Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Pet Store-ies!

Apologies for the pun in the title, but in my defense, I didn't come up with it myself. About 432 years ago (give or take), I asked on Facebook what else I should write about here. One of the suggestions was stories from my pet store employment days, and someone responded with that.

I've worked at 2 major chain pet stores in my life. I was at the first chain for about a year and a half in Colorado, and the second chain for about a year in Washington. At the first chain, there was a LOT of drama. Oh dear god the drama. It was like being in middle school, but wearing a uniform covered in various animals' pee and/or poop, and getting a paycheck for your suffering. I was 22-23 when I worked there.

The Operations Manager there was a girl just a little younger than me, who took smoke breaks as often as possible and had a baby with her common-law husband - she complained about him constantly, broke up with him regularly, and I know at least a couple of us suspected him of physically abusing her but she would never admit it. She would still sometimes go to "raves" with another girl who worked there (also a little younger than me, married, 2 kids).

This was the kind of girl I'd heard existed in high schools, but that I don't remember actually knowing personally. She was nice to people, and acted like we were friends. I even had her and her baby over to my home once, and would take smoke breaks with her so we could chat. (I learned quickly in retail that if I wanted to actually take breaks, I had to pretend to be a smoker and bond with my chimney managers.)

Another girl who worked there had Bitch Face. Not Bitchy Resting Face - just Bitch Face. It was rare to get a real smile from her that made her look like for at least that moment she did not, in fact, want to kill you and everyone around you and set your corpses on fire for no reason. There's a theme going here - this girl was also younger than me and had a young child. She and I were both shift managers and "specialists" for different departments. She apparently took this to mean we were in competition for the General Manager's affections. Maybe the Ops Manager thought I was after her job, too, because these two girls had it out for me.

At some point, I thought I'd won over Bitch Face. We hung out outside of work and I made her laugh a few times, and we seemed to be getting along instead of her just glowering at me every time we passed, or snapping if I asked her for any sort of help at work. Progress!


Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Being and happiness

Peanut and I had an interesting discussion today that reminded me of something.

Being happy is hard.  I think it takes more energy than being unhappy.  Maybe other people are different, and maybe this is just my Crazy Mom influence, but "happy" is not my natural state of being.  I have to look for reasons to be happy, and I actively argue with myself in my head whenever I feel myself getting upset.  It takes a lot of internal head-discussion to convince myself to let go of something when I'm bothered by it.

I choose to believe that's something that lots of people struggle with.  Don't ruin my delusions.

So Peanut mentioned that it's hard to avoid comparing her situation in life with other people around her.  Let's be honest; most people do the same thing.  But it's fun for everyone when a crazy mom does it!

Some highlights:

If you don't have a house on the beach like your sibling does, it's because your spouse has failed to provide for you!

And if you don't have at least $2,000 of free spending money every month, it means your spouse is cheating on you!  How else would all of the money disappear?

Everyone else in your city drives clean cars!  When your spouse spends all week working in another city and drives back home on the weekends, make sure you start by nagging about how dirty his/her car is!  Remember: it's incredibly thoughtless to pull into your own driveway with a car that hasn't been washed in 2 weeks.

Everyone has cable!  If your own daughter doesn't have cable at her apartment, she's a heathen.  In fact, it's too embarrassing for your own child to not have cable.  You'd better call the cable company yourself and arrange for them to install cable for her, so she will realize the error of her ways.  (To be fair, this one happened before the advent of Netflix.  But still.)

How dare the neighbors bring you packets of hot chocolate at Christmas?  They must not buy anything nicer because they don't have as much money as you do.  It's a good thing you have lots of money, so you can buy the newest electronics every year.

That new TV in the store looks so much better than the one you bought a year ago, and it's bigger!  Better grab it while it's on sale.  It can just sit in the box until you figure out which room it should go in.

Those houses on TV look so nice with their exotic flooring ideas!  That means your house would look great that way, too!  You might as well buy all of those materials now in preparation for doing that yourself.  And a shrimp sink really helped that one place, so it couldn't hurt to pick one up so you'll have it ready when you come up with a good location for it in your own house...

The coup de grĂ¢ce?  Did you know that if your spouse isn't bringing home at least $1,000,000 a year, it must mean he/she's hiding money from you?  Go, tell your significant other about this wonderful new knowledge!  Do it now!

Seriously, though, there is always a reason to be unhappy.  The real trick is figuring out which reasons really matter, and then ignoring the ones that you know you won't remember or care about in 3 months.  In honor of Crazy Mom, let's all take 5 minutes today and think about reasons to be happy.

Friday, October 25, 2013

The List of Insanity

I promised a list!  Everyone here loves lists, right?  Good!

But there's really only one list that I'm capable of writing.

I want to make this clear: none of these points make anyone a bad person.  But they do mean you (or your loved one) should seek advice from a trustworthy professional.  Remember: it's okay to not be normal.  Just be aware of that fine line between "eccentric" and "batshit crazy."

Signs that you (or someone you know) might be crazy:
  1. Your house is in a decent neighborhood, but there's wax paper over all of the windows "so no one can see in"
  2. Your house is covered in security cameras
  3. You never leave your house (and you have a new excuse whenever anyone asks)
  4. You crouch down in your car if you do leave your house, "so no one will notice"
  5. You're always afraid of something
  6. The Enemy (the culprit behind all of your unhappiness) changes on a weekly basis
  7. You have proof that The Enemy exists: it's a grainy, pitch black image taken by a cheap security camera at night
  8. Those dirty smears on the skylight (which hasn't been cleaned in years) are actually threatening messages written by The Enemy, but no one believes you
  9. The police "never do anything" with your police reports (which means they must be in league with The Enemy)
  10. The Enemy is "pure evil"
  11. You never get rid of anything (and you say you're "about to start going through it" if anyone asks)
  12. You use an old SUV that can't move anymore as a large trash container
  13. You always think that if someone asks for one thing, they actually need a box of those things
  14. Your house is full of things you don't need and don't have a place for
  15. You keep buying more things because it makes you feel better
  16. As soon as anything goes missing, even inside your house, you immediately think it was stolen
  17. You use a shovel to scoop your cat's litter box
  18. You keep a plastic bin full of cat hair that you brushed off of a cat you had five years ago
  19. Family and friends watch the news/hoarding shows expecting to see you on TV
  20. The cat puke on the rug has been there for five years
  21. You think you're the only person who can stop The Enemy/catch the thieves/save the kittens
  22. You believe no one will take you seriously unless you exaggerate things a little bit (but it's not the same as lying, because you'd never lie)
  23. You're capable of justifying anything that you say or do, because you'd never say or do anything wrong
  24. When your family brings up the possibility of therapy or something being wrong, you get defensive and claim they need therapy
  25. You are the unhappiest person you know
If you want to hear more about any of those points in particular, just leave a comment.  Otherwise, I'll start going through stories as I see fit.  Mwahahahahah!

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Adventures in Medicating

Skip this post if you're not interested in my ongoing medication/therapy/mental health roller coaster. THERE. You've been warned.

A little over a year ago, I started a new medication. It's one commonly used to treat bipolar disorder, but in my case it was being used for, as my doctor put it, "treatment-resistant depression." At first, this drug seemed to be doing the trick. I don't remember if I updated later, nor do I currently have the energy to look, but in any case the initial high that I seem to get with any new anti-depressant once again didn't last. I stayed on it, and felt like maybe I was just able to cope better than before, and thus it was certainly helpful, right?

At some point, my company switched insurance companies and the doctor who prescribed this medication didn't take the new stuff. Figures. I found a new place where they use nurse practitioners for the medication part of mental health wellness, and once again went through the intake process. She asked me questions about feeling manic, but since my answers were all negative, I didn't think anything of it. I didn't like this nurse much, so when she transferred offices and I was assigned someone new, I was happy. I did sort of a mini-intake with the new nurse, since she had the notes from the previous woman, and when she made mention of bipolar now and then, I simply thought she was being general or thorough about what this medication was for and could do - I didn't realize right away that she inferred by the prescription itself that someone, somewhere, had actually diagnosed me as bipolar.

Several months ago, we tried weaning me off the medication, but I had a bit of a breakdown so that decision was reversed. I went back on, but at a lower dosage, and added in anti-anxiety pills. By now, there's a girl at my pharmacy who knows me by sight. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that, although I suppose it's kind of nice not to have to spell my last name every time anymore. If any of the other employees now recognize me and remember my name, they at least hide it.

Between these 2 drugs, I once again felt like I was, at least, capable of handling stress. It was better than before. But, sidebar, let's talk about my cat's health for a minute. This last year he was diagnosed with IBD, which is actually kind of a funny thing to say a cat is "diagnosed" with, because the loose translation of IBD in cats is "we don't actually know what's wrong, but it's definitely something with his digestive system." The treatment is quite similar to that of mental health treatment for people: try these drugs... see how it goes... maybe try these drugs with those drugs... how's that? no? okay, let's try these and maybe some of that... It goes on like this until you find the right cocktail. Guess and check.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Crazy Talk: Prologue

I have to preface all of this by saying that I love my parents.  They dedicated the best years of their lives to making sure I would have a chance to enjoy mine.  I do appreciate that.  I don't blame them for when things went awry, and I believe they still do the best they can with the options they're comfortable with.

That said, my mother is crazy.  She wasn't always as crazy as she is now, and it's an uncomfortable topic for the rest of my family.  I have so many stories.  I want you to know that it's okay to laugh when you think it's funny.  I laugh about it sometimes, too.  Sometimes, that's all I can do.  It's a horrible situation, and it might make me a horrible person, but a sense of humor helps keep me grounded in reality.  It helps to remind myself that no, it isn't normal.  I'm actually afraid that if I start to think it's normal, I'll end up the same way.

There were some early signs that things weren't quite right.  But first, if you find yourself thinking that you're the most worthless or unhappiest person you know, please talk to someone about it.  If you read the rest of this or any of my later posts and think it sounds eerily familiar, seek out a trustworthy professional.  You owe it to yourself and to the people you care about.  Just by doing that, you'll be taking a huge step toward helping yourself live the life you deserve to live.

I really wish that my own family had recognized the warning signs before it got worse.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Sometimes I Don't Think... Period

First of all, while I oppose the concept of victim-blaming, I also believe in taking responsibility for being a fucktard. And I was a fucktard.

 ...okay, sometimes I'm still a fucktard. Shut up. In fact, I think the entirety of my 20's can be written off as a long series of frequent stupid decisions, slowing down into less-frequent-but-still-not-bright decisions in my 30's.

A good friend of mine is in Missouri right now, and it made me think of when I lived there. After a bit of a breakdown, I moved in with my folks for a while to recoup. Missouri was not exactly the most fun place I've ever lived, plus I was living with my parents.

This was so long ago, of course, the details are fuzzy in my mind. Right before I left Colorado, that dickhead who moved out while I was at work got back in touch and wanted to try long-distance until I was ... I don't know, better? ... and the plan was that I would then move back to Colorado and we would be together and la la la happiness and flowers and crazy people. I was all about it. I was desperate to be loved and wanted and whole and was basically insane.

Who was surprised when he pulled another disappearing act? Sadly, only me. It didn't take long for him to stop answering or returning my calls, to block me on AIM, to just drop off the face of the earth without a peep. Now I was in Missouri with no friends, no job, nothing to do, and now no hope for this stupid false relationship I'd been clinging to like a blind bloated tick.


Thursday, September 12, 2013

Know your limits

Last time, I talked about my decision to be "forever alone" when I was 11.  Everything seemed so clear when I was a kid.  "No" was my very first word, and it served me well all throughout my childhood.  No, I didn't want to wear a dress!  No, I didn't want to go to church!  No, I didn't need help with my homework; I could do it myself!  No, I didn't want to try smoking!

So really, the decision I made to suddenly stop seeing John was typical for me at that age.  I knew what he wanted.  I knew what I wanted.  Those two didn't match up, so I removed myself from what I considered a no-win situation.  I didn't look back, and I had no regrets.  It was easy to see those things as a kid, and the solution was wonderfully obvious back then.

As I got older, situations became more muddied.  I gradually lost sight of the little girl who had made seemingly tough decisions with no regrets.  I became less confident.  Relationships got... complicated.  And, occasionally, terrifying.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

The good old days

I'm not Peanut, obviously, but Peanut has kindly given me permission to write things that you probably shouldn't read.  Yay!

Let's start with a story for people who idealize "simpler" times, before the hustle and bustle of cell phones, when neighbors helped each other out and families worked the land to provide for themselves.  Want to know what it's like to live off-the-grid and have a family in a quiet country area?  I can help!  As a bonus that surely isn't at all related, I can also tell you about grade-schooler pregnancies!

For some back story (bear with me), I grew up just outside of a rural town with a population of 450 people.  We didn't have cable, or the internet, or even 911 service (because they needed fancy city luxuries, like street names).  The public school, however, was amazing.  It raked in obscene amounts of money from oil, meaning we took a lot of field trips and had so many books.  (Teachers were still a bit of a crapshoot.  While I was there, three teachers and one principal were accused of being a little too friendly with students.)

We had pretty normal school crushes, despite our options being naturally limited by math.  But once you had a "boyfriend," you were permanently attached to that guy.  Sure, you could fight and break up like people did on TV, but you always got back together.  Always.  These matches were locked in by the 3rd grade at the latest and could only be shaken by drastic events, like a new kid moving into town.

I paired off with a boy who had the same hair color as me, which seems like as good of a reason as any when you're in first grade.  We'll call him John.  John was "the rebel" of my class.  His parents were divorced, which was unheard of there.  He lived with his dad, wore torn jeans and a black leather coat, and liked skulls.

John was the perfect boyfriend for a tomboy.  We had lots of fun exploring abandoned houses and catching lizards.  I had two best friends (who were also appropriately matched off), and we all played together like normal kids.

Years passed like that.  We entered the 5th grade.  One of the girls in my class was mysteriously absent for a while, and when she came back, she had a baby with her.  How cute!  She was seeing a guy who went to college in a city about 30 minutes away.

Friday, September 6, 2013

Guest Posts!

I'm sure I still have stories, and things in my head that want to get out, but other people have amazing stories as well. I'm opening this blog up for guest authoring!

There are two options... one, if you have a few stories and would like to contribute a bit more often, just let me know and I will send you an invitation to be an author on this blog. Two, if you just have one or two really good stories, you can email them to me and I will post them, with a note that the story is from [whatever name you choose].

I'm trying to convince a friend who has some amazing stories to guest blog a few times, so if you want some interesting stuff about real stalkers, middle school pregnancies, and more - please leave some comments encouraging her to write!

PS - your stories don't have to be about dating or relationships; this is, after all, The Blog of All Topics! And I of course have written about everything from dating to depression to standing up for slut rights, plus a bunch in between (muffins are NOT frosting-free cupcakes, people!!).

Sunday, September 1, 2013

When I Try To Sleep

Going to a therapist to try to redeem your self-esteem means having someone ask you when it all started. When did you start disliking yourself? When did you start hating yourself? What happened to you? What was your childhood like, your parents like, your whole fucking life like?

But I don't remember. I don't remember most of it. I'm not blocking traumatic events; I have an older brother and I feel like we were close growing up and he remembers loads more than I do. If something traumatic happened, he'd tell me. I just... have very few memories. There's one here, one there... my brain seems to have a knack for remembering the negative portions really well, the awkward moments, the punishments for being bad, the actual being bad. The good stuff seems to have gotten lost in that haze somehow. Is that genetic? Chemical? To have a brain that clings only to what makes me feel like shit, and discard freely anything that might remind me that things were okay? That I'm okay?

It's all too easy to blame having a military father. "My dad wasn't around when I was growing up," I can say flippantly, and people make their assumptions. Well, of course I'm messed up! Of course I've always sought affection from male figures in my life! My dad wasn't there! But you know, he wrote me letters. Lots of them. I remember that when I stop to think. He called me by cute nicknames (which I remember), he hugged me a lot when he was home, he told me he loved me all the time - I'm sure he did, even if my brain isn't letting me remember it specifically. I remember counting down with Mom until Dad would come home. I remember waiting at the dock (the pier?) with the other families and being excited. I remember wanting him to be the one who brushed my ridiculously long hair because he was more gentle than Mom. I remember having a night shirt that said "Daddy's Little Girl."

Friday, July 26, 2013

Muffins Vs Cupcakes

Genie: there are a good number of women out there who really need to start thinking about better hygiene!
Genie: I just went to the bathroom. One stall smelled like an Indian buffet. One was a gargonzola cheese factory. One was a can of fermented cat food
Genie: and it's not even 10am!

Peanut: ewwwwww
Peanut: this is one of those times I'm glad I work with mostly dudes!
Peanut: so far all that's happened to me is I got a donut, and had a convo about whether donuts = deep fried cake or not

Genie: I'm pretty sure they're just deep fried cake
Genie: and muffins are just huge cupcakes w/o frosting

Peanut: noooooooooooo
Peanut: Genie you are blaspheming right now

Col. Dr.: I usually agree with Genie on most things, she is a modern day sage. But muffins are not large cupcakes. Muffins are healthy or hide in the appearance of being healthy. Cupcakes are pridefully aware that they are trying to kill us.

Genie: I speak only the truth
Genie: when I grow up, I'm going to open a stand called 'Genie's Muffins' and I'm going to sell cupcakes w/o frosting

Peanut: I'm going to open a stand next to you called Actual Cupcakes and sell the same thing

Col. Dr.: I'm going to gain 50 to 60 pounds and visit every morning. I may need a rascal

Peanut: Genie says she will buy you a horn for your rascal

Col. Dr.: that horn will be be the center of my all my rascal decorations

Genie: I'll also get him a bumper sticker for the rascal that says "I brake for muffins"

Peanut: except then I have to get an addendum sticker that says "...and cupcakes"

Col. Dr.: right next to my "Hooray for boobies" with a blue footed boobie bird sticker

Peanut: should we get streamers for the handles? wait. that's a silly question. of course we should!

Genie: pshhhh
Genie: like you had to ask
Genie: and a basket on the front

Peanut: oh yes
Peanut: and some sort of animal tail on the back
Peanut: perhaps a zebra

Col. Dr.: I was thinking a rhino tail
Col. Dr.: just a fat gray stubby thing
Col. Dr.: and a horn on the front
Col. Dr.: next to my other horn

Genie: I saw a motorcycle over the weekend with real cow horns on the front and a real cow tail on the back
Genie: and when you pushed a button, it would mooooo
Genie: ...I'm working on doing the same kind of thing to my truck

Peanut: that is the best idea I think you've ever had in your entire life

Col. Dr.: This may be the greatest idea ever from humanity

...the point of this entire post is whether or not donuts = deep fried cake. The muffins vs cupcakes thing isn't even up for debate because muffins and cupcakes are very much like apples and oranges in that THEY ARE NOT THE SAME, GENIE. And I have the blog, so I win.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Everyone Loves a Genie

I've been in a relationship for a while now, and while I admit that huge chunks of this non-traditional relationship would make for some great blog entries, that's not going to happen. I don't like to write about things that are Current Events. As a result, BORRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIING. Genie, though, has been using eHarmony, and meeting some really, umm... interesting guys. She's awesome enough that she's letting me write about her latest crazy.

The guy seemed okay at first. They emailed a lot before meeting. She was a little concerned about the idea of dating a single dad, but I assured her that many things about it are fantastic. So they finally met, grabbing drinks at a happy hour somewhere near her workplace, and chatting for roughly an hour or so.

She said he was pleasant, funny, not at all put off by her crass jokes. A bit scruffy for her taste, but I told her that the guy is a single dad with a toddler - haircuts and clothes shopping for himself are really, really low on the priority list for him.

She felt like he was okay, but wasn't excited about him. There were little things that concerned her, but nothing major. Then the day after they'd met, he told her that both his father and his grandfather were avid collectors of "all things Dixie." That's right: these guys proudly collected and displayed anything they could get with the Confederate flag on it. And this was okay.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Otter Talk: Real Talk

When work gets too stressful, you gotta have an inane convo with a co-worker, amirite?

RC: this on the other hand
RC: is for you

Peanut: OTTER!

RC: a helpful otter even

Peanut: seriously wtf I need an otter

RC: yeah, it could probably be trained to grab you baking ingredients while you cook
RC: how awesome would that be
RC: you'd have your own show and you could leave us forever
RC: wait
RC: no otter for you

Peanut: at least you're not having to deal with all these damn XMLs

Peanut: so! I am going to watch that otter 5 more times

RC: well...
RC: at least you have a Otter

Peanut: who squeaks

RC: you need an Otter that writes XML
RC: XMLOtter!

Peanut: holy shit yes
Peanut: I need a slew of otters
Peanut: a peck?
Peanut: a herd?
Peanut: an XML Otter, a Baking Assistant Otter, a Litter Box Cleaning Otter, a Laundry Otter...

RC: Answer: A group of otters is called a family, romp or raft.
RC: I like a Romp of Otters

Peanut: totally
Peanut: I'm going to have both a romp and a raft
Peanut: the raft will be my work otters
Peanut: the romp will be my home otters

RC: The collective nouns for otters are bevy, family, lodge, or romp, (being descriptive of their often playful nature) or, when in water, raft
RC: oo, there are more
RC: apparently they are only rafts in the water
RC: An otter's den is called a holt or couch. A male otter is a meowter, a female is a queen, and a baby is a pup

Peanut: a meowter.

RC: lol
RC: yeah

Peanut: okay, so my couch actually has storage thingies underneath the cushions; thus, the otter couch can be IN MY COUCH

RC: A baby otter asking permission from its dad:
RC: "Meowter may i?"

Peanut: I can't even
Peanut: I will name the alpha otter Steve
Peanut: so when otters refer to his den, they can say "STEVE'S HOLT"
Peanut: with their little otter fists in the air

RC: lol
RC: love it

Peanut: so my home otters will be a romp, with a subsection of baking assistant otters, who will be a bevy. a baking bevy.
Peanut: the work otters will be a lodge and will wear fezzes.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

A Good Boss is Priceless

Boss to me around 3:40: "What time do you have to leave for your appointment?"
Me: "I dunno. 4ish? I might leave sooner. I don't want to start a project at this point..."
Him: "Yeah"
Me: "So basically I'm just watching a bunny chew."
Him: "HA!"

Then I demonstrated.

Friday, May 24, 2013

Just an Average Friday Morning

Genie: can we talk about virgins?
Peanut: of course!
Genie: would you ever date one?
Peanut: I have
Peanut: I wouldn't *now*
Peanut: but in my 20s I took ... 3 virginities
Genie: you minx!
Peanut: I do what I can
Peanut: someone has to teach these boys!


Peanut: god will get rid of acne, too
Peanut: but only if you promise to ONLY have sex for procreation
Genie: thats what I do! sex only for procreation
Genie: weird how it doesnt seem to be working. i'd better keep tryin
Peanut: you can't do it in any position except missionary
Peanut: other positions are deviant
Genie: ooohhhh...well that there's gonna be a problem
Peanut: you do it in a sex swing, don't you?
Peanut: I knew it
Genie: no way. people break legs on those things


Col. Dr.: I just have a few good stories, mostly about trying to break up without it being my fault and revenge on a best friend who started dating an ex
Peanut: oh yes, the "try to get him to dump me" move
Peanut: I'm very good at that
Peanut: what was the revenge?
Col. Dr.: it was multi stage monkey shining
Col. Dr.: signing him up for gay magazines, not porn, but "gay teen life" "Out" stuff like that, so that his parents would see these magazines being delivered for him
Col. Dr.: lunch meat in his car
Col. Dr.: bought him a goat
Peanut: wait
Peanut: really?
Col. Dr.: had it delivered to his house
Col. Dr.: yup
Col. Dr.: tried to buy a sheep, but they were much more expensive
Col. Dr.: but the farmer dropped the goat right off
Col. Dr.: left a blow up doll outside his window in the yard
Col. Dr.: left notes to teachers from him, about how much he liked them
Col. Dr.: at some point it became more about the next prank than the revenge


Oh, and as of this morning, I can now add +1 to people I've seen shirtless at this company. *sigh* He was changing in the parking lot...

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Embrace the Sex, Religions!

Recently I read a really fantastic article/personal story that I think everyone who was raised in, is being raised in, or is raising children in a religious-minded home should read and consider:

I won't claim to be an expert on religions - I'm nowhere near that. I was, however, raised in a strict, Southern, conservative, very religious home. When I was in elementary school, I started reading Sweet Valley Twins. To this day, I remember being confused by a part in one of those books where the family slept in on Sunday, had breakfast, read the paper, toodled about... but didn't go to church. What.

Doesn't everyone go to church? I thought. Isn't that what Sundays are about? We went Sunday morning for classes and a nice long "worship service." Sunday lunch was a big affair, then usually there were naps, and then it was back to church for evening services (no class). Sunday morning involved dressing up - and for me, as a girl, this meant dresses/skirts. Sunday night was a more casual affair with jeans, but never, ever shorts. Wednesday nights were like Sunday nights, except we usually had class followed by a short service. This was my life: church 3 times a week, every week, for over 17 years.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Nice to Meet You - DING!

There's been some interest in hearing about my speed dating adventure, so I figured it was time to tackle that one. It was almost 3 years ago so my memory is a little hazy, but I'll do my best to express the full awfulness of the whole thing for you.

I went because that summer, I was spending a lot of time with a girl I'll just call A. She was an incredibly friendly, outgoing person who was, like me, divorced and struggling in the dating world. The summer we met, I happened to be in a perfectly content single state, but I had a lot of fun dressing up and going out with her, playing wing woman, sharing dating stories and woes. I thought I'd found a kindred spirit and finally a close girl friend who lived just a block from me so we could spend time together.

That friendship fell apart after a few months, and I won't go into that out of respect for her - I've seen her since, and she's changed a lot. Unfortunately it turns out we happened to meet during a really difficult, dark time in her life, and she wasn't her true self. The disappointment I felt when we parted ways just after my 31st birthday was akin to the heartbreak of a romantic relationship breakup, and I still occasionally feel a pang of regret that we never reconciled.

Tangent over; one night A really wanted to try speed dating. She and a male coworker, whom I'd met before and thought was rather nice, were going and she insisted I come along for support. I in turn insisted she pay my entry fee. Fair's fair, bitches! I reeeeally did not want to go. I had no interest in meeting anyone at the time and how much could I really play wing woman when we were always at separate tables?

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Am I Still Breathing?

I feel really lost lately. There are some times of okay-ness, but mostly? Lost. The cause of this isn't my subject... it's something I only feel comfortable talking about with 3 people at this point. Maybe 4, though only a couple of this already small group really fully understand and support - oddly, people I wasn't close to before; one I only recently met. It's a rough spot to be in, but I at least I have them.

This feeling makes it difficult to think of funny stories to tell. I feel this blog is dying... or died long ago. I never wrote about divorce, really, but lately I've been hearing a lot of stories about divorces, or people who "stayed for the kids," or various other unhappy situations. I've also heard some stories of people who are grateful to have gotten divorced, who have found love and happiness that they didn't think they'd ever have again.

All this to say, lately I've realized once again just how fortunate I am to have married a kind man (obviously it would have been better to not have married at all, but the way we were both raised simply led to that). Not the right man for me, nor I the right woman for him, but still - he is kind. I'm grateful we didn't own property together (a futon, TV, and DVDs don't count). Grateful we didn't have children (just pets) or a lot of financial tie-ups, being we were in our early 20s and still in that post-college struggling phase. Grateful our divorce was easy, amicable, inexpensive (I think? I didn't pay for it, but there weren't lawyers or anything). And most of all, grateful that after some time had passed, we are friends again. Not close friends - geographically or emotionally - but I think if either of our lives simply collapsed, he'd be there for me and I for him. We have a certain bond and I hope we always will. I'm fortunate that he is the sort of guy who treasures old friendships, maintains connections with all of his exes, and has (I hope) forgiven me for my part in our troubles as I have long since forgiven him.

Gah, I can't seem to be funny today. Have I told the story of the creepy airport employee who hit on me in October? Maybe the story of that awful night I spent at a speed dating event, thanks to a then-friend I was very close to twisting my arm to go along with her? The guy at the bar who actually attempted to use the line "didn't we go to high school together?" Help me out here, my handful of readers!

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Sunshine and Rainbow Farts

I keep trying to write here, but I'm having trouble thinking of funny dating/sex stories from my past. I know I said I would write about divorce, but every time I try, I get all worked up and pissed off and that just sucks.

Part of the problem is that this is a really hard time of year for me. As a perpetually single woman, I often get really sad about that fact. The holidays make being single that much rougher, not to mention the shitty weather here (and knowing the shitty weather has another 4 or 5 months to go), the fact that I hate the cold (but I love sweaters. Except hand washing them. I'M SO TORN), and oh yeah - fucking Valentine's Day crap already in the stores and that shit looming in the near future. AND as we all know I'm predisposed to some pretty awful bouts of depression anyway, which makes everything SO MUCH MORE FUN.


my point is it's been hard to update this damn thing. But today! TODAY! an update! Right now I'm picturing the scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail where there was much rejoicing (yaaaay). I'm still a bit rusty on the writing, though, so I'm copping out and giving you a chat log from this morning.