There's the slim possibility that life could be better than this but golly gosh gee whiz, I just don't know.
I had to watch that 4 times already today and doubtless I will watch it again and again....
Also, this Nutrigrain Bars commercial is so simply psychotic that I shall love it for all eternity. Serious. It just makes me feel GREAT. JUST GREAT.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Usually when you see the phrase "freak accident" it's not truly so freakish after all. Usually it's something that seems like it's pretty darn apparent that the "freak" occurence would be the direct result of an earlier action.
However, in this case I think "freak accident" is indeed the correct terminology to use.
Poor kid. Hope you're feeling better little guy. Whoooooo.
However, in this case I think "freak accident" is indeed the correct terminology to use.
Poor kid. Hope you're feeling better little guy. Whoooooo.
more quizzes
You are a RPIG--Reserved Practical Intellectual Giver. This makes you a Rock of Gibraltar.
You are loyal, kind, thoughtful and conscientious. You're a good person. You make everyone around you happier and better, even if you yourself are not at your happiest or best. You just care so much about your friends and loved ones that you can't help giving them everything of yourself. It can wear you out, but you'd never let on.
You're successful, smart and fun to be with, but your self-esteem could use some boosting. You don't like conflict, and you don't like demanding things for yourself, so you can feel unappreciated. But then you wonder if you don't deserve to be appreciated. You do!
You have many small crushes, but it takes you ages to get to a serious stage with someone. You get so caught up second-guessing yourself and worrying if the other person really *likes* likes you that you never dare to make the first move. Generally you end up with another clever RPIG who knows one when s/he sees one. This adds up to one long courtship. Fortunately this also adds up to one long marriage.
You would never cheat. You would never hurt anyone's feelings. You are so sympathetic and give so many second chances that it takes a lo-o-ong time for anyone to get on your bad side.
Your only problem is you can be *too* thoughtful -- you can end up worrying and getting hung up over nothing.
You may be a boy scout.
Of the 214957 people who have taken this quiz, 6.9 % are this type.
You are loyal, kind, thoughtful and conscientious. You're a good person. You make everyone around you happier and better, even if you yourself are not at your happiest or best. You just care so much about your friends and loved ones that you can't help giving them everything of yourself. It can wear you out, but you'd never let on.
You're successful, smart and fun to be with, but your self-esteem could use some boosting. You don't like conflict, and you don't like demanding things for yourself, so you can feel unappreciated. But then you wonder if you don't deserve to be appreciated. You do!
You have many small crushes, but it takes you ages to get to a serious stage with someone. You get so caught up second-guessing yourself and worrying if the other person really *likes* likes you that you never dare to make the first move. Generally you end up with another clever RPIG who knows one when s/he sees one. This adds up to one long courtship. Fortunately this also adds up to one long marriage.
You would never cheat. You would never hurt anyone's feelings. You are so sympathetic and give so many second chances that it takes a lo-o-ong time for anyone to get on your bad side.
Your only problem is you can be *too* thoughtful -- you can end up worrying and getting hung up over nothing.
You may be a boy scout.
Of the 214957 people who have taken this quiz, 6.9 % are this type.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
best birthday party ever
Friday was Mr. Wonderfuls birthday. Dear Mr. Wonderful didn't decide until the last minute that he wanted a party thrown on his behalf.
At least, that's what he told ME.
So Thursday and Friday I am baking, planning, shopping, calling, arranging, and so forth, like a mad woman to get this party whipped into shape in time.
It occurs.
The party is fab (Of Course says my finely honed mad Martha Stewart skills) and is going swimmingly. Oddly, the people from his work aren't really mingling with the rest of the party. They are acting slightly odd. I dismiss it, assuming they feel out of place. Maybe my friends are too weird or something (laughs).
It's time for his cake. One of his work bodies is standing there with a camera, pointing at me and the cake. I tell him to hurry up and take a picture, the thing is heavy (the dish it's on is heavy, to be precise). No flash. I dismiss his weirdness and Mr. Wonderful blows out the candles. I go set the cake down and he pulls me out of the kitchen and into the living room.
He turns me around to the crowd and smiles and says something about what a great party it is and how I did a good job and then drops to one knee and whips out a little box from his pocket. (I'm about to pass out even retelling this story, geeeeeez.....) I stare at him. I'm not sure what he's saying exactly because all the girls are going, "OH MY GOD! Is he really??? He really is! Can you believe it? Awwwwwwww!!!" and I can hear them distinctly out of one ear and Mr. Wonderful out of the other. He's telling me how much he loves me and something about how I'm the most awesomely weirdest women he's ever met (the only part I could remember) and would I do him the honor of marrying him?
I take the ring, slip it on my finger and wonder what I should do. He's still on one knee. All the blood in my entire body is in my head. I drop to the floor and we hug on our knees. I mumble something at him, and hide my face in his shoulder so no one can see me. Finally he stand me up and points me towards everyone, where everyone says congratulations and comments on how cute it is that I am totally splotchy and red. I turn redder, I'm sure.
Champagne is had, cake is eaten, and I haven't wanted a cigarette than badly in the last 3 or 4 years (I do not smoke. I do inhale deeply near my friend Anne who is smoking outside.) I stand outside for awhile, trying to cool off and change back to my normal non-embarrassed-mutant colors. I chug 2 or 3 mimosas trying to calm down a little.
He informs me that everyone at work has known for a week, but he wanted to fake me out till the last second so I wouldn't catch on. Hence the last second party plan, and his friends all acting weird when they arrived and the guy waiting with the camera (turns out it was video, he filmed it). Sneaky rascal.
Everyone leaves by 8:30 and we watch the season finales of SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, and the first half of the season finale of Battlestar Galactica. We gasp and giggle and I spend more time staring stupidly at my ring and laughing about the huge headed Dora the Explorer balloon my friend Sabrina brought for his birthday. She tied it to a bottle of champagne. I mean, people, that is FUNNY.
I don't remember going to bed. I didn't drink THAT much, but it was almost 2 or 3 by the time we got to bed (we got up at 5).
The next day I was still too overwhelmed to call anyone and it wasn't till guilt set in on Sunday that I finally picked up the phone.
And here it is Tuesday before it got blogged.
I have a whole train of thought about diamond rings and how I feel about this one but I've got other stuff I need to work on right now. But now you know.
You're In The Loop.
*ding!*
At least, that's what he told ME.
So Thursday and Friday I am baking, planning, shopping, calling, arranging, and so forth, like a mad woman to get this party whipped into shape in time.
It occurs.
The party is fab (Of Course says my finely honed mad Martha Stewart skills) and is going swimmingly. Oddly, the people from his work aren't really mingling with the rest of the party. They are acting slightly odd. I dismiss it, assuming they feel out of place. Maybe my friends are too weird or something (laughs).
It's time for his cake. One of his work bodies is standing there with a camera, pointing at me and the cake. I tell him to hurry up and take a picture, the thing is heavy (the dish it's on is heavy, to be precise). No flash. I dismiss his weirdness and Mr. Wonderful blows out the candles. I go set the cake down and he pulls me out of the kitchen and into the living room.
He turns me around to the crowd and smiles and says something about what a great party it is and how I did a good job and then drops to one knee and whips out a little box from his pocket. (I'm about to pass out even retelling this story, geeeeeez.....) I stare at him. I'm not sure what he's saying exactly because all the girls are going, "OH MY GOD! Is he really??? He really is! Can you believe it? Awwwwwwww!!!" and I can hear them distinctly out of one ear and Mr. Wonderful out of the other. He's telling me how much he loves me and something about how I'm the most awesomely weirdest women he's ever met (the only part I could remember) and would I do him the honor of marrying him?
I take the ring, slip it on my finger and wonder what I should do. He's still on one knee. All the blood in my entire body is in my head. I drop to the floor and we hug on our knees. I mumble something at him, and hide my face in his shoulder so no one can see me. Finally he stand me up and points me towards everyone, where everyone says congratulations and comments on how cute it is that I am totally splotchy and red. I turn redder, I'm sure.
Champagne is had, cake is eaten, and I haven't wanted a cigarette than badly in the last 3 or 4 years (I do not smoke. I do inhale deeply near my friend Anne who is smoking outside.) I stand outside for awhile, trying to cool off and change back to my normal non-embarrassed-mutant colors. I chug 2 or 3 mimosas trying to calm down a little.
He informs me that everyone at work has known for a week, but he wanted to fake me out till the last second so I wouldn't catch on. Hence the last second party plan, and his friends all acting weird when they arrived and the guy waiting with the camera (turns out it was video, he filmed it). Sneaky rascal.
Everyone leaves by 8:30 and we watch the season finales of SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, and the first half of the season finale of Battlestar Galactica. We gasp and giggle and I spend more time staring stupidly at my ring and laughing about the huge headed Dora the Explorer balloon my friend Sabrina brought for his birthday. She tied it to a bottle of champagne. I mean, people, that is FUNNY.
I don't remember going to bed. I didn't drink THAT much, but it was almost 2 or 3 by the time we got to bed (we got up at 5).
The next day I was still too overwhelmed to call anyone and it wasn't till guilt set in on Sunday that I finally picked up the phone.
And here it is Tuesday before it got blogged.
I have a whole train of thought about diamond rings and how I feel about this one but I've got other stuff I need to work on right now. But now you know.
You're In The Loop.
*ding!*
advertising amusements
Ah yes, good one True. So True. Dive into cleavage, glistening wet volumptous cleavage, oh I mean love. Yes, find true love. It's right here, in this set of tits!
(rolls eyes)
How stupid can advertising GET?
No, wait, don't tell me.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Thursday, March 24, 2005
loving the little girls
DUDE.
My sons dad just called. First time I've heard from him since around Christmas. Says he's got some package he wants to send for Easter. (Good luck it making it here in time...~rolls eyes~)
Anyway, I had blogged about him coming up at Christmas and his ridiculous 4 hour visit. He came with his girlfriend, who seemed incredibly young to me, but I could be wrong. So this time I asked him. Just straight up. He paused...for a looooong time....and then said, "Yah, she's good." *silence* I said, "No, I asked you how old she is." *silence* He says, "Why do want to know?" I start laughing, honestly just laughing and say, "Boy, you really don't want to tell me, do you?" And he says, "Oh yah? That's cool," as if he is answering some question I am NOT asking. Or talking about. Or whatever. She must have been standing there or something. But still! I mean, her age is her reality, dude, can you not deal with it?
She looks maybe 17. He's 37? 38? And when she was here she mentioned her button falling off her coat and I said something about the sewing buttons on my coat recently and she cheerfully tells me, "Yah, I'll get my mom to sew it back on!" And I just kind of stare at her and cock my head sideways. Your....mom....is going to sew your buttons for you? How young must you be?
So now I wonder if she's even younger than THAT. I mean, I know he favors robbing the cradle, but GEEZ! How young must she be for him to dance all around the subject like that?
Man. What a nutcase. The thing is? I really couldn't give a shit. It's just more for me to laugh about, not in his face, but you know...he's a serious fuck up. I'm learning to just laugh his shit off. It's the only way to deal with it.
16?
I wonder.
My sons dad just called. First time I've heard from him since around Christmas. Says he's got some package he wants to send for Easter. (Good luck it making it here in time...~rolls eyes~)
Anyway, I had blogged about him coming up at Christmas and his ridiculous 4 hour visit. He came with his girlfriend, who seemed incredibly young to me, but I could be wrong. So this time I asked him. Just straight up. He paused...for a looooong time....and then said, "Yah, she's good." *silence* I said, "No, I asked you how old she is." *silence* He says, "Why do want to know?" I start laughing, honestly just laughing and say, "Boy, you really don't want to tell me, do you?" And he says, "Oh yah? That's cool," as if he is answering some question I am NOT asking. Or talking about. Or whatever. She must have been standing there or something. But still! I mean, her age is her reality, dude, can you not deal with it?
She looks maybe 17. He's 37? 38? And when she was here she mentioned her button falling off her coat and I said something about the sewing buttons on my coat recently and she cheerfully tells me, "Yah, I'll get my mom to sew it back on!" And I just kind of stare at her and cock my head sideways. Your....mom....is going to sew your buttons for you? How young must you be?
So now I wonder if she's even younger than THAT. I mean, I know he favors robbing the cradle, but GEEZ! How young must she be for him to dance all around the subject like that?
Man. What a nutcase. The thing is? I really couldn't give a shit. It's just more for me to laugh about, not in his face, but you know...he's a serious fuck up. I'm learning to just laugh his shit off. It's the only way to deal with it.
16?
I wonder.
the crazy apple...
...doesn't fall far from the crazy tree.
Latest homework paragraphs from my son (who is 7)- they have certain words they need to use and they get to write whatever they want in a paragraph to use those words. He came up with these two dandies:
I was running to court to sue someone. "Mr. Mu! This guy stole my credit card. He said he was just exploring my office." I yelled in my loudest voice, "You've disappointed me."
And
When it was time for lunch, I slowly pushed my head into my bagel. "And I will now tear my bagel in half!" I exclaimed. "Oh............head first!" And then I softly lifted my head.
Is it just me? Does anyone see the similarity in writing? Not that he reads my writings or anything. Maybe it's just me.
No. It's definitely not.
Latest homework paragraphs from my son (who is 7)- they have certain words they need to use and they get to write whatever they want in a paragraph to use those words. He came up with these two dandies:
I was running to court to sue someone. "Mr. Mu! This guy stole my credit card. He said he was just exploring my office." I yelled in my loudest voice, "You've disappointed me."
And
When it was time for lunch, I slowly pushed my head into my bagel. "And I will now tear my bagel in half!" I exclaimed. "Oh............head first!" And then I softly lifted my head.
Is it just me? Does anyone see the similarity in writing? Not that he reads my writings or anything. Maybe it's just me.
No. It's definitely not.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
I'm listening to Oingo Boingo and got all pissed off at the lyrics to one of my favorite songs.
Stupid men. Stupid age. Stupid irresponsible behaviour. Stupid monkeys in their stupid brains. Stupid little girls with their blank stupidness. Stupid everything.
Stupid men. Stupid age. Stupid irresponsible behaviour. Stupid monkeys in their stupid brains. Stupid little girls with their blank stupidness. Stupid everything.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will allow my fear to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone I will turn my inner eye to see its path. And where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
~ Frank Herbert from Dune
~ Frank Herbert from Dune
Monday, March 21, 2005
Girls Night Out
One of my friends was lamenting about how she never gets out of the house, how her kids are driving her nuts, how she never goes anywhere. Her husband is about to leave on deployment (Navy) for 6 months. So, to make sure that a fellow Mother doesn't lose her freaking mind, I arranged a Girls Night Out.
Most of the friends I have don't know each other. As a matter of fact, very few of my friends have ever met or even seen pictures of each other. Strange thing, that. But I think it's due to the fact I have very particular tastes in people and therefore the ones I like are usually few and far between, literally. Would they get along? Let's find out, says I. All of them wish they had more friends, why not unite them for a common cause, eh?
Ok. So we do. There's 4 of us, we go to Mexican food. We drink. I mostly sip my one drink and shudder, because me and alcohol are not close friends, we aren't really even wave-as-you-pass-them-on-the-street neighbors or anything. Maybe two people who happen to be in the same stadium for the same game. We're about THAT close.
Anyway, I'm designated driver (voluntarily, as I could give a crap about drinking) and the girls are getting drunk. I'm having a great time, other than my stomach is angrily protesting the spicy food and the alien poison I'm slowly sipping.
I'm watching the interaction between strangers turning into friends. It's fascinating, and beautiful to watch. It's a very intricate dance women do, to offer personal information, pause, gauge the reactions of those around them, offer a little more, pause, gauge the reactions of those around them....
My recently liberated neighbor was just lighting up my table with her happy story telling and joke cracking. I was very touched by her joy. You see, she has been under the thumb of a most undeserving asshole for years, the controlling kind of asshole who wouldn't let her have friends and tried to crush her spirit and alienate her to happiness whenever possible. He did, I must say, do a very good job of it. And I despised him. I hated him. But I knew she was going to have to live with it until she saw the light, so to speak, and she finally did. Valentines Day he went beserk and smashed a bunch of stuff and that was it, she kicked him out. Which is great, I would rather have her for a neighbor than him any day.
Anywho, he's gone, she's waking up from a 5 year slumber in The Hideous Land Of Negativity and it's like watching someone see the sun for the first time. Like watching a parent be reunited with a child, but she is both the parent and child. I can't express her liberated joy adequately. You'll just have to imagine, I guess.
Anyway, I wrote this whole big long part earlier then my computer took a poop and I lost it. It was so eloquent. Now I am annoyed and frustrated. I'll try to regain my composure here...
Hmmm, let's see....
Anyway, we went to her work later. She's been asking me to go for a long time, but I have denied her. She's a go-go dancer. And it's not the same as a strip club but the general idea is the same. The men are about the same. The creepy expressions on some of their faces is about the same. So........
Anyway, all the girls want to go, and I can't very well be the party pooper so I put on the brave face and off we go.
This place was way nicer than the strip club I went to in Asheville. That place was nasty. Nasty. But this place was practically posh by comparison. It was not creepy, it was well lit, had nice furnishings and everything. I noticed a lot of detail actually because I was desperate to avoid eye contact with all the men in there. While simmering in a soup of my own neurosis I am hyper aware of the fact that I am doing some fancy mental footwork to not trip over my fears and land face down on the floor, muttering, "Too much to process...can't assimilate...can't assimilate..."
There's some girl on stage doing this incredibly crass dance for some old creepy guy. The guy next to him looks like a psychopath waiting to happen. The old guy is staring blankly at her crotch, while she had her legs spread and gyrating around. I feel old and prudish, because all I can think is, "Good Lord, woman! Leave something to the imagination!" I notice he's not giving her any money, so why is she so focused on him? What can possibly be going through her head? I cannot come up with ANY good reason for her to be doing what she's doing, unless the poor guy is simply unable to get it up anymore and she's trying to hypnotize his wiener to work again using her magical Super-Crotch-Powers. An act of pity? Medical assistance? I just cannot wrap my mind around any other possibility. I just can't.
In the meantime, the girls are laughing and drinking and nyucking it up, and I'm sitting there with a poker faced expression, only pausing to smile briefly when the dancers look down and smile warmly at me. I feel bad, I don't mean to come off as snotty. I just can't deal with the amount of information my brain is processing, with the interactions of the dancers and patrons, the patrons themselves and the myriad possibilities of psychoanalizing them, to the amount of crap my own head is conjuring up to deal with. I am so tight within my own shell I can't really focus.
Then my friend asks us if we want her to get dressed (really it's more like undressed, right?) and do a private dance for us in the VIP room. I shrug and try to smile excitedly. Will it get us out of this room? Ok. I'm game.
She changes and then leads us to the separate room. That's good. She starts dancing, and that's good. She's good at it. Then she comes over and starts doing this little dance all close to my lap and I flush. I mean, did this room get hot all of a sudden or what? My friend tells me, "I bet this isn't helping your lesbian tendencies, huh?" I could smack her. I'm completely overloaded already and now my gorgeous sexy friend is shaking her ass in my face and smiling wickedly at me and my head is killing me. I try to laugh it all off and act like I think it's funny. I wonder if anybody is buying my act. I wonder if anyone has noticed my chest and neck, which is flushing bright red, in nice obvious splotches. I should have worn a freaking turtleneck. I vow to do so next time.
Next time. Hmmmph.
She finishes dancing, we go back out in the main room. The girls on the stage are mostly sucky dancers, not terribly good looking, and the ones with nice boobs are fake, obviously fake. I'm not interested. At one point I'm leaned over talking to my friend and one dancer clomps her platform stiletto shoe down not 4 inches from my head, then start writhing around when I look up. Pissy much? Sorry, was I not paying you enough attention? Little does she know I have a very exaggerated startle response and I do NOT like things in my face. This bitch just stomped a giant stabby looking shoe down next to my head and she is this close from me biting her fucking foot for it. That would have cramped her style pretty bad I guessed, and I recognized this idea as being totally psychotic before I actually went through with it, but I still think she would have learned to not do THAT again. People, I will get violent on your ass if you start shoving things in my face. Know this now. I don't know why. I just fucking lose it. PTSD. ~shrug~ It's some weird shit.
By this time it's late and I'm done. One friend is trashed and having a DAMN good time and doesn't want to leave. We manage to drag her out the door.
I get home and feel horrible. It takes a good hour of chugging water and psychoanalyzing the evening before I manage to calm down. I still think I should have bit that bitch in the ankle. Oh well. Anyway, Girls Night Out was a success, although the go go club was really stressful for me, and the girls can't wait to go out again.
I did a good thing. I feel very brave. And I learned that I definitely couldn't even dance in a go go club.
Most of the friends I have don't know each other. As a matter of fact, very few of my friends have ever met or even seen pictures of each other. Strange thing, that. But I think it's due to the fact I have very particular tastes in people and therefore the ones I like are usually few and far between, literally. Would they get along? Let's find out, says I. All of them wish they had more friends, why not unite them for a common cause, eh?
Ok. So we do. There's 4 of us, we go to Mexican food. We drink. I mostly sip my one drink and shudder, because me and alcohol are not close friends, we aren't really even wave-as-you-pass-them-on-the-street neighbors or anything. Maybe two people who happen to be in the same stadium for the same game. We're about THAT close.
Anyway, I'm designated driver (voluntarily, as I could give a crap about drinking) and the girls are getting drunk. I'm having a great time, other than my stomach is angrily protesting the spicy food and the alien poison I'm slowly sipping.
I'm watching the interaction between strangers turning into friends. It's fascinating, and beautiful to watch. It's a very intricate dance women do, to offer personal information, pause, gauge the reactions of those around them, offer a little more, pause, gauge the reactions of those around them....
My recently liberated neighbor was just lighting up my table with her happy story telling and joke cracking. I was very touched by her joy. You see, she has been under the thumb of a most undeserving asshole for years, the controlling kind of asshole who wouldn't let her have friends and tried to crush her spirit and alienate her to happiness whenever possible. He did, I must say, do a very good job of it. And I despised him. I hated him. But I knew she was going to have to live with it until she saw the light, so to speak, and she finally did. Valentines Day he went beserk and smashed a bunch of stuff and that was it, she kicked him out. Which is great, I would rather have her for a neighbor than him any day.
Anywho, he's gone, she's waking up from a 5 year slumber in The Hideous Land Of Negativity and it's like watching someone see the sun for the first time. Like watching a parent be reunited with a child, but she is both the parent and child. I can't express her liberated joy adequately. You'll just have to imagine, I guess.
Anyway, I wrote this whole big long part earlier then my computer took a poop and I lost it. It was so eloquent. Now I am annoyed and frustrated. I'll try to regain my composure here...
Hmmm, let's see....
Anyway, we went to her work later. She's been asking me to go for a long time, but I have denied her. She's a go-go dancer. And it's not the same as a strip club but the general idea is the same. The men are about the same. The creepy expressions on some of their faces is about the same. So........
Anyway, all the girls want to go, and I can't very well be the party pooper so I put on the brave face and off we go.
This place was way nicer than the strip club I went to in Asheville. That place was nasty. Nasty. But this place was practically posh by comparison. It was not creepy, it was well lit, had nice furnishings and everything. I noticed a lot of detail actually because I was desperate to avoid eye contact with all the men in there. While simmering in a soup of my own neurosis I am hyper aware of the fact that I am doing some fancy mental footwork to not trip over my fears and land face down on the floor, muttering, "Too much to process...can't assimilate...can't assimilate..."
There's some girl on stage doing this incredibly crass dance for some old creepy guy. The guy next to him looks like a psychopath waiting to happen. The old guy is staring blankly at her crotch, while she had her legs spread and gyrating around. I feel old and prudish, because all I can think is, "Good Lord, woman! Leave something to the imagination!" I notice he's not giving her any money, so why is she so focused on him? What can possibly be going through her head? I cannot come up with ANY good reason for her to be doing what she's doing, unless the poor guy is simply unable to get it up anymore and she's trying to hypnotize his wiener to work again using her magical Super-Crotch-Powers. An act of pity? Medical assistance? I just cannot wrap my mind around any other possibility. I just can't.
In the meantime, the girls are laughing and drinking and nyucking it up, and I'm sitting there with a poker faced expression, only pausing to smile briefly when the dancers look down and smile warmly at me. I feel bad, I don't mean to come off as snotty. I just can't deal with the amount of information my brain is processing, with the interactions of the dancers and patrons, the patrons themselves and the myriad possibilities of psychoanalizing them, to the amount of crap my own head is conjuring up to deal with. I am so tight within my own shell I can't really focus.
Then my friend asks us if we want her to get dressed (really it's more like undressed, right?) and do a private dance for us in the VIP room. I shrug and try to smile excitedly. Will it get us out of this room? Ok. I'm game.
She changes and then leads us to the separate room. That's good. She starts dancing, and that's good. She's good at it. Then she comes over and starts doing this little dance all close to my lap and I flush. I mean, did this room get hot all of a sudden or what? My friend tells me, "I bet this isn't helping your lesbian tendencies, huh?" I could smack her. I'm completely overloaded already and now my gorgeous sexy friend is shaking her ass in my face and smiling wickedly at me and my head is killing me. I try to laugh it all off and act like I think it's funny. I wonder if anybody is buying my act. I wonder if anyone has noticed my chest and neck, which is flushing bright red, in nice obvious splotches. I should have worn a freaking turtleneck. I vow to do so next time.
Next time. Hmmmph.
She finishes dancing, we go back out in the main room. The girls on the stage are mostly sucky dancers, not terribly good looking, and the ones with nice boobs are fake, obviously fake. I'm not interested. At one point I'm leaned over talking to my friend and one dancer clomps her platform stiletto shoe down not 4 inches from my head, then start writhing around when I look up. Pissy much? Sorry, was I not paying you enough attention? Little does she know I have a very exaggerated startle response and I do NOT like things in my face. This bitch just stomped a giant stabby looking shoe down next to my head and she is this close from me biting her fucking foot for it. That would have cramped her style pretty bad I guessed, and I recognized this idea as being totally psychotic before I actually went through with it, but I still think she would have learned to not do THAT again. People, I will get violent on your ass if you start shoving things in my face. Know this now. I don't know why. I just fucking lose it. PTSD. ~shrug~ It's some weird shit.
By this time it's late and I'm done. One friend is trashed and having a DAMN good time and doesn't want to leave. We manage to drag her out the door.
I get home and feel horrible. It takes a good hour of chugging water and psychoanalyzing the evening before I manage to calm down. I still think I should have bit that bitch in the ankle. Oh well. Anyway, Girls Night Out was a success, although the go go club was really stressful for me, and the girls can't wait to go out again.
I did a good thing. I feel very brave. And I learned that I definitely couldn't even dance in a go go club.
Friday, March 18, 2005
the weight of friendship
I have always been the vault for other peoples secrets. I have some pretty hefty ones locked away. I treat them with the care and sacred duty they require.
That said, I have got to say this:
No secret sucks as bad as the one where someone tells you they've cheated on their significant other.
Either they did it long ago, or they're doing it now. That one always hits me like a ton of bricks. It's fucking heavy. Because I feel like now, NOW I am a co-conspirator.
And having been the one who has been cheated on, while other people knew and I did not, I can tell you that blows. It blows chunks of ass bits the likes of which only those that have experienced it can understand. Not only are you heartbroken, and devastated but you are PUBLICLY SHAMED and HUMILIATED. Because you were wandering around chipper as could be while everyone around you whispered "tsk tsk" and "poor clueless bastard" under their breath. Not only do you no longer trust your partner, you no longer trust ANYBODY. Who knew? How many of those people knew? You start looking at everybody squinty eyed and suspicious. How many of you bastards let me walk around praising my lovers goodness and purity when you knew what they were doing? How could you let me go on like that, humiliating myself day after blissfully unaware day? Do you all think so little of me that none of you could bring yourself to save me from this embarrassment?
It's painful, to say the least. When that happened with my sons father, I moved out of town. A few towns over wasn't really far enough. The 500 miles I moved this past summer seems to be a good distance. And the last 7 years have helped in healing it, as well. Oooh, but it's still there. The sting still surfaces.
So what do I do? Pride and humility say rat them out to their partner. Honesty cries about it. Integrity says the secret must be kept, but honor argues.
I will keep the secret, as I have before. But I will not like it.
What happened before: the friend continued with the affair. I stopped being friends with her. I kept her secret, but not her friendship. I just didn't like who she became. It sickened me. I couldn't be her vault to keep adding these horrible things to. I wanted her to be healthy, but she chose denial and dishonesty.
~sigh~
That said, I have got to say this:
No secret sucks as bad as the one where someone tells you they've cheated on their significant other.
Either they did it long ago, or they're doing it now. That one always hits me like a ton of bricks. It's fucking heavy. Because I feel like now, NOW I am a co-conspirator.
And having been the one who has been cheated on, while other people knew and I did not, I can tell you that blows. It blows chunks of ass bits the likes of which only those that have experienced it can understand. Not only are you heartbroken, and devastated but you are PUBLICLY SHAMED and HUMILIATED. Because you were wandering around chipper as could be while everyone around you whispered "tsk tsk" and "poor clueless bastard" under their breath. Not only do you no longer trust your partner, you no longer trust ANYBODY. Who knew? How many of those people knew? You start looking at everybody squinty eyed and suspicious. How many of you bastards let me walk around praising my lovers goodness and purity when you knew what they were doing? How could you let me go on like that, humiliating myself day after blissfully unaware day? Do you all think so little of me that none of you could bring yourself to save me from this embarrassment?
It's painful, to say the least. When that happened with my sons father, I moved out of town. A few towns over wasn't really far enough. The 500 miles I moved this past summer seems to be a good distance. And the last 7 years have helped in healing it, as well. Oooh, but it's still there. The sting still surfaces.
So what do I do? Pride and humility say rat them out to their partner. Honesty cries about it. Integrity says the secret must be kept, but honor argues.
I will keep the secret, as I have before. But I will not like it.
What happened before: the friend continued with the affair. I stopped being friends with her. I kept her secret, but not her friendship. I just didn't like who she became. It sickened me. I couldn't be her vault to keep adding these horrible things to. I wanted her to be healthy, but she chose denial and dishonesty.
~sigh~
pissy
I'm so frustrated with my site.
A friend of mine has been lamenting that she can't get on at all, that she thinks there's something wrong with the site. Everyone else seems to be able to log in ok so I think it's just her. That and her husband is a control freak, so maybe he's annoyed about her looking at it or something and blocked it.
I don't know.
I'm pissed off and frustrated and maybe I shouldn't have drank so much coffee. Maybe I should have taken a nap. Maybe I shouldn't have talked on the phone for two hours with my friend, talking about how much our dads suck and how rape fucked us up and whatever guilty and shame filled things we've done in our lives.
Ugh.
Blah.
I am also pissed off and annoyed at myself for having bothered to write anything at all in Friendsters crapass blog, since unless you pay for the advanced blog service, your blogs just dissappear after a certain amount of time. Everything I wrote has vanished.
What a waste of time and thought.
Stupid Friendster.
Stupid dads.
Stupid coffee.
Stupid rape.
Stupid website.
Stupid guilt.
Stupid everything.
Hmmmph.
A friend of mine has been lamenting that she can't get on at all, that she thinks there's something wrong with the site. Everyone else seems to be able to log in ok so I think it's just her. That and her husband is a control freak, so maybe he's annoyed about her looking at it or something and blocked it.
I don't know.
I'm pissed off and frustrated and maybe I shouldn't have drank so much coffee. Maybe I should have taken a nap. Maybe I shouldn't have talked on the phone for two hours with my friend, talking about how much our dads suck and how rape fucked us up and whatever guilty and shame filled things we've done in our lives.
Ugh.
Blah.
I am also pissed off and annoyed at myself for having bothered to write anything at all in Friendsters crapass blog, since unless you pay for the advanced blog service, your blogs just dissappear after a certain amount of time. Everything I wrote has vanished.
What a waste of time and thought.
Stupid Friendster.
Stupid dads.
Stupid coffee.
Stupid rape.
Stupid website.
Stupid guilt.
Stupid everything.
Hmmmph.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Dear Blogger,
You seem to be taking some massive craps lately. What is the deal? Why are you so constipated? Do you not like Firefox? You seem to be doing ok with Internet Explorer. Does Internet Explorer have higher fiber or something? Please tell me, so that I may use your preferred method of expulsion. Your slow mutiple posting frozen screen crap is making me feel emotionally constipated.
Sincerely,
Introspectre
You seem to be taking some massive craps lately. What is the deal? Why are you so constipated? Do you not like Firefox? You seem to be doing ok with Internet Explorer. Does Internet Explorer have higher fiber or something? Please tell me, so that I may use your preferred method of expulsion. Your slow mutiple posting frozen screen crap is making me feel emotionally constipated.
Sincerely,
Introspectre
busy girl lamely tries to catch up
Webmistressing is such a big big job. I seek refuge. Silence. Selfish solitude.
Blog.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....
Let's see, what's been going on? Most exciting: Mr. Wonderful has been shopping for my engagement ring. I don't know what happened yesterday but he came home all giggly and cute and obviously trying to hide what he was up to. The Boy With His Hand In The Cookie Jar kind of look. So I don't know if he found the one he wanted or ordered it or bought it. I must confess to wanting to rip the house apart and see if it's hiding somewhere and what it looks like but that would be shitty of me so I won't. But knowing that it is possible that it is nearby is exciting.
Why? An engagement ring, in it's purest form, symbolizes everything I've wished for in life: One man who is pledging his allegiance and dedication to being with me and caring for me.
Didn't get it from my dad. Have yet to recieve it.
I mean, I AM getting it now. It's a first. It's not like the ring makes it official, but in some way...in some way it does. In some gooey little girls fantasy way. In the way that has never been granted to me. (sigh!) But soon...
And I've had boyfriends who WANTED to take care of me and be my knight in shining armor, but they weren't capable of doing it. They weren't capable of taking care of themselves. Most of them I took care of. I tended to their daily needs and organized their lives and tried to keep their shit straight, and that didn't make me feel cared for. That doesn't make me feel comforted. It doesn't make me feel safe.
Maybe not all women require these things, but I bet a majority do. Regardless, I do.
And now I have that. And it's marvelous.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've been doing a great job on making more friends. I'm really proud of me. My reclusive tendencies sometimes get the better of me and I wish I had people to hang out with but I just can't seem to bring myself to extend an invitation...but lately I've made at least 4 new friends and I feel pretty darn cool. Oh yah. See me work it, shake my friend makin' thang.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ok, I take it back. The engagement ring is NOT the most exciting thing to happen recently, this is:
I just got off the phone with my Grandma. The Grandma whose liver was failing her and had multiple kinds of cancer and just had major surgery and parts removed and wasn't able to follow a complete sentence anymore?
Yah.
She's fine now. Just went to the cancer docs, they say it's gone, she sounds just like her old self and she told me that on the phone and I started bawling.
I love my Grandma, more than anyone in my family. She is, truth be told, the only member of my family that I have ever bonded with or felt close to.
When I thought she was dying it was like losing both parents at once or something. Like my entire family was going to be ripped open, as if her presence in my life was all that seperated me from the cold vaccuum of space.
I know someday it will happen, and I will have to be prepared. But I never will be, honestly.
I wonder sometimes, if it weren't for her, would I even talk to the rest of my family? The answer is....I really don't know sometimes. I have my reasons. And they are many.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I found some porn you will all love (except cats. Cats find no humor in this.) No, seriously. I'm not telling you what it is, you're just going to have to trust me on this one. Yep, even haters of porn will chuckle at this one. Keep your sound turned down low, though. I had to post this one on my Other Site.
It was simply too excellent for anyone to miss. Fookin hilarious.
Naughty, naughty furniture! I wonder if that's where the socks go in the wash....hmmmmm. Maybe something similar.
Blog.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....
Let's see, what's been going on? Most exciting: Mr. Wonderful has been shopping for my engagement ring. I don't know what happened yesterday but he came home all giggly and cute and obviously trying to hide what he was up to. The Boy With His Hand In The Cookie Jar kind of look. So I don't know if he found the one he wanted or ordered it or bought it. I must confess to wanting to rip the house apart and see if it's hiding somewhere and what it looks like but that would be shitty of me so I won't. But knowing that it is possible that it is nearby is exciting.
Why? An engagement ring, in it's purest form, symbolizes everything I've wished for in life: One man who is pledging his allegiance and dedication to being with me and caring for me.
Didn't get it from my dad. Have yet to recieve it.
I mean, I AM getting it now. It's a first. It's not like the ring makes it official, but in some way...in some way it does. In some gooey little girls fantasy way. In the way that has never been granted to me. (sigh!) But soon...
And I've had boyfriends who WANTED to take care of me and be my knight in shining armor, but they weren't capable of doing it. They weren't capable of taking care of themselves. Most of them I took care of. I tended to their daily needs and organized their lives and tried to keep their shit straight, and that didn't make me feel cared for. That doesn't make me feel comforted. It doesn't make me feel safe.
Maybe not all women require these things, but I bet a majority do. Regardless, I do.
And now I have that. And it's marvelous.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've been doing a great job on making more friends. I'm really proud of me. My reclusive tendencies sometimes get the better of me and I wish I had people to hang out with but I just can't seem to bring myself to extend an invitation...but lately I've made at least 4 new friends and I feel pretty darn cool. Oh yah. See me work it, shake my friend makin' thang.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ok, I take it back. The engagement ring is NOT the most exciting thing to happen recently, this is:
I just got off the phone with my Grandma. The Grandma whose liver was failing her and had multiple kinds of cancer and just had major surgery and parts removed and wasn't able to follow a complete sentence anymore?
Yah.
She's fine now. Just went to the cancer docs, they say it's gone, she sounds just like her old self and she told me that on the phone and I started bawling.
I love my Grandma, more than anyone in my family. She is, truth be told, the only member of my family that I have ever bonded with or felt close to.
When I thought she was dying it was like losing both parents at once or something. Like my entire family was going to be ripped open, as if her presence in my life was all that seperated me from the cold vaccuum of space.
I know someday it will happen, and I will have to be prepared. But I never will be, honestly.
I wonder sometimes, if it weren't for her, would I even talk to the rest of my family? The answer is....I really don't know sometimes. I have my reasons. And they are many.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I found some porn you will all love (except cats. Cats find no humor in this.) No, seriously. I'm not telling you what it is, you're just going to have to trust me on this one. Yep, even haters of porn will chuckle at this one. Keep your sound turned down low, though. I had to post this one on my Other Site.
It was simply too excellent for anyone to miss. Fookin hilarious.
Naughty, naughty furniture! I wonder if that's where the socks go in the wash....hmmmmm. Maybe something similar.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
You are way too happy. And for that I just don't
like you. Sorry.
What Happy Bunny Are You?
you are the "you suck, and that's sad"
happy bunny. your truthful, but can be a bit
brutal.
which happy bunny are you?
Friday, March 11, 2005
what kind of thinker are you?
You are a Linguistic Thinker
Linguistic thinker
Linguistic thinkers:
* Tend to think in words, and like to use language to express complex ideas.
* Are sensitive to the sounds and rhythms of words as well as their meanings.
The Renaissance ideal
The leading thinkers of the Renaissance were not just experts in their own field. The renaissance scholar was expected to master all branches of knowledge.
With his insatiable desire to know everything, Leonardo da Vinci is often held up as the ideal Renaissance man.
Like linguistic thinkers, Leonardo made meticulous descriptions in his journals. He also made an effort to learn Latin - a foreign language
Other Linguistic Thinkers include
William Shakespeare, Sylvia Plath, Anne Frank
Careers which suit Linguistic thinkers include
Journalist, Librarian, Salesperson, Proof-reader, Translator, Poet, Lyricist
Hey- if any of you take this, post your results in comments, please. I am totally curious. This is such a cool test. Go BBC, you rock.
Linguistic thinker
Linguistic thinkers:
* Tend to think in words, and like to use language to express complex ideas.
* Are sensitive to the sounds and rhythms of words as well as their meanings.
The Renaissance ideal
The leading thinkers of the Renaissance were not just experts in their own field. The renaissance scholar was expected to master all branches of knowledge.
With his insatiable desire to know everything, Leonardo da Vinci is often held up as the ideal Renaissance man.
Like linguistic thinkers, Leonardo made meticulous descriptions in his journals. He also made an effort to learn Latin - a foreign language
Other Linguistic Thinkers include
William Shakespeare, Sylvia Plath, Anne Frank
Careers which suit Linguistic thinkers include
Journalist, Librarian, Salesperson, Proof-reader, Translator, Poet, Lyricist
Hey- if any of you take this, post your results in comments, please. I am totally curious. This is such a cool test. Go BBC, you rock.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
jokes coming true
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelarious.
I just checked my GoStats, and I see someone got to my site by looking for Wetwhores.
Yes, wet whores. How in the world did they manage to get MY site from such a search?
This post is what they pulled up.
What's even funnier? I just MADE UP the wetwhores thing. I was just making up the stupidest crass names I could think of.
Turns out there really is a wetwhores.com
Why does that not surprise me?
I just checked my GoStats, and I see someone got to my site by looking for Wetwhores.
Yes, wet whores. How in the world did they manage to get MY site from such a search?
This post is what they pulled up.
What's even funnier? I just MADE UP the wetwhores thing. I was just making up the stupidest crass names I could think of.
Turns out there really is a wetwhores.com
Why does that not surprise me?
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Do What You Have To Do
I am very sad.
I finally managed to place why the song "Do What You Have To Do" by Sarah McLachlan makes me cry. It's weird... Mr. Wonderful loves Sarah McLachlan. And her music always makes me sad, other than when I hear his deep voice singing along. Then it's kind of soothing. But I've been wondering what the deal with this song is, because I have to leave the room when he listens to it it disturbs me so deeply, so I googled the lyrics to it and decided to listen to it and see if I could figure it out.
~deep breath~
I didn't get halfway though the first chorus before it hit me. And by hit me I mean I collapsed on the desk sobbing.
It is the perfect song to describe what it was like growing up as the daughter of a depressed suicidal man. I always wanted to make him happy, but it could never be done. I still do, but at least I have the sense to understand the reasons behind my desire. And to know that there is nothing I can do to help him. But I am always filled with a sense of bitter heartbreak when I think of him and the dissapointment and heartache that has been his life.
I still have a sense of desperation to make his life worthwhile. At 30 years old, that is easier to deal with. As a small child that is a horrible feeling, to take on the responsibilities of trying to heal a broken parent. To somehow make them happy.
The truth? The only thing that would make him happy is death.
He's told me that for as long as I can remember. The first time I can remember I was maybe 4 or 5.
What ravages of spirit
Conjured this temptuous rage
Created you a monster
Broken by the rules of love
And fate has led you through it
You do what you have to do
And fate has led you through it
You do what you have to do
And I have the sense to recognize that
I don’t know how to let you go
Every moment marked
With apparitions of your soul
I’m ever swiftly moving
Trying to escape this desire
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
But I have the sense to recognize
That I don’t know how
To let you go
I don’t know how
To let you go
A glowing ember
Burning hot and
Burning slow
Deep within I’m shaken by the violence
Of existing for only you
I know I can’t be with you
I do what I have to do
I know I can’t be with you
I do what I have to do
And I have sense to recognize but
I don’t know how to let you go
I don’t know how to let you go
It's strange, without knowing why, this song has always touched this horribly painful place within me, and it's been unbearable to listen to.
Now I know. It doesn't make it hurt any less.
I finally managed to place why the song "Do What You Have To Do" by Sarah McLachlan makes me cry. It's weird... Mr. Wonderful loves Sarah McLachlan. And her music always makes me sad, other than when I hear his deep voice singing along. Then it's kind of soothing. But I've been wondering what the deal with this song is, because I have to leave the room when he listens to it it disturbs me so deeply, so I googled the lyrics to it and decided to listen to it and see if I could figure it out.
~deep breath~
I didn't get halfway though the first chorus before it hit me. And by hit me I mean I collapsed on the desk sobbing.
It is the perfect song to describe what it was like growing up as the daughter of a depressed suicidal man. I always wanted to make him happy, but it could never be done. I still do, but at least I have the sense to understand the reasons behind my desire. And to know that there is nothing I can do to help him. But I am always filled with a sense of bitter heartbreak when I think of him and the dissapointment and heartache that has been his life.
I still have a sense of desperation to make his life worthwhile. At 30 years old, that is easier to deal with. As a small child that is a horrible feeling, to take on the responsibilities of trying to heal a broken parent. To somehow make them happy.
The truth? The only thing that would make him happy is death.
He's told me that for as long as I can remember. The first time I can remember I was maybe 4 or 5.
What ravages of spirit
Conjured this temptuous rage
Created you a monster
Broken by the rules of love
And fate has led you through it
You do what you have to do
And fate has led you through it
You do what you have to do
And I have the sense to recognize that
I don’t know how to let you go
Every moment marked
With apparitions of your soul
I’m ever swiftly moving
Trying to escape this desire
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
But I have the sense to recognize
That I don’t know how
To let you go
I don’t know how
To let you go
A glowing ember
Burning hot and
Burning slow
Deep within I’m shaken by the violence
Of existing for only you
I know I can’t be with you
I do what I have to do
I know I can’t be with you
I do what I have to do
And I have sense to recognize but
I don’t know how to let you go
I don’t know how to let you go
It's strange, without knowing why, this song has always touched this horribly painful place within me, and it's been unbearable to listen to.
Now I know. It doesn't make it hurt any less.
sex sites for teens
I was so incredibly impressed with the down to earth way that this site for teens manages to describe pornography.
At 30 years old, I found it enlightening, which is kind of embarrassing, but no one in my family ever talked about sex. Geez, all I got out of my mom was a total fear of men (who would want to "do bad things" to me) and the book Are You There God, It's Me Margaret by Judy Bloom. Gee, thanks Mom. Real helpful.
My son is seven and knows more about sex than I did at 13.
(rolls eyes)
Ugh.
At 30 years old, I found it enlightening, which is kind of embarrassing, but no one in my family ever talked about sex. Geez, all I got out of my mom was a total fear of men (who would want to "do bad things" to me) and the book Are You There God, It's Me Margaret by Judy Bloom. Gee, thanks Mom. Real helpful.
My son is seven and knows more about sex than I did at 13.
(rolls eyes)
Ugh.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Whooo am I tired. That 4 hours of sleep I got just is not going to cut it, methinks.
Nap is imminent.
One of the phone calls from Mr. Wonderful last night made me feel better. I picked up the phone and can hear him laughing and yelling to someone, "She's my best friend! We talk for hours every day! Geeeez!" and then, laughing, "Oh shut up....baby? Hello?"
And I just smiled. They were heckling him for calling me so much. I knew that would happen but I just wanted to HEAR him stand up for me. I didn't realize that that was what I wanted but as soon as he did it I felt better.
I don't know those people. Any of them. And they don't know me. The whole not knowing them thing has only been exacerbating my fears. But in a very tangible albeit somewhat childish way, I felt like I had claimed my territory in Mr. Wonderfuls life in that moment. THEY be his his family and friends, but I'M his best friend. I have a place of highest honor by his choice. And therefore, I am infinitely cool.
Funny how one little sentance could change everything for me. Really, I'm not so terribly complicated. I just require acknowledgement and assurance. Ok, lots of it. Probably ridiculous copious amounts of it. But once I have it, I'm fine.
Also, I'm hormonal and figuring that out made me feel better about being such a wreck this weekend. You'd think after 17 years of this shit I would recognize my own needy time of month. But every time it tricks me and I think I'm turning into a nutcase. I try to reason out my unreasonable pile of weeping crazy and then I realize I'm just temporarily insane and take my Pamprin and stop flipping out.
(laughs at self)
Really. Sometimes documenting my episodes makes me feel like I'm writing my own sitcom about some neurotic chick. But...it's me.
(plasters a most chagrined and amused smile across face)
Nap is imminent.
One of the phone calls from Mr. Wonderful last night made me feel better. I picked up the phone and can hear him laughing and yelling to someone, "She's my best friend! We talk for hours every day! Geeeez!" and then, laughing, "Oh shut up....baby? Hello?"
And I just smiled. They were heckling him for calling me so much. I knew that would happen but I just wanted to HEAR him stand up for me. I didn't realize that that was what I wanted but as soon as he did it I felt better.
I don't know those people. Any of them. And they don't know me. The whole not knowing them thing has only been exacerbating my fears. But in a very tangible albeit somewhat childish way, I felt like I had claimed my territory in Mr. Wonderfuls life in that moment. THEY be his his family and friends, but I'M his best friend. I have a place of highest honor by his choice. And therefore, I am infinitely cool.
Funny how one little sentance could change everything for me. Really, I'm not so terribly complicated. I just require acknowledgement and assurance. Ok, lots of it. Probably ridiculous copious amounts of it. But once I have it, I'm fine.
Also, I'm hormonal and figuring that out made me feel better about being such a wreck this weekend. You'd think after 17 years of this shit I would recognize my own needy time of month. But every time it tricks me and I think I'm turning into a nutcase. I try to reason out my unreasonable pile of weeping crazy and then I realize I'm just temporarily insane and take my Pamprin and stop flipping out.
(laughs at self)
Really. Sometimes documenting my episodes makes me feel like I'm writing my own sitcom about some neurotic chick. But...it's me.
(plasters a most chagrined and amused smile across face)
Sunday, March 06, 2005
huge abnormal tits
I just love it when people manage to get to my site because they are searching for HUGE ABNORMAL TITS. You see, this is not the first time someones search for HUGE ABNORMAL TITS led them to my site. No, as a matter of fact, there have been at least two other cases of people searching for HUGE ABNORMAL TITS that I have documented. I'm sure there have been other people looking for HUGE ABNORMAL TITS that I missed because I rarely check. But, people, just so you know, there are HUGE ABMORMAL TITS out there. Mine, however, are really small. But thanks for stopping by.
losing it part II
Well, I felt better all day, not as crazy as last night. But now the sun sets and I am feeling puny again. (deadpan:) Whoopdedo.
~sigh~
Mr. Wonderful has called me a few times. (rolls eyes) That's how I feel about it.
It's just weird. There are other people around, and I know that they're all tough guy types. And they'll rip on him for being his usual smooshy self with me. So I can hear this guarded tone in his voice, like when I talk to him at work, but worse. And I can hear him trying to keep up this tough guy persona while he's talking to me. It really just makes me want to reach through the phone and give him a most wicked titty twister. Just grab his nipple and wrench it one good and be like, "Hi welcome back outta your butt. How's the weather in there?"
And I realize I am used to being the center of his attention. So talking to him while he's in the middle of a crowd sucks my ass. I told him I feel like an annoying little bug buzzing in his ear while he's trying to pay attention to everyone else.
And everytime he hangs up I feel worse than before he called. It sucks when I want him to call to reassure my neurosis and instead I feel like he's fueling it and fanning the flames.
(sigh)
His brother smokes lots of pot. I'm guessing that's what his problem is. His whole family does, he has the hippy family the complete and total opposite of my family. His mom grows her own, for Gods sake. Sometimes I look at his family and it's like Bizarro World. I'm sure he'll feel the same about mine. But he will smoke pot with his mom and his brothers from time to time. Seeing as how I used to smoke pot like it was going out of style, my position on it is somewhat neutral. I don't smoke, but it gives me panic attacks, so why would I, right? Do I like that he does? No, not particularly. But since it is such a rare occasion that he does I just kind of overlook it. Personally, I wish alcohol was illegal and pot was legal. That's my feelings on the matter. Potheads don't get in barfights and drive recklessly and kill people. They sit at home and talk about going somewhere but never get there cause they're too f'-in unmotivated. When they DO go somewhere, you can always tell the potheads driving by two things: they persistently go UNDER the speed limit and they keep a safe and exact distance between themselves and the car ahead of them. I actually had a retired cop point out the latter to me one time. Funny thing that.
But I digress.
This whole experience makes me feel like such a whiny asshole. Like, two days apart and I'm all losing my shit and freaking out. (rolls eyes and heaves a sigh) I feel so incredibly high maintenance and stupid. Can I not be alone? Can I not behave independently without having a nervous fucking breakdown? What the hell is my problem?
On the other hand, I have never let another individual in as deeply as I have with Mr. Wonderful. It's a huge part of why this relationship is so incredible and also transformational for me. And to have that kind of understanding and support feel like it's suddenly pulled out from under me SUCKS MY BALLS. SUCKS THEM, I SAY!
(more heaving sighs)
Venting. Forgive me.
I guess I'll go..do..something. Damn it. I had this great vision of all the things I was going to do while he was gone and use my time alone to it's fullest. I guess I'm not wasting it, but....I expected myself to be all positive, not a whiny bitch.
I am not very proud of me today. And that sucks.
~sigh~
Mr. Wonderful has called me a few times. (rolls eyes) That's how I feel about it.
It's just weird. There are other people around, and I know that they're all tough guy types. And they'll rip on him for being his usual smooshy self with me. So I can hear this guarded tone in his voice, like when I talk to him at work, but worse. And I can hear him trying to keep up this tough guy persona while he's talking to me. It really just makes me want to reach through the phone and give him a most wicked titty twister. Just grab his nipple and wrench it one good and be like, "Hi welcome back outta your butt. How's the weather in there?"
And I realize I am used to being the center of his attention. So talking to him while he's in the middle of a crowd sucks my ass. I told him I feel like an annoying little bug buzzing in his ear while he's trying to pay attention to everyone else.
And everytime he hangs up I feel worse than before he called. It sucks when I want him to call to reassure my neurosis and instead I feel like he's fueling it and fanning the flames.
(sigh)
His brother smokes lots of pot. I'm guessing that's what his problem is. His whole family does, he has the hippy family the complete and total opposite of my family. His mom grows her own, for Gods sake. Sometimes I look at his family and it's like Bizarro World. I'm sure he'll feel the same about mine. But he will smoke pot with his mom and his brothers from time to time. Seeing as how I used to smoke pot like it was going out of style, my position on it is somewhat neutral. I don't smoke, but it gives me panic attacks, so why would I, right? Do I like that he does? No, not particularly. But since it is such a rare occasion that he does I just kind of overlook it. Personally, I wish alcohol was illegal and pot was legal. That's my feelings on the matter. Potheads don't get in barfights and drive recklessly and kill people. They sit at home and talk about going somewhere but never get there cause they're too f'-in unmotivated. When they DO go somewhere, you can always tell the potheads driving by two things: they persistently go UNDER the speed limit and they keep a safe and exact distance between themselves and the car ahead of them. I actually had a retired cop point out the latter to me one time. Funny thing that.
But I digress.
This whole experience makes me feel like such a whiny asshole. Like, two days apart and I'm all losing my shit and freaking out. (rolls eyes and heaves a sigh) I feel so incredibly high maintenance and stupid. Can I not be alone? Can I not behave independently without having a nervous fucking breakdown? What the hell is my problem?
On the other hand, I have never let another individual in as deeply as I have with Mr. Wonderful. It's a huge part of why this relationship is so incredible and also transformational for me. And to have that kind of understanding and support feel like it's suddenly pulled out from under me SUCKS MY BALLS. SUCKS THEM, I SAY!
(more heaving sighs)
Venting. Forgive me.
I guess I'll go..do..something. Damn it. I had this great vision of all the things I was going to do while he was gone and use my time alone to it's fullest. I guess I'm not wasting it, but....I expected myself to be all positive, not a whiny bitch.
I am not very proud of me today. And that sucks.
Crazyland update/ My Little Ponys Website
What? How could I have an update when I have gained sanity and no longer work at the Worst Place Ever In the History of the World?
Well, I'll tell ya.
I got a call the other day from one of the other Escapees/Past Employees. I said, "Hey, I remember you telling me that you had some serious stories, but you wouldn't tell them to me at the time. Now that neither of us work there, how about it?" And she was more than willing to lay down the dirt.
It appears that I was indeed correct on the boss being a total coke head, but then we all knew that. Not only did she frequently walk by the back bathroom and HEAR him snorting it ("remember how he would always say he would be in the back and no one disturb him?") but one of the guys who did deliveries with him said he would just crawl in the back of the van (while the other guy was driving) and chop up a line and snort it, then get back in the front seat.
Well then!
Also, one of the girls was walking through the store one night and found a hypedermic needle laying on the floor. She went running back to the boss and dragged him over there, completely flipping out, and he calmly looks at it, picks it up and PUTS IT IN HIS JACKET POCKET. A freaking needle. Exposed. Not capped. Just...sticks it in his pocket. And he turns to her and calmly says, "Yah. Just..pretend you never saw that." And he walks away.
Which answers my other question about whether or not he was doing heroin.
Sure. He could be mainlining his coke, but there was one day in particular where he freaked out about NOTHING. Stuff that normally would have him screaming at us, he just shrugged off and said, "Yah, don't worry about it." Me and my friend looked at each other behind his back with this insane expression of WTF? And I knew- it HAD to be heroin. He was too calm for sedatives.
And all I know is that I don't work there anymore and I'm not saying this is a link to Crazyland, hell sometimes the internet screws some up and this link is to the My Little Pony website. If it takes you anywhere else, well, I just don't know why. Clearly I am discussing My Little Ponys. Now. Currently. How I love those little ponies.
Well, I'll tell ya.
I got a call the other day from one of the other Escapees/Past Employees. I said, "Hey, I remember you telling me that you had some serious stories, but you wouldn't tell them to me at the time. Now that neither of us work there, how about it?" And she was more than willing to lay down the dirt.
It appears that I was indeed correct on the boss being a total coke head, but then we all knew that. Not only did she frequently walk by the back bathroom and HEAR him snorting it ("remember how he would always say he would be in the back and no one disturb him?") but one of the guys who did deliveries with him said he would just crawl in the back of the van (while the other guy was driving) and chop up a line and snort it, then get back in the front seat.
Well then!
Also, one of the girls was walking through the store one night and found a hypedermic needle laying on the floor. She went running back to the boss and dragged him over there, completely flipping out, and he calmly looks at it, picks it up and PUTS IT IN HIS JACKET POCKET. A freaking needle. Exposed. Not capped. Just...sticks it in his pocket. And he turns to her and calmly says, "Yah. Just..pretend you never saw that." And he walks away.
Which answers my other question about whether or not he was doing heroin.
Sure. He could be mainlining his coke, but there was one day in particular where he freaked out about NOTHING. Stuff that normally would have him screaming at us, he just shrugged off and said, "Yah, don't worry about it." Me and my friend looked at each other behind his back with this insane expression of WTF? And I knew- it HAD to be heroin. He was too calm for sedatives.
And all I know is that I don't work there anymore and I'm not saying this is a link to Crazyland, hell sometimes the internet screws some up and this link is to the My Little Pony website. If it takes you anywhere else, well, I just don't know why. Clearly I am discussing My Little Ponys. Now. Currently. How I love those little ponies.
my insecurity and me
I've been talking to this girl in Friendster. She seems super cool and she I are were writing back and forth and having a grand old time and then suddenly she just stopped writing to me. And when I asked her what the deal was she said she was giving me space.
Dude?
Giving me space? What is she talking about? Like she's my new boyfriend and we went out one night and got drunk and slept together? And now she's having doubts and wants to call it "giving me space"?
We live 500 miles away from each other and e-mailed each other. How much more space could I need?
Besides all that, I am assertive enough to state when I need space, thank you very much. As it is, I need friends. Which I was really excited about making.
Now I'm just annoyed. I really want to write to her and ask her what her deal is? And then I also don't want to bother. And also I think I could be just imagining a slight where there really isn't one. Maybe she's busy. Maybe I'm overly sensitive.
So, I haven't written to her. I'll wait and see if she comes around, or tells me what the deal-e-o is..
But it really bugs me. She seems so cool. I made a new friend.
It's a bummer.
(note: a few hours after writing this I finally broke down and wrote to her. We'll see what happens.)
(note: she wrote back and yah, she's busy, and yah, I'm just an overly sensitive PMS stricken asshead. How embarrassing. sigh. But we are still friends, and I really should just lock my ass up once a month.)
Dude?
Giving me space? What is she talking about? Like she's my new boyfriend and we went out one night and got drunk and slept together? And now she's having doubts and wants to call it "giving me space"?
We live 500 miles away from each other and e-mailed each other. How much more space could I need?
Besides all that, I am assertive enough to state when I need space, thank you very much. As it is, I need friends. Which I was really excited about making.
Now I'm just annoyed. I really want to write to her and ask her what her deal is? And then I also don't want to bother. And also I think I could be just imagining a slight where there really isn't one. Maybe she's busy. Maybe I'm overly sensitive.
So, I haven't written to her. I'll wait and see if she comes around, or tells me what the deal-e-o is..
But it really bugs me. She seems so cool. I made a new friend.
It's a bummer.
(note: a few hours after writing this I finally broke down and wrote to her. We'll see what happens.)
(note: she wrote back and yah, she's busy, and yah, I'm just an overly sensitive PMS stricken asshead. How embarrassing. sigh. But we are still friends, and I really should just lock my ass up once a month.)
Sometimes people have too much time on their hands.
Some turn to frivolous adventures.
Some turn to rampant paranoia.
To each his own.
Some turn to frivolous adventures.
Some turn to rampant paranoia.
To each his own.
men are really weird monkeys
I've been rereading my blog, checking for errors, that sort of thing. I noticed in my long confessional blog about sex, I noted that I was looking at a lot of porn now.
I would like to clarify that: I see sites that have porn on them. Not every day. But when I'm doing a post about porn itself it does usually require that I see some. I am not ashamed of this, but because it's in context of research. Am I using the research excuse as a reason to look at stuff I wouldn't want to look at otherwise? Yes. And the amount of porn that I see is maybe 3 or 4 sites a week. For me, that IS a lot. Compared to never? Yes. A hell of a lot. Do I enjoy what I see? Usually not, but there have been occasions. Most of my feelings on it are either shock or confusion. There is a lot psychoanalysis going on when I see it.
I notice that there are an amazing amount of power plays going on in porn. From the amount of porn with this theme I am guessing that it's a common fantasy for men. Yah, I'm talking about the stuff most chicks hate, the stuff they find degrading. The worst offender for me? Facials. For those of you not in the know, a facial is when a guy comes on a girls face. Personally, I can't think of much that would be more insulting. Of all the places you could put that... on her face? What the hell? I really do not understand that one at all. All I can come up with is it's a power trip. Even her boobs seems like a more pleasant view. But her face? Sheesh.
(scratches head)
Yah, I don't know. I am definitely feeling like mens psyches are a place I thought I understood but I really don't. But I'm working on it. I'm on to you now, guys. Now that I am brave enough to peek at your fantasies, I find you are a really weird bunch of monkeys.
A really really weird bunch of monkeys.
I would like to clarify that: I see sites that have porn on them. Not every day. But when I'm doing a post about porn itself it does usually require that I see some. I am not ashamed of this, but because it's in context of research. Am I using the research excuse as a reason to look at stuff I wouldn't want to look at otherwise? Yes. And the amount of porn that I see is maybe 3 or 4 sites a week. For me, that IS a lot. Compared to never? Yes. A hell of a lot. Do I enjoy what I see? Usually not, but there have been occasions. Most of my feelings on it are either shock or confusion. There is a lot psychoanalysis going on when I see it.
I notice that there are an amazing amount of power plays going on in porn. From the amount of porn with this theme I am guessing that it's a common fantasy for men. Yah, I'm talking about the stuff most chicks hate, the stuff they find degrading. The worst offender for me? Facials. For those of you not in the know, a facial is when a guy comes on a girls face. Personally, I can't think of much that would be more insulting. Of all the places you could put that... on her face? What the hell? I really do not understand that one at all. All I can come up with is it's a power trip. Even her boobs seems like a more pleasant view. But her face? Sheesh.
(scratches head)
Yah, I don't know. I am definitely feeling like mens psyches are a place I thought I understood but I really don't. But I'm working on it. I'm on to you now, guys. Now that I am brave enough to peek at your fantasies, I find you are a really weird bunch of monkeys.
A really really weird bunch of monkeys.
listen, self.....
Just as the footprints of any creature that walks the earth can be placed in the elephant’s footprint, which is the largest of all
--even so mindful attention is the one quality that ensures ease of mind at all times.
Mindful attention causes beneficial thoughts that have not yet arisen to arise. It also causes harmful thoughts that have already arisen to vanish. In the one who is mindful, the good that is to be will be realized.
-Anguttara Nikaya
--even so mindful attention is the one quality that ensures ease of mind at all times.
Mindful attention causes beneficial thoughts that have not yet arisen to arise. It also causes harmful thoughts that have already arisen to vanish. In the one who is mindful, the good that is to be will be realized.
-Anguttara Nikaya
Saturday, March 05, 2005
losing it
Prepare for my mental shit to hit the fan.
Mmm, perhaps I should have prepared myself...
Mr. Wonderful is out of town for the next few days, he's gone to visit his brother. No big deal, says I. Have a good time! I bravely tell him, trying desperately to hold back the tears. I want him to go and have fun, and not feel any guilt just because I'm insane and neurotic and prone to fits of paranoia.
Then he left.
I was ok. Sat and ate junk food with my son, watched TV. Once I turned the TV off, however, a full blown panic attack kicked in. I thought I was going to vomit, listening to the quiet of the house.
I decided to go online and distract myself. I started working on my web site. Then he calls. Oh, happiness! And he informs me he forgot the charging cord for his phone so he's going to keep it off except when he calls home so he doesn't run out of batteries. Ok, I say. I hang up.
The freak out started IMMEDIATELY.
As soon as the receiver hit the wall I snarled, "Well, isn't THAT convenient!"
Because now he has my truck and I'm stuck here and can't get a hold of him.
Sounds like the entirety of the last two hideous relationships I've been in.
To clarify: I trust him. I do. But for some reason my ability to shred any bit of logic and trust in my brain with the screaming cacophony of paranoia is quite great.
So much so I am totally amazed.
And so I ended up calling him and leaving him a message on his voice mail about how maybe he would go buy one of those chargers you can plug into your car or something? So that my obsession doesn't drive me fucking mad for the next few days? And then I sank into a sobbing puddle on the kitchen floor, bawling my eyes out and trying to yank back the reins on my fear.
I am DISTRAUGHT.
And shocked, a bit. I thought I had a much better handle on my anxieties these days. I thought I was getting better at staying in the present moment and seeing things for how they truly are. Instead I'm running through all the horrible things that could happen that I would never know about. He's got 2 whole days, I tell myself. How much evil could he manage to fit in during that time? How many other girls could he screw in that time period? All he would have to do is call me inbetween each one, you know, Hi Honey! I love you! and go fuck someone else... I would never know.
>stares at hands resting on keyboard and tries to wrestle inner demons into submission<
And it's all I can do to sit here and shake and cry and try to tell myself I'm insane. I keep thinking I'm ok and then I keep having these hideous flashback moments to being with the last X (and the one before that, might as well) and calling everyone he knows, every place he could be, trying to figure out where he is, why hasn't he called, get in the truck and drive around feeling like a deranged lunatic looking for him, hoping no one sees me, hoping I can find him and then wondering what the hell my excuse is going to be if I do see him.
I know this is not what is currently happening. I know Mr. Wonderful is going to see his brother. But then the psycho bitch in my head starts up...
psycho me: How are you sure he's going to his brothers? He could be going anywhere!
sane me: No. I heard him talking to his brother. I heard his brother on the phone.
psycho me: yah, so what? His brother won't even ackowledge you, remember? He thinks you're some gold digging bitch out to steal his brothers money. (Note: actually true. Sad, but that's what he thinks. At least we're both paranoid, eh?) He could easily be covering for him. Not like you'd know.
sane me: No. I...(falters)
psycho me: as a matter of fact, you don't have his brothers home number or anything. You don't even know where he lives! You couldn't call his house if you wanted to!
sane me: (terrified) well, I...could call his Mom! Yes...I could call his Mom! She would know his number, or at least...she would know if he was really there...and she wouldn't cover for him! She's a wonderful person, she wouldn't lie. (feeling far more confident) Yes. He's been telling his Mom about it for weeks now. And if he didn't go, his mom would know...(falters)
psycho me: Ahhh, yes. Mom. Funny thing, that. So he's going to be a few miles from his Moms house but isn't going to stop by. Mamas boy? Not going to say hi to his Mama? How likely is that? Sounds like a load of crap to me... (looks smug)
sane me: but the brother doesn't get along with his Mom. And he'll be with the brother and the brothers girlfriend, so that would be awkward. And it's not like they're going to be in the same town as his mom. They're hours away but are going to be within 45 minutes of his mom for a very short time one day, when they dash into town for his brothers tattoo or whatever reason it was...(wonders why I didn't pay more attention to what he was telling me he was going to do. Realizes it was because I trust him and didn't feel it nessacary to pick everything apart when I'm NOT insane....)
psycho me: (quiet for the moment)
sane me: God I hate that psycho bitch! Look at me sitting here typing out this crazy ass argument I'm having inside my head like some kind of nutcase! ARGH! I wish I had some XANAX! Damn it!
>walks off to get tissues, chocolate, and ibuprofen for headache that is strangling head<
Argh. I'm going to watch What Not To Wear. Distract my crazy. See if that works.
How embarrassing.
(much later)
Got a handle on it. For now. Seems to be ok. I am hopeful. As I told Mr. Wonderful, it's not that I don't trust him, it's that I don't trust ME to not freak out. He seemed to understand the difference and said he'd leave the phone on and get a chargy cadoobob tomorrow. And suddenly, the anxiety vanished.
(rolls eyes)
Sometimes being understood is the most helpful thing of all.
Mmm, perhaps I should have prepared myself...
Mr. Wonderful is out of town for the next few days, he's gone to visit his brother. No big deal, says I. Have a good time! I bravely tell him, trying desperately to hold back the tears. I want him to go and have fun, and not feel any guilt just because I'm insane and neurotic and prone to fits of paranoia.
Then he left.
I was ok. Sat and ate junk food with my son, watched TV. Once I turned the TV off, however, a full blown panic attack kicked in. I thought I was going to vomit, listening to the quiet of the house.
I decided to go online and distract myself. I started working on my web site. Then he calls. Oh, happiness! And he informs me he forgot the charging cord for his phone so he's going to keep it off except when he calls home so he doesn't run out of batteries. Ok, I say. I hang up.
The freak out started IMMEDIATELY.
As soon as the receiver hit the wall I snarled, "Well, isn't THAT convenient!"
Because now he has my truck and I'm stuck here and can't get a hold of him.
Sounds like the entirety of the last two hideous relationships I've been in.
To clarify: I trust him. I do. But for some reason my ability to shred any bit of logic and trust in my brain with the screaming cacophony of paranoia is quite great.
So much so I am totally amazed.
And so I ended up calling him and leaving him a message on his voice mail about how maybe he would go buy one of those chargers you can plug into your car or something? So that my obsession doesn't drive me fucking mad for the next few days? And then I sank into a sobbing puddle on the kitchen floor, bawling my eyes out and trying to yank back the reins on my fear.
I am DISTRAUGHT.
And shocked, a bit. I thought I had a much better handle on my anxieties these days. I thought I was getting better at staying in the present moment and seeing things for how they truly are. Instead I'm running through all the horrible things that could happen that I would never know about. He's got 2 whole days, I tell myself. How much evil could he manage to fit in during that time? How many other girls could he screw in that time period? All he would have to do is call me inbetween each one, you know, Hi Honey! I love you! and go fuck someone else... I would never know.
>stares at hands resting on keyboard and tries to wrestle inner demons into submission<
And it's all I can do to sit here and shake and cry and try to tell myself I'm insane. I keep thinking I'm ok and then I keep having these hideous flashback moments to being with the last X (and the one before that, might as well) and calling everyone he knows, every place he could be, trying to figure out where he is, why hasn't he called, get in the truck and drive around feeling like a deranged lunatic looking for him, hoping no one sees me, hoping I can find him and then wondering what the hell my excuse is going to be if I do see him.
I know this is not what is currently happening. I know Mr. Wonderful is going to see his brother. But then the psycho bitch in my head starts up...
psycho me: How are you sure he's going to his brothers? He could be going anywhere!
sane me: No. I heard him talking to his brother. I heard his brother on the phone.
psycho me: yah, so what? His brother won't even ackowledge you, remember? He thinks you're some gold digging bitch out to steal his brothers money. (Note: actually true. Sad, but that's what he thinks. At least we're both paranoid, eh?) He could easily be covering for him. Not like you'd know.
sane me: No. I...(falters)
psycho me: as a matter of fact, you don't have his brothers home number or anything. You don't even know where he lives! You couldn't call his house if you wanted to!
sane me: (terrified) well, I...could call his Mom! Yes...I could call his Mom! She would know his number, or at least...she would know if he was really there...and she wouldn't cover for him! She's a wonderful person, she wouldn't lie. (feeling far more confident) Yes. He's been telling his Mom about it for weeks now. And if he didn't go, his mom would know...(falters)
psycho me: Ahhh, yes. Mom. Funny thing, that. So he's going to be a few miles from his Moms house but isn't going to stop by. Mamas boy? Not going to say hi to his Mama? How likely is that? Sounds like a load of crap to me... (looks smug)
sane me: but the brother doesn't get along with his Mom. And he'll be with the brother and the brothers girlfriend, so that would be awkward. And it's not like they're going to be in the same town as his mom. They're hours away but are going to be within 45 minutes of his mom for a very short time one day, when they dash into town for his brothers tattoo or whatever reason it was...(wonders why I didn't pay more attention to what he was telling me he was going to do. Realizes it was because I trust him and didn't feel it nessacary to pick everything apart when I'm NOT insane....)
psycho me: (quiet for the moment)
sane me: God I hate that psycho bitch! Look at me sitting here typing out this crazy ass argument I'm having inside my head like some kind of nutcase! ARGH! I wish I had some XANAX! Damn it!
>walks off to get tissues, chocolate, and ibuprofen for headache that is strangling head<
Argh. I'm going to watch What Not To Wear. Distract my crazy. See if that works.
How embarrassing.
(much later)
Got a handle on it. For now. Seems to be ok. I am hopeful. As I told Mr. Wonderful, it's not that I don't trust him, it's that I don't trust ME to not freak out. He seemed to understand the difference and said he'd leave the phone on and get a chargy cadoobob tomorrow. And suddenly, the anxiety vanished.
(rolls eyes)
Sometimes being understood is the most helpful thing of all.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
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