So I'm getting ready to go somewhere yesterday, and I shower up and get my contact case out to "put in my eyes." I have the "disposable" kind, and just switched to a new pair at the beginning of the month. Depending on the day, how much time I have or how late I was up the night before, I have no trouble, or lots of trouble getting one or both in from time to time. This day was no exception. I get the left one in with only minor aggravation, but it doesn't seem quite right at first. Of course, looking around with only one in makes everything fuzzy. So I fight with the right one for about seven minutes; it hurts, and keeps popping out. wtf? I put it back in the case to re-wet it, pick it up, and discover that not only do I have my contact, but I have the OLD one from last month that apparently I've forgotten to dispose of, glued to the new one. Well, dumbass, that would explain why when it WAS in for a moment, the world was extremely difficult on which to focus. *sigh* Out with the old, and Voila! The world and all its beauty is clear to me. And the redness in my eyes from messing around with them... great, I have that 70's stoner look. Sweet.
Fun in the Sun
Which is exactly what I need today. Today my youngest daughter, her "friend" (say "Guy Friend who is due to ship out to the Navy in three weeks"), me, and a fellow I've been "hanging out" with are going to Cincinnati OH to watch a semi-pro football game in which his team is playing. By his team, I mean of which he's a team manager, and very proud of it. That's cool. I love football. I can appreciate a good game. However, I do not need a 2 1/2 hour dissertation on it, the message board for the team, and the whining of the inner-workings of it. Kinda takes the fun out of it, yannow?
Anyhow. This fella, we'll call him D, lives and breathes this stuff. That's cool. I was a football widow when I was married. We all have our "thing." He knows both my daughters - we'll get to that in a minute - and is four years younger than me. Not a horrible stretch, normally.
Here's where it gets interesting.
D is yakkin' on about all the above, Pickle and Squid (buahahaha) are in the back reading magazines (Discover, Scientific American - I'm all about expanding the mind) and listening to music, and I'm driving (duh) trying to navigate through various stages of idiots in travel, wondering why I agreed to come along when by the time we hit the ramp for the freeway half a mile from where we met, I'm ready to drop him off at the side of the road. Cool. Only 2 hours and 15 minutes left of a 2:20 drive.
D is a touchy-feely kinda guy. I'm not normally opposed to that. Every gal wants to know her man wants to touch her. Did you hear me say WANTS? This I did not. I think it aggravates him. I know it does. He whined about it another night. Guess that's a clue, scooby-doo.
Anyhow, we get down there, and it's 97 degrees. Great. I'm not a sun-bunny. Too fair, and take some meds that make me pretty susceptible to sunburn. So I have my 50 SPF sunblock, yes 50, that of course, I leave in the jeep while we're in the stands. I'm sucking down water, so you know it's hot, because I cannot stand water normally. I have on this white T-shirt with shorter sleeves than my other shirts. This I can tell, because today my upper arms look like neopolitan ice cream. You know, the chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla all in one container. So I've burned between what's normally covered, and my farmer's tan. Sweet. However, I no longer look like Casper on the bottom of my legs. Acceptable.
So D is on the sidelines with the team, and I find myself searching him out. Squid says he's easy to spot because he has a unique look. I find myself mentally calling him Dork. Where's the Dork? C'mon Dork. Oh, I'm going straight to hell for this one. But the kids agree, he acts like he's 15. Clue number 2, Scooby-Doo.
After the game is over (56-0 btw - our team is defending National Champion) we head to BW3 (That's Buffalo Wild Wings) for some food and team socializing. Which would be great, if we KNEW anyone on the team. Let me back up. We park, and hop out. He takes off and says he's going to go get a table. ??? K. The kids wait the EXTRA 15 SECONDS for me to secure everything and we walk in the door. We wander around like some bumpkins in a big city - um yea - and finally spot him over yakkin' with some of the team members. We make our way around, and he THEN starts searching for a table. Wait, here it comes *claps hands over mouth* Dork.
So we sit, Squid holds the chair out for Pickle - um, no, I got my own, thanks - order drinks and appetizers. D and I are joking back and forth - the waitress says, "You two are married, aren't you? It's ok, I'm married, I can tell." I think she missed the look of horror that crossed both our faces. Squid and Pickle are having a good laugh at that one. D orders a beer. Not a problem. I'm driving, I'm in a place where I really don't know anyone, and I have my kids. Soda for me. He wanders off and starts talking to some of the players, high-fivin' yada yada. I look at Squid and Pickle.
"Am I a snob?" They look at me; ask me what I mean. I explain. As you get older, your criteria for finding someone changes. At this point, I'm at Single/Pulse/Job. Usually I get two of the three. Ok, technically he qualifies. He's never been married, is breathing of his own volition, and works as a shift manager at a pizza place. (This is how he knows my oldest daughter, who is working there while she goes to college - *sniff* proud mom moment, but another story for another time.) He's a nice enough guy. Not bad looking. (here it comes) but...
Lives and breathes this football team, (AND STUPID HUMOR MOVIES-OMG Mr M will appreciate this - D wants me to go see "StepBrothers" with him in the worst way) and lives with his parents.
Now, stop there. I live with my dad. Squid reminds me, Dad moved in with ME. So I am not living "at home with my parents." I am fully capable of supporting myself, and have been for 20 years. K. Point taken.
Squid says, "Here's how I see it... he acts like a kid, lives with his parents, and he really doesn't know how to act socially with a female. He wanders off and leaves you sitting. I held the door for Pickle, and pulled out her chair, and usually if a guy sees another guy doing that, he'll follow suit - he didn't. He's out with you and your family, for the first time, and drinks beer. Not that there's anything wrong with beer, but the first time, he should have stuck with pop or something. He just doesn't seem like a good fit." Of course, I'm paraphrasing, but that's the gist of it. He's surprisingly bright for an 18 year old guy.
So I didn't throw a fit or anything; we just grabbed a game computer and started playing some games while he was off for 45 minutes somewhere. The third time. The first two times he was standing with his back to us, talking to a group of people right behind us, and only turned around once to set his empty glass on the table. MMM-kay. Now, I'm not a social queen, but several people came up to him, and kept looking over at us while they were talking, and he never introduced us to anyone. I overheard someone ask if I was his "woman" (buahahaha) and he said no, we just came to watch the game and we were going out. Good answer D.
Anyhow. On the way home, after he about hits me in the face with the door he goes through ahead of me and lets swing shut, he's going on about the game, the players, the refs, and checking the message board for the team on his cell phone. Did I mention that every time I'm around him, he's glued to that thing? He's checking texts, or message boards, or scores, or SOMETHING. I can't have a conversation with him without him pulling out the phone and repeatedly checking it. How rude. I keep my phone with me when I'm on dates, but I normally do not answer it or do anything else on it, unless it's one of my kids, to make sure they are ok. I hate phones. It comes from having a previous job where it was nothing for me to take 300 phone calls in a 12 hour shift. I would much rather talk online and in person than have a receiver glued to my ear. I have a short attention span on phone calls, even if I'm doing nothing else. Captain Crazy always said, the phone has no constitutional right to be answered. He was right. I lived for 20 some years without a cell phone. It's a great convenience, but not a necessity. And if someone is more interested in texting or talking to someone else while they're with me, then they're not really all that interested in me.
So where was I? Oh yea. Am I a snob? Here's a fellow who's made it known he's extremely interested in something long-term and serious. But really, how serious can one be with someone who lives with their parents, makes half what I do, and has no ambition to do anything other than make enough to buy a new cell phone and team-wear for the team he manages? Don't get me wrong - I don't need someone who's constantly climbing the corporate ladder, but when I go into the bookstore in the mall and am made fun of because I LIKE TO READ and learn about new things, and have interesting conversations about things other than sports, it kind of irritates me. I don't need someone to buy me "stuff". I buy my own "stuff." But I like to do things, go places, occasionally travel without having to hear about every single penny. And let's do something, anything, besides meet at McDonald's.
*sigh* yea. I'm thinking that this one is not going to work out so well.
Daddy Day Care
So my dad has settled in comfortably. He putters around the house at all hours of the day and night. He grills out and has great MeatFests. (The steaks are FABULOUS) and he tells stories. I've seen a side of him I never knew existed. Apparently he was quite the jokester at work when he was younger. Things like taking a fellow's phone, telling maintenance not to replace it, then going around to all the different departments all day, and telling them to page this fellow, knowing he'd have to walk to each individual department because he no longer had a phone. *shakes head*
Or, when he worked in an area that was elevated surrounded by big windows, with only one doorway in, seeing one of the guys bringing a group of big-wigs from another company coming and his co-worker prints up a sign that says Use Other Door. He tells him, "You can't do that." The other guy asks why. He says, "You have to say Please." So they put Please Use Other Door on the front of the entrance, then stood back and laughed watching these people search for half an hour for another entrance that did not exist, making this poor guy look like a jackass. The group never did make it into that area.
Or the time he had this fellow and gal on one of the lines convinced that the plant was built on an Indian burial ground. (She claimed she was a witch.) To which the plant owner came round the corner one day to these two on the production line surrounded by lit candles, holding a seance, trying to raise the dead spirits. Seriously. No worries, folks, they still had their jobs. They were just warned that my dad was full of shit and to not listen to him.
My dad was twisted. I now know from where I get it.
Anyhow, he's a quiet fellow, kind of a hermit, doesn't care much for people. He was talking to my mom on the phone (they're still friends) and goes into the bathroom to shave or something. Meanwhile, someone I know comes over to try to rope me into having a catalog party for something, and has her 3 year old girl with her. I let them know he's in there so he doesn't scare them when he comes out. He's very quiet. For a long time. I'm finally getting ready to check on him when he comes out, phone in hand, and shuffles on through to the sunroom. I don't think anymore about it, til I'm outside saying bye to them, and he comes pulling up in his car. ???
I talk to my mom later that day, to find out he was in there, heard them come in and didn't want to embarrass me by them seeing a crazy old man in the house. So he had his shoes and his keys in the sunroom, snuck out the back, and went around to the car to go get something to eat. Oh for crying out loud. I don't give a shit what people think of my dad. Let's review. He raised me. He took care of me when I was sick. He taught me values, and morals, and the joy of learning. He still calls me his "little girl." He is allowed to be in any room at any time doing (almost) anything he wants. Goofball. I could just squeeze him. :)
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Well, Pickle has been here for the summer. Her SENIOR summer - my gawd is she that old already? She was just 3, running around naked on my mom's farm. buahahaha - I love her.
She does NOT want to go back to her dad's. Those of you readers remember earlier this summer when he punched his 64 year old father on his birthday, locked her out of the house and basically threatened that she would pay for embarrassing him by telling him in front of me and his parents that she wanted to live with me.
Well, after struggling with getting the retainer paid (the deposit crossed with the check - THAT was fun), paying off old court fees, and 3 trips to the juvenile court house, we FINALLY got a hearing date for our Immediate Temporary Change of Custody request. The second day of school. *sigh* great. This means that she will have to go back, because we will be in contempt and I will go to jail if she doesn't. The "Pre-Trial" is at the end of September. So unless things go really well at the Immediate hearing, she may be well into the school year before we change. Which is no big deal; she's already been accepted in Open Enrollment, so there will be no change in schools. I got the letter for the court date Friday. Apparently he got his Saturday because I got a phone call on my cell from his cell number about the time their mail runs. No message. No phone call to Pickle. He told her she "had to" come home this weekend, last time she was there. This is strange because he told her she didn't have to come home all summer if she didn't want. Argh.
She's really blossoming this summer. She's going and doing, seeing friends, movies, hanging out, being a kid. And still, she follows the rules, the curfews. Would be great if she helped with the housecleaning and cleaned her room from time to time (hint, hint) ;) but it's summer. I'm not doing much more than the necessary right now either. This is the first summer I've "enjoyed" in a long time. But that's another day.
My hope is that when she goes back for the weekend, he doesn't grill her or get nasty with her. I haven't said much to her about it, except that she doesn't have to discuss it with either one of us. That's between me and him. She's made her choice, and long as she stands by it, we'll deal with the end result.
Blah Blah Blah
I had a conversation with Mr M a few weeks ago about the whole custody thing. He's been through it from the other end, so of course there were some points of contention. That's one of the cool things that I can converse about with him versus D. D has no kids, never been through any kind of custody issue. He does not grasp. We were talking about the whole support thing, and how it maybe should be handled.
My dad asked me how I think it was going to be for him should the courts let her stay with me, knowing he wouldn't receive support anymore and how he would survive. I told him that was not my concern. He did not concern himself when I had to work three jobs to pay support to him, and afford to live and raise my other kids. Cold? Maybe. Warranted? Absolutely. I don't hate. I just don't, anything, as far as his welfare goes. He stopped being my problem many years ago.
so there it is folks... phew. Isn't life grand? Off to wait on rich boat people... have a stellar day!