Friday, August 31, 2007
My Fella comes in the morning and Jamie is coming. I'm looking forward to it, and especially glad I don't have to drive the two hours to his house. He drove here so many times before I started going to his house, and then we reversed it, and I swear, I'm just tired of his kin folk. They wear me out.
We're talking about taking a nap, maybe catching a matinee, and hoping a friend of mine calls who said she may just end up beside her pool. I could use a little pool time. I don't think My Fella wants it, but then I didn't want to move his sister's home or help his brother haul hay. I dare say an afternoon of swimming doesn't compare.
All right, midnight, I'm off of here.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
James told me that "the girl over there" is his fiance, I've heard about her, I've been going to eat there since I moved to town, since before I moved to town actually. So of course, 'my man' wouldn't be engaged without me hearing about it. He said the last time she came, she told a customer, a gay guy, she was James' fiance and he said, "Well, congradufucklations. I hate you." and that was the end of that.
Now, knowing me, and knowing James, I figured this babe was bothering with his money-making, because the gay boys all love them some James, and this restaurant has many gay boy regulars. But I didn't think I was going to be ugly to her. I mean, geography aside, with me on one side of the bar and her on the other, I just didn't see the point. Though I did think it odd that James thought it would be fun for me to tell her I hated her. I just didn't see the point.
But then the beotch just kept running her mouth, and I happened to be DRINKING, and those two don't match well. There she was telling the guy next to her, "We live in midtown, we live in midtown" blah blah blah. So I'm drinking and thinking, "She keeps throwing it in my face that 'we' live in midtown . . . . " and then as James walks past the bar she says, "That's my fiance."
I threw down my napkin! Put on my tiara! and said, "I've had enough of this shit!" and I marched my self over, sat down, touched her on the arm and said,
"I don't want to hate you. If you make James happy, then I'm happy. But I've listened to you "we live in midtown, we live in midtown" throwing it in my face and now you're saying "He's my fiance." In my mind, he's MY fiance. I know that's just in my mind, in this bar, and when I over tip. But don't make me hate you." then I air kissed her and went back to my seat and had a fabulous dinner of shrimp fajitas.
I know she's cutting into my baby's tip money sitting up there, a girl just don't need to be where her baby makes his money. It's bad sense. And sometimes, a gay guy's just got to go drama queen.
Monday, August 27, 2007
The convention I went off to week before last, I needed one specific brochure, which was wrong. Is it so much to ask?
In the mean time, I've been submitting and re submitting forms for 3 weeks now that would give me access to two specific things - the softwares Showcase and Access, but pulling from specific files on specific drives. Let's just say that right now, Mary Smith uses these two programs to do some analysis on my department, and I've been asked to take it over. Sure, fine, seems like a conflict of interest, but whatever, they pay me right? So on each and every form, I have even written "mirror Mary Smith" or "if any questions about the file, ask Mary Smith." Over 3 weeks now they have been sending the forms back either claiming it's the wrong form, or claiming I have access, which I don't. I know I don't, because I can't do the job. Then they call and ask me things like, "Where does Mary Smith have the file?" Uh- I'm fucking new here. I have no idea where on their main frame, or shared drives, or whatever it's called, these files would be. And I'm about done with it all. Oh, and today, they told me all this stuff had to be up to date by the end of the month for accruals. I just told them, it's not in my hands and I'm not gonna sit up there all night one night trying to get it done, when I can pull every form submission I have and prove I've tried to do it for 3 weeks. To 'ell with 'em.
Thank goodness tonight is Closer and Saving Grace. I'm gonna need to replace my frustrations with their drama.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
I had three days over in Huntsville, Alabama at a convention. I've never before been to Huntsville, and I give it a thumbs up. The NASA museum is nice, as is the children's museum, etc.
I'm watching some of my Tivo programs, I've found this great "Hotel Babylon" on BBC America. Two thumbs up. Later I'm gonna play Friday night's "Dr. Who."
"I dangle my balls in it. Tell him it's a fresh glass." - that's a quote from Hotel Babylon.
Tuesday, My Fella and I decided to take the detour to Scottsboro, Alabama and check out "the island of lost luggage." We were in Huntsville anyway, and it's about a 45 minute drive from there. The deal is, they buy all this unclaimed baggage from the airlines, clean the clothes and sell it. "The only place" they say.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Work is going fine. It's nothing exciting, but it's fine. I'm not miserable, I don't dislike it, but it's not particularly fun or exciting. The plus is, there's a paycheck every two weeks, I like my boss, it has insurance and 401K, and all my employees seem pretty decent, except maybe one.
My Fella's brother is having his cataract surgery on Wednesday of this week. I think everyone is thrilled it's been moved up. The sooner it's done, the sooner he can get back to seeing.
The same My Fella who two weeks ago had me helping move his sister's four bedroom house, this day had me helping haul hay. Lawd, lawd, but I have fallen in love with a country boy, to his core.
So I said to his dad this morning:
"Somebody drove a tractor and has cut the hay."
"You go along behind them with another something that picks it up and puts it into those square bales."
"Then these folks come along, following a truck with a trailer, pick all the squares up?"
He said, "Yep."
I said, "For a city slicker, I got this figured out." He said, "You might can talk this shit . . . . ."
So his brother, who is a country character in himself, good as gold and with enough ex's and children to make any woman wonder if he's swinging gold, has the big ol' diesel F250 truck with the trailer on back, and shows up with 3 kids/step kids, all of whom have their own horse so they have to help with hauling hay to feed their respective animal through the winter. His brother asked me what I wanted to do and I said quite honestly, "Since I'm not kin to yaw and don't own any livestock, I'd just as soon drive the truck." He says to me to drive it between the rows of bales, so people can gather on both sides. He's standing in the trailer stacking it, and if he yells "Whoa!" then to put on the brakes gently, not quick. That was really all the instruction I needed, I mean, it's driving a truck slow and listening for a "whoa!" So I did. We were out there from 3pm til probably after 6pm, with My Fella's daddy and cousin. When we got back with one trailer full to the brother's house, I helped some to pitch the bales down into the barn for stacking. I'm gonna tell ya, that stuff is heavy. Real heavy.
It ain't really something I'd wanna do, the hauling part. The truck driving part is easy. But picking up hay bales and tossing 'em, that gets real heavy real fast.
This blog is not quite a week past due, as it happened on Monday, to a friend of mine. My Fella, I told him, “This is crazy” and I can’t even repeat it without sounding like I’m gossiping. He said, “Well, I know you’re gonna blog it anyway, so just let me read it when you do.”
I have this friend, and for the sake of this blog, we’re going to call her Dounohuiam. That’s short for “Do you know who I am?” We call her that because, although she claims to never tell anyone, everybody knows she has a fairly famous relative. If I told you the relatives name, you would (most likely) recognize it. It’s someone in the entertainment industry, though I’ve never been a fan of, or for that matter ever looked at, their work. But anyway, somehow, for her never to tell people, people always know. Of course, they were relatives before fame, so it’s logical that people in her hometown would know.
Anyway, she’s been dating this guy, and for the sake of this post we’ll call him Lieing Cheating Dennis. Or Dennis for short. She and Dennis met a few months ago at Friday’s (are you old enough to remember it being called T.G.I.F.’s?). Dou loves her some bar type atmosphere – foose ball, karaoke,
A few nights after she meets him, I have to Surprise! Show up at Friday’s and be like, “Oh! I didn’t know you were here!” to meet him. I liked him. Nice guy. Bought me two beers. Seemed real fun, just the kind of guy with whom Dou would have a lot of fun.
By the time his two weeks in town is over, they’re “in love” and she’s telling us all. Then all the plans start – when he’s coming back, he’s saving for a ticket for her to fly to meet him, they’re gonna blah, blah, blah blah blah. What do I say to all this? I tell her go ahead and have a heady whirlwind romance. Who am I to say otherwise, and she’s not going to listen to me anyway.
Then he tells her he’s going to marry her, and on the next trip he’s taking her to buy a wedding ring, and (get this) he even goes to her parents house and tells them he wants to marry her. He sits her daughter down and says he loves her mom and is going to marry her. (aaawwww – until the crazy part comes).
So Monday of this week, a friend of ours stops in my office and says, “Dennis broke up with her today. Called it off, said he couldn’t deal with the stress.” I’m thinking, “Oh great. She’s gonna be a basket case.
So on the way home from work, I call my friend SO, and I says to her, I says, “Do I have to take the exit, or can I just go on home?” SO says, she says to me, “Take that exit. I can feel the bad vibes from here” and I’m like, “OK, beotch, but I’m taking the bulk of this breakdown. You better make a call.”
So I sashay in Dou’s house, she’s all up in the kitchen smoking and drinking Bud Light. (I know it’s bad if she’s not even drinking
So she says he’s married, and I said, “Well, I know he’s got two kids that will soon be in college and the granddad’s paying for college, right?” and then I realize what she means is, “He’s married.” I said, “When did you find out?” July 13. I said, “Ok, well, today is July 14 so . . . . . . wait, no, today is AUGUST 14! And you’re just now telling me, but back to you.” (I’m pissed already, because with those two words what she’s really saying is, “I made this happen by being too stupid to leave a month ago but I’m not going to admit it.” So here’s how the rest of it goes.
July 14, he’s in town on business and they just had sex in his hotel room. She checks the voice mail on her phone while he’s walked to his car or something, and there’s a voice mail from HIS WIFE, who has gone through his cell phone bill. So he walks back in, having been on the phone with his wife and he knows she knows.
So he starts telling her all that crap married men tell women (and sometimes other men) about how she’s a beotch, how she has his children, how he’s going to leave her, blah blah blah blah blah. Then (get this, it’s a good one) he calls someone that he says is his grandmother. HE CALLS HIS GRANDMOTHER, hands the phone to Dou, and this grandmother tells Dou things like, “No one in the family likes his wife. He’s really going to leave her. I’m giving him the money to divorce her.”
OK, so I’m sitting in the kitchen, trying to keep a straight face while I’m listening to this, thinking “Not only did this crap really happen to her, she believes it. She BELIEVES it. She STILL thinks he called his grandmother to try and save his relationship with her.” Now, granted, I don’t know who he called. It might have been his grandmother. But this story is sounding more and more whack. Just whack. So she has this phone call with grandmamaw (I’m mocking it, so read that word the way Endora pronounced it on Bewitched). And she decides (because she’s not co-dependent, nooooooo) to “stay with him.” So the next month passes (I still don’t know what the voice mail from the wife said, I was so in shock I forgot to ask) and she’s “dating” Dennis or whatever. He makes his regularly timed phone calls to her, usually bitching to her about how his wife is a beotch, blah blah blah. So then Dou tells me that Dennis took money out of his 401K to move his wife to
So after all this, he quits calling so much “because my kids are with me and they’re spying for their mom.” But he manages to call her 10 year old daughter on her birthday last week and tell the girl that he loves her and will see her soon. But this Monday, he’s 2 hours late for his regular call and when he does he goes straight to, “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too stressful. It’s unfair to you.” She says she says to him, “Are you telling me you’re reconciling with your wife? Are you telling me to leave you alone?” and she says Dennis gets mad at her and says things like, “You don’t understand how hard this is. You don’t understand what a beotch she is. You don’t understand blah blah blah and then says to her “I don’t have to prove to anyone that I’m getting a divorce except my grandmother because she’s giving me the money.” Then tells her “Didn’t I make you happy for two months?”
Falling in love with a married man is a lot like swimming in the ocean. It may feel great, but that undertow is just going to kill you.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
>Going through some old emails, I found some pictures I meant to upload.
One is a horrible, horrible picture that was hanging in my office at work. One is the really old microwave at work. One is something at a horse show, and the picture is too far off to remind me what I was taking a picture of. One is a waiter at a restaurant where I ate recently. He was medium cute, but had a great curve to his butt. One is a friend of a neighbor who hangs around the courtyard a lot. With his ball cap on and turned backwards, shirtless in jeans, he looks like . . . . . well, white trash. But he's a real nice guy.
My Fella came yesterday afternoon. We both know the sort of free time is coming to an end. Soon he will start night classes again, four evening classes, and we both have full time jobs (thankfully!). So we are taking advantage of the time we can have together. We went to church together today and afterwards, he headed to a college town about an hour away to help his neice get moved in, and I headed towards my hometown for my 7 year old nephew's Shrek 3 birthday party. Brother's attempts to find a donkey for donkey rides was not fruitful, but his promise to create a swamp in the backyard was fullfilled. Lots and lots of mud and water and kids that were having a blast. I said to brother that I was amazed at the simplicity of it. He said hauling wheel barrows full of dirt into his back yard wasn't that simple.
But I think my point was My Fella, he drove down yesterday afternoon and endured with ease the news that he was going with me to a post wedding party in the evening. I had to call a few people to figure out what everyone else was wearing, and found out jeans was fine. So we both went "trendy jeans" with some flip flops and sandals. He wore a favorite shirt of mine, flat bottomed and green linen, fresh out of the dry cleaners. I was in a favorite Target shirt, flat bottomed.
Anyway, I was surprised when I was invited to the wedding, since I've never met the bride and the groom and I have always had a sort of tenuous friendship. We've really devolved into just having mutual friends. But I was pleased to attend his wedding, and his bride (he married up) invited me to this seated dinner the same night. Well, I just can't pass up a good party so I went ahead and told My Fella we had to go.
My sister in law wants a good posting, but I'm afraid this one is kind of dull. I think I do better when I have access to post the endless minutae of my life, and I can get to the good stuff right away.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Having said that, these "Saturday night shows" (even if they are on a Friday night, they are called a Saturday night show) are very different than these "royales" and fundraisers I've seen. The fundraisers had people in tuxes and offspring of the members presenting the awards and blah, blah, blah.
These little local country shows have the added benefit of . . . . . fabulous people watching. Down the gate from me was some folks with Summer Teeth. Some were there, most were not. Now, if you can own a horse and compete with it, you can take yourself to a dentist and get some dentures. But the best part are the fine-azz country boys in their fine-azz country clothes. They have jeans starched rigid and tight tight - tight wranglers, cowboy boots, and equally as startched western shirts. The whole outfit just makes their butts sit up high, and the shirts are tight across their chest, and then they have that hat on. Oh my. It's like a visual country buffet of testosterone.
But the horse shows, even without the organ player rippling a waltz tune across the keys and a high school prom queen giving out the ribbons, is still the same. "Flat walk . . . . . . . . gait. . . . . . . . trot and run . . . . . . . . . . reverse. . . .. . . " over and over and over again.
If you ask people to help you move, then have the decency to F-ing pack. I hate showing up at yo damn house and it looks no different than every day that you have lived there. I'm not your packer, and saying "Oh, that'll take me just a minute." just pisses me off no end. If you can ask people to give up their day off, then you can F-ing PACK. Boxes. Bags. Throw stuff in the garbage. Whatever it takes. But PACK. And don't you damn well look at me in the middle of the day and say, "I have loaf bread and balogna." At the age of 37, you really are too old to rely on friends to help you for a cooler of beer and pizza, but you should at least provide it. And I don't care for or need any excuses about how hard your job is or anything else. If you have the time this weekend to pack, you had the time to stay up late putting stuff in boxes. Not one damn thing. Not one. I am just over it. And My Fella knows I am over it and over his sister. (I meant to type "yo" not "you" or yours")
Second pet peeve - if you give me your cell phone number, expect me to call it. If you can't talk, don't answer it. And don't sound annoyed when I do call it. I had/have this damned customer that gave me her cell phone number, then answered it and said, "Well, I'm in the bank." Did the bitch not know it was a bank when she walked in? I realize that Hurricane Katrina swept through the Gulf Coast, but I gotta figure that in Biloxi, Mississippi, if it's open enough for business, she had to know it was a bank when she walked in. Leave your cell phone in your car or just hit "the button" and send me to voice mail. But don't act annoyed at me for calling you. There are times I hate old people. Ugh!
P.S. I had to log on to add another pet peeve - girls that dress like boys and then wonder why boys don't date 'em. Duh! It's because the boys who want somebody who looks & acts like a boy - well, they're usually gay. Big surprise, the straight boys actually often want girls that look like girls. I didn't design the system, I'm just telling you how it is.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
I just loved that. "They pay me. If I paid them, I'd do what I want to."
As I drove through the streets of my hometown this weekend, I couldn't help but think how much has changed in that town, a great place to be from, but not always a great place to be.
An example is the club where the dance was last Saturday night. Twenty years ago, filled with members on a weekend. This Saturday night, arriving at 7p.m, there was one table of members, and no others I saw all night.
Below is the McDonald's, the first place I had a job and earned a paycheck. The McDonald's has moved across town, and left this shell of a building boarded up on a main road. The next photo was a private club more in tune with the local middle class. It offered the summer-only members a swimming pool, a tennis court, and a small park area. Probably the last year we were members was around 1984 or 1985. The times, they do change.