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.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
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.
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!!).
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."
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.
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.
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
RC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=H8S4KMHSW6s
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: BRILLIANT
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.
RC: this on the other hand
RC: is for you
RC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=H8S4KMHSW6s
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: BRILLIANT
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.
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