What was I roaring about?

That was almost like, um, work.

I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that I made 16,000 copies today. I had to copy a handbook to be distributed on Tuesday. Time is in a crunch because I found out this "job" was still open very late into the annual timeline of duties.

Of course, as the mere, unpaid volunteer, I had to leave the fancy copier to the paid help, so I largely used the Riso. This "copier" is supposedly cheaper and is used for large jobs. Unfortunately, this piece of shit only copies on one side, sends pages flying and makes tidy piles (to be refed theoretically without jamming) impossible, does not collate, and does not staple.

If I wanted double-sided, I had to run the lot through again. If I want to collate, I must have a collating party. If I want to staple, I have to organize a stapling party. And a counting and distribution party.

And if I want anyone to come to this menial and manual party, I must find and invite them myself. Guess where I'll be Monday.

I didn't mention before a huge reason I am doing this job. The women who have held this position before me each did a fabulous job and I have the utmost respect, especially as I get my feet wet. They are foremost in my mind. This program has benefited my son like no other. I am "paying it back" to those who provided for him.

And earning karma by the ream.

Hear me roar

Ya know, there's the adage about stay-at-home moms and boredom. "Oh, I could never stay at home, I would get too bored," is what I would often hear. Parallel that with, "You are going back to work when J enters school, right?" Either way, I found it rather insulting that others questioned my use of time, as if to imply that I somehow enjoy boredom. The translation, instead, is that I am fairly good at keeping busy.

 

I won't say that I function in a world without boredom;I blog for goodness sake and read blogs and perch myself at the computer. I can keep myself busy even as I never watch TV or eat bonbons. Maybe stay-at-home-dom is best for the more introverted mom who doesn't derive energy from others and the ones doing the judging are the ones needing others to get them out and about. Whatever works. For me, I guess the computer screen is usually my water cooler.

 

But, because there's always a but, I found myself at loose ends these last few weeks after J started school. My art classes and my school reading volunteer job hadn't started up yet. So I contemplated what I should be doing to feel busy and I got inspired. What I wanted to do is a very large project at school that spans many months and it had the leadership position open, so I took it. Because I've been involved on the periphery of this project for three years, I have eased myself into doing the whole shebang. Although she didn't want the overall role again, the leader from last year will be helping me and will be a great source of knowledge, so I feel like the bases will be covered one way or another.

 

I am very excited!

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In response to your overwhelming demand

I present one plain khaki jacket, size 1X, for your viewing pleasure. Come to think of it, I guess it is actually a blazer.

(For some reason, the recent update on Picassa rendered uploading blog pictures obsolete, hence the picture account. Anybody else having trouble with Picassa accessing the Internet or uploading on Blogger?)

The only subliminal attraction I can figure for the Jacket of Love, as it is not emblazoned with "HOT MOMMA" in rhinestones on the back, is the loopy machine embroidery on the breast pockets which mimic pert, upward-directed nipples quite unlike my own.

That's all I got.

Family outings

In the two or so years following our separation, ex, J, and I would go out to eat sometimes. Occasionally, it would be McD's and revolve around kiddie sports. Other times, it was more along the lines of TGIF, good food, but not too fancy. If memory serves, it'd been over two years since that'd had happened. Both of our lives had changed dramatically around then. Usually when J went with his dad, I was quickly out the door, too, so there was less lingering or opportunity.

True to his ADHD form, ex got his days mixed up on Friday, prepared for the Scout camping trip that wasn't until Saturday. He needlessly took off work to hurriedly pack gear, then arrived here after school to take J.

Okay, I'll admit that I'm glad the overnighter fell on his weekend. A year ago when ex took him, it was the first time they went camping together and ex was like a kid being able to (over)buy gear in preparation. J and I had been successfully going out for several summers. Yeah, I loved that he associated camping with his mom, not his Eagle Scout dad.

When ex realized he had his days confused and a free evening (his wife had gone to her son's game an hour away), plus he didn't want to battle traffic home, so he invited us out to dinner and a movie. It took a lot of suggesting back and forth to arrive on a consensus. My ever responsible lush self wanted to go someplace we could hit a happy hour, drink beer, and walk to the movie. This could have been done where my new movie crush worked, but that would have been too complicated, so I chose someplace else that has incredible appetizers for $2.95 during happy hour. We got four - (cough) variety for the kid (cough) - and we were well satisfied.

The movie we'd agreed on was J's choice, a cartoon, of course. The movie I wanted to see was the Jet Li one; J and I have been on a NetFlix Kung Fu kick (ha!) lately with Jackie Chan. However, when we got in line to buy the tickets, I saw that the flick ex wanted to see, Flyboys, was starting soon. Before going out, I'd ruled against it, 14% on Rotten Tomatoes, but when I got home and looked again, it was up to 30%. Of course, hard headed ex didn't care about anyone else's evaluations, so he wanted to see it anyway. The dialogue and much of the acting deserves the <30%, but the aerial dog fights were a lot of fun. That it's based on fact is gravy.

I have found many times that if I let someone else choose the movie, I get something unexpected out of it. Not only did I get to see Jean Reno (I whispered to ex, "Remember that assassin movie with the girl and the plant?"), I got to share in something J really enjoys, flying. He's flown planes on computers most of his life. It was also good witnessing some of the history of early military flying. And it was great hearing the bits of French and translating for J.

Best of all, my son sat between his two parents, alternating between our arms during the movie and between our booth seats during happy hour. I realized that he does do more baby talk/baby act junk with his father, then I pointed out to them both that I suspected it and how it should change. That was the best benefit, to realize how much more mature my nurtuing makes him, although I'm sure part of what he is experiencing there relates to competing for attention with a baby sister.

Just for the record, when I went to the one hour meeting that was at the beginning of the Scout camp out on Saturday and contemplated how I was spending entirely too much time with him over the weekend, ex oddly complimented me on my khaki jacket. It is a magnet.

Coming out the woodwork

Where are they coming from?

A couple nights after the last one, but probably because I was wearing the same rather conservative simple cotton shirt and khaki jacket, it happened again.

I'd begun to buy some scallions. Then I looked at the price, 10 for $10. In shock, I began removing my bundle from the little produce bag to put them back. I was embarrassed, but I ain't spendin' no buck on a lil ol' clump o' onions. I have my principles; I could dig them up from the neighbor's backyard for less than that.

Just then, the produce guy walked up with a merry grin. He asked how I was doing, if there was anything he could help me with. I grumbled that no green onions should cost a buck a clump. He said to look again, it was 10 for $1 and I said no look again, it's 10 for $10. Then he admitted he had no clue how much they should cost. I said they should be two or three clumps for a buck. And even that's too much, because they're just for me and I won't even eat half of them before they go bad.

He laughed and said in traitor-like fashion that I should go to the other grocery store. I laughed and said that as I drove, I debated this one, that one, this one, that one. The deciding factor was that that one is closing and (he said it in unison with me) everything's expired. So I went to this one, knowing it'd cost more.

Chatting more, I learned that this is his second job; he has a respectable day job and owns two homes locally. Wow, a responsible guy! He has a daughter in college who got a four year academic ride; she wants to go to an expensive graduate school and he has the bucks, because he'd saved up for the first time around that wasn't needed. A guy who's a saver!

Then he asked if I had kids and I said I have a nine year old. He was bug-eyed, saying something about me starting young. Then I got bug-eyed and said I was 35 when he was born. After he pushed back in his bug eyes, he asked how old I am and it was a 'do the math' moment when he realized we're the same age.

See, people I really do look young. He said he thought I was 25. And I'm agonna change my sidebar back.

Later, he, too, performed the infamous boyfriend feeler statement with resounding success.

Maybe I'll go to the movies and shop for produce just for jollies.

Not wont for topics

just want for writing inclination. Unusual.

I was busy one day with J being ill and then not so ill, so requiring entertainment.

The next wee early morning, especially, then next two days as well, have preoccupied me with a sick cat. I know it was my fault, but I am getting over that as she seems to be eating again; thank big hoochie momma goodness she'd never really forgone drinking these past days. Usually I feed her two cans of food each night along with the pill for her kidneys. The pill also serves as an appetite stimulant, hence the two Fancy Feasts, which will oft not be enough and her deaf and obnoxious highness, yet weight-maintaining, self will be yowling by 5am. Gone or not, she likes it fresh and moist, much like many others in many other genres.

Quite misguided, Tuesday night I was so sleepy, I figured I'd get up when she cried to feed/pill her. I woke up instead around 4 or 5am to her complete digestive tract distress, merely a nice way to say "both ends." That's what happens when she gets over hungry, her insides convulse. (Also a reason I didn't want to stay at P's or Glen's for extended amounts of time.) This time, however, she didn't bounce back as quickly as usual. Jeez, she is 18, so I give her many breaks on that and know she could crash quickly. Finally today, she's almost up to normal eating, although J was worried yesterday and wanted to take her to the vet. Any time she spends much time under my bed, she doesn't feel well and he knows that signal. Not wanting to jostle her further, I have allowed her to waft about with the scent of poo on her tail. Ahh, life is good. My stinky cat is alive.

Speaking of which, Glen did email back on Tuesday, offering up some cute microwave bowls, of which I will have none.

In other, but sort of related news, I was hit on. It was kind of teenager-style, but oh so appreciated. Remember the movie ticket guy who thought I was so nice, he gave me senior citizen discounts and I was rather dubious about the honor? He did it twice for me, then did it once when I brought Glen there. I called myself his favorite senior citizen. This week, although it'd been three weeks since I'd been, he excitedly spied me right away. He returned back my unused credit card to me, so I got the something-for-nothing discount, which is even better than the senior citizen one. Not knowing his mind set and thinking of us as mere movie ticket buddies, I said something about having broken up with the guy from last time, so I was alone. Boy, talk about fresh and moist meat! He then sat with me in the otherwise empty movie theater and attempted to woo me. Of course, I am less than wooable right now, but it was invigorating.

He has good English, but has only been here for four years. He's probably 6'2" and a youthful slender, but not lanky. He looks like Zah.ara P-J, high forehead with large dark eyes, a charming guy, tall with a big smile.

At the ticket booth and in the seats, I kept telling him that I am too old. He said he's 30, implying that he looks young, which he does. I asked how old he thought I was and he replied 32, 33. (I should have mounted him right then.) I said that I really am old, I'm 4-#$%^&* and he said that's not too old, I am very attractive, have a great figure. He was working it. Several times, he asked me out for the weekend. As he left to go back to work, I told him I'd think about it. As I left the flick I looked over at him. He was with customers, then jerked his head up, realizing my movie was out, wide eyed, spying for me. When our eyes connected, I gave him a smile and a wave. Enough for now.

Sick day

It's too early in the year for a sick day, but that's where we are.

 

He told me last night the equivalent of, "I think I threw up a little in my mouth during math class." Similar happened last night and we brought out the Pepto and Advil.

 

They seemed to do the trick. He slept well, but did not wake up well. When I asked him how he felt this morning, he gave me a wordless swimming sea snake bobbing hand and wrist move, which I think is supposed to mean, "so so." It's too cute to show him the rocking splayed hand move the rest of us use.

 

He doesn't seem to have a fever, although his ears are unusually red. I know there's something going on in there and I'd rather not have him puke at school or get anybody else sick. [ETA: he made me take his temp and it was normal.]

 

So we're both doing a lot of reading today: he, Magic Tree House Mummies; me, finishing up Dave Egg.ers, my twin.

 

Although I don't read any official Mommy Bloggers, I don't see how they do it, make this all so interesting day after day and at a profit to boot. Now that I'm not dating, where the heck am I going to get material? Truth be told, boring is good, very good, edging me back to my old self where everything was deliciously even and predictable.

 

 

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Getting un-poled

Per my intentions, I did end things with Glen several days ago. I basically said that he seemed to want a relationship and that was more than I could give. It was the truth and substantial enough, but not the whole truth.

 

I don't remember ever having officially broken things off by email before. In days gone by, I would say it was cowardly. Right now, I think it was a good choice. Me not talking to him for several days clued him in and, heck, we'd only been going out a little more than a month. He's a nice enough person, but I didn't owe him anything, especially considering how I've felt he'd been starting to try to control me. In other words, I didn't want to give him the chance to talk me out of anything or me buy the cute little microwave bowls, to reference recent Tertia.

 

I haven't heard back from him and don't expect to.

 

My son and I have had movie marathon days around here - mostly rented DVD and NetFlix - however, I was looking for something in the big movie that I could share with J. I decided on the Will Farr.ell Ri.cky Bo.bby movie, with the condition that he not cultivate any bad habits or look at any bad parts. He's seen many PG-13s, but usually they are archeological action adventures with relatively unbloody violence, things he handles just fine. I had no idea about how bad the sexual content might be in a PG13; turns out, not so bad. J covered his eyes for two big kisses: woman on man and man on man. He got all the PG13 bases covered, I think.

 

There was a lot of trash talk, but here's one great line that would probably be funny to all sexual orientations.

 

Cue NASCAR Announcer:

Girard is sitting on the pole position, which is a statement of fact and in no way a comment on his sexual orientation.

 

Okay, out of context, it loses a bit, but it does remind me I need to change teams.

 

[Kidding. No relationships around here any time soon.]

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Free association meme

Thanks, D-Pal.

My words, my instant reactions.

1. Jacket - okay, smart ass, I refuse to say "straight" and I will go with my real first thought: khaki - I have two I got last season and feel instantly dressy putting them on.

2. Bury - the hatchet, something I don't do very well

3. Lexus = asshole - if there's a car behaving badly, it is a Lexus.

4. Pansy - cool - I enjoy pansies for them being one of the few flowers preferring cool weather, fall or spring. I never plant pansies, however, because I always think the weather will change (become too hot or too cold) before I get my money's worth from them. I am always wrong.



If any of you choose to do:
1. Pocket
2. Edge
3. Grain
4. Can

My pants are falling off of me

I'd weighed myself last week and was up 2.5lbs. My cycle's been so irregular, I wasn't sure if I picked an ill week to weigh. I have these weighing rules: morning, no food or water, no clothes, preferably after a BM, and not the week before my period. Some of those are easier to control than others.

 

So I weighed myself again on Monday and was down those 2.5 and I raised that to 3.5, so I am over the 20lbs lost mark since Thanksgiving. In fact, in about 10lbs, I'll be at my fighting weight of when I began dating P almost three years ago. Although far from thin, I felt rather sexy at that weight. And it means that I should still have some suitable clothing around when I get there. I didn't dress in style three years ago, so it won't matter for now, either.

 

As this weight has come off, I have just allowed it to happen. Most of the work was done by the thyr*xine, so I can't really take the credit, except walking had certainly helped since I'd plateaued in June after lowering my dosage. Now I contemplate having goals concerning the loss, which would add an element of pressure.

 

However, I sure would like it to be 30lbs by this Thanksgiving. Just for old time's sake. It would certainly cap of a year of big changes and give a positive spin to it all.

 

PS - got a subject line "????" email from Glen last night, but no call. I thought he'd gotten the message, but I'll have to be more direct about the not wanting the relationship thing. With the changing weather, I've had such sinus headaches for a few days that I haven't wanted to tackle much.

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Working up the courage

Today will probably be the end of Glen and I. Unusual, he's emailed me three times this week and called twice. Last night, he called after 10pm (i.e., too late), probably to finally get around to inquire about tonight, visitation night.

 

I have grown to resent him seeming to default that we have a relationship, although I've clearly stated that that's not what I want. He thinks he has some measure of control over my time, as if I were committed. Some snafus on Saturday regarding the timing of my visit there, or rather me daring to reserve some of my time for me to paint with friends, got me a whiny response that put me off.

 

When I finally went over there, which was in time to do what he wanted, but not in time to have sex beforehand, the day was fine - couple bars, sports on TV, great band. Like I said, he picks good things to do, so it's hard turning that part down. Saturday, he behaved while we were out, except once when he whined that I wasn't watching the same game he was, but that didn't stop me. Other than that, we didn't have a bad time, but the lead in to the day bothered me. I am allowed to paint, gosh darn it.

 

We got in late and I was tired, so I stayed over, but rejected advances, verbally beforehand and physically during. My PMS had turned the corner and, although not queasy or in extreme pain, I did not feel my best and was not interested, stating the rules well ahead of time. I remember studies from years ago that flowing and/or PMSing women have larger body spaces. Suffice it to say that I made that clear.

 

After a night of no sleep on an uncomfortable, sloping, full-sized, crowded mattress and his cat driving me crazy, there was barely a word as I left. Although we did hug, he didn't even say goodbye at the door - I thought he was following me to my car, but I just heard the door click behind me, so I figured he'd gotten the message. Maybe the extra emails, which were completely appropriate, interesting factoids relating to stuff we'd discussed, have been testing the waters, but I really thought he got the message Sunday morning. I smiled driving home.

 

Anyway, it's best I do it before he gets even more relational. If not today, then by the weekend. Then, I hope, no dating for a while. Slap me around if I complain.

 

 

(Satisfied more with the length, Ron? We all know that size is everything.)

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Just so you know

I am still eeking it out with my old hairspray, even though I've purchased new. Want to savor every drop.

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I had the best of intentions

Over a month ago, I pasted in my sidebar the blogroll from Bloglines. When the hot links didn't transfer, I resolved to put them in and keep them current. Instead, my half effort made the sidebar a cluttered mess and I must defer to linking to Bloglines in keeping me organized. I am in awe the people who actually keep an active blogroll in their sidebar.

So, I've cleaned things up.

I also had to change my profile to show J age increase and decided that the overall sidebar needed to better reflect my present, not my past. So some extraneous things were eliminated. I am switching focus. Cob webs are cleared this day of remembrance and moving on.

That was strange

My hairspray, on it's last legs, smelled like pot.

Needless to say, I then used more than usual.

Funny balls

Sometimes I wish P were still around to make me laugh - for his funny little sounds and his continuing jokes or understanding of our mutual jokes. The man was hilarious and made me funnier, too. We fed off each other.

J and I were listening to the radio the other day. In the milieu of five people talking at once during the morning show, one made a noise that reminded J of P. J exclaimed, "Did you hear that? It sounded like P!" I said I didn't and asked what sound. He replied, "Doh?" My son doesn't think of Homer Simpson with a good "doh?" He thinks of P.

I miss many sounds and expressions. He called J a knucklehead, but not any normal knucklehead, it was more like a knucklehEEEEAAd, almost like an evangelist [insert verb for P's version - none describe: shouting, sing songing, raspily exclaiming, humorously leering, sillily hissing, whatever] "hEEEEAAl." He changed many words to have odd inflections which became normal parts of his speech. There are a plethora of examples, but it sure is hard to write out sounds. Sometimes I can still hear his fake "I'm so sexy" porn come hither sound and cream my panties.

What brought this post up was a conversation I had with J yesterday. He said that his dad declared the other evening that Baby Sister would play baseball when she gets bigger. J actually said that he and Ex's New Wife looked at each other and said that girls play softball.

Oh, to ride a child to make up for your own deficiencies...

P would be getting a good chuckle out of this one. Ex wants kid #2 to use all the equipment that kid #1 used and has now abandoned after over-buying dad insisted that kid #1 overstay his welcome in a sport not suited for him - something P and I figured was due to all the equipment that ex had purchased, because ex sucked at baseball and he desperately wanted J to be good. I'll admit, though, that I came to ex's defense and reminded J that lots of girls played on teams with him, especially the 5-7 age range, so maybe she'll start with baseball and see where she wants to go after that.

A note for record:

Ex: I agreed with him for once if only for the feminist-ish right of girls to choose between base- and softball. (I fully realize both are patriarchial, so it's a moot point anyway.)

P: laughing and fucking. Two things I still miss about him. (In other words, fuck patriarchial. Literally. Loudly.)

What an evening

Tonight, J managed to accidently turn over his plate of spaghetti onto the floor and to knock off his favorite snowglobe, Miss Liberty purchased a few months ago, from the bedside table. What an evening of disappointments and messy clean ups. We're going to have glitter remnants for the long term.

 

He kept insisting that we should take the snowglobe to WalMart and they could fix it. I replied that it's not a pair of glasses and there's no snowglobe fixing department there. He was desperate to fix this one; a substitute found online would not suit. I could just eat him.

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TransssitioNnnnn Mannnnn (sound wave)(sound wave)(sound wave)

We went out last night and I was dreading it a bit. I actually had a better time than anticipated. Maybe he was unusually quiet on Sunday, perhaps a little uncomfortable around J and at the festival, although it was all his idea and J was pretty cooperative. Maybe he was mad about something. Before Sunday, I had never equated him to being like Joan's husband, a drag on her coat tails. Maybe I was overly sensitive somehow, too.

 

The roller coaster thing won't work out for this Saturday, so we've shelved it until next month. I feel more comfortable about putting it off until then, but getting to that was a process that frustrated me, as I was pretty flexible/unvested about the whole thing. Me being flexible isn't me being indecisive; it's me not really caring one way or another and deferring to someone who cares. In this process, he finally admitted that he is indecisive. I finally admitted, "I don't do indecisive well." I threw something in there about "backbone" for good measure to fair indicate back what I prefer instead; decisiveness is a pet peeve. I believe Getty Lee: "If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice."

 

I feel better about him, but just hours beforehand, my therapist declared, "He must be transition guy," and I agreed. I know he's good for the shorter term. However, I also need to be, "Miss Let It Go Because It Clearly Wasn't Meant To Work Woman," and I don't have the best track record at that.

 

On Saturday, we'll go to a sports bar and watch his favorite college team; I'm not a fan of his team, although I respect them, and if anything I always have enjoyed watching the other team. Further, I've been such a fan of pro football for so many years, I know I'll miss that aspect, as I haven't watch college football in a long time. Don't worry, I'll make it somehow. (Tongue in cheek there for the lingering without senses of humor.) BTW, Invincible is incredible.

 

Unrelated to this and after the movie, he was trying to push me about a very personal issue and it made me uncomfortable. I told him that I can talk about sex or fucking or blow jobs, but I cannot talk about/accommodate this. I said that if he were to feel verbally pushed like this (and stating that it was not the first time he'd pushed me like this about a subject he didn't understand) and have how he feels changed, he'd be angry about it. This actually resulted in a few tears (mine) as I explained again about my take on the situation. He said he didn't get it and I guess I appreciated his voicing that, but I never try to make sense to others when the subject hits this close to home; it only needs to make sense to me. I don't need someone else's pushing, rationalizing, similarity, or coping skills.

 

No, it wasn't about breastfeeding in public.

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Evaluations and minor frustrations

J started school and thinks his teacher is really nice. I have high hopes. Back In School Night is coming up.

 

Because the construction is finished and we finally have a light with a button, I need to start walking him to/from school as part of my exercise program as a prudent use of time. However, I really like walking with Norma and her son in the later evenings, although her son and my son get in trouble together going too far away on their bikes. J wants to walk not ride anyway (in part to be nosy about our conversation we think), so I should try that mode of travel if it doesn't hamper us in other ways. We've already gone the scooter route, but it doesn't work when Ben is on a bike going faster. However, it works well if J is alone with us. Logistics.

 

Anyway, I am learning that walking an hour-ish in the evening isn't conducive to getting homework done. I need to force him to finish up before walking as an incentive. I know the June Cleaver thing is to make a kid do homework the second they get off the bus, but I figure they've been at it all day and deserve a break. Need to find a compromise. Or literally ride it out until it's too cold.

 

For the third Wednesday in a row, ex is going to be late picking up J. At least he called in advance this time. Glen and I are going to have a quick dinner and a movie, the football one, so his choosing, but I'm sure I'll like it, at the very least, like it more than The I11usionist.

 

In talking to Norma, I've realized more concisely the things I like about Glen and the things I don't. He has a knack for choosing fun things to do - good dates, good family things, he even wants to take me roller coaster riding on Saturday. Thing is, once there, he's no fun. I really thought we could work as activities partners with some benefits, but I think that would imply that I like spending time with him.

 

He makes strange, derogatory comments about situations and people, like breastfeeding mothers, that radiate such bad energy to me; I wish I could remember more examples. The comments are not really directed at me, except he appears to not understand my most basic of statements/jokes and then I have to explain everything and it winds up feeling sour. This is strange dynamic is magnified on the phone. He'll say something and I think he is cooperatively fishing for ideas on what to do/how to do them, then I have other ideas to run by him, I chat some because he's not talking, then there's a five second pause I create on purpose, and he finally fucking tells me his real intention, what he really wanted from the outset. Drives me fucking crazy. No need to go around the block if you can go right next door, buddy.

 

Norma is of the mind that everybody has good and bad and you see how much of the bad you can minimize; she sounds like a Realtor around here: attempt minimize the bad in the property you're viewing. I've said it many times that I don't expect perfection in people/relationships, but jeez you have to understand each other's jokes and not be negative/critical all the time. I can handle introverted, but not carping.

 

Further, he radiates a complete lack of confidence, a nervous laugh accompanies each statement as he fears owning his words/ideas and he walks slumped over with his hands in his pockets. The good thing is that we three at the festival over the weekend all perfectly wanted to do the same things at the same time - food, shows, leave - and that was comfortable, so the hands in the pockets while walking to the right places and doing the right things is a good thing. I can also see my son's interovertedness in him and they have a commonality because of it, although me son has more life and interest that I hope he doesn't lose. I'm fishing, can you tell? I don't think I'd want Glen as his role model.

 

What was acute to me this weekend was how much being with him reminded me of my old friend Joan's husband and how him not talking and him riding her energetic, lively coat tails (my term, my pet peeve, my situation now) drove her crazy. Her husband didn't help plan activities much, so Glen is one up on that, but when a guy like that talks, I think it ironically carries more weight as they attempt to hide in the shadows and when it is so often negative and delivered with such sharpness (kind of a 'get in there and get out' mentality to speech), it is not a pretty picture.

 

Sigh. I want a good one who laughs at my jokes, tells good jokes, has a similar sense of timing, likes to plan/go/do, and has enough disposable income to have fun. Is he out there?

 

Norma is a bit pessimistic and figures there are always ones out there worse than Glen.

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What not to say

He: Eww. Did you see the woman breastfeeding behind me?
Me: Nooo?
He: Eww.
Me: You realize it is for food, right? It is not sexual.
He: Yeah, well, that's beside the point. It's in public.
Me: No, there is no point except it being food for a child. I don't care if she has the whole thing hanging out; it is food for a child when a child is hungry.
He: Eww.
Me: Don't dis a breastfeeding mother. Don't do it.
He: ...

Now I didn't go into the tirade about me pumping for seven months and how I would have loved the simplicity of a boob and an eager mouth with no plastic intervening, especially out in public.

Sometimes it is so evident that he is childless by choice.

He finally met mine today and I did no breastfeeding in public to celebrate the occasion. Otherwise, it went fairly well. They're both sweet, unassuming introverts, peas in a pod if they would reach out. Well, J did reach out and gave Glen a neck rub. Glen didn't know what to make of it, so I whispered to smile and act like it feels good. I kind of feel that way around Glen, too.

Canned, predictable, yawn

There is no trick. The I11usionist is just plain boring, the worst movie I've paid to see in quite some time, to include M0nster House. We actually turned to each other during the flick and said, "This is boring," and he contemplated whether or not we should leave. However, I'm too much of a die hard for that, plus I'd paid.

[Per our "usual" pattern, (being that we're not in a relationship and do not have any real routines and I resist all such implications although he might meet my son this weekend, because he had such a good idea for something we all should do together over the holiday), I paid for the movie and he the dinner. Yes, I get the long end of that stick, but I like the sense of contribution nonetheless, while still getting a steak out of it.]

Drugs are rampant. The reviewers (74%) at Rotten Tomatoes are high. The select reviewers (87%) are even higher. Perhaps they were actually mesmerized by Edw@rd N*rton's overacting and he extracted positive reviews like a bunny from a hat.

Skip it. You'll thank me.