That Rocks! - and - Boo! That sucks!

Things I like – or – That Rocks!

1) Buying kettle cooked salt and vinegar potato chips and not having to care if anyone else in the house likes them.

2) Sleeping in on days when I can hear the rain on my roof.


3) Fat cats curled up around me.

4) Re-reading my dog-eared, torn, faded, crumbling, high school copy of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ and savouring every word!


5) Time to do something with, time to do nothing with.

6) People who are honest and don’t play games.

7) Having enough money that I can donate some. (I gave up the new makeup, but am not giving up the pedi!)

8) Beautiful blogs brimming with brilliant thoughts.

9) Alliteration.

10) Me! I rock! You! You rock, too!

****************************************************************************************


Things I don’t like – or – Boo! That sucks!

1) Not having closure.

2) People who lie, cheat, steal, or use others.

3) Books that don’t wrap up well at the end.

4) Animal abuse. (I agree with you Natalie!)

5) Being sooo tired from working that you can’t do anything on your day off!

Vaya Con Dios!

Well, I've returned home from a grueling 17 hours at work. Yesterday (or the day before, I don't even know what day it is!) I posted a horror story about my job. I thought I should counteract all that negative nastiness with this tale. The following is an old post, but no one was reading my blog then. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed the experience!





His name was Jim. Vincent James Englehart was his name, to be correct. I was a new nurse. He scared everyone else out of his room. Nurses that had been there for thirty days or thirty years; I was accused of turning him against nurses who had been there far longer than I had. Maybe I was new enough to understand him, or maybe I just didn’t know any better. For better or for worse, Jim and I became fast friends. All I did was listen to what he said.

Jim was blind due to an abdominal aortic aneurysm and the sub sequential blood loss. I quickly learned that the key was letting Jim talk you through everything. He had three ostomies , which was any nurse’s nightmare. Worse yet, they always came off, resulting in his ostomy plates and bags having to be changed multiple times throughout the shift. A sheer nightmare when you have twenty-five patients to care for! Miraculously, Jim’s bags rarely fell off after I had put them on and while I was on shift!

Jim and I enjoyed watching Hannity and Colmes together. Rather, Jim enjoyed listening to the program and I enjoyed spending time with Jim. It didn’t matter if we agreed on political stances; it was merely background noise for us. He told me about his family, his favourite memories, and told me about his wife, Jackie. I told him about my life and family, probably more than what is considered professional. Jim loved to tell dirty jokes, but I soon found that I was not privy to them. Jim and I had a special saying: Vaya Con Dios. Jim told me it means 'Go with God'. We reserved it for our use only, like a little secret between friends.

Even as Jim’s nurse, I was not allowed in his room while he was using the urinal, and he didn’t want me to treat his male parts. When he had a particularly bad yeast infection, he eventually allowed me to treat it and finally decided that only I had the cure. Still, though, Jim treated me more like a daughter than his nurse.

Somehow, I hurt my back right before I was scheduled to go on vacation. I was off for several weeks and went on the vacation. On the return trip, Stacy, one of my nursing assistants, called to tell me that Jim had passed. I was silent for the remaining 6-hour drive home. My then husband didn't understand. At first I felt as though it was wrong of me to not have been there for him at the end, but came to realise it was probably better that way. In nursing, they say you should not become emotionally attached to your patients. My personal opinion is that if you do not become emotionally attached on some level, then you are not doing your job right.


I still miss Jim, and think of him often. He taught me more about nursing than fifty textbooks. He taught me about life, love, and friendship. He taught me the importance of listening and understanding. He has been gone now for almost three years. Vaya Con Dios, my friend.

Cosmo's bad advice - and - I'm being sexually harassed by an 80 year old man

This entry contains content that is sexual in nature.

Whenever I tell a man that I am a nurse, I can see the wheels in his head start to turn. They’re just sure that I wear a vinyl outfit, thigh high stockings with a garter, and boots to my knees. I don’t. I don’t look sexy at all while I’m at work. I have on white pants, a scrub top, tennis shoes, and my hair is pulled up. My make-up is usually a mess, and I am often covered in Nutren Glytrol (a nutritional supplement) chlorophyll (a nasty little pill that turns everything green) and whatever explodes on me that day.

This is why I just can’t understand William’s fascination with me. It started out with harmless flirting, which I was able to keep under control with ‘the look’. Then he started asking me to get in bed with him, keep him warm, telling me I’d have more fun in his bed, etc. This was met with “That is NOT appropriate!” He would back off and tell me he was only kidding. The next thing was he started touching me. If I were standing next to his chair, he would touch the back of my knee. He actually grabbed my ass in front of the whole dining room one day. I would tell him to stop touching me, and he would just laugh. Things just kept getting worse. One night I was fed up and told him, “William you are a dirty old man!” His reply? “Well you’re a dirty young lady and I like that.”

One night I went in his room to administer his evening medication. This man who could barely walk jumped up and backed me in a corner. He did an open palm full feel up, front and back, including squeezing my breasts. I was able to get out, he actually chased me! (At that point, I was actually worried about where his walker was!) I no longer go into his room without someone with me. I mean, I could take him, but I really don’t want to knock out an 80-year-old man!

About 2 weeks ago, I was doing the evening med pass, and was outside a room 3 doors down from his. He had just returned from his bath. I looked up to see him walking toward me (Where the hell was his walker?) wearing his bathrobe. The robe was open. There was nothing on underneath it. He had an erection. All my aides were in rooms with people. I was alone in the hallway with him. I got him turned around, and headed back to his room. “William! What is it that you need!” He told me, “I need you. I need you to take care of this problem.” (Indicating his erection) I deposited him outside the door to his room. Literally, 2 minutes later an aide entered his room and found him masturbating. I was sick.

I can handle a lot. This was way too much.

Tonight I was preparing his bedtime medication outside his door. He came out and asked when I would be bringing it to him. I told him it would be just a minute, that I was getting it ready. I went in, and had one of my aides with me. He called out for me to close the door – he didn’t know the aide was there. I walked in to find him watching PORNOGRAPHY with his hand down his pants. He said “I wanted you to see this…” looked up, saw the aide, removed his hand and fumbled with the remote. I left his meds on the table.

I'm really starting to get uncomfortable with the whole situation. He doesn't do this to anyone else. I'm very firm with him that his behaviour is inappropriate. I'm just about at the end of my rope. I have considered asking to switch assignments, but that wouldn't be fair to my other 24 patients who are actually pissed when I even take a day off.

This is just a sampling. I go through this crap every time I work. I’ve reported every incident to the social worker. She has been keeping notes. I am very reluctant to make a fuss – he has a lovely wife and children. He and his wife just celebrated 60 years. The wife would probably blame me, and there would be a scene. I don’t want that. I have considered that some of his medications could be adding to the problem, and will be discussing that with his doctor. I’d like to tell his wife to take him home for a conjugal, but there again…

I’ve decided that if messy hair and make-up combined with a stained sticky uniform is sexy, I need to write Cosmo. They’ve been giving the wrong advice for years!

Where did that thought just go...oooh! NyQuil!

Thoughts competed for space in my head with the sinusy nastiness that invaded last week. Coherent or not, here they are.

I met a pretty cool guy last Sunday. He works out of town, and left for Orlando Monday morning. His house burned down yesterday. I’m sad for him, but grateful for my home.

I hit the daily at The Orioles! Not a lot of money, about four hundred, enough for groceries and bills. I will make it be enough for a pedicure and some good make up! (You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need!...Thanks Mick!)

I turned my paperwork for the bankruptcy in to the lawyer today. Yeah!

Why is it that loneliness creeps up so unexpectedly? You think you have a handle on things, but it sneaks in like a cat burglar in the night stealing away with your soul.

My friend Allie called to tell me about all the men she is using and how much they love her for it. SERIOUSLY, MEN! WTF?! BOO YOU SUCK! (I’m sure not all of you do.)

I’m thinking about going back to school. I’m an LPN now, it would be easy for me to be an RN, but I always saw myself doing something a little more holistic. (Actually, I saw myself touring with The Grateful Dead selling hemp jewelry, but that didn’t work out very well for me)

I’ll be thirty on April 7th. Not concerned about the number, but it’s a milestone. Am I going to be alone?

I’ll be thirty on April 7th. Yes, it’s the number! I’m quickly running out of time to be in my twenties and be a ‘younger woman’! LOL!

I’m learning the differences between friends and acquaintances. Seems I have many more acquaintances than friends. My mom says it’s because I’m growing and maturing. Me: “But I don’t want to grow and mature mum!”

I had nightmares about my ex last night. Stay out of my peaceful sleep time!

My friend Stacy brought extra lunch for me at work today. Plus she worked a HUGE knot out of my neck. She’s awesome, but I can’t understand why she treats me so well. I mean, I treat her well and appreciate everything she does, but she takes care of me.

VERNAL EQUINOX! MARCH 20th! Need I say more? :)

Wondering about a friend’s autistic nephew who recently moved out on his own…How is he doing with that?

Back to the grind for the next few days, so my writing, reading, and commenting will be a little slow.

I’m sooo thankful to have a job!

Filing to declare I'm taking my life back!

My soon to be ex husband’s cocaine habit really did a number on our debt. To condense a very long story, he took thousands out of the bank without telling me, very large paychecks would mysteriously get lost in the mail, and more than one person had to be paid off. My credit score was in the 800’s, near perfect.

Now…I’m declaring bankruptcy. I cannot and will not pay his debts. Unfortunately, the majority of bills, loans, and credit cards are in my name. A good credit score is something you have to work hard for. I hate to see it go down the drain, but it’s either my credit or me! Credit can be rebuilt.

My lawyer recommended I do the bankruptcy before the divorce so there will be less to fight over. Even though I paid the lawyer in full last August, I have put off turning in the paperwork. Day in and day out, I would tell myself to finish putting the paperwork together so I could get on with things.

Maybe I thought it would all disappear. The debt and my husband. They didn’t. Maybe I thought that if I didn’t recognize the bankruptcy and the divorce they wouldn’t be real. They are. As long as I put off filing for bankruptcy, I have a reason to put off filing for divorce.

Don’t get me wrong here – I don’t want my ex back, and I am done trying to save the marriage. I spent many months in shame. I was ashamed that I couldn’t dig myself out of debt, and ashamed that I couldn’t save my marriage. I felt like these things indicated a flaw in me as a person. It took a long time to figure out that instead of being ashamed, I should be proud for standing up for myself.

Today I finished putting together the paperwork for my bankruptcy. Tomorrow I will drop it off at my lawyer’s office on my way to work. In a way, it’s my first step toward the divorce…and freedom!

My Purse Has Been Ostracized!

I have a strange relationship with my stepmom. I don’t think she has ever accepted me, and I get the feeling she just plain doesn’t like me. Things have been a little better over the past few years, but I think the damage has been done. Having said that, I am very close to my stepsister, her daughter.

My stepmom Carla, my stepsister, Sheila, and my niece Becky all carry ‘Vera Bradley’ purses. If you don’t know what that is, I don’t know if I can help you. They’re all types of purses and bags that come in different patterns and the patterns are then ‘retired’, making them more valuable. (I guess) They’re cute purses, but I’m partial to mine.

The purse I carry came from a garage sale when I was in the eighth grade. It is handmade, probably from the late sixties or early seventies. It’s the only one I’ve carried for many years. It’s all leather and has served me well, considering the abuse it takes.

When I go over to my dad’s house, the girls compare their new Vera Bradley’s. “oooooh! They have placemats in that design, too!” They will LITERALLY move all their purses to a pile away from mine. It started as a joke, but after a while, it started to get to me. My purse isn’t good enough to be next to theirs. Does that mean they think I’m not good enough, either?

Two Christmases ago, my dad and Carla gave me a gift certificate to Jungle Jim’s for Christmas. Jungle Jim’s is a sort of ethnic market, selling mostly different foods. They happen to have a Vera Bradley shop there as well. I finally remembered the gift card the other day, and decided to use it. I went with the sole purpose of getting a Vera Bradley.

The designs and colours are beautiful. I looked at them for a good 40 minutes before making a decision. As I held the purse in my hands, I could feel it had no soul like mine does. (Does that make sense?) I pictured myself carrying it. The compliments I would get. I could hear people saying “Ooooh! A Vera Bradley!” and “I love that pattern!” Then I heard someone say, “Look! I have the exact same one!” My next vision was of me chucking it in the nearest dumpster.

I put the purse back on the shelf. I could tell the sales lady was genuinely shocked I decided not to get it, and I’m sure she was tsk-tsking me in her mind. I used the gift certificate to treat myself to cold medicine, vitamins, and organic tea instead. At least I won’t chuck those in the dumpster!

My very first award! Thank you so much! I'd like to thank my parents, and my agent, and the Academy, oh, and Myst! (http://blackstonemyst.blogspot.com/) Thank you!!

Comments

I seem to be having a hard time leaving comments on some of your blogs...the word verification thing won't give me a word to verify! Is anyone else having a problem with this?

Genie in a Bottle of Jack

Please don't judge me too harshly. Some of these things are hard for me to admit, but today they are desperately trying to get out!


After I kicked my ex out, I started drinking. Daily. Heavily. A fifth of Jack in a sitting, easily. I got so used to it that I quit getting sick, and I quit getting hangovers. I also quit feeling. It was the only way I knew how to defend myself.

I filled my spare time with a parade of men, bars, parties, and wild nights. Some of the things I did were nothing less than shameful. Many of those things I did hoping my ex would find out about them and be hurt or jealous. There were times that I brought men home with me just because they were his ‘friends’. I started hanging out at ‘his’ bar. I made sure everyone there knew how much fun I was to party with, and what a great person I am. Problem is that it was fake me. I couldn’t even remember who real me was.

November and December were probably my worst months for partying. Things were spiraling out of control, and I was losing more of myself with every drink, every wild night, every man that I brought home. I knew something had to change, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. Even though I was drinking less often by this time, 2 or 3 times a week, the nights I did drink, I made up for lost time.

At the beginning of January, things changed quickly because of someone I met. It’s a long, sordid story. I’m not done examining the situation and my role in it and the story is not completely mine to tell. For now, I will save it. I let all my male ‘companions’ go, and stopped participating in certain social activities. Something good came of the whole situation: I slowed down enough for long enough to examine what I was doing.

My drinking slowed down to twice a week, now once. While I still meet men when I go out, I don’t go out for that purpose, and I don’t bring them home with me. I woke up still drunk this morning (okay, that was twice this week) and something told me I have to STOP this self-destructive behavior. I wrote a post last week entitled As of Today. One of the things I want to do is rediscover myself. I don’t think that’s going to happen while staring down a bottle of Jack Daniels.

I’m not going to say that I will NEVER drink again. It’s only Monday. I do, however need to find something more constructive and empowering to do with my time. There’s not much to do in this small town unless I want to sit home by myself. Everyone wants to drink. Because of my work schedule, I’m a night person. That doesn’t give me much time for things like walking in the park. After dark, it feels like all there is out there is partying. I know that’s not true. I know I’m laying blame and rationalizing. I’m good at that.

For now, I’ll set my goal as not drinking for the rest of the week. The hard part won’t come until Saturday, but I have between now and then to come up with something constructive to do. I know that doesn’t even sound good from where you’re reading, but it’s a step for me.

I would also like to add that some of this realization came about from reading and pondering some of the blogs here. Everyone is an inspiration, and I just wish you were all a little closer!

Clubbing, Mr. Wink, and The Joker

I went out with my parents last night. They’re fun people to hang out with. Hanging out with them gives the term ‘going clubbing’ a whole new meaning. On club nights, we usually start at The Orioles, then move on to The Eagles, then The Elks, and finish up at The NAUS Club. By the end of the night, my mother and I are the entertainment everywhere we go. My stepdad is kinda stuck chauffeuring us around, and we like to give him a little bit of a hard time. Repeated pleas of ‘Would you two quit’ and ‘Sit your ass down before you fall down’ are met with laughter from all. I’m the one up dancing, mom is the one singing. Actually, we both sing. Duets. We sound awful, but do it anyway. I was doing my Janis Joplin impression, substituting someone else’s name for Bobby McGee. Freedom is just another word for nothin’ left to lose!

Mr. Wink was texting me which thrilled my mom. My stepdad, well not so much. Mom wanted to call Mr. Wink and see if he could tell us apart. I have been making an effort to restrict my drunk dialing/texting, and restrained myself from calling. A little blurb about Mr. Wink. If you haven’t ‘met’ him yet, you can find a little background info at my entry ‘Valentine’s Day Wasn’t So Bad After All’ (http://saladsandwich.blogspot.com/2009/02/valentines-day-wasnt-so-bad-after-all.html) Mr. Wink meets all my criteria in a man. I’m not picky.


1) He has a job. A very good job as a matter of fact.
2) He has a vehicle.
3) He has a license to drive said vehicle.
4) He has teeth.


Beyond that, he is nice, is a good conversationalist, and seems to really like me. It doesn’t hurt that he has a Harley, a boat, and likes to take vacations. He has also managed to keep himself out of any real trouble. Hard to believe considering his past. (Did I mention he played classic rock trivia with me? He likes classic rock, too!)

On the downside, he is a workaholic. He actually works out of town, and is living in Chicago right now for work. Not too terribly far, and he did allude to inviting me to come visit him sometime. He is 42, which doesn’t bother me too much. I would always be the younger woman! Having said that, he is mature and pretty settled. Good and bad. He has 2 kids and doesn’t want any more. You may be thinking to yourself, “I hope you’re not planning to run off and marry him tomorrow!” I’m not. Those are just things that I think about.

He appeared in my life and said and did all the right things. Unfortunately, that scares me a little right now. I’ve recently been put through the wringer with that situation. Some guy swoops in, makes you think he is superman, but you find out he’s really just a joker. I was really really upset about that particular situation in the beginning, but it was my fault for believing it all. I’m not too upset anymore, just hurt. He’s been out of the loop, to say the least, for the last nine years. I don’t think he knows how to deal with emotions or people any more. I am just one of the casualties.

That brings me to my big life question of the moment: How much damage can a person’s faith in humanity take before there is nothing left for the people who deserve that faith? It’s certainly not fair for someone who really is trustworthy and honest to be met with skepticism and mistrust from the beginning. They almost don’t have a fighting chance. I’ve heard that trust has to be earned, but I would like to think that trust is given and mistrust is earned. I don’t know which is harder. Trusting people or not trusting them.

I’ll stop the rambling now.

I'm still here!

I have recently been working quite a bit more than usual, picking up double shifts, etc. It gives me something positive to channel my energy into, and besides the pay, I get quite a bit of energy from my patients in return. This makes me a little slow on my reading, commenting, and posting. Please forgive me… I have many thoughts, but after 20 hours at work , they are certainly not coherent!

As of today...

Revelations from a sunny day driving with the windows down.

As of today…

1) I no longer give anyone permission to make me feel bad about myself.

2) I will no longer allow anyone to use me just to make themselves feel better.

3) I will recognize my own self worth.

4) I take charge of my future.

5) I will not let anyone else tell me how to run my life.

6) I don’t want anyone in my life that doesn’t want me in theirs.

7) I will rediscover myself.

8) I will decide what is right for me, and I will do what I decide is right.

9) I will find inspiration everywhere.

10) I will be grateful.

11) I will give love freely to those who handle it with care.

Having said all that, I am subject to bad days and hormonal changes!

Good Morning Haiku

My kitties wake me.

Lick my face and bite my toes.

It's time to get up!

Don't you want somebody to love? Pink thoughts from Vevay

DISCLAIMER!

ATTENTION MEN! THIS POST CONTAINS WORDS LIKE 'LOVE'. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

I told my mom about meeting Mr. Wink. She never ceases to amaze me. I thought he was joking when he told me that she kept telling him he needed to talk to me, but she verified that she had in fact told him that! I don’t see any kind of romantic relationship with him, for several reasons, but it’s nice to know you’re still marketable. The ups and downs of dating can leave a girl feeling pretty bad sometimes. By the way, Mr. Shut Up kinda tried to apologize…I think. I wish I knew. It’s hard telling with him.

I mentioned Mr. Wink being a good conversationalist. He told me about his last two relationships. It made a lot of sense when he explained it, and I wish I could remember his exact words. It was very deep. He said the first one loved him too much, and he loved the second one too much. He wasn’t talking about being ‘smothered’ or ‘smothering’, though. I didn’t know it was possible to love too much, but as I said, it made sense when he told it.

Can two people ever love each other equally? Is it possible for one person to have too much love to give? What happens when it can’t get out? (I imagine a person just exploding and pink glittery hearts flying everywhere lol!) Love comes in so many different forms; it’s hard to know what to do with all of it.

Personally, I have love for my family and friends. I have love for my pets, for nature, for music. What do I do with the rest of it? The love I have to share with a man? The love I have to share with children of my own? How and where do you store that until the time is right? Can I get a lock box at the bank to put it in?

I don’t want this to come off sounding frightening like I’m just ready to marry the first guy that comes along. Most of my readers are women, so I figure they will understand better. Words like ‘love’ and thoughts like ‘having children’ scare most men. I can’t help it. I’m girlie that way. I think pink thoughts of love and make-up!

Make new friends, but keep the old!

Once a month I have lunch with a wonderful woman who was my fifth grade teacher. We have been doing this for several years. Today was lunch date day!

She loves to cook, especially soups. Today we had vegetable soup and homemade corn muffins. We talk about events that have transpired over the last month, the books we have read, and the English Language. That is something we both have a passion for, and she is one of the few people that I can discuss proper punctuation and grammar with and not sound hoity toity! Mine is never perfect, but I think it is interesting to learn about.

I told her today that I had recently taken up painting again. She laughed and said that she had something I had painted in fifth grade and gave to her. Would I like to see it? She went to the attic and returned with a box. On top of the box was the painting, a picture of a house that said ‘Home Sweet Home’ across the top. Not very good, but I was only in fifth grade!

The real surprise came when she opened the box. She had kept copies of all the plays and short stories I had written all those years ago along with all the trinkets I had given her. Most of the plays I had written were based on whatever lesson we were working on. There was one about The Boston Tea Party, one about Eli Whitney, one about the Oregon Trail, and several others. My writing in that time was not quite as evolved as it is today, and I was a little embarrassed. We both had a good laugh though, and reminisced for the remainder of our visit.

Our visit also included an invitation to join her at church. I have nothing against ANY religion or belief. (As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else) I personally consider myself Christian, but don’t believe in the church institution. I have had many bad (and some good) experiences with church in the past, and I prefer to do things my own way, the way I feel is right. I was able to politely decline, but she frequently invites me and I don’t know how much longer I can put it off! She is an older lady, and would be completely shattered if I told her that I just don’t do the church thing. Any advice on this matter is welcome. Maybe an outside opinion would help!

I am truly grateful for this friendship.

Valentine's Day wasn't so bad, after all.

WARNING!

This entry is a little disjointed, but I'm starting to get a little more relaxed with my blogging.

Valentine’s Day turned out not to be a total loss, after all. In fact, it turned out pretty well.

My first stop of the evening was the Orioles for the ten-dollar book drawing. For those of you who don’t know, the Orioles is a club similar to the Moose or the Elks. For those of you in other parts of the world, I don’t really know what to compare it to. It’s a bar that you have to have a key card to get into, and drinks are a little cheaper. Anyway, as I was en route to the Orioles, a girlfriend called and asked if I wanted to go out. I had planned to just go home, but I was looking pretty damn hot and felt it would be a shame to waste all that sexiness on myself! I told her I would call when I left the club. I didn’t win the book (boo) and called my friend. We decided to meet up at the Madison Inn.

When I got to the Madison, I went in and grabbed a seat at the bar. They were playing some horrible booty shaking music, and I nearly left. Fortunately, the band was getting ready to start, so I decided to stick around. (I’m picky about music in bars…I’ll tell that story in another post.) I’m glad I did, they were good, and played music I liked.

I am a magnet for old men at bars. Last night was no exception. He walked straight in and sat next to me when I was surrounded by empty bar stools. It was clear that he was already drunk. His breath smelled strangely fruity and I considered asking if he was diabetic, because it smelled like Ketoacidosis. I decided not to diagnose at the bar and excused myself to the bathroom.

I love to dance – it’s a very sexual thing. Usually I look around for someone standing by the bar looking like they are dying to get on the dance floor and drag them out there. I guess I was the person eyeing the dance floor last night because someone pulled me out there. We danced a couple songs, the oldest man in the place got up and tried to do some crazy grinding thing with me so I shimmied my way to the other side of the dance floor. On my way back to my drink, I noticed a handsome more in my age range guy checking me out. He winked. I smiled.

I was feeling pretty good, and was proud of myself as I was alternating ice water with my Jack. At that point the guy I had hoped to be with that night called. Quite frankly, he was a dick. I ran outside when he called so I could hear. Wherever he was the music was loud as well, and the call was really breaking up. Something about he was going to come over. Crackle crackle. I said I thought he wasn’t driving. Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP!!! Surely, he wasn’t saying that to me. He was. I hung up. I texted him twice last night and once today. I haven’t heard from him. Granted I’m not the brightest star in the sky, but I’m smart enough to know that I am too good of a person for someone to treat me that way. In his defense, I know in my heart he is not bad. He has things going on in his life none of us could fathom.

Back to the good part! I went back in and sat down. The band was on break. Mr. Wink was talking to two girls at the end of the bar. Actually, they were talking to him. He didn’t look very interested. They went to the dance floor and I walked over to him under the guise of getting the bartender’s attention. I asked which one of the girls would be mad if I talked to him. He said neither, he didn’t even know them . He asked me to sit down, and asked, “What is your name?” in a tone that I know all too well. I told him. I said my mom’s name immediately after, and he said “I knew it!” My mom and I are like the Bobsy Twins. We look alike, gesture alike, and sound alike. We sound so much alike that when we are together our nickname is ‘Sandy in Stereo’. (Sandy is my mom) It turns out that Mr. Wink and I had actually met several times before. He’s one of my mom’s best friend’s nephew.

The Madison started a new thing where they stay open after the bar closes and serve breakfast. Mr. Wink and I talked for hours. He was a perfect gentleman. No funny business. He’s the kind of guy that lights a girl’s cigarette. I’m a sucker for that crap. The conversation was great. That’s really what I wanted. An intelligent human being to conversate with. Not only was he intelligent, he was observant. He had noticed when I got the phone call and went outside. He also noticed that I was not happy when I came back. I just said it was a long story, and it is.

In case you’re wondering, my girlfriend stood me up. At least, I hope she did. I would rather that she stood me up than had something bad happen.

Wow! The last few days have been a blogger’s dream! Through a series of events I have had more people read my blog than ever, and in turn I found all their wonderful blogs! It may take me a while to catch up my reading a comments, so please be patient with me. I’m glad to ‘meet’ all of you and look forward to sharing with new souls!

10 things that have recently made me happy

I’m getting to where I can’t do anything without thinking of writing my next blog entry. Yes, I do eventually get sick of complaining about everything and being all ‘emo’. (I recently discovered that was a word younger people use today, and I’m still hip, dammit!) I thought I would write about some things that have made me happy recently. This is earth shaking stuff, folks, so hold on!
1)I got a valentine from my Papa who lives far away.

2)My friends Michael and Mason both called to wish me happy Valentine’s Day.

3) My friend and co-worker Stacy brought in extra lunch for me at work twice this week.

4)I found out today that a friend’s autistic nephew was able to move to a home where he would be living semi ‘on his own.’

5)I did get asked on 3 Valentine’s Day dates, that was nice, but I turned them down for personal reasons.

6)My cats Scout and Boo Radley said they would be my valentines. (If you are not a cat person, just forget you read this one.)

7)I convinced a male co-worker to get a little something for his wife on Valentine’s Day, and heard through the grapevine today that she was moved to tears as he had not done this in at least 20 years!

8) I’ve found out that there are actually people who read my blog, and they leave very kind comments. This makes me feel really good!

9)I was able to work several doubles last week. I’m grateful to have a good job.

10) While working a double last week, I woke a patient up to give her morning meds. When she opened her eyes she said she was very lucky because I was the last person she saw before she fell asleep and the first person she saw when she woke up. This was sincere, and it made my extra effort worth while.

Grieving the loss of my dreams

Beautiful Lisa, author of ‘Transcript of a Significant Life’ (http://raihndrops.blogspot.com/) left a comment on my entry entitled ‘Lying My Way Through the Day’. It mentioned that I was still “grieving for the loss of my dreams.” My thick head couldn’t comprehend anything more than she must have thought I wanted my ex husband back. I told myself she didn’t know me and was trying to be helpful, yet those words kept tickling my frontal lobe for several days.

Turns out that this woman who I have never met or spoken to, and who lives a world away, knows me better than I thought.

I was turning those words over in my mind while lying in bed this morning, and it dawned on me that I am grieving the loss of my dream! Not my husband, but the dream of forever, the dream of having children and raising them with a man I love, the dream of growing old together and experiencing the triumphs, pit falls, and joys of life with my one and only. In my dream, there is someone to listen to and support me, just as I do for them; someone to kiss in the rain, and make love to under the stars. These are all things I still believe in. He didn’t take that away from me.

Lisa, it is a true gift to be able to give words to someone that make them realize something about themselves they didn’t know. Thank You!

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest;

Home-keeping hearts are happiest,

For those that wander they know not where

Are full of trouble and full of care;

To stay at home is best.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What am I doing wrong?

I’m almost thirty. Allie has been one of my best friends since we were in the eighth grade. We went to school together for a year during that time. We are the kind of friends that can go for months or even years without talking and just pick up as if we had a conversation ten minutes ago. She is the most beautiful girl I know.

Allie works out six days a week. She does her make-up like a pro. She looks like a pin-up girl. She was an ‘exotic dancer’ (read: stripper). She is the kind of girl every man wants. She has a faithful boyfriend, a home with him, two wonderful children, beauty like no one deserves, and men on the side.

She has men on the side. That part bothers me. Right now, she works as a bartender. Men swoon over her, and as of this writing, she has two whom which she pays extra attention. It started with John. He is a great person. I went to school with him. I am in the process of getting a divorce, and when at a weak moment I hit on him, she informed me that he ‘was her man’. He takes her out after work, buys her drinks, shows her a good time, and goes home by himself.

Most recently, there is Chris. Allie called me last night to say there was a problem. She was going to hang out with Chris, but John stopped by her work and wanted her to go out with him. After work, she met John at a bar, where he paid for several of her drinks, then she told him that Alex (her boyfriend, housemate, and father of her most recent child) was texting her and she had to leave. She left to meet Chris at another bar.

When I went to see my friend Allie while she was bartending the other night, John was there. He made a comment about women only liking men that treated them badly. Tonight I am thinking about how men seem to only like women who treat them bad.

I’m not sure where the quote is from, but I’ve heard ‘We hurt the ones who love us and love the ones who hurt us’. What truth!

The things I want to say. Straight up.

I don’t know who broke your heart, but it wasn’t I. You broke mine, though. You asked me to try to be understanding. I did. You asked me to be patient. I have been. You asked me to give you time and space. I have, although it has been almost unbearably hard. You asked me not to judge you, and I don’t, although I feel as if you have judged me. You asked me to tell you the truth about everything, and I have. You were afraid to tell me the truth about yourself, but when you finally did, I was confused but accepted it. I stopped looking, and I stopped doing the things I was doing, because you made me want to. You asked me to wait, if I wanted. I did, I do, and I still am. I miss you like you missed freedom.

Lying my way through the day

I had a moment tonight at work. No one saw the fleeting look of panic that ran across my face. I felt it, though, and was able to duck away before anyone had seen. I wanted to cry. Cry from confusion, pain, and frustration. I wanted to cry from feeling misunderstood and judged unfairly. I felt like there was a ton of bricks on my heart, and another ton in my mind.

I would like to say that the feeling came from nowhere, but that would be a lie. I know where it came from; I have been dealing with it for several weeks. I’m usually able to keep it pushed aside while I’m at work, but tonight it torpedoed to the surface.

Seven months ago I kicked my ex husband out. (Good riddance!) My co-workers and patients saw me go from being the person with the positive attitude that could do it all to being an empty shell. The first few months I was unable to hide it, and later I was able to fake my way through it. In the not so distant past, they saw the me they remembered. The reaction was as if I had just come home from a looonggg vacation. People with Alzheimer’s who don’t remember their own families told me they were glad to have their ‘happy girl’ back. Now I’m back to faking it, and hoping I’m doing a good job.

I’m at a loss as what to do. At night, I cry. Morning comes, and I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to go anywhere, but I make myself. If you read the post about nightlife in Middletown and the previous one about being alone, together, you know that sometimes I force myself to leave the house. (It usually ends with a call to USA Taxi.)

What to do…what to do? Today I mailed a package. It included something I worked very hard on. My intention was, obviously, to make the recipient happy. The awful truth is, I may never know. That person is not currently speaking to me. It might make them angry or irritated, but that wasn’t my goal. Is it selfish if sending it made me feel a little better, too?

Of course, none of this makes sense to my readers. It doesn’t make sense to me either. This is another of my ‘ramblings from a mad woman posts’.

Black Heart

Valentine’s Day evokes many mixed emotions for me. I’m a hopelessly romantic person, but bad things tend to happen to me on February 14.

Two years ago on Valentine’s Day I made a special dinner for my ex husband. I always preferred to stay in and celebrate. I expected him home from work at six, and would have everything ready by six-thirty. Six, six-thirty, seven, came and went. I called his cell phone, and he told me he was on his way home, the job ran over, and he was stuck in traffic. Eight, nine, and ten, came and went. He had stopped answering his phone. I was upset and worried. I didn’t know if I should call the hospital, the police, or do nothing at all. He had done this before, but I kept telling myself he wouldn’t ditch me on Valentine’s Day. He finally picked up at midnight, telling me he would be home when he was ‘fucking ready’. He rolled in at three in the morning, drunk and high on cocaine. We fought and I ended up leaving in tears. As usual, the apologies were long and tearful the next night.

Last year I gave my ex $80.00 to get me something for Valentine’s Day. Money wasn’t the issue. I just wanted something he had picked out. It had been a very stressful month, he quit his job (I found out later he lost it because of cocaine) and had gone ‘missing’ for almost 3 days. On Valentine’s morning, he presented me with my gift. It was a pair of slippers from K-Mart, still in the shopping bag. I smiled and thanked him, wondering deep down inside where the money went. He left, stating he was going to help a friend work on his truck. I began to get ready for my 3-11 shift at the nursing home. Truthfully, I was more than a little upset about the slippers, but figured he had at least made an effort and I should be happy for that.

When I came downstairs, I found his pistol on the coffee table. We had argued the night before after I found a razor blade in his dresser. He swore he wasn’t doing coke but I knew he was. More often than not when we argued he would start messing around with his pistol. I would find it in strange places. I found it in the bathroom, on his nightstand, workbench, and now the coffee table.

I was upset when I got to work. I had cried off and reapplied my make up twice. I had an admission, a fall, and a suspicious chest pain complaint within the first two hours, and was behind on my med pass. My head was swimming. I went to the kitchenette to get ice water for a patient. The next part of the story I don’t remember, I know only what was told to me later.

One of my nursing assistants said she heard a thud and turned around to see me lying on the floor, unconscious. She yelled for the other nurse. I began to have seizures. They told me at the hospital it was because I had hit my head so hard when I fell. Someone remembered seeing my cell phone on top of my med cart. This was a strange coincidence because I don’t use it at work, but needed the calculator on it that day. Using my cell phone, one of the nurses was able to reach my mom when my ex wouldn’t pick up the phone. The only thing I really remember was being in the ambulance. They had applied oxygen with a nasal cannula, and it was cold.

I underwent many tests at the hospital. Aside from a concussion, they could find nothing wrong. It wasn’t until several months later that I admitted to myself that the whole incident came about because of stress. I realize that many more people have greater stress in their lives and have had far worse things happen. This is just a blurb about my life and my experience with Valentine’s Day.

This year I am alone. I think I will lock myself in my bedroom and hope the roof doesn’t cave in!

Middletown Nightlife - or - My Car is an Alcoholic

I was very productive last night. I got completely smashed. I have no idea how I got home, but I didn’t drive and that’s all that matters. I even ate yesterday. More often than not, I forget to eat before I drink, unless I am drinking with my best friend who force-feeds me before, during, and after the festivities. He was out of town last night.

I started out the evening at a local hole in the wall called ‘Hillbilly Heaven’. They have good bluegrass on the jukebox, something I occasionally get a hankering to hear. The bartender there looked more depressed than the patrons did. There was a couple next to me, a guy with green teeth and a girl with no teeth. They made a great pair. I eventually heard them asking the bartender about hotels and they decided on the Ramada by the highway because the guy’s wife would never think to look for him there. I wanted to knock them both out after hearing that, but I hadn’t had enough to drink to make fist fighting at the bar seem like a good idea.

After my selections had played, I headed to the ‘Lakeside’, which is nowhere near a lake, or any body of water for that matter. I sat at the end of the bar away from everyone else. I must have looked lonely because some guy who was old enough to be my father and had decided to take a whore bath in Cool Water cologne came in and immediately sat next to me. I nearly jumped for joy. He decided to start telling me about how he knew Harry Finkelman, who was a big name in our city many years ago. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t give a fuck, but just politely held my nose instead. I eventually turned my chair away and feigned interest in the Grammy Awards. I started to feel bad for being so unfriendly and let him buy me a drink. After all, he was wearing some pretty tacky diamond jewelry. He left shortly thereafter.

I had planned on going to the ‘Madison Inn’ after a few drinks, but was having such a good time I decided to stay. There was a group of people sitting in a booth behind me. A young couple and an older man. The girl, who was very obviously pregnant, came up to the bar and ordered another beer. She nearly burnt me with her cigarette. I gathered that the older man was her father because he kept telling the guy she was with that he needed to do the right thing and marry his daughter. The kid looked genuinely scared. (and drunk)

By this time I was drunk enough to tear up the phone number of the guy I like and flush it down the toilet. I am a notorious drunk dialer/texter, and when I’m drinking with friends they actually take my phone away. Since I was there by myself, I had to take matters into my own hands. I figured I was doing everyone a favour.

The night wasn’t a total loss, though. The last thing I remember was trading classic rock trivia facts with a guy named Putter. He had some really good stuff and I wish I could remember it. I vaguely remember discussing NHRA vs.NASCAR. I pick NHRA. There’s nothing like 0-300 in a quarter mile. Speaking of cars, my step dad is here to take me to get mine. It got drunk last night and stayed at the bar.

Alone. Together.

It’s Saturday night, and it’s been a long week. Two double shifts, one that turned into twenty hours, and last night almost eighteen. The stress this week has been unbelievable. Work, personal life, and my own crazy emotions have taken their toll on me. It’s time to cut loose! Right? Here I am sitting at home.

I’m not sitting at home because I have nothing to do and nowhere to go. I have been invited to card night, dinner with the family, drinks with friends, and some more interesting offers, all of which I have declined. I have no problem going out by myself to find something to do, either. I’m at home because I want to be here. I just wish the circumstances were different. I wish I weren’t here by myself.

I get tired of going out drinking. I get tired of feeling as if I have to be exceedingly social to make other people happy. I get tired of always smiling as if I’m having a good time when I really want to cry out, shout, scream, and tell everyone around me that I feel just as lonely in a room full of thirty people as I do actually being alone. Being surrounded by thirty warm bodies can never take the place of spending time in the company of the one soul with whom you actually want to be.

Time spent alone is good for everyone; so is time alone, together. I feel really cliché sometimes. I would like to be hanging out at home, sitting on the couch with someone, holding hands, watching (or not watching) movies. Someone that I really want to be with, when it doesn’t matter if we even talk, just being close is communication enough.

As I’m wrapping up this entry, I think I may have convinced myself to put on my happy face, fake smile, and reach deep inside myself for my social personality. I’ll make everyone else feel at ease when I would rather just be at home with someone that matters. Alone. Together.


(I ended up staying home after all)

Top 10

THE TOP 10 SIGNS YOU HAVE WORKED AT AN OLD FOLKS’ HOME TOO LONG

10) You scream at everyone around you when you talk because you think they are hard of hearing.

9) You no longer consider 80 ‘being old’.

8) You don’t feel awkward when someone next to you farts.

7) When you see elderly people in public you walk behind them because you are afraid they will fall.

6) You diagnose friends and family members with Alzheimer’s type dementia when they misplace their keys or forget what day it is. Then you provide reality orientation.

5) You begin to understand why so many people love Bingo.

4) You knock on doorframes to announce yourself when going from room to room in your house.

3) You awake from a dead sleep to answer a call light.

2) While dining in public you consider asking if the elderly couple next to you needs their food cut up. Then you wonder if they need thickened liquids when they cough.

AND THE #1 SIGN YOU HAVE WORKED AT AN OLD FOLKS’ HOME WAY TOO LONG…

1)You find it perfectly acceptable to talk about bowel movements. Anytime. Even at dinner!

I'm playing the game of Life and losing miserably

I get so tired of playing games. Everyone has one. Everyone is working an angle. People in general are manipulative. I wonder if we’re born that way. It seems like no one can just be honest anymore. I’ve come to believe that most people spend quite a bit of time sitting around thinking about things to tell other people to get what they want. “If I tell her/him this, they will think about me this way.” “If I do this or that they will think I am this type of person.”

Why is it that people expect you to be honest with them without being honest in return? I very seldom let people into my life, but when I do, it ends in disaster with me wondering how I could possibly be so naïve and unsuspecting. I guess I give too much of my soul away, because sometimes I feel I have nothing left. I hope the people who have pieces of it are enjoying their acquisition! I want to trust other people. I really do. I want to believe what they say and do is honest and sincere. Am I an idealist?

I don’t think that people set out to intentionally rip your heart out of your chest (and laugh while they hold it still beating in front of your face). I suppose they just don’t think through the consequences of their actions. Every action has a consequence. Everything you say or do has an effect on someone or something. It may not have an effect on them today, tomorrow, or next week, but eventually it will.

As usual, these are the ramblings of a mad woman. Right now, there is a man in a white coat with a syringe knocking at my door. I had better see what he wants…

Communication Breakdown

Some think that with the addition of computers and mobile phones it is easier than ever to communicate with the rest of the world. My personal thought on the matter is that our society is experiencing a communication breakdown.

I’ve said it many times before, all connotation and intonation is lost in text. Things quickly become twisted when you are unable to hear the other person’s voice. You are left wondering exactly what it was they meant by that comment. Was it anger or sadness? Were they being sarcastic or callous? Running through these options in your head is tiring and frustrating.

I understand that there’s not always time in our busy lives for a phone call. It’s awesome to get a text message from someone in the middle of the day when they just want to say hi, or they love you, whatever. It shows someone is thinking about you. It’s great to get a joke. It’s convenient to remind someone to pick up milk on their way home or that the party starts at eight.

Please don’t try to tell me anything deeper or more important in a text, instant message, or e-mail. Even a hand written letter is better. Ideally, I would like to talk in person so I can see your facial expressions and body language. At least call me so I can hear the inflection in your voice.
Writing lol, jp/jk, : ) or ; ) are not substitutes for laughing, joking, smiling or winking. I stand helplessly by as civilization forgets how to communicate. *SMH*.