Monday, March 31, 2008

Somewhere Under the Rainbow...More Misdirected Anger

So I ran into this guy I used to know.

DIP and I were at a bar I hung out in alot before I moved out of my house. It's a great bar, really. I met alot of people, had alot of fun -- I guess you could call it transitional. I would call it transitional. Especially after re-meeting this guy.

Anyway, this guy saw me, smiled, said it was "fate" that we met again. Inevitable.

Yeah. Yeah. Fate. Inevitable. Yeah. Yeah. "I'm with someone."

He asked me what was new?

I told him, "My sister has cancer and I don't give a flying fuck about anything anymore. Not a flying fuck."

Cuz I like to say stuff like that. Shock value and all. And opportunities like that come so infrequently. Gotta grab 'em while you can.

If only you could've seen his face. It's so sad, upon reflection.


Blank as they come.

"Call me," he said. "We should hang out."

Yeah. Let's. Cuz it would be sooo much fun right now. "Sure," I said. "Here's my number." Never let it be said that I didn't learn how to behave in public.

He texted me on Easter Sunday, "Hey Pam, Got any big plans for the day?"

I said, "Yes, but I'm not Pam."

He hasn't texted me again. But he's out there, Under the Rainbow.

I just want to scream. And scream. And scream.

Until my throat dissolves from the heat under this fucking rainbow.


Saturday, March 29, 2008

Great Boyfriends Part II

Real Man noun, plural, Real Men:

Man meets woman. Man likes woman. Woman likes man. Woman's sister gets sick. Woman can't think of anything but getting her sister better (even if it means bodysnatching from dickheads), so Woman tells man he can go find another, more fun woman. Man says no. Man stays with woman he likes. Woman likes man even more.

He can still screw up though...

Stay tuned.

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Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Don't Tread on Me -- The Fine Art of Misdirected Anger

As the screeching, wailing, keening, volcanic rage and sadness bubbles and builds within, I'd like to rant and bitch about random illness and the injustice of life. What I'm gonna do instead is take it out on the dickhead who came into the rental agency yesterday.

While I was bringing a car around for Nice Lady Customer, Dickhead entered the building. When I got out and showed Nice Lady the car, she said, "You need to hop in the back and come with me. The guy in there is a real bastard."


For some reason -- the moon? I dunno -- my co-worker's mere presence in the world was pissing people off yesterday. He couldn't say anything right. But I'd say the same thing to the same customer and everything would be hunky dory.

Enter Dickhead.

He accused us of stealing the radar detector he'd left in a rental van, cross-examined us about who might've had access to said precious radar detector, and informed us he wasn't leaving until said precious radar detector was found. By us.

Of course he presumed it'd been stolen by the techs. A lower life form has yet to be found. Despite the fact that they have access to every piece of personal information you possess -- including the DNA of your mistress -- and they never do anything illegal with it, they're still bottom feeders.

Anyway, no possible perp went undetected by Dickhead. We finally showed him the giant drawer comprising our lost-n-found -- DVD players, cell phones, CD collections, designer sunglasses, self help books, and many other far more valuable, useful and enjoyable items than his precious radar detector. But, we'd still stolen it.

At this point my patience, thin as it is these days, was about to snap. I looked Dickhead in the eye and told him we didn't appreciate customers coming in here and accusing us of stealing, and if he was going to wait, he could do it inside the dealership, (away from us.) He took one look at my face, paused, and said, "I'm going outside for a cigarette."

Good choice, Dickhead. Run away. Far away. Fast.

Because now I was in the mood to steal -- his wife's healthy body, for my sister. And nothing would've stopped me. Fuck the fuckety-fuck fucking dickheads.



Sunday, March 16, 2008

With Friends Like These You Don't Need Enemas

Remember Erma Bombeck and her book, If Life Is A Bowl Of Cherries, What Am I Doing in The Pits?

That's my life right now. And my Mom's. And FabDame's.

Especially FabDame's.

Keep us in your thoughts, people. We need thoughts. Good thoughts. Positive thoughts.

Healing thoughts.

With those, we'll be back. Stronger than ever.

See you on the other side.


Monday, March 10, 2008


We all have 'em. Some are more admittable than others. But the wonderful thing about personality quirks is that they're what individualize us. They also make for unique, memorable characters in books -- like Scarlett O'Hara's denial, Hamlet's indecisiveness, or Gus MacCrea's idealism.

But even more interesting, are the little quirks. Quirks that have no deep psychological meaning, but are just there, seemingly for no other reason than to entertain some and irk others.

For instance: My boss hates touching chicken -- especially thighs -- and she won't leave leftovers in her fridge for more than a day.

Child number two has an aversion to pores and hair follicles. She also hates it when I part her hair with a comb. Says it feels like a knife cutting her scalp.

Child number one can't stand kneecaps. She also has mild hypochondria -- any ache or pain and she's dying I tell you. Dying.

I hate the word "spleen" with such a passion I can barely type it. And I won't buy canned soup -- the thought of giant vats of chicken broth make me crazy.

My grandmother wouldn't get out of bed in the morning until she felt stirrings in her bowels. Nevermind that activity actually makes bowels move. Her bowels had to move first.

My grandfather wore a pantyhose cap to bed, over the little hair he had, because he wanted to keep it neat.

Any far out quirks in your family? In you? Come on, spill! It makes us interesting.

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Saturday, March 08, 2008

Beyond Monopoly -- Parlor Games with The Hardins

Child number two is a funny one. She has an extremely high verbal intelligence and even before she could talk she'd get it if I made a pun or engaged in any kind of word play. So I always do those things with her because it's so satisfying and hilarious and it's one of my favorite pastimes.

Thus, the other night while I was texting with DIP, and she asked me where he was, she prefaced it with, "Give me a hint."

Let the games begin!

I was prepared for her to get my hint right away because to me it was so obvious. I replied, "He's in a state that's never had sex."

Can you guess which state that might be?

Child number two thought a moment and said, "New Jersey."

Hahaha! I can see why she'd think that but, nope.



"I know, Florida!"

Heeheehee. Nope.

"Then where? What do you mean by it's never had sex? New Jersey never had sex. I don't think Florida has either. How can a state have sex?"

Where had her high verbal intelligence gone? I was beginning to get worried.

I said, "What do you call someone who's never had sex?"

She stared at me. "Oh, hahahaha! Hahahaha! Virginia. Hahahaha!"


And what kind of games do you play with your children?

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Thursday, March 06, 2008

Friday Feature Presentation...When the Truth is Too...Everything

Yeah, it's a heavy topic for a Friday. But we've got the whole weekend, so, what the hell.

We've all suffered. All had bad things happen to us. For me, the past ten years have involved all the men I've loved dying -- one of them traumatically and violently-- all of them sadly.

It's also involved divorce -- the end of a dream. No one gets married thinking they'll leave someday. As happy as I am to be single, I still grieve the dream.

But in the middle of all that I got two incredible children, made friends with amazing women around the world, achieved the lifetime goal of being a published author, and somehow managed to snag a Great Boyfriend.

So there's tremendous joy. Tremendous!

However, even though I'm an optimist, the bad still comes back to haunt me. What is it about death? Is it the irrevocableness? I think it must be.

Everything else can be fixed. I can stop being published, then submit another book. I can get divorced and remarried. I can (or at least until recently) have another child if I ruin these two with psychological torture. And God knows I've tried! *gg* Or at least foster or adopt.

I can get another Great Boyfriend -- as hard as that might seem on paper. They're out there!

But I can't bring back my dead loved ones.

So, if I follow the adage: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...blah blah, I should be happy with what I have. And I am. I am!

But, the good is SO good and the bad is SO bad.

Is there ever a middle ground? Do I want middle ground? Could I be happy with middle ground?

I think not. And that's exactly why my life has gone how it has.

What about you? Are you a regular person who seeks middle ground? Or is your life full of extreme joy and devastating sorrow?

Are you happy the way things are, or would you like it to be different?

Do you thoroughly feel the good and the bad? If you do, do you think this makes you a Drama Junkie, or a Healthy Human Being?

If you don't, do you think this makes you a loser?

A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Be that as it may, destroy a braincell or two over the weekend and get back to me!


Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Coffe Shop DIP Bytes

At the counter with the nasty barista:

Me: We're still not cute.

DIP: I am. You're not. Now I've got to go out again and find someone else who's cute.

At the table...

Me: I'm going to the bathroom. Will you watch my laptop?

DIP: I'll get the best price for it.

Under the table, DIP's foot keeps nudging mine...

Me: Are you flirting with me?

DIP: I was just trying to scrape gum off my shoe.

**I can't tell if that funny feeling in my stomach is love, or annoyance. Buehler?

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Saturday, March 01, 2008

Seattle 2008

From the talented FabDame, a photo essay of 2008's girl's weekend in Seattle (plus Bill!)

Setting the mood -- yes, we were in Seattle! This is the view Anthros and Dove had as they blasted into outer space:

At the monorail. The irridescent purple background is actually part of the colorful skin on the Experience Music Project/Science Fiction Museum:

Don't you want to be doing this when you're 90? I do: (Mom and Bill)

Me, Bill and Mom after the most fabulous crabcakes of our lives. Don't we look satisfied?:

Me and my boyfriend, I mean my mother's boyfriend. Eating. Again. Are we not the cutest couple?:

But wait. Here's the real boyfriend. Ta Da! DIP's author shot. I saved the best for last. Heeheehee. Surprise!:

Don't tell him I cheated with Bill. It's just a Same Time Next Year type thing. Capice?

Great Boyfriends -- A Top Ten List

No pictures yet... FabDame!!

But anyway. Thought I'd fill in the blanks by updating you on my dating life!

I'm still on the online dating site, but, I dunno. The legions of men emailing me (stop laughing) just can't hold a candle to a certain writer. He's spoiling me!

I think it's intentional too. A manipulation. An evil plan to win my heart and then use me for the buckets of money I earn on my books compared to his piddly sum. There are men like that out there, you know!

He's just pretending to be a Great Boyfriend.

What's my idea of a Great Boyfriend?

Oh, let's see.

1) He remembers everything I tell him, even when we were both in a drunken stupor (first date, btw ;)

2) He texts me about stupid stuff -- like how cold it is in NYC

3) He tells me I'm pretty

4) He plans dates ahead of time

5) He's willing to make me eggs and bagels for breakfast (future date--for all you nosy types)

6) When we're writing together, his energy doesn't fuck with mine

7) He brings me beer

8) He thinks he's the lucky one (little does he know...)

9) He does everything he says he will

10) He's into me

Of course, this list is entirely theoretical. It could all fall apart at any time. In fact, I expect it to.

What's your idea of a Great Boyfriend?

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