Nutjob and Dreaming

This time, I actually have something to write about.

Two weeks ago, I got a call on my cell as I was getting ready to go to bed. Some old guy said, "Kathy?," and when I said yes, starting slurring and mumbling something I couldn't understand, so I hung up. The next day he called when I had my phone turned off. His message went something like this..."Listen, I don't care if you're going by Brenda, or Kathy, or whoever the f**k you are. You have messed with the wrong man. Then he went on to beg his mystery lady to call him back in between crying and cussing her."

The next day, I answered the phone. I told him, "Mister, you have the wrong number." He said, "I don't have no f**king wrong number. I was married to you for twenty years. I still love you. You're f**king with the wrong guy." So I hung up.

The next night at midnight, my phone rings. By this time, I had actually entered this guy's number in my call list labeled "NUT-JOB" so I would know not to answer when he called. So my caller screen said NUTJOB. I refused the call. Go back to sleep. Phone rings again. Nutjob. So I turn off my phone.

The next day, Boy! do I have messages! From what I could understand, Brenda is his ex-wife, who left his drunk ass, and is living with another man, and he hates her guts and wishes she would die. However, since he knows she's not happy, and she knows she still loves him as much as he does her, if she'll come back home, he'll buy her a mansion. Of course, he cusses her a lot in between his offer for wealth. ha.

Ok, so by now my husband is livid over this a**hole waking us up at night. So besides changing my voice mail message to not have my name on it anymore, I decide to just refuse all his calls. I call my cellular provider to ask aboout blocking this idiot's number. Can't be done, they say, but they do offer to change my number. I don't want to change my number. I say I'll just handle this.

So that night, we are watching TV. Nice, quiet, peaceful evening. Then NUTJOB calls. My husband, mild mannered as he is, blew his cool and answered. He yelled that the guy is a drunk bum, he better stop calling his wife's cell phone, he has the wrong blankety blank phone number, stop calling us, etc. Then he hangs up. In a few minutes, Nutjob calls back. He is now convinced he has gotten his dear Brenda's new love on the phone. He's furious with my husband. So I talk to him. I say, Mister, for two weeks you've worried me to death leaving messages on the WRONG NUMBER. If you call me anymore, I'm going to report you for harassment. Stop calling this number!"

Then he calls back. We turn off my phone.

Next morning, a fresh batch of two more voice messages saying, "Your husband is an idiot. He must think he's a brain surgeon. Maybe he is a doctor, but he doesn't give a G*dd*mn. He knows he has the right number, and Brenda, by God, he's not going to give up. etc. etc."

By now, I'm seriously considering getting my number changed, even with all the inconvenience this could cause me.

That afternoon, phone rings again. He's drunk, but not quite as unintelligible as usual. I tried the calm approach. I said Mister, you've been leaving messages for some lady named Brenda for two weeks on my phone. Yes, my husband is upset with you. You're calling all hours of the night. I know you want your messages to get to person you are trying to call. But that's not me. You really ARE calling the wrong number. He asked if our number was ***-****, and I told him no ours was actually one off from that (the number under the button he was trying to hit while falling down slobbering drunk). He said, "Welllllll, Ahhhhh---mmmmmm....sarrrrrr.....eeeeeee." Hangs up. No more calls. Knock on wood.

My daughter thinks the voice messages are funny enough to put on the blog, but we couldn't figure out how to do that. So you got the abbreviated versions.
Anyway, since nutjob quit calling, my life is somewhat back to normal.

I'm still seeing the therapist once a week, and it's like after years of floundering and feeling like I'm wasting my gas money driving over there, I can actually see progress. I no longer feel hurt or pain regarding my bio family. If my mom calls, I'm actually happy to talk to her. I even call her, too. I'm visiting my dad regularly, as an ADULT, not feeling like a three year old when I'm there. I feel a lot of apathy when I'm talking to them. Like they are not really close to me, but they are connected, and I have an obligation to them. However, I don't feel close enough to feel like their opinions could hurt me, and I don't feel this screaming need to have their approval anymore, which is a giant step forward.

After five years of marriage (next month), I'm finally starting to relax around my husband. Last week, I told my therapist that what I'd love to do is go out by myself for the day shopping, but every time I mention going out, he starts putting on his shoes. And while I really don't mind him going, the whole time we are in the store, my brain is racing with thoughts of He is probably bored and ready to go. I should hurry. Then there is nothing relaxing to me about browsing because I'm worried about him getting antsy. She said, "How about this. You tell him before you go in the store...."For years, I shopped alone. I enjoy shopping with you, but the whole time I'm in there, I worry constantly of whether you're bored or ready to leave. This time I'm just going to leisurely browse the store and not worry about it. If you want to go, you'll have to tell me."

My husband said he found a gift he wanted me to have. He saw it in an airport while he was on his business trip. He knows I like Hillary, while he hates her. So he came in her yesterday saying he had found the item he wanted on Amazon and when he went to order it, it was signed into my account. He wanted to switch it to his credit card and wanted me to show him how, but I was not to look at what he had ordered. So I switched his payment method, and of course, I looked. It said, "Hillary Nutcracker."

So I came into the living room and get on my laptop and look up this item. It's a replica of Hillary Clinton, about Barbie doll size, and you can actually put nuts in between her knees and crack them. I thought this was stupid, rude to me since I like her, demeaning to women (powerful women are nutcrackers? I think this goes back to men who are scared if they stand too close to a gay guy, or wear a pink shirt, or hug another guy, their nuts will magically fall off. Men. Geez. Isn't it nice to be a woman. I can say, "Hey, you look great in those jeans, Marge. I can hug another woman when they're crying. If someone says, Hey I feel a lump, there is no biggie in me feeling her boob, and I don't worry that the estrogen fairy will strike me dead and throw me out of the female ranks.)

So I am offended at his choice of gifts.
So when I get the confirmation email that he has ordered this item for a total price of over $22, I go back on there and cancel the order. No,I didn't tell him. I thought since he's already planning to fork out the 22 bucks, I'll just buy myself a gift card from Amazon instead. Then I'll either 1) tell him they were out of stock on whatever he ordered and they gave me a credit which I spent on e-books or 2) tell him I thought his gift was stupid and in poor taste, and I canceled it, but went ahead and kept the money so it would be the gift that counted, not the actual item.
Hmm....Either way, I think I'll wait until he begins to wonder why his gift never arrived. God, we need a woman president so badly in this country....

My middle son is in Seattle, on his job interview, which for his sake, I hope he gets because he wants it so badly, and for my sake, I hope he doesn't because then none of my children will live in the same state as me. Selfless vs Selfish. Geez.Motherhood.

Back to the counseling, she has me reading Self Matters by Dr. Phil (or Dr Dork according to my husband), a book called Being a Better You by Joel Olsteen. I'm also reading the Book Thief, and another book on the Atkins Diet, and have about fifty others waiting on my Kindle to read. What I'd like to do is go off to a mountain cabin by a lake and curl up and read, undisturbed, for a month or so.

Oprah had a show where you are suppose to make images of your dreams and put them on a bulletin board until they come true. Here's my dreams.

Total financial independence. I don't want to live like Paris Hilton. I want to live my life where I am without any money problems.

I want to empty my townhome, have it totally painted, have hardwood floors put down, rebuild my kitchen cabinets, add professional appliances, granite countertops in kitchen and baths, and hire a decorator to make me feel like I'm coming home to a spa in Kyoto. I want a mimimalist look with cleaned off tables, countertops, dressers, etc.

I want to buy a Class B camper van, fill it up with gas, and drive. Go wherever I want to. Stop and see sites along the way. Eat at some new places. Take lots of pictures. Come home when I get ready but have no time table.

I want to throw out my television and have classical music piped into my house twenty-four seven.

I want to knock out walls and make huge windows in my house to let in more light. Skylights even.

I want to finish losing this weight, not have a single stitch that fits me, take about five grand, and go shopping for a whole new wardrobe.

I want to take another cruise, a long one, at least ten to fourteen days, a cruise where I don't have to speak one word to another living soul the whole time.

I want to learn to play the piano. I want to buy a Baldwin piano like the one my ex-husband had and took with him when we divorced even though I am the only one who played it.

Well enough of my rambling. I don't want to blow out my brain this early in the day. There's so little of it left.