What Kind Of Ass-Kissing?

A telemarketer from "____ ____" (Caller ID # 818-###-####) just called me for the fifth time. The first three times, the caller hung up as soon as I answered. The fourth time, I answered immediately with a fast schpiel about this being the fourth time I'd seen the number in the caller ID, after three hang-up's, and threw in that I was pretty pissed off about taking time to answer the phone three times only to have it hung up in my ear three times. THREE TIMES, kids, one-two-three.

Now, call me crazy, but I really think that if it's important enough to call, and I care enough to stop what I'm doing and answer; then it ought to be important enough to not HANG UP IN MY EAR.

The fifth time, when she called me back after I'd hung up, she called me a "Fucking Idiot" before I could really get a word in.

Howdy Google. I found a different number for "____ ____ing" (818-###-#***) and dialed it up; where a guy answered with a friendly "Hello?" I'm sure that Telemarketing has become a rough and shitty job over the years, but bless his heart, I just had to tell him about what I'd just experienced.

And of course, if Google lets people find my blog while they're searching for everything from porno to information on Poodles with Herniated Discs, well then, people can find my blog while searching for "____ ____ing."

"Fucking Idiot." Nice.

In my personal opinion, junior-high-prank-calling is just not the way to project a "____ ____."

Now, why might I have changed the name to blanks and the numbers to #'s and *'s? Well, that's because the folks at "____ ____ing" are psychic, and apparently, somebody there could feel me typing an angry, nasty, highly Google-able Blogger post.

I was just about to hit "publish" when the phone rang and it was that friendly guy again, and boy did he ever kiss up to me, and he wanted to make sure I wasn't going to share anything that might damage the company's image. I think he actually used the word "campaign." He was so nice to me, I almost felt bad for having to go 'cause I had another line ringin'.

He said he'd just fired the chick with the nasty attitude, even though she was "one of their highest producers," because she'd been hanging up on people today and had been nasty to customers before. Heh.

So, ya lost yer job for callin' me a "Fucking Idiot," huh?

Well, who's the fuckin' idiot now, bitch??

Well, Here We Go For Disjointed Friday!

Today was Mom's first day back at the shop -- I used to wonder how she did it; after trying to do my part to keep up with what needed to be done in the back office, I really wonder how she does it. Of course, I'm sure she was probably wondering what to do to try & fix the mess we'd all made in the nearly three weeks she's been gone. Maybe if runnin' the back office was my only job, I could stick with the "system" and keep track of it all; but comin' in in the middle of things made it hard to make sense of what went where.

I'm so glad Mom's back though -- and not just 'cause I don't have to deal with the office anymore.

Apparently there really is something to be said for stress having effects on the body... Yesterday I freaked out enough to give in and call my Dr's office to ask about (ahem) stuff that shouldn't be happening during the top rows of the pill pack. (Go0gling for Yasmin? E-mail me if ya wanna chat about it.) The nurse asked several questions, and after several answers of "no," she asked if I'd been under stress lately. Uh, Yeah. So I guess it's just like my "third dare theory" that I mentioned earlier; I can hold up for so long, and then it starts to show. I kept my shit together most of the time, 'til I lost it that one morning and just about smashed all the glass out of the truck. I was fine for quite a while 'til a friend called to chat and when I told him about what was goin' on, he asked "And how are you doing?" and I lost it, can't tell ya how long I hid to cry.

--

I'm really-really close to finishing that soft green baby sweater; but "start-itis" caught up with me and I got a little distracted. I don't even remember how I stumbled onto BitterSweet, but I got a big kick out of those adorable pictures and just had to take a shot at The Knitted Kiwi. I've learned a couple new "tricks" by knitting the little bird (thanks to the video link she put in the pattern, thank you, thank you, thank you!!), and learning the "wrap-&-turn" is just what I needed; I think I may be able to take a shot at that Boobie Scarf -- just as soon as I finish knitting up a few more Kiwi's. Last night I finished the body, stuffing and all, tonight it's time for the legs & beak! Clay says I'll probably have to knit a whole basket full of 'em; I'm already up to three 'cause I want one, and I know for sure of two people who'll most likely think the Kiwi is a cool gift.

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Speakin' of Clay... He e-mailed me a website the other day with some pictures of The 2008 SHO Concept, and lemme tell ya, I like it! I like that blue one with the honeycomb grille so much I made it the wallpaper on my MacBook. I know that when it comes right down to it, there's probably no real comparison between that SHO and a new Dodge Challenger -- but those are the two I've got in mind when it comes to replacing this ol' '94 that I love so much. I just really need something that I can love like that though... I need that feeling, that way it makes me smile when I see it across the parking lot, 'cause I'm insanely car-sentimental.

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Speakin' of car-sentimental... We finally got a transmission in here that's the right year, so I got the Windstar back out for a little while, the one that got turned into an infield party-wagon when we went to that last USAC Silver Crown Race at the fairgrounds. I'm pretty sure I'm still way outside the minivan demographic -- I'm single, I'm totally sans-kids, I don't babysit, I don't deliver flowers -- if anything ever needed a funeral home sign on it, the Windstar does. Heh. I don't mind it so much though, it's comfy enough (and uh, big enough you can throw almost anything in the back) and it's something different; which makes it even nicer when I open the garage back up and get my SHO back out.

Last night when it was time to go get dinner (yeah, we eat a lot of take-out around my house), Dad had parked behind it 'cause the driveway's kinda full; I drove his truck into Owasso for chow. If ya wanna discuss insanely car-sentimental, that's what we took to AR to pick up my race trailer; I'd been drivin' it for a few weeks when it was fresh out of the bodyshop that summer. I really can't believe it's over 100K now, and I really can't believe that 5.4 has taken to gettin' a little hot every now and then 'cause I still see it as a new truck even though it's an '03.

While bored outta-my-mind waitin' at the drive-thru, I popped the center console. I don't know why I opened it, I guess it's just because I was thinkin' about Dad tellin' me to get my stuff outta there...



Holy Crap! I can't imagine... I mean... Geez... I used to keep Altoids and a brush and some hairspray in there, but... Holy Crap!

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Uh, yeah, I do wanna be just like My Dad. I wanna have enough cash that I don't have to worry about keepin' it all in one place.

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Hey, maybe this "Disjointed Friday" did kinda tie together, maybe it wasn't so Disjointed after all.

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I gotta go buy a freakin' Powerball Ticket, so maybe I can toss a gob of cash into my center console. Heh.

--

Oh, and one more thing: We're goin' racin' at Caney tomorrow night!!

--

_\,,/ More Later...

In The Midst Of A Milestone...

No, Silly, not a Mill Stone, a Milestone.

I say "in the midst" because I tend to think of it in terms of the entire week instead of this date and that date. I guess I threw in the "Mill Stone" reference because I've been stressed-out these last few weeks while it's seemed like everything came at me at once. I'm calming down a bit now, thankfully, and instead of putting all my effort into keeping myself from coming unlaced, I can come back to putting a little effort into updates... I think.

Anyhow...

This week makes two years.

Two years ago last night, several things were different around here. Tulsa Speedway was still open and I was still racing close to home, very close to home. The big black race trailer was still relatively new and only in it's second or third week of haulin' The Twenty. The Twenty-Bago Idea hadn't even really been mentioned as an idea yet. TwentyCarlo.com and my MySpace Account had yet to come about, and I was still venting my feelings into a little black notebook instead of a blog. I was just a few weeks past my 10-year highschool reunion, and just a few months past the first time I'd ever ditched a guy because he sucked the life outta me (as in not because I met somebody else, I know that's kinda "ewww," but I'm bein' truthful here).

Two years ago, I was (finally) at that point where I'd learned that I didn't have to put up with a bunch of crap just because being "with" somebody was better than being by myself. Don't get me wrong, I'd put up with some crap, but I'd finally got to where I'd had enough, and then it was about like that "redneck divorce" joke; "Get out of my truck!" I hate to think "that guy who thought his shit didn't stink" got mentioned in two posts in a row, but here he is again. It was amazingly liberating to think that I, the girl who usually gets dumped, had been the one who decided being by myself would really beat the hell out of being with someone who was that hard to deal with.

Two years ago, I was by myself and it didn't bother me. Let me rephrase that, I was by myself, and it was good. Nobody was talkin' down to me about piddly bullshit, nobody was questioning my Christianity because I bought "Bad Santa" on DVD, nobody was bitchin' about my driving, nobody was askin' me what I was doin' or who I was talkin' to, nobody was tossin' their keys across the top of my car, nobody was lookin' down his nose at me and callin' me or any of my friends "fat," nobody was askin' me to loan 'em money for dog food, nobody was expecting me to "be polite" around his "mom" and her dog that I'd just hauled in food for, even though I hated the damn thing. Seriously, it was evil, they'd even named it "Memnoch." Oh shit, now I'm going to turn up in Go0gle Searches for "Memnoch."

Two years ago, I was amazingly comfortable with singleness; for the first time I could ever remember, I wasn't constantly on the prowl and wishing I wasn't by myself. I was gonna have my fun for the sake of my fun and I wasn't worried about anybody else. I was appreciating the fact that I could go where I wanted, do what I wanted and talk to whoever I wanted for as long as I wanted; at the races and just about everywhere else too. I was far, far away from being the girlfriend of the guy who bared his teeth and snarled at anyone else who tried to talk to me -- including track officials, my friend Donnie, and Craig, and even Craig's Dad. I was also quite happy to be far, far away from being the girlfriend of the guy who wouldn't come to the races, but would call my cell phone on race nights and say "What'cha doin'?" I was havin' my fun wherever it came from; hangin' with my friends, flirtin' with whoever, and not worryin' about it. Sometimes I'd spend time with an old boyfriend, even if it was a lot like harassing Sasquatch. I had my eye on a few interesting prospects, but I wasn't putting forth as much effort as I might have in the past; which was good, because sometimes spending time with those guys was like tossin' a football to a guy with no arms -- you can throw it all ya want, but he's not gonna catch the ball, and he's not gonna throw it back.

Two years ago last night, I was just hangin' out with my buddies after the races with nothin' goin' on...

And then Clay came along...

Clay came along and nothin's been the same since. It's been a fascinating two years with amazing Clay who knows all the right ways to make me feel like I'm the best thing ever. Amazing Clay who can drive me crazy without trying. Amazing Clay who knows he'd better not toss his keys or anything else across the top of my car. Amazing Clay who loves the races as much as I do, and even sprays "Shout" on my grubby racin' clothes. Incredible Clay who eats what I cook, picks up after me, fits in with my friends, lets me drive his hotrod while he's outta town, and doesn't just bitch-bitch-bitch all the time. Amazing Clay who doesn't mind helping carry armloads of yarn to the front of Hobby Lobby, and doesn't mind pushing the shoppin' basket, even if it's got "all that girly stuff" in it, and doesn't care that I leave tons of hair in the shower every time. Sweet Clay who wouldn't leave town on Valentine's Day without me. Sweet Clay who politely listens to my stupid ol' stories, laughs at my dumb jokes, and lets me fall asleep with his arm around me...

Happy "Anniversary," Baby!

_\,,/

Who's With Whom?

Yesterday, I was (once again) checkin' out a pattern for a very interesting top, and fascinated as I am with the sweater, I still wonder if my knitting skills are up to it, and I also wonder if it would knit up to be something I could actually wear. That's why I've been reading and re-reading the pattern but haven't took a shot at knitting it yet.

In my surfing, I clicked on over to the designer's blog (http://fathomharvill.typepad.com/fathom/), and found this fascinating little paragraph:



Geez, does it get any more true than that? If anybody ever hit a nail right on the head, she did it with that paragraph right there! I can't think of too many things more irritating than those guys who think they're better than everybody, those guys with the "my-shit-don't-stink" attitude, literally and figuratively. I always giggle when I hear people use that phrase, 'cause hey, I dated that guy a few years back, he seriously believed his shit didn't stink, and proceeded to bitch about his ex who stunk up the bathroom all the time. He didn't last long with me -- between my genetic predisposition for layin' logs and the fact that I ain't afraid to tell ya, shit stinks like shit, there just wasn't much comfort to be had between the two of us. I hope I'm not the first to tell ya this, but cake smells like cake, flowers smell like flowers, and shit smells like shit; just spray some air freshener and get over it.

I can't say enough about how nice it is to be done with those guys. It's great to be with someone I can see eye-to-eye with; I ain't sayin' we agree on every little thing, but we're on the same page an overwhelming majority of the time. I have no doubt that each of us sees the other as an equal; even though each of us has skills in different areas. Each of us has understanding of concepts foreign to the other; but niether of us looks down on the other, and I doubt that either of us would ever see any concept as "beyond" the other.

That's why I was so stunned to hear that I was being seen as "The Stupid One" Wednesday afternoon, not once, but twice. Mind you, it wasn't completely specific, but in referring to Clay as "the smart one in this relationship," it implies that there's a not-so-smart one, doesn't it? I can be totally comfortable with being the one who can hand-code html but is not good at math, and I am the one who replaced the faucets in both bathrooms. I have no problem with the fact that Clay's the one who changed the clutch in the S-10 and Clay's the one who climbs the ladder when somebody's gotta get in the attic. He's the one who cleans the birdcages, I'm the one who cleans the catbox. Niether of us is The Stupid One, and niether of us is The Smart One.

It's that comfort, that security of being happy in this relationship that kept me from getting too mad at someone I'd just met who indirectly referred to me as the stupid one. It's knowing that Clay doesn't see it that way that kept me from having a fit and storming away pissed off. The time I have with Clay is so much more important that how anyone else sees the situation -- and believe me, I know the difference, I know what it's like to get mad and not care enough to stick around, I know what it's like to not give a damn and just get in the car and leave. It's not like that now...

I am happy & comfy, I'm not worried about "where it's going," I know that whatever happens, happens; and it'll happen when it's time for it to happen, and nobody else has any say in how that timing works. That comment about "the smart one in this relationship" was in regards to us not being married yet. Hell, I read "Dear Abby," I know that the next thing people will bug us about is havin' kids, and trust me, that ain't happenin', it's just not.

I guess it's my age-old "third time lucky" theory, much like "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice," (gawd, I just made a reference to a crummy 80's movie) if he'd managed to bring it up a third time, I might not have been able to stay quiet. After all, it was the third dare that won me a gob of beads at that last ch!l! b0wl before I met Clay.

The more I think about it, the more I wish I'd engaged him in a little deeper, more serious conversation. If a husband who's also a dad of four meets a couple in their second year of dating and sees that guy as "the smart one" for not being married yet, what's that say? What's that say about how he feels about his own situation? Can those four kids sense that he feels this way? Has their Mommy figured it out?

It hurts me to think of how many people see relationships like a trap, and how they seem to seek to spread that vision to others. It hurts me to think of kids growing up in homes like that...

And it makes me thankful for my own situation, where nobody's the dumb one.

More later... _\,,/