It Seemed Harmless in the Beginning

Holy Hot Rocks, Batman!  It was a little over a year ago that I started blogging.  Admittedly, I was much funnier in the beginning and my rants have gone down the tubes over the last few months, but I do intend to make a come back.  I will be funny again!  I will learn to over come Blogspot's crappy formatting.  I will figure out how to get The Internet Sensation that is Dr. Zibbs to read my blog.  I have survived my first semester of teaching, becoming more than poor, and a year so close to hell the only thing I can say is "Damn, I'm hot!" (Double meaning intended :-) 

Now I can focus my somewhat limited attention span on bigger and better blog offerings.  Hell, I might even learn to proof-read my writing more than once.  

In honor of (and seriously people, we should all be honoring moi) my first year of blogging, I return to where it all began: the first post.  Below is the karmic moment when wine, whining and writing all fell into place:  

Seriously people. Two Buck Chuck and the internet at 2 a.m. are never a good mix. Actually, most decisions made at 2 a.m. are never good ones. I mean who has ever stood in front of the ATM in the middle of the night, getting cash to support something they were not going to regret the next time they woke up?
2 a.m. + decisions = BAD MIX.
OK, so it was really around midnight, but whatever.... about a empty Chuck bottle latter, I thought e-mailing would be a great idea and wasn't NOW the appropriate time to catch up with all my chickas. After all, I had been out of the country and they had little-to-no contact with me. And weren't they just dying to know what was going on in MY little piece of the world.
Thus at midnight I am clicking away at my contact list and in my drunken haze clicked the e-mail of my recently Ex-dating "relationship".
Note to self: Once dumped remove e-mail, phone number, website and all other possible ways of contacting said "ex" from all things electronic/digital/technological.

After raging on them to get SCUBA certified so that we can commander the high seas as SCUBA Chicks next year, and updating them on my current work/lack of work situation, I move on to the big topic: my getting dumped 12 days before I turn a "certain" age. See Exert Below:

"Well, I have slowed down a bit on the break-up crying. I mean, he did have the worst timing...12 days before I turn ##. Thanks. Insult to injury. Positive side: I do think this qualifies me for an emergency botox. The bummer part is that I really must have liked this guy more than I thought (or I have the world's most RAGING case of PMS) because all I want to do it crawl under a rock and try to figure out what is so wrong with me that a really smart, nice, funny (and for me cute) 45-yr-old divorcee with grown kids and graying hair (that I found to be really sexy) would dump me...He gave me the same lines we all get. The "I can't give you what you want" - which I find interesting because he never asked me what I wanted. That was
followed by the "he doesn't deserve me" line.  Really, did he stomp on baby kittens in a past life and dating me was some sort of special hell reserved for Kitten stompers, Dante's political enemies and Caiaphas?? What did he "deserve"? Sharon Stone? But as difficult as it has been, I have been respectful of his decision. I have been good and not e-mailed, called or texted him...out of respect for his wants. Can't say it has been easy...especially since A---- and I have managed to inhale an entire bottle (or so) of wine between the two of us tonight as I was writing this up. It was so much easier when all we had to worry about was the drunk-dialing from the cordless phone at home. Or paging him 600-million times...remember when pagers where in? :-) Now you practically have to lock yourself in the loo in order to avoid any possibility that you could get some drunken message out."

Which is apparently what I needed to do...because he got the e-mail!! Spent the next day wording carefully phrased apologetic e-mail to said EX, then deleting name, number, e-mail, web-page and anything else that could possibly lead to accidental contact from all things electronic. And nursing headache, and bruised pride...again.

This people is the introduction to what I have labeled Lisa-tastrophies. Those lovely little life events that only seem to happen once in a person's life but for some reason appear almost daily in mine. I would love to say I wasn't bitter, but OH PLEASE!!! I went an entire year thinking that CNN was announcing daily that the world was indeed out to get me and that everyone was in on it but me. Since my friends tell me I need to write a book about these little Lisa-tastrophies, I thought I would try my hand at the blog. Maybe it will serve as a warning to the rest of the world that if you are a royal B*&% to the oh-so-badly-dressed lady at the Nordstrom's shoe rack and tell her that you are indeed SHOPPING there while she is WORKING there;* that life will come back and karma kick you in the @$$. So here's my chance to chronicle them all.

*more on that story latter...and yes, she did deserve it...and yes, she did get canned....and yes, I did get the best pair of perfect black pumps on sale for 40% off plus an extra 10% for my troubles.