Updates

I walked into the 7-11 in the village (not the real Village, but the Midlothian Village, because it's a quaint thing to call it or something like that. And everyone knows the difference between Midlothian Village and Chesterfield Village and Chester Village) today, and came face to face with one of Chesterfield's finest. I just needed a quick Diet Pepsi and some circus peanuts to offset the Diet in the Pepsi. We exchanged greetings, and for that one long moment in time, there was something that hung in the air between he and I. Electricity, chemistry, something that ran deeper than the smell of old 7-11 coffee. I've had those moments before, meeting a man, and you feel that something that just makes you feel a little more alive, a little more aware, and maybe a little prettier. Because I am a total mind reader, I know what he was thinking. He was thinking, "I could totally do her." And I was thinking, "This is the SAME motherfucker that showed up to my domestic disturbance call in March when The Ex told me he was going to have me charged with kidnapping if I took the children anywhere and I picked up the phone and called the cops like any self-respecting hysterical bitch going through an ugly divorce would do."

Actually, it didn't happen like that. He was too busy trying to sneak a peek at the nudie mags. Like I said, Chesterfield's finest. It's a shame, too, because if he had been one or two inches taller, I would have been a sure thing. I never would have let on that we had previously met during the epitome of my train-wreckishness, and I don't think he would have remembered anyway. I, however, would have remembered that he very kindly took my side and told The Ex that he needed to leave, especially since he had a business trip planned anyway and was just hanging around trying to either get me locked up or institutionalized. But that's neither here nor there, because most of this has only just happened in my head, except for the cops showing up and the kidnapping accusations. The Diet Pepsi, circus peanuts and nudie mags stuff is true too.

I take great delight in arriving somewhere and announcing that I'm a sure thing. Men never know how to take that, because I think they're thinking, "Does she mean... what I hope she means?" After I bought my house, I needed a refrigerator. I had shopped around online and knew what I wanted, how much it would cost and all the stupid details. So I roll up in hhgregg and all I need is someone to take my money and process the paperwork and schedule the delivery. This young sales guy trounces on me as soon as I get one-quarter inch through the door and starts his sales schtick. I let him go on for about 30 seconds, held up my hand and said, "Hold on one minute, sweetheart. We don't need to go through all of this." I smiled my prettiest and flirtiest smile and kind of leaned in to him. "I'm a sure thing." He leaned back and didn't know what to say. I let that statement hang there for a few seconds while I watched him try to figure it out. I smiled again. "For a refrigerator. I want that one right over there, I'm paying cash and I need to schedule a delivery for next week. So can we go ahead and get this done because I need to go buy some furniture." And poof, my shit was wrapped up tight and I was off to Haynes. But if there is one thing I feel pretty confident about, it's that no other woman told him that day she was a sure thing. I'd like to think I kind of made his day. At least by way of a commission.

So, updates. Kindergarten orientation is done. I didn't really need to be oriented because I've already been through kindergarten once on my own behalf and once on my older daughter's behalf. But that's what the school wants, so that's what Mommy does. The Ex was there, looking all officious in a tie and shit. He leaned over at one point and I was delighted to notice a rip in the seat of his nice dress pants. I kept that little nugget of information to myself, just to be a bitch. Second grade open house is done, and my older daughter was not so delighted to find out that her arch nemesis is in her class. There are eight second grade classes, so she's got some crappy luck. I could have written a letter in kindergarten and requested that she never be in the same room with this awful little girl, and threatened legal action, publicity, blah blah blah, but that's not how life works. Mommy is not always going to be there to write a note to get you out of having to deal with nasty little girls named Olivia. Suck it up and deal with it the best you can, because that's what will prepare you for growing up and working with a nasty bitch just like her. The cat was put down, which was much harder than I ever thought it would be. I don't have much to say about it, because it's still too fresh in my mind and I keep looking around the house for him. He was an awesome cat whom I got back in October of 1992 and that cat has seen a lot. He hated everyone but me, and everyone but me hated him. We were a great pair. I'm having him cremated and when he's back at home, I think things will feel a little better for me to have him back. Regarding my love of craigslist, I'll just say that this is a look but don't touch kind of thing with me. I will not be hooking up with anyone on craigslist, ever, because I just won't. But I'll keep looking, like everyone always rubbernecks car accidents and midget porn.

Lastly, a note to the 15 year old kid next door: I am not Stifler's mom. Give it about five or six or ten years, cut your hair and then we'll see.