I have a key from 1949

And it unlocks my front door.

I simply cannot believe it. I have a door. Several doors. I have a hot water heater. I have built-in shelves, they are mine. I have flagstone on MY back patio! Of course I could go on and on. I also have dangerous wiring and threadbare carpeting from 1949.

But I must say, I love it all. Every little piece of asbestos, because it's mine. Say what you will, but that asbestos floor tile has character.One of the bedrooms has a cement floor, but it's been treated somehow. It's been stained and sealed and it actually looks pretty good. If I thought I could achieve the same results with whatever is beneath that carpeting, I'd give it a try. Probably cheaper than hard wood or bamboo. Definitely looks better than vinyl, which is likely too pricey for me anyway.

I roamed the house in a dazed state after the Realtor departed. Turning lights on and off, inspecting closet shelves, admiring the old light fixtures. I commented to my friend, "Look at this medicine cabinet! Now THIS is AUTHENTIC!" She snorted. "Yeah, it's old. You can't even see yourself in the mirror, the reflective stuff is missing." Well so. It's old, what do we expect? When Friend had seen enough and left for her own $500,000 late eighties nightmare, I was free to indulge in more euphoric fantasies with no disturbances.

Tomorrow the home warranty people are coming over to take pictures. I'm not sure that buying a home warranty will be worth it if these people already know what shape my appliances are in. Oh well. Maybe the electricity will be shut off so they can't test anything out.

When I got back to my apartment, I started packing again. I detest moving. But I keep reminding myself that I may never have to move again!

Cleaning, sorting, boxing, discarding

Moving isn't easy when you have too much stuff and you are suddenly without someone else around to help. But I'd rather have it this way if my only other choice would be having X around.

Friends have offered to come over to help, but I'm just too much of a control freak. I want to know exactly where everything is going and I want to pack it myself. That way, I'm the only one who gets blamed if something gets broken. And my brother. He always breaks things because he THROWS boxes all over the place. I'll have to keep an eye on him come moving day.

I have been busy shredding paper for a week. The picture only shows four big bags of shredded paper, but there is another one behind the rest. I have no idea how much paper it was, but it was definitely a whole lot. I STILL have tons of paper. I guess I never throw away bills or documents. But since the divorce is all over with, I'm through renting (I hope), and I don't have much other debt, I guess I can get rid of all those OLD credit card bills and bank statements from 1998.

I'm using the shredded paper as packing cushion for my antique glassware and china. Plus the endless knick-knacks I probably ought to do away with. Then, when I get to my new house, I'll recycle the shredded paper and the boxes. All of the boxes are either second hand from someone else or those I've used any of the several times I've moved recently.

I also utilize space bags. I use the ones that are for travel and you just push the air out of them instead of using a vacuum.

It's Yours

I know only a handful of people take a minute each day to check out my uneventful life. And I thank you. And I do wonder about you and your lives.

But, on to the newest development in my quest for something.

I received a call from the escrow or title person this morning. "I didn't see ______ paper, explaining _____ so I need you to sign and fax back to me. Don't worry, everything is recorded."

Recorded? That must mean it is official.

Congratulations. That's what the title lady said. "I could see you being on one of those HGTV shows. It would be the perfect house. They take $500 and do the most amazing things."

I need much more than $500, that's for sure.

Seller called me several times this morning. I'll tell you all about her later. But she is the neatest lady. Leaving some stuff for me like the lawn mower and some tools and some quilting fabric. Seller is the cutest little old lady EVER. She is super talented. She has been in a garden club for 60 YEARS and she is leaving all of her bulbs to ME! I told my aunt. She is coming down to make sure I know what to do with them.

She called me three times today. First, to thank me for the card. I brought one to the closing thinking she woud be there, but gave it to the title lady when I found out Seller was at home. Titlelady gave the card to her. Seller is finally getting excited to move into her new apartment, where she will probably have a dishwasher and lots of friends. She doesn't need that lawnmower, and wanted me to know that I don't need to get one. She is the sweetest. In my note to her, I said that if she ever wanted to come back to the house, she just needs to let me know. I'll come and pick her up! Because she is the cutest little old lady in the world. What do we think of when we think of an old lady? We think of someone who gardens, quilts, cans, sews, crochets and bakes, right? Right.

Well, Seller is all that and more. I truly respect her as a woman. She raised her children and took care of her husband. She maintained that house until her kids forced her out. And you know what? I'm going to invite her right back in.

Papers signed. Is that it?

I said to my broker this morning, "So what's next?"
"Move."
"But I only signed my name about 50 times. Aren't there any more papers or notices solidifying the case that this whole thing is all my fault and nobody else's?"
"Nope. You just start moving in."


It's not as simple as all that. Seller can't move for another week. I haven't even given the landlord notice because you just never know what can happen.

Wow. Homeowner. MH. My poor little old brain has been working overtime. Not only are there the normal things to think about, it also has to contemplate such important thoughts such as, "Can Kitty walk on the asbestos flooring?" or "What color should I paint the kitchen cabinets?" When it ought to be pondering questions like, "How am I going to pay this f-ing mortgage?" and "Do I really NEED gas, electricity and water?"

First thing I did was call my brother. "You are talking to a HOMEOWNER," I bragged.
"Hey that's great MH. Are you done? My truck is in the shop and I'm tired of sitting around here."
"Good, I'll come pick you up and we can go to IKEA."
"Do you REALLY think this is a good time to be spending any money?"
"I'm only going to look!"
"Yeah right."

Later, on my way to play Scrabble I called my sister. "You are talking to a HOMEOWNER," I chirped.
"Oh, nothing, having a beer with Amber. I got off early today and I decided I wanted a beer so here I am, I don't care what anybody says."
"SISTER. I didn't ASK you what you were DOING. I SAID I'm a HOMEOWNER."
"Oh. Good. Did you work today?"
"No. I signed papers all day. And packed stuff up to MOVE."
"Oh. I have worked for almost 7 days STRAIGHT! I'm butt-ass tired, you know?"
Sigh.

SOME people were happy for me. Dang! I've spent my whole adult life acting like I give a crap when all of these assholes get houses, cars, babies, married, divorced, or operated on. Is it too much to ask to get a little bit of that back? I don't expect anyone to ACTUALLY CARE, just pretend as much. Sheesh!

Getting ready for the big move

I guess I was wrong, we aren't closing until next week. Sigh.

But I've been busy sorting. Yesterday I loaded up the car with items and donated them to the ASPCA Thrift Store.

It felt wonderful to get rid of some of this crap I've been hanging on to for no good reason. Mostly clothes I know I'll never wear again, due to my advanced age and decreased motivation to get off my buns. At long last, I liberated myself of those damn wedding dresses that have stubbornly held some quixotic sentimentality lurking in the depths of my psyche. But the new MH, pragmatic in all thoughts and behaviors, took one look at the big old box yesterday and heaved it right into the trunk of my little economy car. And dragging it in to the thrift shop was nothing more than a task checked off my list of things to get done.

I welcome more days like yesterday.

My new kitchen

As soon as I close on my new house! If I didn't have to work so early in the morning, I'd love to talk about this whole process of buying a home. But It's not over yet. We close next week. Then a week later, I'll be moving.

The current owner is the sweetest old lady ever, and she let me come over to take a picture of the kitchen. My first project will be restoring the tile. X taught me how to do that, but honestly, it's easier than making a cake from a box.

Wal-Mart is Hell on Earth

It has been awhile since a stranger has pissed me off to the point of juvenile retaliation. But of course it was bound to happen. I was at Wal-Mart.

I know. I shouldn't have been at Wal-Mart in the first place. But it was the only place I knew of to get my new couch/guest bed, but I'll talk about that later. Right now, it will suffice to say that after spending over an hour in there, I was ready to rip somebody's head off. People are SO RUDE. Here is what I hate about Wal-Mart:
-Parking lot is dirty and full of litter. Nobody ever bothers to pick up any of the litter either. It just gets driven over time and time again until completely flat and barely noticeable, as it is as black as the asphalt. The inside of the store is just as bad, only the garbage in there collects dust, hair and bugs.

-The carts are gooey, nasty old rickety broken down jalopies.
I DARE anyone to TRY and find one that doesn't have a broken wheel that grinds itself into the floor every time it's pushed.

-The customers (besides me, of course) are all in their pajamas and slippers. They loaf around as if it's the only building in the city with air conditioning and they bring their twenty kids with them to enjoy it. They like to return things, because there is always a line half a block long at the customer service area- which contains dozens of carts full of what can only be assumed are returned items that will go right back out to the shelves.

-Also, the other shoppers do NOT know which side of the aisle to walk on, and they usually feel it necessary to take up the whole aisle when they are stationary. It makes getting around pretty much impossible for those of us who actually have things to do besides loaf around at Wal-Mart all day long. I realize that many people don't have anything to do. I'm not one of them and they piss me off immeasurably.

-The employees are also unaware that having manners makes things easier for everyone. They zoom around, hoping to God that nobody tries to stop them to ask a question. They barrel out of aisles into the main pathways without looking. Screw anyone who might be walking towards them. They don't have to wait for mere customers, dammit.

....I can't stand walking around with a stupid cart, having to go AROUND these lazy people and almost colliding with a few of their twenty screaming, jumping, running kids.

-They also pick their noses and cough into crowds. I'm the only one who cringes inside when I'm coughed at! Do the other people want to get sick or something? It's not like they have jobs to call in sick to. Well come to think of it, it's not a bad idea to let someone cough on you once in awhile. That way you can call in sick.

So. I paid for my cartload of useless albeit cheap stuff and found my car. I'd deliberately parked pretty far up the lot because I know what happens to cars parked close to the front at Wal-Mart. As I approached, I noticed a brand new truck next to my car. It was parked on an angle, and somehow the driver had managed to actually block me in! I was going to have to try to maneuver my car back and forth a few times, just to get out of my space. That fucker! I thought. It figures.

I contemplated my options. I could deal with it and drive away, forgetting all about it within five minutes. I could key the brand new truck, seeing as how the owner deserves it. But that idea was discarded since I already somehow have lots of bad karma, from where it came I do not know. I don't want to go to hell, but it looks like I've done something pretty bad to deserve ending up at Wal-Mart, so maybe I'm already being punished. Anyway, I decided to do something else. I wrote a quick note and placed it under the windshield wiper. Then I parked my cart DIRECTLY behind the ugly truck. My note read:

"Hey ASSHOLE, thanks for blocking me in with your BAD parking job. You probably didn't care that I have to ruin my fucking transmission in order to get out of this space. I considered keying your ugly truck, but decided to be NICE today, and I'll just leave this gooey old cart in your way so you don't forget what might happen NEXT time you go to Wal-Mart. I'll be looking for you."

As I finally drove away, I saw a woman go up to the cart and grab it, giving me a dirty look. She probably didn't notice the note until later. She probably figured I was thoughtless and rude. Of course that's just not true. I'm not thoughtless.

Bret Michaels needs a new weave

I'll admit it. I've watched the Bret Michaels VH-1 Rock of Love for the past month or so. It took me until NOW to realize that this dude has serious issues involving his **formerly** long hair.

What gives? Has he lost all of his hair? Some of it? Because he goes NOWHERE without an ugly old bandanna or cowboy hat. He chills in hot tub in it. He sleeps in it. He somehow has it solidly fastened to his scalp. He may have secret technology that could serve many people in the world. Imagine a hairdo that could withstand a hurricane or tornado.

I'm not a stylist, but one thing is clear: The scarecrow weave/wig/extensions/whatever is hardly better than just DEALING with it. I guess I should feel sorry for him since he's only trying to look younger and "sexier," which is what we women are pressured to do. But I don't, because as a MAN, he's LUCKY and should be grateful he isn't expected to have a full head of hair (like women) or to get his lips packed full of collagen (like women). Next thing you know he'll be getting implants.

While I'm at it, I can't forget to mention those pathetic women who are "continuing to rock" his "world." WTF is wrong with people? Is actually working for a living THAT freaking repulsive?

I guess I just don't understand this whole process of becoming a mindless ho. How does one go about deciding that getting shitfaced on tv and performing sexual favors on an aging has-been scarecrow is a worthwhile activity? What is the drive? Because the few who may have actually listened to his music were long gone before I started watching.

Maybe it has something to do with the entertainment industry, of which I've never been a part. I mean, I'm entertaining enough without trying, and I don't even ask for money. All I have to do is go about my day normally, tripping off escalators, bumping people's favorite plants off their desks, dropping my keys or my pen and what have you. But for crying out loud, I don't make an ass out of myself on PURPOSE.

And I'll be damned if I'd do it for some old scarecrow with collagen and implants.

What is the definition of Masculinity?

Because I do not have have never (purposely) been a consumer of porn, I was astonished to read this article by on AlterNet, responding to Robert Jensen's new book, Getting Off....

Pornography and the End of Masculinity
Don Hazen
September 22, 2007


I can't bring myself to quote some of the more shocking parts of the article. If I thought reading the damn book would make my life any easier, I might buy it. But I think all I can do is what I'm doing right now: refuse to buy porn of any form.

Many have said that people hardly change much. Cruelty and degradation of the weak by the powerful has "always" been around, right?

I would like to examine how our idea of a man has changed over recent time. It used to be that men of integrity, chivalry and responsibility were respected. Not anymore. Now we don't even bother with those trifles. Men are measured by their ability to victimize, and men are measuring themselves by it, if the billion-dollar porn industry is to be given its full due.


But what's the use of complaining about it? The stupid women who allow women to be degraded are still going to show up to the set and the photo shoot and the strip club. The stupid men who "get off" are still going to show the porn industry and the rest of the world how easily their minds can be taken hostage in the name of cash...

"...For Jensen, the most plausible explanation of the popularity of these acts is that women in the world, outside of pornography, don't engage in these acts unless forced. 'Men know that -- and they find it sexually arousing to watch them in part because of that knowledge...'"

"...If I were them, if I were a woman, I wouldn't want to know that. Life is difficult enough without knowing things like that, without having to face that one lives in a society in which no matter who you are -- as an individual, as a person with hopes and dreams, with strengths and weaknesses -- you are something to be fucked and laughed at and left on the side of the road by men. Because you are a woman..."

The only glimmer of hope is that here we have two men writing about the societal negatives associated with the porn industry. Because as we all know, nobody is listening to women.

Vacation all I ever wanted...

Exposing my advanced age yet again with that title.

Yesterday marked my first official day of vacation this time around. It was my intention to have a couple days of "MH" stuff going on before departing for the Great Up North, where I will spend a week with my beloved Grammy. I just needed time to sit around doing my most favorite thing in the world: calculating my budget every which way. It's the most fun ever.

I love it when I get some bright idea in my head like, "Hmmm, wonder how much money I'd have left over at the end of the month if I ONLY ate salad with no dressing?" or "Hmmm, if I bought a condo with a patio or a yard and grew my own salad, THEN how much money would I save?.... Well then I could afford a higher mortgage payment, right? So how much more can I spend on a house if I grow my own salad?" Stuff like that, you know important things.

In between calculations and other serious endeavors, I found the time to convince two different real estate agents to show me some townhomes. One was COMPLETELY out of my price range. Not, mind you, more than I'd been approved for- but one thing I've learned from watching everybody else lose their houses is to buy based on what I know I can pay. Not what some guy TELLS me I can get a loan for. So then I looked at a unit that is about $75,000 cheaper than #1. The only thing I can't stand is that I will have neighbors on EACH side of me. Ugh. I asked the agent if she knew anything about them, and she looked at me like I'd stepped out of one of those Nazi propaganda films. She said, "I'm sure you understand that these types of discussions are not prudent." Well, why not?! It's not like I asked her if they were Irish Catholics. What I REALLY wanted to know was whether or not they had any kids. Specifically TEENAGERS. Because I know exactly what I'd have to deal with if a teenager lived next door. I used to be a teenager. I wouldn't have wanted to live next door to me. So anyway, I didn't get anywhere with her. She referred me to the HOA president, who I'll talk to later if I decide to show up with my tape measure.

I also looked at a new-build. Wasn't impressed, and it must be bad if I'M not impressed. I could probably count on one hand the amount of times I've actually stood in a home that hasn't ever been lived in. But the whole development looked somewhat thrown together. I opened a closet and saw a bunch of boxes and leftover pieces from the furniture that apparently didn't need to be put together all the way. The bedrooms were tiny. What if I wanted to get a king sized bed? Lastly, the REAL hurdle would be the ugly spiral staircase, which leads to the "loft" "master suite." WTF were they thinking? How are we supposed to get our master suites up there? I don't know.

So in the morning, bright and early, I'm off to see my Grammy. She is at the point where she can't be left alone anymore and I volunteered to go up there for a week. I can't wait to see her! She loves to play Scrabble and I might be able to get her to tell me some stories about her "Momma" and "Nana."

When I return, I intend to waste ZERO time in finding a house and getting moved in. Have to keep moving on and up!

I'm OK?

My last session with Marty the therapist was- the last session. He told me that I'm on the right track, and if I should ever need to talk about any issues, he'll always be around.

I'm glad because to be honest I was starting to think Marty gets all of his material from outdated self-help books. I had to read The Power of Now and then he started with I'm Ok You're Ok. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I read that thing eons ago. My mom had bought it but acted guilty every time anyone saw her reading it. By 10, my reading skills were advanced since I'd already been sneaking VC Andrews and Stephen King books for years.

I thought IOYO was some sort of pornographic sex how-to manual that was meant only for
adults so I couldn't WAIT until it ended up in cardboard box underneath the basement stairs so I could get my hands on it. That's where all her Harlequins went, eventually. Then the basement would flood and the hundreds of Harlequins would get ruined, no big loss. Anyway. I found it under the basement stairs and devoured the darned thing before I learned that there was NOTHING interesting about that book. NOTHING. Then I started acting like I was OK but my parents were not OK. I've been acting like the parent ever since. That seems to be my role, I guess. Of course, Harris is a popular subject for a day in sophomore PSYCH class lecutres, and I got to learn how he came up with his goods.

Marty's point the other day was that I'm ALWAYS in the parent role. I told him about X and how he never talked to me like he talks to his new PetName. Marty said, "Well, can you picture someone talking to their mother like that? Because that's what you were. When was the last time you acted like anything other than a parent?" Fine. I get it.

Then I told Marty my good news and how excited it was to finally, maybe be able to have my own house again. I told him how I used to drink my first cup of coffee every morning, walking around my back yard, inspecting all of my flowers and my garden. I told him how I used to make a cake from scratch at least once every week. How I enjoyed cleaning my house, decorating, painting, and taking care of it.

And I have not felt anywhere near such happiness since the day I moved. Three years ago next week. I told Marty that I feel like the old me. Just knowing that I can buy a house if I want to has rejuvenated me. Marty said that there I go again, not thinking about having fun. I'm thinking about getting a house so I can create more work and put more pressure on myself. I want to "mother" a house since I am no longer married.

He really missed the mark there, because he's so wrong. I used that house as a play house almost, because I didn't have a home like that growing up. I created my own world to be a kid in. I don't know what I will do when I settle in a new house. Hopefully I've grown in ways that I didn't expect. But for now, I'm so glad to be able to see. Marty is great, but he just doesn't get it this time. Oh well, can't win 'em all, Marty! You're still ok!

Bigger and... and BETTER things!

For all involved. X wanted - what he wanted, I still don't know what that was, but it certainly wasn't me. Move on, MH.


So I've moved on to what I want. I want a house of my own!

I called a mortgage place yesterday to see how many decades it will be before I will actually be able to buy a home on a FIXED rate. And surprise! When they called me back I was tentatively approved for over TWICE what I thought I would ever be able to spend. This is thanks to all the raises I've been getting lately I guess. Plus my credit hasn't been completely wrecked by the divorce. Wow. Do I deserve a stroke of good luck? Crap, I know I just jinxed myself with that last sentence.

So now the search is on for a new home. I took some time while not being able to sleep last night to write down my must-haves:

• AT LEAST washer/dryer hook-ups. No more coin-op or take-out laundry for MH! Yay!
• Area for a dog to run and play. Grassy area. So I can have a dog. Plus I need at least a container garden.
  
• BIG kitchen (or at least room to enlarge kitchen) because I have three awesome metal cabinets from the forties that NEED to stay in the kitchen.

IF it's a condo or townhouse:

• Lots of storage
• Two bedroom w/ at least 1.75 baths
• Private outside area for my morning coffee
• LOW HOA
• Nice neighborhood to preserve my morning run.

IF it's a house:

• It CANNOT be newer than 1960 (unless I just go with brand new, which I doubt)
• Fence
• Two baths or room to grow
• Original kitchen and maybe baths
• Must not add up to more than I can afford INCLUDING extras

What I will need to buy: I need a couch. I have not had a couch for three years.

I want to buy a Murphy bed for the guest room/space so I can also use it as a sewing room and office. There is an awesome Murphy bed that has a desk top on the outside, which gently floats down when you pull the bed down. It probably costs around $3 grand though. I could frickin' make my own for that kind of money! But that's what I want.

I NEED to get a new bed. The last time I had a brand new bed, it was when my parents bought me a daybed when I moved out. That was, let's see, 17 years ago! I slept on the daybed for 10 years. Then I bought an old full-sized bed from craigslist for $40. It is from the fifties. I don't recommend sleeping on a mattress from the fifties, even if it is from SEARS. When my sister came to visit, I broke out the air mattress for her. It's a queen size! She raved about how comfortable it is "for an air mattress." After she left, I thought it would be fun to try it out and I have been sleeping on it ever since. It's SO much nicer than that crappy old thing. So I need a new bed. I might upgrade to a queen size too. Not sure.

That's really all. Except for appliances if the "new" place doesn't have them. But I sincerely hope it does. I want AUTHENTIC appliances. I want the counter-top RANGE and the WALL oven.

I think I'll copy most of this post to my other blog and try to keep all of this boring house crap over there.

"Pathetic" works on other women as well.

I have had a few hours to process the below information, and I can't figure out if I'm being FOOLED or if it's true.

Fact: I am GETTING emails from X. But they are written "to" someone else.

According to these emails:
X is GETTING laid.
Someone else is actually ENJOYING it. I'm not making this shit up.

Which leads me to the following questions:
a. Is X fucking with me, so to speak? (am I just vain as hell that he could be wasting this much effort on a game?) OR

b. Is X actually getting LAID? ... and PLEASING this person?

Possible answers to:
a: Yes. He is just playing games, he has nothing better to do, you know damn well, MH, that X couldn't score in the first place, that's why he had to find a prude like you who was so afraid of men she wouldn't know she what she was missing.

b: Yes. He actually DID find someone who he is ATTRACTED to, and YES, she is a human female specimen. Not sure what she looks like. Could be an ugly heifer but according to X, the specimen has huge jugs and entertaining nipples.

Why SHOULDN'T I be grossed out?

Either way, I'm annoyed. If he is putting on some show of a back-and-forth email chronology of their newly established sex life, it's a waste of time. But what if I'm just fooling MYSELF? What if (I do suspect that) he IS in a new relationship and both are happily satisfied?

Does that mean there is something wrong with me? It has caused me to take a long look at myself over the past few hours. Is there really something wrong with ME? Or, did X just marry someone he never was really attracted to in the first place? Because he never said any of this crap to me that he says in these emails.

What bothers me the most, and I'm only being honest about the whole thing...

..is that he NEVER ONCE acted like he was attracted to me at ALL. I thought there was something wrong with HIM, and I felt SORRY for him and loved him anyway.
..is that I supported him because he was WEAK and LAZY and I loved him anyway.
..is that I TOLD myself that the only reason he was cheating on me while I was WORKING and he was DINKING around all day at home, was that he had a low self esteem and it was HIS problem.

But wow, here it seems, X is carrying on some sort of relationship with a YOUNGER woman and "they" seem to be very happy and content in every way.

It hurts. I feel so immature and hateful, but it does hurt.

Admittedly, I will probably have a much better future than X. I have always known that I could take care of myself.
I have a career, he doesn't. I can *pay my bills.* He doesn't. I.... have Kitty?

Well. I have assured myself for the past year-and-a-half that I would get my revenge by going on with life and I'd be fulfilled while he would languish in his cesspool of sloth. But I guess I was wrong. I'm the one in the cesspool. He's going on with his life. He has found someone else. Finally.

Why didn't he just leave me alone in the first place?

Old FSA Housing in Chandler. Gone.

Yet another piece of history, vanished. Arizona Part-Time Farms / Chandler Farms
Some background:
The "Dust Bowl Storms" of the thirties produced thousands of migrant workers from the Great Plains who headed west in search of seasonal jobs. Arizona's cotton farming industry was beginning to boom so there were a few Farm Security Administration housing sites built. I found pictures of some of them and really liked the ones from Chandler. They had unique qualities. The design of the windows and the placement of the buildings encouraged air ventilation. Windows would open on both sides of the building, creating a nice breeze. If there was a breeze, that is. Also, and most importantly to me, these buildings were made of Adobe! How many Adobe buildings have YOU seen? Yeah, that's what I thought. American history. Knocked down for no reason at all. It's probably an ostrich farm now.


WHY do we always tear neat stuff down in Arizona? They don't keep the cool old buildings, OH NO, not when you can replace them with crappy strip malls and parking lots. I was hoping that they had turned them into condos! Look at this kitchen! Exactly what I want, right there. Oh well. It's probably a Dairy Queen or something now.

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.