?

I think I am? I'm waiting for my girl Jo to appear. There's some kinda dance place downtown. I'm destined to be a wallflower. I've tried, so many times, and I can't dance. Not even the two-step.

It's ok, though. She loves to dance and I'm glad to get out of the house. Maybe they'll have a decent menu. Or not. I'm in no mood to imbibe, so I think I'll take a magazine or two. Something to entertain me. Maybe I should take a pillow? Damn, I'm tired.

Hope she comes soon - I'm about to turn into a pumpkin.

A Real, Honest to God, TGIF

First one in a long time. No Saturday meeting. So here I sit, feeling no pressure at all. Like the great big blob of protoplasm I am.

It turned out to be one of those days, but nothing terrible. I never had a chance to call and rant at Salesman, and since it's late Friday afternoon, I decided I'd wait, so as not to ruin his weekend. I'm so tender-hearted.

Kiddo is leaving soon to go white-water rafting in East Tennessee with another family. Not a moment too soon. We had another futile debate this morning, and I'm worn out. It turns out that he's much more knowledgeable than I am because he's read "Too Big to Fail." And he's taken Econ 410. I asked him if him if it was Macro or Micro, and after a moment's (telling) hesitation, he said "Both." I asked him if he knew what M3 was. No. He asked me if I knew what CDO stood for. "Collateralized Debt Obligation." Touche.

The quiz continuted. He didn't do well. NASD - no idea. LIBOR - nope. S&P - he knew Standard & Poors. I didn't ask him how many stocks are in the Dow Jones Industrial Index. I didn't ask him to name 5 of the 30. I didn't smack the shit out of him. I asked him to lend me his book, "Too Big to Fail", the oracle of investing.

His dad came to pick him up. I said to be sure to wear a helmet on the raft to protect the precious cranium into which we've invested hundreds of thousands of dollars. The cranium I've resisted smacking soooo many times.

I decided to make Bulimic Cat an outdoor cat, but she must've overheard me because she was in hiding in no-man's land, under my huge bed in the EA.

Ok, enough blogging. I'm going to find something to do. I think it'll involve eating or drinking or talking or painting or drawing or writing limericks. Or reading in a hot bath. Painting my toenails. Hanging pictures or sewing curtains or rearranging furniture.

Or emailing. I found a couple great quotes for FF. Gonna send those now, and be on my way to other pursuits.

Pills...

The D told me last night that his pill boxes were empty. I forgot. He missed last night's medicine. I feel terrible. He reminded me again this morning. I apologized profusely and he was very sweet and said it was ok.

Since I'm slammed today, I decided to get him to help me fill up the 28 compartments in the pill boxes. Stroke of genius. Or happy accident is more like it. One at a time, I poured out a pile of pills and told him to put one in each red box (morning) or blue (night). I just flipped them around so the correct side was facing him. Except for putting two pills in one slot, he did it exactly right. And seemed to enjoy it. Kinda like a little puzzle. I had to do two of them that require breaking and alternating doses, but wow, it cut my time way down. At the end, I counted to be sure there were nine pills in the blue compartments and five in the red ones. Wow, can it be that we're up to 200 pills in a two week supply? I guess so, since urologist added two more. Damn.

Well, no time to dwell on it. Relieved to have it done, but will have to go back to it since I need refills to finish the second box. So here I go, online to Walgreens. Ugh.

Oh, I'll have to tell later about barricading my bedroom door from the cat last night. Hint: 50 pounds works. Luckily, I never have to get up to pee during the night! Gotta get that door fixed...

So with a good night's sleep, today's bound to be better. And it'll feel good to rip the Salesman a new one. I'm sure I'll have lots of good blog fodder tonight!

Who the Fuck Does He Think He Is?

Or, Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned. Or, Don't Fuck With Me When I'm Sleep-Deprived. Or, Don't Fuck With Me...Period. Or, You're a Salesman, So You'd Better Kiss My Ass Until the Deal is Inked.

Oh, so many good titles. They're all so good - let's just consider them subtitles.

And leave it at that. I'm still in shock after the surreal meeting/out-of-body experience I had this afternoon.

Fortunately, whenever anyone is rude, disrespectful, or otherwise confrontational to me, I'm stunned by it. I say "fortunately" because I'm sure I would've been fired from every single job I've ever had. Two hours later I'm thinking of the perfect comeback. And while it would've felt good to say it, I don't think it would've been well-received.

So, bless his pea-pickin' heart, Salesman (let's just call him S from here on out) didn't lose the sale or his balls today. Let's see, how can I sum it up without boring you with lots of technical details? How 'bout we just say his 3 1/2 years experience with his company (which I'm sure is his first and only job since college graduation) trumps my 25 years. Damn, was he born after I got my lowly BBA? Maybe that explains it. My knowledge is archaic.

Let's just cite a couple things. He made a personal guarantee that the price of our services would never increase. Ever. I asked if that was in the contract. The answer was, "No, but it is our company's policy to never increase our fees, and in the three and one-half years I've been there, that's never changed. If it does, I'll make good on my promise." Right. I explained to S that an oral promise wasn't the same as a contractual agreement. He said if we made a single mark on the terms on the contract, it would be "null and void." I was dumbfounded, and my very astute client asked if there was a termination fee. You can read between the lines.

She asked me to review each document before she signed it. It was her kind way of affirming me and showing respect for my judgment. He looked shocked that anyone would deign to actually read something before they signed it. Besides, he seemed like he was in a hurry. I should've taken longer.

Lots of processing to do. I'm embarrassed to admit that tears spilled out of my eyes as soon as he left. I apologized to my client (both women) and explained about sleep deprivation, fucking idiot DeSoto county relatives, and a difficult family situation that cropped up 30 minutes before I was walking out the door. They were both shocked at S's behavior and asked if they should cancel the contract. I assured them that it was still the best deal and that maybe S had been chewed by his boss/wife/mistress right before our meeting. I threw in the mistress thing. It's not end of month, so sales quota doesn't explain it. Unless he's way off for July.

Still. I'll call and read him the riot act when I feel like it. Not this week. Maybe he'll be penitant. If not, I'll ask for his boss's name and ask for another rep. Because his company is great. He's just stupid. We all are at times. The key is whether we can learn from our mistakes. Which is why I make it a practice never to regret mine...

Snatched from the Jaws of Death

I was ready to sentence the fuckin' cat to capital punishment today. Lethal injection. Don't be too hard on me. I'd pay the $65 the vet charges rather than take her our city's hell-hole of an animal shelter (contradiction in terms - Google our Memphis facility if you need a reason to join PETA). But on the bright side, I hear they employ mostly felons who are starting over. And they get the great fringe of supplementing their meager wages with proceeds from the sale of stray pit bulls to miscreants who need a steady supply of that commodity.

Wow, that whole paragraph must be confusing. Maybe I shouldn't tell you that the only thing that stopped me from toting that little feline bitch to her death was that the pet carrier is in the attic of my rental house. If she didn't get so nervous in the car that she pees whenever we go to the vet, I'd probably have thrown her in the backseat, sans carrier. You cannot get rid of the odor of cat urine. See many posts re stinky chair. Also, I knew I'd regret it tomorrow. Or at least feel guilty.

Gotta get some sleep tonight so I'll be normal tomorrow.

But first, I'm gonna compose another blog post about the son of a bitch I dealt with today. Luckily for him, I was too stunned to react - he was beyond the pale, even for a wet-behind-the-ears salesman. I have a feeling he won't have a perfect day tomorrow...

That Damn Cat, 15 minutes later.

Just as soon as I ended my last post, I headed to my bathroom and was greeted by a nice pile of cat vomit right in front of my sink. Luckily, I saw it. Stepping in cat puke isn't my favorite way to start the day. I did my thing and headed downstairs, all the way surrounded by the little feline town crier.

Except instead of "Hear Ye, Hear Ye", her frantic meows were meant to say "Feed Me, Feed Me." Sure enough, her bowl was down to a few morsels. Not counting the ones she carelessly knocks to the floor. I think I'm going to get a hog trough and fill it up with 50 pounds of Purina One for Sensitive Systems. Fat lot of good that shit does.

Wow, I'm in such a foul mood. I think I'll do my morning investment report and go for a run, even though I don't have much energy. Another cuppa might help that. I have a 2:00 meeting, but I'm not feeling frantic about that. There's nothing life or death. Just gonna meet with a salesman and a client to whom I've recommended his services. He'll do all the heavy lifting. And hopefully bring more swag. Not that I need any, but I can always use an extra flash drive.

Oh, one last funny thing. Yesterday, I got an email from my parents' elder law attorney. All it contained was a link to a penile enlargement site. Good for a laugh. And much better than another bill. Not that I expected that - we're all paid up. Obviously, dude needs to install/update his anti-virus software. Later on, of course, he sent an email telling everyone not to open the link. As if. When I told my friend L about it, she explained to me that it was probably a virus. Please, L, give me a little credit. She's such a maven. (Sorry for the sarcasm.)

Gotta run. My mood's improving with my coffee intake. Sarita's coming today, and that helps, too. Oh, and no Saturday client meeting this week, so I can actually start my weekend Friday evening. Maybe I can figure out something fun to do.

That Damn Cat

Her bulimia has been raging. When I was out of town, I moved her food and water bowls to the kitchen so someone else would feed her. Before that, they were in the bathroom in my Enchanted Aerie, so I never forgot.

Soooo, now I don't always notice them first thing in the morning. Sometimes the food bowl even gets close to empty. The cat likes her bowl filled to the rim and if you can see the bottom, she gets worried. All I can figure, as far as the sudden bulimic bout, is that she gorges herself when her nearly empty food bowl is refilled. Maybe she went hungry before The Fire. She'd been burned when she was a kitten, and we got her at the Humane Society. The Daddler used to call her Short Ear, because the tip of one of her ears is missing. Also, the wet-behind-the-ears vets we always see (Cloverleaf Animal Clinic must be some sort of teaching hospital), always tell me she has some unidentified skin condition on her side. Don't the dummies know scar tissue when they see it? Oh, well.

The latest annoyance is BC's newfound talent at breaking and entering. She insists on sleeping in my bed. It doesn't help that I'm allergic to her. She takes perverse pleasure in parking herself six inches from my face. It also doesn't help that I don't get the best sleep in the world these days. So when she's walking around my head during the night, trying to get to the water glass on my nightstand, it's not a good thing.

I know what you're thinking. Lock the bedroom door. Slight problem there. It doesn't lock. It doesn't even catch. It won't even stay closed. The doorknob's fucked up somehow. It probably doesn't line up with the hole in the doorframe. So I close it and make a doorstop from the cute little, heavy, statue of two little girls (sisters or best friends, I suppose) holding hands on a bench. It was a gift a long time ago. It's pretty much done the trick.

The night before last, however, the cat defeated it. I heard her butting her head against the door during the night. Like a battering ram. She got the door open enough to squeeze through (not much for a cat), and made her triumphant entry.

So last night, I shoved a heavy box in front of the door. When I moved it to go brush my teeth, she was waiting. I stomped my foot and told her to scram and she took off running down the stairs. Unfortunately, it's impossible to close the door behind me. I went back to my room with my clean face and teeth and returned the heavy box to its place against the door. Got settled in bed. And there she was. Skulking around my room. So I got up to grab her and she ran under the bed. It's too big for me to reach the middle and too low for my head to fit under. I couldn't find anything long enough to prod her out with. And then I remembered how much she hates aerosol spray bottles. So I found some Glade in the bathroom and sprayed it under the bed and she shot out of the Enchanted Aerie in a flash.

What a relief. I put the box in place and happily drifted right to sleep.

Then, at some ungodly hour, I hear it. The little, furry battering ram. Over and over and over. And sure enough, the door starts to open a little. I got up and pushed the box back against the door, closer to the end that opens (some shred of logic told me that would provide more leverage), hissed a few choice curses at her, and returned to bed. A few more head-bumps ensued, and then she gave up.

Flash forward a couple hours. It starts again. This time she succeeds. And here she is. Right beside me. Occasionally licking my elbow with her sandpaper tongue. The same tongue she uses to lick her anus.

So I suppose I'll get up now. I'm so utterly and completely exhausted. Maybe coffee will help. The stupid cat squeezed back out my door, so I'm sure she's sitting in the kitchen waiting for me to fill her bowl, with a plaintive look. And instead of drop-kicking her over the fence and into the field next door, I'll fill her stupid bowl, and get on with my day...

Saw Palmetto

Yes, indeedy. Freakish aunt was right. The Daddler should pitch those toxic pharmaceuticals and get some homeopathic cures for his incontinence. Saw Palmetto cures all that ails you, below the waist, if you're a man, anyway.

What a freak. Not worried about The D arguing with the doc. Crazy aunt probably sells some kind of exotic, very special snake oil. My god, she should take something for her OCD, if they have it. But I think the OCD'ers are probably their best salespeople.

Ok, I'm wiped out. It's way too early for bed, but I'll try a power nap. Not good at those.

Later...

Fuck them

I don't even wanna get started. This snake pit of The Daddler's family is more than I can take. The calls have trickled in today. Each time, I hear The D happily telling about his newfound urinary incontinence. Damn. He doesn't mention the other kind.

What's up with that?

He's 80 years old today, and it's all about him. I've been busting my ass to get ready for a fucking cookout this evening. I won't even get started.

Besides, I need to go shuck some fuckin' corn. And start boiling potatoes and eggs. Because that's what I want. Some real potato salad. And deviled eggs. Nobody does it better. I'm not good at much, but I have a few gifts. So The D might say it's pretty good, but I know better...

Illegitimi non carborundum

Don't let the bastards grind you down.

After a rude call from The Daddler's sister today, I was more than a little agitated. She's a pathological homeopath. I heard him trying to spell the prescription his urologist had given him. I'm sure she was going to research it and tell him to substitute Saw Palmetto or some other form of snake oil. I snatched the phone out of his hand and spelled it for her and asked if she needed the doctor's contact information. I told her I didn't appreciate the way her family had treated me and she said she had no idea what I was talking about and I said, "Never mind, here's Daddy." I handed the phone to him, and lurked around a little, enough to hear him say, "She takes pretty good care of me."

Fuck that bitch.

I had a good cry. I want to run, but my knee feels a little fragile, so I think I'll skip today. Maybe I'll go cry some more. I have a feeling if I finish reading Owen Meany, that'll happen. Not sure I'm up for it.

Feeling Forlorn, Still

I don't like Sundays. Never have. I like them even less these days. I start missing Mother. And thinking about all the shit I didn't do over the weekend. I miss getting email and phone calls, even though the vast majority are work-related. I feel guilty about not catching up on laundry, dishes, paying bills, you name it...

I think about starting back to church. Now that The D walks to church next door, I could go back to being a Methodist. I used to be in a Sunday School class with a cool teacher and fun people. No fire and brimstone or any of that Baptist shit. I usually didn't stay for church - the old attention span was a problem. Once I was texting during church, and at the end of the service, the pastor asked the old lady next to me to stand up so he could introduce her as the guest minister's wife. Whoa. Talk about embarrassing. I tried to be discreet with my texting, but I'm sure it couldn't escape her notice that I wasn't paying rapt attention to her husband's sermon.

Back to the present. In an effort to assuage my funk, I decided to go for a run. It's been over a week since I twisted my knee by falling out of an office chair. I ran two miles on it that evening before it started aching. Except for that first night, it hasn't hurt unless I squat or tuck my leg under me when I sit down. I decided it was worth the risk today. Besides, it's only in the low 90s. I ran like the wind. And felt better for it. Came in the house and laid on the carpet. I didn't bother with getting a towel to soak up my sweat because the cat's bulimia has been raging and I'm on the verge of ripping up this horrid beige carpet and living on the concrete slab until I can get hardwood floors installed. I wonder what's under the carpet upstairs. Probably plywood. I'll tell you what's under my bed. Cat vomit. I heard her retching one night and I haven't gotten around to getting rid of it. I'm sure it's petrified. Thankfully, cat vomit doesn't stink. Or attract insects.

My MP3's battery went out, so I got up and decided to blog. Wish I could find the charger. The D is eating lunch at church today. It's kiddo's birthday and I don't have anything for him. He's impossible to buy for, and besides, he hasn't endeared himself to me lately. Talk about an understatement.

Maybe I should feel guilty for not making a big deal (or any deal at all) about his birthday, but he's like his dad in that he doesn't care about celebrating special events. The Daddler's birthday is Tuesday and I don't have anything for him, either. Oh, well. I'll figure something out.

After the run, in the middle of this blogging session, I discovered a dangerous waste of time. Merriam-Webster Online has a vocabulary quiz that's extremely addictive. I have lots of great new words: obstreperous, obdurate and obsequious, to name three. I'll have to try to use them soon.

Speaking of wasting time, I'm going to close this rambling post and obsequiously fulfill a few of my all too many responsibilities.

Feeling Forlorn

I had my regular Saturday morning client meeting today. This delays the start of my weekend. Which is just as well, given that I have no social life.

Instead of waking up at my usual 2 a.m., I slept until 6:30. Somehow I managed to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I had razor sharp clarity. Is that redundant? I focused on the things said client had been asking about (and frowning about when I put him off), and produced some good "deliverables." In case you don't know, that's corporate-speak for "the shit I promised (or was supposed) to do."

In addition to the compliance stuff, I had a few genius ideas. Unfortunately, my genius spreadsheet (which had worked beautifully at home this morning) had a little snafu, but by then, I was getting into too much detail, so it was ok.

We made some good strategic decisions, and instead of stressing, I listened and thought. And communicated well. So my jokes were well-received (mostly) and I left feeling confident.

Well, I'm sure all this is fascinating, but I'll move along to something with a broader appeal. And explain why I'm feeling so forlorn.

It's late Saturday afternoon. Deb's already come and gone. Kiddo took my bike for a long ride. I'd run, but I don't want to chance hurting my knee. This house is quiet except for the distant sound of The Daddler's tv. I have 16 dozen cans of green beans (Deb & The D went to Sam's with my credit card and without a list, god forbid) on the kitchen floor. So I have this whole weekend stretching out in front of me. Ten million things I could do. But nothing urgent. Or exciting. If The Daddler hadn't had a late lunch with his beloved daughter at Picadilly, I'd think about fixing dinner for him. But he's not hungry. So I made brownies.

The smell is comforting. That's all I want to do. Smell them. Funny thing. I had this weird thought one day. If I had to lose one of my five senses, which would I choose? I went down the list. It was between taste and smell. Tough decision. I settled on taste, thinking I might lose weight. I asked FF what he'd choose. After a little period of deliberation, he said taste. Said 75% of taste is smell. Somehow, it made me like him a little more. Not so much that we had the same answer, but that he thought it through. And that he thought it was an interesting question. Not everyone can think in the abstract.

So, back to reality. I think I need to do something physical. And since I can't risk hurting my knee, I think I'll go work in the yard. Pruning is good therapy for me. I think I'll try the poison ivy block cream I bought, and maybe that'll reduce my anxiety about that. There's still some time on the brownies, so I'll have to ask The Daddler to come get me when the timer goes off. He'll like that. Maybe he'll just have brownies for dinner.

Old Spice

My sweet niece arrived last night. She and her boyfriend stopped to spend the night on their way to the beach. The Daddler was so excited. I told him it might be late and that he shouldn't wait up, but when she texted me around 9:00 to say they were almost here, I went to tell him the good news. He asked me which door they'd come in, and I told him we could let them in the front, and he decided to wait outside. And that was right when they drove up. It's so sweet to be greeted by the sight of him waiting in the driveway.

We settled in the living room to visit and it hit me. The cloying scent of Old Spice. Usually, it's reserved for Sunday morning trips to church. I told my niece she must be special to merit the O.S. That he must've used extra for her. So much, in fact, that I was becoming nauseated.

I have Deb to thank for that. She buys the stuff for him at every opportunity. He has no fewer than 8 bottles, and that's just the cologne. She gets him the gift packs with deodorant, aftershave, and whatever else they dream up. I wonder if he's using an old bottle and it's gone bad or if it just smells that awful to start with.

I firmly believe that you should never scrimp on fragrance. You definitely get what you pay for. And besides, it's not like you're buying it every other week. I surprised Kiddo at Christmas with Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue. I figured it was time for a step up from the Axe body spray. Lo and behold, he loved it. If I thought The D would wear it, I'd get some for him. But I know he'd never go for that.

I'm just hoping he doesn't reek of O.S. in the morning. If he does, I might have to excuse myself from the breakfast outing. Besides, he wants to go to Cracker Barrel and I'm just not sure I'm up for that. We'll see...

Blowing Bubbles

The other day, when I was getting not one, but two, of The Daddler's new prescriptions filled, I happened across a bottle of bubbles. Wow. What fun. I forgot about them until today. I'd been running around all morning, and when I got home, I noticed The D sitting on the front steps. I went out and plopped down beside him.

We sat and chatted. I remembered the bubbles. So I went into the kitchen and got them. And loved watching them float. So irridescent and ethereal. We sat and talked about things. I told him my neice and her BF were coming to spend the night tonight. She might be late. He'll want to stay up, but it could be 11 or later. She and her BF are going to take him to breakfast in the morning. Maybe I'll get my butt in gear and make breakfast here. Or not.

Figuring out sleeping arrangements is a little complicated, but really, no big deal.

Sooo, it's time to feed D. Or figure it out. I made him a milkshake this afternoon.

I ran across a sad letter to my mother today.

Gonna run...

IDGAF

I've said it many times before, but I'll say it again. Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose. Of course, Janis Joplin said it first. I suppose. And in case you don't know, IDGAF is short for I Don't Give A Fuck. Gotta love it.

I tend to be passionate about things, and sometimes I lose perspective about what's really important. I can get fixated on small things. I've often thought that when a wife gets bent out of shape over a husband who leaves the cap off the toothpaste or doesn't put the toilet seat down, there's something insidious going on. It's a symptom of a deeper problem.

So, here I am. Blogging about nothing. I had lunch with one of my favorite people today. My girl, D - the brunette Ellie Mae. Great 2 hour lunch at Amerigo's. Our regular place. It's funny. She's so beautiful, but totally unaware of it. I love it when we walk through the restaurant (big biz crowd), and the men's heads are swivelling. I bask in her glow.

We had a great talk. Analyzed the sitch w/ FF. Which is neither here nor there. He's been somewhat elusive lately. We'll chalk that up to being busy. Or not. That's where the IDGAF thing comes in handy. I do care, but I don't. And that's where the 550 miles isn't such a bad thing.

All of a sudden, I'm very tired. My belly button is infected, but my knee is better. It's always something. I've been called high-maintenance. I'm beginning to think that's a possiblity. Wonder if Dude is up to that?

Too bad he's not here to tend to my navel...

Hi Ho, Hi Ho...

...It's off to the urologist I go. The D wears me out when he has a doctor's appointment. Yesterday it was the cardiologist (took a good four hours - time I did NOT have to spare). As soon as he gets up, he starts asking me when we're going to leave. This happens about every 30 minutes. It can be crazy-making.

Then we have the drive. He's like a GPS with an attitude. I'll leave it at that except to say I made no fewer than three U-turns yesterday. His blood pressure was elevated when the cardio nurse took it. Now I'm supposed to start monitoring it. Great.

Today will be awkward given the nature of the problem. He says it's better but Sarita has seen some evidence to the contrary, including a new, unrelated problem. I can't go into that here, but I'll try to ask a few questions in the car. That works pretty well because there's no need to make eye contact.

Better run. The appointment is in 30 minutes and we've got two miles to go. But admittedly, parking takes a few minutes.

Later...

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Inertia

That's a pretty good description of where I am. I'm the object at rest, though, not the one moving steadily on a straight path. I've used the word "torpor" before. With regard to the animal kingdom. Kind of like hibernation, but not as deep. These are synonyms.

After pulling an all-nighter Friday and taking the whole weekend to recover, I'm still not my usual peppy self. My knee is fine as long as I don't squat. I wanted to run today, but since the heat index is 113 degrees, it wasn't hard to talk myself out of it. Besides, the handyman is coming to install The Daddler's grab bars. Actually, he's coming to talk about installing The D's grab bars. He comes highly recommended and I made a big long wish list of projects for him to do. I think this is going to be a major LTR (long-term relationship). Too bad FF is so far away. He can do anything. Actually, I can do lots of things, and figure out some things (except instant potatoes in garbage disposals), but there's the time factor. And the matter of having the right tools. And the fact that watching HGTV is no substitute for actual experience. Plus, for some of that stuff, it helps to have a little upper body strength.

That reminds me of Easter weekend - the first time I met FF in person - face to face. I proudly flexed my bicep and told him to feel it, and he said, "Ok, I'm ready." Smart ass. He probably followed that comment with, "Don't hurt yourself."

I spent all morning at the cardiologist's office with The D. His blood pressure was somewhat elevated. Probably because I made no fewer than three U-turns because he was confused about which doc we were going to see. His cardiologist and urologist are brothers. Tomorrow is the other brother. Urologist. Since I have no memory or sense of direction and was talking on my cell phone, my driving was a little, ummm, erratic.

I need to go check the purple-hull peas I'm cooking. Time for another skillet of cornbread. I'll have to figure out something to go with it.

All for now...

Knee Update

After I got up and started moving around this morning, my knee felt good-as-new. What a relief. That is, until I was at a different client's office this afternoon and I squatted down to look in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Usually, I just bend over with my butt in the air, but since, a) I was wearing a skirt and b) the owner's husband had stopped by to help with something, I did the ladylike thing and squatted down. And the not-so-ladylike thing of sprawling out on my butt when my knee buckled. Just like yesterday, though, it was my good fortune that no one saw me. The funny thing is that my client, her husband and their accountant (the one they stole from me) were four feet away with their backs to me. They were glued to the computer monitor while they were on a conference call. So once again, I picked myself up and went on about my business. And once again, it didn't hurt, thankfully.

When I got home, I was famished. It was 4:30, so it was time to feed The Daddler, but I couldn't bear the thought of cooking. Especially since Sarita won't be here tomorrow to clean up. Besides, that's my optimum time of day for running and since I figured it would be stupid to run with my bum knee, eating seemed like the natural alternative. So I asked The D if he wanted to go to Houston's for an early dinner. Here's the convo:

Me - Daddy, do you wanna go to Houston's for dinner?
D - What?
Me - Do you wanna go to Houston's for dinner?
D - What?
Me (louder) - Houston's.
Me (even louder) - Dinner. At. Houston's.
D (with scowl on face) - No.
Me - Let's go. I don't feel like fixing supper.
D - That's ok. You don't have to.
Me - You have to eat something. And I'm hungry, too.
D - No.
Me - Come on, Daddy. Please. I'm hungry.
D - No.
Me - Please. I don't have anyone else to go with. Come on.
Me - Please.
D - Where?
Me - Houston's. It's good. You'll love it.

I stood there with bated breath until he acquiesced. I called Deb on the way and left a message for her to meet us if she left work in time. Halfway through our meal, he asked me if I'd heard from her. Nope. I tried to make conversation, but it's hard. So I just sat and looked at all the beautiful waiters and waitresses. My god. They all looked like models. I felt like I was in the middle of a big Ralph Lauren runway show.

Every one of them had beautiful skin, perfect teeth, shy smiles and sparkling eyes. Each black outfit was perfectly tailored to fit the lithe body it attired. They moved elegantly across the room and made pouring water and fetching empty plates and glasses seem glamourous. A stark contrast to my bumbling, completely unintentional imitation of Chevy Chase in the early days of SNL.

So here I sit. Back to reality. I have major shit to do before my work week ends after my 11:00 a.m. client meeting tomorrow.

FF just called to say goodnight. The man loves his sleep. On that note, I'd better get moving if I want to get to bed at all tonight. Stay tuned for my latest (mis)adventure...

Tossing and Turning

Dammit. I didn't sleep a wink. My knee hurts like a mo-fo. I couldn't get comfortable, even with every possible position and combination of pillows under and around my knee. At least it's just a dull ache and not the throbbing thing. And my range of motion doesn't seem impaired. It doesn't even hurt when I poke around on it. As far as whether it's swollen, that's hard to tell. Try looking really hard at your knees. They're pretty weird looking. All kinds of lumps and bulges you'd never notice under normal circumstances. I couldn't tell any difference between the right and left, though.

Instead of being embarrassed about falling off the stupid office chair yesterday, I'm pissed because they have such cheap shit for the administrative offices. I'm sure that stupid chair was some sort of cast-off office furniture from the same tightwad thrifty committee member who donated the lovely nine inch CRT monitor I use there.

So here I am, at 3:30, wide awake. Just as well. I need to get started with my day. I took some tylenol, so hopefully, this ache will be a little less distracting. I have such a low pain threshold. Seriously, I'm not just a cry-baby - I experience pain more intensely than the average person. It's a problem. I'll try another ice pack when I get my coffee. Which should be ready right about now. Later...

What is Wrong With Me?

I'm going to blame it on FF and the stupid gesticulating thing. It's like the last two days I've been even more off-balance than usual. Literally.

I fell out of the chair at my church client's office today. Fortunately, the minister had just walked out of my office and didn't see me fall or hear whatever choice words flew out of my mouth. It was one of those rolling secretary chairs and I think a wheel was loose, but it didn't help that I tend to perch rather than sit. So I fell flat on my ass. It seemed like my knee popped a little, but it didn't hurt. Then.

I didn't think much more about it. Came home and ran two miles. I did really well. Then when I hit the swingset, I felt it. My knee started hurting. Dammit. I put some ice on it and it seems fine now. Let's hope. Now my butt is sore. I'm sure I'll have some new bruises. I bruise easily to start with, but since I started taking Omega 3 fish oil, I'm like an over-ripe peach. In fact, the other day, my doctor asked me if I was in an abusive relationship when she saw the big ole' bruise on my arm. Luckily she didn't see where the ironing board fell on my leg the week before.

Back to my fall. I picked myself up and got back to work. The June bank statement hadn't come yet so I went online to print the closest thing I could get (stupid bank software). Well, it turns out the bank has done some kind of security upgrade since the last time I accessed the account and it had FOUR new security questions. I should've just put in my own answers, but since everything's in one of the trustee's names, I gave her a call. Each one of the four questions had about 12 choices of questions. So I started rattling them off to her. Same old stupid questions. Here's where I got stupid. I'm still cringing.

I inserted my own little (made-up) security question. "How old were you when you lost your virginity?" Dead silence on the other end. I quickly laughed WAY too hard and said I was kidding, of course. More silence. I apologized and asked her to excuse my weirdness and said that I'd had a strange week and I was sorry that I was inappropriate. She finally said it was ok, and I quickly began to read the real, but boring, questions. I thanked her profusely and hung up and continued cringing.

Now, I should tell you that I've met this woman several times. I thought she was kinda fun and cool. Well, get this. When the secretary got back from lunch, I told her about my stupid attempt at humor. She told me that my victim had never been married. Whoa. More cringing. Because I'm thinking that as unfunny as it might seem to a church lady, if the church lady were still a virgin, it would probably be even worse. Or worse than that, she might've thought I KNEW she'd never been married and was assuming or implying that she WASN'T still a virgin. Oh. My. God.

The secretary didn't even attempt to console me. Maybe that's because yesterday I did something almost as stupid. I was sitting at the secretary's desk, trying to fix her email, when the doorbell rang. There's a monitor and speaker so she can see who's there and buzz them in. Well, the camera must be placed in a weird position because you can never see who's there. It gets some random piece of clothing or body part. I was expecting the treasurer, who was supposed to be there at that very moment to meet with me. He gets my sense of humor, so when the secretary pushed the button to say "Come in", I shouted, "Go away!"

Turns out, it wasn't the treasurer. It was a church lady. Damn. Luckily, she was old and the speaker's terrible, so the secretary didn't think the church lady heard me.

Damn. I'm so exhausted. It's not easy being me. I should work another four hours - I am SO fuckin' behind, it's not funny. But I think I'm going to go take a hot bath and go to bed early and set my alarm for some ungodly hour. The only problem is that if I do that, I'll have limited time to get ready for my 1:30 meeting tomorrow and that client is breathing down my neck. And then I meet with my most important client Saturday morning, and he's expecting lots of stuff (which I've promised to deliver), but since he hasn't been pushing me, I've been bowing and scraping to these other two clients and painted myself into a corner for Saturday's meeting.

I think I'll go take that hot bath and come back and work a couple hours. The only problem is that when I work late, I get keyed up and can't go to sleep. But if I don't, I'll wake up at 1:00 in a panic because I'll be so anxious about tomorrow. Fuck. As much fun as I had in Boston last week, I'm wondering if it was worth it. More than that, though, I'm wondering why in the hell I became an accountant.

But the truth is, I'm really just wondering if I need to let go of one of my clients. After my spectacular performance for my church client this week, that might just happen on its own. Unfortunately, they're not the one I'd choose. Just my luck.

Such a strange week. I checked to see if the moon is full, and it's not. So it must be the excess gesticualation thing. Or not.

No time to figure it out right now. All for now...

Gesticulating

Turns out I do it when I talk. Gesticulating is extreme gesturing. In other words, I talk with my hands. I never realized how much until FF grabbed my hands while I was having an especially animated convo with him in Boston. He challenged me to talk without using my hands. I was suddenly mute. Weird, huh?

I figured it would be a charming thing. He said sometimes it was, but it could also be distracting. He said he learned this when he was teaching. Several times after that, I was talking and gesticulating and he'd grab my hands and each time, I was rendered speechless.

I didn't think about it at all after I left Boston. Until yesterday afternoon. I was explaining some serious financial shit to my client when all of a sudden, I noticed my hands flailing about. Which completely distracted me. I asked her if I talked with my hands and she said I did. I asked if it was distracting. And she said it was, a little. That she noticed that my thumbs bend back, like Christina Aguilera's when she's a judge on The Voice - which is apparently one of many American Idol tv show copies. Soooo, here I am, losing all credibility (the Christina comparison) and detracting from her impression of my value-add. Whoa.

I guess I need to practice talking without my hands, which means I'll have to sit on them. One problem. I can't think, much less speak coherently without using my hands. And now I'm so self-conscious about it.

I'm going to do a little googling about this phenomenon. And I'll probably ask everyone I know what they think about it. Or not. It's probably better to try to forget about it. I suppose I've done it my whole life and it may be that my brain is hard-wired that way.

On the other hand, I should probably take better care of my fingernails. They still haven't recovered from the Gorilla Glue disaster.

Oh, well. That's very, very low on my list right now, since I'm not doing any public speaking or shopping for wedding rings at the moment. Never made it to Tiffany's in Boston. That reminds me. I found out that my COBRA doesn't expire until May 2013, so I've got more time to find a husband with good health insurance! That means the only significance of the end of July is my birthday which ends in a zero. It bothers me a little bit to think of myself as a 50 year old woman driving a mini-van. I unselfishly surrendered my Subaru Outback to kiddo since he'll be driving it to Chapel Hill this fall and it's much safer and newer than the mini-van I inherited from Mother. I don't even have a CD player. Maybe I'll splurge and get satellite radio for a birthday gift to myself.

For now, I have work to do. Over and out...

Back on Track

I need to get there. I have turned into a slug. Or a sloth. I just noticed that lots of words which start with "sl" have negative connotations. Besides slug and sloth, there's slimy, slick, sleazy, slutty, slander, sloppy, slump, slush, and of course, the slippery slope.




Back to my slothfulness. Since I got back from Boston Thursday, I've done nothing productive. I haven't even finished the first load of clothes. My floor is covered with the detritus of my trip. Flotsam and jetsam.

Maps and magazines, shoes and souvenirs and suitcases. When I went upstairs to put things in order, I saw the book I can't put down. A Prayer for Owen Meany. I've never read it and I saw it at the thrift store a few weeks ago. I started it right before my trip, and loved it. It's a rare book that makes me laugh out loud. I didn't get much time to read on the trip so when I picked it up the other night, I had to back up a little to remember where I'd left off. And now, all I want to do is read it until I get to the end. So instead of restoring some sort of order to my Enchanted Aerie, I laid down on my messy bed with my book. I'd gone to bed at 8:00 last night and read for at least two hours. Today, I only made it 20 minutes or so before I dropped the book in my face. Three times. So I laid it aside and took a nap. I rarely take naps because they usually last at least two hours and then it takes me another two hours to wake up. So when I woke up 45 minutes later today, I was pleasantly surprised. But unfortunately, I laid in bed another hour and a half, reading some more.

Finally, I drug myself downstairs and started cleaning the kitchen - the counters were covered with three days of dirty dishes. I pushed Wrinkle Release for the umpteenth time on the clothes in the dryer. And actually took them out this time. The D's gonna be hollerin' for clean underwear if I'm not careful.

But here I sit, blogging. Feeling forlorn because the only emails I've gotten are those auto-reply ones saying no one's home. And those fucking annoying gmail calendar daily reminders that say there's nothing on my agenda today. I've stopped using the calendar and can't figure out how to stop the stupid notifications. Go figure. I also spent way too long trying to figure out how to email a silly video interview of FF at Fenway. The file was too big to send and when I compressed it to a zip file, it wouldn't open. I finally had the bright idea of uploading it to my Google Docs.

Ok, here I am, putting off the inevitable. The Daddler just told me that he'd already eaten dinner - wow! He ate the salad Deb got him yesterday. I guess I'll just grab some swiss cheese and Wheat Thins (I lived on that in college) and get busy. Damn, what I wouldn't give for some Legal Sea Foods crab cakes right now. Time to pay the piper, I suppose. I'd go for a run, but a storm just blew up. Darn the luck.

Oh, Deb just called and asked if I'd been watching the Casey Anthony trial. I told her I'd watched a little in the hotel room and couldn't believe how strange it was. She said she'd been obsessed with it. I told her Mother would've been all over it. Like she had been with O.J. Deb said she thought she was channeling Mother. So I'll try to do the same thing and stop being such a lazy girl. I remember Mother telling me she got more done before noon than I did all day. And even though that might sound critical, the way she said it was very sweet, so I took it as a compliment. It's like I always say, it's not what ya' say, but how ya' say it.

My Vacation Continues...

...with a visit to my friend, Angela's house. I tried to run this morning, but I felt like I was in quick-sand. Too hot, I suppose. Plus a week or more since I've run. Angie lives about five doors down and across the street. She has a great pool, hot-tub, the works. We've known each other 25 years or so. She's seen me through thick and thin (quite literally), and we're closer than sisters. I love her daughter and she loves my son, and we're addressed as Auntie Carol and Aunt Angie - in the southern tradition.

We spend holidays together. She brings me food when I'm sick. We celebrate special occasions and mourn together when our hearts are broken. She's lost her daddy and I've lost my mother. We've both experienced family dysfunction. Her mom lives with her and The D lives with me.

So, instead of staying home, doing laundry, paying bills, looking at investments, I had a wonderful afternoon lounging by the pool, eating the best grilled cheeseburger, reading magazines and just talking. I have my first real tan line and I'm a little pink, but that feels so good.

I have a chicken pot pie in the oven for The Daddler and when I finish here, I'm going to make a salad and boil some corn on the cob. And fix whatever else I find in the fridge.

I'm fresh from the shower. I've unpacked. Three generations are in my house - exactly 30 years apart, within 2 weeks. I guess that's why I'm called the Sandwich Generation. This is a big year. Our birthdays all end in zeros.

I'm so glad for the holiday. An extra day to recover from the transition from a heavenly vacation to reality is just what I need. A happy accident. I've had more than my share of those lately.

Things to Remember

So many pleasant memories. I wish I had time to blog about all of them while they're still fresh. For now, though, I'll have to make do with a list. Like I did when I came back from Floriday less than a month ago. What a great summer so far! I could get used to this.

So here's my list, in no particular order: Fenway Park, complete with hot dogs, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, Sam Adams (naturally) beer and yummy little Boston Cream Pies; watching the Sox at Philly in the hotel's sports bar - they had the best clam chowder of the trip; the most incredible crab cakes in the world at Legal Sea Foods;

great New England clam chowder and lobster roll at The Barking Crab at Boston Harbor, complete with a great view and a nice convo with a sweet young couple seated across from us; the ferry ride across the harbor to see Old Ironsides; FF buying senior tickets for us; feeling slightly hurt that the cashiers didn't question my senior citizen status, but being consoled by the fact that they were probably 16 years old and the fact that I seemed old to them was to be expected; seeing my senior citizen companion transform into a little kid (think Cub Scout) when he was on board the USS Constitution, asking a million questions of the clearly fanatical museum guide; learning a little bit about sailing from FF's explanations of the boats in the harbor; the mixture of smells - of the ocean, food grilling in nearby restaurants and diesel fumes from the motor boats; cool, breezy evenings in late June, a relief from the oppressive heat I'd left behind in Memphis.

Scoring a little refrigerator for the hotel room, courtesy of our sweet housekeeper, Marie; stocking the fridge with special beers and wine from Shaw's, fantastic market (think Fresh Market on steriods) just across the street from our hotel; cranking up my southern charm and holding court with the men who worked at the market (one of whom gave me a great corkscrew/bottle opener, compliments the wine distributor, and a reusable grocery bag complete with six compartments especially for bottles); getting lots of great swag from the Health Lawyers exhibitor, including a highlighter shaped like a syringe, mints that looked like old fashioned bottles full of pills, mints in a case shaped like a little computer mouse, mints in cute little tins, pens and more pens with clever touches like a carabiner and a flashing yellow ball on the end, Cubs and White Sox baseball caps (next year's convention is in Chicago), and so much more.

Riding the subway; Cambridge - home of Harvard and lots of interesting little shops and old brownstone houses; people-watching, especially fascinating in Cambridge and on the subway; listening to and trying to decipher the Boston accents; taking doggie bags back to our little fridge; chewy everything bagels and good, strong coffee for breakfast; laughing at Mr. Man eating a cold, leftover Fenway Frank for breakfast one morning; shopping on Newbury Street - I found cool silver jewelry and a good used bookstore called The Raven; surprising FF with a few little thank you gifts and loving how much he loved them; buying BoSox souvenirs for Kiddo and The Daddler in the Fenway gift shop (they loved them, too).

Spending my last night in Boston eating dinner with Dude in the room with food and wine from the fridge: really good aged gouda with an assortment of Carr's Crackers, fresh raspberries, and leftover pasta with capers and mushrooms and fresh basil in marinara sauce (from an Italian restaurant at North End).

Sharing a taxi to the airport Thursday with a nice lady who picked up the fare since she was there on biz; a smooth trip home with a very short layover in Pittsburgh; getting to move to the second row on the flight to Memphis and sitting next to a sweet young woman and swapping stories with her, making up limericks and seeing the beautiful "boudouir photos" she'd had taken for her husband's birthday gift.

Being picked up by Sarita at the airport. The D's welcoming hug (he even kissed me on the cheek!) when I got home; seeing Kiddo's long hair (it grew lots during his month in Africa; hearing about his experiences there, teaching children English and spending a whole week (sans shower) climbing Mount Kilimanjaro; receiving a charming, handmade beaded bracelet Kiddo brought me from Tanzania.

And now, looking at pictures from my trip, including a funny little video interview of FF at Fenway; getting back on the straight and narrow with food and drink and exercise.

So on that note, I'm going to put on my shoes and go for a run before it's well over a triple-digit heat index (the high is 98 today with 76% humidity). I'll stay busy this weekend and try to avoid the post-vacation blues...