quick story

Cute or scary?

My friend at work, JK, is pure lollapalooza femme fatale. Divorced around the same time as me and about the same age, she got right out there and began a campaign of dating and discarding, dating and discarding. The woman has an amazing ability to attract guys—they swirl around her like tomcats. Me? I’m the broad they look through and around to stare at her. It’s a bit discouraging really, but I agreed to go with her to a picnic yesterday after work—a fundraiser held by the Trenton F!re Department to raise money for a comrade whose house just burned down. She was like, “don’t you want to go hang out with a bunch of big strapping firemen?” Well, yeah, but…

…I felt like an idiot. Half-drunk firemen of all ages were everywhere. They prowled around JK all evening, flirting and trying to make an impression. I stood by, invisible, and then took myself over to play quoits, a game similar to horseshoes that actually originated in Trenton I think. I played a few games with one of those strapping young firemen, had a few laughs, and then I went home. Ate some chili, watched some TV, and started to head upstairs to bed, when my doorbell rang, the doorbell at my *back* door, where the light bulb is out.

I snuck up on the door and peeked out the window, and there was my strapping young fireman! He wanted to play ping pong. Well, OK, I’m pretty much always up for a game. I quickly ran him around the basement in a show of ping pong skill, and in no time flat I had him out of his shirt—hey, this was strip ping pong, and I wasn’t about to take anything off. And a strapping young fireman he was indeed, but I was tired, so I shooed him home.

But the question nags—how in the world did this fool find my house? I didn’t tell him, of that I am sure. If he followed me, why’d he wait 2 hours to come to the door? Do firemen have access to addresses? I dunno, but I didn’t tell him my last name. So what’s the deal here?

Cute or scary?

Car troubles and bees

I had a baaaad marriage. Look to the right--I’ve got the category to prove it. ;-) Lots of emotional abuse to bask in—name calling, cheating, lying, criticizing, looming, barking orders—that sort of thing. And he backed up his bark by staying unemployed and stoned. The wheels fell off this relationship early, but down the road I finally steered on over to the curb and got out. When I started blogging, I figured I’d spill out all this built up bile, but not much seems worth putting down. For one thing, it’s dated, old news (although some of my rants from back then are prodigious ;-)), and B) I’m working on moving on.

Working on it. The thing with the boy earlier this year showed me something about myself—I doubt the people close to me. Softer than ‘don’t trust’ but an internal check point nonetheless. Didn’t even realize I was doing it until I started to get close to the boy. Tried to explain it to him without really understanding it myself and he took offense, and the wheels promptly fell off that relationship.

Ah well, live and learn. But these things showed me something else that I’ll be keeping in mind—pay attention to omens in life that blare at you like car horns!

Omen 1. On the very first date with the boor I ended up marrying. We were to meet at a place in Princeton for drinks dinner whathaveyou. So off I sped in my little red Spider, excited. Not so fast young lady—the front wheel fell off my car on Mt View Rd. Now how clearer can an omen be for Christ’s sake? Does it need to land on me and sting me? Apparently.

Omen 2. On my wedding day. Got married on the rainiest day in history, but that’s not the omen. The omen came in the form of a wicked-painful bee sting to the soft inner part of my upper arm. Hurts just remembering.

Omen 3. On my 7th anniversary. Managed to avoid all bees for 7 long years, but I got a wake-up sting from the bee, who was annoyed that I wasn’t listening to my omens.

As I said, live and learn. I’ll keep that check point in place, but do better to heed those bees.

What is it about me...

...that attracts adult men with mental retardation? I'm not being flip or snotty about various romantic fiascos. I'm saying that grown men with mental retardation see something in me that draws them right on over.

I think they think I'm "nice." But Yo. I'm not.
*Checks*
Nope, not at all. Those of you who know me in the flesh will concur. I'm not a "Well! isn't she just the NICEST!!" kind of person. I have force fields. POWerful force fields.

Nevertheless, the bag boys at the grocery store near the office occasionally want to touch my hair and will reach right out and stroke my head while I dig in my pocketbook for the debit card. WTF guys!? Maybe if they weren't total strangers, and maybe if I knew where their hands had been last, this wouldn't startle me. But it does. And they want to talk to me too, tell me little stories about this or that personal triviality. As if I care. But now, somehow, I know all about the various siblings and cousins of the guy who insists on carrying my purchases from the liquor store out to my car even though he doesn't even work there, just loiters outside all day. His birthday is next month, as he repeatedly reminds me. He also finds a way to yet again run through stories about his cousins Dagmar and Connie et al. Yup, Dagmar. Gotta smile at that, but the question remains, what happens to my force-fields with this crew? Are they ineffective against anyone with an IQ below 95?

Quick story--I went to a very very small high school--250 kids grades 7-12. About 75% of the students were boarders, and the teachers and maintenance staff also lived on the school grounds.The maintenance staff lived in a dorm out near the football field that was called the Derelict Shack. Easy now, I didn't name it that. The guys were sketchy though--Tony was this filthy old coot who pulled on his smokes at his trach hole and reeked of whiskey. Seeing him spit out of that hole was an education. And Warren was soft and sweet, with a shy smile and a head that would duck away when you caught his eye. He was retarded, nearly blind, and deaf, and I thought the only thing he could say was his name, "Wah-when." I was wrong.

My best friend in high school, John, was the class cut up. WHAT a funny kid--a quick quick wit but not mean, despite...

OK, he had this stock set of practical jokes that worked well on Warren over and over. One was to unplug Warren's vacuum cleaner as he worked his way down the hall. It could take some time for Warren to realize the lack of power. (This gambit stopped working when the administration bought him the latest in vacuum technology--one with a headlight.)

I don't think Warren was all that old when I went to his school, maybe in his early 30s, which seems ancient to kids aged 12-18, but not to us olde folkkes, eh? At any rate, Warren was a sweet, kind man/boy who I completely ignored until he announced in front of all my snarky, flip, snotty peers "I luhv oo" to me as I sat on the smoking patio trying to appear cool. Oy. I'm still hearing about it. But holy cow what a sweet moment.

Force fields. It's lonely over here. Feel free to hoik out your blow-hole at me.

my first date

had my first date in 15 years. ohmygod what a jerk. he drank too much, which normally wld have made me be all "hey, wait up!" but he got really weird and very very annoying.

mainly, he was incredibly pushy and overbearing. right off the bat, he wanted me to go see elton john with him, and was an absolute asshole about me answering him on the spot. well hell, i wanted to think about it--it's a huge time commitment, i don't like doing stuff like that on weeknights, i don't like elton john, and i didn't really know whether i wanted to hang out with this guy for 4 hours, but i was willing to think about it and tell him TOMORROW. but he wouldn't shut up about it. he got all in my face--literally--and just kept hammering away at me to answer him NOW. and every time i tried to tell him i needed a day or so to check my calendar and whatnot, he just talked over me in a very aggressive way.

Him:
"There's no reason why you can't answer me now."
Me:
"well, I--"
Him:
"It's a simple question, so is it yes or no. Yes or no?"
Me:
"I've got to check my cal--"
Him:
"Explain why you can't tell me yes or no tonight. I find your unwillingness to tell me yes or no confusing."
Me:
"I just--"
Him:
"So is it yes or no?"

i don't know why i didn't get up and go. i shld have, but every time i said i needed to head home he wld say, "jeez, can't i have a minute to finish my beer?!" and he nursed that damn thing for the next 45 mins, during which time i had to listen to him sing along with "bye bye miss american pie"--in its ENTIRETY. and it's LONG.

so after he finally finished singing and asking me 15 times "you alright?" and telling me 15 times what a great time he's having and obsessively stroking my hand and arm, he was ready to let me leave. but i wasn't getting away without kissing the freak. ok, fine. so i thought i'd get thru the kiss and get the hell out of there. but he turned this into a ridiculous and hugely aggravating ordeal. first i shd say that the act of kissing someone new after 15 years with the same partner is to me a strange and slightly scary situation. the mechanics of it are awkward in the best of circumstances, and i needed it to be quick and superficial. but NO. like 10 times this jerk said that now was the time to present myself for the kiss, and i obliged each time, CUZ I WANTED TO GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE, but then he wld f&cking tell me "no, no, that's not right. close your eyes." or he'd say as i leaned toward him, "you're going to kiss me like that?!" or he'd simply pull his head back and away and laugh, and i'd be left hanging there. SO F&CKING UPSETTING. and this was in the goddamn stockton inn, sitting at the bar in front of the bartender and all the people having drinks/dinner! it was sadistic. i'm serious!

well finally i'm making a beeline for the door, and he pops in front of me to open it, but he can't get it open because he's pushing not pulling (ha!), so he walks back to go out thru the dining room, and i simply step up and pull the damn thing toward me and out i go. but i didn't close it all the way, and as i'm reaching back to close it, the bartender is walking around to also close it, and this freaking imbecile comes swerving up to me outside screaming like a goddamn banshee like it's halloween or something! what the hell was this about?!! he scared the bartender, but i just wanted to disappear. poof. but no. still had to live thru walking to my car--and that kiss--which so far was a failure. now i've dropped all semblance of being polite. i've had it, but he won't give me back the stupid magazine i brought with me until i kiss him. i was ready to f&cking *kill him!* but i did it--i moved in, kissed his smushy dry lips, and got in my car and tried to rip the f&ck out of there, but he then stretched out on the ground in the middle of the road blocking my exit!!! what the world is the matter with this person?

then he called me when i got home to apologize, and sent me an email this morning saying something to the effect of, "i guess i made you uncomfortable over the kiss." and asking me out again.

so went my first date.