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.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
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?
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?
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Exercising my patience
Since the weather has turned sauna-like lately, I've been looking for exercise I can do indoors. I like walking, when the weather's bearable, and I even started "faux" hiking at a nearby park with slightly hilly trails. I just can't get myself moving early enough in the morning to walk before it gets too hot, however.
The other day, Kevin was cleaning out an old steamer trunk I fixed up a few years ago and found several videotapes I'd stored in there. Most were taped performances of plays I did with the theater group in Mayberry, and I'll hang on to them, in case I need to be amused by bad amateur theater some day. One was a jazzercise tape I used to do when Daniel was little. I popped it in the VCR and started giggling almost immediately. The tape is from 1986, and the instructor and all the women in the class are festooned in headbands, leg warmers, and neon leotards. I haven't seen so much '80s exercise wear since Flashdance. And the music, oh, my God. Tres cheesy.
I've been sticking with it because the routine is short enough that I don't collapse, and it does get my heart rate up. That damn instructor is so perky that I want to strangle her with fluorescent green leg warmers, however. At one point, she actually says, "Are you smiling?? If you're smiling, I know you're breathing!" I'm not admitting anything, but I MIGHT have snapped, "No, I'm holding my breath just to be ornery and frowning at your insanely cheerful squirrel face." I don't handle perkiness well when I'm at my best, so you can imagine my reaction to it when I'm sweating in contorted positions.
I'm determined to keep exercising, mostly because I'm getting positive results, and it helps with stress. A tiny part of my determination is also fueled by proving my mother wrong. About a month ago, I told her I was taking several pairs of pants to my church's clothing drive because they were falling off me. She said (and I'm still angry about this), "Oh, don't get rid of your big clothes! You'll need them when you gain the weight back." Oh, yes. She DID.
A couple of days ago, I told her I'd lost 5 more pounds, for a total of 55. Today I got a big envelope in the mail from her, containing articles she clipped from her "lady magazines"--you know, Good Housekeeping, Woman's Day, etc., etc. Help me decipher my mom's mixed messages, would you? She attached a note to the articles, saying "So proud of you, and you are so pretty," meaning, I'm assuming, I wasn't pretty before. Fine, but I'm choosing to believe her note was largely positive. OK, partially. Now get this: The first article is about "diet derailers." Let me quote the opener for you: "You've been dieting for a few months and have dropped some weight. You're feeling pretty good about your progress and then--bam!--something gets in the way to land you back where you started."
That woman isn't going to be happy until I gain every pound back. Well, I hate to disappoint her, but I'm going to disappoint her.
The other day, Kevin was cleaning out an old steamer trunk I fixed up a few years ago and found several videotapes I'd stored in there. Most were taped performances of plays I did with the theater group in Mayberry, and I'll hang on to them, in case I need to be amused by bad amateur theater some day. One was a jazzercise tape I used to do when Daniel was little. I popped it in the VCR and started giggling almost immediately. The tape is from 1986, and the instructor and all the women in the class are festooned in headbands, leg warmers, and neon leotards. I haven't seen so much '80s exercise wear since Flashdance. And the music, oh, my God. Tres cheesy.
I've been sticking with it because the routine is short enough that I don't collapse, and it does get my heart rate up. That damn instructor is so perky that I want to strangle her with fluorescent green leg warmers, however. At one point, she actually says, "Are you smiling?? If you're smiling, I know you're breathing!" I'm not admitting anything, but I MIGHT have snapped, "No, I'm holding my breath just to be ornery and frowning at your insanely cheerful squirrel face." I don't handle perkiness well when I'm at my best, so you can imagine my reaction to it when I'm sweating in contorted positions.
I'm determined to keep exercising, mostly because I'm getting positive results, and it helps with stress. A tiny part of my determination is also fueled by proving my mother wrong. About a month ago, I told her I was taking several pairs of pants to my church's clothing drive because they were falling off me. She said (and I'm still angry about this), "Oh, don't get rid of your big clothes! You'll need them when you gain the weight back." Oh, yes. She DID.
A couple of days ago, I told her I'd lost 5 more pounds, for a total of 55. Today I got a big envelope in the mail from her, containing articles she clipped from her "lady magazines"--you know, Good Housekeeping, Woman's Day, etc., etc. Help me decipher my mom's mixed messages, would you? She attached a note to the articles, saying "So proud of you, and you are so pretty," meaning, I'm assuming, I wasn't pretty before. Fine, but I'm choosing to believe her note was largely positive. OK, partially. Now get this: The first article is about "diet derailers." Let me quote the opener for you: "You've been dieting for a few months and have dropped some weight. You're feeling pretty good about your progress and then--bam!--something gets in the way to land you back where you started."
That woman isn't going to be happy until I gain every pound back. Well, I hate to disappoint her, but I'm going to disappoint her.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Nothing like finding out just how stupid you are, especially on a hellishly hot day. I've had a headache all afternoon, and not even the Ibuprofen God is touching it.
I wanted to get out of the house this afternoon, so I went down to Mayberry to visit Jon and Suzie, my friends who run the secondhand bookstore there. After hugs from both and being plyed with coffee, I told them I'd broken up with Kevin. Yes, you guessed it: They weren't surprised. Then Jon said "Getting high shouldn't be a lifestyle," and I was surprised. I was aware Kevin did occasionally, but he knew I wasn't crazy about it, and when he was unemployed, I informed him he'd better not use my money for it. He agreed--or so I thought. I was SO fucking naive. I'll just say that he bought frequently, and with guess whose money? No wonder he never had the incentive to look for a job.
My head is pounding, and I don't know whether it's still the headache or a combination of fury and embarrassment. If I have to interact with Kevin, I might wind up running him through with the bread knife. I should just go back to bed, huh?
I wanted to get out of the house this afternoon, so I went down to Mayberry to visit Jon and Suzie, my friends who run the secondhand bookstore there. After hugs from both and being plyed with coffee, I told them I'd broken up with Kevin. Yes, you guessed it: They weren't surprised. Then Jon said "Getting high shouldn't be a lifestyle," and I was surprised. I was aware Kevin did occasionally, but he knew I wasn't crazy about it, and when he was unemployed, I informed him he'd better not use my money for it. He agreed--or so I thought. I was SO fucking naive. I'll just say that he bought frequently, and with guess whose money? No wonder he never had the incentive to look for a job.
My head is pounding, and I don't know whether it's still the headache or a combination of fury and embarrassment. If I have to interact with Kevin, I might wind up running him through with the bread knife. I should just go back to bed, huh?
Next!
For the past few weeks, I've been dreaming about old boyfriends. No, no, not like that. I've never had dreams like these before. They're an abbreviated form of the entire relationship, almost like looking through a kaleidoscope and seeing bits and pieces in a colorful jumble. At the end, the break-up, I summarize what went wrong in one brilliant, concise statement (definitely the stuff of dreams there) and say exactly what I wanted and meant to say--but didn't at the time.
They're the most satisfying dreams I've ever had.
I won't describe every one; I'm too lazy to type all that, and who the hell wants to read about a series of dreams? The dream I had tonight, which was so vivid it woke me up, was about my ex-husband. Trust me, it doesn't take a Freud to figure out the symbolism. I'll skip past the parts representing our relationship to the last "scene." We'd been at a party with a lot of his family and old friends from theater days. The Ex was in his element: He talked to everyone and wound up being the center of attention, holding court while he told jokes and stories. I noticed a lonely-looking teenage boy sitting in the corner; he was around 17 or 18 and clearly miserable. I worked my way over to him and sat down. I attempted a little chit-chat, he responded well, and soon we were talking away a mile a minute. He turned out to be very sweet, sensitive, and smart, with a surprisingly quick wit. We made smart-ass comments about other people in the room and sent each other into fits of giggles. I spent the rest of the party talking to him.
The Ex seemed to be in a good mood on the way home, but as we were getting ready for bed, he turned on me, as he so often did. Now, are you ready for the surreal part? In my dream, I was a real, flesh-and-blood woman, and he was a plastic, life-sized doll. So as he was screaming at me about flirting with someone at the party (yes, the teenage boy, which is exactly as irrational as he was in real life) and embarrassing him, his creepy glass doll's eyes were rolling around. Instead of feeling scared, the way I usually did, I started laughing because he looked so ridiculous. I said, "You put on this charming, caring act with everyone else, and they think you're such a great guy. To me, though? You're cold and unfeeling and cruel, just like the doll you are. I'd like to push your stupid plastic doll's face in!" And then I proceeded to do just that.
I woke up smiling.
I've been puzzling over why I'm having these dreams now, and I've come to this conclusion: It's my brain's way of sorting and summarizing what happened in past relationships so that I don't make the same mistakes again. I've started what I intend to be the last romantic relationship I ever have with a man, and I'll be damned if it's going to end because of my stupidity or his. These dreams are certainly cheaper and more efficient than psychoanalysis; however, I could schedule therapy sessions to not wake me up at 1:00 a.m. Oh, well, there's a trade-off in everything, right?
I'm going back to bed. I wonder who's next in my dreams?
They're the most satisfying dreams I've ever had.
I won't describe every one; I'm too lazy to type all that, and who the hell wants to read about a series of dreams? The dream I had tonight, which was so vivid it woke me up, was about my ex-husband. Trust me, it doesn't take a Freud to figure out the symbolism. I'll skip past the parts representing our relationship to the last "scene." We'd been at a party with a lot of his family and old friends from theater days. The Ex was in his element: He talked to everyone and wound up being the center of attention, holding court while he told jokes and stories. I noticed a lonely-looking teenage boy sitting in the corner; he was around 17 or 18 and clearly miserable. I worked my way over to him and sat down. I attempted a little chit-chat, he responded well, and soon we were talking away a mile a minute. He turned out to be very sweet, sensitive, and smart, with a surprisingly quick wit. We made smart-ass comments about other people in the room and sent each other into fits of giggles. I spent the rest of the party talking to him.
The Ex seemed to be in a good mood on the way home, but as we were getting ready for bed, he turned on me, as he so often did. Now, are you ready for the surreal part? In my dream, I was a real, flesh-and-blood woman, and he was a plastic, life-sized doll. So as he was screaming at me about flirting with someone at the party (yes, the teenage boy, which is exactly as irrational as he was in real life) and embarrassing him, his creepy glass doll's eyes were rolling around. Instead of feeling scared, the way I usually did, I started laughing because he looked so ridiculous. I said, "You put on this charming, caring act with everyone else, and they think you're such a great guy. To me, though? You're cold and unfeeling and cruel, just like the doll you are. I'd like to push your stupid plastic doll's face in!" And then I proceeded to do just that.
I woke up smiling.
I've been puzzling over why I'm having these dreams now, and I've come to this conclusion: It's my brain's way of sorting and summarizing what happened in past relationships so that I don't make the same mistakes again. I've started what I intend to be the last romantic relationship I ever have with a man, and I'll be damned if it's going to end because of my stupidity or his. These dreams are certainly cheaper and more efficient than psychoanalysis; however, I could schedule therapy sessions to not wake me up at 1:00 a.m. Oh, well, there's a trade-off in everything, right?
I'm going back to bed. I wonder who's next in my dreams?
Monday, July 12, 2010
Accounts "payable"? Riiiiiiiiight.
What's the best way to get back at an accountant? No, it's not the start of a joke. I'd REALLY like to know. Sneak into his office and steal all the lead from his mechanical pencils? Reset his calculator to flash "H E L L O" with upside-down numbers whenever he hits the add button? I found out today that a guy in accounts payable has been sitting on checks for invoices from the entire month of June because, as he snapped to an assistant inquiring about payment for a broke editor in Indiana, he was "too busy" to sign them.
TOO BUSY. Why, what a brilliant and reasonable excuse! The next time I have a deadline, I'll just explain that I'm TOO BUSY to meet it. I'm sure everyone will understand, and it's not as though me missing a little ol' deadline will affect anyone else. The next time my water bill is due, I'll just drop the water company a note and say I'm TOO BUSY to pay my bill. Shouldn't be a problem.
TOO BUSY, my ass. Harrumph!
Let's see, what else is chapping my hide lately? Oh. Last night, Kevin complimented my appearance, and I said "Thanks" politely and tried to change the subject. Awkward, right? Apparently not awkward enough, as he went on to say he's accepted that he's "entering a period of celibacy." 1) That's related how, exactly? and b) Am I supposed to apologize? I pointed out that he could certainly date, and he said, "Anyone else is going to be substandard compared to you." What utter hooey. Also, I have no idea how to respond to that comment, and given the situation, I don't see how I could have felt anything but uncomfortable. But wait! There's more! He remarked, "It's going to be a lot easier for you. You could just throw a rock out the door and hit someone better than me."
Ah, the time-honored tradition of stoning the object of your affections to get his attention. Good idea! Also? The man has a point, but I was too nice to say so. I tried to laugh it off with a joke about trying it on the strange elderly man who walks his chihuahua past the house every day and coos baby-talk to his dog and added, "Hey, you know I've had my eye on him for ages!"
How long is it until the first weekend in August??
TOO BUSY. Why, what a brilliant and reasonable excuse! The next time I have a deadline, I'll just explain that I'm TOO BUSY to meet it. I'm sure everyone will understand, and it's not as though me missing a little ol' deadline will affect anyone else. The next time my water bill is due, I'll just drop the water company a note and say I'm TOO BUSY to pay my bill. Shouldn't be a problem.
TOO BUSY, my ass. Harrumph!
Let's see, what else is chapping my hide lately? Oh. Last night, Kevin complimented my appearance, and I said "Thanks" politely and tried to change the subject. Awkward, right? Apparently not awkward enough, as he went on to say he's accepted that he's "entering a period of celibacy." 1) That's related how, exactly? and b) Am I supposed to apologize? I pointed out that he could certainly date, and he said, "Anyone else is going to be substandard compared to you." What utter hooey. Also, I have no idea how to respond to that comment, and given the situation, I don't see how I could have felt anything but uncomfortable. But wait! There's more! He remarked, "It's going to be a lot easier for you. You could just throw a rock out the door and hit someone better than me."
Ah, the time-honored tradition of stoning the object of your affections to get his attention. Good idea! Also? The man has a point, but I was too nice to say so. I tried to laugh it off with a joke about trying it on the strange elderly man who walks his chihuahua past the house every day and coos baby-talk to his dog and added, "Hey, you know I've had my eye on him for ages!"
How long is it until the first weekend in August??
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Greg, WordPad is much better--thanks! I guess Blogger has decided it hates .doc files now.
Yes, I had too much caffeine Friday night. I never thought I'd say "too much" and "caffeine" together in the same sentence, but I think I'm going to have to switch to decaffeinated for making iced tea. I cannot tell you how much I hate admitting that I can't handle mass quantities of caffeine as easily as I used to. I can still ingest more than the average bear but not nearly as much as in the past. When I get over my limit, not only do I type very, very fast, but also my heart starts pounding. I almost typed "I start getting heart palpitations," but Jebus, that makes me sound frail and old. Anyway, after finally getting my heart rate to a reasonable level after last year's scary high, I should endeavor to keep it there, right?
Good news: Kevin's been moving stuff to the storage unit he rented last week, and his scary man-cave is starting to empty out. Here's the even better news: He told me this morning that he'll be out the first weekend in August. His family reunion is that weekend, so he plans to take everything that's going in the truck up that Friday--and he's not coming back at the end of the reunion. Did I hear a collective sigh of relief?
He thinks I'm being generous by giving him so much furniture and other stuff (including a TV and DVD player), but I don't need to correct his impression by telling him I'm not that freakin' generous; I just want to get rid of a lot before I move. Integrating my crap and Ed's stuff is going to be enough of a challenge without me bringing along tons o' things I don't need. I'm a little nervous about how this "Yours, Mine, and Ours" thing is going to work. I told Ed the other day that I've never lived with anyone who already had all his stuff in place. I keep thinking of that scene in When Harry Met Sally, when Carrie Fisher is arguing with Bruno Kirby about whether his wagon-wheel coffee table stays. I'm a little worried that EVERYthing is going to be a wagon-wheel coffee table. Anyone ever been in this situation before? I could use some advice--or just tell me to calm the hell down.
Yes, I had too much caffeine Friday night. I never thought I'd say "too much" and "caffeine" together in the same sentence, but I think I'm going to have to switch to decaffeinated for making iced tea. I cannot tell you how much I hate admitting that I can't handle mass quantities of caffeine as easily as I used to. I can still ingest more than the average bear but not nearly as much as in the past. When I get over my limit, not only do I type very, very fast, but also my heart starts pounding. I almost typed "I start getting heart palpitations," but Jebus, that makes me sound frail and old. Anyway, after finally getting my heart rate to a reasonable level after last year's scary high, I should endeavor to keep it there, right?
Good news: Kevin's been moving stuff to the storage unit he rented last week, and his scary man-cave is starting to empty out. Here's the even better news: He told me this morning that he'll be out the first weekend in August. His family reunion is that weekend, so he plans to take everything that's going in the truck up that Friday--and he's not coming back at the end of the reunion. Did I hear a collective sigh of relief?
He thinks I'm being generous by giving him so much furniture and other stuff (including a TV and DVD player), but I don't need to correct his impression by telling him I'm not that freakin' generous; I just want to get rid of a lot before I move. Integrating my crap and Ed's stuff is going to be enough of a challenge without me bringing along tons o' things I don't need. I'm a little nervous about how this "Yours, Mine, and Ours" thing is going to work. I told Ed the other day that I've never lived with anyone who already had all his stuff in place. I keep thinking of that scene in When Harry Met Sally, when Carrie Fisher is arguing with Bruno Kirby about whether his wagon-wheel coffee table stays. I'm a little worried that EVERYthing is going to be a wagon-wheel coffee table. Anyone ever been in this situation before? I could use some advice--or just tell me to calm the hell down.
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