Let's do the time warp, yeaaaaaah.....

There's nothing like being dragged kicking and screaming into a time warp at 5:30 on a Friday morning.

As I was scrolling through my Facebook feed this morning, I saw my ex-fiance Jody had friended some new people. One name looked kind of familiar, so I clicked on it and was suddenly transported back to 1989, and a seedy bar in Blacksburg, Virginia.

It was Dave. I had met Dave at a local bar called The Phoenix Club which was one of the few places underage students could go dance and get served at the bar with minimal hassle. Well, I never had an issue, which probably accounts for why I missed most of my classes in my second semester there. Ahem.

Dave was tall, with devastating dimples and blue eyes. The attraction between us was instantaneous. He was a second-year, I was a first-year, and we had absolutely nothing in common other than wanting to tear each others' clothes off. Which we did. A lot.

We did hang out a little bit outside of the dorm, but most of our quality time was spent rocking the loft in his room. It was silly and fun and honestly, I knew I would probably never see him again after the semester was over as he went to his home and I went...well, I didn't know where I was going to end up at that time. That's a long story for another time.

The last day before everyone packed up for the summer, I went over to his dorm room to say goodbye. He introduced me to two guys from my hometown, and as it would turn out within six months I'd be engaged to one of them.

Dave did send me a few letters that summer, written on lined notebook paper with a peculiar backhanded script. He was very funny and articulate and I started having thoughts that maybe, just maybe - he cared about me more than just a girl he spend few sweaty months with in his room in West A-J.

I didn't write back. By that time, I was on the downward spiral that would last the next two years of my life until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. Plus, I decided in a brilliant moment to drop out of college. I knew I'd never see Dave again.

Well, not until 2011, at least.

He has an open profile so I took a few minutes to scroll through his pictures until I saw a few from college. The memories came flooding back - not only of him, but of the chaos that had enveloped my life there. Second semester was one of the most hellish experiences of my life, thanks to my psychotic roommate that would write threatening letters to me and made me scared to sleep in my own room. My nerves were such a wreck that I stopped eating and was 30 pounds lighter than I was when I left for school (which was already too thin). My grades tanked and I knew there was a good chance I was going to get kicked out of school.

As I see it now, Dave provided a safe haven away from all my problems back in Slusher Tower. He didn't care about all the roommate drama - not that he wasn't supportive, but really all he cared about was having fun and spending time with me. That's exactly what I needed at the time. Well, that and a safe place to sleep where I wasn't worried about my roommate smothering me in my sleep.

Years later, my fiance would tell me that Dave bragged about me to all his friends. "He said you were the best lay he'd ever had," he seethed, gritting his teeth. And you know, I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment considering most college guys think any sexual experience not involving a six-pack, a box of tissues and a bottle of lotion is the best.

That semester isn't something I've ever talked about much. It was painful, it was scary, and it was almost surreal. It was the end of my innocence and feeling like I could do anything. I was left an insecure, exhausted bag of bones. I still have nightmares from that time.

Today, for just a moment, I remembered the small glint of happiness that I had at that time. So if I ever see Dave - which could happen since he actually lives in our city - I'm going to have to find out a way to thank him for that. Hopefully that won't involve his wife punching me.

It seems like it all turned out all right

Saturday night, when I was sitting in my cousin Laura's living room getting a dose of psychotherapy (and interrupting her poor husband's movie watching), my Blackberry started to go off like nobody's business. Finally, I picked it up to see what the hell was wrong and when I opened my Facebook application I just about dropped the phone. I think I was probably 12 shades of white and green too.

It was my ex-fiance.

I hadn't talked to him in 16 years.

We have exchanged a few emails since then. We've actually friended each other on Facebook. Joey is fully aware of this, and I haven't had the cojones to ask if his wife approves of this.

By the way, he is very happily married with three adorable kids. Living in North Carolina, owns his own business as some kind of "business coach" which sounds kind of sketchy but hey, I'm not married to him so what do I care?

Amazingly enough, he has been very kind and gracious. I wasn't really expecting that. In one email, he told me that the best thing that had ever happened to him was meeting his wife...and while it stung for a brief second, I felt a huge relief. I never was vain enough to think I ruined his life or anything dramatic like that, but I did worry about him and hope that he had gone on to find the happiness that he deserved. That he had wanted with me and that I couldn't give him. That I have now.

The result all of this is that it's opened up a part of my life that I have never talked about with a lot of my friends. I've also had to explain to Monkey Man that yes, Mommy at one time was going to marry someone else other than Daddy but thankfully she came to her senses. Or something like that. I've had to listen to my mother rehash a careless comment that my ex made in front of her 18 years ago that she's never forgotten or forgiven him for.

And the strangest part of all...seeing him now, and realizing that egads...I dodged a bullet. The years have NOT been kind to him and his appearance. His employment history has been somewhat sketchy which would have been really hard to live through. His parents are still super involved in his life to the point they still try to run it for him. Hell, I have my hands full with my in-laws but they certainly don't try to run our lives for us.

Overall, though, I'm glad that I heard from him again. It's good to put that part of my life to rest and realize that we both went on to meet people that we were far happier with and that love us unconditionally. And maybe that was the best gift we ever gave each other.

Love hurts

Monkey Man's best friend in the whole entire planet, Quentin, has been totally enamored with this girl that lives in our neighborhood named Annie Grace.  Yes, that is her name - apparently all of the girls in that family have "double first" names.  Kind of sickening but whatever.  The three kids were in the same kindergarten class last year and have also been classmates at The World's Most Expensive Preschool for several years.  This love runs deep, deeper than the ocean and the mountain of tuition debt.

Last fall, Monkey Man scored an exclusive, private invitation to Annie Grace's birthday party at her house - complete with petting zoo.  And a zip line running through the backyard.  All the pizza and sugar you could snarf.  And he was one of three boys invited among something ridiculous like 20 girls, so it was a little bachelor's paradise.  But when Quentin's mom Jay found out, she begged me NOT to tell Quentin about it because he hadn't been invited to the party and would be just heartbroken.  

And at this point, I realized that sometimes, obsession over Kindergarten Love can go a little overboard.  But whatever.  

This year, Annie Grace is back in Monkey Man's room again while Quentin was sent packing to another class.  But his love remained steadfast, with Monkey Man coming home with sporadic reports of smooching on the playground and declarations of love forever, or at least until recess was over.  

Apparently, though, the love is gone.  Finished.  Over.

Two weeks ago, we ended up at the local pizza joint one night after baseball and Quentin's family happened to be there.  He came over to sit with us while we all waited for our food to arrive, so I asked him how school was going and your typical parental grilling questions.  "So...how is Annie Grace, is she still your girlfriend?" I asked.

"Well, Miss Liz," said Quentin sadly, "things aren't going so good.  Annie Grace tried to kick me in the nuts the other day on the playground and now she's not talking to me."

I just about fell out of the booth.  It was all I could do to keep from laughing.  Although a huge part of me wanted to take Quentin to the side and explain that this would probably not be the first time, nor the last time, that a female would attempt to have him by the balls - either literally or figuratively.  But I figured that was probably a conversation for another time.

Fast forward to last Friday, when I was chaperoning Monkey Man's class to the state park on a field trip.  I drove him to school since I was asked suckered into riding the bus with the class, and on the way to school I asked him who his friends were, who he liked playing with, which of the girls he liked and didn't like....

"So Monkey Man, which of the girls do you not like playing with on the playground?"  I asked.

"Annie Grace," he said squinching up his face.  "She tried to kick Quentin in the nuts the other day, and he's my peep.  I've got his back!"  

And they learn so early.  Bro's before ho's.  

*****

I could apologize for being absent again, but it's kind of pointless.  About two weeks ago, we found out that my dad's cancer has spread into his bones now.  Leg, spine, ribcage.  Not unexpected, but still hard to take.  I did make it down to see him two weeks ago and he doesn't look good at all...my sister and I suspect that he is much sicker than my parents are telling me.

Add to this some other issues that I'm not going to get into here but have been weighing heavily on my heart, and I have been just trying to put one foot in front of the other and keep myself going.  It's hard, though.  I'm realizing more than ever that maybe there isn't much I can control in my life anymore.  The pieces are all falling around me and I swear if it wasn't for the people that I love, I wouldn't make it through this with one bit of sanity left.  The sadness of it all is overwhelming me at times, yet I realize that life does go on and that I have some amazing people that I share it with - family, friends, coworkers. 

And for that, I am grateful.  Because even when life kicks you in the nuts, a little love can make it all better.

The funk and Vegas recap

Last week was NOT a good week.  Let's just call it the Post-Easter Funk of 2009.

But you know, I'm not going to go into it, because I promised you some damn Vegas stories and funk it all, I'm gonna deliver!  

A few months ago, the lovely Heather of Mama Maven fame told me that she had signed up for the half marathon in Nashville for next weekend to celebrate her 40th birthday...and would I like to go?

Hells no.  I mean really, I would rather poke my eye out with a hot poker than run 13 miles because I am a wuss of the highest magnitude.  And Nashville makes me puke.  A lot.  (Reference:  Morning Sickness 2001 started on the trip we took to Nashville, ew.  I always tell people that I've been to Nashville and probably puked in every bathroom there.)

But you know where's a great place to go for your birthday...VEGAS.  Right?  

Heather graciously tolerated my obsessing over hotel prices and flights for weeks until we finally nailed down some deals.  The coup de gras was a room at the Bellagio for...get this...$104 a night.  A NIGHT.  Hell, you couldn't afford NOT to go at that price, right?

We had a great time.  I mean, seriously, who wouldn't have a great time with Heather and her hilariously fun husband Scott (G-Man of Man Overboard)?  Holy damn.  We ate about 40 tons of bacon, drank a lot of wine and martinis, did a little retail therapy (while the guys holed up at a cigar bar which seriously got Joey cut off...I despise the smell of cigars), saw Wayne Brady, and Heather and I had a spa day.  It was awesome.

So one huge highlight of the trip was having drinks and dinner with Joansy and her friend (now OUR friend) Lori on the patio of Mon Ami Gabi at the Paris.  I'm sure my fellow PIM's that were on the Vegas reunion trip remember having lunch there...it is soooo good.  Not to mention the weather was gorgeous and the people watching was primo.  I always love seeing Joansy and it was wonderful to get to spend some time with Lori who is just the perfect friend and foil to Joansy.

And then, there was the potential of the hook-up.  It was around 4 in the afternoon and we were all heading up to the room to freshen up and catch a few minutes of rest before heading out for the evening when in the elevator lobby Joey spied a disabled man having trouble getting onto the elevator - so in typical Joey style, he hopped off of our elevator and said he was going to help the man and he'd catch up with us upstairs.

That left me, Heather, Scott, and this other couple on the elevator that were all over each other and obviously on their way up to the room for a little bumping of the uglies.  As our elevator door closed, I yelled out to Joey as a joke, "Don't worry honey, I won't hook up with anyone else when I'm by myself" or something stupid like that.  Well, that opened the door.  The other couple started talking to me and then kinda asked me to go back to the room with them.  I thought Scott was going to burst over that one, mostly because I was too freaking stupid to understand exactly what the hell the people were asking me.  Duh.

At that point, poor Joey realized that maybe it wasn't a good idea to leave me alone for more than two minutes in Vegas, because obviously trouble follows me wherever we go. 

Heather and Scott departed on Saturday afternoon, which left me and The Hub alone for the evening.  After looking at the concierge's list for shows, we couldn't find a thing that we wanted to see so we ended up booking dinner at Le Cirque - someplace that I had always wanted to eat.  Let me tell you, it was a Top 5 meal of my lifetime...between the ambiance, the service, and the spectacular food, it was really amazing.  Not to mention we ate dessert.

Overall, this was a notable trip for several reasons.  First, I always love seeing my friends - I don't allow much time in my life to do that here recently.  Second, this was the first trip I went on where I didn't have serious stomach issues or get sick.  Yay!  And...I actually came home ahead versus losing my ass on the slots.  That's a win-win if you ask me!

If you want to see pictures and Scott's take on the trip, go here and here.  

Like lemmings off of a cliff

Every thirty-something woman in this God-forsaken city will be at the movies tonight watching the Sex and The City movie. Including me.

I never had that kind of experience. I grew up 45 minutes outside of NYC proper and spent a lot of time there but mostly with my parents. Maybe the closest that I ever got to experiencing the freedom of Noo Yawk was when I was 18 and went back to visit my best friend from high school along with my boyfriend, Angry Rocker Dude. We spent a whole day in the city doing all the touristy fun things, eating at Carnegie Deli, all that good stuff. The best part of the trip was the fact that Angry Rocker Dude had never been on an airplane before, so when we caught the small puddlejumper from our hometown up to Newark Airport, his whole extended family - who I'll call The Clampetts - showed up to see us off. My mother was mortified, but honestly she should've been glad that they left their pet chickens at home.

Most of my time in the city was spent going to various museums and cultural events. Mom was always really big into that, not to mention that my dad enjoyed driving our car into the city because it reminded him of driving a tank in World War II. I shit you not. His tactic usually involved not making eye contact and getting one fender in first. Make sure you pack an extra pair of undies for those trips.

When SATC came out on HBO, I didn't watch it because of the stars. Or the humor. Or even, God help me, for the sex. I watched it because I missed that damn city so much. I relished each and every episode and secretly envied the fact that not only did these people have a cool job where they got to be in the city all the damn time, but that there was a whole show about the consummate "single woman experience" based in the city. That's what I would've chosen for myself, but it just didn't happen that way.

I'm hoping against all hope that the movie will be good. Not great, but good enough to enjoy with the Badasses tonight, most of whom have never been to Noo Yawk and won't understand someone who wasn't watching the show for all the regular reasons. Nor will they understand why someone would leave the chickens at home or why you should pack a change of undies when riding with my father in the city.

*****

Today was the class party. I made cupcakes with vanilla icing and red sprinkles on some and blue sprinkles on the rest.

The rest of the menu was pretty tame. Hot dogs, chips, watermelon, and cupcakes. Lord, did we have cupcakes. Because not only did I bring some, but one of the other Peanut Allergic kids' moms brought some too. Each kid ate at least 2 cupcakes and then were being shipped home on the bus to some lucky parents.

I somehow ended up helping serve the food to the kids, who lined up to receive this bounty on their red and blue plates. The boys all suspiciously eyed me and asked repeatedly if I was REALLY Monkey Man's mommy. The girls all told me I was pretty. Nothing like a little ego boost from a bunch of six-year-olds, huh?

It was fun, and even when he was trying to act all cool in front of his friends the teacher told me he'd been so excited all week about me coming to his party that she got a kick out of it. I guess I need to do a better job of popping in every now and then.

Not so smooth

I learned to cook at a pretty early age. By six, I was able to fix myself an omlet for breakfast, could make brownies, basic stuff. In middle school, I went through a dessert phase where I conjured up all kinds of confections. By high school, I would cook more complicated meals for my family and for potential suitors.

It's all my mom's fault, actually. While everyone else's mom on the street was fixing Hamburger Helper, my mom was making Chicken Country Captain or grilled flank steak with stirfry vegetables. She has never been one to pull a Stouffer's mac and cheese out of the freezer - she would make the homemade 4-cheese variety. We never had junk food in our house - no prepackaged foods, no potato chips, no bagged cookies. Everything was homemade, and I thought that everyone else ate like that at home, too.

I'm not sure exactly when it was that I realized that there were miraculous things like Cheetos and Gino's pizza rolls. All these new foods were like the forbidden fruit, and heaven forbid if my mother caught wind of me ingesting these delicacies because it was sure to incite a riot. Just ask me sometime about my mom's lectures about the horrors of Kraft Parmesan Cheese in the green can (or as we refer to it in our house, shaky cheese).

Anyhow, I love to cook when I have the chance. For a few years, I was an active participant of a private internet bulletin board of women who were fantastic cooks, and we shared a lot of recipes together. And even though I don't have as much time anymore, I still bust out the roasting pan every now and then or whip up something good for dinner. It's my thing. How do you think I roped Joey into marrying me, huh? The second date involved fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, homemade biscuits, and pie. That's how.

On Wednesday, the day that Monkey Man feigned sickness forcing me to leave work early, I decided that I was going to fix a roasted chicken dinner. And throw in an extra chicken to send home with Cat Door for he and The Mrs. to have for dinner. The menu was rosemary and lemon roasted chicken, smashed roasted potatoes, a salad with toasted cashews, Craisins, mandarin oranges, and balsamic vinagrette, and some salted thyme flatbread. Sounds good, right?

Part of my mom's culinary training involved brining chicken before you cook it. You put some salt in a bowl, fill it with water, and soak the chicken in it for a good hour if not longer. Something about pulling the blood out of the meat but it does make the chicken juicier...not to mention I think it's almost psychological but it seems cleaner. Yes, I know I'm weird.

So I brought two 7-pound oven roasters home (probably should've gone smaller because they turned out a tad on the dry side) and prepared two bowls of brining for them. There was a little iciness in the packaging so it wasn't going to hurt anything to soak them for a while.

While all this was going on, I had not only the tile people coming in and out of the house trying to finish up the shower, I had Cat Door bopping around working on some shelving he's putting in our basement. The tile guys are all Italian, and until that day I had met like 5 different workers, none of which showed up on concurrent days. The last day, I had one guy that I'd seen a few guys, the foreman guy, and then a new guy that for ease I'll call Fabio.

Fabio was hot. Seriously, like swarthy Italian Hot Guy. Tall, olive-skinned, some stubble on the face, shoulder-length wavy black hair...mmm. Yummy. His English was actually pretty good, so we chatted a little as he came and went through the kitchen. I was brining the chickens as I was baking the potatoes in the oven...he would stop briefly and take a deep breath as he inhaled the aromas wafting from the oven. "Oh, that smells wonderful!" he smiled.

Oh yeah, baby. Then he came through a different time and peered over my shoulder into the sink where my chickens were brining. "'What are you planning on doing with those beautiful birds?" he purred. I detailed rubbing them with olive oil, rubbing spices into the skin, using some cut-up lemons and rosemary to stuff the cavity...roasting them in a hot oven...his eyes gleamed with approval. "That's something you don't see much, women that know how to cook! Your husband, he is a lucky man."

I was on Cloud Nine, floating around the kitchen when Cat Door came bursting through in his usual gangbusters fashion. He peered over my shoulder into the sink...

"What the HELL is that?" I told him that I was brining some chickens and his eyes grew as big as dinner plates. "I don't know what brining is, but I've never seen a big dead naked chicken before. Not in person. That is gross!"

So smooth and suave, that Cat Door. Jesus.

Must not have been too gross, because he said there were no leftovers.

Warning, whining ahead

Pretty much that I am so farking tired that I can barely see straight. And Maven, you have my permission to bitchslap me for whining about lack of sleep. Totally. Monkey Man has this odd allergy/cough thing going on, which mostly seems to manifest itself in spells lasting 20 minutes every 3 hours at night. Not fun. The last two nights have ended up with me sleeping in the guest room with the monitor because when your husband has to be as sharp as a tack to bid work, you lose the "I get to sleep" contest.

Well, last night wasn't really because of him having a heavy bid schedule. When he walked in the door last night, he was on his cell phone with someone and by the look on his face I thought someone had died. He literally had no blood left in his face.

When he hung up, he told me that he had just found out that he'd been subpoenaed to appear in court today. This was to testify in a lawsuit that his company was formerly named in, but eventually the judge removed the company from the suit and deemed them not responsible. Basically, about 10 years ago they did some work on a huge office building, the work failed and had to be completely replaced (by another contractor to add insult to injury), and the owner of the building was going after Joey's company and the material manufacturer for damages. The saving grace for Joey's company was that the part of the work that failed was actually installed by the manufacturer themselves - not his company. Whew. Talk about dodging a million-dollar bullet.

I should note at this point that my husband, who formerly worked for a huge textile manufacturer that made cloth for menswear and had to wear a suit and tie every day of the week, hates to dress in anything other than - well - something that would make Tim Gunn blush. His "dressy" outfits for work are company-logo polo shirts and khaki pants. And he doesn't even really like to wear those, if he had his druthers he'd wear this t-shirt that someone gave him about 15 years ago from Emerald Isle that says, "The more hair I lose, the more head I get." Classy, huh?

So when he was talking about having to appear in court, I reminded him that it was entirely appropriate to dress nicely for court - namely, wearing at least a nice button-up shirt and a sportscoat. No tie, although that would be a nice touch. Well, you would have thought I asked him to remove his testicles with a plastic serrated knife - he immediately launched into the biggest hissy fit this side short of Scarlett O'Hara.

Did I mention that he hates to dress up?

So at this point, he launches into a tirade about this is why he quit his corporate job, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah...

And Monkey Man, who isn't exactly a fan of wearing "handsome shirts" (a.k.a. anything other than a t-shirt), places his hand on Joey's arm and says, "Daddy, I don't like wearing handsome shirts either, but sometimes we have to do things that we don't want to do."

Anyhow, I eventually convinced him to stick a shirt and sportscoat in the Pimp Mobile so that he could change right before he left for court, and then change upon returning to the office. And after all that, the case was continued until April 2008.

Apparently, though, I might have been too hasty in my recommendation for courtroom wardrobe. Mrs. Cat Door had to go to traffic court yesterday right up the road from here and one of the female defendants was wearing spandex shorts and a tube top. In December.

I just hope Joey doesn't find out, or that Emerald Isle t-shirt is bound to be on him when he goes in April.

A break from all the fabulosity

Today was one of those days where I felt like my return to work was a requisite remedy for the fabulosity that is my life.

Bwahahaha! No, seriously, I was so freaking busy this weekend that I really did need to go back to work just to get some rest.

Both Joey and Monkey Man conveniently came down with sinus infections this weekend, one day apart. You'd think they would've scheduled all of this with a little more forethought so that we could kill two birds with one stone and go to the doc-in-the-box all at once. Instead, Joey went on Saturday morning and was home within 45 minutes - and then got stuck hauling Monkey Man over there yesterday and it took almost three hours. If I hadn't been so drunk I probably would've felt a little bad about it.

The drunk part was from a brunch we had for Jay's upcoming birth. We had it at this old-school restaurant in the city where they have a pretty decent brunch and really good mimosas and bloody marys. Needless to say a good bar is key to a Badass outing. She'd been having contractions last week so we were all kind of wondering if she was going to be able to hold off until after the shower, but Baby decided to cook a little longer so it was all good.

Then, it was off to a Halloween party. Monkey Man had brought home an invitation from one of his classmates to come to a Halloween party at his house. I didn't RSVP at first because, well, I really wasn't into the thought of spending my Sunday afternoon doing that. Then he brought home a second invitation so I felt like maybe we should go. And I'm glad that I did.

This party was really over the top. They had the entire freaking yard covered in spider webs and all kinds of coffins, ghouls, goblins, and spooky stuff. A guy they hired to entertain the kids who made these amazing balloon animals (things like a tree with a panda bear climbing it, they were unreal). Someone doing face painting. The biggest damn moon bounce I've ever seen. A huge jungle gym. Food, and more importantly, BEER.

I'm a pretty social person, but I got to the party just to realize that I didn't know a soul there except for one couple from our neighborhood. They are kind of the "queen bee" types where they reign supreme over the Almighty Pool and think they're All That And A Bag Of Chips. Eventually, she came over with another mom and talked to me for a few minutes, and then I was alone again. So I got myself a beer and stood there enjoying the antics of the kids.

It wasn't long before I started looking around at the parents and realized the large amounts of men there without women. As a matter of fact, other than one other lady I was the only "single" woman out there. The men, meanwhile, were sizing all the ladies up and trying to be all sly about it but it was pretty comical to watch...because you know how they are, no matter how cool they try to be, the minute they see a rack walk by you can almost hear the speed at which their heads turn.

"Hey, how are you?" I was startled out of my fixation on the mating habits of the party attendees. This fairly nice-looking guy came over to me, introduced himself as Brian, and began to talk to me. We chit-chatted for about 15 minutes about where we work, where the kids went to school, and all that BS. I was just enjoying having some adult conversation, until he made the big mistake of using possibly the world's worst pickup line on me. Ever.

"So, what's your costume? Did you come as a MILF?" he grinned.

Um. Yeah. See what I mean? Worst. Pickup. Line. Ever.

"No, but that is really funny. I bet my husband would love that as a costume idea!"

The shock on his face was hilarious. You see, I had run out of the house so fast yesterday that I never got a chance to put any of my rings on - I had taken them off to wash some chicken and forgot to put them back on. I had all my other jewelry on, so it wasn't like I had forgotten everything...so I guess he totally misunderstood my situation.

He ended up apologizing six ways from Sunday and offered to get me a beer. I said no thanks, but that in the future he probably shouldn't try that line on anyone else because it was pretty pathetic. But funny. He skulked off and last I saw him he was hanging around the fire pit.

Hey, you've got to give him an A for effort, who else would have the cojones to try and pick someone up at a kids' Halloween party? Obviously, someone who probably also needs some new pickup lines.

Um, let's see what else. I'm scheduled (finally!) to get my Mirena IUD next Monday if everything goes according to schedule. My yearly review is tomorrow, which should provide some good blog fodder. I have a review due for PBN on Wednesday. Badass dinner on Saturday. I think a kids' birthday party on Saturday as well. I need to go by another tile place to look at more tile for our bathroom. And I'm finalizing plans for a little field trip to see some of my favorite bloggers.

So other than a few bloggy things I'm chewing on like cud, it's all good. Sorry I've been such a slacker, but fabulosity is a full-time job, y'all.

Look what the cat dragged in

So if you managed to wallow through Sunday's post, I thank you. You just saved me $100 at the shrink.

Saturday I was surfing on my laptop while the guys were popping in and out of the house and ran across an email from someone I hadn't heard from in a long time. Remember Ben, the guy I met at the wing place that was going to Kuwait? Um, yeah. Him. Apparently he wants me to write him back and send pictures too since he's so bored and lonely over there. I wonder what kind of pictures he wants me to send, hmmm? I hit delete so fast that my keyboard is still smoking. Sorry, Ben, I'm happy that you're serving our country but honestly I don't really want to provide you with any pictures that you'll be using for unsavory acts. With camels.

Tonight I go see Bobby, my Fabulous Gay Hairdresser Slash Therapist. I'm not sure what needs more therapy, my head or my hair. I'm starting to vaguely resemble Donald Trump's combover at this point since I'm like a week off of my usual 5- week rotation. You're fired!

And now, for your entertainment, a typical conversation between me and Cat Door:

CD: Well, I need to run home and walk the dog. You know, you really should walk Rufus more often.

Me: Why? He does just fine the way he is.

CD: His legs look like they're getting shorter, when really it's that he's getting fatter.

Me: He gets plenty of exercise. You're just jealous because that little twitching bundle of nerves that you have has to be walked or he runs away. Maybe if you weren't so hateful he wouldn't run off all the time.

CD: Good point. I am kind of bitter about the walking part. Maybe he picks up on that.

Me: I'm not even your dog and I know how bitter you are. Not to mention he's probably a little bitter because you named him after a food.

CD: Liz, his name is Puccini, not Fettucini. Get it straight you senile old bat!

Me: Puccini, fettucini, whatever. I'd run away too.

And there you have it. We are stupid.

It isn't even 9 AM and the girls and I are already making lunch plans. We are officially pathetic. And for me, this involves major planning and sweating over what I can eat and not run over my points for the day. Weigh-in is 7:30 AM tomorrow...did y'all notice that I changed the day so that I can weigh in before breakfast? Tryin' to cheat the man, y'all. Hey, at least I'm not like some people that I see in there that are practically stripping down to their underwear for weigh-in. I just take my shoes off and don't wear any bling on Wednesdays. And leave my underwear at home.

Have a great day, y'all. And if you see a nervous-looking little miniature pinscher running around, beware. He's bitter.

The mysteries of the male mind

This morning, on the way to work I was talking to Joey on my cell phone:

"And you know, once I give Malcolm this check then these two businesses will be up and running...."

"What? Two businesses? What are you talking about?"

"You know. I know I told you. Those two limited partnerships we're setting up."

"I remember something about dumpsters. That's it."

So then he proceeds to go into a 10-minute diatribe how he knows he told me but blah blah blah more information I don't know, blah blah blah...I am starting to fade away...

"So basically this means we have no extra money to spend on stuff until we recoup our money."

"But wait - you've had me running all over looking at options for a bathroom remodel. If we can't do it, I need to let Cat Door know so he's not counting on that work...."

"Did you not listen to a word I said? I never said we didn't have the money to do it."

Um, okay, so what exactly did the phrase "we have no extra money to spend" mean?

*****

I'm in the breakroom making a piece of toast when I hear my phone ring. It's Cat Door, calling to say goodbye before he heads off to Vegas...

"So, how's your foot?"

"My foot? Pretty good, probably around 90% but only because I've been up at my wife's clinic with my foot in an ice bath four times a day since Monday morning. But honestly, I'm kinda down in the dumps."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Well, one of my buddies just called and he got like the best job EVER. Replacing the stripper poles at The Moon. I asked him if he needed help, and he said no. I'm kinda bummed out about it."

"Um, Cat Door, did you ever stop to think that maybe they wouldn't let him install them during actual business hours? So the chances of you actually seeing a real, honest stripper while you were working there would be slim-to-none?"

Dead silence. Methinks he didn't actually think about that fact. But he seemed awfully chipper after that.

*****

I pick up Monkey Man and his friend Josh at their afterschool program today. In an effort to avoid having any singalongs like we had the other day, I decide to put in Def Leppard.

"Josh, have you ever heard Def Leppard?"

"Yeah, my mommy likes them."

"My mommy does too. But you know who is really cool? Kiss. My daddy loves them. Kiss rocks!"

*****

I'm not sure what scares me more - these individual conversations, or that they all happened on one day.

And yet another reason why we should be thankful that some people don't procreate

This morning, I was sent on a mission to pick up a check for this office building project we finished, oh say like ten months ago. And it's not even full payment yet, because we are still bickering with the owner over these granite countertops in the restrooms that they picked out and made us cut these ridiculous holes in and now don't like. And it's things like this, people, that make me just loooove my job more than life itself.

As I was leaving our accounting department (after watching Robin almost collapse in disbelief that I brought a check instead of coming over to beg for something) my cell phone started ringing. Hmmm, Cat Door. Wonder what he wants....

At this point, after he harassed me about why I wasn't actually at my desk (to which I pointed out that unlike him, I do actually work a REAL job) he asked if I would meet him at the granite place so we could nail down a color selection for the bathroom and he could get the pricing finalized. No, I can't meet today, I told him - I have an appointment at the Hospital downtown.

What I neglected to mention was that my skincare clinic is at said Hospital, and this is where I was going for my laser hair removal consultation and testing today. Because that's just not the kind of thing I can share with Cat Door because he will tease me until the end of time. Like remember when SG cut off part of his fingertip? Cat Door left him voice mails until the end of time pretending to be his missing fingertip. God knows what the man would do if he found out about this latest self-mutilation that I was headed to experience.

But instead, now he probably thinks I'm dying. He called and left three voicemails while I was at my appointment, and the last one asked me to call back. "Is everything okay, how did it go at the hospital?" he asked. Fine, I replied. Really, just fine. And he dug around a little bit trying to find out what I had been there for, but there is just NO WAY I'm giving that up. NO WAY. No amount of bourbon could make me give that up. Well, unless it's Bookers, then maybe. And of course now that he knows I have yet another mysterious Hospital appointment on Friday afternoon, he is just beside himself to figure out if I'm dying or just crazy.

Anyhow, the point of all this is that he had his two nephews in the car. It was too wet for him to work on his outside job today, so he called the boys and volunteered to take them to the movies. They are 16 and 12 respectively, and their parents (Mike's brother and his wife) are very religious and kind of strict. So what movie were they going to see but the Bourne Ultimatum or whatever the hell that new Matt Damon movie is.

And so, because you know that I love to stick my nose into people's bidness, the following conversation ensued:

Me: Mike, are you SURE that Bart and Karen are okay with you taking the boys to that movie? I mean, it's kind of adult for them, don't you think?

Cat Door: Hold on, I'm going to put you on speakerphone...okay, can you hear me?

Me: Yes.

Cat Door: Guys, this is Liz. Tell Liz what the rule is when you do things with me.

The Nephews (in unison): What happens with Uncle Mike, stays with Uncle Mike.

Me: So guys, can you hear me? So I have this 5-year old, right? And Mike always wants to take him to do things. Should I trust him with my son?

The Oldest Nephew: Hell no, ma'am. My own parents don't even trust him with US.

Cat Door: Um, I'm taking you off speakerphone now. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

*****

Back to the laser hair removal. It was actually pretty cool. The laser that they have blasts you with this really cold air when it zaps you. They did a test spot under my jaw to see if I had a reaction, and then a few test spots on the areas I want zapped.

Since the last time I went to Celeste, The Skin Goddess for waxing, she's been very gunshy about doing anything on me because I have such delicate skin. And of course, being the bitch that I am, I like to totally fuck with her.

"So, did you feel that?" she asked after like the 4th zap.

"Yeah, it wasn't bad. But do you smell something like bacon?"

I am evil. Evil to the core.

Party like it's 1999

Or maybe not, because then I'd probably have cirrhosis of the liver. And probably a boyfriend.

The Duh-runk Friday crew assembled early yesterday morning to discuss where we were going to go. Since most of us live on the south side of the city, we decided to meet at the southside counterpart to our favorite wing place. Close to home, probably not crowded, perfect - right?

So we went rolling in there around 1 PM to find that half of the restaurant is occupied by guys from the Army base that's almost an hour away. One of the guys is being shipped off to Kuwait in a few days so they'd taken the afternoon to caravan up to the city and give him a proper send-off (although I questioned the lack of a stripper, because if I was going to be in harms' way I would definitely want to see some boobs first, but maybe that's just me).

And this is where it gets interesting. You have four women, thirty testosterone-pumped men, and what happens? Egads.

It was almost like being dropped into some kind of sociology experiment. The older guys just want to share a drink and talk. They want to talk about their umpteen ex-wives, their kids, their frustrations with the military, and all that good stuff. The younger guys are all about bragging rights and seeing who they can bag and tag to take home. At one point the commanding officer came over and asked if we wanted the guys removed (at this point we had ten of them sitting at our little pub table with us) and we said no, they were fine. Really. Not to mention we were getting LOTS of free alcohol. And free alcohol is good. And keep in mind, these guys totally knew that all of us (except Stephanie) were married. VERY married. But that didn't stop them.

Cathy and April bailed out around 3:00 and Stephanie and I finally went dragging out around 4. Hey, I had more drinking to do. But not before I had been propositioned at least ten times by various guys, the funniest being this guy they called Jack-Jack. Yeah, they all had nicknames for each other, the best one being Biscuit ("Cuz I'm crunchy on the outside but tender and fluffy on the inside..."). So the conversation with Jack-Jack went like this:

Jack-Jack: So what exactly would I have to do to get you to take me home with you?

Me: To do what? You want to play with my kid?

J-J: No! I think you could teach me a thing or two, ya know what I mean?

Me: Jack-Jack, how old are you?

J-J: (proudly) I'm twenty-three.

Me: Do you have any idea how old I am?

J-J: Twenty-seven? (and at this point I am so impressed by his bullshitting abilities that I almost want to sleep with him just as a reward)

Me: No. THIRTY-SEVEN. I am thirty-seven.

J-J: No disrespect, but age is just a number. And I think we could have a good time.

Me: Jack-Jack, I have sweaters older than you are. Not to mention that if I took you home with me, I would make you cry like a little girl.

At this point the crowd went wild. The older guys were high-fiving each other and poor Jack-Jack still didn't get it. I think he got it when I finally went home. Alone. And when I got home, I discovered phone numbers and email addresses had been surreptitiously slipped into the side pocket of my handbag. Yikes.

So then I waited for Joey to come pick me up so that we could go to the wine tasting. Damn, was it hot. We met David, Yvonne, Gil and Martha there and we split a few bottles of wine and Joey managed to schmooze one of his customers and possibly land a very big job. And then, on to dinner.

So all told, I drank for about 10 hours straight yesterday. In moderation, but damn do I feel like ass today. Dragged Monkey Man to tae kwan do and the grocery store (where Mommy had a little meltdown but what do you expect when your head feels like it's packed with sand?) and now I'm thinking about lunch.

And I'm also thinking about Ben. The guy who is going to Kuwait. As all the guys were partying like it was 1999, Ben sat at the table alone looking pretty sad so I went over and sat with him for a while. He's divorced twice, has one kid that he never sees, and will be 42 in August. And all he can think about is what Kuwait is going to be like and what will it be like when he comes home. And what he will come home to. "He's broke," said one of the other guys in my ear a while later, "and he will probably have to go back and live with his folks. Between alimony, child support, and his bills he doesn't hardly have a pot to piss in."

I looked back at Ben, who was gazing down into his beer, and saw a man - older than I am, with the weight of the world on his shoulders here at home - ready to take on the problems of a whole other world. I ended up going back to him and asking for his email address so I can write him now and then when he's over there. I guess being an Army brat myself, I know what kind of sacrifices he's made. Huge sacrifices for someone who in the grand scheme of things probably has a lot bigger fish to fry.

I gave him a big hug goodbye before I dragged Stephanie out kicking and screaming. "Your husband is one lucky guy to have a classy lady like you," said Ben.

Thanks, Ben. I feel like I'm the lucky one in a lot of ways. And I'm glad that I got to spend an afternoon with a bunch of guys who give so much for others. It's not every day you get to do that.

So if you're ever in my neck of the woods and you run into Brownie, Boo, Biscuit, Jack-Jack, Papa Pump, Harold, or Ben, buy them a drink. They deserve it. Actually, buy Jack-Jack two drinks - because he deserves it just for his excellent bullshitting capabilities. That man will go far in life. Not with me, though.

One of my biggest mistakes

This isn't a topic that I talk about. As a matter of fact, even some of my closest friends don't know about it. It's not something that I think about a lot. But Mitzi's interview yesterday brought it all out again - not to mention that I was talking to a friend about it last week.

Way back in the dark ages, after my disasterous first year of college, I got engaged. Oh, and it wasn't to Joey, either.

I was at the Huge University that year. I had a roommate from back home who turned out to be one of the strangest and sickest individuals I've ever met in my entire life. I skipped a lot of classes and pretty much had the worst semester in the history of the GPA (I believe that semester I had a 0.9). Around the last month or so of school, I somehow met this guy named Dave and we ended up being friends with benefits. Hey, it worked for me at the time. And as it happened, there were two guys on his dorm hall that happened to be from my hometown and he introduced them to me one day. Their names were Mark and Jody - I thought Mark was hot as hell, and Jody seemed like a pretty nice, average guy. I exchanged phone numbers with them on the last week of school and figured that I'd never hear from either one of them again.

That wasn't what happened. Jody called me the first week that I was home and we started hanging out. One thing led to another and we started dating. He was a nice guy - had a very nice and respectable family, and we enjoyed doing things together. Then, we both were put on academic probation and ended up heading to summer school together.

Instead of goofing off, we studied a lot. Oh, and had a lot of very hot sex. He might not have been as hot as his friend Mark, but he was no slacker in the sack. So let's just say it was a very interesting summer.

Summer school ended and we both decided to withdraw from school. Our parents were horrified, especially mine. I'm not even sure what made us decide to drop out - I think I was really confused about whether I even really wanted to go to college, and I think his parents were sick of paying tuition when his grades sucked so they pressured him into dropping out. We both got full-time jobs and continued dating. By the fall, he had proposed and I said yes. We went out and got the ring, but we didn't tell anyone until December. Let's just say that I was scared to death of what my parents were going to say. I was a whopping 20 years old, and this wasn't what they had in mind for me.

So we lived a lie for almost two months. We finally told my parents on my birthday and they were disappointed to say the very least. I think it wasn't that they hated him or anything - I think they weren't crazy about him or think he was "the one". But we promised our parents that we would not get married until we finished our bachelor's degrees. This was December, 1989.

We went back to community college the following January, continued to work, and spent a lot of time together. We finished our Associate's degrees in 1991 and had already figured out where we were going to transfer to. And we weren't going together. He headed in one direction, and I headed in the other.

Living over three hours apart from each other was hard. It wasn't that we fought or anything, but since he had to work to pay his expenses and I was under pressure from myself and my parents to get great grades, we rarely saw each other. We talked a lot on the phone and that was about it.

I can't even remember when we broke up. I know it was the year before my senior year (1992) because it suddenly clicked in my head that I just didn't want to spend the rest of my life with him. It wasn't even horribly dramatic or anything like that - it was just one of those realizations that I'd been just plodding along for so long that I'd forgotten what I really wanted out of life.

He wasn't a bad guy. He was a nice guy. He just wasn't "the one."

He was devastated. I remember our phone conversation like it was yesterday - it was one of those conversations that started out fine and then it was kind of like "what the hell are we doing?" I ended up sending him the ring back via UPS and even paid for the extra insurance. What a gal, huh?

We really didn't talk much for the next year. He would call every now and then to talk, and I was busy dating and doing senior year things. Then, the following year, I had moved to the city where I live now and he came to town on business and wanted to have dinner. We went to dinner and I remember him asking me if there was a chance for us to get back together and of course I said no. My feelings hadn't changed at all. I hadn't even missed him at all.

A few months after that he was back in town again and asked me if I wanted to hang out downtown with him and some of his business associates. I brought my best friend from college, Amy, with me that night. Within a few weeks Jody and Amy started dating behind my back. It ended my friendship with her, and he and I never spoke again.

I have a lot of regrets. Mostly for wasting three years with someone that I didn't really have very deep feelings for. I've tried and tried to figure out why, and the only thing that I can figure out is that I was so messed up from the college experience my freshman year that he was the one normal and safe thing I had at that time. Not to mention that my relationship with my parents was very strained at the time, and he was the only person that still believed in me and told me I could be whatever and whoever I wanted to be.

I guess my other huge regret would be for hurting him. But I guess it would have been far worse to marry him and have it fall apart in record time.

So he eventually moved on. Last I heard, he has an excellent job in the western part of the state and is married to a teacher and they have two kids. So obviously I didn't wound him for life, right?

When I look back, I dated a ton of guys. And don't take that the wrong way - my life back then was way more about quantity than quality. I did have relationships with two guys before meeting Joey that I would consider "real love" - and Jody was not one of them. Obviously that speaks volumes about our relationship in my mind.

It makes me kind of sad to think about it. Not really sad that it ended, but sad that he didn't mean more to me than he did - if that makes any sense at all. Surely you have someone in your life that you have loved and lost that still makes your heart twinge a little bit when you think about it...I never, ever had a moment like that about Jody. How could I have thought I wanted to spend my life with someone that turned out to mean so little in the spectrum of my life?

Probably something I'll never know. And that bugs me.

Obviously, the term "sexual harassment" means nothing at our office

This morning, I was walking out of the kitchen when my coworker Jim beckoned to me from his office. Jim is going through a nasty separation which will probably lead to d-i-v-o-r-c-e right now and two of the girls in our office fixed him up with someone they used to work with years ago. She's divorced, not really having any luck in the dating department, and when they showed me her profile on Match I immediately noticed that her screen name pretty much screamed "I am desperate for Hot Monkey Sex ASAP!!!!!" A perfect match for Jim, who probably hasn't gotten laid in about two years.

So they've been out a few times, he's asked me for some basic dating advice in the past and since I dated approximately 992 people in my illustrious dating career, I feel like I have achieved some sort of expert status. But today, I wasn't really prepared for this conversation.

Jim: Hey, so she and I, ya know, kinda hooked up on Monday night!

Me: Oh really? Thank God. So how did it go?

Jim: Well, good and bad.

Me: Uh oh. What happened?

Jim: Well, on the good side, she gave me a blow job.

Me: Ooookay...

Jim: And on the bad side, well, let's just say that I had a hard time rising to the occasion. I think I'm just not that into her.

Me: Oh damn, don't tell me you are one of those "I'm just not that into you" assholes, please?

Jim: But I swear to God, I have never, ever had this problem before. Maybe I should go see a doctor. There might be something wrong with me!

Me: Did you ever stop to think that maybe you aren't ready to move on? Like you haven't really resolved yourself to giving up on your marriage?

Jim: Damn, Liz, it was a blow job. How freaking hard could that be to get it up for that? I mean, actual sex is one thing, but a blow job?

Me: I'm just saying, maybe deep down inside you feel like you're not ready to carry this relationship to the next level.

Jim: I think I probably ought to go to the doctor. Ya know, get it checked out.

Me: I guess it wouldn't hurt...

Jim: Yeah, I just don't get it. I mean, the thing works fine on manual.

File this conversation under "Things I wish I didn't know about my coworkers." Thanks.

Winter Classes for Men

On the lighter side:

WINTER CLASSES FOR MEN

REGISTRATION MUST BE COMPLETED BY Monday, December 18, 2006

NOTE: DUE TO THE COMPLEXITY AND DIFFICULTY LEVEL OF THEIR CONTENTS, CLASS SIZES WILL BE LIMITED TO 8 PARTICIPANTS MAXIMUM.

Classes begin Monday, January 8, 2007

Class 1 How To Fill Up The Ice Cube Trays --- Step by Step, with Slide Presentation. Meets 4 weeks, Monday and Wednesday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.

Class 2 The Toilet Paper Roll --- Does It Change Itself?Round Table Discussion. Meets 2 weeks, Saturday 12:00 for 2 hours.

Class 3 Is It Possible To Urinate Using The Technique Of Lifting The Seat and Avoiding The Floor, Walls and Nearby Bathtub? --- Group Practice. Meets 4 weeks, Saturday 10:00 PM for 2 hours.

Class 4 Fundamental Differences Between The Laundry Hamper and The Floor ---Pictures and Explanatory Graphics. Meets Saturday at 2:00 PM for 3 weeks.

Class 5 After Dinner Dishes --- Can They Levitate and Fly Into The Kitchen Sink? Examples on Video. Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.

Class 6 Loss Of Identity --- Losing The Remote To Your Significant Other. Help Line Support and Support Groups. Meets 4 Weeks, Friday and Sunday 7:00 PM.

Class 7 Learning How To Find Things --- Starting With Looking In The Right Places And Not Turning The House Upside Down While Screaming. Open Forum .Monday at 8:00 PM, 2 hours.

Class 8 Health Watch --- Bringing Her Flowers Is Not Harmful To Your Health. Graphics and Audio Tapes. Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.

Class 9 Real Men Ask For Directions When Lost --- Real Life Testimonials.Tuesday at 6:00 PM Location to be determined.

Class 10 Is It Genetically Impossible To Sit Quietly While She Parallel Parks? Driving Simulations. 4 weeks, Saturday noon, 2 hours.

Class 11 Learning to Live --- Basic Differences Between Mother and Wife. On-line Classes and role-playing . Tuesday at 7:00 PM, location to be determined

Class 12 How to be the Ideal Shopping Companion Relaxation Exercises, Meditation and Breathing Techniques. Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours! Beginning at 7:00 PM.

Class 13 How to Fight Cerebral Atrophy --- Remembering Birthdays, Anniversaries and Other Important Dates and Calling When You're Going To Be Late. Cerebral Shock Therapy Sessions and Full Lobotomies Offered. Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.

Class 14 The Stove/Oven --- What It Is and How It Is Used. Live Demonstration. Tuesday at 6:00 PM, location to be determined.

Upon completion of any of the above courses, diplomas will be issued to the survivors.

Like watching a rerun of my life

I am watching MTV this morning while Joey and Monkey Man are hunkered down in our rec room watching The Fantastic Four or some crap like that.

I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I have allowed myself to get sucked in by the third season of Laguna Beach. What am I, like 12 years old? I don't think I even watched the first season. I hated the second season, mostly because I didn't like LC or Kristin. For some reason, though, I am totally sucked into the third season.

I like Tessa and Rocky. Yeah, Rocky is a little bit of a hormonal basket case and she is almost so painful to watch at times it's unbearable, but the two of them just remind me so much of me and my high school years that I can't even stand it. And watching her reconcilation with Alex was like watching a very bad rerun of my own high school years.

I started thinking this morning about this guy I dated pretty much off and on through high school. I think he and I must have broken up and gotten back together no fewer than five times. We met in church - I think he was a junior in a rival high school, I was just a freshman at the "rich kids" school (which was a total oxymoron to have me there because we were by no means rich, we just happened to live in that area). It was like a pathetic version of West Side Story - I caught so much crap from people at my school for dating a "townie" that there were several times that I stupidly thought about breaking up with him just for that reason.

He was a sweet guy - maybe almost too sweet - he was an Eagle Scout, church-going guy, worked two part-time jobs and was an honor roll student.

I was a "good girl" - very good student, went to church faithfully, sang in the choir, belonged to the drama club, the band, the orchestra, and did about a million extra-curricular activities.

But putting us together was like throwing a match into a puddle of gasoline. We were just too different for it to work at all.

And somehow, time after time, we would end up being drawn back together. Over and over. And between reconciliations, inevitably one or the other of us would be dating someone else in our little circle of friends. Very Laguna Beach, even in the 1980's. It was all very dramatic and romantic and tragic at once.

The last time we broke up, I knew there was not going to be a reconciliation. We had been at a youth group meeting and a group of us adjourned to Friendly's for burgers and ice cream in our usual weekly tradition. He and I began arguing on the way to the restaurant because he didn't understand why I had to go home right after we ate. Things escalated, and he ended up hitting me.

That was the end.

He went off to college soon after that - he kept in touch sporadically, and in one of the most ironic chapters of our saga, he ended up marrying someone from our church youth group that happened to attend the same small college he did. Last I heard, he was an attorney up in New Jersey and has two kids.

And sometimes I wonder if he ever hit her. If he hits her. Or if I was the only one that he thought deserved it.

Sometimes I think that I wasted a good portion of my high school years getting sucked back in over and over by him. We had some good times, but most of it was just nonstop drama. But I don't think MTV would have been interested, because we weren't rich enough, gorgeous enough, and there were no mansions, speedboats, or fast cars. Not to mention the fact that we were in New Jersey, and I don't think that his beach house in Point Pleasant would hold a candle to the O.C.

If you love something, set it free - and if it doesn't come back to you, break out the handcuffs

On my way home last night, I asked Joey what Monkey Man would like to eat for dinner. And what do you think that was?

Yup. Japanese steakhouse. Call the mortgage company, we've gotta refinance again.

After a somewhat mediocre meal (new cook who made the steak dry and tough), we headed out to the parking lot. Typically, Monkey Man wants to ride in the Pimp Mobile because he can watch Looney Tunes on the way home - however, he wanted me to drive. Joey loves driving my car so he eagerly swapped. And let me just say this now - it's not necessarily that he loves my car as much as he loves not having Porky Pig blaring in his ear the whole way home.

I cruised on down the highway and turned down the road that heads toward our little town. As I passed by the courthouse, I noticed this tricked-out pickup truck that was trying to race with me and get my attention. I looked over and this guy winked at me and then threw up his hand to say hi. I smiled back, obviously flattered, checked my lipgloss in the mirror, tossed my hair over my shoulder. Yep, Builder Mama's still got it...

And that's when I saw it.

The pair of handcuffs hanging from the rearview mirror.

Now, what on earth posesses someone to put handcuffs on the rearview mirror unless they're in law enforcement? I mean, did he think it looked cool? Did he think chicks like it? Is he advertising that he's a bad boy who likes it a little rough?

I guess the part that scares me is what exactly is it about me that would attract a guy like that?

It's that freaking Pimp Mobile. I swear it.

Sometimes the past comes back to smack you in the face

Last night, we went to Joey’s alma mater’s football season kickoff dinner. He is a huge college football junkie and his team is usually nationally ranked, so this is like a huge deal in the Builder Mama house. Well, at least for Joey it is. The dinner is a huge networking thing – oddly enough, there are tons of construction people there so I got to see a lot of people I’ve worked with on projects in the past and catch up on all the gossip. It’s really cool because it’s so rare to have women working in the construction industry – let alone any that would willingly attend a college football dinner – that I was absolutely overwhelmed by the amount of people that I got to talk to last night.

The best part was that my very first boss Bill sought me out to talk to me. This guy owned a mechanical contracting firm and sold out for hundreds of millions of dollars about seven years ago when he was in his early 50’s. His wife was my mentor in the office and a lot of the way I handle business now is directly because of her influence. I was fresh out of college with almost no work experience and I hounded them for weeks until they finally brought me in for an interview and they decided to take a chance on me and hire me to work there. Anyhow, I hadn’t seen the man in over 10 years, so when I turned around to face him I was completely overwhelmed by the moment. I stuck my hand out to shake it and he said, “Girl, you have GOT to be kidding me – I expect a hug from you!”

He hasn’t changed a bit. He was really one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life even though he’s one of the wealthiest people I will probably ever know. We chatted for about 15 minutes and caught up on all the basics about what each of us are doing now (Me: “Well, I still work at X where I’ve been since I left your company, have a four-year-old, moved in a new house last year, been married 10 years…” Him: “We split our time between our house here and our house in Florida, been spending a lot of time sportfishing, still racing Porsches…”). Needless to say we don’t exactly run in the same circles but it was good to find out how his family was doing and what he’s been up to since his big windfall.

As we parted ways, he gave me another hug and said, “You know, after you left I always worried about what would happen to you.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “You know, after you and that guy broke up and all that stuff happened, I really worried about you," he replied.

It all came rushing back – the humiliation that I faced in Bill’s office many years ago as I stood there trying to maintain my composure as I explained to him that someone was using Bill’s company credit card and buying things using my name and mailing them to me.

I had been seeing this abusive asshole guy for several years and when we broke up, he didn’t take it well at all. A few weeks after the breakup, I came home from work to find a package on my doorstep. When I opened it, it was full of herbal supplements (for “sexual performance”) and caffeine pills (I’m assuming so I could stay up all night to enjoy the benefits of the herbal supplements?) from some mail-order place – and the credit card receipt had my name on it but the credit card number wasn’t mine. I called the company and they said I could send it back if I wanted to but they had my name, address, and phone number on file. Very strange, but I put the package on my kitchen table with plans to mail the stuff back in a few days.

A day later, another package arrived. This time it was a CD called “Music to Make Love To”, again with a credit card receipt with my name on it but a different credit card number. I guess that was to go with the first package.

The next day? A subscription to Cosmopolitan. Sensing a theme here?

The following day, I got a call at work from the management office at my apartment complex that they had a huge package for me and would I please come pick it up. Oriental rugs. Three of them.

The last day, I had two packages. One was a box of clothing from Newport News (a place I’d never bought from before) with a bathing suit, a dress, and a slinky top in it.

The other was a vibrator. Called The Tongue. It looked like a tongue on a stick. And whoever had sent it to me had been kind enough to send me the cordless model. How thoughtful is that?

At that point I was seriously freaked out. I went back to work and was telling my friends Jean and Tracy about it and Tracy happened to have a connection at a credit card company and offered to see if she could run down information on the card since it happened to have the same prefix as our company credit cards did.

Fifteen minutes later, she appeared in my office looking like someone had just died. As it turns out, the credit card number belonged to no one other than my boss, Bill – the president of our company. I had been given access to the card several times to buy things for the company, and I’m assuming that whoever bought the stuff was doing it hoping that I would be fired when the purchases were discovered. And, ironically enough, two of abusive asshole’s best friends worked at the credit card company so chances were that they hacked the number for him just to get revenge on me.

So, at that moment, I went to Bill’s wife and together we went in to talk to Bill. At the time, he scared the ever-loving shit out of me because he was always terribly serious. You know, one of those guys that always looks like he has a very sharp stick up his ass. I was already shaking and on the verge of tears and I sat on the edge of my chair as I gave him the play-by-play about what was going down:

Bill: So tell me, what’s the problem?

Me: I’ve been getting all these really weird packages in the mail. And I told Tracy about it and she looked up the credit card number and it’s all charged to your card. I swear I didn’t do it!

Bill: (nodding) So tell me, what kind of stuff have you been getting?

Me: (starting to cry) Um, some clothes, some vitamins, a CD…

Bill: Mmm hmm…

Me: (bawling) And a vibrator shaped like a tongue.

Bill: Oh my. Oh.

So, in the end, he gave me an enormous hug and told me everything would be okay. He contacted the police, who immediately confiscated all my goodies as evidence and despite an exhaustive search they never figured out who ordered the stuff (remember, this was back in 1995 in the dark ages and I don’t think our police department even HAD a computer). And yes, they even took The Tongue much to all of my friends’ dismay. “What?” said one, “You gave it to the cops? The least you could’ve done is let me try it out first….”

That day changed our relationship. Suddenly, Bill went from gruff old boss to concerned fatherly-type boss. He always made a point of stopping by my office when he emerged from the bowels of his mahogany-paneled office just to say hi even if he didn’t have anything to give me work-wise. And when I finally left the company in 1996, he and his wife gave me a beautiful silk blouse with a handwritten letter that I still have to this day, saying how much they enjoyed working with me and letting me know that I always had a home there at the company.

So last night, I gave him a goodbye hug and said that yes, things had turned out just fine.

“I always knew you’d be fine,” he said, grinning. “Just fine.”

And on a funny side note, even now he still calls his old company to talk to the guys that used to be his employees that now run this multi-million dollar company. “It’s the strangest thing,” he said, “when I call there, I always have to tell the receptionist of the week that my name is Bill and I used to work there.” Never mind the fact that he turned a $25,000 investment into a multi-million dollar company – now he’s just some annoying old dude that calls every now and then like he owns the place.

How to scare the crap out of a man

Today, 3:12 PM....

Me: Hey, Eeyore? I need to ask an enormous favor.

Eeyore: Mmm hmm? (visibly irritated)

Me: Um, I've been trying to get my doctor's office to call in a prescription for me but they won't do it, so I have to go in.

Eeyore: Ooooookay....

Me: And the only time they can take me is either 4:00 today, or 11:20 tomorrow morning. I know the timing kind of sucks since I had to leave early yesterday, but I really need to go.

Eeyore: (gaining interest) Is everything okay? Do you feel all right?

Me: (blushing) Um, yeah. Just some female problems...

Eeyore: (visibly horrified) Take the 4:00. See you tomorrow.

Mission accomplished. He seriously looked like he wanted to scrub his brain with a brillo pad.

The funniest damn story I've heard in a long time

Today I got a call from my two friends that I worked out onsite with for over a year, S and M (insert snicker here). Both of them have left the company to do other things, but we all keep in touch and I talk to at least one or the other every week and see them now and then. We were like the Three Musketeers out there on the jobsite – united by our common hatred of the jackass superintendent Napoleon, we banded together and became like a little dysfunctional family of our own. S has gone to work for a concrete subcontractor and is doing really well for himself, plus his wife is pregnant with their first baby and they’re buying a new home. M went to work for another general contractor, which didn’t work out, and now is doing his own carpentry/handyman/whatever the hell else someone will pay some ungodly hourly rate to do thing.

While we were eating our lunch, M started telling us this story about a client that he finished up working for about a week ago. He’d been working at this lady’s house for about two weeks doing some drywall repairs, replacing a door, and just a general “honey do” list, and when he finished the work she called him and let him know that his check was ready and that she would leave it on her kitchen island to pick up. Now, anyone who knows M will tell you that he is a very trustworthy guy…like you could totally leave your house unlocked and not only would he let himself in, he would make sure he locked the door behind himself after he finished his day’s work and you couldn’t even tell he was there to start with.

So M went over to the lady’s house to pick up the check only to discover that all of the doors were locked. He called her on her cell phone, and she told him that she was headed out of town for a few days but if he really wanted the check there was a cat door located in the garage door that he could try and shimmy through to get to the spare key in the garage. M apprised the situation for a few minutes and decided that he would give the cat door a try.

To make a long story short, M took his screwdriver out, dismantled the cat door, and was almost entirely through it when he was caught by the nosy 80-year old next door neighbor who had decided that M was a burglar and was going to call the police on him. Keep in mind, M had been working there daily for weeks, parking the same truck in the driveway complete with ladder rack, ladders, and lumber hanging off of it, and it wasn’t like he was skulking through the bushes. It eventually got straightened out with a phone call to the lady who owned the house, but M was pretty relieved to get that check and get the hell out of there.

S and I couldn’t stop laughing. “M, that has got to be the most pathetic story I have ever heard. That must have been one hell of a check for you to go shimmying through a cat door to get it.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “I knew she was headed out of town to Vegas so I figured I better get that check before she blew it at Caesar’s or something.”

Good point. Although the visual of this over 6-foot tall former Marine squeezing through a cat door is almost pants-wetting worthy. Either he is hella flexible, or that was one big-ass cat.