You Know You're "In" When...

You know you're "in" with your boyfriend when...

He tells you he thinks his (heterosexual and married) sister has a crush on you.

HIS mother lectures him, beginning with "What are your intentions with her?" And ends with "you just need to buy a house and stay with her."

He sends you messages like "You rock my world when you smile baby," and "just keep being you honey, that is the best." Let's not forget the "<3 U."

And you know you're really "in" with a caring, and understanding man, when you can text him "But I don't wanna be sick! I want to be with you! And I'm not puking lately. It's better than the stomach-acid-burned throat, but shitting buckets of water is just gross!"

That's right. Our first bodily function themed conversation. I'm SICK! And tonight was date night, however, something tells me that isn't going to happen... that it shouldn't happen. Here I sit, in bed, in my ugly brown sweats, hair sticking this way and that, and a pasty glow about my face. My lips are crusting from the resulting dehydration, and I posted a "Keep Out" sign on my bathroom door to prevent my brother from occupying the bathroom during pending spells of urgency. Nothing depletes any sense of femininity or sexiness you may have had faster than vomiting and diarrhea. And I can think of little else less romantic!

I'm disappointed! I'm pretty sure no one enjoys being ill, but what didn't this happen yesterday? I had to miss work today... and now I'm gonna miss date night! Pfffft!

Beat up! Beat down!

This 14 plus hours on the go, juggling jobs and existing appointments is KICKING MY ASS!

For the last two mornings in a row, I've been forced to eat my breakfast at the bathroom vanity in between mascara wand strokes. This morning... I ate spaghetti! My only other quick option was cereal, and I've been out of milk for four days.

I've fought good and hard to get this far; so I'm not giving up! If I can just get through these next 10 days... things should start to stabilize and I'll have time for a proper blog. Right now, I just have to wait for my licensing application to clear for my current job. If for some reason it doesn't (please GOD do not let that happen), I'll be back in the battlefield for a full-time job.

Wishing all of my unemployed or financially struggling readers the belief that they WILL make it!

I am.

Amen to that!

Goodnight!

The Piano (Uncut Version)

As my sacrificially loyal readers may know, I added a beautiful piano, courtesy of a generous soul on Craig's List, to my home back in October. Unfortunately, it needs a tuning I cannot presently afford, so the ivory-tickling has been minimal at best. Instead of being thoroughly enjoyed as I delusionally intended, my lovely piano has been a reminder of what could be... and perhaps what should be.

To add insult to injury, my elderly, feline Alzheimer stricken, 15 year-old and counting cat... sometimes gets lost and confused behind the massive neglected wooden instrument and decides that occasionally relieving her bladder would be appreciated. So to relieve and distract my pre-interview mind... I broke out the carpet cleaner to "de-funk" the carpet behind the piano.

I know you "normal"people are cringing in disgust and thinking, "I'd kick that ol' cat out the door to meet Jesus..." but if the day ever comes that I'm tinkling my own pants in my old age... I certainly hope nobody reaches for the gas! So out of respect for her elderly-ness, and compassion for the fear she must feel to be suddenly "trapped" behind a giant, bazillion-pound piano, in the darkness of her surely failing eyesight... I just chalk it up to an odiferous lesson in patience.

I bought a foreclosed, bank-owned home for a song, pre-country-wide-economic-implosion, that was previously occupied by free-wizzing pets... so I can hardly hold my old kitty solely responsible for her mishaps. She's doing what comes naturally to her, and naturally pisses us "civilized" humans off. Thankfully, the carpeting is an industrial strength cleaning solution friendly, barely still in style Berber that is on the "must replace when I have a job" wish list, so despite a normal person's normal neurotic response to this... I don't mind it much. I just clean, clean, clean it up; grateful that my carpet is not newly installed and yet to be paid for.

Don't write me off as a disgusting low-rent just yet. I keep my house quite tidy and will do whatever it takes to maintain a pleasant "welcome home" experience that does NOT involve the lovely aroma of cat urine. To attest to my dedication, I welcome any 5'5", 130 pound women to tell me how "easy" it is to move a 1920-ish, solid mahogany encased, upright piano, alone. At first, I thought I'd take a wall down before that stubborn musical mammoth would move... but I somehow managed to get it far enough away from the wall to access "Tinkle Town." I've gone over the carpet three times with OxyClean, and let another foam cleaner soak on it twice, before cleaning again. I'll be going over it yet another time before I retire for the evening, and perhaps attacking again tomorrow.

Yes, it's gross, but such is life... sometimes. And, I'm sure any parents out there could testify to the pungent horrors of an oozing "pooey" diaper. I've managed to escape that daily task thus far, so I believe it's my allotted "punishment."

Just a glimpse into the "sexiness" of my life of singlehood...