No More

When I was 18 I met a boy
When I was 21 I got pregnant, and had an abortion
When I was 31 I met a man, the wrong man
When I was 41 I met another man
When I was 46 I got pregnant and I had a daughter
When I was 48 I got pregnant, and it died inside me
Soon I will be 58. No more men, no more pregnancies.

No more.

Isolation Chamber

My new term for my room/bed.

That express train at the dead end of my street sounds sweet at night.

It echos hourly in the dark. Calling me.

I Still Need Mascara

Just because I can't pay my bills doesn't mean I don't need mascara.
It makes me feel pretty.
Anyway how do I pay for a seven dollar item on a two dollar budget?

When I went to the drug store today, to pick some new meds, that were actually old meds, meaning they had been around for years and only set me back three dollars and change.

I walked over to the make up aisle to see if any mascara was on sale. Zero.

I bought a three pack of bubble gum. One for me. One for my kid and one for my co-worker.
It made me feel generous. Besides bubble gum tends to brings smiles out in people.
Which totally trumps feeling pretty.

D is for Dead

Guinea Pig Found Dead:
Reaper Strikes Again on Facebook!


Actual Facebook Post
Dale's post: We lost our little guinea pig, Rocky, today. He was a sweet little boy and will be surely missed by all of us. RIP Rocky xoxo
1 person likes this (?)
Diane: SO SORRY TO HEAR THAT. HOW ARE THE KIDS TAKING IT??
Darcy: Rocky was lucky to have had such a great family to love him while he was here... ♥ RIP Rocky, so sorry Smith crew.. xo
Dale Smith: We all are taking it hard...Rocky was a sweetie... He always greeted me every morning and every night. every time he heard my voice, he would sqeak a greeting. I will really miss him.
Debbi:  I know how you all feel. they are like family
Doris: Sorry Dale
Della: Sorry to hear that Dale! Guinea pig, cat, dog, hamster, what have you...they're all a part of our family and are missed when they are gone. The "tough" part of loving a pet! Hang in there!
Dale Smith:  Rocky was a very interactive member of the family...loved to be held and cuddled.
Dale Smith: You're right Della. They are all treasured members of the family. My 'babies' are all very special to me (us).
Dale Smith: Thanks everyone...It has been a rough day...
Dorothy: Dee never said a word when she cameover??
Dina: awww, sorry guys. i know how attached we all are to your piggies.
Dana:  Awww, so sorry gf!
Demi:  so sad - I am sorry
Donna:  OH sorry to hear about that...its hard to lose a pet.
Daria:  I'm so sorry to hear this Dale. He was a charmer for sure. I'm so glad I got the chance to meet him. I know how much the Smith family loves him and it sure did show!! RIP Rocky. If there is anything we can do for you, we are here for you all! Sending our love and prayers during this sad time. XOXO
Last comment I could stomach to copy: How sad! :(


Two days later I found myself at PetSmart watching a Guinea Pig behind glass still wondering what all the fuss was about.

More posts about Facebook: In your Facebook Death and Facebook

Interview Attire

I was recently coached by an employment recruiter as to the proper attire for an interview.

I had a pair of black dress pants which I wear to almost everything. Funerals, lunches with dignitaries, other interviews. I thought if I could find a top to go with it that would be peachy. I went to the mall and tried on a million things. I don't really enjoy shopping. I am thrifty by nature and like to use things up before I buy something new. The venture seemed successful and the next day I texted pictures to the recruiter of what I had purchased. The response I got was an emphatic NO! I received a detailed text of what I should wear. The consensus was:

A sweater set with pearls.
Who am I? June Cleaver?

So, I returned to the store where I purchased the less than elegantly perfect interview attire and keened my search. I tried very hard to step out of my box. I pulled things off of the racks and carried them to the nearest mirror. Too hip, too square, too young, too old, not me! Finally feeling dead ended and drained, I started to ask the advice of fellow shoppers. I shared the June Cleaver pitch and my new friends gasped at the thought

I took my new choices and went into the dressing room.

There as I tried on my four selections I again enlisted the help of the women in their stalls. They came out one by one, timid at first, but once they saw my exasperation they took me to their bosoms and extended big girl advice. God Bless them everyone! They all really liked a casual trendy suit jacket, which I wasn't completely sold on. It needs something one women said, "pearls" she uttered. My shoulders slumped.

I choose one trendy, not really me but not so obviously not me that I wouldn't feel like a jerk, blousey knitted top thingy. Then feeling positive, I ventured on to find the perfect top for a second interview.

The day of my appointment I had no clue where I was going and needed to use my GPS for the first time. My interview went well and I walked out of the building feeling confident, sure my attire was no hindrance to the impression I had made. After receiving positive feedback from the recruiter, my second interview blouse hangs limp, tags still attached. Waiting, along with me for the final word.

I spoke to my recruiter yesterday...
Today I will head to the mall to return the second interview top.
Or maybe not.
I kinda like it and it doesn't require pearls.

Feeling Like A Criminal

Last week on the twenty eighth day in a month of thirty one I realized my drivers license was due to expire. This year I was given strict instruction that I had to appear IN PERSON. DO NOT RENEW ON LINE. Naturally I waited until the last minute (almost). They open at 8 am, I arrived at 7:50am.

The doors were open when I arrived and the line had about ten people. I inched my way up only to find out that the two point ID I had with me was not the correct copy, luckily I was carrying a bank card and insurance card which allowed me to meet the new six point system of identification requirements needed for proof of mere existence. I was given the number eleven handwritten on a 3x5 card and asked to sit and wait.

We all sat and stared at the empty booth for the first thirty minutes or so, then a women appeared calling number's one, two and three. It took about one hour to complete the first three people. Apparently our proof of mere existence needed to be questioned one last time. There was no help in sight, by this time the inmates were talking to each other. I was sure someone would share Facebook information.

Before the fourth set of three number's were called a second person came out to help. When my number was finally called, number twelve and I had our very own individual license giver-outers. The two of us decided to be cohorts in crime and not renew our photos, therefore speeding up the laborious process for the remaining convicts. While waiting in the trenches I had had a conversation with number thirty one, who had at least a two hour wait. It was the right thing to do.

While we were standing waiting, number twelve mentioned that being there made her feel like a criminal, I had to agree. The whole burden of proof process was very uncomfortable to me also. I have to admit I was very relieved when I was given the okay and told I could leave.

Unfortunately I also noticed that morning while walking to my car that my inspection sticker said six. We were at the end of the seventh month. On my way to the inspection station I bought a tin cup.

Alone in my Bed part deux

It's been a couple of years that I am alone in my bed. It's been dandy - but the past few days I've been waking up feeling lost and a bit blue. In the middle of the night I miss the toe touch, the arm rest or the hand rub. I miss the quiet little "good morning" or "you up?"

I don't miss fighting over blankets.
I don't miss no room to sprawl.

But once in awhile a little cuddle would be nice.