For those of you who have been following the Kyle Payne legal situation, here’s some info I received from the reporter covering the case, with her permission:

Hi. I’m Lynda Waddington, the journalist who wrote the recent post about Kyle Payne accepting a plea agreement on Iowa Independent (as well as on my personal site, Essential Estrogen).

Some individuals who have commented to the various postings on Payne have stated that he is scheduled to have an “open sentencing” on Aug. 11 at the Buena Vista County Courthouse, and that anyone who attends will have an opportunity to speak. This is not totally correct.

An “open sentencing” in the state of Iowa means that the public can attend, but not that the public can speak. While it always looks good to have people show up in support of the prosecution — and I’d personally really like to see some strong support in the courtroom — the fact is that not everyone is going to be able to speak.

For those who have a unique interest in the case… for instance, have served as advocates or can somehow speak with authority as to how horrible Payne’s actions were… get in touch with me.

If you want to share your (civil) thoughts about this incident prior to sentencing, your best bet is to write to the judge that will preside over the sentencing:
District Court Judge Don E. Courtney
Buena Vista County Courthouse
215 E Fifth St.
Storm Lake, IA 50588

As a final note, there has been some discussion about Payne being charged with child pornography. This is not a charge he faces from the state of Iowa.

- Lynda Waddington
email: lynda (at) essentialestrogen.com
www.essentialestrogen.com
www.iowaindependent.com
www.rhrealitycheck.org

Lazy blogging days call for exercises. I copied this list from NoSirree of the top 100 books taken out of the library but not read. Like her, I’ve bolded the ones I have read, and italicized the ones I mean to read.

Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
The Prince

Angela’s Ashes : a memoir

The Sound and the Fury (gotta love Faulkner’s South)
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present (a project of mine)
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything

Beloved
Slaughterhouse-five

Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita (one of my top five)
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye (not impressed)
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values

Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth (read everything you can by her immediately)
Treasure Island
David Copperfield

The Aeneid
Watership Down (high school English- damn bunnies)

The Scarlet Letter

Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Dune

The Satanic Verses

Brave New World
The Fountainhead (I was intensely into Ayn Rand at 18- who isn’t?)

Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West (Own this too)
The Canterbury Tales

American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged

The Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov

Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice

All of which makes you wonder why all these people are checking out these books and not reading them… some seem like obvious high school English classics. But others… maybe the books are just not that readable. The older I get, I have gotten pickier about what I read. Not to be too morbid, but I only have so many books I can read left in me. Let’s assume that at 31 years of age, I read an average of one book a week for the rest of my life and live to be 85 (my family has decent longevity genes and I have three great grandparents who lived to be over 100). That only leaves me 2,808 books I can read between now and then, with new books being written all the time. Scary, hmm? So (except for the self-help books that read more like magazines), I’m trying to read what pleases me. OK, and bad thrillers picked up airports. But the weeks I travel, I usually cram in three books, so I get a bad taste waiver.

What am I reading now? The Voodoo Queen, by Robert Tallant (1956). The trashy novelized life of Marie Laveau… because when you can’t get to New Orleans, reading voodoo novels is a poor, but helpful, substitute.

I will read a book on anything if I think there is something to learn. And since I have been a dating disaster since day one, I even picked up a copy of The Rules back in ‘95 when it was all the rage and I was in college. I flipped through, cringed, and promptly tossed the thing out (which I consider book sacrilege). I was NOT going to play hard to get, I would play the game as an even match and that would be the way to find someone who was my even match. Right?

The more I think about it, though, I’m starting to realize the ex and I never dated. Sure, we had a few dinners, went to a movie here and there. But we never dated. I was never “wooed” as my grandmother would say. And honestly, I never played very hard to get. I mean, he was the best looking guy who had ever paid attention to me. And well-liked by a large group of people. Even BC said he was smart- which is saying something. What better sort of vetting process did I need?

When we started hanging out, we had a full month with nothing on my calendar to do it in. I had just wrapped up law school and wouldn’t start my job until fall. Thanks to a moving-out incentive from my old landlord who wanted to condo-ize the building, I had some cash in my pocket. And he was bartending wild hours that meant the rest of the day was all ours. We lounged in the park talking until five a.m. We took his mom’s dog on walks. Went swimming at a friend’s house. Danced and drank and ordered Chinese to eat in bed with a pile of DVDs.

But sometimes, I wonder. I wonder if I should have tried to be more of a princess. The kind of girl who had to be “caught”. Not so much in a woe-is-me, this-is-my-fault way. More in a looking-toward-my-future way. If I hadn’t been so eager to be the “giver” in the relationship, maybe I would have gotten more back.

This is what “rules” do. Make you assume that if you weren’t playing along, it’s your fault you lost the game.

Then again, in better moments, I assume you can’t win the game. Not when the other player cheats.

Let’s see, what did I get myself into this weekend?

Friday night: Performed with my bellydance class in a showcase to a packed house, had birthday cake for my mini-me, gulped down a glass of wine, shook it on the dance floor until I was drenched in sweat, took my spangly self out to meet BC for cocktails, and crashed on the couch for the night when I bumbled my way in, exhausted but happy.

Saturday: Slipped into a coma. Really. Well, ok, not exactly a medical coma. But I did wake up around noon, read for a half hour, fall back asleep until four, eat some cereal, and promptly fall back asleep until eight. PM. By that point, I decided I needed to pull myself up to standing just to retain consciousness. So, I dashed over to the grocery store for supplies and made a giant batch of leftover veggie empanadas (thanks for the idea Burghilicious- I cheated and used refrigerated pie crust). Stayed up until 4 am reading and promptly crashed barely in time to avoid seeing the sun come up.

Sunday: The weather was beautiful out when I darted awake at 10:30, so I made a quick call to my good friend D, wrangled S and J out of bed, and we all headed up to Ohiopyle to splash in the river and picnic. About 30 minutes after we had forged the stream and spread out in the sun, a freak rainstorm pelted us with what felt like hail, blotted out the sun, and in our hurry to escape before we were hit by lightning, sent D tumbling on some rocks. We all made it unscathed back to the car and drove over to a covered picnic area where we watched the rain and gorged on cream horns (a personal fave), lots of good deli pasta and veggie salads, chips, chicken wings, candy, and cheap iced tea. (Did I mention I’m on Weight Watchers … um, this was a minor points catastrophe, but so delicious). By the time we packed up and headed homeward, I didn’t have much left in me but to rub my very swollen belly and grab a copy of August Rush to couch out with. If you like the sort of mushy inspirational sad kid/ love story with a happy ending (I’m talking to you, Uptown Girls) then this a great movie to weep over. Bless that kid’s little pitiful orphan face.

The ex’s darling baby brother had sent over a copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez short stories which kept me up well past my bedtime and by the time I finally crashed out the alarm was buzzing in my ear. This week is all about getting ready for a week out of town- four days in Orlando for work and three days vacation in Philly with my Mama while she attends a conference. I suppose I might want to do some laundry between now and then. Or else, I’ll be conferencing in my bridesmaid dress collection and all the uncomfortable underwear at the bottom of the drawer.

As I’ve mentioned before, nothing brings on the massive self-improvement project in me like a crisis. Since calling off the wedding, I’ve redone the bedroom, gotten a haircut, installed an airconditioner, and finished a week on Weight Watchers online (down eight pounds this week- thank you, heartache diet and bellydancing), rearranged the books on my bookshelves, bought new clothes, and started shopping more organic and veggie. This level of self-improvement cannot possibly be maintained, but it is keeping me busy, and for that I am grateful.

Over many bourbons this weekend, I hashed out the latest details of the break-up with BC. And the conclusion? The ex is clearly highly susceptible to reverse psychology. If only I had been savvy enough to do it intentionally. The minute I give him the boot, every word out of his mouth is about how in love with me he is, how I was the best thing he ever had, how he wants nothing more than to marry me and have children (immediately), how miserable he is without me, and how he could never apologize enough for hurting me and would do anything to have me in his life. When I was ready, willing, and waiting for him… well, we all know how that worked out.

Which makes me wonder, if I started begging him to call me all the time on my work phone (with no caller i.d.) maybe I could stop getting the phone calls of misery?

I was just thinking I needed to get a massage, when this piece on um… the female happy ending massage appeared. And raised some serious questions about the feminist implications, the ethical dilemmas, and more to the point- how much does one tip for that kind of service?

Highlights from a very busy weekend:

• Stayed out after class on Thursday night bellydancing until almost midnight to a live band.
• Met BC for happy hour on Friday (where I was the only girl in an all-boy bar). Grateful I had worn cute shoes that day.
• Rendezvoused with the cute shoes bureaucrats for more cocktails at a swanky lounge during the local gallery crawl. Remembered how fond of them I am. Vowed to get together more often.
• Went home to sober up for a while, only to get an invite to meet up again with BC at 11 pm. How could I say no? Poured myself into bed at 4 am. Woke up wishing I had said no to the last few cocktails.
• Crawled out of bed on Saturday for a quick haircut with my favorite ex drag queen hairdresser. Left looking basically the same but without all the nappy ends fried within an inch of their lives.
• Stopped by the festivities at Doo-Dah Days to hear some banjo music, take a trolley and horse drawn carriage ride and have a brief conversation with Mrs. Abe Lincoln.
• Went for ice cream at Klavon’s. Yes, that was me tucked in the corner booth with the mint chocolate chip AND fountain cherry coke. 
• Loaded a window A/C unit into the apartment because I am tired of being sticky. I love you window fan, but you just weren’t cutting it anymore.
• Ate four pizza rolls for dinner and crashed out on the couch.
• Sunday- YAY! Grabbed my usual morning coffee around the corner, tried to make it to Dozen for brunch but I slept too late. Walked back home and stopped for another coffee on the way- gave street punks one pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and $5.
• Made my way to my favorite Thai place for the yummy Asian pumpkin shrimp curry.
• Headed to the bowling alley to kick some hipster booty with my mega skills (ok, I only broke 100 on one game- but I jumped up and down in a big X for each.and.every strike I rolled.
• Closed out with a quick beer and hit the hay.

And I wonder why I’m not “rested” after the weekend….. (a good time was had by all)

I seem to be stuck in this endless loop. What did I do wrong? Why did this all happen? Why didn’t I fix this? What exactly happened? It’s this ongoing stream in my head. If only I had done the dishes more often, cooked more meals, made more money, worn lingerie to bed every night, stayed out later on work nights so he didn’t have to go out alone, etc.

And all of it is so pointless. Because in my own control freak way, I have to get my brain to realize that the one thing I can’t control and never will be able to is other people. And that is amazingly frustrating when your brain wants to constantly prevent catastrophe around every corner. Because really, not everything is preventable. Variables can be controlled to a certain point, risks calculated. But if nothing else in this life, I have seen that the outcomes are almost always something I never would have seen coming.

This, I saw coming. And I pretended I didn’t. Because it was easier. Because I could stop it if I did everything exactly right. Or so I told myself. But really, when it all came down to it, the infuriating thing is that, even by his account, I did all the right things. And it still got all twisted in the end.

I guess I expected that after all my hard work, I would be rewarded with gratitude. And love- the real kind. The loyalty I feel for those people who have gone to bat for me and that I would scrap everything for if they needed me in a heartbeat. But, there’s that other person part of the equation. He was not capable of it. Or didn’t want to give it. And even said that for once in his life, he was being taken care of instead of doing the rescuing. And it made him lazy. And selfish.

And somehow, I need to wrap my head around the fact that I couldn’t go back in time and fix it. Because I didn’t break it in the first place. And my superpowers just don’t stretch far enough to reach into another person’s heart and make it right.

Today has been a rough one, so I’m not feeling up to much in the writing department. Unfortunately, the Prilosec my doctor prescribed hasn’t stopped me from waking up in the middle of the night with major stomach/ chest pain. Which means I woke up today at 3 am, vomited until 6 am, sent messages to work that I was going to try to see the doctor and passed back out. Unfortunately, the doctor couldn’t squeeze me in, so I’ve wasted yet another sick day because of this junk. And the Boss Lady is none too pleased.

I’m sure all the stress from everything else going on hasn’t helped my poor stomach, so I’m trying to think more Zen Yoga Girl and less Disaster Girl. I’ve never been particular granola in my approach to life, but at this point, I’ll do what it takes to get more than three consecutive hours of sleep.

For those of you wondering, yes, my eyeball is still a bit pink-ish and I’m still in the glasses. So, my complete bodily disintegration should be over by the weekend. I’m expecting to just start dissolving shortly and end up in a sticky puddle somewhere. If you see a puddle with long red hair, please say hello.

Sorry I sound like such a grump, but grump is how I feel.

Well, that and nauseous.

When even your snarky gay best friend calls you out on being “wittily acid-toned” beyond the pale, you have crossed the divide. That, my dears, is where I started my weekend.

After much deliberation, I decided to skip KT and her happy hubby’s pre-4th party on Thursday. I just wanted to be at home alone and mope, which would have made me miserable company. I slumped into the couch and some Girl Scout cookies from the freezer, ignored calls from the ex MIL and caught up on an entire season of the Legally Blonde: The Musical reality show from MTV. By about 10 pm, I decided to take myself around the corner for a quick cocktail and a sympathetic bartender, who quickly introduced me to half the people in the room, bless her heart. While I was meeting and greeting, V, who rides the same bus home every day as I do, asked me to join her crew for pool. I’m not much for bar games, but she and I pulled up seats at a nearby table and chatted.

After getting a brief “we’re not together anymore,” from me on the ex, she ponied up two invites for the weekend- fireworks with a  group of their friends on the 4th and a Turkish feast dinner party for Saturday. Which amazes me. She and I really are mere acquaintances, and somewhere in the fog of adulthood I think I lost those make new friends social skills. Or I’m just so desperate for kindness at this point that it seemed like she was offering me a branch while I drowned in a river.

Friday, I slept in late and woke up to the realization that I had left in my contacts. Which had turned my left eye into an oozing, red, painful, light-sensitive disaster. I pulled on the birth control glasses, applied warm wash cloths, and finally by about 2 pm gave up on the day to suffer in the dark. Even opening my cell phone to text was too bright. The computer and the tv were out of the question. And I had to light cigarettes with my eyes closed because the flames scorched my eyeball (yes, I know- quit smoking). I called every eye doctor in town- who all were off, of course, enjoying a long weekend. I thanked V for the fireworks invite, but declined, and crawled into bed to sit and groan.

The ex and a friend were coming by for some of his things. Which only made it worse because I would prefer to look ravishing and irresistible when he stopped by, not like some bleary-eyed vampire hissing at the light and oozing eye gunk. He stopped upstairs, noticed my predicament, and even though I hate him, managed to rig up some dark towels over the windows, standing on a chair without turning on the light, and bring me a fresh washcloth before he left. He may have been an awful fiance’, but that was a small miracle that I will be eternally grateful for. I finally drifted off, in complete and total darkness.

(part two to follow)…