I have been thinking about the guy that I saw the other day. His comments don't add up, like from when I met him and he said that he was gay eight years ago (with a husband who died of AIDS) to saying that he was in a relationship for ten years with a late wife who died three months after he married her. His sons who are in private boarding school in England with $36mil trust funds-- too weird. He said he'd call to meet me this weekend as he was out buying a house for his dad with money in amounts that boggled my mind, but he didn't come out. It's just as well.
TeaCup will be two in the morning. Oh this is heart breaking! She is getting old and I so badly want to have another baby. That would be insane of me at this point. I want to be done raising them with time for dh and I. Of what do I speak? Pregnancy is what I know.
I feel over my head with my classes. Linguistics (as much as I love it) is hard. This is harder than social work. Anything worth doing is difficult. Once I break it down, I have it. Before I break it down, I do not. Magazine article writing isn't easy. All this is difficult. I have Russian on days that I do nothing but drive and I am worn out in class.
Your ex is hot and cold - a total drama queen or king.
Your ex can't survive without tons of dramatics, attention, and approval.
People with histrionic personality disorder are inappropriately seductive, prone to rapid mood swings, and rash decision makers.
Sound at all familiar?
My life is about schoolwork now and little else. I love it but I feel like I am not doing well. I am only as good as my next report.
My dad died almost a year ago. We are coming up on 11 months. Of course I am having anniversary epiphanies about childhood, the twisted dynamics of our relationship, his death in general. . . I am not speaking to my mother and have never been happier. Both she and my dad used to pull things on me-- just, if they kept picking at me, I was on the defense and couldn't start to think about them. They would tell me what a sh---y driver I'd be and brainwashed me so I didn't drive until I was 27, they would tell me that if I wanted to ride my dad's horses that I was fat and had to lose weight when I was around 130 and 5'8"-- very average. They would tell me how I would never do anything. They called me Thundar Thighs and my mother giggled, "You know he loves you!" I'd run to my room crying. My first husband was just like him.
As the years have gone by I have proven them wrong but I didn't realize how much I was fighting and how my defense mechanisms kept me from having lots of friends. When the people who you think love you tell you that they tease you over your weak wrists or your hair or whatever because they love you, you think you can tease your pals, too because it's normal to you.
My dad was dying and said that he did that to make me stronger. Did he really think, "I will screw with her mind and make her stronger"? I forgave him and I think that I was a huge help to him and he died peacefully, but my dad was a jerk and a half to me! What he did was f'd up. Hating him is pointless and I won't be mad but I couldn't even share my joy of my children with him without him getting a dickheaded voice and saying things while trying to act cute. I got his cowboy hats. My five year old who he never met wears them. He had lots of friends and anyone who knew him would have never believed what a colossal jerk he was to me.
My sisters during the days following his death-- I wished they'd have evaporated. I felt numb. I was sad but at the same time, I was getting ready to go back to college. My eldest whispered to me in the kitchen to not be too happy, I wasn't getting anything in his will. I tried to give into feeling sad and she told me to not pout because I had to do the dishes! She is fifty years old.
Such is life. I suppose I will think intently for years over this from time to time. Thank goodness that my children are different.
I used to break up with guys and be fine until my parents heard, then they'd berate me for the break-up, "If you weren't so outspoken, you could have kept him!" "How do you thiNK you made him feel about you with that fat ***? It's like hel-lo, I'm with Fatty!" THEN I was upset and begging the guys to come back.
My eldest just broke up with a guy. They went out and kissed a whole bunch. He wanted more but she said that wasn't her thing. She told a friend who told another friends and it got out that they were dating and he called her and yelled at her. She pointed out to him that she wasn't asking for forgiveness or even for him to stay around. He said he wasn't going to call her for a while, then said he'd just not call her and she said thank you for letting her know. He was IM'ing her the other day and she said, "No, we are not doing lunch or dinner. If I see you someplace we can be polite to each other but I really do not like you."
I'm so proud of her.
My ex's wife is showing signs of Munchausesn's Syndrome. She has for years. She is on all kinds of antidepressants and had had lots of stomach stapling surgeries and operations and neers to take medicine but she is also an alcoholic and would frequently drink with her medicine cocktail. She let herself get into a mess last week with certain issues and he had to come home from work to rush her to the hospital. DD is trying to act nonchalant as she started to google various terms and told me what she thinks she has. I've known it for years and dd is trying to act like it's not a big deal so as to not encourage it.
I flipping hate seeing doctors, but she relishes it. It is so weird. I get doctors smirking at me and I get up and leave. One poor guy called me on my cell phone and was like, "I've never had a woman throw her clothes on with me in the room and leave. What did I do wrong?" I told him that he smirked at his nurse when I mentioned pre-menopausal symptoms. Well, it was my age and he hears it a lot, thought nothing of it, it was just typical. i said I am not typical and didn't like it. Why do some women get into that? I hate feeling stupid.
My dds said that she was always trying to get them to the doctor and that was why the ex and her tried to get them diagnosed with learning issues. So sad.
Last edited by TeaNCrumpets; 10-01-2007 at 05:18 AM.
Today is my third daughter's Gotcha Day that she celebrates with my husband. It's the day that he adopted her, ten years ago when she was a little over a year old!
She got up and made him lunch this morning and made him a sweet little card.
He takes her to the nicest restaurant that he can afford.
This man who I occasionally threaten to divorce is a great guy 99% of the time. We had dated off and on and I had her when he and I were not dating. I didn't expect him to want to marry me. I had two children from a previous marriage and then she was from six years later, after that marriage ended. I never expected anyone to want to get with me after that and there he was, a man with a master's degree, asking to go out as we always had. Not long after that he asked me to marry him and when I stared at him he said, "For God's sake, say yes before you get into more trouble!"
On Friday I dropped by the literacy place to drop off my (lack of) criminal history. They seemed unwelcoming and unfriendly, as if being there was a form of slow torture. I don't need a red carpet rolled out for me, but they seemed like they could have only cared less if they'd been in coma or dead! I was there to drop off my information and that I was excited to be there and volunteer. I think that I met one of the teachers who was just a cat.
I went to the place that they teach which I did not realize is different from where they have their administrative offices. I bounced in and went to the sign-in desk and haded the woman my ID and criminal history. She condescendingly smiled at me and said, "Who told you to come here?" I rattled off the name of who I'd spoken to and looked around, realizing that I must be in the wrong place and said, "I am in the wrong place! Where do I need to go?"
She cut me off and said, "I'm about to tell you." She then told me about the supervisor's wife and I asked her to please just tell me where to go, as I needed to get back to the house. The other lady with her mentioned the administration office being behind a Subway and I said, "The cute houses! OK, I know the area. If I get to Subway, where is the cross street?
The woman who seemed bent on talking informed me that she would tell me in a minute, so she continued to speak of the supervisor being out and why (she did not know me and shared that his wife could have cancer!) then gave me long directions to get to the office which I found annoying. I knew where the Subway was yet she tried to be complicated in telling me how to get over there-- what gives?
She shouldn't have cared who sent me over there, and she seemed really obsessed with dominating the discussion and telling me what was frankly not her business to tell me about the supervisor-- it wasn't my business as a total stranger! Please tell me that she isn't a teacher! Someone like that doesn't teach-- someone like her has a script and likes predictability. I just wanted to get away from her.
When I got to the administrative office, first no one came out into the area I'd entered, so I cleared my throat and loudly asked if I was at the literacy program. A woman came out and I told her why I was there, introducing myself and extending my hand. She ignored my hand and took my criminal history, thanked me and said she'd give it to supervisor. I asked for a copy of the receipt as I needed to get reimbursed. She came back out with $20 for me. There was no excitement or even pleasantries! Is that just the environment? I don't need constant encouragement or even gushy thanks for being there-- teaching is it's own reward. Compliments are shallow, but a little enthusiasm would have gone a long way. The woman could have just said, "Tim will be thrilled and call you early next week!" or something. The woman at the administrative office was as rude to me with her silence as the one at the teaching center was with her noise!
Anyway-- what is up with social service agencies in general? They seem dominated by women and usually run by A Man. Hens with a Rooster! They are often not happy no matter who is running the place. My Russian professor told me that it would be a great place to volunteer as she had worked there. They rely heavily on volunteers but haven't been able to get many as of late and I discovered why. I sent my professor an e-mail and told her basically what I told y'all here. I hope that she shows it to the supervisor who can then work with his staff-- no one in their right mind, with the reception that I received, would spend their limited free time at that place!
I am pretty much giving up on doing any type of social work at this point. Before I wanted to do literacy, my thing had been social work. Social workers are a bunch of failed actors-- I have never seen so many hyper egos in one place, all vying for prima martyr status. "No one appreciates me! No one will like me not matter what a great job I do!" I so many times wanted to scream as I volunteered at those places, "You need to be dead to be a martyr. Finish yourselves off!" They were a bunch of dim lights. How could people like that be in charge of helping people who were down?
I need to do a professional internship with my rhetoric degree-- instead of teaching, I may go political and write speeches or do something in a field known for it's excitement.
Last night my husband and I went to see the Romeros, a national treasure of Spain. Last year when my dad was dying, he spoke of their music and said that if there was anything that I must do in this life, it was to see them in concert. He said that their music never left his soul. (It was right around this time that I went down to be with him.)
I came home and shortly after that received a postcard stating that they were coming up here. I was in a drawing class at that time and took the post card to my teacher along with some CD's to play in class while we worked and asked her if she'd heard of them. She laughed, "My husband knows them! They'll probably be at our restaurant afterwards!" I was ecstatic and we spoke of them several times during the semester and she played more of their music and told me stories about them.
Last night I watched them and cried and I don't know why. It was so amazing. Pepe was playing and I kept looking to see if his classical guitar was electric-- he made his guitar make sounds that guitars don't usually do. The four of them got together and "talked" with their guitars.
At the intermission, I was standing in line to buy a drink and saw an anthropology professor who I knew almost 20 years ago. He came to me and addressed me by my first name and asked how I was doing and how my children were. He remembered me from that long ago and I was pregnant with my second baby and he remembered! He was one of the most interesting people ever and I got to introduce him to my husband which was really nice because my husband honestly told him that I brought his class up quite a bit after all these years!
After I saw him, my art professor caught my eye and she came over to me and hugged me. I'd written a nice letter to the administration about her and she said it helped secure another invitation for her to teach the class again this spring. She whispered to me to come to her restaurant afterwards.
After the show, the Romeros came out and I started crying when I met Pepe. I told him of my father and he kissed my cheek three times and hugged me. I had felt like my dad had been at that performance and meeting him and seeing him play-- I understood why my dad said his music never left his heart. I told him of a PBS special where Pepe was teaching a little boy the guitar ("that was my nephew! Bernardino!") and-- I cannot tell you how happy I was. All of them were so nice!
We went to my prof's restaurant which is one of the nicest, most friendly restaurants in the City. The sign said they were closed but we stepped in and I was nervous and told the hostess that I thought my professor was expecting us. My prof came around and hugged me again and said of course she was expecting me. We went to sit down and she brought us wine and food. There was an older lady who was eating a lone and I went to talk to her-- she had a cool artistic blazer on and I knew she was an artist. Her son was a chef who worked there and she is a children's book writer! We asked her to sit with us and she hadn't seen the Romero's play but had been a guitar teacher and the conversation was so exciting! As much as she knew the restaurant, she hadn't met my professor who came around again and we made introductions. My prof was like, "All this time I have seen you but had no idea that you were _____'s mom!" They had a lot in common of course and were happy to meet each other with their interests! My husband and this lady had quote a bit to talk about because her family is deep in the city's history as is dh's family and they knew many of the same people and had great stories to share.
As we were getting ready to leave, the Romeros came in. Pepe came over and posed with us and invited us to stay and have something with them, but we had a long drive and had to leave.
That had to have been one of the nicest evenings of my life. To think that had my dad not told me of them I'd have missed it!
My handwriting used to look like Spencerian Script. It has gone to hell in a hand basket. I am learning Russian. I think that I am learning nothing and envision my mind to be like a glass that is full to the top and the more my professor puts into my head, it just overflows. This is not the case because in reality, the Russian letters have hijacked my hands. What was once lovely script has been replaced with me making three humped letters that look like cursive /m/'s for English /t/ sounds. English /m/'s are now pointed and could look like /w/'s, but they are not. I just wrote a thank you note to my former art professor and realized that I couldn't read anything but "thank you," "wine" and "enjoy." As I had done Japanese brush art on the envelope and and card itself, my husband told me to send it, "It's been a week since we ate with her, your note is late, and it's beautiful. She'll know what you mean." My Russian handwriting is very pretty, but my English handwriting which I have never had to think about-- is very, very bad. I have to remind myself to print or just write very, very slowly.
I think the Russian is getting to me because of the letters coming out in my handwriting. Sometimes I see license plates and if they don't really spell anything, my brain switches to Russian and I start trying to pronounce it and figure it out. This means that it is working itself into my brain.
The other night I drank TWO beers. For me, this is a lot of beer. Actually-- I was starting my second beer. I sat down to type and my 17 year old leaned over my shoulder. "Mom, I think you'd better stop drinking. You're slurring your words."
I laughed, "I'm working on a paper and not talking to you!"
She laughed and told me to take a second look at my last paragraph. "Super" was /shuper/, "miss" had become /mish/. These were not mere typos. I was writing as I would have spoken. I wasn't drooling or tripping over myself when I walked-- I was just buzzed. ("To be! To be is to buzz!") I was writing as I'd have spoken. I had sat down at the computer knowing what I needed to write, and I articulated my answers very well. There was just the spelling issue. I wrote as I always do, writing a paragraph and checking it then correcting the red underlines in Word without thinking, then going on to the next paragraph. I got up and got a couple glasses of water to rehydrate my body which needed it, and gave my husband the rest of my beer.
We know there are areas of the brain that control speech and different aspects of it-- I wonder if there is something in us that controls how we speak and hit keys and do all that. Very interesting.
Years ago as a single mother, I would tell teachers at the start of school that we were Jehovah's Witnesses so I'd not get assaulted for candy and have to make costumes. My mom knew I had no money for costumes and I'd tell her I wasn't doing Halloween which for my control fanatic mother, she'd arrive a few days before with costumes and take my daughters out. (If I told her I wanted to do it but lacked money, she'd ignore me. I didn't do that on purpose-- I just realized this as I typed!) We'd always be American Evangelicals by mid-November again.
My husband was furious with me. In the past month, I've sent him e-mails directing him to costumes and he ignored them. I talked to him about getting outfits in basic colors that I could dress up with bandannas and he told me to "watch what you spend." I didn't want to deal with it so I blew it off.
Last night he was mad at me. "Why didn't you take care of this?" he yelled. I told him that I had sent him e-mails and he could have ordered them if he'd wanted, that he blew off my comments. Well, I was supposed to give him direct requests for money. I am so sick of asking for money. I hate it when the kids ask me for money, their little hands up towards me, and I hate it when I have to beg as well. He took them to the store and they were sold out of EVERYTHING. I kid you not, he'd have broken the bank to do costumes rather than plan before. I am soooo sick of asking for gas money, clothes money, etc. and having him say to me, "I gave you $100 last week! What did you spend it on?" "Oh, candy to eat to give me the curves you lust for." He knows that it costs more than that to fill up my SUV!
As it was, one of my daughters is reusing a ballet outfit that I'd spent $90 on last year for a recital that I couldn't see due to a fear of crowds, and she found some shoes and made some fairy wings. She looks stunning. One of my sons found his camouflage pants and matching top and a white t-shirt and some fake dog tags that he got in a party goody bag last month. Another son wants to be a karate guy and is wearing a t-shirt with jeans and a red bandanna. Still another son found a Spiderman costume that one of my older kids wore a few years ago.
This starts the holidays for us. I do not like holidays. My husband pesters me to keep costs down so I do, then he calls me a grinch and over spends. I hate going to his sister's house on holidays-- she is a nice person but she is LOUD. Creative, funny, well mannered and pretty, but loud. Her husband runs a church of over 1,000 members. As I am not American Evangelical and am Byzantine Catholic, he thinks I am going to burn in Hell and worship icons, and that I have led my husband astray by converting him as well. If he and I sit down to chat which I enjoy, he gets a hilariously comical expression on his face, "I am having an intelligent conversation with a heathen!" and he stands up and walks away. If his (truly) delightful wife, my husband's sister talks to me, he walks over to her and interrupts her to do something that he can do himself. Since she is submissive she gives me a cheesy smile and walks away. It is un-****ing-believable.Their kids are sweet, but they are showing off their presents which is a financial issue for us. We don't have loads of money to spend, and I am a quasi-hermit and don't have as many friends as they do who also lavish on their children. I don't like driving up the cliff that leads to their house anyway as it scares me with the kids and seat belts that I don't trust that my husband insists are "just fine!"
I like on holidays to chill out at my own place with my family. A few of my kids have also told me they like this. It's nice to wear PJ's till 1:30 if we want. I like to rent a bunch of movies, take care of a turkey in my oven or make whatever my family wants (I like cooking Greek food the best,) I often do a huge "summer feast" where I make fried chicken and mashed potatoes and a couple of salads and what-have-you. I make the best fried chicken, the way God intended us to have it. You rinse a chicken (no joke-- for us I cut up THREE chickens) and dip pieces in flour with some salt added. No batter-- just rinsed pieces of chicken, patted dry or not, dipped in flour, and fried for 20 minutes on each side. We eat around 2:00 in the afternoon, then have left-overs the rest of the day and have a bundt cake and pies that I've made and bought way later. We have no rushes.
Byzantine Holidays rock. We are coming upon the season of fasting. I enjoy Advent. I seldom go to church, but I like the fasts and observing them. We are some of the few who lose weight before Christmas! St. Nikolai's Day arrives in December. I fill their shoes with candy and presents. This year I will petition my lord and master for money with which to buy them all watches and special candies that they like, like Pop Rocks and expensive chocolates. One of these days I want to figure out how to put an ice fishing pole into my husband's shoes!
We have one birthday in September, one in October then Halloween, two birthdays plus Thanksgiving in November, St. Nikolai's Tagen, Christmas, New Years, four birthdays in January, Valentines' day, a birthday in March and Easter sometime in March or April and a birthday. There is another one in mid-summer. We have a lot of Orthodox holidays all over the place. We celebrate names days when we can, too. I love St. Nikolai's Day because it's our day-- not many people celebrate it. There is no pressure. New Year's is fun because I usually go Greek and we have a plum pudding that I ignite. Birthdays are a drag-- I feel so terrible because I cannot out do the last kid who had a party and we have homemade cakes and nothing as fancy as other kids. My kids notice it, but there are so many of us, we still have a blast. Last years I made everyone learn to sing Happy Birthday in German, French and Japanese and the recipient had to sit through it as we tripped through the verses.