Vacation: The First Three Days

I arrived in New England on July 22nd. Seeing as I had just sprained my ankle the day before, I wasn't really in much of a condition to sprint through the airport, so I had to hitch a ride in a wheelchair. Can I just say that it was H-U-M-I-L-I-A-T-I-N-G? People kept staring at me. I don't know if they thought that I was just faking or what, but I would not have been in that wheelchair if it wasn't necessary. Anyway, as I was riding down the glass elevator to the baggage claim, I spotted Boo and Lily waiting for me. Lily presented me with a little gift basket of Green Mountain chocolates and some very beautiful flowers, which she picked out of her own front yard. She then proceeded to ask for a piece of candy, which, of course, I shared with her. She took one bite of an exquisite truffle and then handed it back to me. Then she asked for another piece...which she only took one bite of before handing it back to me. I guess she just doesn't appreciate fine chocolate.

Because my ankle was still really puffy and sore and because the weather was pretty rainy and bleak, we spent the first three days at home. Boo and Fred had to drive into the city for an appointment that first day, so I watched Lily for the afternoon. That entailed several trips up and down the stairs because she had so much to show me -- her new room, her "preinds," her toys, her puzzles. I was slower and more careful going up and down those stairs than Lily was. How sad is that? But what are you supposed to do when the cutest kid in world says, "C'mon, Lawa!"?

At one point, she was sitting on the floor with her Magnadoodle, and she said, "I'm going to draw a picture of you." She then carefully drew a circle; added two black eyes, a nose, and a mouth; and finished it off with two stick legs. Pretty good for a kid who is not quite three! She also drew a cat, which looked a lot like me, but with two pointy ears. Otherwise, she just putzed around and put together her piggy puzzle and watched her shows. Oh, and she sang. A lot. That kid sings day in and day out. I told Boo that she should take her to Fenway to sing for the Sox, but Boo said she'd never do it in front of all those people.

The next day, we went out to lunch at this little place called Rick's. It was just a cute little diner-style restaurant, but it served the best homemade onion rings. Lily's meal came with a dish of ice cream with sprinkles. Her eyes were bigger than her belly, though, and she couldn't quite finish it. Her mommy and I went to a place called the Black Cow later that night and had some ice cream ourselves. It was fresh, homemade ice cream, and it was fabulous...but nothing compared to the ice cream we had on the Cape a few days later.

On Thursday, we ventured out in the pouring rain (and I mean buckets) to get Lily's hair cut. Boo takes Lily to the cutest place that caters exclusively to kids. It was brightly colored with little TVs at each station that played cartoons for the kids. The little girls get pink ribbons for their hair when they're done, and each child gets a prize from the prize machine at the end. Lily's prize was a little pink turtle which literally shot past her from the machine. It was hysterical!

Except for one very brief, mini-meltdown when the lady first draped the cape over her shoulders, Lily did very well. She put her head down when she was prompted to, and she was very still. Her little bob turned out so cute! I love it when little girls have little bobbed haircuts!

Back from Beantown

Well, I'm home. I didn't want to come home, but I guess I had to. Actually, as I was flying into Charleston this afternoon, I was thinking to myself, I'm back in West Virginia, but this isn't my home. I have lived down here for a little over 8 years now, and I still don't consider this "home." I don't think I ever will. Morgantown is "home." But that is so beside the point right now. The point is that I'm back from my vacation...and it sucks. But I guess that just goes to show what a good time I had visiting my sister.

So I have TONS of pictures and such to post, but this is all the energy I have at the moment: Lily singing "Country Roads" along with her daddy's iPod (pardon the darkness), followed by Lily's rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ball Park." Enjoy!

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

I Made It!

By the grace of God, I managed to make it up here to my sister's house without further incident. Well, with little incident, I should say. My flight out of Charleston was delayed by a nasty little thunderstorm, and we had to be re-routed to fly between storm cells. When you're flying on a turbo prop (which isn't the most pleasant ride to begin with), you always love to hear, "Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to try to dodge a couple big storm cells on our way to Detroit, but it might get a little bumpy, so hold tight and keep that seatbelt on. And thank you for choosing Northwest Airlines." It wasn't terrible, though. Just a little turbulence on the way up and on the way back down.

* * * * * *

There is one advantage to flying with crutches: When you gimp up to the counter, they say, "Would you like to board first?" Why, yes I would. Thank you! No waiting in the aisle while people try to cram their oversized "carry-ons" into the overhead compartment. No looking longingly at your own little seat just one short row away while the overtaxed mommy tries to situate her three children in their seats. (And where is the dad, by the way?) It's a pretty sweet set-up.

* * * * * *

When I finally got to the Providence airport, there were Boo and Lily waiting on a bench for me. Lily gave me some beautiful flowers that she picked all by herself and a little gift basket of chocolates. I'll post pictures of the flowers when I get home. The chocolates...well, they met an untimely end before I got a picture of them...

* * * * * *

My ankle really hasn't been hurting much at all. My entire foot is still swollen, though, and it's starting to turn purple. It's really not very attractive at all. Fortunately (well, kind of), the weather has been terrible, so we aren't missing out on anything because of my ankle. It hasn't been fit to do anything but sit around the house.

We did go out so Lily could get a hair cut today. I took plenty of pictures, and her newly shorn bob looks adorable!

My Friends are the Best Friends!

So at 4:45am yesterday, I called Cheryl, crying. I had turned around and was on my way back into town to the hospital. I was pretty sure she'd be up (she's an early riser), but I didn't know. After I told her what had happened and where I was going, she said, "Do you want me to meet you at the ER? I'll meet you down there." And she did. She sat with me for over an hour and a half. She called twice today to make sure I didn't need anything and even offered to bring me ice cream.

Then Kristen called and insisted that I let her drive me to the airport tomorrow morning. When I said that I needed to be there by 5:30am and couldn't possibly impose on her, she said, "There's no way you can get into the airport with your crutches and a suitcase. Just let me do it." She called her husband to make sure that would work for him (they have two 3-year-olds who can't be left alone), and he said, "Actually, let me take her. I need to go into work early anyway." So Max is taking me.

Add to that all the well-wishes from all of you and my other friends, and I feel truly blessed. Clumsy, but blessed.

Seven Months

It has been seven months since Mikey left us, and I still find it unreal. I was sitting in church Saturday night, and I had this thought about Mikey laying there in that casket, and I had to remind myself that that is a real memory. It isn't something that I imagined or dreamed, it's real. And it occurred to me that I'm nowhere nearer to accepting it than I was seven months ago.

I think maybe part of it is that Mikey and I didn't see each other or talk to each other every day anyway. We lived three hours apart and saw each other only at family functions and WVU football games for the most part. Of course, family functions and football games account for probably 40 weekends a year, so we saw each other quite often; but, frankly, we haven't had many family functions since Mikey passed away. We really haven't all been together since Christmas, so I think that's one of the reasons I haven't had to accept it. I think that in my mind, I rationalize it by saying, Well, Erin and Brian and the kids aren't here, and Leslie and Fred and Lily aren't here, so...

I think, though, that football season will be the test. We all had seats together: Daddy, Mom, Mike, Cherie, Ryan, and me. Mikey sat right behind me and would often lean over to discuss the plays or tell me some joke he'd heard at work. More than that, I just knew he was there. And that awareness wasn't because he was sick or because I felt that our time together was limited. It was because I loved him and admired him that much, and he just glowed so much that you couldn't help but be aware of him. I just wonder, then, if it will finally hit me when he's not there, not sitting behind me, not yelling, "You had a man wide open down the field!" I wonder if I'll enjoy Mountaineer football half as much without him there. I really don't think I will.

Truth be told, I felt like Mikey and I had our own little secret society of sorts. Mountaineer football was something that he didn't share with any of our other sisters. Sure, my parents and my nephew and my sister-in-law were all in on it, too; but I was the only sister. It was just Mikey and me sitting there. It was our thing and ours alone. Now it's just mine.

* * * * * *

Last season, Mikey was only able to attend a few games. When he wasn't there, the people who sit next to me would always ask, "Where's your brother?" They knew he was sick, though. I think they were really just asking out of concern for his health without feeling it was right to ask, "Is your brother sick this week?" I wonder if they'll ask at the first game this year, or if they'll just put it all together. They saw him last year at his last game -- the game when he told me that he wasn't going to make it -- so surely they will have to know. They saw how thin he was and how yellow his skin and eyes were. They had to have overheard our conversation. I really hope they don't ask. I have gotten very good at talking about Mikey without breaking down, but it certainly isn't a conversation I enjoy having. "How's your brother?" Well, actually, he passed away right before Christmas. "Oh, I'm so sorry." And then I have to muster a smile and tell them that it's alright and that's it better this way because he was so sick at the end. I can do it, but I don't like to do it.

* * * * * *

When I'm driving alone, I sometimes think of Mikey, especially when I'm driving a little fast on winding roads. I hear him in my head saying, "Now you don't want to brake in the middle of a turn or curve. You want to brake going into the curve, and then accelerate as you come out." I think about him, too, when I watch someone shoot a basketball or throw a football. I can hear him and see him teaching me how to shoot or pass. I hope I always do.

Here's What I Missed Today...

If It Weren't for Bad Luck...

As you can tell, I am not currently in flight to Boston. I'm here. Typing this. With my now badly sprained ankle propped up on the corner of my desk.

All weekend, I kept telling Cheryl that I felt like I was missing something in my travel preparations, that something just didn't feel right. I had this sense that I might not end up on the flight in the end for some reason or another. Then last night, I worried that I would fall down the curving and tricky stairs in my house with my 40 pounds of luggage and that I would break my ankle, or worse, my neck. After determining that I hadn't in fact forgotten anything, I carried my suitcase down the stairs without incident. I then managed to get it outside in the pitch dark at 4:30 this morning without so much as straining a muscle trying to throw it in my car. It was when I went back in to get my purse and lock the house that I made a misstep.

Coming back out my walkway, I missed the last step and fell. My ankle exploded with pain, and I thought, OK, OK, you've twisted your ankle a million times. You're fine. Just take a second to collect yourself. After the initial pain subsided, I got up and walked to the car. My ankle felt stiff and tender, but I could put some weight on it. However, about 10 miles down the interstate, I reached down and could feel that it was badly swollen. I called my dad, and he said to go straight to the ER. Reluctantly, I did.

Thankfully, it is not broken. They gave me an air splint to wear and a set of crutches along with a couple of prescriptions. I came home and switched my reservation to tomorrow. I'm determined to go to Boston, so please pray that my ankle heals quickly and that it isn't as bad tomorrow as I anticipate it will be.

I'm Audi!

I'm off to Boston to see my sister, so I doubt I'll be posting much for the next few days. I'll have plenty to post when I get back, though, I'm sure. Ten days with Lily? Yep, lots of pictures are on the horizon.

I think I've got everything packed and ready to go. I have all my neighbors lined up to keep an eye on things. And I so need this break. So I'll see you in the funny papers! Have a good couple of weeks!

Blog Changes

Can I just say that I'm really loving Blogger's new blog list application? Being able to see when my daily reads update is so convenient, and I'll never miss another post again! Anyway, I've decided to go back to not moderating your comments. I don't want there to be any confusion or thoughts that I'm picking and choosing which comments to post. However I still reserve the right to delete any comments that I think are just completely inappropriate. JBF, watch yourself! :P

One of These Things Is Not Like the Others

Remember that little ditty? I think it was from "Sesame Street," or maybe "The Electric Company." Anyway, did you figure it out? Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! That's right -- it's me! In the center is the lovely, leggy, and lithe Kristen (it isn't fair that a woman who has given birth to twins should have a waistline smaller than the circumference of my thigh); and on the right is her equally lovely and lithe friend, Tamerra. Kristen and Tamerra grew up together, and Tamerra recently moved back to the area from Kentucky. Kristen has said a million times that I need to meet Tamerra, but I have to admit that I was kind of intimidated. What if she was as lovely and perfect as Kristen? I'd be the DFF (Designated Fat Friend) when we all went out for dinner. The waiter would be so busy catering to them that he'd forget to even take my order. The stranger at the entrance would hold the door for them, but would let it shut in my face. Well, Tamerra and I finally met last week at Kristen's boys' birthday party, and, clearly, my worst fears were realized. *Sigh* Oh, well. I guess I'll just have to take up my cross because Kristen is one of my dearest friends, and Tamerra seems really great; so I'll just have to step it up, shed some pounds, and work on my glamor factor.

My Piece of the Street

I have no driveway, so I am forced to park on the street. Mine may well be the only house on my street that doesn't have a driveway. Certainly, all of my immediate neighbors have driveways. I do not, though, so there I am, forced to park on the street.

Now, I fully appreciate and can accept that the street in front of my home is owned by the city and is, therefore, public property. However, I pay taxes and municipal fees to keep up that part of the street which is situated between my property lines, so I feel a little entitled to treat it as my own little piece of the street, my own "driveway." So it really, really pisses me off that the guy who lives two doors down from me parks his vehicles in my "driveway." First of all, the vehicles he parks in front of my house are total pieces of junk. Before I realized whose vehicle the one was, I nearly called the cops to report it as an abandoned vehicle. I don't want crappy, beat-up vehicles parked in front of my house. But second of all, this guy has an actual, functional driveway! Why doesn't he park his junky vehicles in that driveway? What's more, he has space in front of his own home to park a vehicle. Yet every time I drive by his house, I notice that his driveway and that space in front of his house are empty while his vehicles are parked one in front of his next door neighbor's house and the other in front of my house...two doors away. Can you appreciate why I would get a little lathered up about this?

And he knows that he's being a jerk, too. Anytime he sees me outside my house, he doesn't park his car in front of it. I'm serious. Today, for instance, I was out sweeping grass clippings off my walkway when he pulled up, saw me, then went back and parked in his driveway. However, if he doesn't see me around, he has no problem pulling up in front of my house.

If he didn't have a driveway or anyplace else to park his vehicles, I wouldn't care (as much); but he does have someplace else to park. He just chooses not to. I really, really want to say something to him, but I don't want to create tension with my neighbors. I just wish it would occur to him that he's being a little inconsiderate.

My First House

Wow! Has it really been two years ago this week since I bought this house? I can hardly believe it. I can also hardly believe that I posted such an unflattering photo of myself. Sheesh, could I have been any more of a slob? Moving day or not, I should never have gone out in public looking like that! Of course, despite my appearance, my mom insisted on taking my picture in front of the sold sign, and I'm kind of glad that she did. Really, though, she and my dad should have been standing in front of the sign. I could never have bought this house without them.

As I stood there next to that sign, I had no way of knowing that in just three short months, the sewer would back up into my basement and that it would happen again another two months after that. Little did I know that termites lurked beneath my house (the termite inspection said otherwise) and that in a little over a year, I would have to sell my right kidney to pay the exterminator. And who could foresee that just 15 months after I moved in, I would have to have a new gas line laid, which would cost me my only remaining kidney? Ahhh...the joys of home ownership.

Changes to the Blog

Hello faithful readers! You can see that I've made a few changes to my blog in the last couple of days. First, you probably noticed that I'm tinkering with new layouts, so please let me know if you find this one uneasy to read, or if you have suggestions for making it easier to read (changing font colors, changing font sizes, etc.). Susie and I were both having trouble with the readability of the last layout I chose, so I hope this one is better. Second, you'll notice that I'm now using Blogger's new blog list. You can now see when each of my daily reads was last updated, so you'll know whether there's been a new post. Very handy, Blogger! Also, when you click on the links for my daily reads, they will now open in a new window. Finally, and although I hated to do it, due to an unfortunate commenting incident, I have decided to make it such that all comments must be approved by me before they will be posted. I promise that I will not filter the comments any more than necessary. That is, I will not filter out criticism or opposing thoughts; I will only filter comments that I feel are inappropriate to this blog (such as personal matters that would be better handled in e-mail) or truly vitriolic comments (which, fortunately, I have never received). Oh, and I'll be filtering out those annoying spam comments that pop up every once in a while; you know, the ones from random people in Bangalor who say, "I am greatly enjoying reading your last post. Please click on this link."

Ten on Tuesday

1. I am seriously rethinking the black leather interior of my car. Even though I put those goofy sun deflector things in my windshield and crack the windows, it is still 150 degrees when I get in my car at the end of the day. I couldn't even stop to get gas on the way home because I knew I'd have huge circles of sweat on my butt, around my waist, and under my arms.

2. Paying bills right before you go on vacation is even more depressing than paying bills at any other time. You look at the balance and think, How the hell am I going to enjoy my vacation on this? Thank goodness I'm staying with my sister, so I won't have nearly the food and entertainment expenses I would have with any other vacation.

3. I need someone to explain to me how it is that gas has come down 10 cents in Teays Valley -- 20 miles down the road -- but it hasn't come down a penny here or in Charleston?

4. Strapless bras were never meant to be worn by girls with big boobies. I have yet to find one that holds everything up.

5. My office has not been vacuumed in at least two months and maybe three! It's supposed to be vacuumed every Thursday. Worse yet, the cleaning crew seems to either have hidden or absconded with the vacuum, so I can't even do it myself.

6. After last year's tanning disaster, I learned my lesson and only laid in the tanning bed for 10 minutes last night. I didn't get much color at all, but that's good. I'm pacing myself this year. I just want a little bit of a tan before I hit Beantown.

7. Have I mentioned that the Yankees are in town when I'm in Boston? I'm neither a Yankees nor a Red Sox fan, but c'mon -- it's baseball royalty and rivalry at its best!

8. When I was talking to Boo this evening, Lily insisted that they play hide-and-seek. Lily counted first while Boo hid. Once she got to 10, she said, "Mama, where are you?" Then Boo counted while Lily hid. When Boo got to 10 and said, "Ready or not, here I come," Lily called out, "I'm in here!" I don't think she gets it quite yet.

9. Only 46 days until football season!

10. I am clearly a sadist and an idiot, and I feel myself getting sucked back in by "him." BUT I also feel like I just want (actually, need) the chance to sit down and tell him what I think about this whole thing, so maybe that's what is really at play here.

Probably Pretty Prescient...

Those crazy Chinese...they just get it, don't they? I just re-discovered the fortune cookie I snagged from my lunch at the Chinese buffet last week, and this was my fortune: Be careful! Bees with honey in their mouths have stings in their tails. I opened it mere moments after I received another e-mail from "him." He's trying to be cute and charming now. Unfortunately, he is very cute and charming when he wants to be. Stings in their tails...stings in their tails...stings in their tails...

Things I've Learned From My Site Meter

I put a site meter on my page a few months ago just to see how many hits I was getting. It was mere curiosity. I discovered that the site meter not only recorded how many people were visiting my site, but from where those visits were coming. Now, I don't track down IP addresses or anything, so I don't get that into it, but it's fun to see what cities and states my readers call home. It's a good way to gauge my readership, too. And here's what I've learned so far:

1. Misery not only loves company, it draws company...and a lot of it. When all the drama started going down with "him," I started getting more hits each day, and the same readers started checking in 2 or 3 times a day. You people are sick! (Just kidding.)

2. Mikey is still making friends and influencing people. I am amazed at how many people take the time to click on the link to the Mikey Posts and learn more about him.

3. If you comment on the Pioneer Woman, they will come...in droves...and some will even stay long enough to have a look around.

4. I'm not the only one who falls behind on my blog-reading on the weekends...

5. My sister comes to my blog, but only to link to the Pioneer Woman. She rarely stays long enough to read anything on my site. I feel so used.

And finally...

6. A former friend of mine still comes by and visits my blog pretty frequently, which, to me, is strange. (I know it's her because the reference links back to her e-mail account. Dead giveaway.) She doesn't stay long enough to actually read anything, so I guess she's just scanning the latest headlines to see if it has anything to do with her. And she thinks I'm co-dependent!

Ring of Fire

So I was watching "Walk the Line" last night on TV for the 126th time (I love that movie), and I became distracted by the song "Ring of Fire." In the movie, Reese Witherspoon, as June Carter Cash, is sitting at the kitchen table writing the now-famous song after leaving Johnny Cash's tour due to his drug use. She has realized that she loves him, but she can't be part of his life as long as drugs are a part of his life. The pain of her love for him "burns, burns, burns...the ring of fire." It's a wholly lovely sentiment and, in that sense, a rather romantic song. But do you know what I was thinking about during that scene? I was thinking that in this day and age of popular music use in commercials, "Ring of Fire" would be a perfect soundtrack for a Preparation H commercial, or maybe a commercial for some sort of cream for treatment of an STD. Yep, that's what came to my mind. And now the song is ruined for me.

A Major Milestone!

When the Law Chick and I got in my car to leave work today, I noticed that my odometer had rolled past 100,000 miles. I could hardly believe it. I mean, obviously, I knew I was getting close, but to actually see it was a little surreal. It was also a little sad. I had tried to make a mental to note to watch for it, but somewhere between last night and this morning, I rolled past that magical number without even noticing. Guess I'll have to wait for 200,000 miles.

By the way, my car is a 2005 model, which I bought in April of 2005 with something like 126 miles on it (and that was from me test driving it to Charleston and back at the saleswoman's insistence). But when you put one hundred miles a day on your car, 100,000 miles comes quickly. Being as it's a Subaru, I'm hoping it's good for another 100,000 miles, but time will tell.

Lara's Theme

So my friend over at Tales from the Chair was talking about the theme song for his life the other day, and I thought, "Hmmm...what would my theme song be?" But then it occurred to me: I already have one! Clearly, I'm no Julie Christie, but I am a Lara, so I claim this song as my own. I have no less than 4 music boxes that play this song, and I love every one of them.

Self-Flagellation (Updated)

So at what point do I learn my lesson? At what point do I say, "You know what? This is bullshit, and I deserve better than this! I'm never speaking to that ass again," and then follow through with it? At what point do self-esteem and pride kick in and provide me some sort of backbone? If you haven't guessed by now, I'm talking about "him."

I have several friends who are either leaving for or returning from their vacations this week, so I put a message on Myspace wishing all my traveling friends a safe voyage. TJ sent an e-mail saying, "I assume that after the ass-chewing of Biblical proportions you gave me, I'm not one of the traveling friends to which you refer." To say I was surprised to hear from him understates what I thought when I saw his name in my inbox. I had three choices: I could reply with a real ass-chewing; I could reply with some clever, witty retort; or I could do the sensible thing and not reply at all. But I think we all know that I'm not sensible. I'm senseless, in fact, and I replied. I said that he was included in that list of friends, that I didn't think I'd given him an "ass chewing of Biblical proportions," and that I hoped he and his son enjoyed their vacation.

When I went back to my home page afterward, I saw that TJ had changed the song on his profile to "Far Away" by Nickelback. Now here's where the self-flagellation comes in...for a brief moment, I actually thought to myself, "Did he change to that song for my benefit?" I quickly realized what I was doing, and scolded myself. Don't be so stupid! It's not for you. He probably just likes the song. Or maybe it's for some other girl. And even if it was meant for you, what difference would it make? Nothing has changed. He sure as hell hasn't changed. So get a life, get a grip...and get in there and clean your bathroom. It's disgusting. Still, I keep thinking about him and wondering if he wants to make peace.

Of course, I'm also thinking of giving him a true ass-chewing of Biblical proportions, so maybe I'm more into flogging him...

In the meantime, George just asked me to meet him out for a drink, so I need to throw on some make-up and clothes. I'm sorry, now what was I just talking about? Oh, TJ? Yeah, no, forget all that for the moment.

UPDATE: George and I met at a local restaurant because he hadn't eaten yet. Since I had eaten only two hours before, I just had a margarita and some chips and salsa. After the restaurant closed, we went down to Hank's to have another drink. George is very nice and definitely cuter than I remember from the other night. I don't know. The conversation is easy, but it's that very "getting to know you" sort of conversation. Obviously, TJ and I had a prior history as did Sean and I, so it's kind of hard starting from nothing; but it's good hard. George is going out of town this weekend, and I'm going out of town next week, so we may not get a chance to go out again until I get back. We'll see.

In the meantime, I came home to another e-mail from TJ. I could tell that he was trying to make peace...without saying, "I'm sorry," of course. I don't want to be the bitter, bitchy girl; so I'll forgive him without him asking for forgiveness, and we can be friends. Frankly, I can't stomach the idea of us not being friendly since we know so many of the same people. I'd hate for there to be tension and then the he-said-she-said stuff that floats around the circle of our former classmates.

2ND UPDATE: Do you know he had the nerve to write back this morning and say something about me not contacting him for those three weeks? I was flabbergasted. I wrote back and explained that I didn't contact him because my last three attempts to contact him went without response from him. I explained that there was no point in me calling him if he didn't answer and didn't return my calls. Then I reminded him that he is on vacation with his mom and his son, so we needed not to be getting into all of this right now. He needs just to enjoy his vacation.

Single Girl on a Saturday Night

Trick Questions

Much like the family dinner table, there are certain things that you shouldn't discuss on a first date: politics, religion, money...oh, and life goals. Isn't that what "they've" always said? Don't bring up your aspirations about marriage and kids on a first date? That's all well and good, but what if your date asks you how you feel about marriage and kids on a first date? Then what?

Conventional wisdom has always led women to understand that it is a taboo subject. Men, though -- or at least the last few men I've gone out with -- seem to have missed the memo. If not on the first date, then on the second, the question is always asked: "So where do you see yourself in five years?" I usually go with the seemingly innocuous and "correct" answer to that question: "Well, I'd like to be out practicing law by then, maybe family law and abuse and neglect. I'm not sure if I'd still like to live here; maybe, I'll be back home in Morgantown instead. And if the lottery gods hear my prayers, maybe I'll have hit the Powerball by then." A quick smile, a bashful bow of the head, and then it seems my date always says, "No, I mean, do you see yourself married? Kids? What?"

Grrr...It's so frustrating! Men know that there is no way that a woman can possibly answer that question honestly, but they ask it anyway! If I say, "Well, yes, I hope to be married and have a child or two by then," then I become the girl who is singularly focused on getting married and having children. If I say, "Well, gee, I don't know. I never really thought about it," then I'm a liar.

Here's the thing that really gets me about this whole question quagmire: It's dreadfully sinful and socially unacceptable for a woman to want to settle down, get married, and have babies; but it's perfectly acceptable for a man to be a serial dater who wants nothing more than a confirmed sexual partner. Maybe women should turn the tables. Maybe women should answer the question with their own question of, "Well, I don't know. Where do you see yourself in five years? Still going out on an endless string of first dates? Still changing sex partners like you change socks? Still putting women on the spot by asking this ridiculously unanswerable question?" I bet that'd go over like gang busters.

So how do you answer the question? I don't know, but I think from now on, I'm going to answer it thusly: "Well, I see myself out practicing family law and abuse and neglect. I might be here, or might be back home in Morgantown; who knows? I see myself married with at least one child. I see myself planning vacations to Disney World instead of Las Vegas. I see myself spending Saturday nights at home instead of at Hank's. But this is only our first date, so don't worry...at the moment, I don't really see you in this little picture."

Boys Suck...Well, Some Boys Anyway

So my single life gets infinitely more single every day, or so it would seem this week. Obviously, there was the big kiss-off with "him" earlier this week. Then I realized that I hadn't chatted online or e-mailed the hot Korean doctor in a couple weeks, so I went to his Myspace page to drop him a line. I realized that he had updated his profile. Where it previously noted that he had served in the Republic of Korea Marines, it now said that he had served in the US Marine Corps. So the story he told me about being shot in the leg while serving in Somalia as part of the ROK military? Bullshit. And where it previously said that he is currently working for some government contractor providing medical services in Iraq, it now said that he is currently in the Army Reserves Medical Corps. I had already been wondering about the sister and brother-in-law who had reportedly perished in a car accident, leaving two daughters behind and causing him to move to this area after leaving Iraq to help care for the girls. I hadn't heard of any such accident, and a cursory search of online obituaries had come up empty. So I went back online and scoured the obituaries and newspapers. Nothing. OK, who does that? Who makes up a story like that? That's just sick! He does appear to be a doctor as you can clearly read "Franklin Lin, M.D., Neurosurgeon" on his white coat...unless he has appropriated someone else's pictures.

Anyway, that was Thursday. Friday, while he was suffering through a layover in Cincinnati, Sean sent me a text message. As we were texting back and forth about plans for the night, I wrote, "You are clearly not that into me, but that's OK. I heart you anyway." He wrote back, "That's not it at all. Really. I'm just not looking for anything serious, and I don't want to lead a great girl on." Having already been cautioned about Sean by my friend Jackie and then again this week by another friend, I hadn't really been thinking that he was relationship material; I just thought maybe we could hang out and have some fun once in a while. But it occurred to me at that moment that that wasn't really a possibility either. It's fine in theory -- the idea of a friend with benefits -- but I learned from my lobster that it's not workable. Still, I told Sean I'd meet him out later.

So there I sat at Hank's catching up with an old friend when Sean came in. We chatted a little, flirted a little, and then he walked over to talk to someone else. That's when George walked in. He was a strange face in Hank's, and he came over to my end of the bar. I quickly sized him up: tall enough, cute enough, dressed well enough. He ordered a Tanqueray and tonic and paid for it immediately. I surmised that since he wasn't opening a tab, he didn't plan to stay long. I was talking to my friend, Brian, so I didn't immediately introduce myself. Then Cheryl called from Vegas. I went to the top of the stairs to get away from all the noise and a few minutes later, the stranger walked past me. Of course, I knew he'd have to eventually come back up the stairs, so I positioned myself at the top so that he would have to squeeze past me...and smell my perfume.

Once I got back to the bar, he was still there. He had ordered another drink. So I said, "Are you not from here? I've never seen you in Hank's before." He said, "Well, I just moved here from Charleston two or three months ago, and I just moved back to the area from Chicago before that." The conversation took off from there. He works for a locally-owned corporation. He is originally from this area, and his parents still live here. He is currently house hunting, and had just looked at three houses. Over his shoulder, I could see Sean watching us. I secretly hoped he was jealous; although, I'm not sure why. Sean eventually left, stopping by to say, "I have to go over to MacIntosh's to pick up Chad. I'll be back." He never came back.

In the meantime, George and I eventually exchanged names and phone numbers and had another drink. After about an hour, he said that he really needed to go home to let his dog out because he hadn't been home in 15 hours. He asked if I was staying, though, and said that if I was, he would come back out after he took care of the dog. I said I would be out until midnight, but then I would probably leave. So George left. I talked to a few other people, and just as I was getting ready to collect my tab, George sent me a text message, asking if I was still at Hank's. He said that he was on his way back, so I stayed. We didn't leave for another two hours.

He was very complimentary and even more observant. He said that he had been drawn to my eyes right off the bat and soon noticed that when I'm being sarcastic or funny, I blink my right eye just a millisecond before I blink my left eye. It's true; I do do that. OK, that was impressive. But then we started talking about Mountaineer football, and he offered to arrange for tickets for us to fly out to Colorado for the WVU-Colorado game on September 18. Cue the flashing red light...TJ said that same exact thing before we even had our first date! In my head, I said, "Whoa!" and took a huge mental step back.

We eventually decided it was time to leave, and he paid my tab along with his. (I do love a guy who pays my tab!) He walked me to my car, told me he was glad to have met me, and gave me a hug. As I pulled up in front of my house. I received a text message from him saying, "Goodnight...it was great to meet you." I reciprocated and told him to call me sometime. He said he would. We'll see.

Why My Lobster, Like Me, is Still Single

I love my lobster, I do. He is a very old, very dear friend, and I love him more than my luggage. (As PDub would say, "Name that movie!") However, I kind of enjoy his bachelor misery because, to me, it's so apparent why he is still single: He dates the wrong girls! (Yeah, yeah, yeah...people who live in glass houses, I know.) Poor Rob would love nothing more than to be married and have kids by now. He's been working on it since we were 22. Back then, he was briefly engaged to a girl who was three years younger than us. He was ready to settle down. She was ready for a sparkly bauble, but she was not ready to get married. They broke up, and he was crushed.

Then a couple of years later, when we were 24 or so, he began dating a girl who was four or five years younger than us. They dated off and on for two or three years, and they, too, were briefly engaged. However, she realized that she was still very young and had a lot of living to do, the kind of living that single college co-eds do. So they put off their engagement, but continued to see each other off and on. Tragically, she died at 22 from an undiagnosed congenital heart defect. Robert was paralyzed by his grief for over a year. PARALYZED. He couldn't utter a single sentence that didn't include her name, and his house became a sort of shrine to her with pictures and dead flowers that he'd received at the time of her passing. It was awful.

Eventually, though, he came to realize that life somehow goes on, and he began to date again. We got older, but his girlfriends didn't. I don't think I ever heard of him dating anyone over the age of 27. The vast majority of his girlfriends were 22- or 23-year-old college co-eds. He would give them all that he had -- Rob is nothing if not a kind and sincere romantic -- but each time, the girls would decide that they weren't ready to settle down. They didn't want to stay in and cuddle on the couch in front of a movie, which is what Rob wanted to do. They wanted to go downtown to the clubs and sling back jell-o shots till three in the morning.

One night, as we were discussing his latest break-up, Rob said, "I just want to settle down and get married, and I don't understand why none of these girls want that, too." I said, "Rob! If you want to get married, stop dating children! No 23-year-old girl wants to sit at home and raise babies! They want to live the WVU lifestyle. They want to party. They want to go to Cancun for spring break. They want to have fun." He agreed that I was right, but argued that he couldn't meet any women our age who didn't come with loads of baggage. (Of course, I wanted to say, "Hi, have we met? I'm one of your oldest friends...we already know we like each other, even love each other...I'm ready to settle down...," but I didn't.) And so he continued to date co-eds.

Then there was that whole big mess last summer and fall when Rob supposedly told his mom that he wanted so much to settle down and that I was the only girl he'd ever really felt a connection with, and his mom employed an old high school friend of ours to set the dominoes in motion, but Rob later denied having made that statement...blah, blah, blah. In the middle of all that, we again had the why-can't-I-meet-a-girl-who-wants-to-settle-down discussion, and, again, I rolled my eyes and said, "Because you date children!" Well, a couple of months later, he started seeing someone. He never said any more than "I'm seeing someone." No description of what she looks like, no talk of what she does for a living, no word on what they have in common. Turns out, there's a reason...

The other day, I was trolling through Rob's "Friends" list on Myspace looking for old classmates of ours for our 15-year-reunion when I came across a "Friend" whose profile picture was a picture of her and Rob. I thought, "A-ha! Could this be the mystery girlfriend?" I clicked on her profile, and sure enough, in her photo album were four pictures of her with Rob. Now, he doesn't have any pictures of her on his Myspace except for one, which he just added today that shows him with this girl at his sister's wedding. So why would he not have given me the scoop on this girl? He didn't give me the scoop because...wait for it...wait for it...she's only 23! I had to laugh. I mean, here he is dating yet another co-ed when he knows that it's probably not going to last. And then he'll cry some more about how he just wants to settle down, and he doesn't understand why none of these girls want to get married... *Sigh* Will he ever learn?

(Of course, I say that, but watch it turn out that they're engaged or something. He's been oddly silent in the last several weeks, ignoring even my e-mails trying to get e-mail addresses for old classmates of ours. He may well be keeping an even bigger secret from me than the age of his latest girlfriend...)

Disturbing Statistic

I just finished my shift at the Ronald McDonald House, and the House Manager told me tonight that one of the nurses in the NICU at the local hospital told her that at least a third of the babies in the NICU right now are there because they were born addicted to drugs. The really sad part? I thought to myself, "Gee, that seems like sort of a low figure." But whether it's one baby or one-third of the babies, it's too many.

Galvanize

Cheryl and her girlfriends from college are going out to Vegas tomorrow for a long weekend, and to get themselves psyched up for the trip, they made a set of CDs. I was dying to borrow them from Cheryl because there was some really great music on them that I wanted to add to my iTunes...including "Suspicious Minds." One of the other songs on the CDs was "Galvanize" by the Chemical Brothers. You may also know it as "That Song from the Budweiser Select Commercials." Hate the beer, love the song. Natch, it is my musical obsession of the week...

By the by, am I the only one who doesn't get the video?

The Last Chapter

I think it's probably safe to say that I have closed the book on "him." I think I've mentioned before that he and I used to use status changes on myspace to communicate with each other. And last week, I posted one that said, "[Neurotic Att'y] just wonders, WTF?" Obviously, I intended for him to see it. I hoped that my juvenile attempt at communication would prompt him to say, "Look, I know I haven't called in three weeks, and I'm sorry, but the truth is, I'm just not that into you anymore, and I think we should move on." He didn't respond. Grrr...

Then last night, I met Cheryl out for a drink. I had decided not to go out after all, but then Cheryl called and said she needed a drink and someone to vent to, and that would be me. After a few beers, I came home and saw that he was online on myspace, so, fueled by beer and an immeasurable amount of frustration, I changed my status to "[Neurotic Att'y] still wonders...WTF?" Almost immediately, he sent me an e-mail saying, "What are you wondering?" I panicked. I clearly meant to call him out, but when he actually reacted, I didn't know what to say. My stomach twisted in knots, and I thought I might throw up. I decided to try to play it off. I wrote back and said, "I'm wondering how it is that I know a murderer. I'm wondering how a person can bludgeon his pregnant girlfriend and her 4-year-old son. I'm wondering why I feel sorry for him. Why? Something on your mind?" He replied, "Not really. I was just worried. Sorry." Now, I found my e-mail to read in a very unassuming manner (although I admit that I was trying to draw him out by asking, "Something on your mind?"), so I decided his defensive response belied his attempt to try to sound like a concerned friend. I wrote back, "I don't think you were worried. If you were really that worried, you would've just called. I think you were thinking that message was intended for you. Look, neither one of us is dim. We both know the score. Maybe I was wondering why I've not heard a word from you in 3 weeks, but maybe I've long since figured it out. (It wasn't that hard.) And maybe you were hoping I'd finally call you out so you could say something, but maybe I wasn't really as ready to open that door as I thought I was. And without a doubt, I should just go to bed and sleep it off because I have had far too much to drink tonight to be writing this. Take care, TJ."

I woke up this morning and immediately got sick to my stomach again. I remembered the exchange and realized that there was a pretty good chance that he had read my last e-mail and responded. I jumped out of bed and went to my computer. Sure enough, he had replied: "Wow. I'm pretty sure that wasn't necessary. I will take care." I had to smile a little. I knew that it had been necessary for me to say something, and I knew that he knew that it had been necessary for me to say something. He knew that he drove me to it with his inconsiderate and childish behavior (in not calling for 3 weeks or otherwise ending this thing), and that's what is bothering him. I think it goes without saying that I am dying to respond and get a little more off of my chest, but I'm leaving it there.

Part of me wishes I had just gone straight to bed when I got home last night and never said a word. Part of me wonders if he would eventually have called and tried to make it up to me somehow (without actually apologizing, of course). But then part of me is glad that we finally snapped. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't particularly articulate. It wasn't terribly mature. It is what it is, though, and I can't unring the bell.

Anyway, this morning, his myspace status says, "TJ can't sleep," and his mood is "aggravated." Gee, I wonder if that's meant for me?

Ten on Tuesday

1. I now know a convicted murderer. How surreal.

2. My hair grows like crazy in the summer. I swear it's grown at least an inch since I got it trimmed a few weeks ago.

3. I finally found a bathing suit that I like and that holds "the girls" up and in, but it's a two-piece. Am I brave enough to buy it? Lord knows I'm not in great shape right now, but I see people in two-piece suits all the time and think, "If she can get away with it, surely I can." But can I?

4. I wish I was going to Vegas tomorrow with Cheryl and all her friends. I need so much to get out of this town right now, and my vacation is still several days away.

5. I have listened to the same 11-song playlist on my iPod no less than 6 times today and at least a dozen times yesterday. The first song on the list? "Suspicous Minds!"

6. I am officially "old" and "prudish." I was watching "Gossip Girl" last night -- having only ever watched two episodes prior -- and was appalled that this show featuring teenagers and marketed to teenagers seems to put a premium on underage drinking, drug use, and sex. (Plus, the acting is really not good.) I think I can honestly say that if I had a 13-year-old daughter, she would not be tuning in to "Gossip Girl."

7. I slightly miscalculated my flight plans for my trip to Boston, and I realized yesterday morning that I will have to leave my house at the ungodly hour of 4:15am to get to Charleston in time to check in and make my flight.

8. Sunchips has a new flavor out -- Peppercorn Ranch. Not bad.

9. It has been three weeks today (I think) since I last spoke to "him." I'm fighting the overwhelming urge to either call or e-mail him to tell him exactly what I think of him. So far so good, but, man, it's hard.

10. Once again, I find myself wanting to go out and have a drink after work today. I'm not sure where this urge has come from in the last few weeks, but if I'm not careful, I'll slip back into some very bad, very unhealthy habits.

Murder in a Small Town, Part 3

After deliberating for a little over two hours last evening and this morning, the jury convicted Jimmy on three counts of second degree murder and two counts of concealing a deceased body. The second degree murder counts carry a sentence of 40 years each, and the concealing a deceased body counts carry a sentence of up to five years each. It hardly matters whether he is eligible for parole in 10 years or 30 years; Jimmy's life ended when he ended the lives of Lori and Collin.

What We Have Here Is a Failure to Communicate

I used to spend my summers working as a bank teller in my hometown bank. I LOVED it. In fact, if I were to hit the Powerball tomorrow, I would probably quit my job at the Court and become a bank teller. I mean, you get paid to socialize and play with money. What could possibly be more fun?

One summer, a Chinese family moved to my hometown to open a restaurant. The only person who spoke a single syllable of English in the family was a 12-year-old child. The others spoke only Chinese. Now think about that for a second: This poor family moved to Small Town, USA, population 3300, where there wasn't a single soul who spoke their language. Can you imagine how scary and frustrating that must have been?

So one day, while I was working in the lobby teller line of the bank, one of the Chinese men came into the bank with a paper bag containing cash. He handed me the bag and a small piece of paper with a multi-digit number written on it. He said, "You put CD bang." I said, "I'm sorry?" He repeated, "You put CD bang," while pointing to the paper. I said, "Oh, you want me to deposit this into a CD?" I began typing the number into our account call-up system, but the number did not match our CD account numbers. In fact, it didn't match any of our account numbers. I smiled and said, "I'm sorry, but this isn't one of our account numbers. Do you maybe have an account at another bank? BB&T? Bruceton Bank?" He shook his head and repeated, "You put CD bang." I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. This isn't one of our account numbers." He pointed to the phone and wrote down a number. I dialed the phone and handed it to him. He began speaking quickly in Chinese, and then handed the phone to me, saying, "You. You." I said, "Hello," following which another thickly accented voice said, "You put CD bang. CD bang." I tried to explain to the person on the other end of the phone that the number on the paper was not an account number at our bank for a CD or anything else. He hung up. I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't understand 'CD bang.'" He nodded his head, "Yes, CD bang! CD bang!" I said it again, "CD bang?" And then it hit me -- Citibank! I said, "Ohhhhh...Citibank! You want me to make a payment on your Citibank account! Yeah, I'm sorry, but I can't do that." After all that, I couldn't help him at all. He took his bag of money and left, dejected. Poor guy.

Countwy Woads

Imagine this face singing, "Countwy woooaaads, take me hoooooome to the plaaaace I beloooong. West Virgin-ya, mountain mum-ma, take me hoooooome, countwy woads!" Now imagine it with the slightest of a New England accent. It won't be long until I can finally hear it in person! I booked my ticket to Boston last week!

Suspicious Minds...

...Dwight Yoakam's version. It's my latest musical obsession. I much prefer it to Elvis's version (although Elvis's version is good as well), and I play it every time I put money in the jukebox at Hank's. Don't ask me why; I don't know. Maybe it's the painted on pleather pants. Who can say?

Murder in a Small Town, Part 2

(Photo from the Dominion Post) It took three and a half days to pick a jury for Jimmy's trial. Honestly, it's hard to imagine how they were able to pick a jury at all. My hometown -- the whole county -- is small. Everyone knows everyone else or at least knows something about everyone else. Of the original panel of 78 potential jurors, something like 21 people claimed to be related to the victims. Another dozen or so claimed to know Jimmy. Only a handful claimed to have no real knowledge of the case (and that I highly doubt).

When the case finally got underway, the defense presented its theory in its opening statement: self-defense. Jimmy asserted that he and Lori had been abusing pain pills, but that he wanted her to stop because she was pregnant. She had agreed to quit, but then that day, she went searching for pills. They argued. She locked herself and Collin in the bedroom and began making a phone call. Jimmy went to his computer and began to compose a letter to Lori, saying he could not do it anymore. He then went upstairs to talk to Lori, who emerged from the room in a rage and shoved him. Collin followed after her, and the three began down the stairs. Jimmy said she stopped on the stairs and shoved him again. She lost her balance, and he reached to grab her shirt. Lori came out of her shirt and fell down three or four stairs, hitting her head on the banister.

She became even more enraged when she found the letter on the computer. "What is this?" she screamed. She left the house, cell phone in hand and dialing 911. Jimmy followed after her as she went out to the van where Jimmy had a shotgun he had hoped to take to Lori's father for repair. Jimmy took the cell phone from Lori and disconnected the call. Lori then pulled out the shotgun, and the two fought over it. Collin was shot in the process. As Collin lay on the ground with a gaping wound in his stomach, Jimmy went back into the house to call for help. Lori followed him into the basement, gun in hand and shouting, "Look what you did!" Jimmy picked up a ball bat and struck Lori in the head. He only remembers hitting her once, but knows, from looking at the photos, that he must have hit her more than once.

As she lay lifeless on the basement floor, Jimmy went back outside to check on Collin. When he found Collin dead, he was grief-stricken. For reasons he cannot explain, he picked up a nearby rock and bashed Collin in the head.

Realizing that his ex-wife would soon be dropping off their children, Jimmy wrapped the bodies up, put them in Lori's Explorer, and drove the vehicle to the back of his property. He then quickly attempted to clean up the scene. He met his ex-wife at the bottom of the driveway and took the kids. He drove to his aunt and uncle's home and confessed to his uncle Jan what he had done. He asked Jan to help him hide the bodies, but Jan said that he could not and would not. Jimmy took the kids and left. Jan told his wife, Roxanne, who called Jan's brother, Jack. It was Jack who called 911 and said, "I hope he's talking out of his ass, but he seemed serious.... Oh God."

Jack, Jan, and Roxanne then drove to the house to get the kids. The police were there. Roxanne went in to get the kids and to sit with Jimmy who seemed, she said, completely unlike himself, like a caged animal. He was angry that they had called the police. However, he quickly said, "You know me. I'm not a bad person. I just snapped."

The State's evidence showed that Lori had been struck 16 times, 6 in the head. Lt. Stiles, who found the bodies, testified that Lori had been struck so hard, her head was completely disfigured. She wasn't wearing a shirt, and her bra and maternity jeans were soaked with blood. Collin's little leg was sticking out from a garbage bag. Upon seeing it, Lt. Stiles said to the State Trooper with him, "We've got a baby here."

The 911 tape of Lori's call revealed the sound of heals clicking against a wood floor and Lori saying, "Stop it, Jimmy." Not having heard the tape, I cannot say what her tone was, but Collin was reportedly heard on the tape to say, "Run, Mommy."

It is hard to know what to think or believe. I find Jimmy's story to be mostly plausible, but questions remain. Why did he go back and bash Collin with a rock? And he had taken Lori's cell phone from her; why didn't he call 911 from that cell phone after Collin was shot? Why would he have gone inside to search in the basement for another phone? If he snapped, if it was self-defense, why did he then try to hide the bodies? Still, I don't know. Maybe it was self-defense. Maybe he did just snap. At this point, with my only knowledge of the case being that which has been reported in the local paper, I just don't know what to believe anymore.

I do feel more sorry for Jimmy now, though. I can't explain it. I just imagine him there, reliving the horror of it all, and my heart breaks for him. It breaks for his family. It breaks for Lori's family. It breaks for our community.

Really, I think that's what makes this all so difficult and heartbreaking. I think about everyone involved, and how hard this must be on them. There are the sheriff's deputies who were first on the scene. What must they have thought when they uncovered the bodies and had to arrest Jimmy, who surely they knew? And Jimmy's aunt and uncles -- I cannot imagine the physical anguish they felt at his confession to the murders. And Lori's parents must have been devastated to hear the news, remembering that only a few short hours before, they had sat down to lunch with Jimmy and Lori. How did this happen, and how do they recover from it? I'm pretty sure they can't.

Testimony will not resume until Monday. I imagine that by this time next week, there will be a verdict, and Jimmy's fate will be known. He stands accused of three counts of murder and two counts of concealing a deceased body. If I had to guess at this point, I would guess there will be some sort of compromise verdict. Some will want to convict him of first degree murder, others will want to acquit him or convict him of a far lesser charge. Perhaps they will compromise at a conviction of second degree murder for Lori and acquittal for the murders of her unborn child and Collin. In that case, he would face 40 years in prison and be eligible for parole in 10 years. No matter what, though, his life is over. I feel very sorry for him, but Lori's and Collin's lives are over, too. There has to be some justice for that.

Murder in a Small Town

I remember one spring morning last year walking into my office to find the phone ringing. When I saw my parents' number on the caller ID, I panicked a little. Why are they calling the office first thing in the morning? I answered the phone, and my mom said, "Did you hear? Jimmy killed someone!" I wasn't sure what "Jimmy" she was talking about, and she explained that it was Jimmy DeGasperin, a man who had grown up in my church and who was just three years older than me. It immediately clicked with me that he had been married to a girl I had gone to high school with. I assumed it was Jennifer that he had killed, but my mom explained that it was not; it was his pregnant girlfriend...and her 4-year-old son. I was stunned.

Jimmy's mother died of cancer when he was only 2 years old. His father, Jim, sank into alcoholism, but he wasn't a violent or cruel sort of drunk; he just drank too much. Jim was a guidance counselor and teacher at the local high school and was really a very nice man. He attended church faithfully, and Jimmy often joined him. I recall Jimmy as being a little mouthy and probably a bit of a pain for his teachers in school, but the kids he hung out with were good kids, and I don't recall that any of them ever got into any real trouble growing up.

It seems Jimmy began teaching physical education at a local elementary/middle school, and was, by all accounts, much loved by his students. I was surprised when Jimmy married Jennifer and even more surprised when she joined the Catholic church for him. They had two children together, but they divorced not long ago. After the murders, it was rumored that Jennifer had attempted to file domestic violence petitions against him on a few occasions, but who knows.

Jimmy's father died several years ago, also of cancer.

As I sat there listening to my mom relay the story, which, at that point, was gossip and conjecture as the murders had only happened the night before, I wondered what could possess Jimmy to do something like that. Mom offered that he had to have just snapped, or maybe he was on drugs. It was clear from the beginning that Mom couldn't believe that he had a heart dark enough to really contemplate murdering two people, one of whom was a child. I, on the other hand, couldn't believe that there could be any excuse for beating a child to death.

After I hung up the phone, I went to the Regional Jail site and looked up Jimmy's mugshot. I didn't know what I saw in the image. There was a certain level of indifference, I thought, or maybe it was shock. Was his face cold, or confused? Was it callous, or scared? It looked different to me every time I looked at it. It never looked like the face of a murderer to me, though, because people I knew back home weren't murderers. People I grew up with didn't kill people. People I went to church with didn't bludgeon babies.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, theories whirled and swirled around town as the story began to come out. Lori and Collin (the victims) had been bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat. Collin had been shot in the stomach with a shotgun on top of that. The bodies were then placed in the back of Lori's Explorer, which was driven to the back of the Jimmy's wooded lot. Jimmy's best friend, Terry (who everyone calls Beans), testified to the Grand Jury that Jimmy had asked him to come out to the house and help him get rid of the bodies. The State Trooper who led the investigation testified to the Grand Jury that he had overheard Jimmy say, "I'm not a bad guy. I just snapped." The judge quickly issued a gag order, and everyone was left to guess what else had happened or been said. Some believed Jimmy had found out that Beans was the father of the baby Lori was carrying and that Beans was to be his next victim. Others believed that Jimmy killed Lori and Collin in a drug-induced rage. There were stories that Jimmy's own children were there when the murders occurred and that he had locked them away in a room so they wouldn't be hurt or see anything.

It was hard for me not to get caught up in all the gossip and guessing. I determined that it was no less than a case of premeditated murder, and Jimmy should be convicted of no less than first degree murder only to spend the rest of his life in prison. Mom, on the other hand, didn't believe that. She held fast to her belief that he had snapped, and though he had made a horrific mistake, he wasn't a cold-blooded killer. Of course, I believed that she believed that because she knew from one of the nuns at our church who visited Jimmy faithfully in the regional jail that every time she went to visit, Jimmy asked about Mikey almost first thing. My mom cried when she told me that, and I knew she wasn't just crying for Mikey. She was crying for this boy who was so lost and, really, had been since his mother died when he was just a toddler.

I felt sorry for Jimmy, too. I couldn't imagine the hell that he must have been going through every day, left to think about what he had done and to replay it in his head over and over. No matter what else I believed, I felt sure that he was sorry and wished he could take it back. I felt sure that he regretted what he had put Lori's family through and what he had put his own family through. And I felt sure that he wondered where it all went wrong, when his life went so horribly off track. But I also felt sure that he had done a terrible thing, and he would have to meet justice for that.

Tomorrow, I'll talk about the trial, and what I feel about the case now. Suffice it to say that I have very mixed feelings.

Adrift

At church tonight, I was reminded of my sister, Boo, and a youthful silent protest she used to engage in every weekend at mass. At the very end of the Catholic mass, the priest says, "The mass has ended. Let us go in peace." The congregation dutifully replies, "Thanks be to God." I noticed once, when we were kids, that Boo never said, "Thanks be to God." I wondered why, and she explained that she -- at age 8 or so -- found it sacrilegious. She said, "I don't think it's right to say, 'Thanks be to God,' because it's like you're saying, 'Thank God mass is over!'" You can't really argue with that, now can you?

* * * * * *

I have been struggling lately. I go to mass every week, and every week I wonder why I'm there. In fact, I wonder if it's even right that I'm there. All the time I'm praying and going through the motions, I'm questioning it all. Do I really believe it anymore?

It's strange because right before Mikey passed away -- right after I was called home by my mom -- the priest at my childhood church gave a homily about an old friend of his who had always been fiercely devout, but who drifted away from the church after her husband died. Many years later, she called the priest and said that she had lost her faith, and she felt terribly about that, even embarrassed. She said that she had just been so angry at God that she couldn't do it anymore, couldn't go through the motions of mass. The priest explained that she hadn't lost her faith at all, or she wouldn't be worried about it. And it was alright to be angry at God, he said; He could handle it. I remember sitting there, crying, and thinking, "I'm not losing my faith. I accept God's will, and I understand." Over the next weeks, through Mikey's death and his funeral and into the holidays and after, I held tight to that.

In the last several weeks, though, I have felt the knot of my faith loosening. I'm not questioning why bad things happen to good people. I'm not wondering what higher purpose God had for Mikey or has for any of us. I'm questioning whether I was a fool to believe at all. I literally find myself praying and thinking, "Who am I even praying to? Why am I even doing this?" Naturally, as a scientist, I could easily explain everything without referencing any notion of God. As far as I can tell, it's all recorded in geological and physiological history -- layer by layer, fossil by fossil, vestigial organ by vestigial organ. At the same time, there's that little voice in the back of my head that says, "Go to mass...just in case."

Maybe I haven't lost my faith. Maybe I'm just angry at God. Maybe there will be something that will reify belief in God for me someday. But I may need some time to figure it all out. In the meantime, I don't know what to do about mass. I don't feel it's right to go (and to serve communion and read at mass!) when I'm questioning everything. Still, I haven't been able to let myself skip mass either. It is a moral and spiritual dilemma that I struggle with every week.

Could You Pass the Test?

Here's a sampling of questions from the citizenship test. How would you fare? (For those of you who have already proven how "un-American" you are by not blindly following the policies of the current administration, no need to apply.)

Ten on Tuesday

1. Is it really only Tuesday because it feels like it should be Thursday, which, this week, is actually Friday because Friday is a holiday.

2. That last sentence is not technically correct. It should end with a question mark, but I thought that looked awkward, so I ended with a period.

3. I could be at Cape Cod with my family right now, but I'm not. I'm here. Oh well, I'll go to the Cape Cod later this summer.

4. In addition to the ringtone I created for Cheryl yesterday, I created one for "him" as well, in case he ever deigns to call me again. It's from "My Best Friend's Wedding," and it's this: You're the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum. You like?

5. Today's word of the day is trichotillomania, which is an abnormal desire to pull out one's hair. A good friend of my younger sister actually has trichotillomania. At points in her life, she has been practically bald and has been forced to wear wigs and hats. The last time I saw her, though, she seemed to have it pretty well under control.

6. Speaking of people from back home, there is currently a murder trial going on in my hometown involving a guy who was 3 years older than me and who went to my church. Jimmy has been charged with killing his pregnant girlfriend and her 4-year-old son. He is claiming self-defense. (He claims that she is the one who shot the little boy in the struggle for the gun.) It is both horrifying and surreal. I would never have imagined something like this would ever happen. I was absolutely shocked when my mom called me last spring and abruptly announced, "Jimmy killed someone!"

7. I had decided early on that this summer was going to be the summer of the pony tail, but I'm over it already. Now what should I do with my hair?

8. If anyone looked at the playlist on my iPod, they would come to no other conclusion than that I am schizophrenic.

9. When one of my classmates contacted my old high school to obtain a contact list for all the people who graduated with us (for our reunion), she received a list that was complete with names, addresses, guardians' names, birthdates...and Social Security numbers! Don't think for a second that I didn't make a few phone calls over that! The Superintendent of schools expressed "shock" and assured me that it was not the school system's policy to divulge such sensitive information. I would certainly hope not.

10. I am having "one of those days," so I am treating myself to happy hour after work. Yes, I know alcohol, as a depressant, is not a good remedy for a "blue day," but mindless prattle with bar patrons might be a good remedy.