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2007-03-29 - 9:32 p.m.

Home Alone

Hello, peoples! I have returned. I left Houston at 1 pm (I know) on Sunday. I arrived in Lexington on Monday at 7:30 am. That's like, a whole bunch of hours. You do the math, I'm still tired.

Everything fit in the car, just barely. Buddy and Sweets were squished in the leftover area (60%) of the back seat. Of course, SweetPea planted her fat butt down, taking most of the space, and made Budster contort himself. A few hours into the drive, he perched his front paddies on the console between the front seats and rested his head on my shoulder. Awwwww. He was doe dweet.

He put up with her diva behavior, as usual. I don't have the heart to tell him that the alpha dog will never give the underdog a dick licking. Best to let him dream.

Then again, most of his dreams likely revolve around Wally the English Bulldog (he of the complete ballage), but there's no need to point that out to PRINCESS OF THE UNIVERSE. A fat ass looks better with a fat head.

Moving right along...the trip in itself was uneventful. Light traffic, good weather. After awhile, it all blended together. I recall passing a billboard with refreshing "we get the joke" humor: Please don't litter. Help keep East Texas PURDY!

For many miles on the way to Texarkana, I was close to an RV pulling an SUV (too many big V's, I'm thinking) with plates from Ontario. They were going faster than I was, which was great. First off, they didn't get in my way, and second, if there was a cop ahead, they'd land on the radar first. Now, I either kept to the speed limit or cruised on long stretches only about 4 miles over to avoid pesky piggy trouble. A couple times I had to gun it to get out of someone's way, but overall, I kept things in check.

The Canadians, in their speed demon bacon wagon, were probably going 10 miles over, and I had to wonder how much gas they were eating up driving that behemoth and hauling a brand-new SUV to boot. Apparently, they had money. And threw caution to the wind in foreign lands. I thought perhaps they lived in the mountains (when they were home) and might run in famous circles. I bet they know Celine. And Jim Carrey.

I love making road trip buddies, whether acknowledged or not. Comforting, somehow. I wonder if the driver looked at me in the rearview and said "Hey, honey, that chick in the cheap Protege with Kentucky plates is still behind us. She doesn't look like the type to follow us to the next rest stop and ask how much we loved Titanic. And whether we can get her Celine's autograph. But you never know..."

Meanwhile, I was thinking "If we wind up at the same rest stop, I've got to tell them how much our country appreciated Celine's 'God Bless America' after 9/11. And the theme to Titanic. I wonder if they could they get me an autograph?"

So when they went straight as I veered off towards the final leg to Texarkana, I was devastated. I mean, kinda sad.

Fine! I can make my OWN bacon grease. They probably didn't know Celine anyway. My heart will go on. Dammit.

Shitballs, I thought. I need to find a new highway buddy. A trucker. And he won't drop me in the freezing ocean just because he hears a whistle and I'm blue and my body is dead weight. No! He'll love me and protect me! Or slit my throat and drop my by the riverbank...Wait a second. Never mind. Either way: Geh.

ANYHOO, I didn't find a new road buddy, so I kept myself busy listening to pretty damn decent radio stations (mostly country) and counting the miles and the minutes. Over and over. It's hard to perk yourself up after midnight and say "Only 6 or so more hours to go!" Somewhere in the ass of night, there was a change to Eastern time. Whoo! But that didn't get me to Lexington any faster.

You would think that with ALL THAT TIME on my hands, I could come up with grand life schemes or at least, to-do lists for the next month. Nope. All I could think in terms of the future was "check mail, get dogs out, grab a few bags, go to the bathroom, call mom, sleep all day, unpack car."

Covering the last 300 miles without falling asleep was the biggest issue. I'd perked myself up with some coffee around 1 am (an hour earlier than I'd planned to turn to the LIFE JUICE), and gobbled up a snack-size coffee cake and another large coffee around 5 am. By the way, much of that coffee cake is still all over the front seat/drive shaft (thingy?) of my car. It is NOT easy to take a bite of something stuck to a cardboard wrapper whilst driving when sleep-impaired.

When I pulled into my apartment complex (after getting slowed by a school crossing -- FUCK fuck FUCK you little people!), it felt weird. Like I hadn't been there forever, or that I'd only been gone a day. Surreal, weirdocity. My bladder was screaming but I stopped off to check the mail, only to find a pink fat note that all my mail was at the post office, ready for pick up anytime after 8 am. I entertained the thought of staying up a bit longer and driving over there, but my exhaustion won over.

I pulled into a parking spot close to my apartment (yay! the whole coming in Monday morning thing worked out!), grabbed my purse, snapped on the dogs' leashes and let them pee and lead me around while I followed in a trance. I found my key, and opened the door to my apartment, finally.

Heaven. My place. My bed. My shower. My things. My life.

But damn, why didn't I clean up more before I left? I recalled the place wasn't spic and span, but it wasn't a disaster either. I couldn't exactly remember how I'd left it.

To my dismay, the stairs were covered in dog hair. Ugh. A box of store-brand firelogs were pushed next to the wall at the top of the staircase by the laundry "room" closet. Oh, right. I'd hauled those out of my trunk right before I left. The plants on the shelf were mostly dead, as expected.

The carpet hadn't been vacuumed. Oh shit, I thought I'd done that. Apparently not. There were dog kibbles all over the floor on both sides of the kitchen. What the FUCK? I left without cleaning up all the dog food off the carpet? WHY? And the bathroom...well, never mind.

I was so mad with myself for leaving my place that way. I know I was in a rush to leave before I hit the road for Houston, but criminey, I'd been unemployed for a MONTH and I couldn't even wipe down the bathroom and vacuum the carpet first? What the hell was I doing all that time?

Even in my tired-beyond-tired state, I tried to think of before: I remembered I thought I'd only be gone a few weeks. That there was no sense in doing a big cleaning right before I left and having to dust and vacuum all over again. That I'd spent time organizing cabinets and drawers...and sleeping and watching movies and being a lazy ass. And getting ready for my trip to Houston.

Not worth worrying about. You had your reasons, I thought. It's done. Go to sleep.

That afternoon, I ran over to the post office to get my mail. Sat down and sorted it all out once I got home. I found a letter from the bank, which concerned me, since I check my statements online now. Turns out, it was sent near the end of February, reminding me that one of my CDs would mature on the 12th of March. Which I already knew. What I didn't realize is that if they didn't hear back from me by 3/22, they would automatically roll it into another CD until September.

Heh. What? Whoa. I don't think I read that right. Turns out, well hell, yes I did. OH SHIT. I need that money for taxes in 2 weeks, and to live off for the next few months.

Now, here's the thing: I can take the money out, but I'm going to lose a lot of the interest I earned over these past 7 months. Which was, ya know, THE WHOLE POINT OF PUTTING THE MONEY IN A CD IN THE FIRST PLACE.

I did talk to the bank (on Tuesday), explained the situation, but she said there was nothing they could do. "And besides," she said "you're only going to lose a little over $30. It's not that much."

Well. I feel so much better now. Thanks. It's just HALF the interest of money I tied up for MONTHS and MONTHS and MONTHS. No biggie. What's $30 when you're unemployed, huh? It's not like I'm desperate to stay unemployed for as long as possible so I can enjoy my life awhile longer until I'm forced to get chained to the boot of THE MAN (again).

Fuckers.

Monday night, after a few jagged naps during the day, I watched a few episodes of "Six Feet Under" to catch up. Turns out, 2 months in real time = 2 seasons in TV time. I should've just bought the whole series on DVD and not fucked with the A&E editing bullshit, but I'd gotten hooked with my season pass and it was there, even though I missed a bunch while I was away, and hell, I didn't have to pay $79 for discs, so I watched the episodes..and discovered it was the END OF THE SERIES.

I knew they were getting close to the last season on A&E, but SHIT. I didn't think I'd "catch up" to watch THE VERY END! I was able to figure out all the blanks I'd missed, with a few question marks, but I have to say it was amazing. Absolutely bowled me over with intensity.

Life, death, the importance of family, letting go, moving on, starting over, and holy shit did Claire lose some weight!

I must've bawled for a good 5-7 minutes when the showed ended. I stared up at the ceiling. What am I doing with MY life? After some "deep" (scattered) contemplation, I rolled over and went to sleep.

I was feeling much better on Tuesday. Still groggy though. Paid a few bills, put aside the ones I'd paid while I was away, talked to mom, watched TV, unloaded more stuff from the car, ordered a pizza for dinner because I was too tired to go to the store and had no idea what to buy. What's another $20, after $30 slipped through my fingers via some bullshit bank buggeroo?

I managed to get some vacuuming done and had the complex fix my A/C (that I discovered today still needs fine tuning -- won't go under 70 degrees, which I need at times, because I'm hot stuff baby!) Well, if boiling mad counts.

Anyhoo, Wednesday was spent resting and lightly noodling about while it rained. As of today, I still have several things to get out of the trunk, including the furniture. I'm trying to remove everything around it first. Books, DVDs, videos, knitting stuff. Doing my best to put things away as I bring them in (partially successful -- whoo!)

I still have so much cleaning and organizing to do. I finally ran to the store for nibs, grabbed a few things, and was dismayed at the wee section of sliced jalapeno peppers in jars. I like to use a few slices for my fave concession-style nacho sauce (Rico's) I bought back in Houston. Then I leave the rest in the fridge until I crave movie theater/roller rink food again. So cans obviously won't do.

I suddenly remembered I was in Kentucky and made a little face. These people don't understand Mexican food. In Kentucky, Mexican food gets a little section. In Texas, it gets a whole AISLE. Well, two, if you count the hard-core (actual) Mexican stuff (where they sell lard and menudo - not the band - and shitloads of Jesus candles).

In Kentucky it's hot browns and beer cheese and burgoo and I say, I say, I say BOOZE at the HORSE TRACK.

Which, come to think of it, ain't shabby. "I wanna put 5 burgoobles down on the horse named Julep Lou. Heh. Whoops-a-doodle! I mean...LOU, here's a fiver. I don't gots nothin' to wipe off that nasty ass FAUX Kenooky nacho sauce on this here bill. Gots a hankie, BILL? I means, LOU. You old guys always gots hankies, I say, I say, I say! Who? Put the money on the horse. Of course. HA ha. The whatever one (*pointing in circles at the track*), with the tail. He's the one wif the ears. Oh mah goodness. The BROWN one. Julep Doozie. Pppffftttt. Lemme check the ol' bookie lookie here. Ummmm, numbah 4! Whatcha mean that was the 'peeevious race'? Hold on, LOU. I'll be right back. Don't you go nowheres!" (*slamming into frat boy*)

Luckily, I don't drink hard liquor, unless warranted by a situation requiring hard liquor. And the night before starting a summer job at 7 am as a campus operator in college is not one of those situations. See, I learned something in school.

ANYHOOSENS, where was I? Jalapenos. I got some tall(er) person who resembled Cal Ripken Jr./ex-boyfriend to grab me a jar o' sliced Kroger brand peppers from the back of a top shelf. He gave me that "you weirdo" look when I said "I keep forgetting I'm not in Texas anymore -- there'd be a whole shelf!"

Being a goofball talky person here just doesn't work for me. Lucky for him I wasn't brandishing my knitting needles. ("Say adios to your judgmental peepers, Mr. Man!")

Although I did chat it up today with an older woman (Susan) walking her dog (Taylor) this morning. She was new to being a dog owner and somewhere in the middle of telling her this and that about Buddy and Sweets and discussing everything else under the sun, I forgot I wasn't wearing a bra and had a dripple of Noxema on my shirt. Sweet Lord.

At least I'd washed my face (the day BEFORE). I really need to remember that an intended quick walk with the dogs in the middle of the day could involve encountering OTHER PEOPLE. Of course, the next 17 times I "doll it up" (showered, with semi-fresh clothes) I won't see a soul on my treks, save for a couple of grade school boys throwing sticks at each other. And if I put on make-up? I won't see ANY living creature, not even a squirrel. ("Goddamit. Look at this mascara! It's PERFECT! Salma Hayek would KILL for these lashes! Anyone?? BIRDIES? Where are you? Fuck, I'll take a crow! CAW CAW!")

But if I look like a scabby whore from Walla Walla (THISCLOSE to being abducted by the Green River Killer in the 80's), who just got booted out of the cab of Charlie's rig, I'll see EVERYONE and they'll want to TALK.

"Pardon me, dear, but is that Noxema on your...um, blouse?"

(*looking down*)

"No, ma'am. Any other questions?"

So I've got a few things to work on now that I'm back. Unpacking my suitcase, for one.