I hid from my ex's mom in the store today because I wasn't expecting to see her, or anyone I know really, and I kinda looked like hell.
I hate that you have to actually dress well to go grocery shopping on a Saturday. I hate that we have to dress well AT ALL on weekends. I am most definitely a no makeup-baseball cap-jeans-tennies-sweatshirt on the weekend kind of gal but even in my crappy town most people aren't. And it doesn't help that I get all kinds of guilt from dating gurus about how I have to look my best all the time. I'm tired. I don't care. I want to get up and go. I envy the no muss super short hair of men, and the fact that they aren't judged for not wearing mascara, and that they can look effortlessly casual in jeans and a hoodie.
I look like a bloated soccer mom with bad skin because my hormones are all kinds of F'd up and I don't want to put on a damn pair of spanx to fit into regular pants just so I can go to Trader Joe's. And I wouldn't so much mind looking like a soccer mom in general if I had kids, or a husband or at this point even a damn pen pal who played soccer but I have none of those things. I'm a woman over the age of thirty with no one at home but a needy cat and a collection of sweatshirts that I'm probably too over the hill to wear.
So, I hid from my ex's mom. I dumped him two years ago. 99% of the time if I would have run into her it would have been no big deal but YOU KNOW HOW IT IS. I'm tired, in a very, very bad mood (just found out I have no job in a few months: AWESOME), my face has acne which cannot be tamed, I look six months pregnant from bloat weight, I'm miserable, it's like 3 degrees outside yet bitches be all up in the store on a Saturday morning looking cute as shit, I've just been accosted by "can I wash your wind sheild" homeless mentally ill guy, I'm all kinds of emotionally off kilter and miserable, so OF COURSE the mom of the guy who fucking decimated my heart two years ago is in the grocery store. I managed to avoid her just fine and kinda laugh it off but...yuck.
Now I'm at home in my disaster of an apartment (I managed to get the Christmas tree out yesterday...along with the Halloween pumpkins I put Santa hats on out on my porch, but I still haven't vacuumed up the pine needles) just sorta starting at the wall, there is a TON to do but I'm not doing it. Also, related to nothing, I'm signed up for speed dating next week. Which no part of me wants to do but I figure I have to do to say I tried at least once.
I need a hug. Or someone to come hang out with me while I do laundry and then we can watch bad reality TV together. That would be really, very nice.
If I could afford it I'd just have all my damn groceries delivered.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
My cat ate carpet and no that is not innuendo get your dirty filthy mind out of the gutter you bastards
My cat ate carpet.
She got sick and when I went to clean her up there was, how to put this delicately...a damned eight inch piece of carpet that I had to gently pull from her bum which resulted in even more sick getting everywhere. Sorry, that is as polite as I can put it. I'm relieved that my poor baby is okay, but scared because WHAT THE HELL CAT? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF? What if the carpet had wound itself around her intestines? What if she had choked? What if she is eating more damn carpet RIGHT NOW? WHAT WHAT WHAT?
I cleaned up the area where she had clearly been tearing up the carpet then covered the whole thing with duct tape AND sprayed it with no chew spray AND put a motion detector that makes a noise and sprays air if she goes near it to keep her from tearing at that patch of carpet which she seems to have suddenly developed an interest in; an interest so intense you would think she saw someone bury gold bouillon and cans of tuna under there.
I also went around my whole entire condo and trimmed any bits of carpet that were poking up and taped up any edges that could be torn up. But that doesn't comfort me much, I mean, WHAT THE HELL CAT? I have, no joke, like 15 cat books. Cats for Idiots. Cats for Dummies. Cats for slightly OCD adults who have never successfully cared for an animal before. Amazon is pretty convinced I'm an animal hoarder shut-in that likes to read about Feline Infectious Peritonitis. And I will tell you this, for all those 15 books that I read from cover to cover NONE OF THEM covered what to do when your stupid cat decides to do things like ingest carpet. Or lick shampoo. Or try to eat tile cleaner. Or tries to stick their paw in BOILING WATER.
I have books for Cats That Are Trouble Cats. Cats That Scratch. I wish I had a book for Cats That Play With Matches and Aerosol Hairspray. But none of these books address things like: What to do when your cat still won't stay off the damn counters or stove after a full year of training, What to do when your cat tries to eat an entire scarf, What do do when your cat ignores the SEVEN different styles and types of scratching posts you got for them and still tries to destroy Grandma's antique chair. All the books stress consistency. I have been consistent. All the books suggest re-routing the cat's attention. I re-route. I have finally had to get training devices, like plastic mats covered in plastic spikes to cover the stove when it is not in use, two sided sticky tape which my cat just pulls off with her teeth, anti chew spray which I suspect my cat drinks in a martini glass while I am out of the house and motion detectors that spray air and make noise but only worked to scare her for about a week. My cat is alternately the smartest animal in the world or possibly the dumbest f'n being to have ever lived.
I have three cat trees up. I have cat shelves over the couch. There are SEVEN, did I mention SEVEN scratching post type options. I have a floor to ceiling cat tent thing up. I put out mini cat tents and cat tunnels for her, which she just shreds to pieces but at least she is entertained. I own Every. Single. Cat. Toy. Ever. Made. and I rotate them on a weekly basis so they're always "new". She has puzzle toys filled with treats. I play with her every night. I put up cat napping beds in every window. She has cardboard boxes and paper bags to play in. She has everything. Never has a cat been so spoiled. Wait, not true: she is second in the spoiling department only to Karl Lagerfeld's cat. (Damn I want TWO maids!)
I'm at my wit's end, I don't know what to do. She has to be an indoor cat, her immune system can't handle being outside. Is she bored? Lonely? Insane? Is this normal? What do I do? I'm scared she'll eat more carpet and die. Survival of the fittest yadda yadda I know but all this aside I really like her, I can't imagine life without her, how do I teach an unteachable animal to stop trying to kill herself?
She got sick and when I went to clean her up there was, how to put this delicately...a damned eight inch piece of carpet that I had to gently pull from her bum which resulted in even more sick getting everywhere. Sorry, that is as polite as I can put it. I'm relieved that my poor baby is okay, but scared because WHAT THE HELL CAT? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF? What if the carpet had wound itself around her intestines? What if she had choked? What if she is eating more damn carpet RIGHT NOW? WHAT WHAT WHAT?
I cleaned up the area where she had clearly been tearing up the carpet then covered the whole thing with duct tape AND sprayed it with no chew spray AND put a motion detector that makes a noise and sprays air if she goes near it to keep her from tearing at that patch of carpet which she seems to have suddenly developed an interest in; an interest so intense you would think she saw someone bury gold bouillon and cans of tuna under there.
I also went around my whole entire condo and trimmed any bits of carpet that were poking up and taped up any edges that could be torn up. But that doesn't comfort me much, I mean, WHAT THE HELL CAT? I have, no joke, like 15 cat books. Cats for Idiots. Cats for Dummies. Cats for slightly OCD adults who have never successfully cared for an animal before. Amazon is pretty convinced I'm an animal hoarder shut-in that likes to read about Feline Infectious Peritonitis. And I will tell you this, for all those 15 books that I read from cover to cover NONE OF THEM covered what to do when your stupid cat decides to do things like ingest carpet. Or lick shampoo. Or try to eat tile cleaner. Or tries to stick their paw in BOILING WATER.
I have books for Cats That Are Trouble Cats. Cats That Scratch. I wish I had a book for Cats That Play With Matches and Aerosol Hairspray. But none of these books address things like: What to do when your cat still won't stay off the damn counters or stove after a full year of training, What to do when your cat tries to eat an entire scarf, What do do when your cat ignores the SEVEN different styles and types of scratching posts you got for them and still tries to destroy Grandma's antique chair. All the books stress consistency. I have been consistent. All the books suggest re-routing the cat's attention. I re-route. I have finally had to get training devices, like plastic mats covered in plastic spikes to cover the stove when it is not in use, two sided sticky tape which my cat just pulls off with her teeth, anti chew spray which I suspect my cat drinks in a martini glass while I am out of the house and motion detectors that spray air and make noise but only worked to scare her for about a week. My cat is alternately the smartest animal in the world or possibly the dumbest f'n being to have ever lived.
I have three cat trees up. I have cat shelves over the couch. There are SEVEN, did I mention SEVEN scratching post type options. I have a floor to ceiling cat tent thing up. I put out mini cat tents and cat tunnels for her, which she just shreds to pieces but at least she is entertained. I own Every. Single. Cat. Toy. Ever. Made. and I rotate them on a weekly basis so they're always "new". She has puzzle toys filled with treats. I play with her every night. I put up cat napping beds in every window. She has cardboard boxes and paper bags to play in. She has everything. Never has a cat been so spoiled. Wait, not true: she is second in the spoiling department only to Karl Lagerfeld's cat. (Damn I want TWO maids!)
I'm at my wit's end, I don't know what to do. She has to be an indoor cat, her immune system can't handle being outside. Is she bored? Lonely? Insane? Is this normal? What do I do? I'm scared she'll eat more carpet and die. Survival of the fittest yadda yadda I know but all this aside I really like her, I can't imagine life without her, how do I teach an unteachable animal to stop trying to kill herself?
Sunday, September 9, 2012
My cat is co-dependent, does that make me her enabler?
If I try to close a door with me on one side and my cat on the other SHE LOSES HER DAMN MIND. I don't know if she thinks I bust out the piles of catnip and fresh tuna on the other side of the door and throw a party for other cats I have hidden in my purse or closet but she is pissed and lets me know it.
She wales.
She scratches.
She throws herself at the door.
Her cries are so loud, so miserable, so visceral, that a passerby would report me to animal control immediately, only after breaking into my house themselves to rescue the poor little injured and abused animal. I don't know why she does this. The best I can figure out is that she is insanely co-dependent.
I haven't gone to the bathroom alone in my apartment since I adopted her ten months ago. At least she no longer insists on actually sitting on my shoulders while I attend to my business, now she just sits on the counter, either licking my face or resting her paw on my shoulder as a sign of what I can only assume is moral support. I don't show her this kind of support when she is in her litter box so I don't know how she got the impression that I need it. I mean, yes, I am lonely as hell, but most people who are lonely don't require moral support while peeing. And it would be nice to take a nap someday without her sleeping on my face but I guess this is a quirk of cat ownership. People who say cats are aloof or non-affectionate have never met my clingy little ball of fur.
I've intermittently tried following her punk ass around for an hour or so at a time but it doesn't phase her, she likes having me shadow her, and she relishes the attention. I suspect that if I quit my job just to follow her around and attend to her every whim she wouldn't bat an eye; balance would be restored and all would be right in the world in her mind.
I've read everything I can get my hands on to break her of the habit of screaming outside a closed door but the only suggestion is to just ride it out for weeks or even months until they give it up. I can't do this because my neighbors would kill me. She is so loud you can hear her outside and across the parking lot never mind in the units around me.Until I move to a house where the nearest neighbors are deaf or many miles away I will not know what it is like to pee or sleep or read or shower without feline company.
I try to encourage her to get hobbies of her own but she only seems to enjoy her plethora of toys if I am in the room with her and the toys at the same time. I think she just sleeps all day while I am gone, shutting down until she has an audience for the cute. At least, that is the impression she gives and she gives it well so I have no reason to doubt it She has shown no interest in reading, getting a part time job, chatting with other cats on cat-skype, nothing. I can't even get her to do the occasional load of laundry. I am her absolute only diversion besides flying bugs which are awesome and super fun but I rarely let them into the house because I am clearly a wet blanket, what are some broken lamps and dishes and overturned bookcases between friends?
So, I'm 30. I'll be 31 on Tuesday. I live alone with a co-dependent cat. I may be a cat enabler. I will probably have to attend groups or something for this. At least I will be a healthy crazy cat lady.
She wales.
She scratches.
She throws herself at the door.
Her cries are so loud, so miserable, so visceral, that a passerby would report me to animal control immediately, only after breaking into my house themselves to rescue the poor little injured and abused animal. I don't know why she does this. The best I can figure out is that she is insanely co-dependent.
I haven't gone to the bathroom alone in my apartment since I adopted her ten months ago. At least she no longer insists on actually sitting on my shoulders while I attend to my business, now she just sits on the counter, either licking my face or resting her paw on my shoulder as a sign of what I can only assume is moral support. I don't show her this kind of support when she is in her litter box so I don't know how she got the impression that I need it. I mean, yes, I am lonely as hell, but most people who are lonely don't require moral support while peeing. And it would be nice to take a nap someday without her sleeping on my face but I guess this is a quirk of cat ownership. People who say cats are aloof or non-affectionate have never met my clingy little ball of fur.
I've intermittently tried following her punk ass around for an hour or so at a time but it doesn't phase her, she likes having me shadow her, and she relishes the attention. I suspect that if I quit my job just to follow her around and attend to her every whim she wouldn't bat an eye; balance would be restored and all would be right in the world in her mind.
I've read everything I can get my hands on to break her of the habit of screaming outside a closed door but the only suggestion is to just ride it out for weeks or even months until they give it up. I can't do this because my neighbors would kill me. She is so loud you can hear her outside and across the parking lot never mind in the units around me.Until I move to a house where the nearest neighbors are deaf or many miles away I will not know what it is like to pee or sleep or read or shower without feline company.
I try to encourage her to get hobbies of her own but she only seems to enjoy her plethora of toys if I am in the room with her and the toys at the same time. I think she just sleeps all day while I am gone, shutting down until she has an audience for the cute. At least, that is the impression she gives and she gives it well so I have no reason to doubt it She has shown no interest in reading, getting a part time job, chatting with other cats on cat-skype, nothing. I can't even get her to do the occasional load of laundry. I am her absolute only diversion besides flying bugs which are awesome and super fun but I rarely let them into the house because I am clearly a wet blanket, what are some broken lamps and dishes and overturned bookcases between friends?
So, I'm 30. I'll be 31 on Tuesday. I live alone with a co-dependent cat. I may be a cat enabler. I will probably have to attend groups or something for this. At least I will be a healthy crazy cat lady.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Washing machine woes, condo hating/911 calling/upper body strength lacking/run on sentence fun
Disregard egregious spelling and grammar errors please, my eye strain is still very bad, therefore I can't edit.
The agitator in the crappy washing machine in my crappy condo has taken to eating clothes. I am not pleased. I know agitators can be pulled out so I can rescue the clothes but the brand of the stackable washer/dryer combo that my landlord bought, as far as I can tell, sometime before electricity was invented, is not recognized by google. After much googling of other brands I was able to at least figure out how to get the first bit off but the second bit, the bit where I have to pry out an agitator that is glued in place from approximately eighty trillion tiny loads of laundry since this thing only washes like, one pair of socks at a time, is impossible. I don't have the strength. Which brings me to my real topic: Being alone.
I did text a friend who lives in the same complex as me to request the man strength of her spouse and explaining that lo, I cannot get the agitator out by myself. Her helpful response was that they are busy all weekend and can't swing by to help. They live ten doors down. I have done a cumulative SHIT TON of stuff for this woman, and her guy, and now their baby. I rarely, if ever, ask for help. And I still find that when I do instead of being like "find time bitch, I need help and you owe me", I immediately just feel kinda ashamed that I asked for help in the first place and would rather hand wash my clothes in a creek, or pay someone to come out, then push the subject. And believe me, after years of therapy this is my HEALTHY response, it was much, much worse before.
I worry about when (when damnit, when! I will move someday...) I move to a new city that I will be totally, utterly, absolutely alone. I won't have a soul to call to help me with anything. But even with friends and social connections and co-workers and family nearby my life is still laughably devoid of anyone, anywhere, to help me with anything.
People know me as the reliable one who will be there to watch their kid, help them move, be the emergency contact for daycare, pick them up from and drop them off at the airport, and any other variety of supportive things. I have always been this way, but after I dumped my POS ex (18 months ago, but really, who is counting? Oh, right, me. Fuck him. I hope he is getting his face punched in at a bar right now) I really took it up a notch. In an effort to work through my pain I turned to every self help outlet I could find and they all basically resolved down to: be the change you want to see in the world, be the things you want. You want love? Love. You want kindness? Be kind. You want someone to actually give a shit and take of you for once? Take care of others. Take all that stuff you want, crave, need, and pour it out into others. Which I did, done, do.
For the action itself the above is a useful way to spend time otherwise spent drinking, crying, watching marathons of TV seasons on a laptop in bed while your cat destroys your curtains and you wish you were dead just so that for one freaking moment the pain will finally leave you the hell alone, but, big picture, it has not generated any more love, kindness, or care for me personally. Selfish, I know.
If loving creates love then why am I drained, lonely, and stuck probably having to call a plumber to pry out my agitator? Given the options of productively giving to the world or being so depressed that showering is out of the question of course I choose the former, but I am honest when I say I struggle to see the benefit in the outcome. Selfish? Probably. Honest? Yes. And I need a place to be honest. I'm sure that if I had spent the last 18 months laying in bed I would be jobless, homeless, and weigh like 800 pounds by now. But I do question the wisdom in the hours of time I put in to get essentially nothing out of it. In writing that I see that I did get something out of it, time passed, and it passed without me jumping off a bridge. So there is that. I have an answer, it is just small, and less than I would have hoped for.
So, I fear moving to a new city because I don't want to start from scratch and am terrified that it will take me damn near another decade to meet people, and actually have social support. My biggest fear of all was realized last Friday, which is important: After nearly dying 5 years ago and only making it to the hospital because someone was at my apartment with me to make me go I have since worried that something like that would happen again, only the next time there would be no one with me; and this time there wasn't.
Friday I wound up with a migraine so bad that I don't remember getting home from work. I do know that I was sick, throwing up, for hours, and could have died. I do know that around 1AM my subconscious had finally had enough and made me call 911. I went to the hospital alone in an ambulance. After they figured out what was going one and pumped me full of drugs they sent me home, hours later, alone in a taxi. For all the work I've done and all the people I know and all the "friends" I have I still was in a very dangerous situation alone, blacked out, called 911 alone (Thank you God, seriously), managed the hospital alone, and took a cab home alone the next day. This would be no different if I lived in another city. Sad and scary, though it is, the last thing that scared me about someday moving is gone: I'm already alone as fuck. Moving to a new city won't change that. No one takes care of me in this city but me. No one has ever taken care of me but me pretty much ever.
I don't have to be scared to move because I'm really not leaving anything behind. I have worked so hard, for so long, to have some kind of social structure here and on a superficial level I do but when I actually need help, as opposed to someone else, I get none. If I have to hire someone to come and pry out the damn agitator from my washing machine here it makes no difference if it is in another city. And at least I can hold out hope that in another city there are decent single men who have all their teeth and wonderful quirky women who are simply dying for a friend like me.
I abhor this condo. I only moved here "temporarily" after my last condo was destroyed by fire/water in March 2011, which means my "temporary" condo has been my crappy home for 17 months. I had intended to be here no longer than 6 months. I also abhor this city. If there is ANYONE on the planet like me or that I would enjoy spending time with they aren't within 300 square miles of this place. I don't know how to move or where to look but I do know that no matter where I wind up it can't be any worse than this, and even though I will be totally miserably alone at least I know I won't die because of it, my subconscious will see that I call 911. Plus I bet there are plumbers in every city.
The agitator in the crappy washing machine in my crappy condo has taken to eating clothes. I am not pleased. I know agitators can be pulled out so I can rescue the clothes but the brand of the stackable washer/dryer combo that my landlord bought, as far as I can tell, sometime before electricity was invented, is not recognized by google. After much googling of other brands I was able to at least figure out how to get the first bit off but the second bit, the bit where I have to pry out an agitator that is glued in place from approximately eighty trillion tiny loads of laundry since this thing only washes like, one pair of socks at a time, is impossible. I don't have the strength. Which brings me to my real topic: Being alone.
I did text a friend who lives in the same complex as me to request the man strength of her spouse and explaining that lo, I cannot get the agitator out by myself. Her helpful response was that they are busy all weekend and can't swing by to help. They live ten doors down. I have done a cumulative SHIT TON of stuff for this woman, and her guy, and now their baby. I rarely, if ever, ask for help. And I still find that when I do instead of being like "find time bitch, I need help and you owe me", I immediately just feel kinda ashamed that I asked for help in the first place and would rather hand wash my clothes in a creek, or pay someone to come out, then push the subject. And believe me, after years of therapy this is my HEALTHY response, it was much, much worse before.
I worry about when (when damnit, when! I will move someday...) I move to a new city that I will be totally, utterly, absolutely alone. I won't have a soul to call to help me with anything. But even with friends and social connections and co-workers and family nearby my life is still laughably devoid of anyone, anywhere, to help me with anything.
People know me as the reliable one who will be there to watch their kid, help them move, be the emergency contact for daycare, pick them up from and drop them off at the airport, and any other variety of supportive things. I have always been this way, but after I dumped my POS ex (18 months ago, but really, who is counting? Oh, right, me. Fuck him. I hope he is getting his face punched in at a bar right now) I really took it up a notch. In an effort to work through my pain I turned to every self help outlet I could find and they all basically resolved down to: be the change you want to see in the world, be the things you want. You want love? Love. You want kindness? Be kind. You want someone to actually give a shit and take of you for once? Take care of others. Take all that stuff you want, crave, need, and pour it out into others. Which I did, done, do.
For the action itself the above is a useful way to spend time otherwise spent drinking, crying, watching marathons of TV seasons on a laptop in bed while your cat destroys your curtains and you wish you were dead just so that for one freaking moment the pain will finally leave you the hell alone, but, big picture, it has not generated any more love, kindness, or care for me personally. Selfish, I know.
If loving creates love then why am I drained, lonely, and stuck probably having to call a plumber to pry out my agitator? Given the options of productively giving to the world or being so depressed that showering is out of the question of course I choose the former, but I am honest when I say I struggle to see the benefit in the outcome. Selfish? Probably. Honest? Yes. And I need a place to be honest. I'm sure that if I had spent the last 18 months laying in bed I would be jobless, homeless, and weigh like 800 pounds by now. But I do question the wisdom in the hours of time I put in to get essentially nothing out of it. In writing that I see that I did get something out of it, time passed, and it passed without me jumping off a bridge. So there is that. I have an answer, it is just small, and less than I would have hoped for.
So, I fear moving to a new city because I don't want to start from scratch and am terrified that it will take me damn near another decade to meet people, and actually have social support. My biggest fear of all was realized last Friday, which is important: After nearly dying 5 years ago and only making it to the hospital because someone was at my apartment with me to make me go I have since worried that something like that would happen again, only the next time there would be no one with me; and this time there wasn't.
Friday I wound up with a migraine so bad that I don't remember getting home from work. I do know that I was sick, throwing up, for hours, and could have died. I do know that around 1AM my subconscious had finally had enough and made me call 911. I went to the hospital alone in an ambulance. After they figured out what was going one and pumped me full of drugs they sent me home, hours later, alone in a taxi. For all the work I've done and all the people I know and all the "friends" I have I still was in a very dangerous situation alone, blacked out, called 911 alone (Thank you God, seriously), managed the hospital alone, and took a cab home alone the next day. This would be no different if I lived in another city. Sad and scary, though it is, the last thing that scared me about someday moving is gone: I'm already alone as fuck. Moving to a new city won't change that. No one takes care of me in this city but me. No one has ever taken care of me but me pretty much ever.
I don't have to be scared to move because I'm really not leaving anything behind. I have worked so hard, for so long, to have some kind of social structure here and on a superficial level I do but when I actually need help, as opposed to someone else, I get none. If I have to hire someone to come and pry out the damn agitator from my washing machine here it makes no difference if it is in another city. And at least I can hold out hope that in another city there are decent single men who have all their teeth and wonderful quirky women who are simply dying for a friend like me.
I abhor this condo. I only moved here "temporarily" after my last condo was destroyed by fire/water in March 2011, which means my "temporary" condo has been my crappy home for 17 months. I had intended to be here no longer than 6 months. I also abhor this city. If there is ANYONE on the planet like me or that I would enjoy spending time with they aren't within 300 square miles of this place. I don't know how to move or where to look but I do know that no matter where I wind up it can't be any worse than this, and even though I will be totally miserably alone at least I know I won't die because of it, my subconscious will see that I call 911. Plus I bet there are plumbers in every city.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Severe eye strain is my new life companion, online dating is the unholy abyss of fucking bullshit
Lo internet I have been working. And working and working and working. And all this working has caused eye strain so severe that when I get home I have to lay ice packs on my eyes and lay on the couch while my cat impatiently jumps on me and wonders why I am so damned boring. I can't look at my phone. I can't read tweets. I can barely do any regular work but I've been itching to post so I'm banging this out after icing my eyes, kindly excuse grammar and spelling atrocities.
Online dating is a total, freaking, disaster of a joke. Sure, I have picked up more anecdotes and bad date tales to add to my already looooooong list but that isn't really a perk. I had enough bad date stories already, I certainly didn't need more.
I can tell myself that it is just a law of averages thing, the more duds I meet in person the closer I get to meeting one that I don't want to get away from five minutes in, but I don't think that is the case. I think I'm just meeting a ton of (coincidentally super short) losers with severe personality disorders, ex wives that they hate, lisp problems, delusions of grandeur, and the inability to show interest in anything but themselves. It is bad people. Take how bad you think internet dating is and multiply it exponentially until you reach infinity: voila! Internet dating.
I'm pretty sure, at 30, that this is it. There is no one out there.
Certainly not within 200 miles of me. Certainly not on the internet.
I don't know why the cutoff is 30. I thought that since the median age for marriage in the United States and the rest of the world has risen during my lifetime that being 30 and single wouldn't be a pariah inducing state. I thought that being 30 and single meant that you took time to get an education, settled into a career, traveled, figured yourself out, became a better person, maybe got your heart broken, determined your values and decided to share your life with someone as a fully actualized person unlike being a dumb 22 year old with stars in your eyes and no idea what a real partnership takes. This is not the case. 30 means you are stupid, broken, over the hill (if you are a woman), damaged, weird, and bad genetic material. Over 30 is like the broken bits at the bottom of a stale bag of chips. You can't get a full chip, you can't even get half a chip, the only stuff left is defective.
At 30, with a career, and an education, my options are bitter 38 year old divorced men who charmingly refer to their ex-wives as "cunt", are shit dads to their kids, and are only putting up with meeting me for a drink because I'm blonde and for some reason the 22 year olds they keep emailing aren't responding. At 30 any man below 30 has the mentality and personality of a self obsessed frat boy with no ambition other than how good they look shirtless and no desire to do anything but fool around and are only putting up with meeting me for a drink because...I'm blonde and the 22 year olds they keep emailing aren't responding.
This all sounds bitter and damnit, it is. The bitterness that the dozens upon dozes assholes I've met for drinks and coffee and dinner all carried with them has worn off on me. I want to punch every guy I see now. I want to punch them for the shitty husbands they were, for the shitty husbands they will be, for the ridiculously awful fathers they are, for the self absorbed asshole fathers they will be, for every woman they treated like shit, for every parent/friend/family member they are a waste of space to, and for every damned retarded thought they have about how intellgent or laid back or fun loving they are. Punch punch punch. BAH.
The crap bit is that I really wasn't so beat down after my last breakup. It was bad, very bad, but it strengthened my resolve that there was somebody out there for me and that I would absolutely not settle and every heartbreak really is okay, because it is part of life and I would make it through to a better day. Ya. Well. I have to adjust all that because at 30? I don't have time to foolishly think there is someone out there for me. There isn't. It is like hoping to win the lottery: very, very few people do. I want kids. I want family. I need to stop being retarded and thinking I'll find someone to do that with because I will wake up at 45 with no family, bitter and alone, and that isn't the way to approach life. I have to get serious about saving money and coming up with a timeline for being stable, buying a house, and adoption, alone. Because at the end of the day this is 30. 30 is not 20. Time actually is ticking away. 30 will just as easily be 40, 40 will just as easily be 50. Dating will be no easier then, it will probably be much worse. I can and will have my kids alone. And FUCK this internet dating bullshit, I AM DONE. Forever.
Online dating is a total, freaking, disaster of a joke. Sure, I have picked up more anecdotes and bad date tales to add to my already looooooong list but that isn't really a perk. I had enough bad date stories already, I certainly didn't need more.
I can tell myself that it is just a law of averages thing, the more duds I meet in person the closer I get to meeting one that I don't want to get away from five minutes in, but I don't think that is the case. I think I'm just meeting a ton of (coincidentally super short) losers with severe personality disorders, ex wives that they hate, lisp problems, delusions of grandeur, and the inability to show interest in anything but themselves. It is bad people. Take how bad you think internet dating is and multiply it exponentially until you reach infinity: voila! Internet dating.
I'm pretty sure, at 30, that this is it. There is no one out there.
Certainly not within 200 miles of me. Certainly not on the internet.
I don't know why the cutoff is 30. I thought that since the median age for marriage in the United States and the rest of the world has risen during my lifetime that being 30 and single wouldn't be a pariah inducing state. I thought that being 30 and single meant that you took time to get an education, settled into a career, traveled, figured yourself out, became a better person, maybe got your heart broken, determined your values and decided to share your life with someone as a fully actualized person unlike being a dumb 22 year old with stars in your eyes and no idea what a real partnership takes. This is not the case. 30 means you are stupid, broken, over the hill (if you are a woman), damaged, weird, and bad genetic material. Over 30 is like the broken bits at the bottom of a stale bag of chips. You can't get a full chip, you can't even get half a chip, the only stuff left is defective.
At 30, with a career, and an education, my options are bitter 38 year old divorced men who charmingly refer to their ex-wives as "cunt", are shit dads to their kids, and are only putting up with meeting me for a drink because I'm blonde and for some reason the 22 year olds they keep emailing aren't responding. At 30 any man below 30 has the mentality and personality of a self obsessed frat boy with no ambition other than how good they look shirtless and no desire to do anything but fool around and are only putting up with meeting me for a drink because...I'm blonde and the 22 year olds they keep emailing aren't responding.
This all sounds bitter and damnit, it is. The bitterness that the dozens upon dozes assholes I've met for drinks and coffee and dinner all carried with them has worn off on me. I want to punch every guy I see now. I want to punch them for the shitty husbands they were, for the shitty husbands they will be, for the ridiculously awful fathers they are, for the self absorbed asshole fathers they will be, for every woman they treated like shit, for every parent/friend/family member they are a waste of space to, and for every damned retarded thought they have about how intellgent or laid back or fun loving they are. Punch punch punch. BAH.
The crap bit is that I really wasn't so beat down after my last breakup. It was bad, very bad, but it strengthened my resolve that there was somebody out there for me and that I would absolutely not settle and every heartbreak really is okay, because it is part of life and I would make it through to a better day. Ya. Well. I have to adjust all that because at 30? I don't have time to foolishly think there is someone out there for me. There isn't. It is like hoping to win the lottery: very, very few people do. I want kids. I want family. I need to stop being retarded and thinking I'll find someone to do that with because I will wake up at 45 with no family, bitter and alone, and that isn't the way to approach life. I have to get serious about saving money and coming up with a timeline for being stable, buying a house, and adoption, alone. Because at the end of the day this is 30. 30 is not 20. Time actually is ticking away. 30 will just as easily be 40, 40 will just as easily be 50. Dating will be no easier then, it will probably be much worse. I can and will have my kids alone. And FUCK this internet dating bullshit, I AM DONE. Forever.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Hissy Fit; and also, the longest run on sentence EVER
Today my therapist told me it was okay to go home and have a temper tantrum.
Things have been building for awhile and though I am an adult, and have been one for over a decade now, sometimes tiny voices in side me scream "NO I don't wanna!" or "You can't make me!" or "sddlfkjiajefhdskjvdlkj!".
I tried when I got home, I really did.
I got into comfy clothes. I lay in bed. I punched pillows. I tried to think of all the crap that is causing me anxiety and woe that is getting me down. It didn't help. The tears or anger didn't come. My brain just kept talking me off the ledge, being kind and compassionate and perhaps even reasonable, but that isn't, for once, what I need right now.
I need to have a full fledged temper tantrum.
I need to throw myself on the floor of Walmart and pound my limbs and scream and knock over displays and have someone, anyone, patiently wait while I self destruct then calmly tell me to get up and get in the car and we are going home now. Because ultimately, this needed tantrum isn't about how much my job is killing me right now or how I haven't slept in over three months due to my new kitten or how much I freaking hate the crap condo I quickly moved into when my last one was destroyed or how said condo has gross old carpet, non working appliances, the worst fucking downstairs neighbor EVER, constantly reeks like a goddamn casino because the three units that surround it are filled with smokers, the floor plan is retarded, the rent is too high and I never feel safe in the crap condo. The temper tantrum isn't about how much my friends are wearing on me right now with petty things and stupid demands and making poor choices and thinking I am going to step in and save them, it isn't about my poor health and my failing liver and my odd metabolic disorder or the fact that I have gained so much weight from said health issues that I am actually uncomfortably in pain from both the health issues and now all the added weight. The hissy fit isn't about how difficult it is to work with doctors and how I have to be my own advocate and how I did mountains of research because they weren't paying attention and how I had to demand the right treatment and seek out doctor after doctor; it isn't about my crap family or their drama and how much they try to drag me in and drag me down; it isn't about financial issues continually cropping up that keep me semi-trapped in a crap condo barely ahead of my bills; it isn't even about the awful devastating breakup I got to live through the last year, or how much I abhor online dating and how demoralizing it is to meet random losers for drinks and how fucked up people are to each other in the world and online.
The tantrum ultimately is about the fact that I am LONELY, bored, unfulfilled, missing authentic human connection and exhausted by being the only person responsible for me all the time, always.
The tantrum I need to have is because I have no one, not a soul, to take care of me when the day is done. My parents failed spectacularly in this fashion and my whole life I have cared for myself, my siblings, my friends, my family, my ex, the exes before my ex, my coworkers, everyone. For a brief time I thought I had someone to care about me, my (asshole, shithead, selfish son of a bitch) ex, and the relief and joy that came with that was every good and calm and wonderful thing in the world all wrapped up in one wonderful warm summer breeze. Even if ultimately it was an illusion, it was the first and only time I have ever felt safe, secure, and loved in my life. And having had that, only to not have it, well. The reason I need to have a tantrum is precisely the reason I can't get the tantrum to trigger: I need someone to witness my tantrum but there is no one there.
Recursive tantrum logic: because I have no one to witness me having a tantrum I need to have a tantrum. Adulthood always has exciting new ways to F with me.
Don't get me wrong: I have friends. I have a great therapist. I am not a shut in. I have a job to go to, health insurance, all my teeth, a car that starts everyday, and a roof over my head (a roof I need to move away from but one step at a time people) and ultimately I'm still luckier that probably 98% of the world's population; good lord I have clean drinking water and I'm allowed to live my life as a female in public without being stoned. However, at the end of the day I am bored, alone, overworked, and missing authentic, deep human connection.
So I need to have a tantrum damnit. A giant meltdown screaming hissy fit of a tantrum. I need/want to have it be about ME ME ME and how MY needs aren't met and how the burden of supporting oneself totally alone is, in fact, a total bitch at times and that half the shit in my life isn't FAIR (life isn't fair, but you aren't allowed to argue the nature of my tantrum, it is mine! MINE!) and that I am TIRED of being freaking alone and that my reward for doing the right thing to protect myself and get out of a bad relationship has been precisely nothing and that I'm afraid there really is no one out there and I am pissed off as hell that I even have to TRY because why oh why oh why hissy bitch whine moan isn't anything ever easy? WHINE BITCH BITCH AUGH temper tantrum break things scream sob throw stuff meltdown.
I need an emotional release I can't get, and I don't know how.
Things have been building for awhile and though I am an adult, and have been one for over a decade now, sometimes tiny voices in side me scream "NO I don't wanna!" or "You can't make me!" or "sddlfkjiajefhdskjvdlkj!".
I tried when I got home, I really did.
I got into comfy clothes. I lay in bed. I punched pillows. I tried to think of all the crap that is causing me anxiety and woe that is getting me down. It didn't help. The tears or anger didn't come. My brain just kept talking me off the ledge, being kind and compassionate and perhaps even reasonable, but that isn't, for once, what I need right now.
I need to have a full fledged temper tantrum.
I need to throw myself on the floor of Walmart and pound my limbs and scream and knock over displays and have someone, anyone, patiently wait while I self destruct then calmly tell me to get up and get in the car and we are going home now. Because ultimately, this needed tantrum isn't about how much my job is killing me right now or how I haven't slept in over three months due to my new kitten or how much I freaking hate the crap condo I quickly moved into when my last one was destroyed or how said condo has gross old carpet, non working appliances, the worst fucking downstairs neighbor EVER, constantly reeks like a goddamn casino because the three units that surround it are filled with smokers, the floor plan is retarded, the rent is too high and I never feel safe in the crap condo. The temper tantrum isn't about how much my friends are wearing on me right now with petty things and stupid demands and making poor choices and thinking I am going to step in and save them, it isn't about my poor health and my failing liver and my odd metabolic disorder or the fact that I have gained so much weight from said health issues that I am actually uncomfortably in pain from both the health issues and now all the added weight. The hissy fit isn't about how difficult it is to work with doctors and how I have to be my own advocate and how I did mountains of research because they weren't paying attention and how I had to demand the right treatment and seek out doctor after doctor; it isn't about my crap family or their drama and how much they try to drag me in and drag me down; it isn't about financial issues continually cropping up that keep me semi-trapped in a crap condo barely ahead of my bills; it isn't even about the awful devastating breakup I got to live through the last year, or how much I abhor online dating and how demoralizing it is to meet random losers for drinks and how fucked up people are to each other in the world and online.
The tantrum ultimately is about the fact that I am LONELY, bored, unfulfilled, missing authentic human connection and exhausted by being the only person responsible for me all the time, always.
The tantrum I need to have is because I have no one, not a soul, to take care of me when the day is done. My parents failed spectacularly in this fashion and my whole life I have cared for myself, my siblings, my friends, my family, my ex, the exes before my ex, my coworkers, everyone. For a brief time I thought I had someone to care about me, my (asshole, shithead, selfish son of a bitch) ex, and the relief and joy that came with that was every good and calm and wonderful thing in the world all wrapped up in one wonderful warm summer breeze. Even if ultimately it was an illusion, it was the first and only time I have ever felt safe, secure, and loved in my life. And having had that, only to not have it, well. The reason I need to have a tantrum is precisely the reason I can't get the tantrum to trigger: I need someone to witness my tantrum but there is no one there.
Recursive tantrum logic: because I have no one to witness me having a tantrum I need to have a tantrum. Adulthood always has exciting new ways to F with me.
Don't get me wrong: I have friends. I have a great therapist. I am not a shut in. I have a job to go to, health insurance, all my teeth, a car that starts everyday, and a roof over my head (a roof I need to move away from but one step at a time people) and ultimately I'm still luckier that probably 98% of the world's population; good lord I have clean drinking water and I'm allowed to live my life as a female in public without being stoned. However, at the end of the day I am bored, alone, overworked, and missing authentic, deep human connection.
So I need to have a tantrum damnit. A giant meltdown screaming hissy fit of a tantrum. I need/want to have it be about ME ME ME and how MY needs aren't met and how the burden of supporting oneself totally alone is, in fact, a total bitch at times and that half the shit in my life isn't FAIR (life isn't fair, but you aren't allowed to argue the nature of my tantrum, it is mine! MINE!) and that I am TIRED of being freaking alone and that my reward for doing the right thing to protect myself and get out of a bad relationship has been precisely nothing and that I'm afraid there really is no one out there and I am pissed off as hell that I even have to TRY because why oh why oh why hissy bitch whine moan isn't anything ever easy? WHINE BITCH BITCH AUGH temper tantrum break things scream sob throw stuff meltdown.
I need an emotional release I can't get, and I don't know how.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Check out the twitter feed to the right
...but DON'T follow me, I will quickly annoy you by posting 100 times in one day and then nothing for months. Don't say you weren't warned, I don't want your wrath.
That said, I'm writing this post like a series of tweets.
Discovered that red wine really jazzes up when rum or vodka is added.
Red wine is so much better with vodka or rum added that in fact I suggest you skip the red wine bit altogether.
Red wine + rum or vodka - red wine = less carbs!
I got a cat.
She is almost six months old.
I love her dearly except from 3AM to 6AM.
I fantasize about boarding my cat overnight at the vet or sneaking out to my car to sleep when I am particularly delirious from sleep deprivation.
I adopted my cat in January. I haven't had real sleep since then.
Pet insurance is awesome, in particular when the kitten you adopt is straight from kitten death row and requires THOUSANDS of dollars in vet bills.
On the bright side my cat's energy at night is a sign that she is going to be healthy someday, on the downside I still have to express the pus out of her eyes and give her eye drops.
For two solid months my free time consisted of enticing a small skeletal swath of fur to eat special food mixed with prebiotics, probiotics, antibiotics, bovine colostrum, fiber supplement and exhaustion.
My cat no longer feels like an achingly sad pile of bones barely covered with ratty, oddly discolored fur. Now she is a slightly more filled out pile of ratty, oddly discolored fur.
My cat is the cutest cat that has perhaps ever lived.
Beauty can be in the eye of the beholder.
After I dumped my jackass ex, over a year ago now, it was oh so very, very sad to have no one to say "I love you" to anymore. Now I say "I love you" at least twice a day, to my cat. It really does make a difference, and I really do love her.
Thank God for small favors and tiny kittens; covered from head to toe in their own sick, behind two inches of plexiglass in a tiny cage, desperately underweight and ill, too pathetic and feeble for anyone else to take, that need me even more than I need them, that I get to love and help to thrive.
Thank God I got to her in time.
Thank God she lived.
Thank God (my cat agrees) for Zyrtec D and allergy treatments covered by my insurance that help me cope with my cat's ratty, oddly colored fur.
Thank God I survived 2011 mostly intact; 2012 is a year of rebuilding and growth and perspective.
Love to all of you.
Edited To Add: My cat chirps. Chirps! She doesn't meow, she chirps. The vet and I and all my friends find this to be the most darling thing EVER. Fin.
That said, I'm writing this post like a series of tweets.
Discovered that red wine really jazzes up when rum or vodka is added.
Red wine is so much better with vodka or rum added that in fact I suggest you skip the red wine bit altogether.
Red wine + rum or vodka - red wine = less carbs!
I got a cat.
She is almost six months old.
I love her dearly except from 3AM to 6AM.
I fantasize about boarding my cat overnight at the vet or sneaking out to my car to sleep when I am particularly delirious from sleep deprivation.
I adopted my cat in January. I haven't had real sleep since then.
Pet insurance is awesome, in particular when the kitten you adopt is straight from kitten death row and requires THOUSANDS of dollars in vet bills.
On the bright side my cat's energy at night is a sign that she is going to be healthy someday, on the downside I still have to express the pus out of her eyes and give her eye drops.
For two solid months my free time consisted of enticing a small skeletal swath of fur to eat special food mixed with prebiotics, probiotics, antibiotics, bovine colostrum, fiber supplement and exhaustion.
My cat no longer feels like an achingly sad pile of bones barely covered with ratty, oddly discolored fur. Now she is a slightly more filled out pile of ratty, oddly discolored fur.
My cat is the cutest cat that has perhaps ever lived.
Beauty can be in the eye of the beholder.
After I dumped my jackass ex, over a year ago now, it was oh so very, very sad to have no one to say "I love you" to anymore. Now I say "I love you" at least twice a day, to my cat. It really does make a difference, and I really do love her.
Thank God for small favors and tiny kittens; covered from head to toe in their own sick, behind two inches of plexiglass in a tiny cage, desperately underweight and ill, too pathetic and feeble for anyone else to take, that need me even more than I need them, that I get to love and help to thrive.
Thank God I got to her in time.
Thank God she lived.
Thank God (my cat agrees) for Zyrtec D and allergy treatments covered by my insurance that help me cope with my cat's ratty, oddly colored fur.
Thank God I survived 2011 mostly intact; 2012 is a year of rebuilding and growth and perspective.
Love to all of you.
Edited To Add: My cat chirps. Chirps! She doesn't meow, she chirps. The vet and I and all my friends find this to be the most darling thing EVER. Fin.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
I'm going to develop a permanent tick
Things were looking up: I figured out a relatively inexpensive trip to take for my impending doom of a birthday (I'm essentially flat broke), my job isn't killing me, my health hasn't totally failed, and each day is another day further from the breakup which makes each day a lovely little gift that heals wounds, albeit SLOOOOOOWLY. I finally take a deep breath, re-assess, figure I have a grasp on things and all is going to be okay and find out today that my younger sister who is a single mother is near financial ruin and needs money support. My parents don't have money. At all. So...now I have to figure out how to support her as best I can and also somehow my parents eventually when the day comes? Sooner than later maybe if my dad loses his job? I know have have clean running water to drink and shoes to walk in so I have no right to complain and this is first world stuff but I have to vent: DEAR SWEET JEBUS UNIVERSE WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LET UP ALREADY?
I'm going to curl into a ball now and sob for awhile, then pick myself up, and deal with this one day at a time. I can't do anything else. This when I'm going to be taking yet another pay cut very soon.
/twitch
I'm going to curl into a ball now and sob for awhile, then pick myself up, and deal with this one day at a time. I can't do anything else. This when I'm going to be taking yet another pay cut very soon.
/twitch
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
44 days until three oh
tick tick tick.
Any fun suggestions for something to do? Something that doesn't require a passport, mine expired and I won't have enough time to renew...
Any fun suggestions for something to do? Something that doesn't require a passport, mine expired and I won't have enough time to renew...
Sunday, July 24, 2011
THE FRIVOLOUS SHOPPING MUST STOP, but first I ramble about internet innoventions
The internets keeps moving forward without me and I'm having none of it. I'm sitting on my porch (this blog) with a cup of tea under a caftan and yelling at you damn kids with your facebooks and widgets and RSS feeders to get off my lawn! I noticed today that there is some kind of "Followers" feature in blogger. I don't know what this is or how it works and I do not care to find out. I did look at my "Followers" and they all appear to be spam bots so I promptly blocked them, or rather, blocked about three then got tired and said F it. I drink decaf tea damnit.
Sometimes I wonder if I should join facebook and then I laugh and laugh and laugh. No one I know says that it actually enhances their social life. I don't need a place where I have to visit walls and tend to imaginary sheep or fight off mobsters and real ex boyfriends, that sounds absolutely awful. Still, I would like more ways to connect with people, but I like REAL connections, where I know the person actually exists and isn't just commenting on my most recent wall update or whatever so I'll go over to their wall and we'll all just have a big self congratulatory cluster F over how great we are. Ya. No.
As a matter of fact, Teresa Strasser, a writer I love whose blog you should visit and book you should read, has this great article on Social Networking which sums up what I've suspected all along.
The purpose of today's post was to tell you that I'VE LOST MY DAMN MIND and since the destruction of my worldy possessions this last March and starting a new more professional job I have gone on a shopping spree of epic proportions that I certainly cannot afford. There is no question that I needed new clothes, I just didn't need a purple satin wrap dress. Or the 7 dresses I just ordered online. One new pair of cute shoes would have sufficed, not THIRTEEN. I. Have. Lost. My. Damn. Mind. I need help. This has to stop. Having been poor my entire twenties I literally went years without buying clothes. I was well into my professional career, out of college, still squeezing into stuff I got when I was 16 at clothestime (shirts/blazers fit. Pants not so much. I had three total pair of professional pants that I found for under ten bucks each at Old Navy that I had to ask my Mom to buy for me because I can't stress this enough: NO MONEY. NONE. Name brand Top Ramen was a luxury).
Now, having a tiny bit of income, which actually should be going into an IRA and not into my closet, I can't control my new found obsessive shopping. I don't know if it is in response to having lived a famine for so many years or partially a salve for the breakup wound or what, but I have piles of new clothes and MORE COMING. I can't stop it. It's really bad. And the icing on the cake is that I found myself genuinely contemplating spending FIFTY DOLLARS on NAIL POLISH. Nail Polish. You heard me. And we aren't talking eighty bottles here either, we're talking like five bottles of name brand polish. My car isn't paid off. I owe 25K in student loans. I don't have a retirement account. I don't own my own home, I have no assets, my monthly medical expenses match my rent and I'm not Daddy Warbucks rolling in the dough and yet my brain says nail polish is a good idea. AUGH. HELP ME PEOPLE, you're my only hope.
Sometimes I wonder if I should join facebook and then I laugh and laugh and laugh. No one I know says that it actually enhances their social life. I don't need a place where I have to visit walls and tend to imaginary sheep or fight off mobsters and real ex boyfriends, that sounds absolutely awful. Still, I would like more ways to connect with people, but I like REAL connections, where I know the person actually exists and isn't just commenting on my most recent wall update or whatever so I'll go over to their wall and we'll all just have a big self congratulatory cluster F over how great we are. Ya. No.
As a matter of fact, Teresa Strasser, a writer I love whose blog you should visit and book you should read, has this great article on Social Networking which sums up what I've suspected all along.
The purpose of today's post was to tell you that I'VE LOST MY DAMN MIND and since the destruction of my worldy possessions this last March and starting a new more professional job I have gone on a shopping spree of epic proportions that I certainly cannot afford. There is no question that I needed new clothes, I just didn't need a purple satin wrap dress. Or the 7 dresses I just ordered online. One new pair of cute shoes would have sufficed, not THIRTEEN. I. Have. Lost. My. Damn. Mind. I need help. This has to stop. Having been poor my entire twenties I literally went years without buying clothes. I was well into my professional career, out of college, still squeezing into stuff I got when I was 16 at clothestime (shirts/blazers fit. Pants not so much. I had three total pair of professional pants that I found for under ten bucks each at Old Navy that I had to ask my Mom to buy for me because I can't stress this enough: NO MONEY. NONE. Name brand Top Ramen was a luxury).
Now, having a tiny bit of income, which actually should be going into an IRA and not into my closet, I can't control my new found obsessive shopping. I don't know if it is in response to having lived a famine for so many years or partially a salve for the breakup wound or what, but I have piles of new clothes and MORE COMING. I can't stop it. It's really bad. And the icing on the cake is that I found myself genuinely contemplating spending FIFTY DOLLARS on NAIL POLISH. Nail Polish. You heard me. And we aren't talking eighty bottles here either, we're talking like five bottles of name brand polish. My car isn't paid off. I owe 25K in student loans. I don't have a retirement account. I don't own my own home, I have no assets, my monthly medical expenses match my rent and I'm not Daddy Warbucks rolling in the dough and yet my brain says nail polish is a good idea. AUGH. HELP ME PEOPLE, you're my only hope.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Oh for fuck's sake
AUGH
AUGH
AUGH
Being as discrete as I can be, since this is news I cannot share because it would endanger someone, how can I vent about a phenominally stupid and shitty thing someone did that they chose to take me into confidance about? And how many times am I going to have to spin around on the grass outside my balcony before the knowledge of said transgression is permanently erased from my mind? SWEET JEBUS.
I'm thisclose to getting into my car and just driving. Who needs work, right? I can just...I don't know.
AUGH
AUGH
AUGH
AUGH
AUGH
Being as discrete as I can be, since this is news I cannot share because it would endanger someone, how can I vent about a phenominally stupid and shitty thing someone did that they chose to take me into confidance about? And how many times am I going to have to spin around on the grass outside my balcony before the knowledge of said transgression is permanently erased from my mind? SWEET JEBUS.
I'm thisclose to getting into my car and just driving. Who needs work, right? I can just...I don't know.
AUGH
AUGH
AUGH
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Catch up so we can move forward
To recap so we can move forward, in the last 5 months:
-I broke up with my boyfriend. Am still pretty messed up but the first three months I was devastated. I promptly lost 17 pounds but was so weak my gastroenterologist made me take anti-naseau meds, which were needed, (I have a dangerous intestinal issue that could kill me at any time, starvation isn't good for it), but I then gained back 25 pounds. BECAUSE LIFE IS A BITCH. If I'm gonna go through something this shitty AT LEAST let me BE SKINNY GODDAMNIT. ahem.
-I was a bridesmaid in a good friend's wedding a month after the breakup. I hardly remember it but I know it was lovely and I held my shit together. It was a gay wedding, and let me tell you, if you want a GORGEOUS wedding you better get two gay guys to throw it for you, no bridezilla has anything on them.
-There was a fire in the unit above my condo and my place was 80% destroyed by smoke, water, and broken glass. It sucked, yes, but it was a blessing: It got me moved out of that place and into someplace nicer. I didn't lose anything irreplaceable (photos and yearbooks, grandparent's stuff, somehow all saved). What stuff I could salvage I just let dry out. My new decorating theme is "shipwreck chic" since the stuff that I kept is warped, cracked, and stained with water damage. I replaced things like linens and clothes, I did not replace furniture. I have enough to get by and with a healthy weekly dose of febreeze I can almost pretend my water stained couch doesn't reek like acrid smoke. It's an adventure! I'm Robinson Crusoe! I don't care.
-My car was backed into. Twice. The wedding, the fire, and the co-pay for repairing my car (TWICE) wiped out my fun money account and dipped into my long term savings. Happy I had the money, but ouch.
-I have a new job. A super seeeeeeecret government job. Am not joking. My job is classified now. It is sorta with the same folks I worked for before but higher up and in a new location though I am still associated with my old co-workers (I'm just higher up than them? Muah ah ahhhhhh!). My office has no windows which is very sad. The pay raise was pathetic. But I have a job, which is nice, especially in this economy.
-My liver is F'd up. Bad. And I DON'T KNOW WHY. If you read here you know I'm a fan of the booze but not on a daily basis, and certainly not bottles of it at a time. My bitch doctor assumed I was an alcoholic until I did a ton of research and discovered that the specific elevated enzymes from my labs are not the same as those of an alcoholic, and my doctor was promptly fired. My liver issue has something to do with insulin resistance and not metabolizing fat very well which makes weight loss damn near impossible and YET I have to lose twenty pounds to help with the problem. I broke my ankle last October but the asses that read the x-ray thought it was fine so I hobbled on it for six months until I demanded an MRI. So: Ankle is bad, body won't let go of weight, yet I HAVE to lose weight. This isn't so much angering as it is sigh inducing. I'm figuring it out, but damn, this medical crap is OLD.
-A friend left her abusive husband and had no place to go. She lived with me for 5 weeks. She was a nut case. Ever been around someone who is in shock and denial but in denial about being in said denial? WOW. I mean, here I am just barely getting my footing back and then hurricane crazy pants came in. It did not fail to amuse me that while I was still waking up crying over the breakup (yes, three months in, at least now at five months that fun has stopped) I now had a full grown adult to care for. The universe had/has certainly seen to it that I have plenty of distractions to keep me busy while working through this breakup.
-I took a ten day training trip that was across the ENTIRE COUNTY, 3000 miles, to do some intensive work training. It was worth the distance but flying is low on my list of fun things to do. Like, under being drilled for a cavity without anesthesia low.
-A dear friend in Seattle had to have open heart surgery and now one of her boys is very sick. I may have my crap going on but it certainly isn't trauma of this nature.
-I jump into the next decade in September. I was supposed to mark said occasion with the now ex-boyfriend on a trip to Europe. I don't know what I'm going to do now. I know I need to be out of here and I don't need the reminder of the breakup looming over me, so I'm figuring stuff out. I would still go to Europe but see above re: wiped out savings and you understand why that is not a possibility at this time.
That is all I can remember, for now. It's been a loooooooooong five months and yet it hardly seems to have passed. I have this to say about the breakup, and then I will try to never discuss it again: I've been through some hard stuff in my life (the last 5 months don't count, I'm referring to losing friends to cancer, losing my fertility, my mentally ill mother nearly destroyed me and my siblings, so so many person tragedies and pains, it is truly a blessing to be standing) and yet this stupid breakup absolutely knocked me straight down unlike anything ever before. My therapist has been great and she pointed out that other people too, the most recent one that comes to mind is Shania Twain (for God's sake she was raised bitter poor with no food/heat, dad beat her and her siblings, then her parents died and she had to raise her siblings at a very young age, and yet she recently said that the most devastating thing that she had to suffer was the breakup of her marriage), have found breakups/divorce to be the most oddly devastating and crippling thing they've ever gone through. I really loved this guy. He didn't love me. I will be okay. It will take several more months. People have suffered love lost and betrayal since the dawn of time, I'm not alone in this and I won't be the last. It still hurts though, daily. But I will waste no more space here on that, because it doesn't merit that.
Onward and Upward friends.
Onward and Upward.
Lord, help me, onward and upward.
And should John Krazinsky of the office suddenly become single please send him my way.
Amen.
-I broke up with my boyfriend. Am still pretty messed up but the first three months I was devastated. I promptly lost 17 pounds but was so weak my gastroenterologist made me take anti-naseau meds, which were needed, (I have a dangerous intestinal issue that could kill me at any time, starvation isn't good for it), but I then gained back 25 pounds. BECAUSE LIFE IS A BITCH. If I'm gonna go through something this shitty AT LEAST let me BE SKINNY GODDAMNIT. ahem.
-I was a bridesmaid in a good friend's wedding a month after the breakup. I hardly remember it but I know it was lovely and I held my shit together. It was a gay wedding, and let me tell you, if you want a GORGEOUS wedding you better get two gay guys to throw it for you, no bridezilla has anything on them.
-There was a fire in the unit above my condo and my place was 80% destroyed by smoke, water, and broken glass. It sucked, yes, but it was a blessing: It got me moved out of that place and into someplace nicer. I didn't lose anything irreplaceable (photos and yearbooks, grandparent's stuff, somehow all saved). What stuff I could salvage I just let dry out. My new decorating theme is "shipwreck chic" since the stuff that I kept is warped, cracked, and stained with water damage. I replaced things like linens and clothes, I did not replace furniture. I have enough to get by and with a healthy weekly dose of febreeze I can almost pretend my water stained couch doesn't reek like acrid smoke. It's an adventure! I'm Robinson Crusoe! I don't care.
-My car was backed into. Twice. The wedding, the fire, and the co-pay for repairing my car (TWICE) wiped out my fun money account and dipped into my long term savings. Happy I had the money, but ouch.
-I have a new job. A super seeeeeeecret government job. Am not joking. My job is classified now. It is sorta with the same folks I worked for before but higher up and in a new location though I am still associated with my old co-workers (I'm just higher up than them? Muah ah ahhhhhh!). My office has no windows which is very sad. The pay raise was pathetic. But I have a job, which is nice, especially in this economy.
-My liver is F'd up. Bad. And I DON'T KNOW WHY. If you read here you know I'm a fan of the booze but not on a daily basis, and certainly not bottles of it at a time. My bitch doctor assumed I was an alcoholic until I did a ton of research and discovered that the specific elevated enzymes from my labs are not the same as those of an alcoholic, and my doctor was promptly fired. My liver issue has something to do with insulin resistance and not metabolizing fat very well which makes weight loss damn near impossible and YET I have to lose twenty pounds to help with the problem. I broke my ankle last October but the asses that read the x-ray thought it was fine so I hobbled on it for six months until I demanded an MRI. So: Ankle is bad, body won't let go of weight, yet I HAVE to lose weight. This isn't so much angering as it is sigh inducing. I'm figuring it out, but damn, this medical crap is OLD.
-A friend left her abusive husband and had no place to go. She lived with me for 5 weeks. She was a nut case. Ever been around someone who is in shock and denial but in denial about being in said denial? WOW. I mean, here I am just barely getting my footing back and then hurricane crazy pants came in. It did not fail to amuse me that while I was still waking up crying over the breakup (yes, three months in, at least now at five months that fun has stopped) I now had a full grown adult to care for. The universe had/has certainly seen to it that I have plenty of distractions to keep me busy while working through this breakup.
-I took a ten day training trip that was across the ENTIRE COUNTY, 3000 miles, to do some intensive work training. It was worth the distance but flying is low on my list of fun things to do. Like, under being drilled for a cavity without anesthesia low.
-A dear friend in Seattle had to have open heart surgery and now one of her boys is very sick. I may have my crap going on but it certainly isn't trauma of this nature.
-I jump into the next decade in September. I was supposed to mark said occasion with the now ex-boyfriend on a trip to Europe. I don't know what I'm going to do now. I know I need to be out of here and I don't need the reminder of the breakup looming over me, so I'm figuring stuff out. I would still go to Europe but see above re: wiped out savings and you understand why that is not a possibility at this time.
That is all I can remember, for now. It's been a loooooooooong five months and yet it hardly seems to have passed. I have this to say about the breakup, and then I will try to never discuss it again: I've been through some hard stuff in my life (the last 5 months don't count, I'm referring to losing friends to cancer, losing my fertility, my mentally ill mother nearly destroyed me and my siblings, so so many person tragedies and pains, it is truly a blessing to be standing) and yet this stupid breakup absolutely knocked me straight down unlike anything ever before. My therapist has been great and she pointed out that other people too, the most recent one that comes to mind is Shania Twain (for God's sake she was raised bitter poor with no food/heat, dad beat her and her siblings, then her parents died and she had to raise her siblings at a very young age, and yet she recently said that the most devastating thing that she had to suffer was the breakup of her marriage), have found breakups/divorce to be the most oddly devastating and crippling thing they've ever gone through. I really loved this guy. He didn't love me. I will be okay. It will take several more months. People have suffered love lost and betrayal since the dawn of time, I'm not alone in this and I won't be the last. It still hurts though, daily. But I will waste no more space here on that, because it doesn't merit that.
Onward and Upward friends.
Onward and Upward.
Lord, help me, onward and upward.
And should John Krazinsky of the office suddenly become single please send him my way.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
A Cause I Can Totally Get Behind (because the Universe is a bitch to me in first world ways too)
Since I can't actively seem to help my own karma as it spirals dangerously into realms of crapness (I have a way with words, don't I? Says the person who has google Non-Alcoholic Liver Disease obsessively and can no longer form coherant sentences) I'm sending the universe a big F U by helping out this guy.
If you click the link you'll be able to find the original article on Cracked, one of my all time favorite websites (and where I now get 99% of all my knowledge aside from WebMD and Dr. Google) and the explanation that follows. If you can spare it send him a dollar. I worry that the burden of having to respond to approximately 2000 people (some will donate more than a dollar, I did) will probably push him over the edge but I can't think that far into the future. Not when my liver has decided to crap out on me for mysterious unknown metabolic reasons, the only minor help for which at this point is to lose weight and OF COURSE, ironically, said issue makes it damn near impossible to lose weight (which explains the 20 lbs that have refused to drop off my fat ass in the last four to six years). That's like saying the only cure for my sunburn is to stand in the sun, or something. I told you, I'm amazing with words.
If you click the link you'll be able to find the original article on Cracked, one of my all time favorite websites (and where I now get 99% of all my knowledge aside from WebMD and Dr. Google) and the explanation that follows. If you can spare it send him a dollar. I worry that the burden of having to respond to approximately 2000 people (some will donate more than a dollar, I did) will probably push him over the edge but I can't think that far into the future. Not when my liver has decided to crap out on me for mysterious unknown metabolic reasons, the only minor help for which at this point is to lose weight and OF COURSE, ironically, said issue makes it damn near impossible to lose weight (which explains the 20 lbs that have refused to drop off my fat ass in the last four to six years). That's like saying the only cure for my sunburn is to stand in the sun, or something. I told you, I'm amazing with words.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Return of the great white dope
My life has not gone entirely the way I wanted it to. If I were totally frank I would say that it has actually, utterly, and totally gone entirely a way I would not have wanted it to go.
I have never been invited to a big beautiful sweeping mansion for a twilight backyard soiree.
I have never made the acquaintance with eccentric, rich, brilliant rich type folk to have expansive hedge mazes on their property guarded by large beautiful gargoyles that we frolic through at night, breathless, carrying champagne, giggling and scaring each other.
I have never been to New Zealand.
I have never lounged on a yacht.
I have never found myself in the position of being offered a fabulous job that fits all my qualifications beautifully, one where I can ride my bike to work, preferably have a window overlooking some sort of water, and be wry and smart all day, surrounded by good hardworking people that are fun to share a drink with after work (drinking, at this point, is a whole 'nother issue as it has recently been discovered that my liver is very, very bad. I did not imagine that my body would be so wholly feeble and incompetent for the task of living even as it was constantly breaking down as a child and I certainly didn't believe that entire systems, starting with the reproductive followed by the digestive and now the liver would simply give up entirely).
I imagined my life would take many courses, I imagined it would all turn out fine, somehow. But I never set my sites high. There were really only two very specific things I wanted, more than anything, for my life to have: My very own apartment with white walls and a good view, and friends. Oh god how I have wanted, struggled for, momentarily done well with, then lost, friends. The only good thing about getting older, which is not to be underestimated, is having a modicum of control over your life, or at least the illusion thereof. You couldn't pay me to even remember the unbelievable hell that was my early 20s ever again. You couldn't bribe me to experience my mid 20s ever again. And now, closing dangerously in on 30, still struggling with the exact same things as ever, all you would get from me are bittersweet tears over my late 20s.
My life has failed me, in ways small and in ways momentous, over and over and over and over and over again. I am not, I hope, bitter. I am forever hopeful. The girl in me who went to elementary school alone everyday but still somehow believed that friends would come along (and some did, for the first truly wonderful bit of my life in 4th grade and 4th grade only -- it would be six long years before I got to experience friendship and belonging again) still exists. She still always believes that things are going to get better. Even now, she stubbornly insists that even though we are up against a ledge age wise in a city we hate trapped in a job that is killing us and the love of our life just betrayed us and our health is worse than ever, that right around the corner good things await. Friends are there. Fun is there. Just hold on.
I don't know whether she is the sweetly hopeful proof of why humanity continues to exist or quite simply completely, totally, utterly deluded and insane. The best predictor of the future is the past and my past? Not great. But I'm hopeful. Like the end of Sweet Charity, I suppose I'm stuck living hopefully ever after, even though it never works out, and right now, right now: I am quite alone.
Which is, as always, okay.
And this is what I can give you because the last five months have produced nothing but misery and sharing what I wrote with you would make cerebral fuilds leak out your ear. If you had lived the last five months with me it is likely you would not have cerebral fluids left. It has been...hilariously horrible.
And I have missed you all.
I have never been invited to a big beautiful sweeping mansion for a twilight backyard soiree.
I have never made the acquaintance with eccentric, rich, brilliant rich type folk to have expansive hedge mazes on their property guarded by large beautiful gargoyles that we frolic through at night, breathless, carrying champagne, giggling and scaring each other.
I have never been to New Zealand.
I have never lounged on a yacht.
I have never found myself in the position of being offered a fabulous job that fits all my qualifications beautifully, one where I can ride my bike to work, preferably have a window overlooking some sort of water, and be wry and smart all day, surrounded by good hardworking people that are fun to share a drink with after work (drinking, at this point, is a whole 'nother issue as it has recently been discovered that my liver is very, very bad. I did not imagine that my body would be so wholly feeble and incompetent for the task of living even as it was constantly breaking down as a child and I certainly didn't believe that entire systems, starting with the reproductive followed by the digestive and now the liver would simply give up entirely).
I imagined my life would take many courses, I imagined it would all turn out fine, somehow. But I never set my sites high. There were really only two very specific things I wanted, more than anything, for my life to have: My very own apartment with white walls and a good view, and friends. Oh god how I have wanted, struggled for, momentarily done well with, then lost, friends. The only good thing about getting older, which is not to be underestimated, is having a modicum of control over your life, or at least the illusion thereof. You couldn't pay me to even remember the unbelievable hell that was my early 20s ever again. You couldn't bribe me to experience my mid 20s ever again. And now, closing dangerously in on 30, still struggling with the exact same things as ever, all you would get from me are bittersweet tears over my late 20s.
My life has failed me, in ways small and in ways momentous, over and over and over and over and over again. I am not, I hope, bitter. I am forever hopeful. The girl in me who went to elementary school alone everyday but still somehow believed that friends would come along (and some did, for the first truly wonderful bit of my life in 4th grade and 4th grade only -- it would be six long years before I got to experience friendship and belonging again) still exists. She still always believes that things are going to get better. Even now, she stubbornly insists that even though we are up against a ledge age wise in a city we hate trapped in a job that is killing us and the love of our life just betrayed us and our health is worse than ever, that right around the corner good things await. Friends are there. Fun is there. Just hold on.
I don't know whether she is the sweetly hopeful proof of why humanity continues to exist or quite simply completely, totally, utterly deluded and insane. The best predictor of the future is the past and my past? Not great. But I'm hopeful. Like the end of Sweet Charity, I suppose I'm stuck living hopefully ever after, even though it never works out, and right now, right now: I am quite alone.
Which is, as always, okay.
And this is what I can give you because the last five months have produced nothing but misery and sharing what I wrote with you would make cerebral fuilds leak out your ear. If you had lived the last five months with me it is likely you would not have cerebral fluids left. It has been...hilariously horrible.
And I have missed you all.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
2011: augh
The breakup is still relentlessly kicking my ass.
Luckily the universe decided to help me by distracting me to the point of insanity:
I was a maid of honor in an ex boyfriend's wedding (not this ex, a different one. who is gay).
My apartment was destroyed by smoke and water after the unit above mine had a fire. 6 units in all were destroyed.
A lady backed into my car.
Work is insane.
I'm surviving but heartbreak is an unbelievable bitch. I have a handle on it during the day, mostly, but the dreams I have to contend with leave me emotionally drained and crying by morning. I'd like to take a non-crying shower sometime soon in my new empty apartment but that is one milestone I have to keep hoping for as time passes.
I'm around, I'm heartbroken, I'm okay.
Luckily the universe decided to help me by distracting me to the point of insanity:
I was a maid of honor in an ex boyfriend's wedding (not this ex, a different one. who is gay).
My apartment was destroyed by smoke and water after the unit above mine had a fire. 6 units in all were destroyed.
A lady backed into my car.
Work is insane.
I'm surviving but heartbreak is an unbelievable bitch. I have a handle on it during the day, mostly, but the dreams I have to contend with leave me emotionally drained and crying by morning. I'd like to take a non-crying shower sometime soon in my new empty apartment but that is one milestone I have to keep hoping for as time passes.
I'm around, I'm heartbroken, I'm okay.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Wow, this is gonna hurt.
When the shock finally lets me feel it.
Broke up with my boyfriend of three years last night. Over the phone. Because he is a non-commital son of a bitch who has been jerking me around for months and lied about his intentions. That won't make the heartbreak hurt any less, when it does hurt, because right now I'm sorta in a totally dazed shock.
yay life.
Broke up with my boyfriend of three years last night. Over the phone. Because he is a non-commital son of a bitch who has been jerking me around for months and lied about his intentions. That won't make the heartbreak hurt any less, when it does hurt, because right now I'm sorta in a totally dazed shock.
yay life.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
I'd like to say we're back in business, but...
I can't commit to regularly posting yet.
Much has happened that I should tell you about, well, nothing monumental I suppose. Same job (now with 45% more suckage), same apartment (now with horrorfying bug infestation and nightmarishly bad upstairs neighbors), same relationship (now with resentment building on my side as the boy is being committment phobic), same car (no complaints, starts daily!), living in the same city (which makes sense when you read above), around the same weight (give 5 or 10 pounds, I don't know, I haven't weighed myself since last May-ish, but my "big" clothes are tight), mostly the same, really, and yet...different.
The holidays are upon us! Really, we are in the midst of them. This year I've decided to not throw my annual holiday party. I love being festive and I yearn for that warmth society tells us we should have, surrounded by friends, having good food and enjoying the company of others. This year I want a low key holiday. And, if you read the guide I wrote last year about throwing a holiday party I'm also freaking tired of trying to wrangle damn people into some kind of cohesive get together. A year off should be good, I'll be able to approach next year with renewed vigor. I'm tired of people flaking, not having enough people to invite, people showing up and being weird, blowing tons of money on one night, and I'm meloncoly (in a good way, sorta) because I yearn for friends who live around the country, for a get together that won't happen, and I'm not going to settle for a shell of that idea.
I just want, for ONCE, to be invtied to someone else's damn holiday party. The kind where you get dressed up and eat decent food and laugh and have a good time, is that so much to ask for? I don't think I'm making this up, I think these kinds of parties happen, I just want to know why I have made it this close to 30 and still failed to access the kind of social circle said things happen in. I may be depressed, damnit, but I'm not a complete hermit.
This year I'm happy to save money and not dip into my paltry savings for Christmas. I plan on getting a small tree, I'm sticking to a strict budget for presents and foregoing the holiday swaree. A bit of me wonders too if people will even notice or miss my get-together. Maybe that will motivate someone next year to throw their own. And luckily I'll be too busy to really notice it isn't happening. This weekend I have to clean, my apartment is a shambles, (I fear finding more bugs when I clean but that is an entire post, perhaps book, for another time) and relax. Next weekend is busy with family stuff and helping friends move to their new house. The following weekend is full family time as we are celebrating the holiday a week early to accomidate schedules. The following weekend is actualy Christmas, which I hope will be low key and lovely and will be spent with my signifigant other.
This time of year makes me miss friends desperately and yearn for the sort of family my family should be, but aren't. That's okay. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to be lonely for something that I've never had. It's okay that I've been unable to create such things in my life, I'm okay and it is okay and I'm not going to worry about it. Just acknowlegde the sadness and move on. That's the best way I can describe it.
Do any of you have exciting holiday plans you wish to share? Believe me, just being with your family, around a tree, all together is exciting. Or, if you don't do the holiday which requires the tree, just spending time with friends and family this season is exciting and wonderful in and of itself. If I don't post before the end of the year I wish the best for all of you, and miss all of you, and know that I condsider each of you part of my extended family, the one we get to create as adults. Much love and misses, Eris
Much has happened that I should tell you about, well, nothing monumental I suppose. Same job (now with 45% more suckage), same apartment (now with horrorfying bug infestation and nightmarishly bad upstairs neighbors), same relationship (now with resentment building on my side as the boy is being committment phobic), same car (no complaints, starts daily!), living in the same city (which makes sense when you read above), around the same weight (give 5 or 10 pounds, I don't know, I haven't weighed myself since last May-ish, but my "big" clothes are tight), mostly the same, really, and yet...different.
The holidays are upon us! Really, we are in the midst of them. This year I've decided to not throw my annual holiday party. I love being festive and I yearn for that warmth society tells us we should have, surrounded by friends, having good food and enjoying the company of others. This year I want a low key holiday. And, if you read the guide I wrote last year about throwing a holiday party I'm also freaking tired of trying to wrangle damn people into some kind of cohesive get together. A year off should be good, I'll be able to approach next year with renewed vigor. I'm tired of people flaking, not having enough people to invite, people showing up and being weird, blowing tons of money on one night, and I'm meloncoly (in a good way, sorta) because I yearn for friends who live around the country, for a get together that won't happen, and I'm not going to settle for a shell of that idea.
I just want, for ONCE, to be invtied to someone else's damn holiday party. The kind where you get dressed up and eat decent food and laugh and have a good time, is that so much to ask for? I don't think I'm making this up, I think these kinds of parties happen, I just want to know why I have made it this close to 30 and still failed to access the kind of social circle said things happen in. I may be depressed, damnit, but I'm not a complete hermit.
This year I'm happy to save money and not dip into my paltry savings for Christmas. I plan on getting a small tree, I'm sticking to a strict budget for presents and foregoing the holiday swaree. A bit of me wonders too if people will even notice or miss my get-together. Maybe that will motivate someone next year to throw their own. And luckily I'll be too busy to really notice it isn't happening. This weekend I have to clean, my apartment is a shambles, (I fear finding more bugs when I clean but that is an entire post, perhaps book, for another time) and relax. Next weekend is busy with family stuff and helping friends move to their new house. The following weekend is full family time as we are celebrating the holiday a week early to accomidate schedules. The following weekend is actualy Christmas, which I hope will be low key and lovely and will be spent with my signifigant other.
This time of year makes me miss friends desperately and yearn for the sort of family my family should be, but aren't. That's okay. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to be lonely for something that I've never had. It's okay that I've been unable to create such things in my life, I'm okay and it is okay and I'm not going to worry about it. Just acknowlegde the sadness and move on. That's the best way I can describe it.
Do any of you have exciting holiday plans you wish to share? Believe me, just being with your family, around a tree, all together is exciting. Or, if you don't do the holiday which requires the tree, just spending time with friends and family this season is exciting and wonderful in and of itself. If I don't post before the end of the year I wish the best for all of you, and miss all of you, and know that I condsider each of you part of my extended family, the one we get to create as adults. Much love and misses, Eris
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
So my birthday happened
Among other things. It was okay, I'm okay, I'm still around, but damn if depression ain't kicking the bejebus outta me.
I miss you.
I miss ME.
I need to get me back, somehow, but I have to weather this first.
I miss you.
I miss ME.
I need to get me back, somehow, but I have to weather this first.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Work Internet Use (or, Deja Vu, because I know I've mentioned this before, but now with new developments)
Whereas I don’t think I really, absolutely, totally abused the internet at work (no online gambling, porn, celebrity gossip, shoe shopping, blogging, gaming, plotting against world organizations, etc), I certainly used it more than our policy allows (30 minutes a week, only work appropriate).
I check several email accounts, the news, my bank accounts and some of my favorite blogs from work daily. If things are really slow, or if I’m particularly fed up and really hating on my job I’ll visit cracked or xkcd or just surf around looking for stuff to read. I do all this in a very transparent manner; I don’t try to sneak past the tracking or the work proxy. I enter my credentials, my user name and password, into the proxy prompt every time I go to the web and I know damn well that HR has a list with every site I’ve visited, which is probably fairly ugly and perhaps even a bit embarrassing (and this without me reading up on trashy celeb gossip!).
Over a year ago, I may have even blogged about it here; it came to my attention that my non-work related internet usage was the highest in my division. I was amazed. Other people spend HOURS on the internet. There is printing of LOLcatz galore and shoe shopping abounds and all-around shenanigans of the web variety taking place. That is when I learned about secret DSL and wireless lines and people coming up with creative ways to bypass the tracking proxy. Which REALLY PISSED ME OFF.
In the overall scheme of things my job is fairly lenient and relaxed. At least, in comparison to other jobs I have had. The rules are very realistic and simple and easy to abide by if you aren’t, oh, say, a giant freaking jerk face. Which many of the people I work with, nay, many of the people on this planet are. The obvious and insane abuse of work amenities and time just added to the continually growing list of super messed up crap people pull around here, so I was angry as hell, and even angrier because I knew NOTHING WOULD BE DONE. NOTHING. We have a person who shows up an hour and a half late to work every day, takes two hour lunches, disappears for hours at a time and is a nightmare to work with. Their attitude was so bad that they finally quit last year, which was great, but then, being the failure that they are, they came crawling back. AND WE HIRED THEM BACK. They made it to work on time for about two months and are now back to being a ridiculously F’d up employee, but nothing will be done. Nothing was ever done, (which is why documentation is important oh managers out there!) and they will continue to do 15% of the job I do, in half the hours, for more than I make. My job is really getting me down. But it is worse elsewhere and there are no jobs to be had in this economy and oh lord, did I steal money from blind children in a previous life?
ANYHOO the reason I tell you this is because today, amazingly, my division head said in a big cross division meeting that management is aware that there is rampant abuse of the internet and that it needs to stop. They know about the secret wireless and DSL and better yet some jackasses are using generic login/password combos (the ones we use for testing) to access the internet. They understand that we are stressed (read: lazy entitled bastards) but it needs to stop and they will document it and pull us aside if they have to.
Now, I do abuse the internet at work according to our rules. Ya, I’m not awful, but I’m still not following policy. But I’m also not lying about it or doing anything sneaky, I’m honest about my abuse. That makes me a good person (heh). Of the few constants in my life I can tell you this: I’m honest. I always have been. I always will be. It is important to me that even when abusing work policy I’m still honest about it, and other people should be too. Is that too much to ask? I think not. I’m not saying I’m perfect or wonderful or better than everybody (I’m better than the liars) but I am honest, and non honesty really, really, really bugs me.
Knowing how my employer works nothing will come of the internet abuse warning. If management even tries to talk to someone, which they won’t, then that employee will threaten to grievance and not a damn thing will be done. I don’t care. I’m just super super happy that something was said, that management saw or listened to someone pointing the internet malarkey out (even though I pointed it out 18 goddamn months ago and jackshit was done). It was nice to hear. My standards, indeed, are quite different from what they were three years ago.
Of course, I’m going to have to hold onto this happiness as a distraction because good grief, 6 hours in and I MISS the internet. I’m having withdrawals. I don’t know what my bank balance is or what the local news is (hint: stabbing/shooting/assault in my neighborhood, but where?) or if I got any blog comments. I’m both thrilled at this morning’s announcement and ashamed that I’m this addicted to work internet. A half hour a day is two hours more than we’re allowed a week, which means I’m into semantics. I never lied or finagled my internet, but I abused the policy. I argue that the people up to no good are far more evil and rotten then I am but a broken rule is also a broken rule.
What do you think?
I check several email accounts, the news, my bank accounts and some of my favorite blogs from work daily. If things are really slow, or if I’m particularly fed up and really hating on my job I’ll visit cracked or xkcd or just surf around looking for stuff to read. I do all this in a very transparent manner; I don’t try to sneak past the tracking or the work proxy. I enter my credentials, my user name and password, into the proxy prompt every time I go to the web and I know damn well that HR has a list with every site I’ve visited, which is probably fairly ugly and perhaps even a bit embarrassing (and this without me reading up on trashy celeb gossip!).
Over a year ago, I may have even blogged about it here; it came to my attention that my non-work related internet usage was the highest in my division. I was amazed. Other people spend HOURS on the internet. There is printing of LOLcatz galore and shoe shopping abounds and all-around shenanigans of the web variety taking place. That is when I learned about secret DSL and wireless lines and people coming up with creative ways to bypass the tracking proxy. Which REALLY PISSED ME OFF.
In the overall scheme of things my job is fairly lenient and relaxed. At least, in comparison to other jobs I have had. The rules are very realistic and simple and easy to abide by if you aren’t, oh, say, a giant freaking jerk face. Which many of the people I work with, nay, many of the people on this planet are. The obvious and insane abuse of work amenities and time just added to the continually growing list of super messed up crap people pull around here, so I was angry as hell, and even angrier because I knew NOTHING WOULD BE DONE. NOTHING. We have a person who shows up an hour and a half late to work every day, takes two hour lunches, disappears for hours at a time and is a nightmare to work with. Their attitude was so bad that they finally quit last year, which was great, but then, being the failure that they are, they came crawling back. AND WE HIRED THEM BACK. They made it to work on time for about two months and are now back to being a ridiculously F’d up employee, but nothing will be done. Nothing was ever done, (which is why documentation is important oh managers out there!) and they will continue to do 15% of the job I do, in half the hours, for more than I make. My job is really getting me down. But it is worse elsewhere and there are no jobs to be had in this economy and oh lord, did I steal money from blind children in a previous life?
ANYHOO the reason I tell you this is because today, amazingly, my division head said in a big cross division meeting that management is aware that there is rampant abuse of the internet and that it needs to stop. They know about the secret wireless and DSL and better yet some jackasses are using generic login/password combos (the ones we use for testing) to access the internet. They understand that we are stressed (read: lazy entitled bastards) but it needs to stop and they will document it and pull us aside if they have to.
Now, I do abuse the internet at work according to our rules. Ya, I’m not awful, but I’m still not following policy. But I’m also not lying about it or doing anything sneaky, I’m honest about my abuse. That makes me a good person (heh). Of the few constants in my life I can tell you this: I’m honest. I always have been. I always will be. It is important to me that even when abusing work policy I’m still honest about it, and other people should be too. Is that too much to ask? I think not. I’m not saying I’m perfect or wonderful or better than everybody (I’m better than the liars) but I am honest, and non honesty really, really, really bugs me.
Knowing how my employer works nothing will come of the internet abuse warning. If management even tries to talk to someone, which they won’t, then that employee will threaten to grievance and not a damn thing will be done. I don’t care. I’m just super super happy that something was said, that management saw or listened to someone pointing the internet malarkey out (even though I pointed it out 18 goddamn months ago and jackshit was done). It was nice to hear. My standards, indeed, are quite different from what they were three years ago.
Of course, I’m going to have to hold onto this happiness as a distraction because good grief, 6 hours in and I MISS the internet. I’m having withdrawals. I don’t know what my bank balance is or what the local news is (hint: stabbing/shooting/assault in my neighborhood, but where?) or if I got any blog comments. I’m both thrilled at this morning’s announcement and ashamed that I’m this addicted to work internet. A half hour a day is two hours more than we’re allowed a week, which means I’m into semantics. I never lied or finagled my internet, but I abused the policy. I argue that the people up to no good are far more evil and rotten then I am but a broken rule is also a broken rule.
What do you think?
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