Islay Girl

I know, I wouldn't have believed it if i hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

I went on a blind date tonight. Well.semi-blind. An extremely myopic date? A legally blind date? A good friend of mine and her husband took us out to dinner under the guise of celebration, but really so they could rake him over the coals and decide if he's good enough for me. I love good friends. 

Whatever, anyway. Smart, funny, tall, cute. No love connection, I don't think, but just knowing that men like this exist and reside in the Phoenix metro area is a hopeful sign.

In other news, my Mac is suddenly acting very slow and strange and I'm worried.

In still other news, my neck is getting worse and worse. Physical therapy starts next Wednesday and it can't come soon enough.

Oh, and also, we were at Another Birthday Party today, at a little amusement park, and the Wee One, my shy Wee One, rode the kiddie roller coaster. Without me. I almost had palpitations, but she had a blast. Score one for getting out of the way and letting her have a good time.

Things I'm enjoying lately

• Goofy humor
• Some of my witty co-workers
• My dog Bea
• The Wee One's incredible maturity these days
• The Wee One's equally incredible enjoyment of tickling these days
• My new ipod pink nano
• iGoogle's NYT crossword gadget
• My new healthcare providers (herniated disc with pinched nerve: bad. awesome care: good.)
• So You Think You Can Dance, season 4 
• the countdown to the new David Sedaris book release 

Two years = Lifetime

A post from late May 2006:

The HH sent a letter from his lawyer to my lawyer saying that he didn't want to answer the questions in the interrogatories because he thought we were going to get back together.

AND that i should drop the suit because (you'll love this) 1. we had "expressed mutual affection for each other" (i think that's attorney-speak for Our Clients Slept Together) and had 2. planned a two-week family vacation in Laguna Beach.

Sigh.

If we were going to get back together, talking about it through the lawyers doesn't seem to be the way to do it.

I agree that we did talk last week, and i know he wants to stay together. And I also agree that we slept together. But while that would have fixed everything about four years ago, now? I don't think so. I'm not saying we can't talk, but jeez.

Yeah. OVER the girlfriend. Onward!

I have begun to hate the internet.

Crazy Town.

I've officially lost my mind. Can't talk about it yet. 

But in other news, when I was little, probably 10 or 11, I spent a few weeks or so Trying To Be Good. I was patient with my little sisters, I said my prayers at night, i tried to be helpful to my mom. 

After a time of Being Good, I noticed that there was no real ~bonus~ for being good. No one said, "Wow, you're really helpful." or "Gee, what's with the saintliness?"

I was getting really frustrated with that lack of recognition so I finally sidled up to my mom and asked her (in all my 10-year-old subtlety) if she had noticed anything different about me lately.

"No," she said, not looking up from making dinner. "Should I?" 

I was crushed. Not that any of it was my mom's fault, I mean, really, I wasn't so bad ~before~ trying to Be Good. It's not like I was shoplifting or smoking behind the school. 

The only thing I can remember doing that I wasn't supposed to do was going into the liquor store to buy candy at the local strip mall (I was allowed to walk to the strip mall with a friend, but I wasn't supposed to go into that store. But they had the best candy. Bubble-gum hamburgers!).

Clearly, the concept of original sin didn't sit lightly with me. 

But looking back on it, I didn't think, "Oh really, what's so bad about me to begin with?" I thought "Well, what's the point? I'll go back to bank-robbing and tripping little old ladies." Incorrigible, obviously.

It hurts a little, but mostly it's hysterically funny.

I've known for awhile that the HH has a girlfriend. 

(Out of sympathy for the erstwhile girlfriend, i will not call her names. After all, she has ~no idea~ what she's gotten herself into. Unless of course they met ~because~ of the HH's unfortunate addiction to mud-wrestling porn rather than in spite of it.)

So, the Wee One comes home today from a visit, and says that 'Daddy is always talking about his friend.' 

I know where this is going, and just want to make sure he's keeping his end of the bargain about telling me before he introduces the Wee One to any romantic interests, so I ask if she's met the friend. 

'No, but he never stops talking about her. Her name is Donna. Donna, Donna, Donna.' [big frustrated sigh with bonus eye roll]

TOO funny. 

I will admit to a bit of vertigo at the news that the inflicter of rug burns actually has a name, but then i'm quickly reminded of why we couldn't stay married (see: Article I. Inability to Act as If Parenting Had Anything to Do With Him and Article II. Abiding Affection for Hidden, Extensive Use of Porn), and I feel much better, despite still wanting to leave the country and live Anywhere But Here.

Tea in the Sahara - edited

I'm going to be hanging with these guys tonight:

But something tells me that 25 years of hard living have left them looking a bit more like this:

(that's Sting in the middle)

The Thinking Fashionista got tickets, and we pulled in another friend that we have a monthly get-together with. The difference between seeing them 25 years ago and now is that 25 years ago I wouldn't be able to breathe at the thought of being in the same state with Sting, let alone an arena with 20,000 of our closest friends. And now -- well, I'm looking forward to it, but breathing apparatus is functioning normally.

(U2 would be another story however.)

Edited to add: They were awesome. And Elvis Costello opened for them, and he was awesome. It was awesome. 

Bye-bye Pre-K

Oh, just indulge me.

When we started pre-k, back in September, I wasn't so sure I had made the right decision. The new pre-k building wasn't finished, there were code issues, there was confusion. 

Then there were the first couple of weeks of school when nothing seemed to happen but Play, and after Montessori, where every child is Doing Their Work, i was alarmed. (You would be too, if you saw the tuition bills.)

But you know? I couldn't imagine a better experience for the Wee One. From Day One she loved it (even when i wasn't so sure), and she's done so well.

 

She used to be very shy, very clingy. She used to not want to let go of my hand. But now? Now she is part of her own, safe, manageable community. And because of that community, we've both made the transition from the post-divorce no-man's-land to a place where we can count on friendships. 

And she's just learned so much. She is friendly, happy and healthy. 

I can't believe how much she's grown. 

 

I can't wait to see what's next. 

   

Comment fatigue

OK, first, I'm loving the new TypePad look. Thank you, TypePad! I'm glad I kept you in the budget.

Second: I'm having comment fatigue. At least ten times in the past few days I've written a longish comment, given it a long, baleful look and deleted it. 

I don't know if it's that I'm wondering why I'm bothering to construct thoughtful commentary to blogs that I don't really care about (not personal blogs, those are different, you all are friends), or if it's the hopelessness of sending it into the ether, or if I'm just tired. 

Work has been tiring but not particularly satisfying, and I've been putting more time and thought into it than usual. I feel like I lucked out when I got this job because I could treat work like a little microcosm of a newspaper beat and write and report and get left alone. 

Now, I don't write, I very rarely edit, and spend most of my time project managing, which really means managing personalities. Which, OK, is something I need to learn how to do, both to be more successful at work, and to handle conflict in life. 

OK, God, I get it. Thanks. 

Is there one of these for divorcees?

I'm watching the season premiere of the Bachelorette, and wondering why on earth there isn't a show called The Divorcee, wherein 25 men vie for the opportunity to spend time with a beautiful thirthysomething journalist with a child?

I'm just sayin'.