Vote for Pedro

I know you're sick of it. I'm sick of it. The election of the century seems to have lasted a century (or more). The commercials, the rhetoric, the bullshite, the crazy caribou eating VPILF. All of it will come to an end soon.

I mailed my ballot last week. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing like the feeling of standing in the voting booth and pushing the button for your candidate(s). But I've gone mail-in for the last few years, mostly from convenience.

Filling in the bubble for Obama made my heart jump a bit. This is the most exciting election of my young life. It even beats my first election when I got to chose between George H.W. Bush and William Jefferson Clinton. Filling in the bubbles on all the wacked out amendments made me angry. I really get pissy when people keep wanting to add more amendments to the state constitution. Maybe I don't understand the reasons, but why can't we have a statute instead of an amendment? That way it's easier to fix a fuck up later on. When it's in the constitution it takes an Act of God to change it.

Again, I know you're sick of the campaign. But please, go vote. Normally I don't care who a person votes for. I just want people to vote. So many Americans take this right for granted. This makes me mad and disappointed at the same time. (A lot of women take it for granted that we've only had the right to vote for 70 years. Vote bitches! Vote!)

This year I'm making the case for Obama. So if you can't decide on who to vote for this year, and you really don't want to vote for Obama, there are 12 other candidates on the ballot for POTUS. Pick any other one besides McCain. I hear the Boston Tea Party candidates are good choices.

Sunday Night Supper Club

The award for the best BFF ever goes to my BFF for starting a Sunday Night Supper Club. This past weekend was a social whirlwind for me, as have all weekends since my singledom began. But this Sunday night I needed a little comforting as it was the end of my week with the kids and I was sad sitting in my empty, quiet house all alone.

The ex came and got the kids at 2:00 yesterday. At 3:00 I went to school to use the interwebs, as I'm too cheap to pay for www access at the Cottage. It's a 10 minute walk to school or the local coffee shop with wifi; I figure, why bother with the expense? The only thing I really miss is Pandora. Everything can wait until I'm in wifi range.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, I was at school checking out what was going on in the world (and by world I mean facebook, twitter, huffpo, etc) and looking for skates for my Halloween costume. I was kind of dreading going home to an empty dog-free house. But lo! I get a text from my BFF that soup was on at 5:30.

At 5:30 I was at her house enjoying a margarita with five of our mutual single friends. There was one token male, who was a good sport and listened and laughed at all of our dating stories. (He may even give me a complete set of China that his mother gave him and he can't use. Score!) BFF served a spicy white bean and chicken soup and someone brought cookies for dessert. As we ate, and talked, and laughed, we moved from margs to wine, and more wine, and next thing I knew, it was 9 pm and everyone was gathering their coats to leave.

Next week Moira promises to host the offical Sunday Night Supper Club at her house. Then it's Teresa's turn, then Rachel's... and so on. Once I get a dining room table, they are all invited to mine.

I'm actually thinking of throwing a winter BBQ at the Cottage. We'll have s'mores, hot cocoa with schnaps, cider and Tuaca, and a fire pit to stay warm. Oh, and some food of some kind. Probably beef brisket, corn on the cob and a mystery side dish to be named later.

If you're in the neighborhood, stop by.

File under: OMFG!

Don't you hate it when something happens to you that involves a friend but you can't tell said friend because it would really piss her off and hurt her feelings? Yeah. Me too. I have got to tell someone about this, and oh, look at that, you're the lucky winners.

Rewind a few weeks... my friends and I play trivia at the local pub every Tuesday night. Half the fun is effing with the quizmaster, who is a douche, but we mess with him anyway because it normally proves entertaining. A few weeks ago my friend J wrote MY phone number on the quiz sheet and turned it in with our answers for the round. The douche then calls ME and I proceed to laugh it off but give him J's phone number because she's kind of interested in him and I am definitely not.

So he calls her, they go out. He starts stalking her. Calls her several times a day. Wants to have her babies, etc. She avoids him until a few days before she's set to go out of town for the weekend (Vegas, actually). They go out one more time. He offers to fly to Vegas with her for the weekend. Creepy. She declines this creepy, yet generous, offer. She brings him to our student happy hour downtown. Being the passive aggressive type, she asks me what to do since he is now a full blown stalker. I drop a few hints with him that neither J or I are on the market for serious relationships. He gets mad and leaves.

A week goes by. He un-friends us on facebook (mature, I know). He stops calling her. We still go to trivia but she avoids him. We stopped effing with him on the trivia sheets. He's kind of a douche to me when I said hello one night. So we all figured that he's just a dick and let it go.

That brings us to last night. Oh lord. Last night he was a douche, as expected. But J being the snarky, passive aggressive, and slightly drunk blond that she is, decided to send him a blowjob shot anonymously. So he thanked the crowd for it and we thought that was the end of it.

Not so. J decides to re-start the effing with the douche. After 7 or 9 Mic Ultras, she writes on one of the answer sheets, "hope you enjoyed the BJ." Groooooaaaaan. The evening winds down. Our team loses. Horribly. As I'm getting ready to leave, I get a text message from the douche.

Douche: what are u doing after this :)

OMG.

To which I respond: why?
Douche: wondering if u felt like having a drink and hanging out?

OMG!

To which I respond: got to go let my dogs out. see u next week!
Douche: I can come to u. It does not have to be complicated.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

To which I respond: goodnight :)

Thing is, he knows that J and I are good friends. He knows that I'm going to tell her about this. He knows that this is the biggest douche move in the history of douche moves. Yet he does it anyway. I can't tell J. She'll be pissed and hurt and do something really stupid that could quite possibly get her (or me) arrested. Plus it's a douche move. But I can't keep it to myself. Something like this is too good to keep all bottled up.

OMFG.

I'll take 'Things that stink for $100', Trebek.

When I moved out of the country house into my city house I left the kids with their dad, per our custody arrangement. We’re trying one week on, one week off. It’s my week with the kids and so far it stinks. I mean specifically, P-dawg stinks. She’s got an upset tummy. (Dog people out there know of what I speak.) Together, she and R-fella have tried their best to redecorate my cottage Au Chien Naturale. But exploding dog and all, I’m delighted to have them with me. I didn’t realize how much just having them in the room with me would feel so good. (And stinky.) Last Saturday I moved my bed and as a result, I left the dogs for the week with their dad. It was so unbelievably hard. It tore a piece of my heart out. I sobbed when I said goodbye to them. I sobbed when I packed up the car one last time. I sobbed uncontrollably as I drove to my new life. I wouldn’t have left them if I thought that he wouldn’t love them as much as I do, but it still didn’t make it any better. The week without them flew by because I was busy with school, papers, social events and work. Mostly with the social events.

Exhibit A:
Tuesday: trivia.
Wednesday: going away party for former classmate.
Thursday: The Macallan whisky tasting.
Friday: wine drinking at a fundraiser.
Saturday: beer drinking and bowling at another fundraiser.

I need a week off for rehab. I’m looking forward to a quiet week with my hounds, stinky dog ass and all.

collegematch.com

Now that I'm nearly officially single, aka "on the market," aka "available," aka, "fresh meat," I've had multiple offers for people to play matchmaker. They are all centered around my college, which lends credibility to the idea that women go to college to get an Mrs. degree. Why they think I need help with dating, I don't know. It must have something to do with the fact that humans are social creatures and we want everyone to just get along.

My current matchmakers include:
1. Graduate Assistant. He's trying to set me up with a local D.A. who, in his words, "if I were gay I would totally do this guy." There's a testimonial if I've ever heard one.

2. Little Indian school friend. He's trying to set me up with his 25-year-old roommate. Not sure why but I think it has to do with his culture's obsession with arranged marriages. Someone needs to tell him that I don't date children.

3. Designer guy in the office. He's trying to set me up with his 40-year-old, divorced with two kids, mountain biking friend from Manchester. Hmm. I don't know anything about Manchester. (international stalkers?) On the positive front, he's physically fit and is a Ginger. Negative: he pays $1,000,000 month in alimony to his ex.

4. Sorority sister. She's pushing former School Boyfriend on me. Not that we ever dated. Or talked about dating. Or even saw each outside of official school functions. But she keeps pushing him on me. Even though I totally broke up with him after he stopped coming by my office twice a week when he graduated.

While it is amusing, it is also somewhat comforting that I have so many male friends who think that I'm datable. A girl could do worse for friends. It's nice to know that I have options.

www.nointernetaccess.com

I've moved into my little cottage on college lane. It's easily described as "cute" or "cozy," which is code for "small" or "tiny." But it's ok. It's just me and my half-time dogs. (Custody arrangement blog forthcoming.)

The good news is that the water works. The heat works. The electricity works. Well, there's a funny smell whenever I use my hairdryer. I'm just going to pretend that I didn't smell that. And buy a fire extinguisher.

The bad news is that I don't have internet access. Yes, you read that right. No. Internet. Access. What is a girl with a web addiction supposed to do?

In the mean time, I have to walk to campus (the horror) to use the interwebs. Never fear, I've got tech support on it.

Neighbor Guy

Well I haven't even moved in all my crap yet and I've met the local neighborhood watch. Yesterday I was unloading a car full of boxes when Neighbor Guy came over to the fence to ask if I was the new Neighbor Girl. We'd met before when I was looking at the house, and he seemed nice enough, a little odd, but then who isn't? He's an ex-cop (former? retired? I didn't ask) doesn't like anyone messing with anyone in his neighborhood. "You just let me know if anyone messes with you, 'cus I don't put up with that. I'll take care of it." What is he going to do, I wondered? Come to think of it, I don't really want to know. I met one of his daughters and will soon know the entire family. I'm sure I'll be invited over for coffee and polite conversation in the living room one of these days.

He wasn't too keen on the idea of two beagles living next door. Once he meets them and sees how Paddi can take care of squirrels, I'm sure he'll change his mind. Or not. He doesn't tolerate anyone messing with anyone in his neighborhood.

I will buy you a new life.

Yesterday I spent the better part of the day cleaning my new house. It's not that it was dirty, per se, it's just that it wasn't clean enough. For me. I'm OCD like that. And the owner had refinished the hardwood floors so there was a fine layer of floor dust all over the walls, door jams, ceilings, appliances, etc.

I'm not sure when exactly I'm moving into my new house. It's a moving target. I've got a mid-term on Tuesday that takes priority. Of course moving provides a nice, messy, distraction and fodder for procrastination. I haven't even moved in and I've already had two guests: J and my BFF. Both stopped by to see how they could help, but really cleaning a small house is one woman show. And I'm OCD like that. Did I mention that already? Oh. Well, I'm OCD.

It's an adorable, small, girly house with a nice sized yard for hound dogs. I'll get pictures up as soon as I'm done moving. I'm filled with mixed emotions about this move. And the changes in my life. So far I've done a really good job disconnecting from the reality of what I'm doing. For the past six weeks I've operated on auto-pilot, taking care of tasks on my to-do list without allowing myself to pay attention to the subject matter. My brain just can't handle the emotions and the tasks at the same time. I have a feeling that I'll fall apart after I finally move out of my old life and move into my new life.

I've been living with one foot in each life for months now. I described it once as trying to steal home plate in baseball. I've got one toe firmly stuck to the third base pad and the other pointed towards home. It's hard to let go of the pad, to push off and make a run for it. Those last 90 feet seem a lot further away than they really are. The safety of staying on base is hard to give up. You never know what's going to happen. Even though I'm standing still, my heartbeat rings in my ears and I'm short of breath.

It's too late to stay on base.