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1:31 p.m. - 2010-05-31
Of Slobs and Snobs

The murderer…um…arborist came yesterday and cut down the exploded remains of the arborvitae. His young helper did an amazing job of dragging all the cut stuff and the already downed branches up the hill and piling them as neatly as possible as per the idiot ex's request. Mike thinks he's going to get a decent amount of usable firewood from the leavings, whereas I know damn well he'll just leave the whole mountain of it there absolutely untouched until it's so dry and sere that they'll cancel our home owner's insurance for leaving such an obvious fire hazard lying around. But whatever. I've already decided the ex has 2 weeks to do something with that mess and then I'm hiring the MIL's firewood kid to come haul it away. The ex can bitch all he wants to about the 'loss' but I'm all finished agreeing to his half-assed 'someday' way of going on. Same way that I no longer prime the conversation pump and drag out all the info about his life and thoughts as I did for all those years. When we speak it's obvious Mike is wanting and waiting for me to be all interested in what's doing with him and ask those talk show host questions as I used to, but I truly don't care what he's up to. Nor do I fear his reprisals and sullen pouting for my not being attentive enough. Dude, we're divorced and you fricken HAVE a wife, make her ply you with breathless 20 Questions and hear all your lame-brained schemes that never ever come to anything. I don't give a warm crap. Only things I want from you are a modicum of fathering to Wolf, that you not leave junk all strewn around the backyard, and that you pay the child support in a timely fashion.

Not difficult or onerous or excessive, but let me fall down dead from the surprise that my shithead ex can't seem to manage any of those things. (*snort*)

I'm not really in as cranky a mood as I sound, just needed a quick vent. Thanks for understanding, let's change the subject, eh?

The nice thing about letting your hair grow out when it was as short as mine was is how it magically seems to double its length overnight. Reminds me of those time-lapse movies of plants' life cycles we used to watch in grade school science classes. My mop's explosive growth really isn't anything miraculous, it's simply a matter of proportion. Best I can figure my hair grows about a ½" a month. Now if it's only a ½" long to start with then it truly has doubled its length in a scant 4 weeks. So its growth seems phenomenally quick. But say if my hair were 2 feet long, then adding a ½" would be barely noticeable to its overall appearance. The law of diminishing returns is just about to kick in now that most of it is about 2.5" long. I'm not planning on letting it get long-long, I just want to go with something slightly less severe than how I've worn it for a while. Please don't hate me because I'm hirsute, but my mop is getting bushier than all get out too. It's HUGE. I haven't wanted to attack it with the thinning shears until I got some idea of where I'm going with the new style, but we have a party to go to on Saturday and I'm not about to attend it wearing this fright wig. Something must be done.

Yes, you read that correctly, Mr Misanthrope has agreed to attend a party. Not even at my instigation with my friends either! It's a retirement party for one of the guys Mick works with. Mick truly likes the retiree and for once put aside his uppity sniffiness about socializing with work people. Most of the guys on staff, teachers included, are country boys. They do plenty of hunting and fishing and beer drinking and tend to display a lot of cling film fan love for NASCAR on their pick-ups. Not really Mick's crowd nor mine, but over the years Mick's done his best to be a big old honking snob and made sure his co-workers know how above such pursuits he is, so the guys aren't in any big hurry to include Mick in when stuff like this party comes up. Fortunately the guy who's retiring has been far more gracious about spanning the social bridges between the good old boys and the uptown sorts than Mick has and everybody is coming. I'm really looking forward to Saturday's party. One, because I like parties and attend so few these days. And two, because now I will finally get to put faces to all those names. Except for bumping into a few people Mick deigns to talk to when we're out shopping and such, Mick's co-workers are a mystery to me. Never met them, no clue about how old they are or what they look like or whether they're any fun.

Before anyone takes Ms Glass House to task for throwing stones, I'll be upfront and say I'm a snob too. Not exactly in the same way Mick is, but I have my moments. Anyone who grew up under the tutelage of my mother, The Biggest Snob To Ever Live, is going to be stuck with some residue. But I find people far more interesting than Mick does so am willing to get to know folks who, at least on the surface, I don't share a lot of common ground with. Also I'm far more secure in my status than Mick is. I know what I am and who I am and genuinely couldn't care less what anyone else thinks about my choices and my possessions. My dear man is learning, but still puts too much credence into What Other People Might Think.

He'll get there. Saturday's party is a good start.


Off now to make some plans for this messy coif of mine, ~LA

2 Wanna talk about it!

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