I've never particularly cared for being a fish. What girl does? But, there are some men who sneakily slip a hook in the mouth without you consciously realizing as much. *um, that is not meant to sound dirty in any way, shape, or form, btw*
Even after you remove the hook, some men just don't get it. You can remove that damn hook over and over again, but he'll continue trying to keep you hanging there, just in case he's ready to yank you into his little boat one day.
This sticky-fisherman wants to keep the fresh little fishy close, while enjoying his fried catfish on the side.
Though you may swim away as fast as your little fins will carry you--trying to avoid that pesky hook--sometimes it is necessary to pull a Jaws and just face the son of a gun.
If you have the fortitude, going Jaws is really very effective in possibly, officially removing and retiring his beloved hook.
So, if you have a sticky-fisherman in your life, consider going Jaws...make him have to get a bigger boat.
Showing posts with label The One That Wasn't. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The One That Wasn't. Show all posts
Now That Devil-Nose Is Open For Business...
...I can smell again, which, of course, means a 3 a.m. panic when what smelled like something burning reached my nostrils. I was utterly terrified. I ran everywhere, trying to find the source of the smell, but I found absolutely nothing. Could it have been someone's fireplace? I dunno. It was freaky. Really, really freaky. I didn't sleep at all--just sat up watching tv, trying to do some work, while acting as watcher for the house.
So, because my brain is totally scattered right now, this post will be totally random.
1. Soda confession: Yeah. I had the soda. It tasted so darn good. It was like liquid candy. I'm back on the water now. Reckon one soda isn't too bad. Strangely, the water tastes better than it did prior to the soda. Go figure.
2. As a Dallas Cowboys fan, gotta tell ya, not thrilled over the Super Bowl this year. Personally, if the Cowboys couldn't be in it, I would have liked to see the Jets and Atlanta/Saints/Bears battle it out in Cowboys' Stadium. Instead, we have two teams that have impacted my Cowboys in very, very negative ways over the years. Anyone heard of the Ice Bowl? Yeah. I wasn't even born yet, but I think I started hearing that story when I was in the womb. Super Bowl. Sigh.
3. Say Yes To The Dress and The Single Sandwich: While channel surfing, I stumbled across that TLC show, Say Yes To The Dress, and it reminded me of something I saw last fall/early winter. Imagine being a single woman watching a show about other women getting married and shopping for dresses. Now, imagine the show going to a commercial break. What kind of commercial would you expect? Some random diet commercial, maybe? How about one of those jewelry commercials? They would fit the theme right?
Now, imagine suddenly hearing the original version of All By Myself as the camera focuses in on a lonely sandwich on a plate. Oh, I'm not kidding. Weddings--marriage--wedding gowns...and a commercial that blares All By Myself while featuring food.
What marketing/advertising genius came up with that little gem? What idiot thought it would be a good idea to air an ad featuring THAT song during a show about wedding dresses? Seriously. Absolute idiot.
4. Delusional people: I don't get them. We're talking people who think they are seriously famous when all they are known for is getting drunk and acting trashy. Suppose it doesn't help that they are awarded with book deals, spokesperson gigs, etc. Really, I don't get it. It's scary to hear how many delusional folks are in this world.
5. Wasn't: For the first time, I didn't play his game. In the past, I oftentimes unwittingly played, hoping it would lead to a solid friendship, at the very least. Since retiring from the game, I have to admit...I feel great. It's like a huge weight has been lifted and I can breathe again.
Uh, yeah, so my brain just kinda stopped thinking. Clearly, the lack of sleep and serious stress from last night/early this morning is catching up with me.
I'll just leave you with a good, upbeat Monday-kind-of song. Groove a little--feel happy.
So, because my brain is totally scattered right now, this post will be totally random.
1. Soda confession: Yeah. I had the soda. It tasted so darn good. It was like liquid candy. I'm back on the water now. Reckon one soda isn't too bad. Strangely, the water tastes better than it did prior to the soda. Go figure.
2. As a Dallas Cowboys fan, gotta tell ya, not thrilled over the Super Bowl this year. Personally, if the Cowboys couldn't be in it, I would have liked to see the Jets and Atlanta/Saints/Bears battle it out in Cowboys' Stadium. Instead, we have two teams that have impacted my Cowboys in very, very negative ways over the years. Anyone heard of the Ice Bowl? Yeah. I wasn't even born yet, but I think I started hearing that story when I was in the womb. Super Bowl. Sigh.
3. Say Yes To The Dress and The Single Sandwich: While channel surfing, I stumbled across that TLC show, Say Yes To The Dress, and it reminded me of something I saw last fall/early winter. Imagine being a single woman watching a show about other women getting married and shopping for dresses. Now, imagine the show going to a commercial break. What kind of commercial would you expect? Some random diet commercial, maybe? How about one of those jewelry commercials? They would fit the theme right?
Now, imagine suddenly hearing the original version of All By Myself as the camera focuses in on a lonely sandwich on a plate. Oh, I'm not kidding. Weddings--marriage--wedding gowns...and a commercial that blares All By Myself while featuring food.
What marketing/advertising genius came up with that little gem? What idiot thought it would be a good idea to air an ad featuring THAT song during a show about wedding dresses? Seriously. Absolute idiot.
4. Delusional people: I don't get them. We're talking people who think they are seriously famous when all they are known for is getting drunk and acting trashy. Suppose it doesn't help that they are awarded with book deals, spokesperson gigs, etc. Really, I don't get it. It's scary to hear how many delusional folks are in this world.
5. Wasn't: For the first time, I didn't play his game. In the past, I oftentimes unwittingly played, hoping it would lead to a solid friendship, at the very least. Since retiring from the game, I have to admit...I feel great. It's like a huge weight has been lifted and I can breathe again.
Uh, yeah, so my brain just kinda stopped thinking. Clearly, the lack of sleep and serious stress from last night/early this morning is catching up with me.
I'll just leave you with a good, upbeat Monday-kind-of song. Groove a little--feel happy.
Sticky Willoughby
One of the first rules of soap opera writing: characters recur, even in the most ridiculously impossible ways.
Too bad I didn't really think about that when I wrote myself out of Wasn't's script.
Note: When writing yourself out of someone's story, prepare for that someone to come back and write himself into yours.
Wasn't makes a cameo: Saturday, I awoke to a message from Wasn't. He was just needling me about football--friendly competitive stuff. Although...he did call me "baby."
Me, groggy, reacting to the message: "Baby? As in 'I carried a watermelon?' (Dirty Dancing reference, for those who don't know). He never uses the word 'baby.' Ugh."
I didn't respond.
Today, I had another needling message waiting for me. This time, he made it personal--a backhanded comment slapping my Dallas Cowboys in the face. Not cool.
My initial reaction was to send him a fiery reply. Then a light bulb went off--he's trying to get under my skin; he knows what gets to me...what gets me to respond. Clever. Very clever.
I haven't responded, but an interesting little thought did cross my mind: By trying to get under my skin, I have to wonder just how much my non-response has gotten under his.
Too bad I didn't really think about that when I wrote myself out of Wasn't's script.
Note: When writing yourself out of someone's story, prepare for that someone to come back and write himself into yours.
Wasn't makes a cameo: Saturday, I awoke to a message from Wasn't. He was just needling me about football--friendly competitive stuff. Although...he did call me "baby."
Me, groggy, reacting to the message: "Baby? As in 'I carried a watermelon?' (Dirty Dancing reference, for those who don't know). He never uses the word 'baby.' Ugh."
I didn't respond.
Today, I had another needling message waiting for me. This time, he made it personal--a backhanded comment slapping my Dallas Cowboys in the face. Not cool.
My initial reaction was to send him a fiery reply. Then a light bulb went off--he's trying to get under my skin; he knows what gets to me...what gets me to respond. Clever. Very clever.
I haven't responded, but an interesting little thought did cross my mind: By trying to get under my skin, I have to wonder just how much my non-response has gotten under his.
New Year, New Me, Old Wasn't
Before Christmas, I made the rounds sending Holiday wishes via e-mail, e-card, traditional Christmas card, and/or phone.
The big invisible question floating above my head: Would I send Wasn't Christmas wishes? Honestly, I didn't even have to think about it: Of course I'm wishing him a Merry Christmas. Some people wondered why I would bother. The answer was very simple: He's a human being who has been in my life for many years; he has been through a great deal this year, things far worse than his current relationship woes.
A few days before Christmas, I called and left Christmas wishes on his voicemail, truly not expecting anything in return. What I didn't really anticipate was how final my message sounded; it came out sort-of like a Christmas farewell. It took me by surprise.
The next morning, I awoke to a rather nice text message, telling me how great it was to hear my kind voice; he then gave me a very specific time when he would call.
I don't know if he called or not; the time wasn't good for me. Whether he meant to or not, it felt a little like he was trying to squeeze me into his schedule--fitting me in around his girlfriend.
Christmas morning, he called to wish my family and I a Merry Christmas. He also made it very clear he was spending the holiday with family only (i.e. no girlfriend) and wanted me to call him anytime that day.
Again, I got that "squeezed in" feeling. The timing was good for him.
I really just wanted to spend Christmas Day and night with my family; I didn't feel like getting into another directionless, hint-filled conversation with him. My mom said, "Honey, you are a genuinely sweet soul, but don't you dare feel guilty about not calling him. The time is good for him, not for you. You don't have to jump through hoops."
I didn't call him back.
Over two years ago, I realized we were never going to happen. If I had a dollar for each time he invited me into his life, only to go M.I.A. for a couple of weeks before returning as if nothing ever transpired...as if he never said those words that touch your heart...
I've tried to just be his friend, but no matter what, it always comes back to those familiar hints. Always implied, never realized. As one of my friends said, "He is Willoughby to your Marianne." (From Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility, for those unfamiliar).
He hasn't called; I assume he's less than pleased I didn't call him when he said he'd be available.
Same story, new year...only I'm not going to be a recurring character in his story. I've written myself out of the script. The End.
Now, for The Beginning...
The big invisible question floating above my head: Would I send Wasn't Christmas wishes? Honestly, I didn't even have to think about it: Of course I'm wishing him a Merry Christmas. Some people wondered why I would bother. The answer was very simple: He's a human being who has been in my life for many years; he has been through a great deal this year, things far worse than his current relationship woes.
A few days before Christmas, I called and left Christmas wishes on his voicemail, truly not expecting anything in return. What I didn't really anticipate was how final my message sounded; it came out sort-of like a Christmas farewell. It took me by surprise.
The next morning, I awoke to a rather nice text message, telling me how great it was to hear my kind voice; he then gave me a very specific time when he would call.
I don't know if he called or not; the time wasn't good for me. Whether he meant to or not, it felt a little like he was trying to squeeze me into his schedule--fitting me in around his girlfriend.
Christmas morning, he called to wish my family and I a Merry Christmas. He also made it very clear he was spending the holiday with family only (i.e. no girlfriend) and wanted me to call him anytime that day.
Again, I got that "squeezed in" feeling. The timing was good for him.
I really just wanted to spend Christmas Day and night with my family; I didn't feel like getting into another directionless, hint-filled conversation with him. My mom said, "Honey, you are a genuinely sweet soul, but don't you dare feel guilty about not calling him. The time is good for him, not for you. You don't have to jump through hoops."
I didn't call him back.
Over two years ago, I realized we were never going to happen. If I had a dollar for each time he invited me into his life, only to go M.I.A. for a couple of weeks before returning as if nothing ever transpired...as if he never said those words that touch your heart...
I've tried to just be his friend, but no matter what, it always comes back to those familiar hints. Always implied, never realized. As one of my friends said, "He is Willoughby to your Marianne." (From Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility, for those unfamiliar).
He hasn't called; I assume he's less than pleased I didn't call him when he said he'd be available.
Same story, new year...only I'm not going to be a recurring character in his story. I've written myself out of the script. The End.
Now, for The Beginning...
Funny Thing About The Fickle Fiddle
Been thinking (dangerous pastime, I know), but you know what's ironic about Wasn't's (my English teacher would hurl if he saw that word) current situation?
He's her fallback...he's playing second fiddle to her ex-husband AND ex-boyfriend.
I can't claim utter brilliance in coming to this conclusion on my own accord...my mom led me down the path when she said in her thick southern drawl, "Honey, he's never gonna be first with her. He'll be miserable. The fact that he's once again callin' you is proof of that. He's her fallback."
My mom is always right, I swear. Wasn't goes out of town, and his gf welcomes her ex-boyfriend into her home with open arms, while allegedly treating Wasn't like dirt.
So, if by some unconscious (or possibly conscious, the devious wad) desire Wasn't holds me as his fallback, isn't it fitting that he, in essence, is the real fallback? See, I can't be his fallback when I've never chosen that role...perhaps I was unwittingly in that role a few years ago, when I legitimately believed something may evolve--given his empty words and invites--but I put an end to the back-and-forth.
He's laboring under a delusion with regard to me AND with his current gf. Ironic.
Wanna hear something interesting? His gf told him she's not sure she can fully trust him yet. Well, well, well.
What's that old saying...you reap what you sew? Yeah, that.
He's her fallback...he's playing second fiddle to her ex-husband AND ex-boyfriend.
I can't claim utter brilliance in coming to this conclusion on my own accord...my mom led me down the path when she said in her thick southern drawl, "Honey, he's never gonna be first with her. He'll be miserable. The fact that he's once again callin' you is proof of that. He's her fallback."
My mom is always right, I swear. Wasn't goes out of town, and his gf welcomes her ex-boyfriend into her home with open arms, while allegedly treating Wasn't like dirt.
So, if by some unconscious (or possibly conscious, the devious wad) desire Wasn't holds me as his fallback, isn't it fitting that he, in essence, is the real fallback? See, I can't be his fallback when I've never chosen that role...perhaps I was unwittingly in that role a few years ago, when I legitimately believed something may evolve--given his empty words and invites--but I put an end to the back-and-forth.
He's laboring under a delusion with regard to me AND with his current gf. Ironic.
Wanna hear something interesting? His gf told him she's not sure she can fully trust him yet. Well, well, well.
What's that old saying...you reap what you sew? Yeah, that.
Christmas Music Hates Me (Yesterday's Merry Fun)
Last Night: Boring day. Still, much to tell in another post, thanks to some rather opinionated friends and family. Spent night enjoying Christmas music on the radio until...I-wish-I-had-someone-at-Christmas tune came on. Fine. Okay. Breathe. Next song is sure to be Rudolph The Red Nose Reindeer or Frosty The Snowman. Hmm. Don't recognize new song. Oh My Holy Santa. You're-my-Christmas-miracle-and-I-love-you-forever song. Hateful.
Immediately shut off cruel radio and turned on Alanis Morisette. This worked until I remembered she is now happily married and expecting her first baby. Singletonville's greatest angry resident is no more...she has crossed to the other side, where grass grows green instead of brown...or at least where there are green patches.
Bit of news coming from Wasn't (last week's conversation): He has a girlfriend. Things have gotten tough, and he calls me. For the first time, we really TALKED. He opened up. I finally got to be the friend I wanted to be with him--giving advice, helping, etc. STILL, things were said by him...things that tend to muddy the friendship waters.
Bloody hints.
He has a girlfriend and I'm not a home wrecker, never have been, never will be. Sticking to the surface with Wasn't--friend only.
Today, early evening: My brain hurts from thinking. Next post will be revealing. Right now, am tired with headache and in desperate need of a quick nap, Advil, and ice bag.
Sigh, I see they continue to play lovey Christmas songs I've never heard until now. Friendly. Shut off music entirely. No music, no thoughts...apart from BFF's statement made yesterday: "Wasn't wants to be with you. If you were there, his current girlfriend would be out the window. He just needed a warm body."
Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better.
Immediately shut off cruel radio and turned on Alanis Morisette. This worked until I remembered she is now happily married and expecting her first baby. Singletonville's greatest angry resident is no more...she has crossed to the other side, where grass grows green instead of brown...or at least where there are green patches.
Bit of news coming from Wasn't (last week's conversation): He has a girlfriend. Things have gotten tough, and he calls me. For the first time, we really TALKED. He opened up. I finally got to be the friend I wanted to be with him--giving advice, helping, etc. STILL, things were said by him...things that tend to muddy the friendship waters.
Bloody hints.
He has a girlfriend and I'm not a home wrecker, never have been, never will be. Sticking to the surface with Wasn't--friend only.
Today, early evening: My brain hurts from thinking. Next post will be revealing. Right now, am tired with headache and in desperate need of a quick nap, Advil, and ice bag.
Sigh, I see they continue to play lovey Christmas songs I've never heard until now. Friendly. Shut off music entirely. No music, no thoughts...apart from BFF's statement made yesterday: "Wasn't wants to be with you. If you were there, his current girlfriend would be out the window. He just needed a warm body."
Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better.
They Say Don't Shoot The Messenger...
...but maybe a good kick off their high horse would be in order.
Wake-up: Did yesterday happen? Was there a flurry of communication with The One That Wasn't? Checking phone. Yes, apparently so. Moreover, did he just tell me the following: He's. Not. Married. Yes, he did.
He's. Not. Married.
How can someone get something so wrong? Must wash face and stop thinking. Well, the washing of the face part will happen.
Lunch: Voted! I'm such a good American! Ooh, text message!
BFF: Voted at 7 a.m., first thing.
Dang. BFF is a much better American.
Had a salad & iced tea...NO soda (impressive development).
Afternoon: Had to run many errands on very little sleep. The Christmas present I wanted for my mom forced the lady to run all over the store looking for it (felt terrible about that). She did finally find it in the back.
I effectively made a royal a** out of myself in front of an attractive single man when I knocked a slew of Harry Potter books off their display table. So, not only am I a klutz, but I'm a dorky klutz scoping the Harry Potter table (you know, the one with the light-up wands, flip pad, and, God help me, sticker books). Sigh. My idiocy never fails me.
Off to buy mom some things she requested. Spent precious minutes on phone trying to decipher exactly what she wanted--colors, styles, design. This is a sampling of what I got:
Mom: "I would love the top in navy..."
Me: "Okay, I see navy." I grab it.
Mom: "...but not if it has too much design or sparkly stuff on it."
Me: Putting navy top back. "I see green."
Mom: "Oooh, I love green..."
Me: I grab the green one.
Mom: "...but not too dark or lime-y green."
Me: I put lime-y green top back. "Here's another green...it's a muted sage color," I quickly added.
Mom: "That sounds perfect."
Me: Finally. Grab muted green top. "How about red?"
Mom: "I love red!!"
Me: "There's a smallish bird on it."
Mom: "What kind of bird?"
You get the picture. My mom had to laugh later at how difficult it must have been for me to pick and choose tops to her specifications. Turns out, she loved the navy top that I insisted upon (the three tiny little snowflakes were not overbearing at all).
Night: Watching election coverage and working. Gripping life.
Phone ringing...
Here we go...
Late Night: Oh. Holy. Crap. Major developments! Need time to process this gigantic balloon of information! Safe to say, The One That Wasn't and I are better friends now than ever before...or so it seems.
Must resist need for soda.
Wake-up: Did yesterday happen? Was there a flurry of communication with The One That Wasn't? Checking phone. Yes, apparently so. Moreover, did he just tell me the following: He's. Not. Married. Yes, he did.
He's. Not. Married.
How can someone get something so wrong? Must wash face and stop thinking. Well, the washing of the face part will happen.
Lunch: Voted! I'm such a good American! Ooh, text message!
BFF: Voted at 7 a.m., first thing.
Dang. BFF is a much better American.
Had a salad & iced tea...NO soda (impressive development).
Afternoon: Had to run many errands on very little sleep. The Christmas present I wanted for my mom forced the lady to run all over the store looking for it (felt terrible about that). She did finally find it in the back.
I effectively made a royal a** out of myself in front of an attractive single man when I knocked a slew of Harry Potter books off their display table. So, not only am I a klutz, but I'm a dorky klutz scoping the Harry Potter table (you know, the one with the light-up wands, flip pad, and, God help me, sticker books). Sigh. My idiocy never fails me.
Off to buy mom some things she requested. Spent precious minutes on phone trying to decipher exactly what she wanted--colors, styles, design. This is a sampling of what I got:
Mom: "I would love the top in navy..."
Me: "Okay, I see navy." I grab it.
Mom: "...but not if it has too much design or sparkly stuff on it."
Me: Putting navy top back. "I see green."
Mom: "Oooh, I love green..."
Me: I grab the green one.
Mom: "...but not too dark or lime-y green."
Me: I put lime-y green top back. "Here's another green...it's a muted sage color," I quickly added.
Mom: "That sounds perfect."
Me: Finally. Grab muted green top. "How about red?"
Mom: "I love red!!"
Me: "There's a smallish bird on it."
Mom: "What kind of bird?"
You get the picture. My mom had to laugh later at how difficult it must have been for me to pick and choose tops to her specifications. Turns out, she loved the navy top that I insisted upon (the three tiny little snowflakes were not overbearing at all).
Night: Watching election coverage and working. Gripping life.
Phone ringing...
Here we go...
Late Night: Oh. Holy. Crap. Major developments! Need time to process this gigantic balloon of information! Safe to say, The One That Wasn't and I are better friends now than ever before...or so it seems.
Must resist need for soda.
Halloween...Ghosts...Spirits...Virgins???
Morning: No idea...slept straight through. Prince Charming could have been singing outside my window, tossing boulders at my house, and I wouldn't have heard a thing. Zzzzzzzz.
Wake-Up: ARGH! What in the name of Halloween is that banging?!?!? Loud--I mean--loud banging. Dear God! Must grab something to defend myself. Ah, perfect: my trusty hair comb and umbrella. (upon reflection, not the best self-defense tools of the trade, but when bleary-eyed and groggy, you go with whatever looks like something you can fling, jab, or flail). My heart pounding, I tiptoed down the stairs, carefully rounding each corner like a slinky cat...in hot pink slippers. Nothing. Everything was absolutely still. Suppose it could have been a neighbor, but the banging sounded like it was inside the house. Odd.
Lunch and Some Myths: "I heard banging in the house, but when I checked, nothing was there," I said to my mom over a baked potato, salad, and milk (no soda--excellent me!).
"Hmm, well maybe you heard a spirit," she said in all seriousness. She does love Halloween.
"Um, what?" She takes this Halloween thing a bit too far sometimes.
"You know, they say virgins and children are more susceptible to sounds and voices from the other side."
Way too far.
Although, this isn't the first time I've heard of this myth and, with hand on heart, I can honestly say I have had my fair share of unexplainable events (one involving my papaw). It's all a little difficult to explain, but I tend to believe in the paranormal. I do like Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures--fun shows. I fully intend to watch Ghost Hunters Live tonight.
Still...
"Why virgins do you think?" I asked my mom.
"Well, I would think it's because virgins have less of life's scarring and are more open-minded to things."
Why do moms always say things in a manner that makes complete and total sense out of something totally incomprehensible? Hmm. It's all very intriguing. Maybe this is my calling. Maybe I'm to be a world-renowned medium and can interview famous spirits about their first sexual encounters. Uh, um...oooh, maybe I can roam heaven's citizens for my "dead" soul mate. Err. Maybe not.
Late Afternoon and Evening: Cowboys lost...again...to Jacksonville. Pathetic. We are now 1-6. It's almost getting comical, like playing connect-the-dots to see what picture you will get. Right now, I'm getting a picture of a giant horse's a**. Wonder what it will be by the end of the season...oh, wait, it is the end of the season.
Dale Earnhardt Jr: Oh, God, it just gets worse. I love watching him drive in restrictor plate races--he's like Maverick, You Big Stud (Top Gun, for those unfamiliar), especially in these races...fun to watch and you marvel over the man's technique. Today, at Talladega, Dale was driving masterfully; he had a fast car; he led laps...then, all heck broke loose. He got into Jeff Burton a little too hard and....you guessed it: wreck. Dale's chances of winning? None. Day over. So sad. Just sucks for him...want to see him back in winner's circle.
It was one of those racing deals. Dale felt terrible, blaming himself for the incident. Honestly, when I see some drivers give interviews (or run away from them) and have zero accountability, it makes me proud to cheer for Dale--he's all man.
Night: Watching Ghost Hunters LIVE on SyFy. Fun stuff.
RING. RING.
Oh, Lord, I'm about to find out everything...married, not married, married, not married. What do I want to hear? Would it even change anything? No, it wouldn't...it couldn't. My friends used to say it's written in the stars. If true, why have the stars been buried in clouds all these years?
RING. RING.
BFF: "We suck. We suck bad. It's over. We're going 1-15. We're the worst team in the NFL."
Time for a BFF rant on the Cowboys.
Late Night: After diagnosing the Cowboys and answering some e-mails, I finished watching Ghost Hunters Live (no major ghosts found), ate some candy corn (very wrong), drank some soda (really must stop), and decided to solve two of the world's major problems (much better use of time). It's unfortunate my mind has been preoccupied with more pressing matters...like whether I prefer the caviar shampoo sample I received to Pantene, my old standby (don't think I prefer said sample). Hmm. Not a great use of my time.
I blame the Cowboys...and my toilet. It all started with toilet toes.
Oh, and the Texas Rangers lost. Gotta tell ya, I'm just hitting it out of the ballpark this year, aren't I? If this is any indication of what's to come when pesky-pissy-pricky phone decides to ring, then I may need to consider massive quantities of Advil...and Pepto-Bismol.
Wake-Up: ARGH! What in the name of Halloween is that banging?!?!? Loud--I mean--loud banging. Dear God! Must grab something to defend myself. Ah, perfect: my trusty hair comb and umbrella. (upon reflection, not the best self-defense tools of the trade, but when bleary-eyed and groggy, you go with whatever looks like something you can fling, jab, or flail). My heart pounding, I tiptoed down the stairs, carefully rounding each corner like a slinky cat...in hot pink slippers. Nothing. Everything was absolutely still. Suppose it could have been a neighbor, but the banging sounded like it was inside the house. Odd.
Lunch and Some Myths: "I heard banging in the house, but when I checked, nothing was there," I said to my mom over a baked potato, salad, and milk (no soda--excellent me!).
"Hmm, well maybe you heard a spirit," she said in all seriousness. She does love Halloween.
"Um, what?" She takes this Halloween thing a bit too far sometimes.
"You know, they say virgins and children are more susceptible to sounds and voices from the other side."
Way too far.
Although, this isn't the first time I've heard of this myth and, with hand on heart, I can honestly say I have had my fair share of unexplainable events (one involving my papaw). It's all a little difficult to explain, but I tend to believe in the paranormal. I do like Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures--fun shows. I fully intend to watch Ghost Hunters Live tonight.
Still...
"Why virgins do you think?" I asked my mom.
"Well, I would think it's because virgins have less of life's scarring and are more open-minded to things."
Why do moms always say things in a manner that makes complete and total sense out of something totally incomprehensible? Hmm. It's all very intriguing. Maybe this is my calling. Maybe I'm to be a world-renowned medium and can interview famous spirits about their first sexual encounters. Uh, um...oooh, maybe I can roam heaven's citizens for my "dead" soul mate. Err. Maybe not.
Late Afternoon and Evening: Cowboys lost...again...to Jacksonville. Pathetic. We are now 1-6. It's almost getting comical, like playing connect-the-dots to see what picture you will get. Right now, I'm getting a picture of a giant horse's a**. Wonder what it will be by the end of the season...oh, wait, it is the end of the season.
Dale Earnhardt Jr: Oh, God, it just gets worse. I love watching him drive in restrictor plate races--he's like Maverick, You Big Stud (Top Gun, for those unfamiliar), especially in these races...fun to watch and you marvel over the man's technique. Today, at Talladega, Dale was driving masterfully; he had a fast car; he led laps...then, all heck broke loose. He got into Jeff Burton a little too hard and....you guessed it: wreck. Dale's chances of winning? None. Day over. So sad. Just sucks for him...want to see him back in winner's circle.
It was one of those racing deals. Dale felt terrible, blaming himself for the incident. Honestly, when I see some drivers give interviews (or run away from them) and have zero accountability, it makes me proud to cheer for Dale--he's all man.
Night: Watching Ghost Hunters LIVE on SyFy. Fun stuff.
RING. RING.
Oh, Lord, I'm about to find out everything...married, not married, married, not married. What do I want to hear? Would it even change anything? No, it wouldn't...it couldn't. My friends used to say it's written in the stars. If true, why have the stars been buried in clouds all these years?
RING. RING.
BFF: "We suck. We suck bad. It's over. We're going 1-15. We're the worst team in the NFL."
Time for a BFF rant on the Cowboys.
Late Night: After diagnosing the Cowboys and answering some e-mails, I finished watching Ghost Hunters Live (no major ghosts found), ate some candy corn (very wrong), drank some soda (really must stop), and decided to solve two of the world's major problems (much better use of time). It's unfortunate my mind has been preoccupied with more pressing matters...like whether I prefer the caviar shampoo sample I received to Pantene, my old standby (don't think I prefer said sample). Hmm. Not a great use of my time.
I blame the Cowboys...and my toilet. It all started with toilet toes.
Oh, and the Texas Rangers lost. Gotta tell ya, I'm just hitting it out of the ballpark this year, aren't I? If this is any indication of what's to come when pesky-pissy-pricky phone decides to ring, then I may need to consider massive quantities of Advil...and Pepto-Bismol.
I Hate "What If..."
Wake-up: Did I just dream about The One That Wasn't? Damn...I did. It's the first time he has infiltrated my sleep since, oh, the night I found out he married Violet, the three headed she-creature. Of course, that particular dream involved him falling into a dark hole in the earth, never to emerge again. **Perhaps she is not at all the kind of individual as I've been told...she may be perfectly nice...still, I wish to think of her as a she-creature.
The night before learning of his sudden marriage, I had a dream where he and I were to be married, only I ran away on the day of said weeding...I mean wedding; he had to take to the local news media, begging me to let him know where we should meet for our nuptials. Ironic.
Last night's dream was far more concerning. He invited me to his house...had something he needed to tell me: he wants a baby...and apparently I'm the one to help him with that endeavor.
My uterus hurts.
Stumbling out of bed, I realized the severe lack of sleep (and said dream that may have intoxicated my ovaries) has impacted my ability to function normally--my red toe and bruised knee provide the proof...I swear the door jam came out of nowhere.
Lunch: My phone is an ass. Most days it sits quietly by until Mom or Dad calls...or until bff rings to rant about the Cowboys, brag about his 175 IQ, or talk about his split personality (he doesn't actually have one, although sometimes I could swear he has 937 of them). Today was different. The phone stared at me, mocked me. You know I will ring when you least expect it, right? You'll forget to check the number, like always, and you will not be prepared for what I throw at you. Stupid, insensitive phone.
Still, it stayed quiet, which was quite the opposite of the other night. Amidst everything that has been going on around here, my phone jingled with a message from my living ghost. It was a simple message with a splash of tease. Since then, nothing. The phone remains blissfully, yet annoyingly silent...like it's hunting its prey--a miniature velociraptor waiting to strike with its ringtones and lob off my ears.
Night: Not much to report. Very quiet, thank goodness. My parents are doing well, which is a great blessing. I've tucked my phone away in the vein hope that it will find something better to do with its time...like lose all its battery charge.
Hmm. Can't help but wonder why The One That Wasn't dared to wriggle free from she-creature's tentacles to send a message to me...and why now? Hateful curiosity.
Of course, Dad isn't helping. Yesterday's comments are still weighing on my mind.
"Maybe he's not married. What if the messenger got the message wrong?"
Not possible. I don't think it's possible. How could someone be that wrong? What if it's possible? "I doubt it, Dad."
"You haven't heard it from him, have you? Until then, how do you know?"
Rats. Must raid Mom's DVD closet...yes, an entire area of her closet is devoted to DVDs. Ah! Ever After, Titanic, and You've Got Mail.
"Oh, no, not Titanic," my dad gasped, "you'll snot all over the place."
Lovely.
So, tonight I sit, trying not to contemplate things. I find thinking is highly overrated...kind-of like treadmills. Argh! My knee hurts...stupid door jam. Time for a small bowl of Captain Crunch and a little Pride & Prejudice.
Crud. Dallas Mavericks lost. Rangers are now down two games. Cowboys are...ugh....awful. Maybe I need a slightly bigger bowl of Captain Crunch...and a soda...and some candy corn...then something for my stomach which will undoubtedly flip sideways.
The night before learning of his sudden marriage, I had a dream where he and I were to be married, only I ran away on the day of said weeding...I mean wedding; he had to take to the local news media, begging me to let him know where we should meet for our nuptials. Ironic.
Last night's dream was far more concerning. He invited me to his house...had something he needed to tell me: he wants a baby...and apparently I'm the one to help him with that endeavor.
My uterus hurts.
Stumbling out of bed, I realized the severe lack of sleep (and said dream that may have intoxicated my ovaries) has impacted my ability to function normally--my red toe and bruised knee provide the proof...I swear the door jam came out of nowhere.
Lunch: My phone is an ass. Most days it sits quietly by until Mom or Dad calls...or until bff rings to rant about the Cowboys, brag about his 175 IQ, or talk about his split personality (he doesn't actually have one, although sometimes I could swear he has 937 of them). Today was different. The phone stared at me, mocked me. You know I will ring when you least expect it, right? You'll forget to check the number, like always, and you will not be prepared for what I throw at you. Stupid, insensitive phone.
Still, it stayed quiet, which was quite the opposite of the other night. Amidst everything that has been going on around here, my phone jingled with a message from my living ghost. It was a simple message with a splash of tease. Since then, nothing. The phone remains blissfully, yet annoyingly silent...like it's hunting its prey--a miniature velociraptor waiting to strike with its ringtones and lob off my ears.
Night: Not much to report. Very quiet, thank goodness. My parents are doing well, which is a great blessing. I've tucked my phone away in the vein hope that it will find something better to do with its time...like lose all its battery charge.
Hmm. Can't help but wonder why The One That Wasn't dared to wriggle free from she-creature's tentacles to send a message to me...and why now? Hateful curiosity.
Of course, Dad isn't helping. Yesterday's comments are still weighing on my mind.
"Maybe he's not married. What if the messenger got the message wrong?"
Not possible. I don't think it's possible. How could someone be that wrong? What if it's possible? "I doubt it, Dad."
"You haven't heard it from him, have you? Until then, how do you know?"
Rats. Must raid Mom's DVD closet...yes, an entire area of her closet is devoted to DVDs. Ah! Ever After, Titanic, and You've Got Mail.
"Oh, no, not Titanic," my dad gasped, "you'll snot all over the place."
Lovely.
So, tonight I sit, trying not to contemplate things. I find thinking is highly overrated...kind-of like treadmills. Argh! My knee hurts...stupid door jam. Time for a small bowl of Captain Crunch and a little Pride & Prejudice.
Crud. Dallas Mavericks lost. Rangers are now down two games. Cowboys are...ugh....awful. Maybe I need a slightly bigger bowl of Captain Crunch...and a soda...and some candy corn...then something for my stomach which will undoubtedly flip sideways.
Old Ghosts Resurface
First, let me apologize for falling behind on reading blogs. Maybe I'm weak, but when either one of my parents gets so violently sick that they can barely breathe, it takes every fiber of my being to stay strong. My parents mean the world to me-- I can't stand seeing them sick...I can't even handle the thought. I just always want them to be happy and healthy. Please know that everything is getting better, but it has been a rough couple of days.
Old Ghosts Resurface...
I did want to share something y'all might find interesting...sure as heck shocked the you-know-what out of me.
Ghostly spirits are said to have easier access to the living during this time of year. What I failed to realize was the impact Halloween has on living ghosts...the kind you don't expect to hear from again...the kind that leaves a message on your phone...the kind that is supposed to be living his happily ever after.
I know one thing...this happened sooner than most thought. What a treat (meant sarcastically) he is...or a trick...or both. Haunted at Halloween...who would have thought?
Old Ghosts Resurface...
I did want to share something y'all might find interesting...sure as heck shocked the you-know-what out of me.
Ghostly spirits are said to have easier access to the living during this time of year. What I failed to realize was the impact Halloween has on living ghosts...the kind you don't expect to hear from again...the kind that leaves a message on your phone...the kind that is supposed to be living his happily ever after.
I know one thing...this happened sooner than most thought. What a treat (meant sarcastically) he is...or a trick...or both. Haunted at Halloween...who would have thought?
Son Of A Gun
Song Currently On The Radio: Nickelback—Never Gonna Be Alone.
Even though I slammed, er, closed the door on this whole The One That Never Was nonsense, it still seemed to be the topic of conversation, albeit not my conversation. I should have known that come the weekend there would be questions, comments, opinions, and just endless chatter. Mostly, it sounded like a bunch of static that I couldn't mute. I'm done. Over it. Not gonna waste any more time. I effectively tuned it all out...until one voice burst through the static like a classic trombone solo: my mom's.
“Wasn't it just last fall and winter that he cropped up again?” she asked. I nodded. “Hmm. Didn't you say he sounded really sad?” I nodded again. My mom's mouth curled into that knowing grin—the kind only a mom can get while truly conveying something without words.
I got it. It was so clear.
The Point: If you are getting ready to marry the love of your life, the one you've never gotten over, then why in heck do you call me? And if you are finally getting your happily ever after, the one you felt was stolen from you, why do you sound so dang sad?
I reckon he wanted one last phone fling, for want of a better word, yet he didn't have the guts to tell me. I don't really think he owed me anything, though some would disagree, particularly after so many years of words. It's just a matter of manners...common human decency. Seems to be a shortage of that these days.
Though I had not thought of him that way for over a year, maybe more—the wider my eyes became, the more those tides started turning—I realized this complex sideways reality with him had been nothing more than clouds in my coffee. But, in reality, maybe it's him who has been drowning in clouds of his own creation. I wish him the best, truly—he has chosen his future, and I wish him well.
As for me, well, we'll just have to wait and see, but one thing is certain: I've closed the book on this chapter of my life.
Done and dusted.
Action: Bolt added to previously closed door. Forever locked. Thank You, Mom.
Song Currently On The Radio: Mariah Carey—I Want To Know What Love Is
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