Archive (where Noah kept bees)

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It's been a while since I saw OOD*.

Even though I'm no less accepting of the situation between us than when it began, I'm beginning to wonder if my reticence is being misinterpreted as disinterest. This has happened before.

I would be thinking that things were fine between myself and the current boyfriend, and we would be having dinner or drinks, then I'd suddenly realize that he looked a bit despondent, and then he'd say that I must not care for him because I hadn't been in touch, and I'd be wondering why he didn't appreciate a girlfriend that wasn't interested in calling him six times a day or dragging him to the mall every weekend.

Perhaps it's simply a post-shaolin libido spike that has me thinking in this fashion. I think OOD knows that I like him, even at the distance we chose to maintain, and the infrequency of our meetings. I still fantasize about his hands on my face, his teeth on my thighs. How well he kisses me. How well he fucks me. Just writing this induces wetness.

But I still suspect I am not particularly savvy when it comes to What Men Are Thinking. Perhaps I'm making too many assumptions. Maybe OOD wants to hear more than the occasional mon grande choux.



Moving day

Estranged Husband* has made good on his plans to vacate Chez Melina by Thursday, and is busily packing up his rented van with only occasional help from me. I confess I've felt some slight sadness. Even though he was gone for over two years, the sight of many of our shared possessions going out the door brings it home that it's really, totally over.

For a little while, I forgot about the unhappiness and disagreements that led to the dissolution of the relationship. (Not that I stew about them; I got over it years ago.) But at least E.H. is viewing the situation with fortitude. I was afraid he'd be wandering around in a despondent mood, which would most probably proved contagious.

On another subject entirely, I am wondering what OOD* made of the essay I emailed to him yesterday. I finally found the Germaine Greer essay I'd been looking for - it had been stashed on an old external hard drive that is going with E.H., and while clearing off my files yesterday I'd happened upon it.

It's not like we had ever discussed our views on security - The Germ** tends to share my view that it doesn't really exist - but it's been a while. I just hope OOD doesn't view my sending the essay as a subtle advance notice of a brush-off, as it's not. Parts of the essay suggest that relationships between men and women are usually not a good idea, but this wasn't the reason I sent it to him. Instead, it was because I have always felt that the acceptance of a life without security gives one the freedom to enjoy what most others will sadly miss out upon.

Like really good sex.

* See Key to Characters at right.
** Occasional media nickname for Germaine Greer, especially when she's made herself more unpopular than usual. Such as being a rude guest on a UK talk show.


Dare I believe it?

The Estranged Husband just sent me a text, informing me that he would be departing Chez Melina with his furniture, the Car from Hell, and his elderly dog this coming Thursday.

Does this mean I'll finally have Chez Melina to myself? Will I be able to wander around half-dressed, turn up the stereo to 190 decibels, and Have Boys Over any time I like? Will I never again be annoyed by certain refrigerated items, paper towels, my stash of Guatemalan coffee or my pricey shampoo disappearing?

I think I better change the locks sharpish before Rachel finds out and tries to camp out in my spare room again. This may seem churlish, but she's seriously worn out her welcome. I cannot understand why she thinks it's okay to trash other people's homes. And after confronting her regarding this issue, I suspect she doesn't understand it either.


Adventures in a wet county

Before heading to the wilds of Northeast Texas two days ago, I noticed that my car was showing symptoms of a coolant leak. Although there weren't any telltale drips underneath, it was almost a gallon low on coolant. So I gave it a drink before leaving Chez Melina in the care of E.H.*

I arrived without mishap, but the car's temperature promptly went into the dreaded red zone the next day after a shortish drive. I ended up pulling into a shaded side street so I could wait until the engine had cooled down enough for some additional diagnosis.

During my wait, I was joined by an unshaven, yet polite indigent who seemed a bit intimidated by me. I can only guess I was giving him my No Panhandling look without realizing it. Women always seem to be their favorite victims and this pisses me off.

After a few minutes, I unlocked the trunk of the car to take out the coolant I'd stashed. Of all the days to find a ten-dollar bill lying in the street, I actually found one behind the car. I remember looking down at it for a few seconds, and wondering about the odd coincidence of it all.

I ended up offering it to the friendly indigent, who promptly refused it. I then pointed out that I couldn't have dropped it -- my wallet was on the front seat of the car -- and I couldn't just tear it in half to share. So he finally accepted it. I don't think he was going to buy Thunderbird with the money; I suspect he was simply between jobs. (I can't say "Like me", as each time I finish some work for D.D.'s* ex-business partner, he promptly hands me another assignment.)

Although the car has behaved during the day's errands, I'm still going to take it to the repair shop tomorrow. An overheated engine or cracked block can ruin your day.

And I need to have a chat with my mother's doctor, asking why is he giving her eight medications. In particular, he's overdosing her with beta blockers to the point where her blood pressure isn't just low, it's practically in the basement. I kept getting 100/56 when playing Visiting Nurse with her this afternoon.

* See Key to Characters at right.


Psycho bitch neighbor strikes again!

Today wasn't bad. I finished up another Web site job, had coffee with my builder friend Ian, and went to the 6:00 shaolin class.

But I walked outside to my front porch around 10:30 tonight, only to be greeted by my alcoholic bitch of a neighbor.

Although I don't think she was tanked as she was yesterday -- she began by apologizing for the night before, claiming that she was so upset she'd had to take the day off -- it still got rather nasty rather quickly.

The Reader's Digest Condensed Version is as follows:

a) I refused her apology, explaining that apologies are just words. (Especially when they're as insincere as hers, and directly followed by threats.)

b) She then began ranting about the possums and raccoon she'd seen under Chez Melina again, saying that "nobody should have to live that way". My short explanation about loss of rural habitat, urban sprawl and humane wildlife management went right over her head. Remember, this is all over two baby possums about the size of this one:

c) She then stomped off, promising to call Animal Control the next day.

d) I told her to go fuck herself.

I am wondering if Dallas Animal Services issue tiny handcuffs to their staff for use when detaining baby possums.

But seriously, it pisses me off. I had planned to head for my mother's first thing tomorrow morning, but am now wondering if I should hang around to see if Animal Services might actually drop by. This is because I suspect Psycho Bitch Neighbor will cook up a lengthy, untrue story in an attempt to get their attention, such as claiming I have 150 cats inside my house.

E.H.* will be here until next week (he finally finalized his moving day), and he's already offered to handle any Animal Services visits in my absence. But it's really not his problem.

* See Key to Characters at right.