Forgiveness

How about a cup of truth and maybe an ounce of forgiveness?

Invisible Man wrote me a long, nice, explanatory email, hoping I will still be his friend. On one hand, I feel like a cad. But on the other hand, I'm very cautious.

It's tough. When do you know when to forgive? And if you forgive, can you forget?

I forgave Cactus Man overandoverandoverandoverandover. UNTIL, I realized it was just a game with him.

But like T. says, "I.M. isn't Cactus Man."

That's a tough, one too. To let go. I guess I still have relationship-P.T.S.D left over from Cactus Man. Sigh.

Comittment Phobic Men and Drama Kings--Run Away, Women!

I'm noticing that the Invisible Man really is milking this "Depression" issue. He got canned from his job this fall, too. But as my friend, JJ, noted, "Didn't he ALREADY know when he took the job that they'd can him in the fall? If so, why's he making such a big deal?"

It's because he's a Drama King (in addition to a commitment phobe and playing the "I've got depression, so NOTHING is my fault" card).

A DRAMA KING.

I never knew, until I met the Invisible Man, that there was such a thing as a Drama King. Here's the warning signs if you have a Drama King in your life.

How to Spot a Drama King:

1. Every single story turns into a near-calamity, with impending death, just a breath away. And no humor is used (though you might think that it's funny). The Drama King thinks whatever story he's spinning is heart-attack-serious. He wants every drop of your attention. And you should answer him with remarks such as "No way. You POOR thing." Or "Gosh, life is just so unfair to you. Let me make you an omelet." Just going to the grocery becomes a near-death event to a Drama King. "OMG! I almost got killed in the parking lot at the grocery store. This cat ran out in front of me, and I had to dodge an empty shopping cart and put on the brakes. I almost died. OMG!" Warning: do not laugh at the Drama King's serious story or you will have to endure a "Hissy Fit." See #3

2. Topper Syndrome: Anything you have to say is a moot point because the Drama King has had it, far, far, far worse than you. He MUST top every one of your stories, and preferably, he'll just interrupt your story with his anyway. After all, his story is MUCH more important (Dramatic) than yours.
Example:
You: Man, I'm not feeling good. I have a 104 degree temperature. I think I'll call the doc."
Drama King: Sick?! You want to talk about sick? I drove from Custer all the way to Deadwood in the pouring rain on my motorcycle. I got so cold I started violently shaking, shaking so badly the manager came to my room, asking if I was OK. My temperature was 116, and then . . ."

3. Hissy Fit: If you do not show enough empathy for him while he's in the middle of a Drama Tale, he will throw a hissy fit.

Ex. You: So you didn't really have a near-death experience in the parking lot. A cat just ran out in front of you, right?
Drama King: OMG. You never listen to a thing I say. I tell you I almost DIED. I ALMOST DIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Who's Sorry Now? I am.

Well, the Invisible Man is claiming Major Depression these days. And I'm sorry I've ever met this guy. He's going to try some new meds. He's really into the "Poor Me" song and dance. Depression defines him, the way a normal person's new Sunday suit defines them. He wears it with happiness (kind of odd since he's allegedly got depression). And he's giving the illness a bad name.

If you're clinically depressed, does that mean you treat people like assholes? Oh, yes, I guess it does! Cactus Man had depression, too. But Cactus Man was naturally an asshole. Just an asshole. He never blamed his depression as the cause of being an asshole. He was proud to be one.

But Invisible Man has taken that up 4 notches. Apparently, you can be "depressed" and be not only an asshole, but an obnoxious asshole who's self-absorbed.

Now, in all my fantastically NOT boring dating experiences, I've never met anyone who was THIS "self-absorbed." Let me you give some of the highlights.

How to be a Self-absorbed Asshole:

1. Always Pull "The Poor Me Gag--"Frame anything anyone tells you that might be critical with "But you can't understand what I'm going through." Use this line whenever you want free reign over being in touch with your inner-asshole.

2. Only talk about yourself-- Who cares if your friends are having any issues or a hard time, right? After all, aren't you the most fascinating person you've ever known? If given hell about this, pull #1 (re-read above).

3. Break Promises-- Remember to only keep your word for YOURSELF. That's the important thing. Don't let pointless things like say "other people's feelings/needs" stand in your way. It really is ALL about you. So make promises like, "Sure, I'll help you put on that garage door," and then just never show up. If pressed, use tactic #1 or #2 or a combo.

4. Get Indignant When Someone Tries to Hold You Responsible--say things in your email like, "You'll get no where with me if you have that kind of tone. You should know this by now." Revel in your indignancy. Remember your mantra: "It's all about me."

Practice these 4 simple rules and you too, can be a Depressive Indignant Asshole.

Disclaimer: This isn't to say all/any people with Depression are assholes, just one's who were probably already assholes anyway, illness or not.

Camp Tales: XIIII Welcome To Hillbilly Land

Did you know you could inadvertantly "Day Camp" in Hillbilly Land?

So What's Hillbilly Land?

The "Wait, Wait, Don't Shoot me" Camp Tale was an example set in Nebraska.

But the arresting thing, is that Hillbilly Land can be anywhere, unbeknownst to you. SO YOU TOO could be living in Hillbilly Land and not even know it.

Even in the Black Hills--boo!

Let me go back a few years to when I first moved here with my ex.

Back when we moved here, all we knew was that the Black Hills, part of the northern mountains of the Rockies, was BEAUTIFUL. Yet, we didn't know anyone here, but you have to start somewhere when it comes to making new friends, so what do you do? You get to know your neighbors in your triplex, right? Note: these were the first "locals" we met.

You ask them to go on a "Day Camp" with you to Steamboat Mountain park for a cook out. But here's the hitch.

1. You don't know them at all.
2. You don't really know the area you're living in because you just moved here. Maybe you're orginally from a much more cosmopolitan area. And you're shy, a touch embarrassed.

Signs You're Now Living in Hillbilly Land:

1. Dirty, strange, baseball caps on all men, and most women with the bill gently curved into a half arc. Caps are worn on all days, even overcast, and caps are worn indoors. The caps have logos and mottos like "NASCAR," "Broncos," "Dekalb: Feed-n-Seed," "Cabellas," or "I think the Teaparty is Neat!"
2. Weirdly dirty fingernails on people who haven't begun to start camping.
3. Alarmingly old jeans (Wranglers or 80's stone washed, Mom-Jeans that come up to the neck, white velcro closure tennis shoes.


It went like this.

"So we'd like to know if you'd like to go picnic with us."

"OK."

"Yeah, just bring something you'd like to eat."

(barely discernible grunt)

So we met them at the agreed-upon remote spot.

"Here," said the neighbor's boyfriend, thrusting me a bag of fried pork rinds that were already opened. I have never seen a bag of pork rinds before, (have you?). FYI: they look like are bloated potato chips with a brown skid mark going down the middle (I don't want to know what the brown mark is).

"Wow, cool," I say and hand the bag to my boyfriend. "Do you want to get the coals going?" I ask our new neighbor. Everyone knows how to start a BBQ, right?

He brought a bag of charcoal and poured about half of a twenty pound bag into the tiny camp grate. He tried match after match. "I cain't get it goin' 'cause it's windy." My boyfriend's face twitches, but he says nothing.

Then a more alarming thing happens. The neighbor goes to his car and gets a can of either gasoline or kerosene (at this point, what does it matter?)

Woosh, goes the flame. Not only do his cuffs of his shirt get singed, but so do his eyebrows, which apparently he finds rather amusing.

OK, you can imagine how the burgers turned out. My BF, dumped his in the trash when no one was looking.

Then came the next part.

"Hey, I brought some dip I made," I said, pushing the pork rinds aside. "It'll be good with these potato chips," I added. Because, who in their right mind eats hog skid marks?

Then, they proceeded to "double dip." Double dipping is to dip your chip into the dip, slobber and eat half of it, then stick the dirty, saliva-covered chip, back into the dip.

Need I say we cut the "Day camp" with the NEW NEIGHBORS short and got a pizza on the way home?

There's more. But it's too disgusting to share. So know this. It ain't over til the fat lady sings, and just when you think you've seen a REAL hillbilly, you can always suprise your
self.

Painting Time

Momma's Little Baby Helps Momma Paint

Sunday, Bennie and I decided to paint the exterior basement window wells. Every fall I do some cleaning and prepping so that during the semester, I don't have to work as hard. And I've been down lately, so I've been trying to keep busy. I also had Bennie fixed last Wednesday, so he's been mopey and sad. So I let him go out on his leash near me. I say "near" because Bennie's very protective around me. In fact, he got mad at me while my parents were here. It was about 100 degrees out, and Mom and I wanted to drink wine in the cool side yard.

"Stay with Bennie, Dad. Just pet him and keep him company while you watch TV." Only Dad's not an animal person and ignored Bennie, who unbeknownst to Dad was saying, "I've got to take a dumper, Grampa. I need to go outside," and then shit on the floor, creating an interesting mosiac design in the kitchen as I stepped in it.

So anyway, there I am Sunday painting. "Bennie, stay there. Sit." And he sits and watches me paint for awhile. An hour later, as I'm sweating in the heat and applying the second coat of paint, he gets bored.

"What'cha doin' Momblee?" he asks.

"Stay. Sit. Sit and stay," I warn him. But as I start to get up off the ground and stretch my legs, Bennie divebombs the paint can with his side, coating himself with about a cup of white exterior latex paint.

"Sonovabitchcrapshitstain, are you freaking serious Bennie?"

"What Momblee?" he says innocent as a lamb. "I just playin'."

"Sonofabitchcrapshitterstain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I exclaim and do my "not happy" dance then spend twice as long washing Bennie's paint off him than I did painting.

A 3 year old Bichon is no different than a kid. I swear.

The Invisible Man

How does one Become an Invisible Man?

Get really close to a woman. Get to REALLY, REALLY know her. Don't jump into the sack with her. Shower her with genuine kindness. Make her laugh her head off. Talk hours on the phone. Talk even more hours in person, laying under the night clouds and holding hands. Be one of those "rare guys" that everyone admires. Keep no secrets and share your inner thoughts. Tell her that jumping into the sack clouds your judgement and you want to start off as "friends first" because you "really like" her and moreover, you respect her. Then, once you get really, really close and meet both sets of parents and things are going GREAT, then start to freak out. Pull back, shut your phone off and just freak out. Better still, freak out in the dark while the phone is ringing and you know it's her. Whatever you do, don't pick up that phone and call her. Distance from her is exactly what you need so you do not risk getting hurt.

I've been thinking about how I could make an angle out of it that's funny. Got any ideas?

Getting Hurt
I have my Ph.D in this from Cactus Man University. But have you ever been so UPTIGHT about the fear of getting hurt that it's limited (crippled) you? Doesn't everyone have this degree? Most people have at least an associate's degree. Unfortunately, I got a doctorate and graduated Magna Cum Laude from it.

The shitty thing about really getting to know someone, really spending time with him (like I've been doing this summer), is that the crummy stuff starts rearing its head and you have to decide if you can take the heat. And if you can take the heat, then can he?

I wish it could go like this on the first date.

"Carefully read all of the above and check the boxes that apply," I say as I hand the man who's "applying for my love" a clipboard as if he's at the doctor's and not on a date. "Put your hand here," I say as he must take a sworn oath in front of a judge that I've rented for the occasion. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

The Applicant nods, "Yes."

"Have you ever been in bankrupcy, beaten or hit a woman?"

"No, and no."

"Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?"

"No, (stammmer)."

"May I remind you that you are under oath," replies the judge.

"Only once and that was many years ago."

"How many is many?"

"Ten years ago."

"Are you suffering from any sort of mental illnesses, including but not limited to: Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Pyschotic episodes, Depression, Severe Depression, S.A.D., Bi-polar? Yes, or no. Remember you just took an oath."

"Well, I do get tiny bouts with depression," says The Applicant.

"How tiny is tiny?" I ask. The judge reminds The Applicant that he is under oath.

"Manageable." The judge again reminds The Applicant that he's under oath. "OK. I get in severe funks. I won't hit you or anything, but I will turn invisible and dissappear for a week at a time. I will freak out if we get too close. I will become indignant if pressed upon and will not care about your needs or feelings."

"NNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXXXXX"XXXXXXTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!" I yell, and the bailiff leads The Applicant out of the room and leads in a new Applicant.

If only it were that easy. But who ever comes clean early on before you don't have anything emotionally invested? Past hurts, ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, cheating, pain. I realize we ALL have our baggage that has hurt our hearts. I understand that. Yet can't we just move on?

We can't just stand there, stymied, terrified. If I can survive Cactus University and LIVE, LIVE to tell the tale, why can't a good man be just as strong as me and move forward? Sigh.

What if Cars Ran Like Computers? Pt. II

I had to get back to this question. What if they did? What if cars had all the hangups of computers and all their unreliabilities?

You'd go out to your car, put the key in the ignition, and guess what would happen? Nothing. No turn over. No engine starting, just nothing. "Oh, it's just a glitch in my car again," you'd say to yourself, so you'd take the keys out of the ignition and go have another cup of coffee then try again later and hope for the best. Maybe your car just wouldn't "feel" like starting that day. Just like a computer. Or maybe you'd have to "turn" your car off and on several times to get it working.

Unreliable.

Imagine if cars really did run like computers. Horror movies would cease to exist, because as the zombies stream out of the shopping mall, chasing after the poor victims who are headed for their cars to escape, none of them would start. Hence, the zombies would eat everyone. End of movie. The horror genre would cease to exist.

Also, if cars ran like computers, the term "get-away car" would also become obsolete, since if cars ran like computers, then you couldn't count on them. Of course, the upside would be there'd be less bank robberies, since if cars ran like computers, there'd be many a would-be robber sitting in his car thinking, "Great, I guess it's jail time for me since my car doesn't 'feel' like starting today."

Since it's been about 3 years since I've had to work on my bedroom PC, here's some nifty things I've forgotten about it.

1. Constant pop up window saying, "Do you want to debug now?" If you hit "yes" it goes into some nonsensical screen and starts "debugging" which ties the computer up for several hours and doesn't seem to improve the peformance of the machine anyway. If you hit "no" then it just pops up again assuming you're an idiot and just forgot the question, "Do you want to debug now?" it asks again. There is, unfortunately, no "FUCK YOU--NO!" tab to click on. Yesterday, I counted how many times that window came up while I was trying to get into my Yahoo account. 23 times. 23 fucking times I had to hit "No, asshole. I do NOT want to de-bug now."

2. Screen freezing up for no apparent reason.
Sometimes, the Yahoo email screen unfreezes itself, other times not and I have to hit Ctrl + Alt + Delete to escape. And the long email I've typed up for an hour a half also disappears as I jump up and do an amazingly little dance around my computer emitting a colorful tapestry of cuss words, including newly invented cussword combinations ("mutherfuckerfaceshitbrain asshole!")

3. The vanishing space bar function key. It's also about to wear out.
Sometimes it works, and sometimes I'll end up with a linelikethisandhavetogoinandputallthespacesbackin. Neato.

But I'll hang in there until I can find a fairly reasonably-priced crook, I mean techie, to fix my old laptop.

Sigh.