Thursday, February 23, 2006

Don't make me hurt you...

Well. Today started out horribly. Beginning, oh, about midnight. First off, I was still awake. Not only was I still awake, but I was not at home. I was out with Mr. R. and Company. I was enjoying myself, and therein lies the problem. The fleeting yet recurring thought of "Oh my, I have to work early tomorrow, and it's going to be a long day because of that after-hours upgrade. I should go home" started happening less frequently with each friendly hug I received and each brown bottle beverage I consumed. It did not help matters that I apparantly appeared to be very thirsty and Mr. R kept trying to quench that thirst with new brown bottles.

I did get to see a couple of friends that I hadn't seen in, oh, FO-EVAH, and that was great. They are still the nice, polite chaps they were many moons ago, and now the pangs of regret from drifting away from that circle of friends have resurfaced.

I also had the (dis)pleasure of seeing a girl I went to school with. Said girl (I'd say woman, but she is not worthy of such a title - details to follow) is someone I was most certainly NOT friends with and did NOT associate with. She is divorced, cheating (I think) on her current lover (though they may have separated by now), and dating my friend S's friend, who happens to be going through a VERY bitter divorce. S made a not-so-nice comment about her several weeks ago, last time we saw her,
and that comment reassured me that my disapproval of her was justified. (I can be catty sometimes and often wonder if I dislike women for the wrong reasons or no reason at all.)

I was, however, friendly to this girl, as I always am. Not friendly in the oh-my-gosh-so-good-to-see-you-we-really-should-hang-out kind of way, but more in the
you-are-dating-a-friend-of-a-friend-so-I-will-be-polite-i-always-thought-you-were-a-bitch kind of way.

After exchanging pleasantries, I went about my business of laughing and dancing and flirting, as this is what I do best. A short while later, our friend's daughter showed up. I suppose I could say she is my friend, as she is only 8 years my junior and we do have fun together, and her mother is more than 10 years my senior. Always caught in the middle, I am. Anywho, daughter was trashed with a capital T. She appeared to have some sensible friends with her to act as drivers and support system, however, she chose to chill with the *ahem* older folk.

We can't help it that we're that cool.

Both of us continued to laugh and dance and flirt. For some reason, I'm not quite sure why, Bitchy-girl-from-high-school was starting to become clingy with me. She wanted me to dance and talk to her. I would humor her for a bit, then return to
socializing with those that I actually consider my friends. Daughter, now trashed with a capital T AND italicized, approached me and said something (can't quite remember what it was). Whatever it was, it pissed off bitchy girl, and she threw a punch at daughter. It took my brain a few moments to get over the initial shock and process what was happening. By the time bitchy girl had daughter on the ground, my brain had finished processing and told me "Hey. She's kicking her ass. Not cool. Do something."

Those that know me know that I am not very strong and that I am most certainly not a fighter. They do know, however, that I am a loyal friend and I'm not going to just stand there and let someone I like get their ass beat. The boys (Mr. R and Company) will. Girl fight! Wow! Let's stand here and watch! Maybe someone's shirt will get ripped off and we'll see a boob!

So I grabbed bitchy girl (who was on top) by the back of the shirt. I yelled "Hey! Bitchy girl! Stop it! She didn't do anything! She's only 21! Get off!" and yanked really hard on her shirt. Bitch didn't budge. I'm guessing she outweighs me by at least 20 pounds. That doesn't sound like a lot, but I must again emphasize that I am not a fighter, and quite frankly, I am a wimp. And she has a barbwire tattoo on her massive (yet jiggly) bicep. I just can't move a girl with barbwire on her skin. So there I was yanking and yelling and wondering why, with all the guys around me, wasn't anyone helping? Oh yeah, they may miss a boob shot. Finally, bitchy girl's boyfriend assisted and picked her up and put her in a full nelson. Daughter, who somehow lost her shoe during this fiasco, bounced up like the young spry thing she is, screaming and yelling "Why did she do that? Who is she? I'm going to kick her ass!"

Um. No. You're not. You were on the ground, remember? On the bottom. Not exactly an ass-kicking position, honey. But I did get to rip her shirt, so score one point for the good guys.

R restrained daughter, which was quite an easy feat, and one I'm sure He enjoyed. (Cute little girl in distress, you know?) Bitchy girl, still in the full nelson and now unable to see past R to scream at daughter, turned her attention toward me. She began thrashing about, kicking at me and yelling, "What the fuck, you were my friend, jAG! You were my friend!"

"Bitchy girl! Shut up. Quit kicking at me. We were never friends."

That was not the right thing to say.

I'm not really sure why she said that, though I'm going to lean towards the "she was really drunk" excuse. But when I said we were never friends, she got pissed. For a moment I thought her boyfriend was going to let her go and I actually took off my glasses so I wouldn't get broken lenses in my eyes. He did not let her go, thankfully, and dragged her out the door.

Someone who works at the establishment came up to me and asked me who started the fight. I answered, and he replied, "Thanks. That's all I needed to know." He didn't seem shocked at all.

I wonder if she does this often.

We left shortly thereafter. I guess all the excitement of the evening was too much for me, and the emotions just overflowed. I was tired and intoxicated and angry and wanting a cigarette and for some reason decided the world hated me and just turned into a complete psycho.

R, who still doesn't quite know how to handle me when I get that way, let me go. He said at one point, "I wish I could tape record you so you can hear tomorrow what an idiot you are. Go to sleep."

That's not quite the way to handle a emotional drunk.

Eventually I did go to sleep, too late. I woke up feeling just like I thought I would. Like a complete loser. With a headache and dry eyes. And don't worry, I remember all the things I screamed and yelled and cried. Not need to record it. It's on a replay loop in my head. It probably will be all day. At least I don't feel like I smoked all night long. Because I didn't!

Sometimes, you just need a hug, and someone to say, "Hey, calm down. Everything is OK."

That's all.

That's how some people want to be handled.

That would have been nice.

It is going to be a long effin day.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

I'm not really ready yet...

A glimpse into the thoughts of a weak-minded person.

Note, I did not say simple minded. I prefer to think that my level of intelligence is average to above average, aside from my naive moments, which I do not believe are attributed to stupidity so much as lack of experience. Weak minded, as in I was controlled my whole life by someone other then myself until I was divorced at 26, which subsequently left me in charge of myself. That resulted in a few, if not several, poor choices. Those choices, however, were MY choices and they were educational if nothing else. One thing I have learned is that someone or something needs to control me, because I just don't have it in me. I was trained that way, so to speak, and it's hard to un-train yourself.

I need a crutch. I need an excuse. If something bothers me, upsets me or pisses me off, I need a distraction, or I will suffocate in my panicked and fragmented thought processes. Hence, I enjoyed smoking. I could change channels when I lit that cigarette. A temporary distraction which caused me to focus on something other than the issue I had exaggerated in my mind (even though it was no doubt having a negative impact on the rest of my body). I would still enjoy smoking if it were up to me. Well, if I could pretend it wasn't bad for me. And, in reality, it COULD be up to me, but someone is making sure I realize that not smoking is better for me. I know this, anyway (again, I am weak, not stupid). But dammit, I don't want to stop. I want to play dumb and blame everyone else for my mistakes and problems and just have one more cigarette.

Yet, who ever really has one more? You can't eat just one more Lays potato chip, you can't drink just one more Bud Light, you can't have sex just once (ok, unless the other person is really, really not that good and you are just that desparate to get your rocks off and then, ew, you think, "what did I just do?"), and you sure as hell can't just have one more cigarette.

Ah, I remember the days when I was a social smoker. I went to the bar. I drank. I smoked. I laughed. I had fun. I went home. Where I did not drink or smoke (carryover from my mother's control over me - you can't smoke in a house and you don't drink at home. Alcoholics drink at home).

Why can't I just be like that again? I know why. Because that isn't good for you either. And one more would turn into two more, into three more, into four more; pretty soon it will be like those nights out when you finally realize that you have said "I'll have one more" at least three times to the grinning bartender, teaching you to instead say, "I'll have another". (It is common for a few people I know to hold up their hand to the bartender, say "I'll have one more", but the 5 fingers waggling in the air indicate otherwise. This is what happens when you are friends with both the patrons and the bartenders of the establishment. Everyone smiles and nods knowingly.)

I suppose I will continue with my scattered thought processes until this thing finally has no more control over me.

Maybe that is what is bothering me so much more than giving up the act?

Not allowing something to have control over me?

Which would put me in control.

Monday, February 20, 2006

What about me?


(known to self and others)

knowledgeable, sentimental, trustworthy

Blind Spot

(known only to others)

able, intelligent, loving


(known only to self)

modest, self-conscious, spontaneous


(known to nobody)

accepting, adaptable, bold, brave, calm, caring, cheerful, clever, complex, confident, dependable, dignified, energetic, extroverted, friendly, giving, happy, helpful, idealistic, independent, ingenious, introverted, kind, logical, mature, nervous, observant, organised, patient, powerful, proud, quiet, reflective, relaxed, religious, responsive, searching, self-assertive, sensible, shy, silly, sympathetic, tense, warm, wise, witty

Dominant Traits

100% of people think that mrs. r is able
100% of people think that mrs. r is intelligent
100% of people agree that mrs. r is knowledgeable
100% of people think that mrs. r is loving
100% of people agree that mrs. r is sentimental
100% of people agree that mrs. r is trustworthy

All Percentages

able (100%) accepting (0%) adaptable (0%) bold (0%) brave (0%) calm (0%) caring (0%) cheerful (0%) clever (0%) complex (0%) confident (0%) dependable (0%) dignified (0%) energetic (0%) extroverted (0%) friendly (0%) giving (0%) happy (0%) helpful (0%) idealistic (0%) independent (0%) ingenious (0%) intelligent (100%) introverted (0%) kind (0%) knowledgeable (100%) logical (0%) loving (100%) mature (0%) modest (0%) nervous (0%) observant (0%) organised (0%) patient (0%) powerful (0%) proud (0%) quiet (0%) reflective (0%) relaxed (0%) religious (0%) responsive (0%) searching (0%) self-assertive (0%) self-conscious (0%) sensible (0%) sentimental (100%) shy (0%) silly (0%) spontaneous (0%) sympathetic (0%) tense (0%) trustworthy (100%) warm (0%) wise (0%) witty (0%)

Created by the Interactive Johari Window on 20.2.2006, using data from 1 respondents.
You can make your own Johari Window, or view mrs. r's full data.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Fuck JJ 48...

Yeah. That's just cuz Kasey Kahne didn't win. And I haven't had a cigarette since Thursday. And I'm drunk.

Drinking and not smoking is hard to do when you are used to doing both at the same time. I have noticed that my senses are more, uh, what's the word? Aware? I don't know. I feel on edge. I want to fuck. That's the only thing that makes me feel better than smoking.

I read recently that nicotine helps metabolize caffeine in the system. I believe that is true. If you are going to try to quit smoking, and you double the amount of coffee you drink to compensate, you get a wicked-ass buzz. Then, add beer to the mix, you know, because it's the fucking Daytona 500, and the day ends up being pretty cool. Except I haven't been fucked yet. (Though I did masturbate - tee hee - is that TMI?) And Kahne was 11th. I think. And Stewart is an asshole. Why didn't he get black-flagged? And why the fuck is Busch driving Wallace's car?


Drunk blogging is cool.

Thank G-d for the backspace key. I've used it eleventy-seventy times already.

BM, if you are reading this, this is what happens to me when I can't smoke.


I know I'm going to read this tomorrow and say to myself, "Oh my G-d, I can't believe I published that."

Too fucking bad.

And that is just a cool word.



I got fucked yesterday. Hard and fast, in the bathroom, you know, because there are children amongst us. And that whole spontaneous sex thing is just not much of an option.

Neither is gettin tied up and spanked, which would make me feel OH SO MUCH BETTER, since I can't SMOKE.

Just one more.

That's all I want.

And fuck the makers of Nicorette.

They have NO idea...

Why can't the make cigarettes that aren't bad for you???

Friday, February 17, 2006

Best email received thus far today...

Our phone numbers, address, fax numbers and e-mails will all remain the same.




Scratch the "quit smoking by my birthday" bit. I'll be done long before that. Mr. R has decided to go cold turkey and I have gotten on the bus with Him. Suprisingly, I don't feel near as edgy as I first thought I would. I haven't even used the gum. I have a feeling it doesn't taste very "fresh mint." R is a in a good mood today. I know it's only the first day, but I really thought it would be harder from the get-go.

Last night was kind of funny. We were all "This is our last after-dinner cigarette, this is our last cigarette with a beer, let's have sex so we can share our last after-sex cigarette." We went to bed smokers and woke up non-smokers.

If it stays this easy, we're golden. If not, well, I'm feeling good right now, so I'm just gonna roll with it.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Call me a liar...

My husband does not scare easily. I would venture to say He could probably count on one hand the number of times He has been truly scared in His life.

He doesn't worry about things. Not at all like I do.

He does not, however, like it when I cry. I am now convinced He will do anything in His power to keep me from crying.

What frightened me, I still don't want to say exactly what it was, could be very real.

It was real enough for Him to ask me to call and make Him an appointment with the doctor. Monday, 10:45.

I think He thought that would relieve some of my anxiety. It did not. He told me not to worry. I still did.

I tried not to cry. I really, really, really did. I'm at work, and don't particularly want to cry in front of my coworkers. I didn't try hard enough.

This time, He never said, "Quit crying."

This time He called me three more times while He was at work and I was at lunch.

The last time He called was to request that I purchase Him a pack of Nicorette gum.

I finally cried some happy tears today.

Never underestimate the power of love.

It's not going to be easy...

Last night something happened that scared me. Along with something else that I learned today.

I probably overreacted to the exact situation, however, I honestly do have a legitimate reason for concern.

So I have visted Quitnet.

I am going to try to quit by my birthday. It's my 30th. Seems like just as good a time as any. I know better than to try to go cold turkey. They recommended a quit date. That is what I am going to try.

It is not going to be easy. I am not likely to get support from R. He enjoys smoking. What scared me has everything to do with Him. It is a horrible feeling. Gut-wrenching for someone like me, who has a hard time pretending "it's all gonna be ok." However, I know I cannot control His actions or demand that He change.

I can hope. And I can try to change me.

Like I said, it won't be easy.

I may fail.

I may die trying.


But I have to try.

If I get a terminal illness, I want to know that I did what I could to prevent it from happening.

I can't just pretend these things don't happen. They do.

I don't want to have to feel that something I did caused someone else pain or grief.

Someone I know just lost their husband due to a similar problem. He was only 61. I am friends with her daughter. Her daughter is worried about her. She knows how lonely her mother will be without him. How terribly sad and lonely she will be...

I can imagine how sad she must feel. Scared and alone.

I don't ever want to feel like that.

I don't think I have a choice.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

That just about says it all...

For you, R.
Originally uploaded by JaG27z.

Happy VD

Someone sent that in an email to our office today. Ew.

How many women out there pretend to not care about Valentine's Day when they really do? I really wonder what the numbers are on that. How many say, "Oh NO, honey. We don't have to do anything. Don't even get me a card. It's a silly holiday anyway." But what they really mean is "You better get me something or I am going to be a total bitch and not tell you why." I'll bet the percentage of women who say they don't care when they really do is higher than say, Sweetest Day. That really is a Hallmark holiday. Even with that holiday though, I still hear many women say they don't want anything.


A lot of those women who say they don't want anything, but secretly do, probably aren't really hoping for a huge surprise, like a shiny right-hand ring or a Lexus, but I'd be willing to bet that they are just a little bit disappointed at the end of the day if they didn't get at least a box of chocolates or a card. And some really do want the Lexus. With a right-hand diamond ring tied to the shifter.

I know this because I heard several women in my office, just a few minutes ago, talking about flowers. I was walking around doing my annual equipment inventory check (so fun!) and caught on to the conversation. It seems that someone had flowers and balloons sent to them, but the women downstairs didn't know who they were for. They all pretended they didn't care, but then the truth subtly came out.

"My husband used to do that, but we've been married for years now, so it's really not important anymore," said one of the older workers.

"My fiance sent me a nice arrangement last year," chimed in a younger one, to be married this fall.

"Oh yes," said the older of the two, "I remember. Those were so pretty. I remember that. There were so many colors in it."

"Well, my divorce is final tomorrow," said another younger, but bitter, worker. "So I KNOW I'm not getting any."

Now I think that if a woman didn't care, she wouldn't mention it. She wouldn't have said, "They're probably yours!" to me as I was walking past. She wouldn't have asked me to see if I could see where they were when I went back upstairs, after I said "No, they aren't mine. I haven't seen them." She wouldn't have been sitting down there wondering if maybe the flowers were for her, and maybe the girl up front just hadn't brought them down to her desk yet.


She wouldn't talk about it or wonder "Where are those damn things, anyway???".

And she certainly wouldn't write about it in her blog.

Friday, February 10, 2006

I really want this...

Must do sit ups.


Friday, February 03, 2006

I love quickies...

Quickie 1.

My blog links are WAY out of date. I need to update those this weekend. Out with the old, in with the new. So many have closed down, which actually makes me sad. I feel like a friend moved away. Yeah. I need to get a life.

Quickie 2.

Had a really bad day at work yesterday. Today has not shown much improvement. TGIF.

Quickie 3.

My bank sucks. They are drafting money from the wrong account when I use my debit card. Which caused an overdraft on said account. Twice. They claim it is fixed now. I am doubtful.

Quickie 4.

Happened Wednesday night. It was nice. Fast, furious and messy. The best kind.