Tonight, I had a boy over for dinner.

OMG!  GASP!

The same boy I met for dinner last night.  During dinner last night, I might have mentioned that all my house hold goods were delivered and that I *might* need help setting up my PS3 and XBox (I don’t, but that fact is totally not worth mentioning here).  He readily agreed to come set that up for me.  I quickly agreed to cook dinner, and he agreed to bring movies over to watch on my PS3.

Holy shit, that sounds like a DATE to me.  WTH?

So, he showed up about 5:30 (half hour early, thankyouverymuch) and my sweet and lovely dog, Satan, did her thing and barked, growled and was generally an ass hole to him for the first hour he was here.  Fantastic.

He got my PS3 hooked up as I was finishing up dinner.  The spaghetti noodles were cooking, we were watching Mythbusters on Discovery when I noticed how absurdly quiet it was.  Like, scary quiet.  The kids and animals are planning a take over kind of quiet.  I got up and went into the kitchen and

OH – MY – GOD

There is my dog, Emma, SATAN, covered up to her belly in spaghetti sauce.  And not only is it all over her, it on her leash, on the floor, on the walls, on the stove, the fridge.  EVERY WHERE.  I turned and look to see my friend P standing there watching me silently freak out, kind of laughing and smiling.  At first I was like “You bastard!  How dare you laugh at me!”

Then he picked her up and asked where the nearest bath was.  I led him upstairs and into the hall bathroom.  He stayed with her in the bathroom while I grabbed a towel and shampoo to clean the dog up.  He stayed while I washed her and tried really hard not to laugh directly at me.  LOL

After the dog was clean, it was down to the kitchen.  He was awesome.  He grabbed the spray cleaner and a roll of paper towels, while I got the sponge for the counter top.

Ladies, take a tip from me.  Please do not let your dog bathe in your marinara sauce when having guests over.  It will cause you to burn the bread and for dinner to be delayed.  (oh yes, during the dog bathing episode, I totally burned the garlic bread)

We got about half way through a movie when he called “tired” on me ( he got up early and worked all day today) and got up to go.  He asked for a hug tonight (a step up from last night when he just wanted to shake my hand)  and asked me to call him tomorrow.

Twice tonight he called this thing tonight a “date”.

I had the Monkey with me all weekend since it is the last weekend before I move to Alabama. It was a great weekend with him, spent giggling, playing and doing the things that we have fun doing. All with the under current that we both didn’t want to say out loud – it was the last time we were going to see each other for a while. While the Terrorist and I LOOK just a like, I think the Monkey and I are more a like in our temperaments, sense of humor, etc.

Friday night we grabbed some take out and came home to watch all the shows that had piled up on my TiVO this week. It was a nice, quiet, lovely evening together.

Saturday I had to work all day (haet!) but then we got dressed and headed out to dinner with the BDITU, his fiance and their friend at Dave & Buster’s for dinner. That was 6 hours of pure, unadulterated fun and stupid belly laughs. OMG, I had such a good time with him. We had a blast. I didn’t want it to end.

Today, I got him up and after breakfast, we headed to Best Buy to let him shop for his birthday present. He picked a Star Wars game for the Wii and a cool controller add on that turns the Wii-mote in to a light saber (which is very cool). We picked up his birthday cake, came home, picked up the Terrorist and headed to my mom and dads house. We ate dinner (omg spaghetti – yum) and had cake, then it was time to leave.

It broke my heart. I hugged on him several times, kissed all over him and said good bye 100 times. I held it together though until I left the folks house. Once in the car, I sobbed on the Terrorists shoulder. And she let me. She was actually a good kid today, fun to be around, no attitude. I was so grateful to her for that. And I told her so. Her response? “I know Mom, you are going to miss him. I will too.” That just made me sob harder. Ugh.

So, the sad is obvious. The good is that the Terrorist was not a twit today. And now? I’m going to go watch the show Firefly on DVD since I bought it today while I was at Best Buy.

Ha!  The title of this post is from the Glee cast recording of the REO Speedwagon song of the same name.  It was the “our song” of me and my first ‘real’ boyfriend when I was 15 years old.  This song, for that reason and the sappiness of it, makes me totally LOL every time I hear it.  Seriously.

Okay, now for serious (god, I hate the ’serious’).  Last night my daughter, whom I lovingly call the Terrorist on this blog, shattered my heart into a basquillion (STFU – it’s a word) pieces.  Her and I were talking about moving to Alabama last night.  Well.  I was talking about moving.  SHE was rolling her eyes, making faces, and generally being a brat about it.  *sigh*  I got sick of her attitude about it all (while, I really, truly understand where it is coming from, I got sick of it) and told her to shut the laptop down.  She slammed the laptop shut and gave me MASSIVE attitude.  So, consulting the parenting 101 manual that I keep with me at all times, I told her to knock off the attitude and when she didn’t, I sent her to her room.

I could hear her on the phone with someone, which I assumed was her father.  Her favorite sport, and the one she is totally best at (would win an Olympic Gold Medal at it) is trying to play him and I against each other.  Note I said TRY.  He is so afraid of me (which might be because he owes me an OBSCENE amount of money in child support and he isn’t in jail…..as long as he behaves) that he would never just blindly side with her.  ANYway, she finally came downstairs to get a drink – all sniffly and puffy eyed from crying.  She came and sat on my ottoman to calmly explain that there was no way in hell she was moving to Huntsville with me.  She was going to live with her dad, and he was just going to drive her back to our town each weekend so she could hang out with her friends (we live about 20 minutes apart from each other).  Oh, and as a bonus?  I have completely ruined and destroyed her life by making her move so many times.  Everything wrong in her life is my fault because I always make her move.

Uh, sister?  Can we just take a look here?  We moved from California to Texas when she was FOUR.  Then, we moved to Hell when she was 11.  How the ever living hell is that I am  “ALWAYS MAKING HER MOVE”?

I understand she is 15.  I understand that her friends are the most important thing ever to her.  I also understand that this move is something that I must do for MY mental health, which will benefit her in the long run.  Not to mention the awesome boost this will give to my career.  I have accepted the job and I. AM. GOING.

In the end, I told her to go to her room and go to bed.  It was better than the alternative, which was to completely freak out, melt down and lose my mind at her.  I waited until she left the room to do that.

So, in the past 6 months, I’ve lost both my kids.  They both have chosen to live with others than me.  My Monkey lives with my folks right now (at least until the end of the school year) and now my Terrorist wants to go live with her dad.  The man she hates more than anyone else.

I feel FUCKING AWESOME RIGHT NOW.

I lose at motherhood.

*sigh*

I’ve been away from my blog for a week.  Hmm.  Not a lot going on?  Too much stuff going on?  Mostly the latter I suppose.

Since I pulled the trigger on this job in Huntsville, AL, my life has kind of turned upside down.  I move from being mind numbingly terrified at the decision I made to being over come with glee at the decision I made.  Then I have times like right now where I am too numb to feel much of anything at all.

Why am I terrified?  I am nearly 40 years old.  I have a job that pays me very well, more than enough to live comfortably on my own.  I am not going alone on this journey; my Terrorist will be with me.  So, why I am terrified?  Believe it or not, I have never lived on my own.  Ever.  I moved from my folks house to shared apartments/houses, to marriage, to my folks after divorce, etc.  Never have I lived where it was ALL on me to make ends meet.  And while I logically understand that I make plenty of money to live very comfortably where we are going, there is still that fear.

The glee should be fairly self explanatory to anyone that has known me for more than 5 seconds since about June of this year.  June is when I began my all out assault on the horrible city of HELL that I live in, and my concentrated efforts to get the out of here.  I finally did it!  I finally get to leave this place!  And, I like the place I’m moving to and I already have friends there.  SO EXCITED about that.

Then, and most predominantly, there is this vast numbness.  I begin to think about all the stuff that I have to do before I can move, and my head explodes.  And my move date is NOT flexible.  My start date in the new job is 11/20, the Friday before Thanksgiving.  So, between now and earlier that week, I have to figure out what I am taking from this house, arrange the moving company to come box my stuff up and put it on the truck to Huntsville.  I am already working with a realtor in Huntsville to help me find a house.  I found a really cute one and it is actually nice, in a great neighborhood and a clear $200 less than what I set as my max amount of rent I could afford.  The lady I’m working with is going to go see it tomorrow and make sure it’s as nice as the photos represent and we’ll go from there.

So, once I get the house settled, I can sort of look at furniture because I need new furniture as I am leaving the stuff I have now here.  Then set up utilities, get the Terrorist registered for school, figure out where my new place of employment is…..oy.

So, if I’m quiet on here for a while, please forgive me.  I’m off in the corner having a complete, slobbering, nervous breakdown.

So, it’s been almost 3 weeks since I fell and broke my stupid foot (clearly, my foot is stupid because a smart foot would not have allowed this to happen).  I had a follow up visit with the (very cute) foot doctor.

He came in and immediately chastised me for not going to physical therapy yet.  But then said it was okay because I probably needed those 2 weeks to let the swelling go down and get my pain the manageable level.  I agreed wholeheartedly.  He then lectured me for 5 minutes about going to PT from now on.  Okay, okay, okay, I’ll go.  Jeeze.

The two outside metatarsals are broken, but lined up and healing nicely according to my new x-rays.  He is more concerned with my ligaments.  Two of them are torn.  The one connecting the ankle and lower leg bones to the foot, and the one that runs down the outside of the foot, from the ankle to the toe.

So, another three weeks in the boot.  He said as I go through therapy, he wants me to go around the house without the boot, but with another brace on.  Much smaller.  In fact, when either the physical therapist says, or 3 weeks when I go back to the doctor, I’ll be transitioned to this special brace.  At least I can probably put my sneaker on over that brace, and will finally be out of the brace.

So, the best possible outcome this week.  Of all the alternatives, this was the best one.  Right now he has ruled out surgery, and a hard cast, because he wants me to be in physical therapy to move the muscles.  Building the muscles up is the only thing that is going to save my ligaments now.  Oy.

And, through all this, all I can think of is how awful my toes look.  I need a pedicure!   I’m thinking of making someone take me this weekend to go get one.  I’ll just have to tell the person doing it to be extra gentle with my foot.  I can’t hardly stand it.  I am NOT  a girlie girl, but when it comes to my toes, I am.  I love my pedicures.  I need one.  SO BAD.

I go back to see the doc in 3 weeks to check it again.  Allegedly, if my foot has progressed enough in 3 weeks, he’ll let me out of the boot and into the smaller brace.  Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Good decisions come from experience, and experience comes from bad decisions.  ~Author Unknown

*le sigh*

Weighty decisions often come with heavy and sometimes almost unbearable consequences.  I am not immune to this phenomenon.  Not at all.

I am 39.  I will be 40 years old in December.  I have a 15 year old daughter and an almost 13 year old son.  For the past 16 years, I have made every decision, whether it is where to live to what brand of peas to buy at the store with them in mind first and foremost.  Always.  Now that they are older and far more well adjusted (hahahahaha, anyone that has met my daughter would argue about that) I have just made a MASSIVE, LIFE ALTERING decision that affects them, and now I am dealing with the fall out.

It’s not like I hadn’t talked to them about moving away from here.  I had.  A lot.  A whole lot in fact.  My son, sweet boy that he is, was like “whatever mom, as long as you are there I’m cool.”  He’s truly the most awesome human on the planet.  His older sister?  Wow.  Total opposite.  She was okay with it when it was an idea.  When it was a concept.  Now that it’s a reality?  Not so much.

I hobbled down the stairs this morning after getting ready for work and broke the news to her that I was going to accept the job in Huntsville, AL, today.  She burst into tears, told me that she didn’t want to move to AL-A-BA-MA for gods sake (she said “Alabama” with such distaste in her voice that I’m sure every one of my southern relatives flipped over in their graves).  As she stormed past me to leave for the bus stop she mumbled something at me and I managed to catch “live” and “at dad’s”.  Hmmm.  Interesting.  She does not want to live with her father.  She doesn’t want to spend 30 minutes with him.

She hates the school she goes to and 98% of the people that go there with her.  And to be honest, so do I.  This move will be good for her.  A fresh start for her (and me as well).  But right now, her 15 year old brain can’t comprehend anything beyond the fact that I am an evil, HORRIBLE, AWFUL WOMAN.  What kind of MOTHER would forcibly rip and tear her 15 year old child from ALL she holds dear.  Like her friend M.  **eye roll**

Then there is my husband.  I don’t talk about him on here because we are through.  He just doesn’t really get that yet.  I told him yesterday about the job and he didn’t speak to me the rest of the day.  I reminded him this morning that I had until tomorrow to accept or decline.  He fussed a little bit, to which I countered that it was the right thing to do for my career to which he snottily responded “Well then, just accept the damn thing.”

Thank you very much, sir.  That’s precisely what I did.  The last time our jobs kept us apart was for 8 months.  We very nearly didn’t survive that separation, and I don’t know that it isn’t what began the downward spiral of regret and dissatisfaction I have increasingly felt in my relationship for the past 3 years.  I am viewing my acceptance of this job now as another separation.  I was happier when I was apart from him before.  I think I will be again this time.  If my theory proves out right, and I expect it will, it is over.  Life is far too short to live so damn miserable all the time.

So, with all that said, why in the hell did I feel sick to my stomach as soon as I clicked the “accept” button on my offer?  I mean, immediately I was sick and shaky.  I KNOW this is a right thing for my career.  It will definitely grow my job and allow me to advance and make more at work.  It is going to be a much less awful environment than I am in now (personnel wise) with the bonus of there being several people already there that I know well.  THIS IS WHAT I WANTED.  This is what I’ve been sick and pining for since the beginning of June.  Why am I freaking out now??

Oy.  My head is hurty.

Here nor there, I accepted the job.  I will probably be relocated before Thanksgiving.  Honestly?  Despite all the sick and shaky and unsure, it can’t come quick enough.  Hurry, hurry, hurry.  I am desperate for this change.  I need this change.

God, things just aren’t moving here on the job front.  Houston is a total bust, so i am applying for any job I am remotely qualified for anywhere.  This is so frustrating.  And yes, I am very grateful that I have a job, when there are so many out there that do not.  I am not taking the job for granted at all.  I just want to do it somewhere else.

I am a very impatient person, and once I set my mind to something, I want it, and I want it now.  That doesn’t always work out the best for me, because of frustration when I can’t have or get what I want right away, or at all.  And this is not happening fast enough.  I began this process at the beginning of June and I’M STILL HERE.  God!  Everyday I’m stuck here is another day I am missing out on something and that pisses me off.

I’ve been upset tonight.  Very upset.  I just feel so defeated and miserable.  I am not sure how much longer I can hang in here feeling like this.  I’m not used to feeling this way.  Call me spoiled if you’d like, but there are very few things in life that I have truly wanted that I didn’t get.  Of course as a child, it was my parents/grandparents that did the spoiling.  As an adult, I’ve worked for everything I have and through my sheer determination and guts I get what I want.  And right now, I am being shut out of what I truly want in life, and the decisions are out of my hands on all fronts right now.  My professional life, my personal life, everything.  Someone else is calling the shots, without even talking to me and I am losing it.

I’m stagnant.  I’m defeated.  I’m sad.  I can’t stop crying.

I have not been able to listen to this song in 18 years.  If it comes on the radio, I turn it.  It it comes on the radio in a store, I leave.  It was played at her funeral.  She should be 40 today.  Instead, time stopped for her at 21.

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time of war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time of peace, I swear it’s not too late!

Elaine, I love you.  I miss you.  I wish we could be together today, I have you in my heart and in my soul.

The bad news I got yesterday could not have come at a worse time for me personally.  I’m still reeling from the sheer, gut wrenching awfulness of the news I got yesterday and on top of that, I haven’t slept in several days.  This time of year is an ugly one for me.  This Saturday, the 29th of August, would have been….SHOULD have been my dear best friend Elaine’s 40th birthday.

Her death, 18 1/2 years ago, at the hands of a sadistic, horrible animal completely shaped the adult I became.  I count that day as the day I truly lost the last of the innocence I had.  I was 21 years old and still mostly believe in the good in this world.  That day, that horrible day, the last of that child like innocence was destroyed.

This coming Saturday we should be together.  We should be toasting her successes, mourning her failures and laughing together.  We should be celebrating her entry into her 4th decade of life.

But we aren’t.  Instead I will quietly celebrate her very short, but very important life by myself, as I have for the past 18 years.  No one (save for my HSBFF) has ever really gotten my feelings about her.  I’ve literally had people in my life tell me “It’s been so many years, when are you going to get over this?”  The answer to that question?

Never.

It would be a disservice to her.  Everyone that knew her knew she was special.  She was an amazing person, a beautiful woman and the best friend a person could ask for.  Bright, funny, compassionate and loving beyond measure.  A true light.  A gift.  And I miss her every single day.

Elaine Marie Scott

August 29, 1969 – January 7, 1991

Today I was planning to write about a salad that I made for dinner last night.  I ate so much of it I was nearly sick afterwards and am having it for lunch.  See the recipe here.

Instead, I came in to work to find an email from my old Director in Houston, in response to my “What’s going on with the job?” question I sent him yesterday.

The short answer is I am not going to be offered the job.  Congress and the White House are very predictably slashing budget on my industry as the Democrats do each and every time they are elected to office and it appears that NASA is taking a HUGE hit this time around (oh, never you fear, they are also slashing the shit out of military budgets too, yet continuing to send men and women overseas to fight – without enough or new equipment to help them – yay! /sarcasm).  The Director said he didn’t want to bring me back right now, just to see me get caught up in the layoffs they expect next year.

There are not words to express how upset and devastated I am by this.  No words.