The First Test

So the first test for New Fella is underway. I knew it was coming. He talks about church. I talk about church. The question was inevitable.....

"So, what church do you go to?"

All the nasty misinformation and stereotypes flash through my mind before I answer. This was often a deal-breaker in the Bible-belt of Texas, where not being a Baptist means you're condemned to hell for eternity. But maybe it's different here, where there are many, many more of us....

"I'm a Mormon. We go to the chapel right up the road from your house."

A small silence.

"Really? I didn't know there were any Mormons in Texas!"

I said something about not being a very good Mormon, but I try, and he laughed it off. We talk a bit about the hazards of not being Baptist in Texas, and about the "rules" of missionary life for those young guys. I still think I could hear some hesitation in his voice, some surprise.

Suddenly, it turned into a commercial. The call was dropped. No kidding.

I put the phone away. Got gas. Listened to my book on CD a bit. The phone rang, and I was glad to see it was him.

We chatted about nothing, then he came back to the point.

"So, since we were on the topic of 'rules'...."

Here it comes. What will he ask about? The no smoking? No drinking? The no unmarried sex? And how will I explain where my failings are....

"Is there a rule about you dating someone outside of the church?"

Ah, that I can handle easily. But I wonder...is this what he's been thinking about asking since the call dropped?

"No, there's no rule. In fact, I know a lot of women from church who are married to men who aren't." He's curious about this. We end up discussing my family's religious background, which is really varied.

I can't tell if it helped put him at ease. We'll see, as the weekend draws near. How he handles this will tell me a lot.

And I believed right!

We did do it again soon. Another comfortable evening, another sweet kiss. But I'm getting ahead of myself....

I had a couple of hours free tonight, so he invited me over for dinner and sitcoms. A blissfully normal evening. And get this -- he cooks. For real. I mean, mashed potatoes from scratch cooking. I don't think I've had that since my great-grandmother passed away. I was raised on Hamburger Helper! Anyhow, asking me to join them (he and his son) for dinner was last-minute, meaning that this homemade meal was already planned and wasn't a special effort for me. WYSIWYG, I'm tellin' ya.

I have to be a little careful when we're with his kids. They are adults. While they are not closer in age to me than he is, I understand some of their frame of reference, thanks to my own kids. For instance, I know the current band names and the popular "classic" bands. I can go on and on about classic punk with his son....but he is clueless as to what we're talking about. It's a thin line to toe....conversing with his kids while not alienating him. Careful, careful, Blogget-girl.

So, we relaxed for a little bit, with a couple of sitcoms. I hadn't watched Monday night TV in awhile, so he had to fill me in on the shows. We talked a little more about movies we've liked, and what our work week is going to be like. I enjoy that he remembers what's going on with me, and asks about it specifically. Very nice.

Then, I had to get home before my own kids made it home. He walks me to my car again. What makes his kiss sweet is how he looks at me, touches my hair and smooths it aside, and holds my face in his hands. His gaze takes in my eyes, cheek, hair, chin, mouth....as though he needs to take in every detail and remember this moment. Tonight's kiss had a little more passion with it, wrapping me up in his arms and holding me close. Very, very sweet.

We'll do something nice next weekend, he promises. But can he see me sooner than that, too?

Oh yes, I think I can work that out. Even though I didn't understand it at first, I like this pace. So far, I am glad to follow his lead.

Moving on....at a different pace

I couldn't afford the whole spa day yet, so I just did some things for myself. I did get my red restored, with some gorgeous highlights. Did some Super Duper Conditioning Treatments on my long curls, while re-reading The Time Traveler's Wife. I LOVE that book.

It was a bright spot in a horrific couple of weeks. My ex remarried last year (#3) and she's been a horror, trying to use my children as weapons, and my ex is her puppet. Hell, he regurgitates everything Rush Limbaugh says, so you can imagine how he is with someone he actually lives with. What was a cooperative relationship a year ago has been reduced to me demanding to be contacted only via my lawyer. It's disappointing, but I don't back down.

In the meantime, I've found another bright spot. I think. It started as a blind date. This guy is a teacher and coach. I thought I had the type pegged, preparing to fend off the hands of the jock-mentality. We had a nice dinner, staying long enough to tip the waitress extra for taking her table too long. We talked about exes and kids. I watched him during dinner. Could I fall for this one? He's older than me. Tall. Football player stature. A little rough around the edges. Talks a little too much, but doesn't fill silences well. He's very WYSIWYG. He's funny, and we have common interests. The date ends after dinner, walking to our respective cars.

He hugs me goodnight. And that's it. He doesn't try to kiss me. He doesn't try to touch me. Just a hug goodnight. I figure....well, that's that. I don't float his boat.

But he calls again. Can we meet for drinks during the week? We do, and coincidentally bump into his parents, who are a very sweet couple. Helen and Troy. No kidding.

Again, we walk to our respective cars. Hug goodnight. No kiss, no other touching. This strikes me as odd.

But he calls again. Dinner and a movie this time? I think, here it is! A dark theater and I know what he has planned. He'll hold my hand, put his arm around me, want to kiss me.....the usual things people do in the dark.

Guess what? Nada. No moves towards me during the movie, and none afterwards. We hug goodnight, and this time he adds a kiss on my cheek. It's sweet, and catches me by surprise. I watch him head to his car and have to wonder, What's your deal?

I talk to a friend about it. "Is he gay?" my friend asks. This friend is someone who has been trying to get into my knickers for months (but we work together, yada, yada). Anyhow, I don't think so. He must be interested, or he wouldn't keep asking. He's a gentleman at all times.

So, dinner and a movie tonight ended up being pizza and dvds at his place. His movie collecting includes action and comedy, even romantic comedy. He picks a romantic comedy I haven't seen. I'm thinking, a snuggle on the couch? No....he has recliners, not a couch. Oh brother.

The evening wraps. He walks me to my car, talking about when we can get together this week. He makes the move to hug me goodnight again....but it changes. Ah-ha.

He is not gay. He has a lovely, sweet kiss.

"That was nice, " I said, smiling.

"We'll have to do it again soon," he smiles back. And I do believe we will!

Resolution, part deux

So my alter ego gets an IM out of the blue -- from guess who?

A-hole has a brand new Yahoo ID -- calling himself "hotrod" (IRL he goes by Rod). I guess pretending to be single and 6 years younger, while pulling your boxers up to your armpits, qualifies as "hot." I wonder how long until that ego suffocates him in his sleep?

He asked my alter ego to meet him for dinner, so he can explain the "long story" behind the ID change and the profile being deleted. I'm sure is an enthralling tale.

She told him to go eff himself. I'm so proud!

Yeah, that spa day is sounding better and better....

The resolution?

I'm not sure if this is the end of A-hole, but something has blown him out of the water. His online dating profile has been disabled, or made "private." You can see some of it, but the picture is gone now.


This happened just after my alter ego stood him up at the alternative indie rock night. I wasn't sure if the profile was just down for review (which happens each time you change something in it), but it hasn't come back so someone got frustrated. Haha! Or maybe it has something to do with a letter his wife got, with a copy of his profile in it.... I can't be sure.

He's been playing with fire. In all the wrong places. He's finally gotten burned.

And let the burning continue! Have you all seen this site called Don't Date Him Girl? It's www.dontdatehimgirl.com. Check it out. It's a site where women can post pics and info of these kinds of louses, and the rest of the dating world can search for them. Oh YEAH!

I saw a news item on it, in which they interviewed the proprieter about their security measures, to protect the man's privacy (note: the interviewer was a man). She said if a woman posts the man's personal information - like name or email address - then the woman is banned from the site. What they didn't say is that the woman's login is shut out, but the registration process is so simple that making another is easy. AND -- here's the kicker -- the information she posted stays on the site. They don't remove it or edit it at all.

It's delicious. So, A-hole now has his own little corner of dontdatehimgirl.com. Search for Grand Junction and you'll see him there. I posted it last night and this morning it already had 125 hits. Gotta love that.

I also sent him the classic kiss-off message this morning, finally responding to his "please be my friend" email of two weeks ago. He probably won't read it but it says he's a complete eff-up and I'm way out of his league, so see ya. You blew it, pal.

Oh, and I threw in a little tidbit, saying that in this small town, it was inevitable that I'd run into someone else he's met. And she's pissed to hear he's such a liar, so good luck with that. Paranoia is a lovely thing to instill in a jerkwad.

I feel much better now. My inner bitch can stand down for a little while.

Turn of phrase

I have made a few friends here, including one woman who is an incredible delight to know. She says what she thinks, politically-incorrect and inappropriate as it is. Her kids are grown and I find myself benefiting greatly from her wisdom.

One pearl stuck with the the other day, enough to share. I'm now dealing with two teenagers in my house, each developing into that wonderful independent person all moms hope to have, but dread to see needing you less and less.... Still, you have lessons to impart and boundaries to set, so the Butting of the Heads happens frustratingly often.

I sought refuge from the stresses of momhood and work the other day, in my friend's place of business. While I was there, one of her children called, complaining about the newlywed tug-of-war she was experiencing.

I've often heard the phrase, "Pick your battles," and it's helped me step back from a losing battle now and again. My friend uttered a twist on that phrase that gave me even more perspective, though, when dealing with most relationships.

"Well, darlin'," she said into the phone. "Just choose carefully what mountain you want to die on."

I'll keep that in mind now, too. (except where A-hole is concerned!)

Quick PSA

Most of my visitors see this blog for what it is -- commentary on the foibles of one life, with my twist to it. However, some don't seem to have The Big Picture.

For you, I feel the need to point out the obvious -- that what you read here is a small slice of my daily life. I am a complicated, peculiar woman. If I wrote about every aspect of my entire day, then I would do nothing but, and this would degrade into the painfully laborious. Much as this post is.

Back to our regularly scheduled blog, already in progress.

Have I met him? Well...sorta....

A-hole is having a week away with his kids, apparently. So, in the meantime....

I'm at a new friend's house the other day. She's very preggers and about to be induced in a couple of days. My daughter is going to pet-sit for her, so we're at the house getting the low-down on the pooch.

My new friend's husband is home, but I haven't met him yet. We're wrapping up our chat in the living room when I hear him coming down the hall. Oh, good! Time to meet the new daddy-to-be!

....in all his glory.... Evidently, he didn't hear us there. And rounds the corner completely naked.

He hollered, grabbed for his family jewels as a belated attempt to cover himself, and high-tailed his bare butt down the hall. She shrugged it off. I explained that he need not worry; I'm a remarkably difficult person to shock. We went on our way.

My daughter didn't see, thank goodness.

;o)

The payback begins

So, picture this. A-hole is so wrapped up in being someone y0unger than he really is. This is a 5'10" guy, within 5 months of turning 50, who drives a "family car," thick around the middle, listens to classic rock only, wears boxers that he pulls up halfway to his armpits, and probably wears socks with his sandals. Yet, he presents himself online as much younger, a Master Flirt, talks about how attractive his "shades" are in his pictures, the best kisser you'll ever have....and now he's shaved his head to be "in style". He also wants to frequent the college dance clubs. Ugh.

So, my A-hole-snagging persona drops the name of an obscure alternative indie rock band.

"I listen to them," he says. Yeah. Right.

What a coincidence. They are playing a show downtown. She already has plans to go, she says, but he's welcome to show up, too.

I'm waiting to hear if he did. And how he liked the show. I have this delightful image of his 70s-mellow-music-loving, mid-life crisis, shaved stupid-head stuck among a spike-haired, pierced, tattooed, bouncing mass of much younger humanity. They probably don't even wear any underwear, much less boxers that cover their ribcage.

And he paid a cover charge to be there. Don't feel bad for him being out the cash - he's the first to tell you that, as the owner of a "very successful" business, he can afford it.

More news soon, as I make it....

The psycho bitch in me

So, I have a little psycho bitch in my veins. I can now admit it. Someone has messed with me. Someone has hurt me. I can torment them because I'm smarter. How can I let a chance like that go by?

Obviously, I can't tell anyone I know what I'm doing or they'd be shocked and appalled at me. So, dear diary, I'll spill it to you.

So, A-hole says he "isn't ready" to date and wants to be my "friend" for now. He contacts me once in a blue moon to tell me he's still "decompressing" from dealing with his divorce. The one I know hasn't been filed yet. I know he's lying. He's an Internet Casanova and he's out there trolling, thinking I'll hang out on the back burner.

I don't simmer well.

Why do I think he's lying? Because he has a profile on a dating site and it's riddled with lies and schmoozy language that is even beneath Lando Calrissian. Two can play at that sabacc table. I made up a profile, too. I gave her one of those sexy names men like, a good job, a difficult ex (not a stretch for me to imagine!), and hobbies I know A-hole likes. The capper is that I used a photograph of my dear old friend, who loved flirting online, but hated how men used women. She passed away several years ago, but this is just the kind of thing she would get into.

A-hole has taken the bait - hook, line, and slimeball. He's using the same lines on her that he used on me, but she's not going to be the sucker I was. Everything I suspected about him is true. Which bites, but as the song says, revenge is served sweeter cold. Eventually, she'll find his public information and confront him. But she'll turn out to be married, too, and lying to him.... The tables will turn. He'll be the one looking for that email from her.

Thanks to the idiosyncrasies of Yahoo Messenger's many incarnations, I can have her showing up online at the same time my ID shows up. She types differently than I do, too, and misspells a lot. The editor in me has remembered all of the bad syntax and spellings that I see online, and this woman is going to use them all. We aren't recognizable as the same person.

What goes around, A-hole. I warned you not to lie to me. I'll let my inner bitch out to play.

A hint from the universe

Okay, so, I'm thinking that my "anonymous" commenter is right. I need a break from dating. And the cosmos is backing up that opinion.

The scene: a good-sized social gathering, a recent evening. This man zeroes in on me. He has sweet eyes, is a successful business man, and is attentive. Obviously taken with me, too. I'm showered with compliments and he's expressing an interest in anything that pleases me.

Finally, I hear, "Would you like to go out Monday night?"

"Sure," I say, smiling. We share details and make plans. The evening is winding down and people are making their way to the door.

"So," he says, "you're divorced?"

I nod. "Yes, and you?" I mean, you never know -- never married, divorced, widowed....

"No, I'm married."

Hear that? It's the sound of the universe dropping a stink bomb.

Why I hate dating

So, here's the thing.... The new guy might not be all I thought he was. I hate it when people can't just be honest -- especially about things that are so easy to find out are a lie.

Initially, he told me he was 46. He's 49. Yes, his mother died -- four days before he said she did. When he was on his trip with his kids. I've doubted if the trip happened, but he did have stories about it that make it likely to have actually happened. So, why would he lie about when she died?

And she's his step-mother. Married to his dad for about 20 years. So, I'm not saying he's not as attached as he said, because some people are very close to step-parents, but it's a detail he left out.

He's been married twice, not once. I'm beginning to wonder if this second divorce is really final, and how close he still is to the ex (or almost-ex). He does live in his own apartment, so I know that separation exists. However, she calls and has him pick up things at the grocery store for her, when he's out. Odd.

You know what's really weird? We found two houses here that we liked. If the one we bought hadn't worked out, we would have bought the other one. Which is right across the street from his former home, where his ex still lives. Creepy.

He's stopped communicating as frequently with me. He'll say, "Let's go out Wednesday." When I ask when and where.....silence. Weird. I just noticed he's placed a new profile on a dating site, though. His name is different (not unusual, for safety reasons). His listed age is even lower than the one he lied about to me. He says he's a Gemini, but he's a Capricorn.

How do I manage to attract such stellar examples of manhood? This is frustrating because I really did enjoy spending time with this one. Low pressure, similar goals. Or so I thought....

Does God think he's....

....funny?

I don't think he's funny at all. I think he's screwing with me.

So, I accept that BF is not going to step up to the plate. I start to move on. I find this nice guy and we're starting to hit it off. Thank God, I think.

Then today happens. Guess who has an interview with the place where I work?

That's right. BF does. Thanks, God.

Is it wrong of me to hope that his history of rubbing people the wrong way repeats itself in the interview? What am I supposed to do with this?!

Just when I think things are cruising right along, WHAM! I get a monkey wrench. I could do with a few less of those, but I think my torment is entertaining to someone on the deity level.

Minefields

People say, "Dating is a minefield." Some surprises in dating just happen. You are on the lookout for the things that are red flags -- the things you can't live with long-term. The thing about the real mines is that they are a total surprise, and sometimes stepping on them is your own fault.

I did that. I stepped on a mine, and it was my own fault. I stepped into one of my own pet peeves -- selfishness. And it blew up in my face.

See, I went out with this guy. We've met a couple of times and talked a few. His divorce is less than a year old, so dating is new and uncomfortable to him. Finally, he was ready and he seems quite nice and level-headed, so we went out. We had a great time! We have a lot in common and are comfortable with each other. A very good time.

Here's where the hitch came. He was leaving town for a week, on a trip that had been planned for his kids long before the divorce, so his ex was going, too. Red flag. He said he'd call when he got back. That date came and went. Red flag. Sent him a sweet "Welcome home!" message. No answer. Red flag. Trip with an ex and now he's not calling or writing. Hmmm. Danger, Will Robinson.

Combine that with my history and the deep-seated self-doubt it's left me holding. I'm the one who gets lied to, cheated on, forgotten, pushed aside, taken for granted....blah blah. Of course, he wouldn't call. Of course, he'd get back together with his ex. Of course, he'd never let me know. I wouldn't rank that kind of consideration from anyone.

Looking back, I see my own pet peeve -- "me, me, me" all over the place. I didn't see it then, though. Instead, I wrote one last email, saying, "Listen, I know how it can go. You spent a week with your ex and your kids, and maybe it makes sense to try again. It's just that, if you don't want to see me, please let me know, okay?"

I got an answer back. He apologized for not contacting me sooner, but.... (wait for it)

His. Mother. Died.

His mother died. That's one of the major hits you take in life. I felt like a total heel. Still do. I came across as a total self-absorbed bitch, I'm sure.

Oh, I can hear a few of you now saying, "Yeah, right. You fell for that?" To you I say -- remember who you're talking to. My Sherlockness surfaced and I verified it. This man really did just lose his mother, and I was thinking it was all about me.

KABLOOEY! I stepped on a mine of my own making. I was the one with the red flag.

The good news is that he still really does want to see me. A lot. I told him that this isn't a good representation of who I am, and I've been here for the support he needs. That's helped. That's more like who I am.

Date #3 is later this week. I'll keep you posted

Update from the Western Slope

I just learned that term. Western Slope. I'm a Western Sloper now!

With some time under my belt here, I can honestly say I really like it. I still bleed Lone Star State red, white, and blue, but I like it here. And it seems to like me, too. Even when the temperatures are in the triple-digits, I don't feel like it's that hot. Needless to say, I'm not missing the Texas humidity!

For the most part, then men are friendly, too. I've had a good bit of male attention, which is always nice! They're tall, too! I like tall. I like tall a lot. Nothing significant is going on, just a lot of nice, tall attention.

BF is still saying he'll move here. He also likes to talk to people about buying their houses, when he has no income. After awhile, a girl gets really tired of empty promises and of being the grown-up in the relationship. So, I'm not holding my breath.

Stay cool!
Blogget

So others may learn from my mistakes....

Do NOT ever, under any circumstances, consume an entire "family size" box of jalapeno and cream cheese Poppers all by yourself. At once.

The gastronomical indignities are just not worth it.

And that's coming from someone with no one around to be humiliated in front of.

Mixed bag of Mother's Day

Mother's Day 2007.

Sucks.

Of course, it came as no surprise tht I would be alone on Mother's Day this year. I decided to make it one of those rare days when a mom gets to do only what she wants to do. I thought that would take the edge off of not actually being with my kids today. I miss them so much....

So, I rented a slew of movies that I'd wanted to see for some time, but hadn't gotten around to seeing. I picked out ones with boxes that said things like "heartwarming!", "charming!", "a great date movie!" I bought junk food that I usually don't eat and that I usually have to share when I have it at home. Today, I've had Pop Tarts, Jalapeno Poppers, and fresh chocolate chip cookies.

The food was better than the movies, so far. I just had to give it a rest before my toe ended up in the trigger. "A great date movie," my keister. I just wasted two hours watching two people torture each other in the name of love, and STILL didn't end up together. Where's my tidy, romantic, "heartwarming" and "charming" ending? If I want to experience a heart getting ripped out, I'll think more about BF....

To make matters worse, I'm having some trouble with my son lately. He's knee-deep in teenage angst. Unfortunately, this move has compounded that problem and given him something to angst about. He's decided to punish me whenever he can. He tries to hurt me. Today, he succeeded.

My daughter called this morning to wish me a happy Mother's Day. We chatted and she told me her brother was up, but not doing anything. He even picked up the extension while she was talking, but he said nothing. Mid-afternoon, my phone rings. It's my son, from his cell phone, and I can hear his dad in the background.

He muttered something that sounded vaguely like "hammy murray." I hear his dad's voice again. He speaks up. "Happy Mother's Day." We exchange a little "how are you?" "what are you doing?" I tell him it's a hard Mother's Day. He laughs at something his dad does. "I love you," I say. He grudgingly says it back. And that's it. His dad made him call and he's done.

Yeah, I needed help knowing what it was like to get my heart ripped out today.

So, I hung up the phone and cried.

While I'm sobbing, my phone rings again. I see it's my own mother. I clear up the cry voice and answer it. She just wanted to know how I was doing. On some level, she felt the ripple in the Mom-Force and knew I needed her. And there you have it - the good, the bad, and the ugly of motherhood.

Sometimes, it's a really good thing I don't drink.

Colorado lonely....

I'm in Colorado! I've been on the job for a whole week and my plate is already unbelievably full!

I have a cute little apartment. I'm working on getting a house. I don't have a "real" office yet because it's not ready. So, I'm sharing an office right now. That kinda sucks. I'm way too territorial to do this for long! Especially when I'm coming into someone else's territory. She has been nice and cleared a couple of shelves for me to use, but - at the risk of sounding a little snotty - I'm Administration, for pete's sake. If the people I have to work with are going to take me seriously, I have to have more than someone else's corner and a couple of shelves!

It's absolutely gorgeous here! The weather has been lovely! Here's a pic of one of the mountain ranges that surrounds the town. The thing is that I'm a little lonely. For now, I'm on my own here. Do you know how long it's been since I've been totally on my own, with no family or friends in sight? NEVER. I went from high school, to college in the same town, to getting married, to moving with my own family, to returning home....and by that time, I had children and would never be alone again.

Until now. Until summer, I'm a stranger in a strange world. I'm making my way around, but it feels so odd, so disconnected. I found Wal-mart, Target, the mall, Barnes & Noble, and Borders. I got lost and ended up in a remote, but pretty, part of town. Heck, I haven't found an ugly part of town yet!

And that includes the men! The ones in my age range are generally rugged and TALL. Gotta love that!

I hear some of you making noises, though. "What about BF?!" Yeah, that's a good question. Here's the thing about BF. Every time he's left on his own, he ends up trying to cheat on me or actually doing it. He takes up drinking, smoking, and carousing. Every. Single. Time. He says he'll make his way here...eventually. None of that sounds promising to me...does it to you? Already, I'm getting one-word emails and he stops answering his phone at night. Hmmm....

I'm not sitting around, feeling sad and lonely and obsessing about what he's up to. That's pure torture. If he actually comes up here, then he's turned over a new leaf and left all that behind. We'll see and we'll work with that. I'm not wasting my life, in the meantime.

TTYL, diary.

-- Blogget

A lighter interlude....

On a lighter note, start looking for R2D2 mailboxes in your neighborhood! Check it out:

http://www.theforce.net/latestnews/story/R2D2_Mailboxes_Confirm_Rumors_104142.asp

Isn't he cuuuute?!?! May the USPS be with you! Always!

Home run!

If I can find good housing, then I'm officially headed to location #2 -- Grand Junction, Colorado. They matched the first offer. The community is better. The job is a better advance for my career.

Hopefully, it'll be official soon and I can give notice to my boss here. Watch for the mushroom cloud...he's gonna freak. The entirety of our new system resides in my brain. I don't know who will receive the brain-dump, but they better brace themselves!

In Grand Junction, I'll be the coordinator of their program. That's a big step. I hope I keep hitting home runs all the way....

How do you hit two pitches at once?

(to continue the theme of America's pasttime....)

Last week about killed me. Interviews Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Then, hop a plane on Wednesday and have more interviews Thursday and Friday. It's hard to be "on" for four days! I'm exhausted!

Yesterday, I get an offer from the first set of interviews. Not bad, but I'd rather live in the second location. So, I call them and let them know an offer has been made. They're supposed to call with their offer by the end of the day. That's coming fairly soon.... I hate waiting! I was not built for patience!

So, stay tuned....

Strike One....

Long story short, I'm not moving to Louisiana.

I got the call yesterday. He wanted to let me know in person, instead of letting a form letter break the news. Get this -- they hired from within. They advertised nationally, brought in candidates at great expense, then hired someone who has been there 18 years. So, how committed are they to innovative change? Apparently, not much.

That's not me being bitter, though! That's from their own people, who told me they know the person being hired for the job and doubt she's has the stuff to handle the job. I feel bad for them, if that's true. They're good people and deserve better.

He did say that I was "very impressive" and "very competitve," and it was a hard decision. Sounded like I was the less economical choice, actually. He asked if I'd be open to "future opportunities" with them. I said sure, why not. I can always give them a listen.

So, I have interviews #2 and #3 next week. If it's meant to be, we'll find out. Otherwise, I'm not so miserable where I am.

TTFN!
Blogget

Big ol' jet airliner....

During five days in March, I'll fly three different airlines and have two job interviews. The phone interview moved me to Round Two -- a face-to-face interview, just two days after another interview.

The interview I had last week went really well. Now, we wait. They are due to make a decision the week before these other two interviews happen. So, if an offer is going to come my way, I need them to drag their feet by a week or two!

Here's the breakdown:
Position #1: At a more prestigious university, potentially the greatest pay (but realistically, comparable to Position #2's salary), cost of living virtualy the same, comfortable winters (little to no snow), sweltering summers. The position oversees an team within a department, focused on my area of expertise. I know many people there. Everyone I met was friendly. Larger city, lovely area with lots of trees and water. This department definitely "courted" me, with a nice hotel, nice meals, and tours of the city.

Position #2: Small college in a small town. Great pay (comparable to #1), but higher cost of living. Desert envisonment, but with frigid winters (sometimes -18) and comfortable summers. The position oversees an entire division, with my area of expertise being only one component. This one has The Title, and is in administration. So far, the people I've dealt with have bordered on rude, and indifferent, at best. They've done some things that didn't make sense -- like scheduling me for a 12:00 lunch and a 1:00 flight out. However, they are arranging for a real estate agent to show me around town. I'm staying at the Holiday Inn Express.

Position #3: Small college in a small town, but a little larger than #2's site. Beautiful area, in the mountains. High cost of living, offering the lowest pay of the three. It would be a $10,000-$20,000 improvement over my current salary (while the others are $30,000 over my current salary) -- without figuring the cost of living difference. That would make their best offer amount to a $10,000 improvement. Can I move so far away for that? The climate is cold and snowy in the winters (but not -18!) and comfortable in the summer. The position would be to pretty much tell them what they should be doing. They've been floundering with this program for three years and now recognize the need for an expert to direct them. I'm staying at the Doubletree Hotel.

Best case scenario is that I get three offers. Worst case is that I get none. I wasn't looking to move, so that's okay. I don't have to take any of them, but would like to! I guess we wait until March and see what's what. Dang, I hate waiting!

In the meantime, I play the guessing game and decide how I would rank all the options. Then, how I would sell it to my kids. And how I'd tell my ex that we're going far away.....not that he hasn't done that himself before, but that's another issue.

TTYL!
Blogget

It's a Grand Slam!

And application number three has now weighed wanted to set up a phone interview for Monday -- which is when I'm on the first interview in Lousiana. So, we're setting up an alternate time. This one is in Colorado, but a prettier area than the other one. The town is a little bigger, so there are better medical options, too. The pay is less, though.

But I'm ahead of myself. No one has made an offer. I'm completely suited for each position, but I don't know the competition, either. So, we'll see.....

I still have the swollen cheek, but not as bad. Hurts like fire, though. I have a "procedure" for it, the day after my interview in Louisiana. Yippee! (is the sarcasm coming through?) What timing this all had!

More later.....

:o) Blogget

The Second Pitch

So, I make a habit of checking my junk email before deleting the folder. It's a pain, but it keeps dreadful things from happening....like missing an important email. Like I would have today.

"Dear Blogget, our search committee would like to set up an interview with you...."

Yesterday, I was on about Louisiana. Today, I'm on about Colorado. Alamosa, Colorado. A smaller college there would like to see me about a job.

I sent out three applications. One went to Louisiana and two to Colorado. Now, I need to hear from the third college and I'll have a grand slam!

I've been to Colorado a lot, but not to Alamosa. I looked up some information about them today. Currently, it is a balmy -18°F there. The average high in winter is 14°F. July and August are the only frost-free months. No more First Freeze contests on the evening news! The summers sound fantastic, though. Average is 65°F. Gotta love that!

But can I tolerate an average temperature of 14°? I suppose I'll find out how much I like it soon enough!

Stay Warm!

--- Blogget

When is it time to go?

I'm sooooo not getting anything of consequence done today. Well, work-related, that is.

Louisiana has come knocking. They're the ones who approached me about the job at the conference. I've been back and forth with them today, making travel arrangements. They are paying airfare, car rental, hotel, and meals for me to go visit them for a day-long interview. I'm going shopping for interview outfits, to make me look the part of She Who Knows What She's Talking About. I mean, I *do* know what I'm talking about....I just have to make sure I look not only like an Expert, but also like the Expert They Want!

I just have to lose this chipmunk cheek in a few days. No, I don't mean hitting the gym! I've managed to come down with stones in my salivary gland. OUCH! Hydrocodone pills and lemon drops are my friends lately. Such bad timing. Go away, go away, go away....

So, I've found a nice realtor to show me around Baton Rouge for a day. The housing market looks doable for us. I just don't know anything about the city. What's where? What areas are family-friendly? And I'll say this flat-out, even though it isn't politically correct.... what areas of the city are *white* family-friendly?

I mean, let's be honest here. Some parts of a city that size are not receptive to those in the fairer spectrum of skin color. I need to know which schools are safest for my kids, who are about as fair-skinned and naive as they come. This move would be a MAJOR change for us. All things must be positive. If my kids end up threatened, not accepted because they are the wrong color, this will be a huge mistake for them.

Don't get me wrong here. I know some of you out there are saying, "Yeah, Blogget, we read between the lines here. You want a white neighborhood. You racist." Not so. I'm anything but a racist. I don't care what "race" the neighborhood is. My criteria are:

I want a safe neighborhood.
I want a house that isn't going to need a lot of upkeep (in other words, no money pits!).
I want schools that challenge my kids academically and prepare them for college, but also give them the extracurricular outlets they need.

I need to get to know Baton Rouge and how my family would fit into it. I might not be offered the job, but I like to be prepared. If you know anything about Baton Rouge, drop me a line!

And speaking of safe neighborhoods....my current one is becoming less so. I was out of town recently and my mother drove my car. I have two remotes for locking/unlocking. On cold mornings, I start the car with one key and depfrost the windows, but I lock it with the other key. No sense leaving a running, unlocked car in the driveway.

My mother doesn't think this way.

She left it unlocked and went back in the house for a moment. In that time, three things disappeared from my car. My sunglasses clip, the auxillary device cord, and -- this one hurts -- my motion-sensitive C3PO. He hollers things like "We're doomed!" when you accelerate and such. Nine different phrases. Absolutely hysterical. The theives ripped him off the dashboard Velcro and made off with my little 3PO, too. My mother feels awful. I'm lucky to have a car at all, I suppose.

They left behind my Minnie Mouse antenna ball, fluffy stuffed tiger, and bright green mirror nice. BF says that means it was a techie-dork guy who doesn't have a girlfriend.

This morning, I found a lottery ticket carefully folded and placed on our trailer in the driveway. Someone wants us to know they were there. Creepy.

Maybe it *is* time to move....

Neglect

I'm a bad, bad blogger. I've been neglectful. There's no other word for it. So, I'll make one big post to cover the latest news.

The Mississippi trip

Graceland was surprisingly interesting. I've never been a big Elvis fan, but I recognize the man's talent and contribution to the music world. His life was complicated, his death tragic. His home is a testament to that. I was surprised how accessible it appears. The wall around it isn't formidable. You can see most of the estate from the street. The meditation garden where he is buried was something he built as a place of peace, I'm sure never intending for it to be his final resting place I took the photo at the right in the meditation garden, with a lovely little light anomaly to the right of the Christ's arm.

I heard a few people comment on how "tacky" much of the decor was. To me, it epitomizes the 1970s. That decade defined tacky. The decor they are talking about is representative of the times. I mean, he died in 1977, when that style was in full swing. Lighten up on the King!

We also visited another home of the famous. Rowan Oak was the home of writer William Faulkner, until his death in 1962. It's beautiful and fascinating. You can still see where he wrote the plotline for his Nobel Prize-winning A Fable...on the wall. See?


Rowan Oak is in Oxford, MS, which is a lovely college town. We spent a lot of time at the town square, where I met this helpful employee of the Square Books store.

She didn't think I really needed more CDs. She also told me the most disappointing news -- I'd missed the chance to meet Paula Dean at the same store, just the previous evening. Dang.

If you're ever in a town called Tunica, in Mississippi, be sure to visit the ladies of Ann-Tiques on Main Street. They are a force of southern hospitality and that shop is packed with treasures! Thanks for the books, ladies! (1251 Place is next door, but they are too expensive on everything but football scores.) And yes, it really is Main Street USA there, complete with a gazebo and a Piggly Wiggly. But beware of Johnny Law (see right) or he might use that one bullet he's allowed to carry.

I also learned all about the Delta blues at the museum by the same name in Clarksdale, MS, and a Morgan Freeman's blues club called Ground Zero. Dang, that's a great place. Great music, too. Pick up some genuine soul food at Hick's restaurant before you go, though.

This trip was an education in more ways than one. Yeah, there was a conference at the center of it and I loved that, too. There's a couple of men I enjoy flirting around with each year, and I got to spend some time with them. One of them had the good sense to wear Guinness shirts and drink Newcastle. Whata guy.

Oh yeah, and I learned alot of good professional type stuff, too. Being a conference and all. I was even approached about a job. See, someone out there thinks I'm a bad ass at my job. They want me to be a bad ass for their university. We'll see if they have a bad ass paycheck to make me move far away from what's been home for nearly 30 years. So stay tuned.

Okay, there's some news. I'll update more later.

--- Blogget

Back from the land of the Delta Blues

I'll write more on my most recent trip later, when I get pictures posted. I've lost a few because of corrupted files on my media card, so I'm working on that problem.

However, I had one particular observation that has nagged at me since getting home. First, though, you gotta understand that I'm not a gambler by nature. I echo the sentiments of one of my fellow travelers on this trip. She stood at several locations inside the casinos and said, " I don't understand! Why would anyone bet on that?" She's not a gambler, either.

The place where we stayed was part of a casino resort. To get to our hotel (one of three larger hotels on the property), you took an exit off the higheay and drove a looooonnnggg time. Past golf courses and undeveloped land. This place wanted to be sure that going elsewhere wasn't so easy.

They also didn't want you to stay in your room. No desk. Internet was $11 a day. No business center, either in the hotel or the adjoining conference center. Gambling terminals were strategically placed, but no computers to be seen anywhere. The only restaurants were tucked deep inside the big casino.

Going through the casino to get to dinner, you couldn't help but feel the party atmosphere. People laughing, cheering, sipping on cocktails, and having a good time. We'd walk past an empty table and the dealer (or whoever presided) sounded almost like a carney trying to draw you to the game with, "Oh, ladies, ladies, ladies!" You knew most of the guests were losing money, but they seem to have come with the assumption that it was all part of the fun.

Another night, another dinner, another casino. They trucked us to a difference casino complex, but this one sits along the highway. The difference to me was startling. No party atmosphere. I've heard the phrase "smell of desperation" before, but never experienced it. The phrase doesn't do justice to the horror of it. Many of the people sitting at the slots looked like they lived there, in the same clothes, all the time. They looked at you with these haunted eyes, defeated and desperate. There was no fun in their game-playing.

Scared the hell out of me. No, I'm not a gambler. And after that experience, I doubt I ever could be. I won't forget those eyes anytime soon.

This might make me sound terrible....

I consider myself to be a fairly tolerant, non-judgemental kind of person to know. Wait, let me qualify that. I have very clear ideas of what I like and dislike for myself and those most close to me. However, I won't turn my back on someone or not socialize with someone just because they chose that path. Make sense?

For instance, I don't believe in getting tattoos. For me. But I don't care if someone else has one. I don't like "my" men to have earrings. I find that very unattractive But I don't care if a guy I'm not interested in has an earring. Or two. I have gay friends, straight friends, old friends, young friends, pretty friends, ugly friends, smart friends, dim friends, and friends of various religions. I generally just let people be as they are.

So, BF tells me that there's a couple he knows who wants to hang out with us. That's cool by me. This girl likes to talk about her sex life a little too much, but I can tolerate that occasionally. I've not met her botfriend, though. BF says he's a little "out there," so I'm warned.

I finally meet the guy and....goodness gracious me, that fella has more hardware in his face than an astromech droid. I found myself almost unable to focus on what he was saying. I was so absolutely repelled by it that the subsequent humming in my head blocked out normal thought.

Which explains why, when I looked at his girlfriend, I couldn't stop thoughts of, "You have sex with THAT?!" Unfathomable.

Yeah, yeah, I know....different strokes and all. I just was completely unprepared for the profound revulsion I felt. That's never happened to me before. Especially over something that I considered as trivial as physical appearance.

So, it delivered no small amount of guilt, too. Am I really so narrow-minded, at the core of it all? I never considered myself as such and would rather not do so now!

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!

Lookie what I have in my office:



The Fishbowl Wars are over! No more threats of window markers and taped up photos of blinds. No more idiots tapping on the glass or Nosey Nellies watching us work.

We are triumphant!

"A little less conversation, a little more action please...."

And with that, my business trip next week gets more interesting.

No, it's not what you think. I'm not getting "a little more action please." I am going to see the King. Yessirree, this rock chick is headed to Graceland.

I'm headed to Mississippi by way of Memphis, with 5 colleagues. For one of them, it'll be her third "pilgrimage" to Elvis's home. For another, it's her first and she plans to do it up right! The rest of us are along for the ride.

So, the place has gotten lousy with merchandising and licensing agreements gone bananas (fried? in a sandwich?). I go prepared to embrace the tourist within. Maybe I can find Elvis guitar picks for my son. Maybe some kitchy purse for my daughter, made out of blue suede. My mom's birthday is coming, so I see Elvis-isms in her future, too. I'll just spread the tourist joy to everyone!

I have to admit, I look forward to seeing Elvis's final resting place. There's something almost alluring to me about gravesites. If I ever make it to Hollywood for a vacation, you can bet I'll be on each one of those creepy graveyard tours. If I couldn't meet these people in life, then it's something to stand where they have finally found peace. Well....what peace you can find with kitchy tourists coming to see where you eternally slumber.... Sorry, but I'll be one of them!

Now, I also have every intention of heading out with one colleague for the Civil Rights Tour or Blues Music Tour. Somehow, I think the level of kitch in those experiences will pale in comparison to the King's licensing machine.

Wish me luck!

I'm officially insane

Yep, I got the notification just the other day. I'm officially a doctoral student. Walden University. Ph.D. of Education, specializing in Educational Technology. Woo Hoo!

No money. No sleep. For years. But at the end, I'm Dr. Blogget.

Yeah, I like that.

My addition to the wealth of memories

Today is a day of remembrance. All day, everywhere we turn, we see the images and hear the stories of that day, five years ago. This little blog will be no different. For me, it's important to remember and to make a record.

I know what I was doing exactly five years ago, right at this time. I was finally tucking in my children, emotionally exhausted and feeling a little shell-shocked from the day. That's how days that change the world feel.

My son was on the cusp of a milestone - his tenth birthday. September 12th, 2001. We had a big birthday party planned for the following Saturday. As I tucked him in, he said the most astounding thing I'd ever heard from a little boy.

"Mommy, I was thinking. Can we change my birthday? This isn't a time for people to be thinking of me."

I hugged him with all the pride I could have for this wonderful child. His tenth birthday. It would only happen once. But even he felt the magnitude of the day's events. He would wait while the world mourned. And he never complained. Later, I bought a book to keep for him: "September 12, 2001: The Day We Knew Everything Would Be All Right."

I called his friends' mothers and postponed everything a week. Everyone understood, and we had a great party the next week.

On his actual birthday, we had a family celebration. In the midst of the festivities, I didn't notice that the restaurant's televisions were playing the horrible pictures again. My little daughter, just 6, pulled at my sleeve. Her eyes transfixed on the screen, she quietly asked, "It's not happening again, is it?" I held her and let her know it wasn't a new attack. We were safe, and I moved her to a seat away from the television.

September 11, 2001 was dominated by shock, sadness, and overwhelming resentment for me. I know it sounds petty and selfish, in the face of much greater loss, but I resented the loss of that part of my children's innocence. I resented explaining to a 6-year-old little girl what "terrorist" and "hijacking" meant, and how some people have such hate that they cease caring about living, breathing beings.

I hated the moment when my children asked me, "Were there kids on those planes?" And the looks on their little faces when I had to say, "Yes." "And mommies and daddies?" they said. "Yes," I said. The resentment was not for their questions, but for those who made the questions possible.

I didn't allow the television on until we had talked about the images they would inevitably see. I knew I couldn't hide it forever. This had changed their world forever. If I didn't talk about it, someone else would.

In the aftermath, I noticed the polarity in the reactions. Among the people in my sphere, the men wanted to rush to war, to exact revenge. The women wanted to gather their loved ones close and stay behind the bolted doors of home. We all lost a bit of innocence, I suppose.

In the midst, though, was the beacon that was my son. Love and hope for another, better day survived in his heart. Thank God for small favors.

Should I be upset?

Or, should I be as upset as I am?

I've been at my job for three and a half years. In that time, I've not only performed my basic editor duties smashingly, but I've also taken on a lot more. I've finished a Master's degree in distance education. I have a particular expertise in online delivery of distance learning. I've overseen a major migration from one platform to a new, cutting-edge one. That included some temporary supervisory duties, even. I've become a researcher in our field, too, representing our organization and presenting several sessions at national and international conferences.

However, I'm still in the same position I started in, at much the same salary.

Two years ago, a new guy was hired to handle some of the red-tape stuff we deal with. He's well-suited for it. He's a retired administrator of a continuing ed program at a junior college in another state. He has handled personnel, contracts, and red tape before.

For my boss, this was a big plus because she hates dealing with people. On the phone. In person. And especially any potentially confrontational situations.

A couple of months ago, she asked me if I objected to him moving into a new position she was creating. After all, I am the most senior of the editors. He would be overseeing the non-electronic courses and faculty, dealing with more of the red tape and people issues she didn't want to handle. I didn't object. That's not where my expertise is. However, she promised to look for advancement opportunities for me.

The other day, she reminds us editors that he's moving into that position now. And she added this:

"I've decided that he'll supervise the editors, too, so you all report to him now."

WTF?! He's my SUPERVISOR now?! This was NOT part of the "Do you object..." conversation! This chaps my hide in a major way.

I see how this happened, though. He is well-suited for the parts of her job that she dislikes. She's just found a way to dump all of the people-dealing on someone else. That's her agenda in this situation.

What gets me is that I've busted my tail for longer than he has, and I've had NO (count 'em - NO) opportunities for advancement. And he's now my supervisor.

But should I be upset? He has decades of experience in this. I didn't want the position; I just didn't expect to get a third boss out of it.

Where are my opportunities? When does my hard work pay off? She has taken care of her own agenda along the way. I don't know that my interests are being kept in mind at all.

What rubs salt in the wound is that the very next day, I'm given even more responsibilities. I now monitor and mentor our online faculty. Also, new online course development is now entirely in my lap. I decide how it's done.

For that, I get a "Gee, thanks for doing that" (like there's a choice). Not a promotion. Not a pay raise. He's already receiving retirement benefits from his old job, his wife works, and they don't have kids to support. I'm a single mom with two kids, not making enough to support them without help. It just doesn't seem fair.

Personally, I think the writing is on the wall. She'll take care of her own convenience. My interests are my own to look out for. Maybe it's time to look around at other opportunities. I do love what I do, but other places do it, too. I don't want to move, but I have other things to consider. And maybe it's time for that doctorate. Oh bring on the torture!

Bathroomisms

** WARNING: Part of this post has an EXTREME GROSS FACTOR. I'll warn you when it's about to hit so that the sensitive among you can avert your eyes. ***

Yes, indeedy, this post has a theme -- bathrooms. A few things happened recently that involved bathrooms, so I decided to go with the flow of synchronicity and mention them all in one post.

So, sit tight (haha) and here goes ;o)

---

Our old office building has a one-seater bathroom. So, if it was occupied, you waited in the hallway for it to be vacant again.

Now, I know everyone knows one of these people -- the kind who just can't find something nice to say. Ever. A complete sourpuss about anything going on. Well, I saw our resident Sourpuss waiting outside the bathroom one day. I try to introduce sunshine into this person's worls as often as possible, hoping it'll get through. She makes it tough sometimes.

Sourpuss: "I'll be so glad when we don't have to stand around in the hall anymore, waiting to pee."

Me (seeing a prime sunshine opportunity): "Won't that be nice? The pictures look great, with all that pretty tile and such. And there will be plenty of stalls for everyone."

Sourpuss: "Yeah, but it won't be private anymore, will it?"

Dang. Clouds over my sunshine again!

---

** WARNING: THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE GROSS FACTOR PART! If you're squeamish, skip to the next break. **

We have a beautiful, brand new bathroom at the new building. I'd post a picture so you can see how beautiful it is, but....that's just creepy. We are so appreciative of this building and the details (like pretty bathrooms) that give us such a wonderful place to work.

Well, most of us are. One of us is just dowright nasty.

I entered the beautiful bathroom the other day. I opened a stall and something caught my eye. The lovely tile wall was smeared with (**WARNING! GROSS FACTOR IMMINENT!**) blood. You could almost make out the handprint of whoever put it there. A could hurl just remembering it.

But the point is -- WTF is WRONG with some people?!?!

---

Switch from the nastiest of nasty to the proper.

Even bathrooms have etiquette. There are unspoken rules of community bathroom behavior. Things like, even if you can see through the gaps by the door, don't look. Knock on doors, don't try to open them. If there's no toilet paper in a stall, warn the woman about to enter it. Don't let you toddler peek under the walls.

And when the bathroom isn't crowded, respect some sort of perimeter of person space.

So, we have two rows of stalls now. I can't recall if it's eight or ten stalls, but there are plenty! I'm in the last one at the end of the row. The rest of the place is empty.

Now, if you were the next person entering the bathroom, which stall would you choose?

Or, more to the point, which stall would you NOT choose?

That's right -- you don't go for the one right next to the occupied one. Someone needs to inform the person who entered the stall right next to me.

Creepy.

(Or maybe it's just me and my chronic territorialism! But that's another blog.....)

Visuals

A couple of pictures of the Fishbowl window, to accompany the last couple of blogs.

I apologize for the quality, or lack thereof. The yellowish lighting is what happens when you snap a photo with your cell phone, in a mustard-brown room with flourescent lighting.

Note that in the second picture, you can see from my window straight into the Fishbowl office across the hall.

The Empire Strikes Back

I've lost a battle in the Fishbowl Wars.

Dang.

We all got an email from the Big BIG Boss today. We have groups touring our building starting tomorrow. So, among many other things, she said our windows had to be paper-, plastic-, and cardboard-free. Our "suite" is full of the plastic-wielding Fishbowl Warriors. Dang.

The Little Boss said we could hold our retreat until tomorrow, before the tours. We settled on a time to retreat in unison. And when to begin the charge again.

Then, the Big BIG Boss saw the Little Boss. And the order came down to retreat immediately.

It was tough on some of the Warriors. One had to leave to compose himself. (Then again, he always has to leave to compose himself.)

So, the battle was lost, but there's still hope for the War. They are still saying the mini-blinds are on the way. Could be propaganda, though. We'll see.

(Dang.)

Things that make you go....dang.

(Wow, two blogs in two days. I'm on a roll!)

A little note, in typical "Blogget Jones" fashion: I'm proud of myself for spending five days out of town, eating out constantly, and not gaining a single pound! I'm even happier to say that I've lost three this week. WooHoo!



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


My birthday is around the corner. In four days, I'll be 38. My mother seems to think I've reached the point where birthdays should bother me. She keeps saying things like, "You're on the downslide to 40!" WTF?! "Downslide"?! I don't think so.

Heck, they say women don't even hit their sexual peak until their forties. If that isn't something to look forward to, then I sure don't know what is!

However, it has made me think about where I'm headed with the second half of my life. Before I turn out the light at the end of the day, I snuggle into my cozy (if maddeningly empty) bed and take a look around. I see my books, my momentos, the kitchy little gifts from my kids, my pictures, my makeshift curtains, the box of my dog's ashes that still brings a lump to my throat when I see. All the things I surround myself with. And I wonder, what becomes of it all when I'm gone from this earth? Who will care that it was here and why I put it there? It seems so important when we're living it. I imagine being no more and it stings.

I suppose what bothers me is that I tend to be the person that people forget. Example:

They'll say, "We'll call you when we're headed to lunch," and when they see me hours later, they realize they never did. The worst is getting stood up for dates. It's happened twice since I was divorced. One guy turned out to be married and the other was just irresponsible. But why did I deserve the short end, in their estimation?

I work hard at the office to make sure my contribution isn't forgotten. When I work on a project, I make my presence known. I work doubly hard to make a positive impression that people think of when they see the work done. Hopefully, it'll actually pay off someday.

The other thing that bothers me is the realization that much of my life has been lived for other people. The first independent decision I could make was which college to attend. I stayed close to home because my parents could barely handle me going across town, so leaving the city entirely would have turned them to rubble. I got married while in college. When I graduated, I stayed home with my son (a decision I will never regret). We followed my husband's career, even when it took me somewhere against my will.

We came back home when living in the pit he'd dug for us became nearly a life-and-death situation. I eventually made an independent decision to get a divorce -- but only when the situation hurt my kids.

There's a lot I put up with from him for my own sake, and I still occasionally deal with feeling unworthy of positive attention because of it. That was my bad decision to not put my foot down sooner, but I've not stopped since.

Even now, I live where I do and keep my job because it's what's best for my family. I see bigger and better jobs out there in my field, but I don't apply. Moving just isn't a good idea right now, or for a few years to come.

So, I travel when I can and experience other parts of this country. Someday, I'll see Ireland and walk in my ancestors' footsteps. I've slowly taken a little control over my job duties and become the one who does research, attends conferences, and makes those contacts.

But I don't like doing it all alone. I've made a committment to my kids, but it's hard. I want to love again and be loved. I might not be in a hurry for it, but I still dream of it. I'm still lonely without it.

When I love, I do so with everything I have to give. I yearn for someone who can reciprocate that kind of passion. I thought I had that a few years ago, but repeated betrayal put a damper on it. That particular man still wants to marry me....but he also has one eye on what's walking by. That makes me feel wonderful, lemme-tell-ya. I don't want a lifetime of feeling not quite good enough.

Somewhere, there's someone who can be as about me as I am about him. He and I will have great times together! Someday. As I said, I'm not in a hurry. And, hey, I still have that sexual peak to look forward to. There's just gotta be something in that for me!

The last 38 years have gone by too quickly. How much more time do I have to make my mark on this world? I have a story to tell and I'd better get to telling it.

The Cliff's Notes version

So, here's a rundown of recent events. I'll blog as much as I can to get caught up!

---

Peter Pan? Where are you?
My kids are growing up. My son is a high school football/baseball player. He's wondering about playig in college. COLLEGE?!?! It occurs to me that in four years, he's gonna be itching to live on his own. He'll go away somewhere, most likely. My daughter, as much as she loves her brother, has just figured out that she'll have her high school years as, in effect, an only child in the house. I really don't think she means to have that cheese grin on her face about it.

She's in Junior High now. I asked her to sort out her closet so we knew what to get for school. When I saw three large trash bags full of clothes she wasnts to get right of, I asked her if all that really didn't fit anymore. "It's not that, Mom. It's just that so much of it was so....5th grade." Oh good gracious. Adolescence, here we come.

---

What has 20 years done?
I am happy to say that the Lubbock High School Class of 1986 seems to be a largely successful bunch. However, we've lost seven of our compadres, and that stung. The planning process brought out the ugly side of a lot of people -- those who saw it as a chance to gain power over old classmates. Oh, for Pete's sake. Someone actually managed to turn it into a political process. And get this -- they continue to. They are already jockeying for control of the 25th reunion.

One surprise -- I got a letter of reference from this experience. After working together on the planning, our Class President (now a lawyer) proclaimed that "If you need a CEO of anything, [Blogget} is the one for the job!" Cool. Oh, wait, it was the 80s, so that's...totally awesome!

I saw many people I didn't know I missed, until that night. We'll keep track better through our new Web site and through email conversations that are ongoing as we speak. It was a surprise to see what professions we *really* ended up in, and how much we have in common still. And I love the silly things we talk about now -- like how much it hurts to step on Thomas the Tank Engine with bare feet and how much we've had the tunes from High School Musical drilled into our heads.

Something to remember for the 25th -- this group doesn't need icebreaker games.

---

Did we see this coming?
My ex called the other day. Background, for those just tuning in: he was divorced for the second time in November from a lovely troll of a woman. He started dating a nice woman (really, I'm serious!) not long after that. They've told the kids over and over that they aren't talking about marriage, not interested in that any time soon. That's good....my daughter is freaky about him getting married at all. Even to me -- she really does not want us back together. (Whew)

So, he called, as he does nearly every day. Guess what? Yep -- they are getting married. In November. He told me about how he proposed. One of those big, public spectacles. I hate that. Puts the poor woman in a terrible spot. But I digress.... I had to break it to the kids.

My son shrugged and said, "Saw that coming." His dad had looked for rings when he took the kids school shopping. Nice.

My daughter cried for an hour. She knows how the last one worked out. A wicked stepmother and bratty half-sister to compete for Daddy's attention, to boot. Can we blame her for not wanting to risk that again?

THIS is why I promised them I wouldn't marry before they are grown. His life is about flux and chaos. Mine has to be their rock, their security. They have to come home to stability and reliability. Sure, I'd like to have someone to wake up to, but that will wait. No one is going to need me as much as they do, until they have lives of their own.

Some people have asked how *I* am handling the news. It's fine with me. There's no shock or surprise. She's a nice lady and my kids deserve a stepmom who likes them. And this means that the subject of us getting back together won't come up. I've had those awkward conversations, where he says, "I still love you, you know." He disappointed that feeling out of me a long time ago, so what can I say that isn't hurtful? I don't like to be hurtful, but I have to be honest.

They want me at the wedding. Wife #2 is being told to stay away.

---

It's War
It's becoming known as the Fishbowl Wars. See, my office moved into brand new, swanky digs this week. It's been a highly anticipated move and I LOVE my new office. The only thing is, there's this window. It's not an outside window...I don't rank one of those. It's a big ol' window into the hallway. Everyone tromping up and down the hall gets to rubberneck at what I'm doing in my office.

The Fishbowl.

As I was unpacking, it dawned on me that I didn't like this at all. Bending over to reach into a box, I realized passersby got a good peek down my shirt. Bending the other way, the window framed my backside. Nope, didn't like it at all.

A coworker and I took the plastic from our chairs and taped it into the windows, creating our own crude version of sheers. Apparently, the interior designer (who I now learned initially thought our offices didn't need blinds like everyone else's) didn't care for our handiwork. She was seen making angry faces and gesturing at our windows, from the hallway.

I hear blinds are on the way. I hope so because, truth be told, I don't much care for the look of plastic, either.

---

There's more, but it's past my bedtime. I'll catch up soon. Teaser: Nickelback ROCKS...again.

Love to you all,
Blogget

Things to come....

So much has happened lately....but it's been too busy to blog it! Here's the short version. I'll write a longer version later:

* My kids start new schools today. Junior High and High School. I'm just not ready for that yet!

* My 20-year reunion was last weekend. Wow. Someone said I looked just like I did in high school. Guess who's my new best friend? ::wink::

* I moved into a brand new office space today. Moving is always a trauma, but these digs are pretty swanky!

* I took some vacation time with my son last week. This is the dichotomy part: we visited historical sites that dealt with our own family history. Then, we jammed at a rock concert.

More later!

Blogget Jones

Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?

I survived the dreaded jury duty this morning. Someone advised me to postpone it, but it's kinda like ripping off a bandage. The faster you get it done the better.

You talk to some people there who are in their 40s and say, "This is the first time I've ever been called." Then, there's me. I'm in my late 30s and get called up about once a year. How do they determine who gets the Golden Ticket and who doesn't?

Anyhow, being in the jury room is interesting for a people watcher. I often wonder why people choose to do the things they do. What does it say about them? It starts with the clothing they wear.

Some of the younger fellas had fresh-from-the-laundry-pile (I mean, the one that still needs to go to the washer) t-shirts and baggy jeans. Immediately, the phrase about dressing "appropriately for the dignity and solemnity of the proceedings" popped to mind. But these guys looked fresh from bed, so getting them up at 8:00 Monday morning probably strikes them as a little rude. It did for me, at that age.

The older men wore nice button-down shirts and khakis or jeans. Some more suits and chatted loudly on their cells phones. Rearranging meetings, making sales calls, and so forth to keep their careers rolling while they spent a few hours with the justice system. Well, until the judge came in, of course. We were told he's known to take away cell phones and donate them to Goodwill. Might as well drain these fellas' life's blood as do that to them!

I'm one to talk. I was playing a trivia game on mine. I love trivia. No kidding.

The shirt in front of me told a story. The man had neatly-trimmed hair and moustache. Wore nice boots and jeans, with a golf-style shirt. Inside out. The collar was turned out right, but I stared at the tags for a couple of hours. If he's just look down at his buttons, he'd get a big surprise.

There were old ladies in their summer garden clothes. Professional ladies in their office attire. College girls in their sorority mixer t-shirts and flip-flops. Prim ladies in their coordinated outfits, handbags, and shoes. You could tell the ones who thought ahead by their handbags. Big enough to fit magazines and books? Prepared for the long haul. Small and dainty, with nothing in their manicured hands? Well, by the second hour, they looked distressed indeed.

Then there were the grandmas. I wished to be seated by one of them, but no luck. Not only did they engage the people next to them in conversation, but the entire vicinity was having a delightful time. I think they're vacationing together next year.

The guy next to me didn't talk, but made his displeasure at being there and waiting known by occasional fidgets, grunts, groans, and sighs. Either that, or it was hemorroids.

The women next to me spoke briefly, but I immediately wished she hadn't. I offered her some gum.

Then came the news we'd all been waiting for. They would need 198 jurors today. I did a quick count and some math. We had about 280 in the room. About 70 thought they shouldn't be there. My odds kinda sucked.

We took a break while the judge heard the excuses. I went to the restroom and waited again. The ladies room line was out the door, while men came and went from their own restroom. Why is that? Do men just not go as often? Or as long? Someone ought to do a study.... ;o)

A young woman asked me, "So what now? Do we just wait here until they tell us more?"
Yup. She had a tiny handbag.

Back at my chair among the Faithful, the guy in front of me had gone to the restroom, too. I saw him coming back with a goofy grin on his face and his buttons facing the right way. "I had my shirt on wrong," he whispered to the man beside him and laughed.

The Faithful were assigned and they called roll. "Just say 'Here' when your name is called," they said. A handful of dufuses decided to say "Present!" instead. WTF? Did they know it made them look like dufuses? I wonder how they intended it to come across?

I was called to the jury pool for the 140th District Court, which promptly ended in a plea bargain.

Back to the old grindstone and the usual suspects.

Until next year.

Welcome to my hometown

I've seen hundreds of dogs in trucks, but this is a new one on me. However, it speaks volumes about the town where I live.

Spotted right around the corner from my office. You gotta love it.



And a closer look:

How a day unravels

It felt like a Monday. It should have been a Monday. No major catastophies, but lots of unraveling.

And the major catastrophies thing might be wrong.

First thing in the morning, I was late to work. Dang. For the second day in a row. I just couldn't manage to leave my soft, cool bed to head out into the hot, sticky world. So, I called and left a message for the boss, to let her know I'd be late. I hustle to my office and see...that she's not even there. If I hadn't left the message, she'd never have known I was late. Dang.

I spent last week creating a Web and print version of an instructional manual we need for a new system we're implementing. It made the rounds and got everyone's little nit-picky, just-gotta-have-something-to-say "suggestions." I made many changes (but not all - some were, quite simply, stupid). That was last week.

Yesterday, I get it back from my other boss. He made changes. Little things, he said, just window-dressing. Are you buying it? I didn't either. Yeah, they were little things. In each paragraph. That means I get to painstakingly copy-and-paste his "window-dressing" into each paragraph of the HTML pages online. Dang.

I get a call from the mother of that lovely little piece of work my son is finally rid of. I cannot tell you how great he's been since NOT talking to her. You can almost see him mature, the more time goes by since he's talked to her. The moodiness is almost gone! Like magic!

So, Lil Miss wants to talk to him. She wants apologize to me and to him. Her mother says the girl has to call me first. Oh goody. There's a phone call I'll be pacing the floor to get. Dang.

I ask my son if there's anything he'd like me to communicate to her. "I can tell her or her mother that you don't want to talk," I offered. "No," he said, "I should handle it myself. But I just don't give a crap anymore."

Then the thunderstorm moved in. The clouds of brooding gathered. Flashes of temper and sound and fury. And this is just the thought of talking to her. She called and apologized to me, but I told her to hold off on calling him. This storm was going to take out anything in its path. She might as well take cover. Dang.

Back on the ranch, my colleague and general partner-in-crime (aka co-researcher) comes to my office. She sits in my big comfy chair and says, "Are you ready for this?" Oh no. Lemme say "Dang" before it even gets started.

We are planning a major research project. We've spent months on it. We're presenting the findings this fall. People are waiting. "Are you ready for this," she asks and my heart stops. What happened?

There's a big gaping hole in the middle of our project. What's worse is that it's one that has always been there. We simply didn't notice. With a little less self-control, I'd have been in the fetal position, sucking my thumb the rest of the day.

But I had to make my way home, in the 100+ degree heat. "But it's dry heat," they say. WTF does that mean?!?! It's still hot!

I walk into the air-conditioned house, take a deep breath, and let out the day for a bit. Kisses from my daughter. The storm front seems contained to his room for the time being. I pick up the mail from the front table.

Dang.

Jury duty.

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::