Hemorrhaging Cash

To Hemorrhage: to undergo a rapid and sudden loss. Yep. That is the word.

I take Cat to the vet today. He is so shockingly skinny, I'm not sure of how he can move around. He eats (a tiny little bit), he sits (looks happy?), but he doesn't really have his Cat spunk. He's basically starving himself to death. But he looks ok if you just look at him. And yet, we are going to the vet today to end his life. I don't want him to suffer, and I don't think he is healthy or happy. The vet agrees. Doesn't make it any easier. It sucks.

In the meantime, Sabrina goes to the vet Tuesday for a check-in. They all of the blood work etc over the holidays when the "tamale" incident occurred. I made the mistake of looking at my credit card bill yesterday. It looked like I'd spent about $1,000 at the vet alone in December. So, I sat down and actually tried to add up how much I've spent since August. It's not pretty. Especially since I didn't even add in all of the chicken, rice, pumpkin and dried cranberries I've bought. You might not think it adds up to

a lot being groceries and all, but if you look at the pumpkin alone...2 cans a day for two months at $1 a can... Yeah, it really does add up. I didn't add in the mattress pads, wet wipes, tissues and other general cleaning supplies.

Is she getting better? Well, she is way better than she was in August when the specialty vet let me take her home without her being able to stand on her own. She can walk two miles now. She still doesn't have control of her bowels or her bladder. And she has constant bladder infections. I am crazy about this dog. She is beautiful and loving and happy and I desperately want her to get better, but I just don't know if she is or if I can afford to keep trying. How Godawful is that? I don't have the money to take care of her. Ironically, looking at my bank statements and credit card, after today's visit to take care of Cat, I don't actually have the money to do anything else either. I am so unbearably sad.

Fashion Faux Pas

This was a hot topic for me when I was in Japan. That is a country ripe for the show What Not to Wear. However, yesterday as I waited for my friends to arrive at the restaurant of choice, there was a girl. Her outfit? Hideous. No, let me rephrase. It was cute. It was hideous on her. She was short and solid. Not fat per se. Just solid. She was wearing a short balloon skirt with a wide belt and a white top with a balloon sleeve. She looked like a freaking cupcake. Hideous.

This brings me to my question. Where were her friends? By the time someone leaves the house, I guess it could be said that it is too late. No reason to make her feel bad about the way she looked except for crying out loud, by saying something aren't they preventing her from wearing the outfit again?

I am making my statement now. You people out there, friends and foe alike, TELL ME IF I LOOK LIKE CRAP. Sure, there are nice ways to do that, and I hope you would be nice when you told me, but please, please, tell me. I don't want to go out in the world and have people shaking their heads and asking where are my friends.

Stalkers have game; and creepy can be helpful.

So, recently I have mocked and belittled my dear sister for her desire to search shit out on the internet. Now, as it turns out, I'm pretty sure she didn't know that I had mocked or belittled her regarding this issue until just now. I now reveal this information because, as always, God has chosen to smite me with my own words. I hate it when He does that.

Recently, I received a note in my mailbox from disgruntled neighbor DogHater regarding, of all things, my dogs and their love of a good bark.

I called DogHater and left a message that I was terribly sorry, but I am working long hours, it really won't be for much longer and there will be no more problems, so sorry, goodbye.

Then I received a second note from DogHater's Roommate. She didn't leave a lot of room for conversation. She said she worked odd hours (I'm going with stripper myself) and she required naps during the day which were being made difficult courtesy of my bad dogs. In fact, it wasn't so much my dogs as my dogs starting shit and going inside to let all the other dogs in the neighborhood bark. Yeah, that sounds like them.

I responded with a I am so sorry. As I said "Blah, blah, blah" I will keep them in until 3 in the afternoon at which point I'm letting 'em out cause we all gotta pee sometime lady.

Last night, DogHater left a message on the school phone (cause I sure as shit am not giving them my cell number). I called back - no answer, so I hung up.

But then, I thought, I'm gonna do a little Googling research on these girls. So, channeling my sister, I got busy. Actually spent a pretty good amount of time looking these girls up. Time, I might add, that really needed to be spent doing things like finishing yearbook pages, proofing the pages that arrived today and determining the freaking yearbook staff for next year. Anywho boy, oh, boy, is there a lot of info on the internet people. Try looking yourself up. I know when DogHater was born, where she went to school, her dad's name, what her jobs have been, where she lives exactly, etc. etc.

That, of course, got me thinking about my own info. Let me tell you, thank the dear Lord there is an actress with my name. Cause you can try to find the Diva, but you'll have to go through 40 or 50 pages of listing and still in the end find very little about me. HA.

So, sure, this is probably information that will do me almost no good. But can you imagine how badly I can freak her out if when we finally talk, I throw out where she went to school, or quote something she wrote in her blog 4 years ago???? Heeby. Jeebys.

I'm sorry, how much football will I be watching???

I have managed, quite adeptly I might add, through the years to not date guys that are in to sports. It helps that I haven't dated most of them more than twice, so although they might have loved sports, they did not enter my sphere of consciousness. It has worked out nicely.

It seems, as they say, the tide has turned. Cause Mr. Potential, he loves him some football. Really. A. Lot. In the two weeks I have known him, I have watched 4 football games. FOUR.

On the upside, I have totally impressed the BFF with my stunning array of football knowledge and trivia in the last two weeks. She has informed me that I may be Biscuits (young son's) pole position favorite aunt with my new found ability to discuss all things football.

Mr. Potential looked at me sweetly last night and said, "You only have four more games this season, well, maybe a couple more, but we're almost done." It's nice that he recognizes this is not my usual MO. And, it gives me time to get some reading in.

All I really have to do is look up occasionally and say, "Oh, my" or "Good grief" or "Wow, look at that" the key is to make the right comment at the right time. And it turns out, if I manage to time it just right with the right look of enthusiasm, he gives me a proud smile and a kiss. (Who says we don't all operate on the treat system?!)

Someone suggested making a game out of it, you know, when your team scores, the other person has to kiss you, that kind of thing . . . please, God, let the Cowboys game Saturday night be high scoring . . ; )

You never know who is watching/reading

OK, so update to the conference from Hell and Twittering incident of 09. Turns out it was a way bigger deal than I had realized. By the end of the day Wednesay, I had an email from the principal requesting my presence.

I really like my principal. There is some stuff that he does that makes me nutty, but basically, a really great person who is good in a pinch. Since I find myself in many a pinch, this characteristic has proven particulary useful to me.

My guess is that 2 different people who sat at our “school’s” table at some point sent emails to the principal basically saying I was a bad rep of the school. I have to admit I was virulent in my unhappiness, but I’m not sure I said anything that was over the top horrible. The problem is that this particular organization seems to incite kool-aid drinkin’ if you know what I mean. If you’ve been drinking the kool-aid and someone then talks smack about it, I guess you get riled up your own self.

So, I’m taking my lumps on that one.

The twitter thing I still think is BS. So, my twitters will have to be private for a while.

In addition, Friday at the football game I got two different comments from two different people. One comment “Boy aren’t you the talk of the town right now”. . . greeeaaatttt. The second? from a principal at one of the other schools that said he heard about it from the VP of the organization whose fine program I was bashing. Crikey. Typical luck for me.

That, then got me thinking about the blog. I have certainly poured my heart, life and humor into this thing, and I would be really, really distraught if I had to delete it without having a chance to save it. So, I have actually begun the process of pulling everything off the site and reorganizing chronologically (instead of backwards chronologically) and making sure the pictures transfer over etc. It’s a lot harder than you might think. It’s also weird because there are sooo many pages. I am a verbal little monkey, I can say that.

Some of my old posts are actually hard to read, especially when I write about past relationships. Some are great. I had totally forgotten some of the stupid stuff that has happened to me.

I know I should be careful in what I write anyway because I don’t know who is reading it, and I don’t know how they are interpreting.

On the other hand, I’ve been life on the edge for a while now, so what the hell.

Why I date

There are times when I wonder why on Earth I even date. I mean, seriously, dating, as mentioned before is an F-ing beating. I have to remind myself of the wonderful things that make me want a man.

1. They take the trash out (I am capable, I would prefer not to do this.)
2. They take care of the cars. ( I yearn for a vehicle that never runs out of gas and is perfectly maintained. My mother says this is the main reason she is married. She's kidding. I think.)
3. They take the dead animals out of the house and kill others that aren't dead but need killing. (This is why one of my sister's is married. She hasn't said so, but I'm pretty sure it's high on her list.)
4. They are wardrobe assistants. I had to go next door this evening to get assistance closing up the back of my dress. If I had a man, it would be his job.
5. They can raise your income bracket. Ok, this isn't always true, but if you are fairly self-sufficient, wouldn't it be delicious to be able to raise your bracket simply by falling in love? In the words of Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen prefer Blondes, "Don't you know marrying a rich man is like marrying a pretty girl. It's not why you do it, but my goodness, doesn't it help?" I say, YES!! I think my other sister rather likes where her income bracket currently resides.
6. Heavy lifting. I mean, there is a lot of stuff that is dang difficult to do by onesself, such as moving furniture and getting things out of the attic.

I'm sure there is more, but this is what I was able to come up with on the fly cause I think I'm going to need some reminding fairly soon of why I am torturing myself in such a fashion. Feel free to add, but don't give me any of that sentimental crap. I know better. ; )

The end of 8

So I finally got around to ending it with Date 8. I have to say a weekend with the family and various people asking me what 8's name really is made me laugh. Cause really who wants to waste precious space in the memory banks for a name that will be totally unnecessary shortly?

Hi 8,

Sorry I didn't get a chance to call. It was a very busy weekend. I didn't get back until late, and I had a massive headache.

I have enjoyed getting to know you, and thank you for putting effort into making fun dates. You are a great guy, but I don't think we are a good fit. I have no doubt you will find a lovely girl that is perfect for you. You deserve to find someone who is a good match for you.

Sincerely,
The Diva

This is my standard. Again, I recognize I am total chickenshit for not doing it in person, but really, in person is awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved. Email is so much better, cleaner, etc. It's not like I want them to like me forever and talk well of me. Mainly, I just want them to go away with minimal fuss.

8's response has to be my absolute favorite.

Diva,

I enjoyed our time together and wanted to talk with you about the same subject. It is good to know we were on the same page about where this was going.

I hope you have a great time in Europe!

Take care,

8

I just like that we are on the same page!! ; )

Poor Date 8

First, the disclaimer. Remember that as a blogger I am working through things here on the internet rather than in the privacy of a journal. Some of this is just me trying to get it all together and think through my issues. (It just so happens there is a small select group of you that get to be a part of my verbal barf. Lucky, lucky, you.)

Disclaimer part deux. Date 8 is a nice guy. He is absolutely trying to show his best manners and pull out the stops. Now, whether he is pulling out the stops to impress me because I'm amazing (ha) or because he wants to do the horizontal tango or both, I don't know, but I do recognize that this is the one people will bring up saying, "Remember that nice boy you blew off just because. You could have been married, but nooo, you are so picky." (Please say with a Jewish accent, much funnier.)

Monday night we went to the Fox & the Hound Pub. First, I am delighted to say the precious girls at the front desk CARDED ME. My face clearly showed my pleasure and excitement at needing to fish it out. After seeing it, they informed me, "Oh, well, you look really young." I like that place!

I will give him points in that he seems to be determined to arrive places ahead of me and have the cosmo ordered. Chivalry or an intense desire to get me drunk? Hard to say, hard to say.

At any rate, turns out he is a bit of a pool shark, so I had to concentrate mightily to not embarrass myself. That meant that we didn't talk that much, but it also led me to realize that we don't actually have that much to say. (Worrisome issue to discuss later.)

He called Tuesday night AND Wednesday night at 9:45. Tuesday I answered the phone and gave him the "Oh, my, you are calling late." He didn't take the hint too well because he kept talking and then called the next night at the EXACT same time. Grrrr.

So, last night was King Tut at the DMA. We were meeting at 7. I got a text message at 6:30 saying, "Not sure where you are. I'm on East side of building next to Tut ticket booth." Not sure of where I am?? Are you kidding? I'm either at home or on my way, but it is 6 freaking 30. Breathe. Breathe.

His desire to be places ahead of me has now moved into totally annoying, especially since on our first meeting he told me he is usually on time, so this isn't a deal where he is always early, he is now determined to be early to be ahead of me. So, fine, send a text that says I'm early and here is where I am. Don't start with where are you. Set. My. Teeth. On. Edge.

So, as my friend KT can attest, I was cranky well before my arrival at the DMA. What can I say, in the last two weeks I have had ONE night to myself. Every time I have a free night, he'd ask me out, and that is great, not his fault, but I imagine he has lots of free nights and then goes out every once in a while and I'm exhausted because I can't catch a break . . .all this to say, I have reached crank status. Yes, many of you are making faces because you have dealt with crank status, and it's not pretty.

At any rate, King Tut doesn't really invite conversation either because it is very, very quiet. No one is talking. We work our way through and get out at about 8pm. He turns and asks me if I want to get something to eat. "No," I say, "I have eaten because I would have died if I had to wait until now to eat." And then I went into my song and dance about left to my own devices I would eat by 5 and be in bed by 9 and oh, by the way, please don't call after 9 again.

So, trying to be polite, I say, "Shall we find someplace to eat for you to get something." Great he says. . . the only problem is that there are NO places downtown (except really expensive restaurants), so he wants to suggest a sit down place near me, but it is after 8 and I've just explained my need for sleep. Argghhh.

Ok, so he walks me to my car, I drive him to his, and he hightails it out of my car fairly quickly. Bless his heart. I wasn't wretched, just a wee snippy.

I am worried about the fact we don't really have much to say. I asked him about his day and he said, "I was really busy." "Oh, what were you doing." "Purchase orders." What do I say to that?? As we were leaving the museum, he asked me about my schedule and I started rattling off what I have coming up which ends with the trip to Europe when school gets out. His response was "and then school starts back up"????? Um, no I'm only gone two weeks.

His response? "Oh, well, if I ever get to go to Europe I would go for as long as possible." huh. There are so many things wrong with this statement. Oh well, yes, I know I am just picking on him at this point.

Late Friday he sent me an email:

Dear Diva, I had a good time at Tut with you last night.Those were interesting artifacts. I think we need to take time and talk about our schedule. I know you will be on the road soon so pls call sometime this weekend when you think about it . Have a safe trip! Date 8

Our schedule? Really? Cause I'm thinking only one of us really has a schedule to keep track of here, the other one isn't doing jack shit most evenings. . . but that's just me guessing. Could be wrong. It's happened before.

So, now I've got to figure out what I'm going to do about 8. I guess I'll call him Sunday. It's not like I can see him in the next 2 weeks, because I am literally busier than a nickle ho on payday.

Dear John

This post contains the actual content from the Dear John letter that was written in conjunction with The Daisy. I knew I needed help to explain myself while keeping it simple, and she is quite the wordsmith. It's a work of art, and we both are going to Hell for posting it for all the world to see. (Well, in my case, for the 5 people that read this thing to see.) Daisy's version has some additional verbiage. Yes, I know, her version is really REALLY going to get me sent to Hell. . . I'll have a condo by the fiery lake for sure.

Dear Dane:

I know it's chickenshit to do this via email, but so be it.

While I really enjoyed meeting you on the train that afternoon, and the romance of it all is rather appealing, I'm afraid that I don't think that in the end, there is enough substance between us to forge a true connection.

I know that you will disagree with this, but I tell you with great clarity that a relationship between us is not possible.

Besides the obvious issue of distance, there are also a number of personality differences that I really feel make us incompatible. While I am flattered by the fact that you have such an intense desire to make me happy, I think that in this amount of time, for the majority of our conversations to have centered on the state of our relationship, which barely exists to begin with, is indicative of the very real lack of commonality between us.

I am so sorry; I really wish there were a way to not cause you pain, but like a band-aid, I'm just ripping it off in an attempt to avoid dragging out an end that I see as inevitable. I know the right person for you is out there somewhere.

The Diva

What I wanted to write was "At this point everything about you annoys the chit out of me," but I didn't think that was P.C.

I wanted this to be a love story, but it's just not. Trust me, once I opened my eyes I realized I was trapped in a twisted version of Psycho, if that's even possible.