Evens, Odds and ends…

Today I think I realized that a quirk of mine mine actually be a mild form of OCD.

I can't stand for things to rest on an odd number. Take my car stereo for example. The volume control goes up by number, 1 through 100 I think, but I normally will set it on 28 or 30. If I'm in high traffic with the windows down, I knock it up to 32 or 34. Not 27, 29, 31. 33…it must be on an even number. Same with the thermostat in the car, home, etc. It must be set on an even numbered degree. If I'm in someone else's vehicle, and I notice their is set on an odd number, I will change it to the next even number. Some people have inquired about it, but I tell them it needs to be on an even number, and they just chalk it up as a quirk. If I make boiled eggs, I make an even number. If I don't have an even number of eggs, I will boil them and cut them in half. I can't boil four and then leave one in the fridge because then the fridge only has one egg in it, and one is an odd number.

Speaking of the fridge, the cold – coldest cannot be set on 5 or 7. It must be 6 because 4 isn't cold enough and 8 is too cold. It freezes my lettuce. I hate frozen lettuce.

I'm the same way about symmetry. Things must be symmetrical. If not the same things on each side, symmetrical in the amount of things, the mass, or balance. Here's where it gets funny. I can deal with 3 candlesticks (an odd number) on the left side of my fireplace mantle, as long as there are 3 on the right side (thus making both an even number of 6 candlesticks, and achieving symmetry.)

I'm not totally dysfunctional about this. I mean I don't, like, rearrange people's candlesticks or throw out odd eggs in their fridge, I just do this sort of thing once as I'm setting it up, turning it on, choosing a number, etc. I do get pissy, though, if someone rearranges what I've done without my permission.

So with that said, I think i will show you some pics I came across in my files that I'm trying to reorganize. I added a folder and it made an odd number of folders, so I had to make a second one. And to prove that I'm not hopeless about this even number thing, I will post 3 pics.

The first two are called Dining at Hell's Buffet:

 

Mouse1

 

Mouse2

I think this one is especially cute. Aren't mice sweet little creatures? It's a shame we can't let them live loose amongst us.

 

This next one I took of a guy's car in front of me at a traffic light in a seedy part of town (note the patrol car and Free Pregnancy Test sign). I had these images of his wife going out to the backyard to take in her laundry in off the clothesline, and one end of the line was on the ground and the clothes in a heap. I bet she was pissed. I guess he just really didn't want anyone to bump into the back end of his car and mess up the paint…

 

Bumper

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QotD: The Real Deal

What fictional creature do you wish were real?

Worf. I found him quite sexy in many ways. Makes me want to throw poetry books at Mr. U.

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Watermelon-eatin’ fools…

Heee! I ran across this last night. This is from one of my trips to Canada. It was a hot July week, in the 90's, and we decided to share our ice cold watermelon with the dogs. I didn't think they would eat it, but boy was I wrong. Hope you get a 4-minute tickle out of this:

 

Beagles Eating Watermelon

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The Perils of My Hair…Part 7

Okay, I lied. I said the next post wouldn't be about me. Until I can find someone or something to gossip about, this will have to do. Besides, I don't want people to think I'm always serious about everything. 🙂

I called this Part 7, because if it was good enough for Star Wars to air the 7th part first and nobody questions it, it's good enough for me. There are many perils to my hair, I'm forever and always dinking with it, so I can easily catch parts 1 thru 6 up later. This part is about "Bangs."

If you've seen any of my photos or videos, you will see that I have very unruly, curly hair. It has the texture of a jute rope. I've stopped trying to tame it into one of those sleek bobs that all the north side girls have, because no matter how much ironing and product I use, I can step out into the air one time and it will recoil into it's natural state….or worse. My bangs are another thing. They grow much more quickly (it seems) than the rest of my hair, so I'm always chopping and whacking at them so they won't be down into my eyes.

Generally, any cutting instrument will suffice because I get aggravated, and it must be done right then. I have been known to use fingernail clippers and snip one tiny section at a time until I'm satisfied. The bangs are curly enough that they never lay the same way twice, so if I miss by a millimeter nobody would know.

Last night I had reached my bangs breaking point. I couldn't find my regular scissors, didn't have the fingernail clippers or wire cutters handy, so I got my cooking scissors…the ones people use to cut chickens up and stuff. I pulled the bangs into a good twist and started hacking away. They looked okay until I got out into the humidity today, and this is what I found:

 

 

Bangs907

It looks like I bent over a little too close to the document shredder. There are short pieces in the center, long pieces on the sides, there's a layer in there underneath to the side…and no two hairs are going in the same direction. I don't dare make the long pieces match the short pieces – the straight across look isn't good either, as evidenced by this video:

 

Dumb Blonde Moment

They should grow out in a couple of weeks…when the rest of my hair will need cutting.

Smiles to everyone, and my lyric for the day is:

"What I am is what I am and what you are, oh what.." – Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians

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Okay, I’m losing my friggin’ mind here…

I tried to stay away but I cannot. I need somebody else's brain to think for me because mine is apparently fucked-up-fried-and-out-to-lunch. I have to find a way to deal with this rollercoaster. I'm either going insane because of the rollercoaster, or it's a rollercoaster because I'm insane. I promise the next post will not be all. about. me.

A little backstory to my latest emotional upheaval. Mr. U has tried to get an international dog event off the ground for several years. Since we've been "cohorting" over the last two years, my pull as the editor/owner of the magazine that covered the sport helped in some small way to finally get it done. After 5 years I sold the magazine, but that's another story. The date is set, the dogs are qualified on each side of the border, the trophies are bought, it's 2 weeks away. I'm feeling wonderful because 2 of my dogs that Mr. Unrequited has been training are qualified to run, and this makes my trip up there much more anticipated…and because I received some very wise words from a "neighbor" 😉  that gave me a whole new, positive perspective on this relationship.

Last night my phone rings. Ontario call. Twice in one week. My heart has wings.

Mr. U proceeds to tell me that he just found out 3/4 of the people from the good ol' U.S. of A. cannot get across the border with their dogs because they have past DUI convictions. (nice bunch I associate with, eh?) Needless to say, he's 9 kinds of aggravated over this and plans to go speak with Border Contol first thing in the morning to get the real scoop on who can cross and who can't. I know him – he will make them put it in writing. Even though he's pissy at this latest turn of events, he points out that if they can't all make it, all 3 of my dogs are qualified to run (because I'm American…detailcakes…)

Anyway, I'm trying to cheer him up by telling him that we will figure out a way to get their dogs across, and how grateful I am that he has brought my wayward pups so far along. He wants to show them to me when I get up there – we are suppose to go to the pen – just he and I, and run them before the event. I say to him,

"When I get up there, I will put you on the tailgate and smother you with kisses for training my dogs. Whattya think about that?"

Dead silence.

>

>

>

Finally, in a sarcastic, "done with it all" tone of voice, and a loud sigh, he says,

"You know, I just don't think much good about a lot of things these days."

(This is the tone of voice I've gotten before when I've tried to bring up the subject of "us".)

I say,

"HEY…Chill out, I'm just being friendly. We're FRIENDS, okay? We're friends."

He says, " Okay, yeah…right."

I say in a soft and upbeat manner, "Goodnight, Mr. U., Goodnight." …and then I end the phone call.

Since I am the webmaster of the event site, I updated the results and news, and this morning sent him an e-mail notice of the update (which is standard procedure). I also said, "I got your message last night…loud and clear. You now have one less thing to worry about."

I pm'd my doggy message board moderator's, gave them admin permission, told them they were in charge, that I was backing out of this whole doggy scene for a while. (I have managed to make this latest snit all about me, and I simply cannot take anymore.) I'm tired of giving love and being slapped in the face for it. I will sell or give away my beloved dogs, tell Mr. U to either keep or bury the dogs of mine he has, and I will disappear from this circuit. This is my plan, and the only option I feel I have in order to move on from this utter madness. Just get away from all of it because it's eating away at my soul. I will live in this metropolis, work each day, come home, pour some 2004 merlot, and put on some jazz while my Chicken Florentine cooks. I will soak in bubbles up to my neck, continue to sip wine while the smooth-ass music wafts through the house. I will settle into my feather bed, set my alarm, and tomorrow will be another day just like this one. This will be my routine. 

UGH. Now I have this big decision. My plane ticket is already bought. He will pick me up at the airport in Syracuse, and we will drive over the line into Canada to his house. He has a 3-bedroom house. In the past, he has always grabbed my suitcases out of the truck and carried them to his room before I had a chance to do anything – even when his grown son was there visiting. If I go now, where will I put my bags? I will take my cue from where he puts them. If he puts them in a spare bedroom I will die a thousand deaths. How should I react to that? I'm to be up there with him for SIX DAYS. I don't want to face him; I don't think i can just keep my mouth shut, and I don't think I can take another round of being put in my place like an errant child who spoke out of turn. This is going to be so uncomfortable. I am ready to cancel. my. ticket. …and be a no-show.

I've made peace with this decision to remove myself from his whole world. I'm sad because I will miss my dogs, but I've accepted that it's for my own good, and theirs, too. I made my nightly commute home from work, checked my e-mail when I got home, and sure enough, there's a generic message from him that simply says, "Thank you for updating the webste." That's it – nothing else. It's storming somethun' awful outside, and I'm waiting it out to go feed and take care of my dogs.

The phone rings. Ontario call.

"Guess where I am? I'm on my way to Seale's pen to run the pups and my dogs." (He's making an international call on his cell phone…something he rarely does) "I've got NINE dogs with me, and I'm gonna get them fired up and ready for this trial! Did I tell you I checked with Border Control, and the situation isn't as dire as we thought? I found out the conditions involved. I have it in writing. You're not gonna believe these pups! You'll be surprised at what a little bit of socialization has done for them. They are like different dogs. You'll see when you get up here. As soon as I pick you up, we will drive to my place, unload your stuff, and go straight to the running pen with them while we still have some daylight…"

I can hear the enthusiasm in his voice. I can tell he's smiling as he talks to me. He will have steaks in the fridge for that night and a good wine picked out. I try to interject. He says,

"What? I'll let you know how they did in the morning. I'm getting terrible reception on this phone and can't hear you very well."

– – – – – – –

I'm screaming, and you can't hear me at all. 

 

 

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To my Neighbors…

I'm probably going to disappear for a few days. Depends on how I feel tomorrow. Right now…not so good.

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What’s for brunch?

It's one of my duties at my job to organize events and have them catered. I get to plan a blow-out for next February, and they've given me a budget of $25,000.00! (I could have some fun on that.) Next month I have to organize a health screening event for the employees – a wellness thing where screeners come in and draw blood for cholesterol, glucose, they do a waist measurement, check blood pressure, etc., and the results are given on the spot.

 

I have the event set up, with the employees' appointments set every fifteen minutes, starting at 8 am. They are suppose to come fasting. They will be hungry by the time they complete their screening, so I thought I would offer a "light, healthy" brunch. I have speakers coming in – a registered dietician who will speak on fad diets, and a personal fitness trainer who will offer simple exercise routines that a person could do on their lunch hour, or otherwise incorporate into a busy working day. Now I need to come up with a menu for the brunch.

 

There will only be about 20 people to feed, so I will make the food myself. I don't want to have to cook anything elaborate, as this will be how average busy people would make breakfast. This is a health fair centered around weight and cholesterol, so biscuits and gravy is out (lol). I'm thinking of doing a buffet set up cafeteria-style, a tray of boiled or deviled eggs, a tray of mini whole wheat bagels with lowfat cream cheese, fresh fruit cups, granola bars (the healthy kind – not the ones made like Rice Krispy treats), assorted juices, lowfat milk and cottage cheese. Then above each tray would be a visual aid that shows the calorie count of each item, what food group to which it belongs, and other nutritional info. This way a person can pick and choose, mix and match items to 'compose" their brunch, based on how many calories they want to intake, how many carbs, etc.

 

I'd like to have a few more food options than those I mentioned, but I'm at a loss. What sorts of things do others keep in the house for breakfast/brunch? Any suggestions for something a little different that has good presentation, but still not lot a lot of work? These should be foods people would actually make on a normal day. All suggestions appreciated!

 

On another note, I left my house last night to run an errand. As I was going out the door, I noticed my yard needs cutting in the worst way, there were things on the porch that didn't belong there, my mailbox was hanging crooked, my Jeep is sitting in the drive with a dead battery because I haven't driven it in a while. I got into the PT Cruiser (my gas mileage car) and there are 7 empty cigarette boxes, 2 coffee cups in the floorboard, and some assorted things that need to be taken into the house. I turned the key to start the engine and blaring from the homemade 80's CD in the player came the lyrics,

"My possessions are causing me suspicion, but there's no proof."  – Crowded House 

 

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Knowing just enough to be marginally incompetent…

…I'm going to try and put some videos and other assorted goodies on this site. I might as well. Most of the video clips and montages are filmed and composed by me (not because I necessarily love to see myself on film, but because this is what I enjoy doing). I'm mostly not in them because I'm usually the one behind the camera, but I've managed to get some pics and footage by staging my little Sony Cyber-Shot still camera remotely, and putting it on video mode. Or, somebody grabbed my camera when I wasn't looking. It's not a video camera – just a 12x zoom still camera so the quality won't be all that hi-definition, but it's good enough for the girls I run with.

The DVDs and original files are crisp and clear – no pixelized transitions, but the original files are huge, and once it's squooshed down to stream on the internet it's just kinda…meh. It's like trying to serve 20 people your best culinary creation off the back of somebody's tailgate. emily will understand that one.

Some videos will be of my travels here of late with Mr. U, some are just clips I find humorous, some are montages I made for my soap-watching pals, some are my favs from the universe called YouTube. I did make a 14-minute, 3-song montage tribute to my mother, who passed away just last December, but I will probably have to upload it in 3 pieces. Ugh.

My most recent video is one that my grown sons (and grandson) encouraged me to make titled "Silence". After watching me get destroyed, lose everything that ever meant anything to me, (except for them, of course) struggle through some pretty deep despair, and then finally start to put one foot in front of the other again, they thought my life was better than any soap opera. (Sheesh…)

I will eventually add some photos; I've been fortunate to see some beautiful places in my last 2 years, and I'm happy to share.

That's all for now.

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The History of the Roller Coaster

A piece of history I didn't mention. His wife (and mother of his 3 children)  died of cancer. He'd cared for her diligently until her death. He later became involved with the home health aid who had been so kind to his wife and helped to care for her. She was 20 years his junior. They never lived together and didn't marry, but were definitely a couple and he loved her. In fact, he told me early on – before we became involved and were just two commiserating friends, that as much as he loved his wife, this lady was actually the "love of his life." After 11 years she called it off – said she thought they should see other people. He was furious, confused, and beyond hurt. Even though he insists that he has, I don't think he's ever let that hurt and anger go. I'm not sure he's ever let her go, either – even though they've never spoken since. That's been 4 years ago.

 

Early into our relationship, we had this particular conversation via webcammed instant messenger, in which he professes his love for me, and then the next breath says he's afraid to fall deeply in love with me – he says, "I'm just a crazy ass who would like life to be all of the things fairy tales are about."  It was a long, heartfelt conversation, he said his heart was with me, and that he wanted us to be one. It still rings in my head. I had the entire conversation posted here and decided to remove it. I got to feeling guilty because it was very personal, and not fair to him to have it on public display.

 

(I really, really need to keep my snoot out of the whiskey when I'm on the computer.) 

 

In any event, it was about 3 months after this conversation, and after couple of wonderful vacations together, I noticed he started to pull away. He kept our conversations related to the hobby, and avoided getting personal.

After about 4 months of utter confusion and bewilderment, I pressed him for an answer to his apparent change of heart. He said with a bit of frustration,

 

"I don't love you, Scorpy. I don't love you like I loved (his wife), and I don't love you like I loved (the 11-yr affair). I just don't love you. I like you …A LOT. And I want us to continue like we are."

 

And so continue we did. For the next year, we got together for the dog events I was able to get away for, and he drove from Canada to my house to visit and take some of my dogs back with him to train. Every time we are together, we act like an old married couple, (we are still intimate) and he even pointed that out to me one day. We were in a restaurant having breakfast and he says,

 

"Look around at the people in here. Do you know how you can tell the married couples from the ones who aren't?"

"How is that?" I replied.

"The married couples are looking around the room at the decorations and watching the goings on instead of focused on each other. That's what we do."

 

It didn't hit me until a week after I was home that he may have been trying to make a point. Maybe he wasn't, and I'm just making something out of nothing.

 

Since, the "grand clarification" he dealt me, I've pretty much accepted the fact that he doesn't love me, and if he did he would never admit it anyway, so I gouge him just a little when we are together – in a joking fashion so he won't think I'm all mushy and serious. (I'm dying inside, but I act all nonchalant). I figure that's what papralyzes him – me getting into anything deep, so I don't do it anymore. I will, however, spur a 10-second exchange like this:

 

"Scorpy:  Did you miss me?

Mr. U:  Yes.

Scorpy:  Would you cry if I died?

Mr. U:  Yes.

Scorpy:  If you won the lottery, would you give me a million dollars?

Mr. U:  Yes."

 

Then I will chuckle and change the subject. I guess that's the only barometer I have that I'm on the same plane as someone he once cared for more than his cat.

 

Did I mention that grocery shopping and messing up his kitchen cooking is our thing? Some of the concoctions we create, we call it "Kitchen Chemistry Class." Even if we're on the road for an event, we can't seem to refrain from finding the nearest grocery store, picking out some food, and stocking the hotel room.

 

I'm doomed. Next month I get on a plane to go see him, and see the progress of my dogs. Will we be lovers, or simply friends? Makes no difference, really. I will take what I can get gladly.

 

 

 

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The rollercoaster up, rollercoaster down…

I might as well admit – the reason I really started this blog was to vent about my self-made miserable condition, in hopes that somebody out there somewhere can relate and offer a few words of wisdom. Don’t know that I will necessarily act upon them because, well, I’m still ate up. But maybe one day…when I’ve had enough.

To give a quick history, Mr. Unrequit and I met 6 years ago over a hobby we both share – a kennel full each of competition hunting dogs. He is 22 years my senior, and I’m no spring chicken. We live in neighboring countries. We spoke casually via e-mail a couple of times per year. When circumstances threw me into the lowest period of my life, he sensed it (having been horribly hurt and jilted himself), stepped up and became my white knight. He got me off my duff and flew me to an event in New York to accompany him to a special awards dinner being held in his honor. In the weeks prior to that, our e-mails had turned from twice per year and properly social, to daily and somewhat flirtatious. For my trip up, he booked only one hotel room. I didn’t object. We have amazing chemistry for two fumbling old farts.

We began a whirlwind long-distance relationship that grew thru daily web camming, nightly phone calls, and 9 plane tickets in one year. At this point I’m full steam ahead on this affair (I say affair, but both of us are presently single). Somewhere about 5 months into this thing he starts backing off. I’m feeling a chill I never felt before. Not one to leave things alone, I question him. We have some heart-to-heart talks. He informs me that he never wants to fall in love again, in fact, he won’t allow it. He feels it’s too late in his life to get involved “that way” again…but he wants us to remain close. WTF. It’s too late sumbitch…I’m already in love.

To this day, we continue to make trips to each other’s homes, share a bed, attended events together, and the doggy community as a whole sees us as an item. We make no secret of it. If it’s a big event, we’re there together.

For the last year of this 2-year affair, he has basically treated me in a bit of a bi-polar fashion – this week all sweet, and next week standoff-ish. And, I lack the nerve and self-respect to remove myself from his sphere entirely. I do what I must to survive each day – go to work, pay my bills, and then mostly stay drunk at night, praying he will revert back to the way he was in the first months of our relationship and call….or send me an e-mail with a rose graphic again. Pathetic. 

Jump to present.

Mr. Unrequit broke a 3-week phone silence and called last night. My heart skips a beat when I look at the caller I.D. and it says “Ontario call.” He has three of my dogs…training them, and was all excited about their progress. He seemed excited about showing me the dogs’ progress when I make my trek up there in October. (Did I mention I am in USA midwest and he is in Canada?) He was upbeat, seemed willing to talk (when he’s normally giving me the bum’s rush) …and so my heart had wings. Rollercoaster up.

After that phone conversation, I have this great idea that he keep or co-own with me at least one of those dogs (because he truly has the time and talent to develop them) and I e-mailed him this morning, telling him I wanted to discuss something with him when I come up – an idea I have. He e-mails back saying “You’re likely to forget…tell me now” and then announces he is golfing early today. So dumbass me sends him this very philosopical e-mail about the merits of keeping at least one, maybe all 3 dogs for another year (seeing as they are children of his prized dog); it could work in both our interests. Golfing lasts 4 hours. It’s now 8:36 pm and no reply from him. 

Back to silence. Rollercoaster down.

It must be my fault – something I said. That’s what this “disease” does to you. Tonight I have deviated from my regular intake of bourbon and diet coke, and am bathing my aching soul in a nice Australian shiraz.

I realize that this blog will bore 99.99% of you to tears, but I feel .01% better having written it, and I’ll take the .01%.

Thanks for reading.

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