Footloss

My right foot hurts, so I went to visit a podiatrist. I made the mistake of wearing a new pair of black cotton socks that day, so when he asked to see my feet, they were covered in black sock fuzz that looked like mildew. Nice.

After i scraped off the black fuzz, he told me that I have what is called a Z -shaped foot, and because of this I have developed arthritis between my metatarsal bones.

The first line of attack is arch support. Way to make me feel decrepit. Now I am wearing the kind of shoes normally reserved for ancient waitresses named Flo who call you 'honey.'

I have small breasts, so they are staying up. I have big feet, so they are sagging. I can't see my butt without making an effort (an effort I have no desire to make) so I can't speak for it, butt I have my suspicions as to which direction it's heading.

By this logic my nose should be safe.


(The above is an example of self-deprecating body humor for which female bloggers are well known. It's not clever, but it is fun.)

family as shield

Last week a woman invited me to have lunch with her.

Sounds good right?

The problem is that i don't really like her. In fact, i find her smug and boring, with heavy emphasis on the boring.

I wasn't quick enough or mean enough to say, "How about never. Is never good for you?" This woman does not have the social skills to pick up on body language or she would know i don't really care for her.

I feel that everything she says is done as a way to impress me. Examples:

-On my geology class field trip the other day...
-I used to manage a lot of people at...
-I was in my studio working on my scuplture...
-My grandson will be graduating from the University of W-- when he's barely 19.
-When my last piece was commisioned...
-I designed the data base for...
-I know alot about the economy because...

She is about 70, and has been divorced for over 10 years, and while i think it's great that she has so many interests, they don't interest me.

At one point i found myself saying something like, "Oh, i just tell my husband when my car needs washing and he does it for me." All that statement needed to make it perfect was a simpering giggle.

And while i might wish it were, it isn't even true! I have to wash my own damned car. I had to laugh at myself when i realized on the way home that what i had done is play the 'stupid female card' in hopes that she would find me impossibly dull and never invite me anywhere again.

I also blamed having my daughter home this weekend as an excuse for not going to the movies with her.

trip report

For those of you following along at home, i am back home after my big adventure in Ohio and Tennessee.

Em and i went to see Coraline (good) and He's Just Not That Into You (I'm sick of movies that portray all women as desperate to get married without regard to the suitability of the man. Gag!) and then she made me watch High School Musical 3 in the hotel room.

Dreadful movie. I read a book while she watched.

We ate good food, drank some champagne and had a good time.

I only got to meet one of her friends, so i didn't get the chance to use my advanced interrogation skills on the future ex-boyfriend. Damn! In fact, the future ex might already be the never ex. You gotta move fast on these things or you'll miss your chance to intimidate.

Monday i flew off to to meet with Ms. Chica. The weather was cold and beautiful. We spent most of the day on Tuesday hiking along the Cumberland Trail. The scenery is so different from here that i was fascinated. Deciduous forests, delicate streams, elaborate rock formations, good company, icicles, turkey sandwiches that i didn't have to make, moss theft. It was all good.



Here i am preparing to ride my broomstick across this bridge.

Intelligent discourse

This is more in the nature of a diary entry than a thoughtful blog post. Fair warning.

I'm all excited as i leave at o'fuck thirty tomorrow morning to wing my way to Ohio to visit my offspring.

"Oh," she says, "Come visit me. I miss you. I want you to meet my friends"

Translation: Come spoil me rotten for a weekend mommy.

Okay, i can't resist THAT! Tell me you could.

There's also a person she likes. Maybe even likes likes. I have prepared a list of questions for this person. I hope s/he doesn't mind.

-so, what does your mother do?
-so, how do you feel about pre-marital sex?
-so, what are your political views?
-so, do you understand that i will kill you if you hurt my daughter?
-so, do you know how to don a condom?
-so, how did you vote in the last election.

(just kidding baby.... mostly.)

And then, and THEN (!) i'm going off for a few days to visit one of my blomies. (Say it out loud, it's obscene.) We hope to go hiking together.

I'll be in touch as i have my precious with me. (laptop)

In which i swear freely

We have just put our house up for sale. Don't we have AWESOME timing?

I fucking hate living in a for sale house. We have to keep it neat, which is totally hard for us because The Mister is a a slob, and i'm lazy. At least my hideously messy daughter is away at college, although she has a roomful of crap that will need to be dealt with.

Some cranky letters to make me feel better:

************
Dear Makers of Aveeno Oatmeal Lotion,

I love your lotion, but i hate that the suction pump straw thing is an inch and a half above the bottom of the container. I feel like it's a plot to get me to buy more of your lotion.

Not going to work as i am stubborn AND cheap, plus i recycle the bottle, after i eke every last bit of lotion out of it.

So there,

-a not to be manipulated consumer

************
Dear Mom who brought her baby to the National Geographic Lecture last week,

Judging from the auditory evidence, your baby didn't appreciate the lecture. And thanks to your inconsiderateness in bringing a baby to such an event, neither did the other 200 people who could hear him crying.

But hey, as long as YOU got to attend, fuck the rest of us.

Just so you know, i don't blame the baby. I blame you.

-One of 20 or so people who gave you the stink eye.

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

Dear Ace Hardware,

I bought a wedge style doorstop from you today. On the back of the package was this;

INSTALLATION INSTRUCTIONS:
1. Insert by wedging under bottom of door.

Thanks for that, i had no idea.

-Low IQ Consumer

For the love of yeast byproduct

This is a post that one of you sent me and asked me to post anonymously. I didn't publish it right away because i can't decide quite how i feel about it. It makes me sad, and it also pisses me off and makes me want to tell the writer, "For god's sake, grow a pair!" I hope seeing in in print will help, but i'm doubtful. Courage.


Things given up for alcohol:

Sex. Too drunk. We have chosen alcohol over each other.

Reading. I can't focus on the words, they swim before my eyes. I used to love to read.

Sleep. I fall asleep hard, and then wake up after a few hours wanting water and aspirin. Am awake for hours until I fall into an uneasy sleep just before it is time to get up and make breakfast.

Time with my children. I view them as a hinderance to what I really want to be doing.

Patience. I am crabby and annoyed by everything. I'm a mean drunk.

My word. Every morning I promise that last night was it, I am quitting. That night I buy more wine.

A neat scotch story

Two of my favorite people in the world are married to each other. (It's nice when that happens, because it's not always the case.)

I'll call them Mike and Susan. We've known Mike for 27 years, and he had the good sense to meet and fall in love with Susan about 5 years after we met Mike.

They each told me this story separately, which i found charming. It meant they were both pleased with the outcome.

Mike likes scotch, neat, preferably single malt. He has settled on a favorite one over the years, i forget the name of it. We'll say it's Bowmore.

Susan, in conversation with him about his favorite scotch, asked him why he had settled on just one, when there are so many different kinds of scotch in the world for him to try. Didn't he want to try some new ones?

He replied that there are many women in the world too, and he had settled on just one without trying them all.

That night, when Mike came home from work, there was a brand new bottle of Bowmore waiting for him.

Do cats mourn?

Is it better to live a free, but dangerous life? Or to be unhappy, yet safe?

Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

The Mister found part of Grey Cat in our yard this morning. Coyotes i suppose, although i have only seen one here in 10 years.

We got Grey Cat and Brown Cat (they are brothers) from a cat rescue place. They were almost two years old, and had been indoor/outdoor cats with their previous owners.

So i let them continue to be indoor/outdoor cats, believing that they would be miserable if confined. The few times i have had to keep one or the other inside, they have been vocal about their displeasure and then become destructive.

I try to keep them in at night, but being cats, sometimes they are not to be found.

Brown Cat woke me up this morning at 4 am. He hasn't done that in a long time. He must have heard something. He has been uneasy and skitterish all day, asking to go out, asking to come in, asking to visit the basement, wanting out on the balcony to peer over the yard. He never asked to be fed tonight either, when usually he comes and sits his whole 15 pound self on my chest at 4:30, trying to look skinny.

So i am sad. I just don't know what i would have done differently.

Feel free to comfort or chastise me. Both are appropriate.