Long Time, No See

Hidee Ho, neighbors. I hope all is well with you. I hope that your A/C works, your bras’ underwire isn’t pokey, your balls aren’t sticking to your leg, you have a regular pay check, your teeth are white and shiny, your water bill isn’t all that high and that your vegetables are crispy, as they should be. I can’t even remember the last time we spoke. The following things have happened. People have died. People have been sick. People have been well. Trips have been taken. New jobs have been found. New jobs have been lost. Moves have been started and completed. The cat has been an asshole. Let’s start with Marly. My gorgeous girlfriend has been fighting a battle since right after Thanksgiving last year. After suffering gallantly through several rounds of antibiotics and steroids last fall, her doctor decided to remove her tonsils. He performed the operation the day before Thanksgiving… she said that the pain was worse than childbirth. That next Monday, he called and asked her to come into the office. She had stage three, small B cell Lymphoma. Chemo was started within the week. She went through months of chemo. Then weeks of radiation. According to her latest PET scan and there is no cancer in her body. Four weeks ago, she woke up with the right side of her face paralyzed. Then it moved to her left side and they diagnosed her with bilateral bels palsy. Not to be outdone, she has been braving though that as well. Then the Friday before last, a man ran a red light at an intersection in Houston and Marly t-boned him, and her car is totaled. She broke her left pinky and that same bone in her hand. The bruises from the wreck have left her abdomen and sternum black. Not black and blue… BLACK. The gas charged explosion from the seatbelts (thank God they worked) that pulled her back into her seat at moment of impact have caused severe bruising, swelling, pain and abdominal trauma. She’s so happy to be alive. But kind of over all of this shit. I don’t blame her one bit. Dre’s wife passed away on December 20th. He’s doing very well. I’ll tell him you asked about him. I didn’t go to Weetacon this year. Yeah, I don’t know what was wrong with me either. I just couldn’t muster up the cash and the vacation time to go. I missed it, but relaxed with my Kerr Krew girls at the get together the weekend before Weetacon. My blog turned 11 this year. Weird. March was interesting. I was hired by a company that was like, “Hey! We love you! Here is a pile of cash, and check out this benefits package, HUBBA HUBBA, right!!!?!?!!?!?” So I left my job of like a decade and some months to follow the greener pastures. I was kicking ass and taking names, “You’re name is… Hector? Ok, prepare for me to kick your ass.” I was working on several projects at once. Producing webinars, writing processes, planning board meetings and conferences, fixing the website… preparing for the conference and the registration that went with said conference to go live, you know. Work stuff. When on the last day of April they called me in and let me go. Wait, what? Many of my projects went live on May 1st. Either they just needed a short timer who was fully invested and didn’t divulge that the job was short time, or I reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally fucked up somewhere. Since I wasn’t told, “Hey, yeah, NO… that is NOT how we do things around here.” I figure that the short time scenario is most probable. So I was let go. My feelings were WAY hurt, I totally took it personally and was very sad. I had a small pity party and then got the hell over myself and got another job. I started last Wednesday. Go me. On May 24th, I moved. I had been in my perfect little apartment with its’ perfect little patio for a little over 4 years. They sent me a letter when it was time for me to reup my lease. They letter stated that they were in a RENOVATION CELEBRATION. That the new owners were renovating the whole complex and that all of the buildings and units that had not been renovated in the past x years would be renovated by the end of 2014. That they were offering me $xxxx rent on the same floor plan in a different building… that they had discounted movers to meet my needs. So, let me get this straight. You want me to move, into a new building… have different neighbors… pay for the move myself AND you are raising my rent. Did I get it all? Yes? Ok, yeah… NO. And not to mention, that the neighborhood had gotten pretty shady. I would sing, “In the Ghetto” a la Cartman, almost every time I came home. But I loved my apartment. I did. It was home. I loved my neighbors. I loved my garage. I loved my patio. The small kitchen with the island. It was perfect and I was kind of attached because it was my refuge when I had just gotten divorced from Paul. But, I needed to move on. When I found the new place, it was just down the street from my sister and bonus, it was just across the tollway from the new job…. Yay! Right?... Then new job was like, “Get Out.” And I still was moving into the new apartment. Regardless. A HUGE shout out goes to Kerry for her help with all things move related. She got me scheduled with the same dude who moved me 4 years ago. She helped get me rid of tons of clothes, shoes, books, linens, kitchen accessories and the like before I moved, and then over 40 bags and boxes of things went to GoodWill or the trash after I moved. I couldn’t have done it without her. Let’s see, what’s next. Ah, yes. Nugget. Well, he’s still around. I tried to get rid of him again last December. But then when I went to see Marls, she was like, “Listen, chicken, you can do a LOT worse… And you HAVE.” Duly noted. True speak. I just get kind of squirrely when we’ve been together for so freaking long (it will be four years, August 27th) and we still only see one another on Wednesday evenings and Saturday. And it is a cold day in hell when he actually stays over all night. He’s adorable, he’s sweet. He pets me. He’s a fantastic lover. He’s gainfully employed. He is not on drugs. He has a great sense of humor. He is clean. He owns his own car. He can cook when he wants too… and he doesn’t have kids. Check, check, check motherfucker. YET. He and his mother and sister all live together. It is a fucked up relationship. And it feels like I am dating a married man with kids. Because they all have a dog together. My mother thinks I am speaking out of both sides of my mouth because, on one hand, I dig that he is not underfoot all the time and I can do as I damn well please. But on the other hand. I want him to WANT to be around me all the time. I want him to like… beg to move in. Or to plead for me to marry him. I WANT TO BE IMPORTANT. Alas, I am important, but not his main priority. Case in point. Saturday, after round two of some lovin, I piped up… “Why don’t you just move in with me?” It was pertinent to the conversation, I promise. He startled. Then a few years (moments) later he said, “I don’t think I am ready to do that. That is a pretty big step.” I kept my cool and my voice calm. And like a smart woman, I let it go. That’s all I really needed to hear. Glad to be back, y’all. Hopefully I will continue with timely updates. Lunch is over, back to work. XOXXO