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Hi. I'm trying to think of another description to put here. Any ideas? I'll try again at 420.

Friday, December 10, 2010

It snowed again...

...last night but it was only an inch or two, just enough to guarantee a shovel in some one's immediate future. Luckily there is a testosterone induced mini-man here, he's just big enough to shovel but not yet pimple laden so I can almost tolerate him. I think 14 will be a crazy age for this kid, I picture him looking like our 8th grade class geek. (That guy is probably a computer whiz today and would hack me if he saw his name on Google so I'll act like I'm smart and leave his name out of it.)

I like acting like I'm smart. I am smart in one way, I know people. (Of course there are 6 Smarts One Needs To Feel Truly Smart and people-smart is just one of them.) Actually, I know honest people, dishonest people won't be known so I don't understand them until I see their behavior patterns repeating themselves. When I was married, my ex would argue in a mean way while I was arguing and then he would get meaner as I began to cry. But when I noticed that he always got nice when I stopped crying and started to get mad, I decided to get mad right away and put a quick halt to his festivities. He became frustrated and now I'm divorced. I guess he needed me to be a bit more pliable but when the dilemma is my mascara vs. his sense of successful emotional manipulation, my mascara wins every single time. I've been using mascara longer than I've known any man so I need to have more respect for that little tube of black stuff that I apply daily, confident in my optimistic outlook. I never put on mascara thinking that I'm going to cry later in the day.

Crying is is always unexpected, unwelcome and unflattering. You never expect to see the stuff sliding down your cheeks on the backs of tears shed BEFORE the mug shot was taken. I hate going to court if there's a mug shot involved...the judge only has one chance to form a first opinion of me and I would hate to think he formed it over orange juice and bagels while looking at a picture of me after a night of hard partying, a serious making out session and a good drunken crying jag. He might think ill of me.

Anyway, I would prefer the mug shot scenario over an argument with my ex. I used to think that I would eventually die from a heart attack suffered at the hands of his homicidal maneuverability. One day he would finesse the life out of me as he sapped my strength daily. What a psycho.

If I had met the psycho when he was 14, I wouldn't have married him. The "ICK!" factor I felt when I met him would have been so severe that I couldn't have gotten over it, booze or no booze. I've seen pictures and his zits were the type that you need to defend yourself against. Testosterone wasn't good to him...ever. It gave him zits, made him bald and attacked him with a sexual urge that he hadn't the brains to control. That's a bad combination.

Well, enough about zits, I'm going to go decide what to do today. Once again, I feel pretty good about putting mascara on, I don't lose as much to crying as I used to.


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