funerals and wild women

Funerals and Wild Women.

As predicted, my Friday night also didn’t work out as expected. When the contractor made plans with me, he gave me a heads up that depending on his work schedule it may not pan out. Having dated several contractors, I’m now pretty knowledgeable about their work life restrictions, so didn’t expect to see him.

At least he didn’t ghost this time. A long text arrived early Friday morning that he had to work late that night and all weekend. It was no problem. Ann 2.1 welcomes time to write.

I worked late Friday night and left the office only when my stomach told me I should. Zane once asked when I “got off work” and I had to explain it simply doesn’t happen that way for me. I work until what I need to get done is done, but I also often control the schedule and can choose to leave at 4 pm on a Friday and do the rest over the weekend. But not this Friday.

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Christmas dinner turkey

The Plumber came over for Christmas, and other stories.

I write this from a country pub on the same property as the small cottage I’ve booked for myself the next two nights. It’s the kind of cottage I should be sharing with a lover or boyfriend. Fireplace, king bed, outdoor spa, indoor soaker tub, fluffy white bathrobes. But despite three men asking if they can join me, I’m staying here solo. Christmas dinner is over and my house (and I) have fully recovered.

I’m here to write. But what I’ve done so far is eat fish tacos, drink a large glass of local Chardonnay, unsuccessfully try to figure out how to import my posts into Scrivener, flirt with my hot bartender, talk to the adorable young couple next to me, and give the female some perspective on her parent’s divorce this summer, after 37 years of marriage. She was bereft that her Mom is already dating someone, who showed up for Christmas dinner.  Continue reading

My Mom, Glen Campbell, and Vietnam.

“For you, who is gentle on my mind, but too hot to handle at times. Please never change, because you are beautiful. Good luck and safe trip, and remember all of our good times. Love, Rick. 7/31/69, Hawaii.

P.S. Remember the steaks and ice cream, because they make you sweet (smile).”

Did you notice the date? It’s not a typo: 1969. Those words, written in red looping cursive script, were for my mother. They are on the back of a vinyl record which accompanied her back to the mainland from Hawaii, Glen Campbell’s “Gentle on My Mind”. She got rid of the ABBA and the classical albums long ago, but a precious few remained packed away until her recent move.  Continue reading

The world is small, the dating world, smaller.

Two of my friends are freshly separated – less than a year. They are in the midst of negotiating settlements and getting used to their new normal. Both have recently started dating and we have an ongoing three-way text chat to share our highs and lows. And dick pics.

The first friend is looking only for casual sex. She’s on Adult Friend Finder. One guy she met had the same name as someone I went on one date with, perhaps three years ago. It’s not a common name but not rare, either. She shared a picture (as we tend to do) and I didn’t recognize him.

They went on a date a week or so later. She mentioned they went back to his place, where it was located, and that he had some erection trouble. My spidey sense tingled. “Hey, can you share a pic?” I asked, via text. 

Oh good lord.

It was the same guy. The first pic he had sunglasses on but the second was his LinkedIn profile.

The hilarity ensued. I don’t think I wrote about him – if I did it’s buried in a text about dating fails – because as nice as our date was, he was weird when we got back to his place and he wasn’t able to perform. Hence why he’s not on my “men I had sex with” list.

What we both found funny is we are polar opposites in looks – I’m blonde, fair, and curvy, and she is a dark-skinned, lithe athlete. He has good taste, that’s for sure.

They had a rather chill fuck buddy situation for several weeks. She never told him we knew each other lest it freak him out. 

Then yesterday I was hanging out with the other friend. She’d had a good first date with a man named Leo who was from the same country as my Leo. But not the same guy – we checked. I asked her if she had any more dates lined up.

“Not really,” she said, “but there’s another guy from [foreign country] who is there right now but I may see him when he’s back”.

Hmm. Same country as someone I used to date. But that’s common. Still.

“What’s his name?”

“Sevag.”

Ummm. 

“Hey do you have a picture?” 

It was him. He Who Shall Not Be Named. I told her the highlights of our story, which are removed from the blog – the intense first few dates, his third date declaration of love, his stalking my social media which led to his finding my blog, his descent into crazy jealousy, the threats and the police getting involved.

She isn’t going to keep in touch with him. I hated being the bearer of bad news, but she doesn’t like what she now knows he’s capable of.

Oh, and she used to be best friends with Tony’s again-wife, and she’s work friends with Jack’s ex-wife.

I live in a big city and continue to be amazed at how small it seems to be. I suspect this will keep happening. 

A death in the friend family.

He was a friend, admirer, and protector. Never a lover. He was like the older brother I never had. 

A decade-plus older with way more work experience, he was one of the first colleagues to help me understand how good of a leader I actually am. He was crusty and opinionated but looked up to me. As an independent contractor he could work with anyone, and he chose to work for me. I was humbled by his praise.

I was blessed by his presence in my life.

During one of the projects we worked together on he took a pastry course. We all looked forward to Wednesday mornings when the treats would arrive. Never fully satisfied with his work, he rebuffed our compliments, said through stuffed mouths. He always showed up on time to my parties. He was single the whole time I knew him and at first I assumed he was gay. Turned out after his last long-term relationship he’d tired of trying, and spent his time doting on his nieces and nephews. But he always had relationship advice for me.

He was the one who called me the day after my party, where HWSNBN lost his shit, to make sure I was okay. He made me promise to end it and offered to do anything I needed to keep me safe.

At my party, HWSNBN had told him to “fuck off” after he made a nice comment about my legs. Blind with jealousy, HWSNBN couldn’t see the friendship and teasing behind the comment. And his anger at my friend helped cement his demise. No asshole was going to come between me and the people I choose to surround myself with.

The last time I saw him he sat in one of my comfy chairs, joked about my cast, then quietly disclosed his recent absence from my life was due to depression, not a physical illness as I’d feared. He was starting to realize it was okay to share, but knew his pride and stubborn nature got in the way. 

We promised to see each other soon.

That was February. 

And now I mourn the loss. His death was sudden and unexpected, and a reminder to try to live every day as if it was not only my last day, but my friends and family’s as well.

Travel drama replaces man drama. 

A cousin of mine lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, and her son and mine got along famously the last time we had a family reunion. For almost two years, Liam has asked when we would visit: we chose Easter weekend.
I’ve never had such a comedy of errors while travelling, and for someone who has done a significant amount of business and personal travel, that’s saying something. Continue reading

Coming back to life.

There’s been enough drama with Leo that I haven’t written about my injury and recovery lately.

The combination of a broken bone and extensive ligament damage means it’s been a long haul. Over two months in a non weight-bearing cast, then a month in a walking boot. I have a plate and several screws in my leg and I have a beautiful 5″ scar on the outside of my ankle.

I still walk with pain and with a limp, and because of that limp I have pain in my tailbone, which fucking sucks. My ankle and foot remain swollen and it could be the same for many more months. I’ve just been diagnosed with needing two months of physiotherapy, 3-5 times a week. How I’m going to find time for that I have no idea. Continue reading

Coming up for air with Christmas cock

My head is finally starting to clear.

It was three weeks ago tomorrow when I broke my leg, and I’ve left my house only twice since. Once to go to a holiday concert at my son’s school (the day after I came home from the hospital; still not sure how I managed), and once to go to my Mom’s for Christmas eve and morning.

It feels like a blur. I can hardly believe it’s been three weeks; it seems like a long weekend. But the hospital stay, after-effects of surgery, taking Oxycontin as a painkiller, and the monotony of laying on my couch every single day and watching TV or movies probably have something to do with that.

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There’s something going around.

Several years ago, when I was still married, my Mom told me she was concerned I didn’t have a close-knit group of women in my life whom I could count on to be there for me no matter what.

Of course I argued with her, saying I had a couple of close friends who fell into that category.

But of course, there was real truth to her observation. One of my goals since becoming single was to build back up the friend relationships I had let go during my marriage, and build new connections as well. Freed from the restrictions of a judgey spouse who didn’t want to “take new friend applications” (yes, he said that), I could meet new people I like and invite them for dinner. I could spend quality time with existing friends and deepen or connection.

I’m rather proud of myself for doing just that.  Continue reading

Who needs a man?

My toilets have been acting up.

Many months ago, the one in Liam’s bathroom started to sigh when it flushed. Literally sounded like a high pitched human sigh. But it still worked so we just laughed about it, but I occasionally gave it a backwards glance when leaving to make sure there were no ghosts in the room.

Then there was drama of my toilet overflowing – which resulted in not only water damage to the living room ceiling below, but to my smoke detector, which decided to go insane when filled with water. It cycled through every sound it could make. My nanny was too panicked and too short to reach to turn it off. The net result was a freaked out nanny and a child scared to flush a toilet 🙄.

Then the main floor toilet started acting up. It got really loud every time it flushed, perhaps in protest of the treatment of its kin. Continue reading