Hello old friends!  How are all of you?  Well I hope.

As I sat back recently, reviewing many of my archived entries, I found the tone of this blog to be much too painful, much too MW-ish, much too "victim-ish." 

I'm doing much MUCH better these days, and while I still feel the need to blog, I just didn't feel right doing it here.  I don't want to take this blog down, because I want to be able to come here sometimes, when I need to remind myself of the pain and misery I've suffered through... but I needed and wanted a fresh start. 

So... I've moved to blogger.

It's a new look, a new tone, and hopefully, a new Sybil.

Come and join me if you like.  I miss hearing from you.

You can find me at:  www.sybil59.blogspot.com

The difference between knowing, and feeling:

I know that I'm clinically depressed.  Intellectually, I know that.  I also know that there's help for it.  But I feel as though I can't get my feet to move one in front of the other, so that I can get out the door to get that help.

I know the cause of it.  I know it's probably not worth one one millionth of this misery I'm in.  But I feel as though I will never laugh again, never find joy again, never live again.

Tonight, in the freezing cold, overcast dismal night sky, I actually stood at the water's edge and contemplated walking in and not stopping.  I actually got my shoes wet.  I tried to imagine having the fortitude to just walk into the black freezing water until I could no longer breathe, and not turn around & walk out of it.  I came very close.

Is anybody listening?

I have lost myself.

Apparently, the body of Barry Cowsill has been identified.  He was found on a wharf in New Orleans.  The blurb said he had been dead for some time.

For those of you living in a cave, Barry Cowsill of the 60's Cowsills fame (Hair, The Rain, The Park, and Other Things, etc.) had moved to New Orleans shortly before Katrina hit.  He left some disparaging voice mails for his sister Susan on September 1st, and hasn't been heard from since.

The Cowsills are originally from Newport, RI.

In previous posts here, you might recall me mentioning hanging out on "the island."  The island I referred to is Newport.

I remember one night quite vividly.  I was at one of my favorite hangouts in Newport for karaoke.  There was a very drunk man sitting by himself at a table, mumbling to no one in particular, and looking rather ratty.  I didn't know who the heck he was.  I had never seen him there before.

Then the DJ said, "Ok... it's Barry's turn to sing."  The ratty looking man took the microphone, and without standing up (I doubt he could) began singing Frank Sinatra's It Was A Very Good Year.

He sang the SHIT out of that song. 

About two thirds through the song, I realized who he was.  There was no mistaking his voice.  Here was Barry Cowsill, drunk off his ass, needing a bath and clean clothes, singing karaoke in a VFW hall.  Holy Crap!

Just goes to show ya, you just never know.

I know better than to proclaim New Year Resolutions.  They never come to fruition.

I don't need to lose weight.  I've lost an incredible amount in the last 12 days... come to think of it, has it been 12 days already?

I don't need to do a better job staying in touch with my stepmother.  Lately, I talk to her several times a day.

I don't need to be more judicious about my job.  It's basically the only diversion I have these days.

I guess I could resolve to stay out of the casinos... but I don't figure I need to make a conscious effort to do so.  I find no pleasure in them any longer.

I've already begun taking care of things around the house that I'd let go for the past year.  Already begun tossing out years worth of outdated, too-large, ugly, worn, or just plain "I don't like 'em" clothes. 

I know... maybe I'll book a vacation.  Someplace warm & tropical, away from the danger of Tsunami's, Volcanos, Landslides, Earth Quakes.  Any suggestions?

I've restrung my guitars, and dusted off my keyboards.  Time to start soothing my soul by playing music again.

I've pulled the dozen or so books off my bookshelf that I meant to read last year, and never had the time to.

Life is so ironic. 

As I predicted, MW has been back in touch talking about how he aches without me... how he resents his kids for forcing him to give me up... how he can't even get through a meal with Dragon Lady without an argument. 

I can't listen to this.  I look at him, and I see the physical changes in his appearance since he's been gone.  Amazing, drastic changes in his appearance.  He actually looks like a cancer patient these days.  I'm sure it's because he isn't sleeping properly, and quite certainly not eating properly.  I know his M.O.  He is in constant motion 16 hours a day so that he doesn't have to be near her.  Except, now... it shows.  He's got lines in his face that weren't there 2 weeks ago.  His step is minus the spring, and his dark circles have dark circles.

I look at him and I'm torn between sympathy for his impending health challenges, and vehemence for what he did to me and how he caused me to suffer.

I don't wish anything harmful on him.  I don't look at him and think 'Good Enough.'  I just look at him and think, 'Why did I have to fall so in love with you?'

I believe in Karma.

I believe that MW has some severe heartbreak to live through before his journey through this world is through. 

Well, he called me when he got through with work, just like he said he would. 

I had been having second thoughts all day, but I resisted the urge to blow him off, and agreed to meet at 7:30 for a couple of drinks.

It was a nice evening.  We sat until about 10:30 catching up with each other's news.  It's been over a year since we'd seen each other, so there was a lot to catch up on.

He looked great.  A little greyer than I remembered, but still a very handsome guy.

At the end of the night he asked me, "So, are you sure you're single now?"

I said, "Oh yes... I'm single."

Then he gave me a great big hug, a nice kiss, told me I was beautiful, and said, "I can't wait to see you again.  Let's get together again soon."  I said we would, then we got in our respective cars and drove off.

When I got home, I kept waiting for an attack of the guilty's, but they never came.  I felt a strange peace.

So, I jumped into my lounge clothes, popped a dvd into the player, and settled in on the couch under a nice comforter, and quite contentedly watched a movie until I fell asleep.

And that's the whole story.

Get your violins out, this is a real tear jerker.

As you read in my last post, things with MW hit a wall in December.  His kids turned up the pressure to dump me and "go home."  Although, home was an undefined place, anywhere but with me.  He insisted that he wouldn't allow them to run his life, and that he couldn't bear to think of life without me.  Uh Huh.

Well, December 24th arrived and he tells me that his grandson has a Christmas pageant at church, and he simply HAS to attend.  Naturally, the whole family would be present.

So, I iron some nice clothes for him, make sure he looks dapper, and off he goes.  He says he should be back by 8pm so that we can get on with our own Christmas Eve plans.

At 7:30pm he calls me to say that the family is having "After Pageant dessert."  I say, "And you're going?"  He says "Yes."  I say, "Well what time are you coming home?"  He says, "I'm not."

I say, "Just like that?  You're not coming home?" 

I meet him in the parking lot of Home Depot and he is crying.  He says he wants his kids in his life, and he wants to be in theirs.  As long as we're together he can't have them.

I go to pieces, unable to believe he's doing this to me on Christmas Eve.

He drives away and leaves me standing there.

Finally, I get in my car and head home.  As I'm going down the road he calls me and says, "Sybil, I love you.  I can't be without you in my life.  I'll be home tonight."

That was the last I heard of him.

EPILOGUE:
I cried my tears all night on the 24th.  After that, I packed up every single thing that either belonged to him, or reminded me of him, and put it all outside.  Then I proceeded to take a Xanax. 

I muddled through Christmas day, unable to eat, unable to smile, unable to participate really.

My Ex husband, who has incidentally become my best friend in the world, was at my mom's for dinner on Christmas day.  He was incensed at what MW did, and moreover he was concerned for me.  You see, MW left with only the clothes on his back, and never left the keys to my house.

My Ex, whose name is Bill by the way, insisted that I hang out with him for the rest of the day.  So, not wanting to come home to my empty house, I did.  I spent the night at Bill's, where he tried his best to talk my ears off and keep my mind occupied.  Of course, all his talking only annoyed me, but I didn't let on because he was trying to be nice.

On Monday morning, Bill & I woke up and left his place to go to the hardware store.  We bought new locks for all around my house.  Then we came here and he changed all the locks.  After that he went around fixing all the crap that MW said he would, but somehow never got around to.  He was a good shit.

After that, we went back to my mom's, where I tried to eat for the first time in 2 days.  I was able to get a little down, but not much.  My stomach was still inside out.

By 4pm, I was dying to sleep, (not having slept more than a couple of hours in the past 48) so I came home, and Bill went about his business.

I spent the night on my couch, with the television for company.  I slept in fits, a little at a time, but still I got more sleep than the previous 2 nights.  And now, here we are at 8:30am on Tuesday morning, and you're all caught up about what a wonderful Christmas I had.

EDITORIAL:
This isn't the first time this has happened.  MW did this once before.  The last time he did it, I completely fell to pieces, requiring prescription medication just to allow me to function.  I mean, I totally lost it.  Last time I never left him alone.  I insisted that he had made a mistake, and that I wasn't going to get out of the picture.  That's why we ended up back together.

This time is different.  I haven't called him once since he left.  I changed my locks immediately, (never would have thought of doing that the last time.)  I'm not driving myself crazy wondering what he's doing, or with whom.  I guess this time, I'm ok with it.

The truth of the matter is, recently, like within the past 2 weeks, he was diagnosed with a life threatening disease.  When he got that news, I knew it was only a matter of time before he went back to be with his family.  He figures he's dying.  Based on what I know of his test results (and with a whole battery of others to come) I think he may be right.  I guess when you come right down to it, I always knew that his rotten bastard kids would win out, and when he had to face his own mortality, that just put the accelerator on things.  Christmas, I guess was the natural time to do it.

If the truth be told, what bothers me most right now, is being alone in the house.  It's been a year since I've lived alone, and it's a little tough to re-adjust to.

It'll be ok.

It's like having a New Year's resolution a week early.

Rest assured though, that regardless when, if he ever comes around again looking to start things up, my mind is made up.  The answer is no.  There's only so much scar tissue my heart can tolerate, and he's met his quota.

I wish him well.  I hope his disease doesn't kill him.  I hope his no good rotten fucking brats are happy.  And I hope I don't run into him and Dragon Lady anywhere.

And by the way, I have a date tonight.    & nbsp;  :)

I'll fill you all in on it.

I need to pontificate for a while.  Just humor me, ok?

Here's the thing... I'm gettin' Goddamned tired of being told, "You don't know what it's like.  You're not a parent."

Well, true.  I'm not a parent.  But I AM somebody's child.  I DID have parents.  This means that I am somewhat familiar with the type of relationship that occurs between a parent and their offspring.

If you ask me, there comes a time when all spawn must make their own way... under their own steam... by their own devices.

I am SO SICK AND TIRED OF ... "Dad, can you come to my house and replace the plug on the end of my iron... the prongs stayed in the outlet... can you get those out for me too?"

And, "Dad, I'm busy today... go register my new vehicle, and pick it up for me."

And, "Dad, when are you going to finish this new $40,000.00 kitchen that you've put in for me.  I'm entertaining guests this week, and I can't BEAR to let them see it without the molding up."

And, "Dad, it's snowing.  I need a ride to work.  Oh, by the way, I get done at 11pm, but by the time I finish counting the money and stocking the shelves, it'll be midnight.  I'm going to need a ride home then.  Use your truck?  Nooooooooo, I don't want the responsibility of driving your truck in the snow.  Drop me off, and come get me when I'm done."

And these selfish, spoiled rotten monsters are all adults, ranging in age from 40-28.

And so, what does this ridiculous, stupid, fool do?  Right... he cow-tows to each and every one of their whims.

Meanwhile, I can't get the dickhead to take out the trash.

If this is Karma, I must've been Hitler, in a previous life.

So let me tell you the rest of the story of this root canal from hell.

Yesterday was the long awaited day for me to have this cavernous hole (not really... it was about the size of a 4mm lead refill) filled in my poor little tooth.

After duly reading Dr. Hottie off about the bill of goods he sold me, I settled back in my chair and let him proceed to administer apparently horse sized doses of novacaine to my already bruised and battered jaw.  Ok, so he numbed me up.

I'll spare you all the gory details, but suffice to say that when he went digging around in that canal, he eventually reached the bottom of it... WOW!  Talk about seeing stars.  Now I know what that phrase really means.

About two weeks ago I noticed something weird with one of my lower teeth.  It felt like I had food stuck between two of them, so I flossed and water-picked, and flossed some more... all to no avail.  It started to become annoying.

Then one morning, I noticed a little discomfort in that tooth.  Something told me (the mental giant that I am) that there must be a problem brewing there which would require the services of my very attractive dentist.  So I called for an appointment.  Sadly, Dr Bob could not see me for two weeks.  Alright... so I'd have to wait.

The next day, I experienced for the first time in 46 years, the total agony of a toothache.  What MISERY!

So I called Dr Bob again.  This time his receptionist said, "Ok.  Come in today at 4:45."  So, with innocent expectations of a quick filling repair, I went to see him.

Dr Hottie looked in my mouth and with a sad look said, "Sybil, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your filling is all but hanging by a hair, and it was covering a very deep cavity.  You waited too long.  There's an abscess in there and you need a root canal."

WHAT??!!!  A root canal?  ME?   Miss Brush 10 times a day, obsessive compulsive about her teeth???  NOoooooooo!  It can't be!

Then he went to say, "But don't worry.  Root canals have a bad reputation but now adays they are not painful at all.  In fact, as soon as I open up this tooth, all of your pain with be immediately relieved."

So, with even more innocence, I allowed him to proceed with the drilling of my beautiful little white tooth, and he killed the root.

By the way, did I mention this happend the day before Thanksgiving?

Anyway, I left his office thoroughly dumb.  By the time the anesthesia wore off, I NEVER FELT SUCH HORRIFIC PAIN IN ALL MY LIFE! 

My lower jaw swelled like I was sucking on a golf ball, and the next day I had the ugliest green/yellow bruise on my face.

It has now been nine days since I was educated to the fact that ... Yes indeed... a root canal hurts like a MoFo, and I still cannot eat on that side of my mouth.

Dr Hottie will be filling in the hole he created next Tuesday.  When I see him I intend to tell him that he's a big fat liar, and like all other men, I will never trust him again.

A is for Age – 46
B is for Booze – Coors Light
C is for Career – Marketing Consultant
D is for Dad’s name – Leonard
E is for Essential items to bring to a party – My exhuberant personality
F is for Favorite song at the moment – Here We Go Again (Ray Charles)
G is for Goof off thing to do – Watch TV
H is for Hometown – Dartmouth
I is for Instrument you play – Guitar
J is for Jam or Jelly you like – No Thanks
K is for Kids – Nope
L is for Living arrangement – Cohabitating in a state of discord
M is for Mom’s name – Eileen
N is for Name of best friend – So sad...
O is for Overnight Stay in a Hospital – Once, gall bladder surgery
P is for Phobias – Spiders & Tunnels
Q is for Quote you like – "It is what it is." ~ Quasi Moto
R is for Relationship that lasted longest – Marriage #3
S is for Siblings – Older brother (Stephen), younger sister (Karen)
T is for Texas, ever been? – Yep  all over Texas
U for Unique trait – Hm... I'm very VERY psychic
V if for Vegetable you love – peas
W is for Worst traits – Controlling nature, jealous streak
X- is for X-rays you’ve had – Oh Gawd... allllllll over
Y is for Yummy food you make – A to die for roast pork
Z is for Zodiac sign – Scorpio, through and through

Lemme tell ya, the last time I came here to blog, the formatting was SO messed up that I got totally disgusted, closed the thing, and vowed never to return.

So much for my vows.

Anyway, I got something cool to tell ya... (whomever might happen across my now mostly defunct blog.)

For a couple of years, I've been reading whatever info I could happen across regarding a supposed haunted graveyard here in Massachusetts.  It's located in central Mass, about 2 hours away from where I live, and by most accounts, it's very difficult to find.

It's called Spider Gates Cemetery, and if you Google it, you'll find plenty written about it on the web.  It's a 16th century Quaker graveyard filled mostly with Southwicks and Earles.  However, there are some newly arrived residents, as recent as this year.  I guess the Earles and the Southwicks were extremely prolific.

So, being that I was born on Halloween, and being that I'm very intuned to paranormal stuff, I decided this year, that I would find this dang cemetery, and be in it on Halloween.

Well, armed with whatever sparse information I could gather off the web in terms of how to find this place, off I ventured to hopefully come face to face with whatever evil, creepy ghosty stuff lurks in Spider Gates.

Everything went fine until I got off the highway in Leicester, MA which is the town this place is in.  If you Mapquest the place, it tells you to go to Earle St.  What it doesn't tell you is, Earle street is an unmarked, gated, private dirt road located halfway between Hell and Highwater. 

But I was not to be deterred.

After exploring just about every dirt road looking path into the woods, and moments before sundown, and just as I was thinking of throwing in the towel, I FOUND THE DIRT ROAD.

Armed with my camera, I ventured up (yes, it's uphill) this wooded, sparsely traveled, overgrown path.  I followed it past stone walls, streams, dead trees, squawking crows, and God knows what else making eerie noises in the dim light of dusk, until FINALLY, I came to the gates of the cemetery.

The gates are wrought iron, and sort of shaped like a spider's web, thus the name Spider Gates.  I stopped short of going through the gates, because after all, the information on the web states that these are the gates to hell, and once you walk through them, terrible, awful things will happen to you.  So, I stopped.... and took a few pictures.  (I will try to post them here shortly)

Once I found my intestinal fortitude, I walked through the gates.  I waited, just inside them for something, anything to happen.

Call it coincidence, or call it spirits.... I don't know, but shortly after entering the cemetery, a very cold gust of wind hit me square in the face, and made me shudder.  (Did I mention that it was anything but cold and windy outside?)

Creepy!

I began to walk the perimeter of this small cemetery, just absorbing the essence of the place, and opening myself up to feeling the atmosphere.

I paid attention to the names on the stones, and the dates of interments.  Most were from the 1700's, as I said.

In the center of the cemetery is an area that is slightly raised, and rectangular.  No graves are there, nor are there trees.  That area is said to be the "altar" where Satanic rituals are conducted.  I stood in the middle of it, and closed my eyes.  I have to admit, I did not sense anything unusual there, and I came to the conclusion that this was the site of perhaps a chapel or the like, once upon a time.

On the grounds, there is said to be a "Hanging Tree" where a teen boy hung himself.  I found the tree, and felt it with my hands.  Here, I will tell you, I was immediately overcome with a profound sadness.  An overwhelming feeling of despair.  Once again, while touching the tree, a very cold gust of wind hit me in the face. 

Creepy!

After awhile, I sat on the stone wall and simply rested.  I felt completely drained and exhausted.  I suppose you could chalk that up to the fact that I had done a good amount of hiking before finding this place... then again, I don't know.  It was a feeling that I'm not accustomed to.  Sheer exhaustion.

By now it was pretty much dark out.

Whether it was my imagination or not, I don't know but, once I became cognizant that the sun had gone down, suddenly I began to hear noises that seemed out of place.  Like wind whistles, and creaks.  Truly, I tell you... the hair on my neck was standing straight up.

With all the web hype about this place, I expected it to be teeming with Halloween spook hunters, but I was the sole soul (ha...)brave enough to be wandering around a supposedly haunted cemetery at night on Halloween.

At this point, I found myself shivering (I told myself that I was cold), so I decided that I'd better begin the hike back out to the official road.  As I turned and walked out the spider gates, I felt as though I was being pushed ... forcibly pushed out... Like, how can I describe this for you...  Like someone put two hands on my back and shoved.  I lunged forward and took 3 fast steps, so as not to stumble. 

I looked over my shoulder, and of course saw nothing...  but guess what I did then?

I RAN MY ASS OFF BACK TO THE ROAD AND MY CAR!

This weekend is the first weekend I've had off in a LOOOONG time, so I decided to hop around checking in on people and places that I used to go to when my time was free.

Friday night, I stopped into the little neighborhood bar that I used to write so much about... the one right down the street from my house.  It's the place where I first met Rhonda.  (see previous post)

Not long after I got there, I watched the door to the place swing open wide, and got curious when I didn't see anyone immediately enter.  Soon though, I saw two bare feet enter... in the air.  As I continued to watch, I saw the rest of the body which was attached to those feet.  It was Rhonda, being carried in by her boyfriend Joey.  He gingerly carried her inside, and gently placed her into a wheelchair... I guess he brought the wheelchair inside without me noticing.

Anyway, I could go on and on about it, but I'll just say that Joey got Rhonda situated in her chair, and wheeled her to sit just at the foot of the stage so she'd have an excellent view of what was going on. 

When it was my turn to sing, I did, and when I finished my song, Rhonda said to me, with her hands lying demurely in her lap, "I can't clap for you Sybil, but that was great."

What could I say?

Next topic:  What else?  New Orleans.

I know I'm certainly not the only one horrified by the stories and images I'm seeing on television.  At one point Friday night, I had to turn the TV off because I was overwhelmed with sadness for those people.

People are fast to condemn the federal government about how the relief has been conducted, and ... I'll be the first to agree that George W. is not only a bumbling idiot, but could quite possibly be the Antichrist... so this is by no means me defending that moron...  BUT... what most folks don't realize is, the federal government cannot provide any help to states and cities without first the state's governor making an official request for help.  So before you start counting the days it took to get the feds involved, first count the days it took the governor of Louisianna to call for help.

Almost immediately after the levys broke, the mayor of New Orleans was quoted as saying, "New Orleans is going to become another Pompeii."  I agree.  How on earth will they ever be able to restore that city to it's former state?  They can't. 

When I watch the latest news footage of things there now, I can't help but feel like I'm watching an eerie Science Fiction movie about life after the atomic bomb... where only the strongest have survived, and survivors live under martial law. 

It freaks me out, I tell you.

I have always wanted to party in the Big Easy.  I've been there a few times on business, but never had the time to really do the city up.  Honestly, it was on my calendar to do in November.  I had planned to spend about 10 days there, being decadent and obnoxious.  Clearly, that's not going to happen.

The whole situation is just so bloody sad.

I got an email yesterday from a woman whom I know only somewhat.  She is a fellow karaoke DJ, and I used to occasion her shows now and then.

She, like all DJ's, has a core group of followers.  Among her followers is a woman named Rhonda.

Rhonda is a 36 year old woman from the mean streets of the city.  She has a 13 year old son, whom she speaks to in mean city street language.  Rhonda has long silky brown hair, a curvacious body, and very piercing dark brown (almost black) eyes.  She (apparently) buys all of her clothes from Fredrick's Of Hollywood, and wherever Rhonda is, men are sure to be gawking.  She has a habit of sauntering... not walking, and throwing that long silky brown hair around, so that if you're standing too close, you're apt to get stung by it.  She has a raspy, smoker's voice and can sing a pretty mean Bonnie Raitt, or Janis Joplin.  When Rhonda dances, she is the only person I've ever seen perform a lap dance to nobody in particular, in the middle of the dance floor, while "decent" women look on horrified, and men stare openly with lust on their faces.

One could say that Rhonda is vivacious.  Anything but a wallflower.

Of all the nasty things that another, more judgemental, less secure woman could say about Rhonda, what I want to say about her is, she always treated me well.  She was friendly and pleasant all the time, and although I often found her to be somewhat flamboyant, I liked her.

Anyway, the email I got yesterday from the DJ said; "We're having a party.  It's on Sept 9, at such 'n such, from 1-10.  Spaghetti & meatballs will be served, and tickets are $10.00 per person.  The money will be for a benefit for Rhonda, who had a pool accident on June 11th, and is now a quadriplegic.  Please come if you can."

When I read this I thought, 'How ironic!'

I guess my "pro-user" status has expired. 

I tried to post a few pictures for ya, but tBlog ain't havin' it.

I need to think about whether or not I want to renew my pro-user status.

I'll get back to y'all!

and some days you're the bug!

Last night, Kurt was the bug.

I was DJ'g at my regular weekend place, and there's this big, ugly, hairy, dirty-looking dude sitting at the bar.  He's already drunk when I arrive at 8pm.

Before I finish setting up, he comes up to me and tells me his name is Kurt, and he wants to sing "Knocking On Heaven's Door."  Ok; no problem.

Kurt continues to drink heavily throughout the night, and he also continues to be a pain in my ass regularly.

At the end of the night, my car is parked outside the door and I'm running in and out loading my equipment up.  As I walk outside with my last load, I see Kurt stagger to his Fred Sanford junk truck, fall into it, start it up, put it into reverse, and proceed to back right the hell up into my nice new car.

I politely tap on his window and say, "You just backed into my car."

He says, "Ohhhhhh, geez!  I'm sorry.  Just let me pull up ahead and I'll get my papers so we can exchange information."

And then the prick proceeds to speed away.

So, naturally... what do I do?  Right!  I follow him. 

I am now embarked on a high speed chase.  Me stone cold sober, and him drunk off his everloving ass.  He leads me all over Newport, up and down all these narrow streets.  Care to guess how many parked cars he side-swiped? ... Nevermind, I'll tell you.  6!  He hit 6 parked cars along the way.!

Finally, as I'm on the phone with the police, he pulls into this housing development and proceeds to try several doors before he finally gets inside.  Just as the door closes behind him, the police arrive.

I tell them my story, and as one cop is chastising me for chasing him, the other is running my and Kurt's registration tag numbers.  Of course, I'm completely legal.  Kurt, on the other hand is far from it.

He's got a Florida tag (which is expired, but when it was legal, it was the registration plate of a boat trailer.)  He left his piece of crap truck running, door open, lights on... so the cops get to looking around inside it.  Inside they find cocaine, and pot.

The other cop comes back from running this guy on the computer and says, there are 4 warrants out for this guy's arrest.  One was just issued today.

Let's see... there was 1)  Deadbeat Dad,  2)  Fugitive From Justice, 3)  Hit & Run, Serious Injury resulting, and 4) DWI-Florida, and also driving on a revoked license-Florida.

So, as it turns out, the night watchman at this housing development saw Kurt go inside an apartment there.  The apartment, apparently is that of his elderly mother.  When the police knocked on her door, nobody answered.

As I'm writing my statement for the police, a tow-truck arrives to remove his clunker truck.

Finally, at about 2:20 this morning, the cops tell me that I may leave and now that they know where to find the guy, they expect to have him in custody within 24 hours.

Soooooo, to summarize.....

Kurt picked the place I was working in last night to go out and get fall-down drunk.  He chose to drive an unregistered, uninsured vehicle with illegally attached license plates.  He also chose to drive himself home, after consuming enough liquor to float the Queen Mary.  He then accidently backed into my car, leaving damage which I have to explain (company car, remember?) and then he chose to try to flee the scene.

The result?  He's wanted on several warrants, and the cops now know where to find him.  His piece of crap truck was impounded and he'll probably never see it again.  They got him on new charges, having found the drugs in his vehicle, and his mother's senior housing development knows he's crashed there, and they want him out.

I'd say... last night, Kurt was definately the bug!

If you have an hour to spare, I highly recommend reading the book "Dinner With A Perfect Stranger" by David Gregory.

Imagine that you're a busy executive, and one day you receive a classy looking anonymous invitation to a swanky restaurant, for dinner with Jesus Of Nazareth!?

You go because you think your buddies at work have set you up for a practical joke.

When you get there, you see an average looking man in a blue business suit....

(that's all I'm going to tell you about the plot)

Larry King once said, when asked whom he'd most want to interview... "Jesus Christ.  And I'd ask him if God really is his father."

The conversation that ensues between the executive, and "Jesus" is thought provoking, mind moving, and soul nourishing.

I recommend it.

I haven't written in quite some time about the day to day stuff that goes on around here with His Royal Highness, WC.

In a nutshell, it ain't no bed of roses.

This time around, he's been living here uninterrupted, for six months.  Twice as long as the last time.  And while there have been some improvements this time; it is by no means eutopia around here.

There are so many things I'm tired of.  So many things I'm tired of saying.  So many things I'm tired of waiting for.  All of it falls on deaf ears.

Tonight, we had a fight.  Naturally, I feel totally vindicated in being pissed off.  He of course, (in the way that only a true narcisist would) doesn't see my perspective.  His solution?  He gets in his truck (at 1am) and drives off.

It's now 2:30am, and while I happen to know where he is (because he's so damn transparent), and where he is is at his daughter's house who is away on vacation, still...  to my way of thinking, he left.  No word of goodbye, I'll be back, see you tomorrow... nothing.   Also know him the way I do, I'd bet a sawbuck to a donut that he won't be back before the sun comes up.

So, I'm seeing this as HE LEFT.  Period.

With that said, my logic tells me that since he left, that means he no longer lives here.  Since he no longer lives here, his shit should no longer be strewn around my house for me to trip over every five minutes.  Therefore, I packed it all.  Every stitch of clothes, every shoe, every tool, every razor, comb, toothbrush.  Every single thing that isn't mine.  Packed neatly in storage totes, and sitting on the curb beside his motorcycle which I also removed from my premises.

The doors are locked and bolted.  The lights are off.  The garage is padlocked.  The security chains are latched, and the security company has been notified electronically that under no circumstances should any lock on the property be touched tonight... if they are, they are to dispatch the police.

I hope for WC's sake, and the sake of my neighbors, he doesn't try to get in here tonight.  Something tells me though, that he won't.

You know... it isn't that I haven't tried.  The Lord knows I have.  And for the past few weeks I've been asking myself why I keep hanging on to this relationship when I know beyond all doubt that it is doomed to fail.  Between his completely maddening, totally sociopathic personality, and his hateful, horrible kids; there's no way this can work in the long term.

So why then do I keep on keeping on?  The sad, awful truth is; I have refused to accept the inevitable because something inside me refuses to give his rotten kids and that evil Dragon Lady the satisfaction of getting me out of the picture.

Crazy huh?  Yes... crazy, self-destructive, and totally ridiculous... but true, nonetheless.

Tonight though, after his latest stunt...  I see that my spiteful refusal to kick his deadbeat ass to the curb is only hurting me.

He's living here scott free, and gleefully pissing through every dime I earn, all the while funneling obscene amounts of money to his full-grown, (and very good earning, I might add) monster kids.

He's selfish, self-centered, inconsiderate, mean, violent at times, irrational most of the time, and worst of all... he's the biggest slob I've ever met.  In fact, just this morning, I asked him if there was a hole in the table where he eats, because I'm so sick of sweeping half his meal up off the floor, and removing the other half from his shirts.

No... I'm quite sure that I can do better than this.

During my recent road trip, while wandering around Tennessee, we dropped in on a local watering hole in Gatlinburg.  This was a place for the locals... no tourists (well, except WC & me.)

To my extreme delight, guess what was going on in there?  Yup!  Karaoke.  Sooo, naturally, being fresh off my big-time singing debut in Nashville, I sang karaoke.  In fact, to say I sang karaoke is sort of like saying the pope prays once in a while.  The truth is, you couldn't shut me up... ok?

So, I'm singing to this bar full of good ol' boys, and they're trying to stump the yankee girl by asking me to sing these old OLD Country songs ... but stump me they could not.  For you see, as far back as the womb, I grew up being subjected to only the twangiest of Country music.  Yessiree ladies and gentlemen, I knew them all.

As the night wore on, everyone... including his royal highness (WC), and I were feeling no pain.  We were quite indebted to Mr Coors. 

When it got time to go, one of the good ol' boys came and stood in our path.  He didn't want us to leave.

With a great big toothless smile he stuck out his hand and said, "Hey y'all.  I'm Bobby Jack.  Where y'all goin'?"

We said that we needed to get a move on, because we had an early start planned the next day.

So Bobby Jack says, "Awww, too bad.  Cain't y'all stay fer just a while longer?  Me an' the boys wanna hear one more song."

So WC says, "Well that's up to her."

To which Bobby Jack says to WC... "Are you rich er sompthin' ?  ... I mean, she's gorgeous, an' yer... well, ... yer..."

Bobby Jack apparently (and just in time) realized that he was treading on thin ice and quite astutely opted NOT to finish that thought.

I thanked the nice man for the compliment, and proceeded to laugh until tears fell as we left the place.

It's been such a long time since I was here... I hardly know where to begin.

First, let me say that my PC has been in the repair shop for the better part of two weeks.  Apparently, my surge protector isn't very effective at protecting against power surges.  Bah...  many parts needed to be replaced.

It's funny how at first I didn't miss this thing, but then I began to realize that I don't remember anybody's email or webpage addresses... they're all here saved in my favorites and in my address book.  Ah... the perils of getting old!

So... let's see....

You already heard that I got arrested back in May.   Unfortunately for me, I got stopped for speeding, and I had an outstanding speeding ticket which I defaulted on... End result... handcuffs.  Not Fun!

On Memorial Day Friday, WC & I, on the spur of the moment, decided to pack a few things, jump in the car, and wander.  We left around 4pm the Friday of the holiday weekend, and kept driving until we hit Atlantic City.  We did the whole casino/boardwalk thing, then left and drove through to some obscure town in Virginia.  We passed out for the night in some Holiday Inn or something, then left bright and early the next morning and drove to Washington DC.  So, here we are in DC on Memorial weekend.  It just so happened that there was a biker rally in town... The Ride For The Wall.  These are all veterans (mostly Vietnam Vets) who ride this ride, and the town was swarming with over-the-hill Harley dudes, and their overweight, middle-aged Harley Mammas.  We marveled at how these folks donned the regalia of both their military years, as well as the H.O.G. stuff. 

It's pretty funny to look at 50, and 60 year old women busting out at the seams of their skin tight Levi's and HD patented trashy shirts. 

Interestingly, my opinions changed before the day was over.  I decided to go to Arlington National Cemetery, and of course you can't go there without visiting the Vietnam Memorial... or.... The Wall.  Anyway, as I approached the memorial, there were hundreds upon hundreds of these big, burly, hairy Harley Dudes...  tattoos, leather vests covered in military insignia... long hair, earrings... you get the idea.  And, there they were.  Some silently staring with tears falling down their cheeks.  Some running their hand over the name of a lost infantry buddy.  Some outright bawling.

I stood back.  I didn't feel I should infringe on their moment.  I watched them, and I felt for them.  It was somewhat of a defining moment for me.  This brought the Vietnam War into focus, and gave it tangible meaning to me.  Before this moment, the war was something that I see now and then on the History channel.  I was too young to know what was happening while it was going on... I just knew that we fought a war in Asia, and were unsuccessful there.  Period.

For me, those men at the wall, gave that war a face.

Ah....... my, how I've digressed.  There's so much more to tell you about.  We were gone for 2 weeks...  I have to tell you about my singing debut in Nashville, our hunt for Hillbillys in the Smoky Mountains, the raging Harley rally we stumbled upon in the Shennendoah Valley... The kick-ass room we stayed in on the Canadian side of Niagra Falls....

I'll be back to tell you more. 
Right now I have to get some work done.

Peace

When driving home at 1:30am through a state in which you have not paid a previous speeding violation; DO NOT speed.  You will get arrested, handcuffed, fingerprinted, photographed...  In general, mortifyingly embarrassed.

Enough Said!

Never shave your genital area after 6 beers.

Enough Said.

Wow!  It's been almost a month since I've been here.  I guess time is just flying by.

I've been extremely busy these days. 

Let's see... what's new?

Well, I no longer have The Rocket.  The story goes like this...  One rainy night I was traveling down a city street, a little too fast, and hit a huge pot hole (REALLY hard).  The next day I noticed a rear tire was almost flat, so I called BMW roadside assistance.  They towed the car to the nearest BMW center who then called me to say that the rim was broken and needed to be replaced.  I immediately went there to see for myself, and when I got there I noticed a very large "ding" in the hood which most definately wasn't there when the car left my driveway... Obviously it happened during the tow.

Anyway, the rim was going to cost $550.00, and the repair to the hood another $500.00.  Needless to say, I was totally disgusted.  Sooo, I decided to trade it in for an '05 Z4.  The new car is Black/Black/Black, has the larger 3.0 engine, and every bell & whistle available.  The only thing it doesn't do is say "Good morning beautiful" when I get in it... but we're working on that.

The same week I picked up the new Rocket, I also picked up the new Harley.  It is, as we speak, sitting in my garage lamenting the hideously rainy weather we've been having since I got it.  I've put a whopping 30 miles on it since I brought it home.  It's gorgeous though.  Lava Red with gold pinstripes.  Solo seat (Nooo passengers), and I sprung for loads of chrome which got put on it before I took delivery.

I also paid off Quasi, per our divorce settlement, so now I own my home ALL BY MYSELF.  I'm not sure whether that's good or bad, but it's done.

In terms of WC... he's still here.  As with every couple (I guess), there are good days and bad days.  I don't hear as much from Dragon Lady these days, but I'm not sure whether she's being less of a pain in the ass, or he just makes sure not to communicate with her when I'm around.  Either way, it's alright with me.  She makes my skin crawl.

I sense a bad time approaching though, because his youngest... (the one who left for Washington State a few months ago), joined the National Guard, and his basic training graduation (in North Carolina) is the first week in June.  Already WC is getting pressure to join DL and the rest of his spawn in attending the graduation.  He says he wants me to go with him, and we'll turn it into a mini vacation, but I say... why should I go someplace that I don't want to go, and spend an entire day by myself while he's with those awful people.  No...  I've already decided that I'm not going... and furthermore, if he goes, he'll return to find his things neatly packed and waiting in the entry.  Sometimes a man just has to make a stand.  I'm still waiting for him to make his.

Anyway... that's about all the news from here.

I hope you're all doing better with the spring pollen than I am!

I've fallen off the wagon. 

Eeesh!

Once upon a time I was an incurable gambler.  I used to spend every free minute gambling at whatever casino I felt like going to.  Then one day, just like *that* ...  I quit gambling.

Now I'm back to my old gambling degenerate ways.

*sigh*

Just a few words on the passing of the pope....

I like to refer to myself as a recovered Catholic.  I was forced into the religion as a small child by an over zealous Catholic mother.  May she rest in peace... she used to spend her free time reading a book I still recall... "The Lives Of The Saints."  What can I say?  She died a lingering, horrible death which lasted five years... I guess her faith, and that book got her through.

After she passed, and as many things did... my religious education fell by the wayside.  I was left, at the age of 8, to decide for myself which faith I "belonged" to.

If the truth be told, I didn't find which faith I belonged to until I was well into my thirties.  I won't use this forum to expound on what that might be, but suffice to say that I've spent years (upon YEARS) searching,
researching, discussing, questioning, praying, meditating, pondering, and wandering on this question.... WHERE DO I BELONG?

I'm happy to report to those of you who might be worried about my mortal soul, I've since found where I belong, and it isn't in the Catholic church.  (I could go on for hours on why not, but I'll spare you all the misery!)

Inasmuch as I am recovered from my helpless Catholic upbringing, that isn't to say that I don't have the utmost respect for the recently departed John Paul II.

Every once in a while, the Catholics produce someone good, and pure, and wise.  I believe he was one.  Mother Theresa (whom I met, by the way) was another... but that's for another time.

John Paul II was not only pius, he was brilliant.  Had he heard a different calling, he might have been a world leader among world leaders.  He spoke nine different languages.  He was in touch with the woes of the world.  He tried to repair bridges burnt long ago by his self-righteous predecessors. He realized the archaic-ness of the church canon, and although he couldn't in his lifetime change all of it, he worked to change the most pressing of what needed changing. He was a diplomat. He was a philosopher. He was a kind soul.

The shoes of this fisherman will be difficult to fill.