Okay, so I've been getting emails from some guy who calls himself MC. It's tidbits of this romantic writing he's done about some woman he's supposedly worshipping like a goddess. He tells me it has -- gulp -- 15 parts! He says, "I'll keep sending it to you, to get you in the mood."
Wait. "In the mood"? I don't think so.
So, just to be sure we're on the same page, he knows nothing about me. Hasn't read the blog. I mean he knows NOTHING. He asks one question of me -- will I send him a picture? Uhm, no.
See, I'm no idiot. I fully realize that I'm not the only woman he's sending this to, to get her "in the mood." For what, he never specifically says, but the nature of the writing makes it a safe assumption. So, I tell him that if the writing is supposed to be "mood-inspiring," then it loses some impact when you know it's not for you, but instead going to many women.
That apparently wasn't clear.
He writes back and tells me I'm oh-so-wrong. The 15-parter was actually written about and for a specific woman he knows.
Let's check this again. He's hoping to get other women "in the mood" by sending them romantic writings (in 15 parts) definitely meant for another woman.
There's something about women and getting them "in the mood" that he's missing. Yes?
He makes no attempt to get to know me. He doesn't read my profile or any of the blog. He just wants my picture and wants me to melt into a puddle of romantic surrender, in 15 parts. Be still my heart. How can I possibly resist.
For anyone who has read this blog for long, you know how much his kind of attitude gets under my skin. So, do you think I resisted the urge to tell him why this isn't appealing to me? You know me so well, my friends!
So, I told him. He took exception and said I just didn't "get it." Oh no, I "get it" pretty clearly. He's the one not "getting IT," if you know what I mean. I told him to stop writing to me.
He ignored me (surprise) to let me know he could write a NOVEL of this stuff, but the message degraded into indecipherable nonsense. Scary. Again, I told him to stop writing to me.
He ignored me again to say he didn't want to waste any more time on me and -- get this -- told me to stop replying! Is that rich or what? "I'm going to ignore your request to stop writing, but you better stop replying!" Does this make sense to anyone else?
I blocked him. But not before replying to tell him so.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Glam I Am (Not)
I realized something last night, while at the ball park. Some women can pull off the wind-blown look and still have sex appeal.
I am not one of them. Wind makes me look like a bag lady.
We have lots of wind here. Wind and dirt, once the cotton comes in and there's nothing to hold down the soil. Check out the pic of Texas Tech on a windy day. No, the coloring hasn't been altered -- that's reality.
In the spring time, Mother Nature throws in some rain with the wind and dirt. Ever seen blowing mud? Welcome to Lubbock.
My hair is curly. Always has been and I've never resented it. As though you haven't guessed already, I like being an individual. Red, curly hair certainly makes me memorable.
I got a hair wrap a couple of weeks ago. I can hide it to be my professional self, then let it down with the curls to be my funky self. For the couple of months it'll last, I'm going to enjoy it, but some people just don't get it. Some people = my ex.
"So, what's the hair thing represent?"
"'Represent?' It doesn't 'represent' anything, other than I like it."
"Yeah, but what does it mean? What's the significance?"
"It's just me. That's all. Just fun."
He hmpfed at me.
I now own a hoodie. If you're going to blow the glam thing anyhow, might as well do it completely! I love baseball season, so I won't be staying in. So, while it's cool enough, it's either bag lady or hoodie for me.
I am not one of them. Wind makes me look like a bag lady.
We have lots of wind here. Wind and dirt, once the cotton comes in and there's nothing to hold down the soil. Check out the pic of Texas Tech on a windy day. No, the coloring hasn't been altered -- that's reality. In the spring time, Mother Nature throws in some rain with the wind and dirt. Ever seen blowing mud? Welcome to Lubbock.
My hair is curly. Always has been and I've never resented it. As though you haven't guessed already, I like being an individual. Red, curly hair certainly makes me memorable.
I got a hair wrap a couple of weeks ago. I can hide it to be my professional self, then let it down with the curls to be my funky self. For the couple of months it'll last, I'm going to enjoy it, but some people just don't get it. Some people = my ex.
"So, what's the hair thing represent?"
"'Represent?' It doesn't 'represent' anything, other than I like it."
"Yeah, but what does it mean? What's the significance?"
"It's just me. That's all. Just fun."
He hmpfed at me.
I now own a hoodie. If you're going to blow the glam thing anyhow, might as well do it completely! I love baseball season, so I won't be staying in. So, while it's cool enough, it's either bag lady or hoodie for me.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Here, there, and everywhere
It's been a long time since I've posted anything of substance. Life has been going great guns, at the usual rollercoaster pace.
That conference went extremely well. Our presentation was smooth and popular, with one exception. See, this presentation was meant to show how we solved a common administrative issue in our field. We wanted to share with colleagues our process and solution, but one that works for the way WE do business. The whole point was to show how to develop a solution tailored to each organization's needs. We are not a vendor.
This one jerk showed up for the session, but didn't want to hear how we developed our system (which was the point), but just wanted to go somewhere and download it. He literally raised his hand in the middle of our presentation, interupting what was being said, to say, "I just want to know where I go to download it." Pen poised. Waiting for a URL.
Back up, bud. Let me get this straight. We put in a year's work to develop this system that helps simplify a rather complex administrative issue. You waltz into this session and want it all handed to you. I don't think so.
Everyone else had a nice discussion on how our method could be adapted to their organization's needs. All's well that ends well, I suppose.
He was pissed. He slammed us on the session evaluation, but that's okay. I am the only person who got the evaluations. ::grin::
I missed the big socializing event on the first night of the conference, but that's a-okay. I snagged a flight and got to see Nickelback live. Man, that show is almost as good as sex. I'm always so sorry when it's over. Full throttle, wall of sound, rock 'n' roll. Chad Kroeger's voice is like pure testosterone washing over me and what's not to like about that?
So, I snagged a red-eye flight back to the conference. Rocker chick to brainiac professional in just a couple of hours. Rock on.
That week, I managed to travel each day. Conference, concert, back to conference, back home, off on vacation with the kids (which was a two-and-a-half day drive). Exhausting, but dang worth it.
Anyone surprised I came down with a cold on the way home from spring break vacation? No, I didn't think so.
Revisiting an old issue: my son and his hormones. To make a long story short, I discovered that the school is giving their students a little too much freedom, i.e. unsupervised time. He's 14. Not allowed to date, but there's a girl he likes. More importantly, she likes him and is aggressive about it. I found out she started school early. She's actually just 12, but much more worldly than her mother knows. I've talked to her mom. The poor woman needs to keep up with her daughter's Xanga page.
At 12, she's very manipulative and agressive towards boys. She talks about her many past boyfriends, by name. She calls our house at all hours, even though her mother told me she's not allowed to call boys. The child has been told our no-calling hours, but the phone still rings. To me, this is a serious disregard for our authority.
My son is showing little backbone, allowing her to call the shots. This little relationship has gone too far, too fast.
I asked him, "Whose idea was it to be called 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'?"
"Hers."
"Whose idea was it to kiss?"
"Hers."
"Whose idea is this 'going steady' thing?"
"Hers."
He didn't want it to go there, but did nothing to stand up for himself. Now, his grades are starting to tank and he has three weeks to fix it. You can bet I'm in all kinds of his business. He doesn't cross his eyes without me knowing it happened. His day is regimented. His freedoms at home with the phone and time alone are gone. That unsupervised time at school is gone. If he sneezes at school, I know it.
You'd think he'd be pretty sick of me. You'd think he'd be mad as hell at me. Know what? He's the happiest I've seen him in a long time.
He told this girl that they needed to get serious about their responsibilities and their grades, and not spend so much time on the phone and writing notes to each other. I've noticed she's chilled out since then. I listened to a smidge of their conversation on the phone the other night. He was trying to say something sweet to her, but she responded with, "Oh! Listen to this song! It sounds like Pink!" Her Xanga mentions another boy at school who likes her.
I smell a heartache coming. He's not playing by her rules anymore and I don't think she like it. As always, I can be there for him. The first cut is the deepest, but he's still my baby and I'll help back to his feet.
Take care all!
Blogget
That conference went extremely well. Our presentation was smooth and popular, with one exception. See, this presentation was meant to show how we solved a common administrative issue in our field. We wanted to share with colleagues our process and solution, but one that works for the way WE do business. The whole point was to show how to develop a solution tailored to each organization's needs. We are not a vendor.
This one jerk showed up for the session, but didn't want to hear how we developed our system (which was the point), but just wanted to go somewhere and download it. He literally raised his hand in the middle of our presentation, interupting what was being said, to say, "I just want to know where I go to download it." Pen poised. Waiting for a URL.
Back up, bud. Let me get this straight. We put in a year's work to develop this system that helps simplify a rather complex administrative issue. You waltz into this session and want it all handed to you. I don't think so.
Everyone else had a nice discussion on how our method could be adapted to their organization's needs. All's well that ends well, I suppose.
He was pissed. He slammed us on the session evaluation, but that's okay. I am the only person who got the evaluations. ::grin::
I missed the big socializing event on the first night of the conference, but that's a-okay. I snagged a flight and got to see Nickelback live. Man, that show is almost as good as sex. I'm always so sorry when it's over. Full throttle, wall of sound, rock 'n' roll. Chad Kroeger's voice is like pure testosterone washing over me and what's not to like about that?
So, I snagged a red-eye flight back to the conference. Rocker chick to brainiac professional in just a couple of hours. Rock on.
That week, I managed to travel each day. Conference, concert, back to conference, back home, off on vacation with the kids (which was a two-and-a-half day drive). Exhausting, but dang worth it.
Anyone surprised I came down with a cold on the way home from spring break vacation? No, I didn't think so.
Revisiting an old issue: my son and his hormones. To make a long story short, I discovered that the school is giving their students a little too much freedom, i.e. unsupervised time. He's 14. Not allowed to date, but there's a girl he likes. More importantly, she likes him and is aggressive about it. I found out she started school early. She's actually just 12, but much more worldly than her mother knows. I've talked to her mom. The poor woman needs to keep up with her daughter's Xanga page.
At 12, she's very manipulative and agressive towards boys. She talks about her many past boyfriends, by name. She calls our house at all hours, even though her mother told me she's not allowed to call boys. The child has been told our no-calling hours, but the phone still rings. To me, this is a serious disregard for our authority.
My son is showing little backbone, allowing her to call the shots. This little relationship has gone too far, too fast.
I asked him, "Whose idea was it to be called 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'?"
"Hers."
"Whose idea was it to kiss?"
"Hers."
"Whose idea is this 'going steady' thing?"
"Hers."
He didn't want it to go there, but did nothing to stand up for himself. Now, his grades are starting to tank and he has three weeks to fix it. You can bet I'm in all kinds of his business. He doesn't cross his eyes without me knowing it happened. His day is regimented. His freedoms at home with the phone and time alone are gone. That unsupervised time at school is gone. If he sneezes at school, I know it.
You'd think he'd be pretty sick of me. You'd think he'd be mad as hell at me. Know what? He's the happiest I've seen him in a long time.
He told this girl that they needed to get serious about their responsibilities and their grades, and not spend so much time on the phone and writing notes to each other. I've noticed she's chilled out since then. I listened to a smidge of their conversation on the phone the other night. He was trying to say something sweet to her, but she responded with, "Oh! Listen to this song! It sounds like Pink!" Her Xanga mentions another boy at school who likes her.
I smell a heartache coming. He's not playing by her rules anymore and I don't think she like it. As always, I can be there for him. The first cut is the deepest, but he's still my baby and I'll help back to his feet.
Take care all!
Blogget
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
Pickled update
After standing up cheater-sex-addict guy yesterday, I...er...my character, rather...received a couple of really angry emails from him about how I was "full of it" and just a "no show." He wrote them while at work, unaware that I'd emailed everything to his wife already.
Well, something happened before this 8:00 CST this morning. That's about the time I received an email from him that said he just wanted to let me know that he wasn't going to be online anymore. He confessed that he'd been seeing a therapist for his "ways" and that being stood up was a "wake up call." He saw the therapist again and decided he won't be chatting or doing anything but being a "good boy." His quote: "I realize I have a good thing at home and dont want to ruin it."
IF he's sincere, I believe this is the best possible outcome for their family. I don't know if he's being truthful. He has two "married but looking" profiles online and one of them is gone this morning. I have no way of knowing if she read what I sent, but I did include those links. The timing sure is coincidental, yes?
So, here's to his reformation! I hope he's sincere, and I hope they can have a "normal" life someday. It'll be rough, but I pray they can make it right.
Well, something happened before this 8:00 CST this morning. That's about the time I received an email from him that said he just wanted to let me know that he wasn't going to be online anymore. He confessed that he'd been seeing a therapist for his "ways" and that being stood up was a "wake up call." He saw the therapist again and decided he won't be chatting or doing anything but being a "good boy." His quote: "I realize I have a good thing at home and dont want to ruin it."
IF he's sincere, I believe this is the best possible outcome for their family. I don't know if he's being truthful. He has two "married but looking" profiles online and one of them is gone this morning. I have no way of knowing if she read what I sent, but I did include those links. The timing sure is coincidental, yes?
So, here's to his reformation! I hope he's sincere, and I hope they can have a "normal" life someday. It'll be rough, but I pray they can make it right.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Revisiting the "fine pickle"
If you missed it, you might want to read the "Here's a fine pickle" post. It's been a little while, but I took everyone's advice and decided to tell that poor woman that her husband is sleeping with anything that'll let him near. It had to be anonymous, though. If this guy could find me, I might be in big trouble.
If it's going to be anonymous, then I'd better have irrefutable proof for her. I set to work on that. I posted a profile he couldn't resist, complete with an X-rated pic of a partially nude woman, that I pulled from an amateur porn site. I wrote about the same kinds of things he put on his profile -- extramarital affairs, the need for discretion, etc. Then, he got a message from this new character I'd created.
He not only took the bait, but he also kept asking for more.
Between the emails and instant messages, I learned so much more that his wife needs to know. He has sex with other women in their car, their home, and their bed. He has sex in his office, after hours. He has sex in all of these places with more than one person at a time. He invited my character to group sex. He asked for really risky types of sex.
What he never asked for was personal information. He didn't want to know real names. I said my character had many, many partners, including strangers. I never mentioned safe sex or being disease free. Neither did he. Don't ask, don't tell.
We arranged to meet today, in a very specific spot. We talked about what kind of sex we'd have and he said it was okay to use his big SUV (no, that's not a euphemism!).
I told him I drove a type of car that I've never even been near. Yesterday, I cased the spot and found a few great vantage points. Today, I was early and he was late. He'd been had. As he waited to cheat again, I took pictures of his SUV in the arranged spot, with landmarks in the background that make it unmistakeable, and close-ups of the license plate to seal it. I think I'll include one of the pictures here -- that's him in the SUV, waiting in the romantic locale he picked. Whatta sweetheart.
I wrote her a long email. I explained the transcripts of the emails and instant messages and pictures. I attached the transcripts and the pictures. I found her personal email address on their son's school's PTA site, and then I sent it all along to her. None of the attachments had my information in them.
It's all in her court now. But I wanted all of you to know your advice was heard and taken. Thanks a bunch!
If it's going to be anonymous, then I'd better have irrefutable proof for her. I set to work on that. I posted a profile he couldn't resist, complete with an X-rated pic of a partially nude woman, that I pulled from an amateur porn site. I wrote about the same kinds of things he put on his profile -- extramarital affairs, the need for discretion, etc. Then, he got a message from this new character I'd created.
He not only took the bait, but he also kept asking for more.
Between the emails and instant messages, I learned so much more that his wife needs to know. He has sex with other women in their car, their home, and their bed. He has sex in his office, after hours. He has sex in all of these places with more than one person at a time. He invited my character to group sex. He asked for really risky types of sex.
What he never asked for was personal information. He didn't want to know real names. I said my character had many, many partners, including strangers. I never mentioned safe sex or being disease free. Neither did he. Don't ask, don't tell.
We arranged to meet today, in a very specific spot. We talked about what kind of sex we'd have and he said it was okay to use his big SUV (no, that's not a euphemism!).
I told him I drove a type of car that I've never even been near. Yesterday, I cased the spot and found a few great vantage points. Today, I was early and he was late. He'd been had. As he waited to cheat again, I took pictures of his SUV in the arranged spot, with landmarks in the background that make it unmistakeable, and close-ups of the license plate to seal it. I think I'll include one of the pictures here -- that's him in the SUV, waiting in the romantic locale he picked. Whatta sweetheart.I wrote her a long email. I explained the transcripts of the emails and instant messages and pictures. I attached the transcripts and the pictures. I found her personal email address on their son's school's PTA site, and then I sent it all along to her. None of the attachments had my information in them.
It's all in her court now. But I wanted all of you to know your advice was heard and taken. Thanks a bunch!
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Something fun to do with friends
Okay, so lots of things fall under that category. But that's another topic altogether....
This is one of those nifty personality thingies. Check it out and comment on mine, if you'd like:
http://kevan.org/johari?name=Blogget
I'll add the results HTML here when I start getting results to report.... Have fun! And Thank You for Your Support. ::wink::
This is one of those nifty personality thingies. Check it out and comment on mine, if you'd like:
http://kevan.org/johari?name=Blogget
I'll add the results HTML here when I start getting results to report.... Have fun! And Thank You for Your Support. ::wink::
Thursday, February 09, 2006
I love being underappreciated
I adore having my hard work and talents overlooked, don't you? That's why I went to school for eight years and paid more than I want to think about. That's why I sacrifice time I don't really have in the first place, to help out where I can -- because it was always a dream of mine to be taken for granted.
Heck, my kids do that for me. I don't need it from anyone else!
So, here's what happened.
Part 1:
I've mentioned before that I'm an active Mom when it comes to schools. They know me, they know my name, they know what I can/can't do. I've held PTA Board positions for four years now. This week, I have a very limited amount of time to do the school newsletter. Usualy not a problem because I have a system in place, which relies heavily on email. People adjusted and now work within it...most of the time.
A teacher calls me about an article she needs to place. She says she'll leave it in the office and I can pick it up there. Uhm, no I can't!! She forgets - I work outside of the home. Dropping by the school is something I have to plan in advance. This is deadline day.
I send her a note and many confusing details transpire, but the moral of the story is that there's nothing in my hot little hand at the end of the day. Er, days. I call and ask her if she can just read it to me over the phone.
"No, I don't think so. There's like...lemme see...5...10...30...40...uhm, 45 names on it."
"Really? That might be a problem. We don't have that much space."
Here's the part that pissed me off.
"Oh, the principal will be angry about that. We did it just fine last year."
First, chickadee, I don't give a rat's bohonkus if the principal is upset. He's not my boss. Let's remember who is doing the favor here. It's no skin off my nose if you do your own stinkin' newsletter.
Second, we did not do it "just fine last year." A quick check confirmed what I thought -- not only was this big list not in the newsletter last year, but there was no article at all about this group!
And I said so. She said, "Oh yes, there was! I wrote it myself!"
"Then it didn't get to me. I looked through every issue and there's nothing."
"Maybe it was on the back."
Do I look stupid to you? Er, do you imagine I look stupid?
"No, I have the computer files. I did the newsletter last year, too."
Her trap shut. I went on to tell her that I didn't know if I had time to type that whole thing. Wonder of wonders, she suddenly found a way to email it to me. In the end, I found a way to fit it in -- in an 8-point font.
Part 2:
We have a new system at work, to help us do the online part of what we do. I personally love it. My boss assigned a group of us to port old material into the new system. I'm the "Project Manager" of this group. I've figured out the nuts and bolts of this process and organized the group so that we're a porting machine! My boss had me head this thing because he has no time for it. I don't think he even knows how to use it. So, when questions come up, I get pulled into the meeting as the "expert." This place is meeting-obsessed.
So, that happened a couple of weeks ago. Two and a half hours of it. We were meeting with some out-of-towners about how to make our new system play nice with another system. At the end of this torment, my boss (who is sitting beside me) says, "I really have to hand it to Programmer 1 and Programmer 2 [names changed to protect the guilty]. If it weren't for their efforts, this system wouldn't have come together. It's due to their hard work that it's up and running."
WTF?!?! What haveI been doing all this time?!?!
As I'm wondering how to point this out without sounding like a big ol' ego-head, I hear someone clear her throat across the room.
"And Blogget [name changed again]. Don't forget that we wouldn't have anything to look at without Blogget putting it together."
My boss startles and looks at me. "Oh yes! Of course! But she loves this stuff."
WTF does that mean? I love doing it, therefore my contribution isn't as significant?
God bless that coworker for speaking up, though. It's good to know someone has your back!
Heck, my kids do that for me. I don't need it from anyone else!
So, here's what happened.
Part 1:
I've mentioned before that I'm an active Mom when it comes to schools. They know me, they know my name, they know what I can/can't do. I've held PTA Board positions for four years now. This week, I have a very limited amount of time to do the school newsletter. Usualy not a problem because I have a system in place, which relies heavily on email. People adjusted and now work within it...most of the time.
A teacher calls me about an article she needs to place. She says she'll leave it in the office and I can pick it up there. Uhm, no I can't!! She forgets - I work outside of the home. Dropping by the school is something I have to plan in advance. This is deadline day.
I send her a note and many confusing details transpire, but the moral of the story is that there's nothing in my hot little hand at the end of the day. Er, days. I call and ask her if she can just read it to me over the phone.
"No, I don't think so. There's like...lemme see...5...10...30...40...uhm, 45 names on it."
"Really? That might be a problem. We don't have that much space."
Here's the part that pissed me off.
"Oh, the principal will be angry about that. We did it just fine last year."
First, chickadee, I don't give a rat's bohonkus if the principal is upset. He's not my boss. Let's remember who is doing the favor here. It's no skin off my nose if you do your own stinkin' newsletter.
Second, we did not do it "just fine last year." A quick check confirmed what I thought -- not only was this big list not in the newsletter last year, but there was no article at all about this group!
And I said so. She said, "Oh yes, there was! I wrote it myself!"
"Then it didn't get to me. I looked through every issue and there's nothing."
"Maybe it was on the back."
Do I look stupid to you? Er, do you imagine I look stupid?
"No, I have the computer files. I did the newsletter last year, too."
Her trap shut. I went on to tell her that I didn't know if I had time to type that whole thing. Wonder of wonders, she suddenly found a way to email it to me. In the end, I found a way to fit it in -- in an 8-point font.
Part 2:
We have a new system at work, to help us do the online part of what we do. I personally love it. My boss assigned a group of us to port old material into the new system. I'm the "Project Manager" of this group. I've figured out the nuts and bolts of this process and organized the group so that we're a porting machine! My boss had me head this thing because he has no time for it. I don't think he even knows how to use it. So, when questions come up, I get pulled into the meeting as the "expert." This place is meeting-obsessed.
So, that happened a couple of weeks ago. Two and a half hours of it. We were meeting with some out-of-towners about how to make our new system play nice with another system. At the end of this torment, my boss (who is sitting beside me) says, "I really have to hand it to Programmer 1 and Programmer 2 [names changed to protect the guilty]. If it weren't for their efforts, this system wouldn't have come together. It's due to their hard work that it's up and running."
WTF?!?! What haveI been doing all this time?!?!
As I'm wondering how to point this out without sounding like a big ol' ego-head, I hear someone clear her throat across the room.
"And Blogget [name changed again]. Don't forget that we wouldn't have anything to look at without Blogget putting it together."
My boss startles and looks at me. "Oh yes! Of course! But she loves this stuff."
WTF does that mean? I love doing it, therefore my contribution isn't as significant?
God bless that coworker for speaking up, though. It's good to know someone has your back!
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Like a teenager....
...except that I have my own means, and such....
You see, I have a favorite band. I love 'em, love 'em, love 'em. Watching their lead singer gives me very unladylike thoughts. And they just ROCK. Full throttle wall of noise ROCK. I love it, love it, love it.
I have been to one of their concerts, but it was years ago. It totally blew me away. I couldn't get enough. I've been waiting for a fix ever since.
So, here I am, preparing to present a paper at a national conference. Big shot for my career. I'm presenting with colleagues, so they are counting on me and so are the conference people. We're planning the trip and it's all very exciting.
UNTIL I hear an announcement on the radio.
My favorite band is coming! Oh joy! Oh rapture!
...on the day I present at the conference.
God played a funny, funny joke.
Oh agony! Oh despair! It had to be THE day. The EXACT day, when I'll be elsewhere. THEY will be here.
Life is so not fair.
But wait! I'm a resourceful woman and I have friends who understand how I feel about this band.
So, I booked a flight. I'll present, go to a couple of sessions, and duck out early. Fly home. Rock my little heart out at the concert. Catch about 4 hours sleep. Fly back to the conference in the wee hours of the morning and finish the next two days there. I even got a good deal on the flight.
Ha! The best of all possible worlds.
Let's all sing along! "Hey, hey, I wanna be a rock star...."
You see, I have a favorite band. I love 'em, love 'em, love 'em. Watching their lead singer gives me very unladylike thoughts. And they just ROCK. Full throttle wall of noise ROCK. I love it, love it, love it.
I have been to one of their concerts, but it was years ago. It totally blew me away. I couldn't get enough. I've been waiting for a fix ever since.
So, here I am, preparing to present a paper at a national conference. Big shot for my career. I'm presenting with colleagues, so they are counting on me and so are the conference people. We're planning the trip and it's all very exciting.
UNTIL I hear an announcement on the radio.
My favorite band is coming! Oh joy! Oh rapture!
...on the day I present at the conference.
God played a funny, funny joke.
Oh agony! Oh despair! It had to be THE day. The EXACT day, when I'll be elsewhere. THEY will be here.
Life is so not fair.
But wait! I'm a resourceful woman and I have friends who understand how I feel about this band.
So, I booked a flight. I'll present, go to a couple of sessions, and duck out early. Fly home. Rock my little heart out at the concert. Catch about 4 hours sleep. Fly back to the conference in the wee hours of the morning and finish the next two days there. I even got a good deal on the flight.
Ha! The best of all possible worlds.
Let's all sing along! "Hey, hey, I wanna be a rock star...."
"Happy Imbolc!" (oh barf...)
I haven't talked about work in a long time, so I'm just sure you're dying to know what's been happening there. (Right....)
A little refresher, first. Here's what I said in my introduction of G:
She continues to answer things in other languages. Everyone in the office took a personality test. She sent her results to everyone in German. Google had a nifty logo for Mozart's birthday, with a few bars of music on it. She pop-quizzed everyone with "Can you name that key signature?"
How do you make someone with such a pathetic need for attention understand that (A) we just don't care and (B) she doesn't look smart - she looks like an idiot? It drives me out of my skull.
That said, I have to share what was in my email (and everyone else's in the office) this morning.
You could almost hear a collective "WTF?!" rising from the building.
After the pregnant silence that followed, we got this:
A coworker responded with, "What da hell...?" I cringed. That was it. The moment G was looking for. I think I heard a cackle of delight as she tappity-tapped away at her keyboard.
Oh barf.
Dang, what an idiot.
A little refresher, first. Here's what I said in my introduction of G:
"G of the "Intelligensia"
G is the newest one. I say "Intelligensia" not because I consider her among their number, but she certainly does. So many nice email discussions have come to a dead halt because she decided to respond in Latin or French, and it disgusted us into silence. We don't like show-offs.
In my experience with her, she has proven her incompetence repeatedly and persistently. For a kicker, she's also a liar and political maneuverer. She pulled a bunch of crap a couple of months ago, trying to take me down, but it all backfired in her face. See, I work above-board and within what I know my bosses will approve. Read: I cover my ass. She's an idiot. A Latin-French-speaking idiot.
She continues to answer things in other languages. Everyone in the office took a personality test. She sent her results to everyone in German. Google had a nifty logo for Mozart's birthday, with a few bars of music on it. She pop-quizzed everyone with "Can you name that key signature?"
How do you make someone with such a pathetic need for attention understand that (A) we just don't care and (B) she doesn't look smart - she looks like an idiot? It drives me out of my skull.
That said, I have to share what was in my email (and everyone else's in the office) this morning.
"Hey, happy Lughnassadh, y ‘all. Or, depending on your preference, happy Vasant Panchami or Imbolc."
You could almost hear a collective "WTF?!" rising from the building.
After the pregnant silence that followed, we got this:
"Think I was wrong about Lughnassadh. Imbolc is right, though. So have a happy one!"
A coworker responded with, "What da hell...?" I cringed. That was it. The moment G was looking for. I think I heard a cackle of delight as she tappity-tapped away at her keyboard.
"Lughnassadh and Imbolc are pagan holidays celebrating the end of seasons; Vasant Panchami is a Hindu festival devoted to Saraswati, the Hindu goddess of knowledge and wisdom (good one for us!). For that you’re supposed to wear yellow, but I forgot."
Oh barf.
Dang, what an idiot.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Thinking isn't always good
Or it just doesn't feel good, sometimes. It's uncomfortable and confusing and generally disagreeable. But necessary, I suppose.
I've been thinking about that meeting I wrote about on Saturday, with my writer friend. Boyfriend is a writer, too, so it's not like I can't talk to him about it. Sharing ideas with my writer friend energized me. He made me feel capable and worthwhile, in his confidence in me and my skills. His energy is so positive, it's infectious, even in little things.
For instance, an older lady was bussing tables and accidentally knocked over my cup. It had a lid, so nothing terrible happened, but she kept saying, "I'm so sorry." He looked at her and said, "No reason to be sorry. It's no problem. You have a nice evening, okay?" She looked surprised, but his kindness made her smile as she went along her way.
I hate to say it, but all I could think of was how Boyfriend would have snarled and glared, telling her through gritted teeth to go along her way. In his world, when someone screws up, they need to know they've screwed up, and feel stupid for screwing up. Unless the person is someone he finds interesting. That's a different problem altogether.
It made me sad to see the difference because it's how I've wanted Boyfriend to be for so long. I want him to just be nice, for himself and others. It feels good to be nice, you know? The thing is that he knows this. I've seen him have moments of kindness, times when he's helped those that others avoid. He knows what a difference a kindness makes, and also knows the damage an unkindness does. Yet, in the next moment, he can yell and gesture and make feel terrible. He's uneven that way.
Despite his vow to make himself "irreplaceable" to me, he hasn't carried through. I'm still as much the bearer of the brunt of his moods as I ever was. Maybe the contrast is so sharp in my mind because I went from my meeting to dropping by Boyfriend's for a moment. I was feeling good and thought it would be nice to talk to him. It wasn't a surprise -- he knew I might come by.
I could take it for only a few minutes. He stomped around and slammed things and yelled at the cats, for no real reason. He wasn't pissed about anything in particular. He just was in a(nother) mood, behaving badly, and making life unpleasant.
This should explain part of why I haven't brought up meeting my friend yet. If this is Boyfriend's baseline, I don't want to aggitate him. Yet.
As I said, I don't think there's a romatic thing happening with my friend. But he's inadvertently put a spotlight on things that stress and sadden me. I suppose I feel their absence when I'm not with Boyfriend. There's so much good between Boyfriend and I, but the not good is weighing on me.
More thinking....later.
I've been thinking about that meeting I wrote about on Saturday, with my writer friend. Boyfriend is a writer, too, so it's not like I can't talk to him about it. Sharing ideas with my writer friend energized me. He made me feel capable and worthwhile, in his confidence in me and my skills. His energy is so positive, it's infectious, even in little things.
For instance, an older lady was bussing tables and accidentally knocked over my cup. It had a lid, so nothing terrible happened, but she kept saying, "I'm so sorry." He looked at her and said, "No reason to be sorry. It's no problem. You have a nice evening, okay?" She looked surprised, but his kindness made her smile as she went along her way.
I hate to say it, but all I could think of was how Boyfriend would have snarled and glared, telling her through gritted teeth to go along her way. In his world, when someone screws up, they need to know they've screwed up, and feel stupid for screwing up. Unless the person is someone he finds interesting. That's a different problem altogether.
It made me sad to see the difference because it's how I've wanted Boyfriend to be for so long. I want him to just be nice, for himself and others. It feels good to be nice, you know? The thing is that he knows this. I've seen him have moments of kindness, times when he's helped those that others avoid. He knows what a difference a kindness makes, and also knows the damage an unkindness does. Yet, in the next moment, he can yell and gesture and make feel terrible. He's uneven that way.
Despite his vow to make himself "irreplaceable" to me, he hasn't carried through. I'm still as much the bearer of the brunt of his moods as I ever was. Maybe the contrast is so sharp in my mind because I went from my meeting to dropping by Boyfriend's for a moment. I was feeling good and thought it would be nice to talk to him. It wasn't a surprise -- he knew I might come by.
I could take it for only a few minutes. He stomped around and slammed things and yelled at the cats, for no real reason. He wasn't pissed about anything in particular. He just was in a(nother) mood, behaving badly, and making life unpleasant.
This should explain part of why I haven't brought up meeting my friend yet. If this is Boyfriend's baseline, I don't want to aggitate him. Yet.
As I said, I don't think there's a romatic thing happening with my friend. But he's inadvertently put a spotlight on things that stress and sadden me. I suppose I feel their absence when I'm not with Boyfriend. There's so much good between Boyfriend and I, but the not good is weighing on me.
More thinking....later.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Nice, warm, friendly....
Remember him? The one with the "nice, warm, friendly smile"? The one I bumped into at Target during the holidays? Well, he called. And called again. I didn't think he would, as I looked a fright when I saw him. Except for the hair, which was having a rare cooperative moment.
A little more back story: I met him in a writer's group when I was going through my divorce. I ended up dating this other guy in the group (HUGE mistake), who ended up making it difficult for me to attend the group. I'd bump inot the nice fella occasionally and he always had a hug for me, even though he always seemed to be with a girl. This time is different. He has some spectacular ideas for writing. Not stories, but how to keep the creativity going, how to solve plot problems, etc. He needs some help honing those ideas and help with his writing, and he thought of me.
We got together this evening over some cheap, fast Mexican food. On a chilly January night, that's a real treat. (Yeah, CHILLY! Finally!) We met to talk about some of those ideas he had. Dang, the man is overflowing with them. He's decided that between the two of us, we have enough know-how to make some money at sharing it with others. He just might be right. Lord knows he has enough enthusiasm for both of us, with a few gigawatts to spare!
In preparing for this get-together, I was saddened to realize I haven't written creatively in nearly 6 years. Hmmm...I've been with I-can't-decide-if-you're-enough boyfriend for just over 6 years. Co-inky dink? I'm beginning to wonder.
My friend and I didn't just talk shop. We shared some stories about friends and childhood. Learned more about each other. It was really nice. We'll meet again to talk more about our writing projects. I look forward to that! This is motivating me!
Here's the thing, though -- I didn't tell Boyfriend about this meeting. He's terribly jealous and knows that I'm still not sure that he can ever be loyal to just me. As I mentioned before, after the adult site debacle, I told him that I certainly do not feel like I'll ever be "enough" to him, but that I just can't give up on the dream of being that to someone.
Does that make me as bad as him, in keeping it from him? After all the crap I've endured, do I care? Oh, I'm sure I'll wind up telling him about this collaboration on the money-making idea. I'm not sure he'd understand the writing discussions or my need to have meaningful discussions on that subject. He pretty much assumes that any guy I talk to has "taken a fancy" to me. It's not the case, of course, but he assumes it.
I don't know if that's the case with my friend. I honestly don't care right now. I'm just so glad to feel motivated to write again!
A little more back story: I met him in a writer's group when I was going through my divorce. I ended up dating this other guy in the group (HUGE mistake), who ended up making it difficult for me to attend the group. I'd bump inot the nice fella occasionally and he always had a hug for me, even though he always seemed to be with a girl. This time is different. He has some spectacular ideas for writing. Not stories, but how to keep the creativity going, how to solve plot problems, etc. He needs some help honing those ideas and help with his writing, and he thought of me.
We got together this evening over some cheap, fast Mexican food. On a chilly January night, that's a real treat. (Yeah, CHILLY! Finally!) We met to talk about some of those ideas he had. Dang, the man is overflowing with them. He's decided that between the two of us, we have enough know-how to make some money at sharing it with others. He just might be right. Lord knows he has enough enthusiasm for both of us, with a few gigawatts to spare!
In preparing for this get-together, I was saddened to realize I haven't written creatively in nearly 6 years. Hmmm...I've been with I-can't-decide-if-you're-enough boyfriend for just over 6 years. Co-inky dink? I'm beginning to wonder.
My friend and I didn't just talk shop. We shared some stories about friends and childhood. Learned more about each other. It was really nice. We'll meet again to talk more about our writing projects. I look forward to that! This is motivating me!
Here's the thing, though -- I didn't tell Boyfriend about this meeting. He's terribly jealous and knows that I'm still not sure that he can ever be loyal to just me. As I mentioned before, after the adult site debacle, I told him that I certainly do not feel like I'll ever be "enough" to him, but that I just can't give up on the dream of being that to someone.
Does that make me as bad as him, in keeping it from him? After all the crap I've endured, do I care? Oh, I'm sure I'll wind up telling him about this collaboration on the money-making idea. I'm not sure he'd understand the writing discussions or my need to have meaningful discussions on that subject. He pretty much assumes that any guy I talk to has "taken a fancy" to me. It's not the case, of course, but he assumes it.
I don't know if that's the case with my friend. I honestly don't care right now. I'm just so glad to feel motivated to write again!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! Please?
I'm a winter kind of gal. I love the crisp air, fires in the fireplace, coats, scarves, gloves, boots, seeing your breath in the air, the low clouds that come before the snow...the whole shebang. The only thing I like about spring is rain and thunderstorms. I passionately hate summer. I endure it, then celebrate when the leaves come off the trees again.
All right, I saw that. Your eyes strayed over to that little blurb about me. You're thinking, "Uhm. You live in Texas. They don't have snow there." But we do! My part of this huge state is to the north, where we get snow during the deepest of winter months.
Or we used to. We'd actually have snow days when I was a kid! Snowball fights with the kids in the neighborhood, followed by hot cocoa in my living room where we'd relive the best pitches of the day. Oh, good times!
Two years ago, winter passed without any snow. Not a flake. What a depressing year! We had some snow a couple of months ago. Kinda freaky because it was so early. I took it as a good sign of the winter to come! Hooray! A real winter!
It'll be 75 degrees today.
80-some-odd days of dry weather.
I'm pissed.
I say nasty things to the weatherman on TV and the radio now. I don't wanna hear from them again until they have something nice to say. Preferably, with the word "precipitation" in it.
Nights are cold enough. Sun goes down, heater goes on. Mornings are lovely and chilly when I leave the house, but I have to turn on the air conditioner because it'll be roasty toasty in there by afternoon!
Maybe I need to move. Alaska. Canada. Washington state. I heard of a job opening in Illinois, but I'd like to move someplace that also looks better than here. They just have corn where we have cotton. Picky, picky.
The chill is starting to leave the air for the day today. I'll sip the last of my hot tea (Ginger and Mint - yum!) and put away the teapot for now. As Mrs. Rhett Butler declared, Tomorrow is another day!
All right, I saw that. Your eyes strayed over to that little blurb about me. You're thinking, "Uhm. You live in Texas. They don't have snow there." But we do! My part of this huge state is to the north, where we get snow during the deepest of winter months.
Or we used to. We'd actually have snow days when I was a kid! Snowball fights with the kids in the neighborhood, followed by hot cocoa in my living room where we'd relive the best pitches of the day. Oh, good times!
Two years ago, winter passed without any snow. Not a flake. What a depressing year! We had some snow a couple of months ago. Kinda freaky because it was so early. I took it as a good sign of the winter to come! Hooray! A real winter!
It'll be 75 degrees today.
80-some-odd days of dry weather.
I'm pissed.
I say nasty things to the weatherman on TV and the radio now. I don't wanna hear from them again until they have something nice to say. Preferably, with the word "precipitation" in it.
Nights are cold enough. Sun goes down, heater goes on. Mornings are lovely and chilly when I leave the house, but I have to turn on the air conditioner because it'll be roasty toasty in there by afternoon!
Maybe I need to move. Alaska. Canada. Washington state. I heard of a job opening in Illinois, but I'd like to move someplace that also looks better than here. They just have corn where we have cotton. Picky, picky.
The chill is starting to leave the air for the day today. I'll sip the last of my hot tea (Ginger and Mint - yum!) and put away the teapot for now. As Mrs. Rhett Butler declared, Tomorrow is another day!
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Woe is Me!!
Or I'm sure that's how he feels....
My son is a teenager. A young teenager. And he's mad at me.
He's too young to date. The girl pursuing him is even younger. And it's all so huge, so important to him. Oh, how I wish I could give him my perspective and have him believe it.
Dear boy, it's just not so huge, so important. It's really not. But I know it seems that way. it's what we call hormones.
We've talked about the rules and the reasons behind them for a long time. Now, he's testing them.
"So, can I have a friend who's a girl?"
"Sure, that's fine."
"So, can two 'friends' go to the movies together?"
"Ha! No, that's a date."
Tonight, it started as the classic challenge. "But everyone else does it!" He should know better. It's never worked before.
"So, can she come over here and watch a movie?"
We had a long talk about other struggles we've had lately. Priorities. Maturity. Commitments. Trust. No, she can't come over to watch a movie just yet. Not until you're handling those other things better. One step at a time. "It's not fair!" I know. He mentioned that a few times.
You're just not old enough to dive into the deep end of this, my dear child. You're not equipped to handle it. Neither of you are. I don't know that anyone is ever ready for this freight train, but I'm going to make sure you have a few more tools to handle it when you finally step onto those tracks.
I keep old pictures of him nearby to remind me that this moody teenager covers up the sweet little boy poking at logs with a stick, wearing his Osh Kosh overalls. Or the one waiting to board the steamboat at Disney World. Or the one I cheered with at the Ballpark on his surprise birthday trip not so long ago.
He's still in there, and it's all my job to see him through to adulthood. Safe and sound. So, be mad at me for now. It's okay. There are worse things.
My son is a teenager. A young teenager. And he's mad at me.
He's too young to date. The girl pursuing him is even younger. And it's all so huge, so important to him. Oh, how I wish I could give him my perspective and have him believe it.
Dear boy, it's just not so huge, so important. It's really not. But I know it seems that way. it's what we call hormones.
We've talked about the rules and the reasons behind them for a long time. Now, he's testing them.
"So, can I have a friend who's a girl?"
"Sure, that's fine."
"So, can two 'friends' go to the movies together?"
"Ha! No, that's a date."
Tonight, it started as the classic challenge. "But everyone else does it!" He should know better. It's never worked before.
"So, can she come over here and watch a movie?"
We had a long talk about other struggles we've had lately. Priorities. Maturity. Commitments. Trust. No, she can't come over to watch a movie just yet. Not until you're handling those other things better. One step at a time. "It's not fair!" I know. He mentioned that a few times.
You're just not old enough to dive into the deep end of this, my dear child. You're not equipped to handle it. Neither of you are. I don't know that anyone is ever ready for this freight train, but I'm going to make sure you have a few more tools to handle it when you finally step onto those tracks.
I keep old pictures of him nearby to remind me that this moody teenager covers up the sweet little boy poking at logs with a stick, wearing his Osh Kosh overalls. Or the one waiting to board the steamboat at Disney World. Or the one I cheered with at the Ballpark on his surprise birthday trip not so long ago.
He's still in there, and it's all my job to see him through to adulthood. Safe and sound. So, be mad at me for now. It's okay. There are worse things.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Scary, isn't it?
So, I'm online the other night and this guy sends me an intelligent IM. Those are so rare that I pay some attention to them. We get chatting and get this -- sex never comes up. He has a girlfriend and understands that I have a boyfriend, so it's not going any further. It's an interesting conversation, though. We talk a little about our backgrounds. We live in the same area. By the end of it, he gives me his first name. I give him the shortened version of my name that my friends call me. Good to meet ya, chat later. It was a nice way to pass the time.
I started thinking about my last blog and wondering just how much you can find out about a person with how little information. I ran a search of my first name and my location, since that's all my new friend has about me. A couple of legitimate things came up, but apparently enough people with my first name live here that it would be hard to determine which one is me. That nickname of mine is even more common, so that's no help. Good.
I wondered about my new friend. All I had was his first name and town, and a nickname he had in high school. He was careful with his info, which is good. Was he careful enough?
I Googled (I love proper names that become verbs!) his first name and location. From that only, I learned:
His last name.
His wife's name.
His children's names and ages. One child's exact birthdate.
His wife's parents' and grandparents' names.
When he and his wife were married, and his wife's maiden name.
That he wrote for his college newspaper.
That he can write a pretty intelligent Letter to the Editor.
The years that he attended Cal Farley's Boys Ranch.
His email address in 2002.
His wife had extradition proceedings against her last year.
His brother's name and the years that he attended Boys Ranch. Also, that his brother is in the military, recently in Iraq.
Most of that came from the pages found on Google. The marriage record was in a free public database. As harmless as it seems, the high school nickname actually confirmed that I had the right person. He used it as his email address when posting on a public message board in 2002.
The Boys Ranch thing clued me in that this guy might have a "colorful" past. So, I turned to a database that is not free, but to which anyone can subscribe for a modest fee. From that I learned:
About his criminal record from 1998-2004.
His middle name.
His birth date.
His address.
His driver's license number.
The fact that he's not a registered voter.
His wife's address, which is separate from his (I looked at this to try to confirm that they are divorced, as actual divorce records for that year are not accessible online).
The names of other adults living at the same address (I looked at this to try to confirm that he lives with his girlfriend, whose name I now know).
Now, if I were the stalking type, this fella could be in real trouble. I'm just someone who knows how to use Google and a couple of public records sites. What if he runs into a looney basket with the same skills? What kind of nightmare could happen?
And for nothing more than a friendly chat. He didn't even do anything particularly wrong.
For people meeting people online, this kind of information access is a beautiful thing. It keeps them from being hurt by someone like the guy with the "dead" wife. In this case, if this fella wanted to get closer, a woman is warned about his criminal history and what kind of crime he committed.
However, there's a flip side. That's the scary side. By giving seemingly innocent information, you can allow anyone to find you. Maybe even find your family. A first name, a town, and an old nickname. That's all I had.
Next time you cut someone off in traffic (accidentally or not), think about this. There's also a database where someone (for a small fee) can look up your license plate number, and find your name, address, and the former owner of your car....
A step away is the database where they plug in your name and get your address, description, driver's license number, and the names of other adults registered at your address...and all of their information, too.
The classic double-edged sword. Now, I have to wonder if there's any money in teaching people how to wield it for good? Or would I just feed those who would use it for evil?
I started thinking about my last blog and wondering just how much you can find out about a person with how little information. I ran a search of my first name and my location, since that's all my new friend has about me. A couple of legitimate things came up, but apparently enough people with my first name live here that it would be hard to determine which one is me. That nickname of mine is even more common, so that's no help. Good.
I wondered about my new friend. All I had was his first name and town, and a nickname he had in high school. He was careful with his info, which is good. Was he careful enough?
I Googled (I love proper names that become verbs!) his first name and location. From that only, I learned:
His last name.
His wife's name.
His children's names and ages. One child's exact birthdate.
His wife's parents' and grandparents' names.
When he and his wife were married, and his wife's maiden name.
That he wrote for his college newspaper.
That he can write a pretty intelligent Letter to the Editor.
The years that he attended Cal Farley's Boys Ranch.
His email address in 2002.
His wife had extradition proceedings against her last year.
His brother's name and the years that he attended Boys Ranch. Also, that his brother is in the military, recently in Iraq.
Most of that came from the pages found on Google. The marriage record was in a free public database. As harmless as it seems, the high school nickname actually confirmed that I had the right person. He used it as his email address when posting on a public message board in 2002.
The Boys Ranch thing clued me in that this guy might have a "colorful" past. So, I turned to a database that is not free, but to which anyone can subscribe for a modest fee. From that I learned:
About his criminal record from 1998-2004.
His middle name.
His birth date.
His address.
His driver's license number.
The fact that he's not a registered voter.
His wife's address, which is separate from his (I looked at this to try to confirm that they are divorced, as actual divorce records for that year are not accessible online).
The names of other adults living at the same address (I looked at this to try to confirm that he lives with his girlfriend, whose name I now know).
Now, if I were the stalking type, this fella could be in real trouble. I'm just someone who knows how to use Google and a couple of public records sites. What if he runs into a looney basket with the same skills? What kind of nightmare could happen?
And for nothing more than a friendly chat. He didn't even do anything particularly wrong.
For people meeting people online, this kind of information access is a beautiful thing. It keeps them from being hurt by someone like the guy with the "dead" wife. In this case, if this fella wanted to get closer, a woman is warned about his criminal history and what kind of crime he committed.
However, there's a flip side. That's the scary side. By giving seemingly innocent information, you can allow anyone to find you. Maybe even find your family. A first name, a town, and an old nickname. That's all I had.
Next time you cut someone off in traffic (accidentally or not), think about this. There's also a database where someone (for a small fee) can look up your license plate number, and find your name, address, and the former owner of your car....
A step away is the database where they plug in your name and get your address, description, driver's license number, and the names of other adults registered at your address...and all of their information, too.
The classic double-edged sword. Now, I have to wonder if there's any money in teaching people how to wield it for good? Or would I just feed those who would use it for evil?
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
"Ignore that man behind the curtain!" -- Oz
Something squirrely just happened and I had to share it, Dear Diary.
Flashback: Turn back the clock to April and May of this year. I started chatting with a guy who told me all about his lovely fiancee, who died just before they were to be married the year before. She was in a tragic car accident. He found me easy to talk to and sympathetic. Soon, he wanted to meet me.
I'm not so comfortable with that. I mean, hey, who are we online anyhow? I'm about to say something shocking: My name isn't really Blogget Jones. This guy wants to meet me, but all I have are words from him. Was there anything behind them?
The Internet blew the Information Age open wide, and I take full advantage of it. He revealed enough personal information about himself, and especially about her, for me to start searching.
Words of wisdom for anyone lying to anyone else. The truth is out there. Someone will find it.
I found his information quickly enough. No, he never gave me his last name, at least not consciously. It was in the file name of the pic he emailed me. His name, Brad, was short for Brady. He lived not far from me.
I didn't find any news stories about an accident involving someone with his fiancee's name. Those stories make front-page here. However, I did find their marriage record. She wasn't a fiancee. She was a wife.
And a very much alive wife. When he approached me again, I was armed to the teeth with facts. The truth is out there, butthead. He tried to say that they were married in a civil ceremony right before the accident. Nope, that's not true, fella. The conversation ended up something like this:
"So, you think I'm some kind of scumbag now?"
"Yes, that's about it. You said the woman was DEAD!"
"Well, if that's what you think then that's what you think."
"It's what I KNOW. And I know I deserve better than this. See ya."
That was in May. Almost exactly eight months later, I sign on to find this message:
"WOW!! you are still alive,,,long time no see"
The punctuation is all his, by the way. Interesting choice of words, yes? "you are still alive". So, I wondered if wifey's death record had hit the death index yet. Five minutes later, I learned that the dead woman came back from the grave and divorced him -- just two months ago.
I wrote him back and asked if he was still reeling-in women with the sob story, and if any of them had figured out the poor dead woman divorced him in November. No answer. Frankly, I'm shocked.
You know what gets me? That there really are women being duped by this guy, and others like him. The information is there, the warnings are there, but they don't find them, for whatever reason. I wish I could change that.
Flashback: Turn back the clock to April and May of this year. I started chatting with a guy who told me all about his lovely fiancee, who died just before they were to be married the year before. She was in a tragic car accident. He found me easy to talk to and sympathetic. Soon, he wanted to meet me.
I'm not so comfortable with that. I mean, hey, who are we online anyhow? I'm about to say something shocking: My name isn't really Blogget Jones. This guy wants to meet me, but all I have are words from him. Was there anything behind them?
The Internet blew the Information Age open wide, and I take full advantage of it. He revealed enough personal information about himself, and especially about her, for me to start searching.
Words of wisdom for anyone lying to anyone else. The truth is out there. Someone will find it.
I found his information quickly enough. No, he never gave me his last name, at least not consciously. It was in the file name of the pic he emailed me. His name, Brad, was short for Brady. He lived not far from me.
I didn't find any news stories about an accident involving someone with his fiancee's name. Those stories make front-page here. However, I did find their marriage record. She wasn't a fiancee. She was a wife.
And a very much alive wife. When he approached me again, I was armed to the teeth with facts. The truth is out there, butthead. He tried to say that they were married in a civil ceremony right before the accident. Nope, that's not true, fella. The conversation ended up something like this:
"So, you think I'm some kind of scumbag now?"
"Yes, that's about it. You said the woman was DEAD!"
"Well, if that's what you think then that's what you think."
"It's what I KNOW. And I know I deserve better than this. See ya."
That was in May. Almost exactly eight months later, I sign on to find this message:
"WOW!! you are still alive,,,long time no see"
The punctuation is all his, by the way. Interesting choice of words, yes? "you are still alive". So, I wondered if wifey's death record had hit the death index yet. Five minutes later, I learned that the dead woman came back from the grave and divorced him -- just two months ago.
I wrote him back and asked if he was still reeling-in women with the sob story, and if any of them had figured out the poor dead woman divorced him in November. No answer. Frankly, I'm shocked.
You know what gets me? That there really are women being duped by this guy, and others like him. The information is there, the warnings are there, but they don't find them, for whatever reason. I wish I could change that.
And now for something completely different
New Year's Resolutions.
Now, hold on! Before you start with the "that's not completely different!" thing, it is for me. I've never voiced solid resolutions, much less written them down. Not to mention, written them down publicly. (All right, so it's anonymous...let's not get bogged down in details!)
1. Lose weight
This is a common one, I know, but I really have to do this. I'm a diabetic with high cholestrol. It's time to not rely on the medications to control it because they aren't doing a bang-up job in the first place. And I'm so sick of taking them, and especially of paying for them! This leads me to....
2. Get a grip on my finances
I'm too old to live paycheck-to-paycheck. Heck, within ten years, I'll have two kids in college. That's something to think about. In twenty-five years, I'll be preparing for retirement. Maybe sooner, if I do things right, but I'll really have to get on the stick and (1) get ahead financially and (2) put lots of money away. Something that might help with that is....
3. Finish and submit my major writing projects
I have a short story that's really sellable, if I finish changes to the ending and get it submitted to good publications. I have both a novel and a children's book that are really sellable, if I finish the changes to them and get them submitted to good agents and/or publishers. I even have part of a sequel written for the novel. Now, I'm not just talking out of my you-know with these things. Both the story and the children's book have won small contests and the book was almost published by Bantam ten years ago. I even have the name of a New York agent who wants to read my stuff! I have minor article ideas that I need to write and see what comes of them. So, I have a shot at this, if I just get it done. Which brings me to....
4. Manage my time better
Well, maybe I could start with not blogging at work. Oops. However, I could get the kids in bed on time and then spend some time writing, instead of watching "Dog: The Bounty Hunter" incessantly. It's my private shame. I'm addicted to reality shows. "Dog," "The First 48," "The Surreal Life," "Breaking Bonaduce" (I know that spelling is wrong - sorry, Danny Boy), "The Apprentice," "Nanny 911" or "Supernanny"....the list goes on. Not to mention the crime shows, like "Cold Case Files" and "City Confidential." I'm a total dork, I swear. Time management need some serious attention. Speaking of attention, my house could use more of it, so....
5. Become a better housekeeper
This is important because I have two kids who need to know how to take care of their own home someday. Seriously, right now, I foresee spouses pulling their hair out and blaming me for the chaos. And they'd be right. I need to model the proper behavior and teach them. How's that, Dr. Phil? Maybe I should....
6. Learn to be organized
This includes not hanging onto useless things and bits of paper. I need to "Clean Sweep" the place! (Another reality show reference. Dang, this is gonna be hard.) Hey, here's an idea. Maybe the kids and I should each pick one area in our little domains per month that we're gonna clean out and reorganize. Hmmm....that might work, and it will all seem less formidable, too. Ah, I love inspiration!
7. Finish my miscellaneous projects
The winter cape I never finished sewing. The pillows I never taught my daughter to make. The vintage quilt chest I've been refinishing for a year-and-a-half. The mass of eBay stuff I need to post and sell (which could help with Resolution #2). They all need completing, and they need to be done NOW or I need to admit defeat and get rid of them.
Okay, that's all I have for now. Feels good to get that crap out of my head and into print. Dang, why didn't I do this before? Oh yeah, #4.
Now, hold on! Before you start with the "that's not completely different!" thing, it is for me. I've never voiced solid resolutions, much less written them down. Not to mention, written them down publicly. (All right, so it's anonymous...let's not get bogged down in details!)
1. Lose weight
This is a common one, I know, but I really have to do this. I'm a diabetic with high cholestrol. It's time to not rely on the medications to control it because they aren't doing a bang-up job in the first place. And I'm so sick of taking them, and especially of paying for them! This leads me to....
2. Get a grip on my finances
I'm too old to live paycheck-to-paycheck. Heck, within ten years, I'll have two kids in college. That's something to think about. In twenty-five years, I'll be preparing for retirement. Maybe sooner, if I do things right, but I'll really have to get on the stick and (1) get ahead financially and (2) put lots of money away. Something that might help with that is....
3. Finish and submit my major writing projects
I have a short story that's really sellable, if I finish changes to the ending and get it submitted to good publications. I have both a novel and a children's book that are really sellable, if I finish the changes to them and get them submitted to good agents and/or publishers. I even have part of a sequel written for the novel. Now, I'm not just talking out of my you-know with these things. Both the story and the children's book have won small contests and the book was almost published by Bantam ten years ago. I even have the name of a New York agent who wants to read my stuff! I have minor article ideas that I need to write and see what comes of them. So, I have a shot at this, if I just get it done. Which brings me to....
4. Manage my time better
Well, maybe I could start with not blogging at work. Oops. However, I could get the kids in bed on time and then spend some time writing, instead of watching "Dog: The Bounty Hunter" incessantly. It's my private shame. I'm addicted to reality shows. "Dog," "The First 48," "The Surreal Life," "Breaking Bonaduce" (I know that spelling is wrong - sorry, Danny Boy), "The Apprentice," "Nanny 911" or "Supernanny"....the list goes on. Not to mention the crime shows, like "Cold Case Files" and "City Confidential." I'm a total dork, I swear. Time management need some serious attention. Speaking of attention, my house could use more of it, so....
5. Become a better housekeeper
This is important because I have two kids who need to know how to take care of their own home someday. Seriously, right now, I foresee spouses pulling their hair out and blaming me for the chaos. And they'd be right. I need to model the proper behavior and teach them. How's that, Dr. Phil? Maybe I should....
6. Learn to be organized
This includes not hanging onto useless things and bits of paper. I need to "Clean Sweep" the place! (Another reality show reference. Dang, this is gonna be hard.) Hey, here's an idea. Maybe the kids and I should each pick one area in our little domains per month that we're gonna clean out and reorganize. Hmmm....that might work, and it will all seem less formidable, too. Ah, I love inspiration!
7. Finish my miscellaneous projects
The winter cape I never finished sewing. The pillows I never taught my daughter to make. The vintage quilt chest I've been refinishing for a year-and-a-half. The mass of eBay stuff I need to post and sell (which could help with Resolution #2). They all need completing, and they need to be done NOW or I need to admit defeat and get rid of them.
Okay, that's all I have for now. Feels good to get that crap out of my head and into print. Dang, why didn't I do this before? Oh yeah, #4.
Monday, January 02, 2006
WTF?
I just gotta know. Maybe some guys out there can shed some light on this for me. What exactly is it about the Internet that makes some men decide vulgarity is the way to a girl's heart?
Hmmm. I suppose it's not really her heart he's after, though, with all that rubbish. Is it?
"Hey, you're from Lubbock. Me, too. Wanna fuck?"
"I like your hair, baby. Wanna fuck?"
"Hi. 26m single. U look hot. Wanna fuck a younger guy?"
or the ever charming - "You got a good rack. Fill out that top nice. Wanna fuck?"
I'm not making this stuff up. These are quotes. Some are more subtle, if you can use that term with these fellas.
"Hello."
"Hi."
"How are you."
"Fine. And you?"
"I'm good. You're in Lubbock?"
"Yes, I am. You, too?"
"Yes. I saw your pic. Very nice, if you don't mind me saying."
"Well, thank you. That's sweet of you to say."
"Your welcome." (They hardly ever get that word right.) "So, what do you do for fun?"
Let's go to the IM dictionary: "fun" equals "sex." Now, we're getting to what he really wants.
"Movies, music. The usual."
"Want to go out with me some time? I'm a good fuck." And there you have it folks!
I have to know -- are there really girls out there who respond to this? Are they really stupid enough to say, "Yeah! Sure! I'm a good fuck, too!" Or maybe it's just some series of grunts that these cavemen at her virtual door understand.
Words of wisdom for men dealing with intelligent women online:
Seriously, 9 of 10 messages I receive from men online are like this. I'm so relieved to talk to the tenth one, the guy with a brain placed between his ears and not his legs, that I can't wait to talk to him again. But he seems to be an endangered species, and that quite frankly panics me.
(Note: I know women can be just as bad. I just haven't heard from as many of them.)
I find it disheartening, especially when I realize I'm considered naive for wanting something more from online conversations. I want discourse, not intercourse!
Here's a good rule of thumb, in my humble opinion: If you can't say it to her in person without getting slapped, then don't say it online. Seems a little cowardly, too, doesn't it? Hiding behind a computer so that she can't throw a drink in your face for being crude, rude, and socially unacceptable. Ooooo. My hero.
It takes a real man, of intelligence, to rock my world -- then I'll rock his.
Whatever happened to grace, charm, and plain ol' respect? Why does the Internet make people forget it?
Hmmm. I suppose it's not really her heart he's after, though, with all that rubbish. Is it?
"Hey, you're from Lubbock. Me, too. Wanna fuck?"
"I like your hair, baby. Wanna fuck?"
"Hi. 26m single. U look hot. Wanna fuck a younger guy?"
or the ever charming - "You got a good rack. Fill out that top nice. Wanna fuck?"
I'm not making this stuff up. These are quotes. Some are more subtle, if you can use that term with these fellas.
"Hello."
"Hi."
"How are you."
"Fine. And you?"
"I'm good. You're in Lubbock?"
"Yes, I am. You, too?"
"Yes. I saw your pic. Very nice, if you don't mind me saying."
"Well, thank you. That's sweet of you to say."
"Your welcome." (They hardly ever get that word right.) "So, what do you do for fun?"
Let's go to the IM dictionary: "fun" equals "sex." Now, we're getting to what he really wants.
"Movies, music. The usual."
"Want to go out with me some time? I'm a good fuck." And there you have it folks!
I have to know -- are there really girls out there who respond to this? Are they really stupid enough to say, "Yeah! Sure! I'm a good fuck, too!" Or maybe it's just some series of grunts that these cavemen at her virtual door understand.
Words of wisdom for men dealing with intelligent women online:
- We are not impressed with abbreviations like "how r u" and spellings like "kewl". Tell me "CUL8R" and no, you won't. Ever.
- We are not interested in pictures of your crotch. If you say, "Here's a pic of me," it better be your face.
- We are not your sweetheart, baby, honey, darlin', or even sweetie. You don't even know me! I could really be that 600-pound man down the street who hasn't left his chair for any reason in the last ten years. (Say, "Ew.")
Seriously, 9 of 10 messages I receive from men online are like this. I'm so relieved to talk to the tenth one, the guy with a brain placed between his ears and not his legs, that I can't wait to talk to him again. But he seems to be an endangered species, and that quite frankly panics me.
(Note: I know women can be just as bad. I just haven't heard from as many of them.)
I find it disheartening, especially when I realize I'm considered naive for wanting something more from online conversations. I want discourse, not intercourse!
Here's a good rule of thumb, in my humble opinion: If you can't say it to her in person without getting slapped, then don't say it online. Seems a little cowardly, too, doesn't it? Hiding behind a computer so that she can't throw a drink in your face for being crude, rude, and socially unacceptable. Ooooo. My hero.
It takes a real man, of intelligence, to rock my world -- then I'll rock his.
Whatever happened to grace, charm, and plain ol' respect? Why does the Internet make people forget it?
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Squishy sand and cold concrete
I have a friend who has a sister. She's married to an immigrant whose legal stay here long since expired. For years, he has used the excuse of "This is how it's done in MY culture" as an excuse for his bad behavior. She cooks, cleans, takes care of the children. Then, she does the same for his dozens of "family" who come to their home. They come, without her prior knowledge or permission. They speak another language in front of her, and laugh at her for not knowing what they said. He disappears for days, spends all their money, doesn't hold a job, and says she has no right to ask what happened because it's his "culture."
One day, a "cousin" came to stay, with a little baby. She believed him. Then, the "cousin" was pregnant again. Then another came to stay, also with a baby. Guess what? They weren't cousins. I know -- you're as shocked as I was. (with a resounding "Duh.")
So, here's the shocking part. He says he won't share their bedroom with her anymore, and moves the first girlfriend in there. And she lets him. She and her daughter sleep on the couch.
Yep, daughter. The child is growing up thinking this is normal. Good modeling for her own married life someday.
With enough pressure, she leaves. Her father has the scum evicted from the house. (Did I mention it was her FATHER'S house?!) She gets the house back and she lives in peace with her child. The scumbag moves in with the girlfriend, but the wife doesn't know where.
She won't divorce him. Why? "Because I might not ever get married again." All together now: "WTF?!?!"
He's with someone else. Having babies. He rarely contacts her, and that's to see their child. She's alone. But that's a marriage. She doesn't want to give that up, for the chance that she might NOT be alone the rest of her life.
I know another woman, married to a military man. When he's sent elsewhere, he doesn't contact her often, he spends money like it's water, and other women give him expensive gifts. When he finally gets home, you'd think he'd be one of those guys on the tarmac, hugging the daylights out of his kids and wife. He's not. He won't speak to them for a week or more because he's "adjusting." Now, he spends his time at home playing online (games, allegedly) and sleeping.
He doesn't give gifts to his wife. No Mother's Day. No Birthday. No Anniversary. And this year, no Christmas. No spontaneous "I love you."
They left town for the holidays. Suddenly, he's going and doing. Smells like a whole tank of fishy, methinks.
I have to wonder, why do they put up with it? Where is the breaking point for these women? The latter is starting to say, "How do I raise my kids to know this isn't how a husband and father behaves?" So, maybe the kids are her line in the sand. It was that way with me.
For the former, when does he step far enough for that emotional band to snap? He's stretched it far enough for even Dr. Laura to tell this woman to grab her child and cut this man from her life, at all costs.
Not that I should dare to point fingers. I'm fully aware of my failings in this arena. I keep erasing my line in the sand and drawing a new one. What am I afraid of? Contemplating that answer makes my innards feel squishy. I hate feeling squishy. It's not solid. It's not stable. It's downright uncomfortable. Much like sand.
But concrete is cold, hard, unyielding. When do we decide to pour the concrete and draw that line?
One day, a "cousin" came to stay, with a little baby. She believed him. Then, the "cousin" was pregnant again. Then another came to stay, also with a baby. Guess what? They weren't cousins. I know -- you're as shocked as I was. (with a resounding "Duh.")
So, here's the shocking part. He says he won't share their bedroom with her anymore, and moves the first girlfriend in there. And she lets him. She and her daughter sleep on the couch.
Yep, daughter. The child is growing up thinking this is normal. Good modeling for her own married life someday.
With enough pressure, she leaves. Her father has the scum evicted from the house. (Did I mention it was her FATHER'S house?!) She gets the house back and she lives in peace with her child. The scumbag moves in with the girlfriend, but the wife doesn't know where.
She won't divorce him. Why? "Because I might not ever get married again." All together now: "WTF?!?!"
He's with someone else. Having babies. He rarely contacts her, and that's to see their child. She's alone. But that's a marriage. She doesn't want to give that up, for the chance that she might NOT be alone the rest of her life.
I know another woman, married to a military man. When he's sent elsewhere, he doesn't contact her often, he spends money like it's water, and other women give him expensive gifts. When he finally gets home, you'd think he'd be one of those guys on the tarmac, hugging the daylights out of his kids and wife. He's not. He won't speak to them for a week or more because he's "adjusting." Now, he spends his time at home playing online (games, allegedly) and sleeping.
He doesn't give gifts to his wife. No Mother's Day. No Birthday. No Anniversary. And this year, no Christmas. No spontaneous "I love you."
They left town for the holidays. Suddenly, he's going and doing. Smells like a whole tank of fishy, methinks.
I have to wonder, why do they put up with it? Where is the breaking point for these women? The latter is starting to say, "How do I raise my kids to know this isn't how a husband and father behaves?" So, maybe the kids are her line in the sand. It was that way with me.
For the former, when does he step far enough for that emotional band to snap? He's stretched it far enough for even Dr. Laura to tell this woman to grab her child and cut this man from her life, at all costs.
Not that I should dare to point fingers. I'm fully aware of my failings in this arena. I keep erasing my line in the sand and drawing a new one. What am I afraid of? Contemplating that answer makes my innards feel squishy. I hate feeling squishy. It's not solid. It's not stable. It's downright uncomfortable. Much like sand.
But concrete is cold, hard, unyielding. When do we decide to pour the concrete and draw that line?
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Humping reindeer and silly romantics
For the third year in a row, some demented little soul out there thinks it's knee-slappin' hysterical to put our decorative Christmas reindeer in compromising positions.
Okay, I have to admit laughing the first time I pulled into the driveway and witnessed the reindeer and their unabashed passion on display for the whole neighborhood. Get a room...er, stall, you two.
However, when their antics actually busted one of the reindeer, it quit being funny. And when I pulled up and actually caught them in the act, it quit being funny. The car I saw matched that of a horrible (more accurately, whore-able) woman who vehemently hates a member of my family. She didn't dare to come back again last year.
She came back tonight. Christmas Eve Eve. We have a new reindeer and I don't want it broken, too. She got caught again, though. My dad saw her and the car is different, but the person is the same. He scared her off.
All I have to say is, how old are we??
---------------------------------------
I just finished watching "Little Women." The old one with June Allison and Elizabeth Taylor. Jo was so right -- the brainiac Professor is soooo much better than the silly boy. The ending scene always gets me....
Rain pouring down on the two huddled under the umbrella. It soaks into her dress, drips from his coat.
"I have nothing to offer, but these empty hands."
She grasps his outstretched hand with her own. "They're not empty anymore."
Gets me. Every. Single. Time.
Now, there's a sweet, World-War-II-propoganda-filled oldie on, with Claudette Colbert. (Does anyone remember her anymore? Besides me?) Anyhow, I'll probably watch it, too. I adore those drippy films.
So, I'm spending the wee hours of my Christmas Eve with sweet old movies instead of sleeping. Why? Because I'm listening for reindeer pornographers sneaking around my front yard.
Okay, I have to admit laughing the first time I pulled into the driveway and witnessed the reindeer and their unabashed passion on display for the whole neighborhood. Get a room...er, stall, you two.
However, when their antics actually busted one of the reindeer, it quit being funny. And when I pulled up and actually caught them in the act, it quit being funny. The car I saw matched that of a horrible (more accurately, whore-able) woman who vehemently hates a member of my family. She didn't dare to come back again last year.
She came back tonight. Christmas Eve Eve. We have a new reindeer and I don't want it broken, too. She got caught again, though. My dad saw her and the car is different, but the person is the same. He scared her off.
All I have to say is, how old are we??
---------------------------------------
I just finished watching "Little Women." The old one with June Allison and Elizabeth Taylor. Jo was so right -- the brainiac Professor is soooo much better than the silly boy. The ending scene always gets me....
Rain pouring down on the two huddled under the umbrella. It soaks into her dress, drips from his coat.
"I have nothing to offer, but these empty hands."
She grasps his outstretched hand with her own. "They're not empty anymore."
Gets me. Every. Single. Time.
Now, there's a sweet, World-War-II-propoganda-filled oldie on, with Claudette Colbert. (Does anyone remember her anymore? Besides me?) Anyhow, I'll probably watch it, too. I adore those drippy films.
So, I'm spending the wee hours of my Christmas Eve with sweet old movies instead of sleeping. Why? Because I'm listening for reindeer pornographers sneaking around my front yard.
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