Sunday, January 27, 2013

But I Don't Love You

Today was a very bad day and I won't go into the reasons why. Wait a minute I will go into the reasons why because basically I'll be making fun of myself when I explain why, and that's the way I roll.

I had a super amazing fun time with friends and Prince Hairy at the bar last night, and then I went home alone in a cab, and to my credit I did not fall down. But, I over imbibed (as my douche-y ex husband calls it) and I did stupid things - like cry in front of people. I'm sure no one really paid attention to the girl sitting alone at 1:55a crying in her glass of vodka. Oh that's not true one random guy did, just to ask me if I wanted to go home with him.

So. why the tears? Maybe whoever reads this could provide me feedback.

A man, we shall call him, ummm, MM (for mister moneybags) has somehow entered my world and has turned it upside down. He likes me. We are 'casual' but he is increasingly more and more affectionate in words and in person, and it's becoming an issue. Why is that an issue? Because in my world I only enter into relationships that are sure to fail, are virtually impossible, and/or the person is a complete and total loser. In this case, he's the right age, the right marital status, he's fairly attractive and funny, very intelligent, and he's MM. Not that I give a shit, but if I were to tell my Mother all about MM she'd say YAY he's MM. I say, sadly, that part about him makes me dislike him.

So. Why is being affectionate an issue?
1. He shows up where I drink, and when I drink I like to talk to people. Men, Women, Children, Myself. And for that I need discretion and privacy.
2. I like him. Affection encourages me, and makes me scared.
3. He says all these great things, and then he adds the caveat "But I Don't Love You"

That was the tipping point. I said ... Listen. I don't love you, I don't believe in that fairy tale bullshit and I'll probably never be in love ever again. (I loved a few people, I still love one person, but that's different. HE is grandfathered in)" BUT Why the caveat "But I Don't Love You"  I'll liken the logic to this ...

Oh my God, the steak at Drovers was earth shatteringly (a word?) delicious. But I Don't Love It
Holy Crap, Les Miserables was outstanding and it was so amazing I peed myself. But I Don't Love It
My Word, you just did blankity blank so well that I had a BIG O so big the state of Nebraska heard me screaming, But I Don't Love It

Do you catch my drift? It's like this ...
(Insert my name here), You are devastatingly beautiful. But I Don't Love You
(Insert my name here), You are one of the most amazing women that I've ever met But I Don't Love You
(Insert my name here), I can't believe how much I am drawn to you But I Don't Love You
(Insert my name here), You make my pupils turn into hearts like the cartoons But I Don't Love You

AND with all this affection he adds, I don't want to send you the wrong message, so I'm being totally forthright. I don't love you and I never will and this will never amount to anything. By the way, (insert my name here) did I tell you how enthralling it is when you chew your food?

And I keep saying, MM, stop saying that because I DO NOT LOVE YOU. I didn't say I did, I didn't ask you if you did, and I don't care. It doesn't matter. Then eventually last night, with the help of alcohol, Prince Hairy fun, and realizing what a complete douche he was I said, go to hell and don't ever contact me again I hate you, and for how intelligent you are, you are a very stupid man - and I added I'm not a whore and I'm not here for your amusement.

With that being said, he liked it. Men like when you are a bitch. That's the end of the story. Either that or he's just as bat shit crazy as I am. Even if he was as crazy as I am, I DON'T LOVE HIM

Batshit Crazy

I’ve been examining myself as of late, OK honestly I’ve been examining, over analyzing, criticizing and beating myself up for my entire adult life. OK since this blog is about honesty let’s be honest. I’ve been doing it … well since the beginnings of consciousness I’m sure.

I would bet any amount of money that when I was a baby I degraded myself for how fat my behind looked in the diaper. For how quickly I spoke, versus my sister. For how long it took me to crawl (I never did I rolled … similar to my adult life) and all kinds of inconsequential things like that over which I had no control. I know I was never fussy or a loud crier, probably because I didn’t want to be imperfect in any way..

I still to this day beat myself up over childhood issues such as … when I peed my pants in grade school because I was too embarrassed to get up in class and go to the bathroom, or worse yet even ASK the teacher if I could go!

I recall experiences with boys in grade school in which I’m sure if I were to have reacted differently, spoke differently or dressed differently, did my hair differently, I would surely have been popular.

I remember in grade school despising myself because I still had training wheels, and we went biking with the family and everyone probably thought I was mentally retarded. Or what about the time in Jr High when the horse, whom I adored and had known for approximately 48 hours me and 100 other girl scouts who probably drove the horse to insanity, decided he didn’t want me on his back anymore and tried scraping me off with the help of a tree. Scarred me forever. How could the animal I loved so much be so mean. Surely it was my fault.

What about all the horrible memories I dredge up, even to this day, about being ugly, flat chested, unpopular, not studious, etc. etc. etc. If only I had tried harder, been better and more determined and popular my life would be so much different right now. To this day, day in and day out, I’m still the ugly under performing duckling that I was in adolescence and it drives me to insanity. 

What do I mean by insanity? By that I mean … walking into a public place assured in my mind that I am an ugly hog. Working day in and day out thinking that one day people are going to figure out that I’m really a moron who needs not only a brain but therapy. Going to the store and thinking people are staring at me because I’m so hideous and horrible, like a car accident, that they can’t look away. There are brief moments that I think it may be because I have a good hair day, but those moments are fleeting.
It’s time to call a therapist.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Attachment Disorder?

I have decided that I cannot be connected with anything that brings me so much joy that it interferes with my life, or overshadows it in a way that I become somewhat obsessed with that object. In doing so, I keep my life simple and can be more focused and stop worrying about the ‘thing’ for which I have so much affection. I thought it was called attachment disorder, but that's something entirely different, apparently what I am is part of a minimalist movement.
My ex-husband helped me with that when after I left him he threw out everything I own. And I do mean everything. He did a favor for my teenage kids as well, threw out all of their belongings too. Someone who was garbage picking that day hit the motherload. So now I am 44 y/o I have a garage with a few boxes, and apt and no storage facility of any kind
Here is a quote from Fight Club:
“It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.”
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Thanks again douchebag ex-husband. I know I can do anything. I am a minimalist. Except when it comes to clothes. Even then I’m not typical of a woman.
For example: When I was married, my ring was absolutely breathtakingly stunning. I loved it. I stared at it every day. I got my nails done all the time just to make sure it was highlighted by a perfect manicure, I worried about it, checked it, cleaned it, thought surely one day someone would chop off my finger to get it. That ring became part of my identity, I worried over it so much it owned me. It identified me and it tortured me. It elevated me in social standing or so I thought.  I sold it. It was a anvil off my chest.
Example 2: My BMW Z3. It was hot. A convertible, dark blue, tan interior. It turned heads. When I was in it, I felt like a movie star or Charlie’s Angels or something to that effect. I babied it, I talked about It, I obsessed over it, I worried about it, I paid a lot of money maintaining it, I worshipped the car. It supposedly elevated me to a new level of class. I traded it in, I cried like a baby, it was a monkey off my back.
Example 3: My hair. It’s red and curly and everywhere I go, every single day of my life, it receives commentary and attention. It’s a curse, it’s a special power. The attention it draws has caused love, adoration, crushes, women crushes, fawning, embarrassment, sexual harassment, undue attention, an air of unprofessionalism, and a general message that …I want to have sex … if I wear it down. If I wear the hair down, in public, in general I can count on someone behaving in a way that they are sure that I want to have sex with them or that they can behave inappropriately towards me.  For instance, yearly work conference, biggest guy in the system comes over pulls on my hair over and over again and tells me ‘oh what I want to do’ and smells it and declares how much he loves my hair. Inappropriate. I cut it off…  No I didn’t but I wear it in a bun most of the time.
So in other words, things that own me or I adore too much, I get rid of. Next things on my list are my ultra amazing bed in which I spend too much time adoring it and the way it makes me feel (alone) and my jetta – of which I am too fond and think about and obsess about too much. And my hair is next on my list, I’m wondering if I should cut it off and be done with it … relying on the fact that I can attract husband no 3 purely by my wit and smile. Unlikely. It would be like Sampson (sp?) and Delilah I would surely get fired, be an old maid, and lose all of my social standing, (choke) power, charisma and influence.
“Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.”
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Thursday, October 18, 2012

I got good genes

A Story of Douchebaggery
 So I work with a guy who is, let’s just say he’s mentally challenged. And I don’t mean because he has something wrong with him. He is mentally challenged and a douchebag because he must have a very small penis, small brain, or gotten hit in the head to0 many times by people he offended.  I’m guessing the third.
This guy started about one year ago and although he still has learned basically nothing about how to do his job, he pretends to be all knowing and goes about his business of checking up on his coworkers to make sure they get things done, that our boss assigns, even though he is not the boss. Doesn’t sound that bad does it. But cumulatively, he aggravates me so much that I’m glad I’m not one to resort to physical violence, however verbal abuse is fair play. Here is an example of his douchebaggery.
Our boss tells us to move all of a certain report, for all of our customers, to another spot on our database. Essentially electronically move 50 files from one spot to another. It would take hours and it’s a very stupid exercise. With that being said we had until the end of September to do it. (I still haven’t done it) On September 10th douchebaggery comes to my desk and says, “Hey did you get all your files moved?” I say “Um. are you my boss? We have until the end of the month to do it. It’s only the 10th” he says “Well just checking, you’ve got to get it done” I’m like HELLO MYOFBDB !! (Mind your own fucking business Douchebag) WOW WOW WOW my blood starts boiling. (I still haven’t done it. WHY? Because he told me I had to)
Second example: He comes to my desk and says “Hey why were you out of the office yesterday” I say “none of your business” he laughs and I smile (because I’m at expert at bitchcraft) and say “I was sick DB, I had a  migraine all day” He says … “Sounds like the wineflu to me”  I think Duh dumb dumb I drink vodka. Grrr. From then on every time I’m sick he says I have wineflu. He’s putting nails in his coffin.
Third example: He comes to my desk (essentially he is at my desk at least 5x per day harassing  me) He says “hey, how was your weekend”  I say it was great. He says “So you got some strange?”  MIND YOU!! I have never talked about anything sexual with this mentally challenged douchebag! He should expect it when he least expects it. (Get Smart – literally)
Fourth example: Walks by my desk and says under his breath “Hey Hooker how you doing” And I say excuse me what did you say? He says “I just say hey hey how you doing” Uh huh. He shouldn’t walk in front of my car.
Fifth example: I say your parents must have been ugly because that is hereditary. He says what did you say? Terriditory? I say no ding dong, HEREDITERY. He says oh. They aren’t and neither am I, but it is not hereditary it’s genetic. (HA) I say it’s the same thing. I guess your parents were stupid too. He says … no genetics and heredity are two different things. I say no they aren’t. We are like 5 y/o now going back and forth. He walks away. As he does I say one of the meanest things I’ve ever said in my life … “Don’t get in an accident on the way home” he didn’t hear me. I think you can get fired for workplace violence. I wonder which is worse, sexual harassment or workplace violence?
So he leaves and I look it up. And apparently the study of heredity is called genetics. I sent him the proof via email (link and excerpt) and I said … Boom Farm Boy Wrong Again. Of course he doesn’t respond.
So with that being said, there is something to be said for good breeding and apparently his parents should not have had children. I know mean but true.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Crazy Dream

I have a sister, she obsessed with moving away and whenever things get stressful or overwhelming she would revert to the ‘I’m just packing up and moving away’ conversation. My sister is really eccentric. That's a nice way to say batshit crazy. I'm only eccentric. (Joking Sis) We have crazy ideas and verbalize them and people don’t think we are serious. But we usually are. Like her Kill List for example. No blog about that. Anyhow --- So over years and years and years she’s been driving me insane with the I’m moving scenario crazy dream. 
She reminds me of a visit to an elderly person and they tell you every single time that they see you, about their bunion, or their bedsore, or their heartburn whatever. But I would just smile at her and basically say …. OMG you’re just stressed out and you ramble about this when you want to escape. In my mind I would say … STFU I’m so tired of hearing this stupid bullshit story. But I love her I do.
Ironically, the other day, she said to me … "Hey will you stop! You already told me the x,y,z story 3x and I’m so tired of hearing it over and over again.(Mind you it was only about the 3rd time) it really drives me insane." And I just said something like ok sorry. Internal dialog said ... omg you are such a bunt. reminds with ... ha. Not nice. Needless to say EVERY SINGLE TIME I see her or talk to her, she repeats one of her stories … like years old stories. I used to kindheartedly let it go. Now, because I’m passive aggressive, I say … “I’m so sick and tired of hearing that story over and over again. It drives me insane” I’ve had the privilege of throwing it in her face about a dozen times in the few weeks that it’s been since she scolded me for boring stories. Ha payback is a bitch. It’s so fun to win. HA.
So I have a crazy moving dream too, and I’m going to move within 5 years to Italy. Why the 5 year mark? Because I want to be less than (Insert my age here)  when I move. There will at least be a slim chance of hope that I’ll have lost weight by then, gotten a facelift and boobs, and will  be totally hot.
Incidentally part one of the plan is in motion. I joined the health club. Sadly I didn’t make it to the gym today – that makes the 5th year in a row. (I stole that joke)  
With that being said the second part of the plan is the bring Prince Harry with me, for which I’d have to be totally hot, or if he declines – which I’m guessing he will because I’ll be nearly (insert age here +5)  by then and he will still be significantly younger .. .. plan b to part two is that I’ll go alone and meet some hot Italian guy who knows no English and can speak Italian to me while we are naked in bed. plan c is i'll go alone, send Prince Harry a shit ton of photos and packages until he just can't resist 'visiting' and then i'll steal his passport and clothes so he can never leave. (I say I wouldn't do that ...the stealing his passport part is totally inappropriate and wrong, the other part is totally socially acceptable to do in my book)
(I Blame all of this blog on Tourettes. I was telling my friend today that I really like diagnosing people, and since I present the diagnosis as if it were fact, I should really go back to school to get the credentials to back it up. Not gonna do it. Just saying.  Too bad I can’t diagnose myself … look a pony! )  
The first scenario is the favored one though. Just saying (Prince Harry)  And it’s a crazy story and people think I’m not going to do it, and I tell people every single day that I’m going to do it ---- and mark my words I’m going to do it. Unlike my sister I’m actually going to move somewhere fabulous. And then there will be bliss, and lots of walking by the ocean, great food, and sex.  Italy is conducive to sex, food, and walking. That’s just the way it is. It’s the way of the world. And music too. Yes music.
So do you sense some competition among sisters? Hell I’d like to write just about that today but I won’t. It would be a BOOK. Hmmm that’s an idea. Anyhow my crazy sister packed it up last week and moved somewhere fabulous too! I can’t believe that bitch beat me to it. She moved by the ocean. She’s a bitch on the beach and she one-upped me.  Healthy competition is good – or unhealthy as the case may be. This is just the inspiration that I needed to get my 5 year plan going --- full speed ahead. Italy here I come.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Excuse me Ma'am where is the GYM?

I’ve been in the contemplative stage for I don’t know, years about exercise. Honestly the only time that I exercise is when I am naked. And if that activity is … well inactivity … I naturally start to get fat. Not only fat, but fat and unhappy. So with that being said I’ve been in the contemplative stage for, well most of my adult life.
This is my life. I wake up, look in the mirror, well I try to only look in mirrors that are like … medicine cabinet mirrors … when I’m naked. That way I can’t see the damage I’ve done below the breast area. Or should I say the damage children, inactivity, and Indian food have done to my lower body. Here’s a thought. Went to the Indian place the other day and we were joking with the owner that we’ve gained weight because we go to her ‘buffet’ like 3x a week. She vehemently denied her food would make us fat. This is the food. Creamy sauces, cheese, and fried food. Ok. I don’t understand the logic there. She said, but seriously ladies do you ever see Indian people who are overweight? They are fit and healthy. We nodded in agreement, in my mind I was thinking the following. First of all, yes I’ve seen plenty of fat Indian women. They wear Sari’s with their back fat hanging out (sometimes) and they have men with big fat bellies. Incidentally they are usually smaller in stature, but still can pack on the lard. Conversely NO I haven’t seen Indian people, say on the internet or TV that depict the desperately poor people that live in India. Of course starvation makes you skinny, but if you eat cheese, fried food, and cream sauce you are going to get fat. After her dumb logic in that area I decided never to go back, until the next day when I was really starving for some saag paneer. Ha.
Ok back on the subject. So what has my contemplative stage looked like. I avoid mirrors, especially at night when gravity has done even more damage on my body. It pulls everything downward. The best time for anyone to see you naked is clearly in the morning. That is why I firmly believe that men enjoy morning sex so much, aside from that they are usually unconsciously ready for it without even trying. If you know what I’m saying. (I’m getting a visual here. It’s daytime and I’m inactive – this is not a good thing)
When I do look in the mirror there is internal dialog. From the shoulders up my brain says … Wow (insert my name here), you have an afro, you are ugly, you are getting wrinkles, look at your chin. Age, Alcohol and smoking are taking its toll. You have to stop. Then I accidentally walk by the full view mirror, the only thing I don’t like about my new condo. Full length mirrors in every bathroom and bedroom. Clearly the college aged women who rented before me were conceited bitches. Moving on … I glance and stop and say to myself … holy shit you are a hideous fat ugly monster. (no lie) and then as I go about my day I compare myself to every morbidly obese woman, and those in between, and say to myself … Angela surely you look exactly like that. You’ve got to do something about your big fat butt. You have to exercise. How can you accomplish that? Yes you will start exercising … someday. This is literally an every single day dialog that I have with myself.
When I do bite the bullet and exercise it lasts MAYBE a week or so. This is why … I head out usually running, and being the perfectionist that I am I do it full force, render myself disabled for the next 3 days, go about my day looking like I’m a pathetic senior citizen, and promise myself next time I’ll start slow. There never is a next time.
I’m in a stage in my life where I have to make a decision. Either I’m going to age gracefully – make sure my body is as HAWT as possible, and if my face is ugly it won’t be that large a blow because I can just stare at my awesome a** and make sure other people do as well, or let myself continue on this road of laziness and gluttony and get a facelift when I start to turn heads --- away from me. OR … find a preferably younger man who will have sex with me 3x a day, inspire me to participate in a very cardio –exercise way, AND get a facelift. That’s the plan that I’m shooting for. I’ve posted a job ad on CareerBuilder. The job doesn’t pay, because if I did then I’d end up on the news, and /or in jail. But it would be a fun ride, literally.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Diarrhea Mouth

So. Thursday night there was nearly an incident on the flight coming from O'Hare flying to Omaha. Why? I was on it. Here's how it went 

Ever been on a flight when someone,, in my life usually next to or within a few rows of me, thinks the world is a stage. Yes and not for entertainment but rather to use the passengers that are sequestered on the plane as an unsuspecting victims to spew diarrhea on them from their mouths. Disgusting huh. Do you know what I'm talking about ? Verbal diarrhea. This is how it goes ...

They sit down to some poor a hole, who is also party to this atrocity, and start with the sweet politeness. "hi how are you? My name is Sheila Blowhard ( or suckhard whatever you like better
) how are you ? So what do you do for a living (yes this is how you know that you're gonna wish you brought something sharp on the plane to kill yourself or the other person with) and en its the banter back and for. At first it's like .... I, listening, this could be interesting, oh I bet we know some of the same people, then it's obvious she wants the person and all those within earshot, to know how wonderful beautiful smart and accomplished she is. Only thing is, the ones with diarrhea mouth just think they are. Oh Mr A Hole who keeps engaging me, I am a big wig at FNB and oh you are an astronaut? Wow we are hiring astronauts. Since I've been chatting with you all of ten minutes I'd like to give you my card, you should call me because I'd like to hire you. Then sadly, that's not the end of the convo. Mr A Hole thinking this stupid dumb biotch is really looking for an astronaut, says minor things to keep her fueled for conversation. Its been about 15 minutes the convo is fucking boring and it's about time they would stop talking. NOPE now the convo turns personal. 

Oh where did you go on your trip 
Where do you live
Do you have kids 
Where did you grow up 
Are you married 
This looks like Mrs blow hard and suck hard is genuinely interested in his answers. She's not. She uses each as a platform to talk about that particular question and how it relates to HER. And it's not interesting. She is a mom. She works at fnb she grew up in Ponca and went to Omaha north. She is married and she knows about computers at least she knows that databases are sequel. Pooh ahhhh the guy is attractive and unmarried. She makes a point of telling him she's married, what part of town she lives in, HOW HARD IT IS TO BE MARRIED and incidentally soon after, how her husband is out of town. Literally an hour of non stop bullshit coming out of her mouth. 

I put my headphones on and turned the music up as loud as possible until blood dripped out of my ears. I could still hear her. I wanted to absolutely hurt her. I wanted to reach over and slap her so hard her mother could feel it. I wanted to say lady you are such a dog you aren't getting any tonight and you'd look better if shit really were coming out of your GD pie hole. I was that angry. 

Why so angry? Because the guy was hot and I wanted to talk to him and she stole my thunder. Ha. Just Jk. Because she was stupid and uninteresting and she was invading my brain and spewing her diarrhea mouth all over me. And I still have her horrible voice ringing in my ears. Why people. Don't do it and the flight attendants should have bats that they are allowed to use on these people ...just whack em on the head and knock them out for the duration. I fly. 2x a month. On 99percent of the flights someone is afflicted with diarrhea mouth for which only bodily harm is the cure.