The good news is, choir went pretty well tonight, and I think our concert will not be a total disaster. The bad news is, I am still not as comfortable with some of the music as I wish I was. The good news is, The Jackass called twice while I was out at rehearsal. The bad news is, I strongly suspect he only called because of this complicated network of friend-of-a-friend women and someone reading him the riot act. The good news is, he called again after I got home. The bad news is, I knew right from hello what was coming. The good news is, I'm smart! And funny! And interesting! The bad news...
The thing about me and dating, is that my experience is rather limited. The experience I have? Is quite pitiful. Most of the men I've dated, I knew as friends for quite a while before things changed. Hence there was none of that nervously-charged getting-to-know-you sort of thing. Men metaphorically dropping out of the sky into my lap who happen to be hunky and sweet? Since when does that happen to me?? Please pinch me. Ahem. Anyway. We're not talking about that. Offered for your amusement: A peek into that which shapes my expectations--correctly or not--about what it can mean to "date" a...
I had something I was going to blog about tonight, but I forget what it was. And my mother always told me that if it was important, I'd remember. I can't remember so it was probably dumb. Oh, wait, I just remembered! Justice League party supplies! I bought some! And I have some questions about this Martian Manhunter guy, but maybe Monkey can answer them for me tomorrow at breakfast. Might've been better if I hadn't remembered. That was dumb. This guy (not Martian Manhunter; the guy I mentioned in a few previous posts) is becoming harder to write off as a fluke, although I suppose he could...
Hello from an undisclosed location nowhere near where you suppose! I'm enjoying the Witness Protection Program. No one knows me, here, which I'm finding suits me just fine. All the better to hide me with, my dears. So here's the thing. I am In Control. It's sort of my thing, being in control. I have a limited skill set, it's true, but the control thing? Got it covered. As long as I think I'm in control, things are good. Kids are cared for. Bills are paid. Responsibilities are met. Friends are checked on. Snarky jokes about my inability to find employment are cracked. Etc. Carefully I stack...
We regret to inform the readership at Woulda Coulda Shoulda that your intrepid narrator has suffered a rather serious injury and may be unavailable for the immediate future. Early this afternoon, her brain exploded. Nasty business. The circumstances cannot be discussed here; suffice it to say that a quick trip to the calendar to confirm the year (still 2004, as far as I know), and the resultant cognitive dissonance created between the date and the nature of the information before her, caused a complete meltdown and subsequent explosion of all brain matter. Let it be noted for the record that...
Sometimes, I think I'm not capable of parenting my children in a way that will shepherd them into adulthood, happy and healthy. Particularly with Chickadee. I say she's complicated, which is sort of like saying that skunks have a slight odor or that there are a few stars in the galaxy. Ahem. Anyway, my children love stories. They will listen with rapt attention to any sort of tale, either real or imagined. But their absolutely favorite stories are personal anecdotes about my misbehavior as a child. They beg to hear certain stories over and over. And in catering to them, and retelling these...
One Christmas, my ex--who was infamous for being a lousy gift-purchaser--accidentally bought me something wonderful. Well, he paid full price (which as you know I would never condone), but it was wonderful anyway. He bought me a pair of "wicked good" slippers from LL Bean. I despise the New England habit of labelling things as wicked in order to convey their fabulousness as much as the next transplant, but friends, these slippers live up to their name. They are soft and warm and comfortable and last forever and I may just marry mine this winter. They are that fab. Everyone who sees my...
Today's post is my entry for the fourth Blogging For Books contest over at The Zero Boss. This month's topic is Insanity, with the charge to write about a time you were pushed to the brink of insanity (figuratively or literally), and how you lived to tell the tale. "You have to keep him," I said in measured tones, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. "Please. I don't think--- I can't keep him safe. We have two small children. It's not safe." "I told you yesterday, I cannot admit him unless he meets the criteria." This counselor was the same one who had sat with us the previous day,...
I lay awake in bed last night to the pitter-patter of little feet above my head. The plummetting nighttime temperatures have once again convinced the local rodent population that Casa Mir is an acceptable hotel. When I was in college, I lived two years in a quaint little apartment just off of campus. Both years, I had mice. After some initial disgust I turned it into a matter of pride; I am woman, hear me slay the uninvited. I bought traps; I baited them myself; and I kept a single sheet of paper on my fridge titled "DEATH TOLL" where I made a mark for each mouse taken down in the fight. The...
