Originally Dissatisfied: Nov/Dec '09
The morning after
I had a good – no, a great – night last night. I met an old friend downtown for dinner. For some reason (his not being a townie is his best excuse), he thought it was a stellar idea to have me meet him at a bar barely a block away from where our fair city’s largest sports arena was holding their expected Sunday afternoon sports contest. My portion of the blame lies in my selective hearing, and my assumption that he would be summoning me later than the crowd would be at it’s heaviest dispersement point.
Team Edward
When was the last time I posted? I know… I’m full of excuses as to why I don’t do this on a daily basis anymore.
But… is it better to save up experiences to recount to you in a flourish after making you chomp at the bit for a few days, OR… is it better to religiously post… daily… no question?
What if the most interesting thing that has happened to me in the course of a given day is a life-changing Facebook quiz or cherry pie that was so perfectly symbiotic in it’s sweetness/sourness that it almost made me cry as I finished my second piece?
Is that worth a read? I mean I think it’s worth a read because I find myself fascinating… as should you, BUT… that doesn’t mean you WILL (as you should).
My excuse this week is that I’ve been re-reading the Twilight series. I felt an urgent need to read book 2 in the series, New Moon, before the release of the movie this month. But… being OCD when it comes to books in a series, I had to begin with #1 and work my way up from there. Just had to. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.
I finished Twilight and New Moon within 5 days. I just finished book 3, Eclipse, this morning, and I have already begun book 4, Breaking Dawn.
I’m addicted to Edward and Bella. And when I finish this book – again – I’m going to be SO depressed that they are not a daily part of my life just like I was the first time I tore through the series.
Of course, I definitely foresee reading through all four books again just before Eclipse is released in theaters.
Today, I bought the New Moon illustrated movie guide… something that can extend my Twilight time once I finish Breaking Dawn.
I love Edward. I’m a stupid lamb.
Woof… bite me.
Use your low beams
A day in which everything was muted… less clear… dampened… and you had to have people repeat themselves… talking slower and using smaller words so that you could finally understand their brain teaser of a question?
For example: “Paper or plastic?”
Diabolically confusing, that, even on on the clear days, but you catch my drift.
It’s almost as if I have to pump myself up to hear someone and take in their information. They look at me, say something to me, and whatever it was is completely unregisterable to my feebly sparking brain.
So… I take a deep breath in through my nose, squinch up my eyes for a moment, then look directly at them so that perhaps I can interpret the movement of their lips in case their words once again are unable to make it through my apparently non-functioning ear drums (assuming my cerebral cortex would interpret their meaning for me if they did happen to squeak by) and say in my most articulate voice… “whut?”
My fog is thick. I’ve fallen in the drink. The soup today will be ham-n-bean.
Accepting what is… ok, not really
That said, my newest excuse for my arrested blogging development is that… well… people suck. Present company excluded entirely, but the rest of humankind as a whole… bleck.
Yes… an egregious lumping in of all the good with the profoundly bad. You’re right. I agree. I’m just not feeling very agreeable OR rational right now, so… allow me my wHine with my cheese. (Mizithra, if you have it.)
Thanks.
Nothing catastrophic has occurred. Everyone I love is alive and loves me back. Some of these loved ones are even thriving spectacularly. Bully for them. Really.
It’s really just a couple of wormy apples that are facilitating my stilted view of an otherwise shiny barrel of gorgeous red deliciousness.
So apparently I’m no longer just “the glass half empty girl”. I’m ACTUALLY the girl who did the emptying of the glass herself because she just poured it out on your rug… then smashed it against a dirty alley wall… and finally used an especially murderous piece of jagged glass to scratch naughty words into the paint jobs of those who have vexed her.
A girl can dream.
But back to the important part: that everything is actually ok. I’m just grouchy because a couple of lesser (completely unrelated) beings have dared incur my wrath. Two separate annoyances on two consecutive days… two situations that have nothing to do one with the other but are shockingly related in tone, substance and flavor.
A case of history repeating itself – twice – before one historical tidbit has even seen itself to it’s completion.
Sweet baby jesus. Back off, karma… I’m processing as fast as I can, dammit!
It’s nothing that interrupts the course of my day-to-day except for the irritation I allow myself to feel as the result of others’ immaturity, self-centeredness (glass house alert… shutup) and thoughtlessness.
I think someone needs a zing to remind him (them) just who they’re screwing with (and not in the good way)… help me out Shakespeare:
Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights hast thirty one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting.
Lizzard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
There… bippity boppity boo… so bite me.
What I REALLY need to know
I will continue by saying that all the best parts of today’s post are shamelessly plagiarized. Sort of. I’m telling you where the following juicy tidbits are coming from – complete with link – so… not really plagiarized as much as copycat’d.
The nationwide release of NEW MOON is happening in 1 day, 7 hours & 24 minutes. I will be SEEING said movie 13 hours and 59 minutes after that. I am all for going to the midnight premiere except for one thing: the screaming teenagers. I do not at all begrudge them their right to scream. All of my own instincts will be shrieking at me to jump up and down and keen shrilly at the very sight of our beloved on-screen hero. I DO begrudge them that right, though, if it in any way conflicts with MY ability to hear, see or otherwise experience the glorious cinematic representation that is Edward Anthony Masen Cullen.
Don’t screw with me, teenyboppers. Edward wants a REAL woman. (Shutup)
So the real meat of today’s post was taken from –> http://becauseiknewyou.blogspot.com/2008/02/everything-i-need-to-know.htmlo-know.html
Read… process… be edified:
Cutter’s remorse
November 19, 2009
Today I would like to talk about my hair. I know… everything I say is just so… damn… deep.
And… back to me.
I have very frustrating hair. It’s very thick, but that is only evident to whomever may be cutting, styling or wrestling with it at any given moment. It’s very fine, so… to the casual observer it just looks thin. The color is good – a nice rich chestnut – but it’s so dark that it refuses to hold highlights, lowlights or any other trick of color.
Curling? Forget about it. Remember I said it was thick. It is. Surprisingly so. Translation: it’s H-E-A-V-Y. It refuses to hold curl. A perm (not that I condone that kind of behaviour) won’t even stay in my head.
As I child I had stick straight hair (as I do now) that was about an inch long all over my noggin. I had short hair til I graduated from high school. I rebelled when I was 19, and I began growing it just for the sake of growing it. It ended up past my hips, but it had grown so long with too little maintenance that it wasn’t really healthy anymore. I cut, donated and started again.
I’ve cut off chunks of length a few times since then, but usually it’s just a few inches here and there. So now… it’s stick straight, down to my shoulder blades, nice & soft but completely & irrevocably LIMP.
I want waves. I want volume. I want to shock pedestrians on the street with my shiny, luxurious mane.
Picture Gene Tierney ala Laura. An unexpected choice, yes… understated, but eyecatching. That’s it. I’d want people to look, not initially know why they’re looking and then realize they’re gaping at my glorious head of hair as they think to themselves “If ONLY my hair looked like that… my life would have meaning.”
I’m just sayin’…
Ok… I’m done talking about my hair now. Til I get it cut. Then you’ll get to sit through the fascinating recount of that story.
You’re welcome.
My liver is full
November 23, 2009
AN INTRODUCTION TO TODAY’S POST (or “why am I pissy? watch me count the ways!”)
I have a big ol’ drawer chock-full of pet peeves. I think “pet peeve” is probably too benign a label considering how easily I get angry over little things that really are… well… LITTLE! I’m not saying I don’t have a problem. And I’m definitely not saying that the following list is rational. Today’s list is, for you, entertainment (I hope?) and, for me, an outlet… a chance to vent… a last desperate stop before I take out the town? But of course I kid! (I think it’s time for my medication.)
Things for which I have a surprisingly deep loathing:
» My phone ringing
» ANY phone ringing
» Having to talk on my phone (no, not to anyone in particular, so for those who enjoy calling me – and god knows why you do – don’t take this personally, k? k.)
» Having someone call me, and not leave a message (if you don’t care to leave a message then, from my point of view, there wasn’t a reason important enough to warrant the call to begin with)
» Someone who calls, doesn’t leave a message and immediately calls back again
» I call someone, and leave a message. They were unable to get to the phone before their voicemail picked up, but instead of listening to the message I’ve JUST left, they immediately call me back. This makes it necessary for me to repeat myself when – had they just listened to the voicemail – neither of us may have needed to call the other again to explore that particular topic. And if another call IS necessary, then making the call, having as much information as possible, will only expedite the proceedings. Am I right, or am I right??!
» Riding in an elevator with another human
» Getting in an empty elevator and having to stop to pick someone up or let someone off on every floor between the one where I got on and the one on which I disembark.
» Any complete stranger failing to notice, at first glance, that my will is to be immediately obeyed.
I will again say that none of these (terribly reasonable) complaints have to do with anyone I know who may read this post. Did I mention I’m pissy today? Extraordinarily so. Pay no attention to the shrill harpy – she’s just losing her bitter little mind.
TO THE POINT –> Since I’ve known my acupuncturist, he’s told me that I have rage in my liver… copious amounts of it in fact. (In Traditional Chinese Medicine, different emotions are significant to different organs/meridians. For example: joy is measured by the health of the heart, grief to the lungs, fear to the kidneys, etc…)
I can’t speak for my liver, not being consciously aware of the rage-o-meter apparently attached to it. But I AM aware of anger. And I have some. Lots of it.
I seem to be feeling it today especially. I don’t know why. I can’t say if it’s a strangely significant day for me astrologically… if my “moon is in uranus” per se.
Perhaps it has to do with the moon and how it’s pulling on my girly parts and subsequently making me overtly hormonal.
(How DO you make a whore moan? Don’t pay her!)
Perhaps it’s because I need a damn Hershey bar… or 12.
Whatever it is, you may see me on the evening news tonight.
Set your DVR’s. You’re gonna wanna get this on tape.
I HAVE a dream!
November 27, 2009
Last night I had a dream. A good dream. And sex wasn’t even involved. Not directly anyway.
Two words: Maksim Chmerkovskiy. S’all I’m sayin’.
Ok, so I’ll share just a little more. (And in case you have no idea who I’m talking about – what rock are YOU living under?! – he is one of the dance pros on Dancing With The Stars… my FAVORITE dance pro, in fact.)
So here’s the dream: I’m still a fat girl. Wait… it really does get better. I’m still me as I am at this moment. I don’t know why I can’t dream myself better than what is reality, but I never do… ANYWAY… I’m still me. Bummer. BUT… I know Maksim. Bonus. The strange part is that we are running together. Not “running with” as in “the people you run with” aka “the people you know”. We were RUNNING. Let me just say - this right here? Dudn’t run. No one needs to see that.
Of course I also don’t have the motivation of the tasty dangling carrot (no, that was NOT a metaphor for anything else, people… FOCUS!), which would in this case be Maksim.
In this wacky dream, I’m running from a specific point A to a specific point B. Don’t ask me now what either of these locations were, but I have a sense that they had something to do with weight loss. So I decide, for some asinine reason, to run myself in between the two just to see if I can.
(Apparently, in the dream world, I’m a complete moron.)
So I take off, and I see Maksim jogging. He sees me, and at first it appears he is only slightly amused by my attempts at what is very VERY jiggly movement, and moves away to jog without being bothered (or embarrassed) by me. But then he apparently thinks better of that plan, and decides to throw me a bone. (Yeah… I know… I wish.)
He slows, matches his stride to mine, and he stays with me until I reach my destination.
There are NO WORDS to adequately express the beauty of his glistening chest, his perfect abs, his gorgeous face or his SMOKIN’ ASS!
I can’t remember exactly how the dream ended. I think the only reason it did end was because my alarm went off. (Blast that whole having to work to pay the bills bullshit.) But Maksim travelled on without too many parting words and left me breathless (for more than one reason) at the door of my intended destination.
And yes… he looks just as good running away. Nice image to wake up to… even if it was foggy and clouded by irritation over that damn alarm.
Yesterday WAS Thanksgiving. Perhaps the tryptophan brought on that happy dream.
Note to self: EAT… MORE… TURKEY.
Harshing my mellow
November 29, 2009
I am, at this very moment, sitting in a Panera and enjoying the free wi-fi.
(At home I live like the Amish: dial-up, no cable… it’s terrible… seriously… we’re talking third world here.)
I decide that I need a quiet afternoon on my own, updating my hard drive and downloading a few juicy tidbits from iTunes.
I’ve found myself a pleasant, and very comfortable, corner - a nice, roomy booth all to myself. It’s not too crowded here at the moment, probably because of the NFL contest currently being broadcast on a major television network.
(Jesus save me from football fans.)
So the city is pretty much a ghost-town as most of its inhabitants are enjoying a drunken tail-gate… and who doesn’t enjoy a tipsy afternoon of microwaved teeny wieners and tepid budweiser, I ask you? The rest of the “outcasts” who also seem to be currently ”above it all” are sitting here with me, breathing a sigh of relief to have safely escaped the nearly required worship at the altar of the pigskin… sounds barbaric, does it not?
But this afternoon’s rant really has nothing to do with football… directly. My rant has to do with the old man who just sat down at the table next to me. I understand that, once you get to a certain age, you are terribly grateful for – and excited by – a chance to “get out”… by someone willing to pay you some attention for a few hours… by anyone who at least behaves as though they want to hear what you have to say. That’s great. I’m totally there with the empathy.
But does this old man – Jehovah bless him (he’s made it clear by his loud comments that he is Jewish) – have to make sure the entire restaurant has heard his take on the rabbi’s sermon at Temple last evening, the health status of his spleen and his current opinion on retirement-home-cuisine???!
Yikes.
Is he going deaf? Is he senile? Could he, at this late stage of life, care less what he says, how loud he says it and what anyone’s reaction is to his shouting mundanities at dog-whistle frequency??
Now he’s having a debate, with one of the charitable people with whom he is out this afternoon, on which of the twelve tribes from which he may be descended.
My less than sympathetic attitude toward this man may be plausible evidence that I am not nearly as potentially maternal as I think I should be. If I’m rolling my eyes at a loud senior citizen, I’d probably lose my mind over a colic-y baby.
Note to self: make your first million before you reproduce… you’re gonna want round-the-clock-emotionally-checked-out-octo-mom quality child care.
So close… yet so far away
November 30, 2009
You know how it seems like some people are magically born to a life of ease and privilege and the rest of us… well… aren’t?
I wonder how that works.
I know it’s supposed to be karmic. Everything allotted to us in this life, good or bad, is the result of the “contract” we agreed to upon entering this incarnation. A contract designed according to the lessons we were scheduled to learn this go-round.
Why, though, does it seem like so many of the “have’s” are self-serving morons while many of the “have not’s” are as generous as any King Midas should be?
Obviously there are exceptions to the rule on both sides. The grass can appear greener all the way around if you look at it from the proper vantage point.
My self-pitying point of view today is that life isn’t fair… and I’m not going for the usual, existential, life-is-so-mysterious-but-there-must-be-a-greater-good-working-on-our-behalf-somehow-or-this-really-blows typical take on life’s lack of fairness.
I’m kinda coming from the direction of WTF??!?
Fine. Life isn’t fair. Boo-f-ing-hoo. We’ve all done that dance to that tune a million times thus far.
But SERIOUSLY. Who the hell is steering the ship cause there are daily run-in’s with the same damn iceberg! How is this barge still afloat?! Chart a new course for warmer waters, and – while you’re at it – why not do away with all the panicked peering from the crow’s nest 24/7??!
Karma. Fine. But how about manifesting one’s destiny?? What about all that crap from The Secret and What the BLEEP do we Know?! and Down the Rabbit Hole??!
Is it one or the other depending on who you are and how “worthy” the universe deems you? Is manifesting your own destiny a rare privilege reserved for those who have moved up the karmic ranks and now “deserve” to steer their own ship?
If that’s the case then I can name at least 50 people right now who are teetering precariously atop that whole “deserving” concept.
No, it’s not for me to judge. (You might say, though I heartily disagree.) But I’m tired of struggling. I know there is some very simple secret that I’m missing. Yes – you get back what you send out – fine. I’m there. My attitude sucks, but I’m aware of it, and intellectually I get how this whole thing works.
I’m a curmudgeon. But I’m cute about it. (Shutup) I don’t require a mountain of millions (not that I’d turn my nose up at it – I’m far more intelligent than I look), but it would be SUPER-FANTASTIC not to need to wonder from day to day how the modest, basic, daily workings of mundane life are going to get taken care of.
The bills paid, a car that runs (the cash flow to pay for whatever repairs rear their ugly head) and the means to keep a roof over my head without breaking into a sweat… that right there sounds like nirvana itself. Any happy surprises after that would be cake… happily skarfed cake, I might add.
I don’t need to be King Midas… although… I wonder if he’s looking to be a sugar daddy… ?
A Fork in the road
December 3, 2009
Today, I am faced with a conundrum. A friend of mine is throwing another friend of mine a birthday party tomorrow evening. This party falls on the same night as a “work” party.
I’m not that excited about the latter. I’d prefer to attend the former. My anxiety about not attending the work function stems from my feeling of insecurity with regard to my “position” within this group of co-workers.
There’s my feeling of obligation to show my face, make everyone remember that I am part of the group (even though I’m a much smaller part than I think I should be) and therefore “protect” what little territory I can claim as my own. It’s a small patch, really. Not even worth peeing on. So back away before I get all pit-bull, please. Thank you.
But who wants to go to a party out of obligation? It just makes the gathering that much harder to slog through. A birthday party with friends sounds like the perfect alternative.
A little aside – I should say that it’s not that I always hate work parties. They’re always fun. I enjoy myself. It’s not that I hate the thought of going to this particular party. I’m sure this one will be fun too, as usual. I’m just normally not faced with this kind of choice every time I’m putting a party on my calendar… thank god!
So I’m either going to be ratted out at the work party or piss people off at the friend party.
Envy me, people.
If I don’t go to the work thing, the world won’t end. I won’t be fired. I just won’t be thought of all evening, and in the world that comprises these people, I’m already not-thought-of ENOUGH. We don’t need to be doing more of that. But… I could stop obsessing about it… what will be will be, right? That attitude always worked for Doris, for God’s sake.
But I think I’m going to cave. I will go to the work party. Hopefully it will be a nice short pop-my-head-in visit. I will placate with extra gifts and booze, and then I will make the million and a half mile trek up to the north side of town to the birthday party.
Could I be overthinking this? Absolutely. It’s what I do.
It’s getting way too crowded in my head. I think we need to blast through the bedrock and rebuild civilization as I know it.
Now excuse me while I take the left fork… and then double back… and then take the right fork… and then…
Just don’t care
December 7, 2009
To say that I’m a “homebody” of late would be a drastic understatement.
I’m now a cave-dweller.
Actually, I dwell under the largest, most immovable rock as deep inside the blackest cave I could get.
I think I might understand where agoraphobes are coming from.
I can’t say if my lack of interest in leaving the house is because I’m feeling reclusive and just don’t want to deal with the rest of the humans on the planet…
… OR…
… if the anxiety I feel at the prospect of most outings is actually to do with the outings themselves.
I’m not a fan of humans anyway… we’ve covered that previously. But lately I’m just checked WAY out of life and human interaction.
I think I’m hibernating… in the aforementioned cave.
Go ahead… poke the bear… see what happens.
Upper Management
December 10, 2009
Is it just me (and it usually is), or does it almost always seem like the people in places of power (vocationally speaking) are… shall we say… less than impressive?
Yes. You’re right. I had a hard time being more civil & less descriptive with that one.
I mean no offense to any one person… at least no one I know personally who might be reading this… but – from personal experience – I always seem to land directly under the one person who will aggravate me the most.
The one person who – at that moment in time – seems to have been born knowing their sole purpose in life on this planet was to make MY life as miserable and as frustrating as possible while we are circulating in the same business sphere.
Is this because I was built to steer my own ship – to be the master of my own self – to be the one leading the herd and giving the orders?
Or is it because I’m excessively difficult and can’t deal with anyone else telling me what to do?
(Shutup)
I know I detest orders from someone other than myself. That’s got to be why I was a pro at being fired by the tender age of 19.
But there also has to be a reason for being that naturally “difficult” aside from JUST BEING naturally difficult, which – yes, Virginia – we all know that I am.
I am currently sitting here and typing to you on “company time”. The upper eschelons of this current business brain trust are – no surprise – also not inspiring great respect from me.
I won’t go into the how’s and why’s of everything they are doing that they shouldn’t be and everything else that they dropped the ball on and aren’t doing at all. None of us have that kind of time.
But once again – here I sit – irritated by someone else’s inept handling of a situation that I feel I would pretty much knock out of the park had I the opportunity and a big enough bat.
At how many balls must I violently swing before I get a free walk??
Color-me-”minion”
December 12, 2009
I don’t like working weekends. I don’t like working nights. Come to think of it, I don’t like working days either. It seems that I just don’t like working. But I knew this about myself.
The weekend yawns before me, and it’s almost as sleepy as I am.
(ba dum bum… there’s a waitress… tip her dammit)
Do I want to retire at the ripe age of 35 because I’m lazy or is it simply because I haven’t found my “calling” yet? I would like to think it’s the latter, but someone came up with the seven deadly sins for a reason… most likely because they saw them all being so clearly personified within humanity.
Most days, I can so clearly see myself as Sloth. But then Gluttony and I have a very close relationship… admire my ass why doncha. And my goodness… Lust is not to be outdone. I mean… I’m lazy, but I’m not catatonic. I wonder if there’s not ONE of those seven that I don’t practice regularly and with much gusto? Thinking hard here…
Ok… if you read me regularly, then you know I’m nothing if not angry. Check on the Wrath.
I frequently recognize my bitterness over the happy things, circumstances and lifestyles that other lesser mortals are enjoying – while I am not. So I’ve got Envy well looked after. Going back to that whole “lesser mortals” outlook… yeah, yeah I know… PRIDE ALERT.
So that’s a thick and even smothering of Wrath, Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy and Gluttony. All that’s left is Greed.
Hmmm… a tricky one.
I love having lots of whatever it is that I enjoy. Who doesn’t? But… for example, at Christmastime: I LOVE LOVE LOVE getting presents. Who are we kidding – I love getting presents whether it’s Christmas or not!
Ok FOCUS… Christmastime… ok… I love getting big piles of presents, no doubt.
BUT… I do also get a special zing from finding just the right gift for someone else. You know when you find “that thing” for someone that will cause them to completely lose their mind with happiness? How much fun is that to give… and watch… and experience with them??
I believe I will give myself a pass on the Greed… only because I insist that I have at least one redeeming quality, and yikes, but I’m skating on thin ice… clearly Satan himself is taking a well-fuelled blow torch directly to my own personal “skating rink of life”.
Yeah… I just threw up a little on that one too… you’re not alone.
And totally off topic (but not really) – the other night I happened upon this WEIRD B movie from the 70′s (gasp): The Daughters of Satan (yes I’m serious). It had that strange orange tint to the film we’re all familiar with, yet disturbed by. It starred a pre-Magnum Tom Selleck who was playing – get this – a college professor. That part might not have been so odd if he hadn’t already started dressing like Magnum, higher education be damned.
His wife sacrificed him to Beelzebub at the end. I personally think it was due to the shirts.
Merry Grinchmas
December 18, 2009
The outlook for this weekend: surprisingly festive.
Tomorrow evening, I will be going to the winter solstice service at the local Unitarian Church. It’s one of my favorite annual activities… always beautiful with soft chant-like hymns and candlelight.
Before the service, a few friends and I will be enjoying an early dinner, and then off we go to explore the more pagan-esque side of our spirituality.
Sunday: Grandma’s birthday with a side of Christmas shopping. I also have to fit in some work both Saturday morning and sometime Sunday afternoon. No rest for the destitute!
Again, I grumble over the ridiculous notion that money can’t buy happiness. I would LOVE to test that nonsensical theory.
Poverty creates stress, anxiety and depression. Not ever again having to worry about how the bills will be paid would lift such a huge burden from one’s shoulders! The freedom and calm that that alone would instill would be unbelievable! How could one NOT be happier under such conditions??!
But apparently I digress with logic.
I am back to the salt mines for a short time before I can finally enjoy a few hours of rest.
Have a wonderful weekend all, and remember me on your Christmas lists… cash is accepted… and I do have paypal.
Channeling Tiny Tim
December 21, 2009
Remember how, when we were kids, Christmas was magical? And the magic was such a real, almost tangible thing? The excitement was overwhelming, and time crawled as we counted the seconds until Christmas morning.
And the day after Christmas was always so anti-climactic. There had been such a buildup to Christmas day that, when it was over, depression inevitably set in… such a looooong time until Christmas happened again!
The day after Christmas is still, for me, depressing. But then… most days are rather lacking in luster anyway, so why should the twenty-sixth of December not be subject to my chemically imbalanced outlook on life?
Today is Monday. Christmas is Friday. I have some gifts still in need of purchasing… a few errands to run before the big day. I love giving gifts, and of course getting gifts is never anything at which I’ll stick up my nose.
But… the day comes… perhaps a surprise is torn open under the tree that was unexpected enough to cause THE GASP… a good dinner is eaten… a quiet night is spent watching Christmas movies with your loved ones in a dark room that’s lit only by a glowing tree… that can’t not always be cozy.
But how do I get the magic back??
How do I get the old Christmas tingle when city streetlights blink their festive red and green?
How do I find my warmth and fuzziness when I stop to look in a store window decorated for the holiday?
How do I remember that special stillness that, even as a child, I could perceive while quietly singing “Silent Night”?
How do I re-create the desperate hope I’d feel as I’d write my annual letter to Santa… just KNOWING he would read my words and work so hard to see to my own personal Christmas wishes?
How do I conjure the excitement to race past the Building & Loan, screaming out well wishes to Mr. Freakin’ Potter on my way to get Clarence his wings??!
Is it a process that actually REQUIRES a set of silver bells?
Can the bells be only plated, or must they be solid silver?
Should I try finding an accidentally discarded magician’s top hat and start shouting HAPPY BIRTHDAY at random passersby?
Does someone have a secret map to Who-ville? (Although I think I’d pass on the Roast Beast regardless of how truly festive I was feeling.)
Buddy suggests that “the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.” So, if I’m the one in need of cheer, do I need to find someone to sing at me, or can I expedite the process and sing at myself? And if I do it myself, must I still be within earshot of others?
So complicated. Christmas used to be simple… back when my best gifts were plastic toasters that popped out delicious foam toast, Hungry-Hungry Hippo and homemade Raggedy Ann dolls.
So apparently the answer is not necessarily bigger and “better” gifts.
It seems “adult” awareness is the biggest stumbling block in the achievement of a magically delicious Christmas.
Those pesky mental health professionals and their anti-regressive opinions… sounds like Scrooge’s sour grapes to me.
May God bless us, everyone… apparently with some great mood stabilizing pharmaceuticals.
Empathizing with Ebeneezer
December 24, 2009
Today is Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve, I’m working and somehow still have to get my dog to the vet before noon. I’m already tapped out on cash – it being CHRISTMAS EVE… I think I mentioned that. I COULD have purchased another gift or two before I felt as though I’d actually done all I could for Christmas, but… I guess we’re throwing this Christmas to the dogs… literally.
Obviously, I’m letting my little financial challenge color my writing mood.
I do feel sorry for my poor pooch. He’s got a nasty hot spot on his paw that he’s been licking at for weeks now, and that I’ve been attacking from the other side with cheaper non-vet remedies for just as long. The dog and the sore paw are beating me senseless.
So I fold – off the vet we go… on Christmas Eve… did I mention it’s CHRISTMAS EVE??
I was feeling much more festive a couple of days ago, and now I can hear the bah-humbugs divebombing through the air like flaming gin-soaked sugar plums.
In the midst of all of this I still have to somehow manage to avoid an extended relative if at all possible.
Five words: UNINVITED PAIN IN THE ASS.
S’all I’m sayin’.
Merry Freakin’ Christmas.
Sing it, John Lennon
December 28, 2009
Another year over, and a new year not quite begun.
Christmas weekend is behind us. I believe the full force of my annual post-holiday depression hit me last night. It’s a good thing there are no bridges nearby – s’all I’m sayin’.
I’m actually wrestling with the notion of anti-depressants. I see a therapist, but I do not believe she is the medicating kind of therapist. The only mention of pharmaceuticals thus far has been during our first session when she asked me if I was on, or ever had been on, mood altering medications.
No. Sadly, I’m not.
In years past I would have been vehemently opposed to taking that kind of medication… any kind of medication really. I don’t know whether my relaxing into acetaminophen and the occasional pilfering from my mother’s pharmacy – for VERY occasional therapeutic purposes only of course – is part of the expected maturation process that happens when everyone gets to a certain age and “whatever” becomes less a response of adolescent rebellion and more being too exhausted to care about maintaining a persona… OR if it’s the process whereby I am slowly but surely exiting my long dark period of constant anti-pharmaceutical brainwashing.
And not just anti-pharmaceutical… but anti-government… anti-religion… anti-society really.
I began what would become a life-partner type of relationship at the age of 19. This person was – is – very passionate about his belief system and about his outlook on education, life, spirituality and energy connection. I was in just the wrong place at just the wrong time and WHAMMO… I blinked and ten years passed before I realized that my philosophies and opinions and beliefs and preferences were his.
Dammit.
I’d become one of those women I’d either pitied or despised depending on the day and my mood.
So here I am at 35, still chained to my own personal testosterone infused ball of STUPID, who – by the way – is becoming less and less attractive with each propagandist syllable that is repeated over and over and blah blah blah like he’s Rainman waiting for Wapner.
I’ve heard his stories. I’ve heard his philosophies. I’ve listened to his epic tales of grand passion and pain that have shaped him into the warped, delusional, self-absorbed, infantile, repetitive quasi-guru that he is. I’ve been orbiting him for years now, seeing to his needs instead of paying heed to the numerous and growing holes in my own damn ozone.
But the therapist is right. He’s still here for a reason… I need him for something… the mind reels at that, but I guess she’s not a therapist because she earned her diploma as a result of purchasing just the right box of cracker-jacks.
So… once I figure out that nasty little conundrum, then perhaps I can sit and ponder my own take on western medicine and politics and spirituality and civilization at large.
The guru can go attain his own enlightenment under his own steam… or – more likely – he’ll just find someone else to take up the heavy-lifting in carting him the rest of the way up to the mountaintop.
The wheels on the bus go round and round…
November 2, 2009
Short story:Him: “You look SO cute!”
Her: Quizzical but amused (if not slightly coy) look in return.
Him: “I was expecting someone marginally less attractive than you.”
Her: “Excuse me? You didn’t ALWAYS think I was attractive?”
Him: “No, no! Of course I did. I’m just surprised that you are even more attractive than that now.”
Her: “And this is meant to be a compliment?”
Him: “Of course it is.”
Her: “Just checking.”
I had a good – no, a great – night last night. I met an old friend downtown for dinner. For some reason (his not being a townie is his best excuse), he thought it was a stellar idea to have me meet him at a bar barely a block away from where our fair city’s largest sports arena was holding their expected Sunday afternoon sports contest. My portion of the blame lies in my selective hearing, and my assumption that he would be summoning me later than the crowd would be at it’s heaviest dispersement point.
My inattention bit me in the ass.
I was like a salmon swimming upstream. But I wasn’t only swimming against the current. I was also swimming against all the other salmon. All the other testosterone-infused, beer-soaked, fairly belligerent salmon. Who knew a salmon could rack up so many obscenity laced hand gestures on one little swim.
But… I was sufficiently rewarded, at the end of my harrowing journey, with alcahol, food and lots of attention infused with a nice assortment of compliments.
Guess which I soaked up the quickest? Yeah… you feel me.
Team Edward
November 6, 2009
Hello. When was the last time I posted? I know… I’m full of excuses as to why I don’t do this on a daily basis anymore.
But… is it better to save up experiences to recount to you in a flourish after making you chomp at the bit for a few days, OR… is it better to religiously post… daily… no question?
What if the most interesting thing that has happened to me in the course of a given day is a life-changing Facebook quiz or cherry pie that was so perfectly symbiotic in it’s sweetness/sourness that it almost made me cry as I finished my second piece?
Is that worth a read? I mean I think it’s worth a read because I find myself fascinating… as should you, BUT… that doesn’t mean you WILL (as you should).
My excuse this week is that I’ve been re-reading the Twilight series. I felt an urgent need to read book 2 in the series, New Moon, before the release of the movie this month. But… being OCD when it comes to books in a series, I had to begin with #1 and work my way up from there. Just had to. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.
I finished Twilight and New Moon within 5 days. I just finished book 3, Eclipse, this morning, and I have already begun book 4, Breaking Dawn.
I’m addicted to Edward and Bella. And when I finish this book – again – I’m going to be SO depressed that they are not a daily part of my life just like I was the first time I tore through the series.
Of course, I definitely foresee reading through all four books again just before Eclipse is released in theaters.
Today, I bought the New Moon illustrated movie guide… something that can extend my Twilight time once I finish Breaking Dawn.
I love Edward. I’m a stupid lamb.
Woof… bite me.
Use your low beams
November 9, 2009
Have you ever had one of those days… perhaps a day directly following a sleepless night… that just felt “foggy”?A day in which everything was muted… less clear… dampened… and you had to have people repeat themselves… talking slower and using smaller words so that you could finally understand their brain teaser of a question?
For example: “Paper or plastic?”
Diabolically confusing, that, even on on the clear days, but you catch my drift.
It’s almost as if I have to pump myself up to hear someone and take in their information. They look at me, say something to me, and whatever it was is completely unregisterable to my feebly sparking brain.
So… I take a deep breath in through my nose, squinch up my eyes for a moment, then look directly at them so that perhaps I can interpret the movement of their lips in case their words once again are unable to make it through my apparently non-functioning ear drums (assuming my cerebral cortex would interpret their meaning for me if they did happen to squeak by) and say in my most articulate voice… “whut?”
My fog is thick. I’ve fallen in the drink. The soup today will be ham-n-bean.
Accepting what is… ok, not really
November 16, 2009
And what IS, apparently, is that I am going through a cycle of slow-posting to my precious blog. But that has already been established several times over in more of my writings than we need mention at the moment. Moving on…That said, my newest excuse for my arrested blogging development is that… well… people suck. Present company excluded entirely, but the rest of humankind as a whole… bleck.
Yes… an egregious lumping in of all the good with the profoundly bad. You’re right. I agree. I’m just not feeling very agreeable OR rational right now, so… allow me my wHine with my cheese. (Mizithra, if you have it.)
Thanks.
Nothing catastrophic has occurred. Everyone I love is alive and loves me back. Some of these loved ones are even thriving spectacularly. Bully for them. Really.
It’s really just a couple of wormy apples that are facilitating my stilted view of an otherwise shiny barrel of gorgeous red deliciousness.
So apparently I’m no longer just “the glass half empty girl”. I’m ACTUALLY the girl who did the emptying of the glass herself because she just poured it out on your rug… then smashed it against a dirty alley wall… and finally used an especially murderous piece of jagged glass to scratch naughty words into the paint jobs of those who have vexed her.
A girl can dream.
But back to the important part: that everything is actually ok. I’m just grouchy because a couple of lesser (completely unrelated) beings have dared incur my wrath. Two separate annoyances on two consecutive days… two situations that have nothing to do one with the other but are shockingly related in tone, substance and flavor.
A case of history repeating itself – twice – before one historical tidbit has even seen itself to it’s completion.
Sweet baby jesus. Back off, karma… I’m processing as fast as I can, dammit!
It’s nothing that interrupts the course of my day-to-day except for the irritation I allow myself to feel as the result of others’ immaturity, self-centeredness (glass house alert… shutup) and thoughtlessness.
I think someone needs a zing to remind him (them) just who they’re screwing with (and not in the good way)… help me out Shakespeare:
Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights hast thirty one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting.
Lizzard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
There… bippity boppity boo… so bite me.
What I REALLY need to know
November 18, 2009
First of all, today’s post will mean nothing to you if you are not a fan familiar with THE TWILIGHT SAGA.I will continue by saying that all the best parts of today’s post are shamelessly plagiarized. Sort of. I’m telling you where the following juicy tidbits are coming from – complete with link – so… not really plagiarized as much as copycat’d.
The nationwide release of NEW MOON is happening in 1 day, 7 hours & 24 minutes. I will be SEEING said movie 13 hours and 59 minutes after that. I am all for going to the midnight premiere except for one thing: the screaming teenagers. I do not at all begrudge them their right to scream. All of my own instincts will be shrieking at me to jump up and down and keen shrilly at the very sight of our beloved on-screen hero. I DO begrudge them that right, though, if it in any way conflicts with MY ability to hear, see or otherwise experience the glorious cinematic representation that is Edward Anthony Masen Cullen.
Don’t screw with me, teenyboppers. Edward wants a REAL woman. (Shutup)
So the real meat of today’s post was taken from –> http://becauseiknewyou.blogspot.com/2008/02/everything-i-need-to-know.htmlo-know.html
Read… process… be edified:
- Everything I Need to Know About Life I Learned in Forks
- You can resist the wine while still enjoying the bouquet…
- The future is not set in stone…
- Men are crabby when they’re hungry…
- Nothing beats an irritable grizzly bear…
- True love knows no bounds…
- Some people are just danger magnets…
- Even eternal enemies can work together to save something they love…
- Forget the fangs – real vampires sparkle…
- Soul mates exist, even if it takes 100 years to find them…
- Friendship is like the sun on a cloudy day…
- Snow means it’s too cold to rain…
- Family is about more than just blood…
- What’s worth doing is worth over-doing…
- Beds are for more than just sleeping…
- Losing your temper can be hair-raising…
- ”Vegetarian” has many meanings…
- Even monsters can hold onto their humanity…
- There are exceptions to every rule…
- Always verify bad news before doing something stupid…
- Hearing voices in your head doesn’t necessarily mean you’re crazy…
- Love means being willing to sacrifice your happiness for another’s…
- True love lives forever…
- Cold hands = Warm heart…
- Not breathing is uncomfortable…
- Stupid lambs and masochistic lions make quite a pair…
- Romeo was an idiot…
- Twilight is the saddest time of day…
- Extreme sports should not be attempted alone…
- It’s hard to see ourselves clearly…
- Life is worth very little without someone to share it with…
- Love can make even the most miserable of places a paradise
Cutter’s remorse
November 19, 2009
Today I would like to talk about my hair. I know… everything I say is just so… damn… deep.
And… back to me.
I have very frustrating hair. It’s very thick, but that is only evident to whomever may be cutting, styling or wrestling with it at any given moment. It’s very fine, so… to the casual observer it just looks thin. The color is good – a nice rich chestnut – but it’s so dark that it refuses to hold highlights, lowlights or any other trick of color.
Curling? Forget about it. Remember I said it was thick. It is. Surprisingly so. Translation: it’s H-E-A-V-Y. It refuses to hold curl. A perm (not that I condone that kind of behaviour) won’t even stay in my head.
As I child I had stick straight hair (as I do now) that was about an inch long all over my noggin. I had short hair til I graduated from high school. I rebelled when I was 19, and I began growing it just for the sake of growing it. It ended up past my hips, but it had grown so long with too little maintenance that it wasn’t really healthy anymore. I cut, donated and started again.
I’ve cut off chunks of length a few times since then, but usually it’s just a few inches here and there. So now… it’s stick straight, down to my shoulder blades, nice & soft but completely & irrevocably LIMP.
I want waves. I want volume. I want to shock pedestrians on the street with my shiny, luxurious mane.
Picture Gene Tierney ala Laura. An unexpected choice, yes… understated, but eyecatching. That’s it. I’d want people to look, not initially know why they’re looking and then realize they’re gaping at my glorious head of hair as they think to themselves “If ONLY my hair looked like that… my life would have meaning.”
I’m just sayin’…
Ok… I’m done talking about my hair now. Til I get it cut. Then you’ll get to sit through the fascinating recount of that story.
You’re welcome.
My liver is full
November 23, 2009
AN INTRODUCTION TO TODAY’S POST (or “why am I pissy? watch me count the ways!”)
I have a big ol’ drawer chock-full of pet peeves. I think “pet peeve” is probably too benign a label considering how easily I get angry over little things that really are… well… LITTLE! I’m not saying I don’t have a problem. And I’m definitely not saying that the following list is rational. Today’s list is, for you, entertainment (I hope?) and, for me, an outlet… a chance to vent… a last desperate stop before I take out the town? But of course I kid! (I think it’s time for my medication.)
Things for which I have a surprisingly deep loathing:
» My phone ringing
» ANY phone ringing
» Having to talk on my phone (no, not to anyone in particular, so for those who enjoy calling me – and god knows why you do – don’t take this personally, k? k.)
» Having someone call me, and not leave a message (if you don’t care to leave a message then, from my point of view, there wasn’t a reason important enough to warrant the call to begin with)
» Someone who calls, doesn’t leave a message and immediately calls back again
» I call someone, and leave a message. They were unable to get to the phone before their voicemail picked up, but instead of listening to the message I’ve JUST left, they immediately call me back. This makes it necessary for me to repeat myself when – had they just listened to the voicemail – neither of us may have needed to call the other again to explore that particular topic. And if another call IS necessary, then making the call, having as much information as possible, will only expedite the proceedings. Am I right, or am I right??!
» Riding in an elevator with another human
» Getting in an empty elevator and having to stop to pick someone up or let someone off on every floor between the one where I got on and the one on which I disembark.
» Any complete stranger failing to notice, at first glance, that my will is to be immediately obeyed.
I will again say that none of these (terribly reasonable) complaints have to do with anyone I know who may read this post. Did I mention I’m pissy today? Extraordinarily so. Pay no attention to the shrill harpy – she’s just losing her bitter little mind.
TO THE POINT –> Since I’ve known my acupuncturist, he’s told me that I have rage in my liver… copious amounts of it in fact. (In Traditional Chinese Medicine, different emotions are significant to different organs/meridians. For example: joy is measured by the health of the heart, grief to the lungs, fear to the kidneys, etc…)
I can’t speak for my liver, not being consciously aware of the rage-o-meter apparently attached to it. But I AM aware of anger. And I have some. Lots of it.
I seem to be feeling it today especially. I don’t know why. I can’t say if it’s a strangely significant day for me astrologically… if my “moon is in uranus” per se.
Perhaps it has to do with the moon and how it’s pulling on my girly parts and subsequently making me overtly hormonal.
(How DO you make a whore moan? Don’t pay her!)
Perhaps it’s because I need a damn Hershey bar… or 12.
Whatever it is, you may see me on the evening news tonight.
Set your DVR’s. You’re gonna wanna get this on tape.
I HAVE a dream!
November 27, 2009
Last night I had a dream. A good dream. And sex wasn’t even involved. Not directly anyway.
Two words: Maksim Chmerkovskiy. S’all I’m sayin’.
Ok, so I’ll share just a little more. (And in case you have no idea who I’m talking about – what rock are YOU living under?! – he is one of the dance pros on Dancing With The Stars… my FAVORITE dance pro, in fact.)
So here’s the dream: I’m still a fat girl. Wait… it really does get better. I’m still me as I am at this moment. I don’t know why I can’t dream myself better than what is reality, but I never do… ANYWAY… I’m still me. Bummer. BUT… I know Maksim. Bonus. The strange part is that we are running together. Not “running with” as in “the people you run with” aka “the people you know”. We were RUNNING. Let me just say - this right here? Dudn’t run. No one needs to see that.
Of course I also don’t have the motivation of the tasty dangling carrot (no, that was NOT a metaphor for anything else, people… FOCUS!), which would in this case be Maksim.
In this wacky dream, I’m running from a specific point A to a specific point B. Don’t ask me now what either of these locations were, but I have a sense that they had something to do with weight loss. So I decide, for some asinine reason, to run myself in between the two just to see if I can.
(Apparently, in the dream world, I’m a complete moron.)
So I take off, and I see Maksim jogging. He sees me, and at first it appears he is only slightly amused by my attempts at what is very VERY jiggly movement, and moves away to jog without being bothered (or embarrassed) by me. But then he apparently thinks better of that plan, and decides to throw me a bone. (Yeah… I know… I wish.)
He slows, matches his stride to mine, and he stays with me until I reach my destination.
There are NO WORDS to adequately express the beauty of his glistening chest, his perfect abs, his gorgeous face or his SMOKIN’ ASS!
I can’t remember exactly how the dream ended. I think the only reason it did end was because my alarm went off. (Blast that whole having to work to pay the bills bullshit.) But Maksim travelled on without too many parting words and left me breathless (for more than one reason) at the door of my intended destination.
And yes… he looks just as good running away. Nice image to wake up to… even if it was foggy and clouded by irritation over that damn alarm.
Yesterday WAS Thanksgiving. Perhaps the tryptophan brought on that happy dream.
Note to self: EAT… MORE… TURKEY.
Harshing my mellow
November 29, 2009
I am, at this very moment, sitting in a Panera and enjoying the free wi-fi.
(At home I live like the Amish: dial-up, no cable… it’s terrible… seriously… we’re talking third world here.)
I decide that I need a quiet afternoon on my own, updating my hard drive and downloading a few juicy tidbits from iTunes.
I’ve found myself a pleasant, and very comfortable, corner - a nice, roomy booth all to myself. It’s not too crowded here at the moment, probably because of the NFL contest currently being broadcast on a major television network.
(Jesus save me from football fans.)
So the city is pretty much a ghost-town as most of its inhabitants are enjoying a drunken tail-gate… and who doesn’t enjoy a tipsy afternoon of microwaved teeny wieners and tepid budweiser, I ask you? The rest of the “outcasts” who also seem to be currently ”above it all” are sitting here with me, breathing a sigh of relief to have safely escaped the nearly required worship at the altar of the pigskin… sounds barbaric, does it not?
But this afternoon’s rant really has nothing to do with football… directly. My rant has to do with the old man who just sat down at the table next to me. I understand that, once you get to a certain age, you are terribly grateful for – and excited by – a chance to “get out”… by someone willing to pay you some attention for a few hours… by anyone who at least behaves as though they want to hear what you have to say. That’s great. I’m totally there with the empathy.
But does this old man – Jehovah bless him (he’s made it clear by his loud comments that he is Jewish) – have to make sure the entire restaurant has heard his take on the rabbi’s sermon at Temple last evening, the health status of his spleen and his current opinion on retirement-home-cuisine???!
Yikes.
Is he going deaf? Is he senile? Could he, at this late stage of life, care less what he says, how loud he says it and what anyone’s reaction is to his shouting mundanities at dog-whistle frequency??
Now he’s having a debate, with one of the charitable people with whom he is out this afternoon, on which of the twelve tribes from which he may be descended.
My less than sympathetic attitude toward this man may be plausible evidence that I am not nearly as potentially maternal as I think I should be. If I’m rolling my eyes at a loud senior citizen, I’d probably lose my mind over a colic-y baby.
Note to self: make your first million before you reproduce… you’re gonna want round-the-clock-emotionally-checked-out-octo-mom quality child care.
So close… yet so far away
November 30, 2009
You know how it seems like some people are magically born to a life of ease and privilege and the rest of us… well… aren’t?
I wonder how that works.
I know it’s supposed to be karmic. Everything allotted to us in this life, good or bad, is the result of the “contract” we agreed to upon entering this incarnation. A contract designed according to the lessons we were scheduled to learn this go-round.
Why, though, does it seem like so many of the “have’s” are self-serving morons while many of the “have not’s” are as generous as any King Midas should be?
Obviously there are exceptions to the rule on both sides. The grass can appear greener all the way around if you look at it from the proper vantage point.
My self-pitying point of view today is that life isn’t fair… and I’m not going for the usual, existential, life-is-so-mysterious-but-there-must-be-a-greater-good-working-on-our-behalf-somehow-or-this-really-blows typical take on life’s lack of fairness.
I’m kinda coming from the direction of WTF??!?
Fine. Life isn’t fair. Boo-f-ing-hoo. We’ve all done that dance to that tune a million times thus far.
But SERIOUSLY. Who the hell is steering the ship cause there are daily run-in’s with the same damn iceberg! How is this barge still afloat?! Chart a new course for warmer waters, and – while you’re at it – why not do away with all the panicked peering from the crow’s nest 24/7??!
Karma. Fine. But how about manifesting one’s destiny?? What about all that crap from The Secret and What the BLEEP do we Know?! and Down the Rabbit Hole??!
Is it one or the other depending on who you are and how “worthy” the universe deems you? Is manifesting your own destiny a rare privilege reserved for those who have moved up the karmic ranks and now “deserve” to steer their own ship?
If that’s the case then I can name at least 50 people right now who are teetering precariously atop that whole “deserving” concept.
No, it’s not for me to judge. (You might say, though I heartily disagree.) But I’m tired of struggling. I know there is some very simple secret that I’m missing. Yes – you get back what you send out – fine. I’m there. My attitude sucks, but I’m aware of it, and intellectually I get how this whole thing works.
I’m a curmudgeon. But I’m cute about it. (Shutup) I don’t require a mountain of millions (not that I’d turn my nose up at it – I’m far more intelligent than I look), but it would be SUPER-FANTASTIC not to need to wonder from day to day how the modest, basic, daily workings of mundane life are going to get taken care of.
The bills paid, a car that runs (the cash flow to pay for whatever repairs rear their ugly head) and the means to keep a roof over my head without breaking into a sweat… that right there sounds like nirvana itself. Any happy surprises after that would be cake… happily skarfed cake, I might add.
I don’t need to be King Midas… although… I wonder if he’s looking to be a sugar daddy… ?
A Fork in the road
December 3, 2009
Today, I am faced with a conundrum. A friend of mine is throwing another friend of mine a birthday party tomorrow evening. This party falls on the same night as a “work” party.
I’m not that excited about the latter. I’d prefer to attend the former. My anxiety about not attending the work function stems from my feeling of insecurity with regard to my “position” within this group of co-workers.
There’s my feeling of obligation to show my face, make everyone remember that I am part of the group (even though I’m a much smaller part than I think I should be) and therefore “protect” what little territory I can claim as my own. It’s a small patch, really. Not even worth peeing on. So back away before I get all pit-bull, please. Thank you.
But who wants to go to a party out of obligation? It just makes the gathering that much harder to slog through. A birthday party with friends sounds like the perfect alternative.
A little aside – I should say that it’s not that I always hate work parties. They’re always fun. I enjoy myself. It’s not that I hate the thought of going to this particular party. I’m sure this one will be fun too, as usual. I’m just normally not faced with this kind of choice every time I’m putting a party on my calendar… thank god!
So I’m either going to be ratted out at the work party or piss people off at the friend party.
Envy me, people.
If I don’t go to the work thing, the world won’t end. I won’t be fired. I just won’t be thought of all evening, and in the world that comprises these people, I’m already not-thought-of ENOUGH. We don’t need to be doing more of that. But… I could stop obsessing about it… what will be will be, right? That attitude always worked for Doris, for God’s sake.
But I think I’m going to cave. I will go to the work party. Hopefully it will be a nice short pop-my-head-in visit. I will placate with extra gifts and booze, and then I will make the million and a half mile trek up to the north side of town to the birthday party.
Could I be overthinking this? Absolutely. It’s what I do.
It’s getting way too crowded in my head. I think we need to blast through the bedrock and rebuild civilization as I know it.
Now excuse me while I take the left fork… and then double back… and then take the right fork… and then…
Just don’t care
December 7, 2009
To say that I’m a “homebody” of late would be a drastic understatement.
I’m now a cave-dweller.
Actually, I dwell under the largest, most immovable rock as deep inside the blackest cave I could get.
I think I might understand where agoraphobes are coming from.
I can’t say if my lack of interest in leaving the house is because I’m feeling reclusive and just don’t want to deal with the rest of the humans on the planet…
… OR…
… if the anxiety I feel at the prospect of most outings is actually to do with the outings themselves.
I’m not a fan of humans anyway… we’ve covered that previously. But lately I’m just checked WAY out of life and human interaction.
I think I’m hibernating… in the aforementioned cave.
Go ahead… poke the bear… see what happens.
Upper Management
December 10, 2009
Is it just me (and it usually is), or does it almost always seem like the people in places of power (vocationally speaking) are… shall we say… less than impressive?
Yes. You’re right. I had a hard time being more civil & less descriptive with that one.
I mean no offense to any one person… at least no one I know personally who might be reading this… but – from personal experience – I always seem to land directly under the one person who will aggravate me the most.
The one person who – at that moment in time – seems to have been born knowing their sole purpose in life on this planet was to make MY life as miserable and as frustrating as possible while we are circulating in the same business sphere.
Is this because I was built to steer my own ship – to be the master of my own self – to be the one leading the herd and giving the orders?
Or is it because I’m excessively difficult and can’t deal with anyone else telling me what to do?
(Shutup)
I know I detest orders from someone other than myself. That’s got to be why I was a pro at being fired by the tender age of 19.
But there also has to be a reason for being that naturally “difficult” aside from JUST BEING naturally difficult, which – yes, Virginia – we all know that I am.
I am currently sitting here and typing to you on “company time”. The upper eschelons of this current business brain trust are – no surprise – also not inspiring great respect from me.
I won’t go into the how’s and why’s of everything they are doing that they shouldn’t be and everything else that they dropped the ball on and aren’t doing at all. None of us have that kind of time.
But once again – here I sit – irritated by someone else’s inept handling of a situation that I feel I would pretty much knock out of the park had I the opportunity and a big enough bat.
At how many balls must I violently swing before I get a free walk??
Color-me-”minion”
December 12, 2009
I don’t like working weekends. I don’t like working nights. Come to think of it, I don’t like working days either. It seems that I just don’t like working. But I knew this about myself.
The weekend yawns before me, and it’s almost as sleepy as I am.
(ba dum bum… there’s a waitress… tip her dammit)
Do I want to retire at the ripe age of 35 because I’m lazy or is it simply because I haven’t found my “calling” yet? I would like to think it’s the latter, but someone came up with the seven deadly sins for a reason… most likely because they saw them all being so clearly personified within humanity.
Most days, I can so clearly see myself as Sloth. But then Gluttony and I have a very close relationship… admire my ass why doncha. And my goodness… Lust is not to be outdone. I mean… I’m lazy, but I’m not catatonic. I wonder if there’s not ONE of those seven that I don’t practice regularly and with much gusto? Thinking hard here…
Ok… if you read me regularly, then you know I’m nothing if not angry. Check on the Wrath.
I frequently recognize my bitterness over the happy things, circumstances and lifestyles that other lesser mortals are enjoying – while I am not. So I’ve got Envy well looked after. Going back to that whole “lesser mortals” outlook… yeah, yeah I know… PRIDE ALERT.
So that’s a thick and even smothering of Wrath, Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy and Gluttony. All that’s left is Greed.
Hmmm… a tricky one.
I love having lots of whatever it is that I enjoy. Who doesn’t? But… for example, at Christmastime: I LOVE LOVE LOVE getting presents. Who are we kidding – I love getting presents whether it’s Christmas or not!
Ok FOCUS… Christmastime… ok… I love getting big piles of presents, no doubt.
BUT… I do also get a special zing from finding just the right gift for someone else. You know when you find “that thing” for someone that will cause them to completely lose their mind with happiness? How much fun is that to give… and watch… and experience with them??
I believe I will give myself a pass on the Greed… only because I insist that I have at least one redeeming quality, and yikes, but I’m skating on thin ice… clearly Satan himself is taking a well-fuelled blow torch directly to my own personal “skating rink of life”.
Yeah… I just threw up a little on that one too… you’re not alone.
And totally off topic (but not really) – the other night I happened upon this WEIRD B movie from the 70′s (gasp): The Daughters of Satan (yes I’m serious). It had that strange orange tint to the film we’re all familiar with, yet disturbed by. It starred a pre-Magnum Tom Selleck who was playing – get this – a college professor. That part might not have been so odd if he hadn’t already started dressing like Magnum, higher education be damned.
His wife sacrificed him to Beelzebub at the end. I personally think it was due to the shirts.
Merry Grinchmas
December 18, 2009
The outlook for this weekend: surprisingly festive.
Tomorrow evening, I will be going to the winter solstice service at the local Unitarian Church. It’s one of my favorite annual activities… always beautiful with soft chant-like hymns and candlelight.
Before the service, a few friends and I will be enjoying an early dinner, and then off we go to explore the more pagan-esque side of our spirituality.
Sunday: Grandma’s birthday with a side of Christmas shopping. I also have to fit in some work both Saturday morning and sometime Sunday afternoon. No rest for the destitute!
Again, I grumble over the ridiculous notion that money can’t buy happiness. I would LOVE to test that nonsensical theory.
Poverty creates stress, anxiety and depression. Not ever again having to worry about how the bills will be paid would lift such a huge burden from one’s shoulders! The freedom and calm that that alone would instill would be unbelievable! How could one NOT be happier under such conditions??!
But apparently I digress with logic.
I am back to the salt mines for a short time before I can finally enjoy a few hours of rest.
Have a wonderful weekend all, and remember me on your Christmas lists… cash is accepted… and I do have paypal.
Channeling Tiny Tim
December 21, 2009
Remember how, when we were kids, Christmas was magical? And the magic was such a real, almost tangible thing? The excitement was overwhelming, and time crawled as we counted the seconds until Christmas morning.
And the day after Christmas was always so anti-climactic. There had been such a buildup to Christmas day that, when it was over, depression inevitably set in… such a looooong time until Christmas happened again!
The day after Christmas is still, for me, depressing. But then… most days are rather lacking in luster anyway, so why should the twenty-sixth of December not be subject to my chemically imbalanced outlook on life?
Today is Monday. Christmas is Friday. I have some gifts still in need of purchasing… a few errands to run before the big day. I love giving gifts, and of course getting gifts is never anything at which I’ll stick up my nose.
But… the day comes… perhaps a surprise is torn open under the tree that was unexpected enough to cause THE GASP… a good dinner is eaten… a quiet night is spent watching Christmas movies with your loved ones in a dark room that’s lit only by a glowing tree… that can’t not always be cozy.
But how do I get the magic back??
How do I get the old Christmas tingle when city streetlights blink their festive red and green?
How do I find my warmth and fuzziness when I stop to look in a store window decorated for the holiday?
How do I remember that special stillness that, even as a child, I could perceive while quietly singing “Silent Night”?
How do I re-create the desperate hope I’d feel as I’d write my annual letter to Santa… just KNOWING he would read my words and work so hard to see to my own personal Christmas wishes?
How do I conjure the excitement to race past the Building & Loan, screaming out well wishes to Mr. Freakin’ Potter on my way to get Clarence his wings??!
Is it a process that actually REQUIRES a set of silver bells?
Can the bells be only plated, or must they be solid silver?
Should I try finding an accidentally discarded magician’s top hat and start shouting HAPPY BIRTHDAY at random passersby?
Does someone have a secret map to Who-ville? (Although I think I’d pass on the Roast Beast regardless of how truly festive I was feeling.)
Buddy suggests that “the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.” So, if I’m the one in need of cheer, do I need to find someone to sing at me, or can I expedite the process and sing at myself? And if I do it myself, must I still be within earshot of others?
So complicated. Christmas used to be simple… back when my best gifts were plastic toasters that popped out delicious foam toast, Hungry-Hungry Hippo and homemade Raggedy Ann dolls.
So apparently the answer is not necessarily bigger and “better” gifts.
It seems “adult” awareness is the biggest stumbling block in the achievement of a magically delicious Christmas.
Those pesky mental health professionals and their anti-regressive opinions… sounds like Scrooge’s sour grapes to me.
May God bless us, everyone… apparently with some great mood stabilizing pharmaceuticals.
Empathizing with Ebeneezer
December 24, 2009
Today is Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve, I’m working and somehow still have to get my dog to the vet before noon. I’m already tapped out on cash – it being CHRISTMAS EVE… I think I mentioned that. I COULD have purchased another gift or two before I felt as though I’d actually done all I could for Christmas, but… I guess we’re throwing this Christmas to the dogs… literally.
Obviously, I’m letting my little financial challenge color my writing mood.
I do feel sorry for my poor pooch. He’s got a nasty hot spot on his paw that he’s been licking at for weeks now, and that I’ve been attacking from the other side with cheaper non-vet remedies for just as long. The dog and the sore paw are beating me senseless.
So I fold – off the vet we go… on Christmas Eve… did I mention it’s CHRISTMAS EVE??
I was feeling much more festive a couple of days ago, and now I can hear the bah-humbugs divebombing through the air like flaming gin-soaked sugar plums.
In the midst of all of this I still have to somehow manage to avoid an extended relative if at all possible.
Five words: UNINVITED PAIN IN THE ASS.
S’all I’m sayin’.
Merry Freakin’ Christmas.
Sing it, John Lennon
December 28, 2009
Another year over, and a new year not quite begun.
Christmas weekend is behind us. I believe the full force of my annual post-holiday depression hit me last night. It’s a good thing there are no bridges nearby – s’all I’m sayin’.
I’m actually wrestling with the notion of anti-depressants. I see a therapist, but I do not believe she is the medicating kind of therapist. The only mention of pharmaceuticals thus far has been during our first session when she asked me if I was on, or ever had been on, mood altering medications.
No. Sadly, I’m not.
In years past I would have been vehemently opposed to taking that kind of medication… any kind of medication really. I don’t know whether my relaxing into acetaminophen and the occasional pilfering from my mother’s pharmacy – for VERY occasional therapeutic purposes only of course – is part of the expected maturation process that happens when everyone gets to a certain age and “whatever” becomes less a response of adolescent rebellion and more being too exhausted to care about maintaining a persona… OR if it’s the process whereby I am slowly but surely exiting my long dark period of constant anti-pharmaceutical brainwashing.
And not just anti-pharmaceutical… but anti-government… anti-religion… anti-society really.
I began what would become a life-partner type of relationship at the age of 19. This person was – is – very passionate about his belief system and about his outlook on education, life, spirituality and energy connection. I was in just the wrong place at just the wrong time and WHAMMO… I blinked and ten years passed before I realized that my philosophies and opinions and beliefs and preferences were his.
Dammit.
I’d become one of those women I’d either pitied or despised depending on the day and my mood.
So here I am at 35, still chained to my own personal testosterone infused ball of STUPID, who – by the way – is becoming less and less attractive with each propagandist syllable that is repeated over and over and blah blah blah like he’s Rainman waiting for Wapner.
I’ve heard his stories. I’ve heard his philosophies. I’ve listened to his epic tales of grand passion and pain that have shaped him into the warped, delusional, self-absorbed, infantile, repetitive quasi-guru that he is. I’ve been orbiting him for years now, seeing to his needs instead of paying heed to the numerous and growing holes in my own damn ozone.
But the therapist is right. He’s still here for a reason… I need him for something… the mind reels at that, but I guess she’s not a therapist because she earned her diploma as a result of purchasing just the right box of cracker-jacks.
So… once I figure out that nasty little conundrum, then perhaps I can sit and ponder my own take on western medicine and politics and spirituality and civilization at large.
The guru can go attain his own enlightenment under his own steam… or – more likely – he’ll just find someone else to take up the heavy-lifting in carting him the rest of the way up to the mountaintop.
The wheels on the bus go round and round…