All right, apparently the whole world is now enamored with my journal. A slight exaggeration, sure, but it really seems that way. The most amusing part is that it's mostly people that shouldn't even care about what little ol' me has to say, ie: his second ex-wife, her former best friend that slept with him a few times during their split, his sister, his former coworker (just found out that one today... I still don't get why they're afraid to let me know who they are. But what do I expect from the same people that told him it was a GOOD fucking idea to remarry the woman he divorced? Who cares if she's your friend, he's your friend too and the better one, at that. That means you don't advise him on what you think would be "cool" or "fun" or what would be best for another trip to New Fucking Orleans, no, you advise him on what you think would be SMART), and possibly the sister's husband and/or mother. I'm just assuming on the last two because I know I tell my mother plenty of stuff and if I had a husband, I'd tell him things too. Not that I'd know anything about having a husband... I'd like to keep it that way for a looong time too. Yes, Sarah, I'm fully aware of the gifts I could get through a registry. Would I even get gifts if I'm getting hitched to a man who's had three marriages before me? That'd just be mean to hold it against me, who has managed to avoid sinking her claws into the first (and second, and third...) man she met (not that women DO that sort of thing... no, not at all), wouldn't it? Then again, I hear that the appropriate gift for a man on his fourth marriage is a puppy. Yep, I'm sure I've heard that.

Ah, speaking of puppies, here's a good one. His mother told him that his sister and her husband have a belated Christmas gift waiting for him in Texas. I had known about this before she reminded him because he'd mentioned it back in December. The following conversation occurred in the car that late December afternoon (not in 1963).

Me: "What do you think it is?"

Him: "I dunno"

Me: "Something big?"

Him: "I dunno"

Me: "Well, why couldn't they mail it? I mean, it's either really big, illegal or OHMYGODITSANANIMAL!"

Him: "Oh sweet Jesus"

Me: "THEY GOT YOU A PUPPY! Oh I wish. Wouldn't that be so cool?"

Him: "They didn't get me a puppy"

Me: "If they wanted to make me happy, they would..."

Him: "They didn't get me a puppy and it's my Christmas gift."

Me: "Yeah, but I'm your girlfriend and I feed you, clothe you and sometimes even bathe you. See, I'm all ready for having a puppy!"

Him: "Ha"

Me: "I bet it's a puppy"

Him: (eyes rolling)

I planted some onions and something else (corn or carrots, I can't remember for the life of me... it was something Chris wasn't too happy about) yesterday in Dad's garden. Today I'd like to get my loose leaf lettuce put down in my yard and also the snap peas. Dad has already planted his seedlings including the always appreciated (hint, hint if they should read this...) tomatoes, strawberries, green peppers, broccoli, cucumbers, red peppers, and carrots. I'd eventually like to till up the whole backyard and plant a bunch of vegetables and maybe even a fruit tree. Who knows how long we're going to be in this house? What if we're here a few years and we don't use this land that's practically begging to be fertilized? I mean, c'mon, it's more than half an acre here and we're not going to do anything? As it is, I still want to go back to K-mart and get the other poppies and plant them. The entire family (including people that are supposed to AVOID mocking me, thank you very much) is having a field day with my obsession with poppies. If I can't have a magnolia tree and I'm too lazy to do tulip bulbs, I can at least have my third favorite flower, can't I? I also like the idea of the garden because I'm a big believer in self sustenance. I'm pretty sure I get it from my dad but really, it's just common sense. If you have the land, why would you spend money getting something from a store? If he didn't hate having his clothes hang dried so much, I would wash all of our clothes in the basin and air dry them on the clothesline out back. It's eco-friendly and saves on electricity and gas. Even better, our water is free because we have a well. The only bad thing about that is it's all nasty because of all the iron in the well so it's not really drinkable so I have to get water from the store or Mom's house. But it's still nice to save on that. Don't even get me started on making your own soap. Been there, done that, I'll be doing it again as soon as I can afford the materials (that's ironic, no? But once ya make it, it lasts foreva).

All right, you win, I'm a fucking hippie. I want dogs, chickens, goats, babies and gardens as far as the eye can see.

I like scaring him like that, yo.

That reminds me of our conversation last night at Ruby Tuesday's. It seemed like it was "Take Your Children Out To Dinner At An Adult Restaurant" day (versus a children's restaurant, ya know, where they can appreciate the terror that is a screaming infant) so that along with the Iraqi prisoners/beheading was the topic of our conversation. Every single time I get even a little urge to have one (since the incident, it hits every now and then), I just go to the bank... or Target... or Ruby Tuesday's... or the mall... or Portillo's. Then I realize I'm totally losing it because god, why would I want to embarrass myself in public like that? Why would I want to torture good, decent, upstanding citizens of the community like that? What did I ever do to the woman at the bank with three kids under age 5 that want to scream "BUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNY" repeatedly at the thin air? Nothing, that's what, yet she still seems to feel it's okay to make me deaf before my time.

After dinner, we headed over to the mall to work off a few calories by window-shopping (Or, you know, window-shopped and went home with Cinnabons. With extra frosting. When there were sugar free fruit bars in the freezer at home. Who's going to hell?). While he checked out the shoes, I headed over to Victoria Secrets. They still don't make double D bra's cheap enough that I can justify buying one. Sigh. They did have pretty puffs with scented powder for 12.50. I had enough cash on me to pick one up but for once, I was able to look past the pretty, shiny thing, sniff the Amber Romance body gel (oh how I love thee...) and get the hell out of there. Same thing with the bookstore, they had big racks (sounds familiar...) out stating "90% off all merchandise". Luckily he had enough common sense to keep us both out of there otherwise we'd be living in a box right about now with lots and lots of books as fuel for our nightly fire. Oh, how the truth hurts.

Jesus, it's almost four o' clock. I need to run and get the laundry out of the dryer and find shoes that are semi-decent for my interview at six tonight. Supposedly it's a pretty decent paying job and and it's right down the street so what the hell? I still have to start frying up the ground beef for dinner and bring a movie back over to Mom so she can swap and give me whatever she has. Apparently there are some good things about living next door to your parents.

Oh, and ain't this the truth? Ex wives, madness, love, kindness... all you have to do is read my journal and you get it all!

'Tis a great mystery, but somehow you have come to
belong in Jane Eyre; a random world of love,
kindness, madness, bad luck and lunatic ex-wives. There really isn't much to say about the place you belong in. It's your place, and though it seems far from reality largly due to how random the events are, you seem to enjoy it. You belong in a world where not too many people understand you, and where you can be somewhat of a recluse.

Which Classic Novel do You Belong In?
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