We're movin' on up!

Jacob's house is over 100 years old, on the Historic Register.  Behind the house is a little cottage that was originally his home's carriage house.  It was converted to living space in the 1950s.  When the tenant gave notice that she was buying a house and moving out, I got to thinking.

This might be an opportunity that's too good to pass up.  Daughter and I were spending almost every evening at Jacob's house, and I was developing a strong dislike for the four-mile drive home each night. And it comes with storage space in a detached garage.  No more storage unit with Ranger.

Jacob said he'd rather I was moving boxes into his house, but he'd take what he could get.  So, it was a done deal.  We rented the carriage house.

Moving day came very quickly.  Daughter and I cleaned, sorted, and packed.  We had an ungodly number of boxes.  I rented a truck, Son, and a friend of his for the day, and so it began....

First, we went to clear out the storage unit.  Ranger assured me that it was easy to get to my stuff, that he'd organized it and left a clear aisle to get to things.

He was sorely mistaken.

My things were buried in two places in the unit, with his rock tonnage in the way.  After I threw a fit for awhile, we started digging out.  In the process, Son spotted some rocks he thought were ultimately cool.  I let him take them.

He also spotted some of his old toys and was transformed.  The light that came across his face as he handled the pieces of his wooden train track and old crayon drawings was of such child-like joy....well, it did my heart good to see that my little boy is still behind that "I'm a man now" attitude.

Son and his friend cursed my love of books on more than one occasion that day.  The number of book boxes is kind of overwhelming.  I need more shelves.

At the carriage house, we started the unloading process.  Instantly, we encountered a problem.  The staircase takes a sharp turn at the foot, then there's a low overhang going up.  The combination of the two made it impossible to fit the box springs to a double and queen bed up the stairs.

"You'll just have to get out of the lease," my mother said. Always butter-side up, I swear.

I went to talk to Jacob, who was home sick from work.  He came and examined the problem.  In no time, he had the double bed's box springs up the stairs.  Son was gaping at him.  My folks were impressed.  Leprechaun magic, I said.

The queen wasn't so easy.  Jacob tried removing the handrail.  One good shove and...the box springs knocked a big hole in the wall.  Someone suggested dismantling the box springs, then reassembling upstairs.

As this discussion went on, Jacob laughed to himself.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, I was just thinking that we could take it over to my room," he said, quietly to just me.  "Then, you and I could break it, then move it over here...."

Yeah, we know how to break bed-things.  I had to laugh, too!

Plan B.  No box springs.  We got plywood and built a platform in my bed frame.  Jacob later made a sweet offer.

"How attached are you to that bed?" he asked.

"Very," I said.  I love this furniture.  It's the bed I bought when I finally released I didn't have to keep the big king bed that I'd bought with my ex.

"Oh, because I could build you a nice platform bed," he said.  "Very Japanese!"

So, Daughter and I have been settling in to our little cottage.  It is little.  Tiny, actually.  But it's oh-so-cute.  And we're all oh-so-happy with it.  Seeing her, the first night she snuggled into her bed, amid a roomful of boxes, smiling as she typed out a journal entry...well, she was happy.

As am I.  And Jacob and his girls.  He stops to say "Good morning" to me as he leaves in the morning.

"I don't have makeup on," I said.

"You're beautiful," he said, then kissed me and went on his way.


The other night, I crept over to his house and snuggled into bed with him in the wee hours.  It marked the first time we awakened together in the morning, and it was beyond delightful.

Only one incident marred the week.  I was home, unpacking.  I took a break to play with Foursquare.  There is a checking spot for the Historic District.  I used it.

Unbeknown to me, Ranger was waiting at a bus stop.  Four blocks away from my house.  I've avoided telling him where I'm moving to, although he's aware I moved my part of storage.

Apparently, he saw my checkin and set about finding me.  He spotted my car.

I got a text.  "123, eh?" he said.  ("123" being the numbers of my address.)

Then, a knock on the door.

I was not happy.  I'm making my Foursquare checkins private now, so no one else can see them.

Jacob asked later if he could help.  "I can come out and act like a psychopath," he said.  "Try to bite my own face and all that."

That mental image about slayed me.  And it just might work!  Ha!

But today, we switch gears.  Daughter and I are off on our annual Spring Break trip.  Vegas, baby!

Daddy dearest

Since my divorce, I've determined that my children will forge their own relationships with their dad.  I will guide and protect them whenever necessary, but my experiences and opinions about the man will not impact their own.  They love him and see him in a different light than I do, and it's as it should be. 

The tough part about all this is that I can't warn them about him without looking bitchy and bitter.  That harms my relationship with them, and we can't have that.  So, I'm there when he lets them down.  It's inevitable.  He's big on promises and small on follow-through. 

For instance, there was the promise to never move away from them, follow shortly by the announcement that he was moving 10 hours away.  Then, there was the time he married a woman they had met once and couldn't stand, without telling them.  He told me a few days after the fact, and I was supposed to break it to the kids.

This is how he shapes his relationships with them.  I don't have to say a word.

Over the last couple of years, Son has been asserting himself with his dad and setting boundaries.  Basically, he's said, if you can't do anything but chew me out when we talk, then we won't talk.  So, for a year and a half, they didn't talk.  Now, if your child wasn't talking to you and told you why, would you consider changing your behavior to make it right?

Not this guy.  He just sent Son blistering emails and voicemails about what a jerk he thought he was being.  This is why Son doesn't listen to voicemail anymore.  He sent them to me, too.  He wanted me to force Son to talk to him.  Yeah, that'll work out nicely for everyone.  He retaliated by not sending Son birthday and Christmas presents.

He finally got it and backed off.  He and Son talk occasionally.  But I still hear about it when Son doesn't return a message.

One of Daughter's most embarrassing moments happened on a visit to her dad.  Riding in the car with her Korean friend, he decided that doing his Chinese accent would be a good idea.  She was mortified.  It's evidential of how he doesn't take Daughter seriously.  She gets weary of conversations with him because everything is a joke to him.  She's stopped talking about friends and interests because he either makes a crack or just says, "Oh."  It's frustrating to not be heard, so she finds little to say.

When he married his third wife, the woman told him that Daughter is a teenager, so she wants to talk about boys.  Neither of them really bothered to figure out the reality of what Daughter wants to talk about.  They just decided.  Keep in mind, this is the man who told me he's not into the same things his daughter is, so that means he doesn't have to try to relate to her about them.  I know - he so doesn't get that it's not about him.  Was I into baseball when Son started Little League?  No, but I learned because it was important to him.  It's about the child, not about you.

For the record, Daughter does not want to talk about boys.  She is comfortable in the fact that dating doesn't start in our house until age 16.  She watches her friends' dating drama and is thankful to not have it.  Her guy friends are her friends.  But she doesn't mention them because her dad is predictable in his reactions.  He'll hassle her about them.

That said, Daughter has developed her own entertainment surrounding her dad.  She'll toy with him.  It's become sport to her to make the man go into orbit.  Anything related to her growing up will set him off.  I've watched her do this.  For instance:

"Dad, I am starting to wear makeup."  She grins, waiting.

"Makeup?  Why would you want to wear makeup?"  His hackles are up.

"I'm old enough now.  And I like how it makes me look."  Grins again.

Now he's indignant.  "You're not old enough.  You can wear makeup when you're 35.  And you look just fine without it." (Not that he'd know....he hasn't seen her since September 2008, but that's another story.)

She laughs.  "I made Dad get all puffed up," she says.

She has a new obsession lately - Korean boy bands.  Remember that Korean friend of hers?  Yeah, she shared some YouTube links and got her hooked.  Daughter talks about them all the time.  I mean, ALL the time.  She even infected Jacob's oldest with this obsession.

But she does not tell her dad.  Why?  She doesn't want to hear the Chinese accent again.

However, last night, he sent her a chat message on Facebook.  After getting a good raking over the coals for not answering her phone (dead battery), she decided it was time to mess with him.

"Hey Dad, I have a new hobby."

"What's that?"

"Korean boy bands." Sends a link.

Pause.  "Are you serious?"

"Yes!  They're so cool!  Check out these videos."  More links.

"Ah so.  Me like-a sushi."  Really?  Attempting an Asian accent online?  Daughter face-palmed.

"No, that's Japanese, Dad."

Pause.  "Ah so. Me like-a chop suey."

"No, that's Chinese."

"It's all the same, anyhow."

"No, it's not."

"Why Korean boy bands?"

She debated about telling him about her Korean friend.  Instead, she got my attention and said, "Watch this."

To him, she said: "Because they are HOT!!"

Pause.  "No. You did not just say that."

And Daughter is in hysterics.  Button pushed.

She's almost 16.  You wanted her to be interested in boys, Dad.  Now, she is.  Deal with it.

I can't believe she's almost 16.  We're beginning to plan her Sweet Sixteen party.  The head of the Art department here is a friend, and she's letting me have the Art gallery for this event.  She's met Daughter and seen her work.  We're going to hang Daughter's artwork from over the years, play music from her iPod playlist, and have it catered with her favorites.  It's all about her.

Will her dad be here?  I don't know, since he still feels he doesn't have to relate.  That still breaks my heart a little, but she and Son have learned to be content in the relationships they've made.

Cruising right along....

That earlier experiment worked out so well that we did it again. A day off to ourselves, but this time I picked up breakfast burritos so we wouldn't have to leave the house, if we didn't want to. And we didn't want to.  It was sensuous and cozy and wonderful, all day.  There's something to be said for spending a day at home, without the necessity of pants.

Best of all, we got the chance to just talk.  We don't often get time alone to speak freely, without texting.  We paused our movie and cozied up on the couch.  At one point, he apologized for feeling so talkative that day.  Really?  I soak up such moments, and wish they happened much more often.  We always discover more parallels we have

Mid-afternoon, we picked up our respective children and had a wonderful evening with them, too.

Our "family" evenings (as we've come to think of them) are spent with dinner, movies, games, and Legos.  One of our favorite games is Apples to Apples, the Disney edition.  If you haven't played this game, the short description is that the "judge" player puts down an adjective card and all the others (anonymously) put down noun cards to go with it, then the judge decides whose noun wins the round.  You can lobby for your noun card to win, too.  Every time we play, we laugh until it hurts!

One night, during the game, Jacob excused himself for a moment and disappeared in the direction of his office, returning shortly without explanation.  When it was my turn to be judge, I found out why.  As I'm flipping through the noun cards everyone else put down, I find this:

(in case you can't read it, the note says: Pick this one)

It caught me by surprise, and I about laughed my ass off.  "Gee, which card is yours?" I asked.  Jacob grinned. 

I can't remember at the moment, if I ended up picking this card for that round.  I also kept the note.  Later, I was looking at it and thought how each day, I find new ways this man is beautiful to me.  I texted him.

"Some thing occurs to me, about your 'Pick this one' note," I said.  "In many ways, I already have."

More smiles.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Last week was an up and down kind of week.  It started out rough.  I was typing away on this blog, during a break at work, when the light from my window dimmed.  It's behind me, so I turned to see what happened.

Ranger stood there.  Looking in the window at me.

When he saw I spotted him, he came into the building and sat in my tiny office.  He seems to think he can talk his way out of this situation.  Like, if he can convince me to let things go back the way they were, then he doesn't really have to get off his ass and get his life in order.

Let me say here that I really do hate hurting him.  I hate hurting anyone's feelings.  But he's putting in the position of saying things that he doesn't want to hear (again), and saying them bluntly.  I mean, I don't have a heart of stone.  I cared about the man for a long time.

For the next hour, we rehashed why I'm not with him and that, no, his promises to do better are not going to fix things. Promises mean nothing.  Words from Ranger mean nothing.  Too many lies and secrets have existed there, and still do.  I can't live or love that way.

He seemed genuinely surprised.  "So, me just saying so isn't enough?"

Right. Not that this should be news to him.  But right.

For an hour, we did this.  At my place of work.  That cannot happen.  I told him that he couldn't show up like that again.

"But doesn't it prove something that I'm willing to walk all this way to see you?  Especially when I'm hurting like this?"

No, it doesn't.  It's creepy.  And the hurting he's referring to is not emotional; it's physical.  He has a serious problem with his back.  So, he thinks he's proving something because, in his mind, he's hurting himself for me.

Does that sound sick to anyone else?  Because I'm a little disturbed by the whole thing.

I finally had to leave to get him to leave.  I literally had to take him somewhere else to get him away from my office.

The rest of the week was ok.  It's the week before payday, so things are always a little thin.  I got my tax refund, which was much less than previous years.  I booked the annual Spring Break jaunt with Daughter, but on a tighter budget this year.

I discovered a Borders gift card that I didn't know I had.  Our local store is closing, so I high-tailed it over there.  They were out of the books I wanted, so I snagged a Lego set that I thought would be fun at Jacob's.

That night, at his house, I lamented that I wasn't able to find those books.  "What books?" he said.  I gave him the author's name.  He grinned.  "What titles?"

I named them, and he went to his shelves.  "You should check with me before buying any books now," he said, handing me the exact title I wanted.  He had the other one, too, but it was out on loan.

I love this man!

After dinner, more smiles.  He'd gotten Lego sets for everyone.  As we dumped out the bags of little bricks all over the dining table, he said, "We're gonna need a bigger table."

True.  It was covered.  We played, and we were all very happy.

Say hello...maybe

I started this blog in 2004.  Over the course of the last seven years, a handful of people have discovered this blog, and then discovered that they really do know me.

"You're Blogget Jones" is not a phrase I hear very often in "real" life, but it has happened.  A couple of friends from the past have read this and then sent me feedback privately.  One other fella wanted to know why he wasn't included.

To my knowledge, no one I've actively written about has seen this blog.  Well, until now.

He has said that what's here isn't important.  It's my private business, and he trusts that I'll tell him about anything I write about, in any case.  So, I don't know that he'll ever read this, but he might.

So...Dear Diary, wave hello to Jacob.

It was a heart-stopping moment when I realized he'd found it.  A heart-stopping, kick-myself kind of moment.  Two things had happened simultaneously:

He followed Blogget on Twitter....
...then tweeted an "oops" message.

I'd waited too long to explain Blogget to him.  I've never wanted to reveal my secret identity to anyone, but this had been troubling me with Jacob.  I wanted to tell him, but needed a chance to warn him first that Blogget's writings are sometimes unflattering to me.  When I've done stupid things, I've written about them.  I sometimes look (and feel) like an idiot.

And I'm sexually blunt.  But I doubted that would bother him.

I also realized that others could find this blog so easily, too.  I deleted Blogget's Twitter feed.  That had been a stupid move on my part.

It's important that a few key people not read Blogget Jones's Diary. But Jacob is welcome to it, in all it's sometimes-embarrassing glory, should he decide to visit. I don't write anything he doesn't already know.

If you could, would you?

It's been a huge week for me at work. For about a year now, we've had two large decisions hanging over our heads:

1. Do we officially adopt certain national standards for our online classes, and undergo all of the training to review and rework all of those classes?
2. What will our new online delivery system be? Our current system is being discontinued, so we must move to something new. 

It's been a year of paperwork, research, testing, meetings...rinse and repeat.   The respective committees finally made their recommendations, which had to be presented to the President of the college for approval.  After all, it'll mean he signs a huge check for these things.  In a year when everyone is expected to slash budgets, we're asking for an expenditure of about a million bucks.

We had both meetings with the college President last week.  That was a fun morning.  No stress at all.  Luckily for me, my boss did most of the talking.  I was there to do presentations and fill in details.

The first meeting gets underway.  The whole committee is there, to support the recommendation.  My boss is explaining the whole thing, talking directly to the President.

And the man turns to talk to the person sitting next to him. In a normal, conversational tone.  While my boss is talking to him. Boss kept talking, but he threw a knowing grin around the room.  Apparently, everyone else was accustomed to this rudeness, but I was still appalled.

Still, we got what we wanted and were told to proceed with implementing the program and training we needed.  Cool.  One down.

The second meeting set up much the same.  I'm at the front of the room, waiting for my cue to show the pretty presentation I had for the President.  He sits down and flips through the handouts.  "You guys know more about this than me," he says.  That's about all he says.

My boss is sitting beside him, with the IT director.  They are going through the hows and whys of our recommendation.  They're, like, two feet from him.

He whips out his iPhone and starts texting.

They keep talking.

He gets up. And leaves.

My jaw dropped.  Seriously?

The accounting guy tells us we're free to proceed with the contract.  They know all they need to know.  Rubber stamp, and we're done.  We got what we wanted.

I must have had a look on my face because someone asked me to go ahead and show the pretty pictures.  I did that, but felt rather patronized.

On the way back to my office, I was elated that we got what we wanted, but I was still appalled by the behavior of our President. It was arrogant and demeaning.  I'm still a little speechless.

At first, I wished that it was acceptable for me to do something similar.  When I'm tired of a meeting, I just leave. Wow.

But would I really be that rude to people?  No, I wouldn't.  It's a matter of respect.  By showing me the disrespect he did, with his rudeness, he also harmed my respect for him.

My warm-fuzzy Valentine

Jacob has two adorable little girls, ages 10 and 8.  He says he thinks his life looks pretty bad, from the outside looking in.

"How so?" I asked.

"Two kids, with two different mothers," he said, making a face.  "That has to look irresponsible."

"No," I said.  "You have two daughters who you are making a good life for, and making sacrifices to see to it that they come first.  That doesn't look bad at all."

"We do what we must," he says.

"In my experience, a lot of people don't care what they 'must' do," I said.  "Especially where kids are concerned."


I've worried a little about the youngest being uncomfortable with his relationship with me. We know his oldest doesn't have a problem at all.  She's been testing my reaction to "I love you" lately.  She'll say it like, "You brought pie!  I love you!"  I hug her, kiss her on the head, and say, "I love you, too," and she seems happy.

Last week, when Jacob wasn't near, his youngest threw her arms around me and said, "I love you."  I reacted the same way with her, and she happily scampered away. Last night, I'm sitting on the couch with the youngest, playing video games.  Jacob came to sit by us, just sitting back and watching the goings on.  Youngest takes the controller (because I suck at games!) and leans against me to play.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you, too," I said, kissing the top of her head.

I looked at Jacob. His jaw was slack and his eyes wide. "That's huge," he said, mouthing the words.

I gave him a puzzled look.  "It's the second time," I said.  His jaw dropped more.

"She doesn't do that," he said.  "She'll answer you, but she'll never say it first."

I was speechless.  That moment meant so much to me.  To Jacob, too. His smile was of utter joy and delight, as she cuddled closer into my lap.

I saw that smile again, later, when we saw all three of our girls, sitting in a cozy pile together on the couch, watching television.

Finances are stretched at the moment, so he asked if I'd mind not making elaborate plans for Valentine's Day. I don't mind one bit.  Valentine's is about love.  And right now, I find that cup filling nicely.  I have my Valentine, many times over.

WYSIWYG. No, really.

I found my perfect remedy for a headache.  Soft pajamas, Excedrin, and Jacob massaging the back of my neck, while I rest my head in his lap.  Defeated a migraine in record time.

I couple of days later, I had a little mini-breakdown and became one of those high-maintenance women that I generally despise.  Jacob texts me right before going to sleep.  And I do mean right before.  When you get the "Goodnight" text, you have about 30 seconds before he is out and oblivious to the world.  The man can sleep like the dead, and it's something I find endearing, strangely enough.

Anyhow, that night he said something about crawling into his "cold and empty bed," wishing that we weren't apart.  Not sure why this hit me so hard, but my first reaction was guilt.  Later, I understood he was just communicating how he missed me, but my gut took a big Carl Lewis-sized leap over the boundary of reason.

Actually, as I'm writing this, I realize why it hit me so hard.  In the past, such words have been the precursor to a nasty surprise.  Old BF said it was leaving him alone like this that caused him to cheat on me.  I wasn't there, and he wanted a warm body, so....  Ranger had the same problem, except it was because of my bad back.  My pain in those last weeks before my surgery was so extreme that our sex life took a nose dive.  He sought to fill the gap with his roommate.

By the way, Ranger and I have had some "words" in the last couple of weeks.  Things that seriously pissed me off and told me that I was making the right decision.  In those conversations, I have mentioned that I never got the whole story from him on the roommate.  He never once disputes that and has pretty well confirmed that there's more to the story, and I'm not going to hear it.

One day, he threatened suicide and deliberately made sure I wouldn't be able to locate him for many hours.  Left his phone, his wallet, his keys, and an "I can't do this..." note, where he knew I'd see it.  I went by there to get the rest of my stuff that he had, and instead of being there to help me dig it out and haul it to the car, he left all of that for me to find.  I did the digging and hauling myself, causing a great deal of pain with the surgery site, and vowed not to play the game.  I did not go looking for him.  Instead, I thought about what to tell his children if he followed through on the threat.  He ended up emailing me later that night and told me where he went.  I would have been right, had I tried to find him. But I'm not playing that game.

But I digress....

I felt terrible about Jacob and his lonely nights.  See, as long as my daughter is at home, I will not go stay the night with him.  She has to be the priority, and I won't disappoint her.  He understands that.  Still, I felt terrible.  So, I apologized for it.  And I said, "I just hope you don't grow weary of this and decide I'm not worth the wait."

"Ouch," he said.  "It's all right. What makes you think such things?"

"It's happened before," I said.

"You shouldn't worry so much," he said.  "I do understand. It's just how it must be for now.  I Love you." (He capitalizes the word "Love" all the time, something else I find endearing.)

His "ouch" made me think, though, that this expression of my insecurities could come across as an insult to him.  It made me think more about my worries and how I express them.

To be true, I have a basket full of insecurities.  My romantic experiences have taught me that I am often...insufficient.  Or even deficient.  I fall short of what the men I love need.  That's happened so often that I now seem to be hardwired for those feelings. I'm trying with all my might to shake that, to become rewired.

Unlearning is hard, though.  It hurts in that it brings up past hurts.  For instance, Jacob and I usually text each other constantly when we're apart.  When he isn't answering me, the worry sets in.  If he's not talking to me, who is he talking to?  Why am I not important to talk to?

And I have the added bonus of my mother's attitudes in my head: "If I meant much to you, then you'd talk to me at your first chance."  Oh yeah.  I grew up hearing things like that.  Hardwired, I'm telling you.

Then my brain starts spinning on little details, obsessing on hidden meanings.  Like, he called me "Love" today, but not "my Love."  He doesn't want to be with me anymore.  Or I mentioned dinner, and he didn't answer.  He doesn't want us to have dinner together anymore.  It's an insane kneejerk reaction, and I'm generally able to unspin it in a little while.  I recognize it as unreasonable, so that's a good thing.

They are all old triggers, with their attached meanings.  So, they tromp through my head and my heart hurts, and I start unwinding myself.  Then, I get a message. With a picture in it.

He had been making a Lego rendition of me. Little things like that mean so much.

I'm doing better at keeping my rampant insecurities corralled. I'm still experiencing the kneejerk reactions that have been so deeply instilled in me, but his reactions teach me about better outcomes.  The kneejerk reactions don't have to be true, anymore.  He doesn't know how he is teaching me a different way, by just being who he is.

I'm adjusting to a relationship with someone who says, "What you see is what you get," and actually means it.  I am enjoying the sense of relief that comes in little stages, when the negative speak has learned to stand down.

A day off

Jacob and I decided to try an experiment.  We each took a day off and committed the day to each other.  It's the most time we've spent together yet.

So, I dressed for the occasion.  Baby-doll blouse that hangs just past my hips.  Ruffled rhumba panties.  Over-the-knee socks.

When I got to his house, he still had sleepy eyes.  He'd gotten his girls to school and was working on his first cup of coffee.  He told me to get comfortable while he showered.  I left him with a little tease.

"I wore good socks today," I said.  He loves my funky socks.  He glanced at my feet, which were still partially covered by my jeans.  "When you're done showering," I said.  He grinned and headed off to the hot water.

I lost the jeans in a hurry.  When I heard the floorboards creaking, indicating had finished his shower, I headed to meet him in the doorway.  I couldn't have planned it better.  The sun beams crossed that doorway as I leaned against it.

The expression on his face was such a thrill to me.  His eyes studied me for a moment, lighting on the long socks and then the sun in my curls.  "You're stunning," he finally said.  For the first time in a long time, I thought I might believe that.

Suffice it to say, the next few hours were...incredible.  We didn't break the bed again, but we managed to move it.  Afterward, we lounged and talked and laughed for a long while, until we couldn't ignore our growling stomachs anymore.

We dressed and headed downtown, to a lovely little cafe I found that serves the best Eggs Benedict, and with multiple variations.  We each got the Crab Cakes Benedict, with lemon hollandaise sauce. Oh so delightful!  It's the first out-and-about meal we've had, just the two of us.

He usually cooks for us, but he's letting me share that burden more often now.  Daughter and I spend so much time at his house that it just has to impact his grocery budget.  I can't let that happen.  Besides, he likes to clean up, too.  It's not fair that he cooks and cleans!  So, I'll cook now and again.  I try to clean, but he won't let me.

After brunch, we headed to a favorite bookstore.  With yummy, warm drinks in hand, we wandered the shelves.  No children in tow, saying, "I'm bored!"  So, we stopped and looked and read and discussed (and kissed) at will.  For hours.  It was sheer heaven.  See, my family hates to accompany me to bookstores because I can be there for hours on end.  Even Daughter, who is a major reader, loses patience after awhile.  But not Jacob.  He has the same problem, but we seem to have found a solution in one another's company.

We also stopped at Target.  To look at Legos.  Where I'm a Star Wars devotee, Jacob is a Legos fanatic.  I'd picked up some playsets he day before, and he and his girls were chomping at the bit to get at them.  My daughter had this reaction:

"I'm no good at Legos," she said.

"Then we'll get you a Duplo set," I said, smiling.

"You're not funny," she said, scowling at me.

So, Jacob and I stopped at Target.  And got a Duplo set.  Well, and a real Lego set that we thought she might enjoy.

The time passed too quickly.  Soon, it was time to pick up our children.  He looked at the time and frowned.  "Why does time move so fast when I'm with you?" he said.  He sighed, put his arms around me and kissed me.  Leaning his forehead against mine, he said, "Grrr."

This is a multi-purpose word.  Grrr means "I love you." Or "I wish for something else at the moment."  And he has a special Grrr for me that mean "I want you."  This Grrr meant all of that.

"Grrr," I said back.

And we went our separate ways.  I snagged Daughter and went about our errands.  We picked up dessert.  We were to meet back at Jacob's house for dinner, games, and Legos.  His oldest has asked that we now have a game night together once a week. 

After dinner, we cleared the table and brought out the toys.  As Jacob is passing around the boxes, he said, "And here's the one for Daughter."

She stared at the preschool box of Lightning McQueen from Cars.  "You're not funny, Mom," she said. But she was laughing.

Jacob burst into laughter.  "But it's Lightning McQueen!" he said.  "How can you not find that cool!"  They took the big blocks out and started assembling.  Which was literally two blocks to make the car.  Jacob pulled it apart and added another block. Lightning McQueen on a lift kit.

Then, he handed her the real set.  We all set to work pressing little blocks together and playing with the resulting toys.  He's right.  They're incredibly cool.  And my office now has a Lego landspeeder in the window.

Daughter learned that not only is she good at Legos, but she enjoys them, too.  She can't wait for the next Lego night.

As with almost every evening we all spend together, we laughed until it hurt.

As we said goodnight to the girls, the oldest hugged me tight and said she didn't want us to go.  "Why can't they just live with us?" she declared.

The following morning, my phone woke me as it buzzed with a Twitter update.  Jacob had posted something new.

"Yesterday, I spent the morning with my lover, the afternoon with my friend, and the evening with my family. It was a great day."

Indeed.

Ve haf vays uf making you talk!

So, I'm texting with my colleague-friend the other day. After actually talking about work, the conversation turned to what might happen when my mother meets Jacob.

"I'm a little nervous," I said. My mother tends to be very judgemental, on first sight."

"What's there to judge?" she asked.

"Well, she hates tattoos."

"Then she'd hate me! I'm tattooed and not done with it!"

"He has an obvious one. In the middle of his forehead."

"Why would he do that?"

"Don't know, but there you have it."

"My latest one is on my back."

"He has one there, too," I said, blissfully unaware that I was about to contract foot-in-mouth disease. "It's large. It's actually in four parts."

A pause in the texting.

"Uhm," she said. "And what was the occasion you had to study the construction of the tattoo on his back?!?!"

Busted.

I'd be sooo good under interrogation.

Dinner and a movie, small town style

Last night was a big night for all of us: the first time we had an outing all together - Jacob, me, and our daughters.

Once a week, the old historic theater downtown has "Dinner and a Movie" night.  They show a film that's not in current release (like "The Wizard of Oz," "Gone With the Wind," "Giant," "The Jerk," "Serenity"), and admissions are $5.  If you have dinner at a downtown restaurant, then you get two free admissions with every dinner receipt.  Our downtown area is literally Main Street USA, nicely restored and maintained, with a variety of shops and eateries.  This is where my beloved Farmer's Market happens in the summer.

So, we headed out to this week's movie and a pizzeria for dinner. There, I spotted a friend of Daughter's from marching band at a table, and she started to chat with him. The boy's father walked up and said, "Hi there! Long time, no see!"

I thought he was talking to us, as fellow marching band people.  No, he was talking to Jacob.  Who looked really surprised.

"Hello," he said.  "I don't think you've met my oldest daughter."

"No, just the younger one," he said.  Jacob introduced his daughter, then the man turned to my daughter and me.  He kind of had to.  His son was hanging over his shoulder, pointing across him at Daughter, excitedly saying, "She marches!  She marches!  She marches!" and making drum motions.

He shook Daughter's hand and mine.  His son said the drum thing again, and he responded, "Then all is right with the world!" And we found our table.

"Wow, it's been years since I've seen him," he said, a little awkward.  "His son is big now."

"His son is a senior," I said.  "He's a friend of Daughter's."

Jacob laughed.  "Small world."

At the table, the girls had some whispered conversations.  "You can't tell those two," Jacob's oldest said to Daughter.

Of course, she told me.

The little one had asked my daughter, "So, do you think we'll really become sisters?"

From the mouths of babes.

Accepting my "hotness"

Apparently, I do things in my daily life that are "hot."  Either I've been oblivious, or they're only hot to Jacob.

I make pot roast.

I wear toe socks, with skulls and crossbones on them.

I put Louisiana Hot Sauce on my fries.

My mother likes to say we met online.  We got to know each other through Twitter.  We talked awhile before saying we should meet.

"You'll be disappointed," he said.

"I seriously doubt that," I said.  "But what are you afraid of?"

"I'm a social pariah," he said.  "Pierced. Tattooed. Eccentric."

"And?" I said. "What I see is someone taking responsibility for his own.  Intelligent.  Good priorities.  Lots in common.  Makes me laugh and smile.  If it's all true, how could that be disappointing?"

I paused.  "Perhaps you're the one who will be disappointed...."

"I won't be," he said.

"How do you know?" I asked.  "I'm not exactly the popular idea of attractive.  I'm not...small.  Never will be.  My body is 42, scarred and blemished, ravaged by a bad recovery from pregnancy."  Okay, so I'm self-conscious about my body.  What can I say?

"Confession time?" he said.  I let that sit for a moment.  A confession?  What could he have to confess?  Of course, my curiosity went berserk.  Holy crap, is he married?  Gay?

"Ok...," was all I responded.

"I've already seen you."

"How's that??"

"At Wal-mart. A couple of weeks ago," he said.  "You used Foursquare to check-in there and posted it to Twitter, while I was there.  I hope that doesn't alarm you.  It's nothing creepy-stalker-ish.  We were both already there...."

I got a tingle in my spine.  It's a small town.  I knew this kind of thing was inevitable.  I've already had people I know find me using my check-ins.

"I spotted you in the store," he said.  "Our shopping lists had us crossing paths several times.  I thought that was lucky."

"Oh wow," was all I could say.  My mind was reeling, thinking back to shopping a couple of weeks ago.  Who was I with?  Was it one of the trips where I was annoyed with Ranger?  What was I wearing?  Or saying?  Did I do anything embarrassing? 

"You're gorgeous," he said.  "I've never seen a woman move with such confidence and grace. You're very attractive."

And I blushed.  And worried less.  Since then, he's taught me a lot about worrying less.  I'm unlearning a lot.  I've been conditioned to worry about hidden things, about nasty surprises.  He understands that, and he's completely open to me.  His serene manner is contagious.

Daughter and I went to Jacob's house for another evening of dinner and movies, the other night.  As he and I stood in the kitchen, chatting over the dinner preparation and listening to the happy sounds of our girls, he said, "What are you thinking, Love?"  It's his favorite question.

"I'm glad to be here," I said, with complete honesty.  Being all together like that is very comfortable, for all of us.

He put his arms around me and said, earnestly, "It's good to have you home."

Something new

So, there we stood, in the low light of the lamp, surveying the damage.

Naked.

Then, the laughter started.

We'd broken the bed.

A first for me, I might point out.

And so, with the exception of a crashing bed, things with Jacob are nothing short of blissful, at the moment.

I'm still around Ranger now and again.  Our lives are still entwined with things like a shared storage unit. But I get little confirmations that I've done the right thing.  For instance, he got a great lead on a job, but what did he do about it?  Nothing.  All he had to do was make the call.  And he didn't.  All right.  Makes me sad to see him go that way, but it's his own choice.

For the last few weeks, Daughter and I have been spending a couple of evenings a week at Jacob's house.  Well, more than a couple.  We help each other's children with homework.  We make dinner.  We watch movies.  We play board games.  My daughter has infected his oldest with her YouTube obsessions.  Watching the younger ones with my daughter is nothing short of witnessing idol worship.  She has a fan club.  His girls go to bed promptly at 8:00, and we get goodnight kisses before going to our own home.


I remember, a few weeks ago, when Jacob went to the kitchen for a moment and came back to find his youngest curled up in my lap.  The look on his face was of such happiness, seeing her cuddled to me. 

After one of my first visits there, Jacob's oldest came to him and said, "It's all right with me."

"What is?"

"Come on," she said.  "I know."

What she "knew" was that Jacob and I "liked" each other very much.  And she was saying it was okay with her.  She'd liked the idea of having a single parent, after being through a nightmare of a stepfather with her mother.  But she was telling Jacob that she was cool with me, and with he and I being together.

Jacob and I have much in common, including our love of literature.  And we're techno-geeks.  We text a lot.

One day, he asked me, "So what comes next?"

"What do you mean," I asked.  "What do you see coming next?"

"Speaking of hypothetical possibilities, of course," he said.  Then, he quoted Shakespeare to me:
"If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage...."

From Romeo and Juliet, which was the first movie we watched together.  In that moment, he took my breath away.


He actually does that quite often, more than he knows.  Simply watching him is a study in masculine grace.  The lines of his anatomy are thrilling to me, in every cut and angle.  He is not tall, but he's muscular.  He has a physically demanding job, and it shows.  He wears his long, blond hair pulled back.  There's a gesture he does to sweep it from his face that I've told him is "terminally sexy."


One day, I got to the house earlier than expected.  He's given me his security code for that very reason. (By the way, the code has two numbers. The difference between them is 13.)  He was just stepping out of the shower, and I learned something new.  Jacob has curly hair.


It was almost more than I could stand.  Jacob in a towel, with disheveled curls falling on his neck.  Oh good lord, can a man really be that beautiful?


Jacob's manner is serene, almost a Zen-like quality.  His sense of humor is sharp, and he can move in an alarmingly silent way.  He refers to himself and his girls as Leprechauns (yup, he's Irish!).  He has a keen intelligence and refers to himself as a nerd.  He often thinks this is a bad thing, asking me if I mind. 

Hello?  Have you met me?

Leprechaun Love.  Nerd Love.  Any way you look at it just now, it's blissful.

"What happened to your bed?" the girls asked him, the morning after the crash.

He thought for a split second and said, "This is why you should never jump on your bed!"

Ghosts of Christmas Present...and Future?

It's crappy to break up with someone at Christmas time, but it's been obvious for the last several weeks that my relationship with Ranger is ending.  A friend read this blog and dropped me an email, speaking bluntly to me: Ranger knows he's fucked things up, but don't be taken in by gestures that are salvage attempts.  Keep your eye on the big picture.

Sometimes I know things, but need to hear them from someone else.

So, here's where I'm coming from now.  I love Ranger and care about him very much.  But not romantically.  I had planned to make a life with him, but those plans became one-sided.  It's time for him to stand on his own because he seems to expect me to support him indefinitely.  Two things in particular were in the way of us getting married, and I gave him all the tools he needed to solve them.  Not picking up those tools and doing the work himself shows me that resolving those things isn't a big priority to him - and neither is being with me in any permanent fashion.

It's either important to him to move under his own power, or it's not.  I won't be the nag who needles him into accomplishing things.  It's also time to be honest with me about a few things.  I need a partner, not someone I'm dragging along.  And he's expecting to be dragged.

In the meantime, I'm not willing to put the blinders on, sit around, and wring my hands.  If someone else comes along who offers me the relationship I want with the stability I need, then so be it.

If I can love them and be loved by them in the way that I've always thought it should be, I'd be a fool to pass it up.  For my sake, and my kids' sakes. Especially my daughter, who looks to me to model how a healthy relationship should be.

I've spent more time with Jacob, who is proving to be a very good companion.  He has a peacefulness about him that is soothing to me. He has a clarity of thought that puts my own in perspective.  And he is fiercely devoted, once committed to someone.  How long have I wanted that, and never seem to quite get there?  Do I dare think that this could be the one who won't let the bottom drop out of my world?

I've spent some time with his daughters, too.  And he's been around mine a little.  Mine thinks he's great fun, with great taste in books.  He recommended some steampunk that she's loving.  His daughters are very sharp, and apparently enjoy being around me.  He told me that his oldest daughter has been very attached to the idea of having a single parent, because of a bad step-parent situation with her mother.  However, she's let him know several times that it's quite all right with her if I stick around.

We talk via text messages off and on all day, every day.  I've started a routine of stopping by his house on my way home, for a sip of tea and a "How was your day?" chat.  On Christmas Eve, after the kids and I had gone looking at lights, and I delivered the last guest to their own home, I sent Jacob a message.

"Driving past your house in a few.  Still up?  Want a Christmas hug?"

His answer was emphatic.  "Yes, please!"

His oldest daughter was already asleep upstairs, while he was hanging stockings.  His younger daughter was at her mother's house, which caused him great sorrow on Christmas morning.  He met me at the door so I wouldn't have to knock.  We tiptoed into the living room, hugged, wished a Merry Christmas, and chatted in whispers. And we kissed a little. His kiss is sweet, gentle, but communicates enough "I want you" to make me weak in the knees.

Then, his phone goes off.  He looks puzzled and picks it up. And starts laughing.

He turns the screen to me.  I see his oldest's name, with the message: "I don't want to come out and see any presents, but was that Blogget at the door?"

It was like a texted little hug.  "She really likes you," he said.

He handed me a little present in a gift bag.  I started to peel the tissue paper back, but he stopped me.  "No, no...it's for Christmas. You have to wait!"

For the record, I behaved. Christmas morning, I unwrapped a cute little R2D2 Lego watch set.  It made sense now.  A few days before, he'd asked who my favorite Star Wars character was.

The day after Christmas, he invited me to join them on an excursion to a model train show.  We made French bread pizza at his house, then drove to the show.  It was set up by the local model train club and charged a small admission.  Jacob smiled almost bashfully at me when the man charged us the "family" rate.

The towns that the trains chugged through were models of our hometown and Glenwood Springs, which is up the road a bit.  I've written about visiting there with Ranger, a couple of times.

The model of our town included a tiny replica of the mercantile owned by the people who built Jacob's house, around 1900.  Between the towns was a row of tiny little houses.  Jacob's daughter pointed out the tiny people, coming and going from the little houses.  Jacob leaned in and looked closer, then shot a look to me.  I checked it out.

The women on the porches of the tiny houses were scantily, if brightly, dressed...waving to men who were leaving their houses.  Or rather, establishments.

She'd found the model train town's red light district.

The Glenwood model included a replica of the Hotel Denver, which I dearly love.  I told Jacob about the lovely stained glass windows inside.  He couldn't place the location.  As I described the block, I said, "There's this great steak place down the street...."

His eyes lit up.  "Juicy Lucy's!"

"Yes!  I love that place!"

"Me too!  It's the best ever."  And it is.

After the train show, we went back to his house, made cocoa, and watched the Doctor Who version of "A Christmas Carol."  His oldest is really into Doctor Who, both the show and the books. Jacob and I sat cuddled together, as I rested back against his chest.  As I absently drew circles on his ankle with my fingers, I apparently found a previously undiscovered erogenous zone.

It was a completely delightful, warm afternoon, in a virtual cocoon of near-domesticity.

So, I'm left to wonder, what will Christmas future look like for us now?

Things I won't tolerate

So, I've recently been attacked for deleting comments I don't like. Attacked by someone who hides behind a profile that can't even be accessed. Brilliant.

For the record, "Boy Named Muffin," I do not delete that with which I disagree. I delete that which is hurtful and ugly. Your persistence in insulting me, over the span of literally years now, is not impressive nor welcome. Now you have stooped to lying. It makes you look like a petulant child.

In case I haven't been clear: hurtful and ugly posts will not be tolerated. You will always be deleted here. Your petty attempts to be needlessly argumentative are not welcome. I've lost my patience with it.

You started this issue years ago. It's time to let go and move on. I'm not interested in engaging you in any way.

** UPDATE: Apparently, I don't have to worry about deleting this person's inappropriate and nonsensical comments myself! Blogger.com has automatically identified them as spam, and the posts are going straight to the spam folder. Nicely done, Blogger.com! **

Oh, dammit all!

I started off the day mad as Hell at Ranger. He's lied to me about jobs he's called on. Then, he goes and does something unbelievably kind for me.

Dammit. Dammit all to Hell. Why can't he just pick one or the other and stay there? Then, I can either be mad or not, and get on with whatever the emotion is.

As I mentioned, I've explained about Ranger and I, and our history, to Jacob. Last night, Jacob says, "I can be patient. I don't mind bidding for your heart."

Wow.  Really?.

I have a dilemma

To make a long story short, I have a divided heart. Here's the long story.

I've been with Ranger for two and a half years now. We've had really good times and really bad times. Some of the best and worst of my life. On the up-side, he loves me like no one else ever has. He loves me in ways that I never thought possible. I'd believed that's how love should be, but experience taught me that it just might not exist. It was a figment of my very active imagination and should be confined to the fiction I like to write.

Then, I met Ranger. He had the same concept, and the same problem. So we let each other love and be loved as we thought it should be. And the fantasy came true. That would be bliss.  If only the fantasy weren't partly still a fantasy....

As you know, dear Diary, there's been a down-side, too. He's lost five jobs since I've known him. Granted, two of those have not been his fault. Three have. He's been searching for jobs constantly, but now the search has changed. He doesn't go anywhere in person anymore. He doesn't call unless I prompt him. He searches the same online job sites every other day, submits the same generic resume again and again.

He got a job for a couple of weeks, in October. It wasn't his fault that he lost that one. Technically, he hasn't lost it. They just stopped putting people on the schedule because their business is tanking. But the big point is that he got that one by having face time with the manager. She recognized us as regular customers, so when she had an opening, she asked him about it. The online job searches produce NOTHING. Phone calls and face time do. So, what's he doing? The online boards. Only.

He is paying rent by having a work contract with his landlady. Rent on a tiny 6' x 8' trailer (which is powered by an extension cord from the house) in exchange for working so many hours on the property. He has a small trickling of money from his rock business, but it's tiny and irregular. I help cover expenses, like groceries and storage. We share a storage building, which is mostly my stuff so I don't mind paying that rent. And he only eats one meal a day (two on a good day).

So, yeah, I'm kind of enabling the insufficient job hunt. I'm realizing that. All because I can't let him be homeless and starving. I've been thinking a lot about this for a couple of months because the burden of it (in many ways) is starting to get to me. He's become very sensitive to any suggestion that he do something different; he takes it all very personally and gets seriously depressed over it. That makes talking about things really difficult.

Of course, the fact that he's now a convicted felon doesn't help anything. That's a HUGE stumbling block to him getting a job. It will effect every job he could possibly have.

He also needs to do something about his child support situation, which is really bad and unfair to him. After finally getting a copy of the records his ex filed with the courts, he found several blatant lies in the statement about his income sources and amounts. I've given him leads on men's advocacy groups that would help with the legal side, but he's done nothing.

The persistent dragging of his feet leads me to believe that the plans we've spoken of are nothing more than words now.  He swears it means more than anything to him, but when push comes to shove....  You can see why I'm done believing in that.

I also have the problem of doubt. I constantly wonder about his ability to be honest and faithful. I still have questions.

It's been over a year since his fling with that roommate. Ever since that, I've had that awful "waiting for the other shoe to drop" feeling all the time. That feeling that there's something terrible hidden from view. We've had a couple of arguments about little things that look suspicious to me. It's enough to keep me wondering: is there nothing to hide or has he just gotten better at hiding it?

I think my big hang-up with this is knowing that he's never been completely honest with me about it. I've given him a couple of opportunities to fess up without repercussions, just so I know that we have a clean slate. But no...he hasn't taken them. There's just too many unexplained loose ends with what happened at the park in Utah and with the roommate.

Okay, not unexplained. Just lacking an explanation that actually makes sense. He's given me explanations, but they just don't fit. And hindsight has led me to wonder about another situation, which might have been another fling. But there's no way I'll ever know for sure.

Our lives are unbelievably entwined. How can I detach from that? His life would fold, but is that my responsibility?

Lord, I hate thinking and feeling like this. If he'd just pull his act together. It's getting old and burdensome.

Conversations with Ranger are strangely silent lately. I don't know where his thoughts are. I've seen him like that once before, and then I found out where his thoughts (and other parts) wandered. When he does talk, much of it is suggestive or even vulgar in nature.  His words make me feel so rotten that I stopped our intimacy weeks ago.  It just feels wrong.

So, I find myself back to my original problem, where I was before Ranger and I met. I need a partner. I need someone to share our triumphs and tribulations, and the general burdens of life. I need someone to help me carry the load, and I can help carry his.

I've had this with Ranger, and it saddens me to the bone to see it evaporate.

At this point in time, I feel more burdens being loaded onto my shoulders, and I'm at my limit.

Ranger is aware of my frustration. It scares him a little, that there's a possibility I'll lose patience. Apparently, it doesn't scare him enough to light a fire under him, though. He's growing content with the status quo, regardless.

In the meantime, Jacob enters the picture. In many ways, Jacob does not follow the pattern of the men I've been attracted to. Pierced, tattooed (the only one that shows is this little symbol in the middle of his forehead), 3 inches shorter than me, and 13 years my junior.

Yep, 13. There's that number again.

And I am attracted, for many reasons.

He's highly intelligent, reads and writes the same genres that I do, has the same devotion to Shakespeare, has his priorities in order, committed to raising his daughters right, hard-working at a steady (long-term) job, and is well-respected by his coworkers and peers.

And now says that looking out for my happiness is becoming one of his priorities. He and I have been chatting casually for a few weeks, mostly about single parenthood. He needed some hope that somewhere out there was a woman who would realize that his children have to come first, that he can't throw them overboard just to indulge sexual needs. He's finding that most people don't "get" this idea, just as I have found. To hear me say I understood that and his frustration over people who expected less...well, that was the beginning of our commiserating.

Have I dated him on the sly? No. Have I even so much as held his hand in sympathy? No. We just talk about our commonalities and our troubles. Yes, including Ranger's ups and downs. He worries over how my stress effects me. And lately, he longs to spend more time with me, to learn about me and not just my stresses.

And I've grown fond of him. Am I in love with him? Not yet. Ranger is still in my heart, to some degree. But there is certainly room.

Right now, I wish for that moment when you look back on things and it all makes sense. I'm not sure what's happening, if it's temporary, or where it'll end up. I need one of those proverbial signs, I guess. But when does that ever really happen?

Why Son can't handle lime anymore

Yep, he's a college man now. On the last day that he could turn in a housing application, he decided he wanted to live in the dorms. This was the first glimmer of excitement about anything that we'd seen in a long time, so we hopped on it. Nevermind that it's ungodly expensive.... We're still scraping on that one. But he was excited about something.

So, we moved him into the dorm. It's a nice dorm. New building. They have this "pod" concept now, where several bedrooms open to a common living room and share two bathrooms. Not bad. I wish I'd had that when I was in the dorm.

He has seven roommates: four football players, two basketball players...and one Theater Arts major who is a big fan of "Glee."

In my head, I'm hearing the song, "One of these things is not like the others! One of these things just doesn't belong...." Poor kid. Whoever placed him in that pod should be dunked in hot oil and forced to watch Miley Cyrus videos.

As you might expect, that first week of class, Son's calls home became less frequent. It's painful for Mommy, but he's a big boy of nearly-nineteen (at that point) and should be more independent.

Then, the first Friday night happened.

I got home from a date with Ranger at about 11:30 PM. Exhausted. Climbed into bed. An hour later, my mother comes upstairs and wakes me. And Daughter, who was sleeping in my room because her end of the hallway was "creepy" with her brother's room empty.

"Blogget, wake up! We just got a call from Mrs. Summers from church. Her daughter Rachel and Son are in the hospital. They were fund drunk on campus, and Rachel is barely breathing."

You can imagine what this did to me.

Adrenaline kicked in, and I rushed to the bathroom to find some clothes. All of her words were seeping into my sleep-riddled brain.

"Wait, what the hell was he doing with Rachel Summers?" Rachel is a 15-year-old friend of Daughter's. They're pals from church and school.

"I don't know. Her mom said Rachel was with her friend Maggy. They can't find Maggy, though, and Son and Rachel aren't coherent enough to tell them anything."

Daughter sat up. "Maggy? Maggy H.?"

We stopped. This was the name of Son's ex-girlfriend's little sister. The good girlfriend.

"They're best friends," Daughter said. "It has to be her."

"Yes, it's her," my mother said. She hadn't wanted to worry Daughter about her other friend, too. "Weird thing is, Mrs. Summers was calling us to find out where Maggy lives and what her phone number is. If they're best friends, wouldn't she know that?"

"Do you have her number? Or her sister's?" I asked Daughter. "We should try that." She set on doing this.

My dad drove me to the hospital. We sat in stunned silence. He'd talked to our Bishop, who was also at the hospital. We were getting little bits of information. The two of them had been found outside the dorm. She was passed out and he was incoherent. The police were called, and they issued Minor In Possession (or "MIP," I learned. I don't know this stuff) tickets. An ambulance was called.

My dad was furious. Of course, he's forgetting all of the drunken stories about himself as a teenager. But none of those included ambulances or 15-year-old girls.

Mrs. Summers intercepted me in the waiting room, before I could get to the admitting counter. She's practically yelling at me about "Where's Maggy? How do we reach her parents? She's out there somewhere!" She told me that what she knew was that Rachel, Maggy, and Son were supposed to meet up with Maggy's sister later, but went to this huge party on campus while they were waiting. And they drank. A lot.

I see my dad being taken back to see Son. I have to go with him. I excused myself and headed to the counter.

"One visitor at a time," they said.

"You don't understand," I said. "If I'm not with that man, he'll kill that boy."

By the time I got back there, choice words had been said already. I could tell. Son was in a devastated state. My dad had told him Rachel might die.

"Is she really that bad?" he asked me, as I sat beside him.

I nodded. "Could be. We'll see."

He looked pitiful. Too tall for the bed. Barefooted. Hospital gown over his jeans. An IV. He was still slurring, even though he'd vomited everything in his stomach. He couldn't remember a lot of details. Just flashes of things.

I asked about Maggy. He looked very confused.

"She wasn't with us," he said. "I'd have remembered that. I'm sure we didn't see her tonight."

Soon, we heard that Rachel was awake and doing better. Her waking words to her mother were, "Where's Maggy?"

Her mother stormed into Son's room and started hollering. First, she wanted to know why her daughter's clothes were covered in dirt. Then, she turned to Maggy.

"Where is she?" she demanded, like he'd done something to hide her. "She was with Rachel when they left the house tonight. What happened to her?"

Son squinted as he strained to remember. "No, Ma'am. I'm sure she wasn't there."

"Rachel said you were all waiting for her sister to get done with rehearsal to go do something," she hollered. "So where is she?"

Son literally jumped in surprise. "Waiting for her sister? I don't want to see her sister! And I don't think I'd want to hang out with Maggy."

"I SAW HER WITH RACHEL!" she yelled. My dad escorted her out of the room.

My phone rang. It was my mother.

"We got ahold of Maggy's sister. She's asleep in her room. She's been home all night."

So, Rachel's mother saw her at their house, eh? And her daughter is still asking where Maggy is, through her stupor, even though she knows she lied about being with her?

Wow. That's kinda twisted. Rachel's mother didn't come back to Son's room again. Rachel was going to be fine, but they were keeping her overnight for observation. The nurse came to check on Son.

"How are we feeling?" she said.

"Not so good," he answered. He squinted at her and furrowed his brow. "I remember you."

She laughed. "I bet you do. Well, let's see if we can get you out of here."

Son turned to me. "I'm not going to forget her." He was not happy about it, either. Apparently, when they brought him in, they wanted him to urinate. He couldn't. They said he had 5 minutes to produce something, or they were going in. He couldn't, so they did. She was the one handling the catheter.

We took Son home. Apparently, the missing shoes were somewhere on campus. "I remember mud," he said.

At this point, I have to say that Rachel is known to be a very wild child, and her mother has very persistent blinders on. My daughter is her friend, but is a little bit of a Pollyanna about hoping Rachel will straighten out one day. Until then, she tries to be there for her, but never, ever goes anywhere with her.

As son went to bed, I snagged his cell phone. I read all of his text messages. The boy never uses the phone to actually talk, so the texts are telling. I got a better idea of the real story. Also, Rachel's things were still in Son's car, including her cell. Which had all of the texts from that night deleted from it. Hmmm.... Someone knew how to cover her tracks.

That, along with Son's recollections and the campus incident report gave me a very good picture of what happened. Now, I have to admit that I didn't believe Son's account unless it was corroborated by something else. So, here's what I've been able to put together:

Rachel knew of a big party going on that night, at a house where she and her friends go to do shots after school with the 20-something resident. She was fighting with her boyfriend and asked Son to take her to the party instead. He'd given her a shoulder to cry on, and he had a car. A little while later, she said the party was canceled, but she still wanted to "hang out."

She'd told her mother she was spending the night with Maggy and arranged for Son to pick her up at the end of the street. Son talked to a friend in the girls' dorm and arranged for Rachel to stay there that night. Rachel seemed to have other ideas: her bag contained a sexy camisole and a thong.

A friend of Son's offered to get them some alcohol. Lime vodka. A gallon-size bottle. After Son picked up Rachel, they went to the friend's and got the vodka. Rachel paid for it.

They sat in Son's car in the dorm parking lot, with the bottle and one plastic cup, taking turns at generous shots. In one hour's time, they consumed half of the bottle. They started to feel sick, so Son decided it was time to take Rachel to his friend's room in the girls' dorm.

Note that - Son's big party night lasted one hour.

Son had a thought at that moment that the alcohol could not be found in his car. He loves his car, and more importantly, my father loves his car. It's something they share, and that means a lot to Son. He didn't want to put the car at risk. He'd stash the bottle in his room, then take her to his friend's.

As they stumbled to his dorm, they got stuck in the mud beside the building and lost their shoes. Some guys spotted them vomiting there and came to help. The RA (Residence Assistant) spotted the guys helping her walk to the grassy front of the dorm, and saw Son headed to his room with the bottle.

The RA approached and asked her name, to which she said, "Fuck me," then vomited some more. Son reappeared, and the RA asked about the bottle. Son led him to it, and the guy dumped it out. The police arrived about then. Son wasn't concerned with this, though, because he was vomiting again.

She started to convulse. They called an ambulance. Son remembers falling off the stretcher. Son was coherent enough to give them information on himself and Rachel. That's when they realized she was only 15 years old.

It was about 10:00 PM. At the hospital, her parents were called. Then, they called the Bishop. Apparently, Son's "contact in case of an emergency" list was ignored. Mrs. Summers called my dad at 12:30 AM to find out if he knew Maggy's parents' names and phone number. THAT is how I learned my son was in the ER. The campus didn't call. The hospital didn't call. The Bishop didn't call. My son was left to sit by himself for nearly three hours. To say I'm pissed about that is an understatement.

The next day, he was repentant. He was sick as a dog and very ashamed of himself. He actually came up with his own punishment for this, which was more severe than what I was going to do. He also knew he'd have to go before the Student Conduct Board and have sanctions from the school, and a court date for the MIP.

My mother took Rachel's things to her parents the following day. Her mother was horrible to my mother. Rachel's story is that Son showed up with the liquor and forced her to drink it.

I don't even know where to start with all the things wrong with that story, but her mother isn't hearing of it, anyhow. Her mother said to mine, "I'm getting the transcripts of her text messages to prove it."

Well, I called the carrier. Those transcripts don't exist. Since Rachel deleted the messages, nothing can be retrieved. All we have is what's on my son's phone, and it doesn't paint a pretty picture of Rachel.

Her mother insists otherwise, so my mother asked to see the transcripts when she gets them. We've never heard from her.

Rachel's story has been perpetuated by her mother to everyone we know in common. Rachel even had the gall to pull my daughter aside and tell her she needed to know "the real story." My daughter is pretty disturbed by this, because there's no way Rachel doesn't know that Daughter already knows the real story. Beginning with the lie about Maggy.

Many people we thought cared about our family have now turned their backs, in judgment of Son based on Rachel's story. He messed up, yes. Did he do all she says? No.

I'll have him take the responsibility for what's his fault, but nothing more. The whole experience has been disappointing, in many ways.

Bad, bad, bad Blogget

Go ahead. Flog me. I'm a bad, bad, bad Blogget....

But don't think I haven't thought about you in my absence! I often have and wondered what you all would have to say about what's going on in my life. And I need to get back to reading about yours, too.

I had a few things I was going to blog about in detail, but it became too exhausting. Suffice it to say, I'm tired.

My sister and her kids moved to California. I couldn't be happier. I miss my nephew, mostly, but at the moment, I have no desire to spend any time or energy on my sister. What she did to my life and my relationship with my mother while she was here was nothing short of selfish and mean. My heart still hurts for what I've lost.

Son graduated from high school just fine. I asked him to pick a place he'd like to visit as a graduation gift, so off we went to Vegas. Did he want to see the lights? The casinos? The girls? No. He wanted to see cars. Lots of classic cars. So, we went to the auto museum, and I listened to him chatter happily about all things automobile through 125,000 square feet of classic cars.

We also saw Cirque du Soleil, the Bellagio's fountain show, the Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay, and the shop from "Pawn Stars." We ate at "Vegas's Best Buffet," where I promptly got food poisoning. What the heck is it with me and Vegas? I get ill every time! And I don't even party!

One very funny moment: as we got to Vegas that first day, we got stuck in traffic. Yeah, I managed to have us driving into Vegas at 5:00. I'm brilliant, I know. So, I'm staring ahead at the cars inching along ahead, and something comes into view.

Yoda.

Seriously. I nudged Son. "Do you see that?" I pointed.

He squinted. "What's Yoda doing on a billboard?"

As we inched closer, the billboard revealed itself a bit at a time. Until I saw these four wondrous words:

"STAR WARS IN CONCERT!"

When? The last night we were supposed to be in Vegas.

"Hurry, Mom!" said Son. I can't begin to describe how elated I was to see his enthusiasm for something he knew I would like.

We got to the hotel finally, where the clerk made the uber-creepy comment, "We have you for two beds. Would you prefer one?" Raised eyebrow at me and Son. Oogy man. No. He's my son.

Pause for creepy-shiver.

We rushed to the room. Son whipped out my laptop and started searching for tickets. Yes! Two tickets, on the aisle, close enough to see Anthony Daniels's stage makeup. See? I took this with my phone:


The summer was rough. Son broke up with the good girlfriend. Or rather, she broke up with him. He came to the painful realization that it was mostly because he can be a supreme jerk. He'd say, in tears, "Why did I do that to her? She's such a nice person, and I wasn't very nice."

He spun into a very dark depression. He didn't care if he lived or died. He talked to me for hours, which completely annoyed my mother because she wanted him to talk to her. Get a grip. The thing is, I couldn't be there all day. Neither could my folks. And we did have cause to worry, as I could see him hurting himself.

So, we did two things. First, we went to the doctor. This was the worst of his depressions, but certainly not the first. She prescribed some medication, which eventually helped, but would take time to do so. Second, every day Ranger would get on a bus and come to the stop closest to my house. I'd pick him up, he'd take me to work, and he'd spend the day with Son. Sometimes, all they did was watch TV in silence. Sometimes, he'd convince him to go someplace, and they'd end up bumping along a dirt road to go check out the canyonlands, or some such. And they talked. Just a little and often superficially, but it kept Son moving forward. And Ranger won my mother's undying gratitude for that. Well, she says so, and I hope she means it.

The story of how Son's college career got kicked off will wait for another blog. Suffice it to say...I'm tired.

Daughter continues to be nothing short of brilliant. Stellar. She astounds me daily. We met up with an old friend in Denver, in July. Our friend watched my daughter as she took pictures along the 16th Street Mall one night. Daughter was in rare form, feeling sassy and confident from the top of her fedora to the tip of her newly-acquired 2-inch heels.

"I can't believe she's so grown up," my friend said. She has known daughter since she was a toddler. "I wish I'd had that confidence at her age. Just look at how she carries herself!"

And it's true. I've never seen a more self-confident teenager. She told me a few weeks ago that she'd been thinking about her college career. She loves her art, but knows it won't make much money. So, she wants to go into graphic design and do her art as a hobby. Can we please go visit colleges during spring break?

Whoa.

She's since learned that the local college has a great graphic design program. She sent an email to the professor in charge of it, introduced herself, and made an appointment to go talk to her. She spent two hours with this professor, who later stopped me on campus to tell me how blown away she was by my child. (insert big grin here!) "She's only 15?" she asked. Yep. She is.

Ranger...well, that's another blog, too. We've had ups and downs. More ups than downs, though. We took a few days in October to get away. A little vacation, and it was beyond delightful. Just what we needed at the time. I'll blog more detail on that, too. The week ended differently than we'd planned, but it was still good.

The trouble I'm having with Ranger is the burden of him not working. He had a job for a few weeks, but it didn't pan out. Again. Through no fault of his, I'll admit, but I think he's getting to comfortable with only searching online job boards. The way he got that one job was through having face time with the manager. It never would have happened with just online job boards. But I don't want to feel like he's doing things just because I'm pushing him, you know?

Oh, and his ex has been a nightmare. I'll just say this: It takes a particular brand of woman to try to hurt a man through his children.

So, there you have it. In a nutshell, certainly, but it's the quick run-down. I'll write on those promised blogs as quickly as possible.

Dear Diary, it's good to be back.

But will it actually help?

I was watching TV late last night and saw an episode of Kathy Griffin's show in which she explored the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy issue. This has been the policy concerning gays in the military for quite some time, and now a repeal is in process.

But as the people with the hidden identities talked about this issue on her show, I had to wonder if the repercussions they fear from having their identities known will actually be alleviated when this policy is no more. Sure, they'll finally be able to be "out," but will they want to be? Will they still face the same bias and prejudice that caused this policy in the first place?

It seems a shame to celebrate the demise of a prejudicial policy, just to find gays are still forced to hide because the underlying attitudes are not impacted after all. I suppose what I'm asking is....will a change in legislation bring acceptance, in a military population accustomed to the opposite?

Thoughts?

Suggestive Skies....

I looked up in the sky today, and what did I see?

I'm just sayin'....

Appreciation

I started hearing that the annual Employee Appreciation Luncheon was coming, for all the departments under our VP's umbrella. We've been under this VP for about a year, and it's generally been a royally pain in the ass, heavy on the political nonsense. Still, a luncheon would be nice, to hear how she couldn't do all she does without us, even though she makes us feel like we could be replaced with trained monkeys.

So, I get the official notice about the luncheon. It's a potluck.

Does this sound funny to anyone else? As in, "I appreciate all you do so much that I want to have a luncheon about it. So, bring your own food."

WTF?

While she's making her speech about how the growth of the campus could not have happened without us, my boss and I are looking at each other. We've been told we need to show our "productivity." How do you measure the output of faculty support? Plus, the number of online courses has more than doubled since I started here, a short time ago. I work all the freakin' time! Don't tell me I'm not "productive"....

A couple of weeks ago, she made a comment to my boss that "lots of faculty" are complaining that I'm never here for them. Never here?! I'm here at 7:30 AM, often don't take lunch away from my desk, and she has personally seen me here past 6:00 PM.

Turns out, ONE faculty person complained to her that I didn't do something for her fast enough. Once. And that happened because she gave me the wrong information in the first place. But she has the VP's ear more than I do. Why? Because she has her PhD and my job got in the way of me finishing mine.

Hmph.

So, in the midst of feeling unappreciated by my VP, an instructor comes to visit me.

"My sister came over this weekend," she says. "And we planted my yard." Note: her yard is an orchard.

"And you know what I told her?" she continued. "We have to plant lots of eggplant for Blogget!"

I make eggplant parmesan for my family all summer. And last year, she supplied me with eggplant. Looks like she will this year, too! Any why?

To show how much she appreciates the "above and beyond" things I do to support her online courses.

That's what puts the smile back on my face.

My favorite excuse for a party

Fruita, Colorado loves a good party. The town square is set up for it, with a permanent stage, a lot for food/drink vendors, and a big, grassy lawn. They host four major festivals each year: Fat Tire Festival (celebrating mountain biking and Fat Tire beer), Dinosaur Days (celebrating the rich fossil territory surrounding Fruita), Fruita Fall Festival (celebrating....uhm, cooler weather), and my personal favorite....

Mike the Headless Chicken Festival

No kidding. It's a party for a decapitated chicken. The thing is, Mike survived it. Yeah, really.

You can go read Mike's story (yeah, he has a web site), but here's a synopsis. In 1945, a farmer picked out Mike for dinner. However, his aim was less than true, and the axe took off Mike's head, but left his brain stem. So, Mike hopped off the block and continued to peck for his feed, as though he had a mouth to eat it. "Ah-ha!" said the farmer. "My fortune is made!" He figured out how to feed Mike with an eyedropper to his exposed gullet, and set out on a freakshow tour.

Eighteen months later, in a motel, the farmer misplaced the eyedropper. That night, Mike began to choke, and the farmer had no way of clearing his airway. And Mike died.

But he lived without a head for 18 months. So, now they have a party for him every year.

On the morning news today, I watched the official opening of the Mike the Headless Chicken Festival. At 6 AM today, a man in a chicken costume raised the official Festival flag, and everyone started eating chicken wings.

Over the next couple of days, everyone will enjoy food, drink, merchandise vendors (including Mike the Headless Chicken hats, t-shirts, mugs, etc.), the Chicken Dance Contest, Rubber Chicken Football, and live music. All in honor of a chicken who avoided the dinner table 65 years ago.

Like I said, my favorite excuse for a party. If you're looking for me this weekend, you'll find me in Fruita, Colorado. I'm the one in the wine tent, with the chicken hat.

My friend from the east

I've known this fella professionally since 2003. We belong to the same professional organization, both serve on the board for it. It's a group that is small and consistent enough to let you make good friends, who you enjoy seeing once a year. Oh, it's the same conference where I met South Carolina.

So, when this guy expressed an interest in a position vacancy we posted for my department at work, I was thrilled. To get someone with his experience on my team would be....well, part of a dream team for me. We could really get something done! But I was worried we couldn't afford him. After asking my boss if it was all right, I shared the salary information with my pal. No problem. Woo hoo!

That was last November. My friend balked at applying because of the cost he could have, selling his house on the east coast and moving to Colorado. So, the search committee is looking at our pool of applicants. It sucked. We had one good one, and she'd already accepted another job before we could interview her. I called my friend again. He considered it and decided to apply.

Now, I had a small battle with the search committee. My friend didn't have the required Instructional Design-related degree, but he had 14 years experience in the distance learning field and a doctorate in History. He'd actually been a professor in the UK for awhile. And an archeologist. And the keeper of a castle. His resume reads like a high adventure novel.

So, I had to convince the committee to go ahead and interview him, based on experience and not on his degrees. He blew away the phone interview and was invited to campus. He paid to stay an extra day, to visit with a realtor and to see the area - with me as tour guide. That's okay by me! We've lifted a few together before, so it should be fun.

For the campus interview, I give candidates two courses in our course system, for them to evaluate and redesign, as they would if they were in the job. No sweat. Then the search committee Chair did something I didn't like. He sent my friend a link to the course he delivers online, in his own format and on his own site.

"How would you change my course?" he asks. And I grit my teeth. Why would an applicant want to tell the Chair of the hiring committee what's wrong with his course?

So, my friend comes to town. The Chair picks him up from the airport and brings him to campus for a couple of initial interviews. Interviewing here is grueling. It's a whole day, or sometimes a day and a half, of interviews with different administrators and faculty. Then, you do some sort of presentation. Ugh. At least they feed you.

The Chair brought him by my office to say hello. Now, I hadn't seen my friend face-to-face since November of 2007. He peeked into my office and couldn't have been more delighted to see me! He gave me a big hug, and I realized I'd never seen him in a suit before.

"Yeah, I clean up okay, don't I?" he said, in his thick New Jersey accent. He's a big guy and made the suit look impressive.

The Chair seemed surprised by our familiarity, but I can't figure out why. The Chair doesn't tend to like me much because I actually make him work sometimes.

Later that evening, I met two members of the committee (including the Chair) and my friend for dinner at my favorite Indian restaurant. I was curious to see what my friend thought of the place, since he'd spent so much time in the UK and just loved that food.

The proprietor is a boisterous little man, who always dotes on Ranger and I when we're there. He came to take our order and his eyes lit up when he saw me.

"Hello Blogget! My friend! So good to see you! Where is my friend Ranger?"

I explained why our little group was there that night, and he promised to take good care of us. The Chair turned to me when the man left. "Wow, you do like to come here, don't you?" Yep.

The Chair and I got the same dish. My friend got the tikka masala. The other committee member seemed to fawn all over him about being the keeper of a castle. My friend knows how to entertain a group. He regaled us with stories from his travels, doing the accents and voices of the characters he met along the way.

Our food was spectacular, as usual. The Chair had to ask me how to eat his...do you pour the rice onto your plate? Do you keep it separate? What's this sauce? What are you drinking? (It was hot chai.)

We had an excellent time. We talked about the area and got an idea of what my friend might like to see on Saturday. I'd put him in touch with my realtor, so he as scheduled to talk to her, too.

The next day, he appeared bright-eyed and dapper in his suit again. He found each and every interview to be delightful. He completely won over our hard-ass feminazi VP. Usually, my boss takes candidates to lunch, but he was gone so I did that. We went to microbrewery #1 (of the 3 we have here), even though we wouldn't be drinking during work hours. He forgot his reading glasses, so I had to read the menu for him. We actually discussed the job and the work, saving the social bits for the next day.

The afternoon's interviews went well. I sat in on all of them, as they were mock "consultations" with faculty, much like they'd be in the job itself. Fifteen minutes with each one didn't allow for much in-depth discussion of instructional design, but we got the idea. In the end, each one liked him and was impressed with his knowledge.

Then, he started his presentation on redesigning those example courses I sent. But it got derailed. Why? The Chair decided to ask, "Tell me how you'd change my course." My friend couched his response in the idea of making a site user-friendly for students, and he suggested a different structure for the syllabus.

Damnit if we didn't spend twenty effing minutes on the Chair arguing with him. His current structure was obviously cumbersome, and my friend showed him how he could actually have it both ways. But oh no....it was painfully obvious to all present that the Chair didn't want to hear anything could be changed in his course.

Stupid Chair has slammed my friend at every occasion since then.

Before we all left for the weekend, the VP asked the committee if he was aware of the salary range. Yes, I said. Definitely. We'd discussed it months before, and he expressed he had no problem with it.

The next day was a Saturday. I met my friend at his hotel, just before lunch time. We went to microbrewery #2, but this time we could get some beer. I did this on purpose. Like I said, we'd lifted a few together before. This man is a big, bagpipe-playing Celt, and this trip was the first time I'd seen him wear something that didn't have a Guinness logo on it.

After that, we headed out the back way to the neighboring town. It's about ten minutes away and is known for it's festivals throughout the year. Including one about a headless chicken from there, who lived for about a year and a half after losing his head, to be the delight of the freakshow circuit. There's a sculpture of him in this town. So, we went to see it, and I told the story. And he took pictures, to send to a mutual friend back east.

We got some water and a snack and drove to the Colorado National Monument. It was a perfect day to drive that area, and the spectacular scenery just blew him away. He was genuinely excited about it. We talked about the hiking and biking trails. We stopped for pictures a lot. He took one of me at one outlook point. Heck, even the bighorn sheep came out to be photographed by him! They lined up along the road, looking right at us, and held still as though posing. Amazing!

We headed back to town, in time for a leisurely dinner. There's a new Irish pub in town, so we made ourselves comfortable there, ordered a couple of beers and Irish stew. I've never spent one-on-one time with him, but we didnt run out of things to talk about. He loved the pub, and found out from the server that we have a bagpipe group in town who comes to play there. "So, I can play my pipes here?" he said, completely excited by that idea.

Soon, I needed to get home. I dropped him off at his hotel, promising to make it back at check-out time, to help him find some lunch and get to the airport in time. Which is exactly what we did - lunch at microbrewery #3 and off to catch his plane.

Everyone parted ways satisfied that this situation would work out. The Chair was a stumbling block in talking about offering my friend the job. He'd grudgingly say my friend was competent, then slam him the rest of the time. My boss phone interviewed him the next week, since he'd been away during the campus visit. In the end, it was sunshine all around.

Until they extended the job to him. They actually offered a higher salary that I'd originally told him it would be.

And what did he do?

Said his bottom line was $20,000 more.

$20,000?? WTF, dude?!

And ta-da! I look like an idiot.

"I thought you told him the salary range?" my boss asked. And the VP asked. She already sees me as a peon. I soooo didn't need this.

"Yes, I did! And I have the emails to prove it!" And so I did.

I ended up emailing my boss, the VP, and the committee, with an apology for my part of this fiasco. If I'd had ANY idea the salary would be a problem, I would never have encouraged the interviews. For anyone. I'm not into wasting time and resources.

And because he is my friend, it looked to them like we figured out a way to get my buddy here for a little mini-vacation on the college. Great.

My boss said something about that a couple of weeks later, as we're at a luncheon at a conference. So, I got my chance to say my bit in person. I was completely honest with him.

"I feel personally wronged here," I said. "I stuck my neck out to get him interviewed. I sunk personal time and money into showing him the area. I set him up with my realtor, and wasted her time, too. This really stings. He made me look pretty bad."

My boss looked thoughtful at that. "I can see how you'd be upset," he said. Well, at least he heard me. Maybe he didn't think I'd pulled a fast one anymore. I just really didn't need to be distrusted or to look unprofessional at work. Or look like a fool.

So, I still have to work with my friend through that organization. We're chairs of committees who need things from each other. But....I can't tell you how many different ways I'm disappointed.

Back to square one, in finding help for me at work.