Sober Up

What a crappy day. I wanted to not even go into work today but two things helped to motivate me out of bed: the Teen was here and if I have to get up and take him to school, I might as well keep driving and take my ass to work. Work to complete something that had to be done in order for someone else to finish payroll. Responsibility is a mofo.

Warning: Sad news ahead.

Our IT guy passed away from a heart attack this weekend. I’m so not going to get all deep and wax on about this man’s life, it’s not my place as I didn’t know him that well. I will say Scott was only 39 and had two kids around the Teen’s age. A life completely outside his work persona, of which we all become accustomed to with co-workers.

I saw some pictures from his desk of him with his family and thought of what a good dad he must have been. You could just see it in the photos. I pray that his family finds comfort in their time of loss. Rest in peace, Scott.

If you emailed me at work the last two days, I probably didn’t get it. We came into work on Monday with the entire exchange server down. Something that doesn’t happen often and something Scott could have fixed probably rather quickly. Everyone kept asking where he was at in order to fix it… until we were all called into the conference room to be told the news.

Some people cried, everyone was in shock. You don’t come into work and expect to hear news like that. You go from, “The f’ing email is down. WTF. Can I go home?” To, “It really doesn’t matter the email is down. Ta’ hell with email anyway.” It’s just been a bad week. And it’s only Tuesday.

In light of that, I do feel it more than slightly self absorbed to feel so bitchy and in such a bad mood. Although, I’d be kidding myself to not think the bad mood is probably in some part to Scott’s passing.

No matter how shitty it may be for you, it’s definitely shittier for someone else. And by that, I mean the family and friends Scott has left behind.

But, life goes on in all it’s glory, doesn’t it? Life continues to swirl around you and you have to learn to deal with it all. Adulthood blows.

I was going to post more about the trip, especially since the last post didn’t show R in the best light. Maybe I will later. I like to get thoughts and memories down so I can look back on them but I’m pretty much done with it all.

I loved the trip, don’t get me wrong. The time R and I spent together was very much needed and helped me tremendously.

As much as I may say I’m crying and bawling my eyes out, I’m not. I’ve attempted to keep myself in check. My emotions are, for the most part, in check. Not only for R but for myself.

Even when I got insanely bored with the cds in my car and I stopped in Yuma at Target for something to listen to. It was the only store open and I couldn’t find anything I wanted or hadn’t already downloaded - tee hee.

I settled on The Fray. Although the Teen even knows this song usually brings instant tears to my eyes, I still bought the damn cd it’s featured on.

The song begin to play, and I listened. And I hit repeat. And hit repeat again. And did not allow the tears to flow.

That’s not to say I go around happy as a damn lark, I’m not. But the crying has significantly decreased since when R first left in June.

I think I’m in serious denial how long R will really be gone, or when I’ll see him again. And I’m okay with denial. It gets me through. It helps me to be a better support to R, and to get him through.

That’s not to say that I, alone, can make things easier for R. But I know that I, alone, can definitely make it harder. Funny how that works.

One thing I have found tough to deal with is what people to say to me when they discover R is away. When I say people, I mostly mean: men.

I touched on it when I talked about the guy at Jiffy Lube in an earlier post.

And then a commenter really pissed me off on Flickr this weekend.

And as much as my co-worker with the crush on me, Marco, can amuse me he’s forever on my shit list for talking sarcastically about R. “He’s in the Navy? How’s that working out for you?” *shit list!*

I can hold a grudge like a mofo (I’m an Aries, and my mother’s daughter) and one way to land on my bad side is to breathe one wrong word in R’s direction. I’ve broken friendships over it, for crying out loud.

I’m no expert and I’m definitely new to this all-Navy, all-the-time thing but I can say with all certainty: I want to hear nothing but words of support and encouragement. That’s it.

I do know I talk too much. It’s not like I’m forever divulging missions, training, where R’s exactly at or what he’s doing - loose lips sink ships and all that.

But, take the guy in Jiffy Lube. (He wasn’t the technician, the tech was super nice and like I said, even gave me the military discount. And the only reason I even told him anything was more of a way of being like: Dude, don’t mess with me and jack me for a bunch of shit I don’t need. I have too much on my mind for your bullshit.)

This other guy was a customer and was steady grilling me with questions and even tried to buy my car off me. Right? Hello!

But, I really didn’t have to say I was driving to San Diego to see my boyfriend in the Navy. Call it excitement, call it pride, call it I have too big of a damn mouth.

This man, after blatantly hitting on me and upon being shut down, wanted to make a point of all the girls in San Diego and why I wasn’t worried about R being there.

Are you fucking kidding me, dude? That’s your best game? All the worry over R’s safety, the waiting and the angst with R being away from me, period… and now we have to throw some hos in the mix? She who was relieved when R described the girl helping him find a hotel as looking like a “penguin”? I don’t need that shit!

I looked at the guy with a withering gaze (I’m kinda, sorta famous for them) and said, “I’m so not worried about GIRLS.” Yes, I’m jealous. Borderline, insanely jealous but R cheating on me? Not a concern.

Oh my dear Lord in heaven and all of the saints alongside. If you all could realize what progress saying that really, truly, is for me.

After Bymoron’s lying, cheating ass and for long afterwards being convinced every man cheated sooner or later… me? Not being concerned with R’s fidelity? Yet, I still say I’m jealous. Does that even make sense?

I’m jealous in the sense that I hate the thought of anyone being able to spend time with R when I can’t. I want to be there. I want to be by his side, always. I want to hold my man’s hand and look at every girl that gives him the once-over (he is, after all, rather hot) with that gaze that says, “Enjoy it. It’s all you’re getting.”

Hey, I said I was insane. You were warned.

Oh, and the Flickr commenter? In case you were wondering where all THAT came from… I had posted a photo of going out with a description saying I had went out due to R urging me to do so. You know, as to not WALLOW and CRY at home all by my lonesome.

This commenter irritated the crap out of me by suggesting R wanting me to go out was to alleviate his own guilt of whatever he might be doing while away.

So I stupidly got into this whole comment battle but ended up deleting it all. If you were privy to them, sorry. I didn’t delete them so no one could read them, I deleted them because I simply can not deal with the negativity. I can not. Jesus, take the wheel. I’m done.

I apologize for this sobering, boring, probably only for me post. Sometimes (most of the time, actually) blogging isn’t for you but for me and I need to get it out. I thank those that continue to be of great support to me and help me through the tough times.

Hold your loved ones and hold them tight. Life is too short. And, that? Is the most sobering thought of all.

Latte Lotion

There are some times when I can be quite cheap. For instance, as much as I love that R got us a semi-swanky hotel for my stay in San Diego this weekend (see counter below in case you forgot), I would be just as happy at Motel 6.

Well, probably not JUST as happy but I wouldn’t have minded. Three nights in a hotel equaling what I nearly pay in rent for a month makes me cringe. The thought of all the things that money could be better spent on… oy. OY, I say!

I would be more apologetic over my frugal side but, the fact is, I’m a single mother and I try to make my (and in turn, R’s, which in another turn could be mine *wink*) dollars stretch.

That’s not to say that I won’t blow money on stupid things at any given time but best believe I’ll be thinking of those same stupid things when it comes time to pay bills. The Latte Factor is live and in full effect up in this piece.

Only, I think the Latte Factor is based on thinking of that money before you spend, not after. Hey, I’m working on it.

Old Navy is right by my apartment and this is, at both times, a gift and a curse. A gift since when I’m feeling “blah”, I can stop by after work and pick up something cheap to wear the next day. A curse since when I’m feeling “blah”, I can stop by after work and pick up something cheap to wear the next day.

I don’t usually try things on unless it’s really questionable whether I like it or not. It’s too hot in Phoenix for all that bs! By the time I peel off whatever it is I happen to be wearing at the time, I don’t even want the try-ons anymore.

Mostly I find myself grabbing, buying and trying things on in the comfort of my own air-conditioned home. ON by the crib has fans, industrial FANS. What the hell does a FAN do? Besides blow hot air around so you can walk full-on into the gust and say, “Damn. It’s hot.”

I do take things back when they don’t fit and/or I don’t like them. I’m not frivolous. Latte factor, people! We be learnin’ it!

Yes, I know. I should take the time to try things on in-store seeing how lately we all have to weigh how much an item costs against how much gas we’re going to waste getting there to return it. I obviously don’t have that problem with ON, it being practically my next door neighbor and all. “Hey, ON? Can I borrow a cup of sugar? I’m baking brownies.”

About a week ago, I bought these lotions:

I took a whiff of the Ruby Guava while standing in line and it smelled delicious. So delicious that the very first day it took up residence on my desk at work, (one of) my pregnant co-worker(s) tried it on no less than 3 times and fell in love with it.

I ended up letting Allie have the lotion. I figured any scent that doesn’t make a pregnant woman want to hurl is meant to be hers. And, she helped me with my billing. Anyone that knows how much I truly stress out during billing knows it’s but a small price to pay.

The purchase of the “Sparkling Green Tea” un-whiffed can be attributed to the fact that I thought the bottle was pretty and the cashier let on the purchase of two was only .50 cents more. Fifty cents can’t buy a latte, can it? I hurriedly grabbed it thinking, “I like Green Tea!”

Sniffing later I discovered as much as I like drinking green tea, I don’t necessarily want to smell like it.

I meant to take the Green Tea back on a later trip to ON picking up school clothes for the teen but I stupidly forgot it. Instead, I picked up two more bottles of Ruby Guava. One for me, and another for Allie. It’s not like the girl can get out and shop, being she’s about to drop the baby at any moment (does it seem like full term pregnant women are going to be pregnant forever, or is it just me? The poor dear).

The more I kept the Green Tea around, the more it irritated me because I knew I wasn’t going to ever wear it. And, I couldn’t find anyone to pawn it off on. I did bring the bottle to work to see if Allie would like it, too, but she took one whiff and handed it back noting, “Yuck. It smells like trees.”

That shit was going back. Granted, it was worth a mere $4.00 at that point but I did have a sweater-type tank I also tried to love, but couldn’t.

No matter what tank I wore underneath, or how much I tried to smooth it down - the tank gave me underarm cleavage and underarm cleavage is not the sexy, 8.99 or no.

Upon the return of these items, I caught much attitude from the male cashier. He picked up the bottle of Green Tea lotion with two fingers like I just got done using the lubricant on a one-way trip on the Happy Town Express. He disdainfully looks the bottle up and down and snottily asked, “What’s wrong with this?”

I was irritated that he’d even ask considering how much money I drop in the joint, while not even bothering to inquire what the issue was with the underarm cleavage baring tank.

I thought for a moment I could be embarrassed, or apologize, or say I was allergic, or sheepishly reply that it made my hoo-hoo sting at the first application. But then I thought, why am I supposed to make it easier for this cashier to give me my own money back? And attempt to humiliate me in the process?

My bitch streak kicked in and I snottily replied, “It stinks and that… (motioning to the forgotten about tank) doesn’t fit.” *sweet smile*

Cashier doesn’t say another word while processing my return other than to say, “Please swipe your card.” I go to grab my receipt when I happen to notice the name tag. “Having fun since 2004.” Indeed.