Shut Up, Already

Last night after hours at my mother’s house, I went home exhausted, crawled into bed and watched three hours of reality TV – America’s Next Top Model, followed by The Apprentice and Wife Swap. These shows all shared a commonality – yelling. Yelling because this black girl acts too white, yelling because this lady is a horrible project manager, yelling because not everyone lives in a multimillion-dollar apartment with four nannies, a housekeeper, cook, and driver. Yelling, yelling, yelling.

The funny thing is that I had endured my own three hours of yelling – at my mom’s house. Being the oldest kid sucks big time in my family. The responsibility heaped on my shoulders for the well being of my family is at times overwhelming. I normally enjoy running things, event planning, and bossing people around and am really quite good at it, which is why my talents are completely wasted in this nothing, slavish job, but lately my family has piled the role of matriarch on me and it is driving me to exhaustion. I am seriously considering moving elsewhere – back to the land of sunshine and happiness, perhaps.

As I have said repeatedly, I have been ill, and in the meantime my mother is moving for the first time in 7 years – a huge feat for our family – and requires much assistance from her children, but when they don’t come through – guess who has to hear about it…why, me of course. I have received about 20 phone calls since the weekend from her complaining about the lack of help she is getting from her four children, one of who is an hour away starting his freshman year in college. Only one still lives with her, and she is practically only good for staying out all night and sleeping the day away. The other has had it up to here with my mother’s irrational yelling sprees, so who does that leave? Me, the sick one, no less.

But that is okay, I love my mother and always want to help her when she needs it, but I can’t take the yelling. To be subjected to it with my mother and then to turn on the television - my mode for escape since my scattered brain hasn’t been able to focus on a book since the divorce – and find more yelling was annoying, but the crime dramas were definitely not a good alternative for me last night – would only provide new and interesting fantasies for offing my mother.*

So yelling stresses me out, so I slept terribly, so now I have a terrible crick in my neck, so I haven’t yet heard about the apartment – it’s okay. I will be okay. It will all be over soon, and my mom will go back to normal. There is such a thing as normal, right?


*Disclaimer – will never actually whack my mom, so if she ever does show up dead…it wasn’t me.

Amputation By Ax Or By Chainsaw?

Still sick – but out of the misery stage and just in the annoying stage where the symptoms are just reluctant to take the hint and leave – y’know, the kinda stuffy nose, the half-hearted cough, the sneezes that just don’t come. My focus now goes back to my fungus-infested fingernail. I still haven’t taken care of it, and I suppose I should because it is still swollen and goes through painful stages, and to top it off X’s Girl2 passed along a belief that I could have the same thing that nearly led to the loss of Paula Abdul’s thumb, so I really should get on it.

Go to WebMD though and research the fingernail nastiness and the cure almost seems worse than the disease. I am always leery of taking drugs with frightening side effects, but the fingernail is embarrassing, the pain not so fun either.

Speaking of pictures, wouldn’t life be so much easier if one could just e-mail a photo and/or description of one’s malady to one’s doctor, and s/he could reply with a prescription and instructions?

Stuffy, Sneezing, Achy and Longing For a Smith & Wesson

Like I said, I hate being sick. Perhaps that is why I am still sick. The gods of sickness could sense my distaste for their gifted malady and have decided to extend my misery. So nice of them.

Friday after work I picked up Bubba, drove straight home and fell into bed. Except for one crawled trip to the facilities, I didn’t move the entire night. Poor Bubba. I couldn’t be bothered to get up to feed the dear, so she rustled herself up a nice dinner of carrots and yogurt. I can’t tell you how much I love that she can open the refrigerator on her own now. That is truly a blessing for the ill.

As the poor, neglected child (she will be three in November) wandered around the house, mostly playing Legos and talking to her dolls, I lay in bed dying. Well, not literally dying, just tossing and turning in miserable miserableness. I had piles of tissue surrounding me on the bed all of which were soaked to the core with the nastiness that spewed from my nasal regions. My head throbbed, and the pressure was so great that the entire row of my top teeth ached like they haven’t ached since I was a teenager in braces. So I wasn’t dying, but I sure wanted to die. I kept imagining ways to put myself out of my misery. My personal favorite was the chainsaw I would have used to cut away my teeth, thus removing the most aggravating of my pains. I couldn’t watch television because my eyes hurt, which also precluded reading; I couldn’t listen to music because of my headache, so I just lay there for hours in my state of wretchedness.

If I had been smart, I would have found a mallet to knock myself out with, or at least found a pill to do the trick from my basket o’ medicine, but all I could think of was the misery and the violent ways I could treat myself rather than the rational FDA-approved solution.

I was supposed to be at my mother’s house helping her unload the truck into her new apartment. Before I left work I called her to tell her that it was a “no can do,” so when she called me, why would I expect anything other than sympathy from her phone call? No, no. Sometimes I require much too too much from my mother dearest. When I answered the phone it was to a barrage of angry words. Apparently my sister had abandoned her for a camping trip to the Gorge in George, WA to see Jack Johnson in concert (sorry, I get such a kick out of the fact that there is a place on this planet name George, Washington), Big took off for a b-day dinner with Coco and her sister, and I called in sick. Most upsetting to me was that she didn’t even believe I was sick. She thought I had a date or something. I said, "stop yelling at me, stop yelling at me, stop yelling at me," when she didn’t, I hung up sobbing with frustration. Poor Bubba came in and asked who had been yelling at me. I couldn’t tell her it was her beloved Grandma, but I did let her hug and comfort me. I always feel so guilty taking comfort from a two year-old, but I think that as sick and upset as I was, it’ll be okay, just that once.

X came in, as I was still wiping the tears, to save the day as usual. I had called him on my way home to beg him to come over when he was off work to put Bubba to bed, because I knew I would not have the strength, and here he was. He listened to me sob over my mom’s mistreatment of me, and handed me the quarter-pounder meal he brought as a surprise. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and the McDonald’s sounded good in theory, but my stomach didn’t seem to agree, and the fries I did attempt to eat were barely swallowed. Apparently, and I never noticed this before, when you swallow you puff out a bit of air at the end. If your nose is completely stopped up, swallowing with food is a completely miserable experience to pile on top of the fact that there ain’t no air passing through your nose. I couldn’t even taste the fries in the first place. They were chilled and felt like wet, tasteless mush in my mouth. After a few sips of Diet Coke, I abandoned the idea of sustenance, accepted the Tylenol Sinus PM X rustled up for me, and heard a loud tssssssss coming from my forehead when X lay a cool, damp cloth there. There was probably some steam as well, uh huh. See, I was dying. I had a fever, so there.

But then I started to cry again. I was so upset that I had to rely on my ex-husband to come take care of me. I felt horrible about it, and then of course I got upset again about my mother and began ranting about that. X calmed me down, reminding me that we are friends and he would do this for me even if we had never been married, and that my mother wasn’t upset with me, just freaked out about the move and upset about the other kids. Ten minutes later, I was asleep.

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and to my mother’s house to do what I could in my deathlike state. She apologized for yelling at me, and only let me work for a few minutes before sending me on my way for the weekend. She didn’t want to get sick, and apparently X called her upon leaving my place to say that I really was sick and she wasn't very nice to treat me so horribly in my nearly putrid state.

So I spent the rest of the weekend sniffing and hacking and “ugh”ing a lot. I also got in trouble with my ex-sister-in-law, but that is a story for another blog entirely.

And today I am sniffing and hacking and “ugh”ing a lot, but I am not going to bed after work. I get to look at apartments.

As many times as I have moved in my life, and I do mean many (I am now in my 36th abode – give or take a few), I still look forward to getting settled into a new place and getting to know a different neighborhood. My current place of residence is the first one that I will have lived in for a full year in a looooooooong time. I thought that as a grown-up I would stick my roots and never leave once I had a say, but I think that restless quality was passed down to me from my father. Once Bubba starts school, I think I will be able to quash that feeling. There was nothing worse when I was a child than going home at the start of Christmas Break and finding out that we were moving yet again and would be gone before the start back of school, so no goodbyes – again. No finishing the school year in one school - again. No going back for my prized Trapper Keeper - again.

But this was supposed to be about my sick weekend.

Oh Happy Day!

I hate being sick.

I hate the feeling that my head is stuffed with cotton balls, my nose with slime, and my chest with marbles.

I hate trying to hold my head up at work for eight hours straight while I do nothing better than reading the archives of other people's blogs, which in the case of Blonde Champagne is actually a treat.

I hate that we are having an absolutely beautiful day (one of the last before the mist and the daily 44 high/42 low settle in) and all I want to do is crawl into my comforter-clad bed and live there for the weekend.

I hate that X has next weekend off instead of this one.

I hate that...well, I hate everything right now. Including you.


*Update* Okay, so I don't actually hate you, though I am not too fond of Big and Coco right now for reasons they are aware of and you all would probably approve of.

Uh, sir?

My boss has a big brown stain on his rear.

It wasn't there before.

Since my job includes all of the other mundane and at times humiliating tasks the head honchos can contrive - does it also fall to me to tell him about the mishap on his ass?

Wouldn't you want to know?

It's Like She Had ESPN or Something

Note to annoying people who incessantly call my place of work: No, I don't know how long the meeting will last, and I haven't a clue when the conference call will be over. Your guess is as good as mine. Just leave him/her a voice mail and wait for his/her happy ass to get back to you.

Thanks.

He Just Might Have Something There

This guy sold a pen to exorcise memories of his bad relationship - think it'd work for me?

Geez, What Was I Thinking?

If only I had known being a heiress was so easy. This would never have been an issue.

If You Aren't Going to Take It, LEAVE IT ALONE!

Yesterday morning I went out to my Durango and discovered that the night before I had left my window open a crack. I inwardly admonished myself, and was prepared to think no more of it. But then I tried to start my truck – nothing. I tried again – nothing. I looked around the vehicle…I hadn’t left anything on – I never do. But then I noticed that things weren’t as I left them. It looked as if someone had rummaged around in there. I couldn’t believe that – there was nothing but a car seat and some kid’s shoes in the back seat. I didn’t even have my cd’s in the truck. I tried starting the Durango one more time and gave up. I got out of the car and hit the lock button on my remote entry pad, but nothing happened, then I tried the unlock button, again no reaction. Then I realized that it must not have worked when I used it to access my door first thing – my door was already unlocked. I went back inside, called work to let them know I would be late and then X to ask for him assistance.

It sucks that even though we are divorced, I still have to call on X to help me out. I feel like the helpless dame waiting for the big man to come take her troubles away.

Being the nice guy that he is, X was busy with another of my family members. My cousin, Stone, just moved up from CA and needed a job, so X took him in to his old place of work and got him hooked up with a position. Whatta guy. He agreed to meet me after he was done with Stone. I was actually happy with the opportunity to do nothing for a while. I played the piano for the next hour and a half.

When X arrived, he pushed the truck out of its spot and spent the next 45 minutes fruitlessly trying to charge the battery. He discovered that some wires had been messed with and decided that someone had unlocked the door through the window and then when the security system reacted, they pulled at the wires and only succeeded in ruining my battery. X ran out, bought me a new battery, installed it and admonished me for leaving the window open in the first place.

Note to the criminals: If you are going to mess with my Durango, can you at least have the decency to take it? I even have two keys hidden on the vehicle itself. That way I can get the insurance money, pay it off, and get a nice, sensible hybrid. Thanks.

80 Degrees and Sunny Every Day

Wednesday marks the first day of fall, and I must say that I am not pleased about that - not one little bit. Seeing my breath in the morning is growing in frequency and will soon be an everyday occurrence, the windows on my car are covered with condensation, which I hate to wipe off because I am usually running late, so therefore create a rolling hazard wagon since I can’t see out my windows worth a darn, and I finally had to turn on the heat in my bedroom.

I haven’t relished using the heat, but after a shivering night wherein I woke up so cold that my feet felt like ice and I had to get up to throw on some socks and an extra blanket, I decided that it was time. I usually sleep in my birthday suit – more comfy that way during the summer and suited to keeping me from getting overheated in the winter. It is kind of a bad habit because every now and again I will be in bed and remember that I forgot to lock the door or switch out a light, so I have to go traipsing through the house sans robe, because it is usually in the bathroom on a hook. Sometimes there is a shade or curtain open and I always hope to goodness that no one just happens to look up into that window right at the moment that I am rambling by, which I usually do in the dark if I can or hunched over in a run or just straight up with a devil may care attitude. Pretty stupid, now that I am living alone – I always imagined that whoever caught me walking around would be some surprised old lady who just shook her head and went back to her business. And there is always the possibility that some dude might see and be like “wow, there’s a naked chick up there” and also just return to his business. But the more sinister possibility that one of those freaky guys, whose first step into sexual deviance is a stint as a peeping tom, catches me in my nude dash across the apartment is frightening and especially so since I am all by my lonesome without my knight in shining armor to protect me.

So now that fall is here, my first as I have said in a long time without a bedmate, I suppose I should go buy some PJs, some nice plaid, flannel, boring ones and be done with it. It’s just for a few months, right? Summer will be here again before I know it.

But the temptation to move to the land of perpetual summers is oh so great.

Quote of the Day

"You were all the things I thought I knew
And I thought we could be

You were everything, everything that I wanted
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it
And all of the memories, so close to me, just fade away
All this time you were pretending
So much for my happy ending"

-Avril Lavigne

It All Comes Full Circle

Kids are cute, right? Yeah, they are cute, right up until the age when they start embarrassing you in public.

The other day I made a trip to the grocery store, which I usually try to do when Bubba is with X, but I couldn’t avoid it any longer, so we were there together. She sat in the cart in the freezer section, as I tried to choose between frozen pizzas, and announced, “Look, Mommy, there’s Santa Claus.” I looked down the aisle to where she pointed at a larger man with a full, curly, dark brown beard and longish brown, curly hair – he actually resembled Rupert from Survivor more closely than Santa Claus. I stifled a giggle and urged her to quiet. Do children even listen to such pleadings? Mine merely said in a louder voice, “See, he’s Santa, Mommy.”

“Shhh, I see him,” I whispered.

“He has water, Mommy. Santa has water.” Probably leaving the holder of the water no doubt to whom she was referring, and then she puffed out her cheeks, pushed out her belly, and caressed the newly created girth with her hands. “And he does this, Mommy.”

And with that, I decided against the pizzas and hurried out of the aisle as she continued to puff, push out, point and yell about Santa. I continued through my shopping list, but my daughter spotted someone else. “Uh oh, Mommy,” she said loudly while pointing to a large woman. “She does this.” And with that announcement, puffed and pushed out again, but this time with more gusto. “Why does she do this?”

I hushed her and practically ran away from the poor woman and the shocked expression on her face.

The funny thing is that as embarrassed as I was by her announcements and gesticulations, I know that in ten years time I will be the one causing her cheek flaming embarrassment, just by being myself, her mom, in public. I can hear it now, “Shhhh, MOOOMMM, you’re embarrassing me!”

Quote of the Day

Very few desserts are more delicious to eat and to look at. A classic finale to a meal, crème brulee can be served slightly warm or chilled.

-What's Cooking America

Quote of the Day

"I've been rich and I've been poor; rich is better."

-Sophie Tucker

52 Cents In My Bank Account

For a girl who loves clothes and shoes even more, a life where the bank account is drained by rent, one stop to the grocery store ($40) and one gas tank deposit ($20) isn’t the rosiest. I am making it, but only by the skin of my teeth (which haven’t seen the dentist in a while because I can’t afford the cavities). My daughter’s pants are turning into high waters (thank God she is skinny because otherwise I would be dressing her in pillow sheets, and I only have five of those). I don’t have cable TV; I have the cheapest Internet service possible, but I drive an SUV, a gas-guzzling SUV – with leather interior. If there ever was a car that didn’t match one’s lifestyle, this would be it. X and I bought it when things were going well financially, but I am now stuck with a vehicle that is worth less than what is owed on it – never a good situation, so selling it wouldn’t even work. But I don’t even make payments on the thing – X does. So besides the rare manicure and the nominal bid on eBay, I have very few expenses that I could shuck as an effort to downsize and afford more fun stuff or in the cases of clothing my daughter and fixing what may be a cavity on my upper right back tooth, not so fun stuff.

So last night X came over to pick Bubba up; we sat and talked for a while and I showed him the disgustingness of the middle finger on my right hand. It has swollen up due to what I believe is a fungus in the fingernail contracted by the horrible experience at the manicure shop (NEVER AGAIN will I step foot into such a place). The pain in the finger woke me up during the night. He asked me why I hadn’t gone to the doctor. I told him that not only can I not afford the deductible on my insurance, but I can’t afford the cost for the co-pay required for the year long course of nail fungus medication as well. Shuddering from the brown that has taken over my nail, X told me to get myself to the doctor and he would help me all he could.

Then I remarked about how much this sucked. I hate being poor and complained about my inability to buy new clothes for the fall, not for Bubba and not for me. He said that I should just grin and bear it or move in with my mom, there aren’t any expenses I can get rid of other than rent, so that is my only other option – well marrying a millionaire, winning the lottery, and finding a job that pays more than slave wages are possibilities, but that is beside the point. Sure I can do that – I can move in with my mom - if you want me to slit my wrists. Death is preferable to living with that woman. I love her to death, but I have had enough of living with her to last me a lifetime. I will just go on wearing my rags, thank you.

Rise and Shine!

This morning I woke up exhausted. I still haven't recovered from my sleepless weekend and sleepless week, but nevertheless I awoke with a smile on my face. It was as if I had awaken to the most beautiful spring morning and the sun was shining down upon me. It was a beautiful day despite the clouds and the mist and the cold. I was happy.

Never Wake Up

Jerking awake to escape the ostrich that kept attacking me while I picked Jelly Belly beans in a poppy field, I realized that my alarm failed to go off due to a power outage or something during the night. Leaping out of bed, I threw on clothes, red lipstick, heels and was out the door. As I ran to my car, I got really pissed off because I could see my breath. For the first time in months, there it was. My breath. Right in front of me. It sucked. I don't want summer to go away. I love the summer. Argh.

But you wanna know what really sucked? I found out when I opened my car door. The lovely stench of puke wafted, rather, overwhelmed me. Turns out that last night, in my concern for my puke-covered daughter, I had forgotten to come back outside to clean up the mess on her carseat.

Lacking time to do anything about it, I left for Larry's Market where I was to pick up the birthday goodies for a co-worker (yet another fun task that falls to the last one in line). I raced around the store getting the necessary foodstuffs, then back at my car realized the clerk had not given me my change. Loading my truck, I struggled with the overstuffed plastic bags of 2 liter soda bottles, as I tried to prevent the cart from slipping away with my heel-clad foot. The really fun part came when I grabbed the huge and ultra-heavy cake. Packaged in an awkward box, and somewhat off balance, the cake dropped from my hands right as the cart freed itself from my foot. With one eye on the crashing cake and the other on the cart's Jaguar-bound descent, I decided to forget the cake and lunged, instead, for the cart, which was lucky because a very prissy woman sat inside eyeing me over her black-rimmed glasses. Breathing a sigh of relief, I tossed the rumpled cake on the front seat, ran the cart back inside and drove to work completely forgetting to ask that clerk for my change.

Hauling everything into the office was exciting, especially when the door was locked and I had to juggle the heavy bags while digging through my purse for the keys, all while one of our researchers stood on the other side of the door making faces at me. Ooh, if we weren't already short on PhDs...

But the coup de grace came when I made the birthday boy's card on our ultra-handy greeting card software. Aren't we cheap? It wasn't until several people had signed the card, that one of them came up to me, "Uh, Roxy...Who is Mr. Slick?

"Why do you ask?"

"Because the card is printed, 'Happy Birthday, Mr. Slick'."

Reprinting a new card with the correct name and explaining to the already signed-its why they had to do it again was a real cheek burner.

Ever since, my day has just been one of those that make you wish that you never woke up from your ostrich nightmare.

Thank God it's Friday, that's all I can say.

Note To Self:

Never click the "Next Blog" tab while at work. Someone just might walk by right as "My Nude and Naughty Blog" pops up on your screen thus causing your cheeks to flame and that someone to avert eyes in your presence for the rest of the day. How to explain that you didn't really want to see that? The button is a crap shoot.

Quote of the Day

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

-William Congreve (1670–1729)
The Mourning Bride. Act iii. Sc. 8.

The Cleaning Ladies

Saturday night after our trip to Slick's house, Coco and I, along with Big, my other brother Red and my aunt congregated at my mom's house for salmon and family time. No red wine for me this time, I stuck with diet Coke. My sister Kiki was working, so I didn't feel bad when I headed to her room to hunt down a CD she borrowed from me. What I found there was shocking! I went back to the living room and quietly called Coco to follow me. Opening the door for her, I revealed a certified disaster area. I am not sure that even Hurricane Francis could have generated as much damage. Taking it all in again, I shook my head over and over in disbelief. I looked at Coco, she stood mutely, jaw to chest. We were more than a little awestruck. The talent it takes to get a room to the state of this one...the time, the dedication.

Rejoining the group, Coco and I whispered plans of an intervention.

The next morning, I called my mom and offered my services to help her go through the basement to get things ready for her impending garage sale and move. Noting that work would be complicated because I would have Bubba with me, she politely turned me down. I went to play the piano for a while, but couldn't let the matter rest. I called Coco and we decided to take matters into our own hands.

One hour later, we found ourselves in the war zone. To describe the room is almost beyond words, and I am so afraid of embarrassing my sister, but since she doesn't even know of the blog's existence, I suppose I am safe. And we were safe from her wrath - she had a double shift and was staying the night at a friend's house after, so we were free to do what we wanted sans intervention. So with the blink of an eye, Coco and I turned into crew from Clean Sweep and took inventory of the task at hand.

The door opens to a wide dresser, which she used as a room divider. Behind this dresser is a table on which she had placed the iMac I gave her as payment for a summer's worth of babysitting - I am a little upset to find the mouse ruined and several buttons missing from the keyboard. There is a highboy and a bed and two tables. Where the floor used to be is a layer over a foot deep of debris made up of garbage and every single item of clothing she owns or borrowed. The 13 drawers at her disposal contained not a sock, nor a skirt, some were even empty. The walk-in closet was only different in that it held 2 feet of debris and a couple of empty hangers. I would have sat down on the bed as my knees weakened at the enormity of the task before us had the bed not also been covered with an array of purses, broken personal CD players and other sundry items.

At this point, my mom noticed that we were in the Forbidden Space. She looked at us both and shook her head “Okay, but I had nothing to do with it.”

We gathered laundry baskets and industrial size trash bags and got to work. First order of business was to rid the room of clothes. We filled three large baskets and half of a fourth over the course of half an hour. Separating the clothing from the garbage was more difficult than we anticipated – some of the clothing we even deemed garbage (ew!). We giggled as we came across some horrifying stuff and wondered what underwear the girl was wearing. Coming across tens of pairs scattered all over the room, we decided that she merely went to Victoria’s Secret every time she needed a new supply. After we finally got all of the clothing out of the room and lugged the overflowing baskets down to the basement’s laundry area, we began the even more overwhelming task of clearing and sorting the debris covering the floor, dressers, tables, bed, closet shelves and flowing out of the dresser drawers.

We sneezed continuously and came across some very sinister looking spiders, and though our bodies were growing more exhausted as we went through, tossed out and stifled our gag reflexes, we pushed on as quickly as we could, motivated by the fear that something might bring Kiki home for a forgotten item and we would be caught. We cleared the floor then filled it again with other items to be gone through, and worked and toiled, until 5 hours after we started the room was ready.

We were so proud of ourselves and marveled at the 10 man-hours it took to complete the daunting task. When we collapsed on the sofa in my mom’s living room to Coronas, bread and brie (not a good combo, if you are wondering), Red’s friends came over to pick him up. Coco and I shared a good laugh when he passed Kiki’s room off as his own because her room looked so much better than his own.

Tossing back the rest of the beer, (and shuddering as it clashed with the remnants of brie in my mouth) I sighed with satisfaction.

Mission accomplished!

Surprise!

I've got a fan!!

Oh What a World We Live In

Forget online dating....I should have made this my first stop post-divorce.

Quote of the Day

"After a while, you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul. And you learn that love doesn't mean security. And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts, and presents aren't promises. And you begin to accept your defeats with your head held up and your eyes open, with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child. And you learn to build all your roads on today, because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

And after a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much. So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong, and you really do have worth. And you learn and learn. With every good-bye, you learn."

-The Girl From Texas

Quote of the Day

But why'd you have to break all my heart?
Couldn't you have saved just a little bit of it?
Why'd you have to break all my heart?
Couldn't you have saved a minor part?
I could have clipped and saved and planted in the garden
Damn you guess I'll have to get a new one...

But why'd you have to break all my heart?
I could have ripped apart and thrown into the river
Wonder if there's hearts that will deliver...

-Rufus Wainwright. Want One