...all alone in this big house for the next few days while dh travels for business. It's kind of a relief, in an odd way. No pressure. I can revel in my own little world until he gets back, drink loads of wine and watch movies until dawn, and then when he returns, I can decide what kind of mood I want to be in. Lately I've been mega-bitch, terror to all in my path. It's almost been subconcious, and not limited to those at home, let me reassure. I ought to issue a blanket apology if only I accepted those myself. Shucks.
As far as the other, well, there was a period of none, and then some, and now plenty. He seemed not at all interested. Then I offered some clarification, and now we're sort of back where we started. He's available and interested, and I'm not available and interested. What a pickle. My feelings haven't changed, and with every message, I want to know more and more. I know there's no perfect person, but what if there's a person that's better for me? Is there an easy way to find that out?
This is my new Coach bag. It freaking rocks. I got the wallet to go with it. It makes me beautiful. I mean, I was gorgeous anyway, but a great bag always helps. :)
I got back from Chicago on Friday. I had to go for ramp training, me and another girl from my station. I thought for sure she was quiet, laid back, someone I could get along with. I was dead fucking wrong. We work for an airline - she's afraid of flying. I don't mean moderately afraid, "seat me over a wing" type afraid. I mean, she's the kind that needs to be sedated in order travel. Now I figured she'd be quiet - I was so wrong. This chick would not shut up to save her life. She talked for four straight days. That and she followed me around, like a little lost groupie. I went to the bathroom, she followed. I went to the credit union, she followed, still talking. Everywhere. It was awful. She's also one of those spineless, "I have to call my husband" women - she has to check in and make sure that what she's doing is okay. I hate that.
The kicker to the whole thing is that she weighs about 350 pounds, no joke, so when we're on our way home, I had to assist in strapping her in her seat. Now, she's too proud to ask for a seat belt extension (where this came from, I don't know, because she's been fat the entire trip). So instead, she heaves up a part of her stomach that I don't think should move and she tucks it under her chin so that I can buckle her seat belt. I nearly puked. I'm thinking she ought to be motionless at this point, but Groupie's hand to mouth reflex is still working pretty well, so she asks me to reach for her Gardetto's, under the seat in front of her. There's no way she can reach them, she looks like a giant watermelon wrapped in a teeny-weeny taco shell. So I oblige, I'm far too nice a person. So there we sit. She's sweating like a pig, because 1) she's on a plane, and 2) it's a turbulant flight, but she's still eating. I've managed to find my ipod and at the first 0.047 second lull in the conversation, I stick in my headphones and drone her out. (Side note: my battery dies about 15 minutes into our 90 minute ATC delay before we even took off, but I never said a word and I certainly wasn't going to let on to Groupie.) So finally, we're airborne. I thought perhaps, just perhaps, the situation would improve, but no, it gets worse. Now, every time we hit even the slightest of bumps, she grabs my hand with her ham-shaped arm and pins it to the armrest between us. I'm covered in fat lady sweat and Gardetto's juice. I would have asked for a beer if they'd been serving drinks, but due to turbulance, I was out of luck. I couldn't get home and bathe fast enough.