Moving Sucks

Moving is a pain in the ass. You have to sort through all your stuff, decide what to take, what to sell/donate, and what to take with you. Then you’re surrounded with boxes containing your life.

I don’t like to collect anything, except books, which I’ve kept in check with frequent visits to the local library. I’ve managed to keep my shoe and purse fetish under control. I have a pretty significant DVD collection, ranging from Disney to horror. I also have a random assortment of wineglasses, beer mugs, and pint glasses, revealing my love of alcohol.

I think it says a lot about my upbringing. I was an Army brat; we moved every 18 months until I was 13 years old. When the Army moves you, you’re given a weight limit, and every effort is made to stay under the limit to avoid paying. Those lessons tend to stay with you, long after you’re out of the Army.

So I find myself with fewer boxes of stuff relative to the number of years that I've lived here. But at least when I have this stuff hauled to Georgia, it won't cost too terribly much.

Unlucky in Love

This weekend I broke up with my boyfriend. We’d been seeing each other for just over a year. I had hoped that this relationship might have been IT. You know, my happy ever after. Things didn’t work out though. I have a history of things not working out.

My high school boyfriend dumped me, on his mother’s advice. We had dated for two years. According to his mother, I was not a suitable match. He had just graduated from high school; his mother wanted him to get married and have babies. I wanted to go to college. At seventeen, I wasn’t ready to commit a lifetime to anyone.

My college boyfriend dumped me on New Year’s Eve 1999. We had dated about five years. We’d had a somewhat tumultuous relationship, as many college relationships are. He cheated on me; I cheated on him. We separated a few times throughout the years. He was my first real love. I decided I was ready to settle down and get married. He said he wouldn’t because I wouldn’t convert to his religion. Not that he was particularly religious; he went at Easter and Christmas, and whenever we went to church with his family. I said I would agree to raise children with his religion, but that compromise didn’t work. He married someone else in December 2000.

In 2001, I was introduced to one of my boss’ clients. He seemed like a nice guy, 10 years older though. We didn’t have much in common, but we had fun together. As the relationship progressed, he became more controlling, more demanding. We started going to the gym together because I needed to get in better shape for him. We hung out with his friends because mine were too immature for him. He wanted me to grow my hair long, because he liked long hair. At the time, my hair was super short; I’d had long hair in high school, and it was a pain. I started to resent his increasingly insistent demands, and so we broke up.

A year later, I started seeing an old college friend. I’d always known that he liked me, but we’d never dated. I thought I might have found my happy ending. We didn’t have a hot and heavy, fireworks exploding relationship, but it was nice and comfortable. I moved in with him after a year together. We had our differences. I was orderly to the point of obsession; he was a slob. I paid my bills as soon as they arrived; he’d let them pile up and tended to pay them late. I had an aloof Persian mix; he had a hyper Border Collie mix. A month after I moved in, he lost his job. For six months, I supported us. I worked two jobs to keep the roof over our heads and food on the table. He stayed home and drank. He was depressed about being unemployed (even though he was holding out for “just the right job”); I was annoyed with being the responsible one. Eventually, our anger escalated into violence. It was easy to hide the bruises from my friends and co-workers (they knew though). One night, a fight resulted in a broken coffee table and a broken ankle (mine unfortunately). That was it. A year after I moved in, I bought a house and moved out.

After that fiasco, I was alone for over three years. I had my house, my friends; I adopted a dog. Life was working out nicely. But I was starting to get kind of lonely. One of my co-workers convinced me to sign up for an online dating site. The third guy I went out with was my Prince Charming. I didn’t think he would be the one for me- he was divorced with a young child. But I fell in love with him, and his son. Our relationship rolled along smoothly, until one night, after a few glasses of wine, I proposed….. and he said nothing. That bombshell lingered for about a month. I decided to face the situation, so I invited him over a nice romantic dinner and asked the question again…. And again, he said nothing. At that point, I realized my happy ending wasn’t going to happen, but I was afraid of losing him and the pseudo-family I sought to create. In the end, I faced my fear, and I got the answer I had expected. He didn’t want to marry; he was content with the status quo. I wasn’t though, and it took me another three months to gather my courage. Of course, the end of our relationship was further hastened by my pending unemployment. I was so stressed about what I was going to do about my career that I deliberately tried to provoke some kind of emotion from him. He had always been so rational (it was something that I admired, and something that annoyed me to no end). And he remained rational, to my bitter, tear-choked end.

So here I am, almost 20 years after my first date, still single. The older I get, the more it bothers me. The older I get, the more I want a husband, a baby, a happy life. The older I get, the more I realize it’s not likely to happen.

Laying Blame

For almost four months, I've had issues with my internet. I could only be online for about 30 minutes at a time before I lost the connection. I did all manner of rebooting, unplugging, restarting, to no avail. Unfortunately, I also didn't have time to take a day off to spend on the phone with AT&T tech support. The upside of unemployment is now I do have time.

So yesterday I called tech support. The first time I was told there was an alternate profile (huh?) attached to my line, and that was deleted so I shouldn't have any more problems. Thirty minutes later, and no connection, I called again. The second phone rep was very patient with my sarcasm, and assured me that they would fix the issue. I was told that a technician would be dispatched to my residence between 8am and 12pm. I asked that he please show up closer to 12pm than 8am, because no one wants to see me first thing in the morning. I am not a morning person. It's downright scary.

Anyway, at 9:30am (a fairly reasonable hour), the technician arrived at my doorstep. He tested the jack, changed out the modem, tested the outside line, then climbed into my attic to follow the money (i.e. the wiring). And lo and behold.... he found the culprit!!!

Back in August, my A/C had gone out (living in AL, this is horrifying). Evidently, in their determination to install my swanky new unit, the HVAC techs got my phone wiring caught in the cover of the inside unit. Meaning for all the months that I've been cursing AT&T for my lack of reliable internet, I should have been cursing United Heating & Air.

All that aside, I now have a constant signal and can surf to my heart's content. And right now surfing means job hunting.....

My Greatest Joy...

Two years ago, I started contemplating adopting a dog. I already owned a cat, Isis, but I wanted a companion instead of a roommate. Isis was a 10-year-old Persian mix, the queen of my household. I had brought her home when she was about 2 years old. When she was younger, she would occasionally play and seek out affection. As she aged, she became more aloof. I tried to entice her, but she rebuffed all of my efforts. My job was to provide her with food (Friskies moist, limited to select flavors) and clean litter (Tidy Cat scoopable and nothing else). Heaven forbid if I strayed from her preferences. Then one Saturday afternoon, I drove past my college campus and noticed signs for an Adopt-a-Thon. I pulled in.

As I wandered the grounds, I saw a number of beautiful animals. There was a shepherd rescue, with dogs that reminded me of the working dogs I was around when my dad was an MP. There was a dachshund rescue, and my mother had one of them at home. Therewere representatives from the humane shelters all over the tri-county area. So many dogs…. I had no intention of bringing one home…. Until I almost tripped over one. He was a skittish 3-year-old Chihuahua mix recently turned over to an organization dedicated to small dogs. I learned that he had belonged to an elderly woman who’d recently died. Her children didn’t want him so he ended up at the rescue. His name was Charlie, and there was something about the way he looked at me that I couldn’t resist.

I brought Charlie home. He didn’t look like a Charlie, though, so I consulted one of my very good friends. She jokingly suggested Sir Charles Beauregard. It kind of stuck with me, and Charlie became Beau. Isis wasn’t thrilled with the new addition. She seemed to regard him as a nuisance, a happy-go-lucky intruder to her quiet home. Isis was a diva, and she did not look kindly upon interlopers. She was elderly; he was young. She tolerated him. I was lucky to get a couple of cute pictures of the two of them together.

Less than a year later, Isis’ health deteriorated. She stopped eating and lost half her body weight. I took her to the vet, who informed me that there was nothing wrong with her other than a slightly elevated white blood cell count. I went home with antibiotics and instructions to add whole milk to her diet. Less than a week after that visit, Isis refused both milk and water, and the antibiotics weren’t staying down. Another trip to the vet led to the painful decision that there was really nothing I could do for her; I asked the vet to euthanize her. Beau comforted me when I got home. He curled up in my lap and seemed to mourn his feline sister with me.

Beau has become the greatest joy in my life. Every time I see him, I have to smile. He’s always so happy, so enthusiastic. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, he wants to be there with me. He’s gained several pounds in the years he’s been with me. I tease that he’s not fat; he’s well-loved. If allowed, he would probably consume his weight in rawhides and Greenies. He hides remnants of his chewies in various nooks and crannies around the house. Not behind or underneath anything, but next to things or in corners, as if no one will see then, even though they’re in plain sight. He loves to burrow under the covers in bed. He’ll crawl to the foot, and then try to dig up the sheets to create a nest. When that doesn’t work, he’ll make a couple circles and settle down. He does the same thing to the couch, which has resulted in several damaged cushions. He doesn’t like to get his paws wet, which means that potty breaks in the rain are interesting. I have to go outside with him, and he doesn’t like umbrellas; if he gets wet, I get wet. If he encounters something dead and/or smelly during our walks, he will roll in it. When I bathe him, he gives me the most pathetic look, as if I’m torturing him. After he’s been dried off, he’ll run mad circles throughout the house.

Dogs are not just man’s best friend; they’re also a woman’s.