Chapter Forty Eight; Angelina Jolie I am Not

I am going to cave to the pressure and give in to my fans.

People want updates. People want details. People want to know my business.

I am amazed.

Seriously?

My business?

Wow.

I had no idea the life and times of Audra was truly that intriguing. Oh sure, since I am the one living it is interesting to me, if I do say so myself. But isn’t it just like everyone else’s life? I just happen to have a talent for blabbing about mine in Microsoft Word and pasting it onto a public form.

Hmmm.

But fair warning, this isn’t exactly fodder for a prime time mini-series.

I’m kind of a snore.

I mean really, it’s not like I stole Jennifer Ashton’s husband, added three more tots to my orphan collection and then swamped the tabloids when I gave birth to twins in the south of France the other day. You gotta love Angelina, people. Can you imagine her blog? Good gawd. It would read, “Today Brad and I saved the world on the way home from Asia, signed a deal for a mega-million dollar action flick over lunch and then tattooed our love onto our pinky toes in a long lost language recently discovered off the coast of Zimbabwe.”

Now THAT is an interesting life.

Weird as hell.

But intriguing nonetheless.

As for mine, I got nothin’ but mundane melodrama of a Midwestern nature. But you asked, so here it is:

DLTC. (Acronym for “Dating Land Traveling Companion” if you are just hopping aboard Audra’s blogarrama express for the first time.)

Everyone wants to know what happened to that guy. Oh, FINE, here's the deal.

The synopsis:

We dated this winter. Then we broke up.

The back cover overview is as follows:

(Feel free to picture the kind of novel where DLTC is ripping a civil-era gown off my DD figure, even though that isn’t remotely true. I’m flat as a flamcake. And the last time I wore a dress like that was a bad prom decision circa 1989. On top of that, the highlight of our courtship was probably the fact that I fed him a lot of my world famous beef stew. Not exactly the kind of page turning romantic sap that made Nicholas Sparks famous. Gee, starting to understand why we may have broken up . . .)

I digress.

Here's the deal:

After said break up we both proceeded to have a severe ambiguity attack because we still talked often and did platonic things like go to lunch and coffee and talk on the phone fairly regularly.

Weird.

After three months of the kind of situation that propelled Facebook to provide the option “It’s Complicated” for its relationship status section, it all culminated in what I like to call the “Great Greg Golfing Debacle.” (Yes, his name is Greg. I had to leave it in; the “ga ga ga” alliteration is just too sweet for this writer to resist.)

It was strange.

We did this golf outing, had a great time, went to dinner and I promptly drank a whole lot of “truth serum” (i.e. two glasses of wine) and demanded, “What is going on? Are we dating or not?”

The answer was “not.”

I bawled.

Tons.

(Not then, later. I do have some dignity.)

Sigh.

So that’s the story.

Wow.

So not fun.

I have just come to the conclusion that the heart is a complex and confusing element of our humanity. You can’t force yourself to love someone just as you can’t force yourself not to love someone. Every so often, our souls sense a connection that we did not plan, and it takes your breath away when it happens.

And when it is gone, you are just going to cry.

But you will breathe again.

It just takes time.

So that’s that.

Let’s just say I am watching the clock at this point and waiting for the healing that the minute hand is supposed to ultimately provide. (I also listen to a lot of rock music when I zoom around in my sports car and snap off the radio the instant sap lyrics along the lines of "I miss you" start threatening my sanity.)

On with the updates:

Smiley Susie Sunshine. My bestest Divorce Land Bud.

Everyone wants to know what is going on there, so here's that deal:

Divorce should be final any day!! Sweet mother of France, England, AND Spain it is finally (almost)over.

And all for the bargain price of a nice fat home equity loan on her part. Isn’t that just sick? Yeah, well, she’s still smiling. That woman is a rock.

She and I indulged in pedicures today and for some strange Susie reason, she decided to tell me all about a party she went to 20 years ago in college.

If Dr. Seuss and Mother Goose had a child, Susie would be it. That woman has a story for everything, I am telling you.

This one was particularly awesome.

It all began when Susie and her friend ended up on the guest list for a hoity toity party they suspected might be an extremely dull experience for a couple of college chicks.

So they devised a plan.

They would assume secret identities to spice up the night.

Susie’s alias was Barbara, her friend was Gidget. (I know, Gidget? Seriously? But they were 20 years old, cut them some slack.)

What kills me is this next part:

Should the “Lame Expectations” come to fruition, they plotted a clever escape route: weaving the fascinating topic of eucalyptus leaves into the conversation. Once either one started talking panda food that would be secret code for “we’re off like a prom dress, this party sucks.”

Which is exactly what Barbara and her sidekick Gidget did six beers and one hour into the gathering.

And why do I need to hear this story? Let alone retell it here?

Because just the other day Susie realized that the one individual they had visited with at that party so many years ago (yes, Susie’s memory is amazing) is the same local guy who sold his company to Microsoft and became a gabillionaire not too long ago.

Nice one, Suze.

If only you’d made a love connection back then, even if you had still hit Divorce Land, with money bags Microsoft man at least you would ended up with a vacation home in Tahiti as part of the settlement.

Woulda shoulda coulda.

And yes.

This is the crap Susie thinks of to chatter about during a pedicure.

I love that woman.

So those are the updates.

I am far removed from Dating Land and I got a pedicure today where Susie proceeded to yak my ear off about an ancient adventure.

Wake up, people!

If you fell asleep, so not my fault.

This is what inquiring minds wanted to know.

I am telling you, I should stick to the essay format. My online journal blog would NOT hold your attention. Considering the fact that as soon as I post this I am going to fold about three loads of laundry, you should all be thankful that I choose not to expound upon the benefits of Tide with Bleach and that I instead look for the quirky and crazy components of life when I choose to subject the world to my story telling.

In fact, this entry was so damn dull I am thinking I should seriously consider spicing up my life a little more.

Maybe after I’m done with the laundry I’ll have to see if I can fly over to Indonesia for the weekend and pick up an orphan or two.

I’ll have to get right on that.

Right after I steal someone’s celebrity husband and tattoo hieroglyphics onto my perfectly pedictured pinky toes.