July 18, 2005 - 12:27 pmFOR THE RECORD
This is just a bunch of stuff I wanted to get down because I have a terrible memory and want to remember what I had going on around right now. Mostly itís about this action-packed weekend which exemplifies the level of chaos I seem to be mired in these days, so itís probably really only relevant to me, me, me. Read at risk of being offended by my self-important (albeit endearing and charming!) narcissism. Thatís the best kind, right?
Two weeks ago while I was in North Carolina, that stalker called me and left a message. His message was benign enough, but still, it kind of freaks me out that heíd call now, of all times. I mean, itís been 5 Ĺ years since he last graced me with his weird, persistent, and unsolicited adoration. Does he know Iíve moved out? Does he know about John and me? We have absolutely no friends in common, so if he does know whatís going on right now, itís because heís watching me. I donít plan to return the call.
Thursday night about 10:30 I was taking Tag out for his last walk of the night and reflexively locked the door knob lock. I'm so brilliant sometimes I scare myself. The babysitter has the only spare key, but her number is on my cell phone. In the house. The kids were sound asleep, and I knew no amount of pounding and doorbell ringing would wake them. I tried anyway. Then I walked the one block over to Erik's, certain he'd have a 12' ladder that I could prop on the lower deck and climb in through my kitchen window. Nobody home. I walked back home and knocked on the door of the apartment below my house. Thank god the girls were home. I used their phone to make about fifteen unsuccessful calls for help and was forced to finally call a locksmith. The locksmiths turned out to be two shady middle-eastern characters clearly speaking Hebrew or Farsi or something while claiming to be Italian. They tried to charge me $140 for a $55 job, telling me they would have to drill the lock (bullshit), and blatantly hitting on one of my neighbors who was making no secret about the fact that she found them both repulsive. But the last straw was when the one guy tried to tell me he was Iranian and then admitted that he "was just trying to scare" me. I told them to fuck off and leave, whereupon they said, "Okay, $55." And popped the lock open in like 10 seconds. Fuckers. The next day Julie tells me, "If I'd been half awake when you called last night, I could have told you that Erik keeps his big ladder under his deck."
Friday I met some friends at Thinking Man Tavern here in Decatur for a regular Friday night beer club. Then I ditched those smarties to attend a fundraiser for Out of Hand Theater with the beautiful people. It started at Solomon Gallery and ended in an equilibrium-challenged walk across the street to Park Tavern. Fortunately, I had the good sense to leave my car and get a ride home with the hottest guy in the theater company. Not the sober pregnant woman who was with us, mind you, but the tallest, cutest, nicest, most dashing guy at our table. Three cheers for sensibility! And my black vinyl boots! He's a nice guy, though, and left graciously, promising not to stalk.
Saturday morning, good old Erik took me on the ride of shame to pick up my car, which somehow had become infested with ANTS overnight. Lovely. Iím thinking it must be penance or something, and like a regrettable college one-night-stand that hangs around the next day through TBS's broadcasts of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Dog Day Afternoon, AND Harold and Maude, I canít get them to leave. And itís not even like thereís anything in the car for them other than a few measly crumbs on the floor (hey, just like those one-nighters!), so theyíre just kind of moving their eggs from door seal to floor mat to other door seal and back again. Industrious little guys. Then the kids and I went to the YMCA so they could swim and I could sit in the hot tub and recollect the previous nightís minor indiscretions in the privacy of my own flushed embarrassment. But really I wasnít THAT bad. I think I just have an over active conscience.
And now to add injury to insult. Saturday evening Tag got hit by a car. I had just gotten out of the shower when he peed on the rug. I had the Girl take him out right away to finish going, but she just had him by the collar rather than on a leash. Heís gotten significantly bigger, stronger, and faster in the last two months, and he just broke away and ran right into the street. I heard him yelping and I tore outside Ė in nothing but my towel Ė screaming ďNO! NO! NO!Ē like a mad person. Poor Tag! When I first came out he was thrashing around, and then he just lay there crying. His nose was bleeding, but when I got to him, bless his sweet little heart, he started wagging his tail pitifully. The kids waited with him while I ran home, shaking and crying, and threw on some clothes. I pulled the car up to where he was, and we put him in the car and headed for the emergency clinic. We really thought he was going to die. The stupid cow who hit him never showed any emotion and never even apologized. When we got in the car all she said was, ďWell, good luck with everything!Ē Long story short, the clinic ran a bunch of tests and took a bunch of x-rays, and, miraculously heís fine. From what I could gather from the kids, I think he just sort of ran into the side of her back wheel. He hurt his front paw a little, but heís going to be fine.
Sunday morning I hung around and kept an eye on Tag. And then that afternoon I took the kids to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. We met my friends Kristie and John there and then went for dinner at AprŤs Diem afterward. The kids made little origami do-dads while I gabbed away with my friends. Then, coincidentally, we ran into one of the Out of Hand Theater guys from the fundraiser at the ice cream shop. Heís an interesting little fellaí with curly hair and a quiet disposition. I had Caramel Cashew ice cream. Naturally.
Letís see, what else? Oh, I have to go to court tomorrow. I got pulled over for an expired tag Ė Johnís tag Ė on my car. He never signed the title over to me, so I couldnít have it transferred and honestly didnít realize the tag had expired. And oh, boy does the State of Georgia ever get testy when your car shows no proof of insurance. Never mind that I do have insurance Ė it just doesnít match the person on the registration AND the stupid insurance company has the wrong VIN for my car.
And in other upcoming government-sponsored events, Iíve got to attend a divorce class Wednesday morning that Dekalb County requires you take before they'll grant your divorce. Donít ask. It seems to me a marriage class would have been more useful, donít you think?
Iím beginning to suspect I may need professional help. The drama I find wrapped around me lately is getting to be overwhelming, and I donít think I can keep up with it. Maybe I do need medication, but I'm hoping I can get by with just a really good diversion. So in lieu of anti-depressants, and to help me to JUST SAY NO! to alcohol and boys, Iíve decided to train for another triathlon. I missed the one in April due to a near nervous breakdown around that time, so Iím going to try again. I found one just outside of Nashville that looks good for the end of September. Here it is. Wish me luck.
Or better yet, just wish me non-eventfulness for a while.
care to comment?