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Archive for the ‘Weirdness’ Category

Okay, I admit it: I’ve registered on both eHarmony and okcupid in my quest for a life mate. Doing so was never on any imaginable to-do list, but neither was a divorce. I tried eHarmony for about three months. Though I requested matches within 50 miles of my hometown of Louisville, KY, by far the majority of my matches were from many states away. Since I am divorced and share custody of my daughter, moving is totally out of the question for my foreseeable future, so my eHarmony matches were pretty useless.

As is probably not unexpected, here’s some of what I found on okcupid, a free online matching service:

okcupid: The most private thing I’m willing to admit here
weirdo#1: I’m a closet exhibitionist. No, I don’t expose myself from a trench-coat, but I have this fantasy of being naked in public.

And this guy “woo-ed” me and sent me a photo of himself butt-naked with his hands to cover his private areas. Eeewwww!

I shouldn’t be surprised about any of this, of course. I know that. Even my 17-year-old niece knows there’s a better way. Her suggestion:

Do what God would have you do, keep your focus on and run towards Him. Pretty soon, you’ll look to your right or your left and find the person God meant for you, pursuing a similar goal. That’s when you’ll find your life mate.

Yes, she’s only 17. No, she doesn’t understand the challenges a divorced woman faces, especially when children are involved. But her advice is so much more manageable than freaks on online dating sites, and her method for finding your soul-mate is so much more palatable than the debauchery of the bar scene.

I think I’ll stick to volunteering at the local homeless shelter, co-managing my church’s web site, and taking writing and technology courses at the university I work for: all the things I think God is calling me to do.

What will you do?

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Recently, my friend Tiffany tagged me with a meme to write my memoir in six words. While you’re supposed to tag other bloggers once you’ve been tagged, I really don’t have that many co-bloggers at the moment to tag, or they’ve already been taken. Here are the rules:

1) Write your own six word memoir
2) Post it on your blog; include a visual illustration if you’d like
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links
5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

Here is the memoir I would leave today. I’m positive it will change tomorrow or the next day. But for now, here ya go:

Creative writer craves deliverance from evil.

I’m not always this serious or intense when describing myself, but recent events have left me feeling precisely as my memoir suggests.

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No Pain, No Gain

So what’s a woman to do when it’s 1:00 a.m. on a work night, and sleep is not even plausible? Imaginable? Possible?

Read about, listen to, and observe hilarious images of Tony Stewart’s Back Waxing for charity. Just go to the link above, click on the words “Click here for audio clips and photos,” and then click on the button that reads: Tony’s back wax Montage: Listen at your own risk! Do I need to explain the red-colored font? Okay, okay… Take a look at Tony’s back in the middle image. Think purple would have been a more appropriate color choice?

BikiniI’m no masochist, but having waxed areas somewhat more sensitive than one’s back in preparation for “bikini season,” I have to laugh at the baby-like screams of this tough guy getting his back waxed. Come on, Tony! You’re a wimp!

For additional entertainment, google “waxing” images. The lengths some people will go to for beauty truly are amazing!

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Okay, call me crazy! I’ve got two wonderful boy kitties–Tigger and Bubbles–and a, well, some would say not-so-wonderful bichon frise girlie girl dog, Sparkle.

Look for yourself:

TiggerThis is Tigger–always regal looking, but a big baby at heart.

Bubbles Bubbles, aka Mr. Fatty, has a squishy jello-belly, long hairs between his toes, and a surprisingly bossy disposition.

Laura and Sparkle Here’s my baby girl when I first brought her home. Even now, she’s smaller than my boys, and she’s full grown!

What more could a single mother who’s living in a 980-square-foot condo want?

Hee, hee, hee… (more…)

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Thanksgiving this year is seeming very depressing. My daughter–who’s celebrating her 12th birthday on Thanksgiving Day–will spending the day with her Daddy; and my sister and her family decided not to come to dinner because there’s been a break between her family and the rest of our extended family. This year, there will be only four us dining together. I’d just assume to go to a restaurant and pretend the day doesn’t even exist, but I think my Mom feels strongly about celebrating despite the circumstances.

I thought I would be kind by letting my ex-husband have our daughter for the day. I figured that she would be happier with him and his extended family since she’d have other kids to play with. I’m glad to help make her day better, but the thought of being away from her leaves me feeling really sad. My brother, knowing how difficult it is for me to be alone these days, graciously invited me to spend the night at his place so I have some company. For that, I’m very thankful.

Here’s the story surrounding my sister and our families: When I went in the hospital in September, I asked my Mom and brothers not to tell my sister. I did so because she has frequently said that if I only called out to Jesus, I wouldn’t have the mental problems that I have. She once even tried to convince me to go to an exorcist. He was arrested for tying up a woman in his home, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Needless to say, I didn’t want the stress of having my faith called into question while I was in the hospital. After about five days, my family told my sister about my hospitalization, and she came to visit me. That was a mistake. My Mom kept trying to get me to set some boundaries with my sister, but I wasn’t strong enough. So my sister proceeded to trample all over me. I didn’t invite her to come again. After I got out of the hospital, she sent me a letter saying her silence wasn’t indicative that she was angry, because she wasn’t. I thought everything was going to be okay.

However, a few weeks later, my sister-in-law, my Mom, and me met my sister for a “therapy” session at a church in Goshen. This was another disaster. My sister told me she didn’t want me to be with her children because I chose to talk to them about things she was opposed to whenever we were away from her. Her example: At a football game we went to in September, “all you talked about was boys.” I was shocked. I mean, don’t most teenagers like to talk about boys? After this meeting, I uninvited her youngest daughter from my daughter’s birthday party because I didn’t want to risk my daughter’s friends talking about things my sister would find inappropriate. Some people thought I should have given her the option of letting her daughter go, but I couldn’t bear to be subjected to her criticism. I just couldn’t take it from her anymore. Apparently, I really hurt my sister. Her husband called my Mom and ranted about how angry he was with me. Is my family screwed up, or what? Now, in order to see my daughter–even though she won’t let me see hers–my sister has arranged with my ex-husband to spend the day with her on his time. I guess I shouldn’t have expected him to support me by not permitting that. Don’t get me wrong–I want my daughter to interact with her cousins. But I resent her going around me to get to my daughter. I am very sad.

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Bi-What?

Day 1: Novelty

Got some interesting news on Monday. Saw a new psychiatrist who after 20 minutes of conversation told me she was “not convinced” that I was bi-polar. Dr. D. indicated that I was “highly medicated” so starting that night, I was to reduce two of my medications by half, and then discontinue one of them after 10 days. My immediate reaction was wonderment; that changed to bafflement, uncertainty. I’ve grown accustomed to myself with this label “bi-polar,” and I’d begun to identify myself that way. Not to say I wasn’t also mom, daughter, sister, editor, writer. Not so at all. But bi-polar had become part of my vocabulary.

Day 2: Fatigue

One of the medications Dr. D. reduced for me is one that makes me really, really sleepy. Take it at 10:00, and at 10:15 I’m toast. Unfortunately, same was true in the morning: Up at 6:00, out the door at 6:30, and falling asleep at the wheel at 6:45. Not good at all. I’d taken to going to my mom’s to nap half-way to work, just so I’d keep I-64 safe for motorists. So, reducing this particular med was a good thing, right?

Not so fast. Tuesday, couldn’t get to sleep. Couldn’t stay asleep. Falling asleep at the wheel again.

Day 3: Rage

Wednesday, not sleeping well, dreams are vivid and exhausting. Now that Mom’s home from Turkey, she isn’t too thrilled with the idea of my “using” her place as a napping ground. “Laura, I’m worried about you.” (Greeeaaaattt.)

At work (late again), every little thing burns me up. You want to edit my work, Miss Associate? You think you know more than me? Fuck you, you picky-ass bitch! Boss man, I’ll send the work your boss gave you that you delegated to me to your boss so he knows that I did the work–not you. I’m not having him think you did it when I did. And by the way, Miss Assistant, you think you can keep my schedule for me? Tell people when I’ll do something? Bull-fucking-shit, you will.

Day 4: Confession

Step back, take a look. Something‘s not right here. Take a deep breath, walk away. Give the change in medication some time. Beg forgiveness from those who witnessed my palpable anger. Wrote a pretty good article. Cool!

Anger flaring again. Stupid, piece-of-shit cats wake me up again.

Day 5: Defeat

Oversleep. Force myself out of bed. Out the door in five. Trudge into work. Happy face; dull, defeated heart. “Managed” by her once again, fucking control freak. Livid, lifeless, languid.

Dr. D: Up the meds again.

Laura: fine?

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My siblings and I have just begun the journey into the abyss of caring for our aging–and psychologically deteriorating–father.

Right now he’s exhibiting some really PC behavior… PC meaning “purchasing computers.” And it’s not just one computer; he’s purchased something like six computers (we’ve lost count) since the beginning of the year. You see, he buys one, brings it home, decides the daggone (he used another phrase) thing doesn’t work, and then returns the computer, gives it away, or sells it for vastly less than its worth.

Most recently, he called me six times in two days to talk computers. Here’s the gist of the conversations:

1. I have a computer for your daughter, if you’ll give me the broken one you have for her now. You have to pay about $15/month to use it. (I said I couldn’t afford a montly payment for a computer.)
2. I don’t want your broken computer, but I will give you the one I just bought. (I told him I couldn’t accept the gift–that he should just return the laptop he’d purchased.)
3. I’m not going to give you a computer, but I’ll give you $500 to fix the one you have. You can keep the leftover money. (I said–flabergasted–“uh, well, okay.”)
4. I’m not going to give you $500 to fix the computer, because I’m going to buy her a new one.
5. I found a computer for your daughter, and it’s a “training” computer. (I told him she’d been using a computer for four years, so she didn’t need a training computer, to which he responded, “Well, why the hell didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”)
6. I can’t remember what in the world he said in the last call.

Ultimately, I went to his house, picked up the computer, and took it home just so he’d stop calling me. I don’t want to talk about computers with him anymore.

But that’s only part of the PC behavior. He’s bought computers whose monitors were too small, programs were too confusing, icons were too plentiful, etc. My Louisville brother took the last computer my father purchased home to set it up for him and found my father had formatted it in Hungarian.

‘Nough said.

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