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2007-03-15 - 1:21 p.m.

It's Raining Men

Note: I tried to post this late last night, but D-land must've been doing server maintenance. Grrr.

It's been raining like crazy here today. Meow meow woof woof (repeat). But I tell ya, I love me some Houston thunderstorms. When the Gulf of Mexico produces storms, it means business.

I slept in later today, till around 10:30, then jumped in the shower. I was going to head downstairs, but the dogs were still cuddled up in little curly fluffballs, and the bed (all messy and cozy) looked so inviting...so I went back to sleep till noon.

What I didn't realize is that Dad was chomping at the bit all morning to get into the shower that's located in the master bedroom suite. It didn't occur to me that he'd need it, since he only worked up the energy to take his first shower here YESTERDAY. I thought for sure he'd wait a few more days, because it's such a big pain in the ass for him to get himself in and out of shower (and it's scary too, because there's a step that leads up to it. Mom and I are so afraid he's going to lose his balance). As I took the dogs out in the backyard, Dad dashed upstairs. And when I say "dash" I mean lumber like an elephant with weights attached to his ankles (complete with trumpets of "godDAMN" and "Jeeeesus Christ!")

I settled down with my knitting at the kitchen table and popped on my DVD copy of "The Aviator." I figured when Dad finally graced us with his presence again, at least it was a subject matter he'd enjoy. Let's just say he's getting a bit testy with "all the damn crime shows" we watch.

He eventually came down, sat in the wingback chair and announced he'd probably head back to Baton Rouge tomorrow morning. Thank GOD. He seemed pleased listening to the movie (and mom, who'd been preparing stuff for tonight's meatloaf, seemed to get into it as well). I took an opportunity to pepper Dad with questions about Howard Hughes ("Now when did he die again? He was buried in Houston, right? You told me once you knew where. So, where?")

His answers: "I dunno, 1979, maybe?" (actually 1976, per the special features documentary), "Yes...I think it was a family plot over in the area where River Oaks is. Unmarked grave, I think. Did I tell you that I was there when his body arrived for burial?"

"No! Really??" I was intrigued.

"Yeah," he replied, "I don't know if he was actually buried that particular day, but I saw them unload it."

"Did you just happen to be in the area, or did you specifically show up to see it?" I needed answers, dammit (Howard Hughes is immensely intriguing to me, plus anything related to dead people -- especially famous ones -- perks me up like a cup of coffee and a bouquet of roses).

"Oh, I went there to see it. I'd heard about it on the radio. I was curious. Figured, why not?"

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER.

Around 2:30, mom scooped a big bowl of tuna salad for Dad. I knitted, while he sat at the kitchen table and ate. Dad asked what time it was, and when I replied "2:35" he gave me a funny look. "TWO THIRTY-FIVE? Are you kidding me? I thought it was 5 or 6!" We realized that when mom was serving him the late lunch, he thought it was DINNER TIME. And he asks us at least 3 to 4 times a day what day of the week it is. How that man can keep track of things at work/in general with such a confused time/day orientation is a complete mystery to me. Of course, we know he has issues keeping things organized (and his thoughts straight) in Baton Rouge, but being around him when he gets like this is unsettling, to say the least.

We'll see how he manages, but something's gonna have to give here soon, and I hope it's not my sanity. Since Dad barged in on my last week with mom, looks like I'm staying one more week. And in case things go downhill with Dad again, I'll be close by. It's going to be so weird being in Lexington again (I pretty much skipped most of winter, like the old folks who fly south to Florida), but spring is fast approaching and I hope it's a gorgeous one, per the norm.

I've got all these plans to squeeze as many additional months of unemployment as possible from the remainder of my moolah. I wonder how long I can get by? The thought of working again is disturbing to me. Images of mad morning dashes from hitting the snooze button 20 times, wearing dress shoes, sitting in traffic, and dealing with idiot bosses who don't understand how to work the copier fill my head. Makes me wanna scrape my teeth along a bumpy sidewalk.

I must focus on enjoying my freedom while it lasts (I feel like I was released on bond and am awaiting my murder trial). There's so much to look forward to: Springtime, bunnies and birdies, April races at Keeneland, the Derby in May, a (possible) trip to NC for a weekend, completing my apartment re-org/decoration, new knitting projects, high speed internet access, whoring it up online at Second Life, and in real life. 2007 is the year I'm gonna find me a man toy. I mean, a man to toy with, not an actual "man toy" (Halo don't play that). I am the proud NON-owner of any "implements," if you will. Which probably puts me in 2% of the female population in America, right along with the Amish and paraplegics. Or the very rare Amish paraplegic (miniature horse drawn wheelchairs, I'm thinking).

And speaking of sex and medical ailments, I had the most fabulous dream about Hugh Laurie ("House") the other night. Now, I only find him moderately attractive, and I took "House" off my TiVO season pass because it irritated me, but in the dream, I was very drawn to him, in my wheelchair ("Whoa wee Nellie! Momma's got some nookie to tend to!")

But seriously, my legs and everything else were working fine and I threw off my bonnet, ran into his arms and asked for an IV injection STAT. No, I jest, I jest. (By the way, STAT stands for "Shortest Turn Around Time". Pass it on!)

What really happened in my dream was that he'd been asking me out for months, but I always refused. I wanted to be just friends, and had my (lazy) eye on someone else. I'm kidding -- my peeps were dandy. AnyHOO, one night, I was over at his place (cute cottage/bungalow type house), and we were sitting on bar stools in his kitchen talking over a glass of wine. Well, 2 glasses of wine (for me) because do you think I would do him without getting sauced first?

Ok, ok, I'll stop with the jokes. I'm just nervous (*biting lip*). heh. So we were talking and he asked why I'd kept turning him down for dates. I explained that I was afraid to get close with anyone. He offered a bit of the ol' "advice" that the guy I was interested in wasn't good enough for me and that I should take a chance on him. (*Cue ABBA music*) I looked down, then looked back up and suddenly saw him in a whole new way. Just like in a dream! Haha. He was rugged and manly and not recently shaven and the stars collided and I gave that man a complete work up/down. Actually, the dream ended right as we were about to kiss, but when I laid down later for a nap, I (consciously) picked up where we'd left off, re-did a few details in various ways (should I lean in and kiss him or vice-versa? Kitchen floor, couch, or bedroom? Or in front of a blazing fire? Maybe I shouldn't put out right away and leave before things get out of hand? Screw that, that's no fun). I finally drifted off, with a big smile on my face.

Meow meow woof woof, indeed.