Every picture tells a story

Celeste sent me a link to an article in the New York Times about eVites. Ha! I'm delighted to see my distaste for e-vitations confirmed. See? I'm not just a cranky curmudgeon. And now I promise to drop this topic. Really.
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I got a lot of unpacking-and-setting-up work done on my office this weekend. I've neglected my office a little because I've been working so much on the rest of the house. I did get my desk and computer set up right after we moved in, and really, those two things are all I need to work. I'm a happier worker when I have my things surrounding me, however. I unpacked and shelved books (thank God for all the built-in shelves in this room), hung pictures, and arranged tchotchkes, and I'm pleased with my progress. I still have a few boxes to unpack, but the room looks much less like a warehouse.
Here's an example of a must-have in my office (with apologies for the glare):



This picture came from a book of postcards based on illustrations from pulp novel covers, and it always makes me laugh. A little macabre, but it helps that the editor in this illustration isn't a woman! Such a melodramatic book title, isn't it? The old photographs to the upper left of that postcard were a present from Kevin. I should take a more close-up picture or perhaps scan it, but you might be able to tell that they're old photos of prim-looking Victorian women wearing a series of funny hats. I get a kick out of imagining what was going on when the photos were taken and what the women were thinking.
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I understand some people have bright dogs who can actually learn tricks and obey commands and all that? Not my dogs. I always knew they weren't the brightest canines, but recently they confirmed that any attempt at training them would be an utter waste of time. A sliding glass door leads out to the patio and back yard, and shortly after I moved in, the screen part of the door came off the track. At the time, there was still snow on the ground, and it was too cold to use the screen door anyway, so I left it. A few weeks later, Kevin cleaned out the track and put the screen door back up. The first time I took the dogs outside after the screen was up, guess what they did? They waited for me to open the glass door, and then promptly galloped smack into the screen door. What's worse is that Charlie saw Holly hit the screen door first and still rushed headlong into the screen. Not even the Dog Whisperer could do anything with dogs that dumb!

Old but new-in-a-way news

Oh. My. God. This eVite nonsense will not die! Yesterday I got a reminder e-mail, saying that I hadn't responded on the Web site. It might be an automatic function, but the note in the e-mail seemed to have been written by the hostess. The three close friends I mentioned the other day? Haven't responded either. Heh. Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

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I've been trying to think of news that happened during my blogo-hiatus, other than moving-related news, and so far I've come up with only two things. They're fairly big, though. Daniel took his driving test--and on his 19th birthday, too. We went back to Mayberry so that he could take the test with one of the instructors from his driving school instead of at the BMV. We met his dad there about an hour before his appointment because Daniel was going to spend the weekend with The Ex. Daniel wanted to use the time to practice parallel parking because he hadn't done it since the previous summer, when he took driving lessons. Christ on a biscuit. He had NO idea what he was doing! After 10 years in Chicago, parallel parking had become second nature to me, so I couldn't figure out how to explain to Daniel what he was doing wrong. The Ex was giving him useless, contradictory hints, and I got huffy, and things devolved from that point. Finally, I said "Look, we're making the poor kid nervous! Let's just head over to the driving school and hope for the best."

Daniel was barely speaking to us, and I can't say I blame him. I paid for his test, and the instructor told Daniel which car she was going to use. (The school tests students on its cars, which is good because Daniel was familiar with them from his lessons.) He stalked out to the parking lot, and the instructor smiled reassuringly at me and said "He's nervous about parallel parking, right?" "Oh, yeah," I replied. She said not to worry because she gives that portion very little weight in her assessment. Mainly, she wants to make sure students know the steps, not whether they can actually get the car into the space because they use parallel parking so rarely.

While they were gone, his dad and I paced the parking lot and fretted. With it being Daniel's birthday, I kept thinking of the long wait for him to be born. In a way, I felt as though I were going through that process all over again, but this time a full-fledged adult instead of a baby was going to pop out. (Uh, ow. I just had to cross my legs and wince.) When I saw Daniel pull into the parking lot and jump out with a huge smile on his face, I almost collapsed from relief. He passed! Now he just has to pass the written test, but he decided to do more reviewing before taking it. I'm going to pick him up next Tuesday or Thursday, when he has a three-hour break in the middle of the day, and take him over to the local BMV. Keep your fingers crossed he passes that portion, OK?

The other piece of news: The Ex and his wife are having a baby! He called me about a month ago because he was nervous about telling Daniel, remembering Daniel's reactions to the prospect of siblings when he was much younger. The most famous episode happened shortly after I started dating Kevin, when Daniel was 9. He sat down with me one day and informed me that he DID NOT want any baby brothers or sisters and wanted to know "my plans." He also quizzed me on whether I was taking birth control! It makes me laugh now, but at the time? I was glad he was aware of birth control but not very pleased at being lectured on preventing conception by a freakin' 9-year-old.

The Ex was also having a little trouble adjusting to the thought of impending parenthood at his age. He turns 49 this summer. In his shoes, I don't think I'd be looking forward to changing diapers and walking the floors at midnight again. I'm too cranky and need my sleep too much. I love borrowing other people's babies for a short time, but I also enjoy handing them over when they get upset or smelly. At 40, I think I would have been thrilled to have another baby. Almost 10 years later, not so much.

It turns out this pregnancy wasn't planned, either--at least not by The Ex. He said, with a forced-sounding joking tone, "It wasn't my idea!" and grumbled about it being the price he pays for marrying a much younger woman. Well, yeah, buddy. He expected a 30-year-old woman to not want children? Please. I'm sure her parents are overjoyed. They have no grandchildren, and her older brother isn't likely to give them any because it might cut into his working-out schedule.

Of course, Daniel handled the news well and told his dad congratulations. I think he's secretly tickled at the idea of being a big brother, and I know he'll be a good one. I'm happy for The Ex's wife because I've suspected for a while that she's been longing for a baby. Strangely, though, I'm a little sad. I'm not jealous, but I guess I was accustomed to thinking of Daniel as The Ex's only child. Now his dad's attention will be split--and of course it should be. I don't mean The Ex should always show a preference for Daniel; that's silly. Babies do demand almost undivided attention, however, and I think my inner mother lioness is being overprotective of Daniel. He seems to be handling the situation with maturity, however. Now I just need to follow his example.

Dear Mr. Moron

Thanks for the confirmation that I'm not being rude by refusing to play with my friend's invitation toys. I checked the site today (day after the RSVP deadline), and seven people still haven't responded at all, including three of her closest friends. I don't think I'm alone in my distaste for e-vitations. Hmmmph.

Volunteering at Obama's headquarters yesterday was great! I spent about three hours doing data entry, which is something I can do with one hand tied behind my back and half asleep. Very easy. Figuring out how the database worked took about five minutes, and then the only difficult task was deciphering handwriting on sign-up sheets. People, if you go to the trouble of entering your name, address, and contact info on a sign-up sheet, for God's sake, write legibly! Some poor unpaid (or underpaid) schlub has to interpret your chicken scratches. If your name is "Joan Mason" and you casually scribble it on an sign-up sheet, don't bitch about getting mail addressed to "Mr. John Moron."

I have to admit that I was a little nervous driving down there yesterday, going into a new situation with people I don't know and all. Of course, everyone was friendly, so there was no need for my attack of nerves. I just realized something about myself. (Wooo, an epiphany!) I was painfully shy in elementary school, even through junior high, but I got over it in high school and became somewhat outgoing. I think I started turning shy again when Daniel was a baby, and I'm still having trouble with it. If you met me, I don't think you'd notice; I'm not as visibly awkward as I was as a child. I introduce myself and initiate conversations and, in general, act like a real live grown-up. It's more an internal shyness--agonizing over whether I'm looking, sounding, or behaving like a dork and worrying about what people think of me. Sometimes I wonder whether my inner 13-year-old will ever grow up.

The headquarters are near the courthouse and historic district of downtown Lafayette, which is quaint and pretty but rather eerily deserted. When Kevin and I went there Saturday to register to vote, we decided to walk around the historic district because the weather was gorgeous. We found several antique stores and even an honest-to-goodness soda fountain in McCord Candies, but I didn't see the kinds of crowds I'd expected--just a few other people like us wandering around. Even yesterday, on an weekday, I didn't see many people around.

Celeste, would you believe I haven't seen a single redbud blooming yet? This year is the latest arrival of spring I can remember. I'm just now starting to see a few daffodils and tulips, but most of the trees still look pitifully bare. I'm itching to start gardening, too. Oh, would you e-mail me sometime? (My Gmail address is over there to the left.) I'd love to ask you about the Parthenon and any other Lafayette/Purdue places you can recommend. Go Boilermakers!

You would have been 54 today, Leslie. I think about you on this day every year--and many, many others days of the year, too.

Be my Emily

Now I know why I haven't moved for the past 12 years. Moving is a major pain in the ass, isn't it? Well, I love my new house, and I'll actually get around to posting pictures soon, after I get more boxes cleared out of the way. I can't tell you how much I adore calling the landlord when something needs to be fixed and having a handyman sent out tout suite! The best part? My handyman's name is Butch, I kid you not.

I have an etiquette question for you. A friend sent an invitation to a surprise birthday party for her husband this Saturday. She didn't send it until this past Saturday, so I can understand not being able to mail written invitations, although this woman does event planning for a living and is constantly trumpeting her superior planning skills. So a mass e-mail is fine, but she sent one of those stupid eVite things. Have you ever gotten one? I hate them, and I think the notion of needing one is ridiculous unless you have 200 guests to keep track of (not the case here). Also, you can see how everyone else replies on the eVite site, and my reason for not being to attend isn't one I care to announce to several people I don't know. I'll tell you, my lovely Internet friends, because I know you. Or I sort of know you and think you're very funny. Anyway, my night vision has gotten so bad that driving at night is downright scary unless it's a trip down the street to the grocery on extremely well-lit roads. Kevin can't go, so I'd have to drive 35 miles back by myself late at night with my old-lady eyes, and I'm not going to get into a head-on crash just to holler "Surprise!" at a man.

ANYway, I e-mailed her privately to tell her why I couldn't attend and sent my best wishes, yadda yadda. Very polite. (I was raised right.) Not three minutes later, she sent out another goddamn eVite e-mail, saying the following:

Some of you have been very kind to RSVP to me directly via email and for that I thank you. However, to make sure I don't miss anyone, would you please click on this link and respond directly on the invitation website? Its pretty kewl in that it tabulates everything for us. Yep! I'm getting lazy in my old age. Thanksabunch everyone! I truly appreciate it.

She's inviting less than 30 people. What the hell is there to "tabulate"? Half the people on her list haven't even responded yet, even though today is the RSVP deadline. Why didn't she just e-mail me back? Clearly, she means the e-mail for me. I guess she wants to prevent any other people who don't follow instructions from doing the same thing, but would sending a personal note to me separately have killed her? Fuck it. I'm not going to do it. Does that make me rude? (Apparently, it DOES make me quite the pottymouth.) I could be really rude and point out her punctuation and spelling errors. Uh, I guess I just did, didn't I? Oh, well.

Tomorrow afternoon, I'm volunteering at Obama's headquarters. I'm excited! I've never worked on a presidential campaign before. When I went there Saturday to sign up, a woman wandered in, looking confused, and asked where Hilary's headquarters are. All the volunteers stared at each other for a minute, and I muttered to the guy signing me up, "Tell her that if you do tell her, you'll have to kill her." He started sputtering and choking on his coffee. Either he was amused, or he's rethinking having me come in tomorrow.

Moving on

It's been a couple of weeks since my last update, but I think you'll understand when I tell you what's going on. I'm losing my house. I've tried working out solutions, yadda yadda, but I decided giving up was the wisest choice--for me. Honestly, I'm no longer all that enamored of home ownership. I've done it for 12 years, and I'm ready to let someone else worry about repairs and taxes.

Now for the positives: This house is too much house for just Kevin and me, so we're moving into a smaller house that will be much easier to keep clean and in order. Packing to move has forced me to clean out unbelievable amounts of useless crap--things I haven't looked at in five years, things I'd never, in a million years, use. I can't believe I had all that junk sitting around gathering dust. No wonder I've felt overwhelmed and mentally cluttered for the past few years! With each bag of trash that gets tossed, I feel lighter mentally and emotionally.

Next positive: We're moving to a college town (and, yes, it's the town where Daniel goes to school, but I've sworn a blood oath not to intrude too often), and as I told Greg, I feel as though I'm re-entering civilization after 12 years of exile. The new town has live music and theater! An art museum! Tons of restaurants, bookstores, and cool shops! A botanical garden! A historical society! I can't wait to get out and start exploring.

Yet another positive: The job market up there is much, much better than here in Mayberry, so Kevin and I are hoping he can find a job with more of a future. After a little surfing, I've already seen listings for job search, career counseling, and job retraining services, so that's a good sign, I think.

And another one: Rent is going to be far less than my mortgage payment, so I can get caught up financially and maybe even save some money (what a concept).

I know losing my house is a bad thing, but I don't think I'm wrong to feel a little hopeful. This house and this town were a wonderful place to raise Daniel, but that chapter of my life is over. Time to turn the page to the next one.

I won't have Internet access next week because my service provider is switching cable companies, but I might head over to the library a few times and check e-mail (address over there to the left). I'll have plenty to do to keep me busy--just wish me strength to withstand the withdrawal pangs, would you?

Ugh

Almost exactly 48 hours after Andrew was here, I'm coughing, hacking, sniffling, aching, feeling nauseated, and running a fever. DAMN IT. Anyone know the penalty for ex-icide?

A laugh and a rant about exes

Celeste has officially stolen my heart, as the person who's made me laugh the hardest in the past 24 hours. She left a comment yesterday about my picture over there in the sidebar to the left, saying she adored my baby picture and it reminded her of Dale Chihuly. Of course, I had to Google him. I clicked the first link that looked promising, fully expecting him to be a photographer like Anne Geddes, who takes nauseatingly sweet photos of babies (inexplicably reposing in giant roses and assorted fruits). You can imagine my surprise when I saw this picture of Dale Chihuly. Bwah! Bless your heart, Celeste. I had a long, tiring day trying to turn an author's meandering incomprehensible prose into something approximating English, so ending my day with that kind of laugh was exactly what I needed. By the way, Dale does very cool glass art--check out some other links for him on Google.

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Giggling over my younger self's resemblance to Dale also helped me deal with the annoyance that is Kevin's ex-wife. Some of you have heard me complain about her before, so I won't get into repeating the litany of her horrible parenting skills, her nastiness, her lying, etc., etc. Well, I'll give you one example: She's mysteriously been able to afford digital cable services ever since I've known her but whines about not having money to buy new winter coats for her children. Anyway, she's always been a little afraid of me, which delights me to no end because I'm hardly what you'd call intimidating. I'm 4'11" if I stand up very straight, and if I had to compare myself to a celebrity, I'd say Mrs. Claus before her red hair turned gray. Not exactly the stuff of nightmares, but she fears me so much that she's terrified of actually speaking to me on the phone. Mwah-ha-ha-ha.

Here's how I know that: When she wants to call Kevin, she has to work up the nerve to leave a message for him, so she calls about five to six times first, hanging up right before the answering machine picks up each time. (Yes, she is too stupid to realize I can tell it's her because of caller ID.) Finally, she gets brave enough to leave a message, which invariably starts this way, in her slow, whiny voice: "Keeeeeeeevin, you neeeeeed to call meeeeee the second you get this meeeessage." First? I cannot stand it when people say "You need to . . ." Perhaps you'd like me to do something, or you think it's important I do something, but I don't need to do anything, except maybe pee after drinking three cups of coffee. How about "Would you please call me?" or "I need to talk to you soon." Second, she usually calls while he's at work, so he's not able to call her back until he gets home, often a few hours later. When he does call back, she bitches about him not calling the "second" he got the message, which hello? Just because he didn't call the second she left the message doesn't mean he didn't call back as soon as he got it.

Gah. ANYway, The Ex-Wife wanted to talk to Kevin about Andrew feeling "a little sick" because he was supposed to come over last night and spend the weekend. The Ex-Wife said Andrew threw up yesterday morning but was fine now. That didn't sound serious, so Kevin said he'd be there at the usual time to pick him up.

Well. I wish you could have seen this poor kid when he walked in. He threw up three times yesterday, not once, and he had a fever of 102 and a cough that rattled the windows. He couldn't take his coat off for half an hour because he had chills from going out in the frigid air and said he COULD NOT EAT his dinner. I've known Andrew 10 years, and I've never seen him sick enough to not eat. Plus, he was coughing and hacking everywhere without covering his mouth, and I don't want to sound Monk levels of neurotic, but Jesus. I could practically see flu germs arcing through the air and leaping down my throat.

I gave him some cold-and-flu medicine and had Kevin bundle him up in bed, and he fell asleep at 9:00, which is also unheard of for him. And then I fussed at Kevin for about 10 minutes nonstop about The Ex-Wife's idiocy in letting a kid that sick leave his home. It's not just her being inconsiderate enough to let him to infect other people, but when kids are that sick, they shouldn't leave their own homes and beds, where they're more comfortable. I don't like being sick in someone else's house, and I don't think anyone does. I've never let Daniel go over to his dad's house when he's ill enough to run a fever. With a typical cold and sniffles, maybe, but with a fever and vomiting? No way.

When Andrew got up this morning, Kevin checked his temperature, and it was still 102 (which worried me because fevers are usually lowest in the morning). Kevin asked him how he felt, and he said "Okay, I guess, but . . . I'm sorry, Dad, but I want to to go home." So Kevin called The Ex-Wife, and she said "Oh, sorry, I didn't know he was that sick." Argh! I could tell with one look from 15 feet away, and he's not even my kid!

I'm going back to look at that picture of Dale Chihuly again because I need another laugh. Damn it.