The Merry Widow...is so vain. She probably thinks this song is about her.

...I'm gonna go to the place that's the best

2009-04-21T17:43:00.001-05:00

I didn’t hear my cell phone when it first rang, as I had turned the ringer to “vibrate” earlier in the day when I had gone out to eat. It wasn’t until about 7:30pm that I had noticed that I had a missed call.

“Oh! My dad called me.” I said out loud to my boyfriend, John, who was sitting next to me, watching TV. “I better call him back.”

Ring, ring, ring…

“Hello?
“Hi, Daddy. Is everything ok? I see that I missed two of your calls. What’s going on?”
“Oh,” he replied, “everything is fine. I just wanted to remind you that today is Holy Saturday. You need to get John wet.”
I began to laugh, yet tried to play off our conversation like we were just having a casual talk, for my boyfriend, was sitting next to me while my dad was reminding me of our great Mexican tradition.

John had not yet been privy to the antics of my father, who is well known for his little pranks and jokes that he likes to play on friends and family. I had warned John in the past about things that my dad had done in jest. Getting people wet on Holy Saturday was included on the list. But since John had never experienced any of it first hand, he had always ignored my stories, writing them off as folklore. Because of this, I knew that John was oblivious to the fact that it was indeed Holy Saturday, and that it was my duty, to not only obey my father, but to honor the grand traditions of my culture and religion.

But how was I going to lure John into the lion’s den? How would I set my trap? My mind thought rapidly as I came up with a plan to not only get John wet, but to avoid getting my house wet. The time was approaching 8pm, so I knew that it would seem suspicious if I had tried to get John to walk outside….

Finally, I came up with a plan inclusive to both my cleanliness and mischievous ways.

I got up, walked to the master bathroom, filled up a glass with water, and held it in my hand, as if it were my drinking glass.

“JOHN!” I yelled out into the hallway, “Can you come to the bathroom? There’s something weird crawling in the bathtub!”

Knowing that I am deathly terrified of all creatures that possess more than 4 legs, John hastily walked to the back of the house, entering the master bathroom.

“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But it’s in the corner of the tub. Look!” I exclaimed as I pointed my finger into the back corner of the tub.

And just as John was leaning over the tub to get a better look, I poured my glass of water over his head.

And when he looked up at me, with an angry face and yelled, “WHY DID YOU DO THAT???” I replied, “My dad made me do it. That’s why he called. And who am I to disobey my father?”

:-)

John has already marked Holy Saturday on his 2010 calendar as his day of revenge.

Leggo My Eggo!

2008-08-27T10:54:00.004-05:00

I know that I'm not supossed to blog about work. But...

Someone ate my pop tart. (OK, not an eggo, but still a form of toaster treat, meant for breakfast consumption.) I put a pop tart in the toaster, located in the break room. I left for 5 minutes, to answer some emails while it was toasting, and when I came back, IT WAS GONE.

People, don't steal my food. Hungry widow = Grumpy widow.

We are the champions!

2008-08-12T12:32:00.003-05:00

I am desperately trying NOT to fall asleep at work.

It's only week #2.

When you're new, you don't have too too much to do. Hence the sleepiness.

Oh yeah, and I stayed up til 1am watching The Olympics. That might be contributing to my eye-fatigue as well. But I can't help it. I L-O-V-E the Olympics. Is anyone else as obsessed as I? Sometimes I feel like that girl from the AT&T commercial...the one who is super-obsessed with Michael Phelps.

This is a picture of Micheal Phelps, singing the U.S. National Anthem last night (Aug. 11, 2008) after winning his 3rd Olympic Gold in Beijing. Is it me, or does it look like he's holding up is man boob? Not that he has man boobs, but you get my point.

Micheal Phelps, you are a phenominal swimmer, but please adjust your hand placement after your next gold win.

Love,

The Olympic Widow

All Summer Long

2008-08-08T12:38:00.003-05:00

So just a few quick things that I wanted to jot down to remember this week:

#1: My BFF called me (the one who is flying in from Indiana to go to the NKOTB! concert with me) to let me know that she bought her plane ticket. Also, she updated me on some family issues, like how our little brother (aka Booger-Butt) is doing quite well, after his 1st week in rehab. We are proud of him for making the decision to go and make himself well.

#2: I started a new job this week. It's a big change from what I'm used to doing. In fact, it's a career change or sorts, although I'm still in the Cancer Research field. I won't say on here where or with whom I'm working (Hi Dooce!!!) but I will say that the 1st week has been great and I'm looking forward to long career with this company. Plus I have cut my commute down from 90 minutes to 20. Oh yeah and I got a huge raise. Go me!

#3: I got new hard wood floors put into my ENTIRE house last week and I am in love. Everyday this week, whenever I get home from work, I tell Guy #6 about how much I love my new commute AND my new hardwood floors. Every so often, I add him to my list of things that I totally heart as well. But he always manages to get himself taken off that list just as soon as I add him on. ;-)

#4: Guy #6 and I had a lengthy, and quite productive, discussion about our money and budget last night. Made me feel good about our future and good about the fact that he is finally starting to act like a grown up. I guess that turning 30 actually did make an impact on him. (He joined the 30-something club early last month.)

#5: Plans for this weekend include going to see Kid Rock (with Rev Run) on Saturday, going to Papas on the Lake (one of our favorite ice houses) for some fun and beer on Sunday. Tonight we are going to meet up with a friend who is going to propose to his girlfriend TONIGHT. He invited close friends to witness the occasion. She just thinks we're all getting together for some drinks. I can't wait to see her reaction. They make a cute couple.

OK, I guess that's it. I just wanted to record the events from this week to remind myself that life is good. The Widow is indeed Merry.

Stinky McStinkface

2008-06-20T16:07:00.004-05:00

I have been in a very grumpy mood. And before you ask, no, it is not that time of the month, thank you very much. I just need to make some changes in my life that include the following:

1. Don't put up with people who don't appreciate me. I don't care if you're my boyfriend. If you don't appreciate everything I do, then I will kindly escort you out the door. (But with attitude.)
2. Get a new job, closer to home, that pays more than what I make now.
3. Get a maid. (I'm looking at you, Guy #6.)
4. Win the lottery. And I don't mean winning $2 from a scratch-off. I want at least $50,000 (after taxes.) Is that asking for too much? I didn't even ask for a million dollars, people.
5. Go on vacation. Any location in Texas does not count. Oh, and said vacation must include at least 3 nights in a hotel.
6. Get a tan during above mentioned vacation.

The end.

Get a clue

2008-06-19T15:19:00.004-05:00

I can't sleep with the TV on.

Why do you insist on watching it in our bedroom whenever I'm trying to go to bed? We have 2 TV's...go watch the other tv and let me sleep.

Did I mention that I have to wake up at 5:45 in the morning? Did I? DID I??? Every single freaking morning. Not sure if I've mentioned that to you. Every night. For the last year.

SO JUST TURN OFF THE DAMN TV ALREADY.

Before I decide to cancel the cable.

The Right Stuff

2008-06-12T12:40:00.008-05:00

So I have this little obsession that started over 20 years ago...it's an obsession with this boy group that was popular in the 80's. They're called NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!! Maybe you've heard of them. I type NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!! in all caps, with 3 exclamation points at the end, because that's how excited I am about them. You see, they have recently informed the world, via The Today Show, that they are reuniting. And they're going on tour! And boy am I excited. I'm all caps and 3 exclamation points excited.

So amidst my NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!! excitement, I registered on their website (http://www.nkotb.com/) so that I can be updated as to when and where they will be touring. And wouldn't you know it, there were no listed dates for Houston, Texas.

"Why, God, WHY???" I screamed out in horror when I read the news that I would not have the chance to see my beloved Joey McIntyre, wearing his hat with no top on it. "Why have you forsaken me???"

Soon, my anger turned to dispair, as I listened to my Hangin Tough CD, alone, in the dark. Tears streaming down my face as I remembered the days as a pre-pubescent girl, going to not one, but two NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!! concerts. Oh how I wish I could relive those days again and watch my one and only Joey McIntyre sing the song that I KNOW was meant for me:

"Please don't go giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl..."

But alas, just when I thought that there was no light at the end of the tunnel, my friend from work called me, early one moring, just after I had arrived to my dreaded job.

"Merry Widow, did you hear the news? New Kids On The Block are coming to Houston. October 16."

"What?" I screamed out as I quickly hopped on my computer to comfirm that she wasn't pulling one over on me. "You mean NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!!? I LOVE THEM!"

"ME TOO!" She screamed back at me. "Let's buy tickets!"

I am now happy to report that I am the proud proud owner of 5 NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!! tickets! Live, and in concert on October 16, 2008. Yes, I bought 5. And no, you can't have one. One is for me, three are for my co-worker and her 2 friends, and the other goes to my BFF of all time. The girl who was standing right by my side when I went to my first AND second NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!! concert. She's flying in from Indiana just to see the show. Oh yeah, and to see me too. :-)

It's hard to tell in this picture, but the top of Joey McIntyre's hat is missing. You can sort of see some of his hair poking through the top. He was oh so dreamy back then.

This is them now. Joey is the one on the left. He is still oh so dreamy. And is it me, or is Danny Wood hot now???

...to yesterday

2008-02-07T16:44:00.003-06:00

Sometimes I wonder if DJ gets upset that I have fallen in love so deeply with someone new.

Sometimes I feel guitly about that.

Sometimes I feel sad about it.

Sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting him.

And for that, I feel ashamed.

Ashamed that I love someone new. And ashamed that I love someone old.

Please know that I will always love you forever and ever and ever with all of my heart.

Both of you.

All you need is...

2008-01-30T12:19:00.000-06:00

I know that everyone else has hurt you. I know that everyone else has left you. I know that everyone else has broken your trust.

But I won't. I am here to stay. Forever and ever and ever.

And I can't believe that I have finally found someone that won't hurt me...that won't leave me...that won't break my trust.

And this I truely believe.

I know that we're both afraid, but I think that we're both finally starting to realize that maybe there's no reason for the fear. Because my love for you is infinite. And somehow, someway, you've made it abundantly clear to me that your love for me is just as vast.

Weirdo

2008-01-29T09:14:00.000-06:00

There's this guy at work who always just stands at the doorway of my office and stares. Whenever I ask him what he wants, he just laughs.

I don't like him.

Too late

2008-01-25T10:45:00.001-06:00

All I want to do is go and home relax. That's all.

And the thing is, I can't do that right now. When my house gets cluttered, my mind gets cluttered. And when my mind gets cluttered, then I can't relax. And when I can't relax, I get stressed. And when I get stressed, I get ANGRY.

To make things worse, the clutter that I see in my house does not belong to me. It belongs to THEM. THEY who do not pay the mortgage. Which upsets me more than it should, when I already feel stressed.

So here's what I want: If you don't pay bills at my house, then please vacate it. And if you do pay bills at my house, THEN CLEAN UP YOUR FREAKIN MESS.

Because I can't deal with this anymore. My house is my sanctuary. It's the only place in this world that I go to calm myself down. And if you take that away from me (which I feel like you have) then I am going to EXPLODE and it's not gonna be pretty.

And no. I don't wanna talk to you or you about it. Talk is cheap. I want action.

Random Thoughts for the Day

2008-01-24T13:31:00.000-06:00

Everyday I pray to God and ask Him to help me be patient.

I don't know if it's working. But I'm trying REALLY REALLY REALLY hard.

I think that everyday I fall more and more and more in love with Guy #6. And I can't believe that he loves me just as much as I love him. And that makes me believe in miracles all over again. I wonder if it makes him believe?

I think that I will try to go for a walk today. No matter how tired I am after work. We'll see. I'm sure I'll sing a different tune by the time I get home.

...and if you don't like it...

2008-01-23T12:13:00.001-06:00

So here's the thing: Even though I love love love you, (please note that I used 3 loves and not just 1) I cannot live with you.

And no, it's not you. It's totally totally totally me.

You see, I'm an only child. And as an only child, I have this innate inability to share. Anything. At all. Period.

And this includes my house.

I want to be able to talk on the phone, without you listening in. I want to be able to leave my bedroom door open, so that the cat can wonder in and out, whenever she wants. And I hate that I have to close my bedroom door, whenever I want to change my clothes, have a private conversation (in hushed tones,) or just be left alone. I hate that whenever I want to leave the confinement of my bedroom, I have to put on a bra, or clothes for that matter...for just in case reasons. But most of all, I hate that I'm the one who has an extra room in her house. Because if it wasn't for that, then I wouldn't be in this situation, now would I? It sucks that every single person, on the face of this Earth, thinks that just because I have this extra room, with this extra bed, that I'll be happy to share it. Guess what? I'm not. I didn't buy this house, with this extra room for you. I bought it for me. I bought it for the very rare event that my parents might want somewhere to sleep whenever they come and visit. Or my grandpa. But really, that's it. Because as mentioned previously, I don't like to share.

But I just don't understand, really, why you're at my house. I want to understand. Actually I'm trying really really hard to be understanding. I wake up every morning, and talk myself out of being angry about it all. But...well...I don't know...I guess that if I were in your situation, I'd go home. As in home-home. Like to my parents' home. I don't know...I've never been in your situation. So maybe I wouldn't. But I don't think that I would or could bring myself to live in anyone else's home, other than my parents', without paying rent. And yes, I know the money situation. Which is why I think, were I in your situation, I'd go home. But like I said, maybe I would act differently, if I walked a mile in your shoes. And I think that's why I haven't said anything to you. What if there is that one day when I need a place to stay? I know, for a fact, that you would let me stay with you. Even though I would just go to my parents' house instead.

I'll get over it eventually. But admittedly, it won't be until after you leave. And hopefully, you won't hold it against me. Because we both knew ahead of time, that this is the way that I am. And even though I'm typing this out on the internet, for the whole world to read, I'm banking on the notion that you won't read it. I'm banking on the notion that the whole world is assuming that I don't blog anymore.

And yes, I know...I'm selfish. But I'm allowed to be like that in my own house.

Random Thoughts for the Day

2008-01-16T14:15:00.001-06:00

1. I want to find a job closer to home. This commute makes me unhappy. And I can't be The Merry Widow if I'm unhappy. I think I will "devote" the next couple of months to updating my resume and applying for a few jobs online, to see if anyone bites.

2. The flu sucks. I'm pretty sure that I could have been declared "clinically dead" this past weekend. I don't care if you don't believe me.

3. I want the snot in my head and chest to go away.

4. Scott needs to understand that I can't workout with him until above mentioned snot goes away. Snotty Widow = Asthma Widow = Trip to E.R.

5. I need to get my home owner's insurance stuff together.

6. Don't forget to call Guy #3.

7. I don't like to share. Don't make me do it anymore.

8. Finish reading The Secret.

9. Apply "secret" to above list.

10. Don't forget that he really does love me. He really really does. :-)

Let Me Hear Your Body Talk

2008-01-09T12:24:00.000-06:00

This past weekend, I decided that I finally needed to do something about the fact that ALL of my jeans are way way WAY too tight and that even when I do finally get them buttoned, all I want to do is unbutton them so that I can breeeeeeeeeeeeath. So when Scott, one of my boyfriend's best friends, who also happens to be one of the top personal trainers in H-Town, called me to ask me if I was ever going to get off of my big jello-ass and start working out with him, I finally took the plunge and said yes. Luckily for Scott, he just so happened to call at the exact moment when I was trying to suck in my muffin-top of a stomach so that I could squeeze into my jeans. And right when I said outloud to myself, "I'M TIRED OF BEING FAT!" he called.

Soooooooooooooooo, because I look like Winnie the Pooh, walking around in t-shirts that are too tight and too small around the middle, I made a commitment and told Scott that I would meet up with him, at his gym, at 7pm for an initial training session. And because my boyfriend looks like he's about 4 months pregnant, with twins, I made him come too. (Actually, I love love love his Buddah-Belly...he wanted to come on his own.)

Well, Scott talked us through his "warm-up" routine and by the time that boyfriend and I were done with our hundreth, er...I mean tenth squat, my legs turned to J-E-L-L-O, and I fell onto the floor, having lost all the strength needed to support my big, round, fat-bastard, belly.

But Scott didn't become one of the best trainers in Houston, by letting his clients give up, so he kept pushing and pushing and pushing, until boyfriend and I managed to push out some push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, jumps, jumping-jacks, pull-ups, more squats, kicks, and he even got me to do some rowing on that little row machine thingy. Of course, by time we got to that part, my leg bones and muscles had disinegrated into dust, leaving me unable to do much. We won't talk about the part where boyfriend had to run outside to throw up because he worked himself out a little too hard. Well, maybe it wasn't the workout, but the fact that boyfriend and I are the laziest bums to ever roam the earth and neither of us have even bothered to think about exercise in at least 2 years. We get tired and winded just watching people run. Needless to say, we are, what doctors call, "a wee-bit out of shape."

Did I mention that we only did the "warm-up?"

Today, I have 0% use of my legs. I can't even step on and off the curb.

We go back on Monday.

No One

2008-01-08T09:55:00.000-06:00

Even as I write this, I'm mad at him. Of course, it's for something petty and insignificant, but still, I pouted at him this morning as he dropped me off at work. And even though I was being a brat, he and I both know that I'll be over it by lunch time, and gushing over him through text messages...telling him that I love him forever and ever and ever. And of course, I know that he'll send the same text messages right back to me.

At work, during my lunch break, I'll tell all of my girlfriends how silly he is...about the stupid things that he does, or says...about his irresponsibility.... And yet, they all know that these things, are the things that make me love him. They know that I love his silliness, the stupid things that he does and says. That all of these things make me laugh, not at him, but with him. And they know that even though I pretend to be mad at him, and that I pout at him in the mornings when he's dropping me off at work, that I love him with my whole heart and can't wait for work to be over so that I can go home and be in his arms.

And everyday, I wonder how it is, that I became lucky enough to find love. Not just once...but twice.

In France, they call it a "Royale with Cheese."

2006-11-17T16:33:00.000-06:00

So I'm at work, sitting in the bathroom stall, waiting for the 2 Chinese girls to hurry up and finish their conversation and get the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks, out of the bathroom so that I can enjoy my poop time in private. Cuz there is NO WAY that I'm gonna toot/fart/let my ass explode while other people are in the room with me. I don't care who you are, that's just embarrassing.

So the 2 Chinese girls were standing outside my stall, just jib-jabbering away, going on and on and on and on. Now, I mention that they are Chinese because their entire conversation was in Chinese, which means that I didn't understand a single word that they were saying. But apparently, whatever they were talking about was pretty darn funny, because boy were they laughing a lot.

Did I mention that they were standing right outside of my bathroom stall? And that I had to poop? Like really badly? Like, I had eaten Taco Bell the night before, just before I went to sleep (yes, I'm healthy like that) and my 3 Crunchy Tacos had chosen this exact moment to stage a coup against my colon and were ready to charge out of my butt, like Mel Gibson did in Braveheart...face paint and all?

Anyway, because I am a courteous member of the work-pooping society, I chose to wait for these 2 Chinese girls to finish their conversation and leave before my butt decided to let loose all that is unholy on this Earth. The wait was pretty agonizing.

So I'm sitting there, on top of my pretty little toilet seat cover, silently cussing out the 2 little Chinese speaking whores, when I realize that I can actually understand one word in their dialogue, which they keep repeating throughout their 1000-chapter-conversation. You wanna know what the word was? Hamburger. As in 2 all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame bun. Yeah, that word. They kept repeating it over and over and over again. So their conversation sounded something like this:

Chinese Girl #1: "Blah blah blah...words in Chinese, words in Chinese, words in Chinese, Hamburger, more words I don't understand."

[Laughter from both girls...]

Chinese Girl #2: "Hamburger, words, blah blah, Chinese words, more Chinese words, hamburger, hamburger...."

Which begs the question: Does the word "Hamburger" actually mean something in Chinese? Or were these 2 girls just having a joyous conversation about Fuddruckers?

You be the judge.

Only one person in the world is gonna understand this post, so the rest of y'all should just ingnore it.

2006-07-18T11:20:00.000-05:00

Hey you! Remember that question that that one girl at the Taqueria asked us last night??? I wanna know the answer to that.

I don't wanna grow up, I'm a toys-r-us kid!

2006-07-12T16:02:00.000-05:00

Shhhh....Don't tell anyone, but there are only 7 more days until I turn 30.

WTF??? I'm not too sure if I'll be able to accept that. People who are 30 are sooooooo grown up. People who are 30 are married, and have 2.5 kids, and a dog, and mow their own lawns. I, however, am single, have no kids, live with one of the most stuck-up cats on the face of this planet, and actually own a lawn mower, but have only used it once, before I decided that I would hire a gardener. (Hello, run on sentence!) People who are 30 live fabulous lives in New York City, hanging out in coffee shops with 5 of their closest friends, writing newspaper columns about the trials and tribulations of the dating world. I live in a suburb of Houston, Tex-ASS, hanging out with my friends at one of two local bars, singing along to David Allen Coe and Garth Brooks songs playing on the juke box, all while writing (sometimes) on this blog. But most of all, people who are 30 are no longer in their 20's. And I only have 7 more measly little teeny weeny itsy bitsy short days left of my 20's.

Ahhhhh...the decade of the 20's. The decade that I got my second tattoo. The decade that I went sky diving. The decade that I traveled to Europe. The decade that I was finally able to drink (legally.) The decade that I graduated from college and got a "real job." The decade that I got married and finally moved to an entirely different state from where my parents live. The decade that I became widowed. The decade that I figured out who my real friends were. The decade that I figured out how strong I really was. The decade that I faced life, after death, pulled myself together, found myself another "real job" and bought a house. The decade that I moved on. The decade that I did the wildest, most craziest, most dumbest thing that anyone could do ever. (No, I'm not gonna tell you what that is.) The decade that I lost and found hope. The decade that I lost and found love. The decade that I lost and found life.

Ooooooh...that last line sounded soooooo grown up.

Maybe I'm ready to turn 30 after all.

Soy un perdedor...

2006-06-20T13:53:00.000-05:00

If there's anything that drives me nuts, it's losing every single game of Uno to Guy #6. Every. Single. Game.

And it doesn't help that everytime he wins, he calls me a loser.

It also doesn't help that even when we're not playing, he reminds me that I've lost every single game that we've played. Every. Single. Game.

Now, the grown-up in me just laughs it off.

The competitor in me makes me challenge him to more and more games so that I can not only beat him, but beat him badly.

The Mexican in me makes me want to reach over my cards and slap him in the face, all while doing the latina head shaking thing and saying, "Who's the loser now, beyotch?!?"

And the evil in me thinks of other ways of getting back at him, like by putting a few drops of visine in his big, cold mug o' beer,* or by replacing his beloved shaker of salt with sugar, or by secretly adding sour cream** to all of his tacos, or by replacing the entire jar of miracle whip with mayonaise***, or by adding an extra habanero pepper or 2 or 3 or 4 to the hot sauce....

Mwahahahaha...

Good thing I'm not evil. Or Mexican. Or competitive. Oh wait...

Footnotes:
*In case you're not aware, drinking beer with visine added to it will lead you to have fecal emergencies. Hehehe...nice little trick I learned in college.
**Guy #6 HATES sour cream
***Guy #6 hates mayo, just as equally as he hates sour cream.

It's Not Memorial Day Yet

2006-05-25T14:28:00.000-05:00

So please don't wear white.

Oh, and also please don't pick your teeth or rest your elbows at/on the dinner table.

Love,
The Snobby Widow

This is the post where I use many many run on sentences. But at least I know how to spell!

2006-05-23T09:49:00.000-05:00

Every so often, for no good reason at all, other than the fact that I have control issues and I let them take over my life sometimes, I forget how lucky I am. Yes, people, I am fully aware of my issues and know EXACTLY why I have them, so when I go on one of my frantic (read: anal) I-must-clean-every-single-thing-in-my-house rampages, just let me be. It's my way of dealing with stress, and believe it or not, I actually enjoy doing it. Because by the time I'm done cleaning, whatever the hell it is that I'm cleaning at that moment in time, I'm usually over whatever stupid/petty issue is going on in my teeny little head. Now, don't misinterpret my passion for cleanliness as a desire to be your maid, because as you are well aware, I get pretty peeved when I have to clean up after a certain someone who shall not be named but who is currently leaving clutter in my house, although recently she has gotten much much much better about it, so really I have nothing to complain about right now other than the fact that I spent way too much money on alcohol this month as a coping mechanism for the unnecessary stress that I built up in my mind this month, as a result of the clutter.

But anyway, I digress...

The point of this post is to remind myself that I am a lucky lucky girl, surrounded by some great friends, who overshadow the backstabbing, catty, bitter, people and/or grumpy old ladies who may or may not work somewhere in the northern Houston region. And even though we all know that I very often need some time to myself (usually to clean,) I actually can't live without my friends. This includes you, Guy #6...don't think that I haven't noticed ALL of the stuff you do around the house...yes, even the little stuff like how you vacuum in the corners, underneath the counter. Jeez, I don't even think that I've ever done that, so when I saw you do it, I was quite impressed. And I know that you, of all people, are most aware of how unhappy (aka grumpy aka bitchy) I get when my house is dirty, so just the mere idea that you are so thoughtful with your cleanliness gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

Anyway, tonight, in my prayers, I will remember to thank God for all of the wonderful stuff He has given to me, and ask him to bless every single one of my friends, and grant them all the happiness in the world. And then I'll ask him to send me more money. Or at least some friends with some money who will pay for my stuff.

The 11th Commandment

2006-05-02T11:27:00.000-05:00

Someone very near and dear to me is breaking the rules. The one that says, "Thou shalt not take another girl's man."

Why do I care? Because:

a.) She has been crying about another girl stealing her ex-boyfriend away from her.
b.) I actually like the girlfriend of the guy she's "stealing."
c.) She likes to rant and rave about girls who "break the rules."
d.) I don't want to be associated with such behavior.
e.) I don't like girls who break the rules.

But I keep my opinion to myself. (Except for posting it on the internet right now.) Why? Because:
1.) No one ever listens to me anyway.
2.) What goes around comes around.

Girl, interrupted

2006-04-27T09:52:00.000-05:00

As of this week, I have determined that I am 100%, undeniably, without-a-doubt crazy.

And I don't mean psycho crazy like when some girl decides that the best solution to getting some guy to talk to her is to call his phone 13 times within a 10 minute time frame, in hope that "if I call his phone just one more time, maybe he'll answer" kind of crazy.

And I don't mean stupid crazy like eating a baggy full of mushrooms that one of your friends found in some cow pasture in some field in Colorado. And even though you know that those mushrooms were growing in a big, steaming, pile of cow dookie, and that the said mushrooms may or may not possibly kill you if you eat them, you decide that if you just throw them all on a slice of pizza, and then eat them, all will be ok.

And I don't mean adventurous crazy, like waking up one morning at 6am, calling 10 of your closest friends, and convincing them all that day that they should all go skydiving with you because "I think it might be kinda fun to jump out of a perfectly good airplane for no reason at all."

And I also don't mean drunk crazy, like when you line up 4 shots of Patron in front of you, take them all back to back and then proceed to do the following activities all in one night:

1.) Go line dancing
2.) Dance on a bar
3.) Make-out with someone from work
4.) Drunk call everyone in your cell phone, including your parents
4.) Come home and decide that you need a hair cut RIGHT NOW and proceed to cut off 7 inches of your own hair (unevenly, I might add) which you have been painstakingly growing out for 2 years.

Not that I have ever done, experienced, performed any of the above listed psycho, stupid, adventurous, drunk crazy activities. No, not me. Never. I'm a perfect little angel. I've just heard stories.

The kind of crazy to which I am referring involves strait-jackets, padded-walls, and heavy medication. I believe that I have officially become insane.

And I'll give you 2 reasons for the sudden onset of my complete, mental breakdown:
1.) My Dad
2.) My Mom

They are in my house as I type this, snooping through my stuff, moving things around, asking me too many questions, and harassing my poor, unsuspecting friends.

I now remember why I live exactly live 947.12 miles away from them. (A 15 hour and 21 minute drive.)

Ironically, I wouldn't trade them in for the world. (Against the wishes of the voices in my head.) And that is why I think that I am certifiably crazy.

I've been walking these streets at night...

2006-04-18T17:56:00.000-05:00

I am tired. But it's my turn to be here for her. So I stay strong for her. And I stay strong for him. And I stay optimistic for them.

But I am tired. And I can't let them see me this way. Because she was never tired when I needed her. And so many people are too tired to help him. And they will think that their little girl has fallen if I show them what little strength I have right now.

So every morning I wake up, and remind myself that all I need is just a little more patience. Patience is the key to my existence right now. Patience keeps me strong. Patience keeps me sane. Patience keeps me happy. And if I just keep reminding myself to be patient then I know that at the end of it all, she, and he, and they will let me take a nap. And even if I only get a short one, they will be worth it. Because I know that I can't survive right now without her and him and them. So I stay awake for them.

I am such a grown up

2006-04-11T10:39:00.000-05:00

I found a caterpillar on the door knob of my front door last night. And I was so overcome with fear that I literally ran back to my garage and got back into my car, to protect myself from the evil gaze of that monstrous caterpillar's satanic eyes.

I then proceeded to yell at DJ for the next 2 minutes for not pulling some strings up in heaven to get rid of all the bugs and creepy crawlies that may or may not be invading my house at any given moment. I mean, he left me alone in the world to fend for myself, the least he could do is shoo a few bugs away so that I don't have to pee my pants every time one comes near me. Right? RIGHT???

But alas, I knew that I had to tackle this on my own, so I did what any sane, smart, logical, soon-to-be-30-years-old woman would do. I called my Daddy.

"There's a caterpillar on my door knob. What do I do?"
"Flick it off."
"With my BARE hands?"
"If you want. Or you could get a paper towel."
"BUT HOW DO I GET A PAPER TOWEL WHEN I CAN'T GET INSIDE MY HOUSE??? THERE'S A CATERPILLAR ON MY DOOR KNOB!!! I'M TRAPPED OUTSIDE FOREVER!!!"
"Mija, calm down. You can't find a leaf or a stick or something else to use?"
"Are you kidding? It's dark out here. And I bet everything is covered in some sort of poisonous, neurotoxic caterpillar goop that will paralyze me with agonizing, excruciating pain the instant I touch it, causing me to have epileptic-like grand mal seizures and die! DIE I TELL YOU!!! So what do I do? WHAT DO I DO???"
"Mija, you're gonna have to calm down..."
"...Oh wait...The caterpillar is gone now. It must have crawled away while I was in my car. Never mind!"

And that, my friends, is the solution to all of life's problems. When you are in a time of crisis, and you don't know what to do, just wait 5 minutes...it might crawl away on it's own. And if that doesn't work, call the ultimate superhero - your daddy.

This one is for you. Take note.

2006-04-03T12:35:00.000-05:00

OK. So last night I feel like I opened up a can of worms that I shouldn't have opened. I feel like I transferred my own temporary feelings of inadequacy, depression, and sorrow onto you. Remember how I said that I don't like to open up to anyone? This is why: I don't want people to take on my issues because everyone has their own issues to deal with, so I don't like to weigh other people down with mine.

And even though I never did tell you the real reason that I was feeling down yesterday, I want you to know that the reason that I didn't tell you everything on my mind is not because I don't consider you to be a good friend (because you are my good friend,) it's not because I don't want to open up to you, and it's not because of any of the so called "problems" that you think you are bringing my way. It's because I am scared. Plain and simple. "Scared of what?" you may be asking yourself. Well, that's a topic to be discussed at a later time & date, and in person, not on this blog for the whole world to read. But let it be known that this crazy little girl who "acutally has shit going for you" has plenty on her mind right now. None of which has anything to do with things that have happened between you and me. It's purely an issue between me, myself, and I.

But enough about me. Let's talk about you.

I don't really know why you were up all last night, worrying the night away. You never did tell me the answer to that one. But I have a feeling that it may have to do with some of the things that you briefly mentioned to me and some of the things that I briefly mentioned to you. And even though I told you this last night, I feel the need to reiterate: YOU ARE A GOOD PERSON. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

I don't know if you know this, but I have friends from ALL walks of life. From ridiculously wealthy, to dirt dirt poor; with Ph.D's and with G.E.D.'s (and some, like my own mom, without a high school diploma at all); from Paris, France, all the way down to Lima, Peru; from the 5th Ward to The Woodlands...black, white, brown, yellow, purple, green...healthy, sick, disabled, lazy, so active that they run marathons...drug-free, addicts, social drinkers, alcoholics...church-goers, atheists.... You get the point. I don't discriminate when it comes to my friends. And despite where these people come from...despite their past, their upbriging, their education, or whatever, they all get into these ruts every so often. Everyone does. Everyone comes to a point in their life where they wonder what the hell they are doing. How did it get this way? Will it ever be good again? And sometimes it feels so hopeless...sometimes it feels like there's no way out and like you've done too much damage to ever make it better again.

But this is where I step in. Well, it doesn't have to be me, even though I would like it if it was. But it should be someone because there are plenty of people out there who care about you and want to see you do well in life. Plenty. For some strange reason, a lot of people always feel comfortable telling me EVERYTHING about themselves, which I always find ironic because I usually don't indulge any information at all about me. But anyway, they tell me things and a lot of these people are your friends too and they have ALL confided in me about you. Why? I don't know. Maybe it's because they feel like I'm easy to talk to and a good listener. That's a skill that I've had since I was a kid. And maybe they talk to me about you because they know that we talk. Maybe they think that I'll somehow miraculously fix everything and make it all better for you, them, the world. A lot of people, again for reasons unknown to me, think I can do that sometimes. Well, I am definitely not a miracle-worker. But I do tend to be a problem-solver and a care-taker. I like playing that role in life. I can't say that I'm very good at it, but if I can put a smile on someone's face or easy their worries, even if just for 5 minutes, then I feel like I'm doing my job in life. But anyway, I digress...

I want you to know this: I am here for you. In any way that you need. ANY way. Now that's not an option that I offer to too many people. I am there for a lot of people, but I usually don't give myself entirely to most. It's something that I reserve for the closest of closest of friends...for the people that I really truely care about. And you are included in that group. I've never admitted that outloud to anyone but I think that you and I both know that we might possibly be better friends than either of us have ever admitted to anyone.

I don't know if knowing any of this stuff helps you. I know that in my life, I refuse to rely on anyone for any kind of help or comfort. I always feel like everything is my fault, and my fault alone, and that I don't deserve anyone's help. So I don't reach out. But there came a time in my life when I couldn't go on without any help. I needed it, for the sake of my own health and sanity. And I finally reached out and accepted the help that had been offered to me all along. And with the support of my best friends and family, I was able, and am still able, to get through the rough patches in my life. That was something that I had to learn the hard way. I pretty much had to hit a very very low point in my life before I could admit that I couldn't get through things alone, without support.

So like I said before...I don't know what's going on through your mind right now. I don't know what it was that kept you up all night. But I do know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. Always remember that.

Love,
The Merry Widow

Houston, we have a problem.

2006-03-30T10:33:00.000-06:00

As with most people, writing is my way of venting, or clearing up the screwed up thoughts in my head, or just keeping track of the things in my life, whether comical, upsetting, or boring. I have journals upon journals of junk that I have written, the earliest being from when I was about 8 years old. Some people drink, some people scream, some people exercise...I write. It gets out my stress.

This measly little blog started one day when I had filled the last page of my last journal and needed a fresh notebook in which to write. But I didn't feel like running to the store to get one. Not to mention that Guy #3 had his own blog, so starting this site was my way of keeping up with him. I couldn't let him "one-up" me. (That's how Guy #3 and I are with each other...everything is a competition.) But regardless of the reasons behind the conception of this blog, and even though I knew that I was putting my thoughts on the internet, for the whole world to read, I never thought that anyone would be interested in what I had to say.

And then people started reading it.

Even though the majority of the people who read this site are people whom I have never met in real life, there are a handful of people whom I actually know, in person, and talk to regularly, who do read this silly little journal of mine. Why anyone would want to read what I have to say is beyond me, but nevertheless, this blog is being read.

Now, I know that this topic has come up countless times on other people's blogs - the issue of self-censoring. It has occurred to me that the more people, that I really know in real life, read this junk, the more I tend to watch what I say, so to speak. I have so many things going on right now that I want to vent about, but I don't, for fear that so & so, or that other person, or you-know-who might read it.

And what good is a journal, if you can't vent?

I can't write about work, which is where I spend the majority of my day, for fear of getting fired.

I can't write about that time that one weekend when I went to Austin and got myself in big big BIG trouble because...well...it was really bad and people shouldn't know about that one.

I can't talk about my friends, who actually read this site, and why I think that they are being bitches right now because then they'll become even more bitchy.

I can't talk about how some of my other friends scare me because of what they do for a living.

I can't talk about those 3 months, at the beginning of the year, when I thought that my life was about to end and the one person who should have been there to help me had abandoned me.

I can't talk about the death that occurred at the end of those 3 months and how I'm still sad about it.

I can't talk about how I really feel about you-know-who because I don't want to make myself vulnerable to any pain.

And as of last night, I've decided that I can no longer talk about people that I have dated IN THE PAST because then I'm bombarded with 20 million questions from a certain someone who claims that they don't care, but really I think that they do.

So what's the point of keeping a blog, if I can't write about ANYTHING that happens in my life? I guess it's something that I'm going to have to work out for myself. In the meantime, I'll be buying a new notebook and pen.

I still prefer her over a dog. And most men.

2006-03-23T16:13:00.000-06:00

There's nothing worse then the sound of your cat trying to hock up a big hair ball.

Especially when that sound is what wakes you up from your much needed, beauty sleep.

And your cat is in your bed.

And you think to yourself, "MY CAT IS ABOUT TO PUKE ON MY BED!!!"

So in a panic, you pick her up and fling her clear across the room.

But she's already started throwing up.

So you end up not only flinging your cat across your room, but also her puke.

Which ends up spewed across your bed anyway.

Lesson to be learned? Don't fling puking cat across room. Next time drop kick her.

*Editor's Note: No cats were harmed during the typing of this post. Pink Ralph Lauren sheets, however, were ruined.

...But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.

2006-03-16T09:29:00.000-06:00

Note to self: Don't judge people according to their jobs and/or lack thereof.

I am way too easily impressed by the stature of one's career. I guess it stems from my desire to get accepted into medical school, which, by the way, is going to be hard work. In case you haven't heard, medical schools only accept the creme de la creme, and I'm not too sure if I qualify to such an elite status. So when you tell me that you're a doctor, or a lawyer, or a professor of physics at MIT, I am instantly wowed. I have been witness to the level of difficulty required to attain such positions. In essence, my opinion is directly correlated with the level of education that one has attained. Yes, this is a very very wrong and close-minded way for me to think and I am quite ashamed to even admit that I have the tendency to think this way.

But rest assured, I have fallen off of my high horse.

Several months ago, I began dating a guy that I will refer to as "Dr. Rad." As indicated, he is indeed a doctor. Specifically, he is a Radiologist, hence the moniker. I was instantly attracted to this man's intelligence, wittiness, sense of sarcasm, and drive. "This man has goals, " I told myself. He knew what he wanted to do in life, and he dedicated himself to getting there. He worked hard and it payed off. After all, only the best of the best medical students make it as Radiologists. And that's exactly what I want in a doctor. But at the same time, during his quest to become the best of the best, he had become the cockiest mofo to ever walk the face of the earth. Convinced, he was, that anything I did, he could do better. Not only that, he has devoted so much of his life to school, he had forgotten how to be, well, human. He was insensitive, blunt, condescending, and BORING. So yes, this man had, what I had in my mind, the end all/be all of jobs, but it didn't take all that long for me to figure out that "the job doesn't make the man," and I quickly dropped him like a bad habit.

Conversely, I have become friends with someone (Guy #6) who has been "jobless" for the past 2 years of his life. And even though I thoroughly enjoy this person's company, I have to admit that I looked down on him, based purely on his job status.

But a recent turn in events from this past weekend has made my whole entire opinion of this person change completely. Ironically, my change in attitude stems from my own stupidity and lack of judgment. He and I made a few poor decisions (to put things lightly) this past weekend that ended with some very drastic consequences. And even though most people want to put the brunt of the blame on him, for the events that unfolded, I must admit that I am equally to blame in the entire situation. Me. The one with the great job and education. Equally to blame for the wrong decisions. As he. The one without the job.

And consequently, recent turn in events have been the catalyst in his (and my) decision to take it easy for awhile. (read: consume less C2H5OH.) Which, in turn has opened my eyes to an entirely different him. The person that I once wrote off, has become delightfully and surprisingly witty, and clever, and sarcastic, and intelligent. Well, I shouldn't say that he became these things, because one just can't become witty, and clever, and sarcastic, and intelligent over night, just like that. Obviously, these qualities were there all along, but they were masked by layers of Patron, Jaeger-bombs, and Budlight, which were further layered by my clouded, conceited judgement of his lack of job.

Moral of story? There are several:
1. The hardest lessons don't come from school.
2. The smartest people don't necessarily have the "smartest" jobs.
3. Don't judge a book by it's cover.
4. Don't drink cheap tequila.

I write this all, not for you, but as a reminder for myself.

"...and he said someday I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying."

2006-03-13T16:33:00.000-06:00

Someone actually had the nerve to tell me that they were wishing for terminal illness for themselves, so that they would have the chance to "live it up" before they died. Are you kidding me??? I've seen terminal illness...it's not as fun as you may think it is, buddy. Terminal ILLNESS treats you exactly how it sounds...it keeps you ILL. As in sick, not healthy, nauseous, tired, and in pain. And that's not how I, or anyone else that I know, or once knew, want to spend the last days of my life. If you really want to live it up, then take advantage while you still have your health. Take advantage while you have your freedom. Take advantage while you have the option to do whatever it is that you want to do. I tend to be a very tolerant girl, but I have no empathy, sympathy, or patience for anyone who would actually wish to be sick.

And as much as I despise that you actually made your wish known to me, I still pray every night for you to never see that kind of pain. I still pray for you to be safe, and healthy, and happy. Because that, my friend, are the kind of things for which I wish.

The Devil lives in my cell phone...

2006-03-09T11:03:00.000-06:00

...and he keeps sending me text messages, tempting me to do things that I shouldn't do. Fun, exciting things that involve shopping, staying up late, & consuming copious amounts of alcohol.

He would have been 29 today

2006-03-08T10:26:00.000-06:00

"You know what one of my favorite qualities is about you? You have this natural ability to make people open up to you. I don't know what it is about you, but you tend to put people at ease and make them comfortable enough to reveal their inner most secrets to you. And you do it all without even trying. People like to come to you because you can always find something positive in the most horrid of situations and make that one positive thing become the focal point of any situation. And without even knowing you, people can sense that about you. That's why you always have strangers walking up to you in the street, telling you their life stories...that's why you have 8 gazillion best friends who will do anything for you, that's why everyone likes you. You make people comfortable in an instant. How do you do that?"

10 years ago today, my husband wrote, what is pasted above, to me in an email, after I sent him a quick little note to wish him a Happy Birthday.

And even though he wasn't the first, nor is he the last, person to tell me that I was "comforting" (for lack of a better word,) what he didn't know at that time was that he did the exact thing for me. Having known just one person who can comfort me like that makes me forever grateful. I hope that I can continue to do the same for everyone else who enters my life.

Dear Guy #6,

2006-03-07T01:28:00.000-06:00

Stop reading this blog. Because, you see, if you continue to read it, then I have no choice but to stop writing about you. And what fun would that be? ;-) Yes, I know that I personally gave you this web address, after you threatened me, at gun point, to give it to you. But now that you've read the whole entire freaking thing from beginning to end, you can delete this web address from your memory and stop reading from here on out.

But you and I both know that that's not gonna happen.

But seriously, stop reading. Now. Like right now. Just shut off your computer and walk away.

Thanks,
The Merry Widow

*Editor's Note: Before anyone gets alarmed, no, he didn't really threaten me at gun point. He used a knife.

With a taste of a poison paradise...

2006-02-28T10:51:00.000-06:00

I have a problem. I am addicted. I know it's bad, but I just can't tear myself away and there isn't a rehab program in the world that can help.

And despite what everyone tells me...despite what my intuition says to me...despite the fact that I am convinced that God is speaking to me, through every single one of my friends, saying "GET AWAY NOW...THIS IS NO GOOD FOR YOU," I just can't leave.

I call it optimism.
Everyone else calls it insanity.

I am so smart! S-M-R-T!!!

2006-02-09T09:44:00.000-06:00

There's this girl that we all know, who used to date this guy that we'll call Motorcycle-Guy. Let's call this girl Smarty-Pants. Well, none of us were really too fond of Smarty-Pants, not for any reason in particular. There was just something about her that didn't sit well with most of us, but none of us could put a finger on exactly what that was. But still, we tolerated her because she was dating Motorcycle Guy, which meant that she was now a momentary part of our social circle.

Well, a few weeks ago, we were all at the local pub and Valley-Girl and Cajun-Girl (two of my good friends) got up to go to the bathroom. At the same time, Motorcycle-Guy & Typical-Texas-Guy got up to fight someone (because that's what they do, here in Texas) and so I was momentarily left sitting at a table with Guy #6, skanky-ho, and the lovely, Miss Smarty-Pants. So Smarty-Pants decides to start up a conversation with me that went something like this:

SP: So how have you been?
me: Good. You?
SP: Tired. Classes just started again, so I've been getting up early everyday.
me: Classes?
SP: Yeah, This is my last semester of school?
me: Yeah? Bachelors?
SP: No. I'm going to [insert name of local community college here.] But I have like 8 minors. I don't like to brag, but I'm really smart.
me: Oh, are you???
SP: Yeah. That's why I have like 8 minors.
me: But no major? And no degree yet?
SP: Yeah, well I've been working too.
me: Yeah, well that could be tough...but I thought you only worked part time, like 2 days a week at Foley's.
SP: I do, but I also play Blackjack.
me: Well, I too like to play Blackjack, but I managed to get a Bachelor's degree and a career in the meanwhile.
SP: Yeah, but I'm trying to go pro.
me: Go pro?
SP: Yeah, I go to Lake Charles [Louisiana-they have casinos there] like every weekend. I probably make like 5 grand a month playing blackjack. I make more money than my parents do, you know.
me: So then why do you keep your job at Foley's, smarty-pants?
SP: Insurance.
me: Oh, they have a good plan?
SP: Well, actually, I don't know...I'm still on my parents' insurance.
me: I see.
SP: Anyway, I totally practice blackjack like 5 hours a day. I better practice now.

She then whips out her cell phone and proceeds to play blackjack on it for the rest of the night...while we're at the pub...good times.

Anyway, the lines that I put in bold, well those are the lines that Valley-Girl, Cajun-Girl, T-Bone (another good friend) and I like to say to each other now, on a daily basis because we think those lines are hilarious. I mean, this girl was totally taking herself seriously when she said all of this stuff to me. Whatever.

So...last night we were once again at the local pub. These 2 random guys decide to sit at our table and one of them decides to start up a conversation with me:

Random Guy: So what do you do?
Me: I work in Science.
Valley-Girl: Yeah, she's trying to cure cancer.
Random Guy: Really?
Me: Yeah. I totally cured cancer like 3 times today at work. It was AWESOME.
Random Guy: Wow! You must be really smart.
Me: Well, I don't like to brag, but yeah.
Random Guy: Do you make good money doing that?
Me: Yeah. I make more money than my parents do, you know...
Random Guy: Must be nice.
Me: Yeah, but I use a lot of my cash flow to play blackjack. I'm trying to go pro.

I said all of this with a totally straight face. Random Guy totally took me seriously the whole time, and was actually quite impressed. Valley-Girl fell off her chair, laughing so hard. Cajun-Girl was crying. And I think that T-Bone might have peed his pants a little.

As for Miss Smarty-Pants, well Motorcycle-Guy has since dumped her, but she will always hold a special place in all of our hearts. She was, afterall, really smart.

Still Tippin on Four Fours...

2006-01-25T16:49:00.000-06:00

There was this one time when my mother-in-law determined that her Mercedes Benz needed new tires. But rather than waste her money on the 4 new tires, she opted to just buy herself a new Lexus SUV instead. That's right, she's a baller like that, so I thought it was hella cool when she pulled up to my house in her new pimped out ride.

So the other day I was checkin out my quasi-pimped out ride and noticed that my 2 front tires were COMPLETELY BALD. This is probably due to the fact that I like to zoom all around Suburbia like a NASCAR driver, high on cocaine. Also, it explains why my tires haven't had any traction when it rains and why I keep burning rubber at all the stop lights.

It was at this point that I thought to myself, "WWMMILD?" (What would my mother-in-law do?) and determined that I too needed to buy myself a new car. But alas, I suddenly remembered that I am not a rich woman, married to the VP of a well known oil company, like she is. Plus, I spent all of my money on purses and shoes this month. So my dream of owning a new beamer is still on hold. But I did go to Discount Tire and buy myself some spankin new wheelz. (I spelled that with a 'z' cuz I from the streetz. BOOYAH!) And I upgraded from an H speed rating, to a V speed rating, which means that my car is now equipped for me to drive like Speed Racer.

Now if I can just find a place that sells discount Grillz...

I seriously wrote this in the thank you card that I sent to my parents today

2006-01-23T16:01:00.000-06:00

Dear Parental Units,

Thank you for all the neat-o presents that you gave to me for Christmas/3 Kings Day*. I love them all and I still love you both, even though you didn't buy me the M3 BMW that I've been begging for since I was born.

Love,
Your Daughter

P.S. Don't forget that Valentine's Day is coming up! Can anyone say, "New Purse?"

Editor's Note: Yes, I am fully aware that I am spoiled. Bite me. I'm a widow.

*Footnote: Three Kings Day is a holiday celebrated in Mexico (and other Latin American countries) where kids receive presents from The Three Wise Men that gave Frank Incense, Gold, and Myrrh to Jesus. This day is also known as the Epiphany and is celebrated on January 6. Kids, in Mexico, do not receive their gifts on Christmas Day, as this day is viewed as more of a religious holiday, rather than Santa Claus Day. Instead, kids receive all of their gifts on 3 Kings Day and write all of their letters to the 3 Wise Men, rather than to Santa Claus. And yes, I receive (and give) gifts on both days. My parents wanted to embrace the American culture and celebrate Christmas as Americans do, but they wanted me to also embrace my Mexican culture, so we also celebrate the Epiphany. Double the gifts, double the spoilage. Neat, huh?

Sybil has nothing on me

2006-01-18T16:22:00.000-06:00

For the past 5 weeks, I have experienced every single emotion that has ever existed EVER.

I went from content to blissful
blissful to ecstatic
ecstaic to fearful
fearful to hopeful
hopeful to confident
confident to scared
scared to excited
excited to trusting
trusting to paranoid
paranoid to psycho
psycho to validated
validated to sad
sad to despair
despair to anger
anger to sorrow
sorrow to anger
anger to hate
hate to wishing death to all who cross my path
wishing death to being indifferent
being indifferent to feeling sorry for myself
feeling sorry for myself to not caring
not caring to getting angry
getting angry to getting pissed
getting pissed to laughing
laughing to once again not caring
not caring to accepting
accepting to being brave
being brave to feeling lonely
feeling lonely to realizing that my life is about to change in the most major way possible.

And January isn't even over yet.

Needless to say, I have a hard time getting a handle on my thoughts in my mind, let alone on "paper."

Blogging will be sporadic for awhile. But as always, I'm sure that I'll be back to my fabulous sense of self eventually. Stay tuned....

The Merry Widow is in L-O-V-E...

2006-01-03T13:25:00.000-06:00

...with her new 60 GB iPod.

Doodoodoodoo Doodoodoodoo (sing like Twilight Zone Theme Song)

2005-12-21T11:33:00.000-06:00

This is my horoscope for today:

"...you'll see that all the signs indicating change -- and your readiness for it -- have been there all along. "

Weird, I tell ya.

...I wish me a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year

2005-12-20T17:00:00.000-06:00

I am ready. All I have to do is open my heart.

Easier said than done.

"Be a thermostat, not a thermometer."

2005-12-06T14:40:00.000-06:00

My boss said this today during a meeting. Everyone kind of smirked and giggled at the cheesiness of this phrase, myself included. But still, the comment lingered in my mind all day long, until the meaning really set in: Control the situation. Don't let it control you.

As of late, I've embraced the "Bah humbug" attitude of Ebineezer Scrooge. I've become unsympathetic, uncaring, and grumpy. A little has to do with the days getting shorter. A little has to do with work. A little has to do with the time of year. But today, what my boss said during his soap box monologue really got me thinking. Have I been letting life control me? Absolutely. It seems that lately I've been letting other people's words and actions, not to mention the season, dictate how I feel.

The holidays have never been a good time for me. I've come to associate Thanksgiving and Christmas with my husband's death. I try to stay positive during this time of year, but I can't help but feel a bit lonely when December rolls around. This week, in particular, is not a good one for me...tomorrow is the 3rd anniversary of DJ's death. So as you can imagine, he's been on my mind a bit lately. Now normally, when I think of him, I think of his smile, his laughter, his cheerful disposition. But he died a very long, hard, and painful death, just 2 days after his parents and I decorated the Christmas tree, and just 1 day after I finished addressing the last Christmas card to be mailed out to our friends and family. So it's really hard for me to not associate the hard parts of his life with Christmas trees, or Christmas ornaments, or Christmas cards. And as we all know, there's no escaping all the Christmas junk during this oh-so-cheerful time of year. (Please note sarcasm in the last part of that sentence.)

DJ had no control over his cancer. That was the one aspect of his life he could not change. But in essence, he still acted as the "thermostat" of his own life. He was never dying from cancer, but rather living with it. He never let the disease dictate what he could or could not do with his life. When the doctor told him, "If you have any plans for the summer, you should cancel them. You'll be dead by then." DJ replied, "Wanna bet? I'm gonna graduate from school and then get married. I'll send you an invitation to both ceremonies. Be there or be square." When the doctor said, "Your tumor has come back and I'm afraid that we've exhausted all of our options for treatment." DJ replied, "Then The Merry Wife and I will move to Texas and find a doctor at the biggest, baddest, cancer center in all the nation." When the brain tumor paralyzed the right side of DJ's body and he could no longer draw (he was an architect) he applied for graduate school to earn a degree in something that "doesn't require me to use my hands." And when he finally accepted his defeat with cancer, he turned to me and said, "Soon, you might not be able to see me, but I will always be here to take care of you."

So today, on the eve of DJ's death day (for lack of a better term,) when my boss said, "Be the thermostat, not a thermometer!" I took note. I didn't roll my eyes, like the rest of my coworkers did. I instead, wrote the quote down in my notebook and reflected on it throughout the day. And by the time I got around to writing an entry in this poor neglected blog of mine, I had decided that today will be the day that I become a thermostat. Today I will decorate my Christmas tree. Today I will start addressing my Christmas cards. Today I will sing Christmas carols, and bake Christmas cookies, and remember that even though it might be cold outside (yes, it's actually cold here today, in Houston -- 30 degrees tonight!!!) I have the power to turn on the heater, light up a fire in my fireplace, and keep myself warm.

Gobble Gobble Gobble

2005-11-24T22:37:00.000-06:00

1. My Parents: Even though I roll my eyes at them whenever they try to give me advice, I truly value their support, their "covered with cheese" jokes, their warped sense of humor, and their unconditional love. Oh yeah, and they buy me nice gifts too. I like that.

2. My "Other" Parents (aka The In-Laws): Even though it has been close to 3 years since my husband has passed away, I continue to grow closer and closer to my in-laws. So much so, that I no longer think of them as my in-laws, but rather as my second set of parents. They truly are the strongest people I know on Earth, having played the cancer game, not once, but twice. So far the score is 1-1, which leads me to item #3....

3. M.D. Anderson: One of the most respected cancer centers in the world. The place that lengthened the life of my husband. The place that knocked cancer out of the ball park for my "other mom." The place the "cured" two other good friends (Taylor no longer has Hodgkins and Randy no longer has Leukemia.) And the place the helps many more people today, such as Debutaunt, a fellow H-Town blogger, a single mom, fighting Leukemia. As much as I despise making the drive out to Houston's Medical Center to go here, if it wasn't for this place, the lives of my friends and family would be much shorter.

4. My friends: They hold me when I cry, and they spit their drinks out with me when they laugh. They sing louder than I do while driving in the car, and they shut their mouths when they know that I want the spotlight. They buy me tequila when I need a drink, and they hold my hair when I'm puking. They bring me chicken soup when I'm sick, and they buy me ice cream just because. My non-Texan friends take me on vacation with them on the days that I can't stand living in Texas, and my Texan friends eat BBQ and watch the rodeo with me on the days when I think that Texas ain't so bad after all. I would do anything for these people.

5. My health: Enough said.

6. My wealth: I am, by no means, rich. But my house was not blown away by Hurricane Rita, it was not flooded by Hurricane Katrina, or washed away by some Tsunami. I have too much clothes in my closet, and plenty of food in my pantry and belly. (WAY too much food in my belly.) In fact, the only thing that I don't have enough of, is purses. But I'm working on that one as I type.

7. My cat: She's such a ghetto cat. But I love her and she loves me. She greets me at the door when I come home and cuddles next to me when I'm asleep at night. She makes my life, home alone, not as lonely. Plus, she likes to scratch boys that come over to my house. That always makes me laugh.

8. My DJ: Last, but definitely not least. I continue to learn from his death and appreciate my time, here on Earth.

Happy Thanksgiving to Everyone!

...when you're not strong

2005-11-22T23:34:00.000-06:00

What do you do when someone you love hurts you?

Do you scream? Do you cry? Do you punch the wall? Vent to a friend? Go for a drive? Blog?

Do you say hurtful things? Or do you hold it all in?

I am prone to saying hurtful things. If not to your face, then definitely behind your back. But it will usually be to your face. And then some more behind your back.

But today I held it in. I held it in because I wanted to think that this person didn't really mean what they said to me. I wanted to think that this person only said these things to me out of their own pain.

But it still hurt me.

And today, for the first time in a long time, I wished that my husband was here to hug me and make it all better.

I usually do just fine, all on my own. I've been strong. I've been independent. And I've even learned how to lean on my friends, every so often, whenever I lose my balance.

But I could really go for just one DJ hug right now. A good tight one to carry me over for another 3 years or so.

A Dog Wouldn't Have Worked

2005-11-11T17:19:00.000-06:00

Here's what I hate:

I hate it when someone tries to go behind your back and get your friend's phone number, and then when she shoots him down, he comes back to you and says that she's a bitch. And then you say to him, "Um, no, I think you're the bitch, BIATCH!" And then he's all, "I'm a doctor... worship me." And I'm all, "Whatever. Then buy me a car, biatch." And then he e-mails you pictures of his cats, and you think to yourself, "Whatever, biatch, I hate cats. Wait...no I don't...I LOVE CATS. And now I love you."

This is the 3rd day IN A ROW that I've been to the gym. Look out, Olympics, here I come!!!

2005-11-09T22:51:00.000-06:00

I typed the word "Olympics" into the Google-Image search box and this is one of the images that came up. WTF???

Boulevard of Broken Cars

2005-11-07T18:56:00.000-06:00

Dear retarded lady who crashed into my car in the post office parking lot,

Next time you try to convince me that you didn't crash into my car, but that "Ooops! We must have crashed into each other!" I will pull out my knife, gouge each of your eyes out, and say, "Ooops! My knife and your eyes must have crashed into each other!"

See that reflective little rectangle hanging from the ceiling of your car? You know, the one right smack dab in the middle of your ceiling, right up next to your front dash? That thing is called a "rear view mirror." If you look into it, it magically shows you stuff that's behind your car. I'm not sure how it works...must be some old jedi trick or something, but you should try using it sometime. Then, maybe next time, you'll be able to see that there is a bright blue car, sitting at a complete stand still, right behind, and perpendicular to your car. And maybe, just maybe, you won't decide to peel out of your parking space, in reverse, and bash the crap out of my car.

Oh yeah, and that girl sitting shotgun in my car? She's not traumatized or anything. Nope, not one bit. She only spent the next 4 hours talking about every single car wreck she's ever been in and how much she never ever wants to even see a car, let alone set foot in one. Other than that, I don't think that today's incident phased her. So no need to worry.

Anywho, just wanted to let you know that we're all ok. No one was hurt, thank God, and at the end I remembered that a car is just a car and that what matters is that you, my friend, and I were in no way injured. And this helped me get over the whole thing. Well, this and my insurance agent, who assured me that "you don't have a thing to worry about, Merry Widow...we'll take over from here and all will be taken care of."

So thank you, retarded lady who crashed into my car in the post office parking lot. You reminded me of what really matters in life: health, good friends, and great auto-insurance.

Love,
Merry Widow

I Don't Have Bette Davis Eyes

2005-11-03T17:14:00.000-06:00

So as long as I can remember, my right eye has constantly watered. All the time. Non-stop. 24-7. Like it's always crying a river. Literally. My right eye has cried a river's worth of tears. In fact my eye is tearing right now, as I type this. But just my right eye.

So for a long time I thought that my eye was watering because I was always outside, in the cold wind. Yes, I thought it was weird that only my right eye would water, but it seemed like a reasonable explanation at the time. Then, as years passed, and the wind died down, I thought that perhaps my right eye was more sensitive to allergens than the left eye and maybe that's why it was always tearing. But then the wonderful drug, allegra, was invented and even though I eat that stuff like it's chicken fried rice (yummy) my right eye still hasn't stopped watering.

Anywho, I finally broke down and went to see an Ophthamologist today so that she could fix my damn eye and it would stop watering and I could start wearing eye shadow on that eye again and looking symmetrically fabulous.

And after what seemed like 800 puffs of air shot into each eye ("to test the pressure of your eyes,") and 12 million hours of staring into a light that is 10 to the nth times brighter than the sun, the doctor turned to me (at least I think she turned to me...I could only see white light at that point of my visit) and said, "Well, from what I can tell, your tear ducts do not seem clogged. Why don't you try using these tear drops for the next 3 weeks and then come back. If the drops haven't helped, then we're gonna have to probe your lacrimal duct to see if there's blockage." PROBE MY LACRIMAL DUCT??? WTF??? Basically, Dr. Evil wants to rotor-rooter my tear duct. I guess those 4 years of evil medical school are finally paying off for her.

So now I have visions (ha! pun intended) of me having to go through this:

and this:

and also this:

Just so I can end up with eyes like these.

Perhaps this lady:

And also this lady:

Should consider having the same procedure done.

As Good As It Gets

2005-11-02T17:31:00.000-06:00

I think I have obsessive compulsive disorder.

I once ate ramen noodles for every meal of the day, for 64 days straight, until one day I decided that just the mear thought of ramen noodles made me throw up. Just like that. I haven't eaten ramen noodles since. But my obession with chicken fried rice is growing.

Every night I set and reset my alarm clock 5 times in a row, just to make sure that it's still set for 7:00 and that the setting is set for AM and not PM. The ironic part is that I never wake up at 7am. I usually wait til about 8am to roll out of bed.

I cannot leave my house unless my bed is made. I don't care if my house is burning down, while I happen to be naked in the shower, and I have to frantically run outside in order to save my own life. Naked. I will make sure that my bed is made before I leave.

I am obsessed with this show. If I don't watch at least 3 repeat episodes of it every night, then my life is not complete.

Since December of 2004, I start every work day by listening to Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daughter."

Even though I went on a date, this past weekend, with a really really really fabulous guy, who happens to be good looking, smart, funny, out going, a DOCTOR, and, well, pretty much perfect, I am soooooooo obsessed with Guy #6 (who is HOT, but not smart, not funny, not out going, and who has no job) that while on said date with said doctor, all I could think about is when I could sneak in a secret text message to Guy #6 to see if he wanted to hang out when I got home.

Everything in my life is set up in right angles. It's all 90 degrees, all the time. When I'm feeling crazy, I'll throw in a 45 degree angle.

Did I mention my obsession with Guy #6? Shoot me now. He's my heroin. Such a rush...so addicting...but not good for my health.

Sweet Land of Liberty

2005-10-18T22:43:00.000-05:00

Questions asked of me while in Beanerland:

1.) "Are you afraid to live in the U.S.? It seems like the "white" people are always killing the Mexicans and "black" people just because of their skin color. Is this true?"

2.) "How is the economy holding up in the U.S. after the destruction caused by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita?"

3.) "Does everyone in the U.S. own a gun?"

Questions asked of me upon returning to the Grand ol' U.S. of A.:

1.) "Did you eat lots of tacos?"

2.) "Did you drink lots of tequila?"

3.) "Where's your pinata?"

Viva Mexico!!!

2005-10-08T01:48:00.000-05:00

Yeah, yeah...I haven't updated my blog in like 20 years. Get off my back already. Home girl has been very busy working, playing, and trying to squeeze in some sleep here and there, which has proven to be VERY difficult. Not that I don't have problems falling asleep. Sleeping is my favorite hobby, only second to Guy #6. But between work and hobby #1, sleeping has become non-existant in my life. And for anyone who knows me in real life, they know that lack of sleep makes me very very grumpy.

Here's an example of my grumpiness:

Supervisor at work: "Good morning, Merry Widow. How are you today?"
Me: "I AM SLEEPY AND I'M GRUMPY. I hope you don't expect me to cure cancer today."
Supervisor at work (looking scared because I'm usually pretty cheery): "Um, is everything ok?"
Me: "If by 'ok' you mean that I am tired and grumpy, then yes. Everything is ok."

And no, I didn't get fired. But I did take a nap during one of my meetings.

ANYWHO, I'm leaving for Mexico City tomorrow to help my abuelito (that means grandpa, for all you gringos out there) celebrate his 80th birthday. We're gonna get our fiesta on, full Mexican style. You know, like with tortillas and stuff. So I'll be chillin in beaner town for 10 days and when I get back, I have exactly 4 days to pull TWO whole power point presentations out of my big J-Lo butt so that I can impress the big wigs at work. Good times.

So until then, I leave you with a few topics to discuss amongst yourselves:

1.) Ways to make me not be obsessed with Guy #6.
2.) Reasons as to why I should visit Guy #3 in Ft. Worth for his birthday, even though he never bought me a birthday present like he said he would.
3.) Nick Lachey & Jessica Simpson: Are they breaking up?
4.) Global Warming

I also leave you with some possible future blog topics that I may or may not post:
1.) Why I should not drink anymore.
2.) Why are guys scumbags??? (No, not Guy #6...I had a VERY scarey experience with some jerk wads that decided to try to assault me at the bar last weekend.)
3.) Getting motivated to go back to school.
4.) My crazy (but in a good way) family.
5.) The joys of being beaner.

Peace out, blogland. I'll be back before you can say "yo quiero taco bell."

Love,
M-Wid

Hi, Jessica!!!

2005-10-03T09:24:00.000-05:00

You, of course, know that I'm gonna start self-censoring even more now...no more posts about Guy #6.

The Hairy Widow

2005-09-28T16:41:00.000-05:00

So my little suburban Houston town has been experience rolling blackouts over the past week, in order to conserve energy for the following reasons:

1.) We have been under a heat advisory for the past million years. Everyone has been running their A/C's at full blast, just to cool their houses down to a comfortable 95 degrees, which, in turn, has been sucking every last drop of electricity from Entergy.

2.) Hurricane Katrina. (The ho-bag.)

3.) Hurricane Rita (The big tease.)

So last night, when I finally came home from work, my power was out. It was about 7:30 pm and I had about 5 good minutes of daylight left before all was about to fade to black. What's the first thing you would do in this situation? Unpack your flashlight? Find your stash of Hurricane-Rita-D-batteries? Start lighting some candles? Not me. The first thing I did was shave my legs. You know, just in case Guy #6 came around later on...I didn't want to be unprepared.

Cost of Razor? $0.99
Cost of Shaving Cream? $2.99
Cost of having legs as smooooooooove as buttah? PRICELESS

Just say no to crotch critters!

2005-09-27T17:40:00.000-05:00

Why is it that whenever you have to pee really really REALLY badly, the toilet seat cover that you pull from the thing on the wall decides to tear?

And while you're standing there, crossing your legs, doing the pee-pee dance, why is it that the second toilet seat cover that you pull decides to be difficult? (i.e. The middle section of the cover won't detach from the little tabs and you have to very delicately and very slowly tear the little tabs, lest you tear another toilet seat cover in haste. All of which is very hard to do when you're doing the pee-pee dance at double time now. And yes, you HAVE to use the toilet seat cover because your mom has instilled into your brain, since you were a zygote, that if your bum ever so much as brushes up against the bare toilet seat, then you will catch a raging case of herpe covered cooties, shrivel up and die. DIE, I TELL YOU! And no, you don't want to do the squatting method because you managed to do a million lunges at the gym yesterday and just the mere thought of squatting causes your muscles to spasm up in agonizing pain.)

And when you finally get the toilet seat cover situation all straightened out, and you finally sit down and release the 12 gallons of water that you've been holding in your 1 oz. bladder, why is it that in that moment of cathartic relaxation your body decides to rip the loudest fart ever? A fart so loud that you swear that it registered on the richter scale?

And why is it that at this EXACT moment in time, someone else decides to walk into the bathroom and use the stall right next to yours?

And why is it that no matter how long you sit on the toilet and wait for the other person to leave so that you don't have to do the "yes, that was me who farted the loudest fart ever" walk of shame, the other person just won't leave?

And why is it that when you finally decided to just buck up and get the hell out of the bathroom, the other person decides to also leave at the same time? And now you have to both wash your hands at the sink at the same time...in dead silence.

AND why oh why does the other person in question have to be one of the senior directors at your company?

Why, God? WHY???

You can take the beaner out of the barrio, but you can't take the barrio out of the beaner.

2005-09-26T10:55:00.000-05:00

9/25/2005 - Night of Rita Touchdown

Me: "...they opened up the church near my house as a shelter for all the stranded motorists on I-45. I spent all day today baking food for them. I might head over there tomorrow to see if they need any more help."

Guy #6: "Yeah, I spent all day yesterday handing out water and snacks to the stranded motorists on I-45."

Me: "Really? That's cool."

Guy #6: "Yeah, now we've both done our good deeds for the year. So what are you doing tomorrow?"

Me: "I don't know...I think I might take a page from the Hurricane Katrina survivors and start looting. Mama wants a new plasma TV. You in?"

Guy #6: "Just tell me when and where."

Professor, what's another word for pirate treasure?

2005-09-25T23:19:00.000-05:00

What do you call someone who calls you past midnight, after a night of drinking, and asks you to come over?

Answer: Guy #6

Guy #6 (aka Hottie McHotterson) has been a "regular" in my night life since January of this year. Yes, he was put on the back burner for Guy #5, Architect-Purse Guy, and even Asshole with small dick during the past year. And yes, I was put on hold for this ho for awhile. But throughout the entire year, we've always been in touch, we've always hung out with the same group of friends, we've always been, how can I put it, territorial of each other.

But lately Guy #6 has become more than a "regular" in my life. He has become a fixture. Since the beginning of August, we have been together almost every night. In fact, the only times that we haven't been together were when I was vacation, when he was on vacation, and for 2 days during Rita-fest 2005.

And lately, our nights have incorporated more of the following activities:
1.) Watching movies that are not pornographic. (Not that I have EVER watched pornography - Merry Widow is an innocent girl.)
2.) Cuddling.
3.) Spooning.
4.) TALKING.

Did you hear that? I said TALKING, people. WTF? If there's one qualification that I want in a booty call, it's NOT talking. Talking scares me. Talking makes me like Guy #6 more. Talking makes me think that maybe he likes me more. Talking makes me want to get all domestic. You know, like cooking pot roasts, sewing my own curtains, and having 10 million of Guy #6's babies. This, in turn, makes me close up. "Don't open your heart, Merry Widow!" I tell myself. "Guy #6 is not good for you! He does not fulfill any of the qualifications listed here."

And then you know what the bastard had the nerve to do? He called me like 800 times a day over the past week just to check up on me and make sure I was doing ok. He knew that Hurricane-bitch-ass-ho-Rita was freaking me out. How dare he check up on me! Now I have to actually admit that I like him as more than a booty call! Now I have to stop acting like I don't care what he does!

Kristine told me the other day that her "booty call" guy actually had the nerve to move in with her and become like the bestest/dreamiest boyfriend ever. His name is Shaun. Maybe you've heard of him. And you know what I say to that??? HELL NO! I don't want to have a bestest/dreamiest boyfriend ever!!! Because that would mean that I would no longer be lonely and I love being lonely! I want to be lonely forever!!!

OK, I gotta go now. I'm on my way to Guy #6's house. Damn him and his hotness.

Houston, we have a problem.

2005-09-21T23:30:00.000-05:00

I moved everything away from the windows.
I bought all the necessary food, water, and supplies.
I put away all breakables.
I packed all my important papers and photos.
I packed my clothes.
I packed my cat.
I packed cat food and kitty litter.
I called my parents, who were relieved because they've been trying to get a hold of me all day.
(Apparently, all circuits are busy.)
I moved everything from my deck to my garage.
I got cash.
I filled up with gas.

And when I finish typing this blog, I'm packing my computer. It's coming with me.

See y'all on the flip side. Yee Haw!!!

Merry Widow Out.

Houston Calls For Mandatory Evacuations In Storm Surge Areas

2005-09-21T13:00:00.000-05:00

http://www.click2weather.com/weather/4997227/detail.html

Me? Worried? Nah...

2005-09-21T01:38:00.000-05:00

Chronological list of events as to how I spent my day:

1.) Woke up.
2.) Turned TV to CNN to make sure Hurricane Rita wasn't here yet.
3.) Got ready for work.
4.) Watched more CNN, just in case Rita made it to Houston in the hour that it took me to get ready.
5.) Pet my cat.
6.) Watched more CNN.
7.) Got on Internet to see if there was more current information about Rita.
8.) Listened to my new Kanye West CD.
9.) Went to work.
10.) Talked about Hurricane Rita with every single person that bumped into me.
11.) Went to lunch.
12.) Decided that I needed to use my lunch break to buy leave-in conditioner and straightener for my hair. (If Rita really does hit, I at least need my hair to look fabulous.)
13.) Went back to work.
14.) Checked cnn.com for updates on Rita.
15.) Talked to boss about Rita.
16.) Asked boss for vacation next month. (Going to Mexico! WooHoo!)
17.) Checked cnn.com again.
18.) Cured cancer.
19.) Checked cnn.com
20.) Took a coffee break for the soul purpose of getting away from my computer and obsessively clicking the hurricane tracker button on cnn.com.
21.) Freaked out.
22.) Talked to The Defective Writer. She calmed me down.
23.) Left work.
24.) Bought a months worth of cat food for my diva-slut cat.
25.) Called my parents.
26.) Came home.
27.) Cooked all the meat in my fridge/freezer, in case the power goes out.
28.) Paid all my bills, including writing an early check to the mortgage company. (Ouch!)
29.) The Defective Writer called me on the phone. She was no longer calm.
30.) Went into super-duper, full-fledged panic mode.
31.) Talked to neighbors about evacation plans.
32.) Looked up flood plain maps for my neighborhood.
33.) Called parents. Freaked them out with my freaked-out-ness.
34.) Threw up.
35.) Took a shower.
36.) Blow dried my hair. (It looks fabulous right now, btw.)
37.) Drank (slammed) 3 glasses of wine to calm myself.
38.) Wine kicked in.
39.) Decided to check cnn.com one last time.
40.) Blogged.

I like mine frozen, with no salt

2005-09-19T22:12:00.000-05:00

Every once in awhile, I freak out. I start to panic. I worry, worry, worry. My palms sweat, my heart races, my mind starts going through every worst scenario possible.

It takes a lot to freak me out. A whole lot. In fact, the last time I freaked out was the day that I realized that my husband was really going to die. I haven't freaked out since then. Until now.

Word on the street is that Hurricane Rita is heading straight towards Houston.

And in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, I'M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

I lived at Homestead Air Force Base, Florida (about an hour south of Miami) for 10 years when I was younger. You might have heard of Homestead A.F.B. It was completely wiped out in 1991 by Hurricane Andrew. Until Hurricane Katrina, Andrew was the costliest hurricane to date. During my life in Florida, we went through a few close calls with hurricanes, particularly with Hurricane Hugo in 1989. Outside of Florida, I've also lived through a few bad blizzards, an earthquake, and most recently Tropical Storm Allison, here in Houston, in 2001.

None of the previous storms ever scared me. But this time, it's different. This time I am alone. During my Florida years, I had the protection of my parents and in the latter years, I had the protection of college roommates, and then later, the protection of my husband. And even though these people did nothing to lessen the effects of the storms at hand, I felt safe just knowing that they were with me. I didn't have to sit alone in the dark, without power, without someone to hold me in their arms.

I went to Sam's Club today to stock up on supplies. I was totally thinking that I was gonna beat the hurricane panic attack and buy everything I needed before anyone else even thought to do so. And when I got to Sam's Club EVERYTHING WAS ALREADY BOUGHT OUT. That's when I really started to feel alone.

I bought the last case of water. I bought the last pack of D-batteries. I waited in line for an hour to get gas for my car.

Deep breaths, Merry Widow...deep breaths.

I need some Xanax and a Margarita. Do you hear that, God??? I said a MARGARITA. NOT a hurricane Rita!

The Tao of Poop

2005-09-14T15:10:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had a really really really bad Charlie Horse? The kind that wakes you up in the middle of the night, screaming in pain and making you panic into a frenzy of stretching exercises to make it go away? Well that is a walk in the clouds compared to the pain that I feel in my lower back right now. Muscle spasms galore. I couldn't even get out of bed until about 10am today. And when I did make it out of bed, I could only crawl. So I crawled to the bathroom so that I could pee. If anyone could have seen me, I'm sure it was pure comedy watching me try to get up, onto the toilet, without dying of excruciating pain. And to make matters a little more annoying, my cat kept trying to rub against me, purring and purring like the little cat slut that she is, trying to get me to pet her. For some reason, she always wants me to pet her and hold her while I'm on the toilet. WTF?

So I finally finish my business, crawl out of the bathroom and drag my body into my living room, where I conveniently left my heating pad and cell phone. But by this point, the pain is so intense that I'm no longer crawling, but doing that body shimmy thing that army guys do while they're in boot camp, training in one of those obstacle courses from hell. You know, the part where they have to shimmy their bodies underneath that camouflaged netting that's only like 1 inch off the ground? Yeah, that's how I dragged myself into the living room. Luckily for me, my cat sheds a lot, so I also ended up dragging a pound of cat hair with me. I won't even talk about the rug burn.

So after like 30 minutes of doing the body crawl, I finally make it to the living room. So far, I've watched 3 old reruns of Jeopardy, Love Connection, The Newlywed Game, and I've caught up on all the current episodes of MTV's Real World and Laguna Beach. Oh yeah, and I watched Celebrity Fit Club on VH1. Did you know that the Snapple Lady is on that show? Not only that, but this is her second season of being on it. She is way way determined to lose weight and has a heart of gold, but I'm tired of hearing her snapple lady voice. "Why didn't you just change the channel, Merry Widow?" you may be asking yourself. Well, I had to throw the remote control at my diva cat so that she would stop using my sofa as her scratching post and there was no way that I was gonna drag myself back across the living room again. So I watched like 5 episodes of Celebrity Fit Club, all in a row, snapple lady and all.

So I'm lying on my back, trying to figure out how I'm gonna get to the kitchen to get some pain killers and a glass of water when it hits me. I need to poop. And I need to poop now. (Damn you, Taco Bell!!! I will never eat you again!) You've never seen anyone do the body crawl back to the bathroom so fast. I bet I would have beat any army/marine/air force/celebrity fit club guy any day of the week. I swear I dragged my body clear to the other side of my house in like 0 seconds flat. The BMW M3 that I've been eying lately can't even go that fast. (It goes from 0 to 60 in 4.5 seconds.)

Now I have to get all G.I. Jane and use all of my arm muscles to hoist myself onto a somewhat sitting-like position on the toilet. So I finally make it, drop my kids off at the pool, reach for the toilet paper, and then...well...every time I tried to twist myself so that I could wipe, well...it just hurt WAY TOO MUCH. I tried to wipe myself from every angle/position possible but I just couldn't get to THE spot. You know to where I'm referring. Let's just call it the exit door. So I'm sitting there, absolutely determined to make sure I clean up, cause there's NO way that I'm gonna pull up my panties unless I'm spic and span clean. Not to mention that slut cat is back, rubbing and rubbing and purring and purring all over my legs. What is it with her and the toilet? Finally, I contorted myself in just the right way so that I can finally get to the exit door and get things sparkly clean. Let's just say that it involved me lifting a leg in the air. It wasn't pretty.

But you know what the funny part is? Doing all of the contorting and stretching while trying to wipe my ass must have been just the right thing because miraculously, my spasming back muscle started to ease up a bit. It was as if one of those evangelical preacher guys on TV had just smacked me on my forehead with his palm and declared, "YOU ARE HEALED!" Because after I finally flushed the toilet, I actually used my legs and stood up and started walking.

Now granted, I still can't walk in an upright position. I walk with my body arched to side, as if I'm doing calisthenics or practicing to be a banana.

Normal Me vs. My Back Hurts Like a MoFo Me

But at this point, I don't care. Now I can get to my drugs, now I can answer the door after I order a pizza, and now I can frantically get to my computer so that I can blog about it all.

I See London, I See France

2005-09-13T22:58:00.000-05:00

But I don't wanna see your dirty underpants!!!

OK, seriously, people have the nerve to send their used, nasty, skanky, std-riddled, crotch clothes to the survivors of Katrina, as part of their donations. And while their donations are greatly greatly appreciated, no one wants to wear someone else's Hershey stained banana hammocks, no matter how many times they've been washed.

So a fellow H-Town blogger, Debutaunt, has started "Operation Panty Drop" as part of her effort to help out our new Houston residents.

So, if you want to help, please send NEW panties ONLY (ALL SIZES - male, female, kids, big mammas too) to:

Geeks for Hire
Katrina Underwear Drive
5868A1 Westheimer, Box# 621
Houston, TX 77057

That's NEW underwear, people. No one wants to see any DNA evidence, last night's taco bell, visits from Aunt Flo, or ingredients for making bread on their panties. So please keep all that at home and send fresh panties this way instead.

Thanks,
The Merry Widow

P.S. Anderson Cooper, you can mail your underwear directly to my house instead of to above listed address.

No, I'm not picky.

2005-09-12T03:02:00.000-05:00

So here's the deal. I soooooooooo want to fall in love. I just can't find the right person with whom I shall fall. Yes, I'm having tons and tons and tons of fun with Hottie McHotterson, Guy #6, but unless he starts calling me before 10pm everynight, he hardly qualifies as a boyfriend, not to mention someone to whom I can present my heart. Booty call, he is, and no, I'm not complaining, but I'm definately ready for something a little deeper. I wouldn't mind if it was with him, but who am I kidding??? I'm probably better suited for someone who doesn't think that I'm "deprived" because I haven't seen the movie, "Bad Santa."

Guy #6: "You haven't seen 'Bad Santa'?"

Me: "Nope."

Guy #6: "You're deprived."

I've traveled all over the world, I've sky dived, I've been water rafting, I've learned 2 languages, I've learned how to dance the traditional dance of the Mexicans, I've earned a bachelor's degree, I've volunteered with kids with cancer, I've run in a 10K race, and now I'm gonna try to get into medical school. I'm the deprived one??? What have you done? Going to Austin last week doesn't count.

ANYWAY, I've come up with a list of qualities that I would like in a guy with whom I will fall in love.

WANTED:

22-35 year old male
At least 5'6"
Minimum education must include Bachelor's degree
Christianity a plus, but not a necessity as long as spiritual
Must know how to do the following things:
cook, clean, iron, vacuum, wash dishes, kill bugs, change oil, fix anything in my car, mow lawn, cuddle, make bed, have intelligent conversation, know how to admit that you're wrong, make me laugh, tell me I'm smart, tell me I'm beautiful, adore me, buy me purses, drive in a big city
Must also have passport for last minute trips to Mexico or any other part of the world
Must look like either Brad Pitt, Anderson Cooper, or Guy #6

Any takers???

Guy #6

2005-09-12T02:56:00.000-05:00

sigh...

I Only Care About One Game Every Year

2005-09-08T16:58:00.000-05:00

Fourth Quarter Rally Lifts Buffs Over CSU 31-28

Enough Said.

I'm a Toys R Us Kid

2005-09-07T00:13:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, I went to Colorado to attend the wedding of an old college roommate, named Charlie. Charlie was my first friend that I made as a freshman in college and he quickly became my favorite drinking buddy for the remainder of our college careers. Charlie was also the member of a certain Animal House fraternity, so I soon became a regular (groupie) at his fraternity house, and was a permanent fixture at all of their parties. So when I showed up in Breckenridge, Colorado, this past weekend for wedding festivities, I was quickly greeted by many "old" fraternity boys, most of whom I hadn't seen since I graduated from school in 1998.

Now mind you, these were the boys that taught me how to do a keg stand, taught me how to chug from a beer bong, and taught me how to drink, well, like a good ol' frat boy. Needless to say, I partied hard with these boys, during my college years, so it was great seeing them again after all this time.

So soon after the wedding ceremony was over, we all made our way to the reception and headed straight for the, ahem, open bar so that we could party like it was 1994-1998. But the funny part was that instead of ordering the reminiscent naty-ice, keystone-light, or cheap shot of tequila, we had all graduated to more "grown up" drinks like martinis, merlot, and scotch. Not only that, but our conversations had matured as well. Instead of talking about getting tickets to the next Beastie Boys concert, or last night's kegger, we were talking about mortgages, 401K's, and life insurance policies.

At what point did we all grow up???

The guy with whom I once stayed up all night with, watching Wizard of Oz while listening to Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon," was now showing me pictures of his wife and kids. And the guy who once drank so much that he passed out in the same twin bed as his fraternity brother was talking to me about real estate values and the stock market. And my first friend from college, the man of honor, Charlie, who was once dubbed the "King Cobra" of his fraternity was now getting married, to a sweet and smart girl. (I won't go into details about what "King Cobra" means, but let's just say that Charlie was well liked by many, many, many, girls.)

But as the night went on, and more drinks were drank, our "old" ways came out in full force. We ate, we danced, we drank more, we were once again college kids. And maybe we didn't feel so much like college kids the next morning, when we woke up with our grown up hangovers, but at least we remembered that getting older doesn't have to age us. But it instead provides us with "old" friends. And growing old with "old" friends is the best way to grow at all.

When the Saints Come Marching In

2005-09-05T01:36:00.000-05:00

I don't think I've ever met 2 people more positive, upbeat, charismatic, and spiritual as my friends, John and Kara. It's been a over a week since they've been evacuated from their home in New Orleans, into my home in Houston. It's been a week since they realized that they may have just lost everything that they own. And it's been 28 years since they've realized that they are truly blessed...lucky just to be alive and healthy. These 2 can turn any situation into a positive one. They turn stress into faith, trauma into strength, tears of sadness into tears of laughter.

My in-laws, who live about 5 minutes from me, are also housing some New Orleans refugees. They know, for a fact, that they have lost everything. They've been informed that the flooding is as high as 3 feet on the second floor of their home - the home that they've lived in for the past 30 years of their lives. When John and Kara found this out, they immediately began devising a plan as to how they could help out this family. "What should we do?" Kara asked me. "We don't really have any money to give them. Maybe we can just cook them some meals everyday so that they have one less thing to worry about while they're rebuilding their home." I didn't have the heart to remind Kara that she probably didn't even have a kitchen anymore herself. But at the same time, I marveled at her true sense of selflessness. Both she and John are always the first to volunteer to help any friend in need.

The funny thing is that while John and Kara are grateful that I opened up my home to them, I, instead, feel like I should be thanking them. Having them in my home has reminded me to have faith, to be more kind, and laugh a little louder and longer. Just last week, in a moment of self-pity, I prayed to God and asked Him to send a little love my way. He sent me John and Kara the next day.

Amen.

Refugee Camp

2005-08-31T14:30:00.000-05:00

So this past Friday, I received a call from my good good good friend, John. John and I have been friends since my sophomore (his freshman) year of college. In fact, we were such good friends, that he thought that I just might like hanging out with his dorm roommate, DJ. As in DJ, my wonderful, perfect, now late husband. So needless to say, John has been with me through thick and thin. We were skiing buddies, study buddies, party buddies, church buddies, dinner buddies, volleyball buddies, biking buddies, singing buddies, he was a groomsman in my wedding, and I was an honored guest at his recent wedding...well, you get the picture. We're tight. We even made up our own language and hand gestures that only he and I understand.

ANYWAY, a month after John married his most lovely wife, Kara, they moved to Australia so that John could finish up his research for his thesis and Kara could start hers. And after a year or so of work, they made their way back to the U.S. so that John could defend his dissertation, inteview for jobs, and get started on his professional career.

So John took on a job as a professor of Urban Planning. I was very excited for him because not only was this what he's worked for for the past 10 years of his life, but he took his job about 6 hours away from where I live. 6 hours is still a bit of a drive, but it's WAY closer than Australia, so chances are that we were going to get to visit each other relatively frequently.

So on Friday, when John called me so that we could chat, we both got giddy with the anticipation of getting to visit with each other. "I'm not sure when we'll be able to drive to Houston...Kara and I just got here 2 weeks ago and we're still trying to settle in and I just started teaching last week." But we both agreed that a visit was long over due and we promised each other that either I would visit him and Kara or they would visit me before the year was over.

That was until this past Saturday morning. I was leisurly lying in bed...watching a movie...cuddling...generally not wanting to leave my bed for the rest of the day, when I get a phone call. I looked at the caller ID - John's name was on it. Now granted, I love love love my friend, John, but I was in no mood to talk to him. Besides, I had just talked to him the day before, and our phone call had ended sort of abruptly then (his landlord had stopped by and he needed to talk to her) so I figured that he was just calling to finish our conversation. I didn't answer my phone and noted to myself that I would give him a call later in the day, after some breakfast and a shower. But he kept calling and calling and calling until after the 4th call from him, I decided that I would answer my phone. This is how our conversation went:

me: "Hello?"

John: "Hey, Merry Widow! Remember how I said that Kara and I wanted to come and visit you sometime soon?"

me: "Yeah."

John: "Well, do you mind if we come over today? We have nothing to do this weekend."

me: "Are you kidding? You're totally welcome any time!"

John: "Oh good. We'll leave from here in an hour. Oh, by the way, we'll be bringing lots of stuff with us...they're making us evacuate the city."

me: "Huh? Evacuate?"

John: "Yeah. Apparentlly there's some hurricane on its way. So we figured this was a good chance to come visit you in Houston."

me: "But you don't even have a car yet. How are you gonna get here?"

John: "I'm at the car rental place right now. We just rented the LAST car in all of New Orleans...."

That's right...John took his job as a professor at the University of New Orleans. He and Kara were just settling into their home on St. Charles Avenue, located in the Garden District of New Orleans, about 3 blocks from the French Quarter.

So right now, I'm housing 2 New Orleans refugees. My mother-in-law/father-in-law (who live about 5 minutes away from me) took in 4 other New Orleans friends plus one cat. And a family friend (who lives down the street from the in-laws) took in 10 people, 2 dogs, and 3 cats.

And now it looks like H-Town is gonna open up the Astrodome for all of the Superdome refugees.

New Orleans is our fun and crazy neighbor - only a 5-6 hour drive from Houston (depending on where you live.) I'm sure that most people here have some sort of tie to the Big Easy. Needless to say, we've all been glued to the TV, trying to get any information that we can about the homes and lives of all of our friends. So far, it looks like my refugees have lost EVERYTHING.

Please keep them, and the rest of the victims in your prayers.

***Editor's Note***
Big thank you to everyone who has emailed/posted comments as to how they can help my friends. Your kindness is overwhelming. We ask that you instead send your help/prayers/positive thoughts to the victims stuck in the Astrodome, and other shelters throughout the nation. Thanks again.

Sex & The Lone Star State

2005-08-21T21:46:00.000-05:00

Random guy: "I don't know if you know this, but you have a beautiful smile. I had to come over here just to tell you that."

Me: "Thanks."

Random guy: "Can I buy you a drink?"

Me: "No thanks. I'm good."

Random guy: "But I just told you that you had a beautiful smile."

Me: "Do you tell your wife that she has a beautiful smile too?"

Random guy: "What makes you think I have a wife?"

Me: "The fact that you're still wearing your wedding ring."

Random guy: "Oh yeah...that...."

I thought this sort of stuff only happened on TV. So when someone decides to make my life into a TV show, I want Salma Hayek to play me. Christina Applegate can be cast as my smart, funny, raunchy best friend. Sarah Jessica Parker can be an extra. The show will be called, "Just because I'm sitting here at the bar, without a man next to me, doesn't mean that I want to go home with you. Oh, and see that guy across the way watching us? He is my boyfriend and he'll kick your ass the minute I ask him to. So go away now." Either that, or it will be called, "Guys are Stupid." I don't know...I can't decide right now. The theme song will be "How We Do" by The Game. Either that or "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler. Again, I can't decide.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

2005-08-14T21:11:00.000-05:00

That was my intention with him. I figured that the longer I went without seeing him, the faster I would get over my crush on him. So when Batman's sidekick* called me 3 weeks ago and asked me if I wanted to go to the local bar, I said no. I knew that this bar was his bar and I knew that chances were high that I would see him there if I went. But she twisted and pulled and tugged at my arm until I caved in and agreed to go with her. And who am I kidding? Of course I wanted to run into him.

Forget the fact that he called me while I was in NYC. Forget the fact that he called me while I was in Colorado. I couldn't see him and I was having way too much fun without him. Out of sight, out of mind.

But then I came back. And life returned to normal. I was working late, getting back into my exercise routine, catching up on blogs, and maintaining a tranquil status quo. That is, until 2 weeks ago.

My SS friend** calls me and asks if I want to go to a CD release party with her. The guy releasing the CD is a mutual friend, so of course I happily accept the invitation. So I put on my best skank-ho, rapper-groupie attire (the CD is of the hip hop genre - so I wasn't about to show up dressed as Scientist Merry Widow...I had to change into bootylicious Merry Widow,) I meet a friend at the pub for a few pre-show drinks, and then we both head out to the party, primed for a night of socializing, laughing, and dancing. And you know what? He never even crossed my mind that night. Out of sight, out of mind...that is until we finally showed up at the party.

We pulled into the parking lot, right next to his car. "Shit." I whisper under my breath. "What's wrong?" my friend asks. "Oh nothing. That's his car. He's here." "Did you guys have a fight or something?" "No, nothing like that...I just don't want to see him. I'm trying to get over my crush and...well...out of sight, out of mind, you know?" "Do you wanna leave?" "No, no...I'll be fine. I'm here to see other people anyway. Good times will be had," I proclaim as I grab one of my 8 million new purses and get out of the car.

We walk in and right away I hear him calling out my name, "MERRY WIDOW!!! I was just asking J if you were gonna show up. Where have you been?" "You know where I've been. I was on vacation." "I know, but didn't you get back like a week ago? Why haven't you called?" "I don't know...I've been busy at work." This was the truth. I had a presentation to give the week following my return from NYC/Colorado and I had been staying at work late to get it done and perfect it. At that just that moment, I spot another friend of mine, so I excuse myself to go and say hi. Later on, Batman's sidekick pulls me aside and whispers, "You know, he's been watching you all night." "Like stalking me?" I jokingly ask. "That's just my luck...I always get the psycho ones." "No! You know what I mean, he's just keeping an eye on you." I let a small smile form on my face, but inside I was jumping up and down, doing flips and cartwheels and squeeling with joy. "That's cool." I casually comment. But I knew that no matter how hard I tried not to physically see him, no matter how much he was out of sight, he had now entered my mind, found a big, relaxing, reclining chair, and made himself comfortable right smack dab in the middle of my restless brain.

And since then, it's been impossible to get him out of mind...he's been in my sight every night since.

Footnotes:
*obvious alias
**another cryptic codename

Is this the beginning of the end? Or the end of the beginning?

2005-08-08T01:08:00.000-05:00

I am now officially 29 years of age. It's the last year of my 20's, so I better make it a good one. So I started it off with a bang (and a few margaritas) and went out for dinner and drinks with a few good friends. The usual good time was had, but what I what I was really looking forward to was my annual "It's The Merry Widow's Birthday so let's take her on her annual birthday vacation" trip. It's been a tradition for my parents and me to go to Vegas for my birthday every year. I've spent every single birthday there since my 21st birthday. (Thanks, Daddy and Mommy!) But this year we decided that we needed a change. And I decided that I wanted to spend the beginning of my last year of my 20's in The Big Apple. And yeah, I had the best time of my life, I bought 8 million new purses, and I even got to eat breakfast at Tiffany's on 5th Avenue. OK, so maybe I just snuck a bite of my bagel that I had shoved into my new Coach purse while I was in Tiffany's, but still, a bagel is a breakfast food, so I think it counts. Anyway, I totally totally love NYC and now want to move there and have like 10 million of its babies. But I digress...

I am now officially 29 years of age. It's the last year of my 20's, so I better make it a good one. So after my trip to NYC, I flew out to the beautiful state of Colorado (hey, Big Heavy!) and went up to Breckenridge (10,000 feet above sea level) for a wedding. I had forgotten how high altitude affects one's ability to consume copious amounts of alcohol, so after 2 beers, I was pretty much toast. And anyone who knows me in real life knows that I can usually drink like a fish. But the good news was that no one can drink much at 10,000 feet above sea level, so I wasn't the only person doing the robot while the Polish band played the 8 millionth polka wedding song during the reception. But I digress...

I am now officially 29 years of age. It's the last year of my 20's, so I better make it a good one. Maybe it's time that I did something about spreading my husband's ashes. Before he died, he decided that he did not want to spend eternity in Texas. (Good man, he was...that's why I married him.) So we both decided that the best way to arrange his transport would be to cremate him so that I could easily move him to Colorado (where we met and got married) and I could spread his ashes there. Well, 2 and a half years later, I still hadn't done it. I thought of a million excuses as to why I couldn't do it: work, money, conflicting schedules with my in-laws, I had to wash my hair...you know, the usual.

But alas, I figured that if I was really gonna make this last year of my 20's count, then I really needed to finally close the DJ chapter and get myself (and my parents, and his parents, and his brother) all out to Colorado so that we could finally put him to rest.

So we did. While I was in Colorado, my parents, my in-laws, and my brother-in-law all met up with me and we drove to an undisclosed location in the mountains of Colorado. We did some hiking, found a beautiful spot at the edge of a small cliff that overlooked a lot of the 14,000 foot rocky mountains and spread his ashes. My father-in-law made a small cedar cross to stake into the ground, my mother-in-law brought lots of beautiful flowers to lay by the cross, my dad brought some of DJ's favorite chocolate for us to enjoy, and my mom brought the hugs and kleenex. My father-in-law read a passage from the bible (Psalm 31, I believe) and my mother-in-law read a small prayer. My dad spread the ashes as I looked out into the mountains, absorbing the beauty of it all, and breathing the fresh rocky mountain air. And I thought to myself, I am officially 29. This is the last year of my 20's and DJ would want me to make it a good one. So far, so good.

Patience, Young Grasshopper

2005-08-02T12:08:00.000-05:00

Can't a girl go on vacation to NYC and not post anything while she's there??? Sheesh!

...so take off all your clothes...

2005-07-14T16:27:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure that the devil used to live in Houston. He wore a Stetson, had a gun rack on his Ford F150 pick-up, used words like, "reckon," "yonder," and "skeeters," was a certified Dubya lover, and he played a fiddle. Then one day, he had enough. He said to himself, "Dammit all to Houston! It's hotter than Hades down here. I'm moving!" He packed up all of his pitchforks and moved to Hell. (He left the Stetson, gun racks, and Fords behind.) "Aaaaaah. Much better. It's much much cooler down here. And it's a dry heat! My hair will be much more managable now!" And the devil lived happily ever after.

The End.

The Ghost of Boyfriends Past

2005-07-11T00:41:00.000-05:00

Boy has it been a doozy. In the past 2 weeks, 4 ex-boyfreinds have contacted me. Why? Because I'm the best thing that has ever happened to anyone and they all finally realized that. Too bad for them that I also realized it and figured out that none of them are worth my time. OK...that's a lie. One of them might be worth my time. But just a little. And maybe I like getting attention from boys, so really I'm sort of excited about hearing from guys. So here's a list of boys that want to get into my pants, typed in chronological order of when they contacted me:

1. Asshole with Small Dick: The L-Bomb may or may not have been used here this jerk-wad. But the second that things didn't go his way, he turned into the biggest baby EVER and decided to sleep with 800 other girls and then act like it was my fault. He and I haven't talked in over a year when, POOF, he calls me over the 4th of July weekend. Then he tries to act like nothing bad ever happened between us and shows up at my front door. I soon kick him out, because, um, hello, I have a life. So what does he do? Come back the next day. But wait, it gets better. Then he asks me if I'll, um, service him. WTF? When I say no, he throws a hissy and leaves. Yeah, don't let the door hit you on the way out, asshole.

2. First Boyfriend from College (FBFC): Have I fallen into a time warp? I dated this guy in 1995, people. 1995! I'm pretty sure that I don't miss anything from that year. This includes: grunge; OJ Simpson and his brain dead roomie, Kato; Newt Gingrich; and FBFC. Even Miss Cleo herself could have predicted that FBFC was a big loser. I should have listened to her when she told me that back then. Anywho, apparently Mr. College boy got my email address from a mutual friend and decided that he should write to me. I'm gonna pretend that this message went to my junk mail and that I never got it.

3. Guy that I briefly dated, here in H-Town: This one was a real winner. After wining and dining me, we talk about how awful some people are, you know, when they cheat on their significant others and all. 5 weeks later, I find out that this guy is MARRIED AND HAS A DAUGHTER. He then drops off the face of the earth (thank, God) until I run into him at a local bar while he is on a date with a girl who is NOT HIS WIFE. Anyway, I guess this punk-ass-mo-fo has gotten bored with his wife again, because I saw his number on my caller i.d. a few nights ago.

4. Guy #6: Mmmmmm...guy #6. Remember him? He's from this list. And he used to date the girl from this post. But now that she and her big bubble butt are out of the picture, Guy #6 has finally gotten a hold of my number and has been busy dialing it. And at first, I was a bit turned off...it was almost as if I liked him better when he had a girlfriend. Shallow, yes, I know. But after spending the past 3 days with him, I might be changing my mind a little. OK, OK, I admit that I think he's totally hot and that I have the biggest crush on him, and totally want him in my bed like 24-7. And maybe he has that thug/gangsta thing going for him, which is the complete opposite of the geeky/science-nerd Merry Widow that we have all come to love and adore. And maybe that scares me just a little, but totally turns me on at the same time. They say that opposites attract, right?

Is it possible that this ghost of boyfriend past might turn into the ghost of boyfriend future?

Of, relating to, or characteristic of Plato or his philosophy

2005-06-27T23:11:00.000-05:00

Dear A.P.,

There are two things in life that I think are very important:

The first is telling someone that you love them. Nothing makes me happier than knowing that I am loved, whether it's romantically, unconditionally, or platonically. It makes me feel important, wanted, and as if I have a purpose. It reminds me that God is still present in my life despite the heartache that I've experienced. But this feeling doesn't come too often, for people get wrapped in their busy lives and forget that today might be the last day to love. This is a lesson that my husband and I had to learn as a result of tragedy, but that we embraced in spite of it. And for this reason, I try to make it a point to tell the people in my life that I love them, whether it's through my actions or with my words.

But the word, "love" can take on so many meanings. I use this word to describe my feelings for fried rice, pink purses, Justin Timberlake, my diva cat, my mom, my dad, and my husband. For this reason, I try to be specific with the word, "love." I love fried rice because it is yummy. I love Justin Timberlake because he makes me feel kinda funny, like when I used to climb the rope in P.E. I love my mom and dad because they are funny, and smart, and supportive, and caring, and the bestest parents that ever existed ever. And I love my husband because he taught me that love never ends. But this letter isn't about all of these things. It's about you, and why I love you.

Which leads me to the second thing in life that I find important: Encouragement. I grew up in the most loving, supportive family imaginable. And even though I was an "A" student, an avid dancer, a girl scout, a pianist, and a church-goer, I was never encouraged to do any of these things per se. I was never discouraged from doing these things either, but when I decided that I no longer wanted to study, dance, play piano, or go to church, my decisions were respected without question. This, naturally, has its pros and cons. For one, I didn't have pushy parents - the ones who yell at their kids when they strike out at a little league game or decide that their child will absolutely become a doctor, even if that child doesn't like science or medicine. But on the other hand, I may have lost sight of my goals because I wasn't encouraged. I never did become that prima ballerina that I wanted to be. I stopped being the virtuoso and quickly forgot all the notes and chords of the songs I once played with ease. And I never even tried to get into medical school, even though it was one of my life-long dreams. Now this isn't to say that I blame my parents for my choices in life. I cherish that they let me become an independent thinker and learn that all of my actions come with consequences, whether good or bad. And in the end, I am the only one who could have made these things happen for myself. But sometimes I wonder: What if I had had a little push? Would I have tried harder?

This is where you finally come in. I love you because you encourage me. You took a match and created a spark within me which has relit the path that I want to take in life. And I'm not just talking about medical school...you encourage me to be a better person in every way possible. You challenge my mind in a way that makes me want to learn more about history, math, science, music, myself, you, and God. And even though I will NEVER admit that you might possibly be a teenie bit smarter than I, you make me want to know everything that you know, for you're so well versed in so many things. But most importantly, you encourage me to laugh.

Someone sent me an email today with just one sentence. It said, "Has anyone ever told you that you are gifted in the art of bringing smiles to faces?" I like to think so, but I want you to know that you have, and will always, bring a smile to my face.

Good luck in medical school. I'll be following right behind you.

Love,
The Merry Widow

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

2005-06-23T23:41:00.000-05:00

OK, here's the situation: Jessie (aka Hornblower) tagged me to do this list thing. And being that I am obsessed with lists, I was all over it.

The rules:

Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross pollination effect:

1. Lu's News
2. Searchin' For a Rainbow
3. Agent 99
4. Hornblower
5. The Merry Widow

Next: select new friends to add to the pollen count. (No one is obligated to participate). I'm gonna pick a few people that aren't on my link list (only because I'm too lazy to update,) but whose blogs I do read daily:

1. Sue and Charlotte's Excellent Adventure
2. Von Krankipantzen
3. The Silly Page
4. Laughing All The Way
5. Debutaunt

Now the fun part:

What 5 Things do you miss about your childhood?

1. 2414 Kansas Avenue: My dad was in the U.S. Air Force for 25 years, which meant that we moved relatively often. However, this was the address that we lived at for the longest period of time and it's the one that I associate the most with my childhood. I lived here from age 6 (1st grade) through age 14 (9th grade.) This is the address where I met my bestest friend, got my first kitty, had my first crush, my first kiss, and my first obsession with a boy band (NKOTB rulz!) I was truely innocent while living on Kansas Avenue, never knowing that there was a world of hatred, racism, and heartache beyond the boundries of my neighborhood. When my family and I moved away from Kansas Avenue, I began my journey into adulthood.

2. Tiggy: My awesome outdoor jungle cat. A random lady at the mall gave her to me when I was in 2nd grade. She was an outdoor cat and would follow me to my best friend's house everyday after school and wait for me until I walked back home later on in the evening. When I would spend the night at a friend's house, she would loiter around until I finally came back out the next day and rode my bike home. She brought my mom a gift everyday and would leave it on the front doorstep. It was usually a dead mouse, snake, or bird, but my mom still thought she was so sweet to bring them to her. When my family and I moved to the mountains, she quickly adjusted to her new surroundings and would follow me to the bus stop every morning on my way to school. But with our new mountain home, came new mountain wildlife and Tiggy was scooped up one day by a big gigantic owl and taken away. It happened right before my eyes, just as she was running towards me as I called out her name. And all that I could think to do at that time was say, "Bye, Tiggy." Most people laugh when I tell them that story.

3. Tiger Tail Beach: My family and I went to the beach every single freakin weekend. And we always went with Jaime's family. (My bestest friend since 3rd grade.) I LOVED our weekends at the beach. We usually headed to Biscayne Bay because there was good wind there (my dad and Jaime's dad were avid windsurfers) but every so often, we would head out to Tiger Tail Beach which was the most idyllic, tranquil, beautiful beach ever. There were always shells to be found, the weather was always perfect, and the sunsets there were unbelievable. My mom and Jaime's mom would always make and pack so much food for us to munch on throughout the day. The sand was the finest, softest sand that I have ever felt and was pure white. Not the best for making sand castles, but it felt good as it sifted inbetween my toes. There was a sandbar about 1 mile out from the shore and Jaime, Bryan (Jaime's little brother,) and I would always blow up one of those floating bed things and use it to kick our way out to the sandbar and look for sand dollars. I remember riding on the back of my dad's windsurfer and looking over and seeing Jaime ride on the back of her dad's windsurfer. The sun was just beginning to set, the temperature of the water was just right, and there was a slight breeze. We were all laughing and I remember thinking that heaven must look like Tiger Tail Beach. I'm still convinced that it does.

4. Innocence: There was no racism. There were no cliques. Everyone was invited to everyone's birthday parties. There was no crime, no fights, no guns at school. We said the Pledge of Allegiance and sang the National Anthem everyday when class started. We would ooh and ahh when we watched fireworks and ride our bikes without fear of being run over. We were invincible.

5. Jaime: She was with me on Kansas Avenue. She was with me at Tiger Tail Beach. She was with me when Tiggy came and went. She is still with me now. Best friends since 3rd grade - That's 21 years!!! And to this day, whenever we're together we revert back to age 8 and giggle the day and night away.

Take one down and pass it around...

2005-06-22T00:56:00.000-05:00

Don't you hate it when you drink to much and then you get up and LINE DANCE? That's right...LINE DANCE. As in the cheesiest, dumbest style of dance ever invented, danced to the most horrid style of music ever played. Furthermore, don't you hate that while you're doing said line dance, you think you look pretty damn hot because in your drunk mind you're thinking, "I'm totally line dancing...and that's hot."

And don't you hate it when you're a little tipsy and you go up to random people that you don't know and say things like, "Hey! Did anyone ever tell you that you look like 'The Rock'?" And when they say no, you say, "Well you do! And I'm smarter than you, so whatever I say goes."

And don't you hate it when you're drunk and you have to raise your voice to be heard over the music playing in the background so that just when you're yelling out, "YOUR VIRGINAL FRIEND IS A LIAR!!!" the music stops and everyone hears you and turns to gawk at your proclamation?

And don't you hate it when you're plastered and you end up getting in an argument with someone about work related issues? Then later on in the night, you yell at that same person for requesting the wrong karaoke song? Then the next day you realize that this person is your boss?

It's a good thing that I don't drink so that none of these things won't ever happen to me.

That's The Night That The Lights Went Out In Houston

2005-06-16T00:19:00.000-05:00

Me: "All the power is out! It's a complete blackout on my end of Houston! No TV! No Internet! NO AIR CONDITIONER!!!"

Will: "Merry Widow, calm down. "

Me: "But it's getting dark out! I'm gonna be left alone! In the dark! People are gonna start looting and pillaging!!! AND THERE'S NO AIR CONDITIONER!!!"

Will: "Merry Widow, why don't you take this opportunity to light some candles, close your eyes, focus, breathe, meditate, find your inner-self, find peace, Or..."

Me: "Yeah???"

Will: "You can masterbate."

Let Me Hear Your Body Talk

2005-06-14T09:58:00.000-05:00

Here's the deal: It's time for me to buckle down and start losing weight again. Last year, I lost about 30 pounds and have actually done ok keeping it off. It wasn't until the last 3 months or so that I put 10 of those pounds back on. So all in all, I think I'm doing ok. But I'd still like to lose about a million more pounds. (Give or take 5 pounds.)

But the food. The glorious, yummy, delicious, oh-so-decadent food. I can't keep my mouth away. Solution? Exercise, dammit. Ha! Yeah, right. But alas, it's what must be done if I want to lose the weight. That's how I did it before, so I know that I can do it again. But this is coming from the girl who HATES running. In high school, I used to play Varsity Lacrosse and soccer and I would say things like, "Hey! Wouldn't this game be way more fun if we didn't have to run so much?" And that was when I was in shape. So you can imagine how hard it is for me to get my Jabba the Hutt ass off the couch and onto the pavement. Not to mention that it's like 8 million degrees outside, on a cool day, with 3000% humidity. Gotta love the Houston summers. But really, I have no excuses. I have a gym membership, so if the heat is really getting to me that much, then I can just go there and hit the treadmill. But gosh darnit, someone brought doughnuts in this morning and they are happily sitting right outside my office yelling, "Merry Widoooooooow....coooooome and eeeeeeeeaaaaat meeeeeeee...I'm covered in chooooooocoooooolaaaaaaate!!!"

But back to business. I figure if I write/type this stuff out, then I'll actually get it done. It's how I work. Want me to get something done? Make me write it down. Wanna know why? Because I'm anal and may or may not have slight OCD tendencies. As a result, I love love love to make everything into a list and then get great joy out of scratching things off of my list. Sometimes I even make lists of things I've already accomplished, just so I can scratch them off. (I've even gone so far as to make a list of all the lists I need to make. But I digress....) If I tell people that I'm exercising, then I'll actually have to follow through and really actually exercise. I'm not gonna write my new exercise routine here, because it's gonna change (i.e. get harder) the more in shape I become. But trust me, I've already made up an exercise list in my PDA that involves the following daily activities: running, sit ups (real ones, not crunches), push ups, and leg lifts. This will be my core list of exercise activities that may or may not be interspersed with some classes at the gym (kick-boxing, yoga, pilates.)

So if you were to meet me today, you might see somthing like this (but wearing a tiara):

But soon, I'll be looking like this (but still wearing a tiara and with smaller boobs):

But first I'm gonna go eat one of those doughnuts. My diet/exercise routine will start after lunch.

Editor's Note: If anyone needs help getting inspired with their diet/exercise regime, then I suggest reading Daze Of My Life's Blog. I don't know where she finds the will power to stay on track!

"...and when she woke up, she had wings and she flew away."

2005-06-08T22:08:00.000-05:00

Dear you, (Yes, I'm talking to you. No, not you...YOU.)

I'm normally a very happy person. I know this. You know this. Work knows this. Family knows this. Friends know this. Blogland knows this. And I'm happy to report that my ray-o-sunshine attitude comes quite naturally. Yes, I really am, honest to God, genuinly happy. In fact, I'm sooooo wonderfully happy that I'm kinda surprised that deer and birds don't naturally flock to me like they did with Snow White. You know, because of the happpiness.

But every so often, believe it or not, I get a little sad. It doesn't happen all that often, and it never lingers for more than a few days, but still, it does happen. But the people around me are so accustomed to my smile, laugh, and overall good cheer, that when I do get sad, they freak out. And since I'm the highlight of most people's day, if they see me being sad, then their days are totally ruined. As a result, rather than openly display my sadness, I tend to just retreat and be a little less outgoing. This is usually interpreted as fatigue.

Here's an example from a real life conversation that I had last week:

Random friend of mine: "You seem out of it tonight. You know, like less talkative. I guess you must be tired."

What I want to say: "Actually, I'm focusing all of my energy into trying not to cry."

But I instead say: "Yes. I'm tired."

Anyway, today when I was telling you about the "flying nun," you did something that very few people allow me to do: You cried. And when you cried, it made it ok for me to cry. And there we were, crying like 2 fools, right smack dab in the middle of the room, right in broad daylight. And even though we both quickly dried our tears and laughed at ourselves for being so girly, that short 10 second cry comforted me.

And even though we were crying about the flying nun, I know that you really know the real reason why I've been so sad. I know that you know my secret, even though I've never actually spoken the words of my secret outloud to anyone because I won't even admit to myself that it's actually true. But you have this innate ability to read my thoughts and you always seem to know just the right time and the right way to make The Merry Widow merry when she's lost her merry way.

Thank you.

Forever Young

2005-06-07T12:50:00.000-05:00

So a certain someone that I know (read: Guy #3) does something that really really annoys me. He calls me "Ma'am." I HATE THAT. Why? Because, in my mind, that's what you call your elders - the old ladies at the library desk who look down at you from behind their reading glasses...the church ladies selling coffee and lemon bars after mass...Mrs. Garrett from "Facts of Life." You know old ladies. I am not old. I'm 28. I don't feel any differently than I did when I was 27. And when I turned 27, I didn't feel any differently than I did when I was 26. And when I turned 26, I didn't feel any differently than I did when I was 25...and so on and so on. You get the point. Now, this isn't to say that I haven't, like, totally matured or gained a teeny bit more wisdom since my earlier years of life, but all in all, I feel the same. So when Guy #3 (or mrtl - Hi, mrtl! Yes, you succeeded in making me come out of hiding) call me the name assigned to old ladies, my panties get all bunched up in a wad. (Sidenote: I won't make any derogatory remarks as to why Guy #3 calls me ma'am. You know, like it's because he's jealous that I'm older than him because he's only 12 and has yet to go through pubery. Nope..I won't stoop to his childish behavior like that.)

Anyway, with all of my thoughts focused on age, I started wondering: Why don't I want to be old? Is it the wrinkles? Is it the sagging boobs? (FYI: I don't have to worry about that one - itty bitty titties do have their pluses.) Maybe it's the...um...what's that word again??? Oh yeah, memory loss. Nah. I don't think that I have to worry about any of these things just yet. And even if they do happen to me, which they won't, I really won't care. Or, at least, I won't remember to care. But what I will care about is losing my mental youth. I want to be forever young at heart. (Insert Rod Stewart song here.)

I know a few people who "act old." For example, I know a lady who is just a few years younger than my mother, but she acts as if she's 100. (Note: My mama just turned 49.) She complains about "being old" all the freakin time. "My eye sight is going...my bones hurt...I can't remember anything...I'm tired." OK, Whiney McWhinerson, I get the point. You're old. You deserve the official title of Ma'am. But as she drones on and on about "being old" I always think to myself, "Sheesh, Whiney McWhinerson, why do you act so old? You're only a few years younger than my parents and they don't act old at all." So I came to the following conclusions:

1.) My family is AWESOME.
2.) My family is young at heart.

This, intermanet, is the secret to keeping all of those old timer symptoms at bay. It's the fountain of youth, if you will. My family is the silliest group of people you'll ever meet. They play games, the tell jokes, they run, they skip, they laugh. My dad and I take every opportunity we can to jump on the bed. My mom and I never hesitate to tell each other jokes and laugh til we cry. My aunt and I spend time making up dances that look "crab-like" as my uncle and I look for fun food products that splat nicely when thrown at each other. Even my grandpa, who will be turning 80 this year, likes to climb trees with me. We are all young, despite what our birth certificates tell us. And I'm happy to report that every single one of us is a picture of perfect health. My mom is wrinkle free, my dad has low cholesterol and a good heart, my aunt remembers EVERYTHING, and my grandpa's bones don't hurt a bit. The young heart does not stay within, but manifests itself physically.

My Great Aunt died the night before last. She was one of my favorite aunts and I will miss her tremendously. She lived as a nun, in a small town called San Luis Potosi (in Mexico,) almost her entire life. And despite her pious way of living, her calm way of speaking, and the gentle way she would take my hand so that she could hold it, I remember her as always being young at heart. No one knows how old she was. She had to have been in her late 80's or early 90's by my guess, but no one really knows for sure. I remember asking her, last time I visitied her, "Tia, how old are you?" "I'm not telling, mijita." She said as she smiled. "If I tell anyone how old I am, then they might start treating me like an old lady." And then I laughed as a smirk formed on her face and she said, "But if you have to know, I'm only 18."

Don't you dare ever call her Ma'am.

My liver loves me.

2005-05-29T03:25:00.000-05:00

Guy #6 got mad at his best friend because he heard a rumor that his best friend "took me home." Here's my drunk list of reasons why that is absurd:

1.) I don't go home with with guys. I'm just not that kind of girl. Besides, at this moment I only have eyes for Guy #6. Not his best friend.

2.) Guy #6 has a girlfriend. Why is he getting mad?

3.) Why do I care???

4.) Why do I want Guy #6 to want me?

5.) I am drunk as I type this. Very drunk. Very very drunk. Under sober circumstances I wouldn't care enough to blog this crap.

6.) I met Guy #3's best friend tonight. LOVE HER!!!

7.) I feel the need to make this list long.

8.) I am quasi upset with one of my best friends for not calling me tonight.

9.) But I told everyone else that I didn't care.

10.) But really I do. She's been blowing me off lately and I don't like it. That's not how you should treat friends, especially one as awesome as I am.

11.) Did I mention that I'm drunk? Really really really drunk.

12.) Woo Woo!

13.) My car was left at the bar. I'm glad that I have friends who care enough to take my keys and drive me home.

14.) I hope that those same friends love me enough to take me back to my car tomorrow.

15.) This might be the dumbest blog ever. But I'm drunk right now, so I don't care.

16.) I wish that Guy #6 would hurry up and dump his girlfriend so that I could make my move.

17.) I hope that when Guy #3 gets married, we remain friends.

18.) I hope that I'm not hungover tomorrow.

19.) Please disregard any drunk phone calls that I make tonight. Especially if they are to boys.

20.) Please take my phone away from me before I make any more calls.

Must go lie down and/or throw up and/or just sleep. But first the room must stop spinning.

This is the image that came up in google when I typed in "Woo Woo." Whomever is in charge of google images must me drunker than I am. Woo woo!!!

In the Arms of An Angel

2005-05-24T00:17:00.000-05:00

Inspired by Kristine's blog, I went into my garage, found my video camera, recharged the battery and set out to find something funny to record. But alas, it was late in the day and the only thing worth recording was the season finale of "Desperate Housewives." But amidst all of the camera supplies and accessories, I found a tape. There was no label on the tape, but it clearly had something on it, for it had not been rewound. So I popped the tape into the camera, turned up the volume and was taken aback by what I saw. Actually, it was what I heard that stopped my heart for just one second: "Merry Widow, I love you."

There he was. My husband. Looking straight into the camera, smiling, and talking to me. I hadn't heard his voice in almost 3 years. In fact, I had forgotten his voice. I had forgotten how deep it was, how caring it was, how loving it was. I had forgotten that look that he would give me which always let me know that he had devoted his life to loving me. I had forgotten that his smile could make me melt in an instant. I had forgotten that his soul could reach deep down into my heart and make me feel like I was safe and protected.

I watched the entire tape. Nothing too exciting was going on in our lives at that time. I was just bored one day and had decided to film my husband doing mundane things around our apartment. I filmed him watching TV. I filmed him dancing. I filmed him making a sandwhich. I filmed him petting the cat. I filmed him taking a nap. All stuff that would be boring for most people to watch, but when I found this tape it had brought back a part of me that was the happiest time of my life. It was my life before this blog, my life before my adventures of being single, my life before I was a widow.

And after I watched the entire tape, laughing at his silliness, smiling back as he smiled at me, crying when I heard him tell me that he loved me, I did something that I never would have imagined doing. I erased the tape.

I don't know why I felt compelled to do it. I didn't even think twice about it. I just did it. And even though I don't regret my decision, I can't, for the life of me, figure out why I did it. Is it because I'm ready to really move on? Is it because I don't want to be reminded of what I once had? Of what I lost? I just don't know.

Three months before my husband died, he told me that when he died, he wanted me to move on. He didn't want me to be sad. He wanted me to go out into the world, find someone to love and to love me back. He wanted me to be happy. And I remember being appalled by his statements. I couldn't and wouldn't dare think of a life without him, let alone with another man. But he made me promise him, right then and there, that I would follow through with his request.

And as one year turned into two, and as two years approach three since his death, I have found myself honoring his wishes. I have ventured out into the world, at first tentatively and fearful, but eventually with my head held high, confident and ready to conquer anything that life threw at me. And even though I haven't yet found love, I have once again found happiness. And more importantly, I have found hope.

Maybe, somehow, someway, my husband came down from heaven, perched himself on my shoulder, and whispered into my ear, "Merry Widow, I love you. Erase the tape. For the only way for you to truly find love is to let go of me." It's the only explanation that I can think of that would make me erase that tape. Will it work? Only time will tell. But despite the erased tape, I don't think that my husband's love will ever be erased from my heart, mind, or soul. And for that, I am forever grateful.

I Ain't No Holla Back Girl

2005-05-23T00:42:00.000-05:00

There's this girl I know, let's call her doughnut-head, who does not like me. I know that she doesn't like me. People have told me that she doesn't like me. Now, I know that you're thinking, "Who doesn't like The Merry Widow???" She is totally fabulous and awesome and I wish that I could hang out with her everyday." But yes, there are people out there who don't like me. And I'm guessing that doughnut-head doesn't like me because, well, let's just say that her boyfriend and I may or or may not have gotten to know each other pretty well in the past. Mind you, doughnut-head and her boyfriend were not together at the time, but she still hates me, nevertheless. And maybe another reason that she hates me is because whenever I see doughnut-head's boyfriend he totally flirts with me, hugs me, kisses me, and tells me things like, "Oh that bitch? She's not my girl." And because I'm the polite person that I am, I flirt back, hug back, kiss back, and say, "Really? Then let's ditch her and go somewhere else." (Sidenote: I have never actually left with doughnut-head's boyfriend...I make it a rule to not "steal" another girl's man. So don't hate me.)

Anywho, I ran into doughnut-head and her hottie boyfriend this past Saturday at a local bar. Now I'm thinking, "Uh oh. This girl wants to cut me. I'm gonna avoid her all night to avoid any drama." And at the same time I'm thinking that she surely wants to avoid me too. But instead, she marches her big butt over to me and says, in her most bubbly voice, "HI, MERRY WIDOW!!! IT'S SO AWESOME TO SEE YOU! IT'S BEEN FOREVER!!!" Now, there are two theories that run into my head as to why she is so nice to me at this very moment:

1.) The "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer" theory. A smart move. I would never go after a friend's man. It's an unspoken rule that I will not break. But, doughnut-head is not the brightest color in the crayola box, so I don't think she's smart enough to come up with this ideology.

2.) She's a fake, scared, chicken-shit. Sure, she can talk smack about me behind my back. But to my face, she's as sweet as an angel, complimenting my hair and clothes, telling me that I'm funny, and pretty, and nice.

Now mind you, I don't say nice things back to her. I just sort of smile, say thanks, and ask her where her boyfriend is. I'm not one of those girls who will kiss your ass in front of you and then call you a slut behind your back. If I don't like you, then I'm not gonna act like I do when I see you. I'm not gonna march up to you and get ghetto or anything, but I'll make it pretty clear that your presence is not worthy of my time, space, or sight. And guess what...I have a whole posse of awesome friends who do have my back and will kick your ass for me if necessary.

On may way out of the bar, doughnut-head's boyfriend runs up to me and says, "I know I've already told you this, but I just wanted to tell you again...she's not my girl." To which I reply, "Yeah, right. Give me a call when she's completely out of the picture." He says, "Not until then?" I just smile and walk away. I might not like doughnut-head, and I might want to jump her boyfriend at any given moment, but I won't take another girl's man. I've met Karma before...she can be an even bigger bitch than I am.

Futility

2005-05-21T00:44:00.000-05:00

Dear People at Work,

If I didn't personally give you my blog address, and you read this blog, then don't talk to me about it. Furthermore, don't tell other people at work about it. I like my anonymity and I hate being included in the work gossip circle. I have found that most rumors at work tend to be false anyway, so I'd rather that my name be kept out of it. Yes, I know that I am putting my personal life out on the internet for the whole world to read, but most of those people don't know who I am in real life. If you haven't noticed, I don't post my name, picture, or address. I would like that information to stay private, so please help me keep it that way. By all means, feel free to continue reading my insane thoughts on life, but please don't tell other work people about me.

Love,
The Merry Widow

To the Windoooooooooow! To the Wall!

2005-05-19T16:56:00.000-05:00

A long time ago (last night,) in a galaxy far far away (at the movie theater,) the Merry Widow witnessed the nerdiest/coolest movie of her lifetime. Nerdy because she was surrounded by a bunch of no life geeks, dressed up as Jedi's, Wookies, and Storm Troopers; armed with light sabers, calculators, and pocket protectors. Cool because, well, it was a damn cool movie. In fact, it might have been the best episode of the entire Star Wars saga. A Star Wars fan, the Merry Widow has become, yes. (Please say last sentence in Yoda-like voice.)

But wouldn't it be funny if Star Wars went a little gangsta? Like if when Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, Obi-Wan would have said, "Oh no you didn't!" all while snapping his finger and doing the head/neck moving thing.

With that being said, here's a list of some shiznit quotes that can replace actual Star Wars quotes:

1. "Luke, I am your father." = "Who's your daddy?"
2. "May the Force be with you." = "May the force schizzle your dizzle."
3. "Use your feeling, Obi-Wan, and find him you will." (Yoda) = "Alright stop, collaberate, and listen!"
4. "You don't know the power if the dark side." (Darth Vader) = "This is how we do."
5. Chewbacca's yell is replaced with Lil' John's "Yeah!"

Yeah!

I hope that when Episode III finally comes out on DVD, one of the special features will include an episode of MTV's "Pimp My Ride" where Han Solo gets spinners put on his Millenium Falcon.

Still Tippin'

2005-05-17T16:39:00.000-05:00

It has been brought to my attention that I am being blamed for giving inaccurate time references . I won't say who is doing the blaming, but Guy #3, you need to stop. I NEVER said that it took 4 1/2 hours to drive from here to San Antonio. What I did say was that it takes Guy #4 that long. I don't know if you've ever noticed, but I drive like a mad woman and am incapable of driving slowly. If you don't believe me, then please read my previous post. Subsequently, I told you that it takes me between 3 and 3 1/2 hours to get from here to there. So shut your trap, already, or else I'll call Mike Jones and tell him that you are totally not down with "FoooBooo." Then we'll see how fast you drive outta H-Town.

Love,
The Merry Widow

Guess what! I also have Pneumonia! *

2005-05-16T23:20:00.000-05:00

Bu Bum (say that outloud ala Law & Order)

I have been charged with the act of speeding: 58 in a 45. (Not too shabby, considering that my last ticket was an 89 in a 65, and the one before that was a 98 in a 65.) And because I'm such a little speed demon (Go, Speed Racer, go, Speed Racer, go, Speed Racer, Gooooo!!!) I got the honor of meeting "her honor" in the courtroom today. So this past weekend, I prepped for my arraignment, and refreshed my courtroom lingo by watching movies, such as, "A Few Good Men," "My Cousin Vinney," and "Shawshank Redemption." OK, "Shawshank Redemption" didn't teach me any courtroom lingo, but it prepped me for the possibility that I might unjustly go to jail. Plus, it's just a darn good movie. If I ever go to prison, I hope that Morgan Freeman is there with me. Then he can smuggle in some hot Justin Timberlake posters for me. But I digress....

So this morning, I woke up bright and early, put on my best lawyer outfit (with matching purse, of course) and marched into the courtroom, ready to yell out phrases like, "I OBJECT!!!" and "TRUTH??? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!" But there was no such drama.

Instead, I encountered:

1.) The Bailiff: Talk about stereotypes...he droned on and on about how he didn't want any trouble in the courtroom, lest we disturb his doughnut buffet. And yes, he really did talk about doughnuts quite extensively. His favorite are from this place.

2.) The Assistant District Attorney: This was the lady with whom I interacted. She offered me a plea bargain of "deferred disposition," which basically means that I'm on probabtion for 3 months. If I don't get another speeding ticket during these 3 months, then my case gets dismissed and no charges will appear on my record. (Read: my insurance will never find out that I'm a menace to society. Bwahahahaha!!!)

3.) The Judge: She reminded me of Shirley from "Laverne & Shirley." I wanted to yell out, "1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8! Schemeel! Schlemazel! Hasenfeffer Incorporated!" But instead I just said, "No Contest." in my quiet mouse voice when she asked me how I pleaded. It turns out that Shirley is way more Judge-Judy-like once you get a gavel in her hand.

Judge Shirley (with Laverne.) Don't let that sweet smile fool ya.

4.) The County Clerk (aka Hag): The Bottle Neck of the entire arraignment hearing. The District Attorney and Judge were each able to visit with 150 individuals/cases in under 60 minutes. It took another 2 hours, however, to get seen by the county clerk to sign one lousy piece of paper. She took her sweet little time, sighing and yawning as she went through each case. During this process, she got up a total of 6 times to use the bathroom, 2 times for phone calls, and 3 other miscellaneous times, probably spent stuffing her face with the Bailiff's left over doughnuts. Note that each person was called alphabetically to see her. It took her 2 hours to call my name, and my last name is not far from the beginning of the alphabet. I feel sorry for the poor fools with last names like Yentl and Zorro. (Can you guess what other movies I watched this weekend?) By the time their names get called, they would have probably sat in that courtroom for the equivalent of 2 life sentences.

But fortunately for me, I had brought my book along to occupy my time. If it wasn't for that, I probably would have gone off the deep end and cut that heifer, grilled up her ass with some BBQ sauce, and served it to the Bailiff. Then I would have to come to court all over again, deal with the Bailiff...again...and the entire cycle would repeat itself. Not to mention that murder is a hard thing to "get dismissed." And boy does it jack up your insurance premiums.

(*Footnote: Just this once, I'm not being a hypochondriac. I really do have bona fide, doctor certified Pneumonia. I'll show you my antibiotics to prove it.)

Essence of Porky

2005-05-11T13:26:00.000-05:00

I went to Sarcastic Journlist's mansion today during my lunch break. It was fun because we talked about poop and boobs, but I digress. When I got there, she had just finished frying up the biggest pile of bacon that I had ever seen in my life. It was glorious. But now that I'm back at work, I have come to realize that now I smell like bacon. And even though I had the biggest lunch ever today, I have the uncontollable urge to drive to Waffle House or IHOP. (Which leads me to another thought.... When did the House of Pancakes decide to classify itself as "International?" Is it because it is the melting pot of Pancakedom? Is it because of the diverse assortment of pancake syrups that they provide? Or is it because the waitresses there never seem to understand English? Anywho, back to the bacon smell.)

So I'm sitting here at work thinking that everyone is grossed out by the fact that I smell like pork products. But then slowly, I started to realize that every single guy that I've come accross, since returning with my lovely new piggy scent, has been flirting with me. Now, I'm pretty hot, so guys are like, you know, flirting with me non-stop. They practically line up every morning just to say hello to me. But now they're laying it on strong. Now they're all, "Why, hello there, Ms. Merry Widow! Don't you look extravagant today." Or, "Yowza! Did you do something to your hair? It looks really good." Or, "Hey! Nice ass!" So here I am, thinking that I'm looking absolutely fabulous, right? When it dawned on me...it's my smell. The guys are attracted to the smell of bacon. I mean, it works for dogs right? Y'all have seen those commercials for those little doggie treats called "Beggin Strips," right? The ones that smell and look like real bacon? Well, if it works for dogs, it HAS to work for guys too, right? I mean, there's no other explanation. I have a big zit on my nose right now, I'm wearing a ratty shirt, and tennis shoes. Plus, I have my hair strategically bobby pinned off of my face right now because my bangs are in that too long to keep down, but too short to pull back stage. Oh yeah, and I'm all congested and snotty today -- left overs from this weekend's cold. Let's face it: today is not my best day, looks-wise.

So here's my plan: next time I'm going out on the town, I'm gonna fry me up some bacon. I'm gonna dab it behind my ears, a little on my wrists, and maybe rub it a little on my boobies. Then, not only will I meet, fall in love with, and marry my Prince Charming, but I bet he'll take me out to breakfast too.

Rain Drops On Roses

2005-05-10T23:35:00.000-05:00

I got tagged again! This time it was from The Recovering Straight Girl! Everyone go and read her blog, because she is awesome and makes fun of the way Canadians spell their words. (And to all my Canadian friends, I love you guys!!! But her post about the spelling thing was fuuunny.)

Anyway, this time I get to list my 10 favorite things. So here it goes:

First Kisses. The excitement that builds up to them...the anticipation...the softness of that first touch on the lips.
My Dad's Hugs. He always hugs me way too tight so that I can't breath. And I always fight his hugs, because, well, I want to be able to breath. But at the same time, his hugs make me feel so protected and so loved...so that when I finally do break free from his grasp, I just run into his arms and get hugged all over again.
Laughing. It's a requirement in my daily routine. It's the best when you're laughing so hard, that you can't explain to other people why you're laughing. Some people are such party poopers...I don't know how they get by in life without a sense of humor.
Purses. Duh.
My Mom's Voice. She can calm the raging storm within me with just her voice. It puts me at peace. It makes everything ok. It makes me want her wisdom. It tells me that she loves me.
Sharing a sunny day with a friend. Sunny days by themselves are also glorious, but when you can spend a day in the sun with a friend, the world almost seems perfect.
Lip Gloss. I won't leave home without it.
Spooning. Especially if the sheets are fresh from the dryer and my cat is curled up next to me, purring.
Lightning. I always go outside to watch a good lightning storm. The smell of the rain and the eeriness of the storm make life seem so surreal. But the other day, I got to watch a lightning storm from above, while flying across the U.S. It made me remember why I believe in God...it was that spectacular.
Justin Timberlake. He's sooooo dreamy.

OK, now I tag Shaun, Mrtl, and Diaschisis. Ready? Go!

You're It!!!

2005-05-10T22:20:00.000-05:00

So I guess there's a little blog-Tag going around, and Kristine tagged me today with the "If I could" game.

Here's how you play:

The rules are simple when you're tagged.
Choose 5 items from the list to write about.
Tag 3 other individuals when you're done.

The theme is, as you can see, "If I could be..."

If I could be a scientist
If I could be a farmer

If I could be a musician- I'd be on American Idol. Then I'd make sure to sleep with Paula Abdul so that she would buy me that new camera phone that I've been eyeing.

If I could be a doctor- then I would have the job of my dreams. I would cure people's illnesses, save people's lives, all while putting a smile on their faces. Plus, I'd be a way better doctor than Guy #3.

If I could be a painter
If I could be a gardener
If I could be a missionary
If I could be a chef
If I could be an architect
If I could be a linguist
If I could be a psychologist
If I could be a librarian

If I could be an athlete- then I would totally make sure to get my house featured on MTV's "Cribs." Oh, and I would play soccer.

If I could be a lawyer
If I could be an inn-keeper
If I could be a professor

If I could be a writer- then I would make sure to pimp my book out to Oprah's book club. Can anyone say "Ca-ching?"

If I could be a llama-rider
If I could be a bonnie pirate
If I could be an astronaut

If I could be a world famous blogger - then I probably wouldn't have a "real" job. Don't you have to be fired to be world famous?

If I could be a justice on any one court in the world,
If I could be married to any current famous political figure.

OK, so now I tag Hornblower, Madmanan, Guy #3, and The Defective Writer. (Yes, I know we're only supposed to pick 3 people to tag...I like breaking the rules.)

I Tip My Tiara To The Lovely and Fabulous Kristine

2005-05-10T22:03:00.000-05:00

Because she so selflessly re-designed my bloggy-poo for me. I heart you, Kristine! But only in a friend way ;-)

Now everyone bow down to her and go read her blog.

Letter to a Friend in Need

2005-05-07T10:39:00.000-05:00

For starters, let me say how sorry I am about your dad. I too am very very close to my dad, and can't imagine what it would be like to lose him. But I do know what it's like to lose someone that I love with my whole heart, as you do with your dad. I completely understand how you feel...after my husband died it seemed like everyone around me quickly forgot how much I was in pain. Because he wasn't their husband (or their dad, in your case) they weren't the ones grieving. Yes, they felt for me, at the beginning, but of course they didn't have their heart broken like I did, so it was much easier for them to move on to everyday life after the funeral. And let me tell you, it took a long long long time for me to stop crying. That trip to Chicago that I wrote about didn't end my tears, it just reminded me that I could still be happy.

And I know EXACTLY how you feel about not being able to talk to anyone. Talking about death makes people uncomfortable. I could see that whenever I talked about my husband, even if it was to reminisce a funny story about him, let alone talk about how much I missed him. Most people don't want to be reminded of their own mortality, and me talking about my husband, no matter how funny the story was, (he was a pretty goofy guy, probably the one of the top reasons why I loved him) reminded them of death. And frankly, people are too busy to think about death. I could see people pulling away from me. No one wants to hang out with a sad widow. But I so needed to be around people, because at home, I was all alone. My parents live in a different state than me, and I have no siblings. So after my husband died, it was just me. So I pulled my pain inside and put on my poker face for everyone else. You're right that everyone wants to see you be strong and not cry. I think it's because if they see that you're ok, then it makes it ok for them to move on. And that's what everyone else wants to do...move on. They just don't understand that you (or I) are not ready to move on yet.

I found a widow's support group, here in Houston. I was really reluctant to go because I'm not a support group type of person. In fact, in general, I tend to not open up at all. But the hospice that my husband was with kept calling me...sending me letters...reminding me of the support group. And I remembered that my husband had asked me to please not cry for him after he left. So I went. And even though these ladies were much much older than I, (I was 26 at the time, most widows tend to be older) and even though we were all strangers to each other, we all understood how each other felt. We felt the exact same pain. And we all talked about how we couldn't talk about this stuff with other people, because they just didn't understand. We all cried a LOT. We cried for ourselves, and we cried for each other. To us, it seemed like our support group was the only place where we were really allowed to really let it all out. And every single one of us did. It was great. The group was facilitated by a pastor who kind of discussed different aspects of grieving. He let us know that everyone grieved differently, and that there was no time limit on how long we should grieve. But for the most part, he would just let us all talk.

I don't go to that support group anymore. But every so often, I meet someone in passing who, for some reason or another, will let me know that they are a widow. And it's almost like I scream out in joy, having found someone else who knows how I feel, "I'M A WIDOW TOO!!!" And for just that passing moment, we give each other that look that let's each other know that we both know the secret pain that each widow carries in her heart forever.

But even those moments, are few and far between. And even now, as happy as I am, I still have those fleeting moments of pain. They don't come as often as they did when my husband first died, but yes, I still get sad. I don't want to forget my husband, just as you don't want to forget your dad. But doesn't it sometimes feel like everyone else wants to forget? It's hard to find that one person who will remember with you, cry with you, or just listen to you. We both know this. But I want you to know, that I understand. I will remember with you, I will cry with you, and I will listen to you. Anytime, day or night. Because if it wasn't for those few people who did that for me (and still do for me) when my husband died, then I wouldn't be "The Merry Widow." I would just be "Widow."

Sincerely,
The Merry Widow

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

2005-05-05T16:48:00.000-05:00

Here are snippets of conversation that I had during my 3rd Annual Girl's Weekend:

"That guy's ass is hot. Grab it!"

"I can't believe that guy let you grab his ass. Go back and cup his nuts!"

"Guys...if I had my tonsils removed, and then I was then infected with strep, where would the infection go?"
"Your vagina! You would have a pussy vagina! You would have a pussy pussy!

Yelled out across shopping area as one of my friends was returning from a long bathroom trip:
"HEY! DID YOU PUKE OR POOP?"
"I PUKED!"
The rest of us, in unison then replied, "YEAH!" (She was hung over, we thought if she could just throw up, then she would feel better.)

Conversation that we made up while walking through a big group of horny men:
"So when you went down on him, he came all over your face?"
"Yeah, and it tasted like Pus!"
(The look on everyone's face was priceless.)

"That guy is hot. Let's go make-out with him!"

"I don't wanna talk to you unless you buy me a drink first." (Said to Kevin Federline look alike.)

"Just so you know, I'm NOT having sex with you! So you might as well leave."

"Hey guys??? What's your favorite STD? Because mine is totally 'The Clap.'"

"You have been the best waiter. If I wasn't already engaged, I would totally do you."

Which was then followed by: "I'm not engaged. I'll do you now."

And the quote to sum up the weekend:
"You guys, I totally love that I can talk freely about cunts and jiz and pus with y'all. Because at work I have to be all professional and shit. You guys are the bestest friends...EVER!!!"

Neutered

2005-05-04T11:14:00.000-05:00

I just did a cavity search on my mouse (the computer kind, not the we're gonna test our drugs on it kind) becuase it was totally sticking and acting as my Girl Fest 2005 buzz kill. When I opened it up and took out the ball, here's what I found:

1.) 10 million pounds of lint
2.) A piece of something orange and hard, that I'm hoping was a piece of cheeto.
3.) A Curly hair, that I'm hoping was not a pube.
4.) Smegma

Reminds me of an exboyfriend. I wish I could have removed his balls too.

Divine Secrets

2005-05-03T23:38:00.000-05:00

December 7, 2002: My husband died.

All of January 2003: I cried. Like non-stop, all the time.

February 1-February 10, 2003: I cried some more. I would yell at people who would tell me that they understood how I felt because they once lost their family pet. People, I totally love my cat too, but her death will not even compare to the loss of my soulmate.

February 11, 2003: My 4 best girl friends make a pact to take me on a vacation to get my mind off of things. They buy me a ticket to go to Chicago so that we can all meet up there and have a girly-girl weekend of girly-goodness and fun.

February 12-February 20, 2003: I cry. I wonder how my body stays hydrated despite the constant niagra-like waterfall pouring out of both of my eyes.

If you were to meet me today, (and you had never read my blog,) you would never guess that I'm a widow. I am far to happy, joyful, wonderful, fabulous, full of giggles, and humble to be a widow. Some people don't believe me if I do finally tell them that I am. "What?!? You're a widow? Nuh-uh...you're way too happy. You shouldn't joke about that, you know." I fill my life full of sunshine, laughter, and ice cream. I always see the silver lining very clearly, my glass is always full (and not just half full...it's filled to the rim with brim,) and the grass is totally greener on my side of the fence. Gag, I know, but you should totally be jealous of me and my merry life. And I have 4 girls to thank for that: Jaime, Lisa, Laura #1*, and Kelly. (*Sidenote: There are three Laura's in my life. My parents have assigned each one a number to differentiate them.)

February 21, 2003: I reluctantly fly to Chicago. I cry on the airplane.

Jaime is my best friend from elementary school, Lisa is my best friend from high school, and Laura #1/Kelly are my best friends from college. Collectively, they know every single thing about me. Individually, they each know me in ways that one else can. Jaime knows my moods. She knows the exact point when my happiness will turn to anger, when my anger will turn to tears, and when my tears will turn to laughter. More importantly, she knows how to switch my mood from one to the other. Lisa knows my methodical ways. She knows that I have to put a lot of thought into each decision that I make in order to be at peace with myself. She knows that if she asks me a question, and I don't answer right away, it's not because I have forgotten, but rather because I am thinking. Laura #1 knows my love. She was there from the very beginning...she was there when I secretly told her about my crush on my future husband. She was there when my and his relationship turned from friendship to love. Kelly knows my sultry side and knows how to bring out the inner goddess in me. She and I have matching tiaras. All four girls were there when he died and when my heart was broken into 8 million little pieces.

But on February 21, 2003, Jaime, Lisa, Laura #1, and Kelly pulled out their needles and thread, their super glue, and their band-aids. They focused all of their attention into mending me and my heart. They set out to make sure that I found hope, faith, and most importantly, my smile.

So I flew to Chicago. They were all waiting for me when I stepped off of the plane. And the instant that I did, my tears of sadness turned into tears of joy. I forgot all of my sorrows for just a weekend and immersed myself in their love. We drank champagne, shopped, stalked Oprah, flirted, did facials, tried on make-up, watched movies, and laughed. In fact, I don't think that I had ever laughed so hard in my life. I practically got a 6-pack from using my stomach muscles so much with all of my laughing. By the end of the weekend, we all agreed that our "girls weekend" had not only cheered me up, but it had cheered us all. We made a pact that we would reunite every year, in a different location, for a weekend chock-full of cooter talk, drinking, and facials/massages.

April 29-May 1, 2005: 3rd annual "Girls Weekend."

It's been a long long long time since I've cried. Well... sort of. I still cry whenever Julia Roberts dies at end of Steel Magnolias, or when Ritchie Valens dies at the end of La Bamba, or when Mr. Big finally decides that Carrie is his true love in Sex & The City. But it's been a long time since I've cried about my husband's death. I've since been able to refocus my memories on the good times...the lovey-dovey "I love you. No, I love you more." fights that we had...the healthy times. My girls did that for me. Not only did they hold me up when I couldn't walk on my own, but they taught me how to run again, how to skip again, how to jump again. And they continue to do so every year when we meet. I hope that one day I can return the favor to them.

Phenylketonuria

2005-04-29T16:26:00.000-05:00

Guy #3 has threatened to remove me from his "list" if I don't update my blog. Kristine and Mrs. Pissy Britches have been questioning my whereabouts.

I don't know what has come over me. I've been so TIRED lately. I get up, go to work, come home, and go to sleep. That's right, people...I go directly to bed. With the exception of Monday (went downtown after work) and last night (went out drinking) I have been sleeping from 5:30pm (as soon as I get home) til 7am (when I wake up.) My need for massive amounts of sleep, my recent strange cravings for gallons of Raspberry Yoplait Yogurt, and the fact that I was late, put me into a panic. Which stressed me out even more and perpetuated my downward spiral of crabbiness, grogginess, and yogurtness. I never prayed so hard in my life for my Aunt Flo to visit, except for maybe that one time when I was 13 and absolutely convinced that I was the only girl in my entire middle school who hadn't become a woman yet. Anywho, to make a boring story short, I am now welcoming my ever-so-painful cramps with open arms and carrying around my tampons with pride, ala Statue of Liberty.

So I'm off for a mini-vacation. Will be back on Sunday. I promise to totally update my bloggie-poo then.

Love,
The Merry Widow

My psychiatrist told me I was normal

2005-04-21T17:08:00.000-05:00

I knew it!!! It's all the rest of y'all who are weirdos!

You Are 65% Normal
(Really Normal)

Otherwise known as the normal amount of normal
You're like most people most of the time
But you've got those quirks that make you endearing
You're unique, yes... but not frighteningly so!

How Normal Are You?

But does this mean that I'm also boring?

I should have gotten a pedicure yesterday.

2005-04-19T23:39:00.000-05:00

I have foot-in-mouth syndrome. It's been under control for awhile, but it flares up every so often, just like my allergies do. All of that pine pollen in the air these days has really been making me sneeze, making my nose run, making my eyes itch, and making me blurt out things that I need to keep to myself.

So today I found out some very personal information about a friend. Some information that was entertaining, intriguing, and most of all TMI. I internalized this information and kept it to myself. You see, one of my resolutions for myself is to refrain from spreading gossip. And this little piece of information was just BEGGING to be unleashed from my mouth. But still, I refrained. I bit my tongue. I held it in.

But you see, this piece of information was made public. Not by me, but by the infamous piece of webspace what we call blog. Awww yes...sweet, dear, funny, not-so-anonymous blogs. The place where people vent, whine, recount, and reveal.

Anyway, while going through my list of 8-million-blogs-that-I-have-to-read-everyday-or-else-I-might-die, I come across the juiciest little tidbit that would have normally just rolled off of my back. Except for one little, teeny, itsy, bitsy fact: I know this person. But like I said, after reading it, I laughed to myself, internalized it, and tried to go on with my day. Until I received the following email: "Hey, M-Wid...did you, by chance, read so-and-so's blog today?" At which point I wanted to immediately call up my email friend and yell out, "OMG!!! I TOTALLY READ IT!!! TMI! TMI!!!" and then talk about it at length. But I didn't. I simply replied with, "Yes. Gross." And that was it. I kept it in.

But then I couldn't just be satisfied with holding it in. Oh no...you see, that's one of the symptoms of foot-in-mouth syndrome. No matter how hard you try not to say anything, no matter how many people you want to tell and don't, something still has to give. I had to let so-and-so know that I knew. I didn't even give details. I simply said, in passing, "Dude, you're weird." That was it. But that was all it took. I could see the embarrassment in so-and-so's eyes. And then the guilt took over my soul more than any Sunday at church ever has. I felt the immediate need to repent. But no matter how many Hail Mary's and Our Father's I recited, I still felt horrible. Just for the one little sentence..."Dude, you're weird." Why, oh, why did I have to say anything???

Then I started over analyzing. That's what I do when I'm stressed. I came up with the theory that so-and-so probably thinks that I'm spreading gossip...so-and-so probably doesn't know that email friend also reads blogs and that I didn't tell email friend anything. Email friend found out all by him/herself. So-and-so is probably going stop talking to me. I mean, did you see the way so-and-so threw stuff into the garbage can today. Didn't it seem like so-and-so threw it in there a bit harder and louder than usual? That's a clear indication that so-and-so is going to hate me FOREVER. Right?

Then came the apology issue. Should I apologize? On one hand, I so wanted to run over and say sorry. I wanted to get on my hands and knees and say, "I take it back! I'm not judging you! I'm weird too!!! In fact, I'm probably weirder than you!" But on the other hand, I didn't want to make an even bigger deal about it. Maybe so-and-so wanted me to drop it. Maybe if I ignored it, it would just go away.

So here's my solution:

1. I'm blogging it. (Sidenote: blog as a verb, rather than a noun, makes me giggle.) I know that so-and-so reads my blog from time to time. So when that time comes, I want so-and-so to know that I AM SORRY. But like I said, I have foot-in-mouth syndrome. Oh yeah, and I might also have Tourette's. Bad combination.

2. I'm getting my mouth sewn shut. This should take care of the foot-in-mouth, Tourette's, and I will also be able to lose weight. (Bonus side effect!)

Do you think that my insurance will cover this?