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So, I received a negative comment on my last post, and I’m going to try not to go into a long rant about it, but I felt I should address what was said.
I’ve only read the comment once, and I read it hastily because my friends were on the way over to my house, so I don’t remember what all exactly was said in the comment. I know the words “slutty” and “immature” were used, and I am neither of those things. Yes, I have issues. I have problems I need to work on. I’m human for fuck’s sake. I can be a red hot mess sometimes. I acknowledge this.
Something I have a problem with is that I think too much. If I didn’t analyze, re-analyze, and over-analyze every situation, I probably wouldn’t have a blog. And if I did, it would probably read something like this: “I went to work today! I have a cat! I like Diet Coke! I am having a good hair day! Taco!”
And no one wants to read that.
I don’t want to write that, either.
So I’m going through a rough patch right now, and I’ve had a few weak moments. BEE. EFF. DEE.
That’s all I’m going to say about that. Moving right along . . .
I previously mentioned that I joined a dating site. I realize that I’m moving too quickly back into dangerous territory. But there’s a reason I’ve taken this step.
My mother.
Now, don’t go hating on my mom because of what I’m about to write. My mom is, in my mind, the greatest person to walk the planet and as far as I’m concerned she could have three heads and fart out her eyeballs and I’d still think she was the best thing ever.
But my mom? Has baby fever.
Bad.
I’ve dubbed it Sperm Watch ‘09.
I suppose it all started a few weeks ago when I told her I went to a psychic and was told I would have two children—both girls.
(Also filed under Topics I Am Not Discussing: The validity of psychics and tarot card readings)
My mother is the youngest of nine. She is the only one of her siblings who is not already a grandmother (a couple of them are GREAT grandmothers—holy shit!!!!). Granted, she is the youngest, and she only had one child (that’s me!), so of course her chances of being a grandmother by now are slimmer than those of her older sisters and brother. But that still doesn’t stop her from trying to get me a husband RIGHT THIS SECOND so I can start becoming a baby factory and squeeze out some little tax deductions already.
Now, I’m not giving her false hopes. I told her when I DO get married and have kids, she’s not getting any more than two grandchildren. She wants three, but tough shit.
I also told her I was apprehensive about getting into a serious relationship. But I do want it to look like I’m trying so she’ll get off my back about it a little bit.
It’s really bad. Andy thought I was exaggerating until he saw my mom’s neurosis in action.
I shit you not. I was out at a restaurant with my parents this weekend, and when I came back from the bathroom my mom asked me, “Did you meet anyone on the way to the bathroom?”
“Yes, mother. I’m engaged.”
WTF?
As far as the dating site goes, I’ve met three guys. The first one to contact me who seemed decent enough is a guy who is 6′5″ and a little on the larger side. He’s nice, but I’m just feeling sort of meh about the whole thing. He doesn’t excite me. I haven’t e-mailed him back in a few days.
The second guy is an Athletic Trainer and he is HOT. He’s new to the area and wants to meet people. He’s supposed to be getting in touch with me about doing something this week, but I haven’t heard from him yet. Whatevs.
The third guy is Asian, and is also really cute. I think he and I have the most in common, but he lives the farthest away. We exchanged numbers and mentioned going to a sushi restaurant, but again, whatevs. I just wanna have fun.
And to end this post I am pleased to report that I am cutting back on the booze and cigarettes. I’m trying to concentrate on my health and happiness, and hopefully after that everything will fall into place as it should.
MIA ain’t just a newly de-preggered chick who like, sings or raps, or generally just acts and dresses ridiculously for a living. I don’t know, I don’t really keep up with what the cool kids are listening to these days. I know I’ve been sorta MIA from writing on this blog and commenting on your lovely blogs alike. I have been swamped at work. And it’s about damned time. I was beginning to wonder what to write on my work report every week, because holy hell, was my job ever boring for a stretch of time there. Now? Not so much.
And while it’s really satisfying to be busy from the moment you walk in the door until the time you lock your door at the end of the day, these past few weeks at work have been very drama-filled. Let me paint a picture for you. I’ll try to be as brief as I can.
I work for a college in the marketing department. In our particular office, there are three employees. There is my boss, me, and our secretary. The Boss Lady and I take care of advertising and press, and our Secretary handles the clerical duties. In the past two weeks, the Secretary and I have been chewed out by our Boss Lady. For no reason. Well, she thought she had a reason, but really she just wanted to accuse us of something, to be quite honest. NOTHING we did was right.
Well, I’m usually pretty good at taking up for myself, so Boss Lady knows that I’m less than thrilled with her management style already. Secretary, though, has been less than up front. She has suffered silently, while I bore the brunt of most of Boss Lady’s hostility and tried not to take it personally. I just did my job, did it well, and if she had a problem with it, well then I just couldn’t let it get to me. But now, Secretary has been hearing most of the bitchery. And she’s had enough.
The final straw was Monday morning, when Secretary hadn’t even had enough time to get her seat warm before Boss Lady was chewing her out for something she didn’t do. Secretary had previously threatened to Boss Lady that she was going to apply for another job if Boss Lady wasn’t happy with the job Secretary was doing.
Well, that morning, Boss Lady said, “I think you need to go ahead and apply for the other job.”
Awkward . . .
I just wish they could get along. I wish Boss Lady could communicate effectively as a MANAGER. And I wish I didn’t feel in the middle of it. I get to hear all day long from Secretary what a bitch Boss Lady is (AND SHE IS), and then Boss Lady tells me “I’m sorry if I have ever spoken to you in a way that was unprofessional or hurtful. But [Secretary] will GET YOU IN TROUBLE.” I suppose that means Secretary has “told on” me before? Trying not to get too analytical on that one . . .
And at the same time I am trying to keep Boss Lady happy without compromising my dignity while trying my hardest to KEEP MY JOB. I am loyal to both women in my office, but this situation just has me feeling all sorts of icky. I don’t want Secretary to quit. But I hate having to dread coming to work, because Jesus Christ WHAT AM I GOING TO HEAR TODAY?
So, there’s that.
I know y’all probably want a NY update since that last irate post. Well, we saw each other the next night, and let’s just say, I now have a pair of jeans that is missing its button closure. Other than that, I honestly don’t have much to say. I have my moments of irritation. But I also have those blissful moments, too. Like the other day, he called me.
NY: Where are you?
LRC: Wal-Mart.
NY: Is everyone staring at you?
LRC: No . . .
NY: Well, they should be.
(and yes, he meant that in the You Are One Hot Woman way.)
(and yes, I shop at Wal-Mart.)
(they have the cheapest pet food.)
(don’t judge.)
I got many, many mixed comments on my last post, ranging from “Oh he’s just a man, give him a couple days” to “RUN, RUN AWAY WHILE YOU STILL CAN.” And while I take each and every one of your comments into consideration? I obviously can’t follow everyone’s advice. I have to just do what’s best for me.
I’m doing fine. Better than fine. Don’t you worry about little ol’ LRC. I’ve made it this far, and I’m going to keep on going. Believe me, I’ve weighed my options. And while I may not always make the best choices, I am human, and I am learning from my mistakes.
Today, after much procrastination, I finally gave in and went to my friend Sandra’s to get my hair cut (remember Sandra? She’s the one whose brother [and BE's best friend] made a complete shitting fool of himself on her wedding night). I love Sandra to death, and the time we get to spend together is limited because she is a mother, and now, a wife.
As I settled in to her styling station, conveniently located in her guest bedroom, the gossip began to flow. Friends, weddings, and cheating husbands became our immediate topics of conversation.
After a few minutes, my curiosity got the best of me.
“So, how is [BrownEyes] doing?”
(Remember BrownEyes? The devastatingly handsome guy I dated for about, oh, four months? Who gave me many, many happy moments but made sure to balance them out with some equally painful ones? The guy whom my parents thought I would marry but turned out to be nothing but a noncommital flake? Yeah, him.)
“I have no idea. [BrownEyes] acts like I don’t even exist.”
Oh, so I’m not the only one.
Honestly, I don’t miss him. More than anything, I am inquisitive. I do want him to be happy, whatever that entails. But aren’t we always masochistically curious about our exes?
As my brown curls fell to the floor it became even more evident to me how foolish I had been to put so much effort into our “relationship.” Who was I kidding? Was I so desperate to have someone around that I resorted to such logic that would inevitably cause me so much disappointment?
Yes.
Yes, I was.
And then, in true LRC fashion, I began to contemplate whether it was my fault or not. How things with BE turned out.
Of course, whatever I had with BE was ridiculous. We never had a real relationship. But something my mother had told me a few weeks ago resonated with me.
My mother knows me better than any human being on this planet. Of course, she’s not always right. I’m not the most predictable person on the planet (blame The Crazy). But when she said this to me, I began to wonder, Is this why all my relationships fail?
“You push people away. I can see men trying to get close to you, and you just have this ’stay away!’ attitude.”
I am sure, blog friends, that the opposite seems true to you, based on what I write here. But this blog? Is my catharsis. I put into this blog everything else that I do not say or do. On this blog, I wear my emotions on my sleeve. In life? I guard my emotions. Probably more than is healthy.
I’ve been hurt and disappointed in my life more times than I care to recount. I mean, haven’t we all?
But the thing is this. I can’t seem to find a balance between being completely vulnerable and being extremely guarded.
When I’m in a real relationship, you get every part of me. I’m a package deal. I’m extremely loyal, caring, considerate, and loving. You will meet no one more attuned to your needs than me.
But when does that happen?
I feel that when I show an inkling of that girl, the girl that I really am, is when men start to flee. I’m not that mysterious girl anymore, the girl who men can’t quite figure out yet. I’m just another “crazy bitch.”
And that infuriates and depresses me at the same time.
God, is the weekend effing over already? UGH. I am trying to squeeze every last drop out of it that I possibly can. Family is nice, but 72 straight hours of it? Leads to the necessity of some serious ME TIME.
Sweatpants? Meet LRC’s fine-lookin’ ass.
Wednesday night I hung out with New York again, and we rounded yet another base in glorious fashion, but the third base coach is still steadily holding up his hand, telling us to be patient. I don’t want sex to wreck the good thing we’ve got going. Not that I think everything is going to come to a screeching halt or the love gods will curse me if we bump uglies, but when you’re with someone you like this much (and I’m hoping he is as into me as I am into him), you want to make sure the time is right and that you’re not just doing it because you’ve had one too many Rum and Diets.
So Thanksgiving was spent at my aunt’s house, and I had not even been there an hour before the fire department showed up.
It’s not Thanksgiving until the fire department comes!
My cousin had removed the turkey from the oven and some of the juices had fallen into the bottom of it. The juices started smoking and the smoke alarm went off, triggering a signal to the fire station. They came and everyone got a good laugh out of it. I took pictures, obvs.
Then later, my other cousin, who just got back from Iraq and has to go back in about a week (FROWN), attempted to set up the fire pit in the back yard, and grabbed a bunch of old wood that was COVERED with roaches. I expressed my disgust for the vile six-legged creatures, so he reacted to my disdain by THROWING ONE IN MY HAIR.
HE THREW. A COCKROACH. AT MY HEAD.
I thought he was joking at first, that he didn’t really throw it, but when I felt those little legs crawling on the back of my neck, I screamed like a little girl and shook it out with great fervor.
It’s not Thanksgiving until someone throws a roach in your hair!
The next two days were spent with my other side of the family. On Friday, immediately after we ate, my aunt went to lie on the couch, where she stayed for several hours. My mom mentioned that she had been having this thing called a “cluster headache” (we kept calling it a clusterfuck—I assured my mom it wasn’t dirty and she finally warmed up to the term), and when it didn’t go away, they took her to the emergency room and she got a shot that eventually made her feel much better.
It’s not Thanksgiving until someone has to take a trip to the emergency room!
While they were gone (my aunt, my mom, and my other aunt all went), I was left to hang out with my cousin and her triplets (all 3 boys. Yes, TRIPLET. BOYS. No, they did not use fertility drugs. This tendency of my family to have multiple births does not bode well for my future), and of course one of them fell and got a bloody nose.
It’s not Thanksgiving until some kid gets a bloody nose!
He’s OK. Just so ya know.
The next day (Saturday) I managed to get some Christmas shopping done. And lose my iPod. Awesome. Although I did score a vintage scarf from the 60’s that totally OWNS YOUR MOM.
So, Saturday night I FINALLY got to come home and I promptly went to the bar to meet my friends who were in town for the weekend (EXHAUSTED? ME? YES.) I ended up crashing New York’s card-playing festivities at his house around midnight (it was him and two other couples, it wasn’t a guy’s night or anything), and apparently I’d gotten a little more tipsy than I thought and ended up passing out on his couch. So no mackage. Frown. But we did wake up around 10, talk for a couple hours (seriously, when we talk the time just FLIES by. I could talk to him all day), and then grabbed lunch.
I am hopelessly in like with this kid. I get giddy just thinking about him. He is mother effing HILARIOUS. Today I had to tell him to “stop with the funny” so I could drive and not kill us both in the process because I was cracking up so badly. He makes me laugh that deep, throaty laugh that eventually turns into a cackle (I can become quite animated when amused). And I can use BIG WORDS around him. And fancy syntax. And his face doesn’t turn into a question mark like it did with other guys.
Maybe after we FINALLY DO IT, we can start having Naked Scrabble Night? Ooh, my nerdy, sex-obsessed self is liking that idea.
In other news, I jumped on the bandwagon and read Twilight. And I FREAKING LOVED IT. Rarely does a book cause me to gasp audibly, but this one? Yeah. In love. With a fictional character. Like everyone else, though, I do have a few gripes. Some of them have already been expressed on other blogs, but I am going to mention them too, because damn it, this is my blog and I can do what I want to and you can’t stop me, bwahahahaha.
First, what is so freaking appealing about Bella? I mean, I understand Edward’s reason, because she be smellin’ all good to him and shit, but the other guys? Seriously? Is small town life that dull that you have to latch on to every new possibility that comes to light? Although, if ditzy, stereotypical high school girls like Jessica were the only other option, I might be lusting after the first thing that moved as well.
Second, I am impatient, and A) I want Edward to just turn her into a freaking vampire already so they can be together forever and ever amen, or B) I WANT THEM TO FUCK LIKE RABBITS. But then there would be no buildup. No “fun.” Bah.
(I BET EDWARD HAS A BIG DICK.)
Yeah, I just said that.
So I was a huge dork today and I went and saw the movie. By myself. And not only did I see it by myself, I got upset when the colors on the screen were wrong (purple and green, anyone?) and went to complain to an employee because DAMN IT I WILL JUST NOT BE SATISFIED IF I CAN’T SEE EDWARD’S CARAMEL EYES IN TRUE FORM. Then when I came back inside the theater I held my hands up as if to say LOOK PEOPLE I HAVE GOT THIS UNDER CONTROL and said, “THEY’RE WORKING ON IT!”
The audience let out a sigh of relief. I felt like a hero.
Just kidding. But I did feel kinda brave for being the only one to address the masses, as several other people had already complained and not said anything.
The movie itself? Enh. Cheesy. If you haven’t read the book, then you’re probably going to wonder “why are these two kids so in love with one another? They’ve barely spoken and now they’re all YOU ARE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW BLAH BLAH BLAH.” Although, it kept me entertained. And Edward was way hot.
I think the reason Edward is so appealing to so many women is because we love it when guys treat us like shit. Also, when they say one thing and do another. Seriously. It’s like this:
Edward: GO AWAY. DIE. We can’t be friends.
Bella: YOU ARE SO FREAKING HOT.
Edward: I know.
Bella: Ugh you are so FRUSTRATING.
Edward: I love you.
Bella: WHAT?
Edward: I love you.
Bella: OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU TOO. I AM SO PREPARED TO DIE FOR YOU RIGHT NOW IT IS NOT EVEN FUNNY.
Disclaimer. Guys. Please don’t treat us like shit. Even though we FREAKING LOVE IT.
While watching election coverage on MSNBC, I got bored (oh, the ADD) and began perusing the internet. When I saw Mim online, I gchatted her to tell her how much I loved her recent vlog.
We got to talking about miscellaneous things. BE. The election. Movies that make us cry, etc.
(For the record, the movie that makes me SOB audibly—so much so that I usually have to towel off afterward—and usually causes me to end up sleeping like a baby that night after all that melodramatic catharsis, is Charlotte’s Web.)
Mim suggested I watch What Dreams May Come, as it is one of those types of movies.
(Just READING the description of that movie made me want to cry. Damn this IUD and these unexpected hormones.)
So I added it to my Netflix queue and went on my merry way.
Or, so I tried.
This thing Netflix does when you add a movie to your queue, which is incredibly useful and convenient, is that it suggests other movies SIMILAR TO the movie you just selected.
One of those movies it selected for me after I added What Dreams May Come was The Science of Sleep.
I have never seen this movie. I do not know, nor do I care to know, anything about it.
Then where are you going with this pointless rant, LRC?
Well, I’ll tell you.
A few months ago, a friend of mine had a going away party because he was to be moving away to California for God knows how long. During the party, he had everyone draw numbers. He then threw every DVD in his collection on the living room floor. Whoever had their number drawn, got to pick a DVD. The process repeated until every DVD was gone.
Adam picked The Science of Sleep.
AH. NOW it gets interesting.
Remember Adam? The younger guy who absolutely stole my heart (and my sense of reality) for a few weeks and then discarded it like it was the watered down remains of a skinny iced vanilla latte?
Yeah, that one.
So eventually the DVD ended up getting left at my house. We were going to watch it, but, uh, OTHER THINGS prevailed.
(Sex.)
So when things started going sour with us and Adam basically curb-stomped what was left of my self-respect after the breakup with Murray, I pulled that DVD out from my TV stand.
And commenced to smash it into tiny pieces.
There was screaming. There was crying. There was melodrama.
(And an ensuing hangover the next day.)
The point of my post is this. All that pain. All that confusion. All that ANGER I felt that night?
Is gone.
And has been for months.
At that moment, I felt as if I were this pathetic, insignificant little flea who could NOT see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
I felt used. I felt unloved. I felt . . . empty.
And now?
. . . Adam who?
Things like this serve as a reminder to me. Remember that phrase, This too shall pass? It may sound cliché, but damn it. It’s clichéd for a reason.
IT’S TRUE.
That thing that may be absolutely ass raping your emotions? That thing that may cause you not to want to get out of bed in the morning?
In a month . . . hell, in a week, maybe even by TOMORROW . . . that thing will be SO INSIGNIFICANT to you.
And you’ll move on.
And you’ll be able to enjoy that skinny iced vanilla latte with a ginormous grin on your face because DAMN IT, YOU ARE GOING TO BE OK.
GOOD, even.
Remember that.
