Happy Birthday Candice Pandolfi!!!

Last night was fun and frolic, but without anyone doing shots off the other person's hooters.

And I didn't have to lead any staggering drunks to a waiting cab.

Cast of characters - Account Exec Candice with long black hair and peach silk dress, Media Buyer Rachael in blue jean jacket, TV producer Kris - the only guy in our group with the 'nads to hang with the likes of us. (His stripper name is Chocolate Peekaboo.)

Summer, Business Manager in gray and white shirt and glasses - she of the ginormous boobs, Dana the VP in green jacket with black shirt cut to her navel, Account Exec Carrie "posing" in black and white blouse, Account Exec Tiana in pink and me the pasty-faced blonde writer broad with slight appletini blotch.

(Jeez they make great appletinis at Stonewood.)

I love these people. We had a ball.

I Hate Bigots.

I live where someone actually posted this to a newspaper today:

"I AM SO PROUD TO BE A WHITE BLOND COUNTRY AMERICAN SOUTHERN WOMAN!! YOU ARE IGNORANT IF YOU DO NOT VOTE FOR YOUR OWN RACE!"

I went off.

Ultimately I was dogging two response boards in the Fort Myers News-Press,; I wrote this for one and liked it so much I posted it to the other:

"McCain is a war hero. I respect that. I do not respect the hateful tactics he has resorted to, his blatant disrespect of his opponent and his choice of Palin, who is allowed to fuel the fires of their mobs.

His supporters are mostly white - which is NOT what this country is. (Look around you and get over it.)

My choice treats his opponent with respect, his VP does not incite hatred and his loyal supporters do not send emails with dead and aborted babies. His supporters come in every color of the rainbow. And that is what this country is.

A vote for McCain is a vote for an old guy who cannot survive this level of stress. So then, imagine President Palin and the First Dude.

Does the world respect us now? Imagine what it would think of us with them in charge.

Get real. "

An hour later, not another peep out of either response board. It's a Friday ... maybe the bigots are belly-up at the tiki bars.

The Land That Disco Forgot

Wasn't sure I was up to going out after work ... but Donna called and I decided I was. David Johnson of the Neville Brothers was playing at CinCin and he is awesome. Wine is $8/glass for a good Riesling ... and yeah, sometimes I deserve to spoil myself a little.

Sally called too. Every time I see her I hope she'll be less of an attention hound. Her husband has been deceased for about a year and she has wasted no time dating any man who asks. I'm not sure why it bugs me so much. I guess it's so in your face ... bragging about two or three dates a day, dressing like a 30s pinup, constantly checking her phone for the possibility of a missed message and wanting to leave any place where nobody hits on her within 15 minutes.

One of the guys she dates looks like a cadaver ... but he's rich.

There have been a few times when I wondered why I don't get the same amount of attention ... but then I'm putting out weird vibes. I know it. My aura has barbed wire and gun turrets - I am terrified of involvement. Sally is in heat and the dogs line up.

She showed up after CinCin was jammed. Donna and I were sitting on a love seat near David Johnson. Rather than stand, Sally sat on my arm on the love seat. No, she didn't really sit - she posed. She was elevated and highly visible to the guys at the bar. She stretched her legs out elegantly and didn't care that she was crowding me.

When a seat across from us became available, I suggested she sit there. She said "no, I'm comfortable where I am." I said we had a fourth friend showing up, if she would sit there, she would save it for her. Only then did she move.

An attractive man asked her to dance one time. Later he came back and asked me to dance. He asked my name, he looked at my left hand and asked if I was married. He was surprised I wasn't. Something about the way he said it ... I was flattered. We talked a bit. He seemed ok.

After I danced with him, Sally was suddenly interested. She followed him out of the building for fresh air. They were out there a long time.

Donna noticed.

I always wonder if I'm exaggerating circumstances. I don't think so. I once told Sally I never wanted to date anyone she had "gone out with" and she said "well, you won't have any dates because there won't be any left." She threw it out like a challenge. You'd think she was 16 not 60.
There is something so ugly about this time of life. Maybe it's the desperation factor. Donna kept saying "look how hard everyone tries."

I thought of my fancy friend who is leaving her wonderful husband because she "doesn't love him any more." Wait until she finds out what it's like to be single at this age.

An older gentleman who was built exactly like my Great Aunt Lily kept staring at me. My Aunt Lily had a tiny head and a poofy body, sort of like the shrunken head guy in Beetlegeuse. (SP?) And she was exactly that unattractive.

Donna and I kept whispering during the slow songs to help prevent unwanted advances ... but this old guy managed to lock eyes like a hungry dog under a dinner table. He was old enough to be my father.

It was hot and loud, I signaled that I wasn't in the mood to dance. Which was shitty because I had danced nearly every third dance with Donna. (During those times Sally had "lain across" the whole of the loveseat with long legs elegantly extended in white Bealls Outlet clearance rack capris pants in order to "save" it for us.)

I immediately felt like shit for blowing the guy off. There was a younger black woman to my right and I looked her in the eyes and said "I know - I'm going to hell." She replied "it took him hours to build up the courage to ask you to dance."

Holy f... I never think of myself in those terms. I think of myself as adequate at best, not some potential heartbreaker. I said "but he looks like my Aunt Lily" and she laughed hard.

I went and asked him to dance. Then I couldn't get rid of him. It was pretty awful. During the slow dances he kept staring at me and I deliberately looked the other way. I could not look him in the eyes.

Yeah, I deserve to have been so uncomfortable. But then came a point when it would have been mean to let him think I had any interest in him. One day someone his own age will.

The crowd was interesting, Donna sat there mesmerized. In our late 50s, we were age appropriate for the disco Dave was singing. Those were our times, when we were young and vital. However, there were also people our parents' age in attendance. Sometimes it was utterly charming and at others disturbing.

One woman reminded me of my Grandmother, who died last year at 96. Something about the way she held her fingers while dancing reminded me of Gram's mannerisms when she was being flirtatious in the dementia ward.

If you could harness the financial force of all the plastic surgeries in that room, you could live the rest of your life in incomparable luxury. Some people had been lifted, sucked and tucked to the point of being skeletal.

Donna said she will never do that, but you wonder. If you had the money - wouldn't you? I'm sure they see themselves as they hope they look. We will probably do the same. Maybe we do that now.

One handsome middle-aged guy had rented two skanks for the night. His arrogance was unsettling. He was taking pictures of them dancing together in mega-cheap dresses and shoes; he danced between them at one point.

One of the skanks had bandaids on her arm and back. You have to wonder what that's all about. How many condoms makes you safe with that?

You especially have to wonder what he was so proud of ... being able to afford to have women demean themselves on his account? Doesn't that say "I don't have the necessary character to have someone be interested in me for who I am."

Ten years ago I would have laughed. Now I think it's disgusting. Maybe because each of those skanks were once some Grandmother's granddaughter. It hits too close to home.

Maybe I'm appalled because I was demeaned in my last relationship. That will never happen again.

Kept watching a gorgeous hunk of a guy ... maybe 45 years old, about 6'2". I thought I saw him watching me. Then he came over and asked why someone as beautiful as me wasn't dancing. He said he wanted to dance with me before I left. Then he said "you don't remember me, do you!" And I didn't.

Then I did ... Leaping Lizards, end of the bar, about nine months ago? I remember thinking at the time "why am I putting up with shit when there are hunks like this floating around!"

I joked that he was much taller than I remembered. Also more handsome, but I didn't say that. I did say he looked wonderful.

He asked if I was still with my boyfriend. I said no.

He said "you're available then?" I said yeah. Basic clothes over his strong frame had an elegance. He is way too hot, way out of my league.

It sounded like he still has my business card.

After paying my bill, I made friends with the woman who had been so honest about the guy who looked like Aunt Lily. There was an immediate bond there; and it would be really cool if she could teach me some of her moves. I said "I'm Micki like Mouse" - she said "I'm Shirley like Temple". Her friend said "I'm Mary" and I said "like the virgin".

They were still laughing when I left.

China's Instant Karma

Nobody is saying it. So I will.

China has been raining down shit on Tibet since what - 57? More recently to an extent where there is global outcry and protest of the olympics ... China's day in the sun, their opportunity to show "how far they've come".

Well, when you've come "that" far you don't rain down shit on ancient, peaceful, spiritually based cultures ... DO YOU? You don't spend decades destroying temples, killing and imprisoning monks and nuns.

DO YOU???!!!

I just find it interesting that the violence has been rained back down on the perpetrators in such a dramatic way. An earthquake, totally shaking things up, killing the innocent of a country that kills innocents.

I am remembering a photo years back of a fire on a hillside in California where the only home that went unscathed was inhabited by a Buddhist. (I tried to find it online, but couldn't. Oh well, the image is permanently affixed to my memory banks.)

And I recall one of my favorite Far Side cartoons, wherein a white bearded God in flowing white robes is sitting at his computer screen looking at some hapless fool ... preparing to click the "smite" key.

The irony here is that every good Buddhist will be praying for the Chinese who are enduring this profound tragedy. Despite what they have done to the world's most compassionate people.

I will pray too.

THIS BAD ECONOMY IS GOOD NEWS FOR US FATASS AMERICANS

Yeah, she even looks like me. Just a lot younger.

This "despair.com" ripoff cracks me up. I'm putting it on my fridge.

Stay with me, there is a theme here. Not that the way I’m living MY life is any indication of how others might be reacting. But I can’t possibly be alone in this …

GAS PRICES

The gas prices are reminding me of Beyond Thunderdome with Mel Gibson … people riding their motorcycles in a world where gas is about as precious as gold.

Personally, I’m less embarrassed about driving a beater now. One of my friends jokingly called my 10 year old Saturn (with less than 70,000 miles!) my “Uranus.” It’s paid for! It gets more than 30 mpg!

Also I read that “frugal” is newly cool. Whodathunk?

But I try not to drive it at night or on weekends. I have been dabbling in alternative transportation … those things I did when I was twelve. I’m riding my bike and WALKING. And it’s fun. And I’m feeling like a kid again.

I don’t hit the couch every night after work, I hit the sidewalks! I had forgotten how many details you miss when you’re behind a steering wheel. When was the last time you rode a bike … took your feet off the pedals and let them just dangle as you happily flew along?

And I notice that every time I ride, I can go a little further. And my ample ass doesn’t hurt so much.

If I had more money and there was less traffic down here, I’d probably buy a Vespa. I foresee certain areas being full of bicycles and Vespas – just like Italy. As Eddie Izzard says in one of his stand-up routines, “cool people on scooters saying CIAO!!”

And if we’re all starting to ride bikes and Vespas and keep the guzzlers parked, that’s good for air quality. That’s good for the earth, for all sentient beings … the critters, the babies, the generations to come.

Of course, during the snowbird months in Florida, there is a word for people who ride scooters and motorcycles; roadkill.

FOOD PRICES

When I need groceries, I grab my fabric food bag and ride my bike to the grocery store. (See a previous post on what plastics are doing to the environment. It will break your heart.)

I don’t take groceries for granted like I used to. I still want to get out of there for less than $30 – which isn’t easy. However - with one fabric bag and a bicycle outside instead of a car - it is essential.

OK, if you have less money to spend on one of life’s essentials, don’t you INVEST that money WISELY? The South Beach Diet has taught many of us the meaning of empty carbs … that sick, lifeless feeling you get from eating garbage. Crap in, crap out. No pun.

Now you can continue to eat white flour and sugars and it’ll just make you more hungry and thirty bucks is NOT gonna cut it. Also you’re going to miss more work and have to see doctors for shi* you did to yourself and die years sooner than you might if you took care of yourself.

Well, maybe you aspire to being a burden to your kids. I don't.

For snacks at work I buy organic carrots in the teensy bags. I don’t buy lunchmeats, I buy hormone & antibiotic free chicken breasts and cook ‘em myself. Put them in South Beach wraps. And then there’s the organic high fiber cereal and pasta. Holy shi*, the box is half the size it was last time I bought it – but the nutrition is solid.

If food is going to be that expensive, I’m going to buy HEALTHY food. I am voting with my wallet. I am investing in my life.

CUTTING COSTS

All it takes is a good pair of scissors. They save me $190 a month.

I save $90 a month by grooming my dogs myself. Yeah, I do a lousy job, but I get a little better every time. I use a comb and scissors and the girls have grown to enjoy it.

A friend at work suggested I use Johnson Baby Shampoo instead of dog shampoo. "No tears!" It costs less, leaves their fur far fluffier and seems more soothing than pet quality shampoos. So far, so good!!

And I save more than $100 a month my doing my own hair. Last night I did highlights with a kit and went nuts with the scissors. It’s shorter, it will frizz nicely in the high humidity and I save major bucks.

I get better at that every time too.

LET'S REVIEW THE RESULTS OF THIS AWFUL ECONOMY:

Gas is so expensive some of us have taken to walking and riding bikes. (Benefits: Less pollutants in the air, improved health/weight loss.)

Groceries are so expensive some of us are eating healthier because we refuse to spend good money on bad food. (Benefits: Less garbage in the pantry, improved health and longer, happier lives.)

APPRECIATION IN GENERAL

Most of us don't take anything for granted any more.

Seems like nobody is whining much about their jobs these days. Well, a little standard griping on Mondays, but not much more than that.

Anyone who has a job is blessed.

Or a roof. Or ....

Bigots, bare feet and dealbreakers.

I met Shelly about 8 months ago. Her husband died a year ago. He was very sick for a very long time and I think the sex died YEARS before he did. She was chompin' at the bit.

She is tall, blonde, sweet and near perfect; she proceeded to lose another 15 lbs. making her maybe 2% of her age group who are that thin and that beautiful.

Still reeling from the shock of turning 60 a few weeks back, she has been dating anyone who will ask.

We were out on a friend's boat - I call him "Good Randy", as opposed to "Bad Randy" - my ex. It was me, Shelly, another girlfriend and a retired cop. At one point he was telling your classic cop stories and bragged about "running all the niggers out of my town - even the big sports stars."

I gasped.

Good Randy turned from the helm and laughed it off. "He's not bigoted at all."

How would Cop react to my plans to vote for Obama? My inner Buddhist said to keep my yap shut.

Shelly's been out with him a few times. Her biggest concern that afternoon was whether his hair was real. Good Randy told her it was a weave. We weren't sure.

Over the past coupla weeks, Shelly continued to date him. And about four others.

Last night, after week two of brain-crushing radio & tv script deadlines, I found it impossible to stay home. I could have had a date but I can't take the pressure. I don't think I'm over my alcoholic yet. The wounds haven't healed. But I won't stay home alone if I'm lonely!

I decided to break my own rule and head out to the Fort Myers Beach bars with Shelly and our peeps.

We met up with our core group ... Good Randy, Bigot Cop, the girlfriend who's married to a gay guy, etc. Met the gay husband for the first time; gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek and he recoiled.

There was another stiff looking couple present ... the man looked detached and had beautiful eyes. I assumed he was the real partner of my friend's husband. The one I had heard about. He could not stand the place or the people. HIS wife was well-dressed and completely miserable.

The men were obvious in their cautious attempts to maintain a discreet distance from each other.

Gay or not, having two sets of mismatched spousal units made everyone uncomfortable and incredibly dull. Yeah, I know - you'd expect exactly the opposite.

Shelly and I wandered off to the other beach bars. She knows them all.

By the third waterfront bar, Shelly gave me an opportunity to express my opinions about indiscriminate dating. She thought it was odd that I won't date unless there is a huge mental connection - or a lot of whining and guilt. (Them, not me.) I would just rather stay home with my dogs.

We agreed that neither of us respect anyone who would fall in love with us quickly. It was so Rodney Dangerfield ... wouldn't want to join any club that would have us as a member. That was our breakthrough moment that transformed us from acquaintances to friends. We shared a deep, dark secret and a big laugh.

Then we started talking about her guys. I asked if she knew the retired cop was a bigot. She hadn't overheard that particular conversation on the boat. I told her about it and she was appalled.

I suggested she analyze those she's dating - her eyes lit up and she asked "make a list?" And I said "yeah, an Excel spreadsheet if you like! These are the core qualities ...

They should be in good health.
They should CARE about their health. (Good Randy has recovered from lung cancer and continues to smoke.)
They should not be whores.
They should make at least as much as us.
They should OWN at least as much as us.
And most important, they should be someone we could see spending the rest of our lives with. Why waste our time???"

She liked it. Besides which, it caused the instant removal of several from her list, lessening her confusion.

The bar was The Cottage. I loved it. You could see the waves coming in, little shimmering threads of white against the darkness. Guitar music and a happy laid back crowd.

I went to the john and brushed my hair. On the way back I was hit on by a very tall good-looking lunatic wearing a shark's tooth wrapped in leather. It was as big as my head.

He reminded me of Dog the Bounty Hunter and had a nickname ... can't remember for sure. Dave something. All long-time locals have nicknames.

His wasn't quite on a par with "Fuckin' George" - who actually has that printed on his business card.

Dave tried to buy me a drink. I said Diet Coke, he said the bartender would throw him out if he asked for that. I said "come sit with me and my girlfriend" and pointed in the general direction of our table. He said he'd be there in a minute.

I enjoy characters. Shelly does too. As fate would have it, he was too drunk to find us. He was tall enough that I could see him looking, but I wasn't intrigued enough to stand up and wave him in.

Shelly and I walked back to our core group at our core bar. Everyone moved around so we could position ourselves (??)

Good Randy has a habit of trying to pimp us out.

Shelly and I sat next to each other and the cop sat across from us.

Good Randy made a joke about my boobs; that far into the beverages, boob jokes happen. I had grabbed his ass earlier when he said something about giving me his seat, so all is fair.

There were maybe eight other acquaintances at the table when the Cop made a sideways remark that I felt was disrespectful of Shelly. I turned to her and whispered "it's bad enough he's a bigot - did you get a load of the socks?"

She sat up lightly to look and plunked back down. "MY GOD!"

His weave was only noticeable if you looked from behind, the "Bigot" thing was bad, but mid-calf white socks - in Shelly's discerning criteria - were the death blow.

She said "HE IS OFF THE LIST!!"

It made me think of a great date I had last weekend. We went to Sanibel, had brilliant conversation, glorious weather and no shortage of shells. (I customized a mirror frame with them - it turned out great.)

I didn't care that he was a few inches shorter than his profile stated. Didn't care that I was a little taller. My waist is far smaller than his. Good 'nuff. I can still feel sort of girly.

The afternoon held no need for me to remove my shorts and reveal my fluffy white ass. I felt our imperfections were fairly equal.

Until I looked down at our bare feet as we sat on our towels chatting.

Mine are bigger than his. Stompers. Gunboats.

Idiocy knows no age restrictions. I will see him again because I enjoy his conversation, but we can never be anything meaningful because of my own insecurities.

Uma Thurman wears a size 10. I wonder how she deals with guys with smaller feet ...

Houseguests; from Grandma Ron to Sumo Thong Cop

(My Granddaughter Emma during a recent visit.)

Nobody warns you when you move down here; expect company. Buy a condo with an extra bedroom – or two.

You sort of expect to be left to yourself. At least I did. Who would like me enough to go to all that effort and expense?

I invited family, not expecting anything. My BF already had a fairly steady stream of guests & hangers-on, but he’s like a 6’ neon sign for “free beer.” It’s a wonder we don’t have a line of out of state plates in the driveway.

Well, let’s take the first week of March. We had the BF’s daughter and her lummox boyfriend “Fat Bastard” for a week at his house in Cape Coral. I told the BF I could go home to South Fort Myers and give them all more space (to drink themselves to oblivion without me giving them the fisheye) but he wanted me around.

There were only a few instances of them getting so hammered they didn’t know where – or who - they were. Nothing major.

Fat Bastard managed to get my laptop gunked with spyware, but I took care of it without bitching.

Around the same time my antique dealer RN friend Patty came down. OK, she is peripheral at present … hanging loosely to the edges of my life here, knowing I have a job and guard my energy levels tenaciously. (That’s life with Lyme Disease … energy is like money – you don’t spend what you don’t have or you will be SORRY.)

Last Saturday and Sunday I was her tour guide. By Monday I was floofed out from exhaustion.

So naturally, that’s when Ron came to visit the BF. I hadn’t seen him in a year. He’s only 55, but he’s acting like an Octogenarian.

He was there in my chair when I got home Monday night still exhausted from a weekend with Patty. Yeah, the BF’s home, but MY place in the BF’s home. The beige La-Z-Boy where I fall asleep in front of the TV every worknight at 8.

He has lost weight. He’s nearly 6’ – a gangly hawk-like creature with sharp elbows and a shocking white brushcut. (Probably uses the same clippers on himself as he uses on his dog – he’s beyond cheap.)

Abe Lincoln must have looked like this except for the hair. Lithuanian and fairly cranky, Ron looks like someone who should be strip-searched in airports.

The BF has warned me he’s "all about" his surgeries now.

Yesterday they called me from the boat … I told the BF to tell “Grandma” hi and Ron told me to eff off.

Last night I told the BF we should invite Patty to dinner with Ron because they have similar ailments. Ron was suspected to have Reynaud's syndrome when specialists determined he has scleroderma … that condition that tightens all organs, including skin. Looks good on the outside (at least it did in my friend’s mom when I was a kid) but it strangles internal organs and can eventually kill you.

Ron told me about his diagnosis a few years back in strictest confidence. Then went around telling everyone else he knew in strictest confidence. That sort of steal's a secret's thunder.

Ron is a drama queen. (No, he’s straight … just a whining attention hound.)

Patte has something called Schogren's (in my head I call it Shogun and picture her with an ancient warrior helmet and swords) that affects her joints like lupus. I love her, but she has started talking about it all the time.

These people AREN'T EVEN 55 YET!!!

So last night I’m taking my bitches outside for their next to the last pee of the night and I “catch” Ron leaning over the BF's hot tub swinging his arm round like a blind ape feeling the ground for rotting fruit.

He was posing - his look of “surprise” wasn’t … well, convincing. It was obvious he wanted someone to "catch" him doing his exercises so he could blather on ad nauseam about the failed surgery to his rotator cuff.

He talked about range of motion … demonstrated how he could not pat himself on the back. I can see how that might be a problem except now that he’s retired he has no life to brag about.

He blathered as I was out on the lanai slowly backing towards the door … he followed me out to the garage as I did laundry. It was hell.

Maybe these friends have too much time on their hands. Patty has an antique shop that's pretty much a life-eating hobby that keeps her busy while her doctor husband works his ass off.

And Ron retired last year from Chrysler. He's threatening to dump his girlfriend because she looks at him sitting in his chair and suggests he get out and (gasp) take a WALK. I didn't realize an effed up rotator cuff could affect your ability to take a stroll.

Guess who else is arriving at the BF’s this week? OK, Friday probably. Our thong wearing sumo cop buddy. Picture beautiful blonde curly hair and sumo physique with cop attitude IN A THONG. When he's in Florida he struts around shameless as a German tourist.

He ALSO had failed rotator cuff surgery. I asked Ron if it has affected Sumo's range of motion when it comes to getting donuts to his mouth.

My mom wrote yesterday.

They are driving all the way down from Michigan’s UP next week. This makes me wonder if my step-dad is dying. It is absolutely the last behavior I would have EVER expected from them.

She hates Florida.

Apparently my son bragged up my digs and the area when he, my precious DIL and granddaughters came last month. (Photo in this blog was taken the night we went to Pinchers in Estero and walked the beach after sunset.)

They had a fine time. I was so tired it took two weeks to get back to abnormal.

So now come the folks. Suddenly I am 12 again. Is the room clean, the porn neatly squirreled away? She’s too short to reach the top of my fridge to check for dust without a stepladder.

My friend … oh, I’ll call him Allan because he’s afraid someone he knows will read this … Allan has his folks in town.

We commiserated. He frightened me.

This is what he wrote …“Usually they just hover close by and smile in silence. And I can't get them to say what they would like to do or where to eat. It's not like they haven't been here before. And I sent a ton of info to them 2 weeks before they got here. All they had to do was pick something and go to it. God forbid they should take a cab or go online and see if the Lee Tran or someone else has a service for seniors. I've even mentioned the neighbors across the street are nice several times and indicated they should go over and say hi and maybe ask them to lunch. Here. Out. It doesn't matter. I mentioned walking to Syl's. Too expensive. I mentioned the MacGregor Cafe. Too far to walk at .6 miles. Pa mentioned not being able to sleep the last couple nights. I asked what time he got up. 11:30 am. Gee, could that be why you're not tired at 9pm? As long as he eats breakfast when he gets up, has lunch at noon and dinner between 5 and 6 he's calm. They're just too polite. Wish they'd relax so I could. have a good day. stop inviting people down.”

I forgot to ask if they were Canadians. (That would explain the “polite” thing.) We wrote back a few more times and he really let loose.

“Everyone tells me you'll miss them when they're gone. Maybe, but for now, like today, he got up at 11:00am, had cereal, ran in the bathroom and left toothpaste all over the sink and wall, a pool of water on the floor, and my walls and ceiling dripping like Carlsbad Caverns. Ma is worried as he'll wonder how we'll get lunch in with a 1PM doc visit for her, and then off to a movie. Um, we're not? He just ate breakfast for christ's sake! He can get a $4 hot dog at the show and bitch about that. And I'm not sitting next to him this year either. Last year he was up six times like a 3 year old. ARghhhh.”

Stay tuned.

I’m looking at the calendar … Sumo Thong Cop arrives Friday, Shogun Patty leaves early Saturday morning, and Grandma Ron … there’s no telling how long he’ll stay.

Pray for me, I'm on the cusp o' cranky.

Intuition, Recurring Dreams & Warnings from Mom

Yesterday was spiritually weird.

I have a recurring dream about falling into a canal. Not a river, not a canal like between houses ... more like the channel I physically found myself boating ON yesterday. Residences in the distance, utter wilds with mangroves on the other side.

Deepish water with tides and currents.

The BF wanted to go out fishing and there was quite a chop on the river. Get out to the bigger water and you're talking true danger, especially if he starts drinking.

The life jackets and cushions are in the v-berth, just a few feet away; but in boater-world, life jackets are for pussies.

I said I didn't want to go beyond the river and he got pissed off, said he'd take me home. I said "ok." (Yeah, take me back!)

I had a really bad vibe. And I told him so, let him think I'm a freak. He complains, but I think he respects my intuition.

So we take off up this channel. It was pretty gorgeous, but these dreams. This "new" channel is like the one I keep seeing in my dreams.

In the first one I am "dropped" into the water and I keep falling into the deep green seaweed and I am afraid for my life because of sharks.

In the second one, I don't remember the details - I'm not as afraid.

And in the third one (last week) I find myself in it with a lot of vegetation floating on the surface. I dive below and it's clear and light and beautiful. The water is pale blue and warm and the vegetation floats above like clouds. It's heavenly.

I think it feels like death.

And I rise to the surface and see a woman, also in the water. Her mouth is wide open with terror. I tell her "dive - don't be afraid. It's beautiful."

Anyway, the dream has me a little freaked. I wonder if my Gram is warning me from the other side. Or inviting me.

I told the BF I'm not afraid of death but I don't want to go right now.

The day turned out terrific, didn't really catch any fish but a school of Redfish (?) flashed under the boat like flying saucers; they were sideways as they passed in the current, their bellies flashing silver - and next came a huge blue-gray dolphin after them. He slowly rose to the surface and blew. I was just in awe. It was one of those priceless moments. And there were more dolphins as the day passed.

When we got back to the house I called my mom who lives in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. They've got deep snow, eagles, wolves and the occasional black bear. (Their biggest REAL dangers are in their pantry - her homemade pies and cakes are to die for.)

She worries about me.

I got a lecture on snakes. Am I careful where I walk? I stay on the sidewalk mom. I'm talking to the woman who has snakes in the cash register in her antique shop. They hang out with the electrical wires because they're warm. (I'm not making this up.)

Well, what about the spiders. She must have some unique satellite station up there on the dangers of SW Florida. Told me to check my shoes before putting them on and I said "they're thongs - if there's anything in 'em, I'll see it."

Thongs are an alien concept up in Yooperland. I remember her once mumbling something about "we never see peoples' feet here."

Whereas I am living my dream life ... except for the occasional Reebocks, I don't go a day without sandals.

The Pursuit of Happiness

I remember a long time ago ... I was very unhappy with my second husband. (Don't judge me - I have been a serial marrier:-)

And I went to see a shrink and he asked me "what makes you happy?" I couldn't think of ANYTHING. Fortunately, I had some wisdom at that time. I didn't blame my lack of happiness (there is a difference, I think, between unhappiness and lack of it) on my now ex. But the situation did become unbearable over time.

Fast forward 16 years.

In Buddhism we seek inner peace, not happiness. Happiness is fleeting, it always has the seed of discontent.

Yesterday was a stellar example of the principle. It was an incredible day here in SW Florida. The BF wanted to take the boat out and try our hand at fishing. Joking that we wouldn't know what we caught if we caught it, I rushed out and bought a license. I hoped he would forsake the beer cooler since it wasn't even noon yet; but I was naive.

He barked at me that I had taken too long getting my license. I left him last winter because the emotional abuse was overwhelming ... but now, with my own condo, my own car and my own job - he is not the main course in this meal of life. He is only dessert when I choose to hang out.

I considered telling him to go alone but he caught himself. When you know what they're doing, when you learn about the abusive relationship, the awareness makes it all a little less painful. Knowledge is power. (Read "The Emotionally Abusive Relationship" if you're in a relationship like this. It talks about the dynamic that brings people like us together ... we are moths to a flame drawn to others with flawed childhoods.)

Back to the day. In our two most recent boating escapades he damaged the boat. One day we will not be so lucky. You would think with the time consuming and sometimes expensive repairs he has had to make in the past month or two, he would realize maybe the problem is more him than the boat.

So I am very careful about going out with him.

Yesterday was incredibly beautiful. He had an idea about where to go in the Caloosahatchee River (which feeds out into the Gulf of Mexico) and we anchored across from the Yacht Club in Cape Coral. The tide was coming in and boats were passing. The sun was warm and I put my feet out over the back where they would be splashed; and enjoyed myself.

We started catching Sea Trout. They were beautiful, I was not prepared for that - the colors, the eyes. The BF told me to feel one and it was like satin, you could feel no scales. He said they have natural "bling" and we laughed. We released them - I think there were 12 in all. There was something big down there - several of our lures were chopped right off. They're heavy duty plastic. He said "whatever that was, we wouldn't have wanted it in the boat anyway."

We listened to CCR, Hendrix and Queen. It was idyllic. The BF was going easy with the beers, drinking very slowly. And I remember thinking "I'm happy" ... but feeling anxious about it. And I remembered the Buddhist concept of happiness having the potential for discontent.

So I just tried to shove the discontent out of my mind. When the fish stopped biting, we trolled into the Bimini Basin and I caught one more trout.

It was fun. But I was getting overheated and sunburned - I wanted to go home. The BF trolled us back to the house. That's around the time I realized that even with a minimum of beer, he was drunk.

We got into the house and he started slamming things, repeating himself every two minutes and talking loudly over the movie I wanted to watch. He wanted me to go get burgers. I had been drinking beer too - I said no. I said I would get us pizza if he wanted.

Nothing I said was right, no suggestion to his liking. So I finally ordered from Sal's online. It cost $35 I really didn't want to spend. I am so careful with money these days.

He ate, sobering some, but taking great care to complain every five minutes. He looked across at me and accused me of not "reading" (he reads two books a week - fiction). I said I do read, only it's the real stuff - NONfiction.

In his brain I had somehow slipped off into the "inadequate" zone. Is there anything more exhilarating than slamming the person who puts up with you? I work 45 hours a week while he relaxes all winter.

Drunks should have some little "crown" that appears so the world can acknowledge their brilliance and absolute control. I asked him if he realized he was being a bitch and he glared. When he started snoring, I went to bed.

I dreamed I was in my Grandma's blue living room again. I keep having that dream since she passed. I think she's pulling me in there with her. She loved that house. I grew up there. Also yesterday one of the dogs' squeeze toys made a very subtle moan. I always like it when Gram visits. I guess she follows me, even at the BF's place.

When I awakened, I pulled Bodhi (the little black and white Shih Tzu in my photos) up on me before getting out of bed and gave her many scratches about the head and chin. Then I realized that the rare times when happiness DOES appear without the seed of discontent it is in the presence of animals. A dog on the lap, curled asleep ... a cat's gentle pur. They are the only source of unconditional love; and so deserving of it themselves.

Interactions with humans take so much work.

Anyway. The BF wants to go to Picnic Island today. I have no idea what mood he's going to be in when he gets up. Picnic has disaster written all over it. Other friends are going to Sanibel today by boat and the husband loves to drink with the BF. That's who he should go with.

I'd prefer to hang out with my dogs and get shit done. That's what will give me peace.

The Boozer and the Buddhist

Cape Coral, 9 a.m. It's a little cool ... pulled some shorts under my t-shirt and had a glass of fresh orange juice out by the canal. Princess my Lhasa/? joined me. The water is clear today, out to about 8 feet. No big fishies, only a few minnows.

It's overcast. Very peaceful, only the sound of distant Harleys.

The BF is up, in his robe, attempting to be as charming as is humanly possible with a raging hangover. He even made the coffee.

I texted him from work yesterday at 4. He was at the bar with the neighbor already ... he has been trying to drink far less since we got back together. Operative word being "was". Friday night is my big night after a tough week. Most weekdays I'm asleep by 8 or 9. He's only in town til spring. We only have so much time.

He called at 8 from the Monkey Bar saying I should come out and meet up with the others. He was already slurring. Let them babysit, I stayed home and watched the rest of Season 1 of the Tudors on demand. I was tempted to go back to my place in Fort Myers, back where it's peaceful and I know what to expect.

But he has all the channels.

He came in about 11:30 so hammered he could hardly walk. He said they "abandoned" him in the middle of Cape Coral. His back is bad, he was truly having trouble walking. He was also having trouble talking, repeating himself every two minutes. I have to stay up when he's like that or I'm afraid he'll sit on one of the dogs. Sounds funny. It's so NOT. He gets scary drunk. At one point I couldn't find him in the house and he was standing outside in the darkness, looking dangerous, like he was plotting something. His temper shifts on a dime when he's like that.

He came in and said "they" (the neighbors ... the emotionally abusive alcoholic guy with the beautiful submissive Russian girlfriend) want to go out on the water so she can use her new kayak. He said "they'll take their boat and we'll take ours and we'll take the kayaks to Picnic Island."

We've gone out on the boat exactly twice since we got back together around Christmas. The first time we went to Pincher's on the river in North Fort Myers - actually had a ball, one of those rare instances where I let loose with the margaritas. We left after sunset, were headed out on the river and hit a channel mark post HARD. Enough to do pretty significant damage to the boat.

Of course he didn't see how bad it was until morning.

The next time we went to Fort Myers Beach by boat to meet up with above-referenced Emotionally Abusive Alcoholic and Submissive Russian who is living in hell. When you're not a boozer, events like that are as boring as reading a phone book. The sun was starting to set. It takes 45 minutes to get home from that part of Estero to Cape Coral and it was getting cold. The BF was drunk. I said "we need to leave." I said it three times before I grabbed my stuff, held it over my head and waded out. He finally came.

Waves started to increase in size a bit. He was hammered. His biker buddy Dennis was with us. I like Dennis. He tells stuff like it is. Dennis was drunk too. It's an awful feeling to be at the mercy of drunks. We were in the wake of a big boat and a large wave rolled in at us - we hit it hard, knocking me AND my seat towards the BF as he drove. The force of the impact ripped the bolted seat right off the floor. Dennis caught me and the chair before we could injure the BF.

The BF said "wo - where'd THAT come from?" Well if you weren't so drunk you would have SEEN it.

Then it got dark and he couldn't find our canal. We were dragging bottom. There are rocks there and I always worry about what PREDATORS are in there. Christmas lights had already been taken down and a lot of houses were dark. We find our canal based on the features of the various houses. The spirits (some people call them angels ... I call loved ones who have passed spirits) must have been with me in the darkness.

He was drunk, confused and a little afraid of ruining the boat. For once he listened to me and I (we) got us back.

I expected a giant bruise and hip pain the next day ... but it wasn't bad.

When the BF inspected the damage ... which is becoming a morning-after tradition ... he said "Dennis broke the seat." So I straightened him out on that and he didn't appreciate it. (I thought "Just because you have a blackout doesn't mean life didn't go on with your worst persona behind the wheel.")

I say it like it is now, then I walk away and let him stew on it. I don't waste my breath while he's drunk. I've learned that much.

So we are two for two in having trouble with the boating. I told him before I broke up last time I was never going out on the boat with him again, he turns into ... God, I can't even describe the transformation. It's dangerous. Not him so much as the way he drives the boat. He used to be a master, now he can't be trusted. I told a friend "if I die in an accident, it will be on the water."

So this morning I woke up with two dreams.

In one were were at some party town on the water. And the next thing I know, people are swimming IN the water, playing games as darkness sets. And I am (it's a dream, remember) in bed 30 ' below and I see a 20' shark swimming at them. And I'm wondering why I'm not floating upwards and thinking I should probably try to get UNDER the bed before the shark sees me.

I'd say based on that dream it's not a good idea to go out with them to Picnic Island today. I have insisted I will not go if the beer goes, but the beer is always first when it comes to boating.

My other dream was cool. I was reading John Edwards book on communing with the dead yesterday and he talked about his aunt sending him signs as she was dying ... first she's at the airport, then she's boarding the plane, then ...

I dreamed I was on a plane with the BF and a woman who looked just like my Gram walked down the aisle. I poked him and said "LOOK!" He said "what?" I said "that woman looks just like my Gram!!" The woman was very calm. She looked at me and smiled. (My Gram died of dementia, she was anything but calm. Other dreams since her death have explained much ... we can finally communicate again.)

If I had known it was a dream, I would have known it was her hanging out, saying hi. That's always such a comfort. She doesn't move pictures or shake the bed at the BF's house:-)

I want to make a comment about alcoholism. I've been to Alanon meetings, I dislike that they assess blame to the partner. I have nothing to do with the BF's alcoholism. I don't need to feel emotionally abused, seek refuge in Alanon and have them pack the bags for a guilt trip based on my "enabling." Bite me - I do not enable. I endure the situation until I can't endure no more.

Alanon is a good wake up call. Go to see how people live when they love alcoholics. At one such meeting an alcoholic who had been told to attend a meeting put her hand on my shoulder and said "Know that Alcholics are usually attracted people who are kind and caring."

If you go, please remember that the concept of "codependence" has been considered dangerous and destructive by some therapists. (See "The Emotionally Abusive Relationship" ... can't remember the author's name.)

Overall I prefer the Buddhist approach of seeing the situation clearly for what it is and having arranged my life so that I can leave when his problem gets unbearable. One day I may never come back. Maybe one of us will die or meet someone else.

It would be so much better to be in a relationship where I didn't need an escape route, but this is the hand life has dealt me. As long as the companionship and laughs exceed the stress and tears, I'll hang around.

Boomers and Bankruptcy

Yesterday it occurred to me that my generation has seen it all. Sure, there are some who have managed to live in a vacuum, but most of us have been there, done - or watched that.

There was a radio commercial on the other morning. I write radio commercials now, so I pay extra close attention. It was for a jewelry shop. And they said "If you give her a pearl necklace, maybe she'll give you one."

I was absolutely HORKED that a jewelry store would sink THAT low to get attention. I wonder if the twenty somethings find it shocking or even interesting; to me, it was cheap and ... wow, yeah, maybe a little offensive. I'm a Grandma - but I'm not the traditional Gram. I've dated everything from wise guys to Greek Orthodox priests. I hang out in biker bars because I can't handle pretense or BULLSHI*.

My mind is so open it's nearly impossible to offend or shock me.

But this commercial did. I guess if it were for an adult toy store, it wouldn't bug me; but I expect better of the folks who sell gold and diamonds.

I guess that's what led me to thinking that our generation is the only one that has seen it all. (Our parents' generation had more grace, integrity and class.)

Good luck trying to shock us. Like the interview Diane Sawyer conducted with Grace Slick some years back. Grace said being who she is made it nearly impossible for her daughter to shock her. But she did - by being mega-straight and buttoned up:-)

It was a hilalrious interview. Diane Sawyer asked "what's the strangest thing about being 60" and Grace said "nobody wants to *uck me any more." I was about on the floor.

Which brings me to age and appearances.

I'm organizer of a few meetup groups and I'll call this one member Karen. We did not hit it off. We sort of gave each other a once over and could sense some tension. Two strong, opinionated females.

She's a beautiful blonde - tall, mid-30s, smart, married - an attorney. I was impressed. She was everything I wasn't. At that time I had just landed here after losing everything to my long battle with Lyme Disease. I was alone, older, unemployed and afraid - living on Bran Chex and apples - selling websites to survive.

I think my bankruptcy was finalized around the time we met. I was ashamed, embarrassed ... but yeah, relieved.

This was a writers meetup and our personal lives come out in the writings. A new member came in and made a comment about "people who file for bankruptcy are losers who bring it on themselves" - and Karen went nuclear. Not immediately, but in our next meeting. She wrote a piece that tore the woman apart limb by limb.

Turns out Karen had just set off in the bankruptcy boat. Her causes were optimism and business deals ... and it was much worse than I thought. We compared notes on selling our jewelry. I told her about taking my prize diamond and putting it on my little granddaughters finger (thinking "too bad about your luck") before shipping it off to an ecstatic eBay buyer.

But I have come out the other side. I am finally at the point where I can take advantage of the lease option offered by my landlord and lock in a land contract. I asked Karen if she would be my attorney, maybe we could trade. I'd do a website for her. And I apologized for being that broke. And she understood because she is just as broke.

She said I give her hope that she can come out the other side.

I told her we're the leading edge of the people who have fallen. As we get back on our feet, there are opportunities to take the burdens off others. This condo is a financial dead weight on my landlord and he made me a deal I would be nuts to refuse. We both believe God brought us together - I was desperate for a place to live and he was desperate for a tenant who would actually pay as promised.

Sure, the condo may blow away in the next hurricane; but the whole thing is little more than I'd be paying for rent. And I love it. It has a wonderful vibe.

Having been one of the first to "go down" in this economy, all I can say is that others are falling like dominoes and opportunities to land on your feet - or even better off than you were in the first place DO exist.

My condo is not my beautiful riverfront Victorian in Michigan; but it costs far less and is smack dab in the middle of a tropical paradise. It's within 5 miles of two of the best beaches in Florida.

My new job pays less than half of what I made at the time my illness struck, but I am now basically without debt. Math-wise, I'm better off where I am today.

I love the people I work with and never dreamed I would have such an exciting job ... at this age. At any age. This week I got an office - walls, a door and everything. I haven't had better than a cubicle in 15 years.

I asked what color I could paint it and the boss said "anything you want." (It will look like an opium den by the time I'd done:-)

I am truly blessed. I appreciate everything and everyone in my life.

Some mornings I get down on hands and knees with my forehead on the floor and thank God.

I'm sure Karen's experience will be very much the same.

I receive my first guests!!

My son Shawn, DIL and granddaughters came down for the first time last weekend. I hadn't seen them since that traumatic day in May '07 when I pulled away alone in a 17' Uhaul. They thought I was going to my new job. They didn't realize I'd just received a call from my prospective employer that the job opportunity had dissolved. I will not name the company as they continue to struggle to survive - while I have managed to land the job of my dreams.

Another case of thanking God for prayers unanswered. There were months of incredible struggle, but in hindsight, it was worth it.

Anyway, I was back with family under HAPPY circumstances!!!

When they landed I took them to the condo to unload (and get familiar with the environs) - then to Parrot Key to hear the Yard Dogs play Florida swamp music:-) - the girls were mesmerized and dinner was excellent.

The next morning we hit Sanibel and Captiva. Shawn has always spoiled the girls, thinking they need Disneyworld or some big theme park to be happy. All that changed when 2 year old Ella sat in the sand with her bucket and pail - JOYOUSLY playing as children have for centuries. It's an image that will live forever in our memories.

We drove along Fort Myers Beach the second day and had dinner at the Holiday Inn with the Pinchers Restaurant in Estero. I told Shawn I moved here for Pinchers' buffalo shrimp. It is HEAVEN. That might have been our best time. It's a long way from the tiki bar to the water and the sand is soft as baby powder. Emma raced; Ella took our pinkies and giggled as we swung her with every third step.

Shawn and I drank on my lanai after everyone else was tucked in bed upstairs. It was pretty cool outside. I wrapped up like a Navajo and we caught up by the light of many candles.

Monday we fished off the BF's dock in Cape Coral and spent time at the beach & pier at the Yacht Club. I dropped them off at the airport around 7 and I think they were far less tired than they would have been under other circumstances.

The next time they come, they will know what their (my) Florida home looks and feels like; they will have favorite places in mind and things will be more relaxed. They're already looking at flights so they can come back.

He's calling more now that he's been down for a visit. ?? I have always encouraged him to take his family north (Michigan's UP) to see my folks cuz Grandpa is getting up in years. That was especially part of the plan those three years when I was so sick. I wasn't much to visit - just depressing to be around.

Over the past five years I think I accidentally put myself at the bottom of his list.

I'm exhausted from the visit - the preparation and the tour guiding. I bought a king-sized bed for the master bedroom, which meant transforming my giant closet with unpacked boxes into an inviting place to sleep. I also have an antique bed in there - smaller than a twin - but the girls didn't sleep on it; the suitcases did.

This weekend I'm back to resting and healing from the workweek. The Lyme Disease still kicks in when temps dip, but up north I would be nearly crippled from it.

I'm getting my fishing license today and the BF is taking me out on the boat. We swear we will catch something eventually.

Of course, we will have no clue what it is.

And tonight we're going to bike night. His house is in Cape Coral, so we'll walk. I want to charge the batteries for my camera. Last time he said he saw a woman in a thong and leather chaps.

She was in her 70s.