The “Bad Husband” Chronicles

Just another day for you and me in Paradise

Posts Tagged ‘office politics’

Broken toes mend a broken heart

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 8, 2012

It has always amused me that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’ve climbed the proverbial corporate ladder for nearly twenty years now and the adventure in hysteria and ultimately, amusement, continues to unfold before me with each new professional adventure. I’ve discovered that there will always be ‘characters’ in each office with their inevitable stereotypes, quirkiness, and overall clueless existence, just sitting there…waiting and needing to be written about. And that, I’m certain, is my calling.

I recently visited Denver for the first time to attend a conference sponsored by my current company. Like most conferences and trade shows, all sorts of personalities attend and put on their best ‘game face’ to meet customers, prospects and network with partners. The networking and nurturing of those partner relationships is what facilitated my attendance at the conference in the first place. You see, I am often the invisible marketing ‘Wiz’ behind the corporate curtain, crafting the brand message, and spoon-feeding the blind B2B masses much like feeding broccoli to a seven year-old. And if the truth be told, I’ve discovered that if you cover anything with enough cheese, someone will ultimately eat it. 

The majority of those in attendance were men in their 40s and 50s, sporting their receding hairlines and stuffing their beer-bellied midriffs into the required, company-branded golf shirt. To put it bluntly, these men are starved for female attention. The overwhelming majority are married with either teenage or college-bound children, and operate their personal lives with the same boring, predictable precision they present in the workplace. Unimaginative, robotic clones who somehow believe that the story of how they caught the prize-winning trout in their local fishing competition will bring women hopelessly to their knees. And it never fails that these men are utterly captivated by the bubbly and otherwise vacant blonde whose actual purpose is to flirt mindlessly with these men and somehow help assuage their own personal shortcomings. This conference was no exception to the rule and that blonde….and come on, we all know who she is at every company….was there in all her flighty magnificence. 

Ironically, despite my ability to see these women for who they actually are rather than what they pretend to be, I am inherently a nice person and get along with nearly everyone. And at my company, this blonde to which I am referring, I will hereby call The Flight Attendant. Bless her sweet soul, she is dripping in Southern accolades as well as physical beauty, and her syrupy accent is all that’s required to lure men under her spell.

After the conference closes on the last afternoon, a handful of co-workers decide to let off some steam and meet up at a local Denver bar and club for some drinks. I receive a call around 5pm in my hotel room from The Flight Attendant: “Mozzie, are you up for it? Come on and go out with us, girl!” Despite my feet aching worse than an Irish clogger, I reluctantly agree to join them. I arrive at the bar around 9pm and the festivities are well underway. The strobe light is flashing, the hip hop is blasting, and The Flight Attendant is on the dance floor, surrounded by an overwhelming group of male admirers, most still dressed to the nines in their company golf shirt. Bless their hearts.

I make my way to the bar, order a double vodka tonic and scan the room for cohorts and partners in crime. I feel the overwhelming sense of relief when I spot a great buddy of mine who is nursing his third or fourth drink, and wave him over to my direction. We chit chat, share some laughs and begin what turns out to be one of the most hilariously funny nights I’ve experienced in quite some time. Before too long, we’re throwing back shots of Grey Goose and cackling at the quasi-American Bandstand maneuvers we’re witnessing on the dance floor. The Flight Attendant is in her element…shaking her money maker and batting her eyelashes in every direction. By the end of the night, I’m fairly certain she will need not only an interpreter from her advanced state of intoxication, but also an escort to find her way back to her hotel room. Naturally, I help her back safely to the hotel, politely say good night and that I will see her the next morning around 8am.

7am arrives and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t kick my nearly 40 year-old ass. But, I shower, get my act together and head over for the last morning of the conference. It’s 8:30am and there’s no sign of The Flight Attendant. I excuse myself, step outside, and call her mobile number and then her hotel room. No answer. Yikes. 

I quickly make my way back to the hotel and begin knocking on her door. I hear groaning on the other side and then the door swings open with the naked Flight Attendant peeking around the corner. She’s hungover. She’s completely overslept and she’s limping. She wails in pain only to look down and discover bruised and bloody toes. “Mozzie, what the hell happened? OMG, my foot kills! I was dancing with some guy last night and he kept stomping on my toes. Help me…I can’t walk!” I do my best to contain the uncontrollable laughter swelling up inside me and tell her to get her act together, clean up and head over to the conference if she wants to keep her job. Tough love…sometimes, we all need it. 

Later that afternoon, we all depart for the airport, most of us on separate flights, and I don’t see The Flight Attendant until the following day at the office. She arrives, late as usual, on crutches with apparently two broken toes from her late night Denver escapade. Upon seeing her, I race for the bathroom or anywhere private because I know I am going to lose it. I laugh for at least half an hour at the sheer comic gold that is unfolding before me. Like I’ve said many times before, often real life is funnier and more entertaining than fiction.

Several days pass and The Flight Attendant receives flowers in the office from the Toe Stomper. She is touched and agrees to a dinner date with him. I can’t help but chuckle at the irony of the entire situation. Later, she sends me a text on my mobile: “Mozzie, you won’t believe how nice of a guy he is! After my divorce, I was convinced there were no nice guys left out there for me. I really like him and think he might be the one.”

So there you have it, my friends. A possible answer to the age-old question: How do you mend a broken heart? Answer: Go dancing and have someone break your toes. You might just fall in love.

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And if you must go to work tomorrow…well, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother

Posted by mozziestarlet on March 5, 2009

pink20slip

Yesterday at 10am, I lost my rockstar job.  The job I was so proud of, the job that was going to help me finally get my life in order, the job I felt would secure my future career, was gone in the blink of an eye, without warning, reason, or explanation.  I spent the entire afternoon at home yesterday, in a state of utter shock and disbelief, fighting back not only tears but the feeling of complete rejection that enveloped me.  Why did this happen?  What did I possibly do to deserve this at a point in my life when I’m facing the future on my own?  Am I the butt of some cruel joke that a power greater than myself has masterminded, and if so, why me?  I wish I could understand, but I don’t.  The Good Book says that difficult times and trials serve to build personal character, but haven’t I been through enough? 

What wounds me most is the way that I was treated yesterday.  I was baited into HR’s office by my supervisor to “sign a document,” and backed into a steel trap without any hope of escape.  I was told they appreciated my work at the company thus far, but they’ve decided not to continue my employment.  After I struggled to pick my jaw off the floor, I proceeded to ask why and got little to no valid explanation for my termination.  The irony of it is that two days ago I received a positive appraisal on my 60-day evaluation with my supervisor.  The whole situation makes no sense, and quite frankly, stinks of something dishonest.  If budget cuts and the economy are such a strain that my job can be deemed ‘superfluous,’ then by all means, tell me that.  Don’t shuffle me out the door, with my personal belongings in hand, and make me feel as if I did something to deserve being treated like a second class citizen, or even worse, a criminal.  I suppose honesty and integrity are dead on the vine along with chivalry and fidelity.  It does seem that the harder I work at my job, the kinder I am to accommodate the needs of others and go beyond the call of duty, the more consistently I get shafted.  It breaks my spirit and makes it difficult to believe in the general decency of mankind.  I live my life by the Golden Rule:  Always treat others how you would want to be treated.  The inherent problem here is that in the corporate arena, no one else subscribes to this antiquated ideal.  It’s dog-eat-dog and every man for himself…climb the ladder and it doesn’t matter who you have to step on to get to the top.  He who has all the gold wins, right?  BARF.

So, what will I do now?  I suppose I will do what I’ve become so good at doing.  I’ll pick myself up by my weathered boot straps, dust myself off, and start again.  The most honest and simple thing about me is that I just want to be somewhere that I will be treated with dignity, honor, respect and appreciation for my talent and work ethic.  That’s it, in a nutshell.   And for whatever reason, that is such a difficult nut to crack.

cza0638l

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One day “goodbye” will be “farewell”

Posted by mozziestarlet on February 26, 2009

After months of anticipation on my part, the day finally arrived last Saturday for the bad husband’s departure.  He packed his things (and his bruised ego) and made his trek back to his home town.  I stopped by my home last Friday night to check on things while he was out, and for the first time in such a long time, I could see the semblance of my home beneath all the clutter and junk that I was forced to live with during our marriage.  The shadow of my once beloved solace lingered beneath the piles of boxes, and I felt giddy by the thought of actually being able to return home again.  And at 11am last Saturday morning, that’s exactly what I did.  I gathered my things from the parental units’ home where I’ve been living these past months, and headed home. 

When I arrived, there was an eerie silence in the house…a thickness that you could almost feel hanging in the air.  I gazed around and was overcome with a range of emotions.  At first, I felt such relief and excitement at the realization that I was actually going to be able to be home again; the home I worked so diligently to have and maintain all these years.  As I assessed the surroundings, I felt a horrible sinking feeling creeping up from the pit of my stomach and felt tears well up in my eyes.  Even though I had waited for this moment for months, the realization of finality swept over me like a tidal wave.  I cried for about an hour, realizing later that this was and is simply part of the process of grief, acceptance, and ultimately, recovery.  Despite how nonchalant my tone may appear at times throughout the blog, don’t let it fool you.  Divorce is a horribly gutting experience and one that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.  And if you’re like me, prone to wear your heart on your sleeve, the experience affects you even more so than the ‘Average Joe’ who may think of divorce as an ‘easy’ solution to a seemingly insurmountable problem.  Solution?  Sometimes.  Easy?  Not hardly.

So, for the past four days and with the unbelievable help and support of my family, I’ve moved back not just into my house, but my home.  As the old proverb says, “Home is where the heart is.”  I couldn’t agree more.

“Always be careful when you abuse the one you love
the hour or the day no one can tell
but one day ‘goodbye’ will be ‘farewell’…”

 – Morrissey

dorothy_toto_tara

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Happy New Year?

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 5, 2009

While I was awaiting my turn in the nail salon this afternoon, I started to space out and think about how it’s 2009 and another year has come and gone before my eyes.  I began to recollect the day when I was 22 that my parental units told me how life would really start to fly for me now.  They explained how once you graduate from college, get married and settle down, secure your first professional job, etc., everything begins to zoom past you at lightening speed.  I remember shrugging at this notion, feeling invincible and forever young at 22.  Now, nearly 36, I completely understand what they meant by this.  I mean, wasn’t it just yesterday that we had this conversation?  Wasn’t it just last week that I graduated from college, degree in hand, ready to put that first foot out in front of me?  Where in the world has all the time gone and what do I have to show for it? 

Being pegged quite frequently as the eternal pessimist, naturally asking these sorts of questions usually lands me in a depressive stupor.  So, I choose to take an objective look in retrospect.  Yes, professionally I have done very well for myself in the past decade, despite the whirlwind storms of layoffs and rehires.  I’ve climbed the corporate ladder, one painful step at a time, and finally it seems, have a real opportunity with a dynamic and stable company.  I can only be thankful and grateful for that.  Personally, however, I’ve managed to do a bang-up job at marrying the wrong person (twice) and making a royal mess of things.  As Morrissey says, “It’s my life to wreck my own way.”  

When I look back on my relationships, yes, there were signs and things I did notice before saying ‘I do,’ but I chose to overlook them, even if it was often done on a subconscious level.  I thought that love could conquer all and that if I worked hard enough at the relationships, they would survive and endure.  After years of living this way, I finally owned up to the fact that it takes two to tango.  If you both aren’t equally committed to making one another happy, you will spin your wheels until there simply isn’t any steam left in your little engine.  I certainly have.

So, what now?  Well, I choose to close the chapter of 2008, and for once in my life, look forward to the new chapter ahead:  the chapter of 2009 and new beginnings.  A chapter where I will learn to stand on my own again, let go of the hurt and blame for my own and others’ failures, learn from my mistakes and endeavor not to repeat them, strive to be a better judge of character, and hope to always be a better friend and person.  But, most of all, to learn to forgive and forget.  I truly believe that it isn’t until we let go of the past that we can begin to embrace our future.

Happy New Year, friends.

Keep shining,  🙂

Mozziestar

11

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Come out and play, readers!

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 7, 2008

revenge1

So, I’m thinking since it is Friday and we all have our minds on anything but work, let’s sit around the campfire and share stories.  I’ve got my “Instigator” cap on.

I want to know, “What is the most classic thing you’ve ever done to get back at an Ex or spouse?”  I’ve got some hilarious stories of my own, but I want to hear yours!  So, post your stories under “Comments” here and fire away.  Your identity is completely private and email is not required.  I know you all still have some tart to go with your smart.  I double-dog dare you to show it!  🙂

Facebook readers:  Please leave your comments/contributions directly on the blog so everyone can enjoy them.

Let the good times roll!

Morrissey was right.  “Most people keep their brains between their legs.”  Check it out…

BUSTED on Craigslist!

billboard

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Tuesday morning poetry

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 4, 2008

* All poems below were written by Mozziestar and are protected under copyright law. 

“Do not disturb”

 

I think I need a vacation.

More than a day or two,

or even a week,

but truly, a vacation.

A time to reflect on

the promise of tomorrow

and shelve away past regrets

and present sacrifices;

If only I could find such a place of peace,

(if such a place exists)

I would pack my bags

and leave nothing behind,

not even a forwarding address.

 

——————————————————-

 

“For Toni”

Your ghost paid me a visit today;

I was haunted by each move the stranger made,

reminding me so much of you that I wept

until my heart ached.

I fought the urge to reach out and grab her,

to reclaim a memory lost but not forgotten;

The tears flowed and I wept,

realizing once again,

that the girl I loved

was gone.

 

——————————————————-

 

I believe that God gave us children

to remind us that despite

the hateful nature of adulthood,

there was once something beautiful

inside of us.

 

——————————————————-

 

I yearn

for intellectual

pollination.

 

——————————————————-

 

I’ve grown tired of playing

silly, childish games

so,

I’m throwing out my marbles,

my paper dolls,

and You.

 

——————————————————-

 

Here I am, alone,

buried under blankets

and dusty memories,

while you are somewhere

out there,

smiling with her

and replacing our memories

with new ones

 

 

  

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To err is human, to read is divine

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 3, 2008

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.  Flashback entries are woven into the mix.”

9am:  I’m up and about with all my Southern bells jingling.  I brew the coffee, let the dog out for his morning potty routine and contemplate the day’s agenda.  The husband has once again left a beautiful present for me in the kitchen sink.  At first, I thought the stench was the lingering smell of the husband’s late night culinary creation, but apparently, he was kind enough to leave his dishes in the sink for me as well.  So, imagine if you would, the most disgusting and nauseating dinner ever created.  Okay, now add eight hours and the stench of rotting garbage in the kitchen sink.  Mmm mmm, finger lickin’ good!

12pm:  I’ve spent over two hours sorting through automated job offers in my inbox and fanny fatigue has set in.  I rise, stretch my legs and attempt to get the blood circulating again in my left buttock.  I silently wonder, ‘If I can’t feel my butt, reckon it’s still there?  If numbness causes it to disappear, I will drive myself immediately to the ER and request a shot of morphine.’  I chuckle to myself and think about what Dad always says to me regarding my ‘Mozzie got back’ status.  He says, “Sister, if someone told you to haul ass, it would take two trips!”  Aww, thanks Dad.  Given that Dad always points out that his purpose in life is to “tote, haul, fetch, pay and wait,” I am happy that I fit into at least one of those categories.

2pm:  After unsuccessfully avoiding the husband for several hours, I decide to escape upstairs, away from the husband and his infinite tirades, and take a nap.  I curl up, place my ‘Who put the ‘M’ in Manchester?’ DVD in the DVD player and am lulled to sleep with Morrissey snugly beside me.  Ah, bliss at last.  Dearest Morrissey, if you are reading, “those alcoholic afternoons when we sat in your room, they meant more to me than any, any living thing on earth.  They had more worth than any living thing on earth.”  And even after spending twenty years on your trail, they still do…more than you could ever know.

7pm:  I decide to take a break from job hunting and submerge myself in the book that my brother’s girlfriend bought me during our vacation, “Best Poems of the English Language.”  Good heavens, where do I start with so many beautiful creations inside?  If you haven’t noticed, I adore poetry.  The heartfelt sentiment so rarely verbally communicated by the author, the secret meaning that each reader can derive, the lovely gift of language.  Poetry is such an undiscovered treasure by many; a beautiful gift with a treasure hidden inside.  Luckily, I am a tootsie-roll pop kind of girl.  It’s what’s on the inside that is the prize.

9pm:  I make my way downstairs for a glass of water and notice the husband is reading something other than the back of his eyelids.  Overwhelmed with curiosity, I lean over his shoulder to sneak a peek at his compelling reading material.  After reading the title, I make my way back upstairs as quickly as possible, knowing that LMAO directly in his face might not be the best idea.  So, for your amusement, I’ve included two photos below.  The first is what’s currently showing on my recommended reading list.  The second photo…well, I’ll let you find out for yourself!

Photo 1:

Photo 2:

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Sell “crazy” somewhere else. We’re all stocked up here.

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 1, 2008

3am:  I am in the middle of the most bizarre dream where I am back at my office, but wearing no pants.  Now that I’m awake and heading downstairs, I fasten my ‘Google Noodle’ hat and decide to try and figure out what this dream could possibly mean.  One of my favorite websites on dream interpretation is http://www.dreammoods.com.  I find it very entertaining and somewhat insightful; however, the most fascinating aspect of it is that someone actually gets paid to determine these meanings and interpretations.  Talk about a “fun” job…sign me up!

So, here is what I was able to find regarding my dream:

 

“I’m Naked!”

So you are going about your normal routine – going to work, waiting for the bus, or just walking down the street when you suddenly realize that you are stark naked. Dreaming that you are completely or partially naked is very common. Nudity symbolizes a variety of things depending on your real life situation.

Becoming mortified at the realization that you are walking around naked in public, is often a reflection of your vulnerability or shamefulness. You may be hiding something and are afraid that others can nevertheless see right through you. Metaphorically clothes are a means of concealment. With clothes, you can hide your identity or be someone else. But without them, everything is hanging out for all to see. You are left without any defenses. The dream may be telling you that you are trying to be something that you really are not. Or that you are fearful of being ridiculed and disgraced. If you are in a new relationship, you may have some fears or apprehension in revealing your true feelings.

Nudity also symbolizes being caught off guard. Finding yourself naked at work or in a classroom, suggests that you are unprepared for a project at work or school. You may be uninformed in making a well-formed decision. With all eyes on you, you have this fear of having some deed brought to public attention. You fear that people will see through your true self and you will be exposed as a fraud or a phony.

Many times, when you realize that you are naked in your dream, no one else seems to notice. Everyone else in the dream is going about their business without giving a second look at your nakedness. This implies that your fears are unfounded; no one will notice except you. You may be magnifying the situation and making an issue of nothing. On the other hand, such dreams may mean your desire (or failure) to get noticed.

For a small percentage of you, dreaming that you are proud of your nakedness and show no embarrassment or shame, then it symbolizes your unrestricted freedom. You have nothing to hide and are proud of whom you are. The dream is about a new sense of honesty, openness, and a carefree nature.

Rock on!  So, according to this compelling description, I’m either vulnerable, shameful or concerned that someone will discover I am a phony.  Perhaps I should click on the ‘Contact us with comments or suggestions’ button and send them a note requesting a psychiatrist’s referral.   I can only imagine their response:  “Dear Mozzie, thank you for contacting us.  Enclosed is an emergency referral to your closest mental health facility.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect $200.  Best wishes for your lifelong recovery, The Dream Dictionary Doctors.”

 

9am:  I’m busy surfing internet job postings when I receive a text message on my cell from the one and only, ‘Countess of Wedgewood.’  It reads, “Hey Anigo, what would you do if I knocked you in the head?  Love ya!  The Countess.”  And the family says I am the instigating black sheep of the family?  Well, naturally!  I scratch my head and think, “Things that make you go, Hmmm…”

 

1pm:  The husband finally rises from his coma and stumbles downstairs.  Given that I have been up most of the night and morning as usual, I feel the need to grab a power nap to recharge my battery.  I pass the husband on the way upstairs and tell him that “I’m really tired and just need to rest for a little while, k?”  He nods, which I interpret as an acknowledgement of this statement, and we go our separate ways.

 

1:20pm:  I’ve managed to reach that blissful state of pre-slumber where you are nearly to the REM stage, but still aware of distant sounds in your surrounding.  I sigh, snuggle down and then hear the faint sound of the husband beckoning from his recliner downstairs.  After a few minutes of successfully ignoring him, I realize that this could go on for hours.  I begrudgingly rise from my bed, stand at the top of the stairs, and say, “Yes?  Did you need something?!”  The husband responds, “Yeah.  Could you come down here for a minute?  I need to mail something.”  So, I drag my lazy bones down the stairs and stand in front of the husband to assess his apparent emergency.  He says, “Hey, babe.  Did you have a good nap?  Do you think one stamp is enough for a letter?”  I grit my teeth and answer the husband, all the while knowing why I am now completely aware of why so many homicides are committed by ‘loved ones.’

        

 

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Saturday morning poetry: It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 1, 2008

* All poems below were written by Mozziestar and are protected under copyright law.  Please enjoy and always remember:

  

 

 

  

 

Your memory

evokes smiles and tears,

as I daydream

about where you are sitting;

I close my eyes

and taste your lingering presence

so sweetly

stained upon my lips;

I smile again, when afternoon comes,

remembering how

you are

wonderful

 

—————————–

 

I

love

our

Togetherness

 

—————————–

 

“My loving lament”

 

I miss you in my bed;

The softness around

the back of your neck,

the curve of your shoulder,

the warmth of our security.

When you’re gone,

this bed is so empty

that even our memories

aren’t enough

to fill the space

 

—————————–

 

“Tidbit”

 

Laughter is like penicillin;

It relieves the pain

and prevents the spread

of further infection.

 

—————————–

 

As our arms meet and brush together,

our palms reunite in a hug;

It is the sweetness of this affection

that fuels the promise

of our tomorrows.

  

 

To dream the impossible dream….

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Floridian vacation entry: October 2008

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 31, 2008

Given that I got a bit sidetracked when I returned home from vacation by getting canned at the office, I never had the opportunity to share my favorite story from my vacation two weeks ago.  Enjoy…

2am:  I awake to a raging fire of indigestion.  I sit up, stumble blindly into the bathroom, and notice my ‘Wondertwin’ brother is still up reading in the living room of the condo and his girlfriend is asleep on the sofa.  Being completely disoriented, I say, “What in the world are you still doing awake?  Have you been up all night?!”  He stares at me, now holding my chest while trying to douse the flames of my heartburn, and responds, “WTH?  It’s only 2am.  Did you think it was morning already?  What have you been doing in there?  Is it not just you in the bedroom right now?!  It sounds like thirty people at a bar fight.”  See what happens when you forget to take your Xanax before saying ‘night night?’

6am:  Realizing that I am completely institutionalized from my normal ‘Groundhog day’ routine at home, I awake at the crack of dawn despite the fact that I’m on vacation.  I brew the coffee, grab my iPod, and head out to the patio and watch the sunrise over the beach.  This morning, only Enya will suffice for my morning tribute to sunrise appreciation.

 

8am:  I’ve been sitting on the patio for two hours now when I hear a noise five stories below from the hot tub area.  I lean over the railing, peer down, and see a large fella in the hot tub drinking what appears to be, a Bloody Mary.  Out of the blue, he notices me looking down from my balcony and says, “Mornin’ sweetheart.  What’s for breakfast?”  I take a second before politely responding to him, all the while wondering, “How did the husband find me down here?!”

 

12pm:  My brother and his girlfriend begin their persuasive techniques in order to convince me to accompany them to the pool.  To try and explain why these techniques are necessary, please allow me to relate a little personal information.  When people are referring to themselves and say, “Yeah, I’m really pale and light skinned,” they have no idea what they are talking about.  Imagine Casper the friendly ghost, or someone with a moon tan, and you’ve got an accurate mental picture of me.  After even 40 minutes or less in the sun with sunscreen, I am still substantially cooked.  So, somewhat reluctantly, I agree to accompany them to the pool.  The three of us first decide before we make our departure, to have a few rounds of shooters before we go.  So, we start laughing and taking shots, and more shots, and then finally head down to the pool.  I apply two layers of 50 spf sunscreen on my body, lie back in the beach chair, adjust my iPod, and begin to drift away into lyrical bliss.

 

3pm:  I’ve applied four layers of 50 spf sunscreen in three hours and I’m beginning to feel the sizzle.  Not to mention, I’ve mustered up an incredible thirst, a bit of hunger, and the desire to keep my buzz.  I put on my t-shirt and shorts, temporarily bid farewell to my brother and his girlfriend, and make my way back upstairs to the condo for refreshments.  Once in the kitchen, I begin searching for a quick, easy and refreshing snack.  I open the fridge and notice a large plate of Jell-O shots sitting on the top rack that we made the night before.  Now, keep in mind, I have not had a Jell-O shot in nearly twenty years and am not much of a drinker now in my old age.  I pause for a moment, reach in, and remove the tray from the fridge.  I think to myself, ‘How much alcohol could they really have in them, anyways?’  I proceed to pop one into my mouth, savoring the fruity flavor of tangerine, and lick my lips in satisfaction.  ‘Wow, these are so good.  I don’t even taste any Vodka in these.  A couple more won’t hurt.’ 

 

3:45pm:  I stare down at the once full plate of tangerine Jell-O shots and notice that I have consumed the entire plate of twenty or more shots in under an hour.  I couldn’t help myself, really.  I was only going to have one, but they were so magically delicious, that I couldn’t stop.

 

5pm:  My brother and his girlfriend arrive back at the condo after their afternoon sunning by the pool.  I work diligently to compose myself and my behavior, feeling the full impact of 20 Jell-O shots hitting me like a freight train.  My brother opens the fridge and says, “WTH?  What happened to all of the Jell-O shots?”  I quickly try and cover my guilty tracks.  I respond, “Gee, maybe the cleaning crew accidentally threw them out earlier today?”  Knowing me all too well, my brother glances over at the trash can and sees a mountain of tiny, empty paper cups filling the trash can.  He says, “You have got to be kidding me.  You ate ALL of the Jell-O shots?  How is that possible?  Are you crazy?”  I attempt to defend myself by explaining again how they were so magically delicious, but he’s not terribly amused…at least, not yet.

 

9pm:  We decide that we are hungry and my brother orders several pizzas for delivery.  Papa John’s arrives and we all help ourselves to the feast (apparently, some more than others).  When my brother returns for his second round, he notices that most of the pizza is gone.  Naturally, he looks my direction as I am nearly always the guilty party.  I say, “I think I had two, maybe three pieces.  I can’t remember.”

 

11pm:  The complete and irreversible effects of pre-pool Rum shots, post-pool Vodka Jell-O shots, and a handful of beers in between is now upon me.  I am rolling and cackling with laughter and silliness.  I enter my bedroom and can’t stop giggling.  My brother and his girlfriend enter and are sufficiently entertained by my current state.  My brother lies down on the bed and I proceed to belly flop on top of him.  His girlfriend is nearly peeing in her pants at this, watching me slam on top of him and him gasping and struggling for air.  I roll off the bed onto the floor and proclaim, “Woo hoo!!! (*ROFL*)  Dude, I had five pieces of pizza, two containers of garlic butter, a two-liter of Fanta and a plate of Jell-O shots!!  And I wasn’t even hungry!!!”

 

           

 

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Friday morning poetry (a tad bit different than usual)

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 31, 2008

I selected today’s poetry with several people in mind.  First and foremost, for a special friend of mine whose mother is currently fighting for her life.  Secondly, for an elderly couple who were attacked in their rural Mississippi home several days ago and are now in critical condition.  Dear friends, my thoughts and prayers are with you and your families.

“The Lord Bless You and Keep You”

(from Numbers 6:24-26)

 

The Lord bless you and keep you;

The Lord lift His countenance upon you,

and give you peace,

and give you peace;

The Lord make His face to shine upon you,

and be gracious unto you;

And be gracious,

The Lord be gracious,

gracious into you. 

 

“Thanatopsis”

by William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan which moves

To that mysterious realm where each shall take

His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain’d and soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

 

“Because I could not stop for Death”

by Emily Dickinson (1830 –1886)

 

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, be passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

Aging”

by Mozziestar

 

Standing in the corner is an elderly man;

his face drenched in wrinkles

not only of worry, but experience.

His eyes are tired and drooped,

as gray as the rainstorm outside,

and as he moves each leg,

I sense his pain.

His every movement is slow and calculated,

while his voice crackles and sputters

when he attempts a single word.

Rather than struggle,

he stands silently in the corner

and stares at his shoes;

A burden to no one but himself.

 

“Unknown”

 by Mozziestar

I am a lost and forgotten soul.

I have few friends or family left to mourn me,

and I dwell in an unmarked grave.

I receive sympathy from an occasional

passer-by who may trod over my

surrounding earth and sacrifice a thought

to who I might have been.

But, that is all.

I can offer nothing now.

I can only wait here for God,

and hope that He might pay me a visit.

 

Prism”

 by Mozziestar

 the rose,

white,

with a thorn called

Life,

sucks up all the air

and

occupies the space

around

my

grave

* All poems included here, written by Mozziestar and others, are protected under copyright law.

“Asleep” by The Smiths…

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Hilarious email of the day, compliments of my ‘Wondertwin’ younger brother

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 31, 2008

Preface to email below:  My ‘Wondertwin’ younger brother works in IT.

“Hey Sis,

 

We had a power outage in the office this morning and all the morons here thought it was The Holocaust, Part Deux.  So, it has been great fun for the family all morning. (*sigh*) But, all of the cats have been herded back into their comfort zones, and we now have returned to our regularly scheduled programming.

 

Okay, so just imagine 40 people calling all at once just to tell you the power is off…  

 

Them:  “Holy crap, the lights are off!  What do I do???  I can’t see anything!  Will I lose data?!?!?!?  I need a cookie!!!  BTW, did I mention that the lights are all off?!?!?!”

 

Me: (*sigh*) “The lights, you say??!?!  Wow, thanks!  I thought the darkness was the sudden on-set of cataracts!  Phew, I’m so glad you called in with the hot tip.”

 

Then, some poor chica-boom lost it from the Marketing department.  She went totally nuts and they had to call 911 to get an ambulance to come get her.  We think she had a nervous breakdown or something.  She is a large woman and they said she just stood up and screamed out, “Lordy Lordy, take me!”  Then, she started getting in everyone’s face saying, “Whooooaaaa!  Oh Lord, take me!  Whooooaaaa,” with her eyes real wide.  (*sigh*)

 

So, wassup with you?”

 

 

 

 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

October 31, 2008

###

ATLANTA, GA – Mozziestar is now on Facebook.  Search for “Mozzie Startime” or mozziestar@gmail.com under “Find friends.”

 

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Mozziestar Flashback Entry, Year: 2007

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 31, 2008

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.  Flashback entries are woven into the mix.”

7am:  I enter the husband’s quarters to wake him to remind him that the cleaning lady is coming today and being in his birthday suit upon her arrival will undoubtedly make a lasting impression and add that extra pep in her step.

 

1pm:  The cleaning lady phones me at the office to confide that tiding up my house while avoiding the loaded weapons decorating our home truly gives her a feeling of security.  Once again, the husband has given another person a genuine feeling of comfort and ease.  I am thrilled that I can now, more than likely, look forward to cleaning the entire house in my ample free time.

 

6pm:  I’m two miles from my driveway and I get the added bonus of a 15 year-old driver running the red light at my intersection.  The sound of my car smashing into hers at 40 mph is heavenly music to my ears.  Teenage drivers with an inclination towards rebellion are always welcome during my drive home from the office.  I emerge slowly and carefully from the wreckage that was once my car and ask her if she is ok.  She fails to respond, as a phone call to her BFF always takes precedence over my whip-lash and lower back pain.

 

7pm:  The police arrive to take our statements and I am touched by the brutal honesty that my teenage comrade exudes as she tells the officer that she “had the green light at the intersection.”  Clearly, the word of a 15 year-old driver with a two-week old Learner’s Permit outweighs my twenty year clean driving record.

 

11pm:  I finally arrive home after my evening ordeal and wipe my tears away as I inspect my car.  Ironically, its current state of disrepair and wreckage mirrors my tattered emotional state.  I retire upstairs in hopes that Xanax and a dose of Morrissey can work magic.

 

3am:  I awake to the sound of my own groans and tender body aches as I’ve attempted to roll over in the bed.  I’m convinced that my chest is caving in because every breath hurts worse than the one before.  I rise, enter the bathroom, and flip on the light to take a closer look.  I raise my shirt to my chin only to find the most colorful display of black, blue and lavender bruises all over my neck and torso.  I look in the mirror and say to my reflection, “Wow…pretty.  If everybody loves Raymond, ya think everybody loves rainbows too?”

 

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Mozziestar Flashback Entry, Year: 1987

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 29, 2008

‘The Countess’ and her daughter, my adorable cousin, are visiting our family from Mississippi.  These visits with my cousin encapsulate my best memories…endless childish giggling, late night snacking and girl talk, making one-of-a-kind jewelry creations, watching scary movies and sleeping with the lights on, listening to Duran Duran and Madonna too many times to count.  My cousin is two years younger than me and has always looked up to me like a big sister (I hope she still does).  When Madonna’s song, “Like a virgin,” hit the charts in the mid-80s, it literally transformed the world of Pop music and every girl under the age of sixteen wanted to BE her.  My cousin and I were no exception.

 

Given that I was a few years older than her and had already endured the painful sex education talk, I had some insight into what the lyrics to the song actually meant.  My sweet little cousin, completely oblivious to the song’s meaning, paraded around her small Mississippi town singing it with full zeal and feeling.  I realized this probably wasn’t the best idea and suggested that she sing another song, which naturally led to a litany of other questions.  She asked, “But, why can’t I sing it?  What is a virgin anyways and what does it mean that she is touched for the very first time?”  I think to myself, ‘Oh, brother.  This is way out of my realm of responsibilities.  I’m gonna tell her to ask her Mom about it.’  I don’t know if she ever did ask ‘The Countess’ about what the song meant, but like me, she eventually grew up and figured it out firsthand.

 

So, back to the original story…my cousin and ‘The Countess’ are visiting for a long weekend and I am fifteen years old at the time.  I’ve landed my first job working at the drive-thru window at the local Arby’s and like any fifteen year-old, I am overjoyed to be working the 6am shift every Sunday.  I roll out of bed at 5am, wipe the sleep from my eyes, and mumble under my breath about having to work so early on the weekend.  I turn around and watch my thirteen year-old cousin snoring away in Dreamland and I begin to plot my revenge.  Knowing all too well how to push her buttons, I creep over to her side of the bed and turn the electric blanket dial to the ‘HIGH’ setting.  I quietly get dressed and head downstairs for a bowl of cereal, allowing adequate time for the blanket to work its magic.  After twenty minutes, I trot back upstairs to assess the situation.  My cousin, completely buried under the electric blanket, is sweating profusely and tossing around like a ship at sea.  I am totally amused and watch her for several minutes before the event reaches its precipice.  She lets out an enormous sigh, throws the blanket to her feet, and her pajamas are utterly and completely stuck to her body from the excessive sweating.  Confused and disoriented, she sits up in the bed and proclaims, “Ooooh!  I’m dying!  It is SOOO hot in here!”  By this point, I’ve managed to repress my laughter almost to its breaking point.  I compose myself and respond, “Wow!  You sure are sweating!  Gee, I don’t know why you are so hot.  Hmmm…maybe you need to check the dial on the electric blanket?”  So, like a sweet and unsuspecting young girl, she leans over and glances at the dial and sees that it is set on the ‘HIGH’ setting.  At first, she appears puzzled as to how the dial got turned up so high.  Had she gotten cold in the middle of the night and turned it up in a semi-conscious state?  Was it always on high and she was just now noticing it?  Five seconds elapse before she realizes that I, known as the “Instigator” in my family, am the guilty party involved in the unfolding electric blanket mystery.  She screams my name and puts her dukes up for the upcoming battle.  I look her square in the eye and say, “Aww, look at you.  You look really hot and sweaty.  Are ya? Hmm? Are ya?!”

 

Ironically, I don’t really remember what happened after that, but I’m sure it involved screaming and yelling and her chasing me down the stairs.  As funny as this event was when it happened, it is still so incredibly hilarious all these years later.  Morrissey said it best:  “Well, if I seem a little strange…well, that’s because I am.”

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Driving your girlfriend home

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 29, 2008

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.”

 

10am:  Mom phones me to ask when I’m going to see them this week.  Sleep deprivation and the need to pound the unemployment pavement is never a reason not to put the parental units first.  I reply, “Let me see how my afternoon goes and I’ll give you a call later. Maybe we could meet for supper?”  I realize the whistle has just sounded on the ‘Mom’s Guilt Trip Express,’ for which I have accumulated a lifetime of frequent traveler miles.  I’ve been riding the train first class since I was fifteen and remarkably, it never reaches a destination.  It just goes ‘round and ‘round the same clattering track.  Toot toot!  All aboard!  (Don’t get mad, Ma.  You know I love you.)

 

1pm:  The husband is once again engrossed with the intricacies of our failing economy and realizes that not only am I unaware of this, but that I also require a daily dissertation from the peanut gallery.  He explains, “Damn, babe.  We are in for some real trouble in this country. We’re all gonna be eatin’ road kill soon.  Man, I sure am glad I bought all that rice a few months ago so we won’t go hungry.  You know, I have that huge tent that has like four rooms in it.  We could definitely fit all of your furniture in there if we have to.  Don’t forget to see if we can get food stamps today when you’re not too busy.  It would be good to have something to go with all that rice.”   

 

5:30pm:  I meet the parental units for dinner and sit with baited breath as I listen to the 465 health ailments in which they and the other family members are currently suffering.  Since I work part-time as a physician, psychiatrist, financial planner, marriage counselor and psychic, I am more than equipped to immediately offer a variety of solutions.

 

Mom shares a truly hilarious story from her day.  Apparently, the parental units have some contractors working on their home for some routine maintenance, carpentry and painting.  Mom specifically tells Dad before the contractors arrive that she will be in the shower and to “Please make sure the bathroom and bedroom doors are closed.”  Since Dad has always kept step to the music of his own drummer, he somehow overlooks this request.  When Mom emerges from the shower wearing only her underoos and birthday suit, she makes her way into the bedroom to dress and notices that not only are all the doors wide open, but Dad has also raised all of the bedroom window blinds and windows in order for the contractors to work on some window repairs.  Mom immediately lets out a blood curdling scream and high-tails it back into the bathroom.  Luckily, no one was around to witness her debut as a stripper except Dad.  Hey Ma, maybe you could become the one and only “Golden Girl” at The Gold Club…reckon they are hiring?

 

7:30pm:  After dinner, I return to my car for the ride home and submerge myself in Morrissey’s lyrical genius, mouthing the words to his song, “Driving your girlfriend home.”

 

“I’m driving your girlfriend home
And she’s saying how she never chose you

‘Turn left,’ she says
I turn left and she says
‘So how did I end up so deeply involved in the very existence I planned on avoiding?’
And I can’t answer

I’m driving your girlfriend home
And she’s laughing to stop herself crying
‘Drive on,’ she says
I drive on and she says
‘So how did I end up attached to this person when his sense of humour gets gradually worser?’
And I can’t tell her

I’m parking outside her home and we’re shaking hands
Goodnight, so politely…”

10pm:  I decide it’s time for a laugh and a break from reality so I pop in ‘The Best of The Young Ones’ DVD and within minutes I am uncontrollably snorting and cackling.  To no surprise, the husband doesn’t even chuckle a single time.  I realize that British humor is quite different from American comedy, but seriously…how could anyone not find this hysterically funny?  So, I will adjourn because Captain Crunch with Crunchberries is calling my name from the cupboard.  I will leave you all with several of my favorite clips from ‘The Young Ones.’  Enjoy and keep shining!

 

Brilliant Quote of the day:

 

“Oh! What a tangled web we weave

When first we practice to deceive!

 

– Sir Walter Scott (from Marmion, 1808)

 

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I ain’t no “Jenny from the block”…just a Mozzie among the flock

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 28, 2008

9am:  Double doo doo.  I slept through my alarm so the 3am writing session was delayed.  But, sleep is a welcomed event for me…a rare commodity of sorts.  I just checked my email and my prayer list is growing by leaps and bounds.  So many of you have reached out to me through this blog, sharing your thoughts and burdens, looking for a life preserver or, at the very least, a life guard.  Unfortunately, I am neither of those.  I only have one life preserver and it’s holding its own right now and keeping me afloat.  I do not have a direct line to the Big JC, however, I do ring him on a daily basis.  I love that he always takes my calls, despite his busy schedule and ‘To do’ list.  Like family, he is always there to lend his hand.  I continue to take his in mine.

 

9:15am:  Good heavens, this coffee is like jet fuel!  I should launch at any moment.  I’m out of artificial sweetener, so it’s back to basics with a spoonful of sugar.  “Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down…the medicine go down.”  Don’t you just love Julie Andrews?  I wish I had her magic umbrella so I could drift over the trees and enjoy the view from above.  It’s funny how adjusting your view can allow you to see the world in a different light.  That, in and of itself, is such a beautiful thing.

 

10am:  ‘The Wiz’ phones me and we decide to attend a Career Fair together tomorrow.  I discussed the idea of offering ourselves as a package deal to potential employers:  Two for the price of one?  Besides, half a salary is more than sufficient to stay ahead in today’s economy.  Hey, Great and Powerful Oz, I could kick the husband to the curb, boil the guest bedroom sheets and fumigate the room for you to move in?  I’ll even let you sleep beneath my Barbie comforter from my college days.  Like me, it is pink and cheerful and soft.  I know you’re a city gal though, and life in suburban bliss isn’t your gig.  You know that living Sex and the City style isn’t mine, so a slumber party will have to suffice.  You bring the Jiffy Pop and I’ll provide our movie entertainment.  “Office Space” is first on the lineup followed by “Better off Dead.”  You know me, Wiz Master, if it came from the 80s it’s in my DVD home library!

 

11am:  ‘The Countess of Wedgewood’ phones me from the hair salon where she is waiting for her appointment. 

 

Hey Countess, remember when I frosted your hair and you emerged with that awesome punk rock streak right in the front?  I know you loved me for that.  All hail the power of ‘Nice and Easy’ who corrected my mistake!  My senior year in high school, when we lived together, wasn’t that the best of times?  Let’s recount the memories as they light the corners of my mind:  Me, parking in your space in the garage when you arrived home and it was raining, cranking your A/C in the house below 60 degrees and napping in your bed while you were at work, charging up your Lerner’s and The Limited credit cards, our midnight runs to Sonic drive-in and loving those fried Pickle-Os only served in Mississippi.  Gosh, we had fun.  That year was probably the best of my life (so far).  I have you to thank for it, Countess.

 

Sorry for the digression, readers, what I was beginning to say before I got caught up in nostalgia was that ‘The Countess’ visited today’s blog and saw her dancing video on display to the world.  After viewing the video, she says that she expects Jenny Craig to call her at any moment to offer her an endorsement and commercial contract.  Well Anigo, my beloved ‘Countess of Wedgewood,’ give Jenny my number when she calls.  We aren’t known celebrities outside of this blog, but maybe Anigo² is what Jenny needs to boost her first quarter revenue goals for 2009.  Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction!

Kirstie “during” Jenny…

      

Kirstie “after” Jenny…

    

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The Countess of Wedgewood : yes, she is for REAL!

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 28, 2008

Well, well.  ‘The Countess of Wedgewood’ decided to live life on the edge and allow me to include this video of her on the blog. I just received her email: 

“Having a lot of fun at my expense, say friend?!!! Thanks for all the kind things you say about me. I feel the same. So…you want to put my beautiful dancing video on your chronicles? Be my guest, Anigo. The world needs to see what a great and beautiful person I am. Also, did he not take a bath this AM before work? YUK!!! You’re the greatest, friend.

The Countess”

In the video, she is singing and dancing to the song “Don’t you wish your girlfriend was HOT like me?”  I apologize that the video isn’t vertical, as it was taken on my cell phone.  I had no idea how to turn it upright.

The snorting and chuckling in the video is me.  I just couldn’t hold it back.

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Girlfriend without a comma

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 27, 2008

9am:  I have broken all world records this morning as I managed to sleep until 8:30am.  Xanax is like fairy dust…just a sprinkle a day keeps the nightmares away.  It’s time to put the coffee on and sort through the automated job offers from Careerbuilder.  Obviously my resume has lined me up for a fantastic and promising career in welding, as an electrician or in telemarketing.  I’ve often been told I am a ‘Jack of all Trades’ and a Master at one:  writing.  It’s good to know that writing is such a highly-prized commodity in today’s economy.

 

10am:  The husband is awake and my solace is interrupted.  In order to devote time to my writing, I will need to set my alarm clock for 3am from now on.  Concentration is fairly easy with b-flick films and ‘The Best of John Wayne’ blaring in the living room.  You see, the husband watches three things on the TV:  John Wayne westerns, Man vs. Wild, and Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe.  All three are top choices in my book given that Somewhere in Time, Sense and Sensibility, The Good Girl, and the entire John Hughes film collection are among my favorite movies.  At first, I thought our differences in movie selections were age related.  The husband is eleven years my senior in age, but -30 my junior in mentality.  If opposites do attract, we are a match made in heaven.

 

11:15am:  The husband realizes that he was due at work 15 minutes ago and begins to panic.  Given that I did not wake him up like all proper wives should, he is a bit flustered.  He asks if I will need my car for the next few hours so he can drive it to work.  You see, while I was away on vacation, the husband allowed his driver’s license and car tag to expire because “I wasn’t there to remind him.”  So, he drove to work illegally (cue Beavis and Butthead…Breakin’ da law, breakin’ da law) and not only got a ticket for this but also for parking in the handicapped spot without a properly displayed decal.  A $400 ticket was exactly the gift I was longing for when I returned from vacation.  The husband is the perfect gift in and of himself:  The gift that keeps on giving.

 

11:30am:  The husband packs his dirty body and morning breath into my car and heads off to work to make another stellar impression on his superiors, co-workers and customers.  I’m sure that someone will ask him the name of his cologne.  Even ‘Designer Imposters’ couldn’t capture his essence.  It is one of a kind.

 

11:45am:  I receive a phone call from my former boss, who was also canned while I was on vacation.  She has been reeling too from the commotion this has caused in her life and was unaware that I was the latest victim of the “This is really hard for us to do and I hope you won’t take it personally” speech from HR.  My former boss, if I can even call her that because I consider her my friend first and foremost, is an amazing and talented gal.  When she hired me, we clicked right off the bat and worked together like the Dynamic Duo.  Working with her is the only thing I will miss about that job.  I called her ‘The Wiz,’ because she was the person behind the office curtain that made everything happen.  I hope that someday our career paths will lead us back together to conquer the world in total and complete annihilation.  If you are reading, Great and Powerful Oz, you are in my thoughts and prayers.  Like I said during our phone call, everything happens to pursue the greater good in life.  We will both find ours.

 

2pm:  I’ve been online searching job sites for hours now and fanny fatigue is setting in.  I decide to take a walk outside and enjoy the lovely gift of Autumn.  Autumn is my favorite of all the seasons.  The cool and unexpected nip in the air, the colorful oranges and reds of the falling leaves, the breeze rushing over my face and through my hair.  A poem springs to mind…

 

“To Autumn”

by William Blake (from Poetical Sketches, 1783)

 

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
“The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.
“The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.”
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
 

 

 

 

4pm:  I’ve spent too much time on my laptop and it has now retaliated against me.  One of the keys, a vital one as a writer in love with proper punctuation, has just flown off the keyboard.  I think to myself, “Oh no!  Not the comma!  Take my eyes, but not the comma!”  So, now I am enjoying cutting and pasting the comma when I need it.  Surely, I will earn an extra gold star for that on my blog.  I stare at my missing comma key and think of Morrissey’s lyrics in the song, “Girlfriend in a coma.”  Naturally, my own lyrics begin to write themselves in my mind.  So, without further ado, I have included them below with the actual lyrics to the song appearing first.  Mozziestar’s version is below those.  Enjoy!

 

“Girlfriend in a coma” by The Smiths

 

“Girlfriend in a coma, I know
I know – it’s serious
Girlfriend in a coma, I know
I know – it’s really serious
There were times when I could have murdered her
(but you know, I would hate anything to happen to her)
No, I don’t want to see her…
Do you really think she’ll pull through?

Girlfriend in a coma, I know
I know – it’s serious
My, my, my, my, my, my baby, goodbye…

There were times when I could have strangled her
(but you know, I would hate anything to happen to her)
Would you please let me see her?

Do you really think she’ll pull through?
Let me whisper my last goodbyes 

 

I know – it’s serious.”

 

“Girlfriend without a comma” by Mozziestar

 

“Girlfriend without a comma, I know
I know – it’s serious
Girlfriend without a comma, I know
I know – it’s really serious
There were times when I could have graded her
(but you know, I would hate constructive criticism to happen to her)
No, I don’t want to read her…
Do you really think her blog’s through?

Girlfriend without a comma, I know
I know – it’s serious
My, my, my, my, my, my Mozzie, goodbye…

There were times when I could have promoted her
(but you know, I would hate another layoff to happen to her)
Would you please let me read her?

Do you really think her blog’s through?
Let me whisper my last goodbyes

 

I know – it’s serious.”

 

 
 

 

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Everyday is like Sunday

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 26, 2008

You cannot be a student in the classroom of life without a sprinkle of Morrissey and a little poetry in each and every day.  Below is your recommended daily allowance…

“I know why the caged bird sings”

 

by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

 “35/10”

by Sharon Olds

Brushing out our daughter’s brown

silken hair before the mirror

I see the grey gleaming on my head,

the silver-haired servant behind her. Why is it

just as we begin to go

they begin to arrive, the fold in my neck

clarifying as the fine bones of her

hips sharpen? As my skin shows

its dry pitting, she opens like a moist

precise flower on the tip of a cactus;

as my last chances to bear a child

are falling through my body, the duds among them,

her full purse of eggs, round and

firm as hard-boiled yolks, is about

to snap its clasp. I brush her tangled

fragrant hair at bedtime. It’s an old

story—the oldest we have on our planet—

the story of replacement.

 

“no help for that”

by Charles Bukowski

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

a space

and even during the
best moments
and
the greatest
times

we will know it

we will know it
more than
ever

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

and

we will wait
and
wait

in that
space.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Poop and crack goes the weasel

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 26, 2008

7am:  I stir from a semi-conscious realm of sleep to the sound of mumbling and grumbling.  Naturally, I am alarmed at first and then realize that they are only the sounds of me and my usual fight that I battle in my sleep.  Unfortunately, I’ve always been burdened with being a master of internalizing and fighting my emotional worries in my sleep.  I toss, I turn, I grumble, I stumble, and I always seem to wake up surprised by the completely wrecked state of my bed.  Comforter lying on the bedroom floor, top sheet twisted and hanging off the opposite side of the bed, pillows strewn about the room and often in the hallway adjacent to my bedroom.  Even though I have spent years developing this art, I still marvel at how one person can accomplish this in six hours or less each night.  I step into the bathroom, wash my face and brush my teeth before heading downstairs to put the coffee on.  ‘Good heavens, why is it so hot in this house?’  I check the thermostat in the living room and notice that the heat is on and it is 76 degrees inside.  Undoubtedly, the husband stayed up as he usually does, got a bit of a chill, and cranked the heat up before heading upstairs.  Obviously unaware of the fact that heat rises, I imagine that he is sweating to the oldies right about now.  Being the merciful and kind person that I am, I turn the thermostat down before letting the dog out for his morning potty routine.

9am:  I am enjoying my quiet time this morning, reading and writing, alone with my thoughts.  Realizing that all good things must come to an end, I hear the husband creaking and sputtering his way down the stairs.  He decides to “cook breakfast.”  Knowing the husband’s culinary talents are limited to two dishes, stir-fried garbage and stir-fried garbage with Spam, I begin to shudder at the thought of what will emerge from his efforts.  Within minutes, bacon is burning, the dog is going berserk with interest, and the smoke alarm sounds.  I fan the toxic fumes and open the windows in the living room, which I am fairly certain, will signal the fire department and every dog within twenty miles.

9:10am:  The daily neighborhood dog convention is taking place is my driveway and my dog has nearly clawed a hole in the window screen to get to the interlopers in his domain.  One of the neighbors spots me trying to restrain him inside and says hello.  “Aww, isn’t he cute?  You need to bring him outside to meet everyone.”  I smile and hesitate before I respond, knowing the jealous and rambunctious nature of my sweet puppy and how he is likely to smother and pound the other dogs to death.  Reluctantly I agree and hook him up to the leash to head outside, not even realizing that I am still wearing my pajamas and bed head.  My dog makes a full-steam gallop out the front door with me attached to the other end of the leash, and we make our way into the driveway, arriving like The Lone Ranger and Tonto.  The dogs begin sniffing and frolicking with one another until my puppy spots the cutest one in the bunch, a tiny shih-tzu wearing a raincoat.  The shih-tzu bears a striking resemblance to my parents’ deceased dog, with which my dog had his first love affair.  My dog bolts over to the tiny tot and begins putting his ‘Rico Suave’ moves on the unsuspecting fluff ball.  We all begin to giggle, myself included, at this adorable exchange.  My next door neighbor, who has often complained to me about my dog pooping in her backyard, is chuckling until the next dramatic event unfolds.  My dog, overwhelmed with excitement and social graces, hunches over and pinches a loaf right in the middle of her driveway.  I am seething with embarrassment and offer my apologies.  She responds politely by saying, “Oh, it’s ok.  That happens sometimes.”  I feel somewhat relieved that she does not immediately report me to the ‘Poop, but don’t immediately scoop’ authorities until my dog circles back around and pinches a second loaf next to the first one.  Her laughter has subsided now and I apologize profusely, nearly offering the life of my first born child to her, and take my misbehaving puppy back inside.  I tell him, “Good grief.  Mama takes you out to play with the other puppies, you forget your manners and embarrass us both, and now you are in puppy detention!”  He isn’t even remotely bothered by my gentle reprimand and resumes his place in the comfy spot on the sofa.  It begins to rain outside and I am standing in my neighbor’s driveway, pajamas now stuck to my body, scooping poop like a good neighbor and parent.  Maybe I will win honorable mention in the neighborhood wet t-shirt contest while I am out here?

2-4pm:  I manage to steal a nap upstairs while the husband is drooling in his recliner.  I have a humorous, yet accurate dream about my former office.  I think of ‘Peace Out’ and a story she shared with me one morning.  She told me about her ‘baby daddy’ and how he got drunk one night and kept her up rambling and demanding female attention.  When she got up for work the next morning, fed the children and got them ready for school, she stood in the bedroom door and fumed at how he was snoring his alcohol away while she was already on her third cup of coffee.  Consumed with anger, she made her way into the kitchen and began searching for something…anything…a weapon of mass retaliation.  She spotted a bottle of mayo in the fridge and took it back into the bedroom where the naked alcoholic was sleeping.  She threw back the covers and smeared him from head to toe, giving special attention to the area where he would undoubtedly be most thrilled to have Kraft visit.  As she told me her story, I was horrified yet incredibly amused at the same time.  Despite the fact that she irritated me with her daily avoidance of her four hour work day, I still liked her.  She was spunky and didn’t hide who she was and in a corny way, I respected that.  Unlike ‘Deer in headlights,’ she made no attempt to conceal her behavior and when she left at 4pm or earlier each day, she kept her office door wide open with the light on.  No pretense there at all.  I think of ‘Deer in headlights’ and her wicked and brown-nosing ways…how she always kept her office door slightly ajar while she went home at lunch to nap for two hours, perpetuating the illusion that she was still inside.  Despite the fact that I kicked her office door open every time I saw this, I am still annoyed that she continued to deceive people.  All of those mornings when I was the only one in the office at 6am, why didn’t I think to unscrew the hinges on her office door so it would tumble down on her when she tried to crack it and slither out the back door?  Hey…‘Deer in headlights’…if you should read this one day:  “Just say no to crack.  Crack is whack, girl.  Crack is whack!” 

  

Posted in "Bad Husband" Chronicles, Bad boss, Bad Husband, bad marriage, bad spouse, co-workers, Comic Wit, Difficult Spouse, Divorce, Dogs, family, Funny, Humor, Irony, Life, Love, Marriage, marriage problems, Morrissey, Office drama, office humor, office politics, Pets, poetry, relationships, sarcasm, Spouse, wives | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Hot on the heels of heartbreak

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 26, 2008

“There is no remedy for love but to love more.” 

  – Henry David Thoreau, Journal, July 25, 1839

 

This is one of my favorite and most cherished songs by The Beautiful South.  The link below contains the mp3 (Rhapsody) and listed beneath are the lyrics.  I hope it touches you as it has always resonated with me.

Hot on the heels of heartbreak mp3

“If you could pull yourself away from that mess
Surely if you could pack a punch then you can pack a dress
‘Cause hot on the trail of self pity is wilderness
Like hot on the heels of heartbreak is happiness

It’s an upward struggle just to be yourself
And if I climb too far I’ll end up on the shelf
When sorry’s have been said and tears, tears have dried
I’m still the easy route to easy ride

If you could just have a good word with yourself
Convince yourself you’re you and no one else
Restore your confidence and your pride
A soldier don’t need no one by their side

 

It seems as though there’s only me to blame
Pushover, must be my middle name
Just because he flushed love down the drain
Doesn’t mean your little heart can’t be reclaimed

 

If you could just have a good word with yourself
Convince yourself you’re you and no one else
Restore your confidence and your pride
A soldier don’t need no one by their side

 

And I know that what I’ve chosen’s second best
And if the passport was there then I’d say yes
But departure leaves a fully feathered nest
This easy bird is easily impressed

 

Your little wings broken, nest destroyed
The love that he talked of, null and void
If you knew you were a plaything with which they toyed
Your little heart would now be the employed

Next time I choose to love I’ll take good aim
Miss out on his sweet talk and his blame
Then when I miss the target you can’t complain
It’s only the sure-shot actually feels the pain”

 

 

 

Posted in "Bad Husband" Chronicles, Bad boss, Bad Husband, bad marriage, bad spouse, co-workers, Comic Wit, Difficult Spouse, Divorce, Dogs, family, Funny, Humor, Irony, Life, Love, Marriage, marriage problems, Morrissey, Office drama, office humor, office politics, Pets, poetry, relationships, sarcasm, Spouse, wives | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Poem and song of the day

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 9, 2008

“i carry your heart with me”

by e. e. cummings

i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

 

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

 Brilliant song of the day:

“A little time” by The Beautiful South

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in "Bad Husband" Chronicles, Bad boss, Bad Husband, bad marriage, bad spouse, co-workers, Comic Wit, Difficult Spouse, Dogs, family, Funny, Humor, Irony, Life, Love, Marriage, marriage problems, Morrissey, Office drama, office humor, office politics, Pets, poetry, relationships, sarcasm, Spouse, wives | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

Chapter 22: The quarterly Sales & Marketing Meeting

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 9, 2008

1am: I’ve managed to sleep for three peaceful hours when the dog begins to do the ‘curly shuffle’ all around my bed. This usually means one thing: “Mama, I need to go potty!” Realizing my responsibility to him, I stumble out of bed and put him on the floor. He takes off like a bullet downstairs and I think, “Wow, poor little fella really needs to go. I sure hope it’s not another bout of diarrhea.” I make my way to the den and realize that the husband has decided to host his own cook-off in the kitchen, which undoubtedly aroused the dog’s interest. Silently fuming at the husband’s daily inconsiderate behavior, I head into the kitchen for a glass of milk to settle my stomach. The husband sees me and says, “Hey, you’re up. Want some food?” Clearly, stir-fried garbage is exactly what I have on my mind at 1am. I stomp back upstairs and spend the next thirty minutes trying to resume the dream I was enjoying before the husband’s offensive behavior woke me in the first place. I believe I was somewhere in the middle of exchanging vows with my true husband, Morrissey.

6am: I arrive to the office to prepare myself for the quarterly Sales & Marketing meeting that begins at 8am. Obviously, ‘Mack the Knife,’ my hard-working and lovable co-worker who helps me maintain sanity every day, is the only other person in the office at this hour of the morning. Given that the meeting is scheduled to begin at 8am, I surmise that the rest of the attendants should arrive promptly around 9:30am as usual.

10am: I’ve had five cups of coffee and a Red Bull in the span of four hours. Given the overload of caffeine on an empty stomach, my tummy begins to twist and shout in an unfavorable fashion. I excuse myself from the meeting in search of any possible antacid relief. Digging through my desk drawers, I find I am completely SOL. I return to the meeting and motion to ‘Peace Out’ to come over for a minute. Knowing that she consumes an all fried and fast food diet, she usually keeps Tums in her side pocket. Thankfully, she does not let me down and digs the Tums out of her pocket, carefully removing the fuzz and lint from them. This is not an ideal situation for me, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

1pm: The sales reps have managed to ramble on about complete nonsense for an hour after our scheduled lunch break. A pregnant co-worker leans over to me and suggests that I recommend that we adjourn for lunch. I chuckle back to her and say, “Oh sure, leave it up to the fat girl to motion that we break for lunch! They will love me for that!” She laughs, but inevitably sees my reasoning behind it.

3pm: ‘Deer in headlights’ has been droning on for hours in the meeting just to hear her own voice and score brownie points with the big wigs. I notice that she’s decked out in her usual platform ‘Groove is in the heart’ shoes once again and begin to silently plot my revenge. We take a ten minute break and I pop into her office to ask her a question. Since I am her ‘BFF,’ she is thrilled to see me. I say, “Hey there. I’ve been eying those cute shoes of yours all day. Do you mind if I take a photo so I can remember what they look like?” She is overjoyed and tells me who designed them, apparently a fellow prostitute (no doubt), as if I should know about shoe designers. She models them for me and I manage to snap a photo that will forever go into the Hall of Shame. I can’t help but give myself a ‘thatta girl’ pat on the back for this triumphant accomplishment on my part.

4pm: I’m fading fast after being in the office since 6am. ‘Deer in headlights’ begins a conversation in the meeting about how important cultural competence is in the world of health care today. She begins telling a story about how a client of hers had a non-English speaking employee who went to the dentist for a routine cleaning. Given that he couldn’t speak English to communicate with the dentist, he sat in the chair for two hours and emerged with a shiny new set of braces. This revelation hits me like a freight train and I feel the uncontrollable laughter taking hold of my senses. I start to choke and cough in order to cover up the fact that I am inwardly laughing hysterically. I jump up to excuse myself from the meeting, make it down the elevator and outside. I sit on a bench and absolutely roll with laughter for nearly twenty minutes before I am able to compose myself enough to return to the meeting. Moral of the day: “Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.” Amen, brotha!

 The most hilarious combination of two of my favorite things:

Posted in "Bad Husband" Chronicles, Bad boss, bad marriage, bad spouse, co-workers, Comic Wit, Difficult Spouse, Divorce, Dogs, family, Funny, Humor, Irony, Life, Love, Marriage, marriage problems, Morrissey, Office drama, office humor, office politics, Pets, poetry, relationships, sarcasm, Spouse | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

Chapter 20

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 7, 2008

2am: I stir from being dead asleep into a panicked state from the sound of an unfamiliar voice grumbling in my bedroom. Once I am able to sufficiently calm myself, I realize that I have just awakened to my own moaning and petulant talking in my sleep. I flip on the TV to try and lull myself back into unconsciousness. Unfortunately, the movie Superbad is on HBO and within minutes, I am completely engrossed in its hysterical comic genius. “McLovin? What kind of a stupid name is that, Fogell? What, are you trying to be an Irish R&B singer?”

5am: I wake to the comforting sound of the burglar alarm sounding in all its glory and volume. Realizing there must be an intruder in the house, I jump out of bed in search of any possible weapon. The husband’s dirty underwear lying on the floor is the most dangerous weapon we keep in the house. I sweep it up and head downstairs to face the intruder. Once I make it to the den, I notice that the back door is open and the husband is outside smoking, without bothering to disarm the alarm before exiting. The alarm is still sounding and the husband steps back inside and asks, “Why are you holding my underwear?” Clearly, this is the most pressing question as it’s totally normal and acceptable for the alarm siren to be screaming in the middle of the night. I’m certain our neighbors are singing our praises.

 

 

11am: ‘Clueless VP’ has been in the office for fifteen minutes and has successfully managed to ruin everyone’s day. It amazes me that one person’s inept nature and inconsiderate behavior can affect so many people. It is fairly apparent to me that we are all his ‘beeotches,’ some to greater degrees than others. I am no exception.

1pm: I’m working diligently on a project for ‘Clueless VP’ which he labeled as ‘urgent.’ The project actually requires his involvement in order to complete it, which has completely escaped his consciousness. He stops by my office to tell me that he has to leave immediately due to an “emergency at home.” Naturally, I offer my concern and tell him not to worry as I will do my best to complete the project. Family always comes first in my book.

4pm: ‘Clueless VP’ phones me from his cell to check in. I update him on my progress and inquire if everything is okay at home. He replies, “Yes, everything is fine. I just realized at the last minute that Comcast is coming to the house to repair my cable.” Well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing that this was not a face-to-face conversation because my ability to keep a poker face is not one of my best qualities. I respond, “Um…oh, okay. I understand. No problem.” I politely end our call and spend the next hour fuming and in search of a fire extinguisher to put out the flames shooting out of my eyes and ears.

7pm: I complete the project for ‘Clueless VP’ and close up shop at the office. I marvel at where my kindness and generosity have gotten me today. Ten hours at my desk, no lunch, and completing a project that was someone else’s responsibility. I make my way down the elevator and into the parking lot to my car. I wonder silently if ‘Clueless VP’ is enjoying the evening sitcom lineup, with Comcast and Yours Truly to thank for it.  

7am: My alarm clock sounds and I successfully manage to punch the snooze button three times before I realize that it is not Saturday. I jolt to the shower, paint on some makeup and step outside for the dog’s morning potty ritual. I suddenly hear the familiar sound of ‘Chatty Kathy’s’ unmistakable voice. Imagine, if you will, a voice that is roughly eight octaves above normal pitch. It’s always a pleasant surprise, especially at 7:30am. I am mercilessly pulled into her usual woes of child-rearing and her husband’s travel schedule. I silently plan my exit strategy, but to no avail. After twenty minutes of her rambling, she says, “Yeah, I’ve noticed that your husband is at home a lot. It must be really hard for you to make your bills every month without him working full-time.” I am so touched that ‘Chatty Kathy’ also wears the hat of my financial planner. I’ll have to make sure to drop off her commission check ASAP.

 

Posted in "Bad Husband" Chronicles, Bad boss, Bad Husband, bad marriage, bad spouse, co-workers, Comic Wit, Difficult Spouse, Divorce, Dogs, family, Funny, Humor, Irony, Life, Love, Marriage, marriage problems, Office drama, office humor, office politics, Pets, poetry, relationships, sarcasm, Spouse, wives | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Chapter 18

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 5, 2008

8am:  It’s Saturday morning and I have just enjoyed the first night of sweet slumber in months, perhaps longer.  The extra half of Xanax did the proverbial trick and unbelievably, I woke with the bed still intact.  No comforter in the bathroom, top sheet in the hallway or pillows scattered all about the bedroom.  Being the ‘Queen of Internalization,’ I usually wake thinking that a tornado has struck the bedroom.  It amazes me that one person can sufficiently destroy the bed just by sleeping…tossing and turning like an emotional hurricane.

 

8:30am:  I make my way downstairs to the kitchen to discover that the husband has committed the cardinal sin:  Drinking the last of the milk and leaving none for my breakfast.  This is by far, the most offensive behavior of all.  Captain Crunch with Crunchberries are always a delight, but milk does help to sweeten the pot.

 

10am:  I fight with the dog over the comfy spot on the sofa.  We settle in and decide to share the coveted spot, which inevitably leads to a three-hour nap.  Oh, such sweet slumber to be in the paws of your favorite fella.

 

1pm:  The husband has still not made his way downstairs as he’s obviously exhausted from staying up all night watching the most boring TV shows known to man.  I’ve always been careful in pointing out to him that hours spent in front of the TV makes you a PhD in Idiocy.  He should earn his degree any day down.

 

1:30pm:  I’m still harboring my ill will at the husband for committing the cardinal sin, so I entertain the notion of trotting upstairs, building up sufficient speed, and belly-flopping directly on top of the sleeping giant.  However, in a situation like that, I’d be the only one laughing (as usual).

 

7pm:  I meet the parental units for supper and receive a much needed hug.  A heartfelt hug with true love and feeling supporting it is always the best to receive.  I may not always articulate it as I should, but my gratitude in that regard, knows no limitation.

 

9pm:  I spend the remainder of my evening talking with a lovely friend.  And yes, you know who you are.  Genuine friendship is the best thing to tuck under your pillow before you bury yourself in slumber.  Between that and the Xanax, I slept like a baby.  “Oh, such a little thing.  But, the difference it made was grave.”

 

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