Bad News? Good News? The suspense is killing me

So, Friday morning at 12:50a.m. when we'd been asleep for about an hour, we heard a commotion outside. In my grogginess, I realized I heard a car alarm, but it took a bit for it to register that it might be mine. Of course, it was. G. looked outside and told me to call the police, because my car was either gone or had been knocked down the street. It turns out that it had been knocked across the street, and was sitting, facing the street, in the yard of an apartment building. It's quite pretty, I'll try to post some photos. The driver's side headlight and surrounding area are completely f--ked, and the back is bashed in, too. I'm REALLY hoping the insurance company will total it, because it will never be the same. The dimwit who smashed the car sure seemed like he was on something, but EMS cleared him of being drunk. He supposedly asked our neighbor across the street for a ride somewhere right after he hit my car, an attempt to flee, I suppose. He doesn't seem to have insurance, and he had taken his grandmother's car (without her permission) and SHE doesn't have insurance. Our aforementioned neighbor (who had her 6 year old daughter out with her at 1 a.m., walking across the glass-littered street in SANDALS) wound up giving the guy a ride home (?!!?). She told G. it was about an hour before the guy, with a cup of coffee poured down him, was coherent enough to be able to tell her and whoever was with her where he lived. My mother offered the helpful advice, "well, you shouldn't have parked it on the street." No shit, Mom. G. has the @#$%^ boat he built a few years ago but which has never seen water at the back of our drive. He always parks in the driveway because he's afraid his tools will be stolen, never mind that my car is much more valuable than his truck. Oh, and since some of his tools got stolen anyway this security plan didn't work that well, did it? We've been wanting to build a garage for years, but one thing or another always gets in the way. I've always had visions of someone hitting my car, but driving away, and us never finding out what happened. We got the guy this time, but it may be moot. I guess my inusrance company could do something to recover the loss--attach his wages (if he has any) or something. Our independent agent, G's main employer, is afraid we'll get dropped from our (crappy) company if they have to pay this claim. We had a claim a couple of years ago when I hit G's truck in the driveway (long day, lots of driving, attended a concert, NO DRINKING INVOLVED, just too tired to drive). If they drop us because of this, which was not our fault as WE WERE IN BED, we'll sue.

If they total it, it could honestly be a good thing. I've been thinking as soon as the car's paid off, we could start paying for adoption applications, home studies, etc. My car had low mileage and we could clear about $12,000 after loan payoff. If that's the case, I'll try to find a decent used car for about 10K and have some left over to get us jumpstarted in adoption. We'll see. As I told G, I never loved my car, but I did like it. I just need something reliable to get around in that will hold a car seat and a stroller ;).

In my closet

I know that barring hitting Powerball, moving to another state, or getting a job in the state with insurance that covers infertility, I will not be doing IVF or probably any other treatment again. So why do I have leftover PIO, needles, and a shoot-me-up travel kit in my closet? Well, yes, I know it would be a bad idea to just put a bunch of hypodermics out for Waste Management to pick up, but I could give them to a doctor's office, donate them to a clinic or something. But they're in my closet. Inertia? Self-punishment? Misguided wishful thinking? Whenever I think about getting rid of the paraphernalia I think, "no, I'll just hang onto it a little longer." It'll come in handy when I start my habit, I guess.

Wonder if it was a mustang

Of course, this guy IS from Kentucky.

Enough Already

Liquor's quicker, but...

Creme Savers Tropicals rock! They say "Limited Edition" on the package. Mango and cream, Bananas and cream, and pina colada--all pretty tasty!

Now back to your regular programming...

Spooky

I told G while we were at a Derby party the other day, that I could hear the announcer saying "it's Giacamo, Giacamo!" This was before the race, and yes, I did bet the horse. I never usually bet horses to place, but unfortunately I did this time, and the limit for place horses at this party was 8-1. If I'd bet him to win, I'd have gotten 40-1 odds, still not the 50-1 he paid at the track. Still, my premonition paid off.

Back in November, I had an interview with one of the largest ad/PR agencies in the state, and was very hopeful going in, but as soon as I walked in the lobby of the building, I was slammed with the feeling I was never going to work there. It didn't affect my interview, in fact, it may have made me more relaxed. I was disappointed a couple of weeks later when I found that I didn't get the job, but not shocked or devastated, because I'd already known.

Right now I have the feeling I'm not going to be at my current job a lot longer, because something better's a -comin'. It may be wishful thinking this time, though. We'll see.

Not My Day

The picture disk I picked up from Mei*er this morning after dropping off a disposable camera yesterday has no pictures, although the little thumbnails they gave me look fine. I'm going to have to go back. The tire I had fixed Monday afternoon is flat again. I'm going to have to go back. I have cramps, just in time for Mother's Day. Whine, whimper.

Not to Worry

Worrying comes naturally for me, as I come from a long line of worryers. OK, a line of 2 before me, but it could go back farther than that. My grandmother worried all the time. I loved to go spend the night with her at her apartment, because we played card games , watched soap operas, recited nursery rhymes and Bible verses, and she let me stay up late and drink coffee in the morning (OK, mostly milk and sugar with a little coffee thrown in, but it WAS coffee). However, I really didn't like it when she came to babysit at our house. We couldn't do much of anything when she was there. She didn't want us to ride our bikes or go outside at all . Granted, she had osteoporosis, although we didn't know what it was called at the time, and couldn't have come running to help us if anything had happened, but my mother certainly wasn't outside with us all the time. Now this was over 30 years ago when tales of kids getting snatched or molested by strangers were more anecdotal than today, and it made no sense to us that we couldn't go play. She worried about plenty of other things over the years, particularly my sister and me. At some point someone who worked at her nursing home said he'd heard that one of us had been arrested or gotten into trouble over drugs. Now, if you knew us, especially me, you'd know this was a pretty hilarious accusation. And you'd think my grandmother, knowing us, and again, especially me, would've leapt to our defense. But the worryer in her let that little doubt in, I guess.

I didn't tell Mama' about G having had a vasectomy before we met, nor did I tell her when he had it reversed. A few years after we married, she started saying, "well, I guess you're not going to have children, or you would have by now." To her credit, she didn't really ask if we were trying, but she did make various comments. One time I'd finally had enough, so I told her that G'd had a vasectomy, but had had it reversed, so we might or might not have kids--but it wasn't looking good. She pretty much hit the mute button on that subject at that point. I told my parents I'd told her, and Dad (the other worryer) freaked out. I didn't see the big deal--she knew G had been married before. I guess Dad and Mom were afraid they'd have to discuss it with her a lot. When we started doing IVF the first time, Mom and Dad told Mama'. This time, I freaked. I really wasn't planning on discussing it with her until I was pregnant. At one visit she and I were talking about the IVF a little, and she said, "what if it's black"? I thought I must have misheard her and said "What?!?" She said, "what if it's black?" I never found my grandmother to be racist, at least not overtly so, although there were some tendencies, growing up when and where she did. And why this would've been her main concern, I don't know. Why not "what if it has 3 heads?", or "what if it's shaped like a petri dish?" It was funny and sad all at the same time. I explained, gently, that it would be G's baby, or we wouldn't have been doing it. She had taken my prior explanation about the slight chance of our getting pregnant on our own to mean NO chance. I told her about the low count, etc. She said well, she just didn't understand it all. I told her I didn't, either. After all, she was 92, and although I've gone through the process twice, and know that the people who've been successful have children who are VERY REAL, the whole thing does still smack a little of science fiction. I just found what she chose to worry about pretty odd that time. (Yes, I know, the appropriate answer to her question would have probably been, "What if it is?" It just didn't really seem necessary. And the answer is, she would've loved it, just as much as her other great-granddaughter and great-grandson. She really would have.)

My dad worries about everything, too. Every time he and Mom go on vacation, he reminds me where he's put their will. If I go to their home which is 30 miles away and highway all the way with no scary twists or turns -- very easy drive, I'm always expected to call and let them know I got there if G's not home. It makes my sister angry to have to do it when her husband is out of town, but I figure it's easier just to make him happy. G doesn't like going out to eat with Dad (and it's really not that much fun), because the whole drive to a restaurant, he's worried about finding a parking place. Then about getting in and getting a table. Then something else. He did come by it honestly.

I used to worry a lot. When I was around 10, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and lie awake for a long time, it seemed like hours, and worry about tornadoes, fires, robbers, earthquakes, you name it, it kept me up. I'd look out the window and hope the sun was about to come up. I didn't tell Mom and Dad until years later. I don't know what they would've done, but I'm sure they would've at least tried to reassure me. I've had other, more tangible worries over the years, and now they're usually money-related, but even there, I'm letting more of it go. Worrying isn't going to change it, make it better or get me a better salary or job. Or turn my gray hairs back to reddishy, auburny, brown. And things usually work out. Last week, I was worried at work. We had a large group of volunteers coming to do some work initially planned for outside. It became apparent as the week wore on that the weather was not going to allow them to paint the large storage shed or plant petunias, as we'd hoped. The alternative was to paint an office. We had 28-30 volunteers to paint AN OFFICE. My boss wasn't going to be here and I was feeling ill about the whole thing. I told her about my concern, and she told me they were also to paint another office and a short hallway. I felt better, but still, 2 offices and a hall for all those people? The company (let's call it Brown) is big on corporate giving and volunteerism. Some of their grants are tied to volunteer hours. I was just concerned that if they got here and didn't have enough to do, they'd never come back. NEVER. Well, of course, I didn't really need to worry. First of all, they only brought 19 people, which was still a fabulous number. One group was able to do a bit of weeding before the rain really kicked in. We had the above areas for them to paint, plus an empty client room in our assisted living area. And one of the aforementioned offices was actually 2 fairly large rooms, so the group had plenty to do. I fumed and worried for nothing. I hope this is not a trait my future children pick up from me or Dad. Geez, now I'm worried again.

Cold Turkey

I haven't played any computer games since Thursday afternoon. Sad that I'm charting this, no? I'll take my victories where I can get them. It's amazing how many times I've started to open a game, but then stopped myself. It is kind of like a drug, I think, although never having had any physical addictions, I'm not sure. I've tried to stop before, but then I'll say, "oh, I'll just play one, no, two games. Wait, I'll play for 20 minutes, or OK, I can play a half hour, but no more." Two hours later, G has been in bed for an hour, my eyes are so dry I can't blink, my cats are starving, and I'm saying "this is the ABSOLUTE last game tonight". Sometimes I'll burn myself out on a game, and then learn another, and so the cycle begins again. I asked myself sometime last year, "if I were looking back over my life, would I want to sit and watch myself play those games again? Are those my proudest moments?" Well, sure, when I get my personal high score... It must stop. It makes me sad when I think how much time I've wasted on that crap. I'm not geting any younger, and I can't get my time back. And so, another fresh start--5 days and counting!

Whew

Thank God they're not from Kentucky.

One step forward, two steps..you get the picture

I got home Wednesday and my friend, who was to meet me to go to a show was already at my house, talking to G. When I came in, she said, "I'm so sorry for you guys". I suppose I gave her a pretty odd look, and she said to G, "you haven't told her yet?" He said he may be out of business. Now, this is something I've heard before from him, as he tends to exaggerate a bit. He then told me all his tools had been stolen, which made me think his truck had been robbed. It turns out he was referring to the tools he stores in a barn behind the business for which he does most of his work. I told my friend when we were at dinner that it may not be as bad as G made it out to be, and let her know he's overstated things in the past. When I got home that night, he said some of the things he thought were missing were actually in our basement, and some things were in the shed. On the other hand, he did notice that there were more things gone than he originally believed. His insurance will cover some things, but some people just suck. Really, really suck! Hopefully this will push him to make a good inventory list and take photos of EVERYTHING. I don't know how he's been running a business without it. Argh.