I freaked out the other night. Like, freaked out in a way that I have only done one other time in my life. I had an emotional breakdown.
These things never happen to me. Wait, no no no. I never LET these things happen to me. If I feel negative, or have a bad experience I usually push my emotions about it away. Word to the wise: This will not do. Not at all.
They don't go away. Ever. Even if you learn to deal with the things that shape you as a person, they never go away. I went through six months of therapy after me and the ex-husband split, and during that time I was able to start learning how to get in touch with those deep dark places within, and hopefully help some of that shit come out into the light. It was really hard, and even though I was trying to be as open as I could in those sessions, I knew I was editing. I knew it as I sat there and cried harder than I have cried in my life, and that is a scary feeling. It is scary knowing that you aren't going nearly as deep as you should, but even at that depth there is such terror and fear. It was intense, and almost overwhelming.
Well, those very deep things that I can hardly look in the face started to surface within me the other night. It was after a conversation with my sister, and as soon as I put down the phone, I felt something burbling up. But instead of dealing with what was coming up in me (abandonment, rejection, fear) I pushed it away and started acting out. And I starting acting out on a person in my life that I know loves me very very much. Someone who I've been able to share more of myself than with any other person in my life, except for mey lifetime best friend. And I hurt this person. And I hurt me. And I kept going. I was out of control.
Now I'm out of town on business, trying to be focused while at the same time trying to pay attention to what is happening inside of me. I've gotten so good at pushing negative things away—so very good that, a week after my dad died, I was right back at work and acting like normal. God, I have buried so much shit. And my failed marriage is one more victim, along with the countless number of friends and family members that I've pushed away or just dropped.
I think it is time for me to do the hard work.
I must admit: I'm scared shitless right now.
Saturn has motherfucking returned.
Showing posts with label things I don't love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label things I don't love. Show all posts
3.04.2010
7.21.2009
Stress Dreams, Cont.
A restless night last night, but full of intensely stressful dreams about my separated husband. We are still sharing a house, but he wasn't home last night, and I'm beginning to think he is seeing someone.
It's been a month.
What. The. Fuck.
Today has already been a challenge to not cry at work. I hate crying at work. And I've had to push it back all day long.
It's been a month.
What. The. Fuck.
Today has already been a challenge to not cry at work. I hate crying at work. And I've had to push it back all day long.
7.07.2009
I'm Feeling Rough I'm Feeling Raw I'm in the Time of My Life
The Good: Swimming in the lake. Fresh cherries and boiled peanuts. Long, lazy girl-talk on floats. Driving fast, with the wind blowing through my hair. Great music. Dancing like a maniac until I'm dripping with sweat and a smile that I can't shake. Laughing with my best friends. Sleeping in late. Real late. Fireworks from the ridge of a rooftop. Sparklers. Sitting at a bar, drinking a beer by myself. Getting hit on (???) five times in 10 minutes. Lazing around in my friend's beautiful home, reading magazines and talking shit.
The Bad: Saying goodbye to a friend. Safe travels, love. Visit often and repeat frequently.
6.17.2009
This is the End, My Friend
Well, now that it is actually upon me, I can't believe I never saw it.
I always thought that the problems between me and my husband weren't because of a lack of love. Now I see that that was the only problem.
I am terribly, terribly sad.
I always thought that the problems between me and my husband weren't because of a lack of love. Now I see that that was the only problem.
I am terribly, terribly sad.
6.12.2009
All Apologies
Ahem:
If you are going to make an apology, it should probably be one--if not ALL--of the following three things in order to be worthy of consideration.
1. Gentle.
2. Spoken in a normal tone of voice.
3. Sincere.
*Glares at husband*
If you are going to make an apology, it should probably be one--if not ALL--of the following three things in order to be worthy of consideration.
1. Gentle.
2. Spoken in a normal tone of voice.
3. Sincere.
*Glares at husband*
10.13.2008
Mommy Dearest
Ok, are you ready for this?
With five weeks left until we can move into our new home, the woman I knew as "Mom" has kicked my husband and I out of her basement where we are living (if you can call it that) while we are building a house.
...
She told me this while I was at work on Friday. There was no fight. There was no drug-running from the basement. No broken windows. No band practice. No exorbitant power bills. The reason? She and her boyfriend need privacy.
To say that I'm reeling is a drastic understatement. To say that I'm devastated is closer to the truth. To say that I've never felt so alone in my entire life is pretty spot on. I feel like my mom has died--that is how out of character this is.
She told me this over the phone. I sobbed at work. I went for a walk and came back. I sobbed more.
She has yet to look at me, much less speak to me.
Luckily for me and my little family unit, we have an amazing support system. Within 2 hours of finding out I have nowhere to live, we had secured a place to live in rent free with our animals until we can finish the house.
Oh yeah, did I mention that we are just now beginning to do our finishing work on the house? The house that I WAS living 30 feet from in order to make that work more convenient, but now have to travel 30 minutes one way to reach? Did I mention that we are doing all the flooring, building the kitchen, building both bathrooms, painting, and running the trim? Did I mention that? Because I think the woman I called "mom" has forgotten. Strange, she is only 51. Early onset Alzheimer's? I wish.
So tonight marks our first night in a being-remodeled rental. The hubs and I are finishing the remodel work in the rental in exchange for the place to stay. And we are finishing our house at the same time. Awesome.
I might be a bit M.I.A. for the next couple of weeks, but when our house is done I promise I'll have pictures.
Does anyone know what to do when your mom decides you are no longer a part of her life? Because these are new and risky waters for me. I could use a good word. Maybe I can get a mix from Ms. Mix & Bitch.
With five weeks left until we can move into our new home, the woman I knew as "Mom" has kicked my husband and I out of her basement where we are living (if you can call it that) while we are building a house.
...
She told me this while I was at work on Friday. There was no fight. There was no drug-running from the basement. No broken windows. No band practice. No exorbitant power bills. The reason? She and her boyfriend need privacy.
To say that I'm reeling is a drastic understatement. To say that I'm devastated is closer to the truth. To say that I've never felt so alone in my entire life is pretty spot on. I feel like my mom has died--that is how out of character this is.
She told me this over the phone. I sobbed at work. I went for a walk and came back. I sobbed more.
She has yet to look at me, much less speak to me.
Luckily for me and my little family unit, we have an amazing support system. Within 2 hours of finding out I have nowhere to live, we had secured a place to live in rent free with our animals until we can finish the house.
Oh yeah, did I mention that we are just now beginning to do our finishing work on the house? The house that I WAS living 30 feet from in order to make that work more convenient, but now have to travel 30 minutes one way to reach? Did I mention that we are doing all the flooring, building the kitchen, building both bathrooms, painting, and running the trim? Did I mention that? Because I think the woman I called "mom" has forgotten. Strange, she is only 51. Early onset Alzheimer's? I wish.
So tonight marks our first night in a being-remodeled rental. The hubs and I are finishing the remodel work in the rental in exchange for the place to stay. And we are finishing our house at the same time. Awesome.
I might be a bit M.I.A. for the next couple of weeks, but when our house is done I promise I'll have pictures.
Does anyone know what to do when your mom decides you are no longer a part of her life? Because these are new and risky waters for me. I could use a good word. Maybe I can get a mix from Ms. Mix & Bitch.
10.06.2008
All the World is a Stage
...and the characters of my story make me crazy.
If the following people in my life had a catchphrase, this is what it would be:
My Mom: "Let me tell you how I feel about this..."
My Brother: "You are an idiot." Also interchangeable with "Shut up, idiot."
My Husband: "I don't know."
My Grandma: "I wish you would insert anything with an edge of guilt."
My Sister: "..."
My Boss: "If you wanna do insert great idea here, then you can take it out of YOUR paycheck."
If the following people in my life had a catchphrase, this is what it would be:
My Mom: "Let me tell you how I feel about this..."
My Brother: "You are an idiot." Also interchangeable with "Shut up, idiot."
My Husband: "I don't know."
My Grandma: "I wish you would insert anything with an edge of guilt."
My Sister: "..."
My Boss: "If you wanna do insert great idea here, then you can take it out of YOUR paycheck."
8.12.2008
Thanks for Playing
Just when I think he can't possibly do more to fuck up, Bush bends us over and gives it to us. Hard.
He's not an idiot. He is a manipulative elitist man-child bully in the schoolyard, pushing everyone around to see how much he can get away with. And goddammit, he is getting away with all of it. It isn't enough for him to send our troops into a meaningless war. It isn't enough that he is personally responsible for 4,000 American deaths; 100,000 dead Iraqi men, women and children; and 30,000 wounded and permanently maimed American soldiers. It isn't enough that he makes the people of our country weep and despair, hoping for a better time. It isn't enough that he cares for nothing but himself.
Now he is killing the very things that make our planet so awe-inspiring. The very things that he claims to believe God created. He is killing everything, and no one is doing anything about it.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. I HATE THIS GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKER! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKBASTARD FUCKER.
By way of Chez, here is his latest disregard for anything not, well, him.
For the last time: Someone give him a blowjob so we can fucking IMPEACH. IMPEACH IMPEACH IMPEACH.
He's not an idiot. He is a manipulative elitist man-child bully in the schoolyard, pushing everyone around to see how much he can get away with. And goddammit, he is getting away with all of it. It isn't enough for him to send our troops into a meaningless war. It isn't enough that he is personally responsible for 4,000 American deaths; 100,000 dead Iraqi men, women and children; and 30,000 wounded and permanently maimed American soldiers. It isn't enough that he makes the people of our country weep and despair, hoping for a better time. It isn't enough that he cares for nothing but himself.
Now he is killing the very things that make our planet so awe-inspiring. The very things that he claims to believe God created. He is killing everything, and no one is doing anything about it.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. I HATE THIS GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKER! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKBASTARD FUCKER.
By way of Chez, here is his latest disregard for anything not, well, him.
For the last time: Someone give him a blowjob so we can fucking IMPEACH. IMPEACH IMPEACH IMPEACH.
6.16.2008
Dear Fucking Diary
Dear Mawthrfucking Diary, *and yes, this is the Amish edit, apparently.
It could have been a stranger weekend, really. I keep telling my husband that, but he just laughs. But, really, it could have been stranger. For instance, my brother could have told me he was pregnant...and not been kidding. See? Now THAT would have been strange.
Or I might have awoken on Saturday morning to a blizzard. That would have been really weird. So all in all, what happened this weekend wasn't completely out of the realm of reality. Just partially, perhaps.
Friday was truly a good day--not a bit of strangeness to be found. I got off work early, thanks to my company and its summer hours policy. I had a delicious margarita, went by a new blues/rock-a-billy club that will be opening soon, and walked around downtown. Gorgeous day, easy to be peaceful. Good.
Me and hubs went to an art opening, met up with some friends for sushi, went back to the opening for free beer, and came home early. No hangover! Good.
Saturday morning, we woke up early (well, early for me not him, that freak), decided to go to the housesite that is finally (FINALLY!!) being built, after which we would go to one of the best swimming holes in the South, and then on to another art opening for a friend, and then a party for three newly engaged couples. Good.
Well, on our way to our new house, we saw this great stuff by the side of the road: Two sets of old movie-type chairs. You know, four chairs connected by heavy metal framing, fold down seats, the whole she-bang. "Free!!!!" we screamed simultaneously, and whipped the car around. Unfortunately, we were in our little gas-efficient vehicle, which I love, but it had no room to fit one set of these lovely chairs, which I didn't love. As we stood by the back of our car, debating our course of action, a gentleman approached us and said he had two more sets of these things if we wanted them.
Score! In a matter of minutes we had doubled our booty. Sixteen cool old chairs! With so much awesome-potential! We asked him if, pretty please, we could hide these things in the bushes on the side of the road, take off the free sign, and later claim them when we had our truck. No problem, he says. Yay we say. So off we zoom to our housesite, see the progress (squeeee), and with the pooch in tow, head toward the swimming hole, aptly named Skinny Dip Falls.
It was a beautiful drive down the Blue Ridge Parkway. There were no tourists on the road--highly unusual for this time of year--so we sped along and were at the spot in record time. It rained off and on the whole drive, and it was fabulous. Living in a temperate rain forest really has its perks. Yes, there was one moment of blinding--and I'm mean literally blinding--downpour in which I coached my sweet hubs to just stay calm, don't brake suddenly, and follow the lines on the road. (Now listen, that shit is scary when there is no guard rail between your little car and a long, long plummet down a mountain that would surely end in serious brusing if not death.) We made it through, phew! and got to the swimming hole. There was a chill in the air, a sprinkle in the breeze, and a spring in our step as we made our way down the trail to the falls.
It was freakin' cold. I mean, gasp for breath fucking cold. And I loved every minute. I jumped in fully clothed as soon as we crossed the rocks, and my dog followed suit (she is so awesome). We swam for as long as we could stand it, hiked down the trail a bit more where the dog rolled in scat and proceeded to completely gross me and hubs out--that shit STINKS, people--and we came back to the falls to wash her off. And then I gave her a bath when we got home. And then another bath. (Cute aside: My doggie-love LOVES the hairdryer. She would lay there for hours as long as I was blowing her fur with a nice warm stream of air. But she hates the vacuum. Go figure--everyone likes to get blown.)
Hubs and I took a shower, and got ready for the friend's art opening. His photographs were amazing--beautiful images full of character, flawlessly exposed, and gorgeous subjects. Great show. I met a friend there, Tom, and his friend, Shane. I say his friend, because I Do Not Like This Woman. There are very few people that, after only two meetings, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I would not tell them if their hair was on fire. This woman is one of them. She is fucking unbelievable. She is whiny, demanding, negative, and just has a sucky attitude in general, and what was about to transpire would not help my attitude towards her whatsoever.
Here is where things get really strange.
Tom, the hubs, the bitch, and I were sitting outside of the gallery space so Tom and Bitch could smoke a cig. As we sat there in the wonderfully pleasant evening, a streetpunk came walking by. He was clearly fucked up on something, probably meth, and was out of it. He asked us collectively if we had a cell phone he could use, and Tom, hubs and I all rightly ignored him. Clueless bitch, however, hands over her cell phone. Now, this kid didn't look like he could remember his own name, much less a 10-digit phone number. And yet, he stood there for almost 25 minutes having the strangest one-sided conversation I have ever heard. I could make very little sense of it, as there was a lot of cursing and huffing, but one thing was clear: No one was on the other side of that conversation. The entire thing was an act for our benefit, a desperate attempt for some type of attention. Red flag.
Finally, after what seemed like forever (especially considering Clueless Bitch's constant complaining that she was hungry) Tom asked the guy politely if she could have her phone back, as we had to go. Tweaker freak slams the phone shut (without saying goodbye to anyone--another indication that he was crazy and having a conversation with no one), throws it at Tom, and screams, "FUCK YOU, YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE!!" and proceeds to verbally abuse the four of us. Now, I just sat there kind of laughing, because I have experienced this kind of shit before, and saying anything just eggs these idiots on. At one point, he even got on his knees in the street and bowed down to us, saying things like You Perfect People, and You Beautiful People.
Um, ok. Crazy fuck.
We gather ourselves, say goodbye to the fabulous artist, and start walking down the block so Clueless Bitch could get some food (she had not stopped complaining through Tweaker Freak's entire tirade), and attempt to leave this freak-fest behind, but of course, he followed us. He harrassed us for three fucking blocks. At one point he screamed at me two inches from my face (I moved away out of fear of catching something nasty) and that was all it took. Something snapped in my sweet-hearted hubby, and my hubs smacked the crackhead with his umbrella. The crackhead tried to come at him, and my hubs smacked him a few more times over the head. He ran back, cowering and screaming, and came at him AGAIN. At this point, I was not going to watch this freak go after my husband, so I employed my square-toe boots and kicked the shit out of that bitch. Luckily, a restaurant owner that I am friends with (and consequently owns one of the most fabulous Southern French 'rants in the South) came out with the cops on the phone, gave them a description of this douchebag, and the freak ran away. But not before my sweet hubs destroyed our umbrella. He had blood on his hands, and it was the tweaker's blood, so he went into the lovely French 'rant to wash up. (Big shout out to Michel, the best Frenchman in the South!)
So what was Clueless Bitch doing this whole time, as my hubs defended me and I defended him? BITCHING ABOUT HOW HUNGRY SHE WAS.
Seriously, what????
That kind of shit doesn't always happen, but when it does, it is kind of strange, isn't it?
It could have been a stranger weekend, really. I keep telling my husband that, but he just laughs. But, really, it could have been stranger. For instance, my brother could have told me he was pregnant...and not been kidding. See? Now THAT would have been strange.
Or I might have awoken on Saturday morning to a blizzard. That would have been really weird. So all in all, what happened this weekend wasn't completely out of the realm of reality. Just partially, perhaps.
Friday was truly a good day--not a bit of strangeness to be found. I got off work early, thanks to my company and its summer hours policy. I had a delicious margarita, went by a new blues/rock-a-billy club that will be opening soon, and walked around downtown. Gorgeous day, easy to be peaceful. Good.
Me and hubs went to an art opening, met up with some friends for sushi, went back to the opening for free beer, and came home early. No hangover! Good.
Saturday morning, we woke up early (well, early for me not him, that freak), decided to go to the housesite that is finally (FINALLY!!) being built, after which we would go to one of the best swimming holes in the South, and then on to another art opening for a friend, and then a party for three newly engaged couples. Good.
Well, on our way to our new house, we saw this great stuff by the side of the road: Two sets of old movie-type chairs. You know, four chairs connected by heavy metal framing, fold down seats, the whole she-bang. "Free!!!!" we screamed simultaneously, and whipped the car around. Unfortunately, we were in our little gas-efficient vehicle, which I love, but it had no room to fit one set of these lovely chairs, which I didn't love. As we stood by the back of our car, debating our course of action, a gentleman approached us and said he had two more sets of these things if we wanted them.
Score! In a matter of minutes we had doubled our booty. Sixteen cool old chairs! With so much awesome-potential! We asked him if, pretty please, we could hide these things in the bushes on the side of the road, take off the free sign, and later claim them when we had our truck. No problem, he says. Yay we say. So off we zoom to our housesite, see the progress (squeeee), and with the pooch in tow, head toward the swimming hole, aptly named Skinny Dip Falls.
It was a beautiful drive down the Blue Ridge Parkway. There were no tourists on the road--highly unusual for this time of year--so we sped along and were at the spot in record time. It rained off and on the whole drive, and it was fabulous. Living in a temperate rain forest really has its perks. Yes, there was one moment of blinding--and I'm mean literally blinding--downpour in which I coached my sweet hubs to just stay calm, don't brake suddenly, and follow the lines on the road. (Now listen, that shit is scary when there is no guard rail between your little car and a long, long plummet down a mountain that would surely end in serious brusing if not death.) We made it through, phew! and got to the swimming hole. There was a chill in the air, a sprinkle in the breeze, and a spring in our step as we made our way down the trail to the falls.
It was freakin' cold. I mean, gasp for breath fucking cold. And I loved every minute. I jumped in fully clothed as soon as we crossed the rocks, and my dog followed suit (she is so awesome). We swam for as long as we could stand it, hiked down the trail a bit more where the dog rolled in scat and proceeded to completely gross me and hubs out--that shit STINKS, people--and we came back to the falls to wash her off. And then I gave her a bath when we got home. And then another bath. (Cute aside: My doggie-love LOVES the hairdryer. She would lay there for hours as long as I was blowing her fur with a nice warm stream of air. But she hates the vacuum. Go figure--everyone likes to get blown.)
Hubs and I took a shower, and got ready for the friend's art opening. His photographs were amazing--beautiful images full of character, flawlessly exposed, and gorgeous subjects. Great show. I met a friend there, Tom, and his friend, Shane. I say his friend, because I Do Not Like This Woman. There are very few people that, after only two meetings, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I would not tell them if their hair was on fire. This woman is one of them. She is fucking unbelievable. She is whiny, demanding, negative, and just has a sucky attitude in general, and what was about to transpire would not help my attitude towards her whatsoever.
Here is where things get really strange.
Tom, the hubs, the bitch, and I were sitting outside of the gallery space so Tom and Bitch could smoke a cig. As we sat there in the wonderfully pleasant evening, a streetpunk came walking by. He was clearly fucked up on something, probably meth, and was out of it. He asked us collectively if we had a cell phone he could use, and Tom, hubs and I all rightly ignored him. Clueless bitch, however, hands over her cell phone. Now, this kid didn't look like he could remember his own name, much less a 10-digit phone number. And yet, he stood there for almost 25 minutes having the strangest one-sided conversation I have ever heard. I could make very little sense of it, as there was a lot of cursing and huffing, but one thing was clear: No one was on the other side of that conversation. The entire thing was an act for our benefit, a desperate attempt for some type of attention. Red flag.
Finally, after what seemed like forever (especially considering Clueless Bitch's constant complaining that she was hungry) Tom asked the guy politely if she could have her phone back, as we had to go. Tweaker freak slams the phone shut (without saying goodbye to anyone--another indication that he was crazy and having a conversation with no one), throws it at Tom, and screams, "FUCK YOU, YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE!!" and proceeds to verbally abuse the four of us. Now, I just sat there kind of laughing, because I have experienced this kind of shit before, and saying anything just eggs these idiots on. At one point, he even got on his knees in the street and bowed down to us, saying things like You Perfect People, and You Beautiful People.
Um, ok. Crazy fuck.
We gather ourselves, say goodbye to the fabulous artist, and start walking down the block so Clueless Bitch could get some food (she had not stopped complaining through Tweaker Freak's entire tirade), and attempt to leave this freak-fest behind, but of course, he followed us. He harrassed us for three fucking blocks. At one point he screamed at me two inches from my face (I moved away out of fear of catching something nasty) and that was all it took. Something snapped in my sweet-hearted hubby, and my hubs smacked the crackhead with his umbrella. The crackhead tried to come at him, and my hubs smacked him a few more times over the head. He ran back, cowering and screaming, and came at him AGAIN. At this point, I was not going to watch this freak go after my husband, so I employed my square-toe boots and kicked the shit out of that bitch. Luckily, a restaurant owner that I am friends with (and consequently owns one of the most fabulous Southern French 'rants in the South) came out with the cops on the phone, gave them a description of this douchebag, and the freak ran away. But not before my sweet hubs destroyed our umbrella. He had blood on his hands, and it was the tweaker's blood, so he went into the lovely French 'rant to wash up. (Big shout out to Michel, the best Frenchman in the South!)
So what was Clueless Bitch doing this whole time, as my hubs defended me and I defended him? BITCHING ABOUT HOW HUNGRY SHE WAS.
Seriously, what????
That kind of shit doesn't always happen, but when it does, it is kind of strange, isn't it?
5.08.2008
Brain Growls
My mother has officially made me and my brother less important than her boyfriend. I was concerned that this might happen, but didn't give it actual credence. I had planned a really nice Mother's Day outing for all of us--at her behest I invited the boyfriend.
We were going to take a picnic lunch to our local Arboretum for their annual dahlia show, take a nice, long walk, drink wine spritzers, etc. It was to be lovely.
But, her boyfriend is not feeling well, and has canceled his appearance. So my mom decided to go out of town for the weekend. Apparently it is not possible to still have a lovely outing without him.
Brain growl number one.
My grandmother is laying the guilt on really heavy. Me and the hubs have been married for almost two years, and she refuses to relent on her Boo Must Bear a Child Campaign, Now That She is Married. Clearly, what the fuck else should I do with my time?? Not progress my already fruitful career. Clearly, not create a deeper and more meaningful relationship with the man I have chosen to spend the rest of my life with. Clearly, not build a gorgeous house at the age of 28, be completely debt free, and financially prosperous. Clearly, not have a life that I want. I don't want children. I love children, but I don't want to have them. And she refuses to listen. I am getting an increasing number of voicemails and emails, and she never fails to bring it up. NEVER.
Brain growl number two.
Ok, I guess those are the only two brain growls. Everything else is fucking fantastic. The house is going along swimmingly, I'm involved in all kinds of creative ventures, me and the hubs are having THE BEST sex ever, and it is spring. It's not all growls.
Clearly, I use the word clearly too much, and I am spoiled.
grrrrrrrrr.
We were going to take a picnic lunch to our local Arboretum for their annual dahlia show, take a nice, long walk, drink wine spritzers, etc. It was to be lovely.
But, her boyfriend is not feeling well, and has canceled his appearance. So my mom decided to go out of town for the weekend. Apparently it is not possible to still have a lovely outing without him.
Brain growl number one.
My grandmother is laying the guilt on really heavy. Me and the hubs have been married for almost two years, and she refuses to relent on her Boo Must Bear a Child Campaign, Now That She is Married. Clearly, what the fuck else should I do with my time?? Not progress my already fruitful career. Clearly, not create a deeper and more meaningful relationship with the man I have chosen to spend the rest of my life with. Clearly, not build a gorgeous house at the age of 28, be completely debt free, and financially prosperous. Clearly, not have a life that I want. I don't want children. I love children, but I don't want to have them. And she refuses to listen. I am getting an increasing number of voicemails and emails, and she never fails to bring it up. NEVER.
Brain growl number two.
Ok, I guess those are the only two brain growls. Everything else is fucking fantastic. The house is going along swimmingly, I'm involved in all kinds of creative ventures, me and the hubs are having THE BEST sex ever, and it is spring. It's not all growls.
Clearly, I use the word clearly too much, and I am spoiled.
grrrrrrrrr.
4.22.2008
Open Letter to Kelly Ripa
Dear Kelly,
You've gone too far. You are undermining everything that I hold dear to my heart--as a woman--and I will not take it anymore.
I am only going to ask this once.
Please stop. Please stop propagating the idea that the American woman must fill every single second with something productive to be considered an accomplished adult. The fact that you can create a gala for Martha Stewart's birthday on a shoestring budget, make a wholesome, homemade meal for 20 needy children, design a better vacuum, memorize crappy lines, not make a stinky face while sitting next to Regis "I've been embalmed ten times to look this good" Philbin, take an advanced pilates class, volunteer for the Ziploc Foundation for Fresher Curtains brigade, donate all your blood, serve bottles of your own wine from handpicked grapes from your backyard vineyard, and not eat a single thing ever--all before you send your kids to school in the morning with a packed lunch, complete with healthy fruits and veggies--does not make you a Super Woman.
It just makes you crazy.
So, really. Just stop.
Thanks!!!
Boo
You've gone too far. You are undermining everything that I hold dear to my heart--as a woman--and I will not take it anymore.
I am only going to ask this once.
Please stop. Please stop propagating the idea that the American woman must fill every single second with something productive to be considered an accomplished adult. The fact that you can create a gala for Martha Stewart's birthday on a shoestring budget, make a wholesome, homemade meal for 20 needy children, design a better vacuum, memorize crappy lines, not make a stinky face while sitting next to Regis "I've been embalmed ten times to look this good" Philbin, take an advanced pilates class, volunteer for the Ziploc Foundation for Fresher Curtains brigade, donate all your blood, serve bottles of your own wine from handpicked grapes from your backyard vineyard, and not eat a single thing ever--all before you send your kids to school in the morning with a packed lunch, complete with healthy fruits and veggies--does not make you a Super Woman.
It just makes you crazy.
So, really. Just stop.
Thanks!!!
Boo
4.17.2008
Fuck This. I'm Ex-Pat-ing Myself.
I can't even talk about the crap-fest that was last night's "debate." So imagine my horror when I saw this little gem on Jezebel.
Fuck.
And just for the record, since when did "patriotism" come in the form of a cheap, plastic pin with a "Made in China" stamp on the back???
Fuck.
And just for the record, since when did "patriotism" come in the form of a cheap, plastic pin with a "Made in China" stamp on the back???
4.02.2008
How to NOT Build a House
1. Hire a contractor.
2. Make sure said contractor is disguising a serious mental imbalance.
3. Make plans with contractor.
4. After he completes the foundation, make sure he waits at least 6 months before doing anything else to the house.
5. Try to call contractor repeatedly. Make sure he does not call you back.
6. Fire contractor.
7. Re-hire contractor after he has a breakdown, loses 40 pounds, tells you his wife has breast cancer, and that he has crews lined up and waiting to work on your house.
8. Hear nothing from contractor for another month.
9. Call contractor; leave him a message. Make sure he doesn't call you back. Ever.
10. Find out that contractor has a b12 imbalance, and was rushed to the hospital.
11. Hear from contractor's wife. Make sure she blames you for his health problems.
12. Discover the contractor has been committed to a mental institution and has no contact with his family.
13. Re-fire contractor.
14. Hire new contractor.
2. Make sure said contractor is disguising a serious mental imbalance.
3. Make plans with contractor.
4. After he completes the foundation, make sure he waits at least 6 months before doing anything else to the house.
5. Try to call contractor repeatedly. Make sure he does not call you back.
6. Fire contractor.
7. Re-hire contractor after he has a breakdown, loses 40 pounds, tells you his wife has breast cancer, and that he has crews lined up and waiting to work on your house.
8. Hear nothing from contractor for another month.
9. Call contractor; leave him a message. Make sure he doesn't call you back. Ever.
10. Find out that contractor has a b12 imbalance, and was rushed to the hospital.
11. Hear from contractor's wife. Make sure she blames you for his health problems.
12. Discover the contractor has been committed to a mental institution and has no contact with his family.
13. Re-fire contractor.
14. Hire new contractor.
3.18.2008
Boo's Top Ten: Pet Peeves
Hi! I'm Boo. I'm a bitch. Have we met?
10. People who chew food with their mouths open. Bonus points if you are extra noisy!!!
9. People who demand my time without contributing any of their own. Like, don't complain about me not calling you, if you never fucking call me either! Dick.
8. People who CHOOSE to be oblivious in public places. Yes, I've been standing behind your grocery cart that is blocking the entire aisle while you argue with someone on your cell phone about which brand of spaghetti is better. Yes, I've made eye contact with you about three times. What? A dirty look? Oh god, strike me down for the fear in my heart. Get out of my way, you douche.
7. People who treat service industry employees as slaves. As a former waitress: fuck you.
6. Politicians. As a general rule.
5. People who allow their young female children to have anything to do with Paris Hilton. As a future retiree: fuck you.
4. And on that note: celebrities that are famous for no exceptional reason. Oh, you're the daughter of the guy that got O.J. acquitted? Well, shove a stick up your ass and call you important. Twatburger.
3. Anyone who thinks "feminist" is a bad word. As a feminist: well, you know.
2. Pro-lifers. Wanting to save a cluster of cells, but supporting capital punishment, is a bit of a fucking conundrum, isn't it, you fucks? And BOMBING clinics that provide medical care to make a political statement about death? I just can't...
And the Number One MOST ANNOYING THING IN THE WORLD!!!!
Interrupters. Hey! Interrupters of the world: fah-q.
Moral of the story: I must hate people.
10. People who chew food with their mouths open. Bonus points if you are extra noisy!!!
9. People who demand my time without contributing any of their own. Like, don't complain about me not calling you, if you never fucking call me either! Dick.
8. People who CHOOSE to be oblivious in public places. Yes, I've been standing behind your grocery cart that is blocking the entire aisle while you argue with someone on your cell phone about which brand of spaghetti is better. Yes, I've made eye contact with you about three times. What? A dirty look? Oh god, strike me down for the fear in my heart. Get out of my way, you douche.
7. People who treat service industry employees as slaves. As a former waitress: fuck you.
6. Politicians. As a general rule.
5. People who allow their young female children to have anything to do with Paris Hilton. As a future retiree: fuck you.
4. And on that note: celebrities that are famous for no exceptional reason. Oh, you're the daughter of the guy that got O.J. acquitted? Well, shove a stick up your ass and call you important. Twatburger.
3. Anyone who thinks "feminist" is a bad word. As a feminist: well, you know.
2. Pro-lifers. Wanting to save a cluster of cells, but supporting capital punishment, is a bit of a fucking conundrum, isn't it, you fucks? And BOMBING clinics that provide medical care to make a political statement about death? I just can't...
And the Number One MOST ANNOYING THING IN THE WORLD!!!!
Interrupters. Hey! Interrupters of the world: fah-q.
Moral of the story: I must hate people.
3.13.2008
Homo Rejectus
I swear this will be my only American Idol post ever. I just wanted to give Chez a run for his money with his awesome blog post titles.
3.07.2008
One More Notch, er, Scar
Well, not to be outdone by the last couple of weeks of minor traumas, I have raised the bar for myself YET AGAIN!!!!
Luckily, when I hurt myself, it is usually non-life threatening, but probably some of the most painful shit you can do to yourself while remaining in non-life threatening mode.
Yesterday's little trauma?
I slammed my thumb in my car door. It locked. I had to fumble with my keys in my left hand, unsuccessfully try to unlock the door (isn't it strange how when you really need to get into your car, like it is pouring outside, or your thumb is locked in the door, you try to unlock it in the wrong direction several times until you realize, even though you might have been unlocking this specific door daily for months or even years??) and removed my thumb. In all of its blood-gushing glory. It was pretty horrendous, and I think I even heard the lady across the street scream. (Well, she definitely hollered.)
Luckily, I was just arriving at a friend's house, and I went to the front door and asked for her assistance. She, in super-nurse-in-control mode, whisks me to the bathroom, cleans me, sterilizes me, oints me, and wraps me. Boom. Done.
I have the best of friends. Thanks friend!!!!
So my nail is cracked pretty much in half, and I'm guessing that it might bother me after my finger has healed, so I was researching healing tactics on the web (of course).
This is my favorite option so far.
Luckily, when I hurt myself, it is usually non-life threatening, but probably some of the most painful shit you can do to yourself while remaining in non-life threatening mode.
Yesterday's little trauma?
I slammed my thumb in my car door. It locked. I had to fumble with my keys in my left hand, unsuccessfully try to unlock the door (isn't it strange how when you really need to get into your car, like it is pouring outside, or your thumb is locked in the door, you try to unlock it in the wrong direction several times until you realize, even though you might have been unlocking this specific door daily for months or even years??) and removed my thumb. In all of its blood-gushing glory. It was pretty horrendous, and I think I even heard the lady across the street scream. (Well, she definitely hollered.)
Luckily, I was just arriving at a friend's house, and I went to the front door and asked for her assistance. She, in super-nurse-in-control mode, whisks me to the bathroom, cleans me, sterilizes me, oints me, and wraps me. Boom. Done.
I have the best of friends. Thanks friend!!!!
So my nail is cracked pretty much in half, and I'm guessing that it might bother me after my finger has healed, so I was researching healing tactics on the web (of course).
This is my favorite option so far.
3.05.2008
2.21.2008
Un-F#@KING-believable.
I came home today, after a very long and upsetting day, to find the following:
My dog had "buried" two bloody tampons under the pillows of our bed, after apparently chewing on them in various spots on the bed, leaving a bloody trail.
Unfortunately, that's not even the worst of it.
They were my mom's.
I guess it's a good thing that I wasn't already sleeping well at night. This saves me from the nightmares that would be sure to haunt me.
**Update: I just found the missing bloody pad on my beautiful wingback chair. Life is officially hell.**
My dog had "buried" two bloody tampons under the pillows of our bed, after apparently chewing on them in various spots on the bed, leaving a bloody trail.
Unfortunately, that's not even the worst of it.
They were my mom's.
I guess it's a good thing that I wasn't already sleeping well at night. This saves me from the nightmares that would be sure to haunt me.
**Update: I just found the missing bloody pad on my beautiful wingback chair. Life is officially hell.**
12.18.2007
A Quick Gripe
You know what really buggers my ass? When people use the "it's going to look so horrible when you're old" argument against getting tattoos.
Guess what dumb dumbs: we ALL look like shit when we're old. A little skin decoration isn't going to change that.
So suck it.
Guess what dumb dumbs: we ALL look like shit when we're old. A little skin decoration isn't going to change that.
So suck it.
8.20.2007
Steven Spielberg: Fuck You
This is insane. I really thought I was the only one. Apparently not.
I have been traumatized by E.T. No, not that horrendous TV show dedicated to giving celebrities their daily blowjobs (although, as an adult, that shit truly is TERRIFYING). No, I'm talking about the Steven Spielberg movie from 1982 with the little brown alien that everyone thinks is so fucking cute. Yeah, that E.T.
I was a mere 2 years old when that movie came out, and one of my parents (probably my mom. bless her heart) took me to the theater to see it. Now, a 2 year old in a theater is bad enough, but if you remember that opening scene, (the one with the scary guys with flashlights and guns and the aliens with their creepy fingers and spaceship and then that little fucking alien running through the forest with the most horrible shriek I have ever heard!!!) then you know that it is pretty intense for a normal person, much less a 2 year old.
Let's just say I didn't stop screaming until my mom got me home. Seriously.
I had never seen the entire movie until this past December 31. Seriously.
Even seeing that creepy-ass face on a cereal box was too much for me, up until about a year ago. Seriously.
I had recurring nightmares about E.T. until I was 25. SERIOUSLY.
E.T. and me: not cool.
So, today I'm procrastinating and reading Pajiba, and I start looking at the comment thread (awesome way to pass the time, dudes) and the first motherfucking comment is this guy saying he was scared of E.T. Wow, I think, I've never heard of anyone else being scared of that. People (especially my FAMILY, assholos) always used to make fun of me (read:torture me) about this particular phobia (despite the fact that my brother used to have nightmares about ranch dressing, ha!) and for the longest time I really thought that I had some repressed childhood memory attached to E.T. that manifested itself in the form of terror.
Apparently, there is an entire generation of us that are scarred by the most lovable alien ever to be created for the silver screen. Spielburg, I'm forwarding my therapy bills to you. And I suggest that everyone else do the same. Motherfucker.
I mean, I'm sorry but THIS:
NOT CUTE.
If I saw something like that poking its face around a door, I'd either a. run away screaming or b. try to fight it and then run away screaming.
Or, at least I would have a year ago.
My husband took me to see this movie, all the way through for the first time, on December 31, 2006. Yep, just 8.5 months ago. It was playing at our local brew 'n view, and we were super bored, so we ate some mushrooms and went to see the movie.
And you know what? E.T. was a good movie. I was really surprised. After a lifetime of unexplainable terror, a crushing sensation in my chest just hearing those two little letters, a jump of fright in my stomach when inadvertently seeing its image, I was able to watch the movie and enjoy it.
But sometimes when the moon is just right, and my imagination decides to take hold of my brain functions, I can still hear the scritchscratch coming from the darkened bathroom and know that He's there, waiting for me.
GAH!!!!!!
I have been traumatized by E.T. No, not that horrendous TV show dedicated to giving celebrities their daily blowjobs (although, as an adult, that shit truly is TERRIFYING). No, I'm talking about the Steven Spielberg movie from 1982 with the little brown alien that everyone thinks is so fucking cute. Yeah, that E.T.
I was a mere 2 years old when that movie came out, and one of my parents (probably my mom. bless her heart) took me to the theater to see it. Now, a 2 year old in a theater is bad enough, but if you remember that opening scene, (the one with the scary guys with flashlights and guns and the aliens with their creepy fingers and spaceship and then that little fucking alien running through the forest with the most horrible shriek I have ever heard!!!) then you know that it is pretty intense for a normal person, much less a 2 year old.
Let's just say I didn't stop screaming until my mom got me home. Seriously.
I had never seen the entire movie until this past December 31. Seriously.
Even seeing that creepy-ass face on a cereal box was too much for me, up until about a year ago. Seriously.
I had recurring nightmares about E.T. until I was 25. SERIOUSLY.
E.T. and me: not cool.
So, today I'm procrastinating and reading Pajiba, and I start looking at the comment thread (awesome way to pass the time, dudes) and the first motherfucking comment is this guy saying he was scared of E.T. Wow, I think, I've never heard of anyone else being scared of that. People (especially my FAMILY, assholos) always used to make fun of me (read:torture me) about this particular phobia (despite the fact that my brother used to have nightmares about ranch dressing, ha!) and for the longest time I really thought that I had some repressed childhood memory attached to E.T. that manifested itself in the form of terror.
Apparently, there is an entire generation of us that are scarred by the most lovable alien ever to be created for the silver screen. Spielburg, I'm forwarding my therapy bills to you. And I suggest that everyone else do the same. Motherfucker.
I mean, I'm sorry but THIS:
NOT CUTE.
If I saw something like that poking its face around a door, I'd either a. run away screaming or b. try to fight it and then run away screaming.
Or, at least I would have a year ago.
My husband took me to see this movie, all the way through for the first time, on December 31, 2006. Yep, just 8.5 months ago. It was playing at our local brew 'n view, and we were super bored, so we ate some mushrooms and went to see the movie.
And you know what? E.T. was a good movie. I was really surprised. After a lifetime of unexplainable terror, a crushing sensation in my chest just hearing those two little letters, a jump of fright in my stomach when inadvertently seeing its image, I was able to watch the movie and enjoy it.
But sometimes when the moon is just right, and my imagination decides to take hold of my brain functions, I can still hear the scritchscratch coming from the darkened bathroom and know that He's there, waiting for me.
GAH!!!!!!
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