The squeaky wheel gets...the weed-whacker.

Yes, the view-blocking weeds have been removed from their offensive place on the corner. Yay for being a cranky old lady!

'Cause I'm pretty sure I'm going to continue to be cranky for a while....at least until these ceaseless thunderstorms CEASE ALREADY, for cryin' out loud. I am very glad that we're not actually flooding here in Tulsa proper--steps were taken after some really big floods back in the 80s (the Great Flood of '86 springs to mind, though the BFF and I simply referred to her as "Betty") wreaked havoc, and, who'd a thunk it, those steps actually worked, and Tulsa is now something of a model for flood control. (If nothing else. Stay off of our pothole-ridden streets. Heh.)

In less jubilant news, Pudge had diarrhea all day yesterday. Whoo hoo! Including just a little bit in the house! And he puked all over the place! I love my dog! (I do...but he has thunderstorm anxiety and I guess that anxiety had to manifest itself somewhere.)

And, in seriously less jubilant news...the "litter box brigade" has been officially disbanded. My cancer-stricken friend has finally found homes for all her cats, and just in time, as she has begun to worsen very rapidly, and is going into hospice. I did my very last scooping duty last night, and was hoping to be able to chat a bit (she was asleep last week when I was there), but she was...not up to it, to put it mildly. I've never seen anyone go downhill quite so quickly. I think at some level she was just hanging in there for the cats, and now that they're taken care of...she's ready to go. And it will be a blessing when she does, truly. She needs to be free from that pain. CANCER SUCKS!!! Please direct your thoughts/prayers/good wishes/vibes toward a peaceful "transition" for Jan. Thanks.

I'm going to go now, 'cause I've made myself all sad, and I think I might require some chocolate. (I'm still at work--I can't have liquor yet.)

What's next?

Daring young men on a flying trapeze? Any day now I expect to look up and see a tightwire strung between the trees.

Which is my way of saying that my next-door neighbors have added to the carnival. Over the weekend they installed....a trampoline! (Complete with safety-netting, thank goodness.) I wouldn't be so fascinated with the cavalcade of playground fun, except that I truly almost NEVER see those kids outside. Why go to so much trouble and expense for kids too young to use and/or appreciate it? There had better not be any late-night trampoline carousing by the slacker boys, is all I'm saying.

Yes, I am officially a cranky old lady.

And, to celebrate, I called the mayor's action line again today--this time to report that the people on the corner haven't mowed between the sidewalk and the curb yet this year, and I can't see to pull out onto the busy street. I mean I really can't see. With all this rain, the weeds are about 4' high, and the street takes a pretty good rise at that point, and I absolutely can't see if cars are coming my way. So I have to nose out into the street to get a peek, hoping I don't get creamed. And then I'm that person I HATE, the person sitting there with her car nosed out into traffic, causing people to swerve around (and glare at) her as they pass. I HATE that person. I refuse to continue to be that person, so...civic duty done. We'll see how quickly they respond.

Then, of course, I'll have to find another reason to be cranky. I have a sneaking suspicion I'm up to THAT task. Heh.

Is it any wonder we're BFsF?

Friday night, 10:43 p.m. Liz is asleep on the couch, and has been for...well, a couple of hours, if we're being honest. (Yes, sacked out before 9:00 p.m. on a Friday night--don't pretend you're not envious of such an exciting life.) The phone rings.



L: Hello...


BFF: Sing the theme song to "Land of the Lost."


L: (instantly, of course) "Marshall, Will and Holly, on a routine expedition, met the greatest earthquake ever known. High on a mountain, it tossed their tiny craft, and sent them down a thousand feet below. To the la-and of the lo-o-ost."


BFF: (relays this to someone else) Thank you. The power's out here.


L: Oh, okay.


BFF: Bye.


L: Bye.



And....scene.

Diggin'/Not diggin'

Diggin':

• "So You Think You Can Dance." Dancing! Cat Deeley! Jidges! Twitch! Hot tamale trains! Wade Robson choreography! And my, oh my...how handsome is Debbie Allen's little protege, Will? (He's over 18, right? I'm not going to hell for lusting, or anything?)
• Maybelline Mineral Power makeup. I held off on trying the mineral foundations for the longest time, 'cause I just couldn't see how a mere powder could cover my rosacea areas. But it does! Whoo hoo! It stays on, AND I don't end up with stubborn makeup stains on my clothes. ('Cause not even the fabulous Tide pen will take that out.)
• Kathy Griffin has gone back to her darker red shade of hair, I see. I approve. That strawberry blonde shade she was rocking last season washed her out.
• Fresh basil from my very own plants in my sandwich wrap for lunch. Nothing packs a flavor punch like basil.
• It's not hot outside today. (Of course, that's because it's all cloudy and rainy, and I am SO tired of rain, but I'm trying to be all Pollyanna about it.)
• Smart Cars. I want one!
• I have twice overheard Male Co-Worker (who is slightly younger than me) telling Female Co-Worker (my exact age) that she should stop coloring her hair and let the gray grow in, 'cause "look how good Liz's hair looks." Awww...sweet. (Not sure I agree with him right at the moment, but still sweet.)
• I have posted five days in a row. (Granted, they haven't been stellar posts, but nonetheless.)

Not diggin':

• This guy. Asswipe.
• That Mentos commercial where the woman leans over and drinks from the guy's mouth like he's a water cooler? GROSS! It makes my skin crawl. She's drinking spit! She's gonna need a Mentos for sure after that. Blech.
• Thunderstorms.
• I have friends struggling with physical and emotional issues, and there's not much I can do to help. Sigh.
• Gas prices. Food prices. Utilities prices. (And when was the last time I had a raise? So long ago I can't even remember when it was. Depressing. Good thing I like ramen.)
• The messy, dirty, inconvenient, never-ending work the city is doing in my neighborhood. Aargghh!

Happy Friday the 13th, everyone! Go out and kiss a black cat. Under a ladder. Hee.

It's the little things that get you.

Today the local newspaper food critic reviewed a restaurant I went to several times with New Guy (and never with anybody else, so I have no memories of the place separate from him). Don't mention the cajun chicken, don't mention the cajun chicken--too late. Sigh.

We've been rehearsing for our upcoming charity gig, and, since the rest of the band lives on the opposite side of town from me (actually, two of them live so far on the opposite side, they're actually in different towns), I've been driving out there for rehearsals. No biggie, right? I hate that highway, that whole side of town, actually...but it's just a few times. What's the big deal? (Other than $3.79 per gallon for gas, but whatever.) Well, the deal is...this is the highway I always took to New Guy's place. I've been on that highway more in the last few months than I have the 20 years I've lived here...but only to go see him. Now whenever I pass "his" exit, it's like somebody has just punched me in the stomach. If the guys have noticed my damp eyes when I arrive at rehearsals, they've been too nice to mention it. Sigh.

I pull my trashbin out to the curb for pickup, and I remember that, on our last evening together, he insisted on being a gentleman, and pulling it out for me. Sigh.

Silly, silly little things. And yet they stab me in the heart. It's getting easier, mostly--I mean...I'm not crying every day anymore. And there are plenty of times I think of him and smile...but it's the little things. Sigh.

And now, simply to avoid ending this post on such a somber note, I will share with you that I DID take my "Nensa" card out and wave it around last night at rehearsal. I was kidding, of course, and my band boys just laughed. And swore that merely touching the card raised their own IQs a couple of points. (Hee.) But I would also like to state for the record that, re: whether or not the chords they were playing at one point of one song were WRONG, that I was right. They were wrong. Of course, that has little to do with IQ, and more to do with the fact that I have good ears AND more familiarity with that particular song, but still. I WAS RIGHT. I'm just sayin'.

Don't make me wave my card in your face

Dear...oh, let's just affectionately call you "Mr. Too Stupid to Live," only without the affection:

If you begin a conversation by acknowledging that I am the "resident expert" on a particular subject, then why, OH WHY, do you then refuse to accept my answers? This wasn't a tricky one. This is information that anyone who has done what I do for as long as I have done it has at her fingertips. I could share this information in my sleep. Truly. If you stood over my bed and asked "what kind of blank does a blank use?" I would answer "a blank" without even breaking my snugglehold with Pudge. (And then I would wake up and say "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BEDROOM?")

It would have been the perfect opportunity to shove my newly-minted "Nensa" card in his face, but, alas, the conversation took place over the phone. I think if I began saying "Do you know what this is that I'm holding? Do you see how I'm waving it around in the general area where your face would be if you were here?" it might not have quite the desired effect. Sigh.

It's a miracle

I just went home for lunch. Said lunch involved yellow mustard, beet salad and cheetos (that wasn't the entire meal--there were also yummy vegetarian corndogs, hence the mustard), all of which were eaten while wearing a mostly white shirt--and said shirt is not currently emblazoned with yellow, magenta or day-glo orange splotches. How did I manage THAT?

And, on a completely unrelated note, am I the only dog-owner bothered by the name of that new "my dog can do better tricks than your dog" reality show? The GREATEST American dog? You know what makes a dog great? Two things: a) that he/she is YOUR dog, and b) that you love him/her. That's it. I think I have the greatest dog in the WORLD, and all he can do on command is sit. Sometimes. If he's in the mood. But he loves me unconditionally, he makes me laugh, he never has "accidents" inside, and he spoons with me at night. Plus he lets Ruthie the cat show her love, which is immense and involves gazing adoringly and throwing herself at him and rubbing her head against various parts of his body, with much grace. That, in my opinion, is a great dog. Would he be any greater if he could catch a frisbee in his mouth while wearing a beret and riding a unicycle? I think not. (Though I'll bet people would throw their loose change at us if he did it in public. Especially if I was also a beret-clad unicyclist. Hmm...if gas/food/utility prices keep rising I might have to reconsider this.)

I think I will leave you with that mental image. Heh.

I bet you wish you was as smart as me.

Note: possession of this card will not make you any less prone to stumbling into your own desk and smashing your thumb, five minutes after arriving at work. (More's the pity.) It will, however, get you discounts on hotel rooms and rental cars. Um...whoo hoo?

Stuff like that there. In bullets.

Bits and pieces, bits and pieces.

• Still sad


• Am I becoming a cranky old lady, or just a conscientious and concerned citizen? In the past few weeks/months I have: a) called the city to complain about the trashy and junk-filled yard behind me, b) called the city to complain about my trash collectors being lazy and sloppy, c) called the city water distribution department to demand they send someone to fill the giant ruts in my street caused by their never-ending sewer/water main replacement project combined with a LOT of rain and d) called the police to report that a black pickup truck had just driven aimlessly past my house for the 6th time in half an hour. (It was 2:30 in the morning, you see, and I was having a little insomnia, and I couldn't think of a legitimate reason for someone to be doing that. The dispatcher agreed, and did actually send an officer by.)


• My on again/off again "band" has a gig later this month--a charitable event at a country club. They're paying us a few dollars, which will probably just about cover the gas needed to drive to rehearsals and the event. Oh, well.


• Yay, Obama!


• I keep getting spam, from various "people" with the subject line "you look really stupid my first initial/my last name." And a link. Yeah, what genius thought this one up--let's insult people PERSONALLY--that'll suck 'em right in! "Oh, you think I look stupid, do you? Well, I'm going to click right on this link. So there!"


• I haven't seen the Sex and the City movie yet, and I'm not sure I want to, since from what I understand Steve cheats on Miranda, who's gotten all brittle again. No! Steve and Miranda (and Harry and Charlotte) were what SATC was all about for me. (Carrie and Big? Oh, who cares.)


• I have a garden party to attend this weekend, with some of my favorite women I don't see often enough, where the focal point of the menu is always cheetos, and which sometimes involves middle-aged women in hats waving their napkins and saying "helloooooo" to passers-by from the front yard. Sounds like fun, no?


• I still haven't received my "Nensa" membership card, but I'm told by their national office that it was scheduled to be mailed on Tuesday, so...maybe today! I'm sure mere possession of the card will cause all future blog posts to be more coherent and well-structured. Or not.


• How much do I love "So You Think You Can Dance"? Answer: lots. It's what "American Idol" wishes it was.


• It's already been in the 90s here--that's too frickin' hot for June!! Plus it's been raining like crazy. Rain + heat = mowing, mowing, mowing. Gah.


• On the plus side, the slacker dudes next door haven't been out in the yard much--maybe they don't like the heat, either?


• I can't seem to get motivated to start working out again, now that the sciatica is mostly gone. Somebody do me a favor, and tell me to get off my lazy butt and exercise, already, please. (And that tub of chocolate ice cream in the freezer is NOT helping.)


• The sciatica is only MOSTLY gone. I still have a tiny bit of numbness in my foot. Should I be worried about that, do you think?


• You know, I kind of thought...back when it started to seem that New Guy would be moving sooner rather than later...that when he left, I'd throw my online profile back up, and try to go on some bad dates to remind myself why being alone isn't all that bad. But now that it's happened, I can't think of anything I'd less rather do. I can't even stomach the thought of it. It seems pointless. And unfair, perhaps, should I actually meet someone with sincere intentions...why lead someone else on, when I don't have the intention or ability to make a connection right now? (And besides, I guess there's a part of me that won't stop hoping that the Story of Liz and New Guy somehow gets another chapter someday.) So, for now, here's my "boyfriend." Isn't he handsome? And SUCH a good snuggler.
  
  
  

He's gone

New Guy, that is. Headed out Saturday morning. We were able to spend an evening together last week. It was lovely. And broke my heart into little pieces. I miss him. Lots.

Yes, we're staying in touch. No, I don't know when I'll see him again.

Hell yes, I'm depressed.

And life goes on.

Out of the mouths of babes. Or, it's not just me.

My next-door neighbors (not the new neighbors, but the retired couple on the other side) quite often take care of their young grandchildren in the late afternoons. The kids like to come over to talk through the fence when I take "Fudge" outside after work. (The little girl--she's about four--can't quite wrap her head around the fact that his name is "Pudge," and she keeps substituting "Fudge" instead. It's cute.)

Yesterday the little boy--he's about five--looked over at the super carnival fun festival extravaganza and said, "man, they sure do got a lot of stuff over there."

Yes, they sure do.

See, even a five-year-old thinks it's excessive. Heh. And he's a pretty sharp little guy. He noticed the Shih-Tzu (or maybe it's a Lhasa Apso--something along those lines) that's been hanging out over there a bit recently (I think it belongs to her mom), and said, "they should be careful not to go down the slides headfirst...they might get their faces in dog poop." Hee!

There were four young men in the backyard next door--naked!

Okay, calm down. It was the two toddlers and their friends, in their New! Inflatable! Swimming! Pool! which has joined a hammock and a small bench in the carnival of fun.

The slacker dudes weren't around overly much, with the notable exception of one who was passed out on their front porch when I went out to mow Sunday morning. I mowed several strips, about 10 feet from his head, before he finally woke up and stumbled inside. So sorry if my mowing disturbed you, slacker dude who doesn't live here. (I'm really not sorry! Ha!)

The rest of the weekend was...well, long, hot and lonely. With a powerful surge of adrenaline at 1:30 a.m. on Saturday (yes, that's 1:30 A.M., meaning the FIRST 1:30 of the day) when someone KNOCKED ON MY DOOR. Pudge and I both nearly had heart attacks. It was some young guy looking for "Derek." (I don't think he was connected with the dudes next door, though, though my reason for thinking that is completely racist: all the dudes next door have been white, and this young man was black. I stand beside my conclusion, though.) He muttered a quick "sorry" (this was all done through the door, of course--I didn't open it!) and left quickly, and eventually my heart stopped racing, and I went back to bed. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? Why would you knock on ANYBODY'S house at that time of night--particularly when there are NO lights on? (For the record, this is the third time in the three years I've lived in this house that someone has showed up late at night looking for someone who isn't me. Does someone get drunk and forget their address, and give out mine instead, I wonder?) He didn't appear to knock on anyone else's door (and I'm sure 3carnations will be relieved to hear that I was happy that he didn't knock next door and wake the kids!) and I didn't hear the neighborhood dog chorus go crazy, so I guess he headed back from whence he came.

What else, what else? The party Friday night was fine, except for the moment when it dawned on me, looking around, that at some point I apparently became the only un-coupled person in that particular group of friends. You can imagine, as New Guy's departure becomes increasingly imminent, how fun THAT realization was.

Saturday I ran errands, Sunday I mowed, yesterday I bought some tomatoes and herbs and planted a little container garden, which was nearly washed away last night in the monsoon that hit. Wowza--that was SOME lightning. Apparently it hit something fairly close by (though not the house next door again, thank goodness), and I was awakened by a couple of firetrucks racing past my window at 4:00 a.m. I was awake for awhile, watching the light show outside my window, and at one point, the lightning was so bright and so sustained that the streetlights thought it was morning and switched off briefly.

So, that was my weekend. Long, hot and lonely--a perfect preview of coming attractions, I guess. It feels like it's going to be a long, hot and lonely summer. Sigh.

For those of you wishing to see pictures of my "prom king" costume, you may be in luck. My mother took some pictures at the time, and she'll try to unearth them. The picture-taking itself was pretty funny, actually--I was living next door to my parents at the time, and my mom wanted to see us all fixed up. So we went next door and she made us stand together while she took pictures of us, just like we were really going to the prom. I guess since I never went to my real prom, that was the closest she could get. Hee.

I'm sure you'll be relieved...

I think I know where my mom's subconscious got the whole "hairy boobs" thing. I remembered a conversation we had recently. My sister has a catering business, for which my mom is her unpaid assistant, and recently Mom mentioned that they had catered the prom for a really small-town high school near my own small town.

I reminded her that years ago, in college, I won a Halloween costume contest (the only time ever) by going with a male friend as the prom king and queen for that high school. Only, of course, I was the "king," and my 6'5", well over 200lb friend Joey was the "queen." I wore a fabulous green polyester leisure suit, stippled five o'clock shadow on my face, stuffed a sock down my pants for a nice bulge, and snipped fur off a stuffed animal and glued it to my chest. (It goes without saying that my lovely polyester shirt (complete with those wonderful full-sail lapels so popular in the 70s) was opened far enough down so that the hairy chest was nicely on display.

Joey wore a cute little blond bob wig, and a "lovely" bright red taffeta/lace prom dress, which he bought unworn, tags still attached, from a thrift store. (The saddest thing was that it FIT him, and imagining the girl who bought it, and then took it to the thrift store unworn...well, it makes your heart hurt a bit, doesn't it?) He was unable to find heels to fit his enormous feet, so he made do with a little pair of white Keds. We paraded around all evening underneath a beautiful sparkly archway, and for the actual contest, we played sappy prom coronation music, and had people blow bubbles as we processed in. And then, of course, we had to play up the whole "lay one on the queen" routine, as I jumped up and down, attempting to land a kiss on his way-above-my-head lips, as he simpered coyly. Genius.

At any rate, my mother remembered the costume instantly--"remember the sock down your pants?"--so it's only a wonder that she didn't dream about me having some sort of sex change operation, I guess. Heh.

Dream Interpretation Needed

'Cause my mother called a couple of days ago to tell me of a dream she had about me, and it was a doozy!

Here it goes: I was getting married, see (ha--fat chance), and had asked her to stand up with me, and because it was a morning wedding, I wanted her to wear lingerie. (But of course. What else would one wear to a "morning" wedding?) Well, she didn't have any lingerie she thought was appropriate (go ahead and try to imagine the lingerie that WOULD be appropriate for a 67-year-old woman to wear at her daughter's wedding--I'll wait), and she was very stressed about it. At some point while she was fretting about her lack of suitable garments, I showed up, dressed for the wedding, in a bright purple outfit that included a little jacket. "Oh, she's wearing purple...then I should wear white." (Because of course the only thing less appropriate than wearing lingerie to your daughter's wedding is wearing white to your daughter's wedding.) The jacket kept falling open, and she noticed with horror that it exposed my boobs. My HAIRY boobs. Yes, you heard that right (and you really must imagine my mother giggling insanely as she related this point)--my boobs were hairy. She kept trying to subtly reach over and close the jacket so nobody could see them, but apparently I had no such qualms re: the display of the hairy boobs and kept slapping her hands away.

Her question to me (and now my question to you): "What the heck do you suppose THAT means?"

Come on, throw some interpretations at me. The more entertaining the better. I could use some laughs.

'Cause I'm DEPRESSED. I'm dealing with it the best I can, but I am S-A-D SAD. Some time next week I will see New Guy for the last time. (The last time ever? Who knows. I don't know.) It does look like we may actually get a little alone time--his son is going to stay with his grandmother for a few days while New Guy packs and loads, and his teenaged stepson is going to come back with him to help, instead, and TS should be okay entertaining himself for a couple of hours while New Guy and I go to dinner or something. (I'm hoping for "something," myself.)

So, umm....maybe your dream interpretations on my impending nuptials should NOT include references to New Guy, 'kay?

And, in "creepy slackers next door" news, last night I was outside with Pudge about 10:30, when we heard the back gate next door creak open, and somebody in a dark hoodie slithered through to the back of the yard where the chairs are currently located under the trees. The yard is really, really dark, so I can only assume one of the dudes felt the need for a bit of late-night stargazing in his buddy's backyard. Pudge barked like crazy, as did every other dog within earshot, and I HOPE IT WOKE THEIR KIDS UP!!! (Is that hateful of me? I'm not wishing permanent distress on the kids, just that they made their parents' lives hell for a moment or two, before going peacefully back to sleep.) There were a couple of guys outside today when I went home for lunch, and when Pudge went crazy barking at them, for the first time, instead of saying "it's okay, boy" in a soothing tone, I said "Good boy!" And glared at the dudes.

This may soon require action on my part. Gah.

Looking forward.

Since the thought of the next few lonely weeks (months, years?) is too depressing for me to take "in toto," I'm just trying to break my future into little bits, and trying to find something to look forward to in each little bit. (Hey--this technique got me through a lot of otherwise dreary school weeks, back in the day.)

Last week, I looked forward to the outdoor music/art festivals that were held downtown over the weekend. Check! I went, I ate greasy fried things, I listened to music, the weather was gorgeous (if bordering on a bit too warm) and I bought a delightful little bird pin that looks something like this (only even cuter, because its little legs are wearing black-and-white striped stockings and ruby slippers, a la wicked witches everywhere, and there is no college sports team aspect to it):

Isn't that adorable? Check out JustPlainJane for other little bits of fun.

This week I was planning to look forward to receiving a pair of diamond earrings I purchased on "e to the bay" from a woman named Phyllis in Atlanta for a red-hot bargain price.. (Do you know her, Sauntering Soul? Don't you hate it when people ask questions like that, as if the fact that two people live in the same city, despite the size of the city involved, must mean that they are acquainted? And don't you hate it when someone asks that and you really DO know the person, and you have to get off your high horse with the 'tude and be all "hey--small world"? I digress.) But I can no longer look forward to that because they came in the mail today. (And I only bought them on Thursday!) Here they are--aren't they sparkly?

They are now residing in the bottom pair of my "upper holes." Which means I now have three diamond studs in each ear, with the bottom pair of holes reserved for the fun earrings du jour. (Yes, that's a total of four holes in each ear. What can I say--I like jamming needles through my flesh. Okay, I don't...but I do LOVE earrings.) For anyone reading this, thinking "hey--I'm going to track this chick down and steal all those diamonds right out of her lobes," PLEASE don't bother. They're sparkly, but they're not very big. Totally not worth the risk of possible jail time.

So now I'm going to look forward to getting my "Nensa" membership card in the mail, which should happen in 5-10 business days, if the email I received, confirming the receipt of my test results, is any indication. (That and the fact that they have already debited my bank account for the membership fee.) Then I can carry it around and wave it in the faces of those who dare to challenge me. I wish "Nensa" had enough of a sense of humor to have the card proclaim "Certified Smartypants," but I'm sure that's not the case. (BTW, I think you should all become "Nensa" members as well, and we can call ourselves "smartypants bloggers," instead of "mommy bloggers" or "personal bloggers." Hee.)

I'm also looking forward to the 50th birthday party of one of my guitar-playing friends this weekend. There is going to be an actual stage set up in the backyard, and lots and lots of picking and grinning. And eating. And drinking. Should be mucho fun! (And perhaps an opportunity to play the "smartypants" card? Hmm....hee.)

So...those are my "looking forward to" items for this week.

What else is going on in my little world? Not a whole lot, truthfully. The sciatica continues to improve, but damn--I'm all tight and twisted! I've tried to do yoga a couple of times, and I'm feeling pain in muscles I never felt pain in before. No fun.

You know what else is no fun? My newish next-door neighbors--you know, the ones with the playground in their backyard. Really, I'm all for kids having a good time, but they're out of control. It's like living next door to a carnival. Think I'm exaggerating? Here's what they've got out there:

• 2, yes TWO full-sized metal swingsets with slides
• baby-sized covered swing
• one see-saw
• one jungle gym
• one merry-go-round
• 2 of those cube-shaped castle-y things with different-shaped holes and a slide
• turtle-shaped sandbox with cover
• portable basketball hoop
• child-sized picnic table
• adult-sized wrought-iron table with umbrella and chairs
• barbeque grill
• mini-trampoline
• about a dozen identical large plastic balls
• trikes, trucks, wagons and assorted things you push around

All this for two small toddlers who I almost never see outside. Is it just me, or does this seem excessive? Am I just out-of-touch with the entertainment needs of today's kids? When I was a kid, we had a swingset, period. (Well, a swingset, and trees, and a creek, and the whole OUTDOORS.) Was I just deprived as a child, and therefore now a cranky old thing?

You know what really bothers me, though? Not the kids--like I said, they're hardly ever outside, and they're cute, and their mom seems sweet (if horrifyingly young to me). It's their father's seemingly endless supply of late teens/early twenties slacker dude friends. Seriously, EVERY DAY there are at least 2-3 (not necessarily the same ones each time) guys just hanging out on their porch and in the backyard, smoking and drinking, making themselves at home on the playground equipment while the tenants themselves are not home.

And maybe I am a cranky old thing, but that bothers me. They just come over and hang out in the backyard for hours at a time, letting themselves in through the back gate. They often show up mysteriously without a car. They're just THERE, all the time. It makes me (and Pudge) a little nervous. I mean...I don't know these guys. They don't live there. But every time I go outside, there they are. I like to sit outside and enjoy the nice spring air while Pudge does his business. (I used to also enjoy communing with Dolly occasionally, but she rarely shows up before dark these days.) I don't linger as much as I used to, because...there they are. Mostly during the day, but sometimes in the evenings. Just sitting there. Smoking. Staring. It occurs to me that they know I live alone, and they probably know way more about my daily routine than anyone who doesn't live in my neighborhood needs to know. And maybe (probably) they're completely harmless...just bored (don't they have jobs?), and enjoying the nice tree-shaded backyard of a buddy, and I do appreciate that they're usually pretty quiet, but...I don't like it. I don't like that they're there when I'm not, because they don't live there.

If that makes me cranky and old, so be it. But what do you think? Would that bother any of you?

And stay off my lawn, you damn kids!

Does saving bees make up for waterboarding a stray cat?

I MOWED MY OWN LAWN THIS WEEKEND! WHOO HOO!

Okay, I'll stop with the screaming, but this is exciting. "Did her lawn need mowing that badly?" you're asking. Well, it needed it pretty badly, to be sure, but the primary reason for the excitement is that I finally felt physically able to accomplish the task. I kept my cellphone in my pocket, in case a sudden back spasm landed me in the middle of the yard with the mower on top of me, but I didn't need it. Lawns mowed: one. Back spasms: none. Feeling of accomplishment after weeks and weeks of feeling like a decrepit old thing: priceless.

I have a couple of patches of clover in my backyard, and as I mowed down the bigger one, I thought about the fact that I only saw one bee last year, and hadn't seen any this year. (So sad, the plight of the humble honeybee.) A few minutes later, as I aimed the instrument of destruction at the second patch of clover, I saw him. A bee! Sipping clover nectar for all he was worth. I managed to take evasive action in time to not mow him down, and decided to leave the clover patch unmowed. When I went back to look later, he had been joined by a couple of friends. Yay, bees! Drinks are on me.

Hopefully my care and feeding of the bees will negate any negative karmic points I accrued last week with the near drowning of the poor stray kitty.

On the economic stimulus front, I spent two hours in the mall last Friday and left empty-handed. There was not one thing in the WHOLE MALL I wanted to purchase. (Who decided that all women want to look like they're pregnant while wearing pastel colors? Where are the clothes that don't make me look like I'm trying to hide something? Though, speaking of hiding--where are the clothes that don't completely expose my somewhat flabby upper arms? Where are the jewel tones? Speaking of jeweled--I already have sparkly flip-flops--isn't there any other shoe being sold?) So disappointing. Saturday I made a trip to the bookstore (I have never in my life voluntarily left a bookstore empty-handed), and the big box mart, where I stocked up on exciting items like an aerator for my bathroom faucet and a snake-y thing to unclog my bathroom drain. I ended up spending quite a chunk of change on boring...stuff, so the economy may consider itself stimulated. Me, not so much. Gah. I did send off my official application for membership to "Nensa," so I guess that will count as my splurge. My life--it continues to be a constant source of joy and wonder. Sigh.

But hey--at least I'm no longer in physical pain. Look at me--all optimistic and shit.

The one where I nearly drown a stray cat.

Okay, maybe "drown" is too strong a word. He wasn't really in any danger of drowning. Catching a nasty chill? Yeah, that's a pretty sure bet.

A few days ago, in an effort to keep whatever happened to McBeady from happening to Dolly, I decided to open up the access to underneath my house for her. She's long been in the habit of going for shelter underneath the houses next door and behind me, and while that was fine when those houses were unoccupied (which they have been, quite a bit, off and on), it makes me nervous now that there are people living there with a)children and rowdy friends and b) large dogs, respectively. So I thought I'd let her hang out under mine--what could it hurt? She's healthy and flea-free, and she could take care of the occasional small rodents I see signs of from time to time.

It worked beatifully for a couple of days. She was in heaven, popping in and out like crazy. She didn't leave the yard at all, and seemed to love the extra attention. Then I guess her innate wanderlust just overcame her, and she started roaming a bit again. Okay, fine. She'll still have a safe place to hid in my yard if she needs.

Then I went out the next morning to find a little black head peeking out from under the house. I got excited for a moment, but no...it wasn't McBeady returned home. It was a completely unknown long-haired black cat, one I'd never seen before. WHERE THE HELL DID HE COME FROM? How did he KNOW, after only a couple of days, that there was a hidey-hole in my backyard? There are houses all over this block with uncovered openings for him to hide in--how did he land in mine? I thought maybe Dolly had brought him home (the little slut), but no--she jumped into the yard, saw him, and instantly swelled to twice her size and ran away, not to return until the interloper was gone. He wouldn't let me too close, but he wasn't completely wild, either, and I eventually managed to lure him out with some canned food, far enough away for me to lunge and cover the opening, and he ran off immediately. Okay, problem solved, right?

Except not, because I am an idiot. I waited a few days, saw no further sign of him or any cat other than Dolly, and decided to uncover the opening again, as we were having storms off and on, and I hated the thought of her caught outside somewhere.

And everything was fine, until I went outside Wednesday morning, and there he was again. WHY? I don't leave food out any more (the birds were eating it all)--I put it out only when Dolly is standing there in front of me--so what was he seeking? WHY MY HOUSE? It was raining cats and dogs all day (maybe THAT'S where he came from), so I decided to wait until after work, when the rain would hopefully be gone, and I could lure him out again.

This time I went straight for the big gun. I pulled the large live trap out of my garage (yes, I also have a small one, and a large wire cage--are these not the normal trappings of life?), baited it with some tasty canned food, and set it just outside the opening.

The little bastard went in and out of that trap THREE times without tripping it. Damn! How's he doing that? I was running out of time (I was going over to New Guy's to visit with him and the kid), so I decided to set it one more time, and this time I put a board underneath it for more stability, and I set the triggering device right on its edge, hoping it wouldn't flip down on his head and break his neck in the process. Then I left, not bothering to, oh...check the weather report before I did so. "It won't hurt him to sit in the trap for a while." (I had made sure to set it under the eaves, so he'd have some shelter.)

Long story short--another big storm front rolled in suddenly, this one complete with tornados and sirens and the attendent televised hullabaloo, and by the time I got home three hours later, I was crossing my fingers that I hadn't doomed the poor thing to a watery, windblown grave. Well, he wasn't dead, but he was soaking wet and spitting mad, and headed, hissing, for the hills as soon as I opened the trap. I reached down to remove the trap and realized the wire bottom was sitting in about three inches of icy cold water. Poor stray kitty! He must have been absolutely terrified and miserable. I felt awful. And yet...I feel pretty sure he won't be returning to MY house again, so that's good.

Dolly must have been watching his ordeal from very nearby--she showed up mere seconds after I released the intruder, wanting to eat and be petted. And yes, the opening is still covered--Dolly is just going to have to fend for herself, I guess, if she won't keep other cats from taking advantage of my generosity.

My life is just ridiculous, isn't it?

Wait, you're saying...back it up a bit...that parenthetical up there? You finally visited with New Guy and his son?

Okay, yes, yes I did. Why put that in a tiny parenthetical? Why isn't that the main subject of the post? 'Cause I'm trying very hard to wrap my head around the fact that very soon he will be only a parenthetical in my life, and not the big story. I'm trying. With limited success, to be sure, but I'm trying.

And yes, the visit went fine. Son answered the door, and (with a manner that would be most excellent for greeting a pesky Jehovah's Witness-hee) asked who I was and what I wanted. When it was established that I was a friend of Dad's, only there to say hello, he went right back to playing his Xbox with his CD player headphones on, ignoring us completely, and New Guy and I chatted over him.

Since the television was being dedicated solely to Spiderman, New Guy hadn't watched the news, either, so it took us both by surprise when the tornado sirens went off. There were some tense moments when we had to force Son to interrupt his game to sit in the hallway as the storm went over, and it took a while to settle him down after, but soon everyone/everything was fine. I left shortly thereafter to let them get ready for bed. (And I had a possibly drowning cat to check on, of course!)

I would guess we'll do it another time or two before they leave town. And that, as they say, is that. Sigh.

I have this afternoon off from work, and I think I'm actually going to brave the mall and see if anything sparkly catches my eye. It's my patriotic duty, after all.

Have wonderful weekends, everyone!

How best to stimulate?

I'm tired of being "all whiny, all the time," so I won't whine today. Except on the inside, where every part of me still feels like throwing myself facedown on the bed ('cause it's soft, and I have sciatica), kicking my heels madly and screaming "it's not fair!" like a toddler, 'til my face gets all red, and snot streams out of my nose.

I'll give you a moment to picture that. Be sure to note the concerned expression on my dog's face, and the "WTF?!" expressions on the assorted cat faces.

Moving on.

I GOT MY ECONOMIC STIMULUS PAYMENT TODAY! WHOO HOO!

I instantly threw a couple of hundred bucks into my pathetic savings account. I realize that is not stimulating the economy, but what can I say? I'm a bad 'merican. (Not so bad that I tucked ALL of it away, mind you.)

I am, however, perfectly willing to stimulate away with the $400 left after that, so...what should I buy or do? I can't decide.

Give me some suggestions. I feel I need to spend it fairly quickly, or the universe will undoubtedly decide it needs to go to either the vet or the auto mechanic (like it does nearly every year with my tax return and my summer bonus).

I may spend part of it joining that group for smart people called something close to "Nensa." No, really. I've always thought it would be fun to be a card-carrying "Nensa" member, so I recently sent off for an official copy of my (long-ago) archived ACT scores (for a FEE, of course), which I can then send in (for a FEE, of course) to certify me as a bona fide smart person, and then I can join "Nensa." (Sing it with me--for a FEE, of course. Who knew it cost so much to prove your smarts?) Then, if I want, I can go to monthly local "Nensa" meetings and hang out with other smart people. Or I can just carry the card around and whip it out whenever anyone wants to argue with me. "I am a card-carrying "Nensa" member--discussion over!" Hee.

So what would a certified smart person blow her economic stimulus payment on? Throw some ideas at me.

Apparently, pain looks good on me.

'Cause I have now lost track of the number of people who, upon hearing of my recent physical and/or emotional travails have said, "But you know what? You look really pretty."

Umm...thanks?

Not that I'm not grateful for the compliments, but I'm not sure what to do with this information. Keep reinjuring my back to keep that healthy glow? Stay on the verge of tears constantly, 'cause it makes my eyes nice and shiny?

Maybe I should just go ahead and start prowling for a new guy RIGHT NOW, before I lose my edge. Heh.

The rest of the story

So, I'm sure you're dying to know...does New Guy now have physical custody of...New Guy's Son? Yes, yes he does.

And what does that mean for me? Well, it means I will see very little, if any, of him between now and the time he moves (some time over the summer). We're talking on the phone, but his focus is, and will be for a while, on his son. Hopefully at some point I will be able to at least join them for dinner or something, but he's got to get him established into a routine first. That's the priority. It occurs to me that I've probably never mentioned ('cause why would I?) that his son is autistic. So this isn't just a case of a kid adapting to a new place and new school. It's a little more complicated. And I'm praying it goes smoothly for them both.

As for me...well, I'm depressed. And pissed off. (NOT, I repeat, NOT at New Guy or his son. Maybe a tad bit at his ex-wife, but no...not going to go there.) I'm pissed off at whatever combination of god/fate/the universe is calling the shots here.

I feel cheated. All I was asking for was one more month. ONE MONTH. I knew things were going to change when the school year ended for him and his kids, but I thought I'd have until then. I thought we'd have one last, lovely month, with the stress of his job search (which was considerable) over for him, and rehearsals over and sciatica better for me. We could finally relax, enjoy the beautiful spring weather and each other...spend some truly quality time. Yes, it would come to an end, but we'd make the most of our remaining time.

And then BAM! We had one night to say goodbye. One stinking night. A week night, at that, so that both of us had to go to work the next morning. It's unfair. (And yeah, I know, I should certainly know by now that life isn't fair.)

So, that's how the story goes. First guy I've had real feelings for in years, and this is how it ends. I keep hoping, of course, that maybe this isn't the final chapter in our story, but for now, I have to act like it is. And it's killing me.

All I want to do at the end of the day is go home and have a beer or two...or three...but I'm not letting myself do that. I know the difference between enjoying a tall frosty one, and self-medicating, and I'm not going to let myself go down that path. I've always drunk because I wanted to, never because I needed to, and I want to keep it that way. I'll enjoy an adult beverage or two if I'm out with friends, but not at home alone. Too dangerous. For me. Right now.

I'll be fine, I know. I'll get through this. It's just going to take a while.

Well, this was a real downer of a post, wasn't it? As long as we're down, I will also share with you that I haven't seen McBeady in over a month. I fear the worst. (Dolly still checks in every day, thank goodness.)

The sciatica is gradually getting better, and I'm hoping next week to start back in with some gentle cardio and yoga, 'cause god knows I could use those good feelings right now! I'll self-medicate with endorphins--yeah, that's the ticket.

Sex-ay!

Mock me if you will.

After long and careful consideration, these are my top fifteen top sexy actors. For today, at any rate. It was really difficult narrowing them down, and I decided to eliminate Clooney and Depp right off the bat, because, you know...they're CLOONEY and DEPP. Redneck straight men with sawed-off shotguns in the gun rack of their vintage pickup trucks would pop the top off a can of Coors and agree, "Yep, they're hot." So, minus C&D, here they are. And yes, I know, I sometimes have...interesting taste. What can I say?

Jeffrey Tambor. I liked him before, but "Arrested Development" made me lurve him.

Leonard Nimoy. (Like this is any big surprise.) Live long and prosper, Mr. Nimoy. And stop quirking that eyebrow at me--I may swoon.

Patrick Dempsey. Yes, yes, I know....EVERYone thinks he's hot NOW. But I had deep and abiding love for him when he was just a young lad, running around servicing older women onscreen (AND offscreen at the time). And my love deepened and ripened when he played Aaron on the gone-too-soon and deeply-missed "Once and Again." That was some beautiful, beautiful acting.

Paul Rudd. Not alone in this, I know, but the man is so damn funny and talented, and, while he could easily have traded on his looks, he's chosen instead to do weird, quirky, interesting work. What's not to love?

Rocky Carroll. I couldn't even list that many things he's been in. I mostly remember him as the brother in that Charles S. Dutton sitcom whose name I can't remember, and as the bartender in "Prelude to a Kiss." But the man is FINE.

Stephen Colbert. I've been a fan since "Strangers with Candy." "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report" have certainly done nothing to lessen my love. And, I mean, look at him...the man is willing to look silly. And that's very attractive.

David Eigenberg. I never understood how Miranda could keep breaking up with him on "Sex and the City." He's adorable.

Jon Stewart. Whip-smart, funny as all hell, gorgeous...and he married a veterinary technician. Be still, my heart.

Goran Visnjic. Okay, I can never remember quite how to spell his last name, but he smolders. And that eastern European accent...oh my. Oh my, oh my.

Keenen Ivory Wayans. Haven't seen much of him onscreen since the long-ago days of "In Living Color," but I still have fond memories. SO handsome.

Mandy Patinkin. Yes, I think he can probably be a bit of a pill, but I don't care. I've loved him since I saw him walking shirtless out of the water in "Yentl." Yowza. I also love to hear him sing, overuse of falsetto or not. I saw him perform live once, from about 8 rows back, and I am absolutely positive that he was singing straight to me. Do not attempt to disabuse me of this notion.
Alan Rickman. It would be impossible to even attempt to list his credits here--the man has done everything. My favorite role would be, of course, as Jamie in "Truly, Madly, Deeply." I can get all teary-eyed just thinking about it.

Scott Bakula. They've been running old episodes of "Quantum Leap" a few nights a week recently, and I am reminded of a) how much I loved that show, and b) how incredibly attractive Mr. Bakula is. That episode where he leaped into a chimpanzee, and then spent most of the time running around in nothing but a diaper? Whew. And then the one where he leaped into the midst of a production of "Man of La Mancha" and reminded us all what a great singer he is, as well? Sigh.

Colin Firth. Come on, I don't have to explain this one, do I?

Gene Wilder. What can I say? Quirky and funny and smart. To me, that personifies sexy.

There you have it. Feel free to ridicule me for my choices. I'm a big girl--I can take it.

And, if you feel like spending some time browsing through photos of hot guys, then consider yourself tagged.

TGIF. TG, TG.

Well, I've made it to Friday, so...there's that.

Still suffering the remains of the sciatica. Damn, it's annoying. Every time I think I'm almost done with it, it comes back to kick me in the ass. Literally. The pain originates in my right butt cheek. And the outside of my right foot has been numb for, what..almost four weeks now? No fun. It is better, I'm not saying it's not better. It's just not GONE. I'm no longer twisted into a pretzel, and instead of feeling like I'm sitting on a bag of walnuts, I feel more like I'm sitting on..a pencil. Still annoying, but not AS bad. I'm getting a renewal of one of my prescriptions today--my old standby Aleve just wasn't quite cutting it--and maybe that will help me kick it for good. I really, really need to start doing some workouts and yoga, but I don't want to worsen anything. Hopefully it will all resolve soon, and I can get a decent night's sleep again. (It's hard to spend the entire night in the one comfortable position I've found--I like to turn periodically, and when I do...ouch.)

So, that's how I'm feeling physically, how am I feeling emotionally? Sad? Bereft? Heartbroken? Do you like any of those?

New Guy officially accepted a job offer yesterday. He'll be living much closer to his kids, but about 4 hours away from here. (In a town in which I have some old college friends living, coincidentally.) So, you're thinking...at least she has the rest of this school year and part of the summer with him, right? Well...maybe not. We don't know for sure yet, but there' s a chance one of his kids might be coming to live with him, like...next week. Long story, not mine to tell, but I'm a little worried about how this is going to turn out. Worried for the kid, mostly, and New Guy. Of course, it sucks that my time with him will be, at the very least, incredibly curtailed, if this happens, but I really just don't want it to be traumatic for either of them. He'll know more after the weekend.

So, I stayed over at his house last night, and this morning we had our heartfelt "just in case this is our last chance to really talk" talk. If I think about it too much, I'll start crying again, but it was very sweet. Of course, I still might see him occasionally, even with his son in town, but there won't be any more "overnighters," obviously. Sigh.

Coincidentally, we met exactly 8 months ago today.

When I left his house this morning, it was raining. When I got to my side of town, the sun was out and the sky was blue. I'm trying to turn that into some sort of optimistic metaphor. But mostly I'm just sad.

I did tell him that if he realizes, once he's gone, that he can't live without me, he knows where to find me, and he had the good grace to at least pretend to consider it. I mean...there was no laughing in my face or a horrified outburst of "aw, hell no." Heh.

Okay, now I'm going to get to the task that Sauntering Soul has challenged me to, and spend a little while looking for pictures of actors that make me hot. That should be good fun, no?

Don't let this happen to you

If you happen to be reading this, and live in Oklahoma, take your driver's license out right now and check the expiration date. Seriously. Do you know what happens if you accidentally let your license expire, since the passage of H.B. 1804 (cracking down on illegal aliens since 2007) last fall? ('Cause obviously, no legally-residing, law-abiding resident would EVER let their license expire, right?)

Well, here's how it goes down.

You go to the bank (the one you've been going to for YEARS) to deposit your paycheck, and get your usual $20 pocket money, and there's a new kid working. He (overchieving little rule-follower) asks to see your ID before he'll give you your twenty bucks. You sigh, thinking "what kind of inept con-person would steal someone's check and deposit all but $20 of it into their account for them?" You pull out your license and lay it on the counter, rolling your eyes a bit.

"I'm sorry," shiny new kid says, "I can't give you the cash. Your license is expired."

"Oh, it is not!" you exclaim, confident in this knowledge. You take the license back, slip on your reading glasses and see...that he's right. It's expired. You're stunned. And then pissed off. And you curse the state, which decided years ago that sending out renewal notices for licenses was just too damn much trouble. You try to remember the last time you even had your license out of your purse. Nobody ever cards you at the liquor store, you use your debit card instead of writing checks, and, as you're generally a law-abiding citizen, no policeman has demanded "license and proof of insurance" in some time. But expired it is.

"I can't give you the cash. Would you like me to deposit the entire check?"

Of course, you little twit.

And then you will go to the ATM outside and get your own damn $20.

And then you'll head over to the tag agency to get your license renewed on your lunch hour tomorrow.

Which you do.

Great! There's nobody in the driver's license line. This should be a snap. "I'm here to renew my driver's license, which I let expire."

"Sorry. I can't renew expired licenses. You'll have to take your birth certificate to the Department of Public Safety first."

"I don't have my birth certificate. My mother has it in another town. I think." (I hope.)

"Passport?"

"It's expired."

"Where were you born?"

"Missouri."

"Well, you'll have to get a copy of it somehow. The DPS offices are on the westside, in Jenks or in Broken Arrow." (All completely inconvenient locations, by the by.)

"Is this new?"

"Since last November."

Aah...your brain kicks in. H.B. 1804. Damn it!

You go back to work. Your co-workers helpfully point out that you could just go across the street and get a certified copy at the health department for $10. "Even if I was born in Missouri?" Well, NO. Rats.

So, you call your mother. "Do you have my birth certificate?"

"I think I do, but I'm on the way to the hospital to get my foot x-rayed--can I call you later?"

Well, YEAH.

Eventually the birth certificate is located and mailed. ("Should I send it certified?" "GOD no--I won't be home to sign for it and they'll leave a note on the door and I'll have to drive to some post office god-knows-where to pick it up. Just mail it.")

It arrives safely, and you decide that the best time to tackle the DPS is mid-morning. After the first in line people, and before the lunch hour people. (This is a pretty good plan.) So off you go. They're serving #712, and you pluck #725 from the little machine. And you wait. In the few minutes you wait, you hear at least three people mention casually to their companions, "when I was in jail..." Holy shit, just what kind of scofflaws are you consorting with here?

Your number is called, and you decide the best approach to the notoriously surly DPS employees is to immediately admit you're a fuckup.

"What can I do for you?"

"I let my driver's license expire, since I am a STUPID IDIOT, and now I'm here to show you my birth certificate."

He laughs. "You're not an idiot, and I can take care of this for you." Which he does, quite graciously for a civil servant. You sign a form, let them fingerprint your index fingers, and get sent to stand before the blue screen for a picture. You're confused--you were told you'd have to return to the tag agency for the actual license--are you actually getting it here? The picture gets retaken--your head was slightly at an angle--and then he shows it to you on the screen and says "that's good." Good? Not hardly. "Look at your pretty eyes." IS HE FLIRTING WITH YOU?

Then an official form is filled out and stamped, and you are free to return to the tag agency of your choice for the actual license. But be sure to take the form AND your birth certificate AND your old license.

"And you have a great day." Thanks, civil civil servant.

Off to the tag agency.

Great--nobody in the line. This should be a snap.

Which it was. You have to have your picture taken again, and be fingerprinted again (in case you decided to pass off the paperwork to an illegal alien on the way, I guess), and she lets you preview both the picture and your official signature before she prints it. She helpfully points out the expiration date and you make her laugh by cartoonishly impressing that information into your brain. You write a check and you're done.

Thank goodness the world is once again safe for democracy.

And you made employees laugh at both the Department of Public Safety and the Tag Agency. You are obviously a comedic genius.

Still not dead

Just in a funk, physically and emotionally. I'm sure I'll feel like talking about it all eventually.



In the meantime, let me just make up for being remiss in not acknowledging my gratitude that 3carnations thinks I'm Above Average!

I always suspected it to be so. Hee.

I should pass this award along to several others, I know, and perhaps if I were WAY above average, I would. But, as it is, I will just say, if you're reading this...please consider yourself to be above average, as well. (You know you are.)

It's been a really rough week.

I think the low point may have been Wednesday, when I watched Pudge do his post-poop victory lap and nearly cried from jealousy. I wanted to both run AND poop, but sadly, could do neither.

I am pleased to report that I am once again walking upright. Not without pain, mind you, but UPRIGHT, and that is a big improvement. The "regularity" problem has resolved itself (not without help, but whatever), I made it through the show last night without using a walker (though we had one standing by), and this afternoon I have an appointment for a massage.

So, things are looking up, possibly. I don't know whether to give credit to the naproxen, the ibuprofen, the diclofenac, the darvoset I finally got desperate enough to pull out of the medicine cabinet where I had stashed it in disgust three years ago, the valium, the organic apple cider vinegar, the long, hot baths, the icy-hot cream, the ice packs, the potassium, the heating pad, the capsicum patches, the mineral oil, the cane, or just the old "tincture of time," but I no longer feel like death is imminent. (Or desired.) I feel confident that I will make it through the rest of the shows, and then hopefully New Guy will be back in town (I say hopefully since he's supposed to be flying into DFW at some point this weekend, and what a helluva mess THAT is right now), and we can spend some quality time together before...well, you know.

And that's life as we know it, here in LizLand.

Here's to next week!

I am not dead.

But last night, I almost wished I was. Needless to say, the back strain, and the sciatica, particularly, have not cleared up magically overnight. They have, in fact, worsened to the point that I can't even sit or recline comfortably. And driving? Driving is an exercise in misery. Yesterday morning, I honest to god thought I had left something in my driver's seat, and reached underneath my butt to dig it out. There was nothing there. The feeling of sitting on rocks was coming simply from my knotted up glutes. Nice. I did go to the doctor yesterday, and got my own prescription for the drug I was "borrowing" from a friend (so it's a felony--sue me), plus some steroids. But so far, I have to say, I am still quite miserable.

Have you ever had sciatica? Any magical, miracle cures to offer? I have been told about the wondrous healing powers of apple cider vinegar, and I plan to try that as soon as I can drag myself back into the grocery store. I am open to any and all suggestions. I've got three more performances to get through later this week, and my masseuse (New Guy) is out of town all week.

And now, if you will excuse me, the hunching over my desk and moaning won't do itself.

Shoot me now

Lumbar pain is bad.

Sciatica, in conjunction with lumbar pain, is worse.

CRAMPS, in addition to sciatica, in conjunction with lumbar pain? See above re: title of blog post.

Dress rehearsal tonight. Woo hoo!

Seriously, am I just cursed?

I'm thinking I probably shouldn't do any more theatre with this particular theatre company. Why, you ask? Hasn't it been fun? Is it not artistically satisfying? Do you hate the people involved?

Oh, nothing like that, I assure you. It just seems that every time I work with this company, something happens to me. Physically. Something...not so good. Something different every time, and while I'm certainly no stranger to accident and injury, still, I can't help but wonder...is the universe trying to tell me something? (/Carrie Bradshaw)

Four shows in four years.

Show number one (which I know I've blogged about, but I'm too lazy to look it up and link it): my first musical in many, many years, and it managed to coincide precisely with the first cold I'd had in five years, and the ONLY time I've ever completely lost my voice. I mimed an entire performance. Big fun.

Show number two: another musical. A couple of days before rehearsals started, I fell and broke my arm. Did the entire rehearsal period (including dance rehearsals) in a cast, did the show with my arm wrapped in an ace bandage. (Didn't tell my doctor, for fear he'd freak out and forbid me to do it.)

Show number three: driving to rehearsal the week the show opened, an idiot pulled out in front me. I couldn't stop in time, and smacked into him. Smashed up my car, bruised my chest and cracked a rib. Was in pain every time I breathed for the whole run of the show.

Show number four: the current show. Said theatre company now has a policy whereby the cast of the show is required to do load-in/load-out of the set. (For the record, I think this is insane. Things can happen when heavy things are being lifted and carried, under the best of circumstances. What if one of your actors is put out of commission? It's not like we have understudies. Nonetheless, I wanted to do the show, so I agreed to it.) I wasn't thrilled about it, naturally, but I've always had a nice strong back (New Guy and I moved every bit of his furniture into his apartment when he came to town, and I never had a twinge) so I didn't worry about it, particularly. Nothing I lifted/moved seemed to be a problem AS I lifted/moved it, but a few minutes later...what's that unsettling feeling in my lower back? Oh, dear. Is this what they mean by "throw out your back"? Is this what happens when you start to get old? I made it through rehearsal, stopped at the drugstore on the way home for aromatic old people cream, and spent a few hours on a heating pad.

This morning? Well...I was able to move. And really, it only hurt when I sat down, tried to get up from sitting, or needed for some reason to bend over. You know...EVERY SINGLE PART OF MY MORNING ROUTINE. (I attempted to drop blobs of canned cat food onto the platter on the floor without bending. That was amusing. There may or may not have been some plops that hit cat heads. Hee.) I didn't for a moment consider shaving my legs, and the hair dryer? Down there under the bathroom sink? Totally not worth it. Getting up and down from the toilet was easier, seeing as how the previous occupant of my house was (literally) a 100-year-old woman who had nice little handles installed everywhere she needed them, including one very handy one across from the toilet. God bless her.

I'm pleased to report, though, that moving has become considerably easier as the hours have passed and my muscles have loosened up, so I don't think doing the show is going to be any problem. I'm just going to be miserable first thing in the morning for a few days. I mean, even more miserable than my usual "my god, do I really have to get up and go to work again" misery. Gah.

So, what do you think? Cursed?

Okay, okay, half-FULL.

I've been in such a funk (and I think you all know why), that I now feel compelled to stop my whining and moping and getting teary-eyed and feeling sorry for myself and remember that there are still good things about my life. There are, damn it...and I will come up with a few of them here even if it takes me all day. Heh.

Okay, well...it's spring. Officially and otherwise. Flowers are blooming and the sun is shining and I'm wearing flip-flops and sandals almost all the time. That is a definite plus!

New Guy is being really sweet when I do see him, and I'm determined to enjoy the hell out of whatever time we have left. He's excited to see the play when it opens (just before he leaves for yet another full week out-of-town...boo-hoo), and I also told him he might have to come back to town to see me onstage when next I do something more...substantive (and less Three's Company-like farce--hee). And he seemed to think he would like to do that...and that made me feel good.

Also, as much as I would like him to stay in my life, and will continue to hope down deep inside that we're NOT completely through come June, I have to say...he seems to be in a much happier place now. I think making the decision to make a job change really lightened his emotional load, so to speak, and getting things out in the open with me seems to have made things better between us for now. So, there's that.

Rehearsals are going well--lots of laughter, which I very much need right now.

My pets and I are all relatively healthy. Even heartwormy Rover seems to be hanging in there. I'm particularly grateful for my health when I do my weekly litterbox scooping for my cancer-battling friend. (It's been almost six months now, with no end in sight. Please send thoughts/prayers/good vibes her way.) Of course, watching her go through it alone, basically (despite being engaged three times, she never married), and thinking "omigod, what if that were me?" only makes me sadder that Mr. Right seems further away than ever. But I'm looking for the GOOD here, right? So...

I am happy to be able to swallow. Seriously. As much as I would like to get motivated to lose some more weight, I'm happy to be able to eat. (My friend can't, really. The radiation burned her esophagus so badly it still hasn't healed.)

Lately, I have been most happy to swallow these:

I can't get enough of these. I'm not sure why (and, for the record, the "lemon chicken" version I find very unpleasant), but I just crave them.

I've also recently discovered Greek yogurt. One of the food reporters for the local paper was raving about it. Better than Brown Cow, I thought? How can that be? Well, try this:

Fage brand greek yogurt with fruit. Oh my gosh, it's good. It's incredibly creamy and smooth. SO yummy.

What else, what else?

I'm wearing sparkly, leopard-spotted flip-flops right now, courtesy of my mother the Avon lady (some sort of ordering mistake, I gather), and really...who isn't cheered up by seeing sparkly, leopard-spotted flip-flops at the end of her legs? And, if I get tired of the leopard spots, they came in a set with some sparkly zebra-striped ones, as well. So I'm all set in the sparkly flip-flop department. (Hee.)

I also have to say that I very much appreciate my friends (of both the bloggy and "real life" variety) telling me repeatedly (and apparently sincerely) that if New Guy and I ARE through, then it's HIS loss. And then offering to kick his ass. Thanks, guys! You really know how to cheer a girl up.

At least it's almost spring

So, what's been going on around here?

Well, New Guy is enjoying spring break with his kids this week, so I'm not seeing him. I'm trying to practice getting used to him not being around. And how's that going? Well, fine. If by "fine" you mean "I tear up whenever I think about it, so I'm trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) not to think about it." Moving on, before it happens again. Sniff.

The "Fridiron" went really well last weekend. The early rehearsals were a little...worrisome, but things started to click mid-week, and the shows themselves were lots of fun. We had good crowds and they ate it up. Both the current and former mayors were in attendance one night, a county commissioner and the state attorney general in attendance the next, and they all seemed to enjoy themselves immensely, even as we were mocking some of them to their faces. (Gotta love a politician who can laugh at him/herself.) The attorney general's wife told me my voice was "stellar," and, more importantly, New Guy came and HE was impressed. There was a large bottle of Patron tequila backstage each night, but no one got too blitzed to perform, and a good time was had by all. (Though did you know that tequila will eat right through a dixie cup, so if you're doing your expensive shots out of one, you shouldn't let it sit around any length of time? Word to the wise.) And really, any time I get to don a pink wig and white sunglasses and cavort around with a couple of feather boas as I portray one Ms. Britney Jean Spears is a good time for me. Plus, word on the street is that the Attorney General said our show was better than the one in OKC a few weeks ago, and we're always happy to best our friends from down the 'pike. Hee.

I had promised the director of the play I'm doing, from which I had to take a week off rehearsals to do the "Fridiron," that I would use any backstage downtime to work on my lines, and you know what? I did. Really. With the end result that I started back into rehearsals this week with my lines pretty well down--two days before official off-book day. Whoo hoo!

It's a very silly play--I referred to it once as "farce by the book," but I think it's going to be very, very funny, so if you're in Tulsa April 4-6 or 10-12, you should come see it.

And that's really all that's been going on in my life. Performances, rehearsals, already missing New Guy so much I can't stand it (and he's not even gone yet)...you know, the usual.

What a beautiful expression of true love

I was watching a bit of Jerry Springer on my lunch hour (I know--shut up!) and one of the two men competing for the affections of one "lovely" "lady" named "Rhonda" used his remarkable skill as a poet to try to get the edge over the other fellow. Who might be a brilliant poet, as well, but we would never know because he had a speech impediment which rendered him very nearly unintelligible. The only word Jerry and I made out clearly, when the guy attempted to articulate what made him the better man for Ms. Rhonda, was "psoriasis." Yeah, I'm not sure what that had to do with anything, either. But apparently Rhonda itches. And I was apparently the only one who got Jerry's "well, that's heartbreaking" reference. (I love Jerry, for the record. I know--shut up!)

Anyway, back to the poem. Which I think I remember well enough to paraphrase it for you here. Just picture it being read aloud by a scruffy, unshaven redneck, with a beer belly and no shirt. (I think it got ripped off by the other guy in a fight, but I missed that part.)

R--is for ribs, that you like to eat.
H--is for hot dogs, 'cause you like to eat 'em after the ribs.
O--is for only one for me.
N--is for night, I want to spend with you.
D--is for dairy, 'cause I know you like milk.
A--is for alcoholic, which I have become since you left me.

Isn't that beautiful? I got a little tear in my eye. Rhonda (who I would guess is NOT a vegan) did, too...but then she told him it was over, and then his sister came out, and she and Rhonda pulled each other's hair for a while, and then I went back to work.

I only wish someone would write a poem that beautiful for ME someday. Well, you know...without the carnivorous angle. "L is for lentils." Heh.

My blog friends kick ass

First, a note of thanks to all of you who offered to kick New Guy's butt for me. It's so nice to know the blogosphere has your back.

I don't think it will be necessary, though, ultimately. We finally stopped dancing around the topic last night, and discussed what's going to happen at the end of the school year. The one certain thing? He's leaving the current job. Which almost certainly means he's leaving town, as well. I can't blame him--he's been miserable in that job, and that's not good for anyone. He's hoping to find something even closer to his kids, and that's understandable, too, of course.

What am I going to do? Enjoy his company as much as possible between now and June. Then he will leave, and I will fall into a deep, deep depression, which I will claw my way out of by doing non-stop theatre and perhaps adopting a second dog. (I seem to be better at finding animals than men, to be sure.)

How's that for a plan?

Take that, Coco.

Well, I'd say my accessorizing is having the intended effect. When I walked into rehearsal last night the director said, "Oh, don't you look smart. As always. And also artsy, somehow." If I had to encapsulate my personal sense of style into two words, those might be the two I'd choose: smart and artsy. I was tempted to whip off the scarf and say, "how do you feel about the outfit without the scarf--does that still work for you? 'Cause Coco Chanel says to take one thing OFF, but I ADDED one thing instead--what do you think?" But I didn't, because I am not completely insane. Not yet.

Rehearsals have been lots of fun, in general. I think I've laughed more in the last week than I have in the last year. I'm a little worried that, just as we're really getting rolling, I have to take the next week off and go do the "Fridiron," and then the next week after THAT I need to be off-book for the play, and I'm not quite sure how all that's going to happen, but I'll figure it out, I suppose. I did once learn an entire script in 4 days, as a last-minute replacement, and still got the best review of anyone in the play, so perhaps I just work best under pressure. Heh.

At least I have plenty of stuff to keep me busy and occupy my mind, since New Guy seems to have to have done a little back-sliding this week on his vow to be more considerate. Oh, it hasn't been terrible, but it hasn't been all that great, either.

And life goes on.

I have an addiction.

It's true. My name is lizgwiz, and I am an accessories addict.

You know how you're supposed to dress and accessorize, look in the mirror and take OFF one thing? Well, this morning I dressed, accessorized, looked in the mirror and ADDED a scarf. Coco Chanel would NOT approve.

Seriously, I love the accessory section--earrings, rings, bracelets, necklaces, brooches, ankle bracelets, watches, scarves, hats, purses, sunglasses. (Don't like toe rings, though...how odd. Heh.) Even that most permanent of accessories--the tattoo. I like feeling...put together. I like seeing what goes together, which things complement each other and my outfit. Sometimes I just like sparkling (with something other than my wit and personality--hee). And, though Coco might disagree, I don't think I overdo, generally. I seldom wear more than one ring at a time on each hand, and NEVER more than 4 earrings in each ear. (Hee.) I don't feel fully dressed in just clothes.

I realized the extent of my addiction last month when I ventured to the mall to finish off a Christmas gift card. Now, I desperately need new clothes. I've lost enough weight in the last year that most of my clothes are, if not falling off of me, exactly, at least NOT well-fitted. What did I leave the store with? Socks and sunglasses.

Well, that's practical, you say. Yeah...but just out of curiosity I'm going to do a little poll.

With regards to sunglasses, do you own:

a) 1 pair. Who needs more than that?

b) 2 pairs. The everyday pair, plus a backup in case of loss or damage.

c) 3 or more pairs. Different styles, different colors...very important in coordinating the sunglasses with the rest of the accessories and the outfit.

I'll be interested to see how this comes out. And, by the way, if anyone sees any purple sunglasses out there--and I mean purple frames, not just purplish-tinted lenses-- let me know. I'm in the market for a pair.

And if you couldn't participate in the poll because you don't wear sunglasses, then may I ask, WHY THE HELL NOT? Do you WANT crow's feet and cataracts? Listen to old Auntie Liz...get yourself at least one pair with a generous coverage area and 100% UV protection and wear them 365 (or 366) days a year. You can thank me later.

Why I wish Hillary had tanked last night

With all due respect to her supporters...I wish it was over and done, and Barack had the nomination sewn up.

Why?

Well, here's the conversation I got to listen to this morning, courtesy of my ultra-conservative co-workers (I'm the token liberal around here--yes, it's every bit as fun as it sounds):

"Just think how entertaining it's going to be for the next few weeks, watching them tear each other apart."

Affirmative giggles.

"Yeah, Obama was campaigning like a gentleman, but now that she's gone negative, he'll have to, too."

More giggles.

And, sadly, I AGREE. Now that she's gone and played the "fear card," the gloves will be off. (Why, oh WHY, Hillary? I was hoping we'd lost that tactic when Giuliani dropped out, tail between his legs.) It's going to get ugly, and it's playing right into John McCain's hands. ARRRGHH! Great idea--let's give them all the ammunition they need! Why make 'em work for it?

Bah. And Hillary had the nerve to say on the Daily Show earlier this week that the competition "would be healthy for the Democratic party." Bah again.

Mind you, I have nothing against Hillary as a person, and until those "it's 3 in the morning" commercials, nothing really against her as a candidate. BUT SHE'S DIVISIVE. And I think those people lucky enough not to live and work in the middle of a hotbed of conservatives don't quite get how very much they HATE her. It's completely irrational, their hatred, but it's very real. And I worry, if she's the candidate, that Hillary-haters will come out in droves to vote AGAINST her. Not FOR McCain--they're lukewarm at best about him, but AGAINST her.

And let's talk about that "3 in the morning" bullshit. Come on--can anyone in the world say with certainty how they would react to "that" call? Certainly no amount of "experience" can train you for that. I'm sure all the candidates think they would react appropriately, but how can you know that with certainty unless or until "that" call comes? I mean, do you think even Dubya really thought he'd go catatonic for 7 minutes, holding an upside-down book about a pet goat, then disappear into AirForce One for several hours?

I think the best we can do is vote for someone who seems both to have a level head, and to not easily panic. I would have thought that either Hillary or Barack would have fit the bill on that score. Now I'm not so sure. One of them seemed pretty panicked the last few days. We'll see how the other one fares now. Sigh.