This is my first Fun Monday post. Several blog pals participate in this and I always wondered how to join the club. Finally figured it out. So the task for this week is to write about a website that has changed our lives, that we can't live without, that deserves a MacArthur Genius grant.
This required a bit of thought. But then it was so obvious. Anyone who's read my blog will know I've mentioned this website a few times in the past. It's www.amazon.com of course.
At first I used it just for books. Then I discovered I could do all my Christmas and birthday shopping with it. Brilliant! Genius! And so easy. Some items can be gift-wrapped for you too. And if they forget to do it, as they did this last Christmas, they email to tell you and refund your money.
Its British cousin, www.amazon.co.uk, isn't quite as comprehensive, but is coming along.
Have any of you read about the founder of amazon? Jeff Bezos started it in 1994 under the name Cadabra, according to Wikipedia, but changed it because it sounded too much like cadaver. Unlike many internet companies of its ilk, it followed a slow-growth formula, not expecting a profit for four or five years. It actually made a profit for the first time in 2002. Jeff Bezos was named Time Magazine's Person of the Year in 1999. He revolutionized not only book shopping, but on-line shopping. And since shopping, like it or not, is something we all have to do from time to time, isn't it great that it can be so easy?
I also have to add that I have never had a negative experience in any way with Amazon. If deliveries will be delayed they tell you. They tell you when items have been shipped and approximate date for delivery. If only everything in life worked as well.
I went away after writing this and realised I hadn't said how Amazon has changed my life. I have quite a large family in the U.S. spread out from Wyoming to Florida. Although I don't buy for everyone, I do buy for my parents, stepparents, brother, sister, stepbrother, his wife, their four children, all my sister's grandchildren, and my stepsister's two children. That's a lot of presents, and the time involved in shopping for the presents and the cost of sending them overseas just kept getting higher and higher. Then a couple of years ago I thought I'd see about buying over the internet. I started with Amazon because I thought I'd buy a few books. Then I saw all the affiliates and realised I could do everyone. They make it very easy for me. They save all the addresses I have presents shipped to so I don't have to keep looking them up. Also, with the exchange rate as it is, it makes it a lot cheaper too.
Monday, 14 January 2008
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
7 Unusual Facts You Probably Could Live a Lifetime Without
Rob Clack, a new (to me) blogger has tagged me to write seven unusual facts about myself. Given that I am almost too honest in this blog, I don't know if there's much left to tell about myself, but I shall try. Rob has had a far more unusual life than me by the way, so I feel quite out of my depth.
Fact 1: I had tuberculosis as a child apparently. For several years my sister, who also had it, and I had annual chest X-rays. My mother always told me that if I smoked, the scar tissue would open up and I would get TB again. The last time I had a chest X-ray, as an adult, I mentioned the scar tissue and was told there was no scar tissue. I did smoke briefly as a teen-ager, but I think my mother's brainwashing did the trick. But what happened to the scar tissue? Was there ever any scar tissue?
Fact 2: Still on the medical front, I had a severe allergic reaction when I was 25 to the antibiotic Macrodantin. At least I think it was Macrodantin. The only way to know for sure is to take Macrodantin again, and I don't ever want to endure a severe allergic reaction again. It started with a swollen knuckle on my right hand and an itchy spot on the inside of my left knee. By evening my hands had swollen to three times their size and I itched all over. By the end of the week I was swollen from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I had several injections of adrenalin and Benadryl. When I went to the emergency room the first night the admitting nurse thought my boyfriend had beaten me up. The other nurses apparently hadn't seen an allergic reaction before and gathered round me poking my skin, which hurt a lot.
Fact 3: I inherited my dad's teeth. He has a gap the size of the Mississippi in the front. Mine was the size of the Suwannee but I was quite self-conscious about it and wore braces for 15 months to get rid of it. It's gone, but other smaller gaps opened up later. My teeth also are slightly discolored because I was given tetracycline when I was 4 (maybe for the TB?).
Fact 4: My feet grew half a size when I was pregnant with my daughter. I buy size 6 shoes in the UK and size 8 in the US, but I'm actually more like a 5 3/4 UK and 7 3/4 US.
Fact 5: Perhaps I shouldn't admit to this one. What the hay. When I was 17 I kissed soccer player Rodney Marsh. He was playing for the Tampa Bay Rowdys at the time. My friend was a big fan and had found out when his plane was landing. We rushed over to Tampa Airport and waited by the gate, which you could do in those days. A newspaper photographer came up to me and said he'd take my picture if I kissed Rodney. I did, and he did. Then he (the photographer, not Rodney, who was with his wife) tried to ask me out. I declined.
Fact 6: When I worked at a newspaper, I was given an opportunity to start my own special sports section, despite knowing not very much about sports. The special section never saw the light of day but I stayed in sports for a couple of years, much to the consternation of my fellow journalists and first husband. What I learned is that men value sports a lot, far more than they should be valued, and that sports, despite what these men think (and it is men only) is not rocket science.
Fact 7: When I was 9, I developed several nervous habits because I was moved to a private school and was academically behind everyone else (I was also a year younger). I would wake at 4 a.m. to finish homework I'd failed to complete the night before. I bit my nails. I bounced my knees all the time. And I started to pull my hair out -- literally. I had a bald spot the size of a silver dollar or £2 coin before too long. It was vanity that made me stop finally. People were starting to comment on the bald spot if I didn't manage to cover it with the rest of my hair. So I stopped all the nervous habits quite quickly.
Now to complete this I must tag seven people. They are Swearing Mother, softinthehead, j., aoj and the lurchers, -ann, queeny, and pantheist mom. I would like to get to know each of these bloggers better.
Fact 1: I had tuberculosis as a child apparently. For several years my sister, who also had it, and I had annual chest X-rays. My mother always told me that if I smoked, the scar tissue would open up and I would get TB again. The last time I had a chest X-ray, as an adult, I mentioned the scar tissue and was told there was no scar tissue. I did smoke briefly as a teen-ager, but I think my mother's brainwashing did the trick. But what happened to the scar tissue? Was there ever any scar tissue?
Fact 2: Still on the medical front, I had a severe allergic reaction when I was 25 to the antibiotic Macrodantin. At least I think it was Macrodantin. The only way to know for sure is to take Macrodantin again, and I don't ever want to endure a severe allergic reaction again. It started with a swollen knuckle on my right hand and an itchy spot on the inside of my left knee. By evening my hands had swollen to three times their size and I itched all over. By the end of the week I was swollen from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I had several injections of adrenalin and Benadryl. When I went to the emergency room the first night the admitting nurse thought my boyfriend had beaten me up. The other nurses apparently hadn't seen an allergic reaction before and gathered round me poking my skin, which hurt a lot.
Fact 3: I inherited my dad's teeth. He has a gap the size of the Mississippi in the front. Mine was the size of the Suwannee but I was quite self-conscious about it and wore braces for 15 months to get rid of it. It's gone, but other smaller gaps opened up later. My teeth also are slightly discolored because I was given tetracycline when I was 4 (maybe for the TB?).
Fact 4: My feet grew half a size when I was pregnant with my daughter. I buy size 6 shoes in the UK and size 8 in the US, but I'm actually more like a 5 3/4 UK and 7 3/4 US.
Fact 5: Perhaps I shouldn't admit to this one. What the hay. When I was 17 I kissed soccer player Rodney Marsh. He was playing for the Tampa Bay Rowdys at the time. My friend was a big fan and had found out when his plane was landing. We rushed over to Tampa Airport and waited by the gate, which you could do in those days. A newspaper photographer came up to me and said he'd take my picture if I kissed Rodney. I did, and he did. Then he (the photographer, not Rodney, who was with his wife) tried to ask me out. I declined.
Fact 6: When I worked at a newspaper, I was given an opportunity to start my own special sports section, despite knowing not very much about sports. The special section never saw the light of day but I stayed in sports for a couple of years, much to the consternation of my fellow journalists and first husband. What I learned is that men value sports a lot, far more than they should be valued, and that sports, despite what these men think (and it is men only) is not rocket science.
Fact 7: When I was 9, I developed several nervous habits because I was moved to a private school and was academically behind everyone else (I was also a year younger). I would wake at 4 a.m. to finish homework I'd failed to complete the night before. I bit my nails. I bounced my knees all the time. And I started to pull my hair out -- literally. I had a bald spot the size of a silver dollar or £2 coin before too long. It was vanity that made me stop finally. People were starting to comment on the bald spot if I didn't manage to cover it with the rest of my hair. So I stopped all the nervous habits quite quickly.
Now to complete this I must tag seven people. They are Swearing Mother, softinthehead, j., aoj and the lurchers, -ann, queeny, and pantheist mom. I would like to get to know each of these bloggers better.
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
Happy Birthday to Me (and Kaycie too)
Yep, I've made it to 48. Hard to believe. I have a busy day planned: hour-long walk with Jake (he needs it or he's impossible in the evening -- actually, he's impossible in the evening anyway), gym (haven't been in a few weeks), lunch with friend, dinner with kids, drinks with friends. No diet today.
Last year I did nothing for my birthday and I felt awful. Not even a glass of wine. And of course hubby was down in London. This year will be different, I decided. I have to take care of myself. I planned to go out with my kids, then my friends called up and asked to take me out. How great is that?
Thinking back to previous birthdays, I've had some real duds. I'm so fortunate in my life now. I just have to remind myself of that from time to time. My daughter got up early and made me a piece of toast and glass of orange juice. Then we went up to my room, got my son up, and opened my presents -- boxing gloves among them. Gotta get out that aggression somehow!
A big kiss to all of you, especially Kaycie and others who were born on this day. We share our birthday (but not our bank account) with Elvis and David Bowie.
Monday, 7 January 2008
Jake's New Year's Resolutions
Hi, I'm Jake. I'm giving my owner a break today because she's worn out from walking me and feeding me and bathing me and playing with me. That's because I'm a 5-month-old Border Collie who's full of energy and likes to have tasks. Since my owner doesn't believe in making New Year's Resolutions, I figured I'd do a few instead.
1. Finish the job I've started on chewing the wicker chairs into tiny sticks. I've started on three of the chairs and only have three more to go.
2. Finish digging the hole I've started by the garage. I should be in China by the end of the year with any luck. My owners filled in my last hole and I've had to start all over again.
3. Continue to gobble up all the goodies the cats leave for me outside including fur balls, feces, and dead mice. They're so kind and thoughtful.
4. But that doesn't mean I'll stop chasing the cats. It keeps them fit. So I'll be their personal trainer for 2008. And it'll help keep me fit too.
5. Continue to explore the rest of the house, particularly upstairs. I love stairs.
6. Keep convincing my owners that I need nice, long walks, especially in the park where I get to meet other dogs and run through the heather (my personal favourite). I also plan to climb to the top of the big rock and jump off. Right now, my owners won't let me go to the top.
7. Convince my owners that I need freshly cooked chicken and rice EACH AND EVERY DAY or I won't eat. I hate that dry stuff they give me even though it says on the bag that it's really good for puppies.
8. Sit on the leather couch every day and watch the football with my owner's son. I love football. I can't wait to play again.
9. Teach my owner how to walk with me. Right now she thinks she should be in charge but I know differently.
10. Continue to be myself.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
Mothers, Don't Let Your Daughters Marry An Alcoholic
Update on Jake: I took him to the vet this morning. She thinks he may have eaten something rotten on one of our walks. He had a bit of a temperature so she gave him an antibiotic injection and she said to feed him chicken and rice and give him Immodium if he persisted with the diarrhea. He has perked up no end since then. Thanks for your advice, laurie and kaycie and everyone else.
Now onto the end of the boyfriend saga. I broke up with PB after I met someone else, yet another reporter at work. This was his immortal pickup line: "I like your shoes."
To me he looked like John Lennon. His house was Party Central, which I liked and he didn't. Almost immediately after we got together, he closed down Party Central. But he kept on drinking. And drinking. And drinking. And sometimes took some drugs too. We moved in together fairly quickly to a two-bedroom unheated, un-air-conditioned house. I loved that house. It had the most fantastic back yard, full of azaleas, dogwoods, and other shrubs and trees. I loved the domesticity. I wanted to entertain and party. Ex, as he will be known, wanted to drink. I would get home at night to find he'd drunk an entire bottle of scotch. On his own. He started coming home in the day for a beer. I was concerned but he shrugged it off. His parents drank like this too, he said.
One night after work a bunch of us ended up in a bar. I was drinking Wild Turkey on the rocks. Ex was just drinking. Some of the women and I got up to dance. Ex wasn't happy about it and tried to drag me off the dance floor. I threw my drink at him. He grabbed my wrists and dragged me out the front door. I was terrified. I didn't know what he was going to do. He got me out in the parking lot. I was screaming at him to let go. He wouldn't and said we were going home. The owner of the bar told me she was going to call the police if I didn't shut up. I somehow managed to calm down and told him I had to go back inside to get my purse. He let go and I ran inside and into the bathroom. Our friends knew nothing of what had happened till they saw me crying. One went out to drive Ex home but he insisted on walking. When he got home, he filled the bath up and got in fully clothed. I went home with another colleague and stayed at her house that night. The next morning I heard her whispering on the phone to my boss that Ex had hit me. He did not hit me, though he did leave bruises on my wrists. I went home that day. Ex said he was going to quit drinking. Which he did for two days. He said he had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from covering the Sunshine Skyway Bridge collapse a few years earlier. My boss, a Machiavellian bitch who disguised herself as a human being, thought I should leave him. Maybe I should have, but I didn't have the strength to do it yet. My career suffered as a result.
Everything was fine with Ex as long as I didn't do better than him at work or anywhere else. Eventually, I got a job interview at a major city daily, quite an accomplishment for a 25-year-old. Ex was beside himself with jealousy. We'd just gotten engaged that Christmas, and he obviously felt threatened and insulted that I got a week-long tryout and he got a postcard saying no thanks. I stayed at a friend's apartment that week. Ex took to phoning and saying nothing and hanging up or abusing my friend on the phone. I wasn't in the best frame of mind that week. Needless to say, I didn't get the job.
With my tail firmly between my legs, I decided to start planning the wedding. We went to premarital counselling even. And I'd already been seeing a counsellor to convince myself to marry this man. We planned the wedding for April, just four months later. The big day arrived bright and early with a wakeup call from my cat, who'd had diarrhea all over himself. I had awakened from a dream about nuclear holocaust. As the day went on, the skies blackened. Ex cut himself badly while shaving. I took two tranquillizers and have very little memory of the actual ceremony. Ex managed to alienate and insult most of my family. My sister managed to alienate the wife of Ex's best friend. This would have bothered me more if I actually liked the best friend.
A month later I was sleeping in the spare room because Ex and I had had an argument. At the time, I thought this wasn't right. We were still in the honeymoon phase. Ah yes, the honeymoon. Not very exciting. Ex got drunk each and every day and couldn't perform in the bedroom.
Not long after that, Ex had what he thought was a heart attack. He was rushed to the hospital from work. A very nice lady from work called and told me because she thought I'd want to know. I sort of rushed to the hospital. Ex had not had a heart attack (he was only 29), but every nurse and doctor he saw told him to stop smoking. He didn't. But he did quit drinking.
And the next month we were on our way to New York and new jobs, courtesy of my contacts. Ex and I hardly saw each other. He worked days. I worked nights and weekends. When I say nights, I mean I went in at 5 p.m. and got home at 7 a.m. I did this for 10 months, my health was terrible, and I hated my life. Ex, on the other hand, was having a superb time flirting with his boss and getting all the kudos he thought he was worth. I would call him sometimes during the day because I was lonely. He told me not to call him at work. Eventually, I moved to the Sunday magazine, becoming editor. Ex wasn't happy because this meant that he worked for me part of the time. He made my life so miserable about it I lost weight and finally went to the Editor to see if we could get him off the magazine rotation. The Editor informed me that he thought my request was unprofessional, and that if I couldn't cope with the pressure then maybe I shouldn't be in the job. I went back to Ex and told him if he was unhappy he could go talk to the Editor. He never did, the spineless bastard.
Ex never seemed to want me to go with him to visit his parents. One time he went and came back with a shiny, new pickup truck. He never consulted with me about this. His high school 10-year reunion came up. He said he wanted to go on his own. Fine by me. I went out with the girls to NYC and had a blast.
And yet somehow I still brainwashed myself into believing I was happy and loved this man. Then many things happened to change this.
I had offered to have one of my nephews visit me for a week. I paid his way, but my sister never actually confirmed the arrival day. I assumed it was the next day. The actual day was one of the worst days in my career. I somehow had forgotten about a deadline. Anyone in journalism knows that's a huge no-no. I had to work my tail off to get an entire section ready in one day. I had just gotten a new car, which Ex and I had argued bitterly over (remember the pickup truck?). Ex came up to me at the exact wrong moment and asked for the keys so he could show it to a friend. I rolled my eyes. Ex had a fit. I got home that night and the phone rang. It was my sister asking how my nephew was. He comes tomorrow, I said. I put him on a plane today, she said. I panicked and phoned the airport security and was hysterical. Ex actually drove out and found him -- safe -- and brought him home. Then Ex told me he wanted a divorce. I cried. I said let's get counselling. He said he'd had enough. I said let's sleep on it. The next morning I got out the yellow pages and made an appointment with a marriage counsellor. Ex refused to go, so I went on my own and continued to go for a year. I talked about everything but my relationship with Ex. Then one day the counsellor asked me about him. Suddenly, I had the worst stomach cramps and had to go to the bathroom immediately. I never talked about Ex.
Then, in 1990, the year I turned 30, more things happened. One was that Ex got chosen to go to a prestigious seminar, which pissed me off no end. He was gone a week. I went out one night after work for a drink with colleagues. One was a photographer, who flirted heavily with me. And started to hang around my office. And call me at home. In one week, I lost about 10 pounds.
Ex came back all happy to see me, but I wasn't happy to see him. Finally, after two weeks I told him I didn't want to be married anymore. He didn't take it well. He threatened to kill himself. I asked him to come to counselling with me. He did, and said I had a lot of problems with my dad that I needed to work through and he thought it would be best if we separated while I did this and he'd made up a list dividing our possessions. I was dumbfounded. We went out for a meal afterwards but I couldn't stop crying so we went home, me to the spare room.
I waited till Ex moved out before sleeping with the photographer. What a disappointment. I have to say it was the worst sex of my life. I'd built this guy up into something he clearly wasn't. He deserves no more words.
I decided to stay single and alone till I worked out what I wanted from a man and found that man. No alcoholics or smokers. No egomaniacs. And absolutely never again anyone from work. Though I did try to get together with one or two. Fortunately, they declined. Ex managed to continue to behave badly until the day I flew out of the country. I have never heard from him since. I do not ever want to hear from him again. While I can muster up fond feelings for PB, RB, and CB, my heart and mind grow cold at the mention of Ex.
I'm sure he doesn't have many kind words for me either. It was long ago and only eight years from start to finish. But I do feel I wasted most of my 20s on this man. Thank God he's not been around for my 30s and 40s.
Now onto the end of the boyfriend saga. I broke up with PB after I met someone else, yet another reporter at work. This was his immortal pickup line: "I like your shoes."
To me he looked like John Lennon. His house was Party Central, which I liked and he didn't. Almost immediately after we got together, he closed down Party Central. But he kept on drinking. And drinking. And drinking. And sometimes took some drugs too. We moved in together fairly quickly to a two-bedroom unheated, un-air-conditioned house. I loved that house. It had the most fantastic back yard, full of azaleas, dogwoods, and other shrubs and trees. I loved the domesticity. I wanted to entertain and party. Ex, as he will be known, wanted to drink. I would get home at night to find he'd drunk an entire bottle of scotch. On his own. He started coming home in the day for a beer. I was concerned but he shrugged it off. His parents drank like this too, he said.
One night after work a bunch of us ended up in a bar. I was drinking Wild Turkey on the rocks. Ex was just drinking. Some of the women and I got up to dance. Ex wasn't happy about it and tried to drag me off the dance floor. I threw my drink at him. He grabbed my wrists and dragged me out the front door. I was terrified. I didn't know what he was going to do. He got me out in the parking lot. I was screaming at him to let go. He wouldn't and said we were going home. The owner of the bar told me she was going to call the police if I didn't shut up. I somehow managed to calm down and told him I had to go back inside to get my purse. He let go and I ran inside and into the bathroom. Our friends knew nothing of what had happened till they saw me crying. One went out to drive Ex home but he insisted on walking. When he got home, he filled the bath up and got in fully clothed. I went home with another colleague and stayed at her house that night. The next morning I heard her whispering on the phone to my boss that Ex had hit me. He did not hit me, though he did leave bruises on my wrists. I went home that day. Ex said he was going to quit drinking. Which he did for two days. He said he had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from covering the Sunshine Skyway Bridge collapse a few years earlier. My boss, a Machiavellian bitch who disguised herself as a human being, thought I should leave him. Maybe I should have, but I didn't have the strength to do it yet. My career suffered as a result.
Everything was fine with Ex as long as I didn't do better than him at work or anywhere else. Eventually, I got a job interview at a major city daily, quite an accomplishment for a 25-year-old. Ex was beside himself with jealousy. We'd just gotten engaged that Christmas, and he obviously felt threatened and insulted that I got a week-long tryout and he got a postcard saying no thanks. I stayed at a friend's apartment that week. Ex took to phoning and saying nothing and hanging up or abusing my friend on the phone. I wasn't in the best frame of mind that week. Needless to say, I didn't get the job.
With my tail firmly between my legs, I decided to start planning the wedding. We went to premarital counselling even. And I'd already been seeing a counsellor to convince myself to marry this man. We planned the wedding for April, just four months later. The big day arrived bright and early with a wakeup call from my cat, who'd had diarrhea all over himself. I had awakened from a dream about nuclear holocaust. As the day went on, the skies blackened. Ex cut himself badly while shaving. I took two tranquillizers and have very little memory of the actual ceremony. Ex managed to alienate and insult most of my family. My sister managed to alienate the wife of Ex's best friend. This would have bothered me more if I actually liked the best friend.
A month later I was sleeping in the spare room because Ex and I had had an argument. At the time, I thought this wasn't right. We were still in the honeymoon phase. Ah yes, the honeymoon. Not very exciting. Ex got drunk each and every day and couldn't perform in the bedroom.
Not long after that, Ex had what he thought was a heart attack. He was rushed to the hospital from work. A very nice lady from work called and told me because she thought I'd want to know. I sort of rushed to the hospital. Ex had not had a heart attack (he was only 29), but every nurse and doctor he saw told him to stop smoking. He didn't. But he did quit drinking.
And the next month we were on our way to New York and new jobs, courtesy of my contacts. Ex and I hardly saw each other. He worked days. I worked nights and weekends. When I say nights, I mean I went in at 5 p.m. and got home at 7 a.m. I did this for 10 months, my health was terrible, and I hated my life. Ex, on the other hand, was having a superb time flirting with his boss and getting all the kudos he thought he was worth. I would call him sometimes during the day because I was lonely. He told me not to call him at work. Eventually, I moved to the Sunday magazine, becoming editor. Ex wasn't happy because this meant that he worked for me part of the time. He made my life so miserable about it I lost weight and finally went to the Editor to see if we could get him off the magazine rotation. The Editor informed me that he thought my request was unprofessional, and that if I couldn't cope with the pressure then maybe I shouldn't be in the job. I went back to Ex and told him if he was unhappy he could go talk to the Editor. He never did, the spineless bastard.
Ex never seemed to want me to go with him to visit his parents. One time he went and came back with a shiny, new pickup truck. He never consulted with me about this. His high school 10-year reunion came up. He said he wanted to go on his own. Fine by me. I went out with the girls to NYC and had a blast.
And yet somehow I still brainwashed myself into believing I was happy and loved this man. Then many things happened to change this.
I had offered to have one of my nephews visit me for a week. I paid his way, but my sister never actually confirmed the arrival day. I assumed it was the next day. The actual day was one of the worst days in my career. I somehow had forgotten about a deadline. Anyone in journalism knows that's a huge no-no. I had to work my tail off to get an entire section ready in one day. I had just gotten a new car, which Ex and I had argued bitterly over (remember the pickup truck?). Ex came up to me at the exact wrong moment and asked for the keys so he could show it to a friend. I rolled my eyes. Ex had a fit. I got home that night and the phone rang. It was my sister asking how my nephew was. He comes tomorrow, I said. I put him on a plane today, she said. I panicked and phoned the airport security and was hysterical. Ex actually drove out and found him -- safe -- and brought him home. Then Ex told me he wanted a divorce. I cried. I said let's get counselling. He said he'd had enough. I said let's sleep on it. The next morning I got out the yellow pages and made an appointment with a marriage counsellor. Ex refused to go, so I went on my own and continued to go for a year. I talked about everything but my relationship with Ex. Then one day the counsellor asked me about him. Suddenly, I had the worst stomach cramps and had to go to the bathroom immediately. I never talked about Ex.
Then, in 1990, the year I turned 30, more things happened. One was that Ex got chosen to go to a prestigious seminar, which pissed me off no end. He was gone a week. I went out one night after work for a drink with colleagues. One was a photographer, who flirted heavily with me. And started to hang around my office. And call me at home. In one week, I lost about 10 pounds.
Ex came back all happy to see me, but I wasn't happy to see him. Finally, after two weeks I told him I didn't want to be married anymore. He didn't take it well. He threatened to kill himself. I asked him to come to counselling with me. He did, and said I had a lot of problems with my dad that I needed to work through and he thought it would be best if we separated while I did this and he'd made up a list dividing our possessions. I was dumbfounded. We went out for a meal afterwards but I couldn't stop crying so we went home, me to the spare room.
I waited till Ex moved out before sleeping with the photographer. What a disappointment. I have to say it was the worst sex of my life. I'd built this guy up into something he clearly wasn't. He deserves no more words.
I decided to stay single and alone till I worked out what I wanted from a man and found that man. No alcoholics or smokers. No egomaniacs. And absolutely never again anyone from work. Though I did try to get together with one or two. Fortunately, they declined. Ex managed to continue to behave badly until the day I flew out of the country. I have never heard from him since. I do not ever want to hear from him again. While I can muster up fond feelings for PB, RB, and CB, my heart and mind grow cold at the mention of Ex.
I'm sure he doesn't have many kind words for me either. It was long ago and only eight years from start to finish. But I do feel I wasted most of my 20s on this man. Thank God he's not been around for my 30s and 40s.
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
Boyfriends Yet Again
One reason I broke up with College Boyfriend is because I met someone else. This someone was a photographer at work (hereafter referred to as PB). PB got a mutual friend to take me over to his apartment after work one night for a beer and a joint. I loved the apartment. It was full of plants and funky stuff. And I liked PB. He was funny. The mutual friend left me there alone with PB. PB kept leaving the room and walking back in. He told me later he was really nervous. I spent the night and discovered that we had a sexual chemistry I had never experienced before or since.
PB was no Adonis. In fact he was the opposite. Maybe 5'9'', with a pot belly and scrawny legs, a beard (remember, I was still into facial hair), and braces (yep!). He was nine years older than me. But I was besotted. And he seemed to be with me.
The next morning he gave me his bathrobe to wear as he cooked us an omelette for breakfast. Then the phone rang. He took it into his bedroom, shut the door, and was in there for about 45 minutes. I would have left but my clothes were in there and I didn't want to disturb him. I should have. It was his ex-girlfriend wanting to get back together. So he drove me home and that was the end of that.
I started to see a guy from the composing room. Then on a visit to my dad's, I got bold and called someone I knew from the college newspaper. He'd been the editor, and I was totally in awe of him. But he had a girlfriend, and I had a boyfriend. I didn't know if he'd be interested in me anyway. But I took a chance. He was now a reporter at one of the Tampa papers and destined for really big things. We met for a drink. He was still seeing his girlfriend. A week later, he wasn't. He started to visit me every other weekend. And I started to visit my dad a lot more and of course go out with Reporter Boyfriend. He was gorgeous. Tall, blonde, blue eyes. Intelligent. Ambitious. And he liked ME!
But. There's always a but. It was magical with RB. I still think of him every time I hear the Police song "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic." RB didn't seem interested in meeting my family. He'd pick me up from my dad's, but got out of there as quickly as possible. And I never met his mother. Our relationship was kept on one level. I was happy with that for a while. We were young, starting out in our careers. We were having a really good time. But I always wondered why he liked me.
Then PB broke up again with the ex/not-ex girlfriend. He was about to go to Guatemala for a couple of months. When he got back, we resumed our relationship. It was a strange relationship, also only on one level. We only went out once on a date, to see "Chariots of Fire." The rest of the time we met up after work or at parties or when mutual friends invited us both to their house. I was always in arguments with myself about why I was with him. He seemed obsessive about his privacy. But sexual chemistry can be a strong thing.
I kept seeing both RB and PB, RB more regularly because PB kept finding other women to go out with. I wanted to fall in love with one of them and wanted one of them to fall in love with me. Because PB was playing hard to get, I think I overvalued the relationship. It brought out the competitive streak in me. PB knew about RB, but I didn't think RB knew about PB. I moved to a condo with a roommate. PB actually helped me move, but RB spent my first weekend there with me. In retrospect I should have known something was up. RB was distant all weekend. Then the phone rang. It was a girl we'd both known at the college newspaper. Why was she calling me? How did she get my number? She boldly asked me if I was seeing PB, and I stupidly said yes. Even more stupidly, I let RB talk to her after that. She obviously told him, though he never said a word about it. In fact he didn't really talk to me at all after that. He left the next morning. I knew I'd hurt him. I felt terrible about it. But I thought he'd call. He never did. And I didn't call him.
Instead, I decided to concentrate on PB. We did seem to grow closer. When someone tried to break into the condo one night, I fled to PB's. And stayed. I only went back to the condo to collect the cats and pack my things. I didn't feel safe there anymore. Someone had forced open a window and cut the screen on the porch. To this day I believe it was my roommate's weirdo boyfriend.
PB was wonderful. He emptied some drawers for my things. He gave me a key. He waited up for me to get home from work. But he was moving on to bigger and better things too. He was about to go to Washington to work on the start-up newspaper, USA Today. He didn't know if he'd be there permanently or not. In the meantime I could look after his apartment. It rained the day he left, and I cried. But he seemed to be dedicated to me. He called frequently, even when I was on deadline one night to tell me not to get upset if I called him and a woman answered. She was only a friend. That was a Thursday. I called him on Sunday. Have you ever called a man and got the distinct impression you'd interrupted something intimate? I did and I had.
I was furious. I shouted "Fuck you," then slammed the phone down. Then I disconnected it and left it that way for about a week. If anyone needed to get in touch with me, they could call me at work or come see me. PB had only been away for 4 or 6 weeks max. I'd made plans to visit him a few weeks later. I couldn't get a refund on my ticket so contacted a former teacher and asked if I could stay with him if necessary. PB sweettalked me into staying with him, then went off on an assignment while I was there and left me with no food or money. He did leave behind a stale bottle of champagne (left over from the other woman?) in his roach-ridden Stay-Free-Mini-Pad. Some colleagues of his took pity on me and took me out one night. I met up with my former teacher the next night. Then PB returned. I was angry still but it had turned into a cold, hard anger.
I flew back to Fort Myers and proceeded to pick up and bring back to PB's apartment an array of men. I slept with them in PB's antique bed. I let them shower in PB's bathroom and wear his bathrobe. I cooked for them in PB's kitchen. I knew there was no future with PB and was just biding my time. I never called him again. He got very nervous about his possessions and asked a neighbour to check in on me. Then he made a very big mistake. He helped me get another job. I moved to Tallahassee and broke up with him. For I had met my next boyfriend. PB actually cried when I broke up with him. He told me he loved me. I told him he was too late.
PB was not yet out of my life completely. But there was a new man on the horizon, also a reporter. And if I'd made mistakes with men in the past, they were nothing compared to this one. I married this one. PB called me repeatedly before the wedding urging me not to go through with it. Well, why should I listen to PB? Why indeed. These two men shared a birthday, Nov. 8. And RB's birthday was Nov. 6. My dad's is Nov. 10. Get the picture?
I have Googled both RB and PB. RB did go on to bigger and better things. He's married and has children. I wish him well and I am still very sorry I hurt him, though he probably got over it long ago. PB married a psychiatrist he met at the LA Olympics in 1984. They had a daughter. They went through a rocky patch at the same time my first marriage fell apart. One friend thought we should get in contact again. Another cautioned against revisiting the past. I don't know if PB is still married. I do know he lives in San Francisco now. I have considered emailing him, but to what purpose? I think he would wonder if I wanted to get back together with him. So I observe from afar. And remember.
PB was no Adonis. In fact he was the opposite. Maybe 5'9'', with a pot belly and scrawny legs, a beard (remember, I was still into facial hair), and braces (yep!). He was nine years older than me. But I was besotted. And he seemed to be with me.
The next morning he gave me his bathrobe to wear as he cooked us an omelette for breakfast. Then the phone rang. He took it into his bedroom, shut the door, and was in there for about 45 minutes. I would have left but my clothes were in there and I didn't want to disturb him. I should have. It was his ex-girlfriend wanting to get back together. So he drove me home and that was the end of that.
I started to see a guy from the composing room. Then on a visit to my dad's, I got bold and called someone I knew from the college newspaper. He'd been the editor, and I was totally in awe of him. But he had a girlfriend, and I had a boyfriend. I didn't know if he'd be interested in me anyway. But I took a chance. He was now a reporter at one of the Tampa papers and destined for really big things. We met for a drink. He was still seeing his girlfriend. A week later, he wasn't. He started to visit me every other weekend. And I started to visit my dad a lot more and of course go out with Reporter Boyfriend. He was gorgeous. Tall, blonde, blue eyes. Intelligent. Ambitious. And he liked ME!
But. There's always a but. It was magical with RB. I still think of him every time I hear the Police song "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic." RB didn't seem interested in meeting my family. He'd pick me up from my dad's, but got out of there as quickly as possible. And I never met his mother. Our relationship was kept on one level. I was happy with that for a while. We were young, starting out in our careers. We were having a really good time. But I always wondered why he liked me.
Then PB broke up again with the ex/not-ex girlfriend. He was about to go to Guatemala for a couple of months. When he got back, we resumed our relationship. It was a strange relationship, also only on one level. We only went out once on a date, to see "Chariots of Fire." The rest of the time we met up after work or at parties or when mutual friends invited us both to their house. I was always in arguments with myself about why I was with him. He seemed obsessive about his privacy. But sexual chemistry can be a strong thing.
I kept seeing both RB and PB, RB more regularly because PB kept finding other women to go out with. I wanted to fall in love with one of them and wanted one of them to fall in love with me. Because PB was playing hard to get, I think I overvalued the relationship. It brought out the competitive streak in me. PB knew about RB, but I didn't think RB knew about PB. I moved to a condo with a roommate. PB actually helped me move, but RB spent my first weekend there with me. In retrospect I should have known something was up. RB was distant all weekend. Then the phone rang. It was a girl we'd both known at the college newspaper. Why was she calling me? How did she get my number? She boldly asked me if I was seeing PB, and I stupidly said yes. Even more stupidly, I let RB talk to her after that. She obviously told him, though he never said a word about it. In fact he didn't really talk to me at all after that. He left the next morning. I knew I'd hurt him. I felt terrible about it. But I thought he'd call. He never did. And I didn't call him.
Instead, I decided to concentrate on PB. We did seem to grow closer. When someone tried to break into the condo one night, I fled to PB's. And stayed. I only went back to the condo to collect the cats and pack my things. I didn't feel safe there anymore. Someone had forced open a window and cut the screen on the porch. To this day I believe it was my roommate's weirdo boyfriend.
PB was wonderful. He emptied some drawers for my things. He gave me a key. He waited up for me to get home from work. But he was moving on to bigger and better things too. He was about to go to Washington to work on the start-up newspaper, USA Today. He didn't know if he'd be there permanently or not. In the meantime I could look after his apartment. It rained the day he left, and I cried. But he seemed to be dedicated to me. He called frequently, even when I was on deadline one night to tell me not to get upset if I called him and a woman answered. She was only a friend. That was a Thursday. I called him on Sunday. Have you ever called a man and got the distinct impression you'd interrupted something intimate? I did and I had.
I was furious. I shouted "Fuck you," then slammed the phone down. Then I disconnected it and left it that way for about a week. If anyone needed to get in touch with me, they could call me at work or come see me. PB had only been away for 4 or 6 weeks max. I'd made plans to visit him a few weeks later. I couldn't get a refund on my ticket so contacted a former teacher and asked if I could stay with him if necessary. PB sweettalked me into staying with him, then went off on an assignment while I was there and left me with no food or money. He did leave behind a stale bottle of champagne (left over from the other woman?) in his roach-ridden Stay-Free-Mini-Pad. Some colleagues of his took pity on me and took me out one night. I met up with my former teacher the next night. Then PB returned. I was angry still but it had turned into a cold, hard anger.
I flew back to Fort Myers and proceeded to pick up and bring back to PB's apartment an array of men. I slept with them in PB's antique bed. I let them shower in PB's bathroom and wear his bathrobe. I cooked for them in PB's kitchen. I knew there was no future with PB and was just biding my time. I never called him again. He got very nervous about his possessions and asked a neighbour to check in on me. Then he made a very big mistake. He helped me get another job. I moved to Tallahassee and broke up with him. For I had met my next boyfriend. PB actually cried when I broke up with him. He told me he loved me. I told him he was too late.
PB was not yet out of my life completely. But there was a new man on the horizon, also a reporter. And if I'd made mistakes with men in the past, they were nothing compared to this one. I married this one. PB called me repeatedly before the wedding urging me not to go through with it. Well, why should I listen to PB? Why indeed. These two men shared a birthday, Nov. 8. And RB's birthday was Nov. 6. My dad's is Nov. 10. Get the picture?
I have Googled both RB and PB. RB did go on to bigger and better things. He's married and has children. I wish him well and I am still very sorry I hurt him, though he probably got over it long ago. PB married a psychiatrist he met at the LA Olympics in 1984. They had a daughter. They went through a rocky patch at the same time my first marriage fell apart. One friend thought we should get in contact again. Another cautioned against revisiting the past. I don't know if PB is still married. I do know he lives in San Francisco now. I have considered emailing him, but to what purpose? I think he would wonder if I wanted to get back together with him. So I observe from afar. And remember.
Season's Greetings
In one week I turn 48. My new best friend, the mother of the little boy who lives next door, told my son she couldn't believe that was my age. She thought I was 10 years younger. Well, I am. On the inside.
For Christmas I got a digital camera. So watch out for pictures of Jake once I figure it out. Speaking of Jake, he had a fantastic Christmas. Turkey. Toys. Long walks every day. But on Saturday we noticed he wasn't eating as much. Then he started collapsing in a heap after every walk. Then this morning he didn't want to come out of his puppy crate to say good morning to me. Not like him at all. I did a bit of on-line sleuthing to try to figure out what was wrong. Nothing conclusive. He perked up a bit so we took him on our annual New Year's Day walk. He seemed OK, though he did sit down once or twice briefly. This boy normally never sits down. When we got home, I filled his Kong with some cheese. He ate it. I filled it again. He ate it. I gave him some bread, which he took greedily from my hand. Then I made some mashed potato and put it in his bowl. He didn't touch it. I put it in his Kong. Wouldn't even sniff it. Finally, I put some on a teaspoon. He licked it off. I put some more on. He licked that. But nothing else since. He did seem to come round and was more like Mad Jake for about half an hour. He's back to lying down, though he's complaining because I won't let him go out and dig up the garden again. I think I'll call the vet tomorrow regardless and see if I can get him an appointment.
We were pretty much Billy No-Mates over the Christmas/New Year period, which actually turned out to be a good thing. It meant we didn't catch all the bugs going around. We played games as a family. I fell asleep in front of the TV. Other than food shopping, I have gone to no stores whatsoever. Hubby and I have gone on long walks most days (except days I had to cook) and explored parts of our area we've never been to before. Still, I was a bit peeved at a couple of people who messed up my plans. I am a Capricorn. I don't like my plans to be messed up. Realising that people will always mess up my plans is one of my life lessons to learn, and it's a hard one. I try not to disappoint others, to do what I say I'm going to do, to be reliable and steadfast. Yet I seem to surround myself with others who aren't like that at all. There must be a reason.
Because I've been so remiss as a blogger, I'm going to write two posts today. The second will be more on the boyfriends.
For Christmas I got a digital camera. So watch out for pictures of Jake once I figure it out. Speaking of Jake, he had a fantastic Christmas. Turkey. Toys. Long walks every day. But on Saturday we noticed he wasn't eating as much. Then he started collapsing in a heap after every walk. Then this morning he didn't want to come out of his puppy crate to say good morning to me. Not like him at all. I did a bit of on-line sleuthing to try to figure out what was wrong. Nothing conclusive. He perked up a bit so we took him on our annual New Year's Day walk. He seemed OK, though he did sit down once or twice briefly. This boy normally never sits down. When we got home, I filled his Kong with some cheese. He ate it. I filled it again. He ate it. I gave him some bread, which he took greedily from my hand. Then I made some mashed potato and put it in his bowl. He didn't touch it. I put it in his Kong. Wouldn't even sniff it. Finally, I put some on a teaspoon. He licked it off. I put some more on. He licked that. But nothing else since. He did seem to come round and was more like Mad Jake for about half an hour. He's back to lying down, though he's complaining because I won't let him go out and dig up the garden again. I think I'll call the vet tomorrow regardless and see if I can get him an appointment.
We were pretty much Billy No-Mates over the Christmas/New Year period, which actually turned out to be a good thing. It meant we didn't catch all the bugs going around. We played games as a family. I fell asleep in front of the TV. Other than food shopping, I have gone to no stores whatsoever. Hubby and I have gone on long walks most days (except days I had to cook) and explored parts of our area we've never been to before. Still, I was a bit peeved at a couple of people who messed up my plans. I am a Capricorn. I don't like my plans to be messed up. Realising that people will always mess up my plans is one of my life lessons to learn, and it's a hard one. I try not to disappoint others, to do what I say I'm going to do, to be reliable and steadfast. Yet I seem to surround myself with others who aren't like that at all. There must be a reason.
Because I've been so remiss as a blogger, I'm going to write two posts today. The second will be more on the boyfriends.
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