Below are the 13 most recent journal entries recorded in greydoe's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, January 8th, 2008
2:45 am	I can't believe it's been this long... Cripe I wait a long time between posts!  I'm sure my fans are all clammouring for the next entry!  lol   Shit... I'm still working for PokerStars, only now am a 2nd-line manager.  Heaven only knows how any of this happened, but here I am.  "Here," by the way, is Costa Rica.  I moved here in April of 2007 when the retarded USA government decided to try to squash whatever it doesn't understand.  Since they've tried that, we've quintupled in size.  :) I now live in a big house in a noisy 3rd-world country, that happens to be more full of waterhead miracles than even the USA - and that's hard to do!  But they pay me a lot of money to be here, and I have enough creative freedom in the job to keep work interesting, if hectic.  The ironic thing about working, I've always found, is that having money usually means you don't have time to do anything with it.  Here in Costa Rica, it's even more extreme than that:  I have money and there is nothing in this god-forsaken country that I *want* to do.  Still, it's nicer to have it than worry about getting it, so I can't complain too much.  Now that *is* new, isn't it? I still haven't spoken with my sister, since that fateful day where she told me she had to *work* for what *she* has.  Very very ironic.  I am now making fully twice, if not more, than she ever did, but still haven't developed the attitude toward it she did.  That's comforting, in that it emphasizes our differences.  I like that. I don't know exactly when it happened, but sometime between September of 2006 and Christmas that year, my mom died.  My sister didn't bother to let me know - surprise, surprise.  Nor did either of her two waterheads.  I don't miss my sister or her kids, and the only lament is that I never really had parents.  If I get the least bit sentimental about my mom, I simply have to remember how mean she was, and it goes away. Sedentariness (sp?) is still my way, even though I bought a stationary bike some months ago.  Used it regularly for the first month, and then the craziness of the holidays happened and I've yet to get back into the swing of using it.  I don't have any resolution for 2008 - doing that is just not, I think, ever conducive to actually carrying anything out. One of these days i should gripe about this stupid country, but not tonight.  It's a quarter to three in the morning, and I hadn't intended to write anything here at all.  A friend wrote and said she'd read my journal, and since I couldn't remember what I said, I came over to read, not write. Maybe another day.  (Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 22nd, 2006
3:19 pm	background one Some wonder how I "got this way." I'm never quite sure what that exactly means, but I suspect that's because I'm standing too close to see. Anyway, thought I'd fill in some background, while I'm in a "lull" between crises ... When I was 17 I was in a big car accident. I was asleep in the back seat of a friend's car - me and three guys, barreling down the highway at 3:30 a.m., trying to get home (well, they were - I didn't care where I was, so long as it wasn't home), when a drunk driver passed out, crossed the median, and hit us head on. I was the only survivor, and spent three months in a coma. When I woke up, I had to relearn everything - how to walk and talk, but even what the names of things are. I *knew* the names, but couldn't say them. It's a very weird and frustrating state, especially when you're 17 and normally healthy. I had just bought a new car (I had dropped out of "regular" high school, had a fulltime job and new car - a Triumph Spitfire) and couldn't wait to drive it again. I'm sure it speeded my recovery. I went to high school at night, finished that, and things went on pretty much as before (with my crazy mother and I living together since my dad died when I was 12 and my sister got married at 18). A few months later, I was at work and all of a sudden couldn't breathe. I made it to the nurse's office (I worked in the office part of a warehouse, at Sargent-Welsh Scientific - not sure if they still exist - was a cool place to work as I was "into" biology and spent a lot of time in the labs there), who called an ambulance when she saw me. Back in the hospital - this time from a collapsed lung, suspected as being an aftermath of the accident. They stuck a tube in, I stayed a few days, then the tube came out and I went home. Two weeks later, the same lung collapsed again. This time the lung specialists suggested I get it operated on, so it won't happen anymore. I agreed, and back in the hospital I went. It was a pretty bad operation, but once out of there, I never again had that lung collapse, so it worked. I had to go back every month for a while to get an xray. But I was back at work and driving my new car - escaping my "home" whenever possible, and saving for my permanent escape. Since my mom insisted I pay my own hospital bills, I was delayed in moving out. I was nearly 20 when they were paid off, and just so miserable, I vowed to move even if I wasn't "ready." I was dating this guy named Rich. He was Rich, too . He was an adopted only child of wealthy parents, and I knew that if I married him we'd be set up good. He wanted to get married. I really didn't. I just wanted out. But I went along with the engagement, and confided to my best friend, Judy, that I really didn't want to do this. She said to not do it if I thought I would be just as miserable with Rich as I was at home. Two weeks before the wedding, I called it off, and two weeks after that, I was laying in bed, reading, and my entire left side went numb. It scared the shit out of me. I realized I could still move everything, it's just that my left arm and leg was numb. I drove myself to the ER, where they tried to give me Valium and tell me it was all in my head. Did I mention that I was also an athlete? I was a black belt in martial arts, to which I went for practice 5 nights/week and all day on Saturdays. I wasn't the "hysterical" type. In fact, I think the only thing my mom liked about me was my cool head in emergencies. It's ok - there's even less that I liked about her. I argued with the doctors that something terrible was wrong - that I was not imagining this - but they wouldn't listen. And I was completely confused as to why not. Following this episode were other episodes. The numbness went away, and appeared again somewhere else months later. Never did my energy reappear, however. I was always tired. I could sleep 12 hours/night and take a 2 hour nap in the afternoon. I finally had to quit my job, and apply for disability (of course I was turned down). There were 2 years of doctor-shopping, before *finally* finding one that knew what was going on. I myself had scoured the bookshelves of Northwestern U, and already knew what was wrong - Multiple Sclerosis - but it sure helped to have a doctor confirm it. See? I wasn't crazy. This doctor, at Northwestern U's teaching hospital, was wonderful (Dr. Bereberg, I miss you). He got personally involved. One day he asked me if I wanted to go on disability. I had taken a part-time job out of desperation for money, but was barely dragging myself there every day. Of course I had had to give up martial arts, and was now stuck in the house with my crazy mother almost all the time. I really thought god hated me. Anyway, the disability was put through because this doc knew what to say to them. That was when doctors had some power, before HMO's and the downfall of modern medicine. The drug and insurance companies hadn't taken it over yet... I was at least getting a monthly check now, and could stop dragging myself to work. But I was so terribly depressed, stuck at home, as my income was way too low to be able to afford a place. A penpal friend put me in touch with another friend of hers, and Gary and I started writing. Gary lived in California, and after a year of writing nearly every day, came out to meet me. We hit it off in person, and the following year, I frew to California to meet his folks. Gary was Japanese, and his parents were from the "old country," and though they were nice to me (very gracious, matter of fact), I knew that I wasn't quite what they had in mind for their only son. Still, he ended up moving to Illinois. He got a job in a camera store (quite a great photographer, he was), and we moved into an apartment together. After a year, and during one of the coldest winters I remember, Gary told me he just didn't want to stay there, and wanted to go back to California. Note, he did not ask me to follow. I stayed alone in that apartment for a year, paying the rent somehow, and then Mike moved in. I was good-looking, and was never long without a boyfriend, but I didn't want what most of them wanted - to get married, to be a "couple" in the traditional sense. For one thing, I was too busy battling my health issues to even consider having kids, or whatnot. To make it, I knew my disability wasn't enough - I'd need to find a way to make money, if I wanted to buy a house, etc. But we were doing ok. Mike got a really good job selling radio advertising, and we bought a car. We were together for over 2 years. Then one day I came home from somewhere I don't now recall, and the apartment was empty. Mike had asked to use the car that day, and I had taken a cab somewhere. My immediate thought was "Oh my god, we've been robbed!" I called Mike's job, and they said he hadn't come in that day. Oh-oh. So I sat there for about an hour, trying to figure out what was going on, when the phone rang. It was Mike, crying, and he said "I did a terrible thing." I told him to calm down, that everything would be ok (see - cool head in emergencies), and to please tell me what's going on. It didn't make much sense, but Mike had flipped out somehow and cleaned out the apartment, and took our car, too. He didn't plan on coming back, but at the same time, was crying about what a horrid thing it was, he'd just done. I immediately remembered that I'd added his name to my bank account - the one we used to pay the rent and car payments, etc. I called a friend, told him what happened, and he drove me by the bank. The money was still there - whew! I withdrew it, of course, and was called by Mike the next day, him calling me names for w/drawing the money! Mind you, my grandma had given us the loan for the car, and we were paying her back. It was a new car, and cost 7k (this was in 1982), and she'd given us 5k toward it. We only had 2k in the bank. I asked Mike what he planned to do to pay my grandma back. He said "You figure it out." !! I felt so bad! Here she was, nice enough to trust us, and there was no way for me to pay her back. I gave her the 2k, but she gave it back, saying I should just give her 100.00/mo until I got back on my feet. Of course, I had to give up the apartment. As fate would have it, the lease was up the following month. I tried to figure out what to do - where could I go? But without a job and with an "income" of about 400.00/mo., there was nowhere to go. I looked at a couple of very depressing apartments in seedy neighbourhoods in Chicago, and just could not bring myself to live there. I was, at heart (and still am in a lot of ways), and North Shore snob. Finally one night my grandma called and said I should move in with her for a while. My grandma lived upstairs from my mom and step-dad, so I *really* didn't want to go back there. There were friends who offered a temporary stay at their places, but I wanted to know where I'd be next week, not just tomorrow. Remember I was also car-less and disabled, so simply didn't have anywhere else to go, but grandma's. Well, that's enough for now. My eyes hurt. Until next time... Current Mood: numb Current Music: none (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 30th, 2006
12:17 pm	it's been a long time I suppose I should format some of this, to make it more attractive. But hell, since when do I care if my writing is "pretty?" So I'll just go on as usual, 'cause really no one's watching anyway. I don't even know when the last entry was, and haven't bothered to look. I'm not even sure where I was living at that time - was I in the rented Mesa house, or still in my Chandler house? No idea at all. I do recall there being a few rants about my so-called family - and nothing in that direction has changed. They're still assholes, and I still have no contact with any of them. For a while my mom and I were writing snail-mail letters, but that's stopped also. I tried inviting her here for dinner one night, and ended up wondering why I keep trying to have any kind of "relationship" with people who are utterly incapable. All that happens every time I see her is I end up wondering why I'm seeing her. Oh, and bad childhood (and later) memories come up as well. The bottom line is, nothing positive happens, except perhaps for my "reminder" of why I don't have contact. The past 11 months I've been working for PokerStars, an online poker site. It all happened by accident. After moving to the rural desert and having no internet connection for over a year, WildBlue started up their satellite company, and I think we were one of their first customers in this area. Of course, the first place I went was to "my" poker site to play a quickie tournament. I beat this guy in a hand, and he said "fuck you, bitch." Nice welcome back, I thought. I was more disgusted at how a few idiots (ok, many idiots, but such is the world) insist on making their presence known, on the best poker site online, than I was personally offended by his comment. I hastily brought up Outlook Express and found "PokerStars" in my address book, and started an email. The subject line was "Nothing has Changed." It was a rather short email, basically saying how sad it was that such a great site has such bad chat problems, and I don't know why PS puts up with it, and on and on. I hit "send" and forgot about it. The next day, I received this email: DJ, we do still take chat abuse seriously. I asked support to take further look at your complaint. Unfortunately the amount of abuse is much higher than we would like to have on our site. One idea that we are considering is to assign a number of players as chat monitors with special privileges. If you are interested to know more I can send you details. Kind regards, David PokerStars Management A few emails went back and forth, and then one day "David" asks if he can call me. On the phone, he states that he needs to hire me - and soon after a contract was sent and signed. I'm still there. I designed the software moderators use, hire/train/fire moderators, of which there are now 38 (I think), soon to be upward of 45. So far we are on play money tables only, but there are plans to move onto the real money tables as well, in the next several weeks. I have an assistant also, who has been with PokerStars for 5 1/2 years, named Larry. Did I ever, in my wildest dreams, think I'd be doing this for more money than I've ever made in my life? Hell no. I thought I'd be sitting here coming up with "things to do" for the rest of my life, not harried every day managing a huge staff and trying to keep a program running as smoothly as possible. Like any company, there are a lot of really likable people, and there are those I could do without, but overall it's just about the best environment I've ever had for creating things like this. The owners understand the "too many cooks" rule, and have pretty successfully kept things humming by enforcing that. Thank heaven they are as clever as they are, or this would have taken a lot longer (assuming I'd have even lasted this long in any other kind of environment). It's also very nice to be working from home, saving gas, clothes, lunch, etc. money. It is much cheaper (and, I think, better for "society") staying home. One big downside (perhaps the only big downside) is that I've grown even more sedentary than I already was, and I'm feeling it. Is up to me, but I tend toward physical laziness anyway, so having a "sit down" job encourages that. In a week or so I will be flying in my new puppy from a Florida kennel. His registered name is: TMC:P - DJ's Midnight Stars for Isai - very fancy, but can't think of a nickname yet. It will no doubt have nothing to do with the registered name. Perhaps this will force me off my arse - the necessity of training. Since this pup, like Mack, will be my Service Dog, he'll be going everywhere with me. The trouble is I don't go anywhere except the casino. He'll be the most unflappable casino dog ever, though a nervous wreck everywhere else . Hopefully I will not stay this physically inactive once he gets here. There are details to catch up on here, but that's the main stuff. I will try to write more regularly, only because it's good, I think, to have this as a record. Not sure why, but what the heck - I've done more with less motivation, so, Full Speed Ahead. Current Mood: tired Current Music: Bobby Darin's "Rainin" (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 17th, 2004
12:04 pm	Angry, angry dreams I finally linked my nightmares to Valium. It seems, the night *after* I had taken Valium to sleep, I have vivid, disturbing nightmares. It almost negates Valium as a sleep aid. Not even sure it's "almost." I wake up full of anger, mostly centering around my mom and sister (and to some degree, her husband and kids). I only really remember two things from this morning's drama: I was living in my mom's house, for some unfathomable reason, and noticed she had opened my bedroom door, which I had closed. When I told her I wanted my door closed, she said "I don't like closed doors." Symbolic, or what? Then my sister comes over. Oh joy. At one point she's addressing my mom in a soft voice, calling her "mommy." I remarked "Oh how sweet, how cute, and how FAKE!" It has always irked me that she's a "peace-loving Libra" - heh. I remember the first time I saw her at her job (sells women's fragrances at Macy's), and was appalled to hear her calling old ladies "hon." I think I even mentioned it to her and she said "They like it." That's her, in a nutshell. Doesn't matter that what she says is insincere or doesn't mean anything - they like it, so... whatever it takes to cajole people. Oh yeah - another remark I recall from the dream... As she was leaving, I said "And say hi to your two brats." Anyway, I might try Adavan next time I can't sleep, but I don't see why its action should be any different, since it's so closely related to Valium (diazapam - sp?). It seems to stop REM sleep, so the next night or two, your brain tries to "catch up" by going through more REM sleep - and REM sleep is what happens when you're dreaming. A real catch-22. Yesterday was "fun." I went to the casino to escape here, and even though I don't feel really well, I settled in on a blackjack table, and was just getting into it, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Ivy. I never mentioned Ivy here, I realize. I met her some 7 years ago, in Harrah's card room at Ak-Chin. I noticed her because she was loud and always seemed to be rushing around. That was the impression. She played stud, which I did, too, at that time, but for some reason we never ended up on the same table. We did, however, sometimes play the same table in the Thursday night tournaments. One day we just started talking, and she mentioned that she got two free steak dinners at Harrah's steakhouse - would I like to eat there with her? At that time I lived in a very small apartment on Mill Ave. in Tempe - and Ivy lived in Gilbert - about 25 minutes east. My view of her then was that she was funny, friendly, energetic, strong (physically) - and an aggressive card player. We became pretty fast friends, though in my usual manner, I seem to let people get closer than they actually do, until I know them a long time. When I bought the house on Bogle in Chandler, Ivy was the one that helped me clean up the apartment, so that I got most of my security deposit back. I really appreciated that, as my lungs, even then, didn't allow me to do a lot of lifting, carrying, or scrubbing. I remember her wondering where my family was, as I was moving both myself and my mom into the Bogle house. This is the question and "tone" I recall: "What kind of family do you have, anyway?" I told her I was used to it. That we've never been close, and it never occurred to me to expect help from any of them. She was amazed at that. It hadn't crossed my mind to expect or to wonder about any of it. To me it was "normal." Every man for himself, kinda thing. I even recall a long period of time where there was no contact between my sister and I, her living in Phoenix and me in the Chicago area. And once a womanfriend asked me if I had any siblings. "No" slipped out really fast, then a hurried "Oh yes - I have a sister who lives in Phoenix." But it was then that I realized how distant we really were. It seems my whole life centered around trying to pull closer to family, and at one point I just gave up. And it was around the time I gave up that Sandy would come every year, with Cindy, to visit for a week or so. Anyway, that's way off the track of what I was getting to - which was my visit to the casino last night... Having had a horrible day here with Ran, I was escaping. Now, I know better - there is no escape. But all I wanted was to mindlessly sit there, and watch the cards fall. Instead, Ivy taps me on the shoulder. I hadn't heard from her in two days, and certainly didn't expect to see her there. She says she's been there for 36 hours - had not been home at all - and was in trouble. She had written checks (two, I think she said) to the casino, that would bounce if she didn't find some way to deposit money into her account. Now, I've been trying really, really hard to make the little bit I got from the sale of the house grow. I've been pretty careful, myself, not to lose any until I buy somewhere to live. But she asked if I'd give her a loan. The most I've ever loaned to her or anyone was 300.00, and she already owes me 150.00 (told her I'm in no hurry to get paid back). She was asking for 1800.00, and wasn't sure when she could pay it back. I said that I asked Bruce, my broker, to keep the money away from me. The only way I can get any is to call him, and he's to talk me out of everything except buying property. Incredulously, Ivy turns to me and says "Well, this is a little bit different." And I thought "Yes it is - instead of me losing it, you lost it for me - yes, that's different." It was a mild guilt trip. She kept calling herself "stupid," as is her way of making me feel sorry for her. With all that's been going on - Brian and I are talking again, having trouble being in such a small house with Ran, etc. - the last thing I need is a friend laying guilt trips because I won't/can't bail them out. I don't *want* to have to worry about that amount of money, and besides that - would I really be doing her a favour?? Has giving/loaning money to someone with a gambling problem ever really helped? Isn't it similar to giving alcohol to an alcoholic? And, I just plain can't afford it. I need to find someplace to BE - this sure isn't it. Hell, the places I'm interested in, the land only costs 2k/acre. Ivy is asking me to give her one of the acres! At least that's how my mind sees it. So, I probably lost a friend - though I do wonder what kind of friend would put me in this guilt-tripping position. I mean, I *can* get the money, but it would hurt me to do so. And why should anyone who cares about me ask me to hurt myself to feed their habit - or to rescue them from continued, constant mistakes? To me, is no different than an alcoholic or drug addict. And though I love Ivy, I really dislike it when people lose control. I hate the "need to have it" mentality. And just plain shit - I've had to deal with it all my life. When do I get a break from the desperate minds that seem to gravitate to me? And, I have to admit - this figures in here, too: Ivy couldn't be bothered when I was suicidal. What I heard from her was: "I can't stop you if you're going to do it." I *almost* said that about her gambling, but I can't seem to hurt people like they hurt me. I can write it here, but I can't actually say it, you know? I wanted to scream "And where the FUCK were you? Huh? Where was everyone??" And that anger lives within, and is hurting me. I keep thinking that I just have to keep "how people are" in mind, yet not let it affect me so much. I need to learn to "go with the flow" but not let it *really* carry me away. Brian says that's just not in my makeup, and he could very well be right. I'm so damned jealous of people who are that way. If I had to summarize what my life's been about, that's easy - it's been about loss. Plain and simple. About desire and attachment and remembering that behind everything is loss. I "wrote off" a whole list of people and ideas (and ideals) during the latest crisis, including my illusions about "family." Accepting loss is very difficult for me. The only one I wanted to write off, but didn't, was Ivy - mostly because I know she has a heart of gold. But there is a fatal flaw, and I think it's going to do whatever friendship we had, in. Guilt trips and me don't go together very well. I grew up with a mom who had the "gift of guilt" and could lay "the mother of all guilt trips." I learned to resent them, instead of just falling in line. They still "work," but I'm much more likely to snap out of it with a good deal of resentment left over, rather than cave into them. It took me years to realize that. It took many, many years to realize that guilt plays no part in love - and so the one trying to make you feel guilt doesn't love you. They want control. They want their "way." And that's all. You become a way for them to stop hurting, and that's all. Has nothing to do with you, yourself, but only of what "use" you are. Mind you, people use each other - I think it's normal and not necessarily wrong. I don't mean it that way. I mean it's difficult because people in pain, naturally, have as priority getting it to stop, by whatever means necessary. And I can overlook a lot of things. I'm in touch with what it is to be human. I know how weak we are. I know how self-oriented we are. I have been there, many times. But it just so happens that guilt is one of my triggers, from lots of past experience with being controlled by it. I'll never forget one day when I cried in front of my mom while she was laying a guilt trip. And this is what she said "You're crying because you know you're guilty." I went immediately from hurt to on-fire anger, and I said "No, I'm crying because I don't understand how you could have done this to your own kids, you moron!" I really said that. And got the predictable, usual response: "You should be ashamed of yourself to talk to your mother that way!" - in other words, yet another attempted guilt trip. That's when you finally throw up your hands and see just how hopeless it is. I grew tired of dodging bullets. Have had a lifetime of it, and have been "shot at" by the master. No one could ever do a better job than she did. They're all amateurs. So - that's where I'm at. I think I lost another friend, who I think was real, but I have these "things" colouring it - like not being there when I really needed someone to be there, and like laying guilt trips ("Well, this is different [because it involved ME and I'M in trouble now and you SHOULD DO SOMETHING because you're my FRIEND!"]) Bah, humbug. Until next gripe... (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 1st, 2004
1:41 pm	And here's what else I'm done with... I'm done being considerate of those who ignore me. In fact, I started that a few years ago - part of my "giving up on" people. Two people remembered my birthday. And the two other people I "reminded" because we happened to speak that day, went on to another subject, as if I didn't say anything. So it's been a topper for a great few months. Been on the verge of giving up completely, but these past few months have really shown me what I already knew. Fuck them all. Will write more sometime. (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 15th, 2004
11:47 pm	and the beat goes on... I have been too disgusted since my last entry to even attempt to write, but I feel the need for an "update" of sorts, so here goes... Shortly after my last entry, and while my house was being painted/carpet cleaned, it was burglarized as well. Of course, it was one of the workmen, but try to prove that. The detective agrees, the realtor agrees, everyone involved "knows," but unless someone saw who did it, or the one(s) who did it say they did it, I know it'll never be proven. They took my refrigerator (which I liked a lot), and various electronics that I had stored in the garage. Carefully picked through things, which points to someone(s) who had time alone and free access. Total damages: about 4,000.00. But I have homeowner's insurance, right? Ok. They'll cover it, minus a 500.00 deductible. And oh - that also means they're canceling my policy when the current one expires (2/1/04). You see, you need to have insurance, you're just not allowed to actually use it... Well, I want to sell this house, which means that, sooner or later, I'd have had to put the rest of my stuff into storage anyway - this just sort of hurried it along. Ran and I loaded what boxes could fit into my and his cars, and brought what we could back here that same night. But I had trouble sleeping nonetheless, wondering if the thieves would return before we could load up the rest and cart it out of there. There was also a broken window to replace (the workmen - er, burglars - made a feeble attempt to make it look like an "outside job." They didn't fool anyone. It took a while to figure out all that was missing, and so I haven't been paid yet. Story goes on, and early last week, I started to think there might be some light at the end of this tunnel of hell, as about 8 or 9 people looked at the house, and I right away got two offers. Neither was exactly what I'd hoped for - one was too low, but for cash; the other was very high, but only because they wanted me to handle all closing costs, inspections, etc. - a total that was about 6,000.00. I made counteroffers to both, and Pete (realtor) sent them in by FAX. However, the next morning, another offer came in that sounded perfect. They offered list price, and asked for very few concessions. They wanted me to carry an insurance policy on the air conditioner for a year, and wanted me to repair anything an inspector might find wrong. Sounded very reasonable. The inspector was there yesterday, and today the realtor called to say he found termites! The house was treated about a year ago - there is no way they should have returned this fast. Tomorrow I wait to hear from the people who treated the house, as my warranty apparently expired about 3 weeks ago *sigh*. Also listed were some minor plumbing things (a couple of little leaks in faucets, etc.), and one thing we're going to put a nix on: They seem to think the hot water heater should be replaced. Mind you, the house is only 8 years old. Realtor said "I don't think we'll be doing that!" I'm trying to get through this with as little extra wear and tear on my nervous system as I can, but it seems there is always something unexpected coming up. I'll write more as I find things out. Closing is supposed to be on 2/9. That is, if I can rebuild the house to make it brand new by then ... (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 16th, 2003
3:34 pm	Some things are trying to kill you... And most of us have these other things that keep us around, even when we don't want to be. I really haven't wanted to be around anymore, the past 2 1/2 months or so... But there is the curl of my Rottweiler's ear, for instance, and the graceful weep of my tree. About 24 hours before my world with Brian ended, him and I adopted a cat - an older kitten, really, named "Stitch." He quickly renamed himself Charlie (grin). Charlie is an orange and white short hair, mostly orange with white "boots" on his back legs and "mittens" on his front ones. And he has one white cheek (whisker pad) that just gets to me every time him and I are looking face to face. Anyway, Charlie, the very first night home, kept insinuating himself between Brian and I in bed. I think Brian was a bit flustered at it, but in retrospect, I find it almost a foretelling. If memory serves, Brian left the next day - I *think* he took a Greyhound all the way back to eastern PA where I had driven (mostly alone) just some three weeks earlier. No doubt he called his sister for money, as usual (according to his parents, she is forever bailing him out - wish I'd have had my eyes open long before, but I didn't, of course, or NONE of it would have happened). However he got there, he went running back to mommy and daddy, and left me in the house alone, with no way to stay there, and nowhere to go. Lovely feeling. But I had my dog of nearly 5 years, and this new kitten, who stuck with me like glue. At first I found it annoying - after all, I was trying to figure out what just happened and what I was going to do about it, and this kitten (who also happens to be extremely "talky") was following me all over the house (I really was a zombie) and sleeping with me all night. I thought to take him back to where we got him, but decided to give it a few days. I'm so glad I did. He's one of the best cats I've ever had, and for at least a week, it was almost as if he was keeping me as sane as I could be, under the circumstances. Now, I'm not stupid, but I am prone to believing kind words said with apparent sincerity. A real pigeon for that stuff, since I... crave it. All my life I thought there was someone who would "fit" with me - like a missing piece. I'm not really that unrealistic, but you know - I also don't think I'm *so* hard to get along with that the right guy wouldn't come along maybe someday. And I thought Brian was "it." He was bright and smart and funny, and I thought capable. But I wasn't being objective - at least not often enough. I do recall noticing things. Like how he "handled" disagreements - by leaving - by totally ignoring the fact that I exist. I can't have that - lol. About the worst thing someone can do is walk away from me over some small thing - it registers in my gut as if I'm not even worth the working out of minor disagreements - that's how much I mean to *them* - you know? And I told him that every time it happened. I stressed that it's the one thing I can't handle. I'd rather be shouted at - and I really dislike that - but I'll take it over the disappearing act (I feel I disappear in their eyes, not them from mine). I think that when you claim to love someone as much as he claimed to love me - you don't just walk out and pretend they never existed. I think love means you try everything else *first*. heh Just a bit of sarcasm there... What were the signs I should have paid attention to, other than the fact that Brian's way of "dealing" with things was to not deal with them at all? Well, he didn't work, he rarely slept (bad conscience?), he wasn't friendly with *any* of his ex's, including his ex-wife. He *never* talked about his two kids (unless asked, then only briefly), he said he owned a car, but I never saw one when I was in PA. He never owned a house or, as far as I could tell, even had his own apartment. Apparently he'd always moved into women's apartments or houses. He's very good at putting forth an image. I mean, he missed his calling as a salesman, if you ask me. I was lead to believe that, while he was away in the Navy, his wife went out "gallivanting" around. I'm not going to say some women don't do that, but usually - USUALLY - if they do, the marriage was already over, anyway. Something was missing (um, like in this case, his presence) - communication was already sparse or non-existent. At least that's been what I've seen of most women. Men "leave" often for the same reasons, actually. And an awful lot of people seem to not want to leave one relationship before they're "set up" with another first. That, I never understood... Anyway, so I thought "Poor guy - he's off overseas, working for Uncle Sam, and his wife is home fooling around!" I bought it - 'cause he really does have a sweet demeanor. In fact, my nickname for him was "sweets," and I recall telling him he was the sweetest man I'd ever known. That might still actually be true. It's just that he kills your spirit while going around with all the sweetness - lol. In any case, I loved the guy. He told me he'd spent 11 years with this other woman, helping raise her 4 kids (one of which was autistic), but after he hurt his back and couldn't work for the moving company anymore, she "went out" on him and started fooling around, too. Now that he couldn't make money to support her and her kids, she kicked him out after finding another guy. I have to admit, I wondered why it was everyone he got involved with ended up fooling around, but it could happen to the nicest guy, so I didn't think about it with too much judgement. So of course, it being her house, he moved in with his parents - and there was the fact that all 5 of his other brothers and sisters were married and gone, so he was the most likely candidate to take care of them in their ill health. It's true that they're both rather ill (after raising 6 kids, I would be, too, assuming I even lived through something like that), but the fact is, he had nowhere else to go. His dad actually laughed when I told him that Brian had said he moved in there to take care of them. I absolutely love his parents, by the way. And I liked the brothers and one sister that I met while in PA. More on that later... Lots of people have hard luck. I understand that better than most, I think, as I've been there and have had a few really close friends who have been there. They're not bad people - it's not because they didn't try hard enough, etc. - things were stacked against them. That's what I thought was the case with Brian. My heart was just mush over his sad story. Apparently so was my brain... In July, Brian told me that his doctor had finally deemed him "totally, permanently disabled," and signed such on the form that his lawyer would send in to Social Security. Finally, things would go through and he could get on with his life. In early August, he said that his lawyer told him his disability (and $40,000.00 in back pay) would "definitely go through by the end of the month" - or by the end of September, for certain. Great!, I thought - why don't I just drive to PA in September and bring him back here? That way, him and I could see the country while we were at it. I was going to rent a car, but as we talked about it, I first asked Brian if he drove a stick. He said he did, so why don't I just get *my* car road-worthy, and put the money into it instead of a rental car? Good idea! So I took my last $700.00 out of my checking account, and charged another $550.00 on my Sears card, and got my car ready. It made me nervous to be in debt, but Brian said it was absolutely no problem - we'll pay it off right away! After all, was this not now *our* car and *our* bills? Heh. Now I only needed money for the trip itself, so I sold some of my mutual funds. Ok, ok - Brian said we'd put it back, so no biggy, right? After all - we were an "us" and so everything we did we'd figure out together. Right? Right. So, I'm driving, with my dog, to PA to bring my baby back here, where he belongs, because we're so fucking "in love" we just can't stand to be apart anymore. Besides, why wait? His lawyer's always given him the straight scoop before, and he says Brian's disability will go through by the end of September (*for certain*). Haven't we waited long enough to be together? We met online in July of the year before - so we knew each other for about 14 months, and he'd come to visit for 11 days the previous December. At which time, by the way, he told me he'd be moving to Arizona by my birthday, which was in January of 2003. It was now September - let's get *on* with it, already! Let's just say that traveling cross country in a small car with a big dog, wasn't my idea of a good time. I couldn't wait to get there, but after the first day, I started to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I was *so tired* I could hardly get the key in the motel room door. Then I had to feed/walk the dog. Then somehow feed myself. Then walk him again before I could finally get some sleep. In the morning it was all rush rush - feed the dog, shower, take dog for walk, repack car, get gas for another ten/twelve hours of driving. Four days/nights of this. I get there - I get lost in the small town he lives in. I end up on the "wrong side of the tracks" at some gas station, where I call. He meets me - it's wonderful. He looks great, he feels great. Having those strong arms around me was all I needed - that, and a shower - lol. He'd gotten a nice motel room so we could have privacy instead of staying at his parents' house. We stayed four days, during which time I met at least two brothers and a sister, and went for a walk in Brian's favourite park. Was nice. I felt better than I expected to. Mack seemed to be having a good time, too - and at one point he jumped into the creek, making a play for some of the ducks. All seems fine. I'm on top of the world. One night I go to play bingo with his sister, and she lets me know that she's the one that paid for the motel room. Hmmmm. I don't know what her motive was there, but she struck me as someone who needed to be recognized as sort of "running the show." I didn't know what to say - thanks? Oh? Um, I didn't know that? Nothing I could say, so I think I smiled and said nothing (old standby "safe" response - lol). I never told Brian that she told me that. I felt sorry for him that she did. Anyway, the day comes to head back to Arizona. Brian gives me $200.00 and says I should keep it for the trip back. Have to admit I was stunned. I'd just spent about $1700.00 getting my car ready, and another $800.00 getting there. I was confused. I know he (or rather, his sister) paid for the motel while we were in town, but... I chose not to worry about it - things would get straightened out once we were home. He mentioned borrowing money to sort of tie him over until the end of the month when his disability was sure to come through, so I didn't worry about it on the way home. But on the first day, I found out he doesn't know how to drive stick, after all. I mean, he took some quickie lessons on his brother's truck or something - but that's not the same as "knowing how to drive stick." Oh oh. Looks like I'd be doing most of the driving back home, too. Well, if he was willing to walk Mack and get dinners at motels and stuff, then I could drive back. But it bothered me, I admit, that when I asked, before deciding to bring my own car, if he could drive stick, his reply was "of course!" This wasn't someone who was rusty at it - it was someone who'd never done it before a week or so ago, and then maybe only a couple of times. I was scared he'd strip my gears or burn out my clutch. So of course I drove almost all the way back myself. I distinctly don't like being lied to. It's not a moral thing. It's a trust thing. If this wasn't true, what else wasn't true? When was the next bomb gonna fall? Well, I'll tell ya - lol. It fell soon after we got back, and I realized that I was still going to have to drive everywhere, and pay all the bills, because his disability wasn't coming through, and his brother wasn't coming through, either. His brother told him he had to ask his wife about it. You *know* what that means. It's a polite "Ah, no." Soon after we got back, Mack got very sick. He was all mopey and his eyes droopy and he had the runs something awful. The morning Brian told me Mack didn't want to go for a walk, I should have called a Vet, but I thought he just didn't want to go. A few days later, Mack was drugged by my insane next door neighbour. So it was a rush to the Vet. He'd caught Psitticosis (sp?) - a bacteria that birds carry - no doubt, the Vet said, he'd gotten it when he jumped in after those ducks in PA. The droopiness was definitely some kind of tranquilizer, and the Vet thought he'd shake that off - that whomever gave it to him didn't realize how much he weighs and under-dosed him. That is, if they were trying to kill him, they missed. Long story about my crazy neighbour. Someday, maybe. Suffice to say she moved out shortly after I did - damn it. Her husband was all happy - "I've been waiting for this for 2 1/2 years!" he exclaimed. It was that same day - with a big Vet bill, the house payment, electric bill, internet bill, utilities bill, and Sears credit card bill (for my car) coming due, and me asking Brian what we're going to do for money, that he left. How supported I felt! How reassured that there really was an "us"! ("You mean, it takes money to live? Fuck. I'm outta here!") Gawd. I fell apart. What was I gonna do now? How did I let this happen? How did I let myself believe in this? Was I nuts? I tell you - "in love" is a form of insanity. I think we can all do without it, except, maybe, from a distance. Love is another thing altogether. Love sticks by you. Love loves you and will try everything not to hurt you. OK - I'm gullible. I'm weak in spots. But I tell you, I'm also tough as nails, and that's part of the "problem." All my life I've attracted weak men who "feed" on my strength, and when they see it ebbing (as it will do from time to time), they leave, off in search of someone else on which to conduct their parasitic little lives. The men I've met have gotten better and better at hiding their weakness. I can't say I never saw Brian run from a situation, but I thought I was too important to him by then. I *never* thought he'd just leave. Vanity and blindness and being "in love." I don't know what kind of miracles the next guy will have to perform to win me over, but he'd better have started practicing, like, a century ago. 'Cause I am going to be one hard sell, lemme tell ya. I nearly lost my best friend over this weakling, seller of dreams (smoke and mirrors). I nearly lost my dog. I did lose my house. I loved that house - the house where I thought I'd finally, finally, be happy. It's on the market as I write this. Every time I have to go there, it's another emotional trial. I come back here, and have nightmares. People are chasing me - wanting to feed off of me, wanting to tell me lies and laugh at my belief in them. Sounds pitiful. Feels it, too. I admit to getting into horrendous bouts of self-pity - the old "why me?" and how a guy I'm with only has to be a nice guy. Of course, that's not true. He's gotta be smart, and he's gotta make me laugh, and he's gotta convince me that I matter a lot. But shit - if Brian could perform that magic trick, so could just about anyone. (wry smile) I certainly didn't need yet another guy leaving me like so much baggage. What do you trust? Who? Can I believe anything that anyone says, at all? You know - they say that if you feel no one values you, it's because you don't value yourself. I used to buy that, but... nahhhhh! I've got an ego. I know I'm smart. I know that I could love someone, and I know I'm lovable. I know how to do a lot of things. I can outplay just about anyone at poker - lol. And no, I'm not the easiest to live with, but I'm not *that bad*, either. I'm funny, love to laugh, I see the irony in life. But any hint that I'm not very important (unless I do such and such or be such and such), and yeah, I get to be a bit difficult - heh. So, some time goes by. I go through suicidal periods that don't even scare me - waking up the next day scares me more. I came very, very close to pulling the trigger. One evening I laid in bed and just held my gun for a few hours, thinking, "What the fuck difference would it make, really? Who'd care? And wouldn't they all just say - 'I knew she wasn't right!' or somesuch, then go about their pathetic little lives?" I was thinking all these things, and staying in bed all the time, because every time I left the bedroom, there was just me and the house where my dreams used to live. And there was nowhere else to go. I didn't have a mommy and daddy to run away to. I never did. But I had a sister, I thought. When I called her, after a week or so, and told her what happened, I didn't hear again for over a week. When I did hear, it was an obligatory thing - I could tell. "So, are you better now?" Fuck that. I didn't want/need that. I told her the truth - I wasn't sure where I was going to end up. I asked if she would be there should it come to me not having anywhere to go or anyone to turn to. She hemmed and hawed, in that endearing way of hers, then said "I guess it's just that I've had to *work* for everything *I* have." I stood there, phone to ear, mouth open, trying to replay those words in my head to be sure that's really what I was hearing. And what came out of me was, "I *knew* something like that was lurking. Bye, Sandy." And I hung up, and crumbled. Now it was just me, my dog, my kitten, and my best friend Ran who, though I kicked him out of the house to be with my "love," still called me his best friend. I could give up all illusions of "famility" I've held so stubbornly to. It didn't exist. It seems I've forever heard, "When the chips are *really* down, family will be there." Well? The chips were really down. Hey! Where is everyone? lol I guess it's one of those things that sounds good, but heaven forbid you actually test it out and see if it works. I hope no one reading this ever finds out that instead of the loved family member you think you are, you're really more like the weird cousin they keep in the basement because they feel too guilty to put her in an institution. So I fell apart some more. My sister, for whom I would have done literally anything, more or less told me to fuck off. Politely, of course, which is her way. After my hurt bubbled for a while and condensed, it turned into outrage. Why those snobs! Who the fuck do they think they are, anyway? Right now, the sister I would have done anything for, well, if she was drowning, I'd stand and watch, and maybe give her the advice to kiss her own ass goodbye. She shoulda learned to swim - after all, *I've* had to *swim* for everything *I* have. She sells women's fragrances at Macy's, by the way. Someday I hope to aspire to such importance. My god - who *does* she think she is? When I think about it - when I really take a cold, distant look at it, I never liked my sister's family. What a bunch of useless snobs. All out for themselves, and only themselves. And both of the kids are carbon copies. No wonder the world is such a sad place - *that's* what is being churned out. These are the same two "kids," by the way, who are both collection agents, and brag about it. My niece actually said she loves her job because, every day, she's in touch with people who are in trouble, and she's not. Lovely folks. Then again, they are happier than me, I think. I don't know how, but I think they are. So maybe it's the "right" way to be, I don't know. Yes, I do know - I'd rather be dead than be dead and still walking around, like they are. What snobs. It amazes me. I'm sure that all these years she thought every contact we had was a favour she was doing me. OMG - I bet she thinks that. Oh, I am so lucky to have such a sister with such a nice family. How blessed I am! Every Thanksgiving, that's what I say at dinner's prayer. Pffffffffft! I got so tired of the feeling that they were somehow doing me a favour by inviting me for holidays, that I stopped going over a year ago. I felt slimy every time I was there, though I didn't know why exactly. If they only knew just how big my ego really is. It didn't occur to me before I realized it, that they thought they were doing anything for *me*. I thought they were lucky to have my company, when I was willing. Really! I'm so insulted they thought otherwise. Actually makes me feel physically ill. I remember so many times wondering if I'd stayed long enough to be polite, before I could rush over to the nearby casino to play my beloved poker. Didn't want to eat and run, ya know, even though that's exactly what I wanted to do - make an appearance and leave so I wouldn't have to hear the droning of sports on TV one more minute. Heaven forbid you actually talk with the people there - SHUSH! FOOTBALL IS ON! I couldn't *wait* to leave. And yet they were, in their minds, doing *me* some sort of favour. Oh my fucking God. Wish I'd have known that at the time, I could have stopped going over long before I did. So, Brian was gone, my sister was gone, my house was gone, I was gone. At least for a while. I didn't know if I'd be back. And it was the first time in my life - no sob story - a life full of lots of turmoil - that I didn't have any idea if I'd ever be back. But I'm coming back, slowly, slowly. Yet I'd feel badly for any nice guy who tried to get too close right now. I'd chew his head off and show it to him before he died - lol. I loved Brian. More than any other man, I think, except maybe my dad. I needed what I saw as his optimism. I thought it was a sense of "together, we can do anything," when in reality, it was just a hopeless lack of a sense of reality. *sigh* I confuse optimism borne of self-confidence with dreams borne of lack of stability, and I tend to forget how irresponsibly someone like me can be dragged into it. They don't care that they leave dead bodies in their wake. We're not real anyway, right? If they go away and not see us, don't we just disappear? Can't they just keep ignoring until they die? I guess so. And I almost wish I could, too. More when I can... (Comment on this)
Saturday, December 6th, 2003
4:12 pm	They Scatter, Like Cockroaches... When you switch on the light, they scatter, like cockroaches. Quite an apt analogy, I think. Soooooooo much has happened. I can't wait for 2003 to finally come to a screaming, creaking CLOSE, damn it. Last I wrote I was fighting with barking dogs and gang bangers. They seem mild in comparison to recent events, but of course if I was still living in Chandler, in my house, and they were still going on, I'd still be driven crazy by 'em. But I'm not there anymore, and it's a long, long story - more or less maudlin, and full of a martyr's tale, depending on how I'm feeling at the moment. I loved that house - it was pretty, open, and if "flowed." I had such great images of what could be done with that back yard that went on forever... But it was ruined by my own indiscriminate "habit" of letting in anyone that seems ok. I believe that houses - dwellings of any kind - "hold onto" the energy of the beings who have lived there. That energy might even be what more sensitive individuals perceive as "ghosts." I have no idea where to even start with all this, so if it sounds disjointed - if I jump from "here" to "there," please try to keep up. I've tried making notes, but they sound as jumbled as my head and heart, so are really no help. So I'm gonna wing it, as I usually do, and assume that most of the people reading this already know me well enough to figure out what I mean, even when it seems I'm writing in a lessor known dialect of Martian... I asked my roommate, Ran, to move out. Yes, he's been my best friend for nearly 25 years. Yes, I thought I knew him better than I've ever known anyone else, except myself. But we hadn't been getting along (no doubt a big factor there is that we're both "home bodies" - actually, he is, I've learned to be one, so we were rattling around that house too often at the same time), and it all kept escalating, until one afternoon/evening, it came to a head and things exploded. I happened to be on the phone with Brian (in PA) at the time, and he heard the insane screaming. I could tell he was worried, and said "Get him out of there, NOW." Also factored in was the fact that I was in love. Head over heels in love. And my love was moving to Arizona to be with me. In my mind and heart, I so wanted to feel loved, safe, like my house was a home and not a place where I just exist. And I was being fed these images almost non-stop. I told Brian that, with Ran gone, I walked a precarious line - I could not afford to live in that house alone. The house payment equaled more than my income, now that I wasn't hanging in smoky poker rooms anymore (my lungs can't take it). I was assured, and assured, and assured - that he was my love and it was all going to be ok and it was going to become a HOME, and on and on and on. The images I had! Brian and I, in my mind's eye, were everywhere in that house - MAKING it a home. We were in the kitchen, figuring out what was for dinner. We were laying on the couch, eating popcorn and watching a movie. We were sitting on the patio, watching the Arizona sky turn from bright pink, to mauve, to purple (the back of my house faces West). We were in a "hammock for two" in the huge yard, discussing the latest landscaping project. And of course there was the bedroom - ah, the bedroom, where I'd be held against his chest (hard muscles, soft hair), enclosed in his strong arms, forever. Sometimes we laughed so hard neither of us could *breathe*. Those images were so strong - so vivid, and seemingly so "realistic," that I bought into them, hook, line and sinker, as they say. I'm not easily taken in by most things. I tend to see everything with jaundiced eye - cynical/aware/wary/jaded - always looking for the "catch." But my one weak point is the idea - the IDEA - of family. Though it might be unrealistic sometimes, family, to me, means stability, comfort, support - "I love you no matter what and we're going to get through this no matter what it takes, and I will never leave you because we're an 'us' and we will always be an 'us'." I've never had that, and it seems I've spent my entire life looking for it. Maybe it doesn't exist except as an idea in my mind. I can be rather, ummm... sentimental, I guess is the word. Doesn't seem to fit with me, does it? lol Well, you might be surprised. Cynics are *always* only disillusioned idealists. We're not cynical because we're "hard," but because we're "soft" - and we need our cynicism as protection. In my young life, I feel I had been given everything. I was never hungry, I never felt cold or had to do without anything. We had money when I was growing up. A maid cleaned my room and made my bed. I went horseback riding every weekend, and to "horse camp" every summer. I always got what I wanted for Christmas and my birthdays. I'd ask - and there it was, most of the time. I was, very much so, the typical Chicago North Shore Suburban snob. And until I was 12, I'd say my life was almost ideal. My mom has always been neurotic. I just accepted her as so. Besides, I had my dad, who made perfect sense to me - so who cared if I couldn't relate with mom? She had my sister, her obvious favourite, to "busy" herself with, so we more or less ignored each other as much as possible. I was a "daddy's girl" - I was *his* favourite. I didn't need anything or anyone else. Until I was 12, it never occurred my life could change so radically in such a few hours... My dad died, a suicide, when I was 12. A particularly bad time for girls. I mean, he was my dad - my buddy, my mentor - the one who told me he was proud of me - the one who taught me how men should be. And he left me! He just...left! And what's more - he left me with this crazy woman! (no one believes my mom's as "bad" as she is until they meet her, by the way - I am not exaggerating) My sister was 17 when dad died, and got married at 18. Young, yes, but I understood - even though she was mom's favourite, she sure didn't want to be stuck in that house with her (or with me, I think). Her and her husband, who hated me, moved to Arizona soon after. I felt I had no choice but to live with "ma." I spent as much time as I could at my grandparent's house, which was the only sane island in my insane world from then on. After five horrid years of her and I tearing at each other, lo and behold, mom remarried. I was so relieved! Someone to take the pressure off of me - to carry her attention away. Fantastic, right? Except, instead of it taking stress off of me, as I thought it would, it soon became apparent that I was *both* of their targets. You see, if you are having trouble getting along, and there's a rebellious teenage girl in the house, you can always focus on her and make it all HER fault, right? How convenient. So now I'm 17, and dodging bullets from both sides of the room. And that wasn't all I was dodging. I was also dodging my step-dad's hands, when mom wasn't around. I knew she wouldn't believe me, so threatening him with telling her only made him laugh. So I tried to avoid being alone around him - I kept busy - I had quit day school, got a full time job, went to martial arts school four nights/week, and the other nights I took accelerated courses of high school to finish up. I was virtually never home, except to sleep, and except on Sundays. I dreaded Sundays. They seemed much longer than any day had the right to be. Luckily, mom was rarely out of the house without Jim. But on Sundays I'd try to stay outside, sunning, when the weather was good. The Winters were just horrible. Holidays were mixed. Mom and Jim went to his daughter's house, to which I wasn't invited, and though I felt sad at being alone while everyone else seemed to have somewhere to be, I also felt relieved to have them gone. I'd lock myself in with videos of non-holiday-related stuff, eat ice cream and pizza, and try to forget that, everywhere, people were surrounded by loving families (it's my idealistic mind, remember). A couple of times I went to friends' houses for dinner, but that almost felt worse - I was there, but I wasn't part of it, you know? Trying to keep this long story shorter, just because I realize it's boring to most, and a lot of the early stuff is a "had to be there" kinda thing. The point is, I haven't known stability or family or support, or love, really, since age 12. Life does go on - long after the thrill of living is gone. Somehow we trudge on. Some of us, almost miraculously, find our way to "something" - whether or not its exactly what we want is another story, but we survive. Most of us. I had some good friends in the Chicago area. A few really were friends. There was Judy, who saved my emotional life by being someone I could relate to, when I was 19 and she 24. There was Ran, whom I met in 1980 when I was 25, almost 26. Michael Lear when I was 29 (he is a book of writing all by himself). Part of my "looking for family" problem was that I wasn't looking for the traditional, while most of the men I dated, were. I didn't want to get married and have kids (lots of reasons - not the least of which was, I was still a kid myself, who needed undivided attention, but didn't know it then). I don't really *like* kids in the sense that I don't want one living with me. They always like me - and I like them, long as they go home when I'm tired of playing - lol. I find babies gross. They smell bad - kinda sour, when it's the outright smell of shit. Inside myself, no matter how close I got to some friends, I always felt alone. And I always was watching, not participating. It was me watching me - not fitting in. I didn't even fit in with the other weird kids in school. They tried. I got invited to parties, and I even went to them - but felt apart anyway. I never had a "crowd." I shied away from cliques and groups of any kind. I found them to be unreliable, even dangerous, given the right circumstances. I noticed early on that people in crowds act differently than they do individually, and I didn't trust that difference. I don't recall feeling particularly lonely - just "alone." Often I liked my own company. "They" say that you're lucky to have one really good friend in your life, and I've found that to be true. Unfortunately, I've had to find it true over and over and over again. When the light is switched on, they scatter, like cockroaches... More when I can... thanks for reading, whoever does. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 19th, 2003
8:54 am	Barking dogs, car stereos and "I know NOTHING!" Every time I think I have seen the most ignorant thing there is, something comes along to top it. This entry of "are we having fun yet?" is about some of the most ignorant things I've ever encountered. I refuse to say "THE" most ignorant, as I'm sure these will be topped, eventually. If you live in Chandler, Arizona, like I do, there is a city noise ordinance. Actually, there are two: 1) Any noise loud enough and long enough in duration to cause distress to the average person, and 2) A barking dog, by day or night. What you don't find out until you actually have trouble with noise, is how it is (isn't) enforced. Enter the boom boxes (loud car stereos)... that run up and down the medium-traffic street behind my house. These nitwitted waterhead miracles can find nothing better to do than drive UP AND DOWN this street - ad nauseum, vibrating everyone out of bed. It's not even as good as those vibrators in motel beds where you put a quarter in. The first day I noticed them was the beginning of August (I've lived here nearly five years - this is a brand new game they're playing), in mid-afternoon. The house started vibrating. I had no idea what was causing it, as I heard no sound except a very low-pitched "hum." I tried to ignore it and went to take a shower. Noticed that I felt it even in there, water running and all. When an hour went by with the house still shaking, I called the police and asked if road work was perhaps being done on that street. They said it might be, but they didn't have access to street repair schedules. After another hour, it stopped, and I forgot about it. Until that night, when it started again. It wasn't until then that I actually heard what they call "music." Between the "booms" were a few discordant tones. *sigh* So - story goes on. A few mornings later, after yet another more or less sleepless night, at about 6:30 a.m., the boomers finally stopped, and a neighbour's dog started barking. Completely disgusted now, I called the police again and told them of both the waterhead miracles who are driving up and down the street, and the waterhead miracle who thinks it's ok to let their dog bark his head off. I felt like a sandwich - where one piece of "bread" ended, another started - with me stuck in the middle. The police told me, that unless I was willing to file a formal complaint, nothing would be done, because it isn't a public safety issue. I told him he didn't understand - when I don't get enough sleep for three nights in a row, it IS a public safety issue (could tell he tried not to laugh). I asked what a "formal complaint" entailed, and he said the offenders would be told my name and address. (!!!) My complaint would become "public record." I said "No, thanks - stupid way to do it." He then said if I want to remain anonymous, they'd send an officer over there - and if HE heard the dog, he'd leave a "hanger" on their doorknob, telling them their dog was barking, which is against the law. I said "ok." 45 minutes later, with the dog still barking non-stop, I called back. They said the officer didn't hear anything. Several sleepless nights and mornings later, I called again. Again, they sent an officer over there, and 45 minutes later told me he couldn't hear anything. By now I was rather snippy (well, ok - even moreso than usual) and somewhat delirious from lack of sleep, so I replied "He couldn't hear that?? Are the donuts too crunchy, or what??" To which the dispatcher replied "I don't have to listen to that." And to which I replied "And I don't have to listen to that dog every morning." And here's the clincher. She has the gall to say... "What are you saying?," she asked. "I'm saying that I understand why people 'do it themselves' - the police can't HEAR!" "You're being taped, you know." "Listen - I am not the problem here, but I'm going to become one if I don't get some sleep! It's good you're taping me! Then when the dog ends up dead and I get asked about it, I'll have the chief listen to this tape. It'll prove that I TRIED going to legal route first, but all the police are deaf!" (grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!) I don't really feel like writing a book about this, so I'll speed things up. If you can imagine calling police every night because you are unrelentingly shaken from sleep by car stereos, and every morning because, like an alarm clock, a dog starts barking at 5:45 (it kept getting earlier, for some reason), then you can guess what state of mind I got into after three weeks. I finally did end up calling the chief's office and, to my surprise, got to talk to him right away. Told him everything - how I was going to get sleep, one way or another - how I was already talking to my realtor, about how the police can't seem to hear (because they drive right by), about how stupidly the law is "enforced." He asked if I would talk to an officer if he sent one over. I said yes - I was ready to lodge a formal complaint. The officer was nice, anyway. He went to the barking dog's house. Came back - said "Indeed, there is a dog barking there non-stop." Left a note, the woman who owns the dog called him, asked if she could talk with me. I said yes, and we talked the same day. She told me, the reason she got the dog is because a group of five "gang-bangers" moved in next door to her, and they were stealing things out of her yard. "Gang-bangers?" I asked. "Yes - they are all in their early 20's and they work on their cars with their loud stereos on." Bingo! Same guys that apparently can think of nothing to do but burn gas UP AND DOWN the street at all hours. Five waterhead miracles - all in the same house! I've taken a ride down that street a few times, and once or twice I saw people and asked if they've heard a loud car stereo. Invariably, they are hispanics who don't speak English (or are pretending they don't), and the response is "I know NOTHING!" ("I hear NOTHING! I see NOTHING! I AM NOTHING!" - heh) Now, remember that I can't "formally" complain about these gang-bangers, or they will know my name and address. Just what I need, eh? I have a Rottweiler - and these waterheads are always afraid of dogs. But in a couple of weeks me and my dog might be gone for two or three weeks (going to PA to bring my baby back :) - I love you, Brian), and I don't relish the thought of having gang-bangers trying to figure out where to sell my computer while I'm gone (*sigh*). I'll try to keep up to date on what's happening on this. It just might turn out to be fun, taking care of this business . Compared to Chicago (where I grew up) gang-bangers, these guys are babies. Anyway, yesterday and today my roommate and I have been rearranging the house so that the room I sleep in is QUIET. No more sleeping in the lovely master bedroom - but oh well, it's now my office, so I will actually be spending more time here than I did before. I'll get used to it. Though this morning, when I went to the kitchen for coffee, I automatically brought it back to the room that *used* to be my office. For a split second I couldn't figure out where my desk was. Oh woe is me... (Comment on this)
Monday, June 23rd, 2003
2:01 pm	Lame Fads Somewhere along the way, while I wasn't looking, it became "fashionable" for women to like team sports. When the hell did *that* happen? It all snuck up on me, and I'm usually pretty observant. One year, women gathered in kitchens across America with their "coffee klatch" friends, complaining about how they can't get their "lazy" husbands off the couch and away from the TV during football season; the next year, they were all clamouring for tickets to the Super Bowl. What kinda bullshit is that? Am I supposed to "buy" that all of a sudden a bunch of women realized they are simply orgasmic over football, or what? Heh - fat chance. It became a "fad" - and that's all there is to it. A white, middle class, "team mom" kinda lame fad. Granted, some women really do like team sports. But in my experience they are rare, and, in my opinion, usually rather warped - like most men who like team sports. Here's another lame fad... Online, on any gaming site where people gather in a "room," I've noticed a huge identity crisis among women (mostly). They can't seem to come up with nicknames that don't reflect a lack of a sense of self. "JacksDream," "EdsAngel," "JohnsSweetie," etc. I even saw one that was "MyHubbysWife"! Surely, women can see that they're people in their own right? But just once, I'd like to see "RalphsHardOn" as a nickname. 'Course, anyone who'd take on such a name needs to have some balls (no pun intended), which those who don't even see themselves as individuals, naturally lack. I was once in an online gaming room when an Aussie friend of mine (male) waltzed in using the name "GreydoesGroinalAppendage." I could hardly play from laughing so hard. Alongside "AlsWetDream," there are a lot of women who are moms and grandmas. "KimmysMommy," "Alexsmom," "Motherof4," and so on. Those are sad enough, but the ones that get me wretching are the oh-so-cute grandmas who call themselves "nana." Oh, gag me with a spoon! It reminds me of all those precious "World's Best Grandma" coffee mugs and tee shirts they buy *for themselves*. I find it all terribly embarrassing - full grown women designating themselves such. Proudly, mind you. Oh, I know - what kind of person attacks "nanas"?? Me. Ok, ok - but doesn't one sort of outgrow ostentatious cuteness after the age of 6 or so? In fact, true "cuteness" isn't self-agrandizing - that's mostly why it's cute. Don't get me wrong. In my opinion, there are fewer beings more genuinely cute than old folks. I like 'em. I've always liked 'em. It's only when they're desperately *trying* to be cute - when there is a "cuteness pretense" - that it becomes cloying. Please, grandmas of the world - let the grandkids call you "nana" - don't *you* call yourself that. It's gross. But I ask myself why these tendencies are so common as to be nearly epidemic? I remember a time when it was considered good and noble to be different. Of course, even then there were hordes of little wankers saying, "I'm a non-conformist, and so are all my friends!" I mean, when the trend is toward individuality, it's difficult to be sincerely "different" unless you REALLY ARE! (heh) But now ones self-worth lies in how good a "team player" they are. And how closely one identifies with said team - the family - the country, etc. Strange, isn't it, that this is the trend, while people are actually more isolated, emotionally, than ever? Maybe not so strange... And I don't really think there's anything "wrong" with feeling you "belong" to your spouse, so long as you also feel they belong to you. Still, I've never seen a man use a nickname like "SallysMainSqueeze." I'd put all that I have on the observation that men just don't see themselves as extensions of someone else. I have, once or twice, seen a "KevinsDad," but it has literally been once or twice in the fifteen years or so that I've been online. Anyway, I think it's fine to be proud of your kids, and/or grandkids, too. The problem, for me, is when spouses, moms and grandmas identify themselves *solely* through that role. I can hear it from here... The line I've heard most of my adult life: YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND IT BECAUSE YOU'VE NEVER BEEN MARRIED AND DON'T HAVE KIDS OF YOUR OWN. Oh, barf. And hogwash. And now for added "fun," since nearing 50, I've also begun to hear the occasional: "IF YOU HAD GRANDCHILDREN, *THEN* YOU'D UNDERSTAND!" With the divorce rate what it is, being legally married is no indication that one knows how to have a committed relationship - or any relationship, for that matter. And having kids does *not* bestow some magical understanding of them. In fact, I would argue just the opposite. I think something *does* happen to people when they become parents. I don't know that I'd call it "magical," exactly. It seems to manifest itself much as BRAIN DAMAGE. Have a kid and suddenly (and it does seem sudden) lose all perspective and ability to reason. It appears to cause a strikingly obvious deficit - even in people who were formerly quite bright, aware and objective. Which brings me to another lame fad: The Idolization of Children... My god (no pun intended), you'd think the little buggers were made of gold. Very breakable gold, at that. So delicate, they're forced to wear *helmets and pads* while riding their "Hotwheels" tricycles ON THE SIDEWALK. I say it's the elderly people who are trying to walk on that same sidewalk who need the helmets and pads... I'm sorry now that I broached the subject of parenthood. To even begin to scratch the surface would take far more words than I'm prepared to write today. Suffice it to say, most brain-damaged adults (IE: parents) seem hell-bent on imposing their own deficiencies onto their kids - and onto anyone who dares *look* at their kids, let alone speak with them. Panicky, over-reactive, repressive, overly-protective, insecure, clingy, irrational adults should not be *around* kids, let alone parent them. But of course one is a symptom of the other - not the cause. Keep 'em safe, mommies and daddies. Don't let them out of your sight, and, above all, don't expose them to any form of reality. You don't want your little fetishes getting too wise, do you? You better censor what they read, hear, and see, and make sure all around them is "safe," by your standards, anyway. Then, when reality inevitably seeps between the cracks (oh yes - there will be cracks) and your kiddies see it for the very first time in all its splendid starkness, and grow angry at having been lied to all their lives, and go and shoot up their high schools - don't worry. You can always blame the friends they have, the music they listen to, the movies they've seen, or the video games they play. You can still avoid the truth - don't worry. It will always be someone else's fault. Because, after all, you did your best to shelter them. You did your very best. But don't listen to me, or those who see the same thing I see. They probably don't have any kids, either - and so also don't know what they're talking about. Right? I'll get back to this (like it or not - ) when I feel like writing more (LOTS more) words. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, June 20th, 2003
12:04 pm	telemarketers and other species of pond scum I had a bit of a shock last week when I met with my mom, sister and nephew for my mom's birthday dinner. When I asked what Brian, my nephew, was doing lately, he stated he got a new job (not at all unusual, I've never known him to keep a job longer than a few months). When I asked what he's doing "now," he proudly beamed "I'm a collection agent, like Cindy!" My niece, Cindy, is also a collection agent. What did I do wrong? Granted, neither of them grew up around me, as they were raised in Arizona, and I lived in Chicago until a little over 6 years ago. But still, I was hoping *one* of them would grow into someone I'd like - perhaps even someone I could relate to. How about someone I could at least respect? I must have been one kinda bastard in a former life. They are both people, I hate to admit, that I distinctly don't like/don't trust, and don't respect. For the grace of his parents, Brian isn't on the other end of his harassing phone calls. They've bailed him out all his life. He'll be 30 in August. Not terribly bright, but surely even he can do something better with his life than interrupt peoples' dinners with phone calls. Right? I know, I know - people should pay their debts! One shouldn't buy something they can't pay for - yadda yadda. Well folks, here's the thing. You set a society up so that it's extremely difficult to survive without credit cards and going into debt, and then you're surprised when something like 85% of the population is living paycheck to paycheck. Ummm - duh? Just for the record... I was offered, and accepted, a VISA card when I entered college. I hear this is very common, to be offered a credit card two weeks after applying for college. Anyway, I quickly charged up around $200.00. I was cool shit - had a credit card! I *was* in school, and I was also working. But it took an entire paycheck to make the car payment (on, of course, my NEW car), and another paycheck to pay rent at home (I paid rent to sleep in my bedroom and otherwise live in a very uncomfortable situation with my stepdad - more on that sometime). I had trouble with that VISA. Anyway, I paid it off in time and cut the card up. I was 17. I'm now nearly 50. Until last year I didn't have a single credit card. Last year I got a Macy's card (with my sister's urging - she works there) and a Sears card. I've used each one exactly once. I don't owe anyone anything, except the bank for my house. So my dislike of collection agents isn't that I've had a lot of run-ins with them. But I have had two. One for a bill I didn't owe (a medical bill that my insurance owed), for a whopping $50.00. Another for $100.00 to the local hospital. The story on that one is just ridiculous. The original bill was for over $4,000.00, of which all but $300.00 was covered. I got the bill (from Chandler Regional Hospital - I want everyone to know how they handle things for sick people), and immediately paid $50.00 on it. That's what I could afford. The next month I got another bill - for $250.00. I again paid 50.00. And so on, until the bill was down to $100.00. Then I got a phone call. "Is this Ms. Curtiss?" (oh oh - I hate phone calls that start that way)... Apparently Chandler Regional didn't like it that I was paying $50.00/month, and thought I should pay the whole thing at once. Well, why didn't they say that four months earlier? Not that it would have happened anyway, but at least I'd have had warning. This collection agent was particularly nasty. I told her the story I just recalled above, and she said "You will pay the entire amount or I will keep calling you." That got my hackles up. Sounded like a threat to me. This over a bill that would have been paid entirely the following month. I was livid, and called the hospital. Their billing department was equally nasty. So I ended the conversation with this... "Do you realize how stupid this is? The bill *was* being paid at a rather quick rate, and would have been entirely paid off next month. Instead, I get harassed by a collection agent, and then talked to as if I'm a dipshit by you. Well guess what? Chandler Regional will never see that lousy $100.00 - and if I could reverse the other $200.00 I already paid, I would." (slam) Ignorant assholes seem to be everywhere these days. Tell me (rhetorically) - does being nasty *really* get these folks anywhere? 'Cause if it does, then I at least understand it. If it does, I blame the people who cave in to the nastiness. Yes, that lousy $100.00 will probably be reported to a credit bureau, and I might have to someday pay it if I want a CREDIT CARD (fat chance, that), but I highly doubt a lender is going to refrain from lending to me because of $100.00. In fact, the only other time I was bothered by a collector, was that $50.00 the insurance company owed. He said "You understand that you will never be able to buy a house if I report this?" I told him to "read my lips - you will NEVER see it." I recall even telling him it isn't because I don't have the money - it's because I didn't owe it and he was nasty. Anyway, three months later, when I applied for a 100k loan for a house, and was approved, I called him and gave him the bank's phone number. Actually, the bank didn't want to give me the loan because I have "no visible means of support." There is no employer to call. So I told the bank officer that I was buying the house, anyway. It's just a matter of them making 7% off of me, or not. He called my stock broker, and the loan went through the next day. My broker called me before the bank did, and said "What in the hell did you tell that guy?" When they got a credit report, that lousy "loan-stopping" $50.00 wasn't even in it. So not only do they call you at dinnertime, they lie too. And of course, if they could *get* a better job, they would. Low-lifes. Anyway, my other bitch today is about telemarketers. It will probably be my nephew's next job... 'cause I think they're a step down on the food chain from collection agents. I guess everyone needs a job - even dumbfuck pond scum. So I don't really blame those who work as telemarketers, I blame THE PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY BUY THINGS FROM THEM. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! Now that's stupid. It's like the AOLers who click on internet ads. They ARE the problem, because if this shit didn't work, advertisers wouldn't do it. In fact, I downright REFUSE to buy from any company desperate enough to harangue people on the phone OR put up popup ads online. They should all go right out of business and need to file for bankruptcy when they can't pay the sites for their ads. Good news there, folks - slowly, people are figuring out not to click on internet ads! And lately - just lately, I hear a lot of talk from people who refuse to visit sites that accept such ads. Yeah, yeah "these games are free, thanks to our sponsors!" - I know. But there are non-obtrusive ads. The ones I find particularly sickening (literally), are those that popup, yes, but worse - those that FLASH harsh colours at you. They give me a headache and I have left a few sites that insist on putting them on gaming pages (pages you have no choice but to look at while playing a game). I'm sure they set off epileptic fits, too. Hope someone falls from their desk chair, hits their head, and sues the shit out of the sponsors who propagate such ads. Here's more good news: Starting next month, there will be a gathering of peoples' phone numbers to be put on a national (USA only) "Do Not Call" (DNC) list. Telemarketers are required, starting in September, to get this list, and to update it every 90 days. If they call someone who is on the list, and are told not to call, and then they call again, it's an automatic $11,000.00 fine! Yay! Chalk up one for peace and privacy! One last thing... For those of you who might be reading, and by chance are being bothered by collection agencies, here's what you do... You send them a certified letter telling them to stop contacting you. Have a return receipt signed for the letter. I guarantee they won't call you again. Too scared of being sued. According to federal law, they must stop contacting you, unless something changes - for instance, they are still allowed to send a letter stating they've reported your debt to a credit bureau. But that's all they can do. Not enough folks know the law. You do NOT have to be bothered at home. And as of September, you don't have to have telemarketers calling, either. I do what I can.... Until next time, have a few gripes on me . (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, April 25th, 2003
12:14 pm	"A Powful Tool" How come those who attempt to spread computer viruses can *never* spell or use proper grammar?? My favourite is one I got most recently. It simply says: "This is a powful tool. I hope like it." Now, who, receiving such a missive, actually takes the attached .exe file and runs it?? Well, from what I've seen of a lot of people online (and offline), quite a few, unfortunately. These are the same folks who make me wonder at the fact that they manage to find their way home every night. Well, ok - MOST every night. For a while I was playing games at a site called "Slingo." For over a month, in fact, I played their tournaments quite regularly. Then came the switch to Daylight Savings Time. Oh oh. Somehow I knew there would be trouble and confusion (most folks are lucky to know what time it is when it doesn't change). So two days beforehand, I asked "Do the tournament times change?" The only answer I got from those I asked was "Good question!" So the day after the switch to DST, I went to the page where the tournaments are listed, and there, as before, it still stated in bold letters: ALL TIMES LISTED ARE IN CENTRAL STANDARD TIME I show up for a tournament at the time listed in CST. Everyone says I'm an hour late. But how can that be? "It is 7 p.m. CST right now," I say. "No, no," someone replies, "It's 8 p.m. Did you remember to set your clock ahead last night?" Now, try to explain that, not only does "standard" mean standard (does not change), but that Arizona (and, recently, Hawaii) doesn't go on DST, so our clocks never change. No one - and I mean no one - understood. One woman even said "OMG! It's simple! The tournament times listed are Central STANDARD time! That means whatever time it is in Central time - THAT'S the standard!" *sigh* So, I figured there was just an oversight, and Slingo webmasters really meant to change the wording on the tourney page to read "ALL TIMES LISTED ARE CENTRAL TIME." Surely, they meant to change it. I wrote and asked. I got a reply that gave me the "standard" answer: "If you look on the tournament page, at the bottom is a time zone chart. You can find out there what time zone your (sic) in." I wrote back and said that I was fully aware of what time zone I'm in. The question was, if the tourney page says that all times listed are CST, then why aren't they? She wrote back saying, no matter what the time *actually* *is*, if I looked on the Time Zone Chart, I could figure out how many hours ahead or behind Central Standard Time I am. I wrote yet again, simply saying: "I should have expected this from a site owned by AOL. Sorry, I tried - I now give up." I keep thinking that if people would only stop to "hear" a question, they might actually know what the question is. And, likewise, if they'd consider the answer, they might actually understand what they just read. Try using your brain: It's a POWFUL TOOL. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 16th, 2003
9:35 am	Jeez Jeeeez - am I the only one around here over 30?? I just did a quickie search for other people who live in Chandler, and they all look like they've never been outside of their plastic bags! Oh oh. Anyway, I have no idea what I'm doing, or why I'm here. I think I wanted (needed?) a place to just rant "in general." A place to take a break from the lunacy of "the web." Feel like I should put a bio here, in case anyone's reading - did a short one in the "personal info" section, but don't know where it shows up (don't recall seeing it under "info." Also don't know if I should be using a "client," whatever that is. Going to ask my roommate when he wakes up. For now, will write this live, online. I do want to say this, in case the bio thingy I wrote isn't readily available - I'm not much for censoring what I write. If you're one of those with "virgin ears," I strongly suggest you look at other, tamer, journals. A lot of what I write will be opinion - and a lot of my opinions rub folks the wrong way. I refuse to put shackles on my keyboard, or put ratings on my opinions. Also, more than once, I've been complained about because someone's waterhead miracle baby happened to see something I wrote. Well, tough shit. It's up to you to control your kids, not up to you to control ME. Just because you forgot to stick a rubber on it, doesn't mean I have to pay more of the consequences than necessary. I don't care what your kiddies read, or what they repeat. And I suggest you care more about what they DO than what they see, also. The sooner they figure things out, in my view, the better. If you want to "protect" them from reality, and then blame ME when they shoot up their high school ("No one told me life was this tough!"), keep it. One of the stupidest things I ever heard was a woman complaining that her 6 year old saw a chat room once, where someone wrote "shut the f*** up" - spelled just like that, with asterisks. She said her kid went around all that day repeating what he saw. I asked her how the hell her kid was pronouncing "f***." Of course, no reply. My suspicion is that these folks are a bigger problem than they realize - and that makes them dangerous. So, having had that warning, don't bitch to me if you get offended at what you read. Start your own rant journal to complain about it - heh. I certainly welcome comments, but don't expect any of them, pro or con, to change my mind or make me "see the light." Mainly this is personal for me - written for my own edification - NOT for anyone else's approval (or disapproval). Hmmmm - what else for now? Think I'll just wander off and come back as rants strike me. (2 Comments |Comment on this)