Measuring madness

I was driving home from work tonight, just getting off the West End Bridge, when a minivan in the next lane started drifting into mine. I was right beside it, not even back in the blind spot, so I was sure it was a mistake and instead of honking the horn, I hit the gas and sped to the red light.

The minivan pulled in behind me, honking away. I looked in my rearview mirror, and there was a middle-aged woman in the driver's seat on the phone, flipping me the bird and hollering something out the window. I couldn't hear what, but man, I was game!

I rolled down my window and told the bitch (I think that was the worst I called her) to get off the phone and pay attention to the road, something about where to find her turn signals too. Ah, hormones. The next six months are going to be fun.

A great thing about my new blood pressure medicine is it does its job even when I'm in distress. I know this because I've whipped out my blood-pressure-taking machine at times when I've been really mad (there's been a few of those episodes in the past week) and the reading was still low.



I looked at the three houses tonight and all of them had great stuff going for them, but none suited my needs exactly. Except the one I wrote yesterday that was my favorite. I called my dad over to look at it and he found what I was blind to: Dead rodents, black mold, peeling paint from water damage. But otherwise it was charming. Especially the two ducks mating in the pool. Neighbors say they come free with the house.

Back to the drawing board.

Please no Charlie Batch

My dad on Ben Roethlisberger's helmetless motorcycle accident today: "The asshole should try playing the game without a helmet."






"Was it only last week
We made crazy promises,
Mad as the snow?"

-- Mas as Snow, Kitchens of Distinction


I emailed Joe yesterday to see about getting my stuff back. It spurred a little typed dialog between us for part of today. It wasn't hostile or inflammatory, in fact it was quite the opposite. Kind of a conversation about the very remote possibility of making amends.

We didn't talk about why he kicked me out. He suggested counseling, and I agreed. I think that is a good idea, if only to get an objective third party to verify if I'm crazy or not. But I don't know if I can do this.

The very least that I can hope to get out of it is that we come to terms over the new baby. Maybe the best I can hope for is to find out why this happened and get in one last, big fat "Fuck you."

OK, OK. I'll try to keep an open mind.

I've stepped up the house hunt, and I've found a lot of interesting stuff. I'm going to look at three on Wednesday. Here is my favorite:



It has hardwood floors, a fireplace, stained glass windows, a game room, central air... and it's empty! I have a good feeling about this one. The outside looks kinda odd and I almost skipped looking at it, but when I did a driveby, I realized it was just a poor choice of paint colors. Puke brown and shit brown, I mean, really??

It's a great price, low taxes, good school district... oh, and I did mention EMPTY, right?

This smells

I don't know what to say about this very, um, unique product, but the reviews are hilarious. (If you're afraid to click on the link, note it IS Amazon; it can't be that bad, right?)

I (heart) hormones

"And so it is
Just like you said it would be.
Life goes easy on me.
Most of the time.
And so it is,
The shorter story.
No love, no glory.
No hero in her sky.

I can't take my eyes off you..."

-- The Blower's Daughter, Damien Rice



I'm a mess!

I inadvertently told off a girl at work today. Yeah, the words kept accidentally spewing out of my mouth. She's a tough girl, she can handle it, but I'm at my wit's end with myself.

Friends tell me it's hormones. Yeah, it's probably some of that. But it doesn't help that my "fiance" kicked my pregnant ass to the curb a few days ago. And that I don't know why.

Wednesday was Day One back to work: I am singing songs along with the radio on the way to work. EVERY song is about kicking ass. I am totally empowered, happy and ready to kick ass. It is a good day. I see Joe only in passing, across the room, and I think, "This ain't so bad." Then I grab a Kleenex and blow.

Day Two: I am at work only briefly when I have to run to the doctor for an emergency ultrasound for bleeding. I am lying on the table when the ultrasound woman tells me everything is all right and shows me the baby on the screen, all legs and arms and spine and stuff. Then I start weeping uncontrollably. And do so on and off (mostly on) for the rest of the day. Good thing I skipped mascara in the morning. I can't concentrate on work at all. I go house-hunting and feel better. I lie in bed and write Joe a few letters, but my feelings oscillate so wildly that none of them makes sense to me. And why the fuck am I writing that bastard letters?

Day Three: Thank god it's Friday. I'm a puddle of mess. I go back and forth between hating Joe and loving the shit out of him. We're still not even speaking, but most of my stuff is at his place and somehow I have to get it back. But not now. I have a lot of deadline stuff at work, so I keep busy enough, spout off to (at?) my coworker and boss, and when I get home, I look at more houses online so I can go look at them tomorrow. Busy, busy, busy. I'm on a mission. I'm pissed that I'm not allowed to paint while pregnant. Zoe wants a purple room, and I want to be the one to give it to her.



I can't stand not talking to Joe, and I can't stand the idea of talking to him.

I have a pretty good feeling that I haven't hit bottom quite yet. But if the bottom comes in the form of anger, I'll be thrilled. My eyes are so fucking dry from crying, and that annoys me.

Mixed results

Among things Floridians take for granted: Ducks in the back yard.


I got back from Florida yesterday and headed back to work today.

It's funny, after a day or two in Florida, I felt like I never left. Then, after a day in Pittsburgh, I felt like I never left.

It's an identity crisis! I don't know if I'm shopping at Giant Eagle or Winn-Dixie.


Zoe makes brownies with Dad.


Zoe hangs with the girls.



Joe and I were playing house with mixed results for some time before I left, but when I got home he wouldn't let me back in. I'm not sure exactly why. We had argued about Zoe and how I handle custody, which frankly I think is none of his business, and in the end he told me that if Zoe was the most important person in my life (which I claimed in an argument) then I didn't belong in his.

I'm a little stunned by it. We were looking for a house together, he asked me to marry him, we were looking at college funds. Now I'm shopping for a lawyer and planning to deliver a baby without him. Great.

My primary emotion is relief. And I can't explain why. Maybe because I found out what kind of a man he is (or isn't) before I started hating him. Of course I'm kicking myself for believing the string of bullshit he was feeding me, but I can't dwell on it or I'll go crazy.

A ... pause

"Live right now, just be yourself.
It doesn't matter if it's good enough
For someone else."

-- The Middle, Jimmy Eat World



WHERE IS THE SUN-SENTINEL'S PULITZER???

I just thought I'd chime in: I'm very disappointed. With all the weird shit going on in Florida, and all the worthy stuff the SS covered so well, I find it hard to believe. There really is no other place like South Florida, as I'm more acutely aware of now that I'm no longer there.

Maybe next year. I repeat one of my favorite editor's sentiments: Hopefully it's not for hurricane coverage.



House-hunting often reminds me of Florida. Not only because everything I love is out of my price range, but because some of the suburbs look remarkably like certain parts of Florida. Joe and I walked through some of Sewickley today, and it was so much like Stuart, with charming homes in the alleyways and a main street full of shops. Everything is in bloom and the weather is perfect now, so it's the best of everything -- if you can overlook that the nearest beach is Lake Erie and it's a three-hour drive away.

We've also looked at some of the new development, which also reminds me of Florida, in a bad way: It's all NEW.

I guess there's something to be said for being the first to live in a house, but I don't think that guarantees that nothing is wrong with it, that there are no hidden problems. But I am keeping an open mind. There are a couple more considerations now....

I was buckling Zoe into her car seat after dinner tonight, and I guess Joe was watching me. He was shaking his head. "What???" I asked.

"You don't have long at work."

UGH. I knew that a week ago, and I can't even say I've been in denial of how big I've gotten.

I am thinking about telling my boss this week: I'm pregnant.

Then I'll think about telling my dad. In the meantime I'll continue avoiding him. Good thing we work opposite shifts.

Every day's a new day

"I'm 33 for a moment..."

-- 100 Years, Five for Fighting


I tried my hand at homemade spaghetti this weekend, and ....

I ate it too. It was actually edible, if not good.

I haven't cooked in a couple of months maybe. All this home-shopping got me down, so I took a weekend off. Joe and I put 150 miles on my car in less than two days, barely getting out of town, mostly shopping and a little sightseeing and roaming about.

I was still attracted to for-sale signs... I couldn't entirely let go.

I have so much to do tomorrow: finishing up taxes, following up on appointments. Oh, and work. Filling in for a coworker. The perfect distraction. I have a lot more on my plate than homemade pasta.

April showers

"Memories of winter are dragged in the hallway,
A trail of salt and the slag melting snow,
And she said, 'All my life I have loved you the same;
Watch where you're walking, you're dragging that shit in again.'"

-- Eighty Eight, The Affordable Floors



On the way to school yesterday, Zoe insisted she wanted snow. Ain't happening, I told her. It's over, and we get good weather now until next winter, and she can ride her bike after school since it will be light out now with daylight saving time. I even went so far as to tell her about fun with water balloons.

Twenty-four hours later, when she looked out the window this morning, she told me, "It's not enough snow." Yep. There was snow out there, all right. Not enough for Zoe, apparently.

I got here in November. I spent Thanksgiving in Pittsburgh. I'm almost certain I saw snow before the month was out, if I didn't experience a crash course in how to get the stuff off my car without getting it into my shoes and down the inside of my coat.

It's April now. IT SNOWED LAST NIGHT. I'm not a math whiz, but even I can figure out that for six of the 12 months of whatever it is Pittsburgh calls seasons, IT SNOWED.

This just ain't right.


But an even bigger shocker today: Katie Couric changed jobs! Who the hell saw that coming.

And, shit, it took the networks long enough to get around to interviewing Art Buchwald. I'm sure some producer said, "That guy's still fucking alive??" This has "Tuesdays with Morrie" written all over it. Wonder who's doing the novel.