…on gone!

i’m at JFK airport, where i haven’t been since i was a lot younger. they have free WiFi, which i’m loving, and it’s odd to see virtually no one in this terminal aside from The Husband and myself on their laptops. must explain why the connection speed is blazing.

i alerted medusa that we did not, in fact, miss our flight like we did the last time.

i totally got hit with the axe last night, and am dying. cramps, and i’m bleeding like a stuck pig. i got up at 4:30a so i’m freaking exhausted. my back hurts. my stomach hurts. i need a nap.

The Husband is playing WoW and he’s also dying. typical.

i need midol, stat.

the chick who was giving us our in-flight directions missed every 4th syllable. as in, she didn’t even PRONOUNCE it. “loyalty” became “low-tee.” for “beverages,” we got “bivvidge.” the fuck. i know i was tired, but Jesus gay.

i’m hungry, so i’m going to get a small snack and an OJ or something. hopefully i have midol or pamprin in my purse. please, God.

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…on already gone. well, almost.

i am getting up in a few hours and heading to the airport.

The Husband is still working on the bathroom. i just need the toilet put in because i don’t want G and Jess going in and using my toilet. my bathroom is still trashed from when The Husband put in the wood floors in our bedroom. we just seem to do other projects instead of cleaning up our bathroom.

i have mostly packed. Medusa called me and said that clone#2 was missing her gatorgall. it’s a baby toy given to her when she was months old.

i had to find it and pack it.

now i have to help The Husband pack. i have to make sure that the cats are ready and the doors are locked, the appliances and electronics are unplugged.

sigh.

hopefully i will have decent internet and will be able to post. cross your fingers for me….

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…on watch out for that… gravel walkway.

i totally forgot to tell you.

the day after clone#1 broker her glasses frame, i get a call from medusa while i’m in kung fu.

“hi, honey. umb, it’s nothing bad, but i need to talk to you. everyone’s OK, but can you give me a call, please?”

shit. one of the kids got hit by a train and is in the hospital.

so i call her up, and she tells me that clone#1 was walking at Monticello and going from Thomas Jefferson’s house to the veggie garden, and totally wipes out on the gravel walkway. she split her knee open.

ELEVEN STITCHES. my God, she’s definitely my daughter. no coordination whatsoever.

i asked her, “hey, were the EMTs at least cute?”

she goes, “OMG, NO! i was SO mad! i told Gramma that we needed to go to a better hospital with cute doctors or something. she wasn’t happy.”

yeah, she’s definitely my daughter.

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…on don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.

well, today was a rough one.

i can’t even describe it. my morning was OK. i think some things might have happened, but i’m not sure. bad, good, whatever.

then i go to lunch with BigSis, and The Husband calls. he’s panicking and wants to meet me for an early lunch because he needs to talk to me about something.

i knew what it was, and i made him talk on the phone.

you might recall last week when he “found” the condoms that i had put in my kung fu bag. initially i’d put them in my work bag to take to medusa’s for July 4th, and then forgot (read:  DIDN’T USE THEM) about them until monday when i went to work. i found them in the work bag and put them in the KF bag because i didn’t want for them to fling out while i was removing my headphones or anything. i leave them there and bring the KF bag into the house, plopping it right on the kitchen floor. The Husband does the laundry the next morning and calls up all panicked about me fucking someone at kung fu. sigh.

i get pissed the more i think about it, because he’s MOPING. what the shit. so for some reason, i cannot recall what it is, we have condoms in two places - my underwear drawer, and also in our bedside table. i had put the condoms in the underwear drawer with Junior Patrick because we had a metric fuckton of them. after his bitchy little accusing episode, i take one condom from the underwear drawer and one condom from the bedside table drawer and put it in a small zippered pocket in my work bag.

why? because i think he will do two things:
1. go through my work bag because he thinks i’m carrying condoms, and
2. keep a numerical count of the condoms that reside in the house

so this afternoon, you can pretty much guess that he’s got his panties in a knot over #1 or #2. and since i’d left the house, it was #2.

i told him, “i know what you’re calling about, so go ahead.” he was flabbergasted … how could i possibly know? i told him to tell me, and he said, “i went into you underwear drawer and two condoms are missing.”

i said, “no. ONE condom is missing from my underwear drawer. oh, and you didn’t count correctly. one is also missing from the bedside table.”

he couldn’t believe it, but i guess that he was glad that i wasn’t using those two condoms outside of the house. then i let him have it. if he was counting condoms, why was he still with me? if he was living in doubt of my fidelity, why stay? Jesus gay, i was so mad. but we both got the answers we were looking for, didn’t we? his answer just didn’t turn out to be what he thought it was.

unfortunately, mine DID.

he said on the phone that for some stupid fucking reason after i told him about BigSis’s online dating adventures, that i was FINE with having “non-emotional sexual encounters with other people when you were still married.” what the fuck? OF COURSE NOT. i asked him in what bizarre alternate universe did i approve THAT? come on. he said, “well, you were so thrilled that BigSis was able to have a sexual relationship with no commitment. that’s what you said.”

i asked, “do you smoke it, or do you simply take it up the arm? i never said that!”

he said, “well, that’s what i THOUGHT you said.”

i retorted, “well, i THOUGHT you said that you were giving me an all-inclusive trip to europe, so where’s my fucking vacation?” he didn’t think that was nice. i have NEVER stated that i thought open marriages were ok, or swinging. especially not for us, and definitely not for someone who is just going along with it because they think their spouse will leave them if they’re not going to participate.

so i leave work early because my neck hurts and i have a migraine, and come home to nap. actually, i rub one out and finally fall asleep.

fifteen minutes later, The Husband comes home. unfortunately, he’s not a ninja, and wakes me up by dropping his shit on the floor. thanks, asshole. anyway, he takes off is work clothes and by this time, i’m seriously pissed off. not only am i pissed because he doesn’t trust me and is counting our condoms, but he’s woken me up! FAIL.

i get up, get out the two condoms from my work bag, and throw them on his side of the bed with disgust. he crawls in beside me and says, “i’m really sorry. i just love you so much. i love you too much.”

i said, “NO. love is when you trust and accept the other person, not check up on them because you’re so convinced they’re out behind your back.” he got up and left the room so i could sleep. i couldn’t, so i went out to get my suitcase and start packing for vacation. he’s moping, of course, so i let him have it after apologising (again) for setting him up for his epic fail.

lots of screaming, crying, gnashing of teeth and renting of garments ensues. i’m majorly pissed and tell him that if i am so untrustworthy in his mind, he’s better off leaving so that he can be with someone who doesn’t make him so paranoid and insecure. i KNOW who i am. i KNOW what i’ve got. and simply because i’m a female who owns the vagina she was born with, here’s the deal … I WILL ALWAYS BE ABLE TO FIND SOME MAN WHO WILL FUCK ME. it’s that simple! he understands this, and says he will work on it. i tell him he needs to get therapy because we’ve been dealing with this for over twelve fucking years, and i won’t live in a house where i’m being judged or persecuted because i have a “very liberal view” (his words) on sex. what a dick.

so, make up sex happens after that, and i’m packing for vacay. i am very tired. i haven’t talked to my kids in 2 days and i’m starting to get upset. work was a clusterfuck today. BigSis was like methhed out today or some shit, and was speeding all over the place AND TALKING IN A LOUD VOICE. then she proceeds to spray perfume accidentally on my lunch. then the big gnome troll starts cracking her gum so loudly it hurts my ears. then GamerGeek starts bugging me on IM. someone cranked the A/C down to 70 and froze us all out. cath just found out that her father is dying of cancer.

God, make it stop.

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…on thank God it’s monday!

God. all i can say is that i was SOOOOO glad to go to work today. especially after yesterday.

the following happened:

1. i thought i had an 8-hr. shift, but it was really 4 hrs.

2. The Husband attempted to wire a can light in the girls’ bathroom, but it would not go up in the ceiling

3. The Husband confirmed that the ceiling light worked w/ his wiring, BUT when he went to put the faceplate on … it would not turn on

4. we got new light covers for our ceiling fan because the ones that came with it were clear and therefore too bright. after i put them on, i turned on the light … POP. blew the breaker in the bedroom. the lights would not work after that

5. we’re laying in bed, WoWing, and i have been smelling burnt electrical for hours. i tell The Husband this, and he says it’s my power strip (it’s not - i even smelled it and the receptacle). suddenly, the fan begins to make a bizarre “whoo whoo wee whuHUMP whuHUMP whuHUMP” sound that i’ve never heard coming out of anything electrical in my life. The Husband asks, “did the fan just turn off?” as it slowly grinds to a halt…

6. clone#1 calls from virginia to tell us that she’s broken her glasses. not the lens, but the frame (of course)

so, today, i was SO glad to get out of the house.

i order clone#1’s glasses, getting her two pair with the $199 special (it would have cost $230 with the warranty to replace the others, because i don’t have the lenses on me to give to them, and the frame was $189 anyway). i put a rush order on it, and hope that it’s going to be here by Friday because i leave at 6am on Saturday morning.

The Husband gets his subordinate’s hawt brother to fix the electric.

Medusa calls me to tell me that clone#1 has fallen at monticello on their gravel pavements and sliced open her knee. the paramedics arrive … my daughters only know fanfare, apparently … and she gets 11 stitches.

Christ.

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…on i’ve been there, baby.

give this a listen:

http://view.break.com/527579 - Watch more free videos

this is the most fun i’ve had all morning. The Husband is renovating the clones’ bathroom, and when i’m done with my half-day of work, i’m heading to the temple for “clean-up day.”

anyway, i’ve been there. generally, i have found that greek men generally do NOT take it to that level of low self-esteem. rather, they will emphasise the “i’m great in bed” angle and only threaten you after you’ve told them “ghamoto mano su” ([go] fuck your mother).

yes. i’ve told my Greek boyfriend of two years to go fuck his mother. that was usually after i told him that i’d fucked his sisters AND his father, and after i’ve told him to go fuck a sheep and his entire family. the step after telling him to go fuck his mother, and hence the SUPER-fighting words, was “go fuck your church, malaka.” (malaka = jerkoff)

italian men are pretty much the same way. greek guys will tell you how great they are - again, focus on being a great lover - and then will romantically pursue you, showing up at parties they think your friends are at or leaving a rose or teddy bear under your windshield wiper. they won’t write you a love note because they’re freaked out about having to write in English, much in the same way they’re freaked about ordering a pizza on the telephone. i can’t count the amount of times i’ve asked, “which war was it again that you lost your fingers in? do you NOT know how to operate a telephone? Jesus Christ!”

however, eastern bloc men have that passive-aggressive “i want you but don’t think for a fucking SECOND i’m going to let you know it” swagger that comes off totally dickish. i have NEVER had a former commie pursue me romantically. it’s all, “hey, hottie, i’m going to buy you a drink. i’d buy you the entire bottle of grey goose because i make so much money doing something i can’t tell you about, BUT i don’t think you’re worth it. why don’t you prove it, and i’ll think about calling you tomorrow.”

russians, ukranians, poles, hungarians, yugos, czech… amazingly the same. i’ve even had americans with ONE PARENT of that nationality, and they’re the same way! it’s like some bizarro gene that gives them very bad dating manners.

the good news is that i can take those boys and i chew them up and spit them out, a shell of their former selves. i can relate to them, and i appreciate their pragmatism. i prefer a bitchy pragmatist than a charming, smooth, suave player. i view that player mode as being incredibly insincere, and i don’t respect it. i’m smart. i’m intelligent. i’m beautiful. i’m educated. i’m successful. i’m cultured. i’m well-read. when i get objectified by a player, it makes me sick to my stomach, and then i get completely pissed off. that leads me to call the men on it, and that pisses them off.

but i appreciate the former commie eastern bloc boys, even though i’ve had to school them on what it takes to be in a successful AMERICAN relationship. they don’t get laid for months and months because there’s no charm or endearing quality. that makes them more frustrated, and then their level of desperation turns them into our Greek friend Dmitri above.

God bless Dmitri. i love those messages. i almost peed myself, because MY GOD CAN I RELATE TO THEM.

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…on my stupid friends.

while mia sets good goals for herself, my other friends are … erm … not so intelligent.

my old secretary and good friend, pili, decided that at the age of 44 she’d try online dating. last year, she met a nice guy named mario who held out for a while, but really just wanted pussy. i’m not sure if she gave it up, but they’re no longer together.

then earlier this year, she began dating a guy she met online named “jake.” jake lives in nigeria, but pili didn’t know this initially. he’d put his location as Orlando, and when she asked when they were going to meet up he replied, “when i get back.” only then did she understand he wasn’t IN orlando.

anyway, he keeps promising that he’s coming home to see her. it’s been six months, and things “come up.” as in, he is supposedly there buying and selling things wholesale. well, he claims that the banks there are really screwed up, and his case in point:  he did work for a governmental agency, perhaps outfitting their offices or whatever, and claims that their check wouldn’t clear at the bank for over two weeks. A GOVERNMENTAL AGENCY. at a national bank. she said, “well, they wound up wiring money, which he prefers anyway.”

sigh.

she said, “and i’m not helping him out any more, at least not financially. i’ve given him a ton of advice, and he’s listening, but now all he’s waiting on is to make enough money for the plane ticket home.”

i said, “you’ve given him money? how much?”

she said with an embarrassed smile, “i’m not giving you an exact amount, but a few thousand.”

are you getting red-flagged to death yet?

i asked if he was nigerian, and she said, “no. he’s american, and just doing business there. but his dad’s jamaican, so he’s got a little accent.”

sweet Baby Jesus, what in the shit.

and what is it with nigeria? chee, then this “jake” dude… my God.

GamerGeek said when i returned from lunch, “holy shit! how did you not punch her in the side of the head and tell her she was a dumb bitch?” well, because she’s 45 years old and should know better. i’m not going to tell her that her Prince Charming is probably some African dude with a Western Union account and dial-up living in London. she’s totally into him, and when i told her about my laser hair surgery, she said, “well, if jake likes me to trim my bush, i have been thinking about getting that done and HE can pay for it.”

umb, if he cannot even buy a plane ticket home, how’s he going to pay for laser hair removal that costs $1,500+? but i didn’t bring that up, even though now she’s hell-bent on it. sigh. do it for YOURSELF … not for a guy. Jesus gay.

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