Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Atoning for my Wickedness

Damn, I promise to be better about posting, and look what happens. Sorry, Xine!! I’ll do twenty pushups to atone for my wickedness.

Last Saturday, I drove the new ride up to Tucson to meet R, someone I met online. Yes, I said online. Here’s my thinking: the pickins in Sierra Vista are slim to begin with, and the few available men around here are, for the most part, transients. Here for training, gone within six months, if that. So Tucson is a better option, and where would I meet men there? You just don’t tend to meet quality people in bars. So I went online. And possibly, struck gold.

It’s too early to tell, but we met for lunch at about 1pm, and didn’t leave until after 4pm. I bet the wait staff was pissed—they were setting up for dinner when we finally unassed the table. I worked in that business long enough to know what they were saying in the back...get a room already! They’ve been there for three hours!! I knew it was impolite, but he’s really easy to talk to, and time kind of flew. I was careful not to look at my watch, so when I got into the car and the CD player said 4:00, I couldn’t believe it. I was supposed to be home in Sierra Vista by four to pick up a foster Greyhound named Ranetta, straight off of the track in Tucson.

Funny thing is, I asked him if I’d see him again, and he stated that he wasn’t sure about a huge romantic relationship, picket fence, minivan, 2.5 kids, the whole deal. I had to kind of laugh—I was just asking if he was interested, not if he’d marry me! Does everyone think that women are that needy? I do have a life, for chrissakes. But he is interested, and so may come down here this weekend, if he can get a day off—he’s a realtor, they never get days off. He also said that he wasn’t engaged in a full-court press to get into my britches, and all I could think was, WHY the hell NOT?? He was most likely trying to be a gentleman and doesn’t yet understand that I’m no lady.

So this dog, the recently retired racer, Ranetta—had never been in a house, never had something soft to sleep on, never got to eat a meal without a fight with other dogs, never had a human pay her much attention. And as a result, is the sweetest dog imaginable. It was pretty gratifying to watch her cruise around the house and yard, unsure what she was supposed to do with herself, slipping on the tile floor, eating so fast she choked on it. She follows me around the house even more than Moonpie does. I come home in the afternoon, and she’s there with these worshipful eyes…I’ve never had my own human before!! Breaks my heart. After we get her adopted out (she already has a home lined up), I’ll foster another one—I’m not sure I want to commit to another big dog, but having one as a houseguest is great company for Moonpie.

I’m about to get into real estate investing, using the money from the house in NY. You can’t lose out here—the Army base keeps expanding, it was called the #1 place in America to retire, and property values steadily increase here. More on that as it develops…

Wednesday, March 01, 2006


America, I’ve been slapped.

That’s right, slapped. As in, a physical affront to the face involving some manner of unpleasant contact.

See, what had happened was, I was almost asleep in my fluffy, suede-duvet-covered bed, when I felt Claire, the long-haired cat, hop onto the bed right in front of my face. She purred and I ignored her, as I really was almost asleep, so she did what she normally does, which is to jump over my head so she could settle in against my back.

And that’s when it happened. Her tail hit my face and I felt (and smelled) something unspeakable. I yelped and turned on the light (good thing flyboy wasn’t there) to reveal innocent little Claire, peering up at me, with a fresh, three-inch turd tangled in the hair at the end of her tail.

Slapped with a turd. How much more undignified does it get than that?