9:43pm
I really did think I’d be able to mend this on my own, but guess what? Epic fail. True in life, sometimes you pull off the covers and realize it’s not worth saving. I will save the decorative frog bolt, because that’s sentimental, but the rest of this frame is going to the curb. And this whole while, I thought the frog bolt was most likely the problem. Shows you what I know, as usual! Growing tired of sleeping sideways. That’s the bottom line.

And when the frame goes, sometimes the floor is just as solid and comfortable. Usually, probably. Till you get a new frame, at least.

I often wonder if my next door neighbor is a drug dealer. No, not the older Italian gent on the left, obviously, but the guy on the right. He seems like a super nice guy, but seriously, he is forever getting in his car and zooming away for short little excursions at odd hours of the evening. I mean, it’s 11:30 at night now, and this is the fifth time since I got home tonight about 9 that he’s zoomed away.

I know we all have to make a living, but what the heck can this guy possibly be doing? He’s not delivering pizzas, that’s for sure. It’s unfair of me to judge, and normally, I wouldn’t, but every time he slams his car door, coming or going, one or both of my dogs start barking, and tonight my nerves are shot. I’m just grouchy this week (although I’ve long pondered about why he comes and goes so much even in the best of moods—it’s bizarre). For all I know, maybe he works for that Buffalo cab service I’ve heard about where if you go out and get all loaded, they come chauffeur you home while someone else drives your car back to your residence for you. That would make sense, right?

And as if on cue—he just stopped back in, and now he’s almost immediately on the move again. I guess it doesn’t matter so much, and besides, I have no business being up this late on a work night anyhow. My internal clock is all out of whack from my long weekend and not being home the past few days but for brief spurts. Or maybe it’s the 5 hour energy drink I took on the homeward bound commute working an overtime shift of 7 hours, instead of that measly 5. I don’t know for sure, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care!

I told Ellie on Monday on the way home from our shopping trip for Keith’s birthday presents that I could get used to living this life of leisure and not working. She told me, “But then you wouldn’t have any money.” Spoken like a true, super-intelligent 7 year old. (Oh incidentally, neighbor’s home again. Maybe he’s about to go inside and work on his blog about how he wonders why his neighbor has been listening to semi vintage Goo Goo Dolls so late at night so much recently.)

Honestly...

Today's off to a brilliant start. I pretty much didn't sleep more than fits and starts last night for some reason, starting at about midnight. What was supposed to be an awesome 4 day weekend has hit a brick wall, thanks to my very cute and incredibly challenged chihuahua, Maxwell.

So just as the sun begins to rise and make sleeping that much more difficult, I'm able to doze off, albeit with lame dreams about vampires for some reason. Meanwhile, I've got Max and Baillie climbing all over me, and I'm trying desperately to keep them still and on my side of the bed, so as not to disturb Keith. Keith's not a real big fan of Max, maybe not Baillie either, but you know how it goes if you're a pet owner. Love me, love my pets. Or at least tolerate them to a reasonable degree. Dogs pick up on all kinds of emotional bs though. Max knows Keith doesn't necessarily relish the idea of his existence. I'm a nervous wreck whenever I stay at Keith's, and normally, if we were at my place, these guys have been sleeping in their dog beds, but I don't want them having the run of his house overnight, all things considered. Max can be a little bastard, and the last thing I need is him lifting his leg on some piece of furniture out of spite while we sleep. Although truly, that would have been preferable to how this morning played out.

No joke, as I'm laying there dreaming about lame vampires around 7:30 this morning, I hear this little noise; it sounds a bit like running water. Wait a minute- WHAT? I open my eyes and Max is peeing on Keith's bed. No shit. Talk about mortifying. My first instinct was to yell, but Ellie was asleep in the room next door. I scoop him up and bring him outside, tie him up, and grab the paper towels. Thankfully, it wasn't much, but I guess after a dog pees on your bed, the fact that "it wasn't much" is besides the point. Meanwhile, Baillie looks absolutely terrified. He's just sitting up in the bed next to Keith's nonresponsive form.

"Ummm... I'm gonna take these guys home. Max just peed in your bed." He doesn't move or say a word, so I'm wondering if he even heard me, although I'm sure he did, because let's face it... he's got a trembling dog next to him and some crazy half awake chick with a big wad of paper towels blotting up dog urine from his sheet and mattress. So I motion to Baillie that it's time to hit the road; I lean over and plant a kiss on Keith's cheek and by way of goodbye, I murmur, "You're going to kill Max next time you see him, aren't you?"

"Yes."

And away we go.

It's been about three hours since our hasty exit. And while I don't think my boyfriend really plans on execting my dog next time he sees him, there will certainly be some extra tension. I caan hardly wait. Oh well. I'm off to buy some "Nature's Miracle" and take care of damage control.

Yay Tom Petty

So I deactivated my facebook last night. Not too worried about being missed. Yes, I'm 36 and should be ashamed of my behavior when looking at the petty motives. I pretty much deleted it b/c I changed my relationship status and got dogged. So stupid. I changed it so that I'd be in a relationship with Keith. I think I did it on Wednesday. He came over on Thursday all bent out of shape, and I kinda figured that might be why, but I didn't say anything about it at first. He was all grouchy and I asked him why and he said nothing so I let it go. Last night we were having a good time watching the Bills game and he out of the blue mentions, "Just so you know... I can't be in a relationship with Parker Reid, b/c I'm already in a relationship with Caryn Pritchard." I asked him how long it took him to come up with that angle, and then we just both let it go. If you consider letting it go deleting your facebook on my part, which I did. Haha. What a moron. I told him today I deleted it. He won't have to worry about Parker Reid anymore. I told him that it was gay and I was done with it. But if he thought it was so stupid in the first place that he didnt even bother with it, how would it kill him to realize it meant something to me (lame as that is) and just humor me, and I figured I must be a huge embarrassment if he wasn't even willing to publicly acknowledge our relationship after however many years. It was an ugly scene. He told me to turn it back on, and he would. I told him to fuck that b/c facebook was for losers.. Christ... am I really 36??

So I pulled what could be considered a real bitch maneuver this weekend. It wasn’t on purpose, and in retrospect, I can almost grasp the reasons why, but in the end, the only one to blame for the feelings that led to said bitchiness was me. If you know me well, you know I’m all about accuracy in times, dates, etc. when reporting an event, so this lovely world of cell phones and all manner of electronic gadgets lends itself nicely to my mild OCD in that respect.

6:06pm: Rob calls to tell me he, Brian, and Matt are heading up to the Italian Fest, and asks me if I need in and out access to the driveway, or if it’s cool that they park there. I’m all, “Sure, great, no problem. We are planning on heading up there too; I just need to run through the shower.” Of course we are going to walk since it’s only a block and a half down, so I don’t need access out of the driveway, and thus don’t mind being blocked in.

7:00-ish: I am out of the shower and ready to roll. Look at Keith, “You ready to hit it?” He tells me no, he want to wait til it’s dark. “Dude, that’s like two and a half hours from now—seriously??” He’s serious. So I am mildly perturbed and head out to the balcony with a book and a glass of wine. Shortly after 8, Keith is ready to go.

8:14pm: I text Rob, “You guys still at the beer tent?”

8:20-ish we are outside and my driveway is empty- wide open. “Aw, those guys already left!”

8:23pm: Rob texts me back, “Just left your house going to Brian’s”

So we get up to Hertel bearing a 12 pk for the Mineo & Sapio gents, are wolfing down complimentary sausages, and I am watching the crowd go by as we stand off to the side on Lovering… faces upon faces, people laughing and with friends and family and kids, and my lame-ass heart is breaking, b/c I’d led myself to believe that tonight I’d be spending some quality time with friends of yore. MY friends, who I see a few times a year—but I was planning on seeing them tonight. And I started practically crying. Really… I was that much of a jackass. I was all like, “I don’t even want to be here; I’m sorry. What am I going to do.. follow you and Pierro around all night? I’m just going to go home.” He didn’t know what to do or say. He says first that Pierro’s working and let’s just go back to my place, and I’m all, “Why?? So we can sit around on the couch all night and watch tv??” What a BITCH!

So he starts heading back up my street and I follow, and I cried halfway home, which to be fair, was only about a block. And the thing that made me want to cry all the more was that he had nothing to do with how I was feeling. I am no longer a part of those guys b/c I stopped participating. A long time ago. A long time before Keith. Maybe when I moved back from Charlotte. I thought everyone was so nearby, and I had all the time in the world to get re-acclimated. I never did. Like I said, no one to blame but me. I’ve got Keith, and he’s awesome. But I’ve somehow made him to be my everything. And that’s me.. my doing. I stopped putting in any effort when it comes to the outside world. A long time ago.

It’s pretty pathetic. So it ends tonight. Actually, it ends next week. I’m going to a seminar next Tuesday with my mom, and everyone knows seminars change everything, as much as mom’s do. Win win, right?

So about a half hour after my family left, I was like, “Whoa… my family left a half hour ago… and I’ve still got the tv on that golf tournament… Whaaaat??”

You and your slick steel-toe Skechers and your corduroys and your rugged cell phone and tight haircut.

I was just the other day speaking with a good friend and coworker about how sometimes our strengths are just as much our weaknesses.

My sister got my mini-fountain working for me today after about one and a half years of mini-fountain dormancy- YEAH!

And how many consecutive times have YOU hit replay on a youtube tune?

Always go with your first instinct… unless your first instinct is wrong.

Make sure you’re absolutely ready to stay on your side once you decide to draw the line.

I didn’t realize that by inviting some family over for dinner I’d wind up with the equivalent of 3 gallons of gifted wine in my fridge.

Basically, in a meager effort to challenge myself, I’m going to leave it up to my loyal following of one, two or three people (or none, which will make this a lot less interesting) to decide my next topic of subpar discussion. Your choices are above. Choose wisely. A deal’s a deal, so if it’s something I’m not comfortable sharing in an internet post, you will get a direct mailbox hit.

(I realize the choices are a bit lame, but therein lies the challenge…)

Maybe Sebadoh?

Except for the McCormick pepper grinder on my dining room table- a small tacky monolith- this place looks awesome. AWESOME! Yes, I’ll grant you, the entire Sunday paper is sitting on the far end of the quilt-covered futon, but as I mentioned to Keith, I didn’t want us to go into culture shock due to absolutely no clutter. And it’s a neat, compact stack, b/c this week, I didn’t even read it. I dipped in there Monday night just to pull the TV Topics. The rest of that newspaper remains undisturbed. It may as well still be wrapped up in the translucent orange baggie the Sunday Buffalo News so favors.

I read the paper online, so I’m not even sure why I subscribed to the Sunday paper. I suppose for guests. And the ads and the tv topics. Nice to have a hard copy…

Listening to Peter, Paul, and Mary. Yeah… really. That, and Baillie gnawing on a small, green, plush turtle with a squeaker inside. And on a side note, why do you suppose MS Word flagged me for bad grammar the past three fragments?

Oy

So I suppose it’s safe to say I’m in danger of losing my way. My one true passion falls to the wayside while real life takes its toll. I have to thank Christen for an unexpected slap in the face of reality via inadvertently reminding me how much I prefer writing to stressing, and I have to thank Jane for this lovely bottle of wine she and Tom proffered on my birthday. I’ve long said that the majority of my good energy is spent at work. That remains true, but it needs to change. I need a bit of balance here.

So, anytime I have posted something lately, it’s been all serious and shit. Truth is, I still get some funny in my life. And now I shall transform to random. Back in the day, Ria and I used to do this thing where we would write down a phrase here or there and revisit it later. Here are a few I wrote down and neglected, but they made me laugh at the time. So below are just random phrases I’ve heard over the past couple months that made me laugh. I hope they make you laugh too:

· “What about the eggwash? Who’s gonna apply the eggwash??” (Keith) (I made chicken and dumplings, but the recipe called for eggwash on the dumplings; he was in a panic)

· “You need your own show on A&E” (me)
“ I could call it Dealing with Pritchard” (Keith)

· What are you eating, sunshine? (me)
dip (Keith)THAT dip? (me)
yeah (Keith)
That’s been in the fridge FOREVER! (me)

· Whenever I post something to someone’s site that you tell me to say, it ends badly. (me)

· I thought it was hocus pocus by focus (Keith- and I don’t know why this made me laugh so much)

Anyhow, duty calls. I’ve got some laundry issues and it’s getting late. Adios!

Lifetime movies are more than a little bit cheesy with plenty of drama to boot, ergo, I feel I’m only a situation or two away from becoming a model candidate for a new lame movie on said channel.

Truth is, I was certain I’d become an export dispatcher and the superhuman powers I’ve been wasting all these years would suddenly enable me to become a hero. Help my fellow coworkers out of the trenches of despair, and we’d all succeed to triumph. Holy misguided notion. I’m failing- miserably. First and last time I faced this kind of failure was 1993—17 years ago. Many things in this world aggravate me, but the thing that bothers me the most is being ineffective. My first job working for Mark Hamister I learned the mantra, “Do you want to be a hero, or a zero?” in addition to “If you ‘re gonna say it, do it!”

As to the first—what the hell kind of question is that? Who wants to be a zero? Seriously… As to the second, “Here, here!”

Aside from bringing a mobile dog carrier to work and parking my dogs under my desk while I work 13+ hours a day, I’m not sure what else I can do in order to succeed, and help those I’m there to help. This is just silly. I had worries before I made this move that I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire, and it appears these worries were justified. Dear God, so many lame clichés! This may be a flawed system. I'm supposed to have off on March 17, and I don't think I can do it. It will only make the 18th that much more awful. Awesome, possumm.

Bottom line, I'm not used to sucking at my profession. And apparently, I do- ugh! I shall keep on keeping on- that's what I do!

Just a random laundry thought

Found my first coin in the new laundry machine tonight while switching out laundry. It made me laugh,b/c it reminded me of how pissed off that used to make my mom. "Why didn't you check your pockets??? Don't you know that's going to scratch??" Don't get me wrong, I don't find any enjoyment in pissing off my mom, but come on!! So what if there is a scratch in the drum of your washing machine? Who's going to see it? Who really cares?? I guess maybe I should care, since washing machines are expensive, and can't a mere penny derail a train if placed in the right spot? Or is it that the train just flattens it? I don't know. At any rate, I still got a chuckle from it. I think it was a dime anyhow, so no harm no foul, right? It's joined my coin collection on the dryer.

I guess I am still trying to forgive myself

It’s 1990. I live in the tiny back room at my Grandpa’s for the time being. The room that you could get to by climbing up the back servant’s hallway off the kitchen. The room with the electric organ that I used to mess around with when I was a little kid, before things got so serious.

Being such a giant house, man- that room was cold! I’m reunited with my family after abandoning them that night to take solace with the Travers. Sometime’s I think I’ll never forgive myself for that. Inviting another family into our personal business. I’ll never forget Lauri’s mom giving my mom a hug in the Traver kitchen, and it had an unfortunate stink of pity to it. My mom is stronger than anyone I know, and she didn’t need anyone’s pity. Even moreso a testament to her strength was the fact she just let it go. I put her in that position and she responded gracefully, as always.

I’ve got a lame ass boom box on which I listen to the Cure or Depeche Mode. I cry sometimes. Sometimes I go to the mall instead—for God’s sake, I’m only 16. Sometimes before bed, I lean against the wall heater- one of those big grates you only see in an old house like that. It warms my back and I think it all might just be a great adventure for a minute. Didn’t I always want to live at Grandpa’s after all?

Just a mini for Jane

Last night was terrible. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find my inhaler. I ripped my place up, and I mean everywhere. I was at the point where I was dipping my hand a half foot down into the couch cushions. Ran out to my car at 2:30 am –ish. No luck. So I finally went with green is the aura color of the lungs. Visualization. And I laid back down in my bed next to Keith. Just relax and see it. No crying- that’s not helping. I tried to focus on something to make me happy—this man makes you happy, Caryn. And I lay there, gasping for breath, but more gently as I watched him sleep, and my lungs settled down. And all of a sudden he asks me, “Where is your inhaler?” Here’s me, “I don’t know, I’ve looked everywhere.” Then he says, “No… HERE is your inhaler- it was under my pillow.”

life seemed to be a fault of grace

Ever wonder if a morning bad attitude sets off a whole world of hurt? Mornings when Keith’s here, we barely talk. I guess it’s just our routine. Both our cell phones are set to go off at 6:20am. We both hit that initial snooze, and then he gets up at 6:25. I usually hit one more snooze and halfway doze/worry about whatever work related issue has played the starring role as far as keeping me up all night off and on. I head out with the dogs right at the same time he is heading to his truck, and we share a sweet goodbye kiss and a “Have a good day” or “I love you”, and he always looks adorable in his baseball hat, which he only wears to work.

Today I came out to the living room, and I was like, “Really, guys? REALLY?” Five empty beer cans in front of where Paul was sitting, four in front of Keith. Yes, I retired immediately following the Super Bowl, and left a sinkful of dishes, but I hauled a slew of beer cans out to the kitchen and disposed of them before I went to bed, and this morning I was just disgusted. I didn’t expect a visit from the dish fairy as I slept, but I would have been appreciative of just some beer can disposal. For Pete’s sake, we’re 35- could it possibly be time to grow up, just a little? This whole diatribe went down only in my head, of course. Which I imagine is for the best. Anyone for whom I’m willing to buy and prepare Walleye must mean a great deal to me, seeing as I hate seafood. And everyone has a bad morning, especially on a Monday after the Superbowl, right?

Dishes are done and I am about to finish the surface clean and wrap up the last of the beer cans. All’s well that ends well. And it must be love that I bought walleye for him, seeing as I hate fish.

Charlotte sometimes

Christ- I miss my best friend.

I have this odd feeling that everything’s about to change, and I’m not sure why.

So back when I was with Scott, I used to get so pissed off about the whole Mary Pat in our faces all the time gig. I mean, you probably wouldn’t have been able to tell I felt that way; I even kind of liked her on some level, but there are a couple times where I can recall being pretty disenchanted with her existence. I can remember being curled up on the couch with a book and a glass of wine one afternoon, and old MP barging into the house unannounced, behind Sean. Can’t really call that out, right? I mean, seeing as Sean was her child and whatnot, and she was there to help him with a school project. Don’t get me wrong, though—I’m no pushover. Scott and I had a very loud discussion about it later that evening. If you guessed I was the louder one of the two of us, you’d be right. I can be a bitch as much as the next girl.

Anyhow, I don’t know what it is about tonight… I had a great time with everyone at S & S earlier. I’m just in a funk. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what. But the thing that really sucks is that I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. Keith does a fantastic job of being a best friend to me. But he’s at the Bandits game, and as good as he does, he will never be Ria. And I haven’t had any Ria time in a while. Maybe it’s just getting older. I guess everyone loses touch, at least for a minute, right?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C6P5NNK3vGU

I hope this doesn't sound superficial, but even if it does, it really isn't

I got the most beautiful new coat yesterday. A dark, charcoal gray wool number—almost like a pea coat in style. I was out shopping for boots with my mom, wearing my tan suede ¾ length that reeks of stale cigarette smoke and is dotted with numerous petty stains. I mean, nothing major/offensive stain-wise. It wasn’t like my chocolate brown suede that I spilled chicken grease all over almost 4 years ago, shortly after Sammy was born when I made the two roast chickens and the spinach manicotti and twice baked potatoes for Geoff and Kat so they wouldn’t have to worry about what was for dinner for a couple days. I guess the foil pan didn’t hold out so perfectly as I was transporting the chickens up the driveway and through their kitchen, although I didn’t notice at the time. I looked at my coat the next day and was like, “Wha’appen??” Now that was a serious stain, and that jacket was retired immediately. And when I say retired, I mean retired. I still have it—it’s hanging in my living room closet, just waiting for the day when Mr. Clean invents a magic eraser that combats chicken grease on suede. So my present, still-in-circulation, tan suede… … while my lackadaisical spirit perceives it as a charming, beatnik-esque garment, the reality is it makes me look like a bit of a slob. This was evidenced by my mom’s palpable excitement at all the fabulous winter coat sales at Eastern Hills mall. It was adorable and fun at the same time. She was all, “Try this one on” and “Ohhh, how about this one? Hmm… I don’t know if I like the buttons” and “How do your arms feel when you go like this?”

So yesterday, I got a new coat. And I absolutely love it. It may sound lame and superficial if you don’t know where I’m coming from (in addition to clichéd), but I felt like a million bucks today. The coat had something to do with that. Or maybe because I knew my mom was happy I had a nice, new coat.

Soooooo....

I am pretty proud of myself. Went to go see a good friend and her family and their new baby last night-- made them dinner (which if you know me is nothing but a pleasure), but to leave my house after dark, by MYSELF is huge. Of course, I played it off like it was no big deal, seeing as that's what I do. Nik probably knows better, though. We've had discussions about my phobias in the past, and I'm fairly certain she relates in some manner. Not to say she's neurotic like me, just that she is understanding.

At first I was a bit apprehensive being out of my element, but this family is phenomenal. Talk about welcoming. And to see the love in a great friend's face for her first newborn was amazing to behold.

Tonight's a little more low key and inconsequential. Sure, I went to the laundromat, but that's just necessity. Had I not, I might be forced to wear a skirt tomorrow, and I have no good skirt shoes now that my Steve Madden's have bitten the dust, and God forbid I should wear my black boots, as that's probably a little too much for work. Call me Sledge, eh?

"Stalking Walking in my big black boots!"