Home Sweet Home

Precocious Daughter is home for Thanksgiving week.

We're having ham, friend. Truce?

She's never more than 30 minutes from me when she's "away" at school, and she visits at least once a week, so it's not as if this is a major homecoming. But it does mark roughly three months that I've been living mostly on my own. And it's nice to have a break from that.

It's nice to hear someone else moving around, you know? 

Other than the Siamese Kitten. At least PDaughter doesn't zoom back and forth in the middle of the night.

Is that why they do it?

It's nice to have a well-stocked fridge. She actually eats 2-3 meals a day - I've kind of gotten out of that habit, honestly.

It's nice to listen to her talk and laugh and make goofy sounds (she gets the random-goofy-sound gene from me, but I when I'm by myself, I mostly just stay silent).

It's just nice to have her around.

On Thursday we'll make Thanksgiving dinner - not a huge production, but all the basics. And after we've eaten, she'll pack up the leftovers and take them to her dad. Yes, I'm making Thanksgiving dinner for my ex. 

Not even the weirdest thing to happen since we split.

It's all good.

On Friday, PDaughter and I are going to see a performance of The Nutcracker. And Saturday is her birthday. She'll be 19 - the last of her teenage years, and probably the last year I can consider her in any way a child.

And on Sunday, she'll go back to her dorm to finish her first semester of college.

Time flies, doesn't it?

American Drunkards...what are your plans for Thanksgiving week?

Makeup a Good Story

Friday night was Precocious Daughter's annual Band Scholarship Dinner/Silent Auction.

Her last one, you guys.

First, the various bands performed and were awesome. As always.

Second, the dinner was chicken strips from Raising Cane's. Cane's sauce is the BEST.

But my favorite part of this annual event is always the silent auction.

Last year I snagged a collectible Star Trek Barbie and Ken.

This year I got a way-cool story to tell.

Check it.

So you probably know how silent auctions work: The items are staged on tables, and each has a bidding sheet in front of it. The bidding sheet includes the name of the item, its retail value, and a starting bid, which is some fraction of the retail value. To bid, you write down your name and your bid, and if you're the last and highest bidder, you win. Boom.

Money is a bit tight right now, because who knew how expensive senior year is? Probably everyone except me, but that's not important. The point is, I didn't have firm plans to bid on anything unless I found something that was a) irresistible or b) a real steal.

To be perfectly honest, not many items stood out to me this year. Maybe because I already knew I couldn't spend much, or maybe because the mix of things just didn't appeal to me this time around.

But there was a collection of makeup from Ulta. Kajillions of eyeshadows, brow pomades, eyeliners, concealers, etc., in a really cool steamer trunk-style box. Gorgeous.

The retail value of the collection was $200, and the opening bid was $50. Basically too rich for my blood at this moment in time.

But then PDaughter and I noticed something.

Some...person (expletive deleted)...had crossed out the $200 retail value and written in $25. AND had crossed out the $50 opening bid and written in $5. And had proceeded to bid $5.

Wut.

Worse, several other people had subsequently entered bids, none of which even touched the legitimate starting bid of $50.

You guys, PDaughter and I were stunned. And mad. We were freaking mad.

First of all, who does that? Who blatantly violates the rules of the silent auction and changes the bidding structure to suit them?

Second, I knew that the auction organizers would see this fuckery and nullify all the bids because they were lowball. And an item that should have fetched at least $100 for the band would go unsold.

I stewed about this. For a good hour I stewed, while I ate chicken strips, while I listened to music, while I engaged in conversation with my ex (who was also there and who still makes me laugh even though I'm so happy we're no longer married).

And then PDaughter said, "You know, if someone bid the actual minimum of $50, they would totally win it."

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

I'm not going to lie, Drunkards. Fifty bucks is a lot for me right now. I'm paying for senior pictures, AP tests, college enrollment fees, band trip fees, etc. But the idea that a $200 box of high-quality cosmetics would net the band nothing because of some cheap, unethical idiot simply enraged me.

And the idea of having all that makeup to play with really jazzed me and PDaughter.

So I placed a bid. The current bid was a ridiculous $20. I bid $50.

I would have bid the entire $200 if I could swing it.

And I won.

PDaughter and I are stoked to have all this makeup to play with. She wants to try the lip gloss, I love the purple eyeliner. OMG.

Shame on the loser who tried to subvert the silent auction. You are a terrible person.

You guys: Whenever you can choose between being a good person or an asshole, try to choose being good.

Like, if you think band scholarships are less important than getting cheap makeup, go away.

As for me, I have contouring makeup now.

Yaaaassssss.

Democracy Rocks

Yesterday Precocious Daughter and I voted in the Texas Democratic primary.

Her first time voting.

She was way excited, and frankly, so was I.

It was early voting, which was great, because although every voting machine was in use when we got to the polling place, there was no line. The lady who checked PDaughter's ID obviously noticed her birthdate and asked if it was her first time to vote. When PDaughter answered in the affirmative, all the poll workers turned toward her and applauded. That was nice.

Outside the local library, which was our early-voting location, we got to meet the candidate for state representative for whom we planned to vote. It turned out we have a mutual friend in a district judge who is up for re-election, so we had a very nice chat. We also got to meet our local precinct chairman, a very nice man who welcomed us and thanked us for voting.

My wonderful, smart, nerdy child was awestruck by the entire experience. She was so proud to have voted. And I was so proud to see how proud she was.

Just pride all over the damn place.

his morning I mentioned to a co-worker that PDaughter had voted for the first time (he also has a daughter who just turned 18). And he confessed to me - literally in a whisper - that he has never voted in his entire life.

This man is in his late 40s. He has multiple degrees and is actually working toward another one right now. And he's never once voted in a single election at any level.

I am Joey at this moment.

Let me tell you a little secret. When I was married, my ex and I voted in the major elections...you know, President, statewide elections, midterms, that sort of thing. But I rarely voted in primaries, and I never voted in local elections. Because it wasn't a priority for him, and so it wasn't a priority for me.

This is what can happen when you allow yourself to be absorbed by your spouse.

Since I've been single, I've voted in every election. I've made myself research candidates for even the most minor of elected offices. Dammit, they're not minor until you realize that no one cares about them. I've come to realize that my voice may be small, but it's freaking powerful if I make the effort to speak up.

Making the effort is the best.

Never stop making an effort, Drunkards.

So I vote. And I make sure PDaughter knows I've voted, whenever and wherever it occurs.

And that's why my remarkable child and I just voted in the Texas Democratic primary together.

For the record: Beto O'Rourke for U.S. Senator. Because he's the best.

In addition to being smart, compassionate,
and qualified, he's way easier on the eyes
than Ted Cruz.

Voting is freedom. Voting is independence. Voting is being fully American.

Honestly, not voting is a major turn-off for me. Voting is sexy af.

I've raised a voter. That makes me happy.

Please vote, you guys. It's our shot at being part of history.

Why would you want to pass on that shot?

Casa Baudelaire votes Democrat. But you vote you.

Voting rocks.

The Year in (Some) Movies

Precocious Daughter and I saw a lot of movies this year. Not as many as we would have liked (and we're not done yet), but a lot.

PDaughter also saw a lot of movies with her dad. That's part and parcel of this whole divorce thing. She sees some movies with me, she sees some movies with him - and we saw one film as a family (more on that in a minute). It generally works out well because she tends to see the superhero/action movies she loves with him, which is fine with me. And then we go see movies that are often less mainstream, which is fine with him.

Coco kind of got lost in between,
although I still hope to see it.

Anyway, here are some random thoughts on a few of the movies we saw in 2017. If you've seen them, please chime in with your opinions. If you haven't...maybe you'll seek them out.

These are in no particular order of quality, chronology, etc.

Get Out - This had the biggest buzz of any movie in the early part of the year, and we saw it on that basis (and the fact we love Jordan Peele), rather than any expectation of what we were going to see. This movie is amazing. The writing, the direction, the performances, and the message all are top-notch. What I loved about it is that at its heart it's structured like an old Movie of the Week: Introduce the characters, introduce the situation, ramp up the tension, reveal how everything happened, rescue the imperiled hero, fin. But it's done with so much sophistication and cleverness. Also, it stars Daniel Kaluuya, who was in one of my favorite episodes of "Black Mirror."

No, not this one.
(Also, "Black Mirror" returns December 29 - squee!)

Okja - Not a theatrical release, this was a Netflix original from Korean director Bong Joon-ho. The story is difficult to describe. Suffice to say the two protagonists are a South Korean girl and a animated giant piglike creature, and the two antagonists are Tilda Swinton. The movie pits a Monsanto-like corporation against a group of not-overly-competent eco-terrorists. It's beautiful, funny, and sad. Totally worth a watch.

 A Fistful of Dollars - Obviously not a new movie. But PDaughter and I hadn't seen it in a while, so we queued it up a few months ago. So much fun to watch, and so radically filmed. Amazing score from Ennio Morcone (duh). I'd love to see a modern feminist take on the spaghetti western (No, Kill Bill doesn't quite achieve the sensibility.) If you want to see peak Clint Eastwood, when he was young and hot and didn't talk to empty chairs, it's a great Saturday-afternoon flick.

Baby Driver - We almost didn't see this because the trailer made it look like one long car chase plus Kevin Spacey acting menacing. But we trusted that an Edgar Wright movie would be much more, and we were glad we took the chance. It's not that this is a great movie, but it's a really fresh take on the heist movie. Possibly the best integration of music and plot I've ever seen - especially in the opening scene, which I could watch on a loop all day. I'm sorry that Kevin Spacey has turned out to be a reprehensible person, because he's so much fun to watch onscreen. :(

Lady Bird - Honestly, I don't quite understand the critical acclaim of this movie. PDaughter enjoyed it much more than I did, probably because she shares so much with the titular character. It's getting all kinds of award nominations. If you were ever a mom, a daughter, a loner, or a loser, you'll identify with the story. Worth a look, but not my favorite of the year.

The Disaster Artist - All I can say is, two Francos on the screen at the same time approaches sensory overload, especially when one is channeling Tommy Wiseau. By the time the post-credit scene came on, we were the only ones left in the theatre, which means everyone else missed perhaps the very best part of the movie. My advice: If you see it (and oh yes, please see it), stay until the very end.

I mean, why is that not a law?

The Killing of a Sacred Deer - My biggest WTF of the year. This is the only movie we saw this year where I knew literally nothing about the plot, or the director, or anything. And in that spirit, I'm not going to say much about it, except that it only made sense (kind of) after PDaughter and I spent about an hour dissecting it afterwards. But I do highly recommend it if you're looking for something... different.

Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi - This is the only movie that we saw as a family, simply because both my ex and I are huge Star Wars fans, and there's no way PDaughter can choose one of us to see it with. So when a new Star Wars movie comes out, we all go together (and we have a lovely time, tbh). I may get pushback on this, but this was hands down my favorite movie of 2017. I find it humorous that critics by and large love it, while many fans hat it so much that they want it removed from Star Wars canon. As PDaughter very astutely said, "That's because the fandom doesn't want to see a good movie - they only want to see a good Star Wars." Well, beans. I love Rian Johnson's take on the saga and thought he handled the many set pieces beautifully. Flawed in places, definitely. But definitely one of the best displays of filmmaking in all eight movies.

Coming up later day, PDaughter and I are seeing Call Me By Your Name. I'm hoping to squeeze in The Post and Phantom Thread by the end of the year, as well.

Let me know your favorites of the year.

The Last Jedi...Sure.

I'm seeing The Last Jedi tomorrow.

Love you, Carrie.

Oh....Seeing it with my daughter...

and my ex.

That's good...right?

I mean, sure, that's normal. 

We're still a family, I guess, despite the whole divorce thing. Right?

I mean... It's not like it matters, you know?

Tell me if that's just too weird.

Thanks.

I Knew It Was Coming

Here is a story from my married life.

Back in the day - before we had Precocious Daughter - my ex-spouse and I had one car between us.

And that was OK, because our house and both our jobs were in the same small town. We could drive from home to my job  o his in about 15 minutes.

So he would drop me off at 8:30 and pick me up at 4:30, which were my working hours at the time. No sweat.

One day, shortly after the beginning of Daylight Saving Time, I waited patiently for him to pick me up as usual. Four-thirty came and went. My co-workers all left for the day, and I assured them my ride was coming.

Five o'clock came and went. I assured myself my ride was coming.

Five-fifteen came and went. I swallowed my panic.

This was pre-cellphones, you know?

Finally, at 5:30, my spouse pulled up and wandered into my office, just as calm as can be.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I managed to choke out the question, Where the hell have you been?

Turns out he was hanging out with a friend. A friend who hadn't bothered to spring forward. So to their minds, my spouse left his house in plenty of time to pick me up at 4:30.

Except that it was 5:30.

This was a thing that actually happened before cellphones, I promise.

I was upset. I was livid. I was literally speechless.

We went home and had dinner. I was completely silent. I could not articulate how I was feeling.

Eventually - finally - he begged me to break the silence and tell him what was going on inside me.

I opened my mouth. I honestly had no idea what I was going to say.

Here's what I said.

"YOU LEFT ME ALONE."

And that was my introduction to realizing that I had not - and never would - get over my old, deep-seated abandonment issues.

I don't mind being alone, you guys.

But being left alone? Honestly, I can't take it.

So when someone I love (you can guess who that is if you're a regular reader) tells me "I'm headed your way," and then shows up three hours later, possibly you understand my reaction.

Yes, it's mostly my problem that I believe people who lie and say they'll be with me.

I get that.

So maybe I need to find someone who will keep his word when he says "I'm here."

I'll try.

I'll let you know how it goes.

And if I can't find what I'm looking for, at least I'll know I'm purposely by myself, rather than accidentally failing for some random person.

Good luck to all of us.

Weekend Update

I had a pretty incredible weekend.

Drummer Boy, Precocious Daughter, and I got to see an amazing night of music by co-headliners and iconic 90s bands Everclear and Toadies at a free music festival that happened to be a three-minute walk from my front door.

Occasionally life is awesome like that.

We're somewhere near the center of this photo,
rocking our asses off.

The three of us watched Everclear together, and godDAMN but Art Alezakis and his band have still got it.

Then PDaughter ended up meeting a friend in the crowd and watching Toadies from a spectacular front-left-corner-stage vantage point. Drummer Boy and I stayed in the middle-front-center and took in their awesome set.

PDaughter had a blast. She knows good music, what can I say? And DB and I had a blast. We met up afterwards and walked home, and everyone was so damn happy.

Vaden Todd Lewis and company gave a fantastic set. They opened with "I Come from the Water," which happens to be my favorite Toadies song, and finished with a literally spine-tingling cover of "I Put a Spell on You" with a mind-blowing vocal from Vaden.

It was a great night.

And then Drummer Boy slept over, and we spent Sunday together. And while PDaughter watched the Cowboys game with her dad, DB and I watched it together and made yummy cheeseburgers and fries. After the game PDaughter came home, and the three of us watched several episodes of "How I Met Your Mother."

(Backstory: HIMYM is being pulled from Netflix on November 13, and we're currently near the end of Season 8 and trying to make it to the end of Season 9 in the next eight days. [In best Robin-speaking-to-Patrice voice, I don't want any SPOILERS YOU GUYS.])

There is so much shitty stuff taking place in the world right now. The Pentagon is threatening to invade North Korea. Some random asshole gunned down 26 people in a tiny church in Texas. The President of the United States continues to be a sociopathic narcissist who has no clue how to conduct diplomacy.

So you've got to concentrate on the little things that affirm the goodness of life.

Like the love of a good man and an exemplary daughter. Like a shared sense of community. Like the power of peace, love, and rock and roll.

Neither DB nor I slept well Saturday night. He found my fold-out couch terribly uncomfortable, and I was plagued by bad dreams. On Sunday I told him I had had nightmares that we had gone to a sort of indoor/outdoor mall/educational facility, and he had been not just angry or disappointed but contemptuous of the way I interacted with the people and exhibits there.

He said, "That sounds more like the way (my ex-spouse) would react." Which was exactly what I was about to say.

Projection is a thing, you guys.

Don't ever blame someone else for the demons sent to you by the past.

Love each other, and love life.

That's all.

It's Like This

Very narrowly focused post tonight, you guys.

Question for Drunkards who are divorced parents.

...

When?

When are you free of your ex?

When do their mistakes and weaknesses stop affecting you directly?

When do you get to be a competent parent without having to compensate for their incompetence?

When do you ever stop feeling like a failure because you're only one person?

I guess the answer is...never?

I guess the answer is, you do whatever you have to do to make sure your child's college applications aren't incomplete because her dad is an irresponsible man-child.

And you sob because you can't do or be everything she needs.

And you worry yourself almost to the point of death that your best efforts aren't going to be enough.

Precocious Daughter desperately wants to attend Columbia University.

I don't know if she will be accepted. She is doing everything she can to get in.

I'm doing everything I can to help her.

Her father didn't bother to make a copy of his 2016 tax return, which must be submitted to be considered for financial aid.

I SHOULD NOT HAVE TO LOOK AFTER HIM AT THIS POINT.

I've spent most of tonight in tears over this.

Oh, and also  Drummer Boy has no interest in me sexually.

Yeah, my life sucks.

Cheers.

From Diapers to Diplomas

Precocious Daughter began her senior year of high school today.

And yes, I do feel like Hans Moleman today.

I took a picture of her, so that Facebook can continue to taunt me with the memory well into my dotage. I dutifully "liked" all the pictures her friends' parents posted and wondered how all of these beautiful children grew up while none of of parents have aged a day. I made PDaughter a sack lunch and drew a "Class of 2018" doodle on it.

And then I dropped her off at school and made everybody at work listen to me expound about the wonders/horrors of having a senior for the rest of the day.

Now I'm home. But she's not. Today happens to be her dad's birthday. He picked her up after school, and she'll be home later this evening. I won't be the first one to hear how her day went. Which kind of stinks.

I realize that, because she lives with me, PDaughter's dad almost never gets to be the first to hear how her day went. I get it. But he also doesn't do her laundry, help clean her guinea pig's cage, or pay her many expenses. Possibly I'm being petty. Screw it - my little girl is not with me, and I'm kind of feeling sorry for myself.

Which brings up an important point.

PDaughter is applying to exactly one university in Texas. It is very likely that she'll end up moving to New York or Connecticut or Washington state in a year. And that will leave me on my own.

And that's terrifying.

For one thing, I don't exactly eat right when I'm by myself. And by "right," I mean "basically at all." I love cooking for PDaughter and grocery shopping for PDaughter and splurging at our favorite restaurants with PDaughter. But food doesn't interest me much when she's not involved. Tonight in her absence I ate dinner - leftovers from a meal she made for herself a couple of days ago. Without those in the fridge, I probably would have eaten a handful of peanuts and called it good.

As always, Target gets me.

Also, her various school/band/social events are about the only things that get me out of the house besides my job. I'm not a social creature. I've made so many good friends who are the parents of her classmates, but without that connection, I'd probably be a a freakish shut-in.

The Simpsons - an image for every situation.

I suck at being an adult, frankly. When I had parents, when I had a spouse, when I was raising a kid, I was golden. But I've never lived alone. I don't know how, you guys.

So what will I do?

Will I finally take the plunge into adulthood and become a fully-functioning, self-sustaining adult?

Will I immediately shack up with Drummer Boy, which might not be the best thing for either of us at this point in our lives?

Will I wither away and die like a piece of week-old romaine lettuce?

I have one short year to figure it out. I remember when a year used to feel like an eternity.

Now it's a blip on the radar of my life.

I'm not necessarily asking for advice, but if you have any, I'll listen.

Special shout-out to Bestest Friend, whose amazing daughter is beginning her first year of college. She went through all the crap I'm now going through last year. If she can survive it, I can. Best wishes to PDaughter's beautiful godcousin, and to her parents!

Pre-Empty Nest Syndrome

Next Monday, Precocious Daughter will fly to New York to spend two weeks with her grandma, aunt, and cousin on her dad's side.

Two weeks.

Absolutely not ready for this empty nest
thing, thanks for asking.

Now, her aunt has very, very generously offered to drive PDaughter up and down the East Coast to visit any colleges she may be interested in. This is a fantastic opportunity, because there's no way I would be financially able to offer a similar tour around New England universities.

A tiny, petty part of me whispers that my ex-sister-in-law is well aware of that fact and happy to one-up me in this area.

But for PDaughter's sake, I happily and graciously accept this generous gift.

Anyway, PDaughter will tour seven fine universities in four states during her trip, and will also spend time in New York City (which she loves), time on the beach (ditto), and time with her dad's side of the family (ditto ditto).

It's all good.

I'll be without my kid for two weeks.

Nest, whatever.

You guys. I know damn well that in just over a year, my only offspring will begin college. And while there is a small chance that she'll choose a relatively local school, she is very very interested in attending an out of state university. Because she can turn the world on with a smile, and she damn well knows it.

She got the results of her latest AP tests a couple of days ago, and she's saved herself many dollars in tuition by testing out of English, History, Physics, and other classes.

That's awesome.

I hate like hell that in 25 years of marriage, her dad and I weren't able to save for a new washer/dryer, let alone our daughter's post-secondary education.

I hate that I allowed that to happen.

But what's done is done.

And what's coming is that my beautiful PDaughter is about to start her senior year of high school. And I want it to be magical for her, in a way that my senior year never was. And I want her to receive great news about paying for college, the way I never even sought because my parents said they would pay my way if I would simply attend.

I'm not in a position to tempt, bribe, or guilt my child.

I'm a single mom.

I chose that role, and sometimes I love it, and sometimes it sucks big old rocks.

Truth.

But my sole focus right now - more than my love life, more than my stupid fucking job - is making sure my PDaughter is able to attend the university of her choosing, without becoming bankrupt.

I know she assumes everything will work out.

I know because when I was her age, I felt the same way.

Except that my parents are very different from her parents.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have stayed with her dad, just because it might have made some slight difference to PDaughter's prospects.

I don't know.

But a week from today, PDaughter leaves for two weeks in New York.

I hope that when she returns, I'll still matter.

Requiem for a Good Boy

I can't believe he's gone.

My ex and I said goodbye to Darling Dog today. Precocious Daughter opted out, which I understand. She processes things in her own way. I respect that.

I told you guys a few days ago that DDog was sick.  Three days in the animal hospital, receiving fluids and antibiotics, did almost nothing to improve his outlook. Bloodwork indicated a number of markers that indicated he probably had cancer, and the vestibulitis was just a by-product of his weakened immune system.

You can read about DDog here.

And here.

Or here, which honestly is my favorite post about my sweet boy.

This afternoon my ex and I met at the vet's. In a private examination room, the doctor explained DDog's situation (still not eating after 10 days, only hydrated because of IV fluids, unable to walk, negligible improvement in overall condition), then suggested we spend some time with him before discussing next steps.

A vet tech carried him into the room, wrapped in a blanket. My ex sat on the floor and gently cradled DDog in his lap.

Please stop to picture a 53-year-old man sitting cross-legged on a hard tile floor, holding up his dog's head because the dog can't hold it up himself for more than a minute or two at a time.

This was my day.

DDog in his vibrant and happy middle age.

We knew, in less than two minutes, that this was goodbye. Our sweet, goofy, happy boy looked so tired, and so sad. I took one last photo of him. I can't even post it here, because it breaks my heart to see his hopeless expression, so different from how we had seen him for the past 12 years.

We talked to the vet for a minute, all of us agreeing that it was best to help DDog cross the bridge.

My ex signed the paperwork. We agreed we did not want to be present for his death (oh God, the word death is making me cry). We said goodbye, we paid the bill, and we left. My ex received DDog's collar, and we will also get his pawprint and a lock of his ridiculously colored fur.

And that is that.

DDog is not the first doggo I've lost. But each one leaves its pawprints on our hearts and devastates us as if for the first time when it must leave.

His name, for those of you who don't know, was Wallingford Wellington Biscuit Dog No. Some called him Walter. We called him Wally.

I frequently called him my sweet boy.

Please please please consider a donation to the ASPCA (which is where we got him back in 2004).

They give so much in so little time.

If you have a doggo, give him/her a big hug and say "I love you, sweet thing."

You'll never regret it.

For My Puppy

I just got a call from my ex.

He thinks that tomorrow morning, he will have to put down our Darling Dog.

DDog and PDaughter, both as babies.

About a week ago, DDog was diagnosed with idiopathic vestibulitus. Basically, doggy vertigo, which is pretty common in older dogs. It  manifests as dizziness, inability to walk, nausea, and  lack of appetite. Most doggos get over it in 7-10 days.

But it's been a week, and DDog is not getting better. He hasn't eaten in days, and now he's stopped drinking water. He soils himself. He no longer recognizes his dad. My ex is very stressed. He called me tonight to let me know what was happening.

I cried a lot, you guys.

If you've met this dog, you know how amazing he is.

If you haven't...he's an amazing dog dog. Such a good dog.

Anyway, he may die tomorrow.

His 13th birthday would be March 2nd. But we don't get to make these decisions.

Please share if you've ever loved a mutt who was the best dog ever.

Musicals and Growing Up and Stuff

Here's an amusing anecdote, I think.

Precocious Daughter is playing in the orchestra for her high school's production of "Beauty and the Beast."

She's been working so very hard for so many weeks, you guys. Her dedication amazes me.

"High School Musical" isn't just a Disney show, you guys.
It's life, and love, and feels.

So...I attended tonight's performance. And in the two seats to my left were my ex-husband and my ex-mother-in-law.

Yep. Really.

My ex and I regularly meet up at functions involving PDaughter. She is our child, and we both love her, and it's totally not her burden to bear that we no longer exist as a couple.

But this.

My MIL hasn't visited  since her only son and I split up. That should be fucking awkward, right?

Except it's not.

Because I've grown the fuck up since splitting with my ex. And because his mother, bless her soul, is a loving and forgiving person who is willing to accept reality. Bless. Her. Soul

Ha. Ha. Fuck you, Internet.

Anyway, I'm really happy to report that "Beauty and the Beast" was absolutely amazing. How do high school students (and their extremely hard-working faculty) pull off something like this? I'm in awe, frankly.

Me, in awe.

I'm also happy to report that my ex-MIL and I had a blast at the show. We chatted, we laughed, we had a great time.

My ex was, I think, quite discomfited.

Vexed, one might say.

Guess what, Drunkards? I'm more mature than I was when I was married.

I'm more able to love and appreciate my extended family.

And I'm more grateful for the people who love my daughter, even if technically I'm not related to them any more.

I've grown up.

It took getting divorced. Huh.

I know that makes me neither unique nor special.

Just older and wiser than I once was.

You can perhaps relate.

I'm happy that PDaughter is happy.

And that, at long last, I'm in a good place with her family, even though I'm divorced from her dad.

Yeah, that seems weird.

But it's reality.

I love my girl, you know?

And I appreciate her kin. 

Happy at that, I am.

Merry Merry Merry

Here in my time zone, it will be Christmas in about 15 minutes.

Merry Christmas, you guys.

I'll be with family tomorrow. Not my Precocious Daughter. She'll be with her dad. Or, apparently, my Drummer Boy. He'll be....absent. But family. Which is important.

On Christmas I'll be an independent single woman, is what I mean to say.

That's good. you know?

Merry Christmas, Drunkards.

Tell everyone you meet that you love them.

It's that important.

I love you all.

A Post on December 24th

Merry Christmas, you guys.

From where I sit, it's Christmas Eve. It's a big deal, even for non-Christians like me, because even heathens enjoy the holidays.

George Bailey is the reason for the season, you guys. Totally.

I still haven't finished shopping. I haven't even begun wrapping. I'm not sure what I'll be doing on Christmas Day, as Precocious Daughter will be with her dad and I haven't yet heard from my sister.

It's not that I mind spending Christmas Day on my own.

I just need to know that no one is expecting me, so I can spend the day in my jammies drinking vodka, you know?

I like that kind of stability.

I'll post again on Christmas.

In the meantime....I love you all.

In keeping with the season.

The Emotionally Conflicted Holiday Baker

Precocious Daughter and I made Christmas cookies together, and apart from the first batch of sugar cookies, which had either too much flour or not enough milk because when we chilled the dough it came out like a couple of little bowling balls and even after it warmed up never got soft but just became like room temperature little bowling balls that cracked down the middle when we tried to roll them out but still tasted OK because of course I hated to throw away a whole batch of cookie dough so I kept it around and picked pieces off it until my stomach hurt because I almost never eat sweets...

...they turned out quite well.

PDaughter did most of the work, because she wanted to, with a bit of supervision in delicate areas like pouring a tablespoon of milk from a gallon jug and rolling balls of dough for the peanut butter kisses. Turns out she dislikes getting raw dough on her hands. I don't get it, either - are you supposed to use a spoon or something? Highfalutin af. I love her anyway.

We baked over two nights, and Drummer Boy was there for night 2. He helped, too, by which I mean he made sure I didn't feel awkward for being the only person eating the failed sugar cookie dough. By which I mean he ate the failed sugar cookie dough with me. DB actually is a very good cook AND baker. He just knew this was a mom-daughter thing and let us get on with it.

Also, I'm not sure having three people in my apartment kitchen would go well. I think it would end up like a game of culinary Twister, with the hot stove being red and the open bag of flour being green and my glass mixing bowl being blue and somebody's ribs being yellow. And you don't even get to enjoy collapsing in a heap because the floor is covered with broken glass and flour.

When the cookies were done, we divided them up. Some for us, some for DB, some for PBoyfriend, and...some for PDaughter's dad.

Yes, I made Christmas cookies for my ex-spouse. In front of my boyfriend.

That's not weird, is it?

My ex always loved Christmas cookies. He loved my Christmas cookies. They made him happy, and even though we're divorced, he still misses my cookies.

I promised PDaughter that we would make enough to share with him. We were already divvying them up three ways; four ways wasn't going to make any difference

And...even though we're divorced, it makes me happy that my cookies make him happy. I'm not a monster, despite what you've heard. (By the way, let me know what you've heard. I could use a good seethe/cry/revenge fantasy.)

Technically, I didn't have to tell DB that we were funneling Christmas cookies to my ex. He wouldn't have known otherwise. But I told him. Partly because I was a little embarrassed, partly because it seemed an unnecessary omission to just not mention it.

And he was fine with it. As I knew he would be. He's awesome that way.

Here's the thing: Every interaction with my ex has two possible outcomes. I can do the jerky thing just to be petty. Or I can do the kind and generous thing, even if it means biting my tongue or going out of my way to be nice.

Leaving aside the unspoken third thing: That I can emotionally emancipate myself enough to set appropriate ex-spouse boundaries without feeling guilty or resentful.

It's Christmas, but even Clarence the Angel couldn't deliver that miracle. I'm more likely to find a Hatchimal under my tree. Or watch "Hannibal" with PDaughter without moaning and squirming in disgust. Or finally publish that damn book.

You get the idea.

Anyhoo...We baked cookies, we shared them with people some of us love, it's freaking Christmas.

I wish a very Merry Christmas to everyone. Even if you're not Christian. I'm not Christian, but I still dig Christmas. Really.

Be happy, Drunkards. I love you all. Be happy.

I hope you have cookies. If not, let me know. I'll bake you some. Really.

Happy actual fucking Holidays, you guys.

Vacation 2016

I'm back in Texas, you guys.

Precocious Daughter and I flew into D/FW on Wednesday night. Because it was Turkey Day Eve, I was deathly afraid we were going to encounter traffic, long lines, security nightmares, flight delays...Nope. The trip went about as smoothly and as easily as you could wish.

Kind of like the entire vacation.

I had the best time in Milwaukee. I needed this trip. It's not just that I needed a vacation (which I really, really did), but I needed specifically this vacation. I needed time with PDaughter, time with my family, time in my hometown. Because I'm not the same person I was the last time I lived there, and I felt I had to find out just who I had become since then.

I'm pleased and relieved to report that I did, and I'm happy with that person.

First things first: Yes, I got my picture with the Bronze Fonz.

Unfortunately, Henry Winkler was not in attendance,
but it was still coolamundo.

Shout-out to the parking lot attendant with the beautiful Irish brogue who collected our $2.00 so we could roam the Milwaukee Riverwalk and pose with the statue. Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to state that every single person we encountered on our trip was friendly and nice. Well, except for maybe the hostess at Tenuta's Italian restaurant on Clement Ave., who is probably the only person on Earth to return PDaughter's big, bright smile with a sneer. Maybe she was on the rag, I don't know.

Anyway, I was able to show my girl a lot of my city. I'm proud to say I still mostly knew my way around after all these years, and when I needed help, PDaughter was right there to help me navigate via cell phone. We make a good team.

We went to the Mitchell Park Domes, you guys.

Again, bucket list. You won't regret it.

The Domes are a county park/horticultural conservatory housed in three giant geodesic domes built between 1959 and 1967. They consist of a Tropical Dome, a Desert Dome, and a Show Dome that houses exhibitions throughout the year. When we went, the Christmas display was up, and it was beautiful. PDaughter loved it, as I knew she would. Everybody loves the Domes.

Her father and I lived just three blocks from Mitchell Park when we were newlyweds. We used to throw Frisbees on the big green lawn just outside the Domes, taking care to avoid the 3,568 Canada geese that seemed to occupy the space at all times. Of course, I showed PDaughter where we lived, in the first-floor flat of a house built in 1909. The neighborhood didn't look much different from the way it did from 1989-1991. I don't know if that's good or bad. I don't know if 48-year-old me could be as comfortable there as 21-year-old me was. Probably not. But I'm glad 21-year-old me lived there. It was awesome.

I also drove PDaughter past the house I grew up in, the schools I attended, the corner stores where I spent my allowance, the movie theatres I went to (many of which closed, decayed, and then were restored and reopened since I was I kid), and the streets I roamed. Bless her heart, she feigned interest in all of it. Still, I know she genuinely enjoyed the Domes, and the Milwaukee Art Museum, and my friend South Side Shelly's very eclectic home on the edge of Bay View.

The Milwaukee Art Museum is a must-see. A treasure inside and out.

I got to spend time with my brother and his wife (who was a childhood friend). That was really nice. PDaughter thought my bro was funny and cool, which made me happy. We've had very different lives, but we still fell into our old sibling banter as if we hadn't spent the last 20 years apart. Because family.

My parents seem to be doing well now that they've moved from the woods of northern Wisconsin to the relative civility of Oak Creek. They're old now...that's a bit of a thing for me. They're healthy, and independent, and certainly as mentally sharp as they've always been (thank goodness for parents who have challenged me intellectually my whole life), but still, they're in their 70s. I love them, as I've always loved them, for raising me and worrying about me and helping me out when I've needed help. I hope that when PDaughter is grown, she sees me half as favorably as I see my mom and dad.

Yet...they've been married for 52 years, and they act like it. They act like the old married couple of which I will never be a part. They bicker, they argue, they purse their lips and furrow their brows and give each other the silent treatment when the only other alternative is to shout, apparently.

It makes my heart hurt a little. Because I don't think they're happy. Yet I don't think they could live without each other. And I feel a bit guilty that I terminated my own marriage before I could get to the same state. And I'm so much happier for that.

But...we're all adults. And we make our choices.

And among my choices is that I spent five days in Milwaukee with my Precocious Daughter. And I'm so glad I did.

This Thanksgiving, I'm truly thankful for what I have. And for what I've lost.

By the way, we had a non-traditional Thanksgiving. There was chicken, pork, beef, meat loaf...but no turkey. That seems appropriate.

Still, I'm happy. And I feel so strong, you guys. I feel I owe some of that to you.

So thanks.

I hope you're all thankful, too.

Let me know, yes?

Because if nothing else, gratitude is the reason for the season.

Fair Day, 2016

Yesterday was Fair Day.

I told you guys that Drummer Boy and Precocious Daughter and I would be attending the State Fair of Texas together this year. And yesterday was the day.

For those of you who don't live in or come from Texas: Just about every school child in the Dallas Metroplex gets a day off during the Fair, specifically to go to the Fair. Every child gets a free ticket.

That's how Texas rolls.

You should see this before you die, seriously.

Of course, PDaughter left hers at home and we ended up buying her a full-price ticket (despite my suggestion that she should remain in the car for six hours while Drummer Boy and I went in, to teach her a lesson about responsibility). But still.

I had never been to the Fair on School Day. When I was married, my ex and I actually used to pull PDaughter out of school on a Tuesday during the Fair's run, when admission was $2 with an empty can of Dr Pepper (again, this is Texas), and all the rides were discounted. But now that she's in high school, with a greater courseload and, of course, marching band, that's not really possible. So School Day it was.

Holy crap, was it crowded.

You don't understand how crowded.

Sort of. But more.

Here's the thing: I don't like crowds. They freak me out. But they freak out PDaughter even more, and so it fell to me to be the strong, unruffled adult as we made our way through, like, 12 billion people. Yes, more than the population of the Earth. That's how popular the State Fair of Texas is.

It was a crowd of old and young, black and white and brown, muscle shirts and hijabs, able-bodied and wheelchair-bound, families and couples and packs of rowdy teens. And with one exception, every single person we encountered was polite and cheerful and respectful. That exception was a loudmouth, rude, aggressive middle-aged white guy, who wasn't wearing a "Make America Great Again" gimme cap but might as well have been.

There's almost no chance that guy will read this, but just in case: You are damn lucky you stopped talking smack to me when you did, because my boyfriend was about to break you into pieces.

I should totally not be proud of that. But I kind of am.

So. One of my favorite attractions at the Fair is the World's Largest Traveling Reptile Show. It's so cheesy. PDaughter and I have gone in for several years. My ex never wanted to go with us, but Drummer Boy was totally game.

Alive Reptiles, you guys!

This year they had a "Siamese Spitting Cobra," which Google tells me is actually properly known as an Indo-Chinese Spitting Cobra. This is a beautiful black-and-white speckled serpent. The specimen in the Reptile Show was particularly active: slithering, rearing up, flicking its fork-ed tongue. And then, as we watched through the glass, it turned to look us straight in the eye, and it hooded at us.

Holy shit. Beautiful but deadly af.

It was. So. Cool. And terrifying.

We also ate Fletcher's corny dogs. Which is required by state law. No shit.

And we saw the famous Budweiser Clydesdales. They are beautiful, you guys.

They also tend to attract loud, rude Trump supporters, unfortunately.
Not their fault, thought.

We did not ride the Crazy Mouse, which was the favorite ride of the Baudelaire family. PDaughter decided the line was too long, and I was legit relieved, because it would have been weird to ride it with Drummer Boy.

Yeah. The Texas State Fair with Drummer Boy and PDaughter, the two most important people in my life, was amazing. But it was hard to shake the decades of Fair memories I accumulated with my ex and with my little Baudelaire family after PDaughter joined us.

It was sweet. It was difficult. It was joyous. It was bittersweet.

I had such a good time. Despite the traffic, and the expense, and the crowds, and the weird, intrusive memories.

If you have a bucket list, attending the State Fair of Texas should be on it.

Really.

I may be biased, having attended it with the two most important people in my life.

I had an awesome day.

The rest will be in the book. I promise

License to...Something

My good friend and loyal Drunkard Riley's Mom is getting married next month. I'm really happy for her, because she and her fiance seem really happy together, and that's a good, good thing.

This good? Not gonna ask, tbh.

Riley's Mom posted on Facebook this morning that she and, uh, Riley's Stepdad got their marriage license yesterday. Which is something I vaguely remember doing 26 years ago. I also vaguely remember that giddy feeling of having GONE THERE, and OMG THIS IS REAL.

Aside: No one said OMG in 1990, because nobody spoke Internet back then. Also, squee was not yet a word. They were harsh, unenlightened times.

We didn't even know what memes were.

But I digress.

So there was some discussion on Facebook about marriage licenses and what people do with them. Some people frame theirs, did you know that? It never occurred to me to frame mine. Some places must have prettier marriage licenses than others. In Milwaukee County (where I got married), marriage licenses have all the aesthetic appeal of a mandatory sexual harassment training course certificate of completion.

Not lying.

The discussion, however, made me realize something.

I've been divorced for two months and 11 days as of this writing. As many of you know. And I owe you guys a post on this strange feeling I've been experiencing over the last couple of weeks. I believe it's called happiness. I may need to let that gel for a few more days.

Anyway, here's what I realized.

When I moved into my apartment last October, I gathered up all my important papers - my birth certificate and Precocious Daughter's, the loan paperwork for my car, the password to my U.S. Savings Bond account, etc. - and placed them in a kind of box/portfolio/case thing. They're all together and safe, because Divorced Chuck is a lot more organized and responsible than Married Chuck ever was.

In that box/portfolio/case thing is my marriage license.

Of course. I was still married last October, technically speaking. Who knows, I might have needed to prove my marital status to...someone. Somewhere. Bottom line, I was married, so a marriage license remained among my vital documents.

Like this.

But now, today, I'm not married. I'm divorced. I have a notarized copy of my divorce decree to prove it.

So where does that leave me vis a vis my marriage license?

What the hell do I do with it?

Keep it as a memento of happier times?

Keep it as a reminder of my abject failure at that whole "til death do us part" thing?

Keep it for PDaughter, who might someday consider it a keepsake from her childhood?

Or...

Do I toss it?

Because it's been legally invalidated.

Because what God hath brought together actually has been torn asunder, and for good.

Because I'm no longer married and therefore have no need of the document that proved I was, at one time, married.

Do I decoupage it onto a TV tray?

Do I place it at the bottom of my Siamese kitten's litter box?

Do I simply hang on to it, because that small piece of paper defined me for 25 years, more than half my life, and so it's kind of important?

I don't know. At all.

Advice, Drunkards?

Keep, toss, use as art supplies?

Ideas are welcome.

Thanks in advance.

Moments

I just read a random clickbait article about "moments when people's lives changed forever" or some such thing. I'm not linking to it because clickbait articles are glitchy, slow to load, and riddled with pop-up ads. So fuck clickbait. But it was interesting.

Enjoy this amusing cartoon instead.

And it got me thinking about those watershed moments in my own life. I came up with four of them. I'm going to share them now, and invite each of you to share yours. Because I love to hear about the life events that shaped you. It makes me appreciate our differences as well as our similarities. And if we can all do that, maybe we won't turn out to be right-wing assholes who want everyone to be exactly they way they are.

Here we go.

1. For Sale

It was the summer of 1982. My older brother and sister and I were chilling at home - which was pretty unusual, since brother had enlisted in the Navy and sis and I were doing our best to cultivate social lives - when there was a knock at the door. Our parents were at work, so one of us answered the door. It was a realtor holding a "For Sale" sign, who said, "Hi, I'm just going to put this sign in your yard, OK?" Later our dad called from work to explain that, yes, he had been transferred and we were moving from Milwaukee to Plano, Texas. Life changed forever.

2. First Date

My (now) ex asked me out after we had had a few classes together in college. I almost said no, but then realized that I had recently concluded a brief, unhappy relationship and didn't exactly have suitors lined up at my door. I had a good time on my date, but there was no real spark. I'd already decided I wouldn't see him again and, therefore, wouldn't kiss him good night. On the other hand, I'd had a couple of margaritas, so when he moved in, I let him. The kiss was electric. We became a couple and married two years later. I regret nothing about that kiss. But it changed my life forever.

3. APT

After almost a decade of marriage, my (now) ex and I decided to start a family. When I didn't instantly become pregnant, I was very depressed. But when I took a pregnancy test in April 1999 (just a few days after the death of my beloved grandmother, and at the exact same time my Bestest Friend was giving birth to her daughter), and it indicated I was pregnant, I dissolved in tears. They...they weren't happy tears, Drunkards. I had the most acute feeling of my life: that my existence was forever changed, maybe or maybe nor for the better. It was so scary. I did quickly embrace my pregnancy, and now I'm certain that Precocious Daughter is the very best thing that has ever happened to me. Yet when it comes to drawing a thick line between "life after," nothing beats a positive pregnancy test.

4. Closer

Here is a story I'm still not ready to fully disclose. Suffice to say that one night in 2011, I told Drummer Boy that he was a half-step behind my spouse in terms of my feelings, and he admitted that "closer [than a half-step] must be a nice place to be." When I realized that the love I'd felt for him for decades was mutual, my entire life changed. I'm now committed to the love of my life, living as an independent single woman for the first time, and happily divorced. Judge me if you must. I'm happy. Are you?

OK, those are my four life-changing moments. I'd love you to share yours (one, two, three, or more, whatever). GO.