Suburban Goddess

I was meeting K for dinner last night, and I had a little time to kill, so I dropped into Borders to look for a couple of good books (much cheaper than getting cable).

I wandered around the fiction section for a while, and eventually made my way to the computer books (I can’t help it… I’m a nerd). I wanted to find a book on new methods in CSS with AJAX and DHTML, and I found a book titled “Transcending CSS.” It had a really artsy cover, so I knew this was a code book geared for frou-frou designers; my kind of book. So I sat down in a chair and stretched my five-miles-o-leg out in front of me. I was dressed in a respectable sundress and a trademark pair of heels, which was probably a bit much for Borders, but as I said, I was going to dinner at a nicer establishment. A moment later, a man sat down beside me.

“Hey, baby, you into spirituality?”

“Excuse me?”

“Transcending CSS? Is that some kind of spiritual thing?”

“It can be, if you’re a hard-core programmer.”

“Huh?”

“It’s computer code. CSS. Cascading Style Sheets.”

“Sheets, huh?” (Wink)

At this point, I am amazed at the balls this guy has. It must take a LOT of courage to hit on someone in a bookstore. Either that, or he was completely desperate and he had played out the bar scene already. I’m not the type to shut men down, because I’m always afraid I’ll hurt their feelings, so I felt trapped.

“STYLE SHEETS. It’s a type of computer code that works in conjunction with HTML to make web pages look better.” Bore him with details. It didn’t work.

“OH. So you make web pages.”

“On occasion.”

“I’d like to get you in MY web.” (wink, wink)

Do people SERIOUSLY still come on this strong? Did he expect me to fall over and swoon from his witty, forward approach? For God’s sake, we were in a BOOKSTORE. Thankfully, my Blackberry started to buzz. I dove for it immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m downstairs. Get your ass down here.”

“Really? OH NO!”

“What, because I’m downstairs?”

“Seriously? Right now? I’m in the middle of something.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t we supposed to be having dinner?”

I turned to Sleazy Guy. “My main server is down. I have to go. They need me to fix it.”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???? WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO???” came K’s voice in my ear.

“I’ll be right there! Give me thirty minutes.” I mouthed the word DOWNTOWN to Sleazy Guy.

“THIRTY MINUTES? Wait…..are you trying to get away from some guy?”

“Affirmative. I’ll be right there.”

As I hung up to K’s hysterical laughter, I gathered my book and my purse and gave Sleazy Guy an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, have to go. Emergency.”

“Wait, you want to have a drink when you’re done?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but these things can sometimes last all night. Thank you, though!” And with that I moved as quickly as I could for the stairs.

You’re probably thinking, what’s the big deal about a guy trying to pick me up in a bookstore, right? Well, normally, I would just think he was a forward guy with a desperate approach. Sometimes, I even give these guys a chance, and they turn out okay. (Case in point, my ex-husband, who begged for my phone number IMMEDIATELY after I met him.) After all, you can’t judge people by a first impression.

But Sleazy Guy happened to have on a wedding ring.

And we all know how I feel about THAT.

“I know someboby who has a crush on you…”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Never mind. I shouldn’t say anything.”

“You can’t say something like that, and then not tell me!”

“Okay.  My friend saw you on my friend list, and was like, who is THAT?  Because I don’t have many white friends, so you kind of stand out. He goes, she’s FINE!  And I was like, DUDE, that’s my BOSS…”

I laughed.  “So then what?”

“I was like, I want NO PART of that!”

On this issue, I would completely agree.

Alex and I have settled into a routine in our new home. I’m thankful that it has come so easily. For a few nights, I couldn’t get her to go to sleep, so I fell back on the only bedtime routine I knew; the one my father used to do with me.

Every night, it was my dad that tucked me in. And I couldn’t go to sleep until we went through the dialogue:

“Night night. Sleep tight. I love you. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” And with a kiss, he would tuck me in and leave me to sleep.

One particular evening a few weeks ago, Alex was so distraught that it seemed there was nothing I could do to calm her. Out of desperation, I began to sing every children’s song I could think of. Finally, at “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” she calmed down and started to listen. I followed it with “Rock A Bye Baby,” then finished with my favorite song that my father used to sing to me, “You Are My Sunshine.”

And so, the bedtime routine became established.

The next night, as I tucked her in, she said in her tiny, tinkly voice, “Twinkle, twinkle, Mommy!” At first, I didn’t know what she was talking about, and as I moved towards the door, she became more persistent. “Twinkle, Mommy! Twinkle, twinkle!” So I leaned over her crib, took a deep breath, and sang.

“Rock Baby, Mommy!” And so came Rock A Bye. But it was truly bittersweet when she wanted to hear “Shunshine!”

So every night, I sing her to sleep with these three songs. To my delight, now she tries to sing along…

“Twinkle, tinkle, little TAR…how I….tinkle…what you ARE….”

After our three songs, I have to kiss her fingers, then her toes, on the top of her head, and a kiss for her nose…

It’s the little things like this that she will remember. It’s the little things like this that I enjoy most about being a mother.

Sometimes I wonder how I ever spent so much time, effort, and love on someone I didn’t even know.

I don’t know you. And seeing the cold, uncaring person you’ve become, I don’t think I want to.

Tomorrow morning at 8am, my marriage will be officially dissolved by the state of Texas. Even though I want it to be over, it’s still sad.

You never go into it with the intentions of coming out.

I spent the evening with a close friend of mine. She’s remained impartial in the divorce; she wants to stay friends with both of us, and I would never ask her to do otherwise. After all, if it wasn’t for The Idiot, then I would have never met her. So there are some good things that came out of this marriage (other than the obvious, Alex). But the thing I’ve always liked about this woman is her ability to be honest, open and objective.

We talked for hours about where it all went wrong, and she asked some really hard questions. The hardest one was, “What do you need for closure?”

“An apology.”

“You’re probably not going to get it. At least, not the way you want it.”

And she’s right. Because I’d want it with him crawling on his hands and knees in front of me after I kicked his ass. Probably not going to happen. Okay, DEFINITELY not going to happen, but the mental picture is enough to put a huge smile on my face, so let me have my redneck fantasy.

But the question remains… what would give me closure? Honestly, I don’t think there’s an answer yet. I think the only thing that will bring closure is time. Time, great friends, & a few margaritas…

And having a beautiful pair of blue eyes around definitely can’t hurt things.

“Crap, I just had my keys a minute ago…”

“They’re in your hand…”

“Oh. Let me just grab my sunglasses…”

“They’re on your head….”

“Seriously, I’m not usually this scatterbrained….”

“Uh huh. Right.”

“Now where did I put my keys?”

“How you doing?”

“I’m good. I changed my tail light, put a new antenna on, and fixed my glovebox last night.”

“WHO ARE YOU? And WHAT DID YOU DO WITH KRISTIE?”

“What? I can do that stuff.”

“You’re talking to someone who’s seen you walk into a wall twice in the past week… SOBER.”

“Shut up.”

After hitting happy hour and sucking down a couple of margaritas, I returned home this evening to cut my grass. (Coincidentally, the whole grass cutting situation isn’t half as irritating when you’re working with a good buzz…) As I moved back and forth across my lawn, I watched the various vehicles buzz by, including the constable, whom I gave a hearty wave… he smiled and waved back… (Yea! Brownie points!)…

As the sun began to set, I finished up the lawn work, and in a move motivated by pure exhaustion, I sat down in the middle of my driveway to watch the cars roll by. The sound of crickets chirping happily in the background coupled with the light breeze rustling through the summer foliage reminded me of a much simpler time in my life.

I was eight years old, sitting in the boat on the bayou. The same sound of crickets chirping lulled me into a peaceful reverie… the slightest breeze picking up a lock of my hair and brushing it into my eyes… the sound of the breeze rustling through the brown grass on the banks of the bayou….the boat rocked lightly to and fro, the comforting sound of my father’s rod and reel making the purrrrrrr-click-click-click sound as he cast his line…. a moment later, my mother doing the same thing…

It was so comforting… and for a moment, this truly felt like home….

I miss the bayou.  I miss my family.  I miss my home.

I was driving home yesterday through my neighborhood, when I noticed a constable a few cars back. The street I live on is a dead end, and my mailbox is all the way at the end, so when I saw him turn, I figured he was coming for me. (Guilty Catholic conscience…) Actually, I don’t have license plates yet, and the silly cardboard thing they give you at the dealership keeps falling out the back window, so I knew he was coming for me.

(Thankfully, I bought insurance about two hours before I drove home and printed out the temporary cards… a small but noted gesture to the Karma Gods for finally cutting me a break…)

Anyway, I made the turn in the cul-de-sac and stopped in front of the mailbox, preparing my best vacant-dumb-woman smile. He pulled up directly next to me.

“Hey, Miss, I thought I’d just let you know, your right brake light is out.”

I blinked. “Really?”

“Yes, ma’am. Need to get that fixed…” And with a little wave, he was off. I said a quick little Thank You prayer (I seem to be becoming pretty religious), and, stupidly, walked around to the back of the Jeep… duh. So I stood there for a moment before I realized;

I have no one to fix this for me.

Crap!

So I got back into the Jeep and drove to the nearest auto parts store. At the counter, I prepared myself for the usual macho bull, but instead found a very nice, helpful young man. I told him I needed a bulb for a 2002 Jeep Liberty, and he immediately went to the back and returned with a package.

“Oh, and I need one of those weird wrench things… It’s not an Allen wrench, it’s like a star…”

“What size?”

“Um, no idea.” So he followed me out to the parking lot and looked at the back of my truck… a few moments later, I left the store with a package of light bulbs and a weird wrenchy thing. So I pull up in my driveway, set Alex up with a Rice Krispie treat and some toys in the trunk, and set out to display my new-found independence.

A long time ago, before I became the pampered, spoiled brat that I’ve become, I used to be perfectly capable of doing this stuff on my own. I was a strong, independent, mechanically-inclined redneck woman. So even though it was something as trivial as changing a stupid light bulb, it was just one more step back to the confidence that has evaded me of late.

It’s nice to have someone there to do things for you, but sooner or later, you’ve got to stand on your own two feet.

I’ve said it so many times… the thoughts I put down here are just my opinion. They’re my side, my perception, my thoughts on various subjects. Lately, I’ve had my divorce and the circumstances surrounding it on my mind, so I write about it. It is entirely one-sided; it’s strictly how I think things went down. In my writing, I look for answers, & sometimes I find them. Sometimes I just find peace in venting.
I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. This blog became a place to write them down, so hopefully, I won’t make those mistakes again. It’s a place to laugh at myself, cry with myself, rage at anything and everything I think is unfair, and remind myself what’s REALLY important in my life. I don’t have the answers. Sometimes I’m looking for them, sometimes I’m just completely ignoring the reality of my situation.

I write without thought. I write without regard to feelings. Not because I don’t care about people’s feelings, but honestly, I forget that anyone on the planet with a browser can find me.

I don’t lie. Some stories may be exaggerated slightly for entertainment purposes, but I really try to put things out there in my own biased opinion. It was brought up today that some things weren’t meant for the world to see. Some things were meant to stay between certain people.

Perhaps. I disagree. Because someone out there is going through the same thing I’m going through, and they’re dealing with the same issues. They’re sitting in front of their computer, just like me, and they’re depressed and sad and reeling from events in their life that they can’t understand. They’re lonely, they’re unhappy, and they just want to know that they’re not alone.

You’re not alone.

There is someone out there going through exactly what you’re going through. Me. And I have good days, and I have bad days. I have days where everything is perfectly okay and days where I feel like it’s all falling apart. I have days where I miss my old life, and days where I’m thankful to be free of it.

It’s life. It comes with ups and downs.

I’m not afraid of the downs.

I was told that I was too negative. That I needed to see “another side” of things. That I needed to think about what I wrote before I wrote it, and consider the consequences of who those words may hurt.

What really hurts? The words, or the fact that they might be saying something that might be true?

I’ve always invited those that I might offend to post. Call me on it. Tell me what I’ve misunderstood. Tell me how I’m wrong. I WANT you to.

But I will not censor myself for you ever again. Not here.