Friday, December 31, 2010

2010: a memory

A few days after, during the regular course of the day, he jokingly said that his idea of The Perfect Woman was one who sneaked out just before sunrise.
And so I said that my idea of The Perfect Man was one who would toss my bra where I could find it in the dark before I sneaked off into the night.

One of us is perfect.

Part of it was a memory.

And the rest of it was just my sick imagination going out of control.
I tend to have anxiety nightmares when I'm sick. I'm worried I won't wake up in time for work or for Thursday/Friday carpool to get the kids to school. I dream about trying to reach that goal, whatever it may be, but I never can quite make it. I wake up frustrasted several times during the night, only to find that I have several more hours before the alarm rings. And then I go back to sleep and dream it all over again.
The same thing happens if I go to bed drunk.
Not today, though. I'm off on Fridays, so I didn't have to go to work. It's Christmas Break, so I didn't have to get kids to school. I don't have to watch the grandkid today, and David doesn't have to work, so I didn't have anything to keep me worried all night.

Instead, I dreamed about violence.
Rape
Torture.
Blistered children's skin.
Chopped up staircases.
Despair.

And it was one of those dreams that lasted forever, and had all the qualities of an actual memory of an actual event. A whisper from the back of my head kept saying, "I remember this place. I remember this thing."

But I woke up. And I've gone over it a couple of times.

I'm pretty sure I don't remember it.
It never happened.
Not to me, anyway.

It was just my fever and my overactive mind creating horror stories without my permission.

Friday, December 17, 2010

I'm not washing anyone's boxers unless it's LOVE

"You better hurry up and get a man. You're not getting any younger. Pretty soon, you're going to be too old."

Meaning what, exactly? That old people can't find love? I'm only thirty-seven. What's the rush?

Or that I should just settle for any man who'll take me...

Because I'm damaged goods? Because I won't be happy without a man? Because I should start seeing things the way everybody around me sees them?

Life's not worth living unless you have a significant other?

I remember what it's like to have a lover and to not actually be inlove. To enjoy one another...to an extent.
(I love ya baby, but you're stinkin' up my bathroom...)

Should I settle for...((shudder))...mediocrity?

And, not to be making excuses for myself, but it's been hard for me to attract a man my own age who doesn't come off as somewhat of a pedophile. Even one of my lovers, J.T. who is just four months younger than I am, told me once that he feels like a pervert every time he looks at me. And I've known him since I was fourteen!
Alot of people have told me over the years that I'm so lucky to look so young, and when I get older, I"ll feel like it's a blessing. But they don't understand that I actually AM older, and still feel CURSED.

And anyway, this plea for my union with a man comes from a self-centered source for a selfish reason. The Meatheads have decided that I'll be in a lot better mood once I'm getting laid pretty regular. And then I'll treat them better.
So I guess I'll try to improve my  attitude on the job.
It'll probably work in my favor to do so, because I have a crush on someone in one of the other departments. And I've heard that a smile makes you more attractive.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

And the other was a steamy romance novel.

One of the books I read yesterday stayed with me through the night. It was called Fireflies in December by Jennifer Erin Valent. The story was elegantly told in first person. The main character was a thirteen year-old girl (Jessie) whose father had adopted her best friend (Gemma) after Gemma's parents perished in a house fire. Jessie was a white girl. Gemma was a colored girl. This caused all sorts of problems for the family. In 1932 Backwoods Southern America, coloreds and whites just did not mix. I got the book as a freebie on my Kindle. I will probably hunt it down and pay actual money for a hard copy just so I can loan it out to friends. It is a magnificent story. I could not put it down.




Today, however, I think I'll try some oil painting. I was at the craft store last week, Christmas shopping, when a nice couple helped me pick out some paints. The man was the painter and his girlfriend was obviously proud of his talent. They kept me from buying the super expensive stuff, and gave me advice on how to clean the brushes.
The man told me, "I bet you're a great painter. I can usually tell by looking." His girlfriend nodded emphatically behind him. Of course, I'm going to take that as a compliment, unfounded as it may be. A girl just can't get enough compliments, ya know.

Wish me luck.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Three Sons, One Daughter

    Blackeyed peas aren't as excellent in chili as actual chili beans. But we have no chili beans. So we make do. Matthew says, "It's all good." I can't believe he's the same kid who used to refuse to eat anything that wasn't a peanut butter sandwich.
    Jake is the invisible boy once again. I have no idea if his girlfriend is pregnant. They won't answer their phone. Surely, they would tell me, right?
David's "Christmas present" to me came in the form of a handed down hand-down. It's 3'x4' oil painting of houses upon houses painted on the back of a piece of panelboard and frame-mounted on 1"x2"s. The colors are bold and beautiful, and it fits nicely on the wall above my desk.







    Sara's apartment has been dubbed "The G Spot." Facebook kept telling me she was there. I secretly thought it was some kind of coffeehouse (or lesbian bar?) until I clicked it and realized the truth.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

I'm not a Scrooge, but I hate the Christmas Season.



I think I'm treading that thin line between bravery and stupidity tonight. I have been drinking (tequila), and I'm posting anyway. Luckily, I am not totally snockered. Just a little on the happy side.
Tonight was our Store Christmas Party. I have discovered two things.
 Acapulco's Mexican Restaurant serves a damn good Margarita, and Nune (noonie)
(from the Seafood Department) is a great conversationalist.  I have no idea if I am a good conversationalist, as I have indulged myself just a little too much with Mr. Cuervo.
I didn't win anything in the drawing, as usual.
I came home, and the dog has knocked over the trash can and claimed an empty bottle of eye drops.
I don't know whose eye drops they were, but they belong to the dog now.
Also, Ricky's wife might not love her job as much as she ought to. I would love to work with eight year olds all day, but all she cheered about was the fact that the school year was almost half-way over. (Maybe she's preggo. That always made me cranky.)

I went to the Dentist yesterday on an emergency visit. (Not my favorite thing to do...)

Friday, December 3, 2010

Bit, Bitter, Bitterest

I am a single mom. I work in a grocery store where I have worked full-time for thirteen years. It's Christmastime. The kids' father is $87,602.25 BEHIND in child support payments. I have some debt, but I'm working on it. We're not exactly rolling in money, ya know?


And still, a person thinks it's cool to stand there with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other and ask to  borrow money from me.

Equipped with a real sob story too.
She and her four ADULT roommates have all lost their jobs, boyfriend moved out, car got repossessed, no food in the house, no cable TV (and no kiddos either, I might add). Last pack of smokes.

WAAAHHH!



I could go on and on with this, but what's the point, really?



Here, I'll pay you to go away and leave me alone.



Merry Christmas.
.
.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Bugs in the Brew

An annoying thing happened to me this morning.
I overestimated the amount of coffee grounds I can scoop into the basket.
So naturally, when the basket filled with hot water, the grounds rose to the top of the filter and spilled over. A few lucky ones escaped out the little round hole at the bottom of the basket and landed in the big glass decanter, all unbeknownst to me. 
I cannot wait long for the first cup.
I must have it NOW!
I secretly wish that you could absorb caffeine into your system simply by standing over the coffeepot and inhaling the aroma.
But that doesn't work.
You have to drink it.
So I sneak a cup right away, not allowing those pesky little coffee grounds to settle to the bottom of the pot.
And then I pour my fancy shmancy Amaretto creamer which has been on manager's special for $1.79 for about three months now, into my heavenly nectar.
And then I stir.




It is so disappointing to see the tiny little black grounds swirling around the top of my brew like little bugs enjoying a nice swim.
I want them out of there, but I can't catch the slippery little suckers on my spoon.
I try with the tips of my fingers, but no success.
I pour out a little of the coffee, hoping the black little buggers leap over the rim into the sink, but it seems they enjoy the mug. They swim to the back of the rim, refusing to leave the warmth of my morning java.
I can almost hear them conspiring with one another...against me.
Dare I declare WAR?

yes.

This is War.

Get out of my coffee, you gross little bugs!

I scoop again with my spoon the three of them that I can see and with a loud "HA!" I practically slam them into the sink!
I win!!! I win!!!

And it wasn't even HARD!
Those coffee grounds got nothing on me...

And then three more rose to the surface.
I blink twice and look again disbelievingly
.(Are they mating and reproducing in there?)

So I decide to use the corner of a thick paper towel to capture the remaining critters. These particular ones have no trouble crawling right onto my extra absorbant Viva Big Roll towel.
I have accomplished bug-free brew.
I am very proud.
I drink the entire mug with a smile on my face and a smug sense of victory.
It is a very good cup of coffee.
Probably the best I've ever had.


Until the last sip, that is.
It was then that I realized that, yes, they were mating and reproducing in there. They must have been, because there were about forty or fifty more coffee grounds in the bottom of the cup, jeering and mocking me with their tiny little buggy voices.

So today, I am going to go to the Chocolate Shoppe.
They sell chocolate covered coffee beans in clear cellophane bags with a pretty little bow on top.
I'm going to set my bag right next to the coffee can.