A Knee and a Toe, and a Dog Named Bo

I have been absent this week, I apologize. I have been uninspired. I don't just want to blather on about useless information. That's what Facebook is for!

I have been having an inner battle with myself about going to the gym. I no longer have the excuse that my key card doesn't work, because I went by there when the dude was there and he showed me that I was using it incorrectly. Tonight I went and, since there was only me and one other lady, I took the opportunity to figure out how to use the weight machines. That was supposed to be part of my "orientation",  but dude seems to always be busy with someone else when I am there. I had a good workout tonight, going to be sore in the morning! But I'm also excited about my chance tonight (couldn't have looked stupid in front of the muscle-heads, now could I?) since my foot has been bothering me so much lately, and walking on the treadmill has become painful.

I was cursed with ugly feet. No really. I know everyone says their feet are ugly, but mine take the prize. I have bunions that have always bothered me, but now each step is excruciating. At least my left foot is. Which is problematic in many ways, as I had recently quit step aerobics because my knees hurt so badly, and I thought I'd take up the treadmill instead. It's a vicious cycle: my knees would feel better if I could lose 50+ pounds, but that's hard to do when it hurts to exercise.

I have researched bunionectomies (yes, that's a real procedure) and I will next research good surgeons. Something has to give. I'm not wearing shoes right now, and my big toe is throbbing. Weird.

Last weekend I spent quite a bit of time with John Deere. His mother invited me to their house for Sunday dinner, and that went well. So well that I stayed until after supper! John's mother asked me a lot of questions, friendly questioning, not an interrogation by any means. She mentioned they used to have a dog named Bo, which was the name of The Ex's dog. Add that to the eerily increasing list of similarities. And the fact that John knows The Ex. Remembers him from college. John said he didn't think any less of me.

Monday John and I ventured to a larger town to do some muzzle loader shopping. He did. I looked at just about everything else in the store. But there was Olive Garden and Stone Cold Creamery, so the day wasn't a total waste :) I was glad to spend that particular day with John, as 1/2/12 was one of the dates The Ex and I had picked as a potential wedding date.

This week I need to fill out loan papers, as I'm going to try to refinance my home loan, apply to grad school, and continue to resist temptation at work. No vending machine purchases for me last week! (Well, 1 Diet soda, but definitely no candy bars!) Now if people would please stop making delicious fudge and candy and bringing it to work. Evil, evil people.

This Means War!

This evening my parents, who happened to be in town, stopped by for a few minutes. While here I showed them the picture of The Ex and his new lady. They were as amazed as I to see the changes he's made. But then, they said the unthinkable. The worst thing they could have ever said. The thing that made my heart drop and my palms itch. They said, are you ready for it?

They said it looks like he's lost weight.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

It's not that he didn't need to, because honey, he made me look fit AND trim. It's not because it's healthier for him and will lead to a longer, happier life. It's bad because, because...sniff sniff...I've gained weight since he dumped me. Like a lot. Like a small child. Like a sack of potatoes on steroids.

So, never to be one-upped, this means war. And not with him, because he's not in my life anymore and could look like Richard Simmonds for all I care. (hee hee) But it's war with myself, my emotional eating, and with those pesky fat cells who have grown so comfortable on my person.

It's war with the fact that Christmas is coming, and all the deliciousness that comes with it.

It's war with the fact that I now know how simple it is to make chocolate-dipped potato chips, and I have the makings for a ginormous batch in my kitchen. Right. Now.

It's war with laziness, not wanting to get out in the cold to travel those long, long 4 blocks to the gym.

It's war with giving up because I'm going to die fat and alone anyway. (That's my fallback excuse.)

It's also war with resisting temptation, both with food and looking at The Ex's Facebook page to see if he's posted a new pic. Again not that I care, just that I don't want him to win.

In other news, John Deere and I attended my Sunday School class party last Saturday. He behaved himself marvelously, got to talk shop with a few other farmers, talked about hunting with a few others, and stayed even though I could tell he'd rather have left before I got involved in a game of trivia (always dangerous!) This Friday he's attending my Church staff dinner with me. Such a trooper.

Audit this!

This past week the counseling agency I work for had it's triennial audit for accreditation. So a clinician from Florida spent three exciting days in my town looking at files, interviewing clients, and perusing our policy and procedure manuals. At the end he gave us a report of his findings. While it wasn't horrible and most of the mistakes were easily correctable, the fact that someone, whose job it is to find your mistakes, is even in the building lends an air of stress and foreboding.

I got to spend almost all of Tuesday with him and a bit of Thursday. By that point I had had my fill of having my short-comings pointed out. There were a few times my blood pressure spiked, and a few times I had to fight back tears. He was not being mean or even condescending, but I put a lot of effort into my job, and to have someone criticize what I do and tell me I need to work harder when I already don't have the time or resources to do what I do, well, it just frustrates me.

Oh a brighter note, John Deere not only called on his regimented Thursday night, he also stopped by for a few hours. When I told him about my week, he did offer to go rough up the auditor, but I didn't think it necessary. He agreed to accompany me to my Sunday School class Christmas party tomorrow night. I just hope he adheres to the dress code!

Also this week I discovered, via the wonders of Facebook, that The Ex has a new woman. Or at least his profile picture is of him a some little.....ahem.....a lovely lady. My first thought was "Well good for him." That was quickly followed by "I hope she enjoys my ring." I have never wished him harm, but there is a small place deep inside Huff that is vicious and vindictive, hoping that he was wallowing in misery and lamenting the day he sent me away. And maybe he did. For a day or two. Then he got over me, colored his hair, trimmed his beard (he has dimples, who knew!) and reinstated that Match.com profile he swore to me he deleted. (I did see him on there recently, right before I deleted mine. Again.)

There was a lot of drama in my boring little life this week. I'm glad it's over. On to another busy week with two dress rehearsals, two concerts, one more church Christmas party John Deere is attending with me, and two work Christmas luncheons. If I make it out alive and not 20 pounds heavier, I'll be one happy Huffy!

From Attorney to Pig Farmer

I know you're not supposed to compare people. You're especially not supposed to compare yourself to others. But the most important may be to not compare the person you're currently dating to your ex. But how can you not? How can you not think, if only once and a while, "Well ________ never did that, said that, wore that, ate that."  What may be even scarier in when the current dude and the ex dude have similarities. Enter Twilight Zone music...doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo...

Similarities between The Ex and Set-up Dude (Hereafter known as John Deere.)
The Ex lived next door to his parents, so does John Deere.
The Ex played saxophone in elementary school, so did John Deere.
The Ex drives a Ford F-150, so does John Deere.
Both were involved in Future Farmers of America in High School.
Both attended Southern Illinois University, majoring in Agriculture.
Both waited until Date #3 to hold my hand. (awwwwwww)

Creepy, huh?

Now for the differences (obviously not all of them, that would take days to list. )
John Deere eats veggies. So far I've seen him eat broccoli and salad. The Ex never ate anything green.
John Deere opens the door for me. Every door, every time. The Ex only opened the door to his Vette, because I couldn't get the stupid thing to recognize my hand and pop open the door.
John Deere listens when I speak. And remembers. He asked me Saturday about something I said a month ago.
John Deere drinks sweet tea. The Ex didn't like tea. Freak.
John Deere doesn't start every sentence with "Mom said", "I was telling Mom", or "You gotta laugh." Nor does he end every sentence with "so..." That drove me nuts!
John Deere doesn't like ketchup. The Ex smothered all meat and potato matter with it.
John Deere reads his Bible. The Ex didn't even know where his was. (At his parent's house. Duh.)

I really am trying not to compare them They are two totally different men, thank goodness! I'm just trying to enjoy this season in my life, no expectations, no time limits, no games.

Let's just see where this goes.

Dating Blunders

Dating. Yeah, I heard that collective groan from here! Let me share a few gems from my extensive (minimal) dating experiences.

OK, now for those of you who know me, you'll know that I did not date AT ALL in high school, like every other normal person on Earth. Nor College. Yes, I was the fat, shy nerd, the Unholy Trifecta of Loserdom! I was 28 when a guy finally grew a pair and asked me out.

Back when I was 23 (huh? Just read.) I met a guy over the Internet, back when the Internet was a relatively safe place and certain personals sites were free, or at least free if you knew how to get the guy's user name by saving his pic and then using the free instant messenger part... not that I ever did that. He lived in a nearby town, and we were never anything but friends. It may have been because of our first meeting.

On the way to meet him I promised myself I'd be safe, I'd be smart and I would NOT get into a car with him. So after we meet, shake hands and I jump into his Mustang (hey, it was a Mustang!) we go to another town for supper. The place was packed, so we had to sit near the bar. Loud is an understatement. So we ate not speaking, because there wasn't any way we could yell over the din. After dinner came the obligatory movie. I insisted on paying (independent much?) and he goes on into the theatre. I get to the door and the lights have already gone out. I can't find him! I wait for a second, hoping my eyes will adjust quickly, but no dice. I grope my way about 4 rows down and sit in the first seat I come to. Luckily, he's there, but 2 seats over. Now here's a dilemma: do I stay seated, or move? After pondering this question through the previews, I decide to hold firm. Later I'm glad of this decision, as we saw Lilo and Stitch, and I cried through the entire movie. Shut up, it's SAD!

We remained friends for a few years, then he met another chick online, she moved from Oregon, and they're now happily (I hope) married with a little girl.

Then there was my Redneck guy who blew cigarette smoke in my face after dinner. Never heard from him again. And the dude who said I had an anger issue. Screw him and the horse he rode in on! A hem, then there was Don, whom I met on eHarmony. He seemed like a great guy, until he emailed me a week before we met, and armed with his last name ran a background check on him, and found he had just gotten a divorce 2 weeks before we were matched online. Yikes! One meal at Applebees, and no phone call since. Not that I'm waiting. Jerk.

Then there was the Ex. Within the first 5 minutes I called him both Weird and Strange. (When I'm nervous my brain and tongue often lose communication.) That was shortly after hopping into his Corvette (yes, apparently I have a thing for guys with nice cars) and heading to a local Winery for dinner. I was trying to make a joke about not getting into cars with strange men, but said weird instead. Trying to correct myself just made things worse. But obviously this was not a deal breaker as dude did go on to ask me to marry him in later months. Then take it back. (enter expletive here)

Recently I had another first date. Again nerves were on overload, but other than interrogating the poor guy (just talk, darn you!) I don't recall doing anything overly stupid. I didn't call him names, sat right next to him in the movie theatre, and didn't spill anything on my white shirt. The only awkard moment was saying goodbye. It's not as easy as the movies portray. Are you supposed to kiss him goodnight on the first date? Just on the cheek? Shake his hand? Jump out of the truck and lock the door behind you? I don't know.

Do you have any dating advice? What are your horror stories? Do share!

Dry Toes

A few weeks ago a church member mentioned to me that she had given my phone number to a young man she knows. Yeah, here we go. She had mentioned him to me a while back, like a week after the Ex dumped me, and I asked her to give me time. I guess the time has come.

This possibility of a stranger calling me has upset the delicate balance that I call safe. I have had blind dates in the past, two to be exact, and never heard from the guy again. Both times it was a good thing, but it hurts a gal's ego nonetheless.

Huff being Huff I did a little cyber-sleuthing and found this dude is divorced. Strike one. Why? I'm not sure. I have an Ex, he has an Ex, what's the difference? Well, I didn't live with mine, nor did I take his name. We had a few future plans, but nothing so substantial as a joint bank account or choosing baby names. (Ok, maybe I did, but that's another story.)  There's a different level of hurt involved also.

Another strike is my assumed lack of common interests. I'm guessing this guy is into hunting, fishing, 4-wheeler riding, Country music and the whole Redneck bit. I'm not. Again, assuming, and we all know what happens when one assumes...

Strike three? I don't know yet. I'll come up with one, give me time. I'm a master at the Reject-Before-You-Can-Be-Rejected defense mechanism. I could always rely on my old stand-by "he doesn't like fat chicks" excuse. There! No reason for him to call!

Now I know what you're thinking, didn't you say it was a few weeks ago, and he still hasn't called you? Why are you spazzing? Well, this matchmaker told me he had hurt himself at work, had surgery and wanted to be healed before he called. So he is considerate. Point for him. And he has a job. Another point.

This anxiety has also brought up a lot of memories of the Ex, like the first time we met, and pointers to myself of what to do/say, don't do/say. I never had to worry about NOT talking about the Ex before, since I'd never HAD an Ex before. Geez, throw in some lettuce in the teeth and I'm ready to make a great first impression!

I'll keep you, dear readers, informed. I'll need some pointers if I ever do decide to dip my toe into the dating pool. Just remember, I can't swim!

Where's the Delete key?

I have a fabulous memory. Not for useful information, like where I parked the car or stuff I need to get done for work tomorrow. No, I remember small, useless, completely inane bits of data, and it's starting to drive me bonkers.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to attend a board meeting for my agency in another town. The meeting doesn't bother me, though I will be representing my agency and all that goes with my oh-so-important-sounding title. What bothers me is the fact that last year I did the same thing, and I remember EVERY LITTLE DETAIL about that day. Down to what I wore. No joke, I do this all the time.

It was unseasonably warm that day, so I wore black Capri's and sandals. The meeting was at lunch, so after the meeting I went through McD's drive through- McChicken value meal, Lemonade. I went to the office we have in that county, ate lunch, reviewed files, and left from there to meet the Ex in his hometown.

Now the weird thing is I cannot tell you what he was wearing, but I can tell you what he ate that night. Chicken and noodles. I did too. But I had a salad and green beans, he had potato soup and corn. Starch city!

There's a country song that says something along the line of who needs pictures when you've got a memory like mine. So true. And these aren't even memories I want to keep. I really need a delete key in my brain, to rub out all the hurt, all the minutia that clogs up the working portion of my mind.

My mom thinks I need to go on a game show. Maybe I could win a few bucks on Jeopardy, but only if the categories are "Middle names of the New Kids on the Block" or "What you wore for Christmas 1984."

Not Impressed

Today, as I was travelling to a training, I passed through the hometown of my former fiance. I suppose I can call him that, since we were engaged for 2 whole weeks! I also had the great privilege of passing my former-future-father-in-law, or at least his vehicle (didn't notice who was driving, just saw the license plate.) While cruising through this town I had to pass the ex's law firm, which is prominently placed on the main drag. I usually stick out my tongue as I pass, but this time I didn't even turn my head that direction. He is dead to me. Kinda.

I have forgiven him for being an idiot. After all, who would reject ME? I have also forgiven him for being afraid to work on our relationship, since his biggest fears in life were to have a bad marriage or get a divorce. Now I'm sure that being an attorney he has seen plenty of messy divorces, bitter custody battles, and has a healthy fear of going down that road himself. But come on! To dump someone because we had an argument (or a whole weekend full of them, I'll admit) is a bit extreme. At least I think so. My biggest fears are drowning or having a disease so rare, they have to name it after me!

I suppose we never really had a chance at success. I was never adequately impressed with his material possessions (hated that darn Corvette!) and he has never had to struggle to make ends meet. We had completely opposite views of happiness, wealth, and what is charity. I continue to shop the clearance racks while he continues to get a new car and truck every year.

I am "over him" in the sense that there is absolutely nothing in this world that he can say or do that will make me love or even trust him again. I guess I'm not "over him" that I do think about him every day, sometimes good memories, sometimes in anger, sometimes because I still have gifts in my house that he gave me, and I'm too cheap to throw them out and buy my own! (Hey, that's a really nice space heater in the closet!)

Because of him I'm not impressed by wealth, or the desire to achieve wealth. People who have money worry about money, talk about money, complain that they have to pay money and complain that they're not getting enough money in return. They want more money and worry about keeping the money they already have. I always thought I'd want to marry a wealthy man, but now I see that there are a lot of strings attached: prenuptual agreements, keeping up appearances, and keeping up with those who have more money than you. It's just not worth it in my book.

On a recent mission trip to Haiti I met people who have very little by means of money, housing, clothing, or even food. Yet they were happy. They were joyful. They love their family, they love their friends, and they love their Jesus.  They wanted to share with us what little they had, knowing that back home, we have much more than they.

That, my friends, did impress me.

And I do want that. Very much.