Hearing Aid

For those of you who don't recall, two years ago (almost exactly) I was in a car accident. My little PT Cruiser was totalled. I was making a left turn, saw an on-coming car, stopped. The retiree in the other car drove full speed into my car, despite the red light 20 feet in front of me. According to state law I was automatically at fault because I was making a left, so I filed an appeal. My insurance went up anyway, so I looked it up. The appeal form just starts a process where they schedule you for a hearing. I apparently missed my hearing; but I know for a fact I would not have missed that notice in mail. So, I've been paying about $700/year extra because of the accident on my driving record.

Tonight I got the hearing notice in the mail. TWO YEARS LATER! It's scheduled for late October. Are you kidding me?!?!? Of course, this is organized by the State of Massachusetts, and the hearing is at the Registry of Motor Vehicles. Luckily, they do schedule it for the department in your own area, so it's walking distance, not 3 hours away... I sure hope I qualify for a refund on all those insurance premiums I've been paying.

Assuming, of course, that they believe me when I tell them that it's not my fault the old fart wouldn't stop.

Celebreality

It is official - I need to go ona diet. I had a dream last night that I was a 'contestant' on VH-1's Celebrity Fit Club. Now, I realize that as thin as their definition of celebrity may be, I still do not count as one. But the fact that my subconscious mind placed me in a weight-loss competition means that something has gone horribly awry.
So, to follow the main technique of televised weight loss, I will announce my starting weight and track the progress. (Amy's tantric reading is more fun to follow along with, but I gotta start somewhere.) I weight myself at work. The scales are calibrated every six months for accuracy. I weight myself (obviously) fully dressed. This is not a problem since I'm looking at the delta, not the absolute. Today I stepped on the scale to read 171 pounds. My goal is 160. Doesn't sound too bad. But it has been my goal for almost two years, and I am practically unchanged.
Here we go...

Not Smart Enough

Ronny and I went to dinner last night. Somehow the conversation drifted to him asking if there were things he did that I didn’t like. I mentioned that I don’t like biting, and it annoys me that every time he smells something foul he accuses me of farting. Both of these are things we’ve discussed, and he hasn’t tried biting in quite some time now. He responds with one or two things about me that are inconsequential, then says that I am not smart enough. He wishes I were more like Brad. This is Not inconsequential. I reiterate in disbelief, “I’m not smart enough for you?!” He says I misunderstood; he didn’t say “for me.” He said I wasn’t smart enough, but he loves me anyway, so he doesn’t care. After some stunned silence, I sort ask for explanation. He often rips on random strangers walking by, and I almost always react with “Ronny, be nice.” He wants me to join in on the jokes. He also thinks I don’t notice things going on around me, like him checking out some guy or another. Brad calls him on it, but I don’t. I explained that I am not the jealous type, so I notice, but I just don’t care. (Brad is quite the jealous type, and I am occasionally asked to be an accomplice in Cris’s cover-ups.)

When we get home, he apologizes “for saying things he shouldn’t say.” He adds that I don’t talk much, so he sometimes talks too much. He asks if I forgive him. I reply, “How can I forgive you for thinking I’m stupid when you still think that I am?” He gets all affectionate and apologizes over and over. He says that he really only meant he doesn’t like that I’m too serious and don’t join in on his joking. He claims random strangers make comments about his appearance, accent, or job, so he comments on strangers to make himself feel better. I said that if someone insults me, it makes me feel bad, so I shouldn’t insult others because I don’t want to make them feel bad. He apologizes some more, and says he didn’t mean like I thought he did; he thinks I am very intelligent, and a very nice person. I said I could forgive him. He wanted me to be all happy and affectionate then. I said it was like banging your knee on the table; I’d need a little more time to feel better. Then he tries to get me to have sex with him, and I wasn’t going along. He was like “come on, I haven’t had any since Sunday!” (He didn’t come over Monday or Tuesday.) I was just not going to accept. He asked why not. I said I wasn’t happy. So, we watched Project Runway instead (the return of Angela! Ahhhhh!). I’ve been suffering general unhappiness lately, so this really didn’t help my mood much. We’ll see what happens.

PT

Ronny and I pent the weekend in Provincetown. It was his first time there. I hadn’t been in a while. I rented a hotel room at a guesthouse pretty much right in the middle of town. Drove up on Friday night; between construction and a rather nasty looking accident, it took 3.5 hours to get there. Had dinner; Ronny didn’t like the food (too dry). Wandered a little bit and called it an early night. Saturday had breakfast; Ronny didn’t like the food (too bland). Did a little shopping, had some ice cream (no, he didn’t), headed to the beach. I didn’t know exactly how to get there, so it took over an hour to get it down. Ronny refused to wait for the bus, which added to the confusion. He was getting kinda grumpy. But we got there, and the weather was beautiful. Sunny, 80, nice breeze, not humid at all. Probably the nicest day we’ve had in a month, and we were at the perfect location to take advantage of it. Went back to town, washed up, went for dinner; Ronny didn’t like the food (various…). Took a nap, then had plans to head to the club. Ronny didn’t want to wake up, so he was grouchy for the next half hour. The place was relatively dead, but the DJ had the treble turned up way too high. Ronny didn’t like the bathrooms, so refused to go there. Between bored, having to use the bathroom, and his ears hurt, and he had a stomach ache from the lousy dinner, he was complaining in full force. I asked if he wanted to go back to the room, and he said we could go if I wanted to leave. We ended up leaving just after last call. We walked a little bit, then went back to the room. He wanted to buy a bottle of water, so we headed back out. I was aiming for the burger shack, but he insisted on heading to a bar. I tried to explain they were all closed, but he seemed to think he could buy water, anyway. I dragged him to the burger shack, and he got water. In the morning, we had breakfast; Ronny didn’t like the food (too spicy). Did a little more shopping, went through the museum at Pilgrim Monument, had more ice cream (not too bad), and headed home. On the way, Russell called to invite us over for dinner, so I said we’d be there in a little while. Rice, salad, veggies, and grilled pork chops; Ronny didn’t like the food (too healthy). I asked him if he had a nice weekend and if he liked P-town. He said oh yes, it was great. He asked if I had fun. I said yes. He asked if I did every minute. I said yes. I think we both glossed over the causes or effects of the complaining.
He has no patience, and doesn’t like it when things progress any differently than his pre-imagined script. I am way more laid-back, so he especially bristles at my lack of apparent concern when things aren’t going as planned. (Regardless of whether I am aware of ‘the’ plan.) I don’t do running commentary on my thought processes as I try to evaluate and correct a situation, so he just boils over as I am working on a solution. Then he perceives his boiling as the force that created my action. It creates a no-win condition for me, but I don’t think to babble until the boiling has exploded. I think we are just not suited for each other. He seems to see it as I am difficult and should feel lucky to have such an understanding boyfriend. Incidentally, I loved the food at every meal.

Joe

I planted St. Joseph on Thursday. It’s been 8 months with no offers, and 2 months since the last showing. Oddly enough, two months ago was when I chose NOT to bury St Joseph, so I figured it was worth a shot. There’s a little superstition about burying an icon of St Joseph in your yard to help sell your house (or a flower pot in my case). Out of sheer desperation I bought one of the little statues. Nothing else is working, I may as well try. My mother’s prayers must need an amp…