Tidbits

The only good thing about Iowa: They have free wireless Internet at the rest stops. Both of the airports I've been in today do not. We shall see about the third later. And a fourth tomorrow.

On Friday, I gave TCO the rest of his stuff back. An Astronomy textbook, some socks and other assorted clothing, The Princess Bride DVD, tupperware, and other odds 'n ends including the pillow I wouldn't let him take in January. I smiled at him widely, a nervous reaction, and he just said, "all right." So anti-climatic. Such a beauty, that one.

On the upside, things with PGG are progressing swimmingly. This one, the sweetest one, this one who can tolerate Mira's screams...

The Saga Continues

Just in case anyone is interested, I'm not speaking to either The Chosen One or Sirius Black anymore. The Boy Who Lived is done with me. I've crossed paths with him three times at the YMCA since the break-up. Funny, because during the 6-ish months we were together, I never saw him there, not a once. I've been going on Monday and Wednesday evenings regularly for months now. Then following our unhinging I saw him twice within one week. Per my recollection to comrades, he "acted like he didn't know me," but that's really not quite the case. The longer version is that his eyes crossed mine briefly and his expression shifted in such a way that his eyebrows raise, eyes go a bit wild, and a goofy somewhat miffed smile appeared. This is not necessarily indicative of happiness inasmuch as a gallant grin is his default reaction to stimuli. That boy smiled so much, it makes my cheeks hurt just thinking about it. That is what I miss most--his smile.

A trip to South Dakota the weekend before last sealed the fate of Sirius Black. Or, in other words, I broke his heart.

"I know what YOU love."

On the way home from the YMCA last night Torrin and I were having a conversation about things that we love. Torrin reported his affinity for food, his sister, me, his dad, and video games, interspersed with my requested replies. Predictably, Torrin and Mira topped my list, along with the sky. "I know what you love," Torrin probed. "And what is that?" I answered. Torrin replied resolutely, "[TCO]."

Lost in Space

1. Driving patterns creating wide rectangles, because I keep forgetting where I was going.
2. Then when I get there, I don't remember why I went there in the first place.
3. Do you know where I'm going?
4. I sure as heck don't.
5. As I strapped Mira into her carseat leaving daycare this evening: "Ok, Mira, let's go get Torrin now!"
6. Mira: "No, I wan' go pick up my [Mira's name for TCO] firs."
7. Me: "Yeah, I wanna go get my [Mira's name for TCO] too."
8. Mira: "No, not 'or [TCO].
9. Me: "Mira's [TCO]?"
10. Mira: "Mmmhmm."

"...makes me want to slap your face."

I've refrained, up til now from sharing the latest He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Drama. On one hand? It's embarassing, frankly, to admit I've continued to allow this utter B.S. On another hand, I'm afraid. I am afraid of many things, and, unfortunately, he is one of them. It's definitely not for the reasons he thinks. And as for now, I've gained additional grounds for apprehension. Greaaaaat.

So, onto that third hand I'm looking to acquire? I don't care. When I click that 'Publish Post' button, I am fully aware that yes, this is the Internet, and no, I do not have the settings such where only invited readers can view these pages. I've never attempted to conceal that fact that I communicate more clearly in written rather than spoken form, nor am I going to hide its proof. My dream is to find someone who can appreciate this (as opposed to the typical condemnation). I can try my best to make accomodations, but I can't promise change. I can only promise a valiant effort.

Voldemort wishes I would "change." Sadly, he doesn't seem to have the slightest clue as to what needs changing. In another turn of psycho-stalkerness, he composed a doozy of an e-mail message and sent it to an e-mail address which he had somehow hunted down and determined to be that of The Boy Who Lived. I was appalled that any acquaintance of mine would have to suffer through the receipt of that piece of work.

Thank goodness for friends. This is the reply I got from the ever-so-lucky recipient of Voldemort's nastiness: That's ok Jacinda. This proves that he is a major loser and probably suffers from some sort of mental problem let alone self esteem issues. I know what type of person you are. and that is a beautiful, intelligent woman. Take care Jacinda. I hope you are doing well. I am grateful for that friend, and also to Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood. Both are divorced single moms. Hermione has two, and Luna has three in her home. Hermione and I exchange stories of jealous exes on a near-daily basis, to the tune of a basket-full of laughs. In the meantime, the press is hereby censored from further ramblings pending consultation with The Boy Who Lived.

Upheaval at the Ministry of Magic

Both Voldemort and Harry Potter have taken to reading the Daily Prophet. Goodness knows what Rita Skeeter'll do now.

Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

Who am I to disagree?

I really didn't intend to leave things off in such cliff-hanging form. It just worked out like that...sometimes life is a little bit like the movies, I guess. I've decided that the best way to attempt to explain Sirius Black using his own words. I wish I had the older texts in my phone, because there were some really good ones...SB has been on my MySpace friends list for a few months, but I met him a few years back. He sent me a message in early December saying that he had seen me on TV (your truly beautiful, I saw you on tv the other day and you seemed kinda nervous, but to me you were a Super Star! I want your autograph). He asked me for my phone number. I gave it to him, simultaneously clarifying that yes, I did have a boyfriend of whom I was enamored. Sirius was respectful of this. He sent a sterile, short and sweet text on Christmas: Merry Christmas.

I continued texting him for the next few days through the initial Boy Who Lived weirdness, culminating with the Break-Up-Or-Something-Like-It on New Year's Day. This of course triggered a wooing-while-pitying reaction from SB. I received messages about how he thought we really had a great dynamic, even things like him considering me as a prospective future wife, but regardless of what happened he wanted to be my friend always...

I've travelled the ocean and the seven seas...Everybody's lookin' for somethin'

The following are some more recent texts (spelling errors intact):

:-) I like u a lot baby, i know u love another man, but i feel fortunate (11:31pm Mon 07 Jan)

Yeah no need to apologize, we don't owe each other anything, ur stuck sweat'n another man, while i'm sweatin' u, i need to just chill and let u get ur head str8. (9:10pm Tue 08 Jan)

Once i fall in love with u i would have a hard time with u seeing him, i almost expect it right now though, but i know u love him, and i'll be gone a lot. (9:10am Fri 11 Jan)

But just stay in contact with me, and don't have it in my face, and i'll be able to just deal with it. (9:11am Fri Jan 11)

Nothings defanate, but i plan on being connected to u for life, even if only as friends, if we cannot, then i hope it isn't my doing. (9:22am Fri 11 Jan)

I thought TCO was going to chicken out on me two nights in a row. As previously mentioned, he returned to town on Friday night. Late that night I heard from him, and he said he'd come over...but then his car died. Okay, fine. We agreed to talk the next night. But he was going to go out with his "brother"/friend/roommate person (Viktor Krum'll do as a pseudonym). Whatever!In a fit of jealousy-twinged spite I decided that I, too, would be going out on Saturday night. And I did. I met up with Sirius Black and played a game of pool with him and met some of his friends. Then I went downtown, by myself, to my stand-by going out spot, a bar with a dance floor that plays mostly electronic dance music. One of the door-guys is someone I met through my son's dad six-ish years ago and am friendly with. A friend I met through a friend is also a regular there and it's typical to see at least one other person I know. This is a big deal for me, because I'm socially avoidant, but like being around people, if that makes sense. I'm afraid to initiate conversation, but I don't relish solitude.

Anyhow, after that I headed over to my friend's house, whom we'll refer to as Neville Longbottom. Neville is a buddy from high school. We've never dated. Took Creative Writing together, happened to have a good pal in common, and have been friends ever since. I drove out to pick Neville up 4 hours west of town on December 30th. There was a big to-do concerning Neville and Voldemort a little over a year ago when I comitted the grand felony of allowing Neville to babysit Mira. Neville dealt with the situation beautifully; Voldemort made an ass of himself. That's off-subject, though. Suffice to say, Neville's my homeboy. Neville was hosting an after-(bar)hours social gathering, or as more commonly referred, a keg. I felt I was approximately 87 years old, standing in that room with a bunch of bright shiny faces, many of which appeared to be pre-pubescent. I found a girl there that I'd had a class with a few terms ago and we commiserated about an insane left-wing hippie purple-pants wearing flutter-bug instructor. I left Neville's house and promptly drove by The Chosen One's apartment that he shares with Viktor. By this time is was nearly 3am. Viktor's car was not in the driveway, but the windows were alit, despite TCO's claim earlier that evening that he was tired and sick. I flicked a text in his direction and was soon in their apartment.We didn't talk. A few words is all. One can guess the rest. This morning, I appeared as though I were mauled by a pack of vampires.

This is so definitely not a pattern I want to fall into with the Boy Who Lived. As much as I do not want to let go of him entirely, I have far too much respect for him as a person to have a pseudo-relationship. No matter how unintentional, those sorts of things end up with both parties feeling used.

Some of them want to use you...
Some of them want to get used by you...
Some of them want to abuse you...
Some of them want to be abused...

Waiting.

He ended up buying a plane ticket. He's supposed to be back. Perhaps now. I don't know.

Two nights ago he called to inform me of his plans. Every time the phone rings and it's him, I'm slightly shocked. Installment 2 of the Great Confrontation's closing made it sound as if we weren't going to talk at all until we were in the same state again. I've received instructions from a good girl friend of mine that I shouldn't first contact him unless he tries first. So far I've violated that order twice, but with good reason; or at least, sort of good reason. He's called most nights. Last night, he called at 1am (he's a night owl), disappointed because his friends and relatives had bailed on going out with him again. I'm not sure how much stock to put into the fact that he thought to call me in that situation.

Even more crazy? As I was on the phone with him, I received a text message from said Other Person. Said Other Person, whom I think I shall refer to as Sirius Black, is someone I've known for a few years and known of since I was a wee sprat in junior high school. Someone who has suddenly crossed my path a few times in recent months. Someone who is professing...

Oh shit. The phone rang. TCO is in town. !

Regrettably, I'm still alive.

A lot has been going on lately. A lot, and also not much at all. I've not really been sharing because I'm not sure how much I want to share. Only a precious few know the full story. Even a few who think they know the whole story don't really know precisely the fragility of the matter.

TCO and his mom came to eat dinner with my family on Christmas Eve. Besides their being served severely out-of-date Dr. Pepper this seemed to go fairly well, or at least as well as I could have hoped. The next day, Christmas, was also Sir TCO's 21st birthday. The morning my children and I spent at home, unwrapping some gifts, until Torrin's grandpa arrived to cart him off to Tecumseh (small town about an hour away) for an overnight stay. Mira and I went over to TCO's house for breakfast after that, staying until her Waste-Of-Oxygen dad came to pick her up. That afternoon, he, his brother, TCO's roommate, my mother and I went to see a movie. Alien Vs. Predator, which was dependably gory and unnecessarily heartless. I went back over to his house for dinner. After a couple of hours spent lounging around watching movies he dropped the bombshell that he was hitching a ride back to Wisconsin with his mom and brother the next morning.

Ummmmmm. Okay.

Well, not really okay. I was pissed. I had been looking forward to this boy's 21st birthday for several months by then. Some possibly fabulous plans for New Year's had been made and fallen through, but I was eagerly awaiting spending the night with him regardless of a lack of luxurious locale. Yeah, so, piss on that, missed that boat.

That night, I had had a texted conversation with Torrin's dad, which ended with Torrin's dad saying he was surprised TCO had not said that he loved me, and that he should've said it by now. Young, inexperienced, or not.

The next couple of times I talked with TCO on the phone he stressed that is was important for him to spend time with his family. Okay? This is a point of contention how? Have I ever expressed contempt for spending time with family? Of course not. I like his family, I would never prevent him from wanting to visit them. My problem was being ditched last minute. At first, he seemed responsive enough. He was somewhat apologetic, sometimes at least. But gradually he stopped responding to texts. That's been a key means of communication between he and I over the past five months. I started getting suspicious that something more was going on. My texted messages became less friendly and more contrary. Finally, while at the theatre with my son on New Years Day I sent a message asking if it would be better if I did not text at all. His reply? He didn't know how to answer. I responded that that was answer enough and I would leave him alone. Inside, I crumbled. I'd thought that maybe he just needed a break, some time to himself, but this was seeming more serious than even that. I sent a frantic text to another friend, whose biting reply cut to my heart. Doomsday wagering battle, brain sloshing around, bubbles wavering in my blood, I imagined the worst. Later that evening, I sent TCO a message asking if he wanted to come to my house to get his things, or should I just drop them off?

That night my phone rang. My heart sank. All that time I just wanted to talk to him, and kept getting no reply...this was what it took to get his attention.

We were on the phone for about three hours. The discourse opened with his preface that he hadn't wanted to do this over the phone, but...he'd been frustrated for awhile. Frustrated that I couldn't talk about things that upset me, frustrated that I couldn't do things with him whenever he wanted, frustrated that this frustrated him. Said he felt selfish, since he knows I have kids and he knows they are the most important thing to which I must attend. Said he wanted to be able to just be with me, while concurrently understanding that I just can't do that. And then I complicate matters by not being able to talk.

I'm a pain in the ass. I realize this fully, but I don't know how to fix it. My brain shuts down. I can't think. When I am upset, it takes eons or millenia to formulate a coherent thought. Sometimes something pops into my head fairly punctually, but those are the sort of thoughts that must be fully evaluated before being approved for discharge. I'm not exactly sure why. I think it's a culmination of many factors, including having poor role models (my mom is also horrible about talking about things, although in a slightly different manner) and as a defense tactic. In my relationship with Voldemort, my responses tended to elicit uproarious and occasionally violent replies, no matter how diplomaticly I attempted to craft my statements. Everything I said was viciously contorted. An uttered truth might validate a slap across the face, but at the very least anything I offered was met with cruel accusations and criticism of my character. Experiences predating Voldemort warped my perceptions of normal relations between men and women, further muddying clarity.

I've never been good at arguing. Never in my life have I relished a good debate, due to the fact that I simply can't keep up. I was always labelled as a smart kid, in the gifted program, advanced classes and such, but "quick wit" has never been a characteristic of mine. I'm able to understand and evaluate, but not immediately. A therapist suspected that there may be a neurological cause. That I don't know, but I can say that the speedy shifts of subject in heated discussions leave me drawing a blank. And when there's a live person, emotions barred, before me awaiting an answer, the pressure builds. Whatever I want or believe is totally secondary to first knowing what I am supposed to do. I only want to know what is expected of me.

Even more frustrating to the opposing party, I generally feel that it's obvious what I want. Expressing what I want or how I feel about something seems silly because isn't it obvious? I just need to know what to do. Tell me what you want me to do. Shoot, look at my profile on Facebook, in the About Me section. "First, you tell me what you want to hear, then, I'll tell it." Given no parameters, I'm lost.

And now? I am lost. The conversation on New Years with TCO was inconclusive, although it seemed evident to me that he wanted to break up...so...why should I bother saying anything? His mind was already made up, and I'm not going to change his mind. I'm not persuasive. Isn't it obvious? Isn't it obvious that I don't want to break up with him? I guess not. And he throws in there that yes, he did love me, he was in love with me. Wasn't that what I wanted?

Yes, it was.

I was struck by how everything he referred to between he and I was past tense. He loved me. He was in love with me. He wanted it to work out. Around 3am he gave up. I was tired too, but saying goodbye? Was like granting my approval of the relationship dissolution.

Our conversation the next night produced similar results. My silences were shorter in length and fewer in number, but still present. I'm sorry, I'm frustrating. I don't mean to be, and I don't know how not to be. I only wish I knew earlier how seriously it was affecting the dynamic. I'm agreeable, I want to do the right thing. What is the right thing? If you really love something, let it go? I've always been too selfish for that. Maybe I don't say it, but I feel it.

I haven't yet said that I love him too. Because I'm not in the past tense in feeling that way, but I don't want to be the only one who does. In the past couple months...I've wondered, it is worth it? Should I try harder? What is really going on here? I don't want to unnecessarily put myself out on the line for a cause that noone else believes in. I wasn't going to be the first one to utter the l-word (truly a four-letter word). I'm much too much of a chickenshit.

Lost.
Love.
Lost.

He's still in Wisconsin, working on a way back. I've offered to drive; I shouldn't have. Not that I wouldn't do it, not that I don't want to help. I do, but my offering exposes me a little bit more. Maybe too much. Now, when I need to leave him alone.

(And this is only the half of it.)

Full blast

Fair warning: This is a vent, cranked up as high as the heat will escape...

Dangerous Driver
It figures that I post about being a 'dangerous driver,' and then the next day I get a ticket. In all fairness, I would like to report that any images captured while driving are always at a stoplight. You know, when the car's not moving. But anyway. Last night TCO and I went to the movie theatre to see a movie that we didn't get to watch because it was sold out. So, Mr. Movie Buff TCO was all aggravated by that, then there we are, minding our business, driving home. In the snow. And ice. The ice that's been coating the ground since Monday/Tuesday, and melting, freezing, and re-freezing ever since. And the snow, some of which had been there before the ice encased it Tuesday early in the morning. It started snowing around 8pm. Big, fluffy, flakes, the kind that make very pretty glittery snow and further disguise the ice. We went to a movie that started at 9:45, so it was pretty late by the time we got out. Snow blowing everywhere. Driving slowly, both for purposes of limited visibility and possible slick spots lurking beneath the surface, I approached an intersection cautiously. I noticed two police cruisers, and stopped until it was safe to cross the road. We get to the other side, and one of the police cars whips around in a parking lot and starts following me. Ummmm. Okay. Keep driving. Three blocks (and stop signs) later, he turns on his lights and aims his spotlight at me.

I got a ticket for failing to obey a traffic device. Apparently at that first intersection I mentioned, there was a sign that said "right turn only." Okay, fine.

I have two bones to pick with this. One, visibility was very poor. It's not like I totally ignored convention. I came to a complete, slow, stop, drove carefully, etc. Two, IF I had seen the sign, I assure you that I wouldn't have disobeyed it in front of TWO police cruisers. Come on. Isn't this a prime opportunity for a warning?

No, I still don't have a lawyer, but I need one.
Basically, all I've determined is that I am legally the custodial parent, but since no formal visitation has been set, I'd have to go to court to get Mira back if Voldemort decided to be a [insert foul swear word here]. I need a lawyer to get anything done. I'm also poor as hell. I may have a professional-sounding job title, and the work I do could be construed as higher-level, but the truth is that I make poverty wages and have zero benefits. I am loathe to trust the over-worked, under-funded prowess of legal aid but I have little choice at this point.
Voldemort actually revealed this evening that he has looked into trying to get full custody of Mira. You know, since I'm a sex-craving, STD-spreading, child-abusing prostitute.

He and his brother (who, coincidentally, is friendly as pie towards me) borrowed Mira this afternoon. When Voldemort brought her home, he noted that my house smelled like pot (marijuana). Then he asked me, "so was your boyfriend smoking pot?" and promptly left.
Uh, no, dipshit. You're the pot smoker. Actually it's been quite lovely having a boyfriend who doesn't smoke. I don't know if he still smokes it, but I know that he was at least through the summer of 2007, and had off and on throughout the five years which I've now known him for. It's been an an ongoing battle between he and his psycho-depressive self, and it's been a means of self-medication. When we went to Chicago in June/July to meet up with a bunch of my Internet Mom Friends? (that's the true IMF, I tell you, far more valuable than the International Monetary Fund). Yeah, one of the times when he left the house he went to find a frisbee golf course and he got high with some guys he met there.

So, in true adolescent form I send him a text a few minutes later which said, "You'd know the smell of pot better than me anyway!" Yeah, I shouldn't have sent it. It just pisses me off how he will totally ignore me when I try to talk to him (about MIRA, mind you, when he's picking her up or dropping her off). Then, when he does talk, it's to wedge in a sneaky jab. As soon as he left (which coincided with his pot comment), Torrin asked, "How come he always asks dumb questions, mom?" Good question, Torrin, good question, but not one I can answer quickly or concisely, beyond "because he's a sad, sad man." Or "mentally-ill," take your pick.

He responds by completely ignoring the marijuana conversation (probably a moot point anyway) and asking, "New TV?" See, there's a cardboard box on the porch by my recycling bins. An empty cardboard box that once housed a nice decent-sized flat LCD TV. It's not mine and it's not in my house. But Voldemort needed to obsess about WHOSE television it is...um...who cares?

Why, oh why, was it Torrin's dad who moved away, and not Mira's?

Update: Tom Riddle vs. Harry Potter

I'm somewhat chagrined to report that I have not taken any absolute action in respect to Voldemort's prying and pestering, aside from not answering his calls or texts.
On Tuesday afternoon, Torrin, The Chosen One, and I departed from Lincoln. Mira stayed in Lincoln. She was to be staying primarily with Voldemort's mother, known as Merope Gaunt in the HP series. I made no arrangements with Voldemort personally but it was understood that Merope would coordinate the efforts between she, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle Sr. (Voldemort's dad, who is not dead in this story).

So, we're driving through Iowa. Iowa sucks. But, all seemed to be going pretty well. The drive was progressing favorably and The Boy Who Lived was doing an excellent job at initiating and maintaining conversation (not one of my fortés). My phone rang...Santeria by Sublime, which has become (unfortunately for Sublime) Voldemort's anthem. Since Mira could have conceivably been with him, I felt it was fair to answer the call. "Let me talk to your boyfriend," he demanded. I said no and hung up on his dumb a$s.

We stopped in Dubuque for gas, as has become the custom. Torrin was passed out in the backseat by this time. We were just about to leave, when the phone rang again. Morbid curiousity won out over logic, and I answered, taking off for the service station's restroom and ditching The Chosen One as he opened the door to re-enter my car. God, that was rude of me.

But not nearly as rude as what Voldemort had just done. I said hello, and Mr. Riddle replied cooly, "I just got off of the phone with your boyfriend's mom." Then, he said her name. She has a distinctive name. The blood drained from my head and I sought refuge in the bathroom. "How did you do that?" I wanted to know. Voldemort was not satisfied with this reply. I'm not sure how he expected me to react, but he gauged me incorrectly by supposing that I only wanted to know how he found it out so that I can better "hide" my "tracks next time." He considers it a sort of public service that he called The Chosen One's mom to warn her about me. Says he was on the phone with her for half an hour.

Seriously, WHAT THE FÜ(K.

What kind of crazy son of a fool (no offense Merope and Tom Sr.) calls up his ex-GF's mother to make himself feel better.

I'm not even sure how Tom Riddle got that information. I've been pretty careful to not slip any identifying information to him (duh) or his mom. We're pretty sure it must be internet-related, possibly off of the local University's studentfinder via Facebook (to get his name).
At this point one can probably gather that I am definitely p!s$ed off. Come Monday you can be certain that I will verify that there is a document stating that I have legal physical custody of my daughter. Until then, I try to forget that the whole thing happened so that I can enjoy the weekend. That waste of oxygen is not worth my time spent worrying.

First Fight

If you know what I'm talking about or are curious to learn, click here.
Monday October 8, 2007 - 09:58pm (PST)

Comments
I am both fascinated and disturbed by boxing. The thought of someone that I know being a boxer and getting beat up would be wierd to cheer for. --Amber the Great
Tuesday October 9, 2007 - 11:23am (PST)

I still have no idea what it was I was watching but indeed I did watch. Then it cut off at the final round. Like someone pulled the final chapter of pages out of the book!--M
Thursday October 11, 2007 - 09:39am (PST)

Sorry about that, I have no idea why it did that. I fixed the link though, at least, I thought. It should be full-length now. What you were watching was The Boy Who Lived (in yellow) at his first boxing match. He didn't win but he did well.
Friday October 12, 2007 - 07:57pm (PST)

It's beeen a crappy week. (And as promised, pics...) (Fri 28 Sep 07)

I'm not going to go into the details of why the week has been crappy. But believe me, it has been, and it's been quite busy as well. So it was nice when the following was received as a surprise from The Boy Who Lived:

Then to make things better, we made good on our plans to make a pizza (his idea!). As in, actually make one, not just bake it. Neither of us had even done that before. And truthfully, he put forth 90% of the effort. All I did was chop up red pepper, some onion, and cook the sausages. We did cheat by not making the crust or tomato sauce; I'm willing to tackle the crust and he's more than willing to make a sauce next time. Here is the final product of Pizza No. 1 (Pizza No. 2 is waiting in the refrigerator to be baked tomorrow):

And now for a couple of pictures from last weekend...these are both motorcycle-related pics; the motorcycle belongs to The Chosen One's mother. We went for a nice ride. It's the beginning of fall, but still warm, so there was a beautiful selection of colors painted in the so-alive-it's-breathing scenery. First, me with Mira; then me with The Boy Who Lived on the bike:

Friday September 28, 2007 - 08:48pm (PST)

Comments
Helloooo, Leather Girl! ;)--julie
Saturday September 29, 2007 - 04:28pm (PST)

You are the epitome of bike chic! My week was awful, too. French feast and Omaha trip were great, it just wasn;t quite enough to steal the thunder from the craptastic events (and exes) of my life. I bought us some flowers for cheer, and my cat ate half of them. Your fleurs, on the otherhand, look lovely.--Amber,non-blogger extraordinaire