Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Untied From the Whipping Post

The soft glow of the lamp did nothing to take the glare off of the harsh reality. I turned off the light and covered my eyes with a dream. Many nights had been spent in just this fashion; A snippet of a memory, a fragment of a dream, and a glimmer of hope. I allowed myself only enough to make the night passable in order to make another day possible. And it had. 

"You don't watch the news. This is why we always had problems. You don't see what's going on in the world and you don't understand how it will impact me. You don't care. Maybe you should write about that. Your writing is a joke. Write about something meaningful for a change. What do you think of what's going on in the Middle East right now? You probably don't even know. Just like the rest of the "sheeple", you just follow along blindly waiting for your next cue to perform whatever function you have been told to serve." 

I watched as more messages filled my inbox, blinking and sounding an alert with each assault. Tears stung my eyes and spilled down my cheeks burning a path through the morning's carefully applied makeup. Days upon weeks upon months of tension pulled my chest tight. The tears, which had always managed to serve as a release valve, did not ease the sick feeling that threatened to tear me down. I began to shake, perhaps out of fear or something worse. Bile rose in my throat and I choked it back, swallowing it down like I did with the insults, hurt, and shame. 

"Please, just stop. I have tried so many times in so many ways to make you understand that I can't talk to you about this. You've become obsessive. You are pushing away everyone that loves you and you need to get help. I can't do this anymore." I wanted to scream it, to make him see my tears and what had become of me. "You are making me a horrible person and the worst part is that I am allowing you to make me hate myself and everything around me. This is not who I am." But, like a child who hugs their knees and rocks to sleep with the sound of screaming parents in the background, I couldn't speak. Impotence. Emotional paralysis. 

For so long I had held on to the thread of what had once been love. Romance had long since faded into tenuous friendship. Whether it be out of habit or obligation, we continued to reach out. Each exchange more toxic than the last, until a breaking point was reached. The inevitable, "I'm sorry. You're the sweetest. I love you." messages patched a growing tear in the fabric of a heart. The problem with a patch is that it only works if the patch is larger than the hole and is only as strong as the material at the edges it attaches too. Mine was threadbare and translucent in places. 

He had once been kind. There had been love. It had been genuine. Somewhere inside I held on to those things even while I distanced myself. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of the man I had fallen in love with. He was broken in some way, but aren't we all? Doesn't everyone deserve a friend? At the end of the day, don't all people need someone to hold their hand and tell them it's going to be okay? What if I were the only person he had left? What if he wasn't safe? If something happened, who would hold him and make it okay? 

It wouldn't be me. I untied myself from his whipping post and walked away. 

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Might I Suggest Getting a Job?

According to my student loans, I should be making major bank in advertising. I am neither working in Multimedia (print and presentation), nor am I working in a trendy advertising office throwing around killer ad ideas like a modern day Peggy Olson. I should have considered my locale when selecting a major. Instead, I'm closer to becoming a less buxom, less polished version of Joan Harris... minus the sex and the Dr. husband. And it's all good. I enjoy my job, the people I work with, and the opportunity to learn. Is it my dream job? No, but our company doesn't hire for a Princess of Power position.

I'm about to say something that some of my Democrat friends will believe means I have to give up my liberal status. I work because it's not anyone's fault but my own that I am in the position I'm in. Also, bills and a mortgage and kids and sushi. I believe in social programs to help those less fortunate. Whether they are children, elderly, or disabled I believe we have a moral obligation to help those who cannot help themselves. I believe in equal rights and civil liberties for all. I do not believe in supporting people who can work and simply choose not to because they are lazy or feel entitled to their dream without putting in the effort.

I have opinions coming out my ears. That being said, here are my bitches/suggestions for the weekend.

1. Occupying Bank of America isn't going to encourage BoA to give you a job. (Thank you, James)
    You want to complain about the bonuses they give their CEOs, but it is their company. Perhaps you should be boycotting these companies that raise rates and receive bailouts yet line the pockets of their top execs. Create change by doing it the old fashioned way. Stop patronizing these businesses and encourage others to do the same.

2. Maybe if you hadn't majored in Video Game design you would have a job now. (This one cracked me up. Again, kudos to James)
    We all want to have our dream job. Those of us who came up in an environment that taught personal responsibility will tell you that you are NOT entitled to your dream job, no matter how much time and money you spent on your education. If you believe college is a requirement for you to get where you want to be, that's fine, but consider working toward a degree in a field that is actually hiring. Look at the job market and find out if your degree field is saturated. When you graduate, get a job. If you are blessed enough to have parents that support you during your academic pursuits, consider working during this time to put money aside. WORK YOUR WAY UP! If you expect to walk into a company on day one with an offer of a corner office, a personal secretary, and a 3 figure salary... it's time to wake up.

3. Stop raising entitled and lazy kids.
    This leaves with with my final bitch... directed at Tide laundry detergent.

What the f*ck, Tide? Who are these people and why in the name of God are they doing laundry for their adult children. This sort of crap makes me less inclined to buy your product. Why not show parents who are teaching their kids to be helpful, responsible, self-sufficient people by teaching them to wash their own clothes using Tide? Maybe something along the lines of a couple teaching their post college child how to use the washer and when the kid whines, "Why do I have to do it?" the parents could respond, "Because you don't have a job!" Then they could pat him/her on the head, and leave the kid to finish up. See how that works? Promote good parenting, promote your product, and still address the fact that many kids come home after college.

Burger King, McDonald's, Wal-Mart, Target, Subway, and half the call centers in the country are hiring. If your kid is not "employable", they aren't looking. My message to these parents is simple. Knock it the f*ck off. My 16 year old son has known how to do his own laundry since he was 11. We all work at my house. Every single one of us. When the kids weren't employed, they helped out more around the house. That included doing their own laundry.

When do we stop blaming the government (officials we continue to elect) and start making change ourselves? Any job is better than no job. When faced with possible downsizing, a former boss told me, "I had a job when I found this one." What happened to that mentality? Fight for what you believe in, but for the love of God, go flip a freaking burger while you're doing it. It's not your dream job, but it is my dream burger, and you can fight for your dream when your shift is done. 

PS. Note to my kids: Mommy loves you, but those dishes aren't going to wash themselves. I cook. You clean. That was the agreement. Also, stop putting empty boxes back in the cupboard. I got psyched for a Pop Tart and the box was devoid of all Pop Tarts. I was heartbroken.  

Friday, November 16, 2012

I’m Possessed

Surprise!  I’m not Angie, at all.  In fact I am your new found Dad blogger doing a guest post for Angie, who happens to be on my blog today.  Confused?  Yeah me too, just think of this a dimensional shift and an opportunity to expand your horizons, here we go…

Well it’s official, I’m turning into my Dad.  Actually I don’t think I am turning into my Dad, I think my Dad’s poltergeist has inhabited my body since he passed away in April.  This has just started recently too so I think  that my Dad has been sitting around in the afterlife, enjoying the quietness that he so desperately craved and got bored.

He looked down or up at me, thinking that it would be fun to have me endure what he endured while he was on this Earth, after all I did live in the same house with him and Mom for 22 years and I know I was not an easy kid to raise.  I know I tortured him growing up, making him go insane with the stunts I pulled (see?  That is something he would have said, it’s happening now).

Sometime in September he figured out a way to inhabit my body because this is when everything started happening.  At least he let me enjoy the summer…kind of. 

I've got more gray hairs than ever before.  I've always had a few strands of salt in my pepper but nothing like this.  I noticed this while I was brushing my teeth, the lights in the bathroom reflected on my hair and as I looked in the mirror, I noticed my hair looked like the cat slept on my head and left his white hairs there.  Well I guess it could be worse, my Dad went bald at the ripe old age of 22 so I dodged that bullet…I hope.
Speaking of hair, I noticed my left ear was always itchy and it felt like something was tickling it.  I ran my finger over the lobe and the hard cartilage part that connects the lobe to ear and I had a fucking forest growing there.  I swear that I was able to see Ewoks celebrating the destruction of the second Death Star that’s how much hair there was.  It’s only my left ear too, not my right one.  I never once thought I would utter the words, “I’ll be back, I need to shave my ear.” to the Trophy.

Of course now I’m paranoid, so I do the quick look over in the mirror and sure as shit there they are, the rogue hairs that my Dad had.  My right eyebrow has this hair that grows freakishly faster than the rest of the hair cluster so I have to pluck it.  If you can’t pluck it, fuck it, that’s what I always say but the Trophy thinks otherwise and I get the “hold still” tweezer attack from her.

I also have to trim my nose hair more often than I did, I mean I've always had to trim that shit but now it’s like once or twice a week.  I remember my Dad having so much nose hair that it would hang down like vines monkeys could swing on.  That shit ain't happening on my watch so I keep my nose hair trimmer charged at all times.

I am complaining about sleeping wrong.  I've stated this before, but how the hell does one sleep wrong?  Well now I know, you sleep and it’s wrong.  Plain and simple.  I wake up and I have to take a pain reliever religiously every day with my vitamins.

I have a recliner.  Well we've owned it for a couple of years now but I rarely used it.  Now I find myself, not only using it but falling asleep in it watching TV and not only falling asleep in it watching TV but wearing slippers and a robe…what the fajita?  I've worn slippers before but these are old man slippers now and a robe?  Damn you Dad.

Although these things aren't that bad and can be taken care of, the worst thing that I have been possessed to do is putter around.  I have never puttered around before, I always had something to do and I did it.  Now I aimlessly roam around the house, the garage and the yard doing miscellaneous tasks.  I am literally looking for things to fix and what’s worse, when I find something that needs to be fixed, I don’t have to go to the hardware store to get the items needed because I have them squirreled away (fuck, another Dadism) in the shed or the garage.  I have been reluctant to throw things away because you never know when I might need it.

Sonofabitch, I need an exorcism.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

I Want to Get Married. Maybe. I Think.

I want to get married.

Calm down. Breathe. I'm not talking about you, probably. I'm not even talking about this week... or month. It's just something I think you should know about me before we take this to the next level. Coincidentally, the next level is when I tell you that I want to get married. All commitment issues aside, I do.

I've done it before. It was a long time ago in a land far, far away. I was very young and probably not nearly as good of a wife as I could have been or tell myself that I was. I was certainly not as good of a judge of character as I am now. Maybe. Shit, scratch that. I'm still not very good at spotting the douche bag when it comes to my own choices. I can spot yours a mile away though! Get with me, we'll talk. Anywhoooo, my first marriage doesn't count.

1. I was pregnant.
2. He never actually asked me to marry him.
3. We got all 3 rings for $38.50 and $8.50 of it was for rush shipping.
4. You don't even buy perfume without seeing what the chemistry is like! Same. Same.

I used to have this grand, princess-like idea of how marriage would be. Even post divorce I imagined myself to be on the path to one day becoming a trophy wife. Unfortunately, as it turned out what I was thinking of was "kept woman" and those two things are not exactly the same.

It has now become painfully obvious that I will never be the trophy wife I had hoped to become. That realization was rather disheartening considering I'd been practicing blinking with a fake smile plastered on my face (Botox, Restylane,  and Juvederm would make it easier). I worked on spending money and got pretty good at it when the economy was with me. I even had a list of the charities I would support. Alas, it just doesn't seem to be panning out. 

This is not to say that I won't be a prize for some guy, but it's unlikely that I'll become a bombshell who has amazing brand new boobs, no physical flaws, and learns to keep her opinions to herself. That part seems almost impossible. So I've been examining my options.  

1. Trophy wife to a really old guy
I think it would go down something like this, "Hey, Burt! Look what I got! They didn't have cash at Bingo today, but I got this really cool trophy wife instead."

Pros- I could still voice my opinions without fear if I stole the battery from his hearing aid.

Cons- It's a really old guy from a bingo parlor. 

2. "Thanks for participating ribbon" wife to a guy who couldn't get the girl he really wanted. 
Life has worn him down and he is just ready to have someone in bed with him at night so he doesn't have to be alone.

Pros- He's already broken.

Cons- Marrying someone who is openly settling means you're settling. No one likes that.

3. Great sex - Low expectations - Separate lives
I'd be willing to give this a try. I'm pretty good at the separate lives thing already.

Pros- Great sex and low expectations.

Cons- I'm not seeing a con here... yet.

4. Traditional plan
This is where you join clubs and meet people and at some point, someone asks you out more than twice. You like him. He likes you. Sex is mediocre, but at least you make each other laugh. After a suitable amount of time set by his mother (likely), you get engaged and eventually married.

Pros- Friendship. Regular mediocre sex... or not because you don't care. Practicality. Historically, the more boring the marriage the longer it will last (I just made that up).

Cons- Mediocre sex. Practicality often seems like lack of passion.

I'm sure I'm missing some options (like love), but right now option 3 is looking better and better.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Full Of Excuses

Jill offers peace. Drinks at Paramount....
New research shows that people who participate in pre-drinking or booze front-loading (drinking before a drinking event) often drink twice as much as they would if they had just started drinking at the event. Also, pre-drinkers are also more likely to suffer hangovers, injuries, blackouts, and have unprotected sex. I heard it on the news just now so it's obviously true.

I pre-drank with the girls on Saturday for lunch. I followed that pre-drinking with regular drinking. I followed that with dinner and drinks with one of my girlfriends. I didn't get a hangover, a bruise, a blackout, or sex. I might have done it wrong. I probably did. Either way, that was pretty much all the partying I have left in me for the month.

It's been a few days (let's not count okay?) since I've shown my face here. How dare I come around here acting like I own the place! Right, because I do. I've been a busy little bee-atch. So here's what's been going on. It's pretty random. My excuses for my absence are as follows:


■Took second place in the DudeWrite Dudette writing contest with my Allow Me To Age Myself post! That was pretty damned exciting to be honest.

Sake at Tokyo Sushi!
■Spent some time over at SprocketInk where I wrote about drunken sailors and, more recently, made a really lame attempt to tie Mark Twain's War Prayer to a man getting his leg crushed by a crucifix. It's a bit of a stretch, but...

■Rescued a man (that I initially thought to be dead) from a nice nap (sleeping off his buzz) in the flower bed of a local nursing home. I think he is one of those pre-drinking booze front-loaders. Just a guess. He fist bumped someone while he attempted to sit up then promptly laid back down and decided he wasn't done sleeping.

■Voted. Thank God that is over. As it turns out, my vote (just mine) destroyed my former flame. I was informed of this in the form of email, IM, and text message. Voting is powerful, people. Next time someone pisses you off, find out who they are voting for and vote against them. Apparently it works. I'd been dating other people to destroy his life. One vote was all it took. Victory is mine.

■Did laundry and dishes. I'm still amazed at the way my kids can keep adding dishes to the sink without ever giving any thought to washing them. "All the forks are dirty? Well I guess I will wash one, but only one." Seriously, folks! What the hell?!

■Worked. Lots of that. I keep making excuses for going to work. That's how I know I have gotten old. I wake up in the morning with every intention of calling in sick. Sick of being responsible or something or other... then I lay there and make up reasons why I should just go to work. Money and whatnot.

■Ate eel. I'm not kidding. It's not quite as weird as the sea urchin I had in Montreal, but I approached it with excitement and a wee bit of trepidation. IT.WAS.AMAZING! Loved it and will be adding it to my Sushi-Sake-Saturday-Staples.

■Learned to use the self-portrait function on my phone. Sort of.

Let's pretend I meant to do that. 

Monday, November 5, 2012

Why don't you come over and see me sometime?

I couldn't really be here today because I was busy being somewhere else. I'm over at SprocketInk today being sassy and asking the big questions. Do you know what to do with a drunken sailor? Let's find out! 

US Navy Answers Age Old Question of What to Do With a Drunken Sailor

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Those People

Pre-nap angry bitch "those people"
We're those people. We being my kids and I. Yesterday when I left the office in my Mommie Dearest makeup, I could think of only one thing. No, it wasn't, "Gee, how exciting will it be to see all those cute kids in their costumes tonight!". It was more along the lines of, "If I don't sleep someone is going to die. Maybe me. Maybe someone who pisses me off. Someone."

I drove home with my eyes begging me to let them shut, even for a moment. I refused the request and drove home looking a bit like a coked up 80s office executive. From the moment I walked through my front door I began to let them droop. I feigned interest in all text messages that came through as I prepared myself for a bit of slumber. As I climbed the stairs to my room I was stripping off clothes like I was about to stomp onto the screen of a porn film. It's not as sexy as you think. Chances are if my shoes were high enough or my pants were long enough, I rocked those kick ass heels with gym socks. I sit close to the front door, dammit! My feet get cold during the day!

I tucked my feet under the covers and pulled the comforter up tight under my chin and drifted ALMOST to sleep. "BANG BANG BANG!"

It doesn't matter what time of the day it is. If you live in today's world there is no reason EVER to knock on my door unless you know me. Obviously with everything there are exceptions. Dead person on my door step? Sure. Knock. My house is on fire? Okay, let me know. Police? Gotcha. Coming out. If you're selling insurance, water, lawn services, or trying to give me a free turkey because God knows I'm poor... f*ck off. Okay, if God wants me to have a free turkey based on my neighborhood, leave the turkey. It's cold enough out there for a frozen turkey to survive until morning.

Of course with all of these things in mind I couldn't imagine why anyone would knock on my door, especially since my daughter and her boyfriend were in the garage... staring at the aforementioned offenders. "WHAT?! WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT!?!" So I ignored it. Many times. When my phone beeped with the ominous, "you've really been ignoring shit", sound, I sat up angrily. Why the hell can people not just let a person sleep? Seriously! I just want a little time before I work out so I can do it without passing out. What the hell is so wrong with that?

As it turns out, Halloween was what was so wrong with that. Those loud, demanding, extremely obnoxious knocks were from trick-or-treaters. Minutes later my phone chirped at me again. "Do we have candy or is the light on the front step on by accident?"

Now let's be clear about something. We are not THOSE people.. you know... the ones who run out of candy and forget to turn off the light because whomever is supposed to be watching the bowl just spaced it off. No, we're certainly not those people. We are the other THOSE people. We are the ones who stopped handing out candy when our co-workers started bringing their kids to work for handouts. We stopped thinking those damned costumes were precious when our little ones milked us of our last dime getting the latest greatest light up costume known to man. We're the ones who have been dieting and avoiding the candy displays for the last 8 f*cking weeks. You know, we're the ones who put an empty bucket outside their front door with a sign that reads, "If the bucket is empty you got here too late.", but never put any candy in it in the first place. We're the people who can't believe that anyone is trick-or-treating at four in the God Lovin' afternoon!

So, in a round about way, I am trying to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry to the million kids who knocked while I laid in bed crying, "F*CK RIGHT OFF!" Next year, might I recommend going to one of the billion publicly funded trunk-or-treat events sponsored by the churches. Maybe try the local zoos who seem to be fond of giving out sugar on 10-31? Perhaps you can hit up one of the really fancy neighborhoods that hands out full sized candy bars. Let's be honest. If I buy anything next year it will probably be one tiny peanut butter kiss nasty piece of candy. Even then, one of my co-workers suggested gluing that one piece to the bottom of the bucket to taunt people. I'm not those people. Or maybe I am.

Which people are you?

My Zimbio
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