sueeeus

Okay. New server, compliments of new uber geek friends. No more crashes! I think I have it all sorted out. Blogging may resume.

Awesome.

I’m a happy camper.

And while I’m at it, let’s see how many men I can manage to piss off in one day.  There is always Gadget.  That’s a given.  There are the inevitable communication faux pas that occur whilst traversing the slippery slope of defining boundaries and parameters in budding friendships slash relationships.  There are misunderstandings and mis-matched senses of humor. There are offenses taken.  It’s exhausting.  It’s humbling.  It’s perplexing.  Especially because I’ve always tried very diligently to be a good communicator.  It’s my thing.  So if I suck at the thing that is supposedly my strongsuit… …well, that’s just dandy for the self-esteem and self-confidence, now isn’t it?

And of course I’m Miss UltraSensitive, so it wrecks me to the core when I think that I’ve upset someone.

pissed, pissed, pissed, pissedy pissed

Probably I over-react, but over the course of a few days, Gadget won’t answer his phone.  I messaged his wife-to-be and she hasn’t replied.  I called his work number and he didn’t pick up.  He hasn’t called me back.  Finally, I texted him.  Does he want to pick up the kids after work on Friday?  Can’t. Saturday morning?  No money for gas or anything else.

WTH

WTH?

What kind of a person doesn’t FIND A WAY to see his kids?  I can’t take full legal control of them and just remove ourselves from his life.  I want them to see him and have fun with him and love him and respect him.  So WTH?  So he has a limited income and a wife-to-be and four extra kids all under one roof.  You just modify your lifestyle to make things work.  Eat in.  Play in.  You find a way to make it work.  Shop at thrift stores.  Whatever it takes.

And yes, the stupid server is still crashing several times a day, as they work on migrating everything to new hardware.  I don’t know why that task should take so blessed long, unless they have a complete set of incompetents flailing about.  Ridiculous.  They are crediting a full year of free service once the dust settles, but for heaven’s sake.  How’s a woman supposed to vent?

I’m too tired to write much.  It’s been an exhausting week.  An exhausting day.  I want to spend some time speaking of how amazing this little man is.  He’s a firecracker.  So passionate.  So full-on.  He’s an amazing little guy, my Tiger Beat.  But I’m just too tired.  Today.  So a handful of pictures will have to do.  Happy birthday, my sweet love.  You are the bestest.

tiger beat, you rock my world

you're my little ray of light

you're my littlest man

the loot – party favors

birthday goodies

confetti cupcakes

ready to roll

breakfast of champions

the good

My boys are home.  Safe and sound in their room.  Nighty night, boys.  I love you.

the usual crap

I wait around for Gadget to call and let me know what time he’ll be ready with the kids.  No call, so I decided to go to Target and pick up the school supplies on BB’s kindergarten list.  My BB is going to kindergarten!  I can hardly fathom it!  I figured I’d be a few miles down the road in the general direction I need to be.  So Gadget calls around 8 pm and asks where I am, why am I not at the park and ride.  When I get there, he has the nerve to get on my case for not packing enough clothes for the boys, and for not packing baby wipes for LB.  Last time he complained that I didn’t provide enough diapers.  Am I way off here, or isn’t it remotely the least bit feasible and reasonable that their dad should be at least a tiny bit compelled to keep a few diapers and baby wipes and a spare change of clothes on hand for his own kids?  And he dares to criticize me for this?  The man who balks and rages that I’ve gone to the state to ensure that he pays one hundred and fifty stinking dollars a month to support his two sons?  Have I mentioned (I’m sure I have) that that contribution constitutes a whopping 2.5 days of daycare a month.  It makes me utterly sick to my stomach that he dare make jabs about the expense of anything, while concurrently insinuating that I’m lacking as a parent.

Or maybe I read too much into things.  The man knows how to push my buttons.

The suppressing of those emotions, so that my kids don’t hear it in my voice or see it in my face, nearly made me wretch during the ride home.

on a side note

The new kids were in the car, waiting, so I got to meet the four of them.  They are beautiful.  The baby is so squeezable, I just wanted to hold her and cuddle her.  What can I say.  I love kids.  There are three girls and one boy, all under 7.  Their dad shaved their heads because they had lice.  The girls were devastated, as they would be, but they are very beautiful, even with almost no hair.  Beautiful.  One girl asked me “Why did you break up?”  It’s so heart wrenching, how they try to work things out, these little ones.  My BB said he wished we didn’t break up and he wants to live with Daddy, but he wants to live with me and Nicole and all the kids.  Oy.  Explain how that’s not the way things work to a five year old.

LB has a scab with a bruise on his forehead that wasn’t there yesterday when I dropped him off.  Gadget insists it was.  I spiked his hair before he left.  I know it wasn’t there.  Today he’s got scrapes all over his elbow and hand.  Of course he falls.  He’s a toddler.  But please, keep an eye on him, and tell me what happened so I know how he got hurt.

I’m glad Gadget met Nicole and has a family life to live.  I hope they all work out.  I hope they raise those children well.  I just wish he’d be more of a man and a father where his own children are concerned.

thanks, I feel better now

Whatever would I do if I couldn’t throw my thoughts out on my blog?  I’d either implode or explode.  Either way, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Stupid stupid stupidy server that keeps choking, how am I supposed to blog with you being so fickle?

Gadget’s MO is to play his passive aggressive games and not give me the courtesy of any advance notice with regard to when he will take the boys. While it appears there may be a light at the end of this tunnel, since he’s expressed interest in synchronizing the visitation with his new woman’s visitation schedule such that all children can be together for the same weekend, there is no guarantee that he will follow through with any level of consistency.

Anyhow. He called at 8 a.m. Saturday morning and said he’d take the kids, and to meet him at 9 a.m. Nice. Does this give me time to make any sort of weekend plans?

I prefer to be able to make plans. I still sort of fall apart when the boys aren’t here. As much as I yearn for some down time or me time, I still haven’t learned how not to fall apart when they’re not here. A cloud of anguish descends — the grief that we aren’t a family, and I so, so, so want to be a family. Not with Gadget. That ship has sailed. It’s just grief that we aren’t a family, or rather, I’m not a family when my boys are gone. So I fall apart. Because, truly, that’s all I want. Family. Sigh. Therefore, knowing this is how things tend to go, I like to be able to book up my alone time so that I don’t have much time to fall under the spell of that cloud that so deftly and swiftly descends upon me.

Luckily, I’ve been able to schedule very short notice massage appointments each time I’ve come upon a free weekend. If nothing else, this indulgence does much to improve my overall well being. Man hands on me, this time for two full hours, working deep, deep, deep into the bound up muscles of my body. Wow, that almost sounds saucy. I could put a little more effort into that prose and come up with something racy! Massage doesn’t have to be man-hands. I’ve been trying different practitioners, but lately am pleased with this particular therapist. He’s got a little familiarity now with what I need, and because we went for two hours yesterday, he really made some progress and was able to loosen up the upper back and shoulders. I’ve been having chronic headaches, so this is a step in the right direction. And besides, I’ll take two hours of man hands on me any day, even if I have to pay for it!

So this free time can become very expensive. Shopping is one thing that gets me out of the house and that can be done on the spur of the moment. And what struck my fancy this weekend? I stumbled upon this iPod speaker contraption called an iHome, that claims to produce excellent sound. It’s kind of odd looking, and more expensive than the other options, but I figured, what the heck. I can return it if I don’t like it. Oh, I love Costco. Love. Costco is my crack. There, I said it.

Of course I can rationalize any mad spending. See, a speaker solution for the iPod allows me to listen to music without having to wear headphones and carry the iPod around. I seldom have pockets, so have to stuff the thing in my bra. And if I’m dancing around, well, it gets sweaty. Gross! Not to mention potentially limiting the lifespan of my iPod. Electronics and moisture don’t play well together. That’s just plain irresponsible, and we can’t have that!  And singing and dancing to music, reliving memories and experiences that the music evokes, is very therapeutic. Therefore it’s good for my soul. Good for my well being. And something that is good for my well being is worth spending mad money on. Yes? Yes!

I’m good. What can I say.

I tried to wrangle together a date or two within my minuscule window, but it’s just as well that I wasn’t successful. I could get myself into trouble if I acted on spontaneity like that! Instead, I stayed in, drank some wine, bombarded everyone’s FaceBook walls, and cyber flirted. So entertaining. This week I’ve had a sugar daddy offer, a few boy toy prospects, a heap of not-at-all-my-type-please-leave-me-alone pursuers, messages from a small handful of actually nice sounding men, including one or two I might agree to actually meet in person. Maybe. Or maybe not.

It’s fun, but wearying. I don’t really want to look around, troll about, or anything like that. I just want Mister Right-For-Me to show up in front of me, and I want to recognize him, say, “Hello there cutie pie, how are you, where have you been all my life?”, to which he says, “Looking for you, Sweetheart”, and that’s that. We live happily ever after. We don’t have to figure out if we’re ready to meet or even be with someone. We don’t have to figure out if we’re compatible. We don’t have to figure out if we’ll get along until we’re a hundred and one. We don’t have to wonder if the love and honor and respect and compassion and communication and understanding and interest and attraction and affection and everything or anything else will ever fade. We don’t have to wonder if the other will help raise our kids the way we want them to be raised. We don’t have to wonder if they’ll be true and honest. We don’t have to wonder if they’ll always have our back.  We don’t have to wonder if they’ll be responsible and trustworthy. We just jump into forever together.

I know. I’m bat crazy.

hello cutie pie, it's me, bat-girl

I don’t want that sugar daddy, though. That much I do know.

Oh, and that iHome thingy?  Sounds pretty darn good.  Whodathunkit?

...one of the last of the innocents and she keeps fooling herself...

I’m learning.  At a glacial pace.  Or even a plate tectonics pace.

It’s beginning to dawn on me that my body and heart and soul are all speaking to me at times, and that I should listen.  They may actually know what they’re saying.

When I recall all the nights I would cry myself to sleep, curled up in fetal position, in complete and utter anguish, I should have listened.  Instead, I assumed I was somehow at fault, that I really was that insecure, or that my hormones were to blame.  I have pages and pages of blog posts and journal entries to that effect.  Pages and pages which constitute hours upon hours of rationalization.  It’s not you it’s me.  Guess what?  It was you.  It was me too.  I should have given myself credit and honored my body, heart and soul, instead of allowing myself to be duped by my head.  What my head couldn’t see, everything else about me could.

I wasn’t then and am not now an overindulgent mother who lets her kids walk all over her.  Yes, I have a particular parenting style that is gentle, but also strict.  I believe that discipline can be accomplished without a  heavy hand.

I wasn’t then and am not now insecure and needy.  I’ve always been open and loving.  Not grasping, in order to receive or validate my existence, but simply giving. I give my all, with innocence, pure, simple,  open and complete.  If it’s met with scorn, ambivalence, or rejection, of course I wince.  How can I not, when all I’m doing is pouring out love?

Yes, I am definitely ultra sensitive.  Absolutely and most definitely.  Positively and completely.

I should do a better job of giving myself the benefit of the doubt.  At least I recognize that now.  I hope I can pay better attention from here on out.  I probably won’t, but I can at least make an attempt to try now and then.  Or at least recognize it more quickly in retrospect.

Eventually…

My blog, or rather, my full web server, which means all of my web sites and my email accounts have been down for days.  Days!  Oh, the forced separation from blogland was rough.  I had to post my drivel to FaceBook.  And people, I have to restrain myself there, because it’s like business and pleasure or religion and politics.  They just don’t mix well.  And I need a place to release my innermost stuff!

Like my adventures in cyber flirting.  I can’t exactly post anything juicy on FaceBook, where coworkers and extended family members nose about.

Not that it’s all that juicy, but it certainly is entertaining.

sizzle me this

I send text messages with flirty pictures like this.  Oh the fun.  Saucy me.  Such a tart.

I’m being a good girl, though.  Truly.  It’s all in good fun.  I seldom actually meet anyone in person.  A few, though.  Have I met anybody neato bandito?  It’s interesting, how you just never know with people.  They may seem interesting on line, but not at all interesting in real life, and vice versa.   …no keepers, and not many second dates.  But I am currently entertained by and with one man whom I’ve just met in real life, and I do think we will actually see each other again.  He’s made it clear that he’s not ready for a relationship and that he wants to pursue friendship(s), and that’s fine by me.  A relief, actually.  Maybe we’ll have some fun making out, though.  Wheeeee!

It’s nice to have at least a little diversion, anyway.

Something is dawning on me, as the heap of discarded men grows.  All the time and effort trying to peer earnestly into their minds, their hearts, their souls.  All the reaching out, the opening up, the attempted sharing.  All the striving to see that of which they are made.  How long have I spent under the mistaken assumption that I am a reflection of the man I choose?  Or that he can or should be a reflection of me?

I’m not going to find myself in or with another man.

I don’t need to find myself.

I’ve been here all along.

me

I am smart, competent, confident, enthusiastic, kind, compassionate, responsible, witty, gentle, strong, mature, educated, thoughtful, playful, sensitive, wise, elegant, savvy, honest, healthy, trustworthy, fun, dependable, interesting, passionate, alive, affectionate, communicative, understanding, patient, excellent.

Me.

Me!

The other day while my cleaning girl was cleaning (yes, I indulge in hiring out, and am tickled beyond all reason to say that I haven’t cleaned a toilet in over two years…   ..TWO YEARS!!!!   …and no, she doesn’t do as great a job as I would, were I to be doing the cleaning, but I’m okay with that since it’s SO nice that it’s not me wielding the scrubber) I noticed the vacuum cleaner was making a terrible loud noise.  I checked the usual suspects – belt, hose, bag – and came up with nothing.  It was still sucking, so I let it go.

Then, after returning from a fantastic week of vacation during which many small and large bodies filled cracks and crevices in my car with beach sand, twigs, pebbles and all manner of flotsam and jetsam, I decided to [*gasp*] clean the car.  I fired up the vacuum cleaner and the noise was unbearably loud, and after a very short time, a hot smell emerged.  Crap.  Definitely something was wrong with it.  Which completely sidetracked my car-cleaning mojo.

Thanks to the wonder of modern technology (and high speed internet, coupled with a myriad of helpful folks out there who like to post how-to information for various and sundry reasons) I quickly learned that the observed symptoms were likely due to a broken fan.  It’s very easy to confirm — just remove the front piece and take a look.

yep, that's the fan, and yep, it's broken

Voila!  Confirmed (note large black region where fan blades used to be).

The next step was to find a replacement part.  We have the wonder of eBay for that.

one can find anything on eBay

Sometimes eBay is fantastic.  In this case, I got the part I needed plus a bonus spare belt, all shipped directly to my home for under $20.  No schlepping around the city looking for a repair shop that stocks Kirby parts (and sells them at full retail prices, because they can).

Next, with the aforementioned helpful information at my fingertips, I set about the replacement.

gaining access

off with the old

on with the new

good as new

tools of the trade and spoils of war

In the meantime, I still went to Costco and bought another vacuum cleaner.  Just in case.  It’s still in the box.  Oreck pro something or other.  I might do a vacuum comparison and see how well it performs.  Maybe I’ll retire my Kirby.  I was suckered by the door-to-door salesman, oh, fifteen or twenty years ago.  It has held up, until now.  Not that I’d say that makes it worth the king’s ransom that it cost.

Anyway.  Bottom line?  I am woman, hear me roar!  Isn’t there a song that goes something like, “anything he can do I can do better”?  Well, that’s me!  Take that, non-existent male counterpart.  Who needs you anyway?