"What's my name? Puddin Tane, ask me again and I'll tell you the same!"

This is Worf, or "Captain Worf" if you're name particular, though he comes to other things. He doesn't mind. Ozzie doesn't mind either, when I call him Ozziewazzie, or something. It usually means treats. Baby is Sugarbooger, or something like it...

I have a lot of names... some I don't like. You can call me anyone of the others.

So...a quickie, for those who don't know me so well...

My name, given me at birth, was Marielana Graszia Ileana Vaneszia Zehandroverhi. I shortened it somewhat...but NOT to "Mary".

I do not like the name Mary. My maman called me that when she was angry with me, and it has connotations of anger with it whenever I hear it.

I had a Facebook friend who insisted on calling me Mary, in the face of a dozen warnings from a dozen other friends... finally, when we were sitting chatting one day, she said, "Hey, Mary, I..." and I said, "what, Dee? (her name was Dianna, pronounced dee-anna). She immediately said, 'My name is Dianna'  and I said, 'my name is MaryEllen'. She said, 'whatever.' and I defriended her on Facebook There and then. From my phone. I heard hers *ding* when she got the message. Kinda funny, the look on her face (I had moved off, to another friend to chat, one of the warning crew, in fact, lol)  She asked to be taken back, and has been scrupulous ever since about using my full name. Since I edited it to Belle on facebook, that's what she calls me.

Another friend in 3D this time, started calling me Mary - and was warned off by my dude of the moment, who had introduced us. She has since called me Ellen. Which is ok. No one ever called me that and then whacked my face half off for some minor infraction.

So, call me Cat or Kitty (my daddy's name for me), call me Belle, call me MaryEllen... or Ms Newton if you's fancy. ;)

Ambien Man

< This cat has *not* had Ambien.

Do any of you use Ambien? Have you done odd things under its' influence? Noria and her entire family use it to sleep, including the 21 year old nephew. They call this effect "Ambien Man". When you've done something odd after taking it, it was 'Ambien Man' who did it.

Thus, Ambien Man re-arranged the living room last night at Joe's apartment.

Noria's Ambien Man writes letters, and occasionally does laundry.

Alisha's Ambien Man cooks. Everything he can find. And then eats it all.

Mary's (Noria's sister-in-law) Ambien Man fixes things. Mends the torn clothing of her little boy, for instance. She said she's come out to the kitchen some mornings and found a whole pile of mended clothes... and once he fixed her ironing board, where it was wobbly.

Joe Senior's Ambien Man goes for long walks, and leaves him sleeping in odd places. Once in a hedge, once on top of a neighbor's car. It was priceless. Mary took a picture. Fortunately, they live out in the middle of nowhere on a rather large piece of land. No swamp or bogs nearby. He can wander to his heart's content, or until he wears off enough to let Joe sleep.

Eldean, Noria's mom, has an artistic Ambien Man. He smokes and draws pictures for hours, leaving a pile of papers and a full ashtray. Noria's daddy had a wandering Ambien Man, too, but he usually just took Poppa Joe to the workshop, where he'd sit and look at the empty forge.

I think that's the whole family, the six year old isn't on it yet, and the 30 year old just sits and waves his arms... Ambien Man is not ambitious in him. His girlfriend doesn't use it regularly, because she says her Ambien Man takes her to the bathroom and scrubs. She doesn't enjoy that.

I've never tried the stuff, myself. Kinda afraid to - I can imagine wandering out into the park in my altogether, talking to someone who isn't there... wait, I do that anyway. Not the wandering, though. :)

What DOES single mean?

I am "single". It means to me, that I share my home/life/time with no specific person. I have a guy, and I love him, but he doesn't live here, and I don't get to see him much.

Other meanings of the word, though, have been bothering me. This is about Single in the South...

Single means you can be asked to work late, and no one thinks you should complain because the 'married women with kids' get to go home on time and spend time with their families. You're single, so you don't have a life, do you?

Single means you don't mind being paid less than the married woman because 'she has kids, and she needs it.' Yeah...of course, you don't have any bills to pay, do you? You're single...

Single means your holidays are a minefield of well-meant invitations. You learn quickly not to say, 'oh not much' when asked what you're going to do for Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Labor Day, Groundhog Day... because they will invite you to take part in *their* holiday. Nothing is more fun than hanging around with people who are annoyed that they can't be sitting around in their underwear because there's company, while their children are running wild and screaming and hitting you with their toys... I was once invited to Thanksgiving dinner with the family of the bookkeeper at the shop (she's not there anymore, thank god). Asked what I should bring, and she suggested maybe some rolls. I found out when I got there that she expected me to COOK THE ENTIRE MEAL. Seriously. She had no idea how to cook a turkey...and no clue how long it took. Never did get to eat that meal... but I took the #@$@ rolls home.

Single also means people can give you gifts of stuff they don't want. One year, my neighbors, in an act of charity, gave me a box that contained several rotten oranges, some limp celery and an apple that looked like someone's science experiment. I waited till they left and then took it to the garbage cans...but dang, they could've saved me the trouble - THAT would have been nice. Just throw away your own crap...I don't really want it. I suppose if I'd been braver, I could've told them that. I didn't. I did the polite society thing: 'oh thank you SO much, just what I wanted!'

Single means you aren't expected to have good taste... Once while shopping with a couple of the married women from the print shop, on a Dallas blow all your money tour, we came across some very nice vases with artificial flowers in them. While B and NJ took a rapid look at the brightly colored ones, I was in agony over a black alabaster bowl with three white roses...it took my breath away. I wanted it so bad...to have bought it would have cost me the rent, so I didn't. But B saw me looking at it and said, oh, that's gorgeous. I wouldn't have expected *you* to like that. So, not only was I expected to have lousy taste, but to not want nice things...

Single means you bought all your own jewelry, or have it left over from the last marriage. You're not expected to want anything very fancy, though.

Not sure where I'm going with this one after all...so I'll quit. I only wrote it because the Tree asked for it... and it was all that was in my mind.

More Remembering

Today I read someone else's post and thought: dang, she's got the same thing I had back then. Actually, I was a bit younger, in my mid-20s, when it really hit.

I was recently divorced, very unhappy with my life, and equally unhappy with my job. Looking back, I don't understand that. I had a GREAT job, with lots of opportunities to get to know fascinating people. I also had, if I'd paid attention, a pretty decent life. I had a cool apartment in a building I could never afford now...it's become upscale, lol. It had hardwood floors, a sun porch, and two GIANT closets, as well as a built in set of shelves and drawers in one room. Had a rather interesting but not really good kitchen... It was in an ancient building, Pretty Boy Floyd had been said to have lived there in his time.

So, hating everything (which was stupid) I decided to change it. I started an affair with someone who was old enough to be my father, and moved out to the suburbs, to one of those cookie-cutter apartments: balcony, one bedroom, large living room, miniscule kitchen. Almost double the rent, but with a 'posh' address. Lost the job, got another one... life went on. Still didn't like it. Then I got in touch with a piece of my history: the pastor who had baptized me the second time. He and his wife, who had been a friend to me, lived in Oklahoma, and suddenly moved, no reason given, to a new church in DeQueen, Arkansas. His wife was desperately ill with MS, having a horrible time. Their two daughters were trying to cope. The 11 year old wasn't having a great time of it at all. Pastor's wife asked me to come south, if I could find a job, and help with the kids. Especially the young one.

Twenty-four years later, here I am... still not caring much for my life. Having looked back on all that (and several bits and pieces I didn't mention, like a 12 year marriage to someone I should never have talked to, even, lol) I have thought it through, and, the factor that remains the same in all these issues is... ME. I need to learn to deal with me, and maybe the rest of it will straighten out.

Sorry this isn't too well written, I'm just, at the moment, dealing with getting it out. Perhaps I'll write more, later, in better form. :)

OMG. I just had a thought, an ugly thought

If I hadn't married Paul, I might not have met my wonderful friends...all the ones that live in my computer... (and yes, that's Baby. Nothing to do with the blog, but y'all deserve something nice for reading it.)

It was Paul, who introduced me to Yahoo Answers. He had been on the management pages and had gotten one or two levels... lol I made 7th on Bellemai and Bellethecat has done pretty well too. And if I hadn't been on Answers, I wouldn't have met my buddy Dragon. Dragon is a perfect friend. She's cool, she's smart, AND she can breathe fire. What else do you need in a friend? I joined Y360 so I could talk to Dragon. I then met a bunch more of you...That was the BEST blogging and social format EVER. And of course, it's been gone for years. Some of the younguns may not even know what it was like.

Does anyone remember the purple hippo girl? The one who built herself a persona that was wildly cool and worked for BBC... and had to fess up that she didn't look like that (kinda felt sorry for the girl whose life she borrowed!) and that she was unemployed, didn't even actually live in London... she had to fess up so she could talk about a guy from the east coast here visiting her. I felt sorry for her...she disappeared not long after the big reveal, when the dude stopped answering her posts. (I am witchy, I'm sure you noticed.)

Oh, and Multiply. I am SO going to miss Multiply in all it's glitchy funky, frozen glory... we discovered the joys of almost instant response on our blogs. Post it and see who's online to talk back and forth with. I have a couple of friends who won't come to Google now...have refused. Insist on using a site I can't even begin to decipher. I hate to lose them, but... all my REAL friends seem to be here. Even the birdy. ;)

If it hadn't been for Multiply, I might not have met my Tree... oh I am so glad I didn't miss the Tree. And the Puppy dog and the Puppy's puppy... And Stef. I miss Stef like crazy. She was SO funny... but she's gone to California and has a life now...she hits Facebook every so often... I'll get a poke. Fairies... there were fairies, and a fairydragon... and another Dragon! A GUY Dragon, from near me - he lived in Little Rock. *sigh* he's gone now too... hasn't been online in forever, I'm betting he got himself a real life ladyfriend and didn't need the trekkie action figures anymore. He was awesome though. Oh... memories... Dogs, Cats, Turtles, Birds, Flamingoes (are they birds?) a vet to take care of the critters (love my Jilli) and...Pet. Pet is such a wonderful writer...interesting, without going overboard y'know...never boring. Thinking of Pet reminds me of Herr Ludwig. I am missing him... And Hotclaws. And Hadenough. Cat people. Dog people. Lizard people... it was so great. Hot was the one who got me to come to Multiply in the first place...and then I dragged a bunch more, who dragged a bunch more...and it became home. First thing you do in the morning, check and see who's said what to whom. *sigh*

And... let's see... I joined Facebook so I could talk to Fleur... and then discovered a bunch of my 3D friends were on there, and some social contacts, and some old school buddies (my lockermate from high school!) annd I do love my Facebook. 

I had a Yahoo email... it got a little glitchy at about the same time as we moved back to Texarkana, so I went to gmail. And then, oh my... I discovered the gmail chat. Now that is an awesome weapon against boredom. You do have to be careful who you're 'available' to, however.

And now we're here. At least, most of us are. We're missing a few, but...it could be worse...the core group is here. And I'm so glad....I would not for the world miss my good friends here.

It would be perfect, if I just didn't have to be grateful to Paul for it all!

You don't know me...

This one is more for my 3D friends than my online ones... you people who say you're my friends, who call me sister, friend, whatever. Do you even look past the surface? Do you ever see what the makeup and the smile cover?

I sat for 10 minutes and cried on Thursday afternoon, because one of you let me down badly. I know you don't really care, but sometimes, I just have to say something. You claim to be my friend, and you're glad of my help, but you don't have the decency to be upfront with me? Thanks a LOT.

You who come into my house and make the "ewww" face because it's not spotless... how would YOU like to have to take care of it on your own, from a wheelchair? I can't stand or walk long enough to run the vacuum effectively, even... and the place is NOT dirty. It's cluttered, because sometimes I hurt too bad to finish a project, so it sits where I left it. Sometimes the weakness and pain is so much that all I can do is sleep. So... things get left. When I can, I clear some of it. I can't do it all anymore...I get the stuff that has to be taken care of, the rest, well, to whom does it really matter?

I get people all the time saying 'let me know if you need some help'. Sorry, can't do it. I can not beg.  I can not ask. You know what would really be a help? If someone was good enough to OFFER to take me grocery shopping at a time when I actually have some money to spend. You could find that time out by  ASKING me. Really. I have no filters. I'll tell you almost anything. If I think you care. If I don't, you get, "oh yeah, I'm fine".

It'd be nice to get a phone call once in a while. I know most of you have my number. You use it when you need me to help you get some printing done, or something like that...

It'd be nice to have someone say, 'let's do lunch on Monday'... pretty much any Monday, lol....I wouldn't ask you to pay for mine - I'm good with taking care of my own needs. Heck, I'd even pick you up, if you asked me to. Because I also maintain my own vehicle and insurance.

I don't ask much, but I'm tired, SICK and tired, of only being noticed or talked to when I can do something for YOU. Call me once in a while, just to talk. Let's do lunch, or supper, or, with enough prep time, breakfast. That's another thing: It takes me longer, MUCH longer, than it used to, to be able to get up and get out. When I first wake up, it's a tossup whether I get to the bathroom without falling when a leg gives out. My legs are not strong...I'm working on that, but it's not easy. I was doing ok till my right knee, the one that I use to support myself, quit bending. That, if you like, was a fun day. I had to physically pick it up with my hands, to get out of bed. I'm really REALLY glad there isn't much room there, I could use the wall to hop into the bathroom...and whirl to sit, lol... So don't expect me to be awake and ready to go by 8:30. It's not happening. Some nights the pain won't let me sleep till 3 or so in the morning. To be ready to go at 8:30, I'd have to be up at 5, to take the medication that lets me use my hands and legs, wait for it to start working, get a shower (you ever try to shower or bathe when you can't stand up? the barstool is my friend.) and get put together. Sometimes my hair isn't well done...sometimes it's even worse than that. Does it matter? Really?

I came back to Texarkana from Longview because several people said, yeah, come back, we'll be there to help you and make sure you're all right... and... I never hear from them, never see them, unless I'm calling them, or going to their place. I don't really blame you, it's not a lot of fun to hang out with someone that can't get up and run to this or that place - someone who has to take a beat up wheelchair everywhere they go... it's not much fun. For me, either. I only remember the handicap when I try to walk... the rest of me still thinks and acts and wants to be like  I was.

I've spent most of my life doing my best to NOT be the one about whom they say, 'oh god, here she comes...look, I gotta run, I told X I'd meet him at 4'... I didn't do this to myself, you know.  I wasn't hugely fat before my legs gave out, in fact, I'd gotten under 200 pounds for the first time in forever... I try very hard not to be the bitchy sick person who's always complaining. I won't tell you how I really feel, unless I think you care...you'll get "I'm fine! And how are you?" and then I'll listen to you tell me about all your troubles and the things you can't have or do, and who did you wrong and who said something ugly...

Like I said, you don't know me. And you don't appear to want to.

Sometimes I wonder

I really do...I wonder what kind of thinking I do, lol...before I make a life decision. Coming here: I was "in love" with someone totally inappropriate. Then, my friend Sharon, who has since died, said she wished I could be closer, as both her daughters adored me. OK, I can get closer. Texarkana is 71 miles south of DeQueen, Arkansas, where they lived. So I moved to Texarkana. And they moved to Raine (sp?) Louisiana...which is a wide spot in the road near Crowley...on I-20 waaaaay down there, almost to the water. And THEN they moved to about as far north in Arkansas as you can get. (Preachers move a lot, especially snaky ones.) And then she died.

I really loved her younger daughter, Rebekah...she was so funny, and such a PERSON, even at 11. Um, oh shit. She's like, 30-what now? Let's not go there. She's older than I was when I moved here. I have lost touch with her over the years; my ex-husband didn't like me keeping touch with my friends from before his time. No, he didn't *say* that. He just made life miserable when I did. I'm a little shy about making contact again with people who knew me years ago: I have changed SO much - not the inside me, but the outside, crippled-in-a-wheelchair-can't-dance-anymore me. I don't look the same, much, either. The inside me is slowly -very slowly - returning to the person I was, but the outside is permanently altered. There are days when I look in the mirror and go 'what the f'. That's not who I remember being there. *sigh*

Having been divorced nearly a year, I still find little things he did...and is doing...to pay me back for letting him go...dumping him... things like - hiding the paperwork for the house where he knew I'd be unlikely to look for quite a while. I don't know WHAT he did with my birth certificate. And just recently, he's found himself an apartment in his home town - and of course, needed electricity...but did he have to put HIS address on the account that has served this house? No, I don't think so. So now I have the hassle of having to call the electric company and get that fixed. Like when he moved out, and put in a change of address - for the entire household. Yeah... that made sense. Can YOU say 'passive aggressive'? As is always the case with him, he gets mad, but 'nice' people don't get mad, so he hides it...and does something mean and sneaky in another direction. It will be fine, eventually. I'll have gotten rid of all the stuff he left behind...including that little bitty sense of resentment that I feel for what he did to me in those 11.5 years...11.5 LONG years.