Goody Two Shoes

2004-01-19T19:26:00.000-08:00

Unsuitable Men

I've cleaned house, so to speak, and am single again. Do you have any clue how excited I am at the sound of that word? Single!!!!! Yeah! No man cluttering up my space, my time, my mind. It is just me and Dream Boyfriend now, folks, and I think the two of us can make it ALL THE WAY.

Men are messy. They give me colds, snore and smell funny. They make me feel guilty for not going to bed at the same time they do. They bore me to death with stories about work. They don't talk with me, but at me. AND, I think they really DO have coodies.

Now I can put on my most comfy pair of yoga pants and a sports bra and lounge around while the heat is way up at 75. I'm gonna watch The Penis Song from the Sweetest Thing over and over on my DVD player. IN fact, I may memorize it and sing it to myself while washing dishes. I'm gonna putz around when I get insomnia without the constant fear of waking HIM up! I'm gonna eat ice cream right out of the container and PUT IT BACK.

I'm... I'm gonna be a SLOB, and no one can stop me!

2004-01-05T18:49:00.000-08:00

Weapons

This has been bugging me for a long, fucking time. No, it isn't about men, cocktails or sex. It is about...

...communion.

Yes, as in the holy muther' catholic church's idea of what communion means. First of all, I think the church is full of shit. They have probably intentionally been getting it wrong since the beginning to create a job market for themselves. I think Christ meant God is in you just as this bread and wine is in you when he said, "This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me."

Who needs a priest let alone the church if God is in you?

In other news, my DB is lounging sexily in the chair next to me. He, of course, agrees with everything I say while trailing a long, hot, wet line of kisses up my calf. God I love this guy.

2003-12-08T20:04:00.000-08:00

Love in the Afternoon

Thanksgiving has come and gone- thank Whomever. My day went swimmingly, as I'm sure yours did too. After playing ref between my nephew and niece, something about my nephew calling his sister a bitch (which she is), I tried to relax with Kettle One and Diet Coke. Really, the only thing good about Thanksgiving is the alcohol. There are no presents to offset the mandatory getting together with your relatives, so alcohol is all you've got. Sadly, I'm going to be known as "The Drunk Aunt".

I can live with that. In fact, I advocate being "The Drunk Aunt". By being "The Drunk Aunt", I can demonstrate the only way to get through family gatherings.

Anyway, my pretend boyfriend is calling. I'm off to let him make google eyes at me, which has nothing to do with the search engine. Really.

2003-10-20T20:44:00.000-07:00

Men, Life and Disinterest

Just finished The Secret Life of Eva Hathaway, by Janice Weber. Brownie sent it my way.

Once in awhile I'll read something so honest it leaves me raw and over exposed. Most of the time I don't believe I've had an honest moment once in my whole life. A second later I'm convinced I've never told a lie, but what is the difference between lying and omission? What if I've never actually said what I've thought? Believed? Felt?

I've been reading books by Virgina Satir. She is a therapist whose theory deals with communication in the family. My family's communication style is a lot like abstract art in that only the artist ever really understands their work. I watched my parents dance around the fact that they never loved each other. I watched my mother raise children she hated. I watched their life slip by them like a train rushes past a tree standing near the tracks.

They never did anything to save themselves. I want to save myself, I just don't know how.

2003-10-17T21:57:00.000-07:00

Subject?

Had three different blog subjects floating around in my little noggin today, but alas, I did not write one of them down. Yeah, not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Have decided that I could never be in a relationship with Hot Half Naked Jogger. Specifically because I cannot jog a block without keeling over in cardiac arrest. Don’t think HHNJ would be interested in having a relationship with someone whose idea of exercise is lifting cigarette to lips and exhaling smoke circles. He’d probably scorn my idea of a healthy dinner; diet coke and a bag of low fat popcorn. Not that I ever had a chance with him to begin with, but a girl has got to dream.

Nope. I’m going to stick with the latest fad: Dream Boyfriends.

My Dream Boyfriend is disturbingly hot and broody. He is tall, protective, sexy and knows how to find and manipulate the clitoris. He is demanding in bed and out. He adores me and cannot begin to find a flaw in my physical/mental/emotional makeup. He looks good in leather pants, works out and has abs of steal. He is entertaining, Jewish and a little bit nerdy. He plays the trumpet, really, really well and kisses taste like jazz on a hot humid night. He hides gifts for me all over the apartment. He is there when I want company and is gone when I don’t. He just can't help but to love me and I walk on the ground he worships.

How can you NOT want this guy?

2003-10-15T19:17:00.000-07:00

Fuck This Fucking Game

Yeah, yeah, yeah...

The Cubs lost last night and right now Farnsworth is screwing the pooch. Stupid, fucking Cubs. What else is new? The sky is up, I have insomnia and hell is hot.

Work is killing me. It is slow as fuck. What am I supposed to do? I mean, there are only so many things you can blog about before you have nothing to say. Shim is gross. Work sucks. The website will never be updated. Sex is good. Hot Half Nekkid Jogger Man should worship me as a goddess. Most men suck, and not the way I want men to suck. Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ. If only the Ritalin would kick in. Yeah.

I have decided to have relationships from a distance. Here is how it will work. I pick out a man to ogle, imagine myself in lewd situations with him, flirt until he asks me out and lose interest. That way I avoid the whole intimacy thing. The further away the man is, the longer the ‘relationship’ will last. Hell, if I never meet the guy, I’d probably actually sleep with him.

God. Where can I find men like this?

2003-09-21T20:49:00.000-07:00

BM

So, I'm standing in line at Wal-Mart waiting to check out. Divided items by where I store them; freezer, fridge or cabinet, on the conveyor belt. Bored, I begin to thumb through, magazines. First of all, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy's PR team is kicking ass. They seem to be popping up on Supermarket Magazine racks much as the cast of "Friends". Secondly, I noticed Britney and Madonna got matching, diamond, Neil Lane, initial, pendants (pg. 37 of Us Weekly). There is a photo of them together, Britney on the left pointing to her 'B' and Madonna on the right in a similar pose pointing to her 'M'. The only thing I can think, as I giggle like Butt-head, is Bowel Movement.

I have issues.

2003-09-16T17:09:00.000-07:00

Chemical Intimacy

I cut a friend's hair about once every two weeks. Trying to get as close to the skin as possible, I shave his head while he charmingly sits cracking jokes. Doing my weekly maintenance of his hair cut, I am struck with the memory of someone else. I remember A calling me over to his dorm. It was late, maybe 3:00 a.m., when he called. His deep, drunken tenor rumbled over the phone, asking me to come over and shave his goatee. How could I refuse when I'd been the one telling him he looked like Satan with it, and he needed to shave pronto. I walked through the warm September night to his dorm, where he snuck me in the back door. I followed with trepidation, wondering at the anxious knot in my stomach as I rushed upstairs behind him. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the shower room where he had set everything up and hopped up on the sink in front of the mirror.

There was a lot of history between us, and I wondered how he could trust me with the razor as he placed it in my hand. I slowly opened it and stared at the pearl handle letting my eyes wander to the metal blade gleaming in the florescent light. Grabbing my wrist, he pulled me between his legs flashing a grin so wide, I was sure I could see his molars. He asked softly, "Promise not to slit my throat?"

"You deserve it, ya' know," I answered, trying not to tremble at our proximity- failing miserably.

The grin faded. "I know."

The shaving cream was heavy and thick as I smoothed it over his face. My breathing grew unsteady when his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, narrowly missing the white, frothy substance I'd just applied. Anger, love and hate were surging through me while, with unsure hands, I gently began the process of scraping the goatee off of his face. His deep, brown eyes focused trustingly on me as a familiar heat grew between us. It had been a long time since I'd touched him. Years, to be exact, and I was tired of pretending it didn't matter. As I pulled away from his newly shaved face, he grabbed me an pulled me into a kiss. He tasted like scotch, cigars and himself. I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him closer.

I'd forgotten how it was between us. A furious fission that melted my reason, and my knees, ignited as his hands cradled my lower back and lowered me to the shower-room floor.

Memory is an assailant pouncing on me at an ill-timed moments. My friend cheerfully grins at me in the mirror as I finish. With shaking hands, I put away the razor and flee upstairs to wonder how many others are haunted by ghosts like mine.

2003-07-29T11:45:00.000-07:00

Double-Chocolate-Chip

I have found perfection, bliss, happiness; and it all comes in a three inch, round package. It is Subway's Double-Chocolate-Chip Cookie. Who knew happiness was this easy? Forget men, work, fame... All of that is meaningless next to the perfection of this cookie.

::sigh::

Back to real life. Had meeting this morning. Sat across from Shim. It was frightening. Don't know what to do with my boy/girl co-worker. Seems that Shim has gotten a case of Flesh Eating Bacteria, otherwise known as FEB. Poor thing has scars all over his/her arms and face. Shim is one of the most pathetic human beings that has ever walked the face of this planet. He/she looks like Mike Ditka with permed, chin-length hair. Shim's life is tragic with loss of family members, lack of social skills, scary physical apperance and diseases. Yes, plural, DISEASES.

I almost feel bad for him/her, but find Shim SO annoying that I cannot actually get past almost. Nope. Instead of feeling bad, sit across from Shim praying that he/she does not spread his/her bacteria infested crap to me.

Hell is gonna' be hot, my friends. Very. Hot.

2003-07-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

Perpetual inventory, DOS based operating systems, UPS codes, product codes… It is like I’m Charlie Brown and A. is the teacher. My eyes have glazed over, of that I’m sure. And… there is drooling. Yup. Catatonic.

I’m not sure what the fuck I was thinking when I got into this relationship.

Yeah, yeah, yeah… I was thinking: Great Sex! Hot Bod!

Now I want to shoot myself in the head every time he talks. No! I mean it! This has to be how it happens. This is how someone bores you to death. And, I’m stuck. How the hell do you break up with someone who is, for all practical purposes, perfect? How do you tell them they are Mr. Wonderful, but Jesus H. Tap Dancing Christ, they are boring when they aren’t fucking you? And really, a vibrator does the job faster, cleaner and better than the other guy.

If I married him, I’d need a boy friend on the side to keep me entertained. Not for sex, for conversation.

GAH!!

I’m going to have to come to terms with the fact that there is no one out there. NO. ONE. I’m too picky. I want it all: chemistry, looks, brains, fun and good conversation. I want a genie to pop out of my next Diet Coke can and grant me the perfect man. I don’t want to settle.

Damn it, I’m not going to settle!

P.S. I'm aware that this all or nothing thinking is bad, but GOD he is boring. You'd agree with me! Honest!

2003-07-14T20:03:00.000-07:00

Migraines Suck

Had wonderful night with Brownie- don't know what I'm going to do when my stream of unconsciousness buddy is no longer in town. There just aren't a lot of people who can keep up with my off topic transitions OR include enough off topic transitions to keep my ADD like attention span focused.

Sat outside for dinner despite the ominous, black clouds coming in from the west. And, by the power of our will alone, the large front moved south allowing us to witness the beautiful sunset over the peaks of Victoria's Secret, Anne Taylor, Williams Sonoma, J. Jill and Andrenni Vittadini. It was almost a holy moment for us shopoholics; which we consumated by sipping our pink martinis. Had wonderful time at Nick and Tony's. Cosmopolitans were yummy, the manager who was apologizing for our waiter's inability to keep everyone around us happy was also very yummy. It would seem that one of the requirements for the staff was to have piercing blue or green eyes; a very enjoyable trait for us female patrons.

Our poor waiter was having a bad night. First off, when I asked for our drink to be made in a special way, (yes, High-Maintenance) he just didn't get it. Ended up asking for a shot on the side, which added to our drinks because I didn't believe he'd get it right on his own. By the seconded round, he brought the martini shaker out and added the shot right before our very eyes. Would have been impressive if he could have gotten the lid on tight enough. Instead the precious Kettle 1 and other assorted alcohol leaked out on the table and the poor boy's hands. He finally got it together and poured us our drinks with a cute little flourish.

We ate like the Queens we are, giggled in our happy, slightly alcohol induced state, and tried to ignore the sixty something gentleman to our left that could not stop staring at us. He had that well-to-do, tanned, relaxed arrogance that most men his age and income seem to have, which is very annoying. Do believe he may have been aghast at our conversation about men and was feeling sorry for our significant others. I feel sorry for my significant other all the time, so wasn't offended. Much.

After dinner, made our way through different shops before they closed until we ended up at the mother ship: Barnes and Noble. Yes, the staff there is evil. Yes, the staff there is snotty, but they have Starbucks! It is worth putting up with mean 'ole people to get an icy, creamy frap! That is what I keep telling myself anyway.

Well, had wonderful evening. Now must fight off migraine and head to the local grocery store where I'll glare at the small children and old people who seem to be there only to block the aisles and slow me down.

2003-07-14T16:22:00.000-07:00

The Father, The Son and The Holy Bartender

I miss the bar from home the most.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not an alcoholic. It isn't the getting drunk part of the bar that I miss. No, I miss the green carpet, the lines of clean, clear glasses, the shiny bottles with colorful labels, the mirror behind the bartender I can see everyone in, the hammered copper bar top counter and the tall stools that allow me to swing my feet aimlessly while sipping whatever concoction ordered. I miss the order, the familiarity and the indifference... It reminds me of church, without all the pomp and circumstance of getting up early for mass.

Bar nuts seem like communion wafers; I don't want more than one and they both taste awful. The bartender, of course, acts as priest filling my tiny shot glasses with absolution. The cocktail waitress, positioned with head bowed studying her order intently, acts as an acolyte between brass bars. It lacks the image of our saviour crucified, but there are more than enough people acting the martyr in the crowd to make up for that noticeable difference.

2003-04-08T10:40:00.000-07:00

Drama

Am a Drama Queen. Don't know when or how it happened, but it did.

Who am I kidding, learned it at my mother's knee. Come from long line of Drama Queens; just have been fibbing to self. It did not skip a generation as I had hoped. Looking through journal proves that. Might have to learn to embrace the DQ in me and move on. ::shudders:: That or more therapy. LOTS more.

Anyway, A. is forcing my hand with the whole "letting him in" deal. He over heard my Ma' on the answering machine inviting me and whomever I'm currently seeing home for Easter. Easter is not on my list of required holiday visits, but wants to meet my family. He thinks he wants to anyway, poor, dear man.

My family. God. If I take him out there, he'll begin to understand just how messed up I am (cannot fake sanity when with those people). And if I don't, he has already indicated how frustrated he is with my "no information routine". After all, HE took me to another STATE to meet his family. Suddenly, I'm kind of wondering if he is more serious than I thought. He did take me to meet his family.

Damn, I didn't think of that. Why the hell didn't I think of that?

SEE! Drama!
-Moiré

2003-04-04T14:24:00.000-08:00

The Truth?

Whenever she told the truth, everyone thought she was lying. Being unbelieveable was cramping her style, so for several years she tried to play on her strength of not being believable by sincerely fibbing in hopes that people would think she was lying and believe the opposite of what she said. The tragic flaw to this process was: She couldn't lie.

In all truth, she could lie but she did it badly- so she never did. Her life was marked by a series of miscommunications followed by epic confusion.

AND, no one ever believed her whether she was telling the truth or not, although she always did.

It became so bad she found it necessary to stop talking altogether. Instead of speech, she began communicating with a series of nods, facial expressions and shrugs...

Yes, it is true. She took up the practice of Mime.

To her surprise, over a period of years her reputation of being a liar dissipated and she rose like a phoenix to positions of great power without ever saying a word.

2003-03-31T12:26:00.000-08:00

Shoe Shopping

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. It was hot, it was cold. It was fun, it was...

un-fun?

It was a weird day. It all started off with a trip to DSW to look for black, lace-up, leather, calf-high boots. Ya' know, kind of a military look going on? Anyway, thought there might be a sale on winter stuff. Was very wrong. There are not winter stuff sales going on because, winter stuff sales are over. After a decade or two of shopping, should have remembered that such sales are over by end of January. Was forced to buy black calfskin sandals that show off painted toes. Was then forced to paint toes, of course picked a vampy red. Was then forced NOT to wear sandals, as it was 32 out this morning. Damn Illinois.

Miss summer. Miss bare-back shirts that let hair swish gently against back. For all of you short-hair chicks out there, you are really missing out. There is something sensual about having long hair move along skin, something sensual and very summer.
::sigh::

Am clearly a summer kind of girl. Like walking, heat, humidity, the fog in the early morning just before sunrise, cute sandals and iced coffee.

Ready to be rid of icky winter,

Moire

2003-03-26T10:47:00.000-08:00

High pitched giggles silenced as I hit the mute button and walked over to the door to answer the knocking. Before opened all the way, Andrea announced, "Corbin is dead."

She said it smugly with a half smile of anticipation, like a wolf leaning in for the kill. She said it like it was a reward for all of the petty rivalries she had lost to me over the years; she said it like she was announcing joyfully, "The sun is shining;" or "What a wonderful day."

My heart froze. Like concrete that had just set, every muscle in my body clenched on itself; I would have hit her if I weren't a statue frozen by the news.

I stood with the door in my hand. I thought, I won't let that bitch see me cry, and the front window shuddered with the impact of the stained brown metal door closing of its own accord. I stared at the fake lines my mother painted to make it seem like wood. New Year's Eve he walked out that door after kidnapping my mother's plant- holding it hostage outside for the cost of a kiss. Our first kiss rescued my mother's African Violets from frost bite, and I returned to the house glowing and warm; flowers in hand...

The flesh of his stomach was always so warm when I'd let my hands wander across the silky skin. Looking up, I'd worry at how his brown eyes said nothing, but he'd move down to bury his face in my hair and whisper he loved me.

I moved to the couch where we used to sit and watched the voiceless mouths... I realize why I'm in a funk. Why every year for nine springs I remember a knock on the door, how I went to the funeral with my best friend; riding in silence for an hour to the funeral home. The year I was 17 when I willed my heart to stay stone so I would not cry as I walked up to his casket and stared.

It looked like a mannequin of Corbin and I couldn't make myself reach out and touch his doughy, cold skin because all I could think of was how it must have hurt when he ran into the back of the stopped semi at 88 mph. I wondered if he screamed when the steering wheel crushed his ribs and sternum or how scared he was alone waiting for someone to help as he died with no one to hold his hand. No one to let him go on to the next world knowing for sure he was loved.

The minister said something at the funeral about walking through the valley of the shadow of death. He raced past the shadow straight into death as the steering column moved through to the other side and no one was with him; I hoped that God is better at fulfilling advertised promises about heaven than She is about the valley. Palm of God's hand, that is where he should be, not being cold, dead or extinguished.

Finally, as I sneak out of my bedroom and into the hall so A. won't wake up- finally, nine years later I cry.

-Moire

2003-03-22T22:57:00.000-08:00

I was more wrong than a vegetarian eating animal crackers.

Today I dragged A. shopping at the local Super Wal-Mart, which is an oxymoron. A., being owly, was adamant about not wanting to go during that wee hours of the morning... Did I listen? Nope. Not me. If I want to do something at a certain time, damn it, I do it. And the men-folk better do what I want when I want them too, don't you feel sorry for my poor honey? Yeah. Me too.

Well, we were wandering through the aisles playing a little game of taking turns whining for too sugary cereal, ice cream, cheezy pizza and such when out of no where... ::insert dramatic rise in music here:: the unavoidable happened. It was big, it was horrifying, it was scary, it was...

SHIM.

The woolly mammoth like creature jiggled its way in front of our cart, lumbering to a slow stop as we came to the end of the aisle. I was aware that Shim had yet to see me, a Ho-Ho display was diverting his/her attention, and scurried to hide behind A. (A. is over 6 feet tall, and my measly little 5 feet 3 inches can be easily hidden behind him). As I scurried, I tripped and fell into A. causing Shim to catch sight of me.

I glanced up at A. and suddenly was reminded of the first time I'd caught sight of Shim and had that "Holy Mother of God, WHAT IS THAT?" look on my face,

We did the polite "Hi," thing and I was forced to introduce A. to Shim. A. stood frozen in terror. He kept on taking horrified glances at me, as if to say, "I don't REALLY have to shake this scary individual's hand????" But he did. And thus the day was filled with the following:

- I can't believe you didn't listen to me about going to Wal-Mart this early!
- I thought you were making Shim up, honestly I did.
- I can't believe you didn't listen to me about going to Wal-Mart this early!
- Is that a guy or a woman, come on, you gotta figure that out!
- I can't believe you didn't listen to me about going to Wal-Mart this early!
- Why the hell did God make someone that ugly? It isn't fair to Shim or the rest of us...
- I can't believe you ran into me, you are such a Klutz. GOD. Why did we come to Wal-Mart this early??

So, I was wrong. I admit it. It happens. A lot, according to A. And that is how I was more wrong than a vegetarian eating animal crackers.

Moire

2003-03-22T22:36:00.000-08:00

After driving for 12 hours, we get pulled over in Mississippi. As the Officer asked A. to please exit the vehicle and step back to the car, I swear I heard the banjo from "Deliverance" twanging in them thar' hills. A., being the genius that he is would not step out of the "video camera zone" so idiot cop could do untold horrifying things to him. I watched from my perch in the all terrain SUV, cell phone in hand. Idiot cop wanted to know why it took him "so long to pull over". So long being the mere seconds from when the lights went on to us finding the side of the road. Don't know how much sooner we could have stopped, unless we went back in time and stopped before the cop actually pulled us over. If we could do that though, we would have went around Mississippi completely. Instead the weird cop kept us by the side of the road for a mere 1/2 an hour as officer explained he pulled us over because he thought he saw us trading seats while driving. Impossible for that to be true, as I was in the beginning stages of sleep at the time. Cop probably wanted bribe? Who knows.

On bright side, got do drink the BEST Cosmopolitan EVER. Yummy. Got the recipe too. As soon as I dig it out of my bags, I'll post it for all to use.

In addition, got a Tarot reading in N.O. that was very positive (by real Romani Gypsy, no less). Went on a "Bar Crawl". Did not end up literally crawling, although did feel as if wanted to. Ate a lot of fried food, as that is the only kind of food available in L.A. Got sick from the fried food, and ate more. Now need to diet more than ever, as fried food has many calories.

After spending seven days in a row with A., sans DSL, am sure which I'd choose to take on a deserted island with me: A.
If I had DSL, I'd be able to contact people and they'd come to the rescue, which would be horrible. Alone in 1/2 nekkid deserted island dress with A. could only lead to happiness. Have to admit, would miss toothbrush. :o)

Moire

2003-03-22T22:31:00.000-08:00

Since was away on vacation, decided to play catch up on ever-growing list of things that annoy me:

From the driving part of Vacation:
- People with Jesus Fish on Car
- Grand Isle, LA (don't ask, and don't, for the love of Pete EVER go there)
- People from Tennessee
- Drivers who accidentally hit my chin (glances with annoyance at B)
- Guys named Jeb driving 1976 Ford trucks at 40 mph in a 60 mph speed zone with their left turn blinker on in the no passing zone while scratching their head with their hat
- States with monuments to Jefferson Davis
- The First Church of God's (from Marion, IL) bus and its blinker without end, A-men

Returning from vacation:
- Illinois
- Winter in Illinois

From the Pensacola Part of Vacation:
- Jellyfish (NOT the un-sting-y ones)
- Businesses with the "Cooter" in their Title
- Sorority Chicks
- Restrooms that smell like burrito ass

From New Orleans part of vacation:
-Nothing. It was wonderful. Clearly, was drunk most of the time

Today is pretty good. Shim is out and about, bothering someone else. Have chosen to STOP bringing artery clogging breakfast pastries, which may help to increase Shim's seemingly meager lifespan. Not sure, but not bringing in artery clogging pastries may make me a masochistic.

Currently am lunching while wondering what ever happened to Nina. Did her scratchy throat turn into something worse? Will she recover? Should search parties be notified? Perhaps invoke the Amber Alert System? Positive thoughts are sent her way! Hope she feel better and gets good Midterm results.

Specks, is being sent positive Econ vibes. Hope they un-crisp-ify her noggin. Please remember, the semester is ONLY half over! She has a whole other half of the semester to pull up that grade...

Jade!!!! Hope to talk to that wonderful person soon!

Moire

2003-03-07T11:57:00.000-08:00

I'm going on vacation without my DSL. ::gulp::

I-I... I don't know if I can DO it! I NEED instant gratification through useless quizzes, IMs with wonderful, funny people whom I adore and being able to search and find answers to deep, life queries like: "Is David Boreanaz getting botox injections or just not scowling as much?" in a few key strokes. M from work is going the same week as I am, the poor woman is off to visit the in-laws in FL. Goddess that she is, she didn't laugh at her hubby when he asked her to come with. Meanwhile, I'll be in New Orleans with A. We are just missing Mardi Gras, which according to A. is a good thing. I'm not so sure. Was looking forward to flashing for beads. :o( Instead, I will be longing for my DSL. Although, I'm sure there are ways A. can keep me occupied.

::looks lovingly at DSL modem:: Can I do it? Can I stay away for a whole week? Will A drag me home more stressed out than before? Will I run into the murky swamps screaming for my speedy internet connection? Will I find HC Jr and forget all about my trusty DSL?

You'll find out next week, whether I end up in HC Jr's lap happily drinking Alabama Slammers, eaten by 'gators or in a straight jacket.

Don't wish me gators!

Moire

2003-03-05T14:41:00.000-08:00

Hobnob, by Perscriptives, is the perfect red lipstick. :o) I forgot to post that important tidbit Sunday, sorry. I've had other 'things' on my mind... OK, one person and he is tall, dark, drool worthy AND asked me to go 'home' with him over the weekend. Home is New Orleans, and I said yes.

Yes, I hardly know him. Yes, it is crazy to go. Yes, I clearly need help. Lots of help. I would tell my client that this was a bad idea, bringing up all of the previous issues, but I just can't bring myself to care. He'll be gone soon enough, men don't stay. Esp gorgeous, sexy, rich, amazing in bed men. This is the best I've ever felt with someone, and I'm just going to enjoy myself until it is over. He doesn't know my crazy family, he doesn't know my crazy history and I can just be me with him without being worried about introducing him to stuff that will just cause him to run away.

I'm going to have fun, damn it. C, my lipstick-shopping buddy, knows all about my family and its craziness. He has played therapist many a time, also very solid shoulder to get all damp if need be. He is against me going to New Orleans. Says I'm rolling the dice a bit soon trusting this guy. He is right, but again, can't seem to care. C assured me he'd come down and whup A's arse if need be. Now there is a fun picture: A. getting the shit kicked out of him by a guy wearing the perfect red lipstick in the middle of Mardi Gras. Hee!

Anyway, work was interesting in all the ways it wasn't. Did mailings, fixed javascript issues with my trusty little fireworks software, God bless Macromedia. In addition, went to Red Lobster for lunch... starvation weight loss plan does not seem to be working. Hunger will do that to a girl, not to mention their tasty cheezy biscuits. Will do extra situps tonight, that will fix it. Right? Just lie to me.

Moire

2003-03-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

Killing Shim, one coffee cake at a time

I didn't realize my habit of bringing in coffee cake and breakfast pastries was negative, until today. I like to snack. Since I don't want to be the pig snacking alone, I always bring enough for everyone.

The issue is, Shim has a lot of heart/weight related health problems. When I bring in the pastries, Shim is the first, the middle and the last in line to get a bite of the artery clogging junk- and it is my fault. I'm killing Shim, unconciously, but all the same! Freud be damned... I'm such a bad person. BAD!

In other news, it is going to snow eight inches this afternoon and tonight. As much as I hate snow, I love snow days. I pray to whatever Gods may be that we get the eight inches AND a snow day. Please? In the name of Fat Tuesday? And all that is holy? Please?!? ::whines::

Please?

Moire

2003-02-27T18:34:00.000-08:00

Another victim of Post Traumatic Code Syndrome.

If you have the following symptoms, you have PTCS:

-pain in wrist area
-wild desire for a Big Gulp
-stream of un-consciousness
-sudden violent urges followed by listlessness
-hiding under desk while cursing at everyone
-jumpiness
-sporadic tearfulness
-you can no longer feel your cerebral cortex
-your brain suddenly melts and streams out of your ears

If you have five or more of the above symptoms, you are suffering from PTCS. The CDC recommends the following to combat PTCS:

-bitching in your live journal/blogspot
-reading theonion.com
-asking Jon to please stop killing you in fiction
-listening to MP3 player
-thinking naughty thoughts about Aidan
-giggling
-doing the electric slide
-getting some

Please take all of the measures above in order to ensure your mental health.

Moire

2003-02-27T09:50:00.000-08:00

I was accosted at B&N last night, where I was hiding from while drinking a saccharine Starbuck's concoction, White Chocolate Mocha, venti.

C: "I'd know that mop of fake blond ANYWHERE, Moire! How are you?"
I turn on my power glare and look behind me, only to find my favorite buddy from college. One of the many guys that became 'verboten' after J and I got more serious.
Me: "Chris!! I didn't recognize you at first, being the only time you come around is to borrow one of my DRESSES."
C: ::not embarrassed at all, and why should he be:: "And if you hadn't gained ten pounds in your ass, I'd be borrowing one now."

Both of us laugh and sit down to have a good visit. C is doing well, looks great, although it is true, I didn't recognize him at first. He cut his beautiful, long, curly hair to a regular man cut (ick). He is gorgeous. Back in college, my next door neighbor and I would go down to breakfast around 7 am (and for those of you who know me AT ALL, 7 am is torturous-ly early) to watch him pour milk in his cereal. To this day, I could tell you exactly what he ate every Tuesday and Thursday morning: Fruity Pepples with milk and the whites of soft boiled eggs. God, I remember needing a drool cup when we'd watch his muscles flex through his tight white t-shirt when he poured the milk... OK, getting off topic here.

We dubbed him 'Milk Man', and my Jr. year I actually met and became good friends with him. I spent more time with him than J, not a difficult task as J traditionally is never around. In fact, most of my friends actually thought C was my significant other. When I'd get asked to a function and show up with J there would be utter confusion.

Anyway, C is good. He has a girlfriend who completely accepts his pervy cross dressing (I'm being petty with the pervy comment, I'm just jealous because he looks better in my outfits than I do) he misses makeup counter excursions with me and wonders if J is done pissing on bushes and wouldn't mind if we started to hang out again. I tell him of my recent break up and we decide to celebrate by hitting the make up counters.

C and I are going on a rampage to find the perfect red lipstick all day Saturday, Lord & Taylor makeup counter ninny's beware! I'll have the results ready Sunday afternoon.

Moire

2003-02-21T16:10:00.000-08:00

A. and I made up, but things are kind of tense. He asked me out for tonight, and I'm sitting on the couch waiting for him to pick me up.

I really like this guy, but he is only going to be in the area for a year or less. It seems kind of pointless to get involved with someone who isn't going to be around. Especially when I already adore him. And he is probably only hanging out with me because he doesn't know anyone else...

Although, pretty much any woman alive that was interested in men would throw themselves at him. He is beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes other people look at us when we go out and think to themselves: "What is HE doing with HER?" I'm not ugly, or anything, but GOD he is... beautiful.

I'm making him take me to this coffee house/bar tonight. There is supposed to be live music, and I want to show off my arm trophy to all of my envious friends whom have been accusing me of making him up. Anyway, I want to stop blogging before he gets here. Moiré.

2003-02-20T11:29:00.000-08:00

I left my purse in his office. Yeah, it is some kind of Freudian slip thing.

And my day got worse. I realized I had left my purse in A's office when I got to the court house parking lot. That meant no money for DIET COKE*, if you can imagine, and I walked through the metal detectors without having to dump out my whole purse for them to go through. Which may have been the only good thing about the day. *Very important, you cannot actually take a drink into the court room, you WILL get thrown out, but you can have something to drink in the cafeteria. : o)

I got into the elevator with about ten other people and headed to Judge P's court room. Judge P is a crazy, old fart. And mean. Anyway, I got to his court room just in time, as he doesn't allow ANYONE in HIS court room after proceedings start. I sat down, quiet as a church mouse (you do not EVER talk inside of HIS chambers no. matter. what.), and begin to scribble down what was happening in my client's case.

Now, I've been doing this job for a year. I'm in this guy's court room almost every day, and today is the day he decides I must be a reporter and kicks me out of the room.

Judge P: "What do are you writing?" (he actually points the gavel at me)
Me: "Excuse me?" (startled and confused look about me, I'm sure)
Judge P: "Your a reporter, aren't you. Get. OUT." (all statements, not questions)
Me: "No, I'm a rape advocate..."
Judge P: "OUT!"

The bailiff, an annoying man whose about 50, ushers me to the door trying to sooth me with, "You really pissed him off sweetheart, better not come back for a few days..."

Right. I shouldn't do my feckin' job because some nut decides I'm a reporter. Which wouldn't be a bad mix. I could write about the crap that goes on in this county's courthouse, not that anyone probably cares. To be honest, in comparison to the other Judges in this place, Judge P isn't a horrible, although I'd like to hang him right now. He is fair and honest, a rare thing in the judicial system. He is just... crazy to boot.

So, I have a half an hour before work is over, which is how long it would take me to get back to work... and I go home. Hey, I'd pull into the parking lot and pull out. It is just a waste of gas. Honest! And, I'm afraid to go anywhere but home, cause who knows what the hell will happen next.

I get home, and who is sitting in my hallway? A, with my purse. How sweet. <--sarcasm detectors on?

He mumbles something about "dropping by to return this", and asks if he could come in for a few minutes. Which I don't really want, I mean I'm a stranger, right? Actually, under all my "pissed" attitude, I'm deathly afraid that he is going to give me the whole, thanks but no thanks speech. I really like this guy, giant ass that he is, I still like him. So, taking a deep breath, I let us into my apartment.

He sits on the couch, staring down at my purse/backpack while I go to get a drink from the kitchen. He is still holding it when I come back in. I don't know why but it seems kind of sweet. He looks up as I come in, as if I startled him back to reality and sets the purse down. Yay, he has "business" face from before.

He doesn't begin well, talking about how he can't allow anyone outside of the company to access their system, yada, yada, yada... I start to wonder if "Angel" is going to be on TV tonight, can't get enough of tall, dark and broody, and then he goes into...

Got to go back to work... damn. OK, he apologized for being so abrupt, I accepted apology and there will be more later.

Moire

2003-02-19T16:12:00.000-08:00

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

The day started normal enough, well, normal for me. There was my agency's monthly meeting, where Shim sat across from me fixated on my chest as usual. I doodled, dodged questions and stifled yawns. :o) The meeting, which began at 9 am ended around 11 am for me with one of my clients paging me. Yay' for technology! At least that is what I thought. The call begins with my client, oddly enough, gushing about my computer skills.

Client: "You're so good with that computer stuff, and I really need your help."
Me: "O.K.," cynical pause, " what do you need?"
Client: "Well, I promised my boss that I'd get his Palm thingy all set up, but I don't know how to do it."
Me: "Then why'd you say you could?"
Client: "I've been missing so much work with court and all, I just wanted to impress him."

Being a sucker, I agreed to "sneak" over and help her out. I drive over to her place of business, which is a bank where she is the receptionist, and mosey on in. My Client, whom I'll refer to as "C" is waiting with wires and such in hand. She ushers me into a back office, which is beyond opulent. I've always thought these sort of offices were on movie sets only, the huge cherry desk, the leather couch and coffee table that is MUCH nicer than I have at my shabby apartment... Anyway, I get to feeling kind of put out. I mean the guy that works in this kind of an office can more than afford to hire a tech person to install his own Palm. C is muttering something, of which I pay no attention as I pop the software into a tower below his desk and drool enviously over a flat screen monitor.

How unfair! :oP

While the software is starting up, I crawl under the desk to look for the USB port. While I'm doing this, C is rushing me: "Could you kind of hurry up? He'll be back any minute."
Me: "Do YOU want to do this?"
C: "No..."

So, I'm fussing under the computer when I hear a guy's voice and C kind of kicks me in what I'm sure she meant as a light "Be Quiet" tap, but caught me in the tail bone, causing me to yelp.

Guy: "Whose under the desk?"
C: "Uh, no one... I mean, just a friend?"
Me: cursing softly to myself.
Guy: "Does your friend work here?"
C: "Well, noooo..."

I squirm out from under the desk pulling my skirt down as I stand up. And of course you all saw this coming, why I didn't is indicative of a low IQ, I'm sure. Cause Aidan is standing in front of me, his arms crossed and a surprised yet pissed look is on his face. He still looks sexy, by the way, it is totally unfair that he is that sexy AND has a flat screen monitor.

Aidan, who is Guy: "What are YOU doing here?"
Me: "Installing a Palm on this computer."
A to C: Why is SHE in here?"
C: "She is a friend, helping me with your computer. I wanted to make sure I did it right..."
A to C: "We'll finish this later, why don't you go back to work."
C leaves kind of teary eye'd and Aidan turns his wrath back on me.

A: "Why would you come into a place that you're not employed and start installing stuff on a computer? We have confidential information in our system, and it is completely unprofessional or a stranger to just barge in..."
Me: "I was ASKED, I didn't BARGE." And nice to know I'm a stranger, he didn't seem to think I was a stranger the other night when his face was in my crotch...
A: "You were asked by the receptionist, not by someone in charge."
Me: "Well, I would think that "someone" in charge would..." I stop myself before I call him cheap for not hiring a tech person, " Ya' know, I don't have time for this."

And I head for the door, the only problem being, he is standing in front of the door with his arms crossed like a sentry.

Me: "Get out of my way."
A: "Look, I'm sorry..."
Me: "For which part? Calling me unprofessional? Or making C cry?" Or, for calling me a stranger, you jackass.

A just stands there, like he isn't sure if he's really sorry at all. I have to say, when he is pissed, his eyes go from a nice brown to almost black. I'm wondering how they do that when he steps aside. I almost feel like crying as I walk past and out of the room. I hope the bastard doesn't know how to finish installing his fucking software.

Moire

2003-02-18T16:57:00.000-08:00

Dare Devil was wonderful. To be more specific, the shower scene in Dare Devil was wonderful. Well, except for the tooth part. Which was ewww, but otherwise, good movie. :o)

A picked me up for the movie after going back to the hotel to take a shower. Of course, the whole time he was gone I was thinking: He's probably nekkid Right. Now. And he is probably wet and nekkid with soap bubbles sluicing down his back Right. Now. And God, he is probably washing his hair. Nekkid. You get the picture, right? My mind was filled with pictures of A, nekkid. And what lovely pictures they were.

So, this is what I'm thinking of during the most of the movie: Just an hour ago he was wet and nekkid. Or I was thinking: God, I wish WE were wet and nekkid together.

Clearly, I am a wanna be slut.

He, on the other hand, was the picture of a perfect gentleman. He opened car doors, insisted on paying, did nothing more than held my hand... Which was driving me over the edge. I'd give anything for him to cop a feel. ANYTHING. But no, he was satisfied with tracing slow circles across my palm, effectively driving me insane. I tried the whole yoga technique of taking deep breaths, trying to visualize a happy, calm place... but all my happy places seemed to end up with A nekkid in the shower. Christ.

Anyway, after the movie we went back to my apartment. We were doing the whole awkward "good night" thing in front of the door. Maybe I should say I was doing the awkward thing, babbling about having a good time, and thanks for the movie... He stood there with a smirk on his cute mug, reached out and put a hand to my lips. Lightly, he traced my mouth with his fingertip. Me, being the crazy fool that I am, opened my mouth and began to softly suck on his finger. Now, this man's eyes do something I can't begin to explain. I swirled my tongue around his index finger and he got this feral look on his face, which turned me on more than I can tell ya'. In a heartbeat he had me trapped against the door both arms on either side of me, but not touching me. He bent his face down towards mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his skin and the puff of his breath along my jaw line. Only separated by a fraction of an inch made the tension unbearable, which I'm sure he was doing on purpose. I have a love hate relationship with mind games. I love to play them on people, but I hate to be played. Unfortunately, my brain cells were too overwhelmed by hormones to come up with a damn thing to do about the situation.

So I did what I'd been dying to do all day, I tangled my hand through his thick dark hair and kissed him. He pressed against me, and I couldn't miss his raging erection pushing into my stomach. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this man was amazing. I fumbled with the doorknob and we stumbled into the apartment. Somehow we were on the floor, me flat on my back with him kneeling over me. After a few minutes of demanding open mouthed kisses, I was arching against him with my legs wrapped around his hips.

We rolled around on the floor like that for at least an hour... different items of clothing were lost, but sadly that was all that happened.

This is one sexually frustrated chick, signing off.

Moiré

2003-02-17T13:27:00.000-08:00

He called! Today!

It seems that he works for a bank, going from one troubled branch to the other fixing problems. I'm not sure what KIND of problems he fixes, he was kind of vague when it came to job description time, which for some reason makes me wonder if he solves embezzling issues...

Anyway, he called. Today being President's Day, we were both off work so we hung out. Hee! We watched bad T.V. at my apartment I didn't feel real comfortable hanging out in his hotel room). I'm weird, I know. I just have this image of a desk clerk looking at us as if we were a couple sneaking away to have cheap sex on lunch hour. NOT that I'm against cheap sex. I'm not. I just don't need the people in this semi small town knowing I'm having cheap sex.

OK, that made no sense, cause sex with A wouldn't be cheap. God, I hope not anyway.

So, we watched bad daytime television, I ingested a lot of diet coke, he mocked my diet coke habit (as it is now called) and we are going to go see an early movie tonight. Much to my dismay, there were no enflamed sexual advances. There was a sultry look or two, which I guess I'll have to settle for. :oP I cannot believe that I'm giddy over this guy, and that I'm blatantly ignoring J to hang out with Aidan. J and I have been seeing each other off and on for over a year... but I can't bring myself to give a damn.

Anyway, I have to get ready.

Moire

2003-02-16T21:07:00.000-08:00

I'm in love, and I don't know what to do.

I was sitting at the bar minding my own business drinking cranberry tainted vodka which I favored over less inebriating concoctions like strawberry daiquiris or margaritas.

I was all decked out in a tight black sweater, a worn, comfortable pair of hip hugging jeans and three inch black chunky boots. It was nice feel a grrl again. Can't dress as grrl as I like at the office... it is frowned upon. ;o)

Anyway, I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business when I heard a deep velvety voice from beside me ask for "Bushmills, Black label... straight up." Tried not to look at the source of that caramel baritone, but couldn't help myself. I glanced covertly (I thought) up at the mirror behind the bartender and caught the reflection of a God like creature sitting at my side. The "Enemy's" weapons were potent: chocolate brown eyes were staring directly into mine. Curiously, there was not a hint of a leer or malice. Immediately I decided he must be a crafty one. He had thick, black curly hair that was cut short... but still long enough to make me want to run my fingers through it. Razor sharp cheekbones angled across satiny skin to full, ripe lips that I really wanted to bite. I held eye contact for a moment and then looked disinterestedly away.

After all, I was waiting for J. It wouldn’t do to pick up one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen only to be interrupted by J's entrance. Bluntly, that was the only reason wasn’t throwing myself the guy.

Damn it!

I tried to close off every avenue in my mind and gulped down the rest of my drink. The bartender quickly refilled the concoction and I sipped leisurely, meeting the stranger’s eyes again in the mirror.

"The names Aidan," he said to my image.

I gave a little nod of acknowledgement, "Moiré, nice to meet you." (God, Irish name. Wouldn't Ma' be happy to know I was picking up an Irish guy...)

He smiled slowly. It was as if the sun had decided to come up in the middle of the bar. I grinned back at his image suddenly giggling like a child.

"You're not from here," I stated inanely, turning to face the man next to me, "are you?"

"No, Not really," he replied cryptically.

"Well, you either are or you aren't."

"Why do the women from this town have to know exactly where I'm from?"

"It's a small town," I answered, "most of us are probably sizing you up as a possible arm trophy."

He quirked an eyebrow at me, a little non-verbal I adore, and did the Silent Bob thing.

A man that doesn't constantly talk. How rare, and refreshing. I was playing with my martini glass stem, rubbing in up and down when I remembered something my Psych teacher always used to say... "You want to hit on the woman who is rubbing her glass up and down... she's the one that isn’t getting it..." The old perv. Anyway, I stopped the rubbing. You never know what some guys know....

"And to answer your un asked question, Arm trophy means a hot guy on your arm..."

His eyes danced when I said "hot guy". Talk about giving yourself away. I'm such a geek. I turned and studied my glass intently, trying to ignore the amazingly beautiful man next to me. That lasted about five minutes and then I was sneaking "covert" little glances at him. He was wearing blue jeans, comfortable black penny loafers and a form fitting charcoal waffle shirt that clung to every inch of his well-built arms and chest.

He made an alluring package, and I just let my eyes wander up to his face, finding him watching me watching him with an amused look. I had the good grace to blush. Actually blush would be an understatement. I could feel the hot flush of blood crawl up my neck and spread to the roots of my hair. I looked away quickly only to meet his intent gaze in the mirror again.

God… I collected my stuff and began to head out. There was no reason to stay, as J was a no show and I was making a fool out of myself.

That’s when it happened. He gently touched my arm with a strong, wide hand and said, “Why don’t we get something to eat?”

I knew I should say no, but I didn’t want to. He waited for me to struggle through to a decision, and I said yes.

J, thank GOD, never showed. I had dinner with the most amazing man. He listened to me… It was like he saw ME and like me anyway. I’ll be honest; at the end of the night I was ready do whatever he wanted… Hell, I had a few things of my own I wanted to do to him.

He walked me to my car, which was adorable, and leaned in to kiss me good night. It started out as a sweet little kiss. Very chaste. But, I kind of lightly bit his bottom lip… nothing ouchy, I just couldn’t help myself! And he liked it. He threaded his fingers through my hair, pulled my head back and devoured me. I could feel every inch of his hard body pressing against mine as he backed me into my car door. And God, there are A LOT of inches to this man. Abruptly he broke the kiss off. We were both panting for air, little clouds of white puffing into the dark air…

And he said good night.

I wanted to take him home and do terrible, dirty things to his body… Why the hell didn’t I?

Anyway, he has my cell. Happy Valentine’s Day to me. :o)

Moiré

2003-02-14T07:37:00.000-08:00

A day in the life...

"But I love him," she chokes out over the phone line.

I'm manning the crisis center's emergency line while the counselor is out on lunch. I'd been listening to a woman on the phone for about five minutes and she had declared her love for "Him" at least ten times.

I study the ceiling as I tilt back on the only comfortable chair in the five story building which houses thirty "displaced" women and their children. Yesterday, one women's husband broke through the front door trying to get to her. I'm thinking of that as I look at the new water spot on the ceiling. She heard him screaming her name and went into a fetal position on the bathroom floor, leaving the sink to run over. Now we have a water spot on the ceiling that looks similar to Japan and I try to pick out where Tokoyo would be.

"You sound upset about that," I lamely reply.

"My sister is demanding that I leave him for good," she whimpers.

I'm trying to think of how to ask "why" without using the judgmental word "why". Try it sometime, it isn't easy.

I come up with, "Is she?"

She shoots back, "She is."

"What happened to you that would make her demand that?" I rearrange.

A long silence stretches out between us. I can deal with long silences. I hear her breathing begin to get ragged and she makes wet choking sounds.

I wait, annoyed because I hate moist noises. The wet smacking humans make sends shivers through me. She snuffles, hacks and gasps; which reminds me of going hunting with my father and the death cry an animal makes when it is fatally hit. I try not to think that we really are just souled animals as I wait her out.

"He hits me," she finally whispers.

She says it so softly, I barely hear her. Maybe she thinks it isn't real if she only whispers it. So I make her say it louder.

"I couldn't hear you..." I trail off waiting for her to really say it.

"He hits me," she says a little louder.

"I apologize, but I still can't hear you."

This time she yells, "HE HITS ME!"

I feel like one of the priests from the Spanish Inquisition and wonder to myself if there is a special place in hell for people like me who don't give lost souls shelter from the storm.

But she's trying to get away from her sister's brief shower, not the hurricane. Its my job to help her turn around and see the 200 foot wall of water coming at her.

"I'm sorry that he hit you -- no one deserves that."

I hear a hitching noise and I know she's crying.

"It... It's not your fault," she sputters.

"No, but it isn't your fault either," I reply while waving at my co-workers coming back from lunch. I glance at the clock. I have a rape survivor to take to court in an hour, but I can't hurry this. One of my buddies, Amy, comes over and sits next to me.

"He says it's my fault."

"Do you think it is your fault?" I ask too fast.

"I don't know," she replies wearily, "Sometimes I do things that I know makes him angry -- Like call my mother."

My boss Ray walks over to me and points at her watch. I shrug my shoulders as if to say, "What do you want me to do?"

She rolls her eyes and stalks towards the Director's office to complain about my having to cover the counslors' lunch hour. I watch the twine textured, white, blond braid that sprouts from the top of her head shimmy against the dark purple sack-like dress she is wearing as she walks out of sight. Quickly I scrawl a note my co-worker: "Ray looks like a fucking giant grape in that purple moo moo."

Amy covers her mouth to stop giggling, writing back: "The only reason she minds is because she'll have to take care of your victim... I mean survivor. Christ, whatever."

I turn my attention back to the woman on the phone, "If I made you mad, it would be OK for you to hit me?"

"NO!" she snaps.

"It isn't OK for you to hit me, but someone who loves you can beat you up?"

"No..." she returns in an unsteady voice.

"Well, you don't sound sure."

"It isn't OK, but I love him."

I cover the reciever and take a deep breath. Here is the part that I can't get around.

Love is a many splendid thing, love is blindness, love is pain...

"He beat me pretty bad this time," she goes on, finally warming up to me, "I'm in the hospital. The doctor says I've got so many blood clots, I could die from one of them breaking loose and going into my heart or brain..."

"Blood clots from?"

"The beatings," she replies matter of factly.

Beatings. Plural. She accepts as a fact of life that she gets beaten.

"...He has to stop this or I'm gonna die. I begged him to stop, but..."

I hear the moist noises again as she swallows convulsively, trying to get a hold of herself. Now her voice is a faint whisper again, "He told me to leave, cause he won't stop."

I know in her mind being without him is worse than death, but I don't want to understand her point of view. I cannot imagine loving a person enough to let them kill me. Hell, a guy looks at me funny and I tell them to get the fuck out.

"And if you don't leave, you could die?"

There is a pause.

Silence.

"But I love him."

How do you beat that?

Moire

2003-02-12T11:00:00.000-08:00

It has been one of those days. I'm in a mood: an irate, pissy, PMS mood. I feel like picking up a car and throwing it at someone, hormones will to that to a gal. ;)

I'm blocked. My Muse has left me. He is probably out gallivanting around with some other writer, fickle Muse. ::stares at air in vain hope that Muse will suddenly appear::

Maybe I scared him away with the PMS-ing. Hmmm... didn't think of that. Poor guy. I'll try to get out of my mood, so he can get his leather-clad arse back here for me to write about. Nothing is so inspiring as a very hot man in leather pants. ::dreamy sigh::

OK, back to real life. My imaginary life is much more entertaining, I know. But here it comes.

First off, my dedicated cyber-stalker has not e-mailed me today. How cool is that? I mean, REALLY! :) Secondly, I came up with A pretty good idea for a website design... Thirdly, I only need to come up with two more by Saturday! Gah! Fourthly, Josh got a raise! Let me take a moment to brag here: In the last four months, his boss has given him what totals to a $10,000 raise. The rat bastard makes ever so much more money than I do. :P Now, if only I could get my hands on money to help start up web design business... ::Mwahahaha::

Fifthly, I'm trying to lose weight. I want to get down to a size 6 again, damn it. Starvation seems to be the way to go, as sensible exercise and diet isn't working. ::Glares at arse:: <--you ought to try that, it is more difficult than you'd think.

Well, Nina, Jade, M... and anyone else that is reading... I ought to go. Lunch-time is coming to a close. :(

2003-02-10T20:02:00.000-08:00

After NICM called and hung up seven (7) times in an hour, I finally called her back. I wonder if she realizes I have caller ID and am INTENTIONALLY not picking up. Yes, it is true; I don't want to talk to her. The crazy bint doesn't change her will for over 30 years and suddenly it cannot wait another minute. Nope, she has to fix it Right. Now. So she made an appointment with her lawyer for Wednesday night... The issue with that is she didn't contact any of her offspring until four days before her appointment to see if they could come with. And if I don't go, I will be punished. Severely. For a long, long time. Luckily for me, I live so far away I'll hardly notice the punishment. In fact, I might enjoy it if it includes the silent treatment!

Anyway, one of my brothers called around 9 p.m. begging me to call Ma' back so she will stop calling him. Being I actually like my brother, I relented. I dialed quickly before I could change my mind. She picked up the with a disgusted tone in her voice, which I of course matched. The first thing she asked was, "Did ya' get the e mail I sent you this morning?"

"Yeah, I got the ten e mails you sent. Did you get my replies?"

"I haven't checked," and she countered with "Glad to see you finally called me back."

(and right here I make my mistake) "I've been busy."

"Too busy for your only mother's will?"

Damn, she is good. I did get her to agree to have the stuff mailed to me to signed. So, no trip to the 9th circle of hell this week. I thank whatever God's may be.

The worst part of the whole deal is, I probably won't get to pull any plugs. The whole Fucking world is against me! I swear to God!

Moiré

2003-02-10T10:56:00.000-08:00

NICM (Narcissistic Irish Catholic Mother) PAICF (Passive Aggressive Irish Catholic Father) want to go over their last will and testament with my brothers and me. Ya' know; make us co-executor's of their will and living will. I was ordered by my NICM to return to my "homeland", a tiny town of 500 people in one of the Northwest Counties of Illinois, to sign the documents. It seems that there is no Fed-Ex in the remote, icy tundra where my family has chosen to live for the last eight generations (yes, we are all crazy bastards).

The ONLY things I go home for are the following: Christmas, Easter, and funerals. If you escaped the 9th circle of hell, why would you want to return? Now they want me to come home to talk about a pre-funeral thing-y. I don't think I can make myself do it. The only possible way my brother's could get me there to sign something is to promise I'd get to be the one to pull NICM's plug.

Yeah, I'm an ungrateful daughter whom should get used to hell, as I'm a surely heading there in the afterlife (according to NICM). There is always much wailing and gnashing of teeth when I go home. It would seem that anything I say is foolish, crazy or evil and NICM will at some point proclaim: "It breaks my heart that I won't see you in heaven." Ya' know, Fiery Torment may be a mild price to pay to finally get away from her. ;-)

On a positive note, Josh is looking into jobs in Georgia!!!! And, he is thinking of taking me with him!!!!!! Woo, Hoo! I might get out of the icy tundra state! ::does little jig of joy:: In addition, I will be FARTHER away from crazy family. The only place far enough would be an alternative dimension. Until someone figures out a way for me to access an alternative dimension, where say, I was worshiped as a Goddess, I'll gladly take Georgia.

Moiré

2003-02-07T15:15:00.000-08:00

I'm tired. Really. Tired.

In addition, I'm tired.

So, woke up this morning, tired, and went to work. Once there I did my website thing, by the way, I adjusted all thirty pages to "Third Person". I did my other workly duties, like annoying people with the idea of taking a road trip to Hell, Michigan. I still think it is a good idea, cause then we could really say we'd been to Hell and back. See what I mean? Fun, right? : )

OK, it wouldn't be fun if Shim went. All right. I see the error of my ways. NO road trip to hell.

Moire

2003-02-06T18:44:00.000-08:00

By the way, they picked Third Person.

And M from work, a GEM of a Chick, voted for sweet on the "Your Body is a Wonderland" question. I'm still on the fence.

Nina, Jon and Fletch, I know you're out there working on Java. May God be with you, cause no one else is. And Fletcher, you can drive the Xterra if you're ever in Illinois!

Moire

2003-02-06T18:32:00.000-08:00

And guess what we did today... Yup. Meeting. AND, guess who sat across from yours truly in all of Its jiggling glory?

Yup- Shim.

It wouldn't be so bad if...

All right, you probably need backstory: The place where I work has a lot of meetings. A lot of looooong meetings. None of our meetings are shorter than three hours. And, sadly, what we do doesn't warrant a 1/2 hour meeting. Honest. I swear to whatever Goddesses may be! At these, looooong meetings, no matter what Shim sits across from me. Why is this an issue? Shim jiggles. Shim has a nervous twitch that causes his/her mountainous, jello-like figure to wiggle & jiggle. And the jiggling never stops. So, I am sitting across from "The Jiggler". It is kind of like Batman can't get away from the Joker, I cannot get away from Shim.

Heck, I bet whoever wrote the character "The Joker" had to sit across some schmuck with a stupid grin during four hour meetings...

Anyway, what I started with... ya' know. It not being so bad? That is a total lie. It is bad no matter what, but sitting across from Shim makes it even worse. IT has a fascination with my chest. I know I've noticed this before, but it was excruciatingly obvious Today.

You might as well know this about me; I refuse to wear androgynous work clothes. I don't dress in the professional section of Victoria Secret (not that I'd fit in the VS professional section... I'm no Barbie), but I do have things that look 'Chick' like. ANYWAY, this has seemed to garner Shim's attention on more than one occasion, but TODAY... Well, I was sitting there, minding my own business, trying desperately NOT to look at the JIGGLING when I glance up and see an angry-like stare directed at my chest. Now, I can imagine that Shim might be "spacing out" and randomly looking at my chest IF it ended at some point.

But it didn't. Nope, unless Shim had to turn Its head to speak to our supervisor, It was paying rapt attention to a space on my Banana Republic sweater about 14 inches below my eyes.

Now, what I want to know is WHY? Is IT a Man, dressed as a woman that likes woman? Is IT an angry Man dressed as a woman that hates breasts? Is IT jealous of breasts cause IT hasn't saved up enough to have some of ITs own installed? All these things are running through my head, and I can just hear Shim thinking, "Damn, I could have a pair of those if I just hadn't bought all those barrettes last year. That bitch doesn't even know how lucky she is having them the NATRUAL way..."

Goddess, I have issues.

Moire

2003-02-04T16:55:00.000-08:00

Or they might want it in first person, I mean, who can tell at this point. And they are having a meeting today to discuss the whole "First/Third/Second Person" issue. Which means, "What the Fuck is this person thing all about?"

Anyway, it was a wonderful day today. I got to work almost on time, had a Panera fix, drank five diet cokes, asked my co worker if she thought John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland" is misogynistic (that was after the diet coke number 5 I think...). The look on her face was priceless. My co worker isn't bad, I just like to bait her. Bait and run, as my friend Nina says. Nina is a smart cookie. Although, I usually forget the run part and get cornered. I'm not so smart of a cookie.

Anyway, what do you think? Misogynistic? or Sweet?

Moire

2003-02-03T20:16:00.000-08:00

I DID ask the dirty bastards which they wanted to begin with... they answered Second Person! I should have followed up with:" Do you know what Second Person MEANS?" The website started out as a mix of Second and Third Person... After a couple days work, I got it all into Second Person. Suddenly, I get a bunch of requests for changes. And guess what they wanted changed: Pronouns. Yup! I'd say they changed their minds, but that would mean they knew what they wanted in the first place. Yup, they now want it ALL in Third Person, not that they have a clue what Third Person IS! I'm sure by next week they will have changed their minds and we will be back to Second Person. Grrrr....

Moire

2003-01-30T18:21:00.000-08:00

I suppose you are wondering what I meant by a Shim-less office. It is a long story...

Once upon a time, many, many moons ago a young woman sat at her desk all alone. OK, she wasn't REALLY alone, 'cause hey, office mate, but she felt alone. Day after day, week after week, until one day she came into work a bit late. Upon entering her office area she was confronted with the oddest-looking transvestite she'd ever seen. The person looked like Mike Ditka with barrettes… this person could very well play line-backer for the Bears, if he/she weren't wearing a dress.

The issue for our poor lonely girl soon became what to call this person... I mean, "He/She" isn't exactly easy to write, let alone SAY. So, she came up with her own little word... a mix, if you will of She and Him: Shim. And from that day on, people everwhere found it easier to talk about their co-workers' androgyny. And our poor lonely girl found that there were much worse things than being alone.

2003-01-16T18:09:00.000-08:00

The Hot IT guy helped me move boxes.

I guess I didn't scare him too badly, that or he was feeling verrrry sorry for me after my blow out in the elevator. One way or the other, he did help me move about 15 heavy boxes that were delivered to my office. "What does this mean?" You ask. Does it mean I dumped my "might be straying boyfriend" (MBSB)? Does it mean I'm going to dump my MBSB? So far, I don't even know what it means. All I know is HITG is helpful, sweet and doesn't seem to be too threatened by assertive women.

What is a girl to do?

Moire

2003-01-08T20:09:00.000-08:00

It was a great day. The sun was out, which is saying something for Illinois in January. It was sixty degrees!

I hate to go on about the weather like this, but sixty!!!!

K'. Weather talk aside, it was an odd day. It started last night, or early this morning around 3 a.m. I was waiting for the alleged phone call from my boyfriend (Josh), who was out of town in Dubuque, IA. I was waiting because he'd mentioned that he'd call me around 11 p.m., which was four hours previous to 3 a.m. I had called his room, and left an irritable message... but no return call. My aunt used to say, "If he is late for work, I think he is either dead in the street or having an affair... I always hope he is dead in the street." Now, he wasn't REALLY late home from work, but you can see how this fits the situation. I also know that my aunt didn't originally say the above quote, but she did quote whoever originally said it...

So anyway, I sat in silent debate: Do I raise a mighty ruckus? or do I wait for him to call?

I decided on neither and in a passive aggressive fit, unplugged my phone and answering machine so he could wonder what the hell happened to me. Yes, I need therapy. Lots and lots of therapy. :o)

So, I later in the morning, around 7 a.m. I drag my sorry ass out of bed, take the dog out and get ready for work. It really was a beautiful day, the sun was out, there were actual birds chirping as I hopped into my car and sped across town in record time, thanks to my handy little fuzz buster. In a fit of self-indulgence, I stopped at Panera Bread to get their House Latte. Being the jerk I am, I sped into a parking spot and raced to the entrance, beating the crowd. Karma, always my friend (and you'd think I would learn by now that being a jerk never gets you anywhere) kicked in. I was the first in line, but the last to get my order due to a mix up behind the counter. Clearly, the young college freshman named "Candy" didn't understand the logic behind their numeric order system. Must be an English Major.

But I digress, I got my Latte and headed to work; a full twenty minutes late. I stayed over a couple of hours the other day, so no bad karma was acquired. Honest. Hey! Don't look at me with that tone! :P

I do have to say, a really sweet man held the door for me as I rushed up the sidewalk to my place of work. I thanked him and everything, and this goes out to all nice guys: Keep at it! Women like me appreciate you! Honest! If I weren't going out with a guy who is probably cheating on me with some hooker in Dubuque, IA, I'd throw myself at you!

So, I get to the elevator when my little, black backpack starts to ring. That wouldn't be an issue if I weren't carrying a Latte, a brief case, and a massive Visual Basic book. Thankfully, I am alone in the elevator. I drop everything, open the backpack and try to work my Treo 180. I flip it open, forgetting that it doesn't work when I have the little earpiece plugged into it, and try to talk. I can see from the caller ID it is Josh's cell phone, and shout into it, "Just a minute." I get the earpiece in as the doors opens... and there stands the hot IT guy from another business my agency shares the building with (and yes, I realize that Hot and IT guy seems like an oxymoron).

But there I stand, in the middle of all my crap thrown in the elevator floor yelling at my boyfriend. Thank God I hadn't gotten to the scatological part of the program, 'cause the Hot IT Guy (HITG) looked shaken enough by the loud noises coming from my mouth. He mumbled something that sounded like, "I'll get the next one," and backed slowly away from the elevator doors. Poor, dear man. He'll never want to settle down with a nice Irish Girl like he clearly should...

I picked up my crap and finished bitching at my boyfriend in my "Inside Voice." Wish the guy luck, he gets home today and he is going to need it.

Moire

2003-01-06T18:08:00.000-08:00

Well, my life is now an open book... And, like any book, good or otherwise, there has to be an introduction, right?

Right!

So...

Once upon a time, upon the frozen tundra of Nothern Illinois there lived a crazy Irish-Catholic chick.

She grew up in a blue collar household with three younger brothers (Hey! This was before we started ignoring the feckin' Pope, ok?) and, in spite of the staggering odds, actually grew to be a reasonably well-adjusted adult.

There's more to me, of course, but the rest will have to wait for another post... I'm late for Dirty Nelly's.