The Dinner Party

A couple weeks ago I was running in the evening and a very creepy guy was on his bike singing. He told me he was a musician and was working on a song. I was not impressed. He stopped and got off his bike at the little yellow house across the street. The guy looked like a youngish David Johansen (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Johansen) which might explain the creep factor from the start. That guy always weirded me out. Anyway, the vibe he gives off is one of "If I am found hacked into tiny pieces, he did it."
Apparently, I am not the only person in the neighborhood that finds the guy off. He has creeped out every other woman on my block. We are a tight-knot block and discuss these things. The little yellow house is "FSBO" but the sign was mysteriously taken down. In our paranoia, we have decided that the gut is squatting in the house and setting up a meth lab. Sure this might seem like a stretch of the imagination... until you have talked to the guy.
Trying to not upset the norms, he approached our neighbors and gave his "life story." He is an ex-con(I am fine with this) that has no car, runs a half-way house (meaning he has to live there as part of his parole), and has been hired to "clean up the yellow house." He hopes to buy it from the owners. The house is listed at $170K and needs another 45K in updates. There is no way a guy that cannot afford a car and has no steady real employment will get a bankloan to buy the house. He also asked where he could score some acetone to refinish the floors. No one uses acetone to redo floors. Meth lab. Being the concerned neighbors that we are, we called the police.

This Morning - The Onion Article

Headline: Man Stunned by Woman Running
A jackass in an over-sized truck stopped traffic in order to watch a woman running. The jackass, who wished to remain unnamed, apologized to the three cars behind him and the fourth car stopped at the intersection. Apparently he did not know that women ran and that their breasts sometimes bounce. "I had no idea. Nature simply stuns me, " explained the unabashed motorist.
The jackass was turning left northbound on Eugene at 8:40am on Wednesday. There was no southbound traffic to speak of, but several cars were behind his truck and a lone motorist was awaiting her turn to enter the road from an adjacent intersection. Gape-mouthed, the jackass took the time to watch a middle-aged woman's chest bounce as she approached and finally passed his vehicle. Two minutes later, the motorists were glad to be once again in motion.
Staci Rittner was in a Honda behind the jackass motorist. "I was late for work, and this giant truck was just stopped with his left turn signal on. I kept waiting to see a car pass on the left, but it never came."

SGT 269

Dear uninsured motorist driving the Ford Contour with Louisiana plate SGT 269:
I hate you. The initial damage to my vehicle - based on the outward inspection by the fine folks at Gerry Lane's Collision Center - is $720. I get to pay $500 of that as my deductible. If you had insurance, your insurance would cover that amount and I would not be out $500. So part of me is glad that you drove away - thereby committing a felony. You would have simply received a fine and possibly lost your license or something. Now you get to go to jail and will receive an even bigger fine. I would contemplate suing you for the $500, my lost wages for the accident itself and two trips to the body shop - sure I have leave time, but there is a monetary value to my time and I blessed to have expensive time - and then the lawyer and court costs. Since you cannot afford insurance and drive an old Ford Contour, I doubt you have a home or any property worth placing a lien on and I would never see a dime. You are lucky that I am a strong believer in karma so I cannot in good spirit enact this sort of vengeance. I will let the world find its balance with you. Namaste.

One hit (and run) and several near misses

Today is one of those very weird days... I was sitting in the Office of Motor Vehicles and had the thought: OMG. I think I might be dead and this is some sort of purgatory. Now, I do not actually believe in purgatory so there was a slight panic that my long ago abandoned Catholic faith might be right. I realized the chances of this were slim and that most likely I was alive and simply bored. My number was B113 and it was issued at 9:41am. My weird day began two hour prior....
Skipping a walk and my exercise routine (mostly because it was too dark and cold to leave bed before 7am), I made it out of the house by 7:41. Got to the doctor's office to get my shot - my depo shot. After a good 20 minutes, the nurse yells across the crowded room that I am late getting my shot and she needs to ask the doctor if I need a pregnancy test. Oh joy. Now everyone knows my birth control business including two little girls sitting near me in Catholic school uniforms. I turn to them and say, "Aren't you glad to know that there is a chance I might be pregnant?" They nod with eyes wide.
I email work to let them know I will be later than expected. Since I have been on depo for two years now and I was a whopping 4 days late for my shot, I did not have to have the test. I got my shot then dropped by the house to get my lunch. On the way to work, I get rear-ended by a woman driving a Ford Contour with Louisiana license plate number SGT 269 (It is 8:41). She insists her brakes failed and that she did not damage my car. I told her she failed. I could see her not looking at the road and watched her hit me. I asked for her insurance information and started scrolling for the BR police on my cell phone. She has no insurance. I tell her to tell that to the police and she gets back in her car and leaves. Two guys that are surveying the road walk up and have seen the accident. I call my insurance and wait for the cops. I email the office that I am waiting for the police. My car has a one inch gash through its bumper.. I need to have it checked for any damage to the alignment, axles and under-carriage. I have a $500 deductible and some anger towards that bitch who drove off without insurance. The car is scheduled to go in on Wednesday. We shall see.
The cop arrives and I give him my tale of woe. He asks for my license, proof of insurance and registration. My registration expired on 3/12. Shit! He laughs at me and we fill out paperwork. I then drive (without a ticket!) to the OMV where I wait for B113 to be served. Nearly one hour and $57 later, I place the new sticker on my plate, the registration in my glove box.
Now I await whatever is next...

And done....

While we did not get to finish our book, Staci has rushed to her good end. She died peacefully with her two best friends and her mom by her side earlier this morning. I found out an hour later. Staci was a practicing Catholic and faced death with great dignity. For her, religion was a comfort and I hope it is for her friends and family who subscribe to that as well. I take comfort in my belief that her spirit endures and we'll be friends again one day... hopefully with more time and shared laughter.

Approaching the End

In my best (actually worst) Forrest Gump imitation, life is like a Harlequin romance. You know exactly how it will end but you begin it anyway. The pleasure is in the journey toward the end - the passion, the overcoming of past trauma and the discovery of one's strength and worth - with hopefully some really good sex scenes along the way. We have not gotten to any sex scenes yet in the book I am reading to Staci. So far there has just been one very hot and heavy kiss. I am not confident Staci will be with me to see the end of this book. I find myself reading aloud really fast during the times of her distress; like getting through this stupid book before the end is an important goal. I have to tell myself to slow down; if anything my voice is supposed to be soothing and not frantic and/or hurried.

Silence is Golden

Every day, my friend Staci's condition worsens so much so that you can see it. She is too weak to move into hospice so her remaining time will spent in the hospital and can now be measured in days or hours. I read another 30 pages or so today. She knew I came to read, but she really wasn't present for most of my time there. Her sleep is that fitful kind that dying brings. She alternatively coughs (which wakes her up) or she whimpers in psychic and physical discomfort. I hold one hand and her mom hold the other as she moans. Dying is not for wimps.

Strange Days

Talking about dying is not easy. I actually used "she won't be returning to work" as a euphemism for she is dying. Strange days to come....

The Saga Begins as the Journey Ends

My husband (a rather brilliant and handsome fellow) always says that getting old is not for wimps. Well, I am learning that neither is dying young. I am off in a few minutes to spend time with my friend, Staci, as she slowly fades into that good night. I have been asked by her not to make her laugh too hard since laughter hurts (no, it is not the best medicine after all). As all of my anecdotes are frickin hilarious, I am going to instead start reading to her instead of just chatting her up. Today we begin Italian Boss, Housekeeper Bride . That's right. I am reading her a Harlequin Romance. She has never read one. I believe there is a list of things one should experience before one dies and reading a super cheesy romance is on there somewhere. Sure, it is probably buried way below get a colonoscopy but it is there.

Just so wrong....

I went today to visit a friend of mine who is currently in the hospital. She has been battling cancer for a VERY long time now. Her current round of chemo has landed her in the hospital on IV foods. Needless to say, she is thin to the extreme or as I call it, "holocaust thin." The sick and horrible part? (Other than the terrible fact that she is suffering and so ill) A part of me envies her thinness. There I said it. My weight continues to creep upwards despite my best efforts and daily run. I realize that I would not want to suffer what she is suffering - I would have given up years ago - I'm too lazy for anything chronic. I hate that she is so thin since it means she is so close to death. But that little tiny part admires the size of her wrist and the definition of her cheekbones. I blame society.