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I'm getting the hang of cooking for one. (Making coffee for one? Still a work in progress.) As Greg pointed out, leftovers are the answer. Last night I made the usual two servings of rice and combined one serving with the leftover stir-fry. Ta-da! Dinner for tonight or tomorrow is done. Sasha, I like your idea of roasting a chicken--or for me, chicken breasts, as I don't care for drumsticks and other dark meat--because I can dice up the leftovers into a salad (Celeste's idea). To be honest, I'm not a big fan of all-vegetable salad as a main course; it leaves me feeling dissatisfied. Greg, your "Salad is what food eats" cracked me up. Even considering the Leftovers Plan, if I make too much of a dish, I do know a young man who adores my cooking and lives only 5 minutes away. After intense negotiations, Daniel agreed to cut my grass in exchange for a home-cooked meal.

I made another discovery about the depths of Kevin's laziness. Monday I asked him whether recycling goes out this week, as it's picked up every other week. He all but whistled and looked at the ceiling and muttered, "Oh, I just check whether the neighbors have put their recycling bins out." I didn't have to rely on my status as a part-time PI to know something was up and finally extracted the story from him. The recycling bins blew away in a storm SIX MONTHS ago. Did he get replacements? Why, no! That would involve all the effort of picking up the phone and making a call. So for the past six months, I've been dutifully putting recyclable items in the basket I keep in the pantry for that purpose, and he's been pretending to carry them out to the recycling bin in the garage, and then putting them in the trash. I don't go in the garage much, so I didn't notice, but I assumed he was keeping the bins in an odd place, such as the shed. Yesterday I called the city's recycling department, and new bins are being delivered today. The entire "effort," from start to finish, took approximately 1.45 minutes. Oy.

My mom keeps moaning that "both [her] girls are single now." Did I mention my sister got divorced? Long story that I'm too lazy to type now, but her husband committed one minor indiscretion, and she cut him (and his balls) off at dizzying speed. I haven't figured out yet how to tell my parents about Ed. Of course, they'd be delighted with anyone who's not Kevin, but from their perspective, the news is going to come out of the blue. When Ed and I first started e-mailing, I told my mom because I was so excited to hear from him. As usual, she listened with only half an ear. She's really not interested in what's going on with me; she calls me frequently so that she can complain about her illnesses, gossip about people I don't remember or barely know, and tell me how wonderful my sister is. I've mentioned Ed a few times since then, but again: half an ear. In addition, her memory has gotten much worse the past couple of years, so I suspect she remembers maybe a third of what I tell her--that is, a third of what she actually hears. Therefore, if she's shocked when I finally break the news, too bad. If she'd been paying attention, it wouldn't be a complete surprise. Also? I'm 50 damn years old, and I don't need her approval or permission. As for my dad, I think he'll be satisfied knowing I'm happy. Maybe the conversation will be easier than I'm anticipating. My dad will be happy for me, and my mom will be over the moon to hear further proof that my sister is far more sensible and perfect in every way than I am.

Coffee talk with Lisa

A very old, skinny man, pushing a baby in a stroller, just walked by my house. He was trudging along so slowly that I suspect the baby could have gotten out and walked faster.

Holly the Boneheaded Beagle pulled quite a stunt. Well, it was partly my fault. When I take her out at night for her last pee, often I have to put her leash on and pull a little while coaxing her. Her arthritis has gotten so bad that she's reluctant to get up and make the walk outside. Until she can figure out how to sit on the toilet, however, out she goes. Last night, while I was standing in the yard admiring the full moon and waiting for Holly to finish, I heard her leash hit against something metallic. A second later, CRASH! Instead of turning around and walking directly back to the patio, she had walked in a circle, wrapped her leash around a wrought-iron plant stand holding four clay and ceramic pots, and brought the whole caboodle down. Charlie jumped straight up in the air when he heard the crash and did a rather impressive leap over the debris. Miraculously, only two pots broke, but I had one hell of a mess to clean up this morning. I still need to sweep up a pile of dirt. Mental note: Save the moon-gazing for when I'm outside BY MYSELF, with no spazzing dogs.

I finished my purple variegated socks. Here's a blurry, crappy photo that will give you only a vague idea of what the socks look like, but feel free to humor me and exclaim over their beauteousness:



The Room Formerly Known as Kevin's Man Cave is looking better. I finished vacuuming and sweeping away cobwebs, stacked all my art supplies on an empty bookcase he left, and hung a few pictures I'd stored because I had no wall space left to hang them. I have a folding table in the garage that I'm going to set up for a temporary workspace, and I'm going to try to set aside some time to do a little collaging and rubberstamping. With all Kevin's stuff scattered around, I never had room to get my art supplies out and do anything with them.

Weird, this burst of energy I'm having, but I guess it's caused by a major source of stress being removed. I don't know how long it will last, but I'm enjoying it while it does. I'm even going to cook a nice dinner for myself. Last night, I was too exhausted to make more than a bowl of cereal, but tonight, I'm stir-frying chicken, broccoli, and almonds. I think I'll skip the rice because I don't know how to make just one serving in my rice cooker. I've almost forgotten how to cook for one (AND make coffee for one, so I had too much this morning). Any tips?

He's left the building

It was over before I knew it. He picked the truck up at 11, loaded it, and said good-bye at 2. He got very emotional when he was saying his good-byes, and I thought, for a moment, I was going to cry. Mostly a knee-jerk reaction to another's tears--like Dolly Parton in Steel Magnolias, I have a strict policy about no one crying alone in my presence. I "womanned up," however, and stayed strong. Well, one benefit of things getting so bad the past few years is that I was less likely to dissolve in a puddle of sentiment, right? He said a lot of sweet things to me, but I couldn't help thinking, "Too little, too late." I'll give him credit for this: He taught me to pay more attention to actions. That's one lesson I won't have to learn again and again and again, as I have with so many other lessons.

Strange that there are so few reminders of him left. He slept mostly in the guest room, so there won't be any noticeable absence when I go to bed at night. Some dust bunnies and a few pieces of furniture in the art room that he didn't have room for--and that's about it. Don't most people leave more of a physical imprint? I feel as though I've been living with the chalk outline of a person, and a strong wind just blew the outline away. I can still see a faint ghost of it, but one hard rain, and even that will disappear.

Gearing up for Man Child's exit

I shouldn't complain because I HAVE work, which is more than a lot of people can say, but I will, anyway. The problem is that I took on extra projects a few months ago because my finances were in terrible shape, thanks to Man Child. Now that he's leaving Monday (whoo hooo!), I'm not going to need the additional income as desperately, but I'm stuck with the projects. Oy. Well, I do have an expensive move coming up soon.

Being busy has the benefit of keeping me too occupied to dream about eating chocolate. I haven't lost more pounds recently, but I must be getting smaller somehow because I'm fitting into clothes I couldn't wear a few months ago. My big news is that I bought a pair of boots the other day that I can actually ZIP. With my short, German milkmaid calves (TM Sasha), finding knee-high boots I could zip was difficult. These boots are black leather and bad-ass--well, as bad-ass as I'M capable of being. I'd post the picture I took, but Ed seems to think it's risque and is probably dubious about me posting it on the Innerwebs for the *gasp* public to see (not that hordes of people are eager to see my short middle-aged legs in a pair of boots).

I've been busy this week catching up on grooming that I was too broke to afford while waiting for checks to come in. My eyebrows, for example, were a shanda. I've been getting them threaded for a while, so I've lost my tweezing skills, I'm afraid, and the little Indian lady does a MUCH better job than I could ever do. Wednesday, I stopped in to get my eyebrows back in shape, and I noticed she uses plain old sewing thread. All this time, I thought she used special eyebrow thread or something--and in my imagination, it was imported from India and very expensive. What a letdown!

Next up is my damn hair. Ever since I got it cut extremely short, it's been growing like the weeds in my flower beds (which are flourishing, thankyouverymuch). I feel slightly ridiculous saying "It's too long!" but it is. Another thing I love about Ed is that he adores my cropped hair. Other men I've known have been fans of long hair and were always urging me to grow mine longer. I don't think they believed me when I explained that curly hair grows OUT, not DOWN. No more struggling with longish hair for me. My "styling" process consists of getting out the shower and running my fingers through my hair, and the lazy girl in me loves that.

I'm taking a break from work to watch another episode of True Blood. Good show, great sex scenes (one of the advantages of shows on HBO).

Killer Ballerinas

Don't let ballerinas fool you, with their wispy bodies and tranquil faces. They're tough as nails and are out to hurt you--that is, if you're foolish enough to think you, a mere mortal, can keep up with their workout. Yes, I tried the NYC Ballet workout last night, and Oh. My. God. I made it about two-thirds of the way through it, which isn't bad, I guess. All the graceful arm movements and pointed toes make the moves look effortless, but that's misleading. These moves are work, and by the end, I was sweating like a chocoholic touring Willy Wonka's factory. The exercise that finished me off involved lying on my stomach (a challenge right there, as my front side is not completely flat) and lifting my legs. The instructor said, with a hint of a sneer, "You shouldn't feel this in your lower back at all." I hollered, "Oh, but I DO!" and had to curl up in the fetal position. I might have whimpered a little--but with a tranquil look and graceful arm movements.

Seinfeld fans, take note: The Soup Nazi is back!

From the Department of Good News: Finally, I got a check yesterday. I've never been so happy to pay bills before. Being broke makes me feel powerless, but now, I have ze power again. I'd like to use it to get Accounts Payable Guy fired, but I'm trying to remember to use my power for good, not evil.

From the Department of Even Better News: Kevin's going to be OUTTA HERE next Monday. Apparently all Dramatic Sam's ditherings about his family objecting to Kevin's presence were simply manufactured melodrama. His family is thrilled and urged him to have Kevin move in earlier than August 7. Remind me to send flowers to DS's family, would you?

Now that I know when Kevin's leaving, I can make other plans. Barring unforeseen complications, I should be in Georgia some time in September, if Ed doesn't get sick of me before then or if the killer ballerinas haven't left me a weeping wreck huddled on the floor. That gives me some time to get ahead on work and pack. I just realized I'm going to be living alone for the first time in many years, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I used to like living alone, but back then, I didn't know the love of my life was waiting for me. Makes a big difference, you know?

29 hours, and oh, how about a few more just for fun?

Bad Energy Company has quite the sense of humor! Saturday at 7 p.m., a horrendous storm knocked out power for almost 5,000 people here in College Town. Good thing I buy candles like a crazy survivalist. I lit candles all over the house, and the storm had chased away the humidity, so the evening was rather pleasant. I'd just charged my cell phone, so I chatted on the phone with a couple of friends, took a candlelit bubble bath with the hot water remaining in the tank, and read by candlelight, which appealed to the Amish woman who lives inside me. Bad Energy Company's hotline estimated the power would be back on by 10 p.m. Piece of cake! I can stand anything for three hours.

Except the hotline LIED. The estimate changed to midnight, and then noon Sunday. So I woke up Sunday to the horror of no coffee. I threw on some clothes, and I might have brushed my hair but who knows, and went to the grocery store, which has a little coffee station. I bought two huge cups and promptly spilled half of one down the front of my shirt. I don't recommend this technique as a way to wake up. I refilled the spilled cup and bought some ice for the cooler.

Sunday was, of course, hot and humid. By noon, there was no sign of Bad Company's trucks, so I went to the library. I browsed around and found a few exercise DVDs; one's a workout from the New York City Ballet. I took ballet lessons when I was little, and when I see professional ballet dancers, I still get tutu-and-leotard yearnings. Of course, I had no way to play the DVD at the moment, but I assumed my power would be back on when I got home.

The AC in the library wasn't much cooler than the AC outdoors (which is to say NONE), so I went to the mall and wandered around. I don't particularly enjoy malls--at least not often--but it was cool, and I was grateful for the respite from sweating. A tiny Chinese man was offering free massage "samples" and coaxed me into his massage chair. Kevin offered to hold my glasses, but Massage Man glared at him and insisted he would take care of them. Heh. His hands were so warm and felt great. He hit a tight spot on my back and said, "Ooooh, many knots. Very tense, right?" RIGHT.

When I got home, still no power. Bad Company's hotline estimated restoring power at 8 p.m. FINE. I took a cold shower, and let me just say that I can see why it's recommended as a libido-killing method. I continued reading (I finished an entire book) and sweating and peering down the street for a sign of Bad Company's trucks. Meanwhile, the city sent out trucks to pick up tree branches piled in front of every house, but no Bad Company trucks. Finally, at 10 p.m., Bad Company arrived. The workers stood out on the street and, as I believe they're contracted to do, laughed and joked and wasted time while I glared at them through my window like Gladys Kravitz in the throes of a hot flash.

Finally, at midnight, the power was back on! I fired up my computer--my sweet baby, how I missed you--and answered a few e-mails, joyously proclaiming the Return of Electricity, but 45 minutes later, boom! The power was out again. Ha ha, Bad Company! Stellar practical joke! I sat here in total blackness, stunned. I groped around for the flashlight, found my cell phone, and called Bad Company's hotline for the 3,897th time. Estimate: noon Monday. I threw my phone across the room and stomped off to bed.

At 3:00 a.m., power was restored. I got up, closed the windows, turned on the AC again, and went back to sleep, muttering dark curses aimed at Bad Company. I suspect I wasn't the only one.

FRRREEEEEEE-DOOOOOOM!

Hmmm, maybe I shouldn't be bellowing a line from a Mel Gibson movie, given his inability to keep his trap shut. Nevertheless, I do feel almost giddy with freedom. Kevin left yesterday morning to take some boxes up to his cousin's and won't be back until this afternoon. Wheeee! Amazing how relaxed and happy I am when he's not around. The dogs seem bewildered, however. Eh, they'll adapt.

I finally downloaded some pictures from my camera, so I can tell you about having lunch with Celeste and include a picture. We'd planned to meet at a Greek restaurant near campus, but to my dismay, I discovered the restaurant had closed, after 30-some years in business. We decided to go to Five Guys, which is nearby, and get a burger. Sign of the 21st century: We discussed this change of plans via cell phone WHILE we were in the same parking lot. Hee! I had a great time with Celeste, and two hours just flew by. She's so funny and warm, and as I said to her, why the hell do all the people I like the most live so far away? I did my very first first bump with her, too, and I assume I looked very cool doing it. (Hush, I can hear you snorting.) After lunch, I remembered I'd brought my camera, so I was trying to take a picture of us together. We have an extreme height differential, so poor Celeste obligingly hunched over so that our heads could be in the same photo. A nice young man passing by (that description makes me sound ancient, no?) offered to take a picture for us and didn't even run off with the camera afterward! Awwwww. Here it is:



As part of my Freedom Celebration, I went out to dinner with Daniel last night. He's been so excited for me about Ed and asked me a lot of questions about my plans. I just love that kid, even if he doesn't shave as often as he should. Also? He's incapable of being on time--at least when he's meeting ME. I think he manages to make it to work and classes on time. Hmmmph! I'd put my camera in my purse so that I could get a picture of us together and took a few of myself to while away the time waiting for me. Here I'm concealing my impatience rather successfully, I think:



After three attempts, I finally got a picture of us together in which Daniel wasn't closing his eyes or making a hideous face:



My baby's all grown up, isn't he?