Thursday, May 30, 2013

The Littlest Newlyweds

Well, Evie got married on Tuesday.

I found out from my cousin, who sent me the news via text. Needless to say I was highly miffed, what with being the Mother of the Bride and having not been invited to the wedding and all. Maybe it's because my wedding reputation has been tarnished by all those times I've gotten drunk and cried in front of conservative strangers? Or perhaps I've stolen the microphone and given babbling incoherent speeches about love and loss one too many times? Or maybe it was the rare occasions when I insist on freaking the bride on the dance floor? Whatever, who doesn't do that?!

Anyway, I can't say that I'm surprised. Evie and Sasha have been in love and engaged since they were in preschool. I was impressed to see that the summer hadn't quelled their commitment to each other:

He's still chasing her...

She's still 'pretending' to run away...

When I was finally face-to-face with my little sweetheart, she presented to me her hand, which held the ring her beloved had given her:

He gave her a purple bracelet, too

She then informed me that just the day before her new husband had purchased the McDonald Mansion for them, and they would be moving in next Tuesday.

I had mixed feelings about this. Sure, I've always wanted to see the inside of the McDonald Mansion, but I also wasn't sure I was ready for my little girl to be off on her own quite yet. I was pleased that at the very least it's in the neighborhood, so it'll be easy to pick up the newlyweds for school in the mornings.

Taa Daaaaaaa! This kid's alright.

Turns out I didn't have anything to worry about. She assured us that her whole family is invited to live with them, and Sasha will do all the cooking when we come to visit, because she's "not a cooker" (that's my girl!). I assume by 'visit' she means from our own private wing of the mansion to theirs.

Overall, I'm happy for these crazy kids. I mean hey, they obviously have something figured out that I and the majority of the adults I know don't.

He doesn't mind her smothering love

She helps him keep himself together

They're cool with a little PDA

Mr. and Mrs. Sasha & Evie
Today is the last day of school. Who knows what will happen to their adoration over the coming summer months? I wonder if they got married for reasons not unlike young impressionable ladies in wartimes and their soldiers heading off to battle. Maybe Sasha is making sure he has a girl to return to in the fall.

Either way, good luck, kiddos. You're a very inspiring couple, and I think you're the greatest. See you at the Mansion!

(Sasha, I don't eat breakfast until around 10, and I prefer my eggs scrambled and accompanied by a glass of sparkling wine and half of a ruby red grapefruit, served in bed with the latest copy of The Sun magazine. Thank you. You'll make a fine son-in-law).

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Walking the Finn

Erin told me my recent blog posts have been a bit of a downer. I guess they have, but it's hard to give divorce a light-hearted spin, so I told her "if you don't like the blog then why don't you just MOVE OUT??". Hahahahahahahaha!! Ha?

Let me try that again.

My Mondays have been more exciting than ever. When I'm not scheduled to volunteer at Liam's school I drop him off and spend my Monday morning out on the town with Baby Finn. His needs are so simple: Feed me and let me run. He's a puppy in a diaper.

We usually go out for coffee and scones, then I let him loose on the downtown square. People travel hundreds of miles just to wander aimlessly around the Healdsburg Downtown Square and it's easy to see why. It's picturesque as fuck.

Finn is great. He's a bit of a 'bolter' but it's okay because he faceplants about every ten steps so it's easy to keep up, and inexplicably he can only make left turns so it's easy to anticipate his next move. He giggles at every visitor that passes with his little cooing laugh that's sweet and melts the hearts of even the most hungover tourists, but he also points at their little inbred manicured rat-dogs and calls them "kitty" which makes me beam with pride.

"No no dear. That's a doggie", they'll correct him.

"Is it? Is it really?" I ask myself. I think not.

When he does get away from me and I have to do the dash and grab, I get a lot of sympathetic "looks like you've got your hands full" type comments. I do, that's for sure. People have been reassuring me that it gets so much easier when they're both in school and I can have half the day all to myself, but I can't say I'm necessarily looking forward to 'easier'.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

How to Get Robbed and/or Killed on Craigslist

Recently, while Jessica was visiting, I sold my bike. I had two and thought that was frivolous for a girl who lives in a space the size of mine. I'm trying to save up money for an upcoming trip to Michigan, so I put an ad on Craigslist (not a sex one this time though), and the one and only person to respond showed up at my door about a week later, with a friend.

I suppose I'm a bit naive, though I prefer the kinder word 'trusting.' I invited the fellas into my apartment and led them to my balcony, where the bike sat after I'd wrestled it out of my storage closet. Jessica quickly disappeared.

While I showed the various features of the cycle to one of the men, the other asked if he could use the bathroom. I said "of course!" and told him where it was. He was in and out in a flash and when he joined us again on the balcony he casually sat down on one of my almost-broken bistro chairs. The men told me more of the story of why they wanted the bike than I really cared about, but no one can ever accuse me of not being a polite listener.

After we'd made our transaction and were heading out, they looked around my living room and asked if I worked at a preschool or was a teacher. I answered that I owned a kid's used stuff shop in Healdsburg. They started asking lots of questions about how business was, what my policies were, how long I'd been in business, and other boring whatnot. Meanwhile Jessica loudly did my dishes.

When they'd finally left, I walked into my kitchen to see a wide-eyed Jessica holding my biggest, albeit dullest, knife.

"I was so ready to jump on those guys if they tried anything" she told me heatedly. I laughed and poo-pooed her while she went through all of the reasons I was an idiot and questioned why the one guy had asked to use the bathroom right away but then barely spent any time in there. "He was casing the place!" she insisted.

"I don't have anything to steal!" I reminded her. "They just paid me money for the last thing I owned that had any monetary value!"

"Then he probably went in there looking for your underwear! He probably has your underwear in his pocket right now, and he's going to go home and masturbate all over it!"

"Huh. I do have some underwear in there...but whatever, it's old and stained anyway, who cares?!" I checked just to be sure though, and the undies were still right where I'd left them - inside my pajama pants, in a small heap outside the shower. "There are soap bubbles in the sink, he just needed to wash his hands," I reasoned.

"Hmph," she replied. "And what the hell was that whole 'making himself comfortable' on your balcony chair all about?!"

"He probably just wanted to rest! What's weird about sitting on a chair?"

"It's just weird. And why did they want to know so much about your business? Now they're going to show up there and rob you!"

"Oh my god!" I rolled my eyes. "There's never more than eighty bucks in my till, they'll be pretty disappointed!"

She noticed the dull knife clutched in her hand and looked at it with disgust. "I was looking everywhere for a baseball bat...I was looking all over Jonah's side of the room...WHY DON'T YOU OWN A BAT?!?!"

I have to believe that those two big guys meant no harm. Because I believe in the goodness of mankind. Also, Jessica isn't around to protect me anymore, and I still don't own a baseball bat.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

I Swear I'm Not a Stalker (and Your Milk is Expired)

Poor Paulie.

He decided he needed to fly off to Mexico to find himself or something. Whatever. This wouldn't have been that big of a deal if he hadn't left just as my oldest friend Jessica was arriving into town for a quick visit. She was pissed at the timing, I was pissed that I had to play tour guide in San Francisco which is usually HIS Jessica and I had a little fun on his behalf.

Before going off to make out with his new girlfriend Mexico, Paulie gave me the whole "if I get killed by Mexican drug lords" information schpeel and told me how to get the spare key to his house. I didn't really listen because, duh, I still haven't given back the key he gave me a year ago! Ha, sucker!

The day after Jessica's arrival, we decided to take our food scraps to Paul's place for his chickens. It's one thing to break up with a guy, it's another to break up with his chickens. Come on, I'm not a monster!

While there, we went inside to snag some eggs, where I immediately began obsessing over what was new since I'd last been there (less than a week before). Things like a tiny box sitting on a ledge, the smell of garbage that should go out (but I refused to do it because he's not my boyfriend anymore so he has to do it himself!), and a new duvet cover. A NEW DUVET COVER. I was all "oh hellllll no." It was one of those 'I've been telling him he needs a new duvet cover for a year and now the second I'm gone he gets one?! What the fuck is this Out With The Old (girlfriend) In With The New (duvet cover) bullshit?!' moments.

As things tend to happen with Jessica and I, we decided we needed to send a firm message to Paulie that he can get rid of the bedspread, but he can NEVER get rid of me. Heh heh. So we sent him some pictures.

I am in your house. I am in your bed.

For the record, I don't smoke. But Jessica does, and we agreed that I couldn't just send him a plain old picture of me in his bed snuggled up with his new duvet cover, I needed a prop! I think it works.

Paulie lives right across the street from a bakery, and he's got a little hookup there. Since I wanted to impress my friend and was also out of bread, we walked over and I said "watch what I'm about to do." She said "wait, what? What? What's happening?" and I put up my hand and said "just watch."

Thanks for the FREE bread, Paulie!

After those fun shenanigans, I took her to Railroad Square and we toodled around a bit. Here is a sample conversation: 

Me: Oh, this is where Paulie and I had our first date.
Jessica: Who?
Me: Paulie. My ex-boyfriend.
Jessica: I...don't know Paulie. Who? Hm. I never met anyone named 'Paulie'

Jessica wanted to go into Disguise the Limit to look at their fun doo-dads. While inside, we found some costumes. And, the rest is history. 

Me: Oh my god, we should take a picture of me in this sexy nurse's uniform
Jessica: Haha! Yes! Or this French Maid!
Me: Oh jeez. No, it has to be this sexy Army girl outfit. ex-boyfriend--
Jessica: --who? Who's 'Paulie'? What?
Me: Oh yeah, I don't know if I ever mentioned Paulie before? We um, dated for like a year and a half.
Jessica: Yeah, no, that doesn't ring a bell. Hm, I never met a Paulie, I don't know him....
Me: Yeah, well, he's in Mexico right now, so....
Jessica: Hm, yeah....
Me: Anyway, he has this thing for Army girl stuff, because he once saw a very awkward Debbie Harry performing on Solid Gold in some Army getup or something...

We took the picture. We had to hurry because Jessica was worried that the store employees thought we were shoplifting. In viewing the photo, I can admit with full confidence that Debbie Harry is much hotter than me. In fact I look a little bit crazy. But hey! It was a photo shoot - who cares?!

Eat your heart out, Debbie!

I'm pretty sure getting these pictures via text from Jessica will be the highlight of Paulie's entire vacation. I mean, come on, Mexico's got nothin' on me! 

(He eventually texted Jessica back about our pictures...)

Good thing he has a sense of humor

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Office Spaced

I just had one of those "can you come into my office for a minute and.....go ahead and close the door behind you" talks with the boss. Fuck.

I've been screwing up here and there but I guess yesterday was a doozy. I'm not exactly sure what went on because, of course, I just happened to take yesterday off. You know how when someone royally fucks up at work and makes everyone's Tuesday a living hell because they all have to scramble to fix the stupid mistake but at least that person took the day off to relax so everyone can freely curse their name? Yeah, it was one of those. There was a stink of burning effigy in the office when I walked in, mixed with a few looks of pity, which was nice.

My job isn't at risk (yet), but of course it's that time of the year for annual reviews, where my performance is critiqued and my raise is determined. You know how you overcompensate for a full year of dental neglect by flossing religiously the day of your dentist appointment? Well imagine if instead you dropped by after a nice big lunch of barbecued ribs dipped in caramel sauce and tobacco.

So I have to start focussing. After my reaming the boss asked if my workload had become "overwhelming". He's not aware of my ongoing divorce, nor do I think he should be. I said "no" but in my mind I was thinking "YES! My current workload is unreasonable! Sure it hasn't increased AT ALL this past year, but nowadays I need to commit at least six hours a day to staring unfocused at my keyboard. When am I supposed to do THAT?!"

I took yesterday off to watch the boys because our usual daycare is on vacation. I seized this chance for another annual review: one with my doctor. He's up to speed on all things domestic and whatnot at home so he had plenty of questions. Am I sleeping? Am I eating? Am I having trouble at work? Sure I'm sleeping great, just not for very long, I'm eating just fine when I remember to, and as for work....well, maybe I should call him back and amend that answer. Who knows, maybe I'll get a note and my work will have to hire a temp to cover the extra time I need to stand in the break room transfixed on the coffee pot, take extra long bathroom breaks, and "pity-bait" on my blog.

Friday, May 3, 2013

Home for Sale

The first order of business when splitting up is dividing the assets. Neither Erin nor I can afford our mortgage on our own, so we put our home on the market a few weeks back. It's a GORGEOUS house right in the heart of the wine country! You should really check it out at this weekend's open house. Seriously. Tile floors and carpet, big kitchen, tons of storage, nicely renovated, and an in-ground pool. Your kids are guaranteed to have a ton of friends in high school with this baby.

I'll be sad to see it go in some ways, but the thing has been an albatross around my neck. Owning a home is a good investment, if you have money to invest. Otherwise it can be a curse that consumes your every waking thought and floods your nightmares (did I mention it's 3 bedroom, 1.5 bath? Come on down and sign some papers!)

We've had quite a bit of traffic coming through thanks to our hard-working realtor. She usually calls the day before she brings someone over which gives us time to get the whole house show-worthy. Maintaining this pristine state, however, is no small task with Finn and Liam on the rampage. Liam in particular has taken to one very specific method of sabotage that clearly shows that he knows what we're up to, and he does not approve.

He's been doing this nearly each day we have someone scheduled to come see the house, it's impressive. We still put him in a diaper for nap time which is when he unleashes the poopie.  He'll drop a big messy one, whip off his diaper, and make his mark. Usually it's in his room, but occasionally he'll venture out to the rest of the house if our guard is down. 

We try to stay calm and just deal with the issue with a bit of carpet cleaner, but he's determined to break our spirits. The other day I heard some incriminating noises coming from his room during naptime so I investigated. It appeared that he had taken his diaper off prior to a dump so he could really do some damage. He dropped an impressive turd right inside his bedroom door, threw a small area rug over it, and stomped it into the carpet. The kid does not want to move.