Poor Firefighters

I don't know. Maybe it was the fact that I was out with a gay friend the other night. Maybe it had a little bit to do with the article I read and then referred to in this post. Maybe I'm 34. Maybe I'm ovulating??? Maybe I've had a couple of days to STEW about X getting laid and it's pissing me off that I didn't go ahead and get it all over with first!

But I'm not sure. It could be any of the above. And we all know that I have immeasurable quantities of self control- especially when compared to that juvenile.

Not long ago, a meth lab near my workplace exploded or something and we were all treated to such a show as put on by the local fire station. An officemate and I stood around gawking at the bravery and efficiency they displayed in taming the beastly flames. The house next door started to catch on fire. One fireman grabbed a hose while some others helped, and off he went. Crash! He dove THROUGH a glass door, RIGHT into the burning house! I just about fainted. I think my officemate almost did too, and he's not even gay. Really, how could anyone RESIST loving these guys? All fire was put out in about three minutes and with the police left to finish up all the boring crap, we all went back to work. Firemen probably went back to lifting weights.

Anyway. I had to run to the office this afternoon. Sunday is my "get all this shit done before the boss gets to work in the morning" day. For the first time, I noticed the
fire station not more than a few short blocks from there. I slowed the car a bit, leering at the figures walking around inside the big garage area thing. Looking pretty good, for dark shady figures! Which distinguishes them from the fire fighters near my house. They are old and yucky. Too many 'roids like that Benoit dude. But we're talking about the inner city over by the office, so I'm sure all the strapping young stallions ( oops did I just say that ) have to start out in problem areas of the city.

A friend of mine was working on a project when I got to my desk. I gushed over the firemen, vowing to contribute to one of their Holiday drives for Starving Children in South Phoenix or whatever. And I will, too! I will TRY not to cat-call them or make any of those crude "hose" jokes because firemen are NOT just some objects for our gratification, okay? They are human beings. With feelings. And muscles. Young, STRONG muscles. So I need to have a little more respect. My friend was also entertained by their show, and had already thought up an excuse to pay an innocent visit to the station. At least I'm not THAT bad.

Yes, he really is that stupid.

And I married him. I've never been characterized as particularly brilliant ( unless it was said in jest ) either, but at least I didn't make the following ghastly mistake:

X accidentally sent me an email. It wasn't meant for me, but since he clearly forgot to delete my email address from his contact list under his pet name for me, it did in fact reach my inbox. It seems that I am not the only woman in X's life with PetName. He has managed to find another who shares all of my special qualities that made me so very lovely at first. He probably doesn't even realize that he's made such a blunder and I'll be damned if I'm going to say anything! This is good stuff and makes me feel ever so full of pride that I had the sense finally to rid myself of him.

I particularly enjoyed the content. He apologized for being such an "idiot" the other night. According to the email, there was a certain conversation after they "had sex," in which the NEW PetName mentioned that X was number 14. In men. Number 17 in humans. It seems that X's reaction to that information was less than positive. As I have mentioned before, we were both virgins when we were married. As far as I'm concerned, we are both still sexually uneducated. X is obviously working hard to learn something, which of course is a relief. I always thought I knew more than he did, but never said so. Anyhow, he must have acted like a judgmental asshole about NewPetName having more experience than he did. And this email was supposed to be some sort of apology, filled with excuses. He has low self-esteem. He wonders if she compares him to "all the other guys." He knows that she is the "sweetest" person and would never do that, but again. He has a low self-esteem.

I hate to say I TOLD him so, but I DID. I told him right before he left that I had a little bit of advice for him in case he is ever again lucky enough to attract the attention of some poor dumb young lady: Don't act like such an asshole. Don't act like she's not good enough for you. Low self esteem my ass.

But ooooooh no. He has to go and screw it up RIGHT after someone is kind enough to sleep with him. I have considered giving him a call or replying to the mistake, but I know I'd only lecture him on how I TOLD him BEFORE what he should do.... but of course he didn't listen. Which is another one of his defects.... and on and on.

But I don't want to. I don't care enough to bother. It was good to see that email. It is a reminder of what a fake he was before we got married. Give me a break with that low self-esteem crap, buddy. He acted the exact same way to me until I got sick of it. A woman does not want to be apologized to, she just wants her man to be nice in the first place!

San Francisco firefighters don't put up with what WE deal with every day

I am astounded that the firefighters who were cat-called during a gay parade are actually filing a complaint ( AP article here at sfgate.com ).

I have to listen to sexual comments all the time at my supposed professional job. I don't mean once a day either; it's more like several every day. Some are related to just women in general while others are pointedly directed at me or others. Let's be honest. If I were to file complaints every time I was harassed in a sexual manner at work, my career would be soon over. I'd be considered a troublemaker and maybe bipolar.. Of course these MEN aren't used to being sexually objectified and treated like a blow-up doll so naturally they feel the right thing to do is file a complaint.

The hypocrisy of it.

Sister in town. My vacation.

As usual, I've been in a terrible rush most waking moments for the past couple of weeks.

Now I'm on a short little vacation, during which I've been able to catch my breath and take stock of it all.

Good thing my sister is visiting for a few days. Otherwise I'd probably let my whole apartment stay cluttered. As it stands, I scrubbed the guest room and the main bathroom in the eight hours available to me from the time I arrived home from work until the time I had to pick her up from the airport. The rest of the place was fairly disgusting. Sister is a clean freak, so she was particularly irked by my messiness. I don't have any food in my fridge or the cupboards, so we've been surviving on coffee, one restaurant meal per day, and alcohol. Sis refuses to pay for any food, since she is my GUEST, but she has no problem buying beer and wine. I'll happily drink whatever she buys and I just pay for our restaurant meal. I have also been cleaning in the morning before we set out on our daily adventures.

As for our adventures, our main focus appears to be finding ways for Sister to spend money on herself, seeing as how she has so damned much of it. Today we trudged around one of the local malls for several hours. Sister claimed that she was absolutely determined to start dressing her age (37), but when it came right down to it, she is just as steadfast as ever about wearing junior section clothes. I had a dickens of a time trying to get her to try on anything that covered her "pooch," as she calls it. She won't wear anything that she classifies as tight. Oh, no. Because she doesn't want people to see her "pooch." I said, "I'm going to be brutally honest with you because I think you need to hear it. Ready."

Ready. Deer in headlights look with a couple blinks.... Here comes...

"You aren't hiding your 'pooch.' Everybody can see it anyway because you insist on wearing t-shirts that are too short for you."

"I hate going shopping, and just when I decide I can do it, you try to make me feel bad about myself." Sister started to tear up and get all red-faced. "I don't want you to tell me anything, I just want you to agree with me."


By the end of the day, I felt like a turncoat. But a girl's gotta do what needs to be done in order to keep the peace. She'll be here for two more days!

Stubborn resistance to "staying in the present"

Marty asked if I've been out on any dates in the past couple of weeks and was visibly annoyed when I said that I had not.

Why do therapists dole out assignments that aren't as easy as running over to the B&N self help section and flipping through a book? Even if I WANTED to find someone to see, am I supposed to just walk up to somebody and ask him out? Sheesh. Why should I waste my time on someone I'm probably not even interested in? Furthermore, I do quite like my uncomplicated life and I am decidedly against getting myself involved with anyone right now. I said as much to Marty. He explained that it was not about finding someone "interesting," or getting into a relationship, it was about the experience.

Men just don't understand. Everybody I know (women, that is) is pretty well conscious of what they think a future with their prospective dates will be like. Sometimes we kid ourselves by thinking everything will be beautiful and the guy is perfect. That's why our marriages don't work out. That's my theory, anyway. Marty disagrees. He thinks I'm the only one who does that, and what's more, I need to stay in "now," rather than the future. Does that mean I don't have to pay for car insurance until I get in a wreck? No, but how am I supposed to know what I am supposed to deliberately ignore?

So I guess if I want to move on in counseling, I have to find someone around here to go out with. Since X left, I've been out on one date. Quel mistake!

I could go on a blind date. According to friends, there are plenty of "great" guys they could "set me up" with. Still, it doesn't seem right, only meeting a person because your therapist prescribes it.

Poor Meriwether.

Spoilers of Undaunted Courage ahead, if you don't know much about Lewis and Clark.

Being a history buff, I am shocked that I didn't know the first thing about ML's unfortunate death. To be fair, the expedition was hardly covered in my high school and college history classes. What I learned came from a women's studies class, and only because I chose to write an essay on Sacagawea. I still don't remember finding out that Lewis went berserk after returning from the expedition. Speculation ranges from bipolar disorder to advanced syphilis. I doubt very much that Lewis was bipolar. It seems more likely that it was syphilis. That leads me to the question in my last post. I don't think Clark was gay, but I still think Lewis was. He just reminds me of all my gay friends from high school because they hadn't "come out" yet, and spoke just as he did about getting a wife. On the other hand, he may have been straight but just couldn't get anyone to marry him d/t his odd behavior and drunkenness. Who knows. Despite my curiosity, his sexuality is not important. What is important is that such an accomplished and intelligent person came to such a depressing end.

More on Meriwether...

Were Lewis and Clark gay? I'm not even half way through the book. But all the "men" have been getting laid by half the female American Indians who happened to be accidentally left alive ( and who were treated worse than dogs, I might add. Did all the work..) on their way towards the Pacific.

All these guys got (or had) syphilis and gonorrhea, which was apparently treated with mercury. But neither Lewis nor Clark mention in their logs that THEY personally suffered from the same symptoms. Furthermore, they haven't yet admitted having relations with anyone. Quite suspicious.

But they DO express a GREAT affection or at least admiration for each OTHER. I'll have to finish that book and fast!

Ding ding ding. Scuffle with annoying salesperson at the mall.

Yes.
It was all over a lousy pair of shoes. Niece and I were enjoying many fun-filled laps around the mall today in honor of her thirteenth birthday, when I spotted the most darling little shoes at a major department store, which I steadfastly refuse to name.

Are these or are these not cute or what, I said! I know! Niece and I both cooed and blabbered about them for a couple of minutes. I considered just buying them in case I **ever** have kids. Niece considered having me buy them for her when she someday has kids. We thought the joy would never end. Then I had a wonderful idea. Why not just take a picture of them? That way, you know, after my brother wins the lottery and I can afford to reproduce any shoes in the universe, I'll have all the info I need right here?! What could be more cost-effective and simple, I ask?

I whipped out the camera phone. Handed it to Niece so she could get it on the right screen for me, and once it was back, I aimed. Then I heard what has GOT to be the most hideous voice ever:

"Exc-aaaaaaa-ewwwwwwse me." Niece and I looked up with a start. I hadn't taken my golden, historic image yet. We blinked at a "sales" person, standing opposite us from the table of pink baby shoes. "Can I help you find something?" Niece giggled nervously. She acted guilty, of what I don't know.

I simply replied, "Nope" as I concentrated again on focusing the stupid phone. Click. Hm. Wasn't sure if that one was good. Pointed again. The shriek of polyester and Naturalizers in motion again, stretching to capacity, inflamed my already thinned nerves for the last time. Niece's increasing level of discomfort was more than noticeable. I was sorry for being any part of embarrassment to her . I looked at salesBitch again. She stopped waddling at my glare but wasn't smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

"May I ask what you are doing?"

"No. Get out of here unless I have a question," I barked, shooing her away with my free hand. Which wasn't technically free, since I had a facial exfoliating brush from Sephora in one of my shopping bags and as I shooed, the brush flew out of the bag and on to the table in front of me. SalesBitch thought it was just a ruse. The whole Sephora brush thing brought out the Inspector Gadget in her, and hell be damned if she wasn't going to get to the bottom of this caper. I picked my brush up, still wrapped in the well-paid for red tissue.

"See what you've made me do? What is WRONG with you, lady? Tell me. Is there a CRIME in taking a picture of a pair of SHOES on a TABLE in this STORE?" I shoved the brush back in the bag, grabbed my phone back from Niece, who had somehow gotten hold of it, and froze. At that point, I should have walked away. But nooooooo. SOMEbody was treating MH like she was a shoe thief or who the hell knows?

"I'll be right back," said the old hag. "Yeah, get one of your damn bosses out here, I want to have a talk with them."

Any bets on who showed up first? Of course, the "security" guy. Not really much of a threat to me, since I knew the guy. He was just a city police officer working some overtime, so take THAT, old hag. "Whaaaaaaazup?" says my old buddy. "Ooooooh man! This WOMAN is acting like I'm doing something wrong by taking a picture of some shoes! Niece! Find that picture I took! Show Winston what I'm talking about here."

Old Hag just sat there trying to say that I was "rude" when all she did was ask if she could help me find something. I turned to Old Hag and reminded her that she needed to find her boss.

Boss concluded that the whole thing a misunderstanding. Yeah. I know. BTW, here are those darling shoes....

Ouchie! Chris Dodd Factors in some schooling for Bill O'Reilly

The old boy could hardly breathe through all that blustering indignation when class began on the Factor. Senator Chris Dodd ( from the beautiful state of Connecticut ) pretty much spelled it out: Don't be hatin' on my peeps over at Daily Kos, mmmmmmmKAY?

Check out Crooks and Liars for the 411. So to speak. And somebody give the teacher an apple!

understanding social problems

A second ago, I glanced at one of my book cases and of course this old text book, above named, caught my attention. Should I read it again? It's probably outdated and I'm quite sure none of those authors understand my problems.

Problem #1: I am so sick of my job. No longer do I find it fulfilling. In fact, everybody irks me to no end. I find myself making cynical "jokes" that even I don't bother laughing at. I'm not trying to be funny anymore.

Problem #2: Not that I'm desperate for a relationship or anything, but it just occurred to me that my main man happens to be Merriweather Lewis, as characterized by that most romantic of all writers, Stephen Ambrose. Talk about steamy.

Problem #3: I'm also sick of my job because I seem to do nothing but work. How about a vacation? Well, let's see here. I can afford to go maybe thirty miles. In that case, I could make it to one of our friendly local casinos, where I would promptly be relieved of my $20 "spending money." I'd be back to work within a day.

Problem #4: I suspect Merriweather Lewis has some sort of opium addiction, but we'll have to see about that.

Problem #5: FRANK loaned the Merriweather book to me. He thought I'd like it.

THE NERVE! USA Gas cashier fired after being robbed at gunpoint.

Time to boycott all USA Gas and anything remotely related to Tesoro Corp ( send the a-holes a nasty message here or call them! +1-210-828-8484 ). The most descriptive article I could find is at:
lodinews.com

excerpt:

Lodi gas station clerks fired after helping catch robbery suspects

By Layla Bohm
News-Sentinel Staff Writer

Cynthia Lopez, 31, had only been working at the USA Gas station for three weeks — her first foray back into the working world after staying home to raise her three children while her husband worked.

After the robber left, her first thought was to see if she could spot a get-away vehicle. Lopez did see a vehicle, as well as a license plate, which led Lodi police to arrest two convicted felons.

Lopez was shaken, but she went back to work the next day. She was listed as both a victim and a witness in the police report, and she knew she'd probably be called to testify in court at some point.

And then Lopez was fired from her job.

The reason: Her drawer, which was supposed to have no more than $50 in cash in it, was over by $16.

I hope everyone takes a minute to bug the hell out of them.

More bitching about people with kids

Lately I have noticed that I do not have the time to be everything to everyone. I am expected to do things for friends and family, but I wouldn't DARE try to tear someone away from their family to help me out.

The most irksome expectation by far, has got to be birthday and holiday gifts for friends' and family members' kids. WHY do they do this to those of us who are single? Do they think we don't have anything better to spend our time and money on? Surely some of this is my fault. I love babies, and of course would love to have one myself. If there were any suitable candidates for role as the father... but that doesn't mean I am IN LOVE with the baby. I suspect that some feel almost benevolent when they recount the story about how their kid pooped on the floor or how the kid ate dog food and they got a HILARIOUS picture of it, haven't I checked my email?

Speaking of email. Every week I receive five or six emails with photos attached. I never open them. I wait until someone asks me if I've seen the pictures, and say, "Oh, I haven't had a chance to look, are they cute? Tell me all about them." That way, I don't have to bother.

I am completely sick of spending money on other people's kids. I can't find a good way to break it to people that I no longer want to buy gifts for them. I'm the youngest, so I grew up expecting that my birthday would be celebrated on a large scale. But as my siblings had kids, all that went away. My friends, one by one, stopped recognizing my birthday once they had kids too. I just don't get it. I still recognize their birthdays. Why doesn't anyone recognize mine? I know that sounds bratty. Too bad. I know I'm not the only one who gets annoyed by this selfishness on behalf of one's offspring.

It sounds mean but it never ceases to amaze me how drastically someone changes when their first child is born. In the blink of an eye, they forget that they were merciless they were in their ridicule of other people who were deluded about how cute, intelligent, talented or well-behaved their children were. I find that I have nobody to chuckle with anymore. Most or all of my friends have become this parent-zombie.

Another PITA is when friends bring their kids along on shopping days. The husbands are never doing a damn thing except sitting around, fiddling in the garage. But oh no, can't leave the kids home with him! So we spend half the time bribing the kid to be good. Usually the idiotic mother (yes, my friend) plies the kid with sugary treats, which makes the kid act even worse. So the other half of the time is spent in the restroom going deaf while the kid screams bloody murder because he was asked not to play inside the racks of clothes with his sticky fingers and snot-drenched face.

I need to make new friends or have a kid. And from now on, I'm only going to buy gifts for single people with no kids.

New DNA evidence discovered in WM3 West Memphis Three case

From Channel K8 Jonesboro,West Memphis, AR - Will Carter Reports July 20
Mother of West Memphis 3 Victim Speaks About New DNA Evidence

"Back before anybody was a suspect in the case or anything, my first thought and theory was Terry Hobb, Tom Moore, and Mark Myers did it," said Pam Hobbs.

When Terry Hobbs was asked if he committed the murders he paused and then replied "I'd have to laugh at that and say there's something wrong with someone who would think that."

"When you watched his response, what did you read on his face when he answered that question," I asked Pam Hobbs. "What are you hiding? Why didn't you laugh if you wanted to. That was my thought when I first saw it," she replied.

Now only time can tell if the DNA evidence will lead to a new trial and a change in a case that's never seemed to completely close.

"It's still in God's hands. It's been there since May 5, 1993. I just continue to pray for the strength to accept what comes out of this," said Pam Hobbs.

With the new report out regarding the WM3 case, I just have to post my favorite clip of the documentary. Found it where else? On YouTube, thanks to mrprwac for posting it.

Byers is more comical than scary to me. I didn't know much of anything about the other stepfather, Terry Hobbs. Hopefully someone will pick the story up and investigate a bit more. But now, I give you the entertainment:

Clinton and Edwards are petrified of another debate with Kucinich

Dennis Kucinich better not put up with John Edwards and Hillary Clinton trying to muscle him out of presidential debates, as reported by Beth Fouhy of the Associated Press. See article at Breitbart

Kuchinich Lashes Out at Limiting Debates

...In an exchange captured on camera and open microphone by broadcasters after an NAACP forum in Detroit, Edwards approached Clinton onstage and whispered in her ear.

"We should try to have a more serious and a smaller group," Edwards said, and Clinton agreed.

"Our guys should talk," Clinton said, complaining the format had "trivialized" the discussion...

Wow, doesn't surprise me one bit.

Cooked and Basted! Timothy Armstead Throttles Dirtbag Bank Robber

My new superhero. Le Sigh!

As reported internationally, a would-be bank robber received a rather unpleasant surprise as he tried to make off with some stolen cash. Article everywhere but here's a link to the IHT report, Former US Marine waiting in bank nabe fire-extinguisher-wielding robbery suspect.

When the man then tried to walk out with the money, Armstead, 27, knocked him to the ground. He held the man down — lecturing him — until authorities arrived.

"I just told him it was a very stupid decision and now you get to spend 20 years of your life just for taking some money," Armstead told WSB-TV.

The man was taken to jail on suspicion of armed robbery.

Who knew Staples had cute guys?

I must be getting over the divorce. Today at Staples, a guy followed me around for awhile and struck up a conversation in the planners aisle. We chatted politely until he - gasp - asked me if I wanted to have lunch tomorrow!

I know why it all happened. First, I was high on life because my meeting a couple hours prior was such a smashing success, and Hindley (my nemesis) will be extremely disappointed to find out that she is no match for me. One of my pet projects is showing more promise than ever, and it is due to my hard work. AND it is despite what she and a couple others have done to sabotage it. Very immature, I know. In fact, someone stole my planner off my desk last week, but did it have any impact? No way. They don't know I write everything down in my desk planner, type it out in Google Calendar, then print it out at A5 size and pop it into my Franklin. So there, Hindley, take that too.

Anyway, I was probably smiling about all of it, so there's a chance I wasn't projecting myself to be a bitter spinster-type. Plus, I had on my favorite necklace. My lucky necklace. Also, when I sensed the cute guy looking at me, I didn't meet his gaze with a scowl, which I would usually do. I just had good feelings about most of the people there in the store with me. I was upset that I couldn't find the ink cartridge for my stupid printer, and spent forever over there looking for it. I saw Cute Guy walking past the ink aisle a couple times, with seemingly little direction.

After mulling over my choices at the planner section, I noticed Cute Guy stroll casually by. Then he backed up and picked a Dayrunner planner off the shelf. Hm. Leather and Dayrunner, I thought. Wouldn't work out. But Cute Guy replaced the Dayrunner. I continued to compare desk calendars, but Cute Guy just started talking. It was the most natural thing ever. He wasn't acting like a scared little 9th grader; he was confident and very laid-back. The opposite of me. So I thought that was great.

We stood around engrossed in conversation for an absurd amount of time. My phone rang. It was the office. I really did have to go. He suggested we talk more about South Mountain (and how people are trashing it) over lunch! I hesitated, and he said, "Well, at least give me your number?" I asked for his.

I don't know if I'll call him or not. But this is definitely progress for me.

Cute Guy was just my type, too, if I have one. Dark eyes and fair skin. Dark hair, although I don't mind light brown hair. Dressed casually. Don't know what he drives, but I'll bet it's a Jeep. Probably a couple years younger than me.

Want cheap, extensive health care coverage? Run for Congress.

These elected officials are enjoying yet one more perk that they deem unnecessary for many of their constituents. Check out this excerpt at AlterNet of Practicing Medicine Without a License, a new book by Don Sloan, M.D.

There is an employee/insurance deal in the U.S. that includes unlimited doctor office visits of your choosing; covers all accidents, routine exams, physical therapy, labs and X-rays; and the like; unlimited hospital visits and stays; certain chronic care and rehab; full prescription coverage; and unlimited specialty consultations. For the employee and the entire family. There are no deductibles, no co-pays, and only a $35 monthly fee taken from an annual salary of $158 though. Thirty-five dollars!

The group awarded this insurance looks forward to a full pension and continued coverage until their deaths. Quite a few, most in fact, were millionaires before they took on their jobs that got them such a perk. Who gets this coverage? It would be nice if it were the underprivileged or the chronically ill and debilitated or our veterans.

But no. For starters, the 535 members of the U.S. Congress, and add to that the few hundred in the upper executive and judicial branches of government. They are also members of a demographic group where seven were arrested for shoplifting, nineteen for writing bad checks, and eighty-four for drunk driving. This bunch also has an overrepresentation of felony indictments, and a few ended up serving time.

I'm off to find my own copy of this intriguing read.

Is therapy the key to true mental hygiene?

As I have mentioned before, but of course I wouldn't expect would be remembered, I have started to see a therapist. It all started when I seemed to have some rather serious memory problems at the job. My boss, being kindly and also responsible, gently suggested I "talk to someone" about my divorce. She thought for sure that I wasn't dealing with my divorce emotionally, since I didn't talk about it at work, I never took any time off, and I never had any of those midday breakdowns I've seen so many others succumb to.

I said, "Sorry, I'm fine, what can I say? You WANT me to have a nervous breakdown and try to get a month off work because my personal life isn't perfect? No thanks, I'm just handling it better than most people." I said. I really believed it, too. I thought I didn't need any therapy, and frankly, I still believe that people in general don't NEED it. But I guess she did have a point.

Anyway, my memory/concentration problems have plagued me for a couple of years and I know it is directly related to my reaction to stress. In particular, the stress that I put on myself for no good reason at all. I've done it my whole life, but the second I started having more stress than I could handle, my poor little pea brain most likely went into meltdown mode. Poor little pea brain!

So therapy. I started with some lady who diagnosed me with PTSD after 45 minutes of hearing my life's adventures. I knew for certain that
I would roll my eyes for an hour straight every week if I had to keep going there. So I decided that this therapy crap was not for me. Then I received my last employee review, which I found to be a very disagreeable experience. I don't want to spend one more hour of my life being a disappointment in any way to my boss, so I decided FINE, I'll find another stupid therapist. I feel so immature putting it that way, but it's the truth. I said to the referral service, "I don't care, just give me anybody."

Enter my new therapist, Marty. Marty has been a tremendous help. He makes me see things about myself that I never knew. For example, I strive to be perfect because I feel guilty. I'm a tree which does not get any nourishment. Or rather, I'm a tree whose roots are fed with the waters of guilt! I liked his metaphor, and elaborated, exclaiming, "A cesspool of guilt!"

"So, MH," purrs Marty. "What have you been feeling guilty about all these years?" I thought and thought. I came up with an answer, a pretty good one. Marty came up with a splendid personal affirmation in order for me to "give myself a break." And I tried for weeks to meditate. First I didn't do it correctly. I was not "meditating," according to Marty. I was "visualizing." Fine. Still, I have not been able to quiet my mind. It's always talking about something. Usually, I'm poking fun at myself. I find the state of myself hilarious, usually because I think of myself not as a person, but as a cartoon character like Wile E Coyote. Always jumping off the cliff with a damn stick of ACME dynamite in my hand and blinking confusedly after the explosion.

Then yesterday, I tried it all again. I had a breakthrough. I was actually able to pull off that meditation thing, and then I immediately remembered to dutifully pontificate about what a wonderful being I am. Sigh. It was great.

I began my day this morning in much the same manner. Slowly, I found myself saying the most out of character things. Instead of calling a collectively despised client a "F-er," I heard myself blurt, "Troubled young man we have here!" when a colleague came to me to confide that she was ready to rip his head off. My colleague blinked confusedly and was rendered speechless.

When I got home from work today, I was still on my little psychosomatic high. I thought I'd jot down a few words in my written journal, as directed by Marty to do. I had nothing. I realized that I didn't want to write anything because I didn't have anything inspirational or kind, or loving to say. I thumbed through the pages and pages from over the past year or so. A jeremiad of self disparagement and slanderous gossip, much like what is written in this online journal. I loved it all. I began to giggle and blush at my foibles and public humiliations, which have been many and varied.

What do I feel guilty about? I don't know. But I don't want to lose my ability to laugh or at least snort (silently, of course) at myself. Marty will not be pleased with this recent regression. We have hit a brick wall, perhaps. I am positive there was something very serious that he must have said, which presumably would have assisted me in averting this setback. If I could just remember what it was.

Dennis Kucinich nails Hillary Clinton's disingenuous attitude towards steelworkers

Sen. Hillary Clinton's Refusal to Answer Steelworkers' Questions Both Troubling and Revealing, Says Kucinich Campaign

What's up with this? Does Hillary Clinton think she has the nomination in the bag? Perhaps she thinks she doesn't need union support. Perhaps she finds it uncomfortable to discuss what a miserable hand NAFTA has dealt to the American worker.

And you thought only women knew how to use the back burner

No, dear reader. I have not been obsessing about or stalking Frank, who is referred to around here a little bit, admittedly. I have used him as a character to my friends who do not work with me, and yes, I have spent many hours thinking about how wonderful life would be *if* he weren't such a nerd, if he had more spine, if he had a better sense of humor, were a *tad* bit wicked (not in an unhygienic perverted way), if he were more enjoyable to be around. But alas, he is none of the above.

Around about March, Frank returned some books to me. He left them on my desk. I asked my brother what that's supposed to mean. He said, quite matter-of-factly, that Frank must have a new lady in his life. I laughed it off. Please. Nobody could put up with him. Right?

Fast Forward to several weeks ago, when Frank slyly mentioned his "friend," who he referred to as "her" and "she," leading me to suspect that he did, in fact have a lady friend. But, it's just his FRIEND, I reasoned. Otherwise he would have said, my GIRLFRIEND. Right?

Fast forward again to my birthday, which I hardly enjoy discussing, especially when I am charged with the unpleasant business of exposing one man's scheme. For weeks, I had plans with a good friend from the office (Agnes) to have dinner and a couple drinks after work that night. Day of, Frank approached me and wished me a happy day. I thanked him kindly and continued with my work, as I would be expected to do, since Frank has taken to largely ignoring poor old aging MH lately. But no, not this time. Frank said, "Have you decided where Agnes and I are going to take you for dinner tonight?" Of course I was dumbfounded. I replied that I wasn't aware that Frank wanted to come along, but he was absolutely welcome to do so, provided nobody try to "take me out." Frank chuckled. "Alright, then, we'll see you at 6:30."

Why, I wondered, was Frank suddenly being nice to me again? Did he finally forgive the New Years Eve disaster? Was he planning on introducing me to his "lady friend?" Why the hell would he invite her along? As per my new therapist's advice, I decided not to obsess about questions I couldn't possibly answer, and forgot about the whole thing.

Dinner time rolled around, and Agnes arrived. We all decided to try out a new Japanese restaurant, since Frank had already, as he put it- scoped it out- and there were "probably" some vegan selections. All I wanted was a beer, and thankfully it turns out that's exactly what I got! Over the course of our interesting dinner conversation, Agnes innocently questioned Frank about what he has been up to lately. He ho-hummed around while I sipped my beer and disinterestedly inspected the light fixture above the beer cooler. After getting nowhere, Agnes coyly said, "Oh. Frank! Oops! Didn't MH know about Erica? MH; didn't you know Frank had a girlfriend?" I smiled ever so nicely, and responded that I was happy to hear his good news. "Tell me all about her," I said, as politely as I could manage. Why not tell me? I'm only one year OLDER today, you know, one year CLOSER to barrenness and all. Just go ahead and tell me all about how you have found your perfect mate and you are planning a fall wedding because she's knocked up. Go for it.

But it turned out that Frank had news that was not so wonderful. His new love, it seemed, was not meant to be. Erica's dog peed on Frank's foot and Erica (being a psychologist) did not like his response. She thinks his communication style is all wrong.

Erica may have a point, there. And I like her dog, too.