I was cruising thru some older posts back when I was bartending in 2005. Were those ever some good times. Other than R still living in NYC and missing him like cookies miss milk (I have no idea, just go with it), it was a fun time in my life. I made a new category called “Barfly” to house them all, but, I got bored halfway through transferring them. I’m fickle.

I do like a good majority of the posts from that “era”. Like is a strong word. I can tolerate reading them again and giggle - that’s more like it. I think it’s probably in no small part to being drunk half the time I was writing them. Hey, you work in a bar? You drink!

The post in particular that I was looking for is this one, when I talked about the bar I worked in being haunted. Let’s just say, I’ll never listen to this song the same way again:

I bring this up to say, y’all, I’m now convinced my CUBE (or one right by it) is haunted, toooo. A cube ghost! Noooooo… anything but that!! An old dark bar I can see possibly being haunted but a CUBE??

I really shouldn’t be talking about this. Entertaining the thought of even going there, as not-so-serious as I might be, is just plain dumb. This is a bee that’s damn near afraid of her own shadow but I’ll sit here typing about ghosts when I’m home alone…

Spooky! I just got chills. But I’ve come this far there’s no sense in turning the blog around now…

The place I work at clears out hella early. I’m talking by 4:04pm you’re probably going to be one of a handful of people still remaining. The reason for this is, work starts for a lot of my co-workers at 4 or 5 in the morning. By the time I stumble my way in at 7am (fine, 7:05 - who are you? MY BOSS?) most of them will look at me like: What took you so long?

I’ve been staying later at work because, well, I have no life and I’m never in a rush to get home with R gone. (Don’t cry for me, Argentinaaaaaaaaaaaa!) Not only that but if I’m going to do some overtime this Saturday wearing this get up:

You can best believe I’m working four 10-hour-days to push that entire Saturday’s work into overtime (Friday’s a holiday, kids).

So I’m sitting there typing away, when I hear faint, but, pretty clear typing in the cube next to mine. I wanted to call out to the project manager that occupies that cube but you know when you get that feeling… that someone’s… not going to answer?

Because you know they’re probably not there?

Because said PM left hours before and would have announced himself if he returned?

I convinced myself it was a more distant cube and it was some strange echoing going on. Never you mind I work in a hallway kind of one to itself but you know, the mind believes what the mind wants to believe.

I continue to sit at my desk, finishing up some work from the dreaded MONTH MOTHERF’ING END and all the while, I’m hearing this typing. Every time I hear it, I convince myself I’m not hearing it. Maybe my toothache is starting to affect my hearing. It can do that, you know.

One of the few people that has a key to the joint happens past my cube and says, “Burning the midnight oil, Mary? I see you’re the last woman standing!” Gulp…

If I’m the last woman standing, where was the mysterious typing coming from? This co-worker’s office is clear on the other side of the building. I don’t care how faulty and weird ductwork can be, there’s no way I would have heard her typing.

I jump out of my seat like a match was lit under my ass, grab my purse and exclaim, “Well, that’s a bad reputation to have!” I scurry past the cube the typing seemed to have been coming from and I didn’t want to look… but I couldn’t help myself… I glance over quickly and just as I suspected - CUE SLASHER MOVIE MUSIC - it was empty!

I beat it out of there so fast. I beat it out of there faster than… things get beat. Fast, okay? FAST. I think I’ve heebee jeebee’d myself sufficiently for one night, how about you? I’ll end on a lighter note…

I killed (bad choice of words) a couple of hours, easy, reading some older posts. I especially enjoyed reading about when R and I were first together (saying things like “We’ve been together a YEAR” like I was all tough and stuff) and when the teen actually talked and joked with me. Or, rather, talked to me at all. Oh, how I miss it. A sampling…

Me: Man, you are so lucky you got my sense of humor because your Dad? Nada.
Dictator: What are you talking about? You aren’t funny. Tell me something you said that’s funny.
Me: Uhh… that one time when we were driving and I forgot to turn the headlights on and I told you that people in other cars probably thought it was the night driving past!
Dictator: That’s not funny.
Me: You laughed.
Dictator: I laughed because it’s corny, not funny. There IS a difference, Mom. Call me when you find something you’re good at, ‘kay?

Just so you know the kid ended that conversation by saying that he knew something I was good at. When I asked what, he said: “Being my mom.” Invasion of the Teen Body Snatchers, I command you to bring my son back!

And if not that, than bring me a damn drink!

Goodness gracious am I glad this day is over. I love my job but the stress in getting the month closed … stresses me out. I’m so descriptive. There’s just no other way to put it, okay? Okay!

I started a couple of posts and even dug around in my drafts for some inspiration, tried to think of a funny story from my childhood to share… and I’m coming up with nada.

I think between MONTH MOTHERF’ING END and this toothache I’ve had since FRIDAY - my mind is otherwise occupied.

I will say, I’m doing a lot better with R away. I still cried when R and I got off the phone on Saturday. One of those “I’m not gon’ cry, I’m not gon’ cry, I’m not gonna shed no tears.” And then you choke out a big ol’ sob. Pathetic. *hold me*

But I didn’t cry while ON the phone with him - which I’m sure he appreciates. Ahem.

I have been thinking about R a lot, and things I miss about him. I wish I could say I appreciate all these things when he’s actually here but I don’t always. I know I’m not the only one that does this, as a conversation I had with my niece this weekend will attest.

I love my niece’s husband. He gets our family without having to explain a thing. Don’t you love people like that? You don’t have to sit there and explain: “Well, this is why I feel such and such”, or “This is why so-and-so and this person don’t get along.” He gets it.

I know he’s not perfect, what man is? (Ha. I’d be afraid to offend my male readers but - I don’t have any!) During our conversation, my niece confessed sometimes part of her wants to fight just to fight or she wants to say mean things because it’s easy to say them.

I understand. Sad to say, I did that up until a week before R left. I feel bad for it now. I know at the time I’m doing it that I’ll feel bad for it later. Yeah, I know it was that TOM but that’s no excuse. To even have a day or a night together now with R would make me so ridiculously happy. “Do you love me, honey? Well, do ya?!”

But you can’t turn back time. Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder. It makes you realize all of the missed opportunities of really sharing a good time together. That’s all men ever want, right? Be easy, be fun. They’re like dogs, licking and jumping all over you. And women are like cats: I love you, okay… no I don’t. Catch me! Okay, don’t catch me. Ew. Gross. Go away.

Mostly what I have been remembering of R is what amazing advice he gives. I’m not even kidding you when I say, everyone that meets R loves him. Whatever job he’s had, whoever he may come across… he’s real. He doesn’t bullshit but he listens, and he gives the best advice.

Sometimes, what he says may not be what you’re ready to hear. Sometimes you can get bitchy and yell but when you calm down and think about it - you know he’s right.

When R told me this weekend that he almost didn’t answer the phone when I called (no caller ID), due to all the calls he gets from people in his unit… I wasn’t surprised. I got a little testy when he said GIRLS call him for counseling, too, but… other than saying, “Don’t they have HUSBANDS they can call?” I had to laugh it off. That’s R!

The best advice R ever gave me, and he’s given me plenty (he makes me want to be a better wo-man!) is after my brother passed away.

I’m not trying to bring the party down, or illicit any sympathy… but this has come up a lot lately and it’s weighing on my mind.

I think it’s since I have been talking with more people at work about more personal things, nothing major, but it’s gotten around that I have 6 brothers and 2 sisters. Nine children, right? Yeah. It can get to be a topic of conversation. “Hey, did you hear Mary’s the youngest of 9 kids?”

Right after my brother passed away (which will be a year next month), I cried to R, “I don’t want to say I have 5 brothers. How am I gonna answer that question now? It’s not small talk!”

People always seem to ask that question. Maybe it’s something you don’t realize until you notice it all the time. Like when you’re trying to get pregnant and then it seems like EVERYONE is pregnant. Bad example. Everyone IS pregnant lately. ;)

Anyway, after wailing to R that I don’t want to answer that “sibling” question ever again, he said to me plain as day, “You say whatever you want to say.” So I do. I have 6 brothers, and always will. So simple, right? I say, “Six brothers and two sisters” without further discussion while I smile to myself and think of R and R.

I may bitch, and the minutiae of every day life can get boring, or little annoying things R does around the house when he’s here can throw me over the edge… but at the end of the day, I love R more than I’ve ever loved anyone outside of myself, my kid and my family. He IS family. And I miss him terribly.

But, I’m doing a lot better. :)