Daily Routine

The struggle is real. 

I love it!

I love Long Beach.  Love, love, love it.  I love the people on the streets walking around, walking their dogs, riding their bikes, taking a jog.  I love running walk/jogging along the bike path, next to the ocean.  I love the sun on my face, the breeze cooling me down, looking out at the vastness, once I get past those oil barges.  I love sitting on the pier, watching the sun set, soft oranges and yellows glistening on the mild waves.  I love being able to easily walk to the grocery store, the Wal-Mart, the nail place, to any number of restaurants to  get any kind of food I want.  I love that my building looks like an old, glamorous Hollywood hotel, where someone with arm-length gloves and a tiara or something is going to walk out of the elevator at any point.  This would be, of course, when the elevators are working.  I love my balcony- setting up a couple of cheap lawn chairs and playing some gin on a nice day.  I love that my neighbors are all friendly, and a lot of them are young and like saying hi and chatting in the elevator.  I love that I live across from a fancy restaurant, and I get to check out the ridiculously nice cars the valets park out front.  I’m going to have dinner there sometime.  And it’s going to be awesome.  I won’t ask them to park the Civic.

I love that, close as it is, I took a chance and moved somewhere new, away from my family and the only life I’ve known for 30 years.  I’m still extremely close by, but even a little distance makes me feel somehow stronger, more grown up.  Like I might be able to take care of myself, “for real”.  Since I was old enough, I’ve always worked*, and paid for things on my own, and I’ve paid rent and lived on my own before.  But sometimes I don’t feel like an adult.  And somehow, this move helped a little.  Maybe I’m “finding myself”.  Which, quite frankly, is a little embarrassing because how do you lose someone you’re with twenty-four hours a day?  Yet another of life’s mysteries, I guess.



*…with the exception of that glorious 12 months where I was unemployed and decided to pursue awesomeness FULL-TIME.  It really suited me.  I’m grateful for that time.

Personal Reminder

Dos Roads, Homes.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And it has been awesome, truth be told,
For many a stretch,
But sometimes, ah sometimes,
I look to my friends on the worn road
and wonder, fair ye, what the fuck?
Why have you traveled so easily, so swift?
Why have you passed through with nary a rift?
And my fair friends cry back, with hearts filled with love,
It’s because this road is paved, dumbass!
It is tried and true!
The path you chose was up to you!
We are not going straight up the mountain,
Directions,
Refreshments,
Be damned!
We have not armed ourselves with rocks and sticks,
Striking at overgrown weeds,
Darting amongst wild things!
You chose another path!
And blessed dear friends,
They were right all along,
They chose the wise while I chose the strong,
Why we choose our paths I can’t say,
I just know I had to travel this way.

LET'S DO THIS.

YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG

Do you ever have those days when you feel like you’re doing it wrong?  Life, I mean.  You’re doing life, wrong.  Every decision you’ve made, you’re second guessing.  All your previous relationships and friendships, especially the defunct ones, you have regrets and guilt about.  You feel bad about every misstep, every miscommunication, every argument, and every missed opportunity.  You think about how your life could have been, had you done better.  You are in mourning for a life you have never had. 

Today, I am having one of those days.  I don’t mean to say that I wish I was still with my ex-boyfriend, or I don’t love my current boyfriend, love my life.  This is not a cry for help; I am not writing this from a ledge on a high rise.  I somehow just ended up nursing this anxiety-shame-fear cocktail, and I don’t remember ordering it, and a part of me is wondering why the fuck I am paying for my own drinks in the first place.  Do they know who I am?!  This is bullshit. 

I have to stop myself from calling everyone I wish I could talk to, to “make things right”.  But I can’t do that, because what would it accomplish?  Most of the things I harbor guilt over are slight things- the person I feel…I guess indebted to? sorry to?...would probably either not have a clue what I was talking about, or would think about it and get irritated about it.  Or, I am probably feeling bad about things that I should not feel bad about in the first place. [ß I’m like this a lot.  I forgive faster and easier than I should, and I beat myself up endlessly over the most minute of offenses, perceived or real.  I apologize again and again for events that occurred years ago.  Every mistake I’ve ever made, I carry around with me.  Often it helps me try to be a better person, but many times, it just feels like a suffocating weight.]  Or, even worse, if I try to apologize for what I think was a moment of crazy weakness, the person on the receiving end of that apology may feel like I’m even more crazy for remembering this and thinking of it, and bothering to bring it up so long afterward.  And they would be right!  It is crazy, and I can’t go around calling people out of the blue to relieve my conscience.  I have to accept that I said things I said, I did things I did, I acted in a way that was unlike who I try very hard to be, and certain people may not want me to be a part of their lives.  Those are difficult things to accept.

The problem is, life is not perfect, and neither am I, and that bugs the ever-living shit out of me.  I don’t mean I have to be a size 4, 5’9 humanitarian bombshell working on her advance degree at Harvard-perfect.  I just mean, I’m not even the perfect version of myself.  I can be so self-absorbed sometimes, and I hate it.  Even this writing, right now, is self-absorbed!  Holy shit, I CANNOT ESCAPE ME!  I find me...annoying.*

This is why I should never be left alone or bored for too long.  My brain is not my friend, after all the pleasantries are exchanged, and we tire of talking of the weather and what our weekend plans are. 


*Shout out to anyone who knows what movie this is stolen from.  Hint- it's got Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant and is one of the most charming, adorable movies ever.  It rhymes with "Shew Sheeks Glotice".  If you don't get it now, you're just not trying hard enough.  Do more.  Seriously, do more.

Creepy Poopers

You know the type.  You’ve gone into the restroom to see a man about a horse, and it appears empty.  THANK GOD.  [The only thing more nerve-racking than trying to use public facilities is trying to use them when someone is sitting right next door, breathing, grunting, maybe talking on the phone.  I HAVE THINGS TO DO WHICH REQUIRE PRIVACY.  I like, if at all possible, for this to be “alone time”.  This is my preference for any time I use the restroom, onsies or twosies, but it’s a requirement for twosies.*  Don’t get me started on those who go to the bathroom with the door open, or in front of their significant others.  ARE YOU HIGH?!]  Anyway, you’ve happily settled down to begin your task at hand- maybe you’re even halfway through – when you hear a faint noise.  It’s the slight movement, the subtle rustling of the creepy pooper.  This person has been silent the whole time, pretending not to be there- a ghost.  But they’ve shown their hand with their quiet exhalation, their slight repositioning of their foot.  You are not alone.  You initially were lulled into a false sense of confidence of your solitude, but nay!  They have pooped on your parade. 

Now, the battle ensues – who will be the victor?  You, or CP?  The risk of exiting simultaneously and having an awkward encounter with your nemesis while you both silently wash your hands is too great.  You’ll both know, of the other: it was you.  No way- not on my watch, motherfucker.  You have a gamble – hurry up and finish (if you even can now, for God’s sake) before CP exits the stall to wash their hands, or wait it out.  Only one can win this game.  How long will it be?  There is only one answer: too long.  CP needs to vaminos- they’ve already been in there long enough for you to not notice their presence when you performed your facility pre-inspection.  They are already on borrowed time.  GTFO, McPooper!  I don’t have time for these shenanigans- we are at work.  I have work to do.  I didn’t sign on for this little game.  Your allotted time in this restroom has expired.  If you want to nap, go to your car or crawl under your desk.  YOU ARE MAKING ME INSANE.

I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if this tomfoolery persists.



*You’re probably thinking, ”Why not hold it?  I haven’t gone twosies in a public restroom since 1992.”  Well, congratufuckinglations on your asshole being tighter than a Chinese finger-trap.  I’m a little jealous that you can plan things so well, because unfortunately, when I have to go, I have to go.  I prefer the sanctuary of my own abode, of course, but when nature calls, I pick up the gawddamn phone.

So long and farewell.

It was the longest committed relationship I’ve ever been in – 8 years, 5 months.  And it was over in a flash.  We had good times; we had rough times.  But in the worst of times, I never stopped loving you.  I loved you from the moment I saw you, and we fit, perfectly.  Were you perfect? No. Was I? Of course not.  But together? Together, baby, we were magic. 

The night you left, I almost cried.  I thought I saw you around town a few days later, and I got really excited, but it turned out to be a false sighting; it made me a sad panda.  I have your new number, know your new place, but I promised myself I wouldn’t call.  I couldn’t be…that girl.  I can’t live in the past!  Everything has its season, its time.  I know it’s better that we parted ways now, before things turned, before they got…unpleasant.  We parted ways with love, and I know that’s good.

So here’s to the memories, toots.  We put on a hell of a show.  I hope your new girl loves you as much as I did- you deserve it.  I pray that I’ll find another, somehow, someday, that makes me as happy as you. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DEAD SEXY. You wish you cleaned up this nicely.

 

I have a ferocious hood scoop, AND sometimes I float.
These are some of my many talents.

The Firmest Bottom and the Occasional-Nemesis

I'm but a few short weeks in to my new job, and I already have an occasional-nemesis in the office.  This was a difficult revelation to accept, as those that know me will vouch, I am a team player and get along with just about everyone and dislike very few.  Enter Occasional-Nemesis (O.N.), stage left.  Sometimes she is nice and helpful, other times she's aggressive and condescending.  Sometimes she seems to get defensive about truly strange things.  The other day, for instance, we had a "working lunch"* and she brought the food to me.  The food was late and our meeting was over and I was told I was going to have to eat in the car**.  There were no napkins in the bag, and no paper towels in the "kitchen".  

AF: "Hi, Occasional Nemesis!  Did the restaurant happen to give you any napkins?"

ON: "Yes, they're in the bag.  I saw them." (said in a defensive, I-did-my-job-right-this-isn't-my-problem way)

AF: "Oh, okay.  I didn't see any in there."
ON: "Well, then maybe they didn't give us any." (said in a You-are-wasting-my-time voice)
AF: "Okay."

Now, either of her responses would have been acceptable and fine, except for the fact that she used both and they are totally contradictory.  You can't have seen something that was never there, correct?  And why am I being treated like an asshole for asking about napkins?  If you had a pesto chicken sandwich you were going to eat in the car, you'd probably want a napkin, too.  The whole wipe-your-hands-on-your-pants thing wasn't even an option, as I was going to be representing the company somewhere, and had to return to work, as well.  Believe me, I thought about it. 

Another example, you say?  Yesterday, I ordered my own lunch from the downstairs restaurant, and at a separate, later time, ON ordered and picked up food for the Big Boss.  I ate my food, at my desk, at least an hour before the Big Boss (BB) was done with his meeting.  It turns out that his order was not correct.  So, a logical assumption would be that the restaurant had accidentally handed her the wrong order, or wrote down his order incorrectly, in the first place.  Occasional-Nemesis proceeds to ask me if I ate the wrong food.  Because most people will eat whatever is in the bag, I guess.  "It's a gamble, what ends up in the bag,  ya hear?  Ya eats what ya gets in this part o' town!"- Cowboy style.  Or maybe it's an intimidation thing.  "Your order is wrong?  You don't even wanna mess with the Beverly Hills Cafe, yo.  Betta pack yo nine, beeyotch!"- Gangsta style.  In order to get the wrong order, I would have had to A) Tell a wrong name when I picked up my phone-order, B) Get my food and wait until later on when ON got BB's food, and then switched bags...real stealth-like, or C) Just been in such reverie that I had food that I did not notice I was eating something entirely different than what I ordered.  I'm concerned she either thinks I'm stupid or crazy or THE most laid back person in the world, totally content to take anything that comes my way, with no complaints.  None of these descriptions are entirely accurate.

I know these are petty examples, but this type of thing happens quite regularly.  It's like we don't understand one another, at all.  It's not all bad, though.  Today, to my delight, she used the expression, "That's like farting with your pants on." Which is pretty much exactly what it's like.  Whatever "it" is.

*Lunch is a truly sacred time for me.  This is the time where I get the hell away from everyone I work with and relax, and forget that I'm cooped up in a building for at least eight hours a day.  If I don't leave, I feel like a ticking time-bomb, living on a prayer that I don't explode and start running around the office, shoving everything off of peoples' desks all while screaming, "None of this is real!! What are we doooooooiiinnngggg??", out-running co-workers towards the Xerox machine, where I'll photocopy my bare ass and pin the masterpiece to the wall, and only respond to questions with "Fart you very much." 

**I wasn't actually told to eat in the car, but the options were either that or not eat lunch that day at all. (insert incredulous, you-must-be-joking scoff here)  I don't skip meals.  This is America. 

I won't bother your pussy, if you don't bother mine.

Yesterday was rough.

My cousin's Pit Bull, whom I am baby-sitting, accidentally bit me yesterday.  I don't feel it was personal, but it pissed me off a little bit, to be honest.  I took her for a walk, our first walk together, and we conveniently timed our walk to be when every child in the neighborhood was playing basketball, people were riding bikes, cats were sun-bathing in the driveways, men were walking their Chihuahuas and other men were walking their multiple Pit Bulls.  She went ape-shit, barking and lunging, and I got a little too close and she bark-bit me.  No blood, but torn skin.  My cat has injured me worse, but still.  An ape-shit Pit Bull is a scary thing.  I know I'm being a little bit of a baby, but watching a loving, sweet dog turn in an instant into something that acts insane is eye-opening.  I was so anxious the whole walk, praying we'd see nothing else and hoping I could control her.  It wasn't fun.  I get to walk her, at least twice a day, for the next few days.  Awesome.

Skip to: after a lovely dinner in Venice with my handsome boyfriend and good friend Kit-Cat, we began walking towards the car.  My phone started making noise, so I stopped walking to get my phone out of my purse.  While rifling through my purse I noticed an adorable cat standing a few feet away, behind a fence, and because I am a girl and a cat-lover, I squealed slightly and started talking to the cat and telling it how cute it was.  My friend jokingly asked, "Are you going to take it home with you?" and all hell broke loose.  An elderly woman I had not previously noticed sitting nearby, who may or may not have been homeless or living out of a nearby car, snarled at me: "Well you can't have it, you dumb bitch!" Whoa!  She then proceeded to rant and tell us that we need to find our own cat, we think we can just take whatever we want, it doesn't matter who it belongs to, and everything is fine, but we can't, and we can't take away her pride or dignity either, and that's something she has and we wouldn't know anything about, "motherfuckers".  She also yelled at length about me being born with a silver spoon in my pussy.  Whoa!  Maybe somebody did her wrong at some point, but all I did was compliment a cat, for fuck's sake! 

The real issue, I think, here, is that her speculating or making audacious claims about my pussy is without a doubt, totally out of line.  The condition of said pussy is a private matter and quite frankly, not open for discussion.*  I don't even know her.  And now I'm not sure I want to, with that kind of attitude.  She wouldn't even listen when I told her we meant no offense, and wished her a good day.  She was utterly unreasonable. 




*Just FYI, I wasn't born with a silver spoon anywhere.  Or a silver spork.

Mama, I'm coming home!

So, it's been a while...I know I shouldn't have kept you waiting...But I'm here now.

It's Britney, bitch.

<So, that was a reference only about three people are going to get.  But I'm one of those three, so I'm happy about it.  The point, though, of this rambling post, is to say WE'RE GETTING THE BAND BACK TOGETHER, Y'ALL!!  And by "we" I mean "I" and by "band" I mean "blog" and by "y'all" I mean the four people that read this blog.  I am one of those four, so I'm happy about it.

I had a not-so-brief hiatus, and I do hope you'll kindly forgive the absense.  What I did during this off-time is a tale of intrigue, woven with heartache and triumph.  My life was touched in some way, during this time, by unemployment, multiple moves, sickness and recovery, rehab, jail, births, deaths, weddings, and travel.  Some things happened to me personally, some things happened to loved ones, and all affected me in some way. 

I am now in a place where I feel creative (enough) to post again.  And I'm happy about that!

So here's to the ride, ladies and gentlefucks!  Start your engines!

Best Excerpt from a Conversation Yesterday

(while driving w/windows down - watching a lady about to cross the street)

Person A: Is that lady talking to herself?

Person B: Yep

Person A: You know...that might be underrated.  I can be really good fucking company when I want to be! 

A quick bitch and soapbox plug before I update y'all

There are some things that most people already know, but every once in a while, hearing someone else say them makes you feel like you're truly getting it for the first time.  I've heard a lot of this lately, but because this is my blog, I'm going to lay some down in the hopes that they touch any willing ear:

If you treat people like shit, they will not appreciate it.  They may not react in an unlady-like or ungentlemanly fashion, but it's just not neighborly, so maybe just don't do it.  

If you're into kicking people out of your metaphorical life-house, and you shut and lock the door on people you care about, don't bother asking yourself why you feel so alone.  It's because you took deliberate steps to make it so.  If you're guilty of this and the previous item noted above, maybe think about it for a minute.  I'm not saying apologies are in order, but just be honest if this is you, or you've been there, and ask yourself, "What Would Jesus Do?"  I'm betting Jesus Would Stop Being a Douche-Knuckle.  If you want the more Disney version of that story, the moral is to treat others as you would like to be treated.  Which is likely not very douchey. 

If you don't have any idea what's going on in your sister's, your cousin's, or your old best friend's life- you probably haven't put enough effort into finding out.  I don't recommend stalking because that's your prerogative and I try not to give weird advice on public forums, but in this day and age, and with how accessible everyone on earth is, unless your loved ones are living in a shack in the Appalachians, you don't have a good reason for being oblivious.  

If you don't like honesty, don't say you do.  Some people prefer to be talked to and treated gently, and there's really nothing wrong with that.  Other people like things good and blunt.  Both are time-tested methods.  Just know which team you're playing for, and don't hold it against people when you've switched sides or got confused about which side you were on. 

Be grateful for every single day you  have on this earth.  If you're alive, if you're sober, if you have a job (even if your boss is paid 6x as much as you and doesn't know how to adjust their chair or figure out the difference between a computer screen finger-smudge and a broken computer), if you have a roof over your head, if you have family, if you have friends, if you have ANYBODY that gives a shit if you show up tomorrow- be grateful.  I have a cat that may kill me someday because I am so unbelievably allergic to it- but I'm grateful every time that little monster jumps up on to my tummy and purrs because I know that by god- at least HE is happy for a minute that I'm in his life.  Some days that's all you need to feel good.  Be grateful for your life and the people in it that make it special, and show your appreciation, because the smallest gestures can mean so much.  I've never heard someone complain, "Gawd, my friends are TOO good to me, always calling to see how my life is, or to invite me to do things with them".  I've never heard, "I HATE it when my mom tells me she loves me."  

I don't know much, but if you've contemplated giving me an intervention because I was being an asshole - I'm sorry.  I'm learning a lot this year, and I'm trying to learn a lot more, and god willing, I'm going to be a better person.  I'm grateful for my wonderful family, that's always awesome but has shown me exceptional patience and understanding this year.  I'm grateful even when my granny suggests I start Riverdancing to lose weight, because at least in her funny way, she's showing me she cares about my health.  I'm grateful that my sister and I say the same things all the time, because at least I know that as crazy as I am, there are two of us roaming around.  I'm grateful for my friends, especially the ones that invite me into their homes, to spend time with their beautiful families.  It's nice to be around so much love.  I'm grateful for the friends that invite me to lunch just to catch up.  I'm grateful for the ones that talk to me on the phone, that lend an ear and some sense when I can't figure things out.  I'm grateful for the friends that I don't see often but still will text me random things on Halloween.  It's nice to be thought of, even if it's for a split second.  I'm grateful for the forgiveness people show me when I go on passive-aggressive or bitter rants.  Thank you for loving me in spite of my ugly moments, and for seeing our friendship to the other side of that.  Thank you for having faith in me, that I will get over myself and return to being the one you befriended in the first place.  I'm grateful that I have things for which to be grateful.  

Thank you, and stay tuned until next time. 

Fatal Intellectual Attraction

The heart wants what the heart wants, I think on this we can all agree.  And by “we” I mean “I agree with myself”.  Many times people are victims to their lust, and by “victims” a lot of the times I mean “willful, giddy participants”.  They engage in physical transactions and slowly realize that beyond their mutual attraction, there is nothing below the surface.  I guess that can be sad.  But what about intellectual desire?  This is my weakness.  In the past, I’ve developed very strong, confusing feelings for people, based on our intellectual compatibility.  I’ve found kindred, questioning spirits, and felt intense connections with them.  At no point did I ever have a (sexually) intimate relationship with any of them, but we did develop what I’ll call an intellectual intimacy.  We’d philosophize with one another, share things we’d learned, laugh together, argue, and a mutual respect and admiration grew.  Every time, it seems, I unfairly and mistakenly put them on a pedestal.  And unfailingly, I’ve been let down.  My intellectual mates will come to a crossroad in their life, and have acted hypocritical and/or been dishonest with me.  I lose respect; our connection is altered.  It’s unfortunate, and worse yet, the fault, I believe, lies with me.  I know as humans we all make mistakes, we all have needs and desires, we all are allowed to change.  To expect perfection from anyone is unfair and really, just stupid.  But this is my imperfection- one of my greatest character flaws.  For me to truly care about someone and feel strongly, I must respect them.  There is no swifter way to lose my respect than to act dishonestly or to be purposefully misleading.  I am always open and honest about everything; if you are not as well, our conversations serve no other purpose than to make me look foolish.  Maybe it’s because I am slow to open up to people, or maybe it’s because I am just immature.  I don’t know.  With time, I accept things, I get over things, I move on.  I can’t stay mad or upset at anyone for anything for very long, even when I should.  But the relationship has already changed; the connection will never regain its strength.  This is because the original strength was based on misconceptions and fantasy.  There is no world that exists where people act according only to what I think is right or just.  I must remind myself of this, constantly.  I believe my task here should be one of unconditional love and acceptance.  When more personal thought and feelings get in the way, happiness does not result.  My challenge is to find a way to continue to care greatly for people, no matter the betrayal, no matter the changes…a detached love, I guess? 

But first I’m going to work on this tan.  Who’s going to golden-brown this skin if I don’t?  Nobody, that’s who.

Today's distinctions

Two things of interest happened to me so far today. 

First, while getting water from the old work water cooler (alliteration!) I hit my head on said water cooler.  I blame my heels wedges.  Luckily, nobody was around to witness it. 

Not so luckily, the second thing that happened was I earned the distinction of probably being the only person to trip while just standing...in front of a VP at my work.  I didn't fall all the way down, but enough to have to throw both arms akimbo for a moment, before doing the outstretched-arms-palms-out-wide-eyed-"WHOA" stance.  There was nothing to say except, "So that happened."  Awesome.  This particular guy is a real class act, though, and didn't laugh immediately at me or anything, so I have that going for me.  Seriously, what a guy!  I don't know that I could have done the same.  I'll never forget his kindness.

In other non-klutz news, I heard a lyric I really liked today: "I've been living on the memory of a dream I once had...".  It hit home.  I like when songs can do that. 

Further updates as events warrant. 

Sadly, I've become a bitch.

I’m not sure how or when it happened.  I’ve always been strong-willed and independent.  I’ve always believed in being open and honest at all times, and just as much as I don’t like when others pick on people, I even more am frustrated by those that won’t stand up for themselves.  And I’ve always been opinionated. 

And I’m pretty okay with all of that. 

But lately, I’ve been extremely opinionated…about everything.  I’ve become weirdly critical.  It’s like it’s necessary for the world to run the way I think it should, or I find fault with it. 

Maybe I’m just cranky lately.  I have the age-old “This is not what I thought my life would be like by now” complex, perpetuated by sitcoms that led me to believe that when I was in my late twenties, all my friends would also be unmarried and childless, but we’d all be super-attractive, fun-loving, have lots of money, and live across the hall from each other in high-rise apartments in the big city.  Then before we hit our mid-thirties, we’d all fall in love with our male best friends and live happily ever after.  This is the glamorous life I’d envisioned, and looked forward to.  Cut to the present, where unlike me, almost all of my friends are married and some of them are even working on child #3.  We all look about the same as we did when we were younger, plus a few stray starter wrinkles and ever-so-rare grey hairs.  None of us have much money.  We don’t live in a big city, we don’t have high-rise apartments, and we don’t live across the hall from each other.  We still love fun, but now “fun” is something scheduled weeks in advance, for maybe a couple hours.  Gone are every-day get togethers or weekend hang-outs or camping trips or girls-trips.  Birthdays are often celebrated 5-6 weeks after the actual date.  Adult conversations are few and far between, and if with my friends that have children, the conversations are peppered with constant interruptions and heated requests to sit down, stop crying, stop hitting your sister, I’m on the phone, Please give Mommy a minute, do you have to go potty?, and I have to go, she just peed on the floors…

I feel torn between things.  Some days I feel like I want to go travel, see the world, save the world, and always be moving around, trying new things.  Other days I feel like I would like to settle down, get married, buy a house, and start a family.  And you know what?  I’d be happy at either, and I’d be good at either.  I’ve come around to actually believing that, despite my jokes.  But I’m not there yet, for either path, and I can feel it and it drives me a little bit crazy.  I’m in the holding area, the waiting room, in purgatory, in the in-between after you cut your hair short and you’re waiting for it to get long again, in the moments before the gun fires to start the race.  I am restless, impatient, and frustrated.  I guess that explains the bitchy. 

It’s like I’m at the end of a very long line, and I see everyone getting to go on this “Life” ride, and I still have a long way to go before I can join them.  I know I am going to get there, and I have to just wait my turn, and I accept that.  But it still feels shitty some days. 

I know most have probably felt this way at some point, so it’s likely my situation isn’t ground-breaking, complex, fresh or exciting.  I am sure many people think I should stop complaining and grow up.  And you know, I get it.  I annoy myself when I get down.  Who the fuck throws a pity-party for themselves?  Because life’s not perfect and you didn’t get everything you ever wanted?  Really?  No, really? 

Yeah, I recognize these feelings, too. So what we have here is someone that overall is incredibly blessed to have wonderful friends and family and to have been born with a roof over her head, a brain in her head, and a winning smile.  And she is still grumpy.  And she feels guilty about being grumpy. 

So what does she do?  Well, bitch, apparently.  But hey, it’s not like I’m not trying to make improvements.  I realize that overall it’s unhealthy to base my happiness and/or self-worth on others, either their opinions or their lives, and if I’m focusing too much on others, it’s probably because I’m not satisfied with what’s going on in my own.  So I fall back on self-improvement.  Read more books.  Work out.  Plant a garden.  Try to learn an instrument.  Try to learn a language.  With these things, my job, and helping a little with a couple weddings coming up, I’m actually quite busy.  Which believe me, is a good thing.  God only knows how much more neurotic I’d be if I had more time to sit and think. 

But I’ve still got to work on that whole “being critical” thing.  There’s a fighter in me that really needs to calm down, and learn how to shut the fuck up and smile and nod when a friend lets their husband make all the decisions in the house, or another friend makes (what I think to be) poor financial decisions, or another friend decides they want to marry their prison love.  I have to learn to feel happy when my friends tell me they are pregnant…again, or every last person around me gets married and I still explain to people I meet that I’m not married, don’t have kids, and don’t even have pets.  I know my life is good, and most of the time I feel it, too, but I’ve got to power through the times when I’m not really digging it.  I have to channel my own happiness to have acceptance about things I don’t understand or agree with.  Or at the very least, for God’s sake start practicing the whole “if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all” thing.  I may have opinions about everything from mayonnaise to architecture to politics to assholes to Christina Aguilera’s legs, but if they’re not contributing something positive to the world, I don’t really need to share them. 

Same planet, different worlds.

So I just THIS post on The Sassy Curmudgeon.

And you know what my first thought was?  “Hell yeah!  Alexandria should totally go home!”

Then I skipped to look at the comments to see how many people were feeling me. 

And then I realized that the post was about being pregnant and feeling your baby move. 

So as it turns out I care more about who’s going home next on America’s Next Top Model than I do to hear about someone’s pregnancy. 

Whoa! 

Take it easy folks, don’t string me up just yet.  I’m happy for anyone that is blessed to be with child, and I wish them nothing but the best.  But I am at the point where many of my close friends are on round 3 of babies.  So maybe it’s just that this discussion has lost some of that “new car” smell, whatever the hell that means.  I’m sure when it’s my turn to be knocked up, I’ll be significantly more interested.  Or maybe if someone I am close to gets pregnant for the first time, it will feel different.  Who knows? 

All I know is, Alexandria went home this past week.  And I was pleased.  If you watched the show, you probably would be pleased, too. 

That is all.

Just No

A lot of times when I ask a question, the answer I’ll get is that the person “just knows”.  Most of the time this comes as an answer regarding relationships, though sometimes it’s with regards to other things.  I guess a lot of people have strong intuitions. 

What happens if you never “just know”?  I am kind of a neurotic person- I am constantly analyzing or questioning everything and almost everyone around me.  I’m not paranoid, but I’m not an overly trusting person.  To those that I do trust, I’m an open book.  I don’t make many decisions based on emotion, but I don’t have any less respect for those that do.  I suppose that’s very honest- to react on your emotion, your gut instinct, your first response.  Maybe it’s impulsivity, but maybe it’s also purer.  But where do you draw the line?  When do you trust your heart over your head?  How can anyone know which to trust when big things are on the line?

I’ve always believed that love is illogical- the heart wants what it wants.  I’ll be the first to encourage someone to profess their love, to act on their hearts.  But a profession of love is not the same as the question of whether or not to enter into a relationship or to commit yourself for life- to be married.  Despite what the Beatles said, I don’t think that all you need is love.  I would love to believe that, but I think life intervenes and complicates things constantly.  I fear for the sustainability of relationships not founded on equality- in emotion, intellect, ambition, and financial capability.  Yet I am constantly amazed and filled with awe at the power of love to overcome adversity.  And how could I overlook the many “perfect” relationships that fail left and right? 

*sigh*

I don’t “just know” much of anything, about anything, at any time.  I don’t typically “feel” others’ pain- I understand it.  There’s a difference. 

I wonder how lucky those people that “know”, know they really are?  What a neurotic person wouldn’t pay for some peace of mind…

I guess the only thing anyone can do is just assure themselves that wherever they are, it’s where they’re supposed to be, and whatever may come, will come.  Whatever decision will be made, will be made with the purest of intentions, the cleanest of heart.  Whether it’s the best decision or not, only time will tell.  I guess that’s part of this big adventure called Life.

We don’t know where we’re going.

We don’t know when we’ll get there.

But we’ll know when we’re there. 

My back hurts

I think the title of this post is pretty self-explanatory.  But I'm a sucker for exposition, so I'll continue.  My back hurts in a way I don't know that I've experienced before.  It can be fine but then one of a variety of slight movements will cause so much pain it takes my breath away, and I hunch in that position for a few seconds until I think I can push past the pain to sit straight like a normal person.  I don't think there are any knots that need to be worked out.  Now I'm no doctor but naturally I assume that at some point I dispatched some not quite so cooked chicken and some parasitic and nefarious worm creature has found it's way to nestle into my back muscles, feasting upon my good-feeling nerves and, simultaneously, my will to live.  I'm hoping that beating my back with a meat tenderizer in a stern but pleasant manner will kill it and allow me to return to my relatively pain-free and occasionally happy-go-lucky existence.  In the face of such dire and surprising pain, though, I'll need reinforcements in the form of ibuprofen, preferably at 600-800 milligrams, STAT. 


If a doctor is reading this, call me.  I think it's entirely likely that the worms are burgeoning young alien zygotes, that will soon erupt in a flurry of guts and glory, out of my back, just below and around my shoulder blades.  It sounds gross and if it's avoidable, that would be nice.  Also, I'll need a lawyer.  There's no way I'm paying to put these aliens through college.  I can barely afford cable. 

What a difference a day makes

Something unlikely happened this week: two of my best friends got engaged…within the same week!  And two of my boyfriend’s good friends also got engaged…to each other!  So we had three engagements in one week.  Love is in the air; spring has sprung, y’all.

bling bling, motherfuckers

A little background on the couples: one couple has known each other since high school and has dated on and off since then.  This go-round they’d been together 8 months or so, I think.  One couple has known each other for about 5 or so years and has been dating for close to 4 years.  One couple has known each other for a few years and been dating for 2 months.  None of them have been previously married and none of them have any children.  The age range of all couples was from 23 to, uh…maybe 40?  I really don’t know how old one of them is and I feel bad for not knowing and I think at this point it’s probably just in bad form to ask.  Oops.    

Anyway, what does this mean?  I think it means that love is an unpredictable, wily mistress.  What corner she turns, what path she leads you down, we know not.  Any formulas for success I’ve long since discarded, and any rules about age or time or circumstance are irrelevant.  It appears as though love does not care who you are or what you think.

Some people find love at a play; some people find love in prison.  Some people finally just see something that was there all along.  Love doesn’t care what level of schooling you completed, what your primary occupation is, what car you drive, who your family and friends are or whether you thought you’d found love before or not.  Love doesn’t care if you are a male or a female or what race you are, it doesn’t care how tall you are or if you have nice skin.*  Love doesn’t care if you can spell or are socially awkward or are a social powerhouse or want to save the world or want to sit and watch a lot of television most days.  It doesn’t pay attention to if you like poetry or can tell a good joke or can draw a bitchin’ flute-playing panda or make really sweet mix tapes. 

A couple that you think the most unlikely of pairings will stay together until the day they die.  That “perfect couple” may break up.  It’s all possible; it happens every day.

If there’s a formula for love and marriage, which by the way allegedly go together like a horse and carriage, I couldn’t tell you.  I don’t think it exists.  Maybe, not to sound macabre, it’s like death: when it’s your time, it’s your time.  There’s no point to guessing when or why or how, and more than likely, you can’t alter that course or speed it up or slow it down.  Maybe you had plans to visit Madagascar and single-handedly teach the giant cockroaches to tap to “Singin’ in the Rain” all before you turned 21, but then you met the love of your life at age 18 and settled down and had two kids and now teach kindergarteners how to cut out hand-Turkeys**.  Who can guess that stuff?  It’s crazy! 

I guess love is just awesome- both in the traditional “great” sense of the word and in the more technical “awe-inspiring” sense.  Life is awesome.  You never know what the next minute could bring, or what the difference between your life today and a year or even a few months from now could be.  What twists and turns await, what exciting developments lay dormant, what new characters arrive, we couldn’t possibly know. 

What I do know now, is that this upcoming year is going to be busy, and I look forward to seeing how my wonderful friends play out their special days.  I can’t wait to see how beautiful and happy they look.  Just hearing how happy they sounded when they told me, warmed my heart.  Nothing feels better than really knowing and caring about someone and being able to sense true happiness in them.  I hope this is the beginning of a fantastic new chapter for each of these couples, and I look forward to sharing in their upcoming special moments. 

*Though I’m sure having nice skin can’t hurt.  Keep moisturizing, kids.  And wear sunscreen.  That’s a life lesson.

**Hand-Turkeys: Awesome.  Not in a million years could you convince me otherwise.