GirlAtThought

Gardening Grumbling

2008-04-10T15:34:00.002-05:00

GRAH!

So, part of buying our house in the city was that we got a double lot- which means we get a nice big green space, and even better: the sellers didn't bother to plant a damn thing other than grass, and there is a GIANT Elm tree in the backyard. When I got my catalog from a mail-order nursery this year, I was crazy excited.

See, the catalog came with a 50% off deal- worth up to $500. I planned on ordering about $300 worth of crap, and only paying $150- plus, free shipping. Well, I was telling my gardening-enthusiast/hippie neighbor about the deal, and asked if she wanted to order with me, so as to also get 50% off of her order. She said she was really interested, and requested to see the catalog.

Now, my stupid/smelly/crazy/hippie neighbor has managed to lose my catalog. I officially hate her. So, I called the company, praying that if I was super nice, they would give me the 50% off deal, especially given that I am referring customers to them.

After waiting on hold for well over 30 minutes, this annoying bitch on the line tells me that they only sent those out to first-time home buyers (because the city's "welcome wagon" sells our data to companies who might profit from our new purchase- like furniture and home-repair people). And, because there was "no way" to track that we had received this catalog, there was no way for us to receive the deal.

I informed the woman that we would not order from their company unless we got the deal, and we would certainly not refer the company to any of our neighbors. I mean- COME ON!

First, lesson learned: never trust anyone who smells of patchouli. NEVER. All of the excessive amounts of pot and/or hallucinogens have managed to rot out the part of their brains that remember where they placed the belongings of others and why it is BEYOND funny that they sit around in Whole Foods and bitch about the local coffee shop chain being "too big" and that it edges out the "mom and pop" coffee shops. Does anyone else see the irony?

Second: you'd think that it would be in the company's best interest to keep a customer- especially one who might create more business through referrals. I mentioned that several of our neighbors might order from their company after they see the quality of the plants that I receive, but without the discount, I would not be ordering said plants. Losing my business makes for a much greater loss.

I'm not sure who should bear the brunt of my wrath: my nonsensical neighbor or contemptible company. I've decided: both.

The best part is the Boyfriend lectured me (like a little girl!) about letting people borrow things because "they always lose or destroy" your property. Harrumph! I hate it when he's right.

Me 'n' Jesus

2008-04-07T14:57:00.005-05:00

I like to read Service Industry blogs- it makes me feel better knowing that other perfectly reasonable people face the same types of crap that I do. One of my absolute favorites is Ryan over at IServeIdiots.com. He gets to say all of the things I only wish I could say to my *ahem* guests.

Recently he posted about homelessness/an experiment in being homeless, and then a follow-up post outlining why he went homeless for spring break and how this works into his believe system.

To be totally honest, I stopped being into Jesus in high school. I went to a non-denominational church that leaned toward baptist beliefs- and with that, baptist insanity. I was totally into Jesus until a girl got pregnant in our church- her boyfriend was completely absolved of any wrongdoing, and she was actively called a whore and treated like a lesion. I'm pretty sure that if Jesus was God, and if Jesus cared enough to pay attention to the happenings at our church, Jesus would damn sure have been ashamed of the retardation. Something about that whole parade really struck me, and that's when I stopped talking to Jesus. It just seemed that the people who didn't call themselves "Christian" were behaving in a much more Godly manner.

Now that I'm a little older (and partially at the urging of my mother), I decided to re-examine my feelings/belief in any religion.

To be sure, I really want to be religious. I want to be caught up in the whole "I love Jesus, and He loves me and we all are happy and la la la!" thing. I want to go to church and feel like I'm part of a community again. The problem is that I think it's a giant crock. That's right, Mom. I totally do. I just don't believe it. I want to, though.

And really, the only reason I'm really not that into Jesus is that I think that the foundations of what is "sin" and "wrong" and "immoral" are based on social norms of people who lived, literally, several millennia ago. Premarital sex is bad because there weren't effective forms of birth control or a social system to deal with bastard children. NOT because the act of inserting one set of genitalia into another is evil. Homosexuality is sinful because tribes needed to repopulate, and if no one was mixing the right gametes, it wasn't going to happen. NOT because it is unnatural for two people who are attracted to each other to act on their attraction.

So, my moral code is broken down into simple rules:
1. Don't idolize stupid things. Being materialistic leads to selfishness and wastefulness.
2. Censor speech or other forms of communication so as to minimize hurt and offense while not compromising the sentiment.
3. Don't work too hard- remember to take a break and remember what is important.
4. Family and friends are "what is important."
5. Don't kill.
6. Don't cheat.
7. Don't steal.
8. Don't lie.
9. Avoid jealousy.

So, I am not always good at keeping to these rules, but darn! They do look pretty much like the 10 Commandments- and those don't seem to be too bad as far as rules go.

Maybe I'm not cut out for mass worship/religion. I was always bothered by the idea that my pastor would be my shepherd because he's obviously so much better, smarter and more spiritual, so my stupid illiterate soul better just do what he tells me to do.

Anyway, coming back around- after reading Ryan's post, I feel like I can approach religion again. It won't look much different from my daily life. Maybe someone will see me church-hopping around the city, trying to find a church that's not full of lies, blasphemy, and hypocrisy (HA!). But I feel very much like I don't have to join the establishment to have a spiritual life.

As a fan of reason, I'll follow the rules that make sense in a modern life and honor a moral code that fits for who I am and who I want to be.

Sordid Tale of Prostitution

2008-03-17T11:50:00.004-05:00

Ready for one heckuva post? I have a whole day to sit on my butt and read all about the internets- which, of course, gets me to thinkin' that I ought to tell the internets all about me; it's only fair, right?

So, I'm not very good at quitting. Sure, I'm a lot of spitfire talk, but when it comes to summoning the balls and telling the boss I'm out, it usually ends up with me chickening out and sticking with a shitty job for longer than I should (and therefore working too many simultaneous jobs). I'm getting better.

I work in the service industry as a server- a fine dining server. I took a job with a brand-spanking-new steakhouse, under sworn testimony that this thing would do some serious business in a wealthy area.

LIES!

But, I can handle that. I'm not making top dollar, but I'm doing better than if I had been working at Friday's or something like that- so I stick with it. Plus, most of the fine-dining restaurants in the area are union, so I've been having an extra hard time getting a job.

What I can't handle is all the grabbing. It started innocently-ish. We'd all go out for a beer with the boss at the pub on the next block and eventually that led to dancing. And, if you know me (and you don't) you would know that if there is dancing, I'm on the floor and I AM NOT LEAVING until the music stops. I don't even care that the DJ has managed to play all of the shitty hip hop and the "Soulja Boy" song three times in 1 hour. I like to dance.

Eventually, my boss decides that I need help. I was on the dance floor with my back waiter/assistant/bitch and he cuts in. I cut him some slack when he slaps my ass, and decide to dismiss.

This evolved into a bra-snapping, crotch-groping, erection-rubbing-into-my-back, breast-biting, neck-grabbing, shoulder-biting, ass-fondling mess. And, after I came home with a bruise ON MY NIPPLE from him walking up to me and biting me THROUGH MY CLOTHES hard enough to leave bruise for a week, The Boy was concerned. I blamed the dog. However, after The Boss (who is apparently REALLY into BDSM) got his hands on my neck and shoved his thumbs under my jaw hard enough to leave what looked like hickies and slapped my ass enough to leave a mark, The Boy forced me to confess.

And then he found his baseball bat and started walking to the garage.

So, I told him that I would make it stop without him busting my boss' kneecaps. I did. The next time he did it, I pulled him aside and said "I don't appreciate this attention, and now that I'm sporting marks, neither does my boyfriend."

It did totally stop after that, but so did my income. All of a sudden, he starts telling everyone that I'm not a very good server, despite the fact that I am still the dining room captain. He gives me only the two tops that look like they aren't going to spend any money, and seats me half as often as everyone else.

I went from clearing $300 on a Friday/Saturday to clearing $60 all weekend.

Of course, the backlash also means that none of the back waiters want to work with me because no matter what, they aren't going to make any money. If I make $60, they're making $40 for a weekend. Bullshit! So that means I get the dumbest, slowest and least motivated assistant EVERY SHIFT, so I have to do twice as much work making 20% of what I was making before.

BULLSHIT!

I confront the boss, and he tells me that since I "can't handle the volume." I have to be in the low-volume, non-VIP section until my service improves.

BULLSHIT!

So, even though as a condition of my hire I established that I DO NOT EVER work on Sundays unless it's a required holiday, like Mother's Day AKA the Apocalypse; I was scheduled for the Sunday dinner shift.

It's notoriously slow in high-end restaurants on Sundays because people usually go pick up grandma from the facility, comb their brats' hair and take everyone out for Sunday dinner. And, when the average price on a meal is $40 and there is no children's service, people don't generally opt for the steakhouse. The people who do don't usually know how expensive the place is, and so they buy the cheapest thing on the menu and tip like crap.

I took two tables before his horrible horse-faced wife walked in with her stupid inbred waitress friend and sat themselves in my section. Up till that point, I felt sorry for her, and we had always been friendly with each other. It would suck to be married to The Boss, and she seemed like a genuinely good human being- the kind that takes in stray cats and goes on bike rides. However, it seems that in spreading all kinds of horrible rumors about me, The Boss gave The Boss' Wife the impression that I'm worthy of contempt.

She chats with her friend and refuses to even acknowledge me, even though I am standing about 2 feet away, trying to take her goddamn order.

"What do you think, Tammy; should I have the Filet Oscar, or the Crab? I don't know if I am hungry enough for the crab- I mean, the Oscar is only a 6oz portion." TBW says, still refusing to address me. I tell the ladies to take their time and go back to the kitchen.

On Sunday, the kitchen closes at 9pm and it was 8:50 when when waddled in. Chef L. snarls at me and asks me what is taking me so long to get the order.

I stare at them through a window where they can't see me, and as soon as they put down their menus, I walk in to take their order.

"Where have you been?" TBW snorts. I flushed and was shocked- she's never talked to me like that, and there couldn't have been more than a 5 second delay between when their menus were put down and when I was at the table.

"I didn't want to rush you ladies. I saw that you were still examining the menu, and I didn't want to seem as though I was trying to push you." HA! This stupid bitch helped write the menu, she knew full well what we have!

"Did you serve any crab today?"

"Yes, it did look very good- and Chef L. has been experimenting with a blackening technique if you are interested."

"You're just saying that because you want a bigger tip." She hissed, flaring her nostrils. I smiled graciously and told her that the Oscar had the very same crab on it, and I could have the Chef do something interesting with that crab if she thought the legs would be too much.

She rolled her eyes, ordered the crab, and her companion ordered the chicken and some bruschetta.

OF FUCKING COURSE. It is now 10 minutes past closing and these bitches finally order, and they need multiple courses after both complaining that they weren't that hungry! I'm thinking of murderous rampage.

They literally took 25 minutes to eat half of the bruschetta. Then, their soup/salad course took another 15 minutes. If you're a waiter and know general cook-times, you can guess it is now 55 minutes past closing and these bitches haven't even gotten their dinner, yet.

They get their dinner at exactly 10pm, the chef has now left the building and so it is just me, the dishwasher and the asst. manager.

"Um, F.Y.I I wanted the Steak AND Crab." She whined. I turned white.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought you had ordered just the crab legs. I would have asked you for the temperature on the steak had I thought-"

"You didn't think, did you?" She interrupted, and her foul companion chortled.

The blood returned to my face full force and I felt myself flush.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. I'll check to see if Chef L. is still here and I'll get a steak for you right away." I tried to hide my anger.

"I saw him pull away, already." She responded sternly. "I'll just eat this."

They slowly picked through their food and I finished up all the cleaning duties. I had sent my back waiter home before TBW showed up, so I had everything to do. They hemmed and hawed through their meal and I kept tabs on them.

I went back when they had both placed their napkins on the table and were leaning back- classic "I'm done" sign.

"Ladies, may I wrap these for you?" I asked, gesturing toward their half-eaten plates of food.

"Um, do we look done?" TBW seethed.

"I'm sorry. Ladies, please continue." I returned to the kitchen and checked the clock- 10:45.

Not 2 minutes later, while I was walking past with a tray full of glasses to be re-stocked, TBW grabbed my jacket.

"Could you be bothered to wrap this?" She inquired- sarcastically.

I smiled, agreed to return, and quickly put down my tray at the server station. I drop a hot napkin for TBW to wash her hands (since she had just eaten crab legs), and picked up the plates.

"What is this?" She snarled, pointing to the napkin.

"It's a napkin lightly soaked with warm water to wash your hands after eating the crab legs." I smiled, internally seething.

"Does The Boss know that you're wasting his linens? Do you know how expensive it is to have these things washed?" She pushed.

"I haven't asked him. It's standard practice in high-end restaurants to allow guests to wash their hands after a potentially messy meal." I began.

"Just wrap the food. We have a bathroom if people wanted to wash their hands." She retorted, rolling her eyes. I ran back and wrapped the food as quickly as possible. I returned the boxes, asked the ladies about dessert, and they thankfully decide against it. No after-dinner drinks, no cocktails, no dessert, no coffee- I'm almost out!

I grab the assistant manager and ask him if TBW gets her meal comped. He tells me "no." So, I drop check. 15 minutes later they finally get their cash straight. It's a total of $75 for both women, and they put 4 $20 bills in the book. I get the manager to cash it out and I bring the ladies their change.

"No, that's all your's." She said, smiling. It was probably the most gracious thing she said to me all night. I smiled, bade them a pleasant evening and ran to the back to finish cleaning. I gave those bitches the benefit of the doubt that, after keeping me 2 hours past closing, they'd leave a little more cash on the table. 15% of 75 is just over $11, 20% is $15 even. Maybe I'd find another $10-$15 on the table when I went back.

NOPE!

For the math challenged, that was a tip of 6.67%

2 hours after closing

And I waited on them hand and foot

And took their bullshit.

This, my reader, was definitely a set-up. She MUST have tried to mislead me about her order. If she wanted a steak, she would have, you know, ordered a motherfucking steak. Or at least said something like "and I'll take the filet medium rare." She went out of her way to make my night a living hell, and then financially rape me when it was over.

So, I quit that job.

I have to turn in my uniform (http://www.ambassadoruniform.com/shopexd.asp?id=593).

Her family-style restaurant is just down the street. So, I think that when I return my uniform, I'll go over to her restaurant and return the $5. Clearly, that family is in more financial trouble than me, so I better do the right thing and let her know that I believe in charity, and I'll give her the fiver back.

And, out of the kindness of my heart, I'll find a way to summon the courage to tell her that her husband is cheating on her with one of the back waitresses and that the bruises on my neck, nipple and ass are from her husband, too. Such a poor and unfortunate wretch needs to know what's going on behind her back.

So, it occurred to me that while at that restaurant, I was doing sexual favors for money. If I let The Boss use me and abuse me, I made money. If I cut him off sexually, he cut me off financially.

He didn't hire me to be a server. He hired me to be a prostitute.

So, if you got through everything, I have a poll.

I took pictures of the damages to my body and have documentation that as soon as I stopped allowing The Boss to harass me, I stopped making money. I know that there is at least 1 other waitress currently receiving the unwanted attention, but she allows it after seeing what happened to me. Do I press charges? I haven't told his wife about anything, so I'm thinking maybe I'll press charges and let her find out the hard way. Although, I'm poor, I have no time for anything, and I don't want to think about this scumbag anymore.

What do you think?

Oh, you again!

2008-01-08T15:50:00.000-06:00

Well, there has been a profound failure on my part to keep up with this blog. No updates in over a year, and the last entry was some stupid link! What.the.hell.

Well, as you can imagine, a thing or two has happened in the time lapsed- some good, some not so good.

First, the big news: The Boy and I purchased a house. I know...right. I thought we might kill each other before such a thing occurred. In the mean time, I finally decided that I am going to stop fucking around and finish my degree. There's a lot of self-doubt, etc etc that I really don't want to get into...I'm not one of those goddamn emos, afterall.

I've continued my quest to finish the St. John's great books list. (see: http://www.stjohnscollege.edu/academic/ANreadlist.shtml) I have not been able to keep up with the pace listed, and it would really really really help to have a few friends who would be interested in reading with me to discuss, but alas, they think I'm a nutjob.

I'm not.

I got a dog. A black chow. His name is Archibald- Archie for short. He's a dick. A big mean dick. I don't recommend that you mess with him (and that goes double for you ghettos who enjoy hanging out in the Alley).

Did I mention that the house we bought is in the city. Yep, we're officially city folk, now. No more two-bit suburbs for us! Now we can pay double the taxes for only half of the services AND triple the crime!

I am one lucky lucky girl.

So, got a house, got a dog, got a plan and I didn't kill the boy.

The bad news is that for no apparent reason, whenever I truly start getting my shit together, the depression sets in again. Whenever things look really ugly for me and the options run out, that's the exact moment when I can pull myself together mentally and emotionally. However, take any moment of my life when things are going well, and you can bet that I sleep twice as much and mope even more.

Meh.

I'll keep up this time...isweartogodkinda.

Who's Windows Can I Lick, Now?

2006-11-29T12:17:00.000-06:00

So...apparently the old Nothing Studios is up for sale.

http://www.latter-blum.com/RLNET/Listings/ListingDetails.aspx?ListingID=940017

I got pretty depressed upon seeing this, especially later seeing that one of the neatest restaurants in New Orleans is being sold. An old friend who lives on Magazine previously offered me a job and apartment (not to mention boyfriend) if I would move down there, but I just don't think I could go back to the city- it seems too depressing.

Promotion and Anticipation

2006-11-09T10:45:00.000-06:00

So, uh...Democrats won both the House and the Senate.

w00t!

w00t?

w00t.

Please don't fuck up, guys.

P.S. I'm now a Saucier.

Bad Habits, Bad Jobs and Bad Spinach

2006-10-16T16:56:00.000-05:00

I'm kind of irritated today: the kind of slow and reasonless irritation that comes from being exhausted, frustrated, bored and moments away from going to work.

I went grocery shopping to get out, today. Before that, I went to the manicurist to get my fake nails taken off. I have [had] the horrible horrible habit of biting at my nails and cuticles- mostly to the point where I have ripped bits of flesh and nail sticking out of the ends of my fingers. On the advice of a friend, I went to get acrylic nails put on. You can't bite acrylic nails, and because they feel so foreign, you really don't want to- and if you leave them on long enough, you will break the habit.

Well, she recommended a month, but after two weeks of those motherfuckers, I couldn't take it anymore. I was pretty much counting the minutes until the nail place opened for business today so I could get the things taken off. I'd rather bite my nails than have trashy acrylic foreign bodies glued to my body. That, and they clicked on everything I touched.

I felt the need to move to Jersey or something.

So, today my nails are short, natural and a light shade of pink (since I had to have them painted over to cover all of the scratches from removing the acrylics). I feel significantly better- and my hands look at lot prettier to me. I might keep going back to get regular manicures, I mean...I can spare $24/month for nice nails- especially if the thought of destroying a manicure would keep me from biting my nails and cuticles.

We'll see.

I'm not looking forward to work tonight. I'd rather crawl into bed and sleep for three days straight. I suppose it's probably because I've completely resolved to find a new job tomorrow, and the joy of knowing that I probably won't rely on the Shithole for the majority of my income makes going to the Shithole that much harder.

Oh, and I finally got some fresh spinach today- tomorrow, there will be a fantastic spinach salad consumed in my apartment.

Update, finally

2006-10-12T12:55:00.000-05:00

Well, I have been gone from this blog for a while: and that is certainly not due to lack of material. Boyfriend and I have been as rocky as ever and work has been as upsetting and generally stupid as ever. I just haven't had the emotional and mental energy to rehash all of it to an anonymous blog audience (or person, or whatever).

So, quick recap:

Boyfriend and I went on a quick getaway vacation to Devil's Lake, Wisconsin. It was *gorgeous* and unfortunately the scene of a complete and total breakdown of our relationship. The fight before last was over our favorite topic (as of late- as it used to be over StupidFuckingCat, but now is over the frequency [or infrequency, as the case may be] of our romantic life). I had told him that I "won't have this fight again." Clearly, I was meaning to say that if I felt the need to bring the topic up, I was planning on leaving his stupid ass.

Well, due to a case of identity theft, Boyfriend's credit card account was frozen, and paying for the hotel room was left to me. I was not anticipating taking on this cost, but since I had about that amount of money kind of floating around, I only grumbled about it to myself. Naturally, I was expecting some glorious romance- maybe because I was shelling out a hundred dollars each night for a bed...And I intended to use said bed.

Boyfriend, however, spent the first night completely out of service because he was busy digesting the pound and a half of porterhouse steak he had just consumed at Johnny Delmonico's in Madison. The food was fantastic, by the way.

I was not impressed...Nor was I pleased, but I decided to lay down and shut up and finally fall asleep as it was just the first night of our vacation, and I figured there was plenty of time for romance later on.

WRONG.

We get up the next day and spend the day hiking around Devil's Lake. It was gorgeous, but being slightly pissed that I had not gotten so much as a hug, I was distant from him and spent a lot of time wandering off away from him and his godforsaken camera.

However, at some point, we decided to climb the bluff, and an hour after climbing straightfuckingup, we got to the top, slightly out of breath, and sit down on some kind of rock.

Suddenly, there is an arm around me, and a breathy whisper. The rest is for late night girl chats, but let's just say that I earned 1/2 of a point on the top of that bluff according to the Anne/Christine/Elissa/Dyna deviancy Point Challenge.

I am still the loser of the challenge, though.

Because he was the only one *ahem* pleased at the top of the bluff, I assumed that when we finally got un-lost and back to the car (by the way, I'm not really cool with navigating the "Tumbling Rocks" trail after dark) we would go back to the hotel room for my turn.

I was quite wrong, and therefore pissed beyond my ability to handle it. After 2/3 of a bottle of red wine, I became a "belligerent drunk" and a huge fight ensued: leading to a point where I had to call Ex Male Roommate to ask him to pick me up from Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Wisconsin because Boyfriend was preparing to leave me there while he drove back home.

He decided to stay when he heard me nonchalantly as Ex Male Roommate if he could give me a ride back to Suburb...And a place to stay for a couple of days while I found a new place to live.

From there, I thought I had finally ended this relationship...Until Boyfriend decided that we would NOT be going back to Suburb, but rather that we would stay in a hotel in Racine and "talk about us."

Never have I wanted to scream "MOTHER FUCK!" so loudly in my life.

So we got stuck in a hotel room...And we talked about us.

And my only hope is that we somehow found a way to make our love life less odious to me. I find it interesting that he cries so easily, and that so often he lays all of his cards on the table. Maybe I'm just a hard-hearted secretive old cunt. Maybe he's a softie.

I'm not really sure.

But I hate to see him cry.

We exchanged I love yous. I feel foreign saying it...like the words aren't even mine; as though someone else is saying them through my lips. I've decided to stop saying it unless he says it first in which case it is kind of a challenge: he's said it, and I have to respond. Anything less than "I love you, too" is a treasonous response...So I'm only saying it when he backs me into the corner with it.

I've also decided to find a different birth control pill. I have only been this emotionally unstable since I lived with my parents. I'll finish this month, but I'm going back to the gynecologist to get a different pill because this one makes me feel like I have one foot into the crazy house.

Taylor Tawny Day!

2006-09-15T14:36:00.000-05:00

One of the things I actually like about my job is that every 3 months, we change the wine list...and that means that there is a wine tasting.

Why yes, I will come in and sample all of the wines off of the list.

Oh, we have a new port and champagne? Yes, I will come in tomorrow for a glass of each.

You want us to have a sample chocolate mousse with that port? Yes, I will sacrifice an hour of my life for dark chocolate mousse and port. No, I'm not mad that you're only paying me $10/hr to eat chocolate mousse and drink port; but next time, I want to make money more comparable to an hour of work on the floor.

At Least I'm Not Pregnant

2006-09-01T09:50:00.000-05:00

So, this is the last week of my first month taking birth control (again).

And it sucks.

One of the benefits of having irregular periods is that they come along with less frequency and with a lighter flow. This month (close your eyes, gentlemen) I feel as though all of my internal organs are oozing out of my vagina.

Pretty, I know.

The best part is the emotional rollercoaster. I usually pride myself in not being one of those psycho women who lose it for a week out of every month, and that's probably because my estrogen spike only takes me to the "resting level" of the average female.

This month? Well, two nights ago I just started yelling and being horrible to Boyfriend over StupidFuckingCat (again), followed by *quite* the amorous make-up, followed by 24 hours of crying at the drop of a hat. Now, I feel as though I've gotten a dose of Lithium.

Wtf?

So, while I'm sitting here, munching away on my granola, I notice that my belt is now too big. See, the good thing about a belt is that you just pull it a little more snug, my problem is not the belt, but rather all of the rest of my clothes. My favorite skirt is no longer wearable. BOOOOO!!! I love that skirt! I purchased it during my senior year of high school, and it now slips off my hips in a completely embarrassing manner.

I think, for a normal girl, this skirt could be worn for at least another month or so, but unlike most girls, I have a very masculine set of hips- rather than poofing out with some attractive saddlebags that complete that hourglass figure, my hips go in much like man hips. Essentially, any article of clothing made for a female of my age is meant to hold on to the hips, and so I find myself in the predicament- do I wear clothing meant for the elderly, or do I constantly purchase new pants and skirts the minute I lose or gain a pound?

Up till now, the answer has been to purchase more clothing- my weight has steadily increased since junior high, but not so dramatically that I ever found myself in the closet saying "Well, I guess the only thing I can wear today is those ugly-ass khakis that my mom bought me five years ago to wear to church. Old lady pants, it is."

Ugh. Being poor sucks. I no longer have the option to purchase new clothing whenever I needed it. Moreover, I am reluctant to purchase anything since I think that my current weightloss is a trend (since, for my condition, the pill will encourage weightloss). Why purchase pants one size smaller when I'll just have to purchase more in three months? Fuck that, I'll wear a belt and cinch it up until the pants look retarded.

So that's a portrait of me this week. I'm slightly paled from my period, probably either laughing hysterically or crying, and I'm wearing old lady clothing. Sexy! No wonder Boyfriend and I are hitting the sack an average of once every 8.75 days.

Cough

2006-08-23T15:07:00.000-05:00

Oh, sickness.

I think I'm developing bronchitis, my old friend.

Today's diet?

Breakfast:
Ha! I slept until noon. Screw you and your breakfast.

Lunch:
Orange juice mixed with mineral water to make an orange soda
The crusts of a turkey sandwich, the rest sitting in the 'fridge, waiting for consumption.
One kiwi fruit
One cherry tomato.

Vomit!

And then I took a few more bites of the sandwich a little bit ago.

For dinner, I'll repeat lunch, only I will finish the sandwich.

On the brightside of being sick as a dog, I ambled onto the bathroom scale, and I have managed to lose 5 pounds since my last appointment with the gynecologist. Sweet!

All I have to do is to continue to eat like a sick toddler and lay in bed, hacking up your lungs all day. I'll call a woman magazine right away and let them in on my secret.

I'm Not Dead...

2006-08-22T10:52:00.000-05:00

...Just busy.

I have a million little thoughts I'd like to jot down- but neither the time nor the energy, so one quick note from tonight at work.

Tonight was the second time a customer called me incompetent.

It was pretty late into the evening. Restaurant closes at 10:00 on weekdays, and a couple walked through the door at 9:45. Late hits- I fucking loathe late hits. Anyone not considerate enough to come in at least a half hour before a restaurant closes is not going to be considerate enough to tip well, nor are they going to be considerate enough to behave. So, before I even go take a look to size them up while they settle in, I hear a buzz in the kitchen.

"Did you see table 500?"

"Yeah, they were in the bar!"

"Holy shit, who has them?"

The manager comes up to me and tells me that the couple is fucking gone. I'm not talking about a little tipsy, I'm talking about "vomit watch" drunk. He informs me that I'm not allowed to serve them any alcohol. See, Restaurant has had two strikes against their liquor license, and a third- like that couple, would lose the restaurant its license, and the profits would dry up in a snap. Essentially, this couple held in their grasp the future of the place, and serving them another well vodka on the rocks would probably doom the restaurant.

So, I go do my greet, and before I can mention the Mahi Mahi special, she's ordered a shitty vodka on the rocks.

"Ma'am, it's fairly late, and the bar may have closed. It may take a while to get the drink, can I get you some iced tea and bread while you wait?" I asked, trying to avoid saying "You're cut off, you drunk 'tard."

She started to slur something about me thinking she was drunk, and did she really look drunk, and how she was the general manager of a different restaurant, blah blah blah. And then...

"...YOU'RE INCOMPETENT!" She screamed as she stormed off, bringing her similarly situated husband behind her- probably off to another more seedy establishment to get her shitty vodka on the rocks.

Whatever, bitch. I'm not losing my job, losing this company's liquor license (and thereby the jobs of 15 other people) and paying a $1,000 fine because your stupid ass will more than likely get pulled over tonight.

Maja (who is pretty much the epitome of Stupid, Spoiled, Lazy Bitch-dom) was the bartender that night and called me excitedly into the bar so she could get the scoop. I retold the story, adding that had I not been concerned about potentially losing my job, I would have let the lady know that while I am but a lowly waitress, I spent the afternoon reading articles published on the subject of the Steady State Theory (physics) and she spent the afternoon drinking it up, only to get in her car and drive to another place to drink some more. If we wanted to talk about incompetent, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be the subject of the conversation.

I didn't realize this, but the three people left in the bar heard what I had said and erupted into applause. Apparently, the drunken couple was non-to-popular. A lady sitting in the bar slipped me a $5 bill and told me to put it toward further education.

Well, Andrey, the tightwad manager pulled me aside and asked me what happened with the table, and because he's an ass, I would normally have assumed that I was in trouble. However, Andrey was sporting a smirk, and I told him what happened. He did a creepy little giggle, and in a thick Ukrainian accent, told me that next time, agree to serve the alcohol, and let him tell the people "no."

He went on to mention that the drunken lady told him that I was an "incompetent bitch," and that she was the general manager of another restaurant, and that I should lose my job. Apparently, for the first time ever, a customer was told off, because he told her that if she was, in fact, the manager of a restaurant, she would understand the importance of abiding by the liquor laws, and that a server who decides to be responsible in the service of alcohol was not an incompetent bitch, and disrespecting the employees here is considered verbal assault- she was advised to leave the premises and told that if she did not, there would be police involved.

Holy Balls, Batman!

That being said, I'm sick...Again! My tonsils are swollen and bright red. Pretty!

So, in the spirit of lounging around, I decided to pull on a pair of pants that I haven't been able to wear since my sophomore year of high school, and Holy Weight-Loss, Batman! They fit!

Apparently, diet and exercise is NOT the way to go. All you need to do is eat like a picky 3 year old and work a job that keeps you running all day long. Sample diet:

Breakfast:
One glass of limeade (I squeeze 5 limes, add 1/3 c. sugar into a quart container and fill it with water. When it comes time to drink said limeade, I pour a glass 1/3 full of limeade, and 2/3 full of mineral water)
One peach
Two cherry tomatoes
One pickle.

That's right, a pickle.

Lunch:
Some kind of warm vegetable (Bhindi Masala, today!)
Pickle, maybe two.
Handful of cherry tomatoes
Glass of limeade
Glass of tomato juice with lime squeezed into it

Dinner:
Glass of soy milk
Sandwich (Ukrainian light rye bread, peanut butter spread thinly, bananas)
Handful of cherry tomatoes
Pickle.

No meal is complete without a pickle. And, after making any sandwich, there must be some part that gets pulled off and tossed aside. If possible, get halfway through a pickle before declaring it too salty and throw it out. And I guard those cherry tomatoes with my life. MMM.

Yup, that's it. Balance? No. Nutrition? What? Delicious? Yes.

And you, too, can have the ass the size it was when you were 15.

Because You Are Not A Woman

2006-08-01T23:00:00.000-05:00

I try not to be a knee-jerk woman. That is, I try my hardest to see everything not just from the eyes of a being with a vagina, but as a person of no gender (or race, creed, color, orientation, etc)

But sometimes, I have to stop a knee-jerk man by explaining how the brain of a knee-jerk woman functions.

Today, the conversation with Boyfriend started out with me explaining that I was going to the gynecologist. I decided to inform him that I planned on going back to using the birth control pill because the last time I made a decision about my reproductive health without him, he had a shit-fit. Mind you, that was about a month after our first date, and I didn't think it was any of his business, and that I had to do something about my vagina, that was between me and the doctor.

Either way, there was still a shit-fit. So, this time around, since we now live together (and share a bed that goes frequently unused- which makes me think that my vagina is still none of his business), I figured that I should at least tell him what my plans are for my vagina.

I'm planning on putting it back on birth control. That being said, I noted that my gynecologist does not require an internal exam to prescribe the birth control pill. I further explained that in order for me to get birth control as a 16 year old (for the regulation of my cycles) I did not have to have an exam, either. But, after I turned 18, I was required to have the internal exams.

Really, I was just musing...I didn't mean to make any real point- I was just thinking that any time a woman is over the age of 18, she would automatically require an internal exam to get any kind of medication- birth control or otherwise.

I think he took what I was saying completely backwards, and somehow turned it into how all women regard all men as filthy dirty creatures that should never under any circumstances come in contact with a vagina not belonging to that man's wife. And that took him to some crazy mental frenzy where I was suddenly put on defense for being female- as apparently, all females prejudge men in an unfair manner and assume all men are dirty nasty pigs that ought not to be dealt with in any manner.

I found myself having to explain to him that life is different as a woman. I had to explain that even while I am not the hot blonde in the restaurant or bar, while working as a waitress, some business man slapped my ass EVERY night.

I had to explain that for every nice guy out there, there is at least one jackass, and the jackasses are the ones that make their presence known.

I had to explain that even as a not-attractive girl in a city full of naked hot girls (New Orleans) I could not walk alone in the city- and I certainly wouldn't walk with just a group of females at night.

Now, part of me wants to say "I shouldn't have to be afraid and take an escort if I want to get some fucking groceries at 8 pm." But the other part says "Don't be so sensationalist...just be sensible."

Anyway, he argued that it just isn't fair that women assume he's creepy because he's shy.

"Boyfriend, you make unfair judgments all the time. You had a bad experience with a crazy-ass bitch in your past dating life, and after her, I'm sure you made judgments about other women based on Crazy Bitch's behavior. If some new woman exhibited the behavior you saw in Crazy Bitch, you would avoid her."

He gave an affirmative grunt.

"Now, let's say that rather than wasting a year of your dating life, that woman had caused you physical harm. Let's say she humiliated you and committed an act of violence against you."

He gave an grunt of acknowledgement.

"Now, I would have to argue that you are actually retarded (read: IQ below 70) if you don't make judgments about other women in order to protect yourself. Sometimes, the judgments will be wrong, but hey- you won't have to be a victim again."

He launched into the "you've never been raped" argument. My first thought was "that you know of" as I'm pretty secretive, and had I been raped, I doubt I would tell him about it. I haven't, mind you.

"I've had friends who have been brutally raped. I can learn from their mistakes, too."

"Well, it's not all about rape- men can be mugged, too."

"Boyfriend, you are an imposing figure- just like most men. You're 6'2", I'm 5'4" and obviously weak. If there is a guy prowling the streets looking for someone to mug, he's not going to pick the big strong dude- he's going after the little woman."

"True."

I think he understands a little bit, or at least figured out that I'm not going to let the fight die without taking him down.

I'm generally of the opinion that men and women should be able to interact without fear of each other, but realistically I know that is completely impossible.

I don't like to say "you'll never understand" but I truly believe that men will very rarely understand exactly what women worry about when it comes to men.

I Told You So

2006-07-27T18:35:00.000-05:00

At what point is it no longer rude to say "I told you so?"

Now, I'm a little afraid to date myself because I am pretty young, but I was in high school the first time that Bush was running for president/elected. I was a freshman...

At that time, I was busy trying to prove to Jesus that I deserved this one favor I was asking of him by reading his book and going to church and whatnot- part of that was this new thing at my church- a cell group (think of a bible study led by equally clueless high school students). One of my most striking memories of high school was sitting in one girl's house during a cell group meeting, the Jesus part was over, and we were hotly debating the upcoming elections in the most eloquent way that 15 year olds who have been herded into Christianity can.

As a note: I do not have a problem with people who investigate the religion and decide that Jesus is for them. Personally, I try to live by most of his maxims, I just think 99.9% of churches lost the plot and are full of shit.

Anyway, even as my 15-year-old "Oh, Jesus, I love you so much...look at how much I go to church!" self, I was fully aware of the fact that George W. Bush was the biggest crock to come along since the "Moral Majority." And, for that reason, I got a pretty creepy vibe off of him and his "I'm a Christian, I'll make 'Murka bedder!" campaign.

And sitting in Jessica's living room, I realized just how alone I was. Now, thinking back, I blame a lot of it on Clinton's cock. Had it kept to itself- or at least only hung out around less gossipy bitches, the Democrats may have had a chance. But, at that time I can remember thinking "Well, I hope all of you retards aren't so dense that you will eventually realize it when the shit hits the fan."

And now, I think "I wonder if those retards ever figured it out." I wonder if I should look up their email addresses and ask them one question that has been burning me for 6 years now.

"How does it feel to be wrong? You made me feel wrong about my very existence since puberty. You've made me the minority and the outcast. How does it feel? I want you to know that every morning when I read the newspaper, I think of you and your stupid blind support of any old monkey who can fool you by calling a couple of names and wearing a suit on Sunday. I think of how immensely short-sighted you were when you told me that my morals were backward because I was backing a candidate who supported the enrichment of the environment, the feeding of the hungry, the care of the sick and peace around the world. I think every day that I wish that things had been different, and now, 6 years later, I've gotten my vindication- and I'll bet you don't even remember what I said that Tuesday night. I'll bet you don't remember that I said that any candidate who parades his faith in order to garner votes is a fraud and more trouble that imaginable."

So, I don't care if it's tacky, but I told you so. I told you so in the beginning. I told you this was going to be a disaster. I told you to look up the facts. I told you that running around calling the GOP the "Party of God" was as silly as calling the left wing the "coalition of the exceedingly tall."

I told you so.

Selfish

2006-07-08T22:00:00.000-05:00

There are some days in which I wish that I had broken up with Boyfriend in September when I was getting bad vibes- but, like most retards, I just don't know when to let go.

There are other times when I think "yeah, I could spend a long time with this guy, he's pretty alright."

Yesterday, I found myself thinking very fondly of him while we were visiting Keenan and Marcel, after the long sip of margarita had dulled my senses enough for me to forget the uncomfortable common law wife comment, that is. I think this was mostly due to the fact that we were sitting around with Keenan and Marcel (both of whom I like) talking about purchasing a house in the next year or so (and I would really love to own a house).

However, pretty much every other moment for the past month has me thinking "jeebus, this is going to be rocky, resentful and short."

And, I finally figured out why: Boyfriend is selfish.

Now, I've spent my entire life thinking that I am a horrible selfish person. And, until recently, I was probably one of the most selfish people that I knew...until I met Boyfriend. For a while, I thought it was because he completely lacked EMPATHY, but it turns out that theory is completely backwards.

Because, in order for a lack of EMPATHY to be the problem, the person has to be un-selfish enough to care about how another person feels, but ultimately fail at realizing how the other person feels. For Boyfriend, the problem is that he is SELFISH because he doesn't give a shit how anyone feels but himself.

If he is happy, then all is good. If he is not happy, everyone better fucking bend over backwards to fix the problem.

Examples:

1. The Slamming Door Dilemma

We live on the end of a wing so that one of the main doors that people use to enter the building is on the wall next to the bed. Boyfriend and I usually sleep until 9 in the morning, and therefore the last two hours of our weekday sleep is peppered with the sound of that door closing. I have learned to sleep through it because it is a door, and doors close. People leave for work in the morning, and if it really bothered me, I could go to sleep two hours earlier and wake up two hours earlier. It's not even that loud, and you can't hear it at all above the sound of the air conditioner or even the fan. Boyfriend, however, being the fucking princess that he is, apparently just can't sleep through the last two hours of his regularly scheduled sleep, and refuses to accept the possibility that he ought to keep average adult hours.

So, he bitches out the property manager who explains to him that we are living in one of the handicap accessible apartments, and all of the people around us are handicapped. The door slams closed because there is very very little tension in the door (in either direction) because the handicapped people need to be able to open the doors, and because Boyfriend was so fucking picky about the location of the apartment, it's essentially his own fault that he can't sleep for the last two hours of his normal schedule.

My reaction: "it must really suck to deal with these doors when you're in a wheel chair, so surely the two hours of minimal noise in the morning are completely unimportant in the face of my neighbor's ability to actually get into the building."

Boyfriend's reaction: "fuck the cripples, my sleep is more important that everyone else's ability to access their own fucking home."

I have made the wise decision not to say anything either way about the issue because the management staff is not going to make the handicapped people suffer so that my idiotic domestic partner can sleep in late every day.

2. The Parking Lot Incident

We were coming back from Boyfriend's Parents' home and pulling into the [usually full] parking lot of the apartment building. There is a driveway that goes past the parking lot, so Boyfriend and I usually take notice of the available spots on the way in to avoid spending unnecessary time hunting for a spot. We saw two really great spots (which is totally unusual because by 9:30 pm, the parking lot is completely packed, and the only spots are kind of a hike away- not that it's a problem for us since we are able-bodied adults). We circle in, and notice an elderly woman pulling into the spot that was slightly more prime than the previous spot, meaning we would have to take a different prime (but not extremely prime) parking spot.

My reaction: "Sweet! We'll be so close to the door!"

Boyfriend's reaction: "So typical. God, this place is merciless."

Fucking what? I proceeded to question him on this concept because, as far as I could tell, what he said made zero sense. My argument was that in a parking lot, if you get to a spot, and there is no other car in the spot, the spot is yours unless it is reserved parking. Boyfriend said something to the effect of "God, even if you see a spot, you can't be sure that you'll get it."

Fucking what? It dawned on me what the problem was. It's not that Boyfriend doesn't understand the way the parking lot functions, it's that he's really fucking selfish. He feels, as the fucking world deity, everyone should automatically know exactly what he wants, and bow out to him. That old lady should have known that he had seen that obscenely good spot and actually used her vehicle to block anyone but Boyfriend from parking there.

I called Boyfriend on the stupid sentiment, and he got pissy and we are still not really talking. I'm completely convinced that he's an asshole.

3. Shut-UpGate

Boyfriend and I were discussing immigration. Now, to make it clear: as a humanitarian, I think that anyone that wants to be an American and is willing to abide by our laws, should be allowed to enter the country within a reasonable time. That is to say, making people wait 11 years in their home country/shithole only encourages illegal immigration. As a realist, I know that's a horrible idea. My opinion is that we should figure out how many people our economy and physical land can handle, and allow that many people in- that, to me, is the best way to go. I'm pretty sure that Boyfriend feels similarly, but he wouldn't know that he probably agrees with me because he NEVER SHUTS UP. EVER.

He ALWAYS interrupts me when I am making a point on a subject that he is passionate about- especially if I am taking my time to create a full sentence that properly frames a point. I'm not an extremist, so I often have to create the correct environment for a specific thought. Naturally, I rarely get to actually make a point because I will get 8 words into a sentence before I am completely cut off while he goes on and on about how he feels. FUCK THAT.

So, while we were discussing realistic options to real problems given the real political and social climate, I got very little in, and while attempting to make a point about the legal right of the US to enforce its laws despite how long they have lapsed on said duty. My point what that the US has a right to enforce its laws even though it hasn't enforced the laws for many people and allowed illegals to live in the area for decades, and despite that it may be immoral, it is legal for the US to deport otherwise lawful residents. Boyfriend, for the millionth time, interrupted me and completely ignored the fact that I was beginning to make a valid point.

"SHUT UP" I screamed, snapping him into attention long enough for me to finish my point. Like in the previous three situations, being called on his bad behavior proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon in a tiff.

Here's the thing: it's not that he's so enthused that he just *has* to make a point, he's SELFISH. He very much feels as though everyone else's opinion should be put on the back burner while being completely engrossed by his words and thoughts.

I've noticed that pretty much everything that happens with him is motivated by this selfish impulse. He's never asked me if I want to play one of my CDs on the studio-quality sound system. He never asks me what I would like to watch on the television. He never asks me what I would like to eat for dinner. He doesn't care about when I would like to go to bed. He doesn't care how I feel about pretty much anything. All of our conversation centers on him and his cat.

This relationship is most certainly going to last only as long as I can gain some financial independence, stability and backbone.

Margaritas

2006-07-08T13:03:00.000-05:00

New Rule: No drinking homemade margaritas.

That is: margaritas made by a bartender at a chain restaurant are just fine, but margaritas made in the kitchen of a friend/boyfriend/friend of a boyfriend/aunt/cousin/acquaintance or whomever are strictly forbidden.

I have thrice now had a homemade margarita that has completely kicked my ass, and I do not like having my ass kicked by inanimate objects (or really, animate objects, either).

The first time, Ex-Boyfriend J and I were at the home of his best friend, Steve. After one margarita, I was throwing up all over the bathroom and completely gone. Too much shitty tequila mixed with too little shitty mixer. As a side note, we drank Goldschlager and somehow all of the vomit that occurred before the Goldschlager gets mixed with the memory of the Goldschlager, and I can no longer smell it without gagging- though I'm quite fine to drink all the shitty tequila that I want.

The second time, I was at the home of some random guy I was dating for a very short period of time, and he chose to mix fairly excellent tequila with the same shitty mixer, and after one glass, I was puking AGAIN. My conclusion was that there was something about the shitty mixer that upset my stomach because I really wasn't drunk the second time.

But, the third time (last night) we (Boyfriend and I) were at a Mexican themed get-together (featuring some delicious skirt steak tacos (holy crap, delicious!) that only Boyfriend's Best friend (hereby known as Keenan) and Keenan's husband (now known as Marcel) could make.

This was a *real* margarita: key limes, a really smooth high quality tequila and Cointrea. But after about 10 minutes of sipping on the drink (because it was on the rocks, and I prefer frozen, so I continually drank just enough to fit in some more ice) I was on my ass- not drunk enough to vomit, but most certainly not sober enough to be quick on my feet about Boyfriend's comment about me becoming his common law wife before we have a talk about marriage. Just so you know, I just kind of sat there a little stunned and looked over at Keenan before taking a really deep gulp of margarita in attempts to occupy my mind with how drunk it is.

About being a common law wife. I have no problem being a common law wife for as long as there are no children. However, I think it's a little early to be setting forth a 7 year plan...Especially as the precursor to an indefinite plan of real marriage- especially while I am drunk and in the company of Keenan and Marcel.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I've decided that I can only drink the watered-down commercial pre-made crap margaritas they make at Friday's or wherever.

Waiting

2006-07-07T00:10:00.000-05:00

So, I recently started waiting tables to fill in the money gaps (although, it has yet to fill in any gaps other than time). And I am, yet again, reminded of the joys and downfalls of working in the service industry.

First, there is the pretty excellent perk of the social scene. No matter who you are, you will make a waiter friend when you wait tables. There is always some miserable soul who will share in your misery by bitching about customers over cheap beer at midnight on a Wednesday. I happen to work at the kind of place where the waiters get the uniforms dry-cleaned and there aren't hostesses because there is a maitre 'd- so really, it just means that the characters are just a little more colorful. Which leads to the second major perk: there is always something entertaining happening. And, most importantly, payday is everyday! If you don't fucking suck, you can pick up hefty sums of cash every night.

But, as you can imagine...There are huge liabilities, most importantly, that you get 0 respect, 0 benefits, and on slow nights, 0 money. Customers think they are some kind of lord of the manor, the managers think they're gods and the cooks are defiant for no particular reason-let's not even discuss the bartenders.

I often notice, in waiting tables, that there are sometimes themes of the night. Last Sunday, it was disheveled drunk night, tonight, it was misadventures in dating.

First, there was a couple obviously on a first date, and the dude was either really fucking messed up, or he was trying to get rid of the woman (I vote messed up as she appeared to be a nice-looking woman, and he appeared to be a fat trekkie). He wasn't at my table, but he was in the section next to mine, and the dude was dealing with some kind of serious pumpkinphilia issues. At first, it seemed just a little strange- he specifically asked for a list of the items on the menu that contained pumpkin (the correct answer is 0) and then proceeded to hem and haw about the merit of other "pumpkin-like foods" finally settling on a pasta dinner because the pasta reminded him of the stringy things in the pumpkin. All seemed to be quiet on the pumpkin-lover front until dessert came around, and the guy actually had a shit fit over the fact that none of the desserts had pumpkin in them- he proceeded to list of the various dishes that had pumpkin that he enjoyed, finally settling on carrot cheese cake because it was a little orange. Fucking strange.

Then, I got a table of three- two aging southern men and a Chinese mail-order bride. She was the first mail-order bride I had ever seen- and it was fucking sad. The whole thing depressed me- right down to the part where she asked her retard hick husband if it was okay with him if she had a little vinegar on her salad as dressing (she ate a side salad for dinner, by the way) and after he and his creepy fat hick friend chowed down on expensive steak and lobster, they ordered rich desserts, and he let her have a fruit cup- how fucking sweet. She didn't even have to have his permission for the powdered sugar.

But, most importantly, I got a table of four- an older couple, their daughter, and the daughter's boyfriend- this was the first meeting of the boyfriend and parents. Holy crap, hilarious. People, listen...If you want to create a low-stress situation, DO NOT go to a restaurant where the waitstaff dresses like penguins, it WILL NOT be low-stress. BUT, it will make a great story for your waiter to tell his/her friends. Let's just say that while Pappa and Mamma sloshed back Dewer's they loudly proclaimed that their daughter was dating a drunk after the boyfriend ordered coffee with Baileys. The boyfriend was "cheap" because he didn't order an expensive steak or lobster and "not a gentleman" when he allowed his girlfriend to order for herself. All this while the older couple SPLIT one of the cheaper items on the menu and acted like complete pigs. I almost pissed myself laughing in the kitchen. Thankfully, the "cheap" and "rude" boyfriend left the hefty tip. The daughter was red in the face as they left- I think I missed the best part while I was trying to hold in the piss.

Of course, at the restaurant, there are plenty of neurotic people- enough to stock a small insane asylum...Which naturally creates the 10:45 breakdown. I've noticed over the past two weeks that every night at 10:45 somebody loses it. Usually, it's the quiet one. The other night, she took all of the papers, receipts, bills and bits of cash in her server book and threw everything onto the wet kitchen floor. Today, a girl who had recently become pregnant started screaming at the manager "you check me out, and you check me out now, because I don't have the time to stand around and wait for you to suck your own cock- I've got chocolate to eat and vomit to puke." Fucking brilliant. A few days ago, it was someone's last day, and her customers had been shitty...And with a full fucking dining room, she yelled out "I'm glad this is my last day, because you stupid fuckers don't know a damn about good service, tipping, and how to respect another fucking human being." She proceeded to completely walk out with a full section, never to be seen again. Well, except today, when she came to drop off her uniform.

I love it.

But, I really mostly hate it. I just really want that dental coverage and extra $600/wk.

More on StupidFuckingCat

2006-07-04T00:10:00.000-05:00

Today (and for that matter, this week) was not a good day (week) to be StupidFuckingCat.

I suppose that I should establish a few things:

1. I do not like cats. I don't think they make suitable housepets, and frankly, they bug the hell out of me.
2. BUT, I can like an individual cat, and also feel that they, as sentient beings, deserve some respect and humane treatment.
3. I fucking can't stand Cat People- you know they type: they are completely unwilling to acknowledge that cats aren't the best thing ever...They fucking own T-shirts with cats on them, etc etc.
4. I very much feel that StupidFuckingCat would not exist if she were mine, and for as much shit as I give Boyfriend about her, I would be really sad for like...an hour or something, if he decided to put her down.

That being said, we had ANOTHER fight over StupidFuckingCat. It started when I realized that I had TWICE IN A ROW had to wake up to the nauseating smell of cat shit at 4:30 AM and then sleep on the couch. I mentioned that I wanted something to happen...Naturally, there was a huge fucking fight. We have a fairly small place: one bedroom, one den, one full bathroom, one tiny bathroom (closet), a living room, a kitchen and a dining area. Therefore, there are very few places for the litterbox to live.

It can't be in the dining area/kitchen area because Boyfriend and I both agree that cat shit near food is disgusting. It can't be in the living room because, really, there is no room for it. It can't go in the full bathroom because there is barely room to turn around, let alone room for a litter pan. The bedroom is a bad place for the same reason that the current placement is bad: I don't like waking up to the smell of cat shit. So, to me, the answer is to keep the cat box in the den: if he loves her so much, he can let her shit next to the desk that he rarely uses.

But (and I just love this) he doesn't want the dust from the cat litter to be on the canvas boxes that hold his CD's. I got really bitchy when he said that: I said "no, really, I get it. You don't give a shit that I wake up every morning and need to throw up because of the scent...And then can't even sleep in my own bed. But, you do really mind if some dust gets on the protective boxes that cover the protective cases on your CD's."

To which he started to argue that I should will myself to not smell the cat shit. I fucking lost it.

Will myself to not gag over the smell of cat shit? I'm sorry...fucking no. This is not a voluntary reaction. I will, however, will myself to make sure the vomit lands on his fucking chest.

So, all in all, the fight started at 11:00 PM and by 4:30 AM, we had stopped talking about cat shit and involuntary reactions and settled on a tentative course of action. We'll see if anything happens...But I promise you that if I have to wake up one more time at some ridiculous hour and get kicked out of my bed by the fucking houseparasite, "shit fit" (while appropriately named) doesn't even touch what I will do.

Anyway, out of concern for the fact that StupidFuckingCat is overly aggressive, I hypothesized that perhaps the fact that Boyfriend kept her nails so short led to her aggression. Declawed cats bite more...Perhaps having her nails really short has somehow led her to behave as though she doesn't have them.

So, rather than cutting her nails once/week, Boyfriend has let it go for 3 weeks or so, and today decided to give her a little trim.

She freaked out and clawed and bit him worse than ever before- and frankly, that's amazing. He came out of the bedroom bloody and covered with punctures and scratches. Boyfriend decided that keeping such a beast was, really, borderline retarded...And he had some kind of un-cat person epiphany, and opened the sliding glass door and put the cat outside while yelling at her.

Here's the thing: I would put that thing down in a heartbeat...But I wouldn't release it into the neighborhood: mostly because there would be no real confirmation of the fact that she was dead. That, and...I know her stupid ass could never catch anything to eat, and she would die a long and painful death by starvation. That, or she'd get run over by a car- she's really just very retarded.

So, while he was fuming in the other room, I brought the cat back in and continued making lunch. He noticed the door was no longer open, and I explained that I brought her back in- we discussed the merits of taking her evil ass back to the crazy cat lady that got Boyfriend to take StupidFuckingCat home in the first place.

I stuck up for StupidFuckingCat and bought her at least a week. I feel guilty- as though this whole thing was my fault. I was the one that suggested stretching out the clipping schedule that I think might have disrupted the schedule that she kept and somehow convinced her that acting out was appropriate. I also have worn Boyfriend down on her, mostly by constantly bitching about her. I really do bitch about her all the fucking time. I don't care that he knows that I hate his cat.

We'll see what happens to StupidFuckingCat in the future. I hope she can get her shit together, because I don't think Boyfriend has the balls to get rid of her...And certainly not to put her down. Methinks I'll have to deal with her shit until she dies of natural causes....Is drowning a natural cause?

Open Letter to Depression/Why Does He Have to Fight with Me About Everything

2006-06-30T13:06:00.000-05:00

Hello, Depression!

I know, it's been a while...And we should probably catch up, but I kind of thought that I had kicked you to the curb. I mean, I don't want to be rude, but I kind of have to leave you the pineapple.

See, I'm finally kind of getting my shit together. I finally have a job with insurance and a retirement plan. I eat like...Twice a day, too. I have a little gym membership and I'm in the process of purchasing a car. I live in an apartment with a dude who sometimes wants to bone, and I only worry about money once in a while. See, I thought you wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

I figured that while I had 0 shit together, you would be hanging out with me like...All the time. But, you totally didn't show up, so I thought we weren't buddies any more, and I kind of moved on and made friends with Contentedness and Determination. Yeah, we were pretty tight- and I know that bothers you, and that you don't get along with either of them. Listen, they are not gonna come chill with me if you keep hanging around.

So, I hate to be a bitch to you, since we were so tight for so long, but you're going to have to go. See, I have insurance now...And if you don't pack your bags and head on out...I might have to get some Prozac and clear you out of here.
__________________________________________________
JEEBUS!

Boyfriend has decided to contest me on every little thing. Unfortunately, I am usually right, and not nearly as argumentative.

Example: I like to take walks on this little trail that has been created by Suburb's Park District. The best part about the trail is that it goes through a densely forested area (the only quarter of an acre of forest in Suburb). The downfall of the trail is the number of bugs. I hate bugs. On the list of things I hate, it's pretty much like 1. Intentional ignorance 2. Republicans using religion as a front for their evil business plots and 3. Bugs. I *really* hate them. I especially hate it when they buzz really close to my ear.

So, the other day, Boyfriend was off to the store, and asked me if I needed anything, and I asked him to pick up a pair of super cheap, rather shitty, headphones. He asks me what's wrong with the *great* studio monitor headphones he got for me for Christmas, and I told him that I wanted something to listen to when I was on the trail, and I'm just not comfortable taking those outside when I'll be sweating.

He rolled his eyes, and said "God, why don't you just enjoy the sounds of nature." After he left, I punched a pillow and further argued my case to StupidFuckingCat. Frankly, I use those walks for exercise, and I would really like to keep a beat to keep myself moving, and I really hate those bugs. She ignored me, and then attempted to tear up the bedspread. I guess she took his side.

Well, last night, he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk with him since I had "fallen from the habit." I informed him that I have been in the middle of a week-long cramp session where the cramps are not only located in the usual belly/lower belly area, but rather, these are mega menstrual cramps that have taken over my legs, back and neck. I have simply taken 3 days off because I have been working every day, not sleeping well, crampy, cleaning, and cooking. I literally have not had a freakin' minute to myself.

I get the impression that he was taking me for a walk. Fuck him. But, we go on the trail, and the first thing he starts doing is freaking out about the bugs flying around his ears.

Naturally, I wait for the perfect moment when he mentions that he should have brought some earmuffs.

"God, Boyfriend, why can't you just enjoy the sounds of nature?"

He was completely stunned. It was as if someone had literally got him with a stun gun. It was the best moment of my day. Maybe he swallowed one of those bugs.

He blinked and said "what?" like he didn't know what I was talking about.

I pushed a little more: "you know, why would you want to block out the sounds of nature? God, why can't you just enjoy it?"

He continued to look just as stunned and confused as ever. He knew exactly what I was talking about, and it took him a good five minute to cope with the fact that someone had turned something on him- his meek and mild girlfriend, even.

He finally just made a fist and said "one day...one day...to the mooooooooooon!"

Awesome. You know you win the argument when he has no choice but to quote old television classics.

Example Two: when I moved Boyfriend into the apartment, I took the time to carefully arrange the kitchen in the most logical way possible, putting all of the teas that he owns into 1 cabinet out of the way for whoever is cooking, but in a logical place for whoever is drinking tea. I come back, three weeks later, and all of the tea is re-arranged...And it now owns two cabinets. TWO of the SIX cabinets devoted to tea. Come ON. Also, they are in the cabinets that are the least logical place. He has also managed to re-arrange everything else so that things are high in the cabinets, I can't reach anything that I need, and only the placement of the glasses makes sense.

I argued that it needed to be changed, and he refused to consider my points. I gave up, and sure enough, for the past week, we have constantly had problems with the kitchen- I need him to be around to get stuff from the cabinets, and when he's poking around trying to make tea, we are in each other's way.

He constantly bitches about it, and I finally just said "If you hadn't re-arranged everything in this kitchen, we would have enough room to put the groceries away, and we could co-exist here."

Baffled, again, he walked away looking stunned.

Example Three: This was the day I definitely wanted to kill him. I was, STILL, in the middle of this crampy, evil period. I had spent all day doing his laundry, and he gave me attitude while I was folding and putting away his underwear. It was late (like 8:00, and I knew dinner wouldn't be ready until 10 or so) and I hadn't eaten since noon...And so I know I wouldn't eat dinner because it would be too late.

Well, he decided that he wanted Chana Masala, which, as I'm sure you know, calls for Garam Masala, which, as I'm sure you know, is a toasted and ground mix of spices. This can be made at home with the average spices one would find in an Indian kitchen. OR, it can be purchased for pretty cheap at any Indian grocer. I took one look at the recipe, and opted for the Indian grocer, but, the same man who used to eat every single meal out of a take-out box, now insists on home-made garam masala.

Fuck.

We have about 75% of the spices on the list, and he tells me to "improvise." Improvise? I don't know what half of the shit on the list is...Let alone what it tastes like, and what would be an equivalent. Moreover, everything is some kind of retarded mix of metric measurements and old Indian housewife measurements- neither of which I know or even have the ability to measure.

It was like...Take 30 grams of that and mix it with as much of whatever else you would put into that recipe with a handful of that and...I was getting testy, especially since the recipe only called for a teaspoon of this crap to season four cups of chick peas, three onion and three tomatoes...Not to mention the fact that we could purchase this crap for like...Two dollars.

So, I'm hungry, sore, tired, and frustrated, and he starts yelling at me because I'm "not having faith in the recipe" or whatever. So, I started yelling back, and I let him fucking have it. I let him know that I would cooking this recipe with the full knowledge that I am going to be hungry tonight, I am sore, I'm pissed that he gave me attitude about the way to fold man panties, and at best, I wanted to mutilate him.

He walked away, no apology (typical...I have yet to get any kind of apology from him---ever---) and no talking. In fact, he continued to completely avoid me. That's pretty much his tactic for dealing with me when I'm not happy. Just leave me alone- which, as you probably know, only pisses me off more when I'm mad at him.

Example Four (final example): I don't like being late. In fact, I don't even like being on time. I like to be at least 10 minutes early, especially when I'm going to work...Boyfriend does not understand this, and I've come to accept that he's ALWAYS late. And yes, it's because he has 0 respect for the people who are affected by his tardiness. But, I refuse to be late for work, and while I still don't have a car, he has to drive me. So, I'm pretty good about getting on his ass to get up and get moving at the appropriate time.

Well, he was running a little late the other day..By about 15 minutes, and I reminded him. He has to be in the shower by half-past or else there is no way I can get to work in time...And it was 2:43. Well, I said "Boyfriend, it's quarter to...Are you getting in the shower?" And he gets all pissy and says "I see the clock, it's 2:43, not quarter to...If you're going to remind me of the time, you might as well be accurate."

Fucker. Stupid, late, cat-loving, anal-retentive, unfunny, jackass Boyfriend.

P.S. On the advice of a friend, I have decided to handle our sexual disfunction by not giving out blowjobs until I get off- it's been 5 months, and damnit, it's my turn.

Methinks he will die before he gets another blowjob from me.

Why IS fucking bad?

2006-06-23T17:17:00.000-05:00

It’s that time again- time to seriously consider, find, and see a gynecologist. Oh, joy.

So, this morning, I was laying in bed, contemplating everything that I wanted to talk to the doctor about- mostly about getting back on birth control, my irregular periods, and the value of a low-hormone pill. Naturally, that came around the morality of using birth control. I would be lying if I said that the only reason I would use The Pill as a means of regulating my cycles, and so I have to admit that I would most certainly enjoy the benefit of being 99.8% guaranteed that I won’t get pregnant while regularly taking The Pill.

Now, I’m not opposed to birth control on a personal level- in fact, if it were possible, I would put every woman on birth control until they are in stable marriages (or civil unions), capable of caring for a child (emotionally, physically, financially, etc) and good candidates for genetic reproduction. I find that too many retards are procreating at the exact worst moment. Boyfriend has hypothetical objections to birth control- such as the instance in which sperm and egg do meet, but The Pill keeps the happy couple from attaching and growing- somehow, in that case, it’s a little too close to abortion for him. While he is pro-choice for other people, where his sperm is concerned, he is decidedly pro-life (which is why I would be tempted by a secret abortion were I to miraculously conceive). I decided to inform him that this situation (sperm and egg meeting, but being prevented from attaching) is purely theoretical (so says the exceedingly outdated study that I cited to calm him).

Anyway, I’m not bothered by a bunch of cells being flushed down the toilet. Frankly, I’m pretty much cool with any abortion that occurs before the third trimester…and it has recently occurred to me that I am very loose with those morals- my childhood church should be shamed.

All that being said, I very quickly jumped to the morality of pre-marital (and marital) sex. I grew up in a church that taught that all women were whores that set out to tempt men into bed and bring them away from God. Apparently, the men in the church that thought up this doctrine were in some kind of denial, because all of the sex that I saw happening in the singles community in the church was between aggressive males and females afraid to disappoint their superior male partners. Boyfriend was raised Catholic- so not only did he grow up thinking that sex was completely immoral, but premarital sex was the pure work of Satan, and that engaging in said activity should inspire enduring remorse and guilt.

We still don’t get it on very often, and I blame Catholicism for that.

Furthermore, in my musings, I’ve started to wonder if God in the Judeo-Christian sense even exists. Really, I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. I think that the only reason people regard Judaism (and Islam) with any reverence is that Christianity has its roots in Judaism. Moreover, the bible reads a lot like any of the other “myths” that give rise to “false” religions. When you take a step back, and really think about it…Most of the Old Testament reads like Native American legend or Greek Mythology. And I’m pretty much convinced that any and all moral imperatives therefore do not come from some kind of almighty being that arbitrarily decides what is “moral” and what is “immoral,” but rather that the moral imperatives are created by human leaders seeking to maintain power, control a population, and regulate daily life (for better or worse).

When you have a vastly uneducated population, it’s easier to control them with the fear of eternal damnation than to control them with the fear of economic collapse.

So, given this idea, I wondered why all the branches of Christianity are so obsessed with sex, or really, not having sex. Why is it bad? From a biological standpoint, Sex is GREAT because it fulfills the biological imperative that propagates the species. From a relational standpoint, sex is good because it can create such an intimate atmosphere for a couple (but, it is not “GREAT” because so many relationships are harmed by abuses of sex). From a psychological standpoint sex is good for brain chemistry (and isn’t “GREAT” due to the same abuses of sex). It seems, actually, that in every aspect with the major exception of religion, sex is a very good thing.

My thought: in the early days of Judaism (and really, humanity) there was no welfare and no birth control. There was no system to care for bastard children and no system to prevent bastard children from being born. In fact, the social system was set up in such a way that bastard children were more or less guaranteed to starve. With women being worth little more than cattle (or less, depending on how closely you follow Hammurabi’s Code) bastard children had little chance of survival. So, the importance of creating stable family units would seem to be exceedingly important. What better way to tie men to women and their children by forcing men into marriages by making sex only accessible in marriage and outlawing divorce. Women get income, children get dinner, and men get happy penises. Problems solved; especially when men and women are marrying a year or two after puberty (or before puberty, if you are a woman).

I don’t think that getting off before going to bed clouds your judgment or keeps you from being close to God. If anything, it gets rid of sexual tension and anxiety so that you can spend the majority of the day with your head clear and your body free from insatiable lust. Today, couples can avoid pregnancy and disease transmission through the use of condoms or birth control in conjunction with monogamy. This, to me, provides a climate that eradicates the need to regulate the bedroom behaviors of people with the fear of eternal damnation.

As far as I can tell, if I spent all day and night praying and voting republican, I would not be any less damned than the street whore.

That’s not to say that I’m jumping into the dark waters of moral relativism, I’m just saying that I don’t think sex has anything to do with morality if it is between two consenting adults- of any gender and perversion.

All this to say: birth control is really fucking expensive, but I’m sick of irregular periods and the smell of latex.

I can feel it.

2006-06-19T14:30:00.000-05:00

Well, my bags (or boxes, as the case may be) are unpacked, and my things are settled in, and I can't say the same for Boyfriend and his never-ending supply of bullshit possessions. He's had this apartment for about 3.5 weeks, and there are still boxes that aren't unpacked and things that haven't found a final resting place. I suppose that part of the problem is that he just owns too many things- and a majority of those things are either completely useless or seldom used.

I can't say that anything in the past month or so has gone my way, so I'm naturally inclined to have a lot to bitch about- and trust me, I will.

First, I would like to meet the retard that designed this apartment. We can all generally agree that the people most likely to operate a kitchen are women- and to me, this indicates a good argument to make the kitchen to scale for a woman, not an NBA player. I can barely reach into the bottom shelf of the mounted shelves...I don't even bother with the top shelf. I know that I am shorter than the average American woman (who stands at 67" or 5' 7") but I am only shorter by 2 inches. Moreover, this area is mainly populated by Indian and Pakistani immigrants- and I have yet to see an Indian or Pakistani woman who stands any taller than I do. Ridiculous!

Second, I can't help but constantly draw comparisons to my first stint living with a significant other- and in some ways, I long for that situation (which is crazy, if you know the story). I've become my mother in my obsession over the clock (and I think, for that reason, I've stopped wearing a watch- although this has made for obsessive cell phone checking). I like to wake up, take my walk, shower, make my bed and be ready to leave in two hours (allowing for a 45 minute walk). Because Boyfriend decided to take the day off, I invited him to take a walk with me...BIG FUCKING MISTAKE. I woke and got moving around 9, meaning that I wanted to get out and be on my way by 9:15. Boyfriend woke at about the same time, and asked if he had enough time to brew coffee- I should have said no. But, the man enjoys his morning cup of Kenyan blend, and who am I to separate him from his one true love? So, I decided to make the bed (which is an event because we have so many blankets- which is another story for another paragraph) while he brewed and drank his coffee. Well, after he wandered around and did whatever the hell he does to waste time, we finally get our shoes on and I anxiously finger the latch on the door...To no avail. A user manual for a DVD player that he no longer uses was sitting on top of a still-packed box, and he had to stop to read it.

Jesus H. Christ. I loudly unlocked the deadbolt after 5 minutes of watching him read that stupid manual, and we were on our way...At 11. High Heat, no shade, 2 hours after I had planned to go on the walk. I was irritated. But, I didn't want to be the annoying girlfriend that ruined his day off, so I didn't say anything. We walk over to the trail and move down the lush path- it's well shaded by tall trees that only occasionally let in a patch of sun- my favorite. Now, let's note that Boyfriend stands at 6'2" and he's all legs. I stand at 5'4" and I have a long torso- there is no way I can keep up with even his laziest strides. I have mentioned this problem to him over and over again, but perhaps because I wasn't on the television screen when I said it, he didn't really hear me. I tried to keep up, but I was, essentially, jogging. And in this humid heat...I was tired quickly. I gave up trying to keep up with him about the time he decided to take a detour off the path and into an un-shaded neighborhood. It was just too hot for me to be running to keep up with his stupid ass.

I called out to him that not only was I far behind him, but my skin was starting to burn. I am, yet again, proving to be my mother's spawn. I simply can't be in the sun for extended periods of like...25 seconds or more. Our total walk was 45 minutes, and about half of that was in the sun- and I've come back quite pink in the cheeks. Great. But, not only do I find that I burn easily...I get some kind of stupid rash when I'm in the sun...And that's really pretty, comfortable, too.

As usual, rather than listening to me, Boyfriend continues loping ahead, plunging into the harsh sun while I try to keep up and shade my face with my hands. I had the keys to the apartment, and I seriously considered just turning back and going home- if he couldn't be bothered to even listen to me, I couldn't be bothered to make sure he didn't get locked out of the building. But, because I'm a stupid bitch, I followed him through the neighborhood while he explored ways to get back onto the path. I continually warned him that there was a fence, and he kept ignoring me. Maybe there is something about the fact that I have a vagina that makes my opinions and statements completely unimportant.

We finally get back onto the campus, and, yet again, he doesn't take my word for the best path, and we split. I sit in the shade while he navigates his way back to me- my whole face is stinging, and I can feel the bumps forming on my cheeks. He mentions that this has been really pleasant, and asks if I want to make another circuit. In no gentle way, I explained that he was more than welcome, but I was going straight back to the apartment.

We get back, I take my shower, and by 12:15, I'm ready to do whatever we need to do. Boyfriend has just gotten into the shower. I think I might kill him in his sleep.

As for the bed, he can't sleep under the comforter that I own. He says that it's too hot- which is most certainly the biggest bunch of bullshit I have heard in the past 3 days. It is a light cotton thing that, frankly, is the lightest thing I've ever slept under. He'd rather sleep under a heavy cotton blanket- apparently he equates how puffy the blanket is with how hot it is. He refuses to even try sleeping under my comforter, and tries to get me to sleep under his stuffy blanket. No thanks, 'tard. So, the bed has to be made with the two sheets, two blankets, comforter and special cat blanket. He thinks all of that is ridiculous, and that I should just bring out the comforter when I'm going to sleep- but I don't think he understand exactly how ugly his blanket is, and that seeing my bedframe with my comforter is pretty much the only comfort of home I have. Maybe he just doesn't understand (even though he couldn't stay at my apartment for longer than a single night because he didn't feel at home- but no one ever accused Boyfriend of having any empathy).

The biggest concern is #3: Stupid Fucking Cat. I hate hate hate Stupid Fucking Cat. She's managed to bite me twice in the past three days, and Boyfriend is not concerned- after all, she's a lot tamer than she was before. Boyfriend is not at all concerned that I have to wake up every morning at 5 am to sleep on the couch because Stupid Fucking Cat takes the smelliest shit ever about 3 feet away from my nose- he's gotten used to it, I guess. No, the litter box can't be moved because Stupid Fucking Cat is used to it there, and Boyfriend can't think of another single place that Stupid Fucking Cat's litter box could go. I say: how about on the porch- where Stupid Fucking Cat can live, too. But, I don't say anything because I know all too well that if Boyfriend had to choose between Stupid Fucking Cat and me, he would choose Stupid Fucking Cat. I mean, he has already, hasn't he? Stupid Fucking Cat's comfort has priority over my comfort. She has more space. When she gets pissed off and bites me, the answer isn't "God, Stupid Fucking Cat needs to be stopped" it's "Stupid Fucking Cat needs her space. She was angry, so while you were standing in front of the bed, she came out from her hiding spot and attacked your leg- you should know better than to stand anywhere near where Stupid Fucking Cat could possibly be hiding."

I will kill them both in their sleep.

I shouldn't even bother introducing him to my parents. This relationship isn't going to last as long as this lease. I can feel it.

tequila dance

2006-06-09T01:54:00.000-05:00

I've enjoyed some tequila in my time, and overall, I prefer 1800 when I'm doing a shot.

For my birthday, Male Roommate bought two shots of said tequila, and the bartender commented that I am not a cheap date.

I am a cheap date, as I usually go dutch, I just don't drink shitty tequila.

Speaking of tequila, I'm not sober...and this entry makes sense right now, but I'm about 99% sure that I'll re-read this in the morning and decide to never drink again because I get too fucking retarded.

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to.

2006-06-04T20:43:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 21.

Sometimes, I have these highly depressing moments in life- and these occasions usually land on major holidays, anniversaries, and birthdays. I hate birthdays the most- and I'm considering never celebrating mine ever again- that is, I don't even want to acknowledge it in the future.

It's not that I'm afraid of growing older...I'm afraid of being forgotten, and there is no better way to feel forgotten than to spend your birthday without anyone around you remembering. I should mention that I got a lovely e-card from my parents and grandparents, a sweet email from my youngest sister, and a few comments on my myspace account from people who got a reminder from myspace.

*sigh* The whole thing was a mess, from start to finish. Female Roommate put one of her cats down on Friday, and had her grandfather's funeral on Saturday, so Male Roommate and I decided that attempting to celebrate my birthday this weekend would be a complete failure, and the introduction of any other event might send Female Roommate over the edge.

So, I spent the morning quietly packing the last of my things and cleaning. W00t. Boyfriend was supposed to show up at 2 to pick me and half of my crap up (because he didn't want to make two trips in one day, let alone two trips in one weekend because that's just too much fucking work for him- nevermind the fact that I turned over 5 days of my life to him so that I could pack and move his shit). Naturally, Boyfriend postponed the trip because he stayed up too late, slept too late, and takes too long to groom. So, he shows up at 4:30 and tells me that something came up at work, so he will have to spend the evening working.

At that point, I was simultaneously livid and guilty. Livid- because I didn't want to spend the evening quietly reading in the corner while he worked, and guilty because I felt so selfish for being livid.

To me, this meant that we had to load my crap in the car right away to get back to Suburb at the appropriate time, but Boyfriend said that he wanted to grab some lunch.

We go out to his car, and sitting in the passenger seat is a piece of paper that reads something to the effect of "I didn't know what to get you, so I'm going to offer a clothes shopping trip." Now, anyone who really knows me will be able to say without doubt that clothes shopping is one of my least favorite activities- right up there with having my toe nails removed with pliers without anesthesia. I hate my body enough that buying clothing is something I do alone when I've gathered enough self esteem that I could potentially like myself. Then I go into a small cubicle and look at myself in various stages of undress and in unflattering items in a full length mirror until I have sufficiently killed whatever self esteem I may have accidentally grown since the last shopping trip. Needless to say, this is an activity that I not only loathe, but I wish to endure when alone. I don't need my skinny boyfriend there, and I certainly don't need to do this instead of an actual birthday celebration. I expressed mild happiness at the thoughtless "gift" and we drove off for lunch.

Without asking what I thought about it, Boyfriend chose Shitty Bavarian Restaurant because he loves the schnitzel there- and I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I don't care for German food, especially the German food that comes out of the Shitty Bavarian Restaurant kitchen. While casually consuming lunch/dinner, he noted that he wanted to look at kitchen tables at the furniture store.

I should note that Boyfriend does not plan to purchase a table from this store because they do not deliver to Suburb, so we were shopping for a table that he would never purchase. Lovely, my two least favorite activities combined into one: shopping and completely wasting time.

So, we run back to the apartment, I load about half of my crap into his car, and we drive to Suburb while he takes calls from work. I unload the car and re-assemble my dresser with some of his help in between the times that he runs to the computer to work.

At about 11, I am exhausted, and settle down onto the couch. He comes out, sits on the couch, and turns on the television.

3 minutes to midnight, I go to the kitchen and toast myself with a glass of water to mark the end of my birthday- while I cried and he watched shitty footage of DJ Shadow and some other DJ. I finally wiped away the tears and all evidence that I had cried, and went to sleep on his twin bed.

Around 2 am, he hovered over me and asked "what's up?" to wake me- I guess that was the nice way of saying "get the fuck out of my bed and go sleep on the couch." I didn't respond, simply grabbing a blanket and going back to the couch.

The next morning (well, afternoon for him), while watching more stupid fucking television he asked if I enjoyed my birthday celebration. I think that is when it occurred to me that Boyfriend's complete lack of empathy struck again. He enjoyed the day, how could I possibly not love it, right?

I told him that I didn't plan anything for the day for the sole purpose of not being disappointed, and that, m'dear, is true. I purposefully made no plans because I know that the more I plan, the more upset I'll be when the day turns out the way it always does- with tears and a lonely night. I just didn't mention the tears and lonely night bit because I didn't want my selfish and childish expectations to make him feel bad or create a fight. That, and I know that I would be embarrassed to admit any of these feelings to anyone who actually knows me- which is why this ranting is happening on this blog, and not over the phone or on my other less-anonymous blog.

We had to go straight to the train so I could get back to the apartment at a reasonable hour, and really, I was happy to leave so early in the day. One more moment being around him while I wobbled the line between sanity and insanity and the line between tears and composure...Well, I doubt I could have handled it.

When I got off the train, Male Roommate and I talked over the whole weekend (including his hot date on Saturday) and he told me that he had sent a secret text message to Boyfriend reminding Boyfriend of my birthday.

At that point, I pretty much lost it. The one bit of solace I had was that Boyfriend had remembered my birthday, but it turns out that he had not remembered my birthday, and in fact, probably resorted to the last minute no-card-no-gift-promise-of-personal-hell idea last minute.

Frankly, I would have settled for going to the neighborhood bar and getting a $3 beer- anything but assembling my dresser, unpacking, and falling asleep alone after a day of doing all of the things I hate the most. Really, I should be used to this crap by now...But it still bothers me, maybe because it was my 21st birthday, and those are supposed to be special...I mean, my sweet sixteen was botched at best, but at least my parents remembered my birthday, bought me an actual gift, and celebrated the event with activities for which I at least harbor neutral feelings.

For his birthday, I went through 4 or 5 stores looking for the exact sweaters that he wanted and then wrote a long and heartfelt message in a card.

All I wanted was a beer* and I didn't even get that. I didn't want a cake or balloons or anything. I wanted quality time, relaxation, and a celebration of the fact that I can drink legally.

I was thinking that Ex-Boyfriend J was the epitome of asshole- going so far as to cheat on me in my own car while standing me up for a date- but even he was thoughtful enough to purchase tickets to my see my favorite band *and* get a little thing that would allow me to listen to my mp3 player in my car "because [he knew] how much [I] hate to be separated from [my] music."

I can't help but think that I am preparing to waste part of what's left of my youth on a man who makes an asshole look like a romantic and thoughtful lover.

How retarded am I?

Needless to say, there will be no compliments given today. In fact, I will not give any compliments until I stop being mad about this. I know the point of giving a compliment is to reflect on why I like him and keep me from dwelling on why I should leave him, but I am so angry, hurt and upset that I can't think of any compliments, nor do I think that he deserves that kind of lavishing.

*Actually, I mentioned to a friend that all I wanted was a glass of wine and a backrub, and I still got neither, although that friend did offer to fly in from Vermont to deliver the gift.

1 more day

2006-05-31T14:37:00.000-05:00

Here's the thing, I really really really don't believe in all of that fortune-telling crap. I really don't. But, I recently opened a fortune cookie, and the message inside actually came true in a completely pleasant way. I will eat the fortune cookies that come with the take-out more often in hopes that they will all come true- because I am a sucker like that.

Also: in packing, I've been forced to sort through all of my crap (hey! I found all of my socks that were hiding in a shopping bag under my sheets in the dresser!), and usually, that's welcome. But, today while sorting through crap, I came across a few pictures and mementos, and mostly they were incredibly sad. I got quite close to tears.

In other news, I'm also considering deleting this blog- it's been quite cathartic, and I like that no one actually reads this thing, but I'm a devil about privacy. When I move in with Boyfriend, I know that he'll be able to see my internet activity, and I think it might be semi-disastrous if he were to stumble on my bitching stash.

That being said, I'll catch up with some compliments.

Saturday: Despite the fact that I quite obviously hate her, Boyfriend is unwavering in his devotion to Furbeast
Sunday: Boyfriend has excellent taste in friends
Monday: Boyfriend did not drag me along to purchase his new television
Tuesday: Boyfriend has asked me how I feel about every piece of furniture, and takes my advice. Good boy!
Wednesday: When Furbeast bit me on the face, Boyfriend was rational enough to not blame me.
Thursday: Boyfriend remembered my birthday!
Friday: Boyfriend is a reasonable and rational human.

He owns too much stuff

2006-05-26T21:01:00.000-05:00

I've been gone for a long time moving Boyfriend's crap from one apartment to another, and frankly, after the anger and frustration and secret tears from this week(end), I don't think I can muster the will to compliment Boyfriend.

Really, the best I can do is to simply not bitch about him and his massive amount of stuff for hours on end. I spent a lot of time contemplating the irony of my moderate hippie tendencies paired with his moderate materialistic tendencies.

Update

2006-05-17T17:47:00.000-05:00

Very Good Friend M has gotten back the test results, and she is officially in remission as that mass was completely benign.

More jello shots in celebration!

You've Got Exactly 60 Seconds to Kiss Me Like a European

2006-05-17T00:19:00.000-05:00

This has been what you can call The Week From Hell.

Every night I fall into bed with every limb aching, only to find that the insomnia offers me no respite from consciousness.

Roommates and I are packing in a crazy, kind of drunk manner. That is to say, there is little planning or forethought in most of the way things are done. So far, my things haven't touched a box, and mostly the smallest and least important things of theirs have been packed.

Let this be said: I hate cats. I hate knickknacks. I especially detest knickknacks featuring cats. Guess what I did for exactly 4 hours and 38 minutes today? That's right, individually wrap cat knickknacks in bubblewrap. I wanted to kill myself.

After that? I sent out all of those resumes and cover letters that I completed last night. With this move is a change in job, and I would like to have that job waiting. However, that does mean papering the town, and if I customize one more self-promoting piece of shit, I really will kill myself. Ugh.

All of my fuss over the apartment has pretty much been cleared up, more than I anticipated. Boyfriend finally heard from the management office- and rather than giving a 30 day notice, they decided to go with a 3 day notice. At least I don't have to worry about being homeless. It does mean that all of the moving will happen quicker, and I might wiggle out of June rent. *Wiggle Wiggle*

So, all of my prospective start dates are bumped up, and the stress shot back up to the previous level.

Naturally, we had jello shots tonight.

I gave myself a manicure, and realized that the last time I had done so, I was living in New Orleans. My cuticles had pretty much grown over the tips of my fingernails. Sexy, I know.

All of that being said, I realized that the last compliment I gave was on Monday, May 8th. Holy crap, behind!

Tuesday: Boyfriend has an interesting personal style and set of tastes.
Wednesday: But thankfully, he is willing to let me do the decorating.
Thursday: And moreover, finance my tastes...Which are surprisingly cheap.
Friday: Boyfriend has been diligent in setting up all of the details of the apartment
Saturday: And he hasn't handed anything off to me to take care of.
Sunday: Boyfriend is not one of those frat boy types who needs to have penis contact allthetime
Monday: Boyfriend is willing to spend an entire date day playing board games with me
Tuesday: Despite the problem I had with losing the last album he gave me, he gave me a second chance and lent me another album
Wednesday: And he's gotten good at pinpointing what I'll like, and found an artist that I ended up really enjoying.

Whew.

The FBI Raided The CIA

2006-05-12T17:14:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I updated as I continue to let myself down by not updating daily.

Oh well. I can shut up because I've been busy.

My multiple personalities are getting out of control (just kidding, I'm mostly nearly sane).

Roommates and I have finally put together a schedule for moving, and frankly, this has only released the full force of my frantic worrying. We have to be out by the 31st of June, and that seems far-off enough to quell the worrying.

BUT, Roommates get the keys to their new apartment the 9th of June- and that means that they plan to have all of their crap moved by the 15th of June. Now, we have the carpet cleaning scheduled to happen on the 21st so that the landlord can inspect on the 23rd.

We plan on doing as much cleaning as possible on the 19th and 20th so that we can save money on the carpet cleaning bill, and because that's what responsible citizens do.

So, my crap *has* to be out by the 19th, so I anticipate using the weekend of the 17th and 18th to move- and that shouldn't be too difficult as I don't have a lot of stuff.

The problem is that the apartment that Mark has his eye on has somehow dropped off of the face of the planet. He is having a lot of trouble getting in touch with the leasing manager and after everything is signed and ready to go, he still has to wait 30 days before he can move. This means that he *has* to hear very good news by next Thursday. Frankly, he gets 3 days to move, and he's going to need all three. I can't be worrying about my stuff while I'm busy worrying about his move, so he'll need to begin his move on the 14th of June- which means he needs to sign everything by the 14th of May- that's Sunday. Today is Friday.

I am Fucked... Fucked with a capital F.

Fucked. Hard.

Frankly, I'm going to have to talk to Roommates about letting me crash with them at their new place for a short period of time until Mark can get his shit together.

I'm too mentally and emotionally exhausted to throw out a compliment...I'll leave that for later.

so sleepy...

2006-05-08T19:10:00.000-05:00

I did not speak to or hear from Boyfriend all weekend, and truth be told, I miss that bugger.

Despite the fact that he's still dragging his feet with the apartment. I still vote that we take the13th floor so we can see the skyline...but he's concerned that his music will bother the neighbors.

Anyway, compliment time:

Boyfriend has made it clear that he is not a good dancer, but still offeres his companionship for future livingroom dance parties.

I don't have the biggest worries.

2006-05-07T16:14:00.000-05:00

Among other things, Very Good Friend M went in for another check up with her doctor, and they found another mass, this time much larger and in her left breast- large enough to call for a masectomy if it's cancerous.

I told her I would pray for her, and I did...Although I'm 95% positive that the only impact of the prayer is that she knew I was thinking about her.

She's insanely scared, and frankly, I don't know how I would react in her position. It's one thing to be unhappy with your body, but to know that your body is betraying you? Painful, at best.

I need a worry stone

2006-05-07T07:12:00.000-05:00

I've been trying really hard to post every day so that I don't get behind on compliments. The point of the project is to make me reflect on a unique reason for why I care for Boyfriend every day- but sometimes, when I stare at the blinking cursor after, say, four days of not updating, I get mad at him for not being so obvious with his good qualities. In that moment, not only have I forgone 4 days of unique contemplation about his positive traits, but I have also turned what should have been a very calm and soothing moment into 20 minutes of grumbling about how I've already said all that I can- which isn't true...I just need to think harder and update more frequently.

Anyway, that being said, I've had a really good reason for not updating. My sim people wanted 10 children, and I complied. They also wanted to be business tycoons, and I just can't refuse them. If you don't know what I'm talking about, spare yourself the agony of wanting to be God, and DON'T purchase any of The Sims software.

Truth be told, it's because my stress level is through the roof. Boyfriend lives in an apartment that reminds me of a college campus- right down to the laundry rooms and "free" aerobics classes. When moving to a new apartment, if you already live in the complex, you simply tell them when you want to move and where you want to move, and the magic real estate fairies do something to make it happen. Boyfriend has chosen the most desirable (read: expensive) apartment for us. He needs this magical living space to be on the first floor (because sound travels down, and his at-home studio is a noise machine) and because he doesn't even want to think about moving furniture up flights of stairs. He also would like this magic living space to face south so as to have access to satellite television and radio. Of course, he also wants it to face away from the street (he wants privacy from drivers and passersby), the ponds (the geese disturb FurBeast) and the forrest preservey thing (there are regularly hikers and bikers on the trail that passes at the edge and allows for zero privacy). He also needs this to open up before July 1 (frankly, June 15th).

Amazingly, there is one that meets all qualifications EXCEPT, it's having maintenance work done, and he doesn't know when that work will be complete. Now, Boyfriend will have a full 30 days of notice after the apartment is completely finished- so he will have enough time to box every last item and have everything ready to move. HOWEVER, I *need* to know that I have a place to sleep after June 15th. The apartment I live in has 4 of my roommate's evil, evil cats, and the place has to be properly de-furred and disinfected by the 30th, including time to let the carpets dry after they've been cleaned.

Today is May 7th. Let's pretend the work is done tomorrow, and Boyfriend is clear to move into the new place June 8th. That means the first week of June, I sill spend my time packing his stuff up and moving it. After that, Roommates' want to be completely moved out of this apartment June 15th, and so I can guarantee that the time between June 9th and June 15th will be completely dedicated to their excessive collection of cat posters, computer peripherals, and other odds and ends of crap they refuse to ditch. This will leave me exactly 3 days to pack all of my crap and move it, because they want to scrub all surfaces starting on the 19th, so they will have two days to clean before the carpet cleaner is scheduled to visit.

Let's be realistic: Boyfriend would have to get confirmation of the apartment *tomorrow*
Let's be realistic. For every day after tomorrow that Boyfriend does not hear from the rental office, I get progressively more fucked. Frankly, Boyfriend has crammed a 3 bedroom apartment amount of crap into a 1 bedroom apartment...And we're only moving into a 2 bedroom apartment. Granted, I don't come with a lot of crap, but I can tell you right now that my crap with absolutely not fit in his current apartment.

Male Roommate and Female Roommate are moving into a three bedroom apartment, and Male Roommate has made the promise that if the apartment issue with Boyfriend fucks me over, He doesn't have any problem letting me stay with them *for free* until I am able to move.

I guess the reason this can't all happen quickly is because a) I promised Roommates that I would help to the best of my ability to get them moved and b) I foresee a complete disaster in Boyfriend's move, and that can't be complicated by my stuff- my entire job will probably be helping to carry heavy stuff and keeping Boyfriend from going into a complete mental breakdown.

I wonder if I could kill his cat "on accident" while carrying one of the heavy things? I hope so. I hate her.

The point is, for everyone involved, the moving of my stuff is the last priority, and I'm very concerned that after working my ass off to get everyone else moved, Boyfriend won't have the time to cart my crap to his apartment, and Roommates will be busy settling in and working.

So that whole story is to explain that my level of stress has put me at a breaking point, and making computer people do silly things to entertain my inane sense of humor (like making punk-looking teenagers do what appears to be the electric slide) has only served to calm me down and bring me back from the breaking point.

*sigh*

compliment time.

Friday: Boyfriend is not clingy, and does not feel as though he can't participate in a social event without me.
Saturday: While he prefers film, Boyfriend has excellent taste in literature.
Sunday: Boyfriend has enough self confidence to go to a Democratic Party pot-luck dinner with people he has never met- alone.

Email!

2006-05-04T13:32:00.000-05:00

Ignorance is on the march! Grab your guns and shoot anything that isn't pastey white and doesn't hold a bible! My relatives have sent forth another email forward. The email (from my cousin-in-law) will be in red, while my responses will be in standard yellow.

Let the headache begin!

___________________________________________

Will we still be the Country of choice and still be America if we continue to
make the changes forced on us by the people from other countries that came to
live in America because it is the Country of Choice??????

Is it a country of choice now, since you are forcing your way of life on people? What real changes are we making? And which of those changes directly affect your lifestyle? Why is this only a country of choice for you? Do you really think that excessive punctuation will enrage me more than your words?

Think about it!

I have, and now, I'm coaching you through the process.

All we have to say is, when will they do something about MY RIGHTS?

Jesus Christ on a biscuit. Which of your rights have been infringed? Go ahead, tell me.

I celebrate Christmas...........but because it isn't celebrated by everyone..............we can no longer say Merry Christmas. Now it has to be Season's Greetings.

No one is saying you CAN'T say "Merry Christmas." You, my dear, have become a sheep listening to the putrid font of Bill O'Reilly. Many public venues, from stores to town halls, have come to realize that not everyone celebrates JUST Christmas. Some people celebrate New Years. Surprisingly, too, some people don't celebrate Christmas at all! Why should we disinclude them in our society simply because they don't practice your religion? Moreover, the birth of Christ, scholars believe, actually happened in the spring, and it is well documented that the use of December 25th to celebrate the birth of Christ is SIMPLY a way for the church to overtake the holidays of another culture. So, my dear reader, there is no war on Christmas, but rather the Christians are waging war on the TRUE holidays of the season.

It's not Christmas vacation, it's Winter Break. Isn't it amazing how this
winter break ALWAYS occurs over the Christmas holiday?

It's not amazing, it's logical. First and foremost, it is understood that traditionally, all cultures take a time of respite during this part of the year. It isn't unique to America, and it certainly isn't unique to Christians. Perhaps, if you really want a Christmas break, we should kill the two weeks off altogether, and you can have just the one day off. That will be your Christmas break. Then you can even call it Christmas break. But don't get confused, that break traditionally has nothing to do with Jesus.

We've gone so far the other way, bent over backwards to not offend anyone,
that I am now being offended. But it seems that no one has a problem with that.

You're not offended, you're stupid. How could you possibly be offended. No one is refusing to recognize the validity of your celebration. No one is forcing you to work or go to school on your holiday. No one is encroaching on your freedom of speech.

This says it all!
This is an editorial written by an American citizen, published in a Tampa newspaper. He did quite a job; didn't he? Read on, please!

I'd like a name of the author and newspaper...it doesn't bode well for credibility if you can't name a source. And he did quite a job being a nutjob, but that's about it.

IMMIGRANTS, NOT AMERICANS, MUST ADAPT.
I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, we have experienced a surge
in patriotism by the majority of Americans. However...... the dust from the attacks had
barely settled when the "politically correct! " crowd began complaining about
the possibility that our patriotism was offending others.

No one is concerned that your patriotism will offend people. I, however, was concerned when your patriotism led to brutal beatings in the streets of anyone who was a muslim: was that patriotism or a hate crime? I began to complain when your patriotism took away my right to privacy and my right to be protected from illegal search and seizure, among many other things.

I am not against immigration, nor do I hold a grudge against anyone who is seeking a better life by coming to America. Our population is almost entirely made up of descendants of immigrants.
Outside of Native Americans, every person here is the descendant of an immigrant or an immigrant himself. And what about this "they're stealing our jobs" nonsense?

However, there are a few things that those who have recently come to our country, and apparently some born here, need to understand. This idea of America being a
multicultural community has served only to dilute our sovereignty and our national identity.

Being socereign has nothing to do with how many cultures are inside the borders, dumbass. It means that we can make and execute our own laws. Our national identity? Laughable. What, exactly, is the national identity? Is it the Ku Klux Klan? Is it Japanese Internment camps? Is it slavery or dragging gay people by their feet down the road, tied to a pick up truck? Is it apple pie and baseball- pie being a european tradition and baseball being played by people who more and more being drafted out of latin american countries? I think our national identity is one that makes the statement that people can be more evolved than forming government based on tribal customs. We make laws that cover humanity and encourage unity, rather than splitting our people into tribes and keeping kings and dynasties.

As Americans...... we have our own culture, our own society, our own language and our own lifestyle. This culture has been developed over centuries of struggles, trials, and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom.

Correction: As Americans, we have many cultures based on communities and backgrounds. A majority of us speak English, but a large number of people speak a second language at home, and our lifestyle is dictated by our class system. Our culture, as a whole, has been developed over a short period of time by raping the land, killing those who aren't like the majority, shitting on women, and excluding large portions of the population- only to slowly allow them in the club because you can only hold on to ignorance for so long. It's only a matter of time before we do the same to Latinos.

We speak ENGLISH, not Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, learn the language!

Correction: We speak English commonly, but many speak Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian and whatever it is that the people of Georgia speak. If you wish to be a part of our society, you should learn the language common to the neighborhood. But don't be fooled, we have no official language because the founding fathers didn't want to discriminate against the Dutch.

"In God We Trust" is our national motto. This is not some Christian, right wing, political slogan.. We adopted this motto because Christian men and women.......on Christian principles.............
founded this nation..... and this is clearly documented.

I'm sorry, but we don't trust in "God." If we did, we wouldn't be fighting wars to protect our future interests- we would trust "God" to take care of us. Moreover, the people who founded this nation were deists. Frankly, they didn't believe that God actually made any difference in our lives OTHER than giving inherent human rights. THAT is what's clearly documented. You've just never cracked the appropriate books. You've spent your whole life repeating some stupid party line shit that someone else made up. Congratulations, you're a moron.

It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home.........because God is part of our culture.

I'm sorry, remind me again of which part of our culture God is involved in? Would it be the slavery part in the past? How about racism or white collar crime? Is it the hate crimes? Is it teen pregnancy and the outcasting of gay people? Is it oppressing the poor while sanctifying the rich? God is an ornament slapped on our government so that the ignorant people who were used to having their kings use God as the reason for monarchy would believe our government to be valid. Apparently, that kind of retardation still runs rampant today.

If Stars and Stripes offend you, or you don't like Uncle Sam, then you should seriously consider a move to another part of this planet.

I don't think anyone is offended by Uncle Sam or the Stars and Stripes (other than people who have been oppressed under these symbols or whose houses have been blown up by bombs with American flags). I do, however, think that a lot of people ARE offended by retards justifying outlandish hate with a wave of the flag and a salute.

We are happy with our culture and have no desire to change, and we really don't care how you did things where you came from.

You must be crazy if you have no desire to change things. I suppose you like the crime rate and millions of people below the poverty line. I hate to tell you this, but people from other countries might actually have valid ideas. Wanna know something else? Our original national philosophy was copied from French philosophers. Go figure!

This is OUR COUNTRY, our land, and our lifestyle.

Correction: This is a country owned by crooks, stolen from its rightful owners and lived in by ignorant fools.

Our First Amendment gives every citizen the right to express his opinion and we
will allow you every opportunity to do so!

Assuming you don't speak too loud, because we get offended if you say something different from what we say, and we will do everything in our ability to strip you of your rights.

But once you are done complaining....... whining...... and griping.......

Like you have been for the past few paragraphes.

about our flag.......

No one is bitching about the flag, dumbass.

our pledge...... our national motto........

I say we use our ORIGINAL pledge, and learn the history of our national motto.

or our way of life....

No, I totally love corporate greed and babies going to sleep hungry. I would never gripe about our "way of life."

I highly encourage you to take advantage of one other Great American Freedom.....

THE RIGHT TO LEAVE.

OR, why don't we fix America and allow it to grow the way the Founding Fathers had wanted it- by leaving the Constitution elastic with the ability to create amendments.

It is Time for America to Speak up. If you agree -- pass this along; if you don't agree -- delete it!

Here's a better idea: if you don't agree, speak up. Don't let the mouthy retards take over. Don't let our country fall into decay like the dark ages when religion ruled.

AMEN

FUCK YOU.

I figure if we all keep passing this to our friends
(and enemies) it will also, sooner or later
get back to the complainers, lets all try,
please!

I figure that you need a good history lesson, and that you should stop thinking of your fellow Americans as enemies. You've become a tool for the conservative movement. While you're in an uproar over brown people and Jesus, they're stealing your jobs and killing your grandmother with shitty healthcare. Way to go, moron.

________________________________________

All that being said, it's time to give a compliment: Boyfriend has started a fantastically creative new project that indicates that his creativity is evolving and not prone to stagnation.

America would love it.

2006-05-03T18:21:00.000-05:00

Well, dear reader[s], I got my paws on a copy of that email sent to my aunt, and it is a lot more acceptable than I imagined. Now, to be honest, I really don't know why my Aunt is upset. I know that they have had troubled times, and as far as I can tell, a lot of the issues reach back into childhood. Overall, had she been able to point out *why* she needed to apologize, it might have gone over well.

But, that's really the issue. When person A has an issue with person B that rolls into a mutual "no talking" situation, both people should know why. In all probability, were person B (in this case, my mother) empathetic or maybe able to listen, person B would be able to understand and fully reason out why person A is upset. In this case, person B has a well-documented past of hearing, but not listening and completely lacking any empathy necessary to properly execute a relationship with anyone who is not an extension of her own being (see: anyone in the world with the exception of her husband).

Now, in this case, I can't speak with certainty about the issues that Person A has with Person B, but I do know there are inferiority complexes running around like and infestation of termites that just keep eating away at the structures in relationships. Give that, in this case, person A and person B have been set up to compete with one another since birth, these complexes have essentially been shot up with large doses of steroids and given machetes.

My only guess is that the current person A has made the same efforts as I made when I was person A: that is, my Aunt has probably explained her issues to my mother or at least had an all-out brawl that made the problems obvious.

And now, after all of that, if person B cannot identify what the problem is, person B has severely insulted person A. In my opinion, person A has the right to label person B any number of obscene names and continue to shut person B out of his/her life.

Unfortunately, person A and person B are about to, in all of their drama queen glory, set upon the high seas on a boat. That's right, all that insanity locked away in the middle of an ocean. I think it's funny, too. I suppose it's only funny because I won't be on that boat. If I were, I would be the first one overboard. Again, my only regret is that I cannot send a TV crew in my stead to air the insanity for huge profit.

America would love it.

Anyway, compliment time: Boyfriend, despite all of the hectic jumbling of this move and the stress that has me whipped into something just short of a frenzy, is still calm and hasn't jumped off into the deep end.

P.S. There is exactly one month until my birthday! What are you going to get me? Want a hint: I would like some peace, some quiet, a fine bottle of fruity white wine, a cool breeze and the day off.

I'm betting $10 I'll spend the day hauling someone else's shit to an apartment probably located in the most remote part of the city. Oh, goody!

Bring in the clowns.

2006-05-02T14:18:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was May Day, and with that in the city of Chicago was the march in support of immigration. I've heard the Spanish version of the national anthem. I've spent hours reading statistics and opinion articles on the subject. Time to spew out my thoughts.

1. You can't take all of the illegal immigrants out of the country and send them back to their countries of origin. First, the sheer number of dollars it would take to round up everyone who couldn't produce papers would be INSANE. Don't we have enough national debt? Secondly, a lot of these illegal immigrants have children who are legal US citizens: that is, their children were born on US soil. These children would also have to be deported, which would be quite a messy endeavor: deporting innocent US citizens because they are related to undocumented residents. Third, while I think the US as a whole could bounce back after losing a large portion of cheap labor, I think local economies could find themselves in the red OR there would be a greater burden to low-income citizens who have to shoulder the greatest burden when there is an increase in essential items- such as food. There would be an increase in the cost of food when products like lettuce would see skyrocketting prices due to the increased cost of labor. Let's also not forget about the effect of throwing millions of people without jobs into the already faltering economies of South America. Think the political climate there is unstable now? Just wait...

2. I think the best plan to slow illegal immigration is a multi-faceted approach. That is, look into the many causes of illegal immigration, and deal with those causes. First, I think you need to confront the businesses that employ illegal immigrants. They hire these people because the labor is cheap AND they can pay completely under the table. Essentially, but not prosecuting and fining these businesses, you give them a tax incentive for hiring illegal immigrants. How about this: create more revenue for the state by aggressively prosecuting BUSINESSES that break the law. Also, we need to make it easier to be legal. They aren't here because they want to take over and kill America. They're here because they love America, and they want to be American. Our economy not only encourages but needs people who will come and work for minimum wage...And for that reason we should welcome anyone who is willing to work here on the cheap. Moreover we should avoid a guest-worker/2nd class resident situation that has been heralded by the president: I think we should take a very very close look at the problems it has caused in Europe (see: Arab youth rioting in France).

3. I know there are people up in arms over the Spanish version of the national anthem, but frankly, I think the idea is a good idea. I think some of the lyrics ("mean laws") are a problem, but it's a good idea. One of the things I've heard is that they don't like that the immigrants don't assimilate to American culture, and "refusing" to sing the national anthem in English is just another way to show that. I find that to be altogether untrue. First, on the idea of assimilation: this, to me, seems altogether a pinch racist. For some reason, we embrace the Italians who live in little Italy in large cities and carry over their culture. We love a traditional German family. But the Mexicans? Nope. Hate that culture. And, for as long as there is no official language, I see no reason why a Spanish version is any less valid than the English version.

Want to know why there is no official language? Because the founding fathers wanted to make it clear that America was going to be open to everyone, not just those who spoke English.

We criticize Mexican immigrants because they wave a Mexican flag, but during these marches I saw a sea of AMERICAN flags and AMERICAN patriotism. Is it just that we don't like them? Is it just that they're different, and therefore open to be a scapegoat?

Oh, America. Where did your compassion go?

On a side note: I caught wind of an email that came from my mother and ended in my aunt's inbox. Under no certain terms, it seems that there is some kind of long-standing rivalry between the siblings in my mother's family (at the fault of my grandmother for having them at all). Rumor has it that in preparation for the big family reunion cruise (which I had the good sense to avoid) my mother attempted to send an olive branch to my aunt in which she offered no apology (typical) because she feels that she has no reason to apologize (surprise! Not only is the pope infallible, but my mother is equally holy). I could only laugh. She only fanned the flames. This cruise is going to be a three ring circus, and my only regret is that I can't send a TV crew to film the insanity. Soap operas don't have anything on this shit.

Today's compliment: Boyfriend doesn't live in the past and isn't concerned in the least about his ex-girlfriends.

Sometimes, I listen to cheesy 80's mix tapes.

2006-05-01T03:19:00.000-05:00

I'm getting behind. I just can't seem to keep up with my own life as it spins out of my control.

Friday: Boyfriend has perfectly manicured fingernails that do not appear feminine, just well groomed.
Saturday: Boyfriend respects my urge for a lot of privacy.
Sunday: Boyfriend understands that I find his parents intimidating and does not force me to spend time with them.
Monday: Boyfriend always plans ahead.

That being said, I think it's about time I go back to the gynecologist and get birth control pills. I resisted using them, simply because I spend so much time on birth control, I wanted to avoid having my body get completely whacked out. But, like clockwork, the month I stop popping the pills, my cycles grind to a halt, and I get to have the continual "could I be pregnant, no, that's not logical, but I've been missing my periods, yes, but you also haven't been participating in the necessary activities to precipitate a pregnancy" talks with myself.

I think said visit might also be beneficial because I've noticed that the frequency of a small problem has skyrocketed. Like most women I know, what can be very pleasurable will turn to horrible pain in the blink of an eye...And while that may have happened 1/5 times in the past...I've found that it's happening every time. I've also noticed a new need for all kinds of slippery products that I never needed in the past.

Maybe menopause came early. I do have a difficult time regulating my body temperature.

As long as there are no change-of-life babies, I'm cool with that.

I Wanna Feel You From the Inside

2006-04-27T18:18:00.000-05:00

Tuesday: Boyfriend is willing to put up with my whims, which is more than I can say for myself.

Wednesday: Boyfriend contributes to charity.

Thursday: Boyfriend can appreciate a roadtrip to nowhere because he enjoys the process of travelling as much as arriving at a destination.

That being said, I'm listening to old NIN albums, and I feel like I've instantly become 16. I hadn't heard a whole NIN album until I was 18, but my 16 year old self would be the part of me that would most closely identify with this music. I wish the latest NIN release had been good.

Feeling Calm

2006-04-25T03:34:00.000-05:00

I spent the weekend with Boyfriend, and it was probably the first weekend together when the weather was warm. Naturally, Boyfriend hurt himself, and could only walk 10 feet at a time.

While we were sitting on the bench in front of his apartment building, he mentioned something about being like the elderly couple that had just walked into the building. I'm not exactly sure how many times I've told Boyfriend that talk of such a future is beyond scary to me.

Does anyone really know how well a hipster will age?

This sounds retarded for the length of time that we've been together, but this weekend was the first time I let him hold my hand while we walked about. It was mostly sympathy for his pain, and would otherwise have maintained my "you cannot touch me without explicit permission and closed blinds" attitude. He really did look pathetic.

All that being said, it's time to hand out compliments.

Friday: Boyfriend is guarded with his words and emotions toward me- and that, dear reader[s] is a relief.
Saturday: Boyfriend has big feet. *wink*
Sunday: Boyfriend enjoys a lazy Sunday laying in bed reading the paper.
Monday: Boyfriend is a devoted partner who is not afraid to coax me out of my shell.

P.S. I really hate his cat. In fact, I hate all cats. I hate every last mongrel.

Still Up

2006-04-20T02:00:00.000-05:00

It's raining with thunder and the works.

I love this weather, and I only wish that there was someone lying in my bed with me.

Thursday morning compliment: Boyfriend is a little skinny and sharp, but he's great for cuddling.

Bedtime

2006-04-19T21:31:00.000-05:00

Today was a stressful day, and I'm happy to see that it's over.

All of this should be prefaced with the fact that I have decided -for sure- that I will move in with Boyfriend by June 31st. That's when my lease ends...And I've made my decision.

That being said, I'm going to need a car. My pedestrian lifestyle cannot be supported in his town, and he's not really interested in carting my ass around. Naturally, I've been packratting every last dime, because while Boyfriend has the means and the desire to buy a second car (a new one for him, leaving me with his old one) I can't in good conscience pull off that kind of gold-digging activity. Plus, if there is ever a time that we need to divide our possessions...I will be left stranded.

So, I've come to more closely notice when the cash flow is a little...Choked.

Today, I was stuck with a lunch shift at Workplace, and I've noticed that with lunch shifts, the money is always bad. There are only two people who eat out at fairly upscale dining facilities on a Wednesday: ladies who lunch and businessmen.

Both are bad tippers: women are notoriously bad, and ladies who lunch are worse...Maybe because they spent all of their money on Jimmy Choos...Or maybe because they don't understand the concept of tipping, and having lived a life of leisure, they don't understand how much it hurts me when they don't. They also like to sit around, which keeps me from turning the table over to someone who will tip. Business men are a gamble. Some have the kind of money and time that allow them to sit about for long periods of time...Others want to get in, eat, and get out. Some are good tippers, but most are bad. Today was a bad tip day, and I felt it.

Boyfriend also has had a string of tough days, most recently experiencing a hold-up in the launching of his record label: two of his flagship artists need money up front. One artist, now to be called Diego, is rather reasonable, and is only asking for the amount of money necessary to keep him in a studio for three months. Boyfriend has prepared to front that money on the condition that he see how the money is spent, and that it definitely goes to the studio or costs associated with the album. The other artist, now to be known as Hans, wants and OBSCENE amount of money...Enough, we calculated, to keep him in the studio for three months, and pay his living expenses for a year, and buy a luxury vehicle. He considers this album to be a commissioned piece of art.

He very much considers himself to be the modern day da Vinci.

No.

Just because you run around creating art for money while others have the sneaking, yet unconfirmed suspicion that you are gay, that doesn't mean you are a modern day master. But really, no one cares about his alleged love of cock, they're far more concerned about his alleged love of crack. That's totally unconfirmed, and I have no proof, I'm just saying there are concerns that have been floating around the Chicago art scene.

All of that being said, Boyfriend is willing to front 3 months of studio time and 3 months of rent and living expenses. He is not, however, willing to throw money at a man who will not confirm how he spends the money and will not do a thing until he receives all of the money up front.

I advise that he put money on Diego, and take the money he would have put on Hans, and use that to start pressing his own albums to be re-released on the label. Enter another problem: while Boyfriend has been close friends with the owner of the label that released his previous albums, the owner, Max, cannot allow Boyfriend to re-release his own work. It turns out that when he sold the album rights to Max, Max in turn sold the album rights to a third party (in the name of making more money for all involved) and that third party refuses to release the rights to those albums.

Gah.

So, instead, I'm trying to convince him to use that money to pick up smaller, less demanding artists that need a label (or a US label) and have potential.

He's mulling, but really was hoping the Hans will check his demands and adjust to a more reasonable amount- especially because Boyfriend would allow him to keep the rights to the songs.

All of that boils down to a halt in the label process, and the launch has been postponed indefinitely, not that it's a problem. With the move and work and other stressful issues, Boyfriend has enough on his plate, and I think that I would have ended up doing a retarded amount of label repping bitch work this summer had the launch occurred the first week of June, as planned.

On that note: my birthday is the first week of June, and I was not terribly thrilled with the concept of spending my birthday week calming his nerves while he dealt with the launch.

Anyway, all that being said, it's time for a compliment for Boyfriend: He has the kind of ambition that I really admire. He doesn't want to be the most successful, he wants to do what pleases him and be as happy as possible.

Compliments

2006-04-18T03:03:00.000-05:00

Monday: Boyfriend is not afraid to stand up for himself.

Tuesday: Boyfriend does not change himself in the face of opposition or criticism.

That being said, I think I realized what it is about Boyfriend's anger that really disturbs me: it reminds me of the way my father was when I was growing up and the way my mother became after his anger subsided. The thought of either of them getting to the end of their very short rope was terrifying, and I always had zero desire to communicate much to either of them. I'm kind of afraid to open up to Boyfriend too much because he reacts *just* like them: and I definitely see that when I want to leave him, it directly correlates with when I see their qualities in him.

Happy Easter

2006-04-16T00:28:00.000-05:00

Ahh...The end of a long day, or, if you're more technical about midnight, it's the beginning of another long day.

I generally like Workplace. I have reasonable managers, understanding and decent coworkers, and *surprise* mostly educated customers. If I play my cards right on a Saturday, I can walk away with $200 sitting in my pocket- and while that in now way compares to the $1000 that my stripper friend can expect...It's not too shabby and covers all of my favorite addictions- that being electricity and dinner.

But, there is one thing I have to say about Workplace, or really, any restaurant anywhere- they stay open for major holidays. I understand that there is a lot of money to be made. Today, I pulled off a $300 day- a double, mind you, but $300 nonetheless.

The problem? I packed in double the number of customers that I would normally see during both shifts. Let's run the numbers: on a decent Saturday, I can fully expect to see $200 *after* tipping out to the bartenders, the busboys, my assistant, the expediter, and for no reason at all, the hostess. That is 1 shift which is normally 5 hours, where I typically see 30 customers. I can roughly expect to see $6.50/customer in tips in a 5 hour shift.

During the dinner shift, I pulled off my average $200, but it should be noted, that I served 62 people: making my average about $3.50/customer in a 5 hour shift.

Now lunch numbers: during an average lunch shift, I can walk out with about $80, whereas today I walked out with $100 from that shift. In an average lunch, I work about 20 customers, making my average about $4/customer.

Today? I worked 50 customers and made $100, putting my average at $2/customer.

What's the difference? Christians out to lunch. I *seriously* had three tables not leave a tip, but rather put down a fucking leaflet for their motherfucking faux Jesus lover church and a smiley face on the tip line.

I understand what it's like to be poor and not have a lot of money. I understand what it's like to see the dollars trickling away to other people, but for the love of your precious savior, go to a fast food joint if you don't plan on tipping properly.
Yes, it's Easter weekend, and yes, you want to celebrate. But here's the thing: when you spend your entire two hour dining experience sneering at me and making me run around dodging your stupid brats only to leave me no money but the assurance that I was a great server...You make it entirely obvious that you are either a) completely ignorant or b) completely hypocritical. You know more about the specs on the latest line of luxury cars than you know about your savior. Fuck off.

JESUS DOES NOT PAY MY BILLS.

I understand that saving my immortal soul is more important than $20 in the long run, but I'm pretty sure that your happy ass is no closer to enlightenment than my stripper friend, you self-righteous hag.

I grew up loving Jesus...Or at least trying reallyfuckinghard. I know. You want me to find him. When I do, there will be rainbows and butterflies...Minus all the queer imagery because God hates fags.

Here's a hint: you bible-thumpers make him look bad, and I'm pretty sure that any righteous God would lump you in with the murderers for smearing his name. Fuck you.

This isn't even about money- it's about how much I loathe every motherfucking person who has ever said that I just need to come back to Jesus. I tried. It didn't work. We're not even on speaking terms anymore.

All that being said, it's time for the Easter compliment: Boyfriend is surprisingly familiar with many religious and philosophical texts, and is quite adept at arguing the idea of morality in the changing world.

Compliments Early in the Morning

2006-04-15T04:19:00.000-05:00

Friday: Boyfriend truly does enjoy fine dining, and his refined manners never cease to impress me.

Saturday: Boyfriend has *gorgeous* blue eyes.

Recent Gallup Numbers

2006-04-13T18:54:00.000-05:00

60% Disapprove of how President Bush is handling his job
37% Approve

Apparently, 3% are apathetic.

Seriously, you 37%, come ON. Maybe I'm missing something.

It's a beautiful day

2006-04-13T18:33:00.000-05:00

Despite the fact that Boyfriend owns and loves a complete hell demon of a cat, he is not a cat person- that is, he doesn't own sweatshirts with cats on them or creepy cat pictures on the wall and all that goes along with being a cat person. He understands the limits and realities of cats and animals altogether.

P.S. I'm absolutely positive that Workplace has so many windows for the pure purpose of slowing productivity. I found myself just kind of staring out to the park and walking past the windows to feel the breeze. Down with windows!

chatting with friends.

2006-04-12T03:02:00.000-05:00

I just finished a hilarious conversation with a dear friend, and because a lot of it contains slander of an unnamed local artist, I will only quote some parts.

Set up: Friend M is a music-scene busy body, and somehow gets her body around. She managed to spend part of the weekend in the fabulous company of Carlos D. (a la Interpol), Nick Zinner (a la The Yeah Yeah Yeahs), Ryan Gentles (owner of Wiz Kid Management), and most importantly Wolf Parade. It just so happens that Local Glam Band has managed to offend Friend M by not paying enough attention to her during the after party from their previous show, so she neglects to tell them where she is partying- but rather, she just lets them know with whom she holds court. This launched into a conversation of just how sold out the Wolf Parade US tour is.

[02:43] Me: I would like to know how to get some fucking tickets. I dragged my feet because I figured that they were still an obscure Canadian band...and that I could get tickets fairly easily. Especially because Boyfriend loves the band- and he loves the most obscure stuff available.
[02:43] Friend M: but I'm sure you could walk the line
[02:43] Me: Guess what? Pitchfork has sucked the Wolf Parade cock, and everyone now loves this band. And I'm not going to be a streetwalker for the latest fad that Boyfriend likes.
[02:43] Friend M: they heart wolf parade
[02:44] Friend M: like can't get enough
[02:44] Me: maybe Wolf Parade drinks a lot of pineapple juice.

I suppose that one's only funny if you've read enough of those advice magazines that give tips on how to make certain unpleasant things a little more...tolerable.

__________________________________________
Set Up: Friend M and I are both involved in liberal politics, so we often commiserate. We were discussing the President's and Vice President's most recent approval ratings (38% and 22%, respectively) and lamenting about how unpopular the movement to censure is.

[02:52] Friend M: I've lost faith man
[02:52] Friend M: awful bloggers have book deals
[02:52] Friend M: celebs are djing
[02:52] Friend M: the president is fucking us
[02:52] Friend M: gas prices are high, health insurance blows
[02:53] Friend M: gwyneth named her kid moses
[02:53] Friend M: it's the fucking apocalypse

speaking of Gwyneth Paltrow and her newest brat...

[02:54] Me: I mean, Christ...how self-important do you have to be to name your kid Moses?
02:54] Friend M: after the Coldplay song
[02:54] Friend M: I wanted to punch myself in the face
[02:55] Me: I mean, you have to be a complete ass to name your kid "Apple" and assume you can get away with that shit...but to name your kid "Moses?"
[02:57] Me: There should be a way to vote these people out of the gene pool. We should be able to rise up and say "Yes, we get it! You're thin, beautiful and rich! You win life! But for the love of God, don't make any irritating little pricks to follow in your footsteps. Ff you want kids, you can adopt like a thousand of those little African kids for $30/mo, each"

Today's compliment: Boyfriend keeps up with current music industry personalities without bothering to know about the gossip- like what Christ Martin let his wife name his son. Which is Moses. Which makes me want to kill myself.

Happy Shoes

2006-04-11T23:14:00.000-05:00

Today was a fairly decent day- I didn't get to talk to Boyfriend, which bothered me a little bit. I suppose that's a good sign.

I traded in my walking shoes for car keys- it's been a little over a year since I last drove a car. I've become a happy pedestrian- and there's no better way to demonstrate that by my fear of being behind the wheel.

Happy shoes.

Anyway, today's compliment: Boyfriend makes me miss him so much when he's not around.

I spent a great weekend with Boyfriend

2006-04-10T02:29:00.000-05:00

Wanna know a secret? If I hear "If You Talk Too Much" x People in Planes too much, MY head will explode. Seriously, that is one of the most poorly written songs of the year.

That being said...

Saturday: Boyfriend has varied interests: from painting to music to photography to politics.

Sunday: Boyfriend has excellent hands.

Monday: Boyfriend has become a great kisser. :o)

Mr. Darcy is my favorite fiction character.

2006-04-07T22:56:00.000-05:00

Thursday: Boyfriend has excellent taste in art, and he shares my affection for El Greco.

Friday: Boyfriend always smells like one of my favorite scents: laundry detergent.

Those compliments distributed, I must say that Male Roommate has shown a streak of thoughtfulness. I mentioned earlier that my favorite piece of fiction, hands down, is "Pride and Prejudice" x Jane Austen...so much so that none of the pages are stuck to the binding :o( Male Roommate rented the movie for me. So sweet.

P.S. Why is there no option to underline text? I had to put the title of a book in quotes. How ridiculous!

Quasimodo what?

2006-04-05T15:45:00.000-05:00

Boyfriend truly appreciates hip hop/rap music. I'm not saying that he listens to stupid top 40 singles, I mean that he enjoys the roots of hip hop/rap and current underground artists based on their artistic appeal. Despite the fact that he is an avant garde artist, he has an open mind and a receptive ear to new and different sounds.

Remember all four of us in your tiny car?

2006-04-04T17:05:00.000-05:00

I am not one to cheat. I never will be. I've had the distinct "pleasure" of being on the other side of the situation, and I don't think I could ever subject my partner to that kind of heartbreak.

That being said, I've been mentally stewing over someone who is not Boyfriend for...maybe 3 months. Not long in the scheme of things, too long for me.

This man, now to be marked M28 (after an obscure inside joke), is extremely similar to Boyfriend- right down to long hair, progressive politics, fiscal sensibilities, extensive music history, class and nerdiness.

This makes him the perfect object of my affection. Moody, brilliant, prone to depressing political musings over expensive beer- if I could have been sure that he could do differential equations with me, I might have gone home with M28.

Alas, M28 is in New Orleans, and I am not, anymore...for now. So I can only read and listen about his adventures and romanticize him. The problem is that I understand that I have romanticized him. His moaning and bitching really gets on my nerves, and it often comes off as though he's trying to impress people- and I don't like that quality in a man.

I could go on and on, but let's suffice to say that for every word that comes out of his mouth, I simultaneously wish that I had taken him seriously when we casually saw each other (in a few very very uncomfortable double un-dates with his friend, M27, and my druggie friend, Special K), and I am quite glad that I avoided the git. Mostly I didn't because I had other priorities, namely Ex-Boyfriend J. Either way, it wouldn't have worked out with either with 1000 miles of separation.

I'm not exactly sure what's going on with me, but I think I might just be going crazy. Either way, I do have to shake this very strange attraction to a man I haven't seen in a year and a half.

...and I've realized that I like the ugly ones best.

Sacrilegious

2006-04-04T03:05:00.000-05:00

So, The Roommates and I went to a bookstore today so Female Roommate could look at some more stupid cat books. [Holy fuck! Isn't one bookshelf full of cat books enough? I guess not.]

Being that I am drawing from the same genetics as Grandmother L and Father, I naturally wander off in my own direction. I found the Postsecret book. !!! I picked it up, and did the literary equivalent of music piracy: I grabbed the book and snuck into the back corner and read it, and then casually returned it to its original spot.

I've contemplated sending in a few secrets, having created a postcard (only to discard it) and written down a few of the secrets I might want to send.

So, in honor of the book, I'll post two secrets here:

1. When people say that Jesus was a "perfect man," I wonder if he was the perfect lover. And, if he was a perfect lover- what would that experience be like?

2. I am so cheap that I won't buy the Postsecret book, but I will read it without making a trip to a library or stealing it.

That last part reminded me of a thing that I meant to compliment Boyfriend on: his management of money. Boyfriend is fastidious with a wallet. He has no debt, nor does he live lavishly. He is neither too liberal nor too conservative with his funds.

like couch colors.

2006-04-03T15:28:00.000-05:00

Today's compliment: Boyfriend has a great mind for many complex issues and deep thought.

Catch-Up

2006-04-02T21:55:00.000-05:00

It appears as though I've gotten behind with the compliments. I blame it on getting sick, but in reality, I can saunter up to a computer just as well when I'm sick as when I am healthy.

Mostly, it's just that I got this new library card...and I picked up a new book. "Confessions" x Augustine.

I've given myself the task of reading through the entire St. John's College reading list. No, I'm not going in order. Yes, I am reading "Pride and Prejudice" next because I like Jane Austen. Anyway: here is the list.

That being said, I have to give out the three compliments that I have missed.

Friday: Boyfriend, while still uncomfortable with himself sexually, has a manner about him that is very attractive when lying quietly in my bed.

Saturday: Boyfriend respects my space and privacy and does not cross the lines with either when he is told where the lines are.

Sunday: Boyfriend has an impeccable memory when it comes to what my preferences are.

Show Pony Words and Howard Dean Rallies

2006-03-30T19:14:00.000-06:00

Today's compliment is inspired by an invitation to a political event: I really appreciate the Boyfriend is thoughtful and intelligent when it comes to government and politics. While he, too feels that President Bush is a waste of presidential flesh, he doesn't play that whole "bush sux!!!11one" game. He studies policies and looks for real solutions.

________________________________

So, a while ago, I made public a list of 33 personal "truths." That is, things I believe to be true. I recently received and email that took issue with one maxim in particular, #18:

"Pretentiousness is counterproductive to academia, and ultimately the progression of a society"

He noted that pretentious behavior was simply a way for educated people to set themselves apart from the "stupid masses." And that we should "dumb down" to help out the "retards."

I take issue with this idea; that the idea that the privileged few should enjoy being educated, and everyone else should simply be the mental slaves to this select few. I really think that a lot of our problems with our culture and government could be solved if people were properly educated. Moreover, I think that if people didn't have the impression that educating themselves was something terribly difficult and only to be attempted by the elite, there would be more people who could properly think for themselves.

Is it really a good idea to discourage people from debate and intelligent thought? Let's put away the big words and tone down the sense of entitlement, people. There is a time and a place for the big words, but from what I can tell, 99.9% of the time these excruciatingly obscure words are used, it's for show.

So why don't we write textbooks in plain sentences and put our show pony vocabulary to use in a productive manner? I'm not saying that we take out every 3+ syllable word out of our language. I mean that we shouldn't use difficult grammar and very uncommon words when we write essays that are meant to educate- such as text books. I'm a fairly bright person, but I had to read a paragraph in a political sociology textbook at least 4 times before I got it. I even went to one of those richwhitepeopleonly schools.

Example: I'm choosing a fairly simple quote out of my book that was quite straightforward to me, but held Male Roommate in a headlock for a while.

"The state is a unique institution that can 'territorially centralise' its power, thereby making it a relatively strong and coherent 'power container' in comparison to the fragmented nature of civil society." (Mann, 1988)

Why say that when you can say "The state is a unique institution because it can pull together people based on where they live, not just their culture. Because it can unify many different kinds of people, it can have a lot more power than societies that are divided by cultures."

Male Roommate understood the second example, but the first was way over his head. I think there is a reason beyond sloth why Male Roommate doesn't inform himself, and it's that his books insult him, and he just doesn't want to be insulted anymore. Yes, he wants to learn, but no, he doesn't want to feel like an idiot for asking.

Early Morning Boast

2006-03-29T01:56:00.000-06:00

Today's compliment: Boyfriend, while not religious, maintains a moral lifestyle that I find very admirable.

P.S. I picked out my next tattoo: stick figure muses. I just don't know how large they ladies will be, nor do I know where I will house the ladies, nor do I know how Boyfriend will react. Thankfully, I have *at least* six months of planning and thinking before I start looking for a shop.

Boastful.

2006-03-28T18:08:00.000-06:00

Today's Compliment: Boyfriend is not only fluent in German, but he is also proficient in French, and uses his knowledge of both to engage me in discussions of language. Not only do I find the fact that he also enjoys the subject of language sexy, but I cannot resist him when he gives me cute nick-names in German.

Time to Grow Up

2006-03-27T22:16:00.000-06:00

I've been dragging my feet to create a real update- mostly because going into this weekend, I really wasn't sure if I would come out single or "seeing someone."

As it turns out, I am still "seeing someone" and I spent all of today contemplating this relationship. Boyfriend is, and has been, a very good person. I've, behind his back, more or less beat him up out of my own inexplicable insanity. Perhaps I'm just this insane bitch. Perhaps I have unreal expectations. Most likely, it's that I get so hung up on issues, and I just can't let go: and this does not say good things about my personality. Mostly I think it's that I've been thinking that he doesn't deserve me, and that I can do so much better. What a horrible way to think of another human being.

Anyway, I fully prepared to break up with Boyfriend this weekend, right down to tracking down a replacement CD of the crazy German art band he lent me (and I lost).

He was set to show at noon, but actually darkened my door around 2 pm. [side note: I've managed to pick up all of the really ugly traits from my mother, among them is the incredible ability to be an unreasonable bitch and an anxiety about time. If you say that you will pick me up from the train station at 6:05, I expect your ass there at 6:10 at the latest, because I will beat down the mafia to be on time. I didn't call her "The Time Nazi" for nothing.] Boyfriend is not so fastidious with a time piece. When my OCD finally sets in, my first behavior will be watch-checking.

-Anyway- I have lunch waiting- mostly because I don't have any money, and I'm not the least bit interested in showing weakness by not being able to pay my half. Boyfriend is not a fan of my diet...but he still manages to eat what I've made. We eat in silence, and spend most of the time in awkward restraint. My mind lingers on the CD and how and when I'll end this.

Because Boyfriend decided to depart two hours later than planned, Male Roommate came home for lunch, and Boyfriend's aversion to my friends and my desire to say hello to Male Roommate before he went back to the dreaded workplace meant that Boyfriend and I holed up in my bedroom.

Male Roommate, having listened to six months of straight bitching, assumed that I was breaking up with Boyfriend, and didn't even knock on the door...

Meanwhile...we were....reconnecting. I was laying on my bed, out of pure exhaustion- having rolled into the apartment around 2, and having only a few hours to get the laundry done, the body smelling good, and the hair not looking like a birdnest. I think I slept some 3 hours.

He laid next to me and decided that my ass made for an excellent footrest. That led to hair-petting- I've never been a fan of my amazonian locks, but apparently, a wild curly forest is somewhere between "desirable" and "irresistible" to men, or at least the men I date.

Fast forward through personal details to the important part: we go to a seafood restaurant where we eat potentially poisonous food, get the worst service I've ever had in my life, and were able to figure out the difference between "fine dining" and "shitty food served on white table clothes with napkins folded into ducks."

We somehow end up at our old standby diner, drinking the best diner coffee in the world and talking. We hash out our interpersonal demons there, and more or less fix a lot of our problems- which are my problems, because I don't ever communicate properly, and apparently, I have been a heinous bitch at least three times to him since we met.

He wasn't planning on spending the night- mostly because I thought I was going to break up with him and I didn't want to drag it out after spending the night together. So, we decided to "relax" at the apartment before he made the drive back to see his beast.

Truth be told, seeing him be so assertive without being a bastard was a turn on...and the rest of this story is best left to late-night phone calls with the best of friends, not so much for internet posting.

That being said, I took all of Sunday for personal reflection- and I managed to skim through a book that caught my eye about being a good wife. Now, I don't intend to be his wife, at least not at this early juncture, I do think that being a good girlfriend in 2006 is very similar to being a good wife in 1975- the year of this book's publication. Unfortunately, I intend on being the good secular girlfriend of a man in 2006, rather than the doting and stupid slave of a man in 1875, and it seems as though, yet again, the Christians are stuck on 19th century notions.

While I did feel that it was 154 pages of disservice to women, I did come away thinking that I should be more "loyal" to Boyfriend, and that I should also be more free with compliments. I don't cheat, the definition of "loyal" here means that I shouldn't cut him down, but rather, that I should be on his "side."

Anyway, those are the resonating thoughts of the weekend.

I've decided to compliment him on something every day: and I'll post that here.

Today: Boyfriend is a very clean man and is meticulous when it comes to his appearance and apartment.

being a bitch 101

2006-03-24T17:52:00.000-06:00

Boyfriend does not appreciate me. Perhaps this is my own fault- no, this is definitely my own fault. At the beginning of my relationship with Boyfriend, I promised not to play any games- I had always thought that playing games would lead to the downfall of any relationship.

I am quite wrong in that. After two weeks of refusing to see him, he's coming for the weekend, and he's already managed to completely piss me off.

But, having promised to not bitch about him, I will say this: it is a good thing to see a man dedicated to his work. You know, because, at the end of the day, he can't count on me being there- but his boss will be. He does have his priorities in order.

Is it worth it?

2006-02-27T02:05:00.000-06:00

Some days, I want to cry, and if it weren't for the fact that I seemingly can't produce tears, I would.

I've come to that part of my relationship with Boyfriend where I have to make some hard decisions. Frankly, 75% of me is rallying for a break-up. The other, less rational 25% of me is pleading for me to stay with him.

This past weekend, I had the apartment mostly to myself. It was Female Roommate's birthday, so Male Roommate and I chipped in to get her a hotel room: and so Friday night (well, afternoon) left me alone in the apartment, guaranteed to be that way until noon or so on Saturday. Naturally, I informed Boyfriend of this situation (at the end of January, when this plan was conceived) and he decided to show up and spend the weekend with me. Being the way he is, he forgot this plan, and when I mentioned the emptiness of the apartment again Friday afternoon, he had to drop his furbeast with his mother (giving her zero notice, not that she really cares) and he came up here.

Now, his brakes start making a funny noise when he gets within the city limits, and we spend Saturday finding a suitable mechanic for his brakes (I told him during the holidays that the brakes needed to be fixed...But he didn't listen to me) and because he's so damn obsessed with the thought of his car being damaged, he can't piece together an entire sentence while we spend time together.

So, we drop his car off at the mechanic and walk to the neighborhood diner and got some coffee to warm up (because I'm still getting over a cold) and he proceeds to bitch about not wanting to get a cold from me. While sitting at the diner, he mentions that he thinks he will be returning to his place this evening.

What?

"Why?" I ask, ever-so-innocently, not trying to seem desperate.

"Well, I'm not sure, I have this nagging urge to leave." He casually mentioned, stirring the sugar into his burned diner coffee.

I'm sorry, what?!!? Why not just slap me in the face and leave now? I'm in the middle of a very busy time in my life: I don't know when I'll have free time to see him again. I go to see him 3 times as often as he comes to see me, and I stay with him 3 times longer than he stays with me. Doesn't anyone else see a problem with this?

I probe further, and he mentions that he doesn't really feel comfortable being in my apartment because I have two roommates- and I mention that I feel just as out of place in his apartment, but I stick it out. He completely ignores this fact, and spews out some kind of "I need to pick up my cat/demon" thing.

Enter: bitchstate.

We pick up his car, and all is well, he can think about something other than his motherfucking brakes, and we get dinner. We dive further into the "I feel alien in your apartment" issue, and nothing is resolved. I am too proud to say "I don't want you to go" and he is too stupid to pick up me emotionally on my knees begging. Great.

I will say this: I am not proud of my lack of communication skills. Okay?

Anyway, I keep checking my watch (as he mentioned that he wanted to leave town at 9 so he could get back to his precious beast for no reason in particular) and I mention that he's 15 minutes late for his appointment to leave town (in a totally bitchy tone). Then 30 minutes. While we were sitting there, I made up my mind to break up with him, and I considered dumping him as soon as he got me back to my apartment. I re-thought the decision because I have an expensive import CD of his- and I have no idea where it is. If I were to dump him, he'd demand to have it back, and frankly, I have no idea where it is. I decided to wait until after I had found that CD to dump his ass.

Finally, he stopped staring at his eggs and we paid the bill and he drove me back to the apartment. He stops the car in front of the apartment, and while he's mumbling about something that is completely uninteresting to me, I just kind of got out of the car (denying him a goodbye-kiss) and tell him goodbye, closing the door and going into the apartment.

That being said, I'm pretty sure my winning demeanor totally could have convinced him to stay.

I watched him drive away, and I was kind of hoping that he would have picked up my anger from the display, and followed me to the apartment: nope. He just drove home- to be with his stupid fucking waste of animal flesh.

After crying for a while on Male Roommate's shoulder because I was so sure that I would dump Boyfriend. Male Roommate has been lobbying for such a break-up for months, and he deeply feels that Boyfriend is a) a waste of flesh and b) not good enough for me. He spent the next hour tearing the apartment apart looking for that CD while I dipped into the "heartbreak juice." "Heartbreak juice" is the name that male roommate gave to our bottle of rum that seems to only be touched when any of the three of us are heartbroken- it's been sorely abused between the three of us in the past three months, and I'm sad to report that male roommate had to buy a second bottle of heartbreak juice. :o(

I eventually put up an away message that was so unguarded that I was surprised by my own candid message: "sleeping away a bad night." I normally would not be so frank about being upset by this whole episode.

I eventually fell asleep, only to be plagued by a night-terror (gee, I love nightmares that I can't escape). I woke up to a message from Boyfriend, it goes as follows.

Boyfriend (1:23:48 PM): it was a mistake to leave yesterday, and all in all I wish I were there instead
autoresponse from Me (1:23:48 PM): sleeping away a bad night.
Boyfriend (1:25:03 PM): although it was better that I picked the cat up again after leaving it with them on such short notice, and I have a ton of laundry to do (you also), and I only sat like a lump for a little while and then went to sleep
Boyfriend (1:25:33 PM): but now instead of feeling a little depressed and out of place, I feel more depressed and not much less out of place
Boyfriend (1:25:43 PM): so now I also feel stupid

I feel a perverse vindication.

I'm a mess, to say the least. Part of me is screaming "you've had problems with him since you started dating him! Just give up and move on!" And, the other part is touched by his [implied] regret for leaving me after only spending 24 hours (after I cut a week out of my life and vacation time to be with him). It doesn't help that Male Roommate continues to press for an end to the relationship and Boyfriend thinks that I'm quite content to move in with him.

I made a pact with myself to NOT "train" a partner after Ex-Boyfriend J, mostly because I saw the ill-effects of training on the human psyche, and I never wanted to be the cause of such a train wreck. I have always wanted to be the cool girlfriend, and frankly, after Ex-Boyfriend C, I just haven't been able to be cool.

However, I've begun to wonder if "training" is really that bad: after all, I might actually be happy if I were forcing Boyfriend to treat me like a princess. No, I don't want to be a high-maintenance bitch, but getting that treatment would certainly be preferable to the current situation. AND, I might not be such a raving bitch about every little thing because every little thing wouldn't piss me off like they do, now.

Anyway, since Male Roommate was pushing me so hard to break-up with Boyfriend, I decided to not break-up with Boyfriend, but instead wait until he found just the right apartment that he wants, and make the decision before he signs the lease. I find that fair enough: it gives me enough time to fully weigh out my anger and enough time for him to make it up to me.

not in the next 60 days

2006-02-13T01:18:00.000-06:00

I'm just so frustrated. I suppose this is the kind of frustration that sends people over the edge because I just keep thinking how wonderful it would be to completely torch everything. Everything.

And Boyfriend makes it harder and harder for me. At least I can appropriately stall for two months.

where's my handbasket?

2006-02-09T15:29:00.000-06:00

Events have changed, and here I stand, staggering toward an exit.

Not getting into too much detail, let's just say that it's become an advantageous time for me to move in with Boyfriend- not to mention the fact that I seriously can't stand another conversation where I have to defend my choice to continue living with Male Roommate and Female Roommate.

Male Roommate wants to kick Female Roommate out, which would leave just Male Roommate and I: which is fine, we have enough space and money to cover our costs, BUT, Male Roommate is quite concerned that his dating possibilities will be severely limited if he lives with JUST me: there's just no way to comfort the mind of a woman when her boyfriend is living with one other woman. Having just ended a relationship, he's looking to get back into the game, and he's concerned that I might hinder him. That doesn't mean that I need to find a place to live -now- that just means that in April, he wants to make the change- possibly scaling down to a small apartment for just him and his computers.

For me, that means either living alone- which I don't want to do for various reasons, OR living with Boyfriend- which I also have various reasons for wanting to avoid that situation.

The main problem with Boyfriend is that while he makes a great companion, he makes for a terrible lover. We did our normal Tuesday-Thursday thing, and we kissed each other for the first time Wednesday...around 11pm.

Problem!

Moreover, after a few minutes, he decided to go back to watching episodes of a show on DVD- DVD! He can watch the next episode tomorrow, when I'm not there- not during the only time he has me for the week. Do I really want to deal with that for a long long time?

UGH.

the kiss of death on your door, that's what you get for taking home a whore

2006-02-06T00:54:00.000-06:00

I've started writing poetry again, and it's quite strange- it's nothing like I've ever written.

Frankly, I find myself kind of veering in a direction I used to really loathe: complete free form with total disregard for any traditional rules.

That being said, I had another disappointing weekend with Boyfriend. He showed up 6 (6!!!) hours late, was completely lacking in romance (not that he is romantic), and I'd get a little more in depth, but that's the talk for late-night conversations with a close friend.

I just keep wondering why I stay with him- am I being a completely fake bitch because I like him for very superficial reasons, or, am I coming to terms with the fact that maybe a nation of divorce isn't such a bad thing: I've never been married, but I can't help but look at so many marriages forged on the basis of money and security and other superficial things...and notice that people stuck it out- divorce rates were quite low. Is that a product of a strict culture, the prying eyes of law, or religion meddling in private relationships? Or, is it the sign of people who forged a marriage much the way one would forge a business contract.

I will cook, clean, and birth if you work, earn, and don't beat the shit out of me. For ever.

Either way, I find myself "sticking it out" with Boyfriend for stupid reasons...and I find myself really wanting to leave him for stupid reasons.

I'm really tired, really upset, and really confused. If I were closer to Male Roommate's mother, I might give her a call and go to lunch or something. She's so sweet, but I think my musings would be completely lost on her.

ugh. Valentines Day creeps closer- and now I'm locked in to seeing St. Etienne...blech. Moreover, I have no way of avoiding the day, and I will be forced to be with Boyfriend.

What do I even get him? I'm stretched for money, right now...and I don't want to get him something stupid. I can't ignore it- I mean, we haven't talked about it.

I suppose I should call him or something. But, after this weekend, even the thought of his voice in my ear kind of makes my skin crawl.

Home

2006-02-02T21:06:00.000-06:00

I had this very strong urge over the past two days: so strong I nearly said it aloud to Boyfriend, not even knowing what it meant.

I want to go home.

Strange, isn't it? I don't have a home. I'm homeless. Yes, I have a place to live. I have a bed to sleep in and a roof that keeps the rain off of my head. I have all the things I need to exist.

I say that I don't have a home because where I live is not home. It is the place where I sleep at night. Boyfriend's place is even farther from being home- as when I am there, I can only faintly dream of going to such a place that could be called home. The house where I grew up is quite the opposite of home, and it feels more like an enemy camp than a place of warmth and love. Even during my last stint living in the building, I just kept thinking (or being told, it's all rather blurry) that I was a guest: this place was not mine.

I suppose I just would like some comfort. I fully believe that family and home are what you make them. Home doesn't have to be where you were raised, and family absolutely doesn't have to be who shares similar DNA. I consider Male Roommate and Female Roommate to be more of my family than my physical parents ever were, but yet: this is not home.

I kind of become depressed in the moments when I seek to be at home. It's usually accompanied by the urge to run into my mother's arms. Not my mother, that is. A mother. A warm, loving, welcome hug of respite and care. No worries, there. You're home. Away from the weary slavery of life.

So, it seems strange to me (and perhaps a bit lucky) that my biological mother did send an email to me...and I read it (against the urgings of Male Roommate). I know why he tells me to delete those emails- I always become an angry recluse, firing hateful poetry onto innocent pages. I keep repeating, aloud, that I find the fact that she is totally clueless as to the source of my anger both insulting, and probably the reason for the perpetuation of my anger. I find it lucky that on the very day that I find myself frail enough in spirit to consider placing a call...in hopes of finding this elusive home, that I'm reminded of why I am homeless, and why every time I seek that kind of comfort, it only lasts but a fleeting moment before another wave of bitterness crashes over the whole set.

I mean that- it is a set. We are players with rehearsed lines. Forgot to memorize your lines? Or, perhaps you memorized them, and don't care to live out a pre-scripted and pre-approved life. Perhaps you are happier not being a pawn. Outcast! Anger!

...depression.

I often feel the tuggings of such a depression, and I often fear that I might fall in the hole, again. I think that's why I don't ever leave Boyfriend: inasmuch as he relies on me to soothe his afflictions, I find that being needed and wanted soothes mine. I may feel ignored at times, but never cast away. He's never going to tell me I am naught but a guest in his home, life. I'm not relying on him to keep myself out of depression, no...I just know that the first sign that I'm tumbling into that awful pit will be when I tell him we can't be together. It will be the precise moment that I decide that I want to be alone.

Isn't that the first sign that I'm in trouble: refusing the contact of others? I don't want them to see me like this, emotionally frail, physically week, mentally listless. I don't want anyone to catch that horrible, horrible feeling of laying in the cesspool of one's own life. And life is that: a cesspool. You life, subjected to the rulings and arbitrations of others, only to die, and face the uncertainty of rulings and arbitrations from another. How can you not feel as though it would be best to live the life of an animal, oblivious to your subjection meaningless maxims. You live, you eat, you fuck, you shit. Eventually, you die, maybe. Probably. Who knows? Who cares? There is life to be lived, food to be eaten, others to fuck and waste to shit.

Are humans just animals who have forgotten the point of living? We look at our companions and laugh at their stupidity, but shouldn't our laughs be turned inward? Shouldn't we focus on our own pointless obsession with the unimportant tassels of life?

The point of all of this miring is: I feel strange in my own being, like I woke up one day in a totally foreign existence. I look at my things, the people around me, my situation, and think Who am I? Where am I? Why do I want so desperately to torch everything, from the distant memories to the chair I am sitting in? Will releasing fire onto everything quell my rage, infinite sadness?

I suppose I don't do it because I'm fairly certain, the fire wouldn't cleanse, rather, I would find my condition much deteriorated.

Decisions, Decisions...

2006-02-02T15:18:00.000-06:00

Today is one of those days where I look at Boyfriend and think I can't fucking stand you.

It's not that he's a bad person: I think the problem is that I'm a bitch. I suppose it just really really bothers me right down to my core that he hasn't learned the number one way to show that he cares: to spend time with me.

When I have Tuesday and Wednesday off (which is every week), I hop onto the public transportation system, and get to him at 11:30 on Tuesday. I have to leave at 11:30 on Thursday: this means, we have a total of 48 hours together.

20 hours= sleeping, because if he doesn't get 10 hours in, he can't function.
16 hours= working- and that's fine with me.

2 hours=his lunch break, but he watches tv
4 hours=his grooming time. yes, four...over the course of two days. four hours.

that leaves 6 hours left to hang out.

1 hour=shopping for crap that doesn't need to be purchased -today-
1.5 hours=Dr. Strangelove, and while I wanted to eventually see it, last night was not the night.
3 hours= State of the Union address and commentary
.5 hours=rubbing out the knot in his back.

Yes, that is how I spent my time with him. Other weeks, we spend that 6 hours mostly on shopping for crap that doesn't need to be purchased and other television ventures. I'm not saying that I demand that we go out: I'm saying that I wish I got at least as much attention as his cat...afterall, I'm not ruining his stuff.

Needless to say, as I walked toward the train this morning, he was left with no kiss nor sign of affection. My affection for him wanes a little every time I see him. He has absolutely no sense of adventure or play. I think he spend over an hour of his time on Tuesday fixing the resolution on the corner of his television, and there I was, thinking God, leave it alone! Can't you fix this on Thursday evening, when I'm not here?

Apparently, not. You know, I'm not looking for any kind of intense romance, or anything like that. If I had been after that, I wouldn't have started seeing him- he's the epitome of safety. But, I've found that what I prized (his stability) has now become the bane of my existance. How can I live with a man who will drive me to insanity because he's so obsessed with meaningless details- like deciding if he prefers the television brightness to be set at -11 or -12.

It's days like these when I think back to each of my ex's, and wonder what I'm doing with my life. How can I enjoy my life when I'm with a man who wants to further fall into the depths of boring details, all the while starting a family -right away-

I've tried to break this off twice, and twice he's thwarted me. Third time's a charm? Do I really want to fly back into the dating pool? I've seen it, and it's murky. He's everything but exciting- and do I really need to be excited?

...decisions, decisions

2003 was an excellent vintage for reisling.

2006-01-27T00:27:00.000-06:00

It's days like these that make me miss Ex-Boyfriend J.

Were I still with him (and the space-time continuum could be broken) I could say "Boyfriend, I've had such a long day at work, and my back is so sore." And I can guarantee that he would have been in my apartment giving me a massage as quickly as possible.

Not to knock current Boyfriend, because I don't need, nor want, to be treated like a spoiled princess, but Boyfriend's response to my mention of a long day and sore back is simply that it's my own fault for refusing to go to a chiropractor.

Perhaps because Boyfriend makes enough money to go to whichever specialist he wants to see at the drop of a hat, he cannot properly comprehend why I don't feel like spending the remainder of my medical savings on a trip to some chiropractor who will just tell me to come in twice a week for the rest of my life. Yes, I know my back isn't straight. Yes, I know the strain is probably the cause of my back pain. Yes, I know that I need some kind of treatment.

But, surprise! I don't have that kind of money laying around. I have the kind of money laying around to cover a trip to the doctor and the subsequent prescription that I will probably have to fill.

It's not that I don't appreciate Boyfriend's encouragement to see a specialist to fix whatever ails me today, it's that I'd rather have a cup of tea when my throat is sore, and I'd rather have a little company and a backrub when I've had a bad day and sore back. It slightly bothers me that it doesn't occur to him to ever rub my back, or whatever. And, this isn't really about backrubs, either.

I suppose the real issue is that Boyfriend is pressing the cohabitation issue really hard, and it's getting harder to say no- especially as Roommates seemingly devolve before my eyes daily. He's also started poking the fertility issue a bit- a move that obviously has heavy implications. I've mentioned that I'm nearly positive that I won't get pregnant without plenty of aid from the medical community- and I would rather spend that money acquiring a child who is already breathing and hungry.

I bring it up, because I've dated a few men who are looking to get married and have babies- and so I think it's only fair to mention that I doubt that I could wiggle my way into such a plan. Boyfriend, at first, was very okay with this. He said that he didn't really want to have children, and that he doubted that he even wanted to get married.

I thought I had landed a near-perfect male. He was smart, had a sarcastic wit, enjoyed the Chicago Art and Music scene, was a musician, had a well-paying day job, was not crazy, and only wore one belt at a time. Unfortunately, I ran into a few problems along the way- turns out that those really cute long-haired mysterious musicians are really just shy guys- and his ability to relate to women was....Minimal. Our intimate life left a lot to be desired. And, it turns out, he has jumped ship on me- and now feels that he would be quite content being domestic. Oh, and I met his cat- and really, I hate her so much, all of the other unfortunate qualities seem harmless.

Anyway, valentines day is coming up- and I'm not working that day, or the day after- meaning I'll probably be with him those days, and I can look forward to more cohabitation pressure, uncomfortable amounts of orchestrated cuddling, and probably a glass of that fantastic riesling that he's hoarding for a "special occasion." I hope that riesling is worth it.

I suppose I'll just wait and see how it turns out- I hope he doesn't surprise me with anything that I don't want and can't refuse- like having actually signed the lease to that apartment we both liked. Yes, I thought the place was fantastic. But, no, I don't want to move in with him. And, if he gets the place, my guilt would ride me into the ground...I'd have to move in with him.

...Especially since he's hanging a large chunk of cash over my head that has been designated to buy all new furniture (save a couch- our most recent purchase) and essentially play house.

"i will be your dad and mother"

2006-01-18T04:04:00.000-06:00

I just love it when he sends me a lullaby playlist because he knows I have a hard time going to sleep. It's always different- no repeats.

A special lullaby playlist, just for tonight. I love it. I love the little things.

"i will keep the bad things from you" x the damnwells
"soul meets body" x death cab for cutie
"pin your wings down" x copeland
"acoustic #10" x goo goo dolls
"lullaby" the cure.

good boy. good night.

appointments

2006-01-17T18:17:00.000-06:00

Gah.

I signed on to my instant messenger service for a few minutes between errands, and Boyfriend said hello. I greeted him, and I was soon called away to another set of errands.

I come back to the following message:

"maybe we'll talk some time again, but sounds like I need to make an appointment first"

Good GOD! Sometimes, I'm busy. In fact, I'm busy all the time, but I usually carve out at least an hour to communicate with him daily. He does not always return the favor, but that's not a bad thing. The point is: sometimes I have things to do, and he's getting pissy when I can't be there to listen to something that probably won't interest me, anyway. I don't understand the bad attitude he's got when days like this pop up. His separation anxiety bothers me, too.

Rolling Eyes, Heads

2006-01-16T21:46:00.000-06:00

I've gotten to my last straw with workplace: and that might be because I've found a new workplace. Either way, about 20 minutes before the end of my shift (when I planned on putting in my two weeks), I was called into the office of Employer W. Now, Employer W is a bitch in the highest degree, but I avoid her, and so she doesn't really bother me, but today, we got to butt heads.

Anyway, while I had her full attention (after being told that I'm an eye-roller) I put in my two weeks (woohoo). I think she was taken aback- she surely planned on me saying something to the effect of "yes massah, I do loves to be workin' fo' yah! please lemme keep mah job, massah, oh please."

Instead, she got a "yes, well, I'm giving you my two week notice, anyway." Her eyebrows got all high and archy, and she looked over her glasses at me.

"I didn't mean that this is a problem, we're happy to have you on the team." She gushed.

"I've already found employment elsewhere" I replied, tersely.

"Oh, I- okay. Do you mind telling me why you're leaving?" She questioned.

"This job is not satisfying any of my needs. Physically, I need to be able to cover my bills- especially in the case of illness. Emotionally, I need to work somewhere that isn't stressful. Intellectually, I need something challenging, or at least interesting. Socially, I need to be around people who aren't catty or ignorant. Workplace offers no benefits, minimal pay, loads of stress, monotonous work, and an environment that not only harbors and nurtures gossip but also hate- and I can't really take one more ignorant person telling me that homosexuals are sinful, immoral, damned, an abomination or deserve to die." I shot back.

She sat in stunned silence. I was self-satisfied. Quivering, yes; but also quite self-satisfied.

In other news, Mark wants to see the upcoming Belle and Sebastian show. Blech. But, The New Pornographers will be there- and that should be good enough to make up for B&S

Magic Vaginas

2006-01-16T00:59:00.000-06:00

I try to never be jealous- frankly, I don't look good in green.

That's why I was consumed with raging fire when John very publicly courted and moved in his new girlfriend, Sam. She's way prettier than I could ever dream of being- so she must be a better human, right? And in all the turmoil of hating her, I hated myself for being jealouse: I broke up with him, I should be fine with him having another girlfriend. God knows, he wasn't faithful while we were together, why would I think that he would spend more than a second single after I left. Either way, that's not the point.

The point was, I hated her for having sex with John in "our" bed. I'm not sure why that really bothered me...it wasn't even really my bed. I tried not to let him know that I was jealous: I wanted to be the cool ex-girlfriend. So, he doesn't know that I hate her, or her reportedly fantastic vagina.

While sitting around at work, waiting for a timer to go off, no doubt, I was thinking about Katrina, and that little apartment, and all of the endearing things about the time we spent together being underwater: everything from "our" bed to the battleground to his mother's house to the diner. I kind of got misty, and I'm not really sure why: I have definitely moved on, I have a new and improved boyfriend (well, somewhat improved, and no longer new), I'm happier now than I ever have been, and for the love of all that is good and holy, I haven't thought about him in forever.

And then, all of a sudden, I got this really really comforting thought: "our" bed was underwater, covered in mold, and can never be used ever again.

Thank God.

I mean, he's still with the magic vagina, and that doesn't really bother me, anymore. My own vagina insecurities have been mostly resolved, and frankly, I don't care how good her bits feel to his bits. The issue is more that I have a lot of memories tied to that bed, and don't think that I mean dirty instances: I mean that we spent a lot of time just hanging out at night...talking, reading, working, etc. It was a haven, really. And I shuddered to think of her bedding down in "our" bed. Now she can't, haha. They have a new bed, and that's fine. That's their bed. Not "ours."

But all of this talk about magic vaginas and beds isn't the point. A dear friend (whom, I regret to say, has drifted from me) managed to get back to New Orleans and take pictures of a few things: mostly damaged property from our old neighborhood locales. She mentioned that she got a picture or two of my apartment building, and I was only mildly curious to see it...I really wanted to ask her if there was any way she could make it out to Chalmette and get a picture of John's place...Because, I don't care what happened to the Calhoun St. apartment: that meant nothing. But John's place...John's place was special, and I want to see the ruin myself. I want to see the grave of "our" place.

He says he'll never go back. He seems quite content in Houston. He's always wanted a good excuse to get the fuck out of Chalmette...and so I find it quite comforting that the little apartment that was the stage for so many emotionally charged moments and strong memories (or both fantastic and deplorable things) is gone, and will never play host to him. This is entirely selfish and childish: but the silver lining of that fucking hurricane is that fucking house is gone.

And while I sat during dinner, staring at this new boy, one thing kept nagging me: why did I still care? It's been a year and a half since I moved out of that shithole. I have a functioning mate. We're sitting in a diner having a wonderful meal discussing future plans. Why do I want to see the ruins of that place so badly?

willyoumoveinwithme?

2006-01-12T14:50:00.000-06:00

Just got back from another night with Boyfriend. It was another 24 hours of "whydon'tyoumoveintwithme?whydon'tyoumoveintwithme?whydon'tyoumoveintwithme?whydon'tyoumoveintwithme?"

frankly, the thought of living with another boyfriend is...well...not my cup of tea. see, by moving in together, you essentially sign on to either have a really really messy breakup that can only occur after having the funds to move out (which i won't for a long time- and therefore might be trapped in a relationship that I dislike) OR i plan on heading toward marriage (which i don't think is right for us...at least for right now)

either way, as i was attempting to drift off to sleep last night, it dawned on me that the differences between Boyfriend and I were all quite well illustrated by his couch(es).

1. he is too quick to spend a lot of money. i usually need plenty of time to think about it, but one day, he just kind of looked at me and said "i would like a new couch." and the next day, were were couch shopping. he just wrote a check for a $2,000 couch. you know, just because he wanted a new one. i would have sat on the old sofa until it fell apart.

2. he is irritatingly picky when making purchases. we spent (and i'm not kidding) 4 hours looking through fabric swatches to figure out what would be best for his aesthetics and his apartment. wanna know the best part? there were only 3 swatches. i managed to pick out the swatch that eventually won in a matter of 10 minutes- not ten minutes of comparison to the other two swatches, but 10 minutes after entering the fabric gallery. i chose the couch that eventually won after two trial sits on each of the qualifing pieces of furniture...it took him three days of walking in and sitting on each couch that met size and shape qualifications. it mostly just started to annoy me how picky he was about really stupid details.

3. he includes me on these very important long-term purchases. if i were buying a couch, he would not go. it would be my couch for my apartment...and he would see my purchase when i had finished making the decision. BUT, we went looking for the couch together, and it was very much referenced as our couch- where it very much is his couch...but that's really just another example of how he believes that everything that is currently his will soon be ours. i still very much feel that what is mine is mine...and that won't be changing any time soon. in fact, if what is mine becomes what is ours, he might be the second half of "us."

4. he is insanely picky about what he purchases, and then treats his possessions with a much different attitude. he has a cat- a cat with all of its claws, and frankly, it ripped his previous sofa to shreds. if i had this cat, it would either have to live without its claws, or live without me. i'm not going to pay $2,000 for a new sofa that the cat will use as a scratching post, no sir. moreover, i would not let that little beast on the sofa, but, rather than enjoying his new purchase, he has it draped with an ugly blanket to protect it from cat hair. to me, it makes more sense to say "no cats on the furniture" than to say "i will sit on this ugly scratchy blanket because it makes the cat happy." fuck that cat- give it to someone who loves little beasts and get a fucking fish.

5. i sleep on the couch. Boyfriend sleeps in a twin bed- and that in and of itself really bothers me. i think all grown men who have left their dorm rooms should own at least a double bed. you're not a child anymore, stop sleeping in a child's bed. BUT, when i first started sleeping over at his apartment, i slept on the couch while he took the bed. it seems a little bitchy to even mention this, but it bothered me that he never even offered his bed. not that i would have taken his offer- but this points to the greater issue that i've noticed- that is that he is very much used to being alone...his behavior points to never having had to consider the needs or wants.

i'm also really pissed that we spent time looking at model apartments...mostly because for a while (during the model apartment time) i really wanted to move in with him...after that, i came to my senses and realized that this was not a good plan...

gah. so much pressure.

Email

2006-01-03T22:56:00.000-06:00

The following is a quote from an email from Boy. Boy and I had plans to see each other today through Thursday (we're kind of like weekend warriors), but, I've become a bit ill, so I'm using my time off to recover, and kick the illness before I go back to work Thursday afternoon. I wrote him a quick note to tell him that I wouldn't be spending time with him, and I got the following bit back:

"Trying to be with you is becoming a very lonely experience. I worry
that my connection to you will falter. Sometimes, like right now and
for the last few days, I feel like you're only in my imagination, when I
want your real companionship and it isn't possible."

now, here's what I wrote back:

I'm sorry to hear that you feel lonely in this relationship. I know that, since we don't live close to each other, it's hard to see each other often, and that can strain our ability to maintain a good relationship. I don't want to be your imaginary girlfriend, and hopefully we can amend that situation when I'm feeling better- I plan on using my time off next week to stay with you. We can talk more about that then- not to mention create a way to juggle work schedules to make everything fit. Right now is very busy for me, and I don't want to feel like I'm edging you out- I'm just genuinely very busy and in a stressful time right now, a time that is, perhaps, not best suited to nurture a relationship. Obviously, that just means that we have to be mindful and considerate of circumstances.

what i wanted to write:

Dear Boyfriend-
I think you have a good reason to be paranoid about me ending this relationship. It makes me angry that you manipulate everything that I say about Roommates into reasons why I should move in with you. I don't like how you take me furniture shopping for your apartment- and then refer to the items purchased as "our" things. I find it irritating that you understand that I work to make ends meet, but I'm still the one paying $20 in transportation to see you- when you are the one with the flexible schedule and car. I even have a short list of reasons why I don't like you- and why I am contemplating leaving you.

1. I -hate- your cat. when you aren't looking, I flip it off. When you're in the shower, I tell it in Spanish that I want to kill it. and I do. If it weren't for the fact that I care about animal rights, I would have killed your cat by now. I refuse to move in with you for as long as your stupid beast has claws in the front paws. I also refuse to move in for as long as your cat has teeth, because it manages to destroy a piece of your property every day. You're the dumbass who decided to put a fucking barn cat in a one bedroom apartment, I'm not going to be the dumbass who lets your beast ruin my things. I've been down that road before, and it didn't end nicely.

2. You make me feel very self conscious about my body in a very bad way. And, your bones poke me. Seriously, it hurts. Eat something.

3. You take too long to get ready. This sounds even more retarded than the cat point, but for the love of god...this is ridiculous. You can call me and surprise me with any activity- from a baseball game to a white tie dinner, and I promise you that I can be ready to roll in 30 minutes or less. When we get Indian takeout, you need at least 3 hours to groom before we can get in the car, get dinner, and go back to the apartment to eat. It drives me crazy that you have to stop the car, get out, and make a special stop (or go back home!) because you see a hair out of place in your rear-view mirror. If you looked bad, I would tell you. You're fine, stop being such a girl.

4. You base your mental health on my presence. I'm really happy that your anxiety issues have all but disappeared, but it really bothers me that you claim that I am the reason these issues were resolved. It also bothers me that you think that all of your issues will return if I leave- it quadruples any guilt I already incur for attempting to dump you.

5. There is close to zero affection between us, and while I like things a little cooler, I don't like to wonder if you are not attracted to me, gay, or a fucking robot.

There are other issues, but that's for another time. The important thing for you to know is that you shouldn't give me a jump off point to dump you, because I'll do it. Because, if you feel so fucking alone, don't waste your time being faithful to me- go date whichever groupie you pick up next. God knows I've had my eye on someone for a while now. So, if it feels like you can't have my companionship in your hour of need, why don't you get in your fucking car, and make the drive to see me? when's the last time you were in my neighborhood? 5, 6 weeks ago? Roommates don't bite- and I know you feel uncomfortable staying in my room with them here, but it's not like we're having sex. Your neighbors can feed your beast, you're welcome to spend the night here when you're feeling lonely. I can't just take time off and come see you- I'll lose my job, or worse, step on the toes of Coworker.

I'm sick, I'm tired, I'm lonely (too), I'm not really happy with you, and I'm in a bad mood, now is not the right time to say that I'm not providing sufficient girlfriend service to you, especially since I mostly feel like some kind of escort who shows up for dinners with your family, time with your friends, work functions, and cultural events- but somehow shells out for the pleasure of being the smiley puppet.

I refuse to move in with you- even though you want to buy that house that we both liked, and you've been willing to completely change your lifestyle to urge me to live with you. I like Roommates, and I like my livingspace. I'm not sure that I like you- and I won't be living with you.

-Girlfriend.

addendum

2005-12-25T21:13:00.000-06:00

In addition to the reasons previously listed as to why I seek to end my employment at Workplace, Assistant failed to show up today until the last 20 minutes of work this evening because Manager failed to give Assistant a valid copy of the schedule. I came in on Christmas Eve for an "emergency" and was suckered into working away my holiday...and then had to do nearly double the work today because Manager can't write a proper schedule. Ridiculous.

I worked Christmas Eve

2005-12-24T22:13:00.000-06:00

I hate quitting jobs, but I have a few compelling reasons to quit this one.

1. I do not have the regular schedule that I requested and was promised. I work many weekends, and don't make the hours that I really wanted. My days off aren't sequential, and are not in any kind of determined pattern.

2. I do not get paid enough/don't receive good benefits. For the work I do, I should be getting better pay OR benefits. Getting bronchitis and not being able to pay a doctor to see me is unacceptable. This is America, not Uganda.

3. The environment is a conductor for stress. My coworkers spend more time kissing ass than completing work. When I see a to-do list, I am compelled to complete it. However, my coworkers are more into that "we get paid even if we sit around, so let's just sit around" school of thought. This mostly irritates me because I come in and see that the majority of the to-do list is not completed, and I have to hurry to finish it all.

4. I just spent Christmas Eve at work. I had plans to see my sisters, I had the day off. I said, don't call me. They called me. So, I worked. And my phone went dead. So, now, it's 10:36, and verifiably to late to call. I'll have to call tomorrow and sound like a total jackass for fucking missing Christmas Eve.

5. This conversation: note- I've been drinking a lot today.

manager: I'm glad you could come in.
me: I really have to hurry and be out of here. I don't want to miss seeing my sisters and dog.
manager: I don't know when we'll get out coworker is sick and can't come in.
me: I'm not on the schedule, am I getting holiday pay?
manager: we can work that out.
me: so I'm doing everything?
manager: is that a problem.
me: uh, yeah...you may not have noticed, but I'm not really sober.
manager: you came to work drunk?
me: you called me on my day off.
manager: aren't you under 21?
me: I was drinking private alcohol on private property. It was totally legal.
manager: I could report you to other manager.
me (being belligerent): you called me in on my day off...On a holiday...from a party...and this is legal. Do I get tomorrow off?
manager: no.
me: I'm calling in sick tomorrow. I worked thanksgiving and now Christmas eve. I'm scheduled for new years eve, and probably for new years day. I get Christmas off.
manager: I know you'd be lying, I'd need a doctor's note.
me: I'm still nursing bronchitis...I can't get over it since I don't have insurance to go to the doctor's.
manager: then why are you here?
me: because I didn't think coworker should have to work when she's ill.
manager: so you're well enough to work?
me: I'm drunk enough to put up with this shit.
manager: if you call in sick tomorrow, I'm going to have to fire you.
me: whatever.

6. I am consistently demoted to babysitter. I have a technical position. If I wanted to be a babysitter, I would get a job as a nanny. I have a job looking through microscopes, not telling kids to behave. I refuse to make sure those brats don't hurt themselves anymore. And, if they mess up, I hope someone sues this company.

7. Our receptionists are lazy wastes of human flesh. I would really like to get a job as a receptionist so that I can have a job description that reads: duties include staring off into space, putting everyone on hold, reading People Magazine, not answering phones, maintaining IQ below 60, eating popcorn, refusing to do work and creating messes.

8. The company plans on hiring a part time person to "fill in work gaps." Frankly, such gaps do not exist, and I only see this as a way to cut back my hours, as I keep pulling overtime hours. I can't afford to lose time, especially when I need to be making more, anyway.

No Pitter Patter

2005-12-13T12:50:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago, I experienced my very first pregnancy scare. After being very queasy for a few days, it dawned on me that I hadn't had my period in a while- and then I had a 36 hour period of emotional chaos. Fear, loathing, confusion...it was all there. Mostly confusion. I had no sexual activity for months...and I was always protected.

So, I ever so discreetly invested in a pregnancy test, and did the whole "I won't make a decision until I know for sure" thing. Well, as logic would have it, I wasn't pregnant (surprise! stomach flu!) and I got my period the next day (because stomach flu doesn't suck enough!)

I never told anyone, because, now that I've thought about it, it's embarassingly silly that I thought for a second that I could be pregnant. Afterall, I wasn't having sex, I'm prone to irregular menstruation, and the stomache flu was circulating through my apartment. Smart, Dyna, real smart.

But since that time, I've toyed with the idea. Mostly because the boy and I have discussed being sexually active (after a long long long hiatus) and it was important to him that we have a contingency plan in case of pregnancy. That's fine- one of the things I like about him is that he needs that kind of planning in place. I did tell him that I would not marry him strictly because I would be carrying his child as I don't think it's fair to bring a baby into a situation that is not necessarily a loving and stable home. I also told him that I would not very seriously consider abortion, as I don't think I could go through with it. But I would think long and hard about adoption- I'm just not ready for a baby. I also told him that, while I feel that fathers have a certain amount of say over the fate of their fetuses, it's ultimately my decision. My body is not simply a vessel for creating and nurturing more people; rather, it's my living space and tool, and I might, one day, decide to share said space with a fetus, and then decide to care for it.

That noted, I'll say it right now, the boy would make an excellent father; he is rather stingy with affection (but, so am I), but I think he would make for a very solid and available figure. If I could choose any of the past boys to be a baby daddy, it would be this boy. I get the general impression that the boy wants to be a father, and that is altogether quite comforting if I ever find myself pregnant. It's not really comforting that he would be quite content to be settled down and buying baby booties and looking into preschools right now, though.

So, now that I am officially sure that I am not pregnant, I can safely toy with the idea. Now that I have a general idea of what I actually want out of life, and I've climbed out of the bottomless pit of self-loathing and depression, I can enter into a healthy relationship...and perhaps look to the future, rather then revelling in the past/present. Would being a mommy be that horrible? I've always imagined that I would hate it. I hate babies crying in restaurants, I can't stand little kids being irritating in stores, I don't particularly care for the idea of ending most of my own ambitions to throw myself at the upbringing of offspring, and I'm not really sure that I could be a good mother.

Strangely enough, I've heard the very first tickings of the biological clock. Maybe it's the sense of inevitablity that I get from the boy: probably mostly from his language. "Marriage" slowly changed from "one day i'll meet someone" to "if we" to "we have our future to plan." The issue of children morphed from "I'm ambivalent about kids" to "one day" to "how do you feel about such and such issue in parenting?" It's hard to not plan and plot when someone else is already staking claims on your future.

Only once in my life have I had a stronger urge to end a relationship, and never have I been so compelled to stay in one.

following the pattern

2005-11-15T19:31:00.000-06:00

This summer, we spoke softly of hopes and dreams.
This season, we dared mention futures intertwined.
This month, we shared important memories and moments
This weekend, we created a mutual investment in permanent circumstances

...and i'm really feeling uncomfortable. i've pairbonded with a man who closely reminds me of my father, and i often feel like my mother. not in any of the good ways, either.

So, I've made a solid commitment for the holiday season, and I'm happy to see the future, but i still can't shake the feeling that you won't be there.

Food Issues

2005-10-14T12:07:00.000-05:00

I have a skinny boyfriend. You know his type- he has to consciously think about food all the time, not because he needs to keep his calorie count low, it's because if he doesn't get enough calories, he'll pass out and dramatically lose weight. he eats 5 hearty meals each day. every day, his total exercise is carefully metered so as not to over-exert him.

i am not a skinny girlfriend. you know my type- i have to consciously think about food all the time, not because i'm worried about passing out, it's because if i so much as smell chocolate, i will gain 5 pounds and won't be able to wear my jeans. i eat one full meal each day with two small snacks. i spend one hour of every day of my life working out and sweating like a fucking cow, on top of my twice-daily walks to keep my blood moving.

i'm always very worried that we will end up like those strange couples on daytime talk show television- the exceedingly obese woman and her eerily thin man. *shudder*

because we live a bit far from each other, we normally spend weekends together, and the week apart. so, while being at my apartment the other weekend, he took particular notice of my eating and exercise habits. because he could only come with me for one walk each day, i would replace one walk with a few extra minutes of exercise tacked onto my regular workout (that was bumped to early in the morning before he woke up). he also noticed that i did not eat during 4 of his daily meals, rather i very lightly snack; and on the 5th i ate my usual carefully planned meal (grilled skinless chicken, a veggie, and a small portion of rice or pasta).

that started something of a confrontation- he mentioned an eating disorder.

no no no no no. i DO NOT have an eating disorder. i have a metabolism disorder. i have a metabolism disorder that is encouraged by a hormone disorder. i have a hormone disorder that is brought about by an ovary problem. i have a body shape that shows every ounce of fat. i have slim hips- but that makes my torso look bigger than it is. i have a wide ribcage, and that makes me look more well padded than i am. i have feminine shoulders that add to that effect.

see: my rib cage is wider than my hips- which is not a normal trait in women.

people with eating disorders don't eat/binge and purge out of compulsion and obsession with becoming thinner. i eat very moderately and exercise often because i would rather work hard and curb my eating than pop pills that may or may not work. i'm not a straight-edge, but i would rather not rely on medication to fix my body when i can do it with a little sweat and self-control.

i suppose he has no idea what it is like to feel yourself getting fat. he has no idea what stigma ensues. i'm already on that "getting fat" edge. during the eating disorder talk, he mentioned that i am not fat; and i agree. i'm not. but, i am not thin, either. my edges are rounded and predisposed to becoming rounder.

i'm not shooting for "skinny," i'm shooting for "healthy looking."

i hate people who have to carry around candy bars "just in case they don't get enough calories." especially when i honestly don't remember the last time i had a candy bar.

tread softly on new ground

2005-10-09T22:36:00.000-05:00

i'm feeling VERY not myself in a very detrimental way.

after the wedding (steven and whatsherface) there was a lot of discussion about children. it came to our attention that none of mark's buddies (save one old college friend) had kids- despite a desire to have them.

this brought on a discussion on the drive back to his place about procreation and whatnot. thankfully, he fully understands that 1. talking very openly about definite committment and children is the best way to scare me off, so he was exceedingly vague. 2. that i am in no position to have children. if one day the stars align and i do conceive, i can only expect to have a very quick miscarriage. and 3. that i neither want to be an old mom (i would rather experience my children in my younger years) nor do i want to deal with babies, so i would (if i have children) look to adopt an older child before i turn 30. and really, that's only after i have had my fill of life and experiences that have to occur sans babies. not to mention that i would never bring a child into a situation that would ever involve an eventual divorce, so i would have to be super assured in the relationship.

all of those things were pushed aside, and he prodded me with very uncomfortable questions about kids.

this was after the discussion on my stance on a woman changing her name in marriage. blech.

it seems that my relationships have timers: 3 or four months of fun and happiness before it becomes glaringly obvious that my significant other is far more into me than i am into him/her. and then i freak out and end the relationship. every time. the strange thing is: i've recently felt myself being wildly jealous of pregnant women; and i'm not ready to end this relationship, despite the fact that he does not make for good bedfellows and that i'm treading into enemy territory.

i'm a basket case: don't date me.

i've started two new pieces.

2005-10-04T04:18:00.000-05:00

one is a saxophone solo. i'm really tempted to arrange it for a small band. it's kind of baroque. tonality and everything. oh sweet jesus, it's in Fminor. *twitches*

the other is an existentialist drama. a la samuel beckett.

10/10 times

2005-10-04T03:04:00.000-05:00

i've forgotten how totally selfish heterosexual sex is. no, really.

having been in mostly homosexual relationships for the past year or so, i suppose i've forgotten how straight sex works.

oh yeah; i gracefully get on my knees, in my desperate desire to be the selfless lover...only to get a mouth full of something i don't want...and a night spent feeling TOTALLY unfulfilled.

would it kill him to at least pretend to be interested in my pleasure.

musicircus

2005-09-27T01:25:00.000-05:00

sometimes, i wonder if, in the process of trying to be the most arty, we've become the most ridiculous.

now, don't get me wrong, i don't think that there should be one guy in charge of all that is art, and i don't think that guy should be saying what is art. i think art is expression that cannot be contained by what is most commonly accepted in society.

however, after attending the musicircus, i'm not totally convinced that this wasn't a collection of people who are, simply, fooling themselves. i really do like progressive art music. i swear i do. i can enjoy john cage. i can really get into a lot of modern jazz, but this seemed a little silly to me.

maybe we all have limits to our creativity. maybe i'm surprisingly low brow, and i will like my opera and classical music. i still like rhythm and harmony. I STILL LIKE TONALITY.

altogether it was a great time, hanging out with mark. what was not a good time was having my ears assaulted.

Post, the first

2005-09-23T18:52:00.000-05:00

Testing, 123

Just picking up from here.