So Tired I Forgot a Title...

Hi Guys.

I'm not being elusive on purpose. I'm just busy as hell: Work late, come home and organize/separate/clean something then fall into bed exhausted.

And my parents come tomorrow so it may be a few more days.

But I don't want to disappear again without saying thank you to everyone for all their kind words this week. It is hard to continue writing when I don't know who is reading or what their motives are, but I do tend to think that my Friends WAY outweigh my Foes (Ex's... In-laws...whatever).

I will be back soon, but until then, I'll leave you with this:

You know how I sometimes get music stuck in my head for days?

This week it's been Molly Shannon saying "Goodbye, my lesbian lover!" (from the movie, "Serendipity")

All. Week. Long.

I blame Wannabe Hippie.

500 Down...

Hehehe.

Nothing like writing a post about S. E. X. and then disappearing for a week and a half...

Well.

This is my 500th post. I thought, for this event, I was going to write something witty and incredibly insightful, perhaps on the Art of Writing, perhaps on the Psychology of Why we do it, perhaps on how my life has changed so drastically since I started this nearly three-and-a-half years ago.

I even thought, before I remembered that this was my 500th, about quitting altogether. I don't write Political Pieces. I don't keep a commentary on Pop Culture. I don't write a Mommy Blog that other Mommys can relate to. I write Me. What I think. What I feel. What I do day-to-day and why a certain instance cracked me up enough to share it with you or how some Crazy from my job enraged me enough to want to rant about it. (On the Internet. With reckless abandon.) I started this blog back in 2003, while stationed overseas so my family and friends had an easy and quick (and free) way to keep track of what we were up to and how the kids were growing and enjoying Japan. But as we transitioned back into a more mundane life in the States, the tenor of my writing changed. It became less of a running commentary on the thing that is Life In Japan, and more of an escape for me.

And now, unfortunately, much of what is happening in my day-to-day life is not only not funny, it's painfully private. And that makes much of what I have to say off-limits. I know that there are a few old acquaintances reading, I can only assume to see the spectacle that is Paige and Tater's Divorce. (Sorry to disappoint you. You will see none of that here.) I suspect that my In-Laws read and as I'm divorcing their Golden Boy, I prefer not to give them any more ammo to hate me with. I fear that T himself is reading and, frankly, I hate feeling that he knows things about me that I don't know about him any longer. (On the other hand, it gives him a regular-ish update of what the kids are doing - you know - who is earning blue ribbons swimming, who is catching himself on fire, who is the girlfriend/boyfriend of the week...)

The bottom line is that I'm unsure if I should continue or even if I can continue while preserving a huge chunk of myself. I'm not used to that. The Paige you've seen for the past 3 years is mostly unedited and honest. I've felt more and more, the need to censor myself and if you know me in person, you know that I'm by nature open and frank; self-censorship is not my strong suit.

I don't know. I'm still pondering. Perhaps this is just one of these pesky speed bumps that all of us writers feel from time to time and in the end, I won't be able to stop.

What I do know is that this is what I am feeling today, this very moment.

But tomorrow is another day.

Sex and the Single Girl

I was horrified, recently, to realize that I can tear up my "List of Five".

You'd think this would be good news, as I am now free to rendezvous with whomever I choose, but really, it just adds a whole new stress to the already sickening business of divorce. (Not that I think Matthew McConnaghey has been waiting in the wings for me to become unattached!) But here's the thing: The thought of consequence-free hooking up with a super-sexy celebrity while married, is fun. It's a slightly naughty, impossible fantasy - one you know will never happen and, quite frankly, would have sent me screaming in the opposite direction at the opportunity, as the thought of actually being intimate with someone new, famous or not, makes my stomach turn backflips.

While long-time married couples lament the tedium of sex with the same person forever and ever, the reality of someday starting a sexual relationship with someone new scares the bejeezuz out of me. While still married, I could kid myself that even though I'm almost 40, and 15 lbs heavier, and softer, and all birth-marked-up, he could look past all that and see only the 24-year-old girl he first met. At the very least, he could remember that I was once super-fit, toned, and scar-free.

We had 16 years to perfect the moves that garnered results. We didn't have to wonder any longer, "does he like this?", "will this hurt her?"... we made it past the shyness of new love and graduated to matter-of-fact sharing of information that made each of us more comfortable and confident in the bedroom. The thought of starting over, in a new relationship, is just horrifying enough to keep me holed up in my house, living the single life vicariously through "Sex and the City", unattached friends, and Chick Flicks. (Pass the popcorn, please.) I do suppose that someday, when I meet someone new, the natural progression of a relationship will lead me to intimacy without fear. But until then, lovemaking with a new partner is not so much a Fantasy as it is Scary as Hell.

I suppose the moral of this story is that an adequate sex life is not enough to save an otherwise dysfunctional relationship and the freedom to meet someone new is a double-edged sword.

File this in the TMI File.

Then feel free to forward it to Hugh Jackman.

For Alison:

Do you like this one better...? xoxo

Weekend At Brandi's

It was a pretty quiet weekend around here, and Dillon was working all weekend, so Mackenzie and I had to amuse ourselves with the camera. But not before we (meaning, I) commenced with Happy Hour:



See how happy I am on Friday Night?:



Mackenzie and I made a pizza and started clicking away with the camera, taking scads of photos that we choose not to share. Some of them were less than flattering, though fun to take. This one was borderline:



We crack ourselves up:



Saturday was the first beautiful day of Spring. Mac went to the school to play soccer with her friends, and I took a nice long walk. Then for lunch I had an apple:



There was some homework being done, and as Mac is terrible about picking up after herself, these pencils were left out on the table. I liked the colors enough to immortalize them:



Saturday consisted of more Household Separating/Home-Selling Preparation so by Saturday night we were exhausted and needed to chill out and watch Bridget Jones's Diary. Taiko seemed to enjoy it:



Sunday morning started a little slow around here:



I joined a Flickr Group - 52 Weeks - one shot a week for a year. Here's the first. Sunday morning, wet hair from the shower, no makeup:



And, it was warm enough today to go sockless for the first time in F O R E V E R:



I tried to change the time on Lucy, but I couldn't figure it out. So Dillon and I broke out the Instruction Manual. It told us to push the "Clock Button". I don't have one of those. Seriously. No button. And we pushed all the others Just In Case... no luck. I think it has something to do with the Navigation System displacing some of the buttons. Maybe they just forgot to put mine back. I wonder how many other calls the Acura dealership is going to get tomorrow...

(Edit for the Googlers today: Welcome! The clock can be changed by pushing the AC/Info button then push the touchscreen button in the top right corner, "More", which will take you to the next screen and you can change it there. And I figured it out all by myself. Dillon just didn't know there were more screens... :) )

Dillon's girlfriend stayed for dinner (pasta with scallops, sundried tomatoes, and mushrooms in a butter/white wine sauce and salad), and with Daylight Savings Time instituted, the weekend was over.

Un-Social Drinking

So. I've been thinking:

Back in the day when I was married (remember that?), I used to drink alone all the time. I mean, when your husband is deployed for 6 months (or more) at a time, drinking alone becomes a necessity; you can't plan a dinner party every time you want to have a glass of wine, simply to stave-off any presumptions of "issues". And I think this is pretty normal for Navy wives. I can't speak for other branches, but I know my girlfriends indulge in the same healthy manner as myself. (I don't know about civilian wives either. I suppose I will learn.) Though he was gone, the fact that he was coming home made it seem ok. It made it seem as though I wasn't actually drinking Alone. I was just drinking in a different Time Zone.

But now, when I have a drink in the evening (not every evening), I feel a tad guilty about it. As if I'm doing something wrong. Something potentially harmful and somewhat improper. Pouring myself a glass of wine in the evening has an air of pathetic-ness to it that didn't exist before. Before, having a glass of wine while making dinner for my family seemed regular. It was just what I did. Now, having a glass of wine with the grilled cheese sandwich or the salad we threw together feels a little wicked. It makes me feel as though I have to keep peeking over my shoulder to ensure that no one gets the wrong impression of me now.

And I don't like it because I'm the same Me as I was Before.

Do you guys drink alone? What do you think about it?

Midnight Edit - So I was just thinking about it, and I think what makes me feel like it's not ok now, is that in the event of an emergency, I'm the only parent the kids have to come to their aid and even one glass puts me close to the limit - I'm still a "One and you're done" kind of thinker. Even when T was still living here, if I was the only parent home while Dillon was out, I didn't drink at all lest I get the Dreaded Phonecall. Now I'm always the only parent available. On the other hand, I am certain that while completely abstaining from the drink "in case of emergency," will make me prepared for any crisis at every possible second, it will also make me cranky.

(I actually wrote about this here last year.)

Looking For Nice Things to Say

You know how your mom used to say, "If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all"?

This is where I've been all week. I was damn busy with meetings and working late and knitting 2 scarves, and when I wasn't doing that, I was just avoiding the computer in general because it felt too much like work (which, of course, brought me back up to 81 emails in my inbox...). I just couldn't find the humor in anything, and everything seemed So Hard, making me So Tired. Yet, I wasn't sleeping. S-T-U-P-I-D.

But I'm feeling better today:

• I finally paid my bills (which should have sent be back into a depression - now I understand that 'turnip-thing' people are always saying about money)
• I FINALLY solved the Great Roofing Mystery at work
  
• Tomorrow's Friday (and I have limes)
• I talked to an old friend on the phone today (who always makes me feel sunshiney)
• ...and to my sister (who always makes me laugh So Hard)
  
• I started a book last night (only read 15 pages, but hey, it's a start)
• I have my inbox back down to 26 emails (some of which I should just phone-call return)
• I have 2 dates scheduled for April* (and I'm working on another)
• and the temperatures are going back up (Yay, Spring!)

*NO, not Real Dates (like with a boy). Dinner dates (like with friends). Duh.

The Brandi-Parents are coming to visit for Spring Break and I'm really looking forward to that. I love my family and they always cheer me up. It's because they're a little bit Crazy. For reals.

I'm getting my hair highlighted*. That's exciting. It always makes me feel so SoCal and that makes me happy. (Until my roots start to show and then I curse the idea of haircolor manipulation. But then I remember that I'll be living at home with my own Personal Hairdresser at my beck and call and I get over it.)

(*Hey Mom, will you highlight my hair when you come? Mac's too? Thanks!)

All that's bugging me now is that I keep smelling men's cologne. The closest thing to a man in my life right now is the dog, lying in Tater's old spot on my bed. :) And he's nothing like a man. He's not even anything like a male dog...

Trainwreck'd

Headache.

Tired.

Busy.

Overwhelmed.

Spent.

Emotionally void.

Maybe one more day....

Then and Now. Now Kind of Sucks.

It's 9:15 Friday night.

I just got up from a 90-minute nap.

Twenty years ago, I would have been upstairs in my closet picking out some Club Wear (probably to include a mini-skirt of some sort), then off to the bathroom to apply frosty blue eyeshadow before the coup-de-gras: Aqua-Net on my Big Bangs, completing the Classic 80's Look.

Tonight, I'm having a sensible snack and counting the minutes until I can really go to bed, with no regret for missing the Friday Night Bar Scene.

So sad.

My Favorite Stalker

Do you have a sister*? Does she stalk you?

I just got off the phone with my sister for the FOURTH time today. (To be fair, I did call her once. To state that the Chorus teacher was 12 minutes late in letting the kids leave and that if I had kept her waiting with Mackenzie for 12 minutes after practice was supposed to be over, she would be incensed by the "thoughtless parent" who kept her waiting after school. ... I'm just sayin'.)

Don't mind me. I'm just cranky. My back hurts.

What was I saying? Oh yes. My sister. Her best trick is calling me when she's in the car going to pick up this kid or drop off that kid. Or during times like this morning, when she and the 5 year old were headed to Indianapolis for an eye appointment. She was hostage in her car for 60 miles and called me. Despite the fact that she knew I was at work. So I talked to her for longer than I'm willing to admit to you, dear Internet, lest you are actually my boss (Hi Beth!) and you decide to fire me.

Then, seven hours later, I called her while waiting for Mac. To commence with the bitching. Remember?

But she was at Target buying pink and purple glasses with "diamonds" (not for her, for the 5 year old, duh!) so she passed me off to each of her three daughters before hollering into the phone, "Can't talk! Call you back!"

And then, half-an-hour later, she did. So we talked about cooking and new recipes she has recently tried. (Including one from Real Simple with the unfortunate and stoopid name, "Quesadilla Pie." What it is, people, is a stacked enchilada! What redneck decided to name it "Quesadilla Pie"? It has cheese in it. That's where the Quesadilla-ness ends... Therefore, I forbid her to use that title and would only talk to her if she called it "Stacked Enchilada.") So we talked for a while about that, and how much we hate Sandra Lee because it is not ok to match your menu with your outfit with your curtains with your table setting. Yet, we still watch her because sometimes "Semi-Homemade" is way easier than "Totally Homemade." Then she had to go because she is not divorced and she must make dinner for her Husband and Offspring.

Then, mere minutes later, she called me back. Because she started to panic that the recipe called for a 9-in pan or a 2 qt. casserole and her tortillas weren't! going to! fit! But then she tried it and they did. Crisis averted. Which is a good thing, because she wasn't going to like my idea of carefully trimming each tortilla with her kitchen shears. Muahahahaha! But then she called it "Quesadilla Pie." Three more times.

Then I hung up on her.

I haven't heard from her since.

*A sister who called me up to start a Blog for her so she could join in the fun, then played for 2 weeks before disappearing forever to let her page languish and stall on the Information Superhighway.

Paige's Perfect Pear Salad

Paige’s Perfect Pear Salad

Spring Mix lettuce
1 1/2 cups Gorgonzola, crumbled
1 Asian pear or 2 regular pears
1/2 cup chopped basil
1 cup candied walnuts*

Toss.

Dressing:
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
1 1/2 cups canola oil
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
Squeeze of lemon

In a blender, whirl vinegar, salt, pepper and mustard on high while slowly adding oil. (Be careful here because the dressing thickens up quickly. Also, sometimes, I put the basil in the dressing and not tossed with the salad.)

*Candied Walnuts (Or Pecans):
1 cup walnuts (or pecans)
2 tablespoons corn syrup
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
pinch cayenne

Preheat oven to 325. Spray baking sheet with Pam. Combine all ingredients in a bowl; toss to coat.

Bake until nuts are golden brown and sugar mixture is bubbling, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes. Cool completely. (Or just buy them already candied at Trader Joe's.)

Photo Update

Yoga. Trying desperately to re-center myself.



What divorced women eat for dinner:


The state of the floor when I made Mac's Valentines for her because she waited until the Very Last Minute to handle it. (Then school was cancelled the next day, anyway. Figures.)


Boys are weird. They were on their way up to the 9:30 Club for a 'Slayer' Concert. They had fun, I suppose. D came home with a fat lip and a limp from the Mosh Pit.



Haniwa Horse


Homework Girl


Friday Night Lights


Sunday Morning Snow

Mackenzie in the Window

Traveling Journal Update

It's been finished for over a week, but I'm a little swamped here (evidence the 85 emails I'm working my way through in my Inbox) so I'm just getting around to posting this:

Leah has finished with the book~







Thank you, Leah! She has sent it off and I hear it's arrived, in the Snowy Midwest, at Bec's house.

Have fun, Bec!

(Other Paige, you're on deck!)

No, Really, I LOOOOOOVE My Job

It's been a long time since I've ranted about this, but you may recall that my job is in Property Management. I am the Homeowners Association Customer Service Rep/Site Manager for my neighborhood. It's just Me, part-time, and Wiley, the full-time maintenance man, against 500 homeowners. We are hideously outnumbered. (Well, Beth too, but she's not on site.)

So.

The residents of my neighborhood (aka Satan's Minions) must have heard my whining about how self-involved I've become lately and have come to the rescue by taking my mind off myself and focusing all my hostility and indignation back towards them. (It's true, I take my job too personally and have no business working in Property Management - just ask Beth. She agrees.)

Anyway, You, loyal readers, reap the benefits of that. Cheers to Satan's Minions!

*******

This is what I have learned during the past 3 days of Phone Answering Goddess Goodness:

A) It is, apparently, My Fault that the "Wintery Mix," which blanketed the DC Metro area last Tuesday has hardened into a frigid, crystalline, Siberian wasteland, making it virtually impossible to plow, much less shovel allowing freedom to the cars that remain ice-bound about the neighborhood. Residents - please discuss amongst yourselves the tragedy that has befallen yourselves whilst stuck in your cozy, lighted, heated homes for the past four days. Mr. Shackelton, we'll start with you.

2) The design flaw on Every Single Snow Plow on Earth, which allows some snow to cascade out the sides during the plowing motion of the vehicle is also My Fault. When this snow forms a little frozen glacier behind the cars in our parking lots, I am the Responsible Party for removing every last snowflake from behind Mrs. Bitch-a-lot's Pontiac so she can go stock up on more Bridge Mix for tonight's card game.

C) I have it on Excellent Authority (Thank You, Mrs. Nasty-Pants) that "when [I] plowed the streets, [I] did it wrong and left too much snow in the streets and piled the rest up in poor places." (This was a paraphrase, because quite honestly, after a few seconds of this call, all I heard was Charlie Brown's teacher. But the message was clear. It was My Fault.)

D) Crazy Grass Lady called to let me know that "her car had been plowed in and she couldn't get out for her CAT Scan which she needs because she has some disease (again, not listening), but that if the maintenance man - what's his name again?" Wiley "Oh, yes, Wiley - could come over, she has an ice pick that he can use and it's not really an ice pick, but it has a flat blade and it's adequate for chopping up ice, but she can't do it (she tried) because she's too weak but if he can come and help her, she will leave it inside the back gate and ...... blah, blah, blah ...... and she's willing to tip Wiley if he can just come over because she has a CAT Scan......" (That loud sound you hear is me banging my head against the wall.)

Wiley went over. I hope he got his tip.

E) Slow-Talking Man With Strange Voice Inflections called to let me know that "they didn't plow C** Drive because he's looking at it (he didn't actually walk over there but he can see it out his bedroom window) and he knows it hasn't been plowed because he can't see any pavement." Well, Mr. Slow-Talking Man With Strange Voice Inflection, we've surveyed the entire neighborhood and it has been plowed. I believe you can't see any pavement because that street is in the shade and the snow and ice hasn't started melting off yet. "No, on the street in front of my house, I can see pavement, so since I can't see any pavement on C** Dr., I don't think it's been plowed." Well, Mr. Slow-Talking Man With Strange Voice Inflection, the street in front of your house is in the sun and the snow has started melting there, that's why you can see pavement. The street in back is in the shade and hasn't started melting off yet. "I don't think so." Ok, thank you for calling Mr. You're An Idiot and It Scares the Crap Out of Me That You're A High School Teacher!

F) Crazy Grass Lady, Part Deux - "...also (as if she had NEVER EVEN STOPPED TALKING), they pushed too much snow over the sewer behind building 21, beside the lamp post, and it will never melt and when it does melt, it will be unable to drain, forming a pond in that portion of the parking area and then it will freeze at night and we will have an ice rink and that will be terribly dangerous..." (On the other hand, if you fall and damage your brain centers for speech, you can never call me again and ramble on in that insane way that you do that makes me Actually Crawl Up Walls, while rolling my eyes and sticking an ice pick in my ears...)

G) Ms. No Wonder She Never Got Married called to let me know it was My Fault "that she was missing work on Wednesday since her street hadn't been plowed yet". Ms. No Wonder You Never Got Married, that street is County-Owned and the Association doesn't maintain it. It's the County's responsibility to plow it. "Well, where are they? I'm missing work!" in a very high, insidious shrieky voice. I don't know, Ms. No Wonder You Never Got Married, it was not MY day to be in charge of the COUNTY!

(No, I didn't really say that, but don't you wish I had?)

Drill Down Stats:

• 47 Residents Bitched that we didn't plow early enough. (This is because it was not our community's turn to be First.)
• 1 Resident Bitched that we plowed - it would have been better if we hadn't. (I told her I had nothing to say to that. Seriously. I did totally say that.)
  
• 1 Resident anonymously called and Bitched in her shaky old-lady voice that we need to come over Right Now to see what a terrible job they did plowing T****** Ct. and then hung up before I could let her know that I recognized her voice (because if you're going to call and complain constantly then you lose the ability to be anonymous. Idiot.).
  
• 1 Resident Bitched that her sidewalk was not clean enough and if she had an emergency, the ambulance couldn't get to her. (After assuring her that the EMT's would, in fact, reach her in an emergency, and assuring her that the plow job was acceptable, I asked her: If you died, would it really be all that much of a tragedy? I mean, honestly, look how miserable you are. ...Except that I didn't actually say that last part out loud. I only thought it. Because I'm divorced now and poor and I need this job, awful as it is, for the next 4 months.)
• 1 Resident Bitched that Wiley didn't shovel ALL the sidewalks in the neighborhood (realize, please, that this is a job that would take a crew of 50 an entire day or more to accomplish). That was just stupid.
  
• 7 Nasty emails...

...and a Partridge in a Pear Treeeeeeeeeeeeeee!