Happy Birthday Sysm!

I know it's your favorite.

Return of the Fire Drill

This was originally posted two years ago. Why am I reposting it? Because it is happening again at this very moment. Please, allow me to share my pain.

Spine-chilling ear-piercing siren, Spine-chilling ear-piercing siren, Spine-chilling ear-piercing siren

"ATTENTION, ATTENTION, ATTENTION, AN EMERGENCY HAS BEEN REPORTED, ALL OCCUPANTS WALK TO THE NEAREST STAIRWAY EXIT AND WALK DOWN TO YOUR ASSIGNED RE-ENTRY FLOOR OR MAIN LOBBY.
DO NOT USE THE ELEVATORS.
WALK TO THE NEAREST STAIRWAY.
DO NOT USE THE ELEVATORS.
WALK TO THE NEAREST STAIRWAY."

Spine-chilling ear-piercing siren, Spine-chilling ear-piercing siren, Spine-chilling ear-piercing siren

repeat chorus

This has been going on for the last half an hour, piped in through the sound system at a decibel level equivalent to an air raid warning. It would be an excellent torture device for the criminally insane. I know this is true as I am on the verge of a homicidal rampage.

And even though it was announced 112 times that this was just a drill and not to leave your apartment, I guarantee several of mom's neighbors are downstairs asking where the fire is. No doubt they took the elevator.

Originally posted: June 20th, 2005

Tuesday Ten #2

Ten Reasons I Will Not Get a Cat

1-10. I'm a single schoolteacher living at home with my mother.

Too Much on My Plate

Moving. End of the school year. Masses of paperwork. New teaching licenses. Red Tape. Packing my classroom. Packing my apartment. Uprooting my whole life. Generally. Freaking. Out.

All this, plus a stomach bug that has caused me to spend more time in the bathroom than the bedroom for the last three nights. If I could run on the gas gurgling around in my belly, I'd be just fine. By the way, did you know that chewable Pepto-Bismol tablets taste just like NECCO wafers?

I'll post something mildly interesting soon. At least I'll try. Right now I'd give up sex with Gerard Butler for a good night's sleep.

OK that's a lie. But I am really very tired.

The X-Files

Idea stolen from Kris.

#1 - if I had married you, I'd suffer the wrath of all who knew us. The disapproval would be palpable from miles away. The fact that you were eight years older than I would not have made much difference as we aged, but it was an enormous difference when we met - me at 18, you at 26. The fact that everyone told me you were a womanizing hellion would have probably have crystallized for me around year two. I'd no doubt be pregnant by then with the first of many. You'd spend your time working and drinking with your friends. I'd spend my time being the good wife and wondering where you were. We'd look like the happy local couple on the outside and go to all the fun local hangout spots where we were expected. But those in the know would cluck their tongues with pity at me, and we'd divorce by the time I was 30 due to your ever-present infidelity.

#2 - if I had married you I'd merely suffer the wrath of your immediate family for destroying your first marriage. Granted, I had nothing to do with it, but no doubt I'd have been blamed. I'd have been a too young stepmother, and I don't think that would have gone over well as time went on. Your late night gigs would have me wondering what you were really up to, but when we were together I'd forget my doubts. We'd share a lot of romance and a lot of genuine love, but we wouldn't have made it in the long run. We would always stay friends, and have friendly coffee dates to keep up with each other's lives.

#3 - if we had married, you would have taken longer to get ready for the ceremony than I, and that would have been a constant joke between us. We would move to Vermont and open that inn that we always wanted. We would give fabulous dinner parties and have many friends. Everyone would wonder how such a quiet man as yourself could have ended up with such a gregarious woman as myself. We'd work hard, and appreciate the skills that we both had and shared. The sex would continue to be off the charts, but the love would eventually dissipate. As time went on you'd really only be interested in me when I caught the attention of other men. Soon we would be more like business partners than lovers. We would divorce but stay business partners. We might stray in and out of each other's beds for years, until one of us found someone else to love, and then we would say good-bye forever.

#4 - if we had married I'd have floated down the aisle. It wouldn't bother me that everyone was looking at the groom on our wedding day, and not the bride, as that's how it had always been in our relationship. We'd live a bohemian life. You wouldn't want to stay still for very long, and I would go wherever you wanted. I'd be the caretaker, the money person, the responsible one. You'd be the dreamer, dragging me from one remote location to another. We'd lie in hammocks and amuse ourselves with conversations about nothing. We'd live in tree houses and ramshackle beach houses. When people would ask how I could stand it, they would only have to take one look at you to know why I followed you everywhere. You'd stay faithful to me despite the constant attention from other women, not because you loved me, but because you really couldn't be bothered. Eventually the vagabond life would be too much for me and I'd leave you, much to my own disbelief. I would move back home and secretly pine for you to come back for me.

#5 - if we had married you'd have done everything in your power to make me happy. You would treat me like a queen on a daily basis - and I would treat you like a king once in a while. I would only appreciate you when I felt myself losing you. People would talk about our age difference but it wouldn't bother us, in fact you would always wear it as a badge of honor that you landed yourself an older American woman. Your parents would continue to hate me for no reason other than I was older and American, especially your mother. The fact that your father and brother would accept me would make things even more difficult. We would end when I cheated on you with #6, whom I never was able to get over, despite us both being married to others.

#6 - if we had married we'd have had more trouble with the logistics of the wedding than the rest of our lives together. We'd spend a fortune trying to please everyone else and no doubt would have been miserable with the result. We'd live in your country, but the city I wanted, and you'd always secretly resent me from taking you away from your hometown. Only when we were alone would we be completely happy, when we could read each other's minds and express ourselves in ways nobody else could understand. We'd laugh when people would ask us how we met, and only a few people would know the real story. You'd always wonder if I wanted to move back home, and I'd always wonder if you were still in love with your ex. You'd be a great father and husband, but deep down I would never completely believe in your love for me. If we'd broken up, it would either be due to my insecurities, or because you slept with the girl I took you from in the first place. I'd move back to the states and never again be able to hear an Australian accent without crying.

#7 - lucky 7. Where the hell are you? It seems like I've been waiting forever.

Top Ten Reasons Living Alone Sucks

1-10. Nobody to take care of you when you are sick.

Please send chicken soup.
Thank you.

I Have a Cold... Already

We Interrupt This Program...

...to bring you a special news bulletin. Brooke's much needed and well-deserved spring break began on Friday at 3:30 pm. She has been extremely exhausted from spending most of her free time for the last five weeks at the hospital with her mother. In early March, her mother had back surgery to repair a disc, and she has endured one doctor fuck-up after another. There is no way to know when she will be released at this point.

On Friday evening, at approximately 10:00 pm, Brooke was informed that her oldest brother (who will be referred to as B1 from here on in) had a massive heart attack in New Jersey and is in the ICU. The family has decided it would not be prudent to tell Mom about B1's condition at this time. Brooke will be flying up to NJ to check on B1's condition this week. She and B2, B3, and B4 are currently trying to figure out ways to handle the stress of another family member in a health crisis, what to tell Mom about B1, how to explain Brooke's absences from the daily hospital visits, and how to get through all this without their collective heads exploding.

Brooke's rubber band is about to snap. She thinks telling Mom that she fell in a hole and can't get out would be a swell idea. In fact, she already has the shovel and the perfect place to dig, so it really wouldn't be a lie. If you wish to find Brooke for the next few days, she will be hiding in her hole in the dirt until the all-clear signal has been given and this nightmare is over.

Please send food. Thank you.

"I'm not coming out, and you can't make me!" - Brooke

A Mosquito, My Libido

I drove home from the hospital Thursday night thinking about the one thing that has been sorely lacking in my life of late - a good night's sleep. Spending so much time at the hospital (mom is doing much better thanks) has completely sucked the life out of me. I was so tired, so utterly exhausted, that I was actually having fantasies about sleeping. I could hear the bow-chick-a-bow-wow music in my head as my mind ran away with me...oooooh...the soft sheets that I just washed this morning...aaaaah....bed by 10:00 o'clock after a hot luxurious bubble bath....uuuuhhhh....yessss....yes...yes.....

At exactly 10:00 pm I slipped between the sheets, skin scented with milk and honey and tired muscles totally relaxed. I actually felt myself sinking into the bed, that wonderful drowsy state totally taking over my body. It wasn't long before I was drifting off into a well-deserved and blissful sleep...

Load up on guns...bring your friends...it’s fun to lose...and to pretend

What the hell is that. Do not tell me that is Nirvana. Do not tell me that one of my fucking neighbors chooses this night of all nights to blast their fucking stereo. Please no. Ok..give them a minute to realize that this is a school night and that it's a bit too loud...they'll turn it down...

Hello, hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello, hello, how low?

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I stood up and threw my window open, ready to unleash my inner Jersey girl. It was obvious that the music was coming from one of the boats docked outside the building, and I realized it was not really that loud after all. It was just loud enough to be like an insistent mosquito buzzing around my ears. And there was this other sound too - running water. So one of these fucking boat people was washing down their boat and blasting Nirvana at 10:00 at night. Sonofafuckingbitch.

With the Lights out...it's less dangerous...here we are now...entertain us...

I followed the sound to the sloop just outside my window. It wasn't someone washing their boat. It was someone washing himself. A man. A real live honest to goodness, hard-bodied, tanned and perfect male specimen - taking a shower on the dock - with a hose.

Thank you God.

I stared open-mouthed as he washed his hair, the lather running down his chest. I strained to see in the darkness if he actually had any clothes on or if God was indeed being really really good to me. No, I see Speedo. Black Speedo.

God is mean.

Sleep forgotten, I leaned on my arms and settled in comfortably against my windowsill for a good old fashioned perv session. I couldn't see his face, but I couldn't have cared less. His body was like a sculpture. A wet, almost naked, soapy sculpture. My inner Jersey girl was now shouting, "Take it off!!!" in my head, and I practically bit my tongue to keep it from popping out of my mouth.

I found it hard... it's hard to find ...oh well whatever nevermind...

He took it off. I saw butt.

God is good.

It struck me that sleep was not the only thing that I have been sorely lacking in my life. My mind was moving a mile a minute. I wonder if he's single... I really need a boyfriend...screw getting a boyfriend...too much work...can't we just make love like crazed weasels...which boat is that...is that one of the guys that I accidently flashed back in June...

I was so lost in my little reverie that I almost didn't realize that he had turned the water off and was drying off. Bummer, the show was almost over. I smiled, thinking what a nice and unexpected distraction this had been. And that's when he looked up and locked eyes with me.

For a second I froze, mortified that I had been caught so obviously perving on him. And then he smiled, a really big, really happy smile. I smiled back, laughing and embarassed, and pulled my window shut. I could hear him saying, "Oh come on...don't go!" as the window slammed closed.

I jumped back in bed, giggling to myself. I could still hear him trying to get me to come back to the window. I couldn't help but wonder what he had in mind. Was he going to try to convince me to come down and bang him on his boat? Did he want to flash me some more? Hmmmm....I was just curious of course...really curious. I got up from the bed and was just about to open my window again when I looked down and realized why I could still hear him begging me to come back.

I was stark naked.

God is mean.

I feel stupid...and contagious...here we are now...entertain us...

Be Back Soon

**Quick update 3/1/06**

There we were - mom in her little backless gown waiting on the surgeons in the pre-op area - me reading Oprah magazine in my flip flops - when I asked the nurse if the surgery was still on schedule for 1:00.

She said, "Oh the surgeon is way behind - you wont be going in until at least 4:30."

Fuck.

Apparently, he hadn't even finished his first surgery yet - and this was at noon. Mom was to be his third for the day. I turned to mom and commented how uncomfortable I was with the idea of her being his third surgery for the day when it was obviously going to be very late...he'd be tired...yadda yadda yadda.

Half hour later the nurse manager comes in to apologize for the doctor being so far behind.

And tells us to come back next Wednesday.

Yes, you read that right.

Anyone got a Valium? Or 12? Fuck me.

Thanks for all the good wishes and kind thoughts. I love you all. It has truly meant a lot to me. I'll be back when this is all over.

Re: February 14, 2006

Monday Morning

*Tuesday Morning Report - I feel no different about this day than yesterday - except now I have a Nyquil hangover to add to the fun.

Thank you. Have a great day.

Acute Nasopharyngitis

The common cold. I can feel it coming. Scratchy throat. Achey muscles. Stuffy head. I'm a miserable brat when I'm sick. All I want is chicken soup, saltines, apple juice, Nyquil, and someone to take care of me. I have four out of five of those things.

Dammit.

Three Blind Dates

Years ago I ran into a girl I hadn't seen in a very long time. She was a typical blonde surf bunny who I used to hang out with at the local surfer keg parties, and so I was quite surprised to see her at the ritzy party that I was catering. I was even more surprised when she told me she was there with her husband. I was then floored when she introduced me to her husband - the doctor. Sorry - the brain surgeon. No wait, the gorgeous brain surgeon*. She met him on a blind date.

I have been on three blind dates. Did I meet the man of my dreams? Were they gorgeous? Were they brain surgeons? Were they even worth shaving my legs for? The last one was 15 years ago. Since I am still single, that should tell you something. It should also be noted that although all three were dinner dates, I did not manage to have dinner on any of them.

Blind Date #1 - The Hobbit
I am set up by my aunt, who is well on her way to becoming the gambling addict that she is now. She is a high roller in Atlantic City and he is one of her gambling buddies. She begs me to go out with him as he is a very successful something or other. I actually have a boyfriend, but it is one of those undercover relationships, so I agree to go out with him for the sake of my aunt and keeping up appearances. Besides, it's a free meal and a show.

The first thing I notice about him was that he is shorter than I am. Now, I'm 5'3, so to be shorter than I am means he is about the size of a hobbit. He is shaped like a pear. He is also bald, sporting enormous glasses, and has enormous spaces between his teeth. I am 21 and very much entrenched in my beautiful boy stage. I pray he has the proverbial "good personality."

He (and my aunt, who is there to introduce us and gamble away my college tuition - but that's another story) refuse to leave the blackjack table for the meal portion of our evening. Apparently I am good luck and they are on a winning streak. Exactly two minutes before the show is to begin he begrudgingly brings me to the theatre - where he promptly falls asleep. I wake him up at the end of the show, and he drags me back to the tables. He gives me $500 to gamble with. I wander around the floor for 20 minutes and then tell him I lost it at the roulette wheel. I feign exhaustion and make my escape.

Amazingly, the hobbit calls me several times for more dates that I actually go on - and yes, I realize this means I am his paid escort. My boyfriend finally puts his foot down when the hobbit tries to arrange to take me to New York for a picnic and hot air balloon ride in Central Park.

Blind Date #2 - The Jewish Boy
Same year. Boyfriend is starting to become annoyed by all the blind dates. I reassure him that I am only going to keep my mother off my back. She has found me a nice Jewish boy and there is no getting out of this one. I've never gone out with a Jewish boy so this was going to be a new experience for me.

We meet at a local restaurant and have a drink at the bar. He is dressed in a suit and is quite good looking. Hmmmm....there must be something wrong with him besides having the unfortunate name of Ira. He is funny, smart, and successful. Something is bothering me about him. I can't quite put my finger on it. Something familiar about him. I know him from somewhere. He tells me a joke and laughs before he gets to the punchline. I laugh, thinking he is just like my brother.

Just. Like. My. Brother.

I leave before dinner.

Blind Date #3 - The Troll
I'm just home from Australia and pining to go back so I can win back the one who got away. Mom decides to take me to see a local psychic woman whom she has befriended. I think she is hoping that the pychic will tell me not to go back to Australia.

The psychic tells me not to go back to Australia. My life is here, she says. She also tells me I was a Vaudevillian actor in a previous life and that all my old Vaudeville friends are surrounding me, watching over me. I feel creepy and am now afraid to be naked in the shower.

The next day said psychic calls me and tells me she wants to set me up on a date with her son. Now, think about this - a psychic wants to set me up on a date. Does she know our future? Is this the one? She tells me he is a very handsome surgical intern! How can I refuse?

We decide to meet at the Outback. If the date sucks at least I can enjoy a good beer and pretend I'm back in Australia. I flirt with the bartender while I wait. My date shows up and introduces himself. The bartender can barely contain his laughter. My date looks like a troll.

We sit down for dinner and I order the swordfish. He tells me about his day. He observed open heart surgery. He describes it to me in vivid detail as I stare at my dinner, fighting back the urge to puke all over his Bloomin' Onion. I tell him I am not feeling well and leave him to finish the date with my plate of swordfish.

As I make my escape, the bartender calls me over and slips me his number. When I call him, he asks me to dinner.

I tell him that I would prefer to just meet for coffee.

*Surf bunny and gorgeous surgeon are now divorced. HA!

The (Accidental) Flash

I don't like to get dressed in the morning. Not one bit. Especially when my plans for the day include television, reading, and blogging. Who needs all that clothing? I'm on summer break and I don't feel the need to dress like a soap opera actress if I'm not leaving the house. (Did you ever notice on soap operas they are all dressed up to sit around their houses? Probably because they have so many visitors since nobody uses the phone on the soaps. Nobody seems to work on the soaps either. I want to live in a soap....but I digress.) I also tend to sleep with nothing on. This is not meant to entice or titillate, it's just hot here in Florida. My point is, I don't like to wear a lot of clothing at home. But since clothing is a necessity in case Sonny Corinthos should stop by, I drag the process out by getting dressed in stages.

Stage 1: walk around with nothing on for a while. Hey, I live alone and I'm on the 4th floor, so shut up.
Stage 2: put on underwear. Avoid the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, aka the bra.
Stage 3: put on a long tee-shirt, in case I spill coffee.
Stage 4: shorts or pants, bra - only if I am getting the mail or actually venturing out doors.

So today is no different than any other day when it comes to dressing. I was just in the middle of Stage 2 when I decided to open the blinds in my room. The light came pouring and .....did I mention that I live on a canal with lots and lots of boats? Being on the 4th floor I don't usually worry about being seen in my various stages of undress, but today there was a very beautiful, very large sloop docked outside my window. Its mast had to be at least...well...four stories tall. I know this because there were two tanned blonde men up on the mast doing whatever it is that tanned blonde men on very tall masts do and we were directly in each others' line of vision. It was as if they heard me open the blinds - which is fairly impossible - or they have some sort of man radar that goes off when a half-naked woman is within view. Either way, it was an Accidental Flash.

I snapped the blinds shut and sent up a prayer that they didn't see the boobage. Maybe there was a glare on the windows. Maybe they couldn't see through the tree branches. Maybe their man radar didn't go off. Seconds later I heard the sounds of two men clapping and cheering. So much for the maybes.

It seems they did, indeed, see the boobage.

I'm sure everyone has been a victim of the Accidental Flash at some point or another. Today was just my turn.

I won't be leaving my apartment today.