Take Me Out to the Ballgame!

But DANG, it's HOT!!! We're wrapping up baseball season here. About another week to go. No break from the 100+ degree weather in sight!

Hot, sweaty, dirty, nasty. And not the good kind. This kind has mosquitoes. So, you douse yourself in OFF and really give the dirt something to stick to!

But it's fun watching my son play. He just has such a great time at it. He's grinning and chatting with the umps. You'd never even guess that his coach is an idiot.

Yeah, I know. Little League (which is odd to say when some of the kids are 6 feet tall or more!) is luck of the draw. All volunteers, so if your umpire was any good, he'd be umping the high school games. And your coach is only as good as the guy who wants his own kid to have first pick of the positions.

My evidence:

As a third base coach, he sends kids to steal home while the catcher has the ball. Invariably, this happens when we most need the runs.

He leaves a pitcher in well past the kid's tolerance for exhaustion, until we're down by 14 runs or more. Hopeless situation, created by our dear coach.

Punishing some kids for missing practice or a game (for a legit reason). Is it coincidence that the only kids punished are the white players? And the only ones who don't play games on Sunday (for religious reasons)? I think not.

My son is an excellent first baseman. That's not just Mommy talk. He really is. At 6'2", he has a monster stretch and the ball rarely gets past him. This coach "punishes" him by either benching him or putting him in left field. For what? Well, here's an example:

Me: "Coach? Why is he on the bench?"
Coach: "He missed practice on Monday."
Me: Puzzled. "Coach? We had a game on Monday. He pitched in it."
Coach: Blank stare.

See, my son is white. This guy and all but two of the other boys aren't white. The three white kids get benched. The others never do, no matter what happens.

He also gets punished because we consider Sunday to be the sabbath and we don't believe in playing ball (or shopping, going out to eat, etc.) on Sundays. We're in the Bible Belt. This isn't an uncommon school of thought here. My son isn't the only kid who doesn't play on Sundays.

Here's what happened with that:
Me: "Coach, I understand there's a game on Sunday, but my son won't make it."
Coach: "Okay, why?"
Me: "We don't play on Saturdays because in our religion, Sunday is the sabbath and we don't do those things on the sabbath."
Coach: "Okay."
Coach walks away, directly to my son. He asks my child why he's not playing on Sunday. My son echoes what I said. This man says to him, "You should remember that we serve a forgiving God."

My son stared down at the little man (my son is a good foot taller than him) and said, "We just don't do that."

Grrrr. What that man did is wrong on so many levels that I don't even know where to start. But I'm proud of my son.

Religion aside, since we all have varying beliefs, that was a direct attempt to undermine me as a parent. I'm not his biggest fan.

We have at least two more games, then we're finished with Little League forever. I can make it. Ballpark nachos with extra jalapenos, and I'll sit down and shut up.

Round 2

I heard from the Suicide Advocate again. I am completely flabberghasted that anyone could be so astonishingly self-absorbed as to try to justify the advocacy of suicide. Again, I am not talking about right-to-die issues for the terminally ill. We're talking about people in emotional distress, which, although intense, is a temporary state. There are other solutions.

This person's message was sent to me from a "no reply-comment" box, so I'll post my response here. (Telling, isn't it, that they don't even stand behind a legitmate email address? Or any name other than "anonymous"?) Again, I refuse to publish their comment because of the link it provides to such an irresponsible and reprehensible site.

Response to the Suicide Advocate:
You said that you chose "the nicest" and "most thought provoking" words to send me. That's demented. There is nothing nice in your words. Furthermore, they are without ANY logical or meaningful support, and are meant to "provoke" the most self-absorbed and damaging thoughts imaginable.

You want to compare telling someone to stay ALIVE to telling them who to date or where to work? You actually think those things are equal? We're talking about LIFE here! This is not a decision that can be changed, like a date or a job, but someone's tragic DEATH! To compare those things is not only delusional, but completely irresponsible.

Furthermore, insisting on destroying the lives of others is beyond selfish. Suicide is NOT the answer to emotional struggles. You destroy not one life, but many lives. And they have to try to live with the irreparable damage you've caused.

Perhaps they should just ALL kill themselves, according to your (derailed) train of thought.

The support you offer for your argument completely defeats itself. You say no one should make you live with pain and it's not even their business -- yet you say you have the right to inflict great pain on those who love you. So, it's okay for YOU to make them live with pain? It's YOUR business to force that damage on someone else? You advocate a double-standard, and thereby defeat yourself. Take your own advice, anonymous, and "think about it."

Only the most selfish person would encourage others to take their own life and say it's all right to force others to live with the consequences. Your entire blog is dripping with selfishness, something I detest with absolute venom because of the lives I've seen it destroy.

Yet, you try to stick that label on me. How dare you. You should be ashamed for the lives you want to waste and the pain you wish others to endure. Your "quick fix" of suicide actually fixes nothing, but creates deeper scars on others. I am disgusted with your advocacy of self-absorption, self-serving wallowing, and astonishing disregard for others. But it goes beyond disregard. You advocate the destruction of others, from the suicide victim to the victims they leave behind. Their blood, their pain is on your hands.

And you have insulted me deeply, and repeatedly. I have no respect for you or your poorly-formed "opinions." DO NOT CONTACT ME AGAIN. As I said before, I have a life to live.

If I was any worse, I'd steal from crippled children (or "WTF?!")

I gave my first rejection to a comment yesterday. It wasn't that it was profane or insulting, but the site to which it linked was.

The person sending the comment was disagreeing with something I said. That's fine. I don't mind that. However, on going to that person's blog, I found something I thought to be harmful to anyone going there. To me, it was profane in its cavalier attitude towards life and the astounding selfishness of the posts. To me, it was dangerous to anyone teetering on the edge of taking their own life. In good conscience, I cannot provide a link to that from my own blog.

The irony was that this person said, in their blog, that *I* was the selfish one. In fact, they said I ranked just above someone who steals from a charity. (how's that for a crapload of judgementality?) And why? Because I think it's wrong to take your own life.

Yeah, it left me scratching my head, too.

Kep in mind that I'm not talking about "Right to Die" issues, with terminal illness and such. I'm talking about people in emotional distress. Still in that context, this person says it's no one else's business if you want to kill yourself. Not even those who love you. And loving someone enough to say you don't want them to take their own life is selfish. Wanting someone to live is selfish.

I keep turning that over in my head and it doesn't make sense, no matter how you look at it. It would make sense if that person was terminally ill, in insurmountable physical pain and dying. That's a different issue. We are talking about someone who sees their troubles to be so huge that they want to die. Yes, they are in pain. But not insurmountable pain. This too shall pass, even if it's hard to see it just then.

I stick by my words: Killing yourself is ultimately selfish. I have to think that a person who does such a thing is not in their right mind. The depths of despair can do that to people. But there's always a solution. It might be hard, but there's a solution.

And, most of all, it isn't right to inflict that kind of hurt on the people who love you. That's the bottom line. You might be hurting emotionally, but there's always another way out. If you give them that kind of wound, by taking your own life, there's no resolution for that. You've given them profound pain that will never heal. And they will ALWAYS be damaged by the knowledge that they weren't worth living for.

It's selfish and unfair to do that to people who love you. That's all they did -- love you. It not fair to give them a hurt that can't heal, that can't be taken back. They didn't ask to be damaged by you. They loved you.

I will not publish a link to anything that tells people in despair that they are doomed and that they are correct to ruin the lives and hearts of others. Again, who is the selfish one?

He just didn't get it....

So, I'm sitting at my son's ball game last night and...

*****BREAK FOR A MOMMY BRAG MOMENT***** My kid is a GREAT pitcher, first baseman, and hitter. Ha! No runs scored while he pitched. No ball got past first while he played it. And he hit a home run. Woo hoo!! *****MOMMY BRAG MOMENT OVER*****

...the president of the league (who is otherwise a real jerkwad, but that's another story) was also watching the game. He's all wrapped up in this really close battle going on and his cell phone rings. I can't hear what he's saying (and really couldn't care less if I tried), but he gets off the phone and says (loudly) to us, "Can you believe that? She called just to tell me she got a $78 top for $14."

My friend asked him where the sale was and made a grab for her purse. He shrugged and we were oh so disappointed.

He came over to us to elaborate. "Actually, she said, 'I just got the CUTEST top. It's regularly $78, but guess how much I got it for?' I said, '$130 because now we need pants, shoes, and a bag to match.'"

Okay, so maybe he gets it more than I thought....

::wink::

Why can't we be immortal?

It's just not fair. I grew up knowing that if my dad was nearby, I was safe. We were all safe. He'd make sure of it.

Even when the danger took the form of a stray skunk in the yard, he was out there in the wee hours trying to run it out of the yard. He didn't even get sprayed! (disclaimer: in hindsight, we weren't sure it wasn' somebody's pet, but he didn't know it then!)

He knew the answers to everything. Smart, smart man, who always knew the right thing to do. He taught me all sorts of things, like how to shoot, fish, do multiplication, and act like a lady in public (although we could belch like champs in private). He teaches my kids now.

My parents are getting old. It's particularly difficult to watch it happen to my dad. Diabetes is eating his muscles and his brain. He's always been so large and strong, but his legs are now thin. His thought process slow and flawed. He's often cranky.

He never complains when he feels bad. This week, he complained. The pain kept him from walking. He's been in the hospital for three nights. They found the problem and fixed it, although it required major surgery. Seeing him in that bed, hooked up to all sorts of things, drugged up on pain medication....that was hard. He was so vulnerable. Helpless. He was talking nonsense and we had to intervene to keep him from hurting himself inadvertently.

It all scares me. That's not the Dad I've known. Sometimes, I've been hard on him for traveling and working so much when we were kids. I shouldn't have been that way. He was working for us, not because he liked being away. He regrets, and that makes me sad for him.

My parents are getting old. I dread the day when they are gone. I dread what's happening to them, for their sake. And that's why I ask....can't they be immortal? Can't they always be the people in the pictures in my photo album? Laughing and playing with their children, forever young and healthy.

Dad settling into his bed at home as I write this. My sister is coming to help during his recovery, and a little beyond. I wonder what she'll think?

My parents are getting old. They are still the best grandparents, and parents, any kid of any age could ask for. I just want them to be happy. I want them to know only the love of their family. It's funny -- I want to protect them as they've always protected me.

Blogget vs SWDWIAP

You've heard me complain about the weather in my office. It's either sweltering hot or a meat locker in there. I work for a major university, but our offices are in a satellite space, rented from the biggest money-grubbing cheapskates in the region, I swear.

The university decided that it's time to bring the wayward children back into the fold. After decades of bouncing us from space to space, we are getting our own building. A brand-spankin'-new building to call our very own. Our offices will even be a bit bigger. This picture is the artist's rendition of the new place.

All good things come with consequences, though. A new building means new decor. We've seen the furniture, wallcovering, and flooring samples. Now, we must deal with The Interior Decorator, or She Who Decides What Is Asthetically Pleasing. (SWDWIAP)

Apparently, George Strait isn't asthetically pleasing. His posters have been deep sixed by SWDWIAP. There was a vague mention of her being concerned about the decor in some offices not being what they want to public to see, so SWDWIAP will select art for some offices.

The art is immoveable. You can't take it down. I'm thinking, hey, no one said I can't cover it up....

I think I might be on the "let us decorate for you" list. I'm sure my office "decor" about gave her a coronary. At first glance, SWDWIAP probably smiled, seeing what I call my comfy corner. See? Comfy!



I love my comfy chair. I must have my comfy chair. I can even start a petition. Lots of people come to see my chair and feel it's healing powers. They are actually more interested in having the chair there than having me there.

Anyhow, SWDWIAP must have turned a little more and gasped in horror. There, in an its unbridled un-aesthetically pleasing hideosity is my collection wall. Of Star Wars beanies. With my Darth Vader mosaic print.

Hey! It's framed!

But it is only part of the Star Wars-ness that is my office. There's the top of the file cabinet with Yoda, Spud Trooper, and Darth Tater. There's the top of the hutch with the remaining beanies. There's the little Galactic Heroes sets that I think are so adorable. SWDWIAP's worst nightmare.

And I have art! I have the painting by the artist who is engaged to the Muse Killer. (sidebar: he noted the other night, on his own, that he hasn't produced any art since knowing her.)

I wonder if that'll fit over whatever mass-produced art - excuse me...I mean "art" - they put in our offices?

"You don't know the POWER...."

Twue Wuv

A fourteen-year-old does not know the nature of true love. I believe that and I'm sticking to it.

Especially not a fourteen-year-old son of mine who has been dragged around by the nose by a twelve-year-old (going on twenty) chippy for the last few months. Well, maybe not by the nose, but by something much more hormonal.

She's a well-developed twelve-year-old, but not just in the obvious way. She's highly manipulative and sexually-oriented. And my poor guy wasn't at all equipped to handle what she dished out. Fell for it and fell hard.

She played him for the status. An older, tall, cute boyfriend plays well on the popularity circuit. And if there's anything she wants, it's status among her friends. He catches a lot of hell for having a girfriend in a younger grade. She's so sympathetic: "If you don't like the jokes, then you'll just have to break up with me." Touching.

He was shocked to see her blog page, screaming such slogans as "I shake my Jello so the boys say Hello" and "I've got style, I've got class, I'm the white girl with the ghetto ass." Yeah, I see the style and class part, chickadee. My personal favorite was the animated .gif of cherries that said "Pop me." Her mother was really fond of that one, too, right before deleting the page.

I can only imagine what went through his mind when he saw the one and only blogring her site was in: "Do you want a hot girlfriend? Cum here!" There's devotion for you. She told him she didn't know what that meant. He bought it, but no one else did.

So, another guy enters the picture. She flirts with lots of them in front of him, but this one sticks around. He gets mad about it, so she tells my son that she's so confused and upset that she tried to cut her wrists. He gets very concerned and she promises to never try it again.

Her mother heard about it and checked her out. Not a mark on the child. At twelve, she's using a suicide ploy to keep a guy from getting mad at her. Something's rotten.

She pushes him into a more physical relationship. He's fourteen -- it didn't take much pushing. I catch them making out at a pizza place. He is in HUGE trouble, on the spot, and is very repentent. She's laughing about it. At home, she's confronted and says -- get this -- that *I* made it all up because I hate her.

Her mother new better and said, "His mom has better things to do in her life than follow you to a pizza place and make up stories. AND if she hates you, it's your own fault. No one could see that Web site and want you around their son."

And so it is. After the school year, they won't be in contact. He's furious with me because I don't want him to "be with the love of [his] life!" Oh, the drama! I told him to get a grip. He's been on this earth fourteen years. He has no idea what "life" really is. More importantly, I would hope the love of your life would respect your love for her and "forsake all others," and not lie and deceive.

That's not love. And that's not life. But he isn't equipped to understand that yet. It's up to me to help him find some perspective on the situation. He's still at an age where mothers can step in and help. Soon, he will be beyond that. He needs to be ready to battle for himself. Then, all I can do is hope and pray.

Makes me mad...and sad

I know an artist. He's brilliant and very "up and coming." I've been to a couple of his shows here. He's had others in Chicago and Denver. I have one of his paintings in my office and love it. He's abso-effing-lutely brilliant.

Then, he met a girl.

For awhile, they said they didn't even like each other that much, but the sex was just too great. They were all over each other, all the time, to the point of ooging out their friends.

Still, to hear him talk she was an idiot. He laughed at the stupid things she'd say and the pouts she'd throw. He laughed at how she dressed like every other college girl around, down to the makeup and hair. She's a clone, he'd say. A million more out there like her.

She talked about other men hitting on her, brought men back to his apartment to party with them, refused to participate in conversations in which someone disagreed with her. But he liked having a sure thing around, if you know what I mean.

Then, she became jealous of the time he spent doing other things. Like his art.

He started to care that she was mad about it. He started to listen to her stupid things. He stopped thinking for himself. He lost himself in what she wanted him to be. He became a clone, too, on the inside.

This is something that forever irritates me about some people who date creative types. For someone who is truly creative, whether it be music, art, writing or whatever, they are at the mercy of their talent. When inspiration hits, it's an overwhelming presence. You follow that muse or the muse leaves you.

To be involved with this person means sharing their attention with that muse, tht lightning bolt of inspiration. You must understand that they need to follow it. It's ingrained in them. It's who they are. It's not something to be jealous of. It's who they are.

It's part of that person you're in love with. Don't change it or you take away their core.

They've been together over a year now. I miss seeing his door open and him working away at his latest art on the living room floor. I haven't seen any new creations from him...in over a year.

They just announced their engagement. I'm mad and sad at the same time. Mad that he let himself, his talent, down. Sad that she chased that muse away. Mad that he didn't fight for it. Sad that he might not see that happiness again. I can't imagine him doing anything else.

Along my travels

I took a trip recently with my child's class. The kids rode busses and the parents drove along behind. I learned a few things along the way.

Before getting into all that, I must say that the trip generally worked like an well-oiled machine. With about 100 kids and 40 adults, that saying something. The only time it didn't go smoothly was when someone was being stupid. So, props to the school for that.

However, some people ARE stupid. Okay, no news flash there. As you know, that's a favorite soapbox of mine. I don't really know why I'm still amazed by this. This time, though, I was a little disheartened to realize that most of the stupid people on the trip were women. We had a grand total of two stupid men on the trip, and one was the school principal.

I saw the first bit of stupid on the highway. When you're traveling with two greyhound busses, do not get in between them. It messes up their stopping distance because they have to compensate for your stopping distance, too. This rule is especially true when Bus #2 looks like it's been in a serious accident before. Do you really want to be between him and another BIG bus? Just stupid.

You had to really pay attention to the bus drivers or you'd be left behind. Speed limits figured into the equation about as much as red lights did. They'd either leave you in the dust of the open highway or lose you when they ran that almost-red light.

I laughed my ass off when they got pulled over. They'd left us all behind again, but we caught them when those flashing red and blue lights came into view. Laughed. My. Ass. Off. They didn't push the speed limit anymore.

One dad didn't get that being assigned a group in the dorm at night meant you were the leader of that group. After the trouble of the water fight (with the water intended to get us through desert heat the next day) and his boys peeking in the girls' windows (these are 10-year-olds) at 11:30 at night, he finally realized (in his own words), "They apparently want us to be some sort of [finger quotes] role model here."

And if you ever see that commercial about how great a place Alamogordo, NM, is to take the family, don't buy the bit about the kiddie mini-train. The "conductor" is a loon. Kids were watching the train go around as we ate lunch. He stopped the train, full of little passengers, and berated them for not being 20 feet away from the track and if they didn't move, he was calling the cops on them. On 10-year-olds. Watching the train. Sitting in the grass. Then, he completed the route at break-neck speed. What a stable man, driving kids around the park, eh?

I officially can't stand my child's teacher. The kids had two activities that required hikes in the desert heat. They were supplied with plenty of water, but one boy didn't drink it. Upon arrival at the second hike site, he began vomiting and complaining of a headache. Hmmm...can anyone say heat stroke? One lady got him some water and sat him at a table in the shade. He put his head down while she went to get wet towels to put on him.

In the meantime, here comes this teacher. She wants to take away his water because he doesn't have the lid! AND she wants to send him out on the second hike! The child is listless, with his head on the table, obviously in distress. A parent intervenes: "No, he's sick."
"Aw, he's fine. Just get up and go."
"No, really! He might have heat stroke."
Teacher makes a snotty, how-stupid-are-you face. "I'm sure it's nothing like that."
"He's vomiting."
That stopped her. "Oh yeah? Well, how much water have you had?"
He confesses the small amount. She says, "That's ALL?!" and began berating him for not drinking more water.

Just can't stand that woman. He did not go out on the trail.

She got mad at me later for telling my child and her friend to come away from the edge of a large drop. She scolded a few for the same thing a few minutes later, but had a big surprise.

See, Mr. Principal made sure the kids knew the rules of the hike. Stay on the path. Don't climb things. Stay with your group. When nasty teacher saw those other kids at the edge, she assumed they were looking down it. Wrong, they were hiking UP it. And who was their leader? The bright one leading them (remember, they had to stay with their group) off the path and up a cliff they shouldn't climb? The principal. Stupid.

I also learned that I'm competitive to a nearly unhealthy level. When we departed the school, I looked at the situation and maneuvered myself to a position that assured I would be first behind the busses. I did that the entire trip. As long as I did that, I wasn't left behind at a light.

We had to make a u-turn once and a soccer mom in an SUV cut me off to get ahead of me. Oh, it's a mistake to piss me off like that. I spent the rest of the trip not caring who was ahead of me, as long as it wasn't her. I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunities I had to cut her off throughout the trip.

One last thing I have to share. While passing through one of the many little towns along the way, I saw something that made me double-take. You often see vendors along the streets of these towns, selling rugs, fruit, rocking chairs, velvet paintings, etc. We passed one of these stands...selling acchordians. Wow.

What do Canadian bands have against me?

I just have to wonder. I have three favorite bands: Nickelback, Three Days Grace, and Theory of a Deadman. They all happen to be Canadian.

First, Nickelback puts Lubbock on their tour -- on a Monday night. I don't think I've explained this before, but weeknights are a nightmare for me. Sunday-Thursday is work night, school night, homework night, and/or baseball night. I'm a single mom, so it keeps me pretty booked. Not much else happens at my house on those days.

Nickelback I managed because I was supposed to be gone from home anyhow. Another weeknight concert would be really hard to manage.

Well, someone clued me in that Three Days Grace (aka "3DG") is coming to Lubbock. Oh joy!!!! When? I look it up.

Monday. THIS Monday, May 8th.

Triple whammy: school, work, AND baseball night. What really sucks is that I know a cop working the concert. It could not only have been my son's first concert, but we would have gone backstage. Ouch.

Out of curiosity, or an innate desire to torture myself, I checked Theory of a Deadman's tour dates. Yep, they are coming here! Oh joy, again!

Sunday. THIS Sunday, May 7th.

They stuck it to me two days in a row. Can you believe it? I'm wounded.

By the way, here's 3DG's banner for their new song. Click on it and turn up your speakers!



See how much I love ya, guys? Even after you stuck it to me so bad. :::sniff:::

Advice I gave my son today

Relationships should bring out the best in you. By relationships, I mean all kinds, be it friends or boyfriends/girlfriends.

Signs they are bad for you (or you're bad for them):

• You feel bad when you finish talking to them.
• You can't get your work, homework, or studying done (or done right).
• Your grades or work performance suffer since being close to them.
• You find yourself doing things you used to consider wrong.
• You make excuses for their bad behavior.
• You keep things you all say or do a secret (because you're afraid of getting in trouble or being embarrassed).
• You're in trouble more often since being close to them.
• You compromise or sacrifice the dreams or goals you had before knowing them.
• You compromise your standards and values since being close to them.
• You treat others around you poorly since knowing them.

The list could go on, but you get the idea. Being close to someone means discovering who you are and what you can be together, not losing yourself for what they want.

Look around. If you're in one of these relationships, grow a backbone and stand up for who you are, what you want, what you believe, and what's important to you. You are too valuable to lose.

Unsexy man? I think not!

So, some idiot columnist on ThePhoenix.com made a list of the Unsexiest Men Alive.  Actually, it was two idiots.  Two MEN idiots.  Begs the question, what do they know about judging sexy men?

Never heard of ThePhoenix.com?  I can't imagine why not, being the entertainment experts that they are (not).  They even have a column exclusively about Moonsigns.  Wow.  (No wonder they thought it was a good idea for two men to write a list of unsexy men.)

Anyhow, #6 was dearly beloved Chad Kroeger. Oh, they did not.

How anyone (female) can hear that voice and watch him in all his rock-starness (see right) and not get tingly in the toes, I just don't know....  For pity sake, just LOOK at him!

I think they're just jealous. Hmph.

The depth of their idiocy went further, when they said he was listed for being in Nickelback, which they called the worst band ever. Oh really? Hey fellas, here's a photo (below) of Nickelback winning Group of the Year (and Album of the Year) at the 2006 Juno Awards (the Canadian Grammies).

Take that, ThePhoenix.com.  Must be deaf and blind.  Besides being idiots, that is.

So, rock on, Chad.  I got your back...and anything else you'd like me to get. Haha!  

It's really not that hard...really!

You've heard me say it before. Why can't people just do what they're supposed to do? Today, I'm left wondering, whatever happened to integrity?

You might remember a post in which I talked about a woman at work ("G") who refused to do her work properly, especially if I was the one asking her to do it. She'd report it complete and correct, but it wasn't. Even the corrections weren't correct. We went in circles for weeks! Why? Because the boss insisted that those responsible for the mistakes should fix them, and learn from them. It would have been easier for me to fix it, but she wouldn't have learned from it. (Or had the chance to learn from it. I'm not convinced the lesson stuck.)

So, we've been working on this huge project, with me taking the leadership role (again) with the group. "F" did well with it, but seemed almost too fast sometimes. We tested the system today and found two significant problems, totally of his doing. These are things he should have done properly in the first place, but he took the lazy way out and did a half-assed job.

Did he own up to it? Did he say, "Sorry, my bad. I'll get right on that"? Certianly not, or you wouldn't be hearing about it. Instead, I got:
"Uhm, I dont' think it's fair that I should have to correct that myself. That's going to be a real pain in the a--."

Mind you, I'm not a confrontational person, but I'd had it. This guy is in my office, bugging me, about six times each morning about what he doesn't like or what's "not his job." This was the last straw for today, and it came at about 9 AM. My response was a curt: "It's a pain in the a-- of your own making. Yes, it's fair."

I've spent the day with him whispering behind my back about that. Not a shred of taking responsibility for his mistake. Just complaints about how "it's not fair" that he have to fix it.

Reminds me of a particular Scotsman in California.

The Cliff's Notes version: Do not buy ANYTHING from Clansman Knitwear, at www.scottishclansman.com. They have no interest in getting your order to you.

The long version: I ordered two shirts in February. A month later, I hadn't heard anything, so I emailed. And emailed. After several days, I received a call from a lovely woman who explained the mixup at the warehouse and said she was sending me an extra shirt for free. Nice! I should have had them in three days.

TWO shirts were mailed to me. A WEEK later. That's mailed, not received. And guess what? They were the wrong ones.

So, I'm called and emailing again. Days later, I get a call from the owner, Ralph. Thick Scottish brogue. I have to admit falling for the charm in that! I believed that he was making it right for me, although I had to tell him what my original order was.

Again, days passed into weeks. Nothing. I spoke with Ralph one more time. He even told me he'd send a SASE for the wrong shirts, if I'd please send them back. Guess what? You got it -- NOTHING.

This time, though, my emails and calls went unanswered. I finally contacted their local BBB, and found they had a history of such complaints. I also found that I could file a complaint with the FTC, who would investigate them for consumer rights violations and take legal action. They also recommended that I forward my information to the state Attorney General.

So, I wrote Ralph one more time, to let him know the Attorney General was about to learn his name. THAT got a response. However, Ralph blamed his staff for letting me down. He never took responsibility for dropping the proverbial ball himself. I mean, he spoke with me twice and knew how upset I was. He knew I was looking into the BBB and disputing the charge with my bank. But he didn't take ownership of the problem and see it through himself. He passed it off to someone else (allegedly) and they dropped it (in his story).

It boils down to integrity. Will you own up to it and take responsibility? Will you learn from solving the problem? Or will you pass it off as someone else's problem and make your escape?

Listen, we all make mistakes. It's what we do about them that shows the stuff we're made of.

Survey says....!

Sometimes, when your life seems it's darkest, a little trash TV is just the salve you need.

I was watching Family Feud last night. Man oh man, did Richard Karn have his hands full! On one side was a family dressed in pseudo-matching gold shirts/blouses (except for one fella who opted for a flashy gold satin shirt...er...blouse...uhm, yeah). On the other side was a family who thought wearing hillbilly teeth on national, syndicated TV was a capital idea.

The gold shirt people handled most of the play time, but the hillybilly teeth kept stealing the points. By the end of it, I laughed my head off and felt a tad better for it. Sometimes, it's just unbelievable how stupid people can make themselves look to an entire nation.

Richard: "Name something with the word 'sponge' in its name or title."
"Spongebob!" Good answer! Good answer! "Survey says...." ::ding::
"Sponge bath!" Good answer! Good answer! "Survey says...." ::ding::
"Sponge cake!" Good answer! Good answer! "Survey says...." ::ding::
"Sponge nose!" Good answer! Good answer!

... Richard looks astonished....

"Survey says...." ::RRRR:: Strike one!
"Sponge cleaner!" Good answer! Good answer!

... Richard looks a little baffled....

"Survey says...." ::RRRR:: Strike two!

Richard to Satin Shirt: "Okay, you have two strikes. Your opponents are set to steal if you miss this answer. What'll it be?"

Satin Shirt: "Well, Richard, if I-uz in trouble with the law, I'd want my record..." Get ready for it. "...esponged."

Richard Karn had the best "WTF?" face I've ever seen, as the gold shirt family hollered "Good answer! Good answer!"

Hillbilly teeth stole the points and won the round. Shock and awe.

I saw the second best "WTF?" face when Satin Shirt was in the same one-more-strike-and-you-lose position and was asked to name a country that people admire. Canada is on the board. France, Italy, England.

And Satin Shirt says, (I'm seriously not making this up) "Europe!"

For a moment, I wondered how this man made the team. Then I heard to enthusiastic chorus of "Good answer!" and knew all I needed to.

Not that the Hillbilly Teeth family was much better, mind you. In the bonus round, they made 72 points (you need 200). Highlight:
"Name something you see at the side of the road."
"Carnage."

And the man was emphatic about it. Evidently, the survey people haven't been to his neighborhood.

Okay, so I know I shouldn't laugh at stupid people. They can't help it. But I needed the laugh and they were on national TV. Better than chicken soup.

---- Update: No kidding, I heard this one the other day: "Name something people stick pins in." Answer: "Their eyes." Wow.

HOT!!!

It's hot. Not outside. Inside.

I know, I can hear y'all now: "But you live in TEXAS, Blogget! What do you expect?"

Some people are surprised to learn that we get snow here. Well, most years. It seems the only consistent weather pattern we have around here anymore is wind. Anyhow, it's not all sun and sweltering here. We actually have winter.

But this is in my office! 9:30 AM and it's 80 degrees in here! For the love of all that's holy and comfortable, why can't they manage to fix an air conditioner? The summers have always been unbearable in this building, on the upper floor (there's only two!). I think the A/C man's truck has a permanent parking spot around back.

Wouldn't you LOVE to have a job where you can accomplish nothing good, day in and day out, and still be paid? Still have a job?

So, we all invest in fans. That means we now have wind inside, too.

The drone of the fans can lull you into dreamland in no time. So...::yawn::...I'll talk to y'all later....zzzzzzzzzzz

His best friend

Honest, that's what he called me. He said I was the best friend he had, so he had to make sure things were worked out with me. What do you make of that?

As expected, he called back tonight. I'll spare you the color commentary and jump right into the Cliff's Notes version.

I explained myself a little more calmly. He's asking the impossible - for me to accept that he should take our children on a trip with his daughter (from the second marriage), his new girlfriend, and her son. For pity sake, they've been going out a very short time and they want to have this Big Happy Family trip with all the kids? How fair is that to the kids if this "just dating" thing doesn't work out? That's not even mentioning the appropriateness question.

Remove the girlfriend from the picture. I also don't believe he can handle the kids properly. Mr. Teenage Attitude can really push the limits. And he (my ex) is very insensitive to our daughter's viewpoint of everything. He's quickly forgotten the pain he inflicted when he sprung a new (and unpleasant) stepmom on them, quickly followed by a new baby. Those things don't go away so fast. And my daughter is particularly sensitive and that won't change. It's who she is.

The traveling thing is out for now. He does, however, want to spend more time with the kids. "I have to get your trust back," he said. Baby steps, because I'm hard to convince. I don't take chances with them.

For what it's worth, the new girlfriend had already suggested that he needed to spend more time with our daughter, doing things that interest her. So, she's seen the inequity, too. That must make it pretty hard for him to argue with me.

For the record, he still hasn't won an argument with me.

The best part of being a divorced mom....

...really has to be dealing with your ex-husband/kids' father. No, really. It's delightful.

(Is the sarcasm dripping from your screen yet?)

He wasn't this way when we dated. Honestly. He was attentive and loving and caring and romantic. He adored me and showed it. A few years later, he made a career change. I won't name the business, but it's one where you're always "on" and have to really promote yourself. I didn't want him to become that. He promised; his family would always be #1.

He was wrong.

It didn't take long for him to expect everything to revolve around him. He made some astonishingly selfish choices and things degraded from there. I could no longer trust him in any way. Now, he's a completely self-centered asshole. It's hard to watch your kids have to learn that for themselves about their own dad, while he lets them down repeatedly. I hate that heartache for them.

He's just past his second divorce now, from a marriage that was a surprise to everyone, with a child that was a surprise to everyone. My daughter didn't take the surprise well. This little creature was taking what little attention she got from her dad. She's understandably resentful. As is my son, who was asked his opinion of the woman only to be told it didn't really matter because Dad had married her over the weekend. It was a bad scene, beginning to end.

He has a new girlfriend, who has a son. My kids like her and she seems nice enough. The problem I have isn't with her, really, but how my ex is handling this. My kids stand by and watch him wrestle and play with her son just like he used to with them. You can guess how that bugs them.

My daughter already has issues about "How much does Daddy love me?" because he doesn't get jazzed about her activities like he does my son's. It's sports vs dance, so guess which one gets Dad's attention and applause? I know, I know -- it shouldn't be either/or, but it is with him. The man just doesn't see the lopsided treatment he gives, no matter what's said.

This morning, Wonder Dad called me. He wanted to know if he and his girlfriend could take the kids out of town, to a ball game in Dallas.

Wow, was that the wrong button to push.

I went ballistic. I let him have it, with both everything-I-can't-stand-about-you barrels. First, there's the issue of traveling with someone he's just dating. I mean, it's not like they are even engaged or have been going out for long. And they want to pack up her kids and mine and go stay in a hotel together. Oh, lovely moral example, Dad.

Even if she wasn't in the picture, I wouldn't agree to this. Just look at what he's suggesting -- a activity (ball game) that only he and my son are interested in. As is usual in such situations with him, he has my daughter there to babysit his little daughter. He's taking care of his own wants and needs, disregarding the little girls who don't fit the picture. It just works out nicely for him that one is able to babysit the other. Lovely, lovely.

You read what my daughter is going through. She just can't take a slight from her Dad right now. And I really don't know how he'd handle the crap my son is dishing out lately. He tends to say things like, "If you think you can whip me, then we'll go outside right now." Great parenting technique. That's what I want -- a crying, heartbroken girl and a boy worried about physical punishment from his dad, all 300 miles away.

I hate getting mad like that. I was relentless. He tried at one point to say, "Listen, according to the divorce decree, I can...."

I cut him off and said, in my best I'll-cut-your-balls-off-and-feed-them-to-you voice, "You want to push that decree? Try it. I can push back. Things will get really ugly and you will not like how it turns out." Don't threaten the mama lion, you pill-poppin', self-centered, nutjob.

The thing is that money speaks with this guy, more than anything else. When the decree was written, he LIED to the court to get his child support set lower. I've never pushed that, but I certainly will if I have to.

"Don't threaten me," he responded. Ha. Watch me.

It's a mean, mean world

Life isn't so easy for my easy child.

My mother picked her up from school yesterday. She has a way of disarming kids, so that they eventually talk about things they don't want to talk about. I think it has something to do with ice cream.

At that same moment, I was talking to one of my daughter's teachers. We discussed some trends we've seen with her behavior and possible solutions. When I got off the phone, my mother called and told me about the conversation she had with my daughter.

My heart is broken. Why does the world have to be so mean for kids?

My child is very much like me as a child. She is imaginative and often "in her own world." We just have odd thoughts richoceting around in our heads and it's distracting! She is tall for her age and looks like your classic porcelain doll, with ivory skin and a mass of jet black curls. All of this makes her very unique and memorable. Unfortunately, it also makes her a target.

She has a very open, loving, trusting personality. She doesn't understand why anyone would not want to be her friend. I remember once when she was little, she climbed into the ball pit at Chuckee Cheese's. She said the the little girl in there, "Do you want to be my friend and play with me?" The girl said, "No." My daughter turned towards me and yelled from the ball pit, "SHE SAID NO!! SHE DOESN'T WANT TO BE MY FRIEND!!" She was completely flabberghasted and wanted to share her shock.

Now, she just cries.

Apparently, she is sitting at the back of the room in most of her classes, with girls she once considered friends. They discovered that she is easily distracted by noise. It completely disrupts her brain. So, they make noise. Incessantly.

"I'm the kid everyone likes to play tricks on," she said. "And they laugh and think it's funny. Not many people like me."

That made my mother cry. It made the teacher cry, too, when I asked for her help. I cried, remembering that pain all too well. A classroom of kids laughing at the jokes being made at my expense. Name calling. Sneers. The delighted looks as they broke your heart. What was fun about that? What was it about me that they felt I deserved that? I have never understood. Words really can hurt as much as sticks and stones.

And my child is living it, too. I enlisted the teacher's help, in such a way as my daughter's name won't be known as the "victim." She felt so bad for her. She's just been telling me what a spectacular kid she is, then we learn about this private hell she's been enduring.

You just want to hold them and protect them all of their lives. I hate that I can't. The school does anti-bully activities and such, but something just doesn't get through.

If you have kids or even just know kids, make sure they know the damage their words or unkindness can bring. I have the scars still, thirty-some-odd years later. I have memories I'll never share with anyone because I'm too ashamed. And it's happening to another generation. There are other ways to deal with someone who is a little different. Hurting them isn't the answer -- getting to know them is.

For now, I want to keep the world away from her, even though that's not realistic. I'd do just about anything to take away that pain.

"I have a headache THIS big...."

...and it has LIFE written all over it!

I'm stressed to the gills today. Writing makes me feel better. So, here I am, dear diary.

Do you ever just reach a point where one more thing happens and your brain snaps? I mean, I could almost hear it snap like a twig.

"Darling child of mine, what's this in your folder?"
"A progress report."
"This looks pretty bad. Why didn't I see this two weeks ago?" (reading the date on it.)
"Uhm, I had Nana sign it."
"Nana?"
"Yeah, so I wouldn't get in trouble. I told her it was old, though."
"Well, you're in a lot more trouble now. What's this zero on your homework?"
"I didn't finish it."
"You've had four days now. Is it finished yet?"
"No."
"Why? You've been saying you didn't have homework this week."
"I dunno."
>>SNAP!<<

The end of the grading period is tomorrow. I can't do a danged thing about it now. The teachers probably wonder why they haven't heard from me, the hands-on parent. I can only hope my dear child pulled out the stops and brought up those grades on her own. Anyone laying bets on that?

And this is my easy child. She never does this kind of thing.

My son has been Mr. Attitude this week. Too much going on, with the time change, loads of homework, baseball, and the city track championship. I'm hearing some things about him and a particular girl that I hope aren't true. She is a typical teenager and can't keep her mouth shut, so her bragging makes its way to me. If she's honest, then he's lying. There's conversation #2 that I have to have tonight, but never wanted to have at all.

My boyfriend lost his job. It's not as bad as it sounds, but it's not good. It was only a part-time student job, but it was in his career field. The boss really targeted him and it looks as though the reason cited are bogus, so it wasn't a great environment to be in. Still, he has some trouble finding jobs because he has a rare disorder that is slightly disfiguring. It seems to turn people off. I worry about him not finding another job in his career field.

I'm concerned (again) about how our relationship is going right now. I'm getting that something's-going-on-and-I-dont-see it feeling. On the phone, he talks about all sorts of romantic ideas for our date nights. Then, the day of and in person, he says, "I dunno. What do you want to do?" Romance ::poof!:: forgotten. It's disheartening.

I think my aunt is dying and I haven't seen her in a long while. Her husband died last week and my folks traveled to his funeral. They were shocked at her state of debilitation. My mom wants to go visit again, but my dad hates this aunt. I'm in the middle of their bickering about it, and Mom's worry over her sister.

I got a kick-ass evaluation at work. So, I asked my boss about opportunities for advancement for me, in some restructuring that will happen at work soon. Totally broadsided the poor woman. She stammered and groped around for an answer, but honestly hadn't thought about it. That was disturbing. I mean, I don't want to be Director of Everything, but I'm over-educated and over-qualified for my position since finishing my Master's degree. I have proven a higher level of responsibility, especially in a leadership role. I like what I do, but I can do so much more! I'd like to move past the entry-level position I'm in. But she's never thought about it. I don't like the sound of that.

I've been traveling -- respresenting our division at international, national, and state conferences, presenting sessions and research, working on research with a high-powered woman who ranks well above my boss. So, I've visible outside of this little sphere of influence. I hate the thought of looking elsewhere, but I might have to.

I want a doctorate. I just have to find out how to pay for it. And have the time for it.

I haven't managed to finish the school newsletter yet, and it's deadline day. They'll just have to understand this time that I had bigger things going on.

I miss my dog.

Okay, stress-vent over for now. Thanks for listening :o)

Does this make sense?

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.

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.

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

Two words....

Nickelback. ROCKS.

::grin::

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.

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!

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::

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!

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...."

"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:

"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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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?

"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.

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.

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:

• 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?