Category Archives: SCARY!!

FB aka SNWMD (social networking weapon of mass destruction)

Saturday night I hit my local little neighborhood tavern for some live music, dancing, and social interaction. Walk in with my friend, S, and her husband. Not too busy here yet, but I’m happy to be among friends. S immediately sees another chick she knows. I don’t know said chick, but after they’re finished with their hello hugs, I smile and say “Hi”, reaching out my hand and introducing myself properly in that oh-look-we-have-a-mutual-friend friendly way. I can’t help but notice mutual friend chick happens to be a beautiful woman with vivid red hair…just gorgeous! Yay Chickie!

Ms. Chickie-poo instantly gives me a look. Eeeek… And I mean a look: a hateful, I wish I could shove you down a 500 foot razor blade slide and land you into a pool of rubbing alcohol kinda look. Whoaaaaa! I’m absolutely thrown…wtf? I don’t even know you lady…what is your problem here? Let me tell ya, it was NOT subtle in any way either. It was bold, blatant, and totally unapologetic. It was so horrendous, the nasty smell of sheer hate instantantly permeated around us; she had a look on her face which even resembled the twisted, painful look one might have were one trapped in an elevator full of horribly offensive gas. It happened so instantaneously and noticeably that even S stepped back a bit in surprise. Yeah…awwwwkwarrd!
I didn’t ask any questions. I’m not 9 anymore; I refuse to deal with these type of senseless things. Weird as hell? Ummm yeah. Do I really give a damn? Nahh. I just accept my fate-of-hate and go have a seat alone several feet away, giving the two their space to catch up, chat, hug, and whatnot. I’m certain I don’t know her at all and therefore, whatever the problem is, it is without a doubt, her problem and has nothing at all to actually do with me.

Few moments later, S comes to sit next to me and says, “wow..that was uncomfortable” Yeah, ya think? What’s her deal?

Apparently, I “know chickie-poo’s boyfriend”. Hmm…I do? Okay….I know lots of people…that could certainly be…but…umm….still, what the hell?

Yeah, it gets better… Not only do I apparently know Ms. Chickie-poo’s loverface, but I (brace yourself here people because all lines of morals, boundaries, and common decency are just about to get crossed, eliminated, skipped over, and possibly destroyed)…

I not only know loverface, but I (deep breath)…..……POSTED ON HIS FACEBOOK WALL!

And you know what? I really did! Yeah, I did this. I posted on her loverface’s wall. Yup, right there for all to see I typed four or five words essentially saying, hello, how are things with ya… RIGHT ON HIS FACEBOOK. I admit to this debauchery. Yes, I am a Facebook Whore. I confess I’m just wicked to the core like that. Mmmhhmm. Call the firing squad, grab the noose, gather the town folk, hold onto your husbands, brothers, computers, hooker stilettos…snatch your loved one’s password and quickly get to the business of friend editing. Go ahead and start embroidering those three scarlet red letters “FBW” too!

Because. I. Am. Guilty. As. Hell. Here.

Yeahhh….and you wanna know something else? I’m not even sorry. I don’t feel guilty. And yeah dammit, I’d do it again. I mean, I WILL do it again. Go ahead, pin those damned letters right on me. There’s no shame in my Facebook game. I post on people’s walls. I do it pretty much every day…sometimes several scandalous times a day even….yeah. And I’ve no intention of stopping. Beware: you (or worse yet your lova’face!) could be next!

So after this little “faux pas” of mine was explained to me via S, Chickie-poo proceeds back over to “chat” with S and me. And wow she was on a mission!  I lost count after like the 17th time she said “my boyfriend”. Umm, you know my boyfriend. Yeah, you posted on my bofriend’s facebook the other day. My boyfriend is over at the —– right now. I’m goin to call my boyfriend and tell him I met you……blah, blah, blah… I mean, she was making it cleeeee-year that she did indeed have a “boyfriend” and that he was, without a doubt, her possession. Okie dokie Chickie-poo! I’m not so big on the labeling thing, so it was pretty clear to me that not only was Ms. Chickie quite insecure, but she and I had some fundamental differences which might get directly in the way of she and I becoming BFF’s anytime soon. Awww…pity…

This lovely little incident came immediately following another FB incident only a day or so earlier in which another innocent FB post got me in “trouble”. I was recently accused of dating a friends’ ex-boyfriend…for the following three reasons: 1. Ran into boyfriend twice in one week (oops! But geesh it IS a small town!); 2. We re-united as FB friends (he didn’t make the cut of my last edit but it was nothing personal); and 3. I posted “great to run into you this weekend!” RIGHT ON HIS FACEBOOK PAGE!

Uh huh.

So my friend then “intelligently” deduced from this cryptic happenstance that we are “dating”. Yeah, this one’s a real Einstein/Sherlock to say the least. Maybe I shouldn’t mention a few key points, but I’m gonna anyway. 1. I’ve known her ex for many years before I knew her at all and didn’t want him then just like I don’t want him now; 2. She is pregnant and engaged to another man; and 3. My reasons for being (gasp!) TWICE in the same place as her ex had zilch to do with her ex man, but just so happened to be because “J” hangs out in the same little local spot…and yes, I WAS there hanging out with J…flirting shamelessly and for the most part totally unaware of any other males around me. Apparently she didn’t get that key part of the local gossip.

And again the irony is overwhelming. There I am, hanging out with Jane’s ex fiancé, really digging him and feeling (almost) guilty about that…at least too guilty to actually tell anyone ( and not even J!) that I’m secretly only there to hang out with J. Her ex coulda been right in my face and I’d not have given him the time of day. I was way preoccupied on both curiously coincidental run-ins with her ex… Too busy flirting with another friends’ ex…GOSH, I have some standards dammit…only one friend’s ex at a time, thank you. Facebook, on the other hand, I have no limits to the comments I might post and no boundaries as to said person’s relationship status. It’s freakin’ Facebook people, a social utility! As long as I’m not posting something like, Baby last night was the greatest!  Come do me again tonight, or some similar sleazy, telling post on your boyfriend’s wall(and trust me, I never would post such a thing – no matter the underlying circumstances!),  then do us all a favor and get over it before you make an ass out of yourself!

But this crazy ass girl with obviously way too much time on her hands is absolutely certain I’m dating her ex! She texts me: Guess you like my leftovers. I’m not stupid. Ohhh well, time to get rid of more backstabbing bitches… that’s secifically her very words!  Yeah, If it wasn’t so pathetic, it would be hysterically funny. No wait, I guess it IS still pretty damned funny!

I feel like a drama magnet! Sometimes I reflect on this kind of seemingly chronic irony and drama which is a sad, but apparently unavoidable, aspect of my life in small town Midwest. Does anyone else get so much bullshit on such a regular basis merely by their existence and/or their presence? I can’t imagine so… Does anyone else instigate this much freakin’ drama without any effort whatsoever? And I mean NO effort. These two men hold zero interest or intrigue for me. In fact, each of them has at several points in our respective long-term platonic friendships made attempts at initiating something beyond friendship, but I was never interested. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but these two particular men, I could have had at any given time in the past ten years or so. Therefore, I’m not these silly little girls’ rival. Girls, girls…I don’t want your men or your ex-men. Sweet, sweet, ignorant, insecure, little darlings, trust me, if I wanted either of them, I would have them already. I am no threat to you, okay?  Bless your little hearts!!

PSA: Everyone can turn loose of their husbands, ex-husbands boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, crushes, and might someday be crushes, your mailmen, your trainers, your brothers, and your kindergarten playground pals from days gone by; you can cease creeping all over my FB page doing amateur investigative work; I’m totally and unequivocally digging only one friend’s ex…and geesh am I digging him…Ohhh my stars!! Updates on that (yeah, my actual moral debauchery) soon to come…:)

And please allow me to offer you two and the other plethora of females out there like you a glorious priceless gift of wisdom which has been handed down for generations in my family.  And please, take notes because it’s highly likely that you’re not of the upper echelon of intellectual beings.

Jealousy is so vastly unattractive that you’d be better off to pack on an extra 100 pounds. And insecurity is like growing a quarter-sized hairy old wart smack dab on the end of your nose. They are senseless, ugly crosses to bear…put them down. I promise you, you’re not avoiding or defeating anything with these two ridiculous relationship- killing, character-telling notions. Let them go!

Yeah, I stirred the moral gravy pot…and got a little creepy on my shirt…

Very interesting weekend…full of atrocious stupidities, learning experiences, and interesting possibilities of learning experiences to come!

I’ve yet to discuss in depth here contestant #2 in the Who wants to Date a Married Man Show.  The reason for this is primarily that my interest in him is hardly enough to mention.  He is Drunken-Dance(from two years ago)-Guy; I’ve just never had a huge interest in him on any level because …uhhh well, because he just does not hold my interest.  He’s in the basic, semi-attractive category looks-wise and his conversation skills, while they’re not horrible by any means, they are way less than intriguing.  In fact, if I had to compare him to a food, he’d go safely into the simple and bland category of plain white rice or say, whole-wheat bread maybe…but subtract any healthy aspects as he’s married and therefore lacks any health-nutrients whatsoever. If I had to liken him to an activity, it would be something like watching paint dry.  Yeah, he’s that irresistable!

However, he does get five stars for persistence.  I have blown this guy off to the point of rudeness.  I rarely answer his calls at all and I’m only mildly chatty when we do have conversations.  I make no attempt whatsoever to be charming, cute, exciting, or flirty to this man.  I mean ZERO attempts…and he continues to call and proceeds to imply this “thing” between us.  What thing? …as there’s been no “thing” and I’ve demonstrated no interest in creating a “thing” !  Apparently a “thing” in his mind is enough ‘thing” to a “thing” make.  This point leads me to perceive DDG as a self-consumed ass.  No, he’s never been rude or inappropriate directly  but his sheer persistence combined with my obvious lack of interest in him and in having any “thing” with him can only mean one thing: absolute self-consumption.  Self-consumed because he’s oblivious to my lack of interest and “ass” because he’s so persistently and actively looking to cheat on his wife…ummm…yuk!

The last few times he’s asked to see me, if I had plans with friends, then I’d say, Hey I’m going out with some friends later, if you want to meet up, you’re welcome.  He always responds like, I can’t really meet you in groups (really?  Umm…why?  Are you implying we have some secret thing going on or something?).  I simply say, Okay…suit yourself…gotta run…buh-bye.  This annoys me for two reasons.  One:  the thought of sitting somewhere alone with him has loud overtones of an experience akin to counting every grain of sand on the beach.  And two: and once again: there is nothing going on here to “hide”!  Nothing!  Nada!  The only thing to hide here would be his lewd thoughts and depraved intentions!  To imply directly to me that we’re on some secret clandestine journey together which must remain well-hidden from random people whom he doesn’t know and don’t know (or give a damn) about him, is ludicrous to the degree of laughable.  There is nothing going on here pal, aside from your pathetic and futile efforts to get something going on.  Have a hint buddy:  there has to be something to hide before there’s a need to sneak around and stay out of the spotlight…or in this particular case, keep out of random crowds of people in public places.  You’re not Justin Bieber for gawd’s sake – avoiding the paparazzi and possibly horrifying Enquirer headlines.  For the love of white rice…get over yourself already!  Hmph….annoying….!!

On top of which and I reiterate – nothing is going on!  And if he’d use even a smidgeon of thought, intelligence, body language (speech), or intuition, he’d clearly see that NOTHING is in danger of going on either!  Pshh….ridiculous.  Hey schmuck-man, I’ve shown as much interest in you, meeting up with you, or even talking to you as I would a paint-by-number with only one freakin’ number!  Hello??  Is anybody home???

So…one (especially I)  will never know why when he called Friday early evening and asked if I was free to go have a drink, I agreed.  Almost backed out before the conversation even ended though, as he struggled to think of a suitable (i.e. “safe”) place to go.  What’s up pal?  Are you thinking this “meet for a drink” is code for a public make-out-fest?  If you’re as nervous as a whore in church just to sit in a public bar and have a drink with me with 100 other people sitting around sharing the same space as we, then I have to go with, Not a good idea for you to do it fella!

And the fact that you ARE this nervous over NOTHING firmly tells me that you’re not at all interested in any kind of friendship or camaraderie with me…in fact, you’ve not even contemplated that possibility…and ewww..that makes me feel dirty all by itself.

Yeah, I don’t know why I went anyway.  Chalk it up to my informal research of immoral asses like this or listening to Sympathy for the Devil too many times, I dunno.   No.  Hey, you know what?  Actually, we can just chalk this up to my growing fatigue at his persistence in the face of my obvious lack of interest; as in, yeah, okay, let’s get this over with my friend; let’s set the record on this straight once and for all pig-cheater-guy; let’s invite the fat lady to sing already so we can get to the more pertinent (and final) act two of you LOSING MY NUMBER, you LOSER-ASS.  Hell, if you’re going to try to have a cheat-on-your-wife-fest with me, then at least be interesting or for the love of gawd, look up the word finesse in the dictionary.  GAWD..something…anything…to make yourself seem appealing in some way, shape, or form to even have a conversation with, much less a freakin’ extramarital affair!!

Thankfully, he selected a local place where many of my friends frequent.  I know Billy the bartender quite well and yay! he was working.  Cheating pig comes in a few minutes after I, acting  all weird-n-creepy-like, pays for my drink and then says, looking straight ahead and not at me, “We can’t be here.  Someone is here that I didn’t expect.”  Ohhh..really?  Okay… you’d probably better go then.  No, he says, my truck is outside parked on the hill.  Meet me out at my truck, but wait a few minutes after I leave to walk out.

What the FUCK?!  Now, I’m starting to think that this guy is doing this just for the “excitement”, as he’s making up drama where there isn’t any and making things look suspicious where there’s NOTHING. Does he fancy himself as the starring actor in some dramatic movie-of-the-week?  Has he listened to a few too many renditions of “Secret Lovers”?  Hell, I’m questioning even his basic intellectual capacity at this point..  OMG…is he just a literal idiot too?  I’m further annoyed. Because of my extreme level of annoyance, I took a reeeeeaaaaally long time to finish my drink: tiny sip…chit-chat with random lady sitting next to me…tinier sip…chat up Billy-the-cutie for a few minutes…sippy-sip…text a few friends….sippiest sip – which was more like a kitten’s little lap…watch some hockey on the bar television….siiipppp….  Finally, about forty minutes or so later, I get up to head outside and Billy asks, Awww, where ya goin’?  I say to meet up with a friend.  He winks adorably at me and says well you should come back…I’m working all night long.  Awwwww…Billy is irresistibly adorable!

Outside, I look back and forth from my car to the hill, debating if I even wanted to bother with whatever was next in this absurdity.  I went to his truck and jumped in.  I realize given my feelings about this kind of thing mixed up with my lack of interest, this seems truly an odd decision, but it was a great choice after all and I’ll tell you why.

Sitting in his truck, he starts talking of the random anonymous person in the bar who made it uncomfortably unsafe for him.  Awww……so I suggested another totally secluded out of the way bar and he said, “I don’t even know where that is”.  Ummm yeah…exactly you idiot.  Geesh!  Then, he says his wife is out of town and we could just go to his house.  Oh my freakin’ gawd…now that is it.  He was clearly not interested at all in maybe sitting and having a drink and an attempt (however futile for him that might’ve been) at some witty conversation. Now, I had all the answers and info I could possibly ever need about this guy and this situation.  Right along with all those answers came my rare ability to just speak plainly sans my politeness and my don’t-wanna-hurt-anyone’s-feelings-rose colored loquacious crayon.  And my irritation became loud and proud.  If you’re that nervous to just have a drink with me when nothing else has happened between us at ALL, then you shouldn’t be doing  this.  Why are you trying so hard to cheat on your wife anyway?  What’s the matter with you?

He bluntly says, I’ve wanted you since the minute I first saw you.  When I see you somewhere, I can’t pull my eyes away from you.  I think about you too much…all the time really…

WHAT.  THE.  FUCK?!  Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?!  You’re an utter weirdo?! Psh…no I didn’t say that  utter weirdo part.

So I say, I was willing to have a drink with you and chit-chat, but if your sole endeavor here is to cheat on your wife, I gotta break  it to you, you picked the wrong girl.  I can’t be certain I’d be interested in whatever you’re suggesting even were you single, but I do know for certain that being any part of you cheating on a sacred thing like marriage holds zero interest for me. I’ve been cheated on by a husband before and I will never be that person who takes part in that kind of ugliness or creates that much pain in another human being’s heart.

He nods his head and says he understands.  I start to get out of his truck and he says, I just want you to know you’re beautiful. And whenever I see you anywhere, I’ll be thinking of how much I want you…just know that…

Yeah, you go with that pal…seal that coffin.  Because that little last gift you offered up, just makes me feel wrong and so freakin’ dirty that I now feel like I need to go home and immediately take a shower just to cleanse myself of the pile of disgust you’ve just immersed me in.

No, I didn’t say that part..although I kinda wish I had..  I just hopped out of the truck and walked the few feet to my car, debating whether to go back in and chat with Billy the adorably sweet bartender and drown my disgust in yager bombs and bloody mary’s or go home and scrub myself down head-to-toes with a harsh disinfectant and holy water.

Again, the debate was tough.  I just felt so horrible that I’d even met up with this guy…so disgusted with myself, with him, with the debauchery and casual nature of this kind of thing in general.  Hmm…drown the mind/thoughts in a haze of alcohol… or scrub myself fresh and clean…??

I opted to just go home and take a two hour shower, washing away the entire nasty ass residue that creeper-man had  radiated onto me.  Umm…yuk!

Homeless by design of the Rat Bastard

11.12.10

“I never want to see you again! If you know what’s good for me, you’ll leave me alone!” These are the words I screamed to someone who once was my hero. I thought he was caring, loving, considerate, and the best dad ever, but as he crumbles my heart with his bare hands, at the same time telling me that “it’s what’s best for me,” and causing tears of lies and betrayal to stain my face, realization finally sinks in; he is not my hero, but instead it’s the person who held me tight, stroking my hair, and telling me that everything was going to be alright, even though we both knew it wouldn’t be. Yes, my hero is indeed that person, and she happens to be my mom. I know, it sounds like a childish thing to say and that maybe by now I should have a more significant person to choose, but in my world, she is the most significant person who will ever walk into my life. (Written by LD for an 8th grade English assignment on “Who’s your hero?”)</em>

For three months we lived there. We trustingly packed every belonging we ever owned or cared about and moved 2,000 miles away from any friend or family member other than him. No, I didn’t have a job when we moved. Apparently, that wasn’t a huge issue to anyone except me…at least not in the beginning. Yet, moving into a very expensive rental house in a nice suburb of the city was beyond uncomfortable for me with no income at the onset. So, as the months passed and I wasn’t finding work, my patience for this situation grew as thin as a balloon stretched beyond its capacity, actually about to the point where if one might simply brush against the damned thing it would POP! Yeah…not a good scenario…

The first week of my daughters’ school, after dropping them off, I was rear-ended by another car. This shook me up, but I blew it off with some deep breathing and soaking in a hot bath for a few evenings afterward. The guy was honest, saying, “You know, I just wasn’t paying attention. I’m really sorry.” No worries, I said as I checked out the damage to my car. It was minimal, so I said, Hey, let’s just forget about it. The distracted, but kind gentleman responded, “Thank you! That’s very nice of you. I’m really sorry.”

Yeah, seriously, no worries…the car was still drivable and that’s what mattered most to me – that I had a car to drive my children to and from school in a still-strange city, and 30 miles back and forth to cheer practice five evenings a week, and a method by which to get to my job (once I found one). No big deal. Accidents happen. How many times have I driven along not paying any attention anyway? Ummm more than I want to admit! Have a great day and take care!

Prior, during, and after this rear-end episode, my ex was being beyond a douche bag. Insulting, belittling, and worst of all entirely apathetic to any of my concerns or worries about our daughters. My youngest was typically crying for at least an hour after every visit with dad. This was particularly bad on cheer practice days when he criticized her no matter how hard she was trying to learn a sport she had just started a few weeks after moving here; several years behind the other girls on the team whom he regularly “compared” her against publicly and privately.   I was so proud of her resolve. He would insult her and she’d come home, cry for a while and then the very next day she would say to me smiling big and confidently, “I’m so excited for cheer tonight Momma…I’m going to try even harder today so Daddy won’t have to yell at me.” This scenario was repeated regularly.

Meanwhile, “Daddy” was constantly reminding me how expensive cheer was for our two girls… and I do mean constantly. I was already losing sleep over even utilizing the standard utilities: saving electricity and gas like a monstrously concerned environmental-freak; afraid to use the pool, afraid to dry our clothes in the dryer, and conserving water like we were ship-wrecked bordering on death by dehydration… Sure, living in a big beautiful home was nice, but not really appropriate under my financial circumstances. I tried to let go of the resentment that we were living under this kind of stress in spite of the fact that the three of us had wanted to stay with the “Daddy” until I found a job and could afford to live independently with the children.

OH yeah and we didn’t live alone…there were the roaches. They made their presence known about a month after we moved in. I brought this up to the Daddy who laughed and called them the “702 bugs”; who also assured me he would talk to his “guy” to see if we could get a better monthly price for pest control than the several places I called for quotes. By the way, roaches really DO multiply faster than rabbits! Within two months of living there, they had taken over our “beautiful” home. My daughters were often too freaked out at bedtime to sleep and we had nightly episodes of them running to me fearful that roaches would crawl over them if they fell asleep. If you could have seen how badly they infested, you’d understand that this wasn’t necessarily an irrational fear of theirs. I slowly became more and more disgusted to even eat in this house, but finances surely didn’t allow us to eat out either. I never mentioned my eating fears to the children. After the third or fourth “rough” night we had with them terrified to go to sleep at night and crying hysterically over roaches EVERY where, I finally called the “’Daddy” again. Ahhhh….It was okay; he just hadn’t yet had time to phone his “guy”. He would, though.

I swear these damned bugs multiplied before our very eyes. This situation escalated at a rate that I could never have imagined in my worst creepy-crawly nightmares. They were in our toilets, our food pantry, our living room, our bathtubs, our patio, our furniture, our clothing… I cannot stress how horrible this became or how quickly it worsened. It broke my heart to feel so helpless to resolve this when it went from an occasional fear to a daily struggle and the only relief my children had was the occasional nights at their dad’s, which of course, was beautifully (and entirely) roach free. In my desperation and after numerous (the number for this is truly embarrassing) calls and texts to the ex; pleading with him to help, I began to imagine scenarios where I would phone all the pest control services and offer up sex in exchange for roach control. Putting aside any pride I might have ever had in me, I contemplated how one goes about offering that kind of thing without the possibility of getting arrested. No, I’m not kidding. These were the thoughts that began to consume my mind.

Sum this all up with the chronically terrifying financial fears of stressing literally every single solitary CENT, not finding any work, and the ugly manipulative insults and/or absolute disregard my children and I were learning was just to be a part of our new lives, now add a second random car accident. Sadly though, this one totaled my car.

This time, dude in an SUV makes a left turn on a two-way street (not at an intersection) right into the driver’s side of my car, as if my car was actually invisible! BAM! He slams directly into me, forming my car into a near 90-degree angle! The car was never to be drivable again. We were literally lucky to have survived the accident.

I had no one to call to drive us home from this accident…not a single soul within a 2,000 mile radius who might come to pick up my children and me…except the “Daddy”. After nine desperate phone calls, six frantic texts (not to mention how many the children must have sent) and over an hour of time passing sitting in a demolished car the “Daddy” finally texts, yes, TEXTS, “is everything ok?” Ummm….NO..it’s NOT… That would be why your children and your ex are blowing up your phone in the middle of the afternoon with calls and texts, you self-consumed idiot.

But yeah, he finally arrived.  I was hysterical at that point and more than a tad irritated at his nonchalance to our desperation. When I hinted at this, he was quick to remind me that I had no right; that I should just be grateful that he even came for us at all; after all, he’s a busy, important man who doesn’t have the time to be dealing with his ex’s little traumatic crises.

And right here is when the true, deep terror of our situation hit me fully. Under his designed choices  and reassurances surrounding our move here, along with my failed attempts to get a job and secure any income of my own, I WE were completely and totally under his tyrannical control and at his mercy, which I stupidly had been under before and that had not turned out pretty by any means.

So, by his grace alone, he drove us directly to a car rental place to rent a car for the duration of the insurance to take over (not my insurance, you silly goose….I had no insurance. I had had to let that lapse almost immediately after moving. The at-fault driver did have insurance thank God!). And now we add in the(up-front) cost of this rental car until the insurance company reimbursed him and the insurance on said rental car which provided me the means to drive my children around at our assumed daily frantic pace and the ability to continue looking for work… to the rest of the story, the stress, the mass discomfort, the verbal and emotional abuse we were enduring, the roaches, the crying bouts of my children over their dad’s chronic public put-downs and the fear of sleeping or eating at our own house.

The straw that broke the camel’s back though,  was when my 11 year-old mentioned that she liked Daddy’s girlfriend okay, but that since we hadn’t lived here for long yet, she really wished she could have some daddy-daughter time just once in a while. Given that this WAS the reason we moved here and this “girlfriend” was only a few weeks into the situation, I did not hesitate to reassure my daughter that it was okay to discuss her feelings and wishes about that with her father; that she had every right to request occasional “Daddy” time minus the girlfriend. I told her I was certain he would want to know that she felt that way, would very much care and would honor and respect her wishes, since they certainly were not at all unreasonable. And strangely, I really believed this. Never imagined it would even cause a hiccup.

Please bear in mind that “Daddy” told us on the way in from the airport at our arrival, how he had been crying in his office earlier that morning because he was so overwhelmed with happiness that his children would finally after all these years be close at hand, close enough to have a regular relationship with on a daily/weekly basis. He had cried so hard he needed a tissue, but didn’t have any and had even “had to” buzz his secretary to bring him some tissue. And secretary was just, “awwwwwww… it’s so beautiful how much you love your children…you must be the greatest dad ever!” I hate to demonstrate my inner cynic at this touching, Hallmark card episode, but I know this man’s theatrics and I was silently disgusted that he was clearly making such a dramatic show about our move. Anything to present himself as the hero-Dad! Anything to make the whole thing all about him…having little, to nothing, to actually do with his children or being a dad. I suppressed those past-influenced thoughts at his story and convinced myself he might have really been being genuine here…after all, he’d been a great dad for 10 years from 2,000 miles away…hadn’t he?

So I encouraged my child to discuss her feelings honestly with her dad, assuring her that he would not be angry and that I knew he would respect her feelings and make some of their limited time together just daddy-daughter time. I told her that I thought he would even feel extra special to know how much time having time with him really did mean to her.

No. Although she’s the overly criticized child, fearful of upsetting her father or disappointing him more than she already did daily by just being her own, wonderful but imperfect of course, self, she braved this conversation! And he didn’t even acknowledge that she had spoken. He ignored her completely although she knew for certain he had heard her speaking. She waited a few days and hesitantly mentioned it again, Daddy, I like (insert name of girlfriend here), but could we see you once in a while just the three of us? Maybe have an hour with you to ourselves? He responded with an adamant and vehement, I’m not breaking up with (insert name of girlfriend here) for you.

My daughter did not understand. She hadn’t asked him to “break up with his girlfriend” at all. She did understand, however, that her wishes not only would not be granted, but that her father had no interest whatsoever in her wishes.

Which, I do understand. After all what I’ve failed to mention here is that this wasn’t just any girlfriend in his long list of failed relationships, this was a rock stars’ ex-girlfriend! I mean, really, of course nurturing that relationship was to come before time with the little girl who gave up all her kindergarten friends, her happy roach-free home, her beloved school, all her other relatives, and her peaceful, happy-go-lucky mother! GOSH…there were priorities here people! Because having your dream job of big power, absolute financial security, an obnoxiously extravagant home, all of your childhood friends and relatives close at hand, you ex-wife under your total control, and (finally!) your two children too, could never be satisfying enough. You have not actually “arrived” in life until you have the ultimate ego-inflating status of dating a “rock stars’ ex-girlfriend”…and that delicate factor of this complicated equation must, without question or hesitation, then be put above all, since without that part of it, you’re still just not totally convinced that you are absolutely and unequivocally THE man.

You all understand, right?

Yeah, me too because here is where I snapped. And I mean snapped. Enough. No more attempting to reason with this man. No more making up flimsy-ass excuses for him that my children weren’t buying anyway. I merely shoved aside 10,000 roaches to sit on my formerly comfy (and sanitary)sofa, phoned up the ex and said, I think it’s best we go back home. This just doesn’t seem to be working out for anyone except you, on any acceptable level. To which he responded by screaming, I don’t care what you do! You have 30 and I repeat THIRTY days to get your ass back there or I’m renting out the Michigan house and I’m not helping you one bit to get back there either. And I’m canceling the rental car immediately so you’d better find a way to pay for a rental car on your own.

And here is what we did (had to do): we left everything we’ve ever owned, packed one small suitcase of clothing each and our cat, and used the insurance money from my totaled car to drive back to Michigan in order to save our home. Even my daughters with all their beautiful things and all our precious life-time mementos chose to give all that up to go home and live in our safe, peaceful house, in our safe peaceful small mid-western neighborhood far away from the “Daddy”.

We drove for three days, making it a fun family adventure. Laughing through our sadness and our fears, giggling as much as possible, and talking about how we still had all that really mattered in life: love, peace, respect, our beloved home, and each other. The rest was just stuff and stuff could be replaced…slowly in time, we’d get more furniture, ipods, televisions, computers, clothing, family pictures, etc, etc, etc… Good God, I have the most amazing children!!

And after three days on the road, we finally reached our destination…HOME, SWEET, SAFE, HOME… to discover another family had already moved into our house.

My next conversation with the ex went something like this (and this is obviously a mere excerpt):

Me: the roaches really were unbearable and disgusting and you didn’t care at all how horrifying and unsanitary that was for us.

Douche Bag: Ask me why I didn’t do anything about the roaches.

Me:(genuinely confused) What?

Douche Bag( a tad louder this time): Ask me why I didn’t do anything about the roaches!

Me: (now confused AND irritated at his tone) Ummm…huh?

Douche Bag( full-fledged yelling now): ASK ME WHY I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT THE ROACHES!!

Me: Umm…okay, why didn’t you do anything about the roaches?

Douche Bag: Well, you didn’t seem to mind living with them, so why would *I* care if you did?

Slim pickins’ around here

What I used to be...

So I had my token woe-is-me rant/whine yesterday.  I realize this becomes harder to me because I’m just hitting that place as a mother where I can’t fix everything that hurts my daughters.  It’s horrible!  So, as well as wishing (like she is/was too) that  I had friends in this life, I found myself listening and longing for those days when there wasn’t a tear she could shed which with a little silly chicken-noodle-dance around the kitchen in our pj’s  or some hugs and kisses couldn’t fix..and the tears would be gone and forgotten like they never even happened.  I was the MommaI could fix anything and everything.  Now, I’m becoming the “Mom”- the powerless to help much at all.  It’s a difficult transition for me and seriously, given my own lifelong issues with friendship, I did not need to go through that just to get in bed with my television tuned into whatever damned station those 4 fabulous soul-mate-chicks were on.  Not right then..geesh!  Anyway, other than the Momma to Mom thing, I’m over it already.   It is what it’s always been.  I can deal.  Hell, I’ve gone through far worse than that issue and come out just fine 😉

So, on to my recent dating emails. Umm…suffice to say WOW!  The pickins’ are a bit slim, yeah..but let me tell you, they are of the highest quality.  Allow me to share and elaborate:

So...I guess you want me to write you, huh?

I received this priceless, informative, and endearing email from a guy with a screen name that begs to be “dominated” (yeah…literally).  Hey, whatever…to each his own; it takes all kinds, right?   At least it demonstrates the flair for creativity that men who enjoy submission must innately have and I did not know that about them. So it’s great to learn new things!  It’s rather long, complicated, and rich in detail, so I’m just going to post it by straight-up copy and paste. 

“  write me back if you want to hang
out sometime write me back if you
want to hang out sometime write me
back if you want to hang out
sometime write me back if you want
to hang out sometime “

 What?  You ask if I’m not concerned about email copyrights or the privacy violation of posting verbatim such a personal email here might be? No, I’m not.  I think under the circumstances, I could just write him back and say, Listen b**ch, I’m posting this email on my blog and you’re just going to say thank you.  I’m certain he’d get immense pleasure from that and it’s clearly the sure-fire way to keep this one’s interest. 

Yeah, I’ll do that right after I share the next fabulous and unique email I received:

Dear (Kay),

I really enjoyed your Profile. 🙂 
It looks like we’re both completely
finished with all the nonsense and are
ready for something special and genuine.
Please reply and we can explore the
possibilities together:

*******************
Steve
(Here he includes every contact info the man might have .  Personal email address, messenger ID, and cell number)

Thank you and all the best.

 Well Wow-ZA!  It seems this guy really “gets me” and is obviously seeking something real and meaningful in the midst of a plethora of online dating b.s.  I’m sure it’s mere coincidence that he bears the name of “Steve”.  With such an insightful and beautiful reach-out to me as this, he could in no way share any commonalities with the Grope-y Groperton-Steve!  This one is a real gem…

However, I think it’s important to mention here that in no place or shape of imagination do I include anything of anything on my page pertaining to “nonsense” of any kind…dating or otherwise.  I mean, I don’t have a shred of anything like that on my page!  My page simply says something along the lines of, 

Hi, I’m Kay!  I’m new to online dating and new to this area, mostly hoping to meet new people and make friends.  If something more comes from that, then fantastic, but I’m perfectly okay if it doesn’t too. Simply meeting new people is a fantastic learning experience and loads of fun!! Life is short and wondrous…I don’t waste time dwelling on negatives.  I enjoy many activities…blah, blah, blah…and so on…

What I imagine Steve *really* represents

Okay…so here’s my Sherlock deduction from “Steve’s” email.  It’s a copy and paste that he sends to anyone and everyone he writes on the site!  This is an easy figure for a few reasons: 1. His email does not pertain to a single thing from my page.  In fact, it borders on the “opposite” of anything I actually say about myself, dating, or life in general! However (2.) I’ve noticed that a great deal of people on that site take up the majority of their page saying things like “sick of the b.s., tired of the games, do NOT respond to me IF  blah, blah, blah…”; i.e. pretty much listing every hurt or disappointment they’ve experienced in life since the age of two and how they DON’T want any more of that.

I happen to know this is a very common theme on there because I weed out possible interests by that alone…   because (and I reiterate a summation of my page here) I “don’t dwell in negativity or focus on what I don’t want in dating or people, but rather what I do like and what I enjoy about life and people…

Here's what I think Steve meant to say

I’d venture though, that this “stock” response sent in masses to attractive photos really grabs the interest of a great deal of women with minimum effort on Steve’s part.  Hell, I feel confident that he didn’t even read my page…  But, I give kudos to Steve for upping his positive responses/ ratio odds by merely limiting his time and effort and focusing on the really important part:  writing to mass volumes of attractive photos, while simultaneously throwing something “sensitive and personal” in them that a majority of jaded-dating women will probably think that he not only actually read their page, but mistakenly also probably think to themselves, “Awwwwww..,Steve really ‘gets it’”!  

More responses + less effort = better odds for insensitive-non-committed-lazy ass Steve!  That’s genius!!   GO STEVE-RACER…GO!

Awwww...did your wife interfere w/your online dating again?

I also made notice of another interesting facet of the online dating thing:  Three or four (yeah, THAT many!) guys who have written me in the past few days, have since deleted their profiles before I even had the chance to read the emails to me.  Wtf?!  I don’t know about you, but that screams, “Most likely MARRIED and got BUSTED” to me…or something along those lines.  How does that time frame even work?  He’s “single and looking..browsing profiles..emailing…lets chat, date, or email” whatever… and then within 48 hours of that, he’s either totally lost interest in dating at all or found someone he really likes…???  What?!  Nahhh…ummmmm…I don’t think so…

OMG…SCARY!!!!!

Smokin’ (OMG!) HOT hedonists of the selfless variety

This definitely goes into the questions and advice category. I mean seriously, WTF?

After sitting next to cute TALL freckle guy at my TAM class last evening, I happened to be feeling a little less tall than usual, so I braved the rapids and checked my emails again last night.  I have now had my fourth (FOURTH!) request to receive “pleasure” from some 20-ish guy looking just a bit too hot in his pictures.  It’s  unfortunate that I haven’t saved these other humanitarian offers to share verbatim, but I was simply too confused and befuddled by them at the time…

Hi, I’m (insert name).  Please don’t be offended, but I get great enjoyment from giving pleasure to beautiful women.  Would you be interested in that?

Another email (quoted here from memory only):  I like giving oral.  I don’t expect or want anything in return.  I hope it doesn’t offend you if I ask if I can give you oral pleasure?  It would require nothing on your behalf…except to enjoy yourself.  Hope to hear back from you!

After four of these strange and random emails now total, I must reflect and ponder this.  Umm…I look back at my photos…do I look uptight and stressed out in these pictures?  Do I have an overly emphasized worry crease in my forehead?  No.  I don’t think so.  I am smiling or laughing out loud (literally) in all of them!  Hell, I’m the very epitome of a relaxed, sexually satisfied chick!  Ummm….I think?

HELP! There's a Gandhi inside here merely here for your pleasure, Ma'am...

The strangest thing is these are the hottest guys who have written me at all!  ALL four of them!  In fact, I must say that the guys look so very “hot” in their photos that I’ve a really hard time believing the photos are authentic….and I just delete and move along.  I’m fairly attractive, so it might not be a fair judgment, BUT when a guy looks a little LOT like Brad Pitt in Meet Joe Black or Thelma and Louise, I’m flattered to say the least, but I’m not buying it.  I figure two possibilities.  1. That’s not their real picture at all or 2.  They are some sort of sexual (or otherwise) deviant prowling the Internet for more victims with the mistaken opinion that any Internet dater must be desperate and/or stupid.

..and I think back to my brief BFF, April, whom I met on my first Internet date, who graphically told me about on your face guy.  And I get scared.  Yeah, I get super scared…and I delete immediately without much thought:   DELETE.  Am I too paranoid?  Are these guys merely smoking hot hedonists of the selfless variety?  Are they looking at my pictures thinking, Now there’s a nice girl, but she looks so stressed out…I won’t be able to sleep, eat or even go to the gym again until I help that woman!  Maybe my paranoia is too hasty?  I mean they could merely just be like me, and feel compelled to give back to society with their own individual “greatest gift”…  My gift is compassion for the needy and advocation for victims of crime, perhaps these guys were merely blessed with other beautiful gifts to offer this world?   Are they just beautiful souls overwhelmed with a desire to make this place a better world for us all?  Are they Gandhi’s trapped in Brad Pitt-like faces and bodies? Who am I to judge these guys anyway…to derive them of their societal offerings of sheer, selfless pleasure-giving to this world just one random stressed out snatch at a time…? 

(Disclaimer:  I get an inordinate amount of pleasure by merely saying, writing, or thinking the word “snatch” at any given time…I don’t know why…  It just makes me laugh!)

Men like that DO exist in a fair amount  mass abundance on this planet, don’t they?

The first email like this I received; I responded naively(and truthfully) with something like:  I’m not sure what you mean exactly?  To be totally honest with you, I really don’t know if I should find offense to this or not… but thanks for writing and good luck to you!  And said guy did write back with an explanation that basically reiterated his original email.  “I like to give pleasure to women…yada..yada..yada..”  Although it wasn’t rude or even crude at all per se, I deleted it immediately.   Hmmm…I think I get it now….umm….GASP!

Umm...duhh...hello??!? I'm a MD chick!

…because anyone who knows or understands me at ALL, knows that I am without a doubt and unarguably, way more of a Matt Damon kinda chick!! Psh!

Dear Matt, please know in advance, that should you ever feel any desire whatsoever to attempt to stimulate or satisfy me emotionally, mentally, sexually,  or intellectually, in ANY way, shape, form (whatever) you might prefer…the answer is a resounding YES! YES! Ohhhhhhh YESSSSS! Love, Me

The Alice syndrome and other idiosyncracies

Yeah, I'm this awesome!Feel a teensy bit guilty that although I still receive five or more emails a day, I just don’t have any interest in any one of them!  Do I think I’m the cat’s a@@?  The bee’s knees?  The most precious,   fabulous, and unique flower in the garden?  The nutritional and so luscious carrot on a stick?  No….Well yeah, I kinda am the platypus’ shiny and fun bill…but that’s not even really it…

I’m fully aware that I’m far, far, far from perfection.  In fact, I’m so flawed; I’m a walking, living, breathing example of Wabi Sabi in action.  I know that in order for anyone to truly cherish me, he has to embrace the epitome of my quirkiness, adore my ability to continue working on my “issues”;

This qualifies as wabi sabi RIGHT?

put up with hard, random  hits of Mother Nature; value that I’m always a mother first; appreciate my poetic, lost-soul social butterfly and simultaneously philosophical-loner nature;  enjoy my occasional sexually deviant curiosity; lovingly kiss the scars I bear from being a horrendously horrifying driver;  strongly desire to make-out passionately with my sporadic anxieties; crave having mad passionate sex with my exasperating phobia of commitment and abhorrence of categorization; and hold sweaty hands with the needy child in me. Gosh, isn’t that all just charming?  And to think, I’m sure we all have wondered just why such an utterly delightful creature of perfection as I am is divorced and single?

just hold it and hush!

ummm..am i tall or is it just me?

Add to the mix here, that it’s just that I feel tall.  I know I’m not really that tall…no, actually I’m probably about only slightly above average height by today’s standards, but I feel tall.  I always have had this affliction.  Maybe it stems way back from the awkward pre-teen era when I was already 5’7” and every other child in my entire school, male OR female, was maybe 5’2”… or less.  I hated it!  I towered over everyone, including my own family:  my mother, my older sister, almost eye-to-eye with my dad even (I’ve never been exactly sure whom or what family I really belong to)!  I felt tall….I truly was tall…

…and I still feel so tall.  I can’t know if the majority of single male online daters out there are under 5’8”, but what I’m realizing it either that’s the case or I’m a magnet to the shorter daters.  Out of the 15 incoming emails I read yesterday, only two were over 5’9.  Okay, so we have two…  Of those two, neither do I find at all physically appealing.  So now I not only feel tall, but I feel distinctly discriminating, judgmental, and superficial as well.  And those are not characteristics I would ever pride myself in.  In fact, I’d typically deny they exist anywhere in me…and even feel confident in that denial…until I browse my incoming dating-interest emails and I’m like ….too short…too short..wayy too short…ummm just no….and too short..too short..ummm…another no just because.

I’m flattered that any of these people even bother to respond to me, please don’t misunderstand, but this is becoming the repetitive theme going on here every time I check my dating emails…and quite frankly, it makes me feel bad, tall, guilty, tall, a plethora of other traits  I don’t respect or admire, and tall

Wanna be friends?

One would think that since I’m not really in the market for a husband or even steady boyfriend, that these things wouldn’t matter much.  Obviously in potential friends, they don’t.  However, ultimately, I can’t pretend that on a dating site many (any?) of these potential suitors are just so taken by my fabulous friend qualities that they feel totally compelled to befriend me. OMG…she is awesome!  I gotta be her new BFF!!!

…umm….I WISH, but even I’M not so optimistic as to entertain such silly Polly-Anna notions or I might get away with claiming I still believe in Santa and the Easter bunny as well.  Thus, I’d feel every bit  as guilty going out for dinner and drinks or coffee with them as I do ignoring their emails or sending a thanks, but no thanks response (which I confess, I’m doing less and less of these days), knowing I have a friends-only intention.   Ahhh the dilemmas!

I could exercise my inner bitch that lives under a pile of guilt, do a more interesting play-by-play of my most recent responses and   get a good giggle or two from that, but I actually feel too guilty.  I suppose that as long as there are a few (or any?!) responses interesting enough to at least communicate with, it somehow makes me feel like less of a raging superficial bitch to poke fun at the others.  However, that’s just not the case….but if I quiet down my overactive guilty conscience any time soon, I plan on still writing and laughing about these comical emails…geesh… What??  Everyone needs a giggle-chortle-snortle every now and then!  Right?

Onto the other not so prospective prospects updates and otherwise:

Word Man has informed me via FB email that he deleted his dating profile and is very much looking forward to our Scrabble re-match.  Oooooohh I do LOVE Scrabble….  WAIT! WHAT?!  What’s UP with these guys anyway?  I’m starting to get a complex here…   That’s two meet-n-deletes that I know of.

M…ahhhh Mr. M….  I have a confession to make with that too.  Yes, I do like M.  And without a doubt, even like him the best by far of all my dates and prospects even…  but that is a truly relative and honest disclosure in this particular situation.  I think I raise his likeability “status” because it’s merely an “in comparison” attraction (mayyyybe slightly higher-but that’s admittedly minimal) there.  Yes, I am interested in seeing him, do think he’s a fun date and good guy, but there’s really just not all that much there for me.  Not as much as I’d like to convince myself there is…  Crushing is so fun!! I like him well enough to date him and even enough to have sex with him sometimes – now and then, but I must tell you, it’s a just barely-above-mediocre-feeling at best.  It’s far too little to be a blow-out relationship, way too mediocre to even qualify into a mad, passionate sheerly sexual affair…and sadly,  probably just enough to be too much for the friends-thing.  Ugh!

Argh..the dating dilemmas and doldrums…

Off to my world...

No more email reading for me for a bit…  I think I’ll just go swim naked, re-do my toenail, polish, take two Excedrin, and overdose on some rainbows, butterflies and unicorns!

WHISKEY. TANGO. FOXTROT??!!?

My FAVE yummy wine!

Okay…for all my healthy serenity-in-the-nude-solitude of the past day or so, I gotta say, it has run its course.   The excitement of flashing Jasper my shameless nudity no longer holds much entertainment value for me at the moment… This is a source of deep embarrassment for me; I’m a firm believer that only intellectually and/or creatively challenged people “get bored”. 

Thus, although I’m still home alone, I’ve donned a few articles of clothing (…ummm…yes…I can hear the collective GASP shivering through the universe at that shocking little tidbit of unorthodox deviance), poured a lovely, scrumptious and delightfully hefty glass of Seven Deadly Zins and I ponder the thoughts which have been running rampant through my mind today…

A fair representation of Octo-man

  1.  The gentleman in his 60’s (or early 70’s maybe???) whom I safely sat next to upon my first little visit to the neighborhood watering hole. ( I didn’t want to sit all alone and I really didn’t want to get hit on either…so ) Immediately after our polite introduction to one another, begins discussing with me how there are, in fact, people “our age” who come to this bar,  explains in graphic and unwanted detail the vast popularity of Jared the hot, young bartender, his “cougar following”, and all the many, many women who come here merely to see and flirt with said ”hot bartender”, Jared.

Ummm….W.T.F??  Firstly, I didn’t even know of Jared’s existence prior to this little jaunt.  And FYI pal, I resent being classified by you, a man clearly over 60,  as in “our age group”…I mean, yeah,  I realize my 20’s are getting fuzzy in the rear-view here, but  the man’s most likely somewhere in the vicinity of TWICE my freakin age!  Thus, you do not get to say to me such things as,  “people “our age”!  No. 

a true life-like depiction of Jared

I let this pass… but then when he jumped clear into the cougar talk…   I gotta tell you, I could hardly hear the man talking anymore.  Seriously… WHISKEY.  TANGO.  FOXTROT pal?!???  Have we come so far in this cougar-bit that a woman over the age of 30 can’t go into a bar by her house that happens to have a hot 20-something bartender, without being instantly and unjustly classified into the COUGAR category?!  And not only that, but implied by a pre-octogenarian at that??!!  Are you kiddin’ me?

WHISKEY. TANGO. FOXTROT!     I found this not only insulting at a high level, but terribly unjust and unwarranted as well.  Who the fuck do you think you ARE old man?  You’d better pump those squeaky old brakes of yours pal and simmer down.  Yeah, with your smooth verbal skills with the ladies, it’s not exactly clear to me why on earth you’re single?!? Ahhh..the mystery…

Meanwhile, I’ve got late 20-ish, early 30-ish drunken surfer dude who has camped out in the empty chair next to me, sliding his hand UP MY THIGH and leaning over to whisper, spitting  with his hot breath in my ear, “It’s so obvious how much you want me…  I’m like a tiger ya know; I can sense these attraction things from a mile away.”  OH MY GAWD….is this a bad movie?  Hidden camera prank?  WHAT is going on here?!

So while I was already busy pulling my insulted chin up off the floor from shock at Old Man’s Audacity-n-Confusion on my right, I had to take my soggy bar napkin and wipe the drunken-surfer-dude spittle off my left cheek.

you get the general idea here of drunk surfer dude

WHISKEY.  TANGO. FOXTROT.  Now I’m insulted AND disgusted.

To add insult to injury, it seemed Jared (yeah, HOT bartender is a very accurate description) was watching things and maybe feeling a little sorry for my plight…  So he asks me if I will do a shot with him.  Umm….with the utmost gratitude and pleasure, YES!, I will partake in an inappropriate amount of alcohol in a too short a period of time for my body to process, just to nurse my punctured ego-wounds and hopefully simultaneously cleanse myself of my OMG-so-unsanitary-spittle-on-my-face-disgust!  …Ummm…noooo Mr. Old Man,   I’m not quite ready to chuck myself across the bar at Jared in true Cougar-like fashion, but hell YEAH, I want a shot!  Red headed slut?  Lindsey Lohan?  Tequila?? I don’t care, I’ve money for a cab…just bring it!!!  And hurry!

…As Jared (the life and ego saving bartender/hero), the other 20-something bartender, and I are all raising our glasses to toast, I happened to glance briefly to my right…just in time to see Old Man Octogenarian giving me a knowing little wink, with a smug cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin…  OMFG…

WHISKEY.  TANGO.  FOXTROT??!!