Satan's Wrath

About four years ago, during my long drawn-out divorce, Satan was seeking sole custody of the children, I wanted joint, and the judge had signed an order allowing him to pick them up every Friday after work. I was fine with that.



Except for one Friday. After he moved out the kids started climbing in bed with me. Being a very light sleeper I became increasingly aware of my son's snoring. There were times during the night he would stop breathing altogether and gasp for air. It frightened me to no end. I did what any decent parent would do. We have two family friends who are ENTs and I planned on seeing both of them. I schedule an appointment and contact Satan via email to let him know what's going on.

He responds and insists on being present at the doctor's appointment. He had rarely, if ever, been to a doctor's appointment over the last five years. We were only communicating via email at that time because my attorney suggested I keep a record of our conversations and we couldn't be on the phone without screaming at each other. I told him which doctor I had chosen and told him I would make sure he was willing to accept a phone call so he could discuss the situation with him after the appointment. I proceeded with the appointment. The doctor did in fact take his call and we both agree (again via email) that our son requires surgery to remove his tonsils and adenoids. I respond to his email explaining that prior to having the surgery I wanted to meet with the second doctor. He agrees and the whole argument on who will be present at the doctor's appointment ensues yet again. Same result. Again, Satan speaks with the doctor and we agree our son requires surgery.

After that decision is reached I pick the physician, schedule the surgery, and send an email message letting him know when, where, and who. I, of course, would not keep a parent from being with their child during a surgery. I just choose to stay as far away as possible from him at the hospital. The physician I chose did surgery on Fridays. In the message I tell Satan this and explain that that particular weekend I would keep my son and care for him after surgery. He doesn't respond to my message so I assume he's in agreement.

Friday afternoon following surgery: The police show up at my door. I'm exhausted. I haven't been able to get my son to eat a popsicle or take a sip of water for that matter. I invite them in, but ask them to be quiet. My son is still heavily sedated and hadn't been out of bed all day. They come in to my house, I sit down in the front room, and they show me a copy of the court order giving Satan permission to pick the children up. I told them we had an agreement and offered to provide them the email transactions. They didn't care to see them. I told them my son is very active and bleeding out within the first 48-hours is a risk for active children, as I was instructed by the doctor. Satan was already publically hanging out with his new gal who had a child my daughter's age, and my active little son liked to be in the middle of all the action. I also explain to them that I'm not refusing to let my daughter go with her father, but am refusing to carry my son's dead weight body out the door and place him in his father's car. I'm also refusing to let him enter my home. Not that he would have at this point. I think he was scared of me. He knew he had pushed me too far. I ask them to leave.

Two weeks later I'm served with a Summons for Custodial Interference which states, "REPORT TO THE _____ COUNTY JAIL FOR AN IMMEDIATE BOOK AND RELEASE PRIOR TO YOUR HEARING." I call ahead to see how long the process would take and am told, "Fifteen minutes." I arrive at the jail in the heat of summer in shorts and a halter top for what I assume will be an office procedure, but fifteen minutes of hell nonetheless. Fifteen minutes my ass. I am at the jail for SEVEN hours because those morons can't lift my fingerprints on their state of the art equipment. Yes, I'm booked; they take my mug shot, and "attempt" to fingerprint me. During shift change I'm locked in a cell with someone I'm afraid to breathe the same air with, so the next round of morons can try their hand. My fingerprints have always been hard to lift. They had to run them two or three times when I worked for the police department and the same amount when I worked for the state, but I thought these bozos were supposed to be experts. It's a laser machine for crying out loud! What the hell? There's no thinking involved, just get my hand in the general vicinity. By the time they put me in lock up for shift change I ask for the lovely jail garb everyone else is wearing. I had already been mentally raped about fifteen times, by prisoners and guards alike.

By the time I got out of there that evening I was wiped. I wasn't angry or sad, just numb. I went home and poured myself a glass of wine … at least one.

Upon walking into the courtroom for the hearing I see my ex already in the room. Fucking voyeur with a little hard-on waiting to hear I was going to jail.



I had hired an attorney for the occasion. I was scared of going to jail. I paid him a $500 retainer. He walks in, talks with the prosecutors, and walks back to me with a smile on his face like he had earned a cookie. Fat bastard. He tells me they reached a deal and told me to plead no-contest to some charge. I can't remember if it was the initial charge or something else he copped to. I refused. After all, I didn't do anything wrong. I was looking out for the best interest of my child.

I fire my attorney and approach the stand when the court recorder calls my name. The judge reads the charges and asks how I plead. I respond with, "I don't know Your Honor. I just fired my attorney, would like to tell you my story, and if you think I was reckless and endangered my children, I think you should put me in jail." He's intrigued and tells the court recorder to turn off the tape. She does.

I tell my story. The judge responds with, "Well if I could tell you how to plead, which I can't, I would tell you to do a plea in abeyance, pay a small fine for the courts time, and this will never go on your record." He looks at the court recorder and tells her to start the tape again. She does. Again he says, "How do you plead?"

I say, "Well Your Honor, I think I'll do a plea in abeyance." He accepts my plea and renders his decision. Before I turn to go he gives me a smile and a wink. Satan looks disappointed and exits the courtroom.

What kind of sick bastard tries to have the mother of his children put in jail? If, in fact, all of this is supposed to be about the children's best interest, how exactly does that serve them? I've never done anything to hurt my babies. I'm not a perfect parent, and yes, I discipline them, and when they've needed it I've given them spankings, time outs, restrictions from TV and toys, but I've never abused them. I don't believe there's any doubt in their minds that I love them and live for them, and they respect me as a parent. I can be their friend, giggle with them, enjoy our time together, and be their protector, their leader, their rock. This isn't always easy to do when I'm afraid of their father.

I've tried to cut him out of my life, but he just finds a way to creep back in. He's always been controlling, but seems to be obsessed when he thinks I might be dating someone or involved in a relationship.

Yeah, this is the same guy who developed a relationship with another woman while I was sick and at home taking care of our two children. During the divorce when the children were with him, he'd go visit his whore, bring their pajamas along, have them go to sleep on the couch while he got serviced in the other room, and wake them to go home in the middle of the night to work his way around the court restriction from overnight visitation with the opposite sex while the children were present. Classy.

The last time I attempted a relationship, about a year-and-a-half ago, he background checked the guy. The guy was clean cut and didn't have any sort of record. He ran a credit history on him too. Why? I should have filed stalking charges. The guy I was dating even contacted the Guardian ad Litem four times to do the right thing and request an interview to make everyone comfortable. None of the calls were returned. Satan works for the court system and has far too many people in his pocket. I'm not going to put someone else through that. Life and relationships are difficult enough without a psychotic ex tracking your footsteps. Who needs that?



Although I've dated my ass off over the last few years, I think this is why I've found it difficult to let myself get close to anyone.

He's at it again, even though I'm not involved with anyone. When is enough enough? Leave me alone, leave my family alone, let me live my life and enjoy my children. That's really all I ask.

Where's The Love?

Friday was my son's Christmas Program at school, or "Winter Festival" rather. God forbid we call it what it is and risk offending someone, but that's not the point of this blog. As those of you who keep up with my ridiculous status lines already know, I had been dealing with Satan all week. My parents, have always tried to maintain a relationship with him for the good of the kids. That's awful big of them I guess, but it's just a little too warm and fuzzy for my taste, given everything this man has done to me. But seriously, I'm gagging on their good will. The man has tried to put me in jail twice and will try again. I've not been locked up because it's simply an insane hate and anger management issue he has, but eventually may end up doing something slightly outside the court order just to give him a reason and get it over with. Maybe he'll get the taste out of his mouth and be able to move on. I doubt it though. It would likely be addicting and he'd just want to do it again.

Anyway, I went to see my son in his classroom prior to the program to tell him to "Break a leg." He's so very happy to see me, rushes into my arms, and tells me he's missed me. He's definitely the less openly emotional of my two children, and anytime he does something as blatant as this it gives me hope he won't end up like his father. After chit-chatting with him for a moment a couple of his friends accumulate around the doorway. One of them, a boy no less, looks at me and says to my son, "Wow. You're lucky. Your mom is always styling." I smile even bigger. Children are often brutally honest, but in a much less complimentary way; like, "Why is that big green booger on your face?" Demitri gets a proud smile on his face, tells me to sit in the front of the auditorium for his program, I kiss him goodbye, and head out front to meet his grandparents. I find them immediately and we walk to the auditorium together to find a seat.

Upon arrival, the auditorium is filled with people. I spot three seats near the back and plop my purse and camera down. Satan is standing about three rows behind on the last row with his wife. My parents go over to say, "Hello" and sit down by them. I look at my mom and say out loud, "You can't be serious." She moves over to where I'm sitting. A rush of emotion comes over me, and not in a good way. I'm choking back tears. The children begin filing into the auditorium and head towards the stage. I try to make eye contact with my son so he knows where we are. He's gazing through the crowd of proud parents and grandparents looking for a familiar face. Finally, while they're still setting up, I grab my camera, leave my purse sitting by my mother, head to the front of the auditorium, and plop myself down on the floor in front. He sees me and smiles.

As I begin taking pictures of him singing and dancing about I continue to feel overwhelmed with emotion. I'm proud. I'm sad that I'm not always around for him. I'm worried about where his life will go from here with such fucked up parents. More than anything else, I guess I feel love; love in my heart for him and the love that escapes me for my parents. I'm furious, and happy, and sad. Tears roll down my cheek. I continue to smile, wipe them away, and try to pass them off as tears of joy and pride for my son. He doesn't think anything of it. His mom is the toughest, yet the sappiest person he knows.



The program ends and the children begin exiting the auditorium. I remove myself from the floor, walk to the back, and cross the room in front of where my ex, his wife, and my father are standing. I don't make eye contact and don't really care that my eye make-up is smeared and it's apparent I've been crying. For a moment I entertain the idea of approaching Satan's Whore to ask, "Doesn't it bother you that your husband spends so much of his emotional time and energy obsessing about his ex? Maybe it should." I visualize the conversation taking place and lose myself in thought for a moment. I don't act on it. I grab my purse, put my camera down, and head to the bathroom to fix my face before my son see's me close up.

By the time I go back everyone is gone, including my camera. I worry for a moment and then head to my son's classroom. I bump into my parents in the hallway, Mom hands me my camera, and tells me my son is waiting to see me. I mumble something and walk past them with my heart aching and not wanting to cry again.

Following school we go to Girl Scouts, gymnastics, stop quickly to grab a sandwich for dinner, and then head to the Red Rock Review (U of U gymnastics team pre-season exhibition crowd pleaser). After the program they gave out free posters and set the girls up at tables for autographs. We stayed. My parents knew we planned to go.



Once my daughter gets her autographs we hop in the car and head for home. There was a little snow on the ground from the last couple of days … very little. My mom calls my mobile to see if the kids and I are okay. Concern or guilt? I'm not sure. One thing my parents never do is admit fault. If/when they do the "I'm sorry" is conveyed with so much emotion as to make you feel guilty and usually a sarcastic tag line, "I guess I screwed up again." I haven't said anything to them and likely won't unless they bring it up. I feel like saying, "Maybe when Satan is finally successful in putting me in jail you can both go have a celebratory drink with him." I'm hurt. I'm lonely. I feel abandoned in my time of need … again. I decided a long time ago I can either chose to have a relationship with them and accept them as they are or cut off all ties. I can't seem to do that. I love them.

Dating Experiment 9,999,999 - Part II

What the hell? I have been on far too many dates, to not be able to recognize a good one from the mix of bad apples.



How far off can one person possibly be? I listen, watch, try to read what's going on during a date to ascertain first of all 'if' I want to see the person again, and secondly 'if' I think I'll hear from them. There's got to be mutual interest or it's just not worth pursuing. That would be stalking. Right?



As you may recall, during date number one he told me he wanted to ask for my number, but was nervous. He also said that over the last few months since we met, he would make up excuses to come into work just to see if I was there. I'm glad I slipped him my number, and certainly glad he used it. But, at what point should a guy just take the reins and move things along?

So, I speak with Mr. Dating Experiment 9,999,999 on the phone. This is the first time since the day before Thanksgiving when I called him. I call him back and during the conversation he says, 'Well you said you wouldn't call me and you've called twice now.' I respond with, 'Smack! I could just delete your number out of my phone.' He laughs. Why do guys tease? Why are women drawn to it?

He tells me he had stopped into work to see if I was there. Why? He has my number. Why go through the trouble of stopping in? I do not understand this at all. I ask him if there's something wrong with his fingers that he couldn't have just called and offer him a lesson on the lost art of dialing. We both laugh.

He wants to get together. Of course, I do as well. During date two he razzes me about the phone call, I repeat that I'll NEVER call him again and after the unrelenting teasing I'm firm on this point. He can just call me until I'm able to answer the phone or find me at work. Jerk … he's cute about it though … damn it.

We laughed … We laughed a lot. I had tears rolling out of my eyes, the conversation never stopped, except for a few kisses which were lovely, and the time flew by as quickly as it did during date number one.

I walk him out … which is a bit ironic given what happened (or didn't happen) during date number one. He wants me to see his car which we had talked about at length during the evening. It looked kind of like this one:



I asked if I can take it for a spin and he hands me the keys. Why do guys do that? Is it some sort of she can drive my car, shift my stick, handle my ride sexual parallel? I believe it is. I've been handed the keys to far too many very nice vehicles I had absolutely no business driving after a couple of drinks. Of course I had no intention of getting behind the wheel … or walking him all the way to his car for that matter. LOL!

So he promises to cruise out of the neighborhood quietly. He he he … ya! So not going to happen! I felt like I was at Indy and could feel the stairs vibrating under my feet inside the house. It was kind of a turn on … Thank God my neighbors like me. He didn't rev the engine or try to be noisy, but it was thumping.

I'm going to go write one-hundred times, 'I will not call boys.' I think it's better that way.

Dating Experiment 9,999,999 - Part I

There's this guy that's been coming in to work for the last few months. He always takes the time to chat with me and flirt a little. The last time he was in he said, "Do you have a husband or anyone I need to know about before I take this any further?" I responded, "No. No husband. *smile*" I hadn't seen him in over a month when he came in this past Saturday. I decided to write him a note and slip it to him as we chatted. I figured if I put it out there I'd find out rather quickly whether or not he was really interested. On the note I wrote, "Shhh!!! Katina ***-****" He called that evening and invited me to have a drink with him once I was off work.


As we talked that night he told me he had wanted to ask for my phone number, but was nervous. He was very kind, funny, intelligent, a good kisser, and a gentleman. Since we were kind of snuggling I turned my head to look at him and just decided to move in for the kiss. He didn't fight it, but didn't push the issue either. As we parted I was a bit surprised he didn't offer to walk me to my car ... a little irritated actually. Anyway, I blew it off making excuses for him that he was nervous and/or blaming it on him being raised an only child.

Yesterday he called.

We chit-chatted for a little while, he thanked me for getting together with him, said he had a good time, and then said, "Give me a call some time." To which I replied, "Well thanks, but I probably won't." He said, "Well that wasn't very inviting." To which I said, "The way I look at it, if a guy wants to talk to you, they're going to call. As women, we have about a thousand things running through our minds all the time so we usually don't call. It's not that we don't think about you, we just don't call." He said, "Oh. Okay."

He had mentioned he might attempt to reschedule his airline ticket and fly out today to visit his parents for the holiday. In hind site I think my comment may have come off as callused or bitchy and I certainly didn't mean for it to. I figure I can't call him now, even if I wanted to because I said I wouldn't. I hope to hear from him again.

During our telephone conversation he also said, "I hope I wasn't a jerk the other night." I said, "How would you have been a jerk?" To which he replied, "Well I didn't think I was, I just hope you didn't." I kind of hoped he would bring up not walking me to my car, we could laugh about it, and then move on. He didn't.

Okay ... so, yes, I'm going to ask the never-ending female question: Do you think he'll call? It's kind of funny because the last many, many dates I've had I just hoped they wouldn't call and when they did, I didn't answer or return their calls. Finally a date that wasn't horrible. I rather enjoyed myself. What does his not walking me to my car indicate to you? If I do hear from him and we get together again, I most certainly will say something when we get ready to part for the evening ... likely sarcastically ... "Are you going to walk me to my car this time? *smirk*

Why am I worried about this? I always strive for honesty, but never purposely try to hurt someone's feelings or be mean.

Ladies? Gentlemen?

Following is a summary from a few friends I've spoken with about this:

1 The fact that he didn't walk you to your car is a "MASSIVE" warning sign.

2 Give him another chance.

3 Give him another chance.

4 Don't call him. He'll call.

My Red Ribbon Week From HELL!

So last year at the PTA Parent Appreciation Luncheon they had a list posted to sign up for this year's events. I signed up for Red Ribbon Week along with another assistant GS troop leader. She and I hadn't had time to get together, other than the initial brainstorming which included an assembly for the kids with an officer from the DEA. When I bumped into her last week I asked her to email me a list of what she's been working on so we could compare notes and make things happen. I didn't receive anything. I emailed her and received the following message with this schedule attached (I left all the typos so you can see how painfully exhausting it can be to communicate with these people … honestly it was too painful for me to look at so I cleaned it up a little bit):

Hi,

Sorry it took me soooo long to get back to you. I had to worry about green ribbon week 1st. I will try to attach the schedule of what I have come up with. What I will need some help with, is helping the K-3 plant tulip bulbs. And, possibly with the older ones when they tie ribbons on the fence.

I hope you are doing ok. I went in the field trip with _______ [my daughter] yesterday and it was beautiful.

Thanks for your help. I'll try to attach the schedule and plan for the week to see if you have any ideas for fine tuning it.

thanks,

Schedule for Red Ribbon Week

Monday, Oct.20 Pass out strips of red paper to the classes to make chains. Also, pass out pledges to teachers.

RED RIBBON WEEK

Thursday, Oct.23 Do theme of the day. Have teachers pass out pledges. Teachers will get bags of Smarties to hand out.
Friday, Oct.24 Do theme of the day. Hang Friendship chain through school. Hang pledges.
Monday, Oct.27 Do theme of the day. Give teachers book markers to hand out.
Tuesday, Oct.28 Theme of the day. Have 4-6th graders tie ribbons on the fence. Have a box in front hall for canned food drive. Guess how many "Red Hots" in the jar contest.
Wednesday, Oct.29 Theme of the day. Start planting bulbs with K-3rd grades. Winner of " Red Hot" contest announced.
Thursday, Oct.30 Theme of day. Give teachers stickers and Dum-Dum suckers to hand out.

What in the hell do tulip bulbs, Smarties, red hots, and Dum-Dum suckers have to do with drugs? Why are we doing a food drive? Are we planning on supporting the local rehab clinic? Whose Dum-Dum idea was this?

So I respond with the following message:

I thought we were going to schedule an assembly to teach the kids how to fight against drugs? Did you still want to do that?

With the schedule you sent me it appears all the plans have been made. I'm not sure how you want me to help. Please let me know.

Thanks.

To which she replies:

I talked to a few people, and thought it might be hard balancing the line of not freaking the kids and parents out with giving out specific information. It's hard when you have to cover k-6 grades.

So, if you still have a thought about an assembly, let me know. Sorry I've just planned things, I just started working on things because I felt like it was going too be here way too soon.

To which I reply:

We could have scheduled two assemblies, one for K-4 and the other for 5th and 6th. I just don't see anything on the schedule that actually empowers kids to say "No" to drugs and thought that's what Red Ribbon Week was supposed to be about.

I won't interfere with your plans and will sign up on my own for an event next year or with someone else who wants me to assist them.

She called me that night:

"Uh, um, er, you sound upset."

Gee do you think? I'll never put my name on a sign up board with her again. She told me to wait until she was done with Green Ribbon Week. I waited. Then she plans the whole sugar-coated pill event without my approval, and my name is tied to it. I have a problem with that. I didn't say that too her though. What I did say was this, "I keep hearing you say how over-whelmed you are with too many things to do. I'm reaching my arm in the airs saying, 'Pick me to help' and you don't; so I'm tired of hearing people say how over-whelmed they are. How can we do a Red Ribbon Week without mentioning drugs? It's a little bit humiliating to have my name on a board saying I'm running something and I'm not running it. I don't even know what's going on."

She goes on to explain that a few years ago an officer did an assembly and came on too strongly thereby scaring children. I can see this happening. I've worked with police officers for years. Of course they're scary. Why? Because they see ugly stuff every day and it just becomes "normal" to them. Because if they scare kids into staying away from drugs they don't have to wake your sorry ass up in the middle of the night to come pick your kid up from jail for getting caught with drugs … or to deliver a "Your kid is dead from ODing" message to your front door while your standing there in your skivvies.

Nonetheless, having worked with many officers I can tell you this: When my partner and I ran assemblies at the same school we're planning for, no one was scared. They were intrigued. They listened. It was dead silent. We rocked that lecture hall! Just like every other group of people there are police officers who know how to work well with young children. You just have to know who to ask. I've extended myself for that purpose.

She apologizes in a somewhat embarrassed fashion … although it was likely only because she wanted to save face, needs my help in the future, and knows I bust my ass for the school. We hung up.

The next night she calls me again. "I spoke with the principal and maybe we could do a parent's education night to give them information to pass on to their kids." Beautiful! I'm hoping parents already have information to provide their kids. The one's who do have likely already had the conversation with their children … I hope.

I chew on the thought for a day. For a moment I veto it simply because I'm irritated and I feel like the principal, the PTA, and she are patronizing me. Then I think, "What the hell. It couldn't hurt." I call the principal myself to find out exactly what he wants and when he wants it so I can deliver it. I'm working on it now. Hopefully it's not too late to get someone scheduled. I wonder if we'll scare the parents??? *evil laugh*

I'm worried that by having Red Ribbon Week parents are going to assume their children are being provided pertinent information at school, think it's been taken care of, and not talk to their children. I'm also worried that no one will show up for this parent's education night. If schools are afraid to talk about drugs because they think parents are doing it and parents don't talk to them because they think schools are doing it, who's really going to talk to the kids?

What are your thoughts? Shouldn't we be scaring our children about drugs to some degree? They are scary. I want my kids to be very afraid of them. I want them to know what they look like so they aren't morbidly curious when they see them at a friend's house or at a party and head straight out the door to call me to pick them up.

I remember being an elementary age child in San Antonio Texas and being given a packet of information to take home to our parents which included tablets to burn to teach us what marijuana smelled like so we could avoid it. My parents lit them up in the garage and joked how detrimental it would be to my father's military career to have the police pull up. I still remember them laughing! I also still remember the smell of marijuana.

In honor of Red Ribbon Week click here to be linked to helpful information on how to get involved in teaching your children about drugs.

Their Hearts Beat

Tear away a piece of cloth from my body exposing me.
Tear away a hair from my head and watch the root shaft pull it to the ground.
Try to knock me down … again.

Throw things at me.
Words too.

Their hearts beat.

Drive a stake through my heart,
If you can find it amongst the remnants you left.

Call me names.
Tell horrible dirty rotten stories riddled with lies.

Their hearts beat.

Does it give you peace to give me pain?

I walk away slowly over the course of time,
Continuously glancing over my shoulder,
Watching for the final shot that will leave me cold.

Unlike you I feel,
I am real,
I am warm,
I am loved.

Their hearts beat.

Will your relentless anger ever subside?

Pieces of me were given to you.
You tossed them aside,
Stepped on them,
Killed them.

I will not hide so hold my head high and press on.
I must.

Their hearts beat.

The wind at my back,
The sun in my face,
Love in my heart and a smile.

You frighten me for you are soulless.

You are dark.
Cold.
Empty.

May the light we created together shine through your darkness.

Their hearts beat.

September 26, 2008

Satan, His Whore, and The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

CAUTION: This blog is like arsenic, but it only tingles for a minute as you exhale. If the sharp words and cursing don't get you the dose of country twang is guaranteed to make you gag.

I wanted to wait to blog on this until I was calm.

I'm still not calm.

*deep breath*

So, it's back to school time. Every mom whose any mom is re-establishing relationships in the "I am Woman Hear Me Roar," "Telephone Chain" of not just a village but let's face it, it takes a whole fucking county of mom's running down the Wasatch Front to raise your children! Thank God for nosey neighbors, gossipy women, and the child communication chain of "Oh my God! What are we going to do when this happens?" bitchfest sandwich! I'm a piece of it. Meet the bread:

Moms.

Women worry. Just worry. That's why we live and breathe; to worry. Once you bake a baby in your belly your body temperature gets to a certain temperature at which point a part of your brain dies, a pop up thermostat engages, and YOU ARE DONE!



This phenomenon called "Motherhood" hits you so hard you freaking forget your name. Although you'll never forget that time you held two children in your arms in the emergency room as they puked all over you and you just sat there unmoved. Hell, you were practically comatose from not sleeping for a week and didn't even smell the wretched slimy mush.

Okay. Let me get back on track. On the 24th of July while playing at the park with the kids I get a call from Vic, the head Girl Scout troop leader.



Do I think scouting is geeky? Yes. But I became an assistant troop leader to dedicate my life to slowing my kid down from growing up too fast and guiding her towards becoming a strong woman.



The moms have lost touch a bit during the summer months as we always do, but with summer break on the downhill slide we are on the phone rebuilding connections and planning for the next year.

I love Vic! She knows everybody who's anybody and feeds me with information I can get NO other way. Why do I need this influx of data? Because as a mother you would kill for ANY information that would keep your children from getting hurt and at any given moment would throw your body in front of a high-speed bus to protect them. Besides, when your kids come from a broken home you learn quickly that if you weren't on the same page regarding parenting when you were married, you certainly won't be for the next … oh, decade. So move on with it, play the game, protect your king, and have counter moves planned steps in advance. Fail to plan? Plan to fail. History is a great predictor of future events. Karma is a bitch. Once you call check-mate, just sit back, smile, and wait for the kill.

Am I evil? Not really.

Vic and I proceed through our usual dialogue comparing notes on life events, bashing the ex-husbands, and giving each other updates on various happenings and who they're happening to. It's not gossip. It's survival for your child. Honestly, if your child is on a play date and you're not along for the ride don't you want to know if there's a gun in the house, if the kid's dad is being stalked by his secretary, if the PTA president might be sleeping with the mom?



This ain't junior high anymore boys and girls. THIS is elementary school. Just call me Mrs. Johnson.

Vic says, "I was with _______[other mom] at the park yesterday and we bumped into ______[Satan's whore]. Are you sitting down?

My response. "Um … Yes … Go ahead."

I did sit down.

Vic relayed the following conversation:

"Did you see my daughter?"

Other mom: "Yes. She's down by the river flirting with teenage boys."

"Oh, I know. I can already tell she's going to be one of those little sluts in high school."

Excuse me a moment.




*gulp*



I'm okay.



It shouldn't be fucking legal to say that about your own child! Isn't that child abuse? Why is it okay to take a back seat to parenting and just project what your child is going to be in four to six years without planning to do a thing about it? IT SHOULDN'T BE! Why do you need a license to drive a car, but any flotation device piece of shit, scum sucking bottom feeder can have a child?

*deep breath*

I shouldn't be surprised. After all, how much class can you possibly have if you bed someone else's husband while he has a wife and two children at home and then try to get her children to call you "Mom" during your elicit affair?



My first clue there was a whore in training was when my daughter approached me at the age of five to ask what French kissing was because she had heard the terminology from Satan's whore's spawn … out of the mouths of babes …



Am I judging? That would be a profound YES! Do I think I have the right? Abso-fucking-lutely! Why? Because I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan, raise the children, do damage control for everyone, babysit Satan and his whore, and raise her child too.



My daughter is going through puberty. So too is her step-sister. We've been reading "The Care and Keeping of You" throughout the summer and I've been answering questions she asks in an age appropriate manner. She even asks me questions her step-sister has and then relays the information. Yes, I tried referring the child to her mother. She was afraid. I don't want my daughter to ever think there's something she can't ask me.

*breath*

For the men who are reading, be glad for the fact women talk to each other so much and that some of us even step up to the plate and talk to your daughters. There isn't a man alive, nor will there ever be, who wants to listen to everything we have to say. I don't blame them either. We make ourselves crazy with our minds and words reeling! Making you crazy is just one of the little extra services we offer.

Thanks for reading!

*still breathing*



*and exhale*

The Experimental Experience - Too many thoughts. One blog.

I know I did the "bate" part of this blog some time ago. However, I was NOT AT ALL prepared for the enormity of these life lessons until I sat down to write one day and my head spun around. This may all seem very elementary, but I can guarantee that even being a willing victim … er, uh, I mean player in this game I under-estimated the jaw-dropping moments I would endure. Life has a way of slapping you across the face and saying, "Damn it girl! Pay attention!" My face hurts.

If you're reading this I successfully did the "bate and hook," even if you close the blog now. ;-)

Before proceeding:

DISCLAIMER  -  DISCLAIMER  -  DISCLAIMER  -  DISCLAIMER

Did I mention this was a disclaimer? I have been told many times after getting to know people, that their first impression of me was I'm a bitch. I've never thought of myself as a bitch. If you continue to read this I will likely sound like a bitch over and over again.

I refrained from personally getting to know any of the people I now write about. This wasn't easy. As a matter of fact, the mission is still not accomplished. Is it ever?

When a woman needs nurturing and is feeling vulnerable, she will bare her soul. I have a very difficult time walking away from this. I've been known to stop the car and help a stranger in need, even if it's via mobile phone with the door locked and the window cracked open.

In spite of what you're about to read, I consider myself a compassionate person. It's difficult, if not impossible to completely detach. This was an exercise in restraint and humiliation for me. My experimental experience ran amuck. I found myself giving a damn about everyone and everything to some degree. That alone was worth the lesson. My feelings were hurt and I started to take things personally.

There are exceptions to everything I say. Almost.

LESSONS:

Children are brutally honest. As adults we tend to blur the lines, create confusion, and widen the infinite shades of gray in the river of reality. Life might be easier viewed in extreme terms of black and white; although you just might miss a lot.

We're all judgmental. I am much more judgmental than I thought. I took a blue collar job thinking it would be a much needed escape from my over articulate life, a way to bury my head in the sand for a while. I haven't thought this much since grad school! My head throbs and my teeth hurt most days. I'm that tired. I want to quit the experiment.

I was embarrassed to see people I knew. Although, the level of embarrassment on any given day would certainly depend on how well I knew them and in what capacity. I was frightened they'd reveal my truth and create hostility in my working relationships. I didn't want to have any working relationships. You cannot not have working relationships. Everything is gray. You have to give a little or you will be eaten alive. By the way, your reaction to reading "blue collar" screams judgment, as did my feeling the need to type it.

The more levels there are in a hierarchy the more difficult it can be to NOT label/categorize and judge because … well … it's easier than taking the time to figure things out and get to know people as individuals. I'm guilty of it. I've labeled students "the jock," "the cheerleader," "the geek," and "the one who's always late" because life is a rush and a blur between classes. Please see "What's In a Name" (bottom) to understand labels that have been blatantly slapped onto the foreheads of people in this blog.

MEN, WOMEN, WARDROBE. GO!

Men:

Those of you who have gotten to know me to any degree are expecting a story right about now. Since this blog is already offensive I'm not going to tell a story here, although I have several. Instead I'll use a movie line, "The average man has a 2-year-old in his pants; that's right, a toddler right there in his Dockers." It doesn't matter if they're an adolescent with simmering hormones or a horny old man with a Playboy magazine in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other! Yes. Some of the articles in Playboy are a good read. That'ssss all I'm sayin' …Feel free to play movie trivia three times over in this blog.

Women:

Women are ruthless! It is highly unlikely that three or more women can share the same space for long without coupling up and doing the power play, otherwise knows as "catty" against the third. Women are also extremely nosey. The military should consider deploying them randomly in the battle against terrorism, you never really know what to expect so you're absolutely sure to catch the enemy off guard! I believe women want to be compassionate but simply have forgotten how in today's chaotic world of blurred roles. More about roles later. Women want to know EVERYTHING about you immediately, so as to understand you. If you don't answer their questions the interrogation will continue.

The only personal information I passed on was I needed the same weekdays off all the time and alternate weekends because I time-share my kids. Anything else was fair game. Schedule me in the middle of the night, early morning, I don't care. The questions flew like the flat side of a Samurai sword against a Suma wrestlers sweat-beaded buttocks.

If one person isn't successful in gaining impertinent data the next shift will take over. This is sounding like a war time process, isn't it? … Are you married? How many times? Kids? How many? Where did you work before this (or 'dees, as The Russian would say).

A woman on a power trip is much more frightening than a man. I did a Google image search for "security" and found an article on a female airport security guard performing body-wand scans referred to by a man as "a minimum waged bitch on a power trip." Hmm … I'd love to switch genders and locations with this guy and shove a security wand between his legs. Seriously! Try to put yourself in the other person's shoes, skirt, or shirt. Said man is a jackass because men aren't supposed to say this type of thing in public! Why? Isn't becoming an adult partially about restraint? I'm ALL ABOUT honesty, but there should be such a thing as decency.

Excuse me …

… that's better …


… moving on …

On the other hand, women will go to the end of the Earth to communicate their power in indirect ways which often come across as psycho. Remember the boiling bunny?

NEVER underestimate the power someone may have just by knowing the right people. After successfully avoiding interrogation the first two days, I heard chit chat between "the twins" (described below). They were chatting it up with an SP (security police officer) as I quietly came around the corner one evening and overheard, "She's off at 11:30 and lives _____." How in the hell did they get that information? I watched him pull out of the parking lot and head to the South Gate, the Base exit I'd use to go home. Like clock-work I was out the door and down the road; or so I thought. Sure enough the SP's hand comes up from his hip, his flashlight is shined into my vehicle and I'm asked to exit, pop the trunk, and open all the doors and the glove box. Yep! In having the privilege of working on federal property you voluntarily submit to random vehicle searches … body cavity … Imagine that. Now you see why I went off of the airport security issue so easily. Ey?

Okay. So maybe you think I'm paranoid. Consider this, if you will: When my background investigation was conducted … did I mention I underwent a background? … you must have assumed … I was flagged as "CAUTION." Me??? Yes. Me. I don't have a criminal background. I do however, have a State Concealed Firearm Permit. Is it really that big of a stretch to think my vehicle would be searched to make sure State Law doesn't bypass The Feds? Stay here a while. I'll leave you to ponder, but don't stay too long or the chip in my head may affect you.

Big Brother IS watching. Have no doubt. "Trust no one." The third, and final serving of movie trivia, straight up.

Women have a whole different way of communicating with each other than they do with men. When a woman says, "Don't tell anyone; I mean it." The first part is sometimes verbalized, depending on the length of the relationship, context, and level of trust. As for the second part, it's more subtle and can mean anything from "please help me spread the message far and wide" to "don't you dare betray my trust." Most women can detect the subtlety in which the messages are delivered. If you're not sure whether or not your message has been accurately received, seek confirmation. This "women speak" is commonly referred to as Gal Code. Most women speak Gal Code. Men should know at least a little Gal Code. After all, women know Guy Code:

Gal Code just might be a topic for another blog one day.

Wardrobe:

Sometimes you have to dress down from your typical dress down day attire for dress down day. What? Yes. I actually went shopping for clothes I didn't want to ruin and dragged the old Earthy Doc Marten Chantell Strappy Sandals out of the closet. After all, they weren't bright and shiny new, but were comfortable as hell and I was going to be on my feet for hours. I decided to have that spaced out hippy-chick-ish appearance, only with hair and make-up.

A seemingly safe platform from which to display my wondering eyes and fake smile! It came as news to me that I'd have to wear a name tag. It's humiliating wearing your name on your chest and realizing some people don't realize you have one. A name. Not a chest. When I return to the educational profession I'm going to make more of an effort to remember students' names, and not just their first names. There are a lot of Jims and Janes out there.

I say, "Fuck!" and "Oh my gosh! You can't be serious!" A LOT in my head! Sometimes I even say them out loud and people think I'm talking to myself. I guess I am.

Just when you think you've seen it all someone WILL prove you wrong! Be glad for this. It means you have faith in human kind. Sorry to be the one to break it to you and good luck with that.

If the boss, and the bosses boss, and the bosses bosses boss like you, you're screwed! Run and run fast! OR … play dumb and over-kill everyone with kindness! Though, "Don't fuck with me" can still be very effectively communicated; read on. 

Life would be a lot more pleasant if we all tried to over-kill each other with kindness. Why does typing that make me laugh?

I have extremely obvious facial expressions and no matter how well I fake nice to people, it simply must be clear I don't care for them … If nothing else please notice the eye roll! If you see the eye roll, DO NOT invade my personal space. I'm Greek and Italian; nearly everyone I interact with personally gets hugged or air kissed. I have a small range of "personal space." BUT, if I'm not involved with someone personally and don't trust them I do not respond well to my personal space being invaded. Maybe this is the result of the semester from Hell. 

After hugging a friend I've known for thirty years I got some VERY bizarre reactions. So, what's a communication guru to do? I watched myself on security footage for the first time since I first placed a stiletto clad foot on the showroom floor. My non-verbals ARE bitchy. I have yet to figure out how to change this.

WHAT'S IN A NAME? ROLES IN THIS GAME PEOPLE PLAY:

We all play our little parts in life, our roles, wear different hats. Following is the cast at the "Class Six" store on Hill AFB, and that's exactly what it says on the building, everything is numbered and/or lettered on Base.

Anita: One of the mangers. A very abrupt German woman who assigns all her "girls" a name/label. I didn't realize I was working in a brothel. I thought it was a liquor store, and I "The Cigarette Girl" … name not needed. It took her about a week to come up with mine. Although she was sure to tell me everyone's label prior to introductions. When she finally did approached me she said this, "I don't know whether to call you 'Pretty Girl' or 'Mean Girl'" Then she just stared at me waiting for a reaction. I threw my head back in laughter and said, "I don't care if you call me 'The Bitch." She smiled that day; although she seemed somewhat puzzled by me. Weeks later I'm not sure what label they coined as mine. I'd guess it was my self-proclaimed title. This is a double-edged sword.

The Twins: Consisting of "The Russian" and "The Boss." Two Air Force wives whose jobs are their lives. They're kind of like school bullies who absolutely love testing how far they can push people just out of sheer pleasure of paining them. They've been "doing this" so long they should either be placed on a pedestal and worshiped or put in a laboratory and studied … I can't decide which.

The Russian: She's very nice, but you can't understand a damn thing she says. NO! WAIT! She's not nice at all! I must have just gotten off a late shift, reek of alcohol, and have broken glass dangling from my eyeball! I don't think I ever saw her smile. How can someone live without actually smiling? But, I guess that's what this blog is about. There's a purpose for all of us, even if it's to serve as an example of what not to do. I almost feel like breaking out in song, "To everything - turn, turn, turn. There is a season - turn, turn, turn …"

The Boss: She's not the boss, but would like to think so. Every woman who has worked with other women has known one of these. She holds information captive rather than share it and risk not being the all powerful Genie of the Lamp. There's nothing worse than a cashier, cocktail waitress, or secretary on a power trip. Although not assured, I am more likely to get away with saying/typing this based solely on the fact I'm a woman. This will likely steam more women than men. Yes. This entire blog is a test and may detonate at any moment.

Ingrid: She too is a German woman with a heavy accent. It just dawned on me how interesting it is that you can't understand half of the women who work there and how highly unlikely it is the people who frequent the place care to listen to them.

THINGS I ALREADY KNEW THAT WERE RECONFIRMED:

Although it's a small step between dressing sexy and slutty, some women take a gigantic leap into whore. Honestly! Let me use my imagination; I beg of you! I do not want to see that much skin unless I'm naked and in bed with someone.

There are quite possibly an infinite number of reasons you can't walk around town like this:

'Nuff said.

Never date a colleague! EVER! End of story! No. I didn't "do it again." There's another story here, possibly for a future blog. For now it will suffice to say adjectives such as "pompous" can evoke strong emotional reactions (including vomiting) similar to nails on a chalk board, especially while heavily engaged in the "experimental experience."

I will continue to cringe every time I drive over the James Bond techno, anti-ram, security barrier on the base, waiting for it to engage while I'm straddling it and lift my car into the heavens as if it was receiving a lube job!

AND STILL:

I don't trust the government on ANY level.

I ponder whether human-kind is inherently good or evil.

I wonder as I wander.

Okay so, if you're still reading and curious as to my next professional endeavor, I've decided to return to the world of education because the world is a classroom and I knew a long time ago that I'd be a catalyst for learning, expanding knowledge, wisdom, higher aspirations, and all that jazz. Besides a catalyst is something that is not consumed, or at least that's what Wikipedia says. No, I likely won't cause any molecular collisions (again Wikipedia). Hell, I don't even know what I'm talking about. Science is not my strong suit. Nonetheless, I've decided to submit my resume at a couple of colleges for adjunct positions and am exploring the school districts for opportunities to work with children who have an excuse to, therefore act, like children. I'm also pondering evening GED prep classes at the high school and technical college. I haven't worked with this age group in quite some time and understanding teenagers (oxymoron, yes?) might be good experience for down the road.

I hope this blog made you react strongly in some way; even if it made you angry. I believe anger is a deep seeded emotional response to something raw within us. If you identify it my energy wasn't all for not.

I still have many lessons to learn as a student in this thing called Life.

Thanks for reading.

T

Let Your FREAK Flag Fly!

Okay so, I was sitting around spinning ideas of what to do today through my head when my phone rings. A good friend calling says, "Come to the park with me and I'll buy you lunch."

I immediately said, "No thanks! Feel free to call and tell me all about it!" But they were persistent, I was bored enough to go, and I was hungry, so what the hell? Right?OMG!!!

EVERY FREAK from the city and the surrounding area was there!!!

I saw so many hair colors, piercings, tattoos, naked asses, flailing breasts, and ghetto gold jewelry all I could say was, "God bless America! At least they haven't outlawed that yet!" But, I said it SO many times with an eye roll and throwing my head back, my caller started elbowing me and saying, "They're going to hear you!"

I DON'T CARE! FREAKS ARE FREAKS AND THEY KNOW THEY'RE FREAKS BECAUSE THEY'RE TRYING TO GET ATTENTION!!!

Here are a few visuals so you can relate and feel my horror:







I SWEAR TO YOU, Brooke and ALL HER FRIENDS were there!!!



Is THAT a girl or a guy? Is anyone else confused???







I saw enough cleavage on both sides of the body at the park today to consider taking a vow of celibacy! YES, IF YOU'VE GOT IT FLAUNT IT!!! We all try to enhance our assets! (Pun intended!) But when you've got it all over and people are trying to eat, cover some of it up.



HE WASN'T there.

He was likely at the pool party I should have gone to! Damn it!



Now look, I'm not trying to be a BITCH nor am I trying to place judgment! I have a strategically placed tattoo I can show if I choose without baring all ... same story with my piercing.



All I'm REALLY saying is, DON'T THESE PEOPLE HAVE MIRRORS??? Maybe that should be the next arm of government control ... requiring people to have mirrors in their homes so THEY have to see THEMSELVES BEFORE I DO!!!



One last thing before I conclude my rant.

There was one guy there in the new more body breathable fatigues that they supposedly field tested! It was so damn hot I just wanted to cry for him! They're heavy, they're hot, they suck! If they wanted breathable they should have hired a woman to design them!



Well that about does it for me today! If I've offended anyone with this, I'm sort of sorry ... but, not really ...

Eh, if you're pissed feel free to tell me about it.

Hello. This is your life. You have absolutely NO idea what you’re doing, do you?

As many of you know, I have taught communication classes for the past twelve years at the local university, but have done some contract teaching (written comm., public speaking, business writing, medical terminology, CPR/BLS, etc.) at various community colleges in the valley. I have continued to teach on contract throughout my life experiences: marriage, kids, two full-time careers, divorce, etc. I love it and the hours are fabulous because they allow me to keep an extremely flexible schedule that allows me to be available to my kids at the drop of a hat if/when the need arises. As I've said in a previous blog, I chose to be an educator because I "hope" individuals seek to push themselves beyond their perceived limitations for the purpose of obtaining knowledge they can actually utilize in their lives and in their enduring pursuit of "happyness" (NOTE: not a misspelling). I honestly "hope" to be a tool of inspiration to my students and "give" them something that will benefit their lives. I've always felt that it's my way of giving back to society, throwing something in, and contributing in some positive way.

Again, as many of you know, especially my close personal friends, I had a very negative experience last semester that has caused me to reevaluate what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. People change, the classroom environment has evolved as generations pass through from "Generation X", to "Generation Y," and finally to "Generation God knows WHY?" Add to that one of the strangest cultures I've ever experienced (The Utah Mormon Culture) and it makes for one hell of a ride! But this past semester was a big turning point for me.

Last semester: From day one a male student (6'5" and burly) chose to be disruptive and disrespectful, chit-chatting endlessly with his friends, and heckling me as I lectured often interjecting sexual comments in an effort to publicly bully and humiliate me. As the semester progressed I spoke with him in front of his peers, one-to-one, and in the presence of the department chair to make it clear his behavior was inappropriate, unwelcome, intimidating, and bordered on sexual harassment. During his more extreme bouts I even asked him to leave the classroom on a couple of occasions. The last week of class while I was seated on a stool behind a podium and surrounded by students, therefore rendering me incapable of moving to any large degree, this student pushed his way through the crowd so he was next to me and rubbed himself up against me in an obvious effort to intimidate me.

Following this incident I contacted my direct supervisor who I had been keeping informed throughout the semester, explained that I thought it would be extremely beneficial for this particular student (and some troubled friends/classmates of his who drew to him like magnets) to receive a firm lecture from the department chair himself regarding common courtesy, showing respect for instructors, appropriate classroom etiquette at an institution of higher learning, not to mention the basics of sexual harassment. She said she'd speak with the chair but wasn't hopeful he'd agree to taking such action. While speaking with her I also chose to elaborate on the fact that taking NO action would send the message, to our next generation of leaders, that not only are their actions acceptable but being personally responsible was a thing of the past. I ended the conversation telling her point blank, that if this particular student chose to press up against me again he'd get a knee to the groin hard enough to drop him and likely ruin his opportunities for ever fathering a child. She said she wouldn't blame me.

My final thoughts on the experiences of last semester are, why give the best I have to someone who is only going to piss on it?

Fast forward to present day: I typically don't teach during the summer months. They reserve those classes for full professors with tenure who are being paid regularly and may as well make themselves productive. Being bored, not wanting to dwell on the negative experiences of the past, searching for new opportunities, and hoping to add a little variety to my life I decided to apply for several jobs. Some of you may have read the blog about the position at the prison with the warden's office. I chose to cancel that interview. After all, I'm looking for positive changes in my life and maybe a more simplistic approach to life. After much searching, I decided to take a job at the Shopette on Hill Air Force Base. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's basically a mini-mall (similar to all mini-malls across America, although NOT in Utah) where military personnel can purchase odds and ends, coffee, cigarettes, and booze. Yep! I'm the cigarette girl!



I'm the new kid, I say little (if anything) about my personal life and I certainly haven't announced my professional or educational accolades to anyone. I just smile and am friendly to the customers and staff (in spite of the cattiness that rears its ugly head when there are more than two women within close proximity of one another … and I just let that roll of my back). I do my job and leave at the end of my shift knowing full well I'm leaving everything behind me. I don't have to go home and grade papers, field telephone calls and email messages from students, reiterate the same principle time and time again (not because it's difficult, but because no one gave a damn to listen the first time), and if someone does by chance sexually harass or bully me I'll simply page a manager or Security Police (and we've actually had them escort people off the base before). In short, I don't have to deal with a whole lot of drama.

I get to use the fabulous gym without fear of running into my students like I did at school, I get to make casual conversation with people I know or am getting to know as they come and go from the facility, and I'm guaranteed to be out of there when the clock strikes quitting time.

I don't love it or hate it … I really haven't been there long enough to go either way … I just do my thing, smiling throughout the day, and then I'm off!

Nonetheless, I do have a few concerns. Is what I "do" a reflection of who I am? Because I'm the cigarette girl instead of the educator with fancy certificates in dusty frames hung across the wall, does that make me less appealing in the eyes of … anyone? In some ways I feel like I'm right back where I was in high school working at the mall. But all my life experiences since those innocent years will never allow me to be the naïve girl, dressed ever so fashionably, strutting across the sales floor without a care in the world.

It's nice to know that I can go back to teaching if/when I decide. I've also put out some feelers to other colleges, tech schools, and even explored the world of tutoring. Regardless of where I go or what I choose to do I'll always be a woman with a petite physical stature; both which can be perceived as weaknesses or vulnerabilities.

Have any of you ever made a drastic change in hopes of giving yourself some breathing room, some peace in your life? Did you regret it or was it beneficial?

How much does a person's job effect your perception of who they are?

Will there ever come a day when a person isn't judged, intimidated, or treated differently based on their gender and/or physical size?

The Single Gal & The Pickel Jar

From the moment I sat in the sand by the monkey bars in fifth grade holding hands with James, through many school dances, senior prom, college dating, frat parties, engagement, marriage, divorce, and back to dating, the vicious circle continues of whether or not you really need or want a man in your life. As of late I've read many blogs discussing commitment phobic men, cheaters, break-ups, psycho-bitch chicks, and strategies for successful dating. I, like many other women, have given all of these topics a lot of thought, possibly too much.

Upon my return to the dating world after a decade with one man in my life I was amazed at how dating had evolved. Online dating was now more socially acceptable, if not safer and preferable to meeting men while out and about town. Group dating was nixed because people were too busy with their individual lives to actually make room for an entire group of six ;) and having a guy actually pick you up at the door was NOT even a consideration until a minimum of six to eight weeks of dating them and a serious analysis of how long you thought the guy would really be around. Was he "relationship" material? Was he safe enough to invite over to watch a movie? Do you like him enough to allow the neighbors to see yet another car in your driveway ... The questions go on and on ...

I've been in the "single again" category for 5 1/2 years now. During this time I've taken many dating respites to "find myself," get grounded, and then return to dating promising myself to do it all differently the next time around. Sadly not much changes.

Turn the page.

So my kids like pickles. Yeah pickles. About a month ago I bought one BIG jar of pickles.



I couldn't open the lid. I borrowed a neighbor's husband to try to open the jar, and even started considering dates that might be acceptable pickle jar opening material. The neighbor's husband couldn't open the jar. I briefly pondered what their sex life might be like considering this guy couldn't even open the BIG pickle jar.

Isn't strength one of the traits we consider during dating? I know physical strength isn't EVERYTHING, but certainly that's part of the initial attraction. Doesn't every woman kind of want a man who makes her feel safe? My mind begins to wander and for a moment I consider asking the wife beater across the street to open the pickle jar. Then a messy image of shattered glass and a pile of pickles crosses my mind and I decide to forgo the wife beater.

A couple days ago my father came over to my house and I asked him to open the pickle jar. He's always been my hero, a strong man, and enjoys helping me out from time to time so I figured this was a grand idea. He couldn't open the BIG pickle jar. We both laugh and just stare at this enormous jar of pickles I'd purchased. Before my grandfather passed away he had made an industrial strength jar opener which my mother has in her kitchen. My father directs me to bring the pickle jar over during my next visit so as to give that a try.

Yesterday I decide to pay them a visit. I jump in my car, put the pickle jar between my legs, and begin driving to their home. I get stopped at a red light next to a man in a big truck. He peers down at me with a strange and laughable expression on his face. I feel like jumping out of my car to see if he can open the pickle jar; but the light turns green and again I'm off to my parents' home.

The industrial strength jar opener actually works and the BIG pickle jar is FINALLY open! We're all very excited and briefly discuss the millions of dollars that could be made had we patented and sold the industrial strength jar opener. I even suggest the name "BIG ASS PICKLE JAR OPENER." We celebrate the opening of the BIG pickle jar with a glass of wine, and of course a pickle.

After my visit I have to drive home with the BIG pickle jar. Fate is against me and I hit every red light between their home and mine. I get more strange facial expressions and am puzzled at how many trucks are on the road this particular day; or are there always that many driving about town and I just never noticed before?

Turn the page.

I have a date and need to get ready. I begin pondering the usual things that go through a girl's mind as she prepares for a date and then I stop for a moment and say to myself, "Sometimes a girl just wants to know a guy is going to be around long enough to open her pickle jar."

Another Dating Disaster ... A.D.D.

Okay friends, I decided to take the easiest way out of this and simply post the last bulletin I put up as a blog. I'm still receiving comments via private messages and some sniveling whiny remarks taking this VERY personally! Too many men took my challenge to "MAN UP" as an invitation to woman bash to me personally. So NOT cool! Unfortunately, or fortunately, I'm not sure yet, they DIDN'T read my DISCLAIMER!!! So I blocked some and deleted others ... I win ... YAY me!!!

TO SOME WHINERS WHO HAVEN'T BEEN BLOCKED OR DELETED YET, IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY POST IT FOR ALL TO SEE SO I AND OTHERS CAN COMMENT BACK!!! IT'S CALLED A DIALOGUE!!! IF I JUST WANTED TO HEAR A LECTURE (MONOLOGUE) I WOULD HAVE ASKED FOR ONE!!!

By the way, I was right about my prediction regarding Speedy which you can read as a post on my page. I REALLY can't believe I'm going to say this, but I AGREE with him!!!

Here it is. Comment away guys and dolls!

**********

After further consideration, let's just call it ADD ... I do believe in a somewhat twisted way it fits! ;p

My thanks to ALL of you who chose to MAN UP and respond!!! Kudos to you!!!

Following is my original bulletin; the summary of responses are at the bottom:

**********

"NEXT! Would Bachelor 987 please step up to the plate?"

I'm posting this as a bulletin rather than a blog because NO MAN IS EVER GOING TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION PUBLICLY!!! As a matter of fact I'm NOT going to hold my breath that I'll get ANY male responses ... other than maybe Speedy who will say he's never been in that position ;p

BUT, if you choose to MAN UP and answer, I dare you to post it on my page, or just message it to me.

Okay, here goes nothing:

If you go on a date, she's not into you and doesn't want to see you again, how do you like to be told? Is there a nice way to break up? (I'm talking "just dating" break up, NOT "relationship" break up ... that's a blog for another day!)

Disclaimer: This is NOT directed towards anyone in particular on this site who I may know personally, have met briefly, a friend of a friend, or even those of you I may have spoken to ... I'm catching a lot of heat for my "Women are the new men" headline, but it stays ... at least for now ;p

T

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Summary of responses:

The majority of men said, there's just really no easy way to go about it. As much as I appreciate ALL of their responses, most of them were not willing to say, "This is how I'd like to hear the news that she's just not into me." However, without exception they ALL said "dating sucks" or made similar comments which made me feel like all of my girlfriends and me might not be aliens after all! YAY for us!!! I knew we weren't ... but you know the whole Mars Venus "thing" (Thanks Peppa!) ...

Two men differed from the crowd.



The first said, at the end of the date just simply say, "It was a pleasure meeting you but I am not feeling a connection. Thank you for getting together and best wishes."

I like the honest approach, however speaking from a woman's perspective, and a petite one at that, if their angry text and email messages are any sign of how they'd respond face-to-face I think women should only date if their packing a firearm.

I'm sorry to say this but men can be mean and SCARY!

The second said:

I'm going to paraphrase because this guy had A LOT to say: Be nice, but honest. Tell him the things you DO like about him and then tell him you don't have any feelings for him and never will. If the guy has it together he will not pursue you anymore. If you continue to see him and don't tell him he'll just lose all respect for you and end up hating you for wasting his time, energy, and playing games.

I think I like it, but would still do it from a safe distance.

I'll likely blog all of this later for any of my blogger friends that care to comment further!

Again, thanks to all the guys that chimed in!