Hey, you three people that read this...
Leave me comments. Tell me I'm great. Stroke my ego. Me Me Me!!!
That is all.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Another Saturday Night...
I really don't know anything about Paula Deen. I don't have television, and have only seen her on the front of magazines. But I do think there is a chance that she is an android. A Chef-Bot. Whatever. All I do know is that I have never seen someone who, in every photograph, looks more like a wax figurine and less like a real person. Her eyes are entirely too blue, her skin impossibly smooth for her age, her hair never changes, and her teeth are not just the whitest of white but also incandescent. She looks completely false. She scares me.
Enough with the rain. Really. Kthx. I know today it didn't rain. But anymore, rain-free days are simply teasers. They get you all excited for dry, and then bam! You wake up, downpour. Boo.
Each new tidbit of info I hear causes me to become even more dumbfounded. I'm still devastated. But I'm getting more and more concerned, and straight up confused, about what the hell you are thinking. From the outside, all I see are red flags. You have absolutely no control over your own life anymore; you're being devoured alive, smothered from all sides. You agreed to help out a friend, and then bailed because Mommy didn't approve (funny, she's one to speak of ethics...). And you couldn't keep your end of the bargain and do it in your own time, because you weren't going to have any of your own time, she was always going to be there. Before the move (another WTF? moment), people you had spent a lot of fun times with, people who liked you and who you liked, suddenly never saw you; you disappeared. Then you broke a lease to follow her elsewhere, which had its own financial consequences. And is completely uncharacteristic for you. I can't imagine it was your idea, though I could be wrong- you'll pay high prices for pussy. You used to say I was being pissy when I'd get upset that you wanted to spend three nights in a row having 'boys night out' when I just wanted to come out for at least one of them on a night that I didn't have to work late and get up early. How many boys nights out have you had recently? Ones that might have happened when Der Kommissar was out of town don't count. And I'm guessing not too many. Do you have to ask for a hall pass to go the bathroom, too? You are no longer you. You aren't your own person. You have zero control over yourself. You are being sucked dry slowly, your oxygen is being squeezed off. But you can't see it. You won't be aware until you're gasping for breath and becoming faint. You're supposed to share your life with someone else, not give it up entirely. You're supposed to be who you are with a little extra, not only what they want to allow you to be. Insanity.
Maybe it's just me thinking like this though- maybe I'm the only one who will look at such a drastic turn, this complete 180, and see trouble. Sure, I have a jaded opinion. Afterall, I'm the jilted. Maybe everyone else sees perfection and bliss.
But I've seen this before. Granted, the version I saw previously was to the extreme... This is like a Michelob Ultra, and what I saw in the past was a handle of Golden Grain. But the elements are similar. My dad did it... fell hard for a woman. She wanted all his time, loved him intensely from the start, couldn't bear to be away from him. He basically lived with her permanently, though he owned a house. He'd go back every few days to feed his cats. That's it. He didn't have time for anything but her, and he didn't see a problem with it. He fell behind on all his bills. When he did step back, and try to regain control, she'd break up with him, go completely crazy and break into his house in the middle of the night. Then she got physically abusive after a while, would attack him knowing he couldn't raise a hand in defense because he'd be the one in jail no matter what. I visited twice or three times a year. But it was unacceptable for him to spend time with me while I was in Ohio. Unless she was there constantly. I couldn't even live at my own house when visiting because he had to stay with her at hers. So I stayed with my grandmother. She used him up, broke him down, and he thought that by staying with her he could make her better. So he married her. Things got worse, he sold his house to move to hers, she took up so much of his time he never even managed to get most of his belongings out of his old house, and he lost a lot of meaningful things because the new owner was tired of storing it for him. Things like photo albums from my childhood. My piano. Most of his furniture. The handmade Christmas ornaments in the attic. Most everything that was a part of his previous life before her. Then she talked him into giving her access to his personal bank account (not the one that was now theirs jointly, but his he had had for years). There wasn't a lot there- he's a potato chip man. But she used it all up without him even noticing. He stayed; every week or so he'd come home from work and all his stuff would be thrown into the front yard. He stayed; he tried to get her to go to marriage counseling, and she would only agree if it was faith-based and he went, but she wouldn't. He stayed; she abused him. Suffocated him. Bled him dry. Told him she loved him, and then five minutes later told him she hated him. Every day. He stayed; she called constantly- where are you? Who are you talking to? Why are you giving your daughter that and not my kids that? He stayed... and finally he broke. And ran like hell. Basically went into hiding, and now, he lives with his mother. He has very few objects of meaning left. She destroyed him because she needed him to live only for her.
Yeah it's not near the same, but it all starts somewhere.
Damn you dryer! That infernal squeal is going to eat my brain! I will try teflon lube for the time being...
Dear Water Heater- may landlord gave you new elements. Yet somehow you give me even less warm time in the shower. I would kill for 10 minutes of hot water. Ok, not kill. I'd make out with you for 10 minutes of hot water.
I need to go feed my neighbor's cats now.
LONG..... sorry.
Enough with the rain. Really. Kthx. I know today it didn't rain. But anymore, rain-free days are simply teasers. They get you all excited for dry, and then bam! You wake up, downpour. Boo.
Each new tidbit of info I hear causes me to become even more dumbfounded. I'm still devastated. But I'm getting more and more concerned, and straight up confused, about what the hell you are thinking. From the outside, all I see are red flags. You have absolutely no control over your own life anymore; you're being devoured alive, smothered from all sides. You agreed to help out a friend, and then bailed because Mommy didn't approve (funny, she's one to speak of ethics...). And you couldn't keep your end of the bargain and do it in your own time, because you weren't going to have any of your own time, she was always going to be there. Before the move (another WTF? moment), people you had spent a lot of fun times with, people who liked you and who you liked, suddenly never saw you; you disappeared. Then you broke a lease to follow her elsewhere, which had its own financial consequences. And is completely uncharacteristic for you. I can't imagine it was your idea, though I could be wrong- you'll pay high prices for pussy. You used to say I was being pissy when I'd get upset that you wanted to spend three nights in a row having 'boys night out' when I just wanted to come out for at least one of them on a night that I didn't have to work late and get up early. How many boys nights out have you had recently? Ones that might have happened when Der Kommissar was out of town don't count. And I'm guessing not too many. Do you have to ask for a hall pass to go the bathroom, too? You are no longer you. You aren't your own person. You have zero control over yourself. You are being sucked dry slowly, your oxygen is being squeezed off. But you can't see it. You won't be aware until you're gasping for breath and becoming faint. You're supposed to share your life with someone else, not give it up entirely. You're supposed to be who you are with a little extra, not only what they want to allow you to be. Insanity.
Maybe it's just me thinking like this though- maybe I'm the only one who will look at such a drastic turn, this complete 180, and see trouble. Sure, I have a jaded opinion. Afterall, I'm the jilted. Maybe everyone else sees perfection and bliss.
But I've seen this before. Granted, the version I saw previously was to the extreme... This is like a Michelob Ultra, and what I saw in the past was a handle of Golden Grain. But the elements are similar. My dad did it... fell hard for a woman. She wanted all his time, loved him intensely from the start, couldn't bear to be away from him. He basically lived with her permanently, though he owned a house. He'd go back every few days to feed his cats. That's it. He didn't have time for anything but her, and he didn't see a problem with it. He fell behind on all his bills. When he did step back, and try to regain control, she'd break up with him, go completely crazy and break into his house in the middle of the night. Then she got physically abusive after a while, would attack him knowing he couldn't raise a hand in defense because he'd be the one in jail no matter what. I visited twice or three times a year. But it was unacceptable for him to spend time with me while I was in Ohio. Unless she was there constantly. I couldn't even live at my own house when visiting because he had to stay with her at hers. So I stayed with my grandmother. She used him up, broke him down, and he thought that by staying with her he could make her better. So he married her. Things got worse, he sold his house to move to hers, she took up so much of his time he never even managed to get most of his belongings out of his old house, and he lost a lot of meaningful things because the new owner was tired of storing it for him. Things like photo albums from my childhood. My piano. Most of his furniture. The handmade Christmas ornaments in the attic. Most everything that was a part of his previous life before her. Then she talked him into giving her access to his personal bank account (not the one that was now theirs jointly, but his he had had for years). There wasn't a lot there- he's a potato chip man. But she used it all up without him even noticing. He stayed; every week or so he'd come home from work and all his stuff would be thrown into the front yard. He stayed; he tried to get her to go to marriage counseling, and she would only agree if it was faith-based and he went, but she wouldn't. He stayed; she abused him. Suffocated him. Bled him dry. Told him she loved him, and then five minutes later told him she hated him. Every day. He stayed; she called constantly- where are you? Who are you talking to? Why are you giving your daughter that and not my kids that? He stayed... and finally he broke. And ran like hell. Basically went into hiding, and now, he lives with his mother. He has very few objects of meaning left. She destroyed him because she needed him to live only for her.
Yeah it's not near the same, but it all starts somewhere.
Damn you dryer! That infernal squeal is going to eat my brain! I will try teflon lube for the time being...
Dear Water Heater- may landlord gave you new elements. Yet somehow you give me even less warm time in the shower. I would kill for 10 minutes of hot water. Ok, not kill. I'd make out with you for 10 minutes of hot water.
I need to go feed my neighbor's cats now.
LONG..... sorry.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Think.
Before you act. Just think.
You have plenty of time. Why are you in such a hurry? Seriously, what good do you believe you can get from doing all this?
Yes, I hate you. I hate you down to my very being. But I hate you because I love you, and regardless of how much I want you to feel the same pain you caused me, I don't want to see you do something drastic and mess up your life. There is no reason to be running at ludicrous speed- just think, sit on it, see what happens, before you act. Or are you just reacting? Which is even worse. You're going against everything you've ever said, all the things you've believed for a long time, and it's a little alarming.
Even though I think I am 10 times better for you than who you picked and that you would have seen this had you just stood by me through a rough moment in my life. Even though I want to believe that I will be your one big regret and had always hoped you would realize this while there was still time for you to do something about it. Even though I think that I'm supposed to be the girl in this equation. Even though I wish I could believe that you really did love me...
I know that you only thought you did. I know that I am nothing to you, and what I think means nothing to you. I know that you wanted something else. I know you don't miss me in the least and that I am not meant to occupy a space in your life. And I am working through that the best I can. It's slow-going, and though the process may have ended up screwing up more than I was bargaining for, though my sadness may have also completely changed the course of my life, I will heal. I also know you won't see this, and will never know that I do care about you and don't want to see you make a horrible mistake because you won't take the time to let things go naturally.
So please. Just think. Let time help you make your decision. Don't be in such a hurry. There aren't tons of songs about fools rush in, everybody plays the fool, etc. for no reason. Think. If it is meant to be, it will last. So there is no reason to rush into anything. Staking your claim will not change anything, it'll only make it more expensive and time-consuming to fix later should you have been wrong.
That's the best advice in the world really. Just think. Think before you act.
You have plenty of time. Why are you in such a hurry? Seriously, what good do you believe you can get from doing all this?
Yes, I hate you. I hate you down to my very being. But I hate you because I love you, and regardless of how much I want you to feel the same pain you caused me, I don't want to see you do something drastic and mess up your life. There is no reason to be running at ludicrous speed- just think, sit on it, see what happens, before you act. Or are you just reacting? Which is even worse. You're going against everything you've ever said, all the things you've believed for a long time, and it's a little alarming.
Even though I think I am 10 times better for you than who you picked and that you would have seen this had you just stood by me through a rough moment in my life. Even though I want to believe that I will be your one big regret and had always hoped you would realize this while there was still time for you to do something about it. Even though I think that I'm supposed to be the girl in this equation. Even though I wish I could believe that you really did love me...
I know that you only thought you did. I know that I am nothing to you, and what I think means nothing to you. I know that you wanted something else. I know you don't miss me in the least and that I am not meant to occupy a space in your life. And I am working through that the best I can. It's slow-going, and though the process may have ended up screwing up more than I was bargaining for, though my sadness may have also completely changed the course of my life, I will heal. I also know you won't see this, and will never know that I do care about you and don't want to see you make a horrible mistake because you won't take the time to let things go naturally.
So please. Just think. Let time help you make your decision. Don't be in such a hurry. There aren't tons of songs about fools rush in, everybody plays the fool, etc. for no reason. Think. If it is meant to be, it will last. So there is no reason to rush into anything. Staking your claim will not change anything, it'll only make it more expensive and time-consuming to fix later should you have been wrong.
That's the best advice in the world really. Just think. Think before you act.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The first original post for this location
Will be a quick one. I have to leave for work in 5 minutes.
Nothing on this page before this blog was intended for this location. The most recent 7 or so came from my Facebook notes. All other previous blogs are from my rarely-visited MySpace page. At first I thought about abandoning it all. But there are rantings and remorsings going back 4 years, maybe longer. And while they aren't all that insightful or well-written or provocative, they are evidence of what my head was doing at that particular time. So I decided to try and get everything into one spot that might be a little more accessible.
As there is no way to simply import/export MySpace blogs to another forum, I'm having to copy/paste each one individually, and edit the time stamps to reflect the original posting date. So I am not finished. Also, I'm not really advertising this blog except though a link on my Facebook page (which you have to be my friend to see), and maybe by just letting some friends know that if they want to read my ridiculousness they can go here instead of there.
This is a work in progress. I need a better name for the blog. I need to figure out how to pretty it up a bit. I need to decide how much personal information I want tied to it (other than the actual pouring out of my heart and mind I do- now that I think about it, it might be best to remain fairly anonymous except to those that actually know me. I really am not as crazy as some of this shit makes me sound, promise).
So. Here is my first attempt at maintaining something not tied to my social networking crap sites. Maybe I'll write more often. Maybe I'll write better pieces. Maybe I'll get famous a la i can has cheezburger. Alright, that's more than a long shot... Or maybe I'll completely forget about this in three weeks and you'll never hear from me again.
Either way. Here it is, birthed into existence.
Welcome.
Nothing on this page before this blog was intended for this location. The most recent 7 or so came from my Facebook notes. All other previous blogs are from my rarely-visited MySpace page. At first I thought about abandoning it all. But there are rantings and remorsings going back 4 years, maybe longer. And while they aren't all that insightful or well-written or provocative, they are evidence of what my head was doing at that particular time. So I decided to try and get everything into one spot that might be a little more accessible.
As there is no way to simply import/export MySpace blogs to another forum, I'm having to copy/paste each one individually, and edit the time stamps to reflect the original posting date. So I am not finished. Also, I'm not really advertising this blog except though a link on my Facebook page (which you have to be my friend to see), and maybe by just letting some friends know that if they want to read my ridiculousness they can go here instead of there.
This is a work in progress. I need a better name for the blog. I need to figure out how to pretty it up a bit. I need to decide how much personal information I want tied to it (other than the actual pouring out of my heart and mind I do- now that I think about it, it might be best to remain fairly anonymous except to those that actually know me. I really am not as crazy as some of this shit makes me sound, promise).
So. Here is my first attempt at maintaining something not tied to my social networking crap sites. Maybe I'll write more often. Maybe I'll write better pieces. Maybe I'll get famous a la i can has cheezburger. Alright, that's more than a long shot... Or maybe I'll completely forget about this in three weeks and you'll never hear from me again.
Either way. Here it is, birthed into existence.
Welcome.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
What I Am
What I am...
I am not you. Or you. I've finally gotten to a place where I know that I am better than that, better than both of you. I've figured out that no matter how much I hurt right now, no matter how badly I want to turn back the clock, no matter what really, I still have my dignity. And I still have the ability to love. I will find someone who will appreciate it. Someone better than both of you, someone like me.
You. He may have chosen you over me when you, like the desperate insecure girl (not woman) you are, turned all your focus on a man you knew had a girlfriend after your first choice living a few doors down didn't want what you were throwing at him. You were looking to run into somone's arms, anyone's arms- it didn't seem to matter who. Just whoever would take you. Sure, you won. You got what you wanted at my expense. You got to be a key player in the game of destroying another person, taking away the very thing she loved the most and her dreams along with it. But still, with that victory you got something else. You will always be The Other Woman. Regardless of how things work out from now on, that is a stigma that is forever yours. And that is something I can proudly say I have never been and would never be. I respect boundaries, especially when crossing those lines might crush someone else who's done nothing to deserve it. I don't run to the first thing that will have me. I don't manipulate people for my own gratification. I would never sink to the level that you did. Because I am a better person. But not you. You get the scarlet letter. I am flawless, you are marred.
And you. You allowed her to manipulate you. You made your decisions with the wrong head, after it was made clear what she was waving in your face. You threw away love itself, as well as the person you loved and who loved you because your brain was clouded with infatuation and lust. She was there, convenient, and begging for your attention, though in reality she was begging for anyone's attention, and you were doing the same. It had less to do with you as a person and more to do with you as an idea. You were, and are, weak and cowardly, and you fell for the charade. This gives you your own title; The Cheating Man Who Ran To The Other Woman. And right now you're happy. But remember, you were happy with me too, for a lot longer, and see how things turned out? History repeats itself. And the current situation only makes it appear that you really did just pick up where our relationship left off. You are rushing things with her; maybe in your subconscious you are doing so in an effort to completely forget what came before her- immersion; throw yourself into this new thing recklessly and passionately and no more will thoughts of the past haunt you. Part of me thinks you have completely forgotten me already, with how quickly you moved on. But then you see me at the coffee shop, and you are so visibly uncomfortable that you fidget nonstop for five minutes. And then you pack your things and leave. And I hardly looked at you, let alone speak to you. You were weak when she showed up at your door, and you are weak now. You were too cowardly to look me in the eye while leaving me, too cowardly to speak to me face-to-face after running from my house that night, and were too cowardly to keep reading your book when I ended up sharing a room with you two months later. You were not loyal, you followed whatever shiny thing presented itself. I would have stood by you had you let me. Because I am a better person. But not you. You need more than just Courage from the Great Wizard. I am flawless, you are marred.
What I am is strong. I am faithful and loyal. I am a good person. I am deserving of more. I am clean of conscience. I appreciate and value love when I have it and don't view it as disposable. I am intelligent. And every now and then I am fun. Sometimes even funny.
What I am is awesome, a catch, priceless, perfectly imperfect.
What I am is everything that you, and you, are not.
I am not you. Or you. I've finally gotten to a place where I know that I am better than that, better than both of you. I've figured out that no matter how much I hurt right now, no matter how badly I want to turn back the clock, no matter what really, I still have my dignity. And I still have the ability to love. I will find someone who will appreciate it. Someone better than both of you, someone like me.
You. He may have chosen you over me when you, like the desperate insecure girl (not woman) you are, turned all your focus on a man you knew had a girlfriend after your first choice living a few doors down didn't want what you were throwing at him. You were looking to run into somone's arms, anyone's arms- it didn't seem to matter who. Just whoever would take you. Sure, you won. You got what you wanted at my expense. You got to be a key player in the game of destroying another person, taking away the very thing she loved the most and her dreams along with it. But still, with that victory you got something else. You will always be The Other Woman. Regardless of how things work out from now on, that is a stigma that is forever yours. And that is something I can proudly say I have never been and would never be. I respect boundaries, especially when crossing those lines might crush someone else who's done nothing to deserve it. I don't run to the first thing that will have me. I don't manipulate people for my own gratification. I would never sink to the level that you did. Because I am a better person. But not you. You get the scarlet letter. I am flawless, you are marred.
And you. You allowed her to manipulate you. You made your decisions with the wrong head, after it was made clear what she was waving in your face. You threw away love itself, as well as the person you loved and who loved you because your brain was clouded with infatuation and lust. She was there, convenient, and begging for your attention, though in reality she was begging for anyone's attention, and you were doing the same. It had less to do with you as a person and more to do with you as an idea. You were, and are, weak and cowardly, and you fell for the charade. This gives you your own title; The Cheating Man Who Ran To The Other Woman. And right now you're happy. But remember, you were happy with me too, for a lot longer, and see how things turned out? History repeats itself. And the current situation only makes it appear that you really did just pick up where our relationship left off. You are rushing things with her; maybe in your subconscious you are doing so in an effort to completely forget what came before her- immersion; throw yourself into this new thing recklessly and passionately and no more will thoughts of the past haunt you. Part of me thinks you have completely forgotten me already, with how quickly you moved on. But then you see me at the coffee shop, and you are so visibly uncomfortable that you fidget nonstop for five minutes. And then you pack your things and leave. And I hardly looked at you, let alone speak to you. You were weak when she showed up at your door, and you are weak now. You were too cowardly to look me in the eye while leaving me, too cowardly to speak to me face-to-face after running from my house that night, and were too cowardly to keep reading your book when I ended up sharing a room with you two months later. You were not loyal, you followed whatever shiny thing presented itself. I would have stood by you had you let me. Because I am a better person. But not you. You need more than just Courage from the Great Wizard. I am flawless, you are marred.
What I am is strong. I am faithful and loyal. I am a good person. I am deserving of more. I am clean of conscience. I appreciate and value love when I have it and don't view it as disposable. I am intelligent. And every now and then I am fun. Sometimes even funny.
What I am is awesome, a catch, priceless, perfectly imperfect.
What I am is everything that you, and you, are not.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Another Brick In The Wall
Are you kidding me? Seriously... WTF is wrong with your brain?
It's been two months. Two. And you're fucking moving in with her? You, the man who swore up and down the whole time I was with you that you didn't believe in such a thing, unless things were very established, because statistically it almost always ends in a break-up. Even if I was still your friend, I'd say this is a horrible idea, that it's setting yourself up for failure. And you know what? I hope this crashes and burns. I hope it ends worse than you can imagine. You deserve it. I didn't, but you do.
Because it was supposed to be me. Not her. Me.
I put in the time. I tore down my walls. I let you in to my heart. Even when my self-preservation mode was at full alarm, telling me to get out while I still could, I stayed. And one day I realized it was too late; that I loved you. Enough to want to spend my life with you, to have a family with you. I truly, deeply, and honestly loved you. And you said you loved me.
But now I wish I had not silenced those bells. I should have listened to my alarms. They are always right.
It was supposed to be me.
It's been two months. Two. And you're fucking moving in with her? You, the man who swore up and down the whole time I was with you that you didn't believe in such a thing, unless things were very established, because statistically it almost always ends in a break-up. Even if I was still your friend, I'd say this is a horrible idea, that it's setting yourself up for failure. And you know what? I hope this crashes and burns. I hope it ends worse than you can imagine. You deserve it. I didn't, but you do.
Because it was supposed to be me. Not her. Me.
I put in the time. I tore down my walls. I let you in to my heart. Even when my self-preservation mode was at full alarm, telling me to get out while I still could, I stayed. And one day I realized it was too late; that I loved you. Enough to want to spend my life with you, to have a family with you. I truly, deeply, and honestly loved you. And you said you loved me.
But now I wish I had not silenced those bells. I should have listened to my alarms. They are always right.
It was supposed to be me.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
OxyMoron
You wanted to be friends? You really wanted us to get along? Seriously?
You should have thought of that before you betrayed me in such a hideous fashion, worse than any friend ever would. You should have considered that before you told me you loved me in one breath, and then turned around and dropped me with hardly an explanation for some girl who threw herself at you in the next. You should have pondered whether this was a possibility before you were such a pussy that you refused to talk to me in person. You should have known better than to request such a thing after you knew how badly you have shattered me.
Maybe you should have considered not wasting a year and a half of my life that could have been better spent on someone actually worth it. After all, if this was how you thought of me, then why the hell were you ever with me to begin with?
No way. Fuck you, you lying, deceitful, heartless son of a bitch. Fuck you. And your little dog too.
You should have thought of that before you betrayed me in such a hideous fashion, worse than any friend ever would. You should have considered that before you told me you loved me in one breath, and then turned around and dropped me with hardly an explanation for some girl who threw herself at you in the next. You should have pondered whether this was a possibility before you were such a pussy that you refused to talk to me in person. You should have known better than to request such a thing after you knew how badly you have shattered me.
Maybe you should have considered not wasting a year and a half of my life that could have been better spent on someone actually worth it. After all, if this was how you thought of me, then why the hell were you ever with me to begin with?
No way. Fuck you, you lying, deceitful, heartless son of a bitch. Fuck you. And your little dog too.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Reasons Why I'm Better Off Without Him
AKA An Exercise In Talking Myself Out Of Still Loving Him And Into Believing I Can Find Someone Better- in no particular order and not all-inclusive.
1. Very often, he doesn't listen to a word you are saying. He would look like he was listening, but in reality, he was thinking about that article in Harper's, or something he read in some philosophy book, or what he heard Amy Goodman say on Democracy Now! today. He'd even do that annoying thing where he'd say 'yeah' and 'uh huh' like he was listening and responding to you, but then had no idea what you just said.
2. He couldn't remember shit. To this day, he doesn't know my birthday. Even though it is six days before his. He couldn't remember my school or work schedule, anything. This goes along with not listening. Because usually I had just told him 10 minutes previous.
3. He 'bumbles' around. There is no efficiency or dexterity in any action he undertakes. This is hard to explain. But basically, everything he does, he bumbles, fumbles, or muddles through it. It's sort of like perpetual clumsiness.
4. He is HAIRY. Not something he can control, I know. But the number of times I have shaved his back for him... yeah. Not something I minded at all, but not exactly something I'm going to miss either.
5. Two things... The Dick Scar and the ever-present bottle of Lomotil (Diphenoxylate HCl/Atropine sulfate for you pharmageeks). I will not elaborate, but these things give away a mental/emotional fragility. Dealing with everyday stress has the ability to get the better of him. And he would allow things that he had absolutely zero control over (like the appointment of Obama's cabinet and that... those sorts of things) to eat him up with anxiety for days. He doesn't really externalize his anxiety, but he really is one of the most anxious people I've ever met.
6. His affection could be overwhelming. It's nice to have an affectionate partner, but sometimes it would border on needy. Also, in his mind, affection does not include things like cuddling or hugging or just being near each other. His definition of affection is sex. That's it. When he dumped me he said "We're hardly ever affectionate any more" which meant that I didn't fuck him enough recently. Never mind that I've been under a ridiculous amount of stress and basically felt like shit all the time. And he never bothered to communicate to me his own need for more 'affection', so I didn't know it bothered him that much. Somehow that was my fault for not being psychic.
7. He can be a creepster. He admitted to me that once, before we were dating, when he'd come over to my house after the bars closed and we'd watched a movie... I fell asleep during the movie. He said that he'd looked down my shirt while I was asleep. Like, pulled the shirt away and taken a look at my tits. Sorry, but that is just sketchy behavior.
8. He's kind of a pussy. This one has the potential to be long... Sentimental is nice. Needy is not. He can't watch scary movies. He passes out if he sees more than a little blood. He has major anxiety over things that are no big deal. He won't stand up to anyone, and allows just about everyone he knows to use him or take advantage of him. He won't make any major changes or decisions that require effort on his part, even when it's something he wants. He kept saying he wanted to go back to school- hasn't even taken a first step towards that. He pussed out and gave up on love because it wasn't perfect 100% of the time, and couldn't be bothered to actually attempt real communication to tell me that he needed something- it was easier to just run away. He still gets his parents to send him shit when he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself and has a job that lets him be financially comfortable. He is afraid of life, it seems, and prefers to maintain a predictable, mundane existence that doesn't shake anything up.
9. "Kimberly". Yeah. He's got a back-up for when he doesn't have a girlfriend. Now, this isn't really an offense to judge since most girls have at least one toy of their own, but still... His disembodied latex vagina has a name.
10. He wanted me to scratch his back or rub his calloused hands every five minutes, but would bitch and moan when I asked him for a backrub twice a week. He also didn't understand why I did not want to pop his giant back zits for him. Gross.
11. He doesn't like animals. And didn't understand that I do.
12. He's a flake, he has no loyalty, and he doesn't value love at all. He claimed to love me, but thought a little crush was worth throwing it all away permanently (I offered a break so he could figure out what he wanted- not good enough). Then a few days later he claimed (as did she) he had no intentions of trying to date her, though pretty much the only reason he gave me for breaking up with me was that he'd "fallen for her". This was after he slept in the same bed with her, but didn't cheat... He used the excuse of knowing her for a few years... so what? You've know me for a few years. You also pursued me for at least one of those years. Did he love her? No. But it didn't matter. He wanted to try something with her, said he was not going to stop spending time with her regardless of how I felt, he claimed she'd come on to him, and said he would probably cheat on me with her if she did again. Though he said he loved me, and not her. Oddly enough, he also basically called her a slut while saying he hadn't cheated yet... "Everyone else has slept with her, but I haven't." His words... Nice thing to say about someone you've 'fallen for'. Yes, these are the things he actually said to me, I could not make this kind of shit up, nor would I want to because I don't like to hurt people that way. Worthless, flaky human being. Whatever. For all I know, nothing ever happened after this. Or they fell madly in love and are going to have babies together. Either way, his wishy-washy, flaky, love-doesn't-matter-nor-does-the-person-I-say-I-love-and-who-loves-me bullshit can belong to someone else from now on, because I deserve better.
13. He's boring. He didn't get the nickname "Old Man Ross" for no reason. He may as well already be 60 years old.
14. He didn't want me. That is reason enough.
1. Very often, he doesn't listen to a word you are saying. He would look like he was listening, but in reality, he was thinking about that article in Harper's, or something he read in some philosophy book, or what he heard Amy Goodman say on Democracy Now! today. He'd even do that annoying thing where he'd say 'yeah' and 'uh huh' like he was listening and responding to you, but then had no idea what you just said.
2. He couldn't remember shit. To this day, he doesn't know my birthday. Even though it is six days before his. He couldn't remember my school or work schedule, anything. This goes along with not listening. Because usually I had just told him 10 minutes previous.
3. He 'bumbles' around. There is no efficiency or dexterity in any action he undertakes. This is hard to explain. But basically, everything he does, he bumbles, fumbles, or muddles through it. It's sort of like perpetual clumsiness.
4. He is HAIRY. Not something he can control, I know. But the number of times I have shaved his back for him... yeah. Not something I minded at all, but not exactly something I'm going to miss either.
5. Two things... The Dick Scar and the ever-present bottle of Lomotil (Diphenoxylate HCl/Atropine sulfate for you pharmageeks). I will not elaborate, but these things give away a mental/emotional fragility. Dealing with everyday stress has the ability to get the better of him. And he would allow things that he had absolutely zero control over (like the appointment of Obama's cabinet and that... those sorts of things) to eat him up with anxiety for days. He doesn't really externalize his anxiety, but he really is one of the most anxious people I've ever met.
6. His affection could be overwhelming. It's nice to have an affectionate partner, but sometimes it would border on needy. Also, in his mind, affection does not include things like cuddling or hugging or just being near each other. His definition of affection is sex. That's it. When he dumped me he said "We're hardly ever affectionate any more" which meant that I didn't fuck him enough recently. Never mind that I've been under a ridiculous amount of stress and basically felt like shit all the time. And he never bothered to communicate to me his own need for more 'affection', so I didn't know it bothered him that much. Somehow that was my fault for not being psychic.
7. He can be a creepster. He admitted to me that once, before we were dating, when he'd come over to my house after the bars closed and we'd watched a movie... I fell asleep during the movie. He said that he'd looked down my shirt while I was asleep. Like, pulled the shirt away and taken a look at my tits. Sorry, but that is just sketchy behavior.
8. He's kind of a pussy. This one has the potential to be long... Sentimental is nice. Needy is not. He can't watch scary movies. He passes out if he sees more than a little blood. He has major anxiety over things that are no big deal. He won't stand up to anyone, and allows just about everyone he knows to use him or take advantage of him. He won't make any major changes or decisions that require effort on his part, even when it's something he wants. He kept saying he wanted to go back to school- hasn't even taken a first step towards that. He pussed out and gave up on love because it wasn't perfect 100% of the time, and couldn't be bothered to actually attempt real communication to tell me that he needed something- it was easier to just run away. He still gets his parents to send him shit when he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself and has a job that lets him be financially comfortable. He is afraid of life, it seems, and prefers to maintain a predictable, mundane existence that doesn't shake anything up.
9. "Kimberly". Yeah. He's got a back-up for when he doesn't have a girlfriend. Now, this isn't really an offense to judge since most girls have at least one toy of their own, but still... His disembodied latex vagina has a name.
10. He wanted me to scratch his back or rub his calloused hands every five minutes, but would bitch and moan when I asked him for a backrub twice a week. He also didn't understand why I did not want to pop his giant back zits for him. Gross.
11. He doesn't like animals. And didn't understand that I do.
12. He's a flake, he has no loyalty, and he doesn't value love at all. He claimed to love me, but thought a little crush was worth throwing it all away permanently (I offered a break so he could figure out what he wanted- not good enough). Then a few days later he claimed (as did she) he had no intentions of trying to date her, though pretty much the only reason he gave me for breaking up with me was that he'd "fallen for her". This was after he slept in the same bed with her, but didn't cheat... He used the excuse of knowing her for a few years... so what? You've know me for a few years. You also pursued me for at least one of those years. Did he love her? No. But it didn't matter. He wanted to try something with her, said he was not going to stop spending time with her regardless of how I felt, he claimed she'd come on to him, and said he would probably cheat on me with her if she did again. Though he said he loved me, and not her. Oddly enough, he also basically called her a slut while saying he hadn't cheated yet... "Everyone else has slept with her, but I haven't." His words... Nice thing to say about someone you've 'fallen for'. Yes, these are the things he actually said to me, I could not make this kind of shit up, nor would I want to because I don't like to hurt people that way. Worthless, flaky human being. Whatever. For all I know, nothing ever happened after this. Or they fell madly in love and are going to have babies together. Either way, his wishy-washy, flaky, love-doesn't-matter-nor-does-the-person-I-say-I-love-and-who-loves-me bullshit can belong to someone else from now on, because I deserve better.
13. He's boring. He didn't get the nickname "Old Man Ross" for no reason. He may as well already be 60 years old.
14. He didn't want me. That is reason enough.
Reasons Why I Loved Him
AKA A Study In Remembering Why I Was With Him In A Time When I Sort Of Think He's A Piece Of Shit- in no particular order and not all-inclusive.
1. He was generally nice to me. Outside of momentary inadvertent lapses of selfishness, he was nice.
2. He's affectionate. He liked to hold my hand. In public. But wouldn't get gross with the PDA or anything like that.
3. He liked to dance. And would dance with me even though I'm awful. He's not that great either, but it's fun. And all the gay boys were jealous.
4. He liked to just cuddle on the couch and watch movies.
5. We liked, and liked to make fun of, the same things. Often times he would say something, and I would say, 'You know, I was just about to say that...".
6. We have similar senses of humor. Generally inappropriate, but funny. Only he would have appreciated the Valentine's Day card I gave him. Anyone else would have not found it funny at all.
7. He seemed to genuinely care about me. (For a while, at least...) He didn't try to keep his distance.
8. He told me he loved me. Much sooner than I liked, as it freaked me out for a while, but still he said it.
9. I just felt comfortable with him. Awkward silence didn't happen. Silence was just fine.
10. I also felt safe with him. Not in that 'my big burly man will protect me' sense, but I felt I didn't have to hide anything about who I am, and after a while trusted him more than just about anyone. I felt safe in that he wouldn't desert me, wouldn't flake like guys tend to do and all that. Granted, I was obviously wrong about this, but it was one thing that bonded him to me.
11. He reads books. And newspapers. He reads things with substance, not just brainless shit. And he gets excited about these things. He's a dork.
12. He didn't have a conquest list a mile long. He wasn't a man whore. It was nice to not have to be seriously concerned about catching something from him. But he didn't hide his history either. He did go to Amsterdam... and yes, he did tell me that he partook in ALL the wares they sell there...
13. He eats meat. Important, because I like meat. So nice to spend time with someone who will grill a steak with you.
14. Before we were dating, he came over to my house after the bars closed and hung out. Later that morning, after the sun started to come up, we played in front of my house, throwing those little "Snaps" things at each other- you know, those little paper-wrapped gunpowder packets you can buy around the 4th of July? Those things. It was tons of fun.
15. I just did. Because it was right. I saw a future in him, and nave never seen that with anyone else. I wanted a family with him. That for sure has never happened with anyone else.
1. He was generally nice to me. Outside of momentary inadvertent lapses of selfishness, he was nice.
2. He's affectionate. He liked to hold my hand. In public. But wouldn't get gross with the PDA or anything like that.
3. He liked to dance. And would dance with me even though I'm awful. He's not that great either, but it's fun. And all the gay boys were jealous.
4. He liked to just cuddle on the couch and watch movies.
5. We liked, and liked to make fun of, the same things. Often times he would say something, and I would say, 'You know, I was just about to say that...".
6. We have similar senses of humor. Generally inappropriate, but funny. Only he would have appreciated the Valentine's Day card I gave him. Anyone else would have not found it funny at all.
7. He seemed to genuinely care about me. (For a while, at least...) He didn't try to keep his distance.
8. He told me he loved me. Much sooner than I liked, as it freaked me out for a while, but still he said it.
9. I just felt comfortable with him. Awkward silence didn't happen. Silence was just fine.
10. I also felt safe with him. Not in that 'my big burly man will protect me' sense, but I felt I didn't have to hide anything about who I am, and after a while trusted him more than just about anyone. I felt safe in that he wouldn't desert me, wouldn't flake like guys tend to do and all that. Granted, I was obviously wrong about this, but it was one thing that bonded him to me.
11. He reads books. And newspapers. He reads things with substance, not just brainless shit. And he gets excited about these things. He's a dork.
12. He didn't have a conquest list a mile long. He wasn't a man whore. It was nice to not have to be seriously concerned about catching something from him. But he didn't hide his history either. He did go to Amsterdam... and yes, he did tell me that he partook in ALL the wares they sell there...
13. He eats meat. Important, because I like meat. So nice to spend time with someone who will grill a steak with you.
14. Before we were dating, he came over to my house after the bars closed and hung out. Later that morning, after the sun started to come up, we played in front of my house, throwing those little "Snaps" things at each other- you know, those little paper-wrapped gunpowder packets you can buy around the 4th of July? Those things. It was tons of fun.
15. I just did. Because it was right. I saw a future in him, and nave never seen that with anyone else. I wanted a family with him. That for sure has never happened with anyone else.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
A Word About These Here Blogs
I realize that I've been harping about the same bullshit here for the past few weeks. So I just wanted to throw a word or two out there about all this.
This is for me. It's not really for any of you. I am not one that often openly shares my thoughts or feelings, particularly in person. I feel it's my business and I shouldn't bother anyone with my personal shit. I'm not a big 'talk-things-out' person for the most part. However, I do need to get a lot of this recent crap out of my head and off my chest, and writing all this junk is the easiest and best way for me to do so. I could use a paper journal, but I find them cumbersome and besides, we all know this is the digital age; someday we'll be telling kids about long ago when books came IN THEIR OWN CONTAINERS! And they were made of this thing called paper. When you wanted to read something else, you had to get a separate container. And sometimes this thing you used called a bookmark would fall out and you'd curse and bitch until you found where you were again... so I write here.
As for why I chose to make all this public; once again it's a glimpse into the real me and the real shit in my head. And I've been called a lot of things, but I've never been accused of not being real or genuine, of being a fake or a poseur or coated with a facade. Also, I make them public because I myself do enjoy reading the notes/blogs/spewings of others. It was always a let down when you'd click on a new blog post here and get 'this blog is private. only the user can see it'. Damn it. I wanna see. It's voyeuristic, yes, but every single one of you is a voyeur too. Don't lie. Because if you weren't, you wouldn't be here, keeping up your own pages. For what is all this Social Networking if not a perfect study in Vanity And Voyeurism?
So, once again, this is for me. And in turn, you get to spy into my being. If I bring you down, sorry. Don't read it. If you are tired of me bitching, too bad. Don't read it. If you're going to judge me and my cynical and sarcastic views, fuck you. Don't read it.
I don't expect comments, but if you want to, go for it. But I don't really want your advice- particularly in regards to my latest diatribes because...
A) Any advice you give me has been heard before. It is not original. It's probably in a song lyric somewhere.
B) No one except me can really truly know how I feel. Yes, this sucks. I know, you know. But this sucks more for me than anything else ever has. This one hurts tremendously. I did really think I had found my one true love; that I had finally found the place I was meant to be and the person I was meant to be with for the rest of my life. Coming from someone like me- someone who keeps most people at a safe distance; this is not a belief or statement to be taken lightly. The few of you who know me get this. The rest of you, not so much.
C) Because we all know that all that advice is contrived and rather pointless; feel-good words for a feel-bad situation. "Forget him" "You're better off" "Just get over it"... we all know that it just doesn't work that way. At least not if there was honest and real emotion involved.
So, in conclusion. Yes, I am going to keep writing what I want. It will probably be shit you don't care about. Yes, it will probably be more of the same for now- mopey, me-and-my-heartbreak, sentimental mash. Or maybe not. Regardless... My blog, my brain, my bullshitting.
Isn't the internet great?
This is for me. It's not really for any of you. I am not one that often openly shares my thoughts or feelings, particularly in person. I feel it's my business and I shouldn't bother anyone with my personal shit. I'm not a big 'talk-things-out' person for the most part. However, I do need to get a lot of this recent crap out of my head and off my chest, and writing all this junk is the easiest and best way for me to do so. I could use a paper journal, but I find them cumbersome and besides, we all know this is the digital age; someday we'll be telling kids about long ago when books came IN THEIR OWN CONTAINERS! And they were made of this thing called paper. When you wanted to read something else, you had to get a separate container. And sometimes this thing you used called a bookmark would fall out and you'd curse and bitch until you found where you were again... so I write here.
As for why I chose to make all this public; once again it's a glimpse into the real me and the real shit in my head. And I've been called a lot of things, but I've never been accused of not being real or genuine, of being a fake or a poseur or coated with a facade. Also, I make them public because I myself do enjoy reading the notes/blogs/spewings of others. It was always a let down when you'd click on a new blog post here and get 'this blog is private. only the user can see it'. Damn it. I wanna see. It's voyeuristic, yes, but every single one of you is a voyeur too. Don't lie. Because if you weren't, you wouldn't be here, keeping up your own pages. For what is all this Social Networking if not a perfect study in Vanity And Voyeurism?
So, once again, this is for me. And in turn, you get to spy into my being. If I bring you down, sorry. Don't read it. If you are tired of me bitching, too bad. Don't read it. If you're going to judge me and my cynical and sarcastic views, fuck you. Don't read it.
I don't expect comments, but if you want to, go for it. But I don't really want your advice- particularly in regards to my latest diatribes because...
A) Any advice you give me has been heard before. It is not original. It's probably in a song lyric somewhere.
B) No one except me can really truly know how I feel. Yes, this sucks. I know, you know. But this sucks more for me than anything else ever has. This one hurts tremendously. I did really think I had found my one true love; that I had finally found the place I was meant to be and the person I was meant to be with for the rest of my life. Coming from someone like me- someone who keeps most people at a safe distance; this is not a belief or statement to be taken lightly. The few of you who know me get this. The rest of you, not so much.
C) Because we all know that all that advice is contrived and rather pointless; feel-good words for a feel-bad situation. "Forget him" "You're better off" "Just get over it"... we all know that it just doesn't work that way. At least not if there was honest and real emotion involved.
So, in conclusion. Yes, I am going to keep writing what I want. It will probably be shit you don't care about. Yes, it will probably be more of the same for now- mopey, me-and-my-heartbreak, sentimental mash. Or maybe not. Regardless... My blog, my brain, my bullshitting.
Isn't the internet great?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Hypothermia
Hypothermia is scientifically known to impair the immune system; thus it is believed that hypothermia can delay healing and lead to a higher incidence of post-operative infection.
Perhaps this is why these cold nights only make my heart ache even more.
I want nothing more than to be back where I should be. Where I was happy. Where I had finally found my place. Where I belonged (to someone).
Instead I'm cold, inside and out. I alternate between sadness and anger, and have found I prefer to be angry. Because then I can stave off the sadness; unfortunately it does inevitably follow.
All I can do now is wish to never see him again, to forget he ever existed. This will be made easier once I have planned a proper escape from this town.
"I hope we can be friends"... No. Fuck you. Go to hell. Never speak to me again. (I love you more than you could have ever imagined).
Perhaps this is why these cold nights only make my heart ache even more.
I want nothing more than to be back where I should be. Where I was happy. Where I had finally found my place. Where I belonged (to someone).
Instead I'm cold, inside and out. I alternate between sadness and anger, and have found I prefer to be angry. Because then I can stave off the sadness; unfortunately it does inevitably follow.
All I can do now is wish to never see him again, to forget he ever existed. This will be made easier once I have planned a proper escape from this town.
"I hope we can be friends"... No. Fuck you. Go to hell. Never speak to me again. (I love you more than you could have ever imagined).
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Dreams Vs. Reality
In my Dreams, he is waiting for me in my room when I get home. He tells me how badly he has missed me, and that in this time apart he has realized exactly how much he does love me. He says he's changed his mind and wants to try and work this through. He hugs me and apologizes for the pain this has caused, and promises to make it better. For those few moments before waking, I am in pure bliss. What power our Dreams can have! But only while we're sleeping...
Then I open my eyes and mentally fall into Reality.
Upon entering Reality, I know that he is probably already over me. That he is happy to no longer be required to devote time to someone he didn't ever really want to be with, and probably misses me about as much as most people miss dysentery. To him, I have become nothing more than a blip on the screen of his past as he regains his freedom to find something better.
In this Reality, I then spend the rest of my waking hours struggling to keep the sickening hollow sensation within me from bursting forth from my eyes as hot sticky tears. I fight to keep thoughts of him from invading each and every activity of the day, diverting my attention from matters I need to be addressing. I resist with everything I have to not reach out to him in a futile, and ultimately pathetic, effort to make him understand me, to make him come back to me.
By the end of the day, this Reality has worn me thin and that hollow feeling finally overtakes the floodgates. The levees break, and the tears flow freely as I slowly drift back into the fairy tale ending of my Dreams, which come again to give me a brief reprieve until the next morning arrives.
In my Dreams, Love always wins. In Reality, it's nothing more than a four letter word.
Then I open my eyes and mentally fall into Reality.
Upon entering Reality, I know that he is probably already over me. That he is happy to no longer be required to devote time to someone he didn't ever really want to be with, and probably misses me about as much as most people miss dysentery. To him, I have become nothing more than a blip on the screen of his past as he regains his freedom to find something better.
In this Reality, I then spend the rest of my waking hours struggling to keep the sickening hollow sensation within me from bursting forth from my eyes as hot sticky tears. I fight to keep thoughts of him from invading each and every activity of the day, diverting my attention from matters I need to be addressing. I resist with everything I have to not reach out to him in a futile, and ultimately pathetic, effort to make him understand me, to make him come back to me.
By the end of the day, this Reality has worn me thin and that hollow feeling finally overtakes the floodgates. The levees break, and the tears flow freely as I slowly drift back into the fairy tale ending of my Dreams, which come again to give me a brief reprieve until the next morning arrives.
In my Dreams, Love always wins. In Reality, it's nothing more than a four letter word.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
My Own Personal 9/11
Currently I'm trying not to vomit.
Today ranks pretty high on the list of worst days ever. Funny- well, no, not really- how the phrase "nine-eleven" is no longer two numbers off from a popular convenience store or a general date or time of day. No, now it is a noun with its own particular meaning; a day or event of total destruction and despair, where one feels that the only choice to make is to leap from a window 105 stories above the pavement below. That is right now.
I've watched the hours get shaved from my work schedule for the last couple weeks. I'm drowning in debt. School is about to start kicking my ass. I have four weeks tops to find somewhere to live that I can both tolerate and afford. Financial stress has been eating me alive for months now. But I had one thing. One thing that made me happy. One thing I loved and looked forward to and saw a future in. One thing I thought I could believe in. I was wrong. And that one thing has slipped away.
He told me he loved me. He's been telling me that regularly for the past month, the past 8 months. But what he wasn't telling me was that he was spending his time with another. He didn't cheat, not yet at least. And he said he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't. So to the trash pile I go. She's prettier, younger, thinner, and less work since she has a much more carefree lifestyle. She also just broke up with her boyfriend and oh-so-conveniently lives upstairs. He said he still loves me, that he's not in love with her. But he wants easy. So I am discarded.
My own 9/11.
So I sit here and watch the flames grow closer and feel the heat singe my eyebrows. I have nothing left, but the decision to either let the fire take me or have one more moment of control and hurl myself from the window and get to experience freedom one more time.
I can't do this again.
Today ranks pretty high on the list of worst days ever. Funny- well, no, not really- how the phrase "nine-eleven" is no longer two numbers off from a popular convenience store or a general date or time of day. No, now it is a noun with its own particular meaning; a day or event of total destruction and despair, where one feels that the only choice to make is to leap from a window 105 stories above the pavement below. That is right now.
I've watched the hours get shaved from my work schedule for the last couple weeks. I'm drowning in debt. School is about to start kicking my ass. I have four weeks tops to find somewhere to live that I can both tolerate and afford. Financial stress has been eating me alive for months now. But I had one thing. One thing that made me happy. One thing I loved and looked forward to and saw a future in. One thing I thought I could believe in. I was wrong. And that one thing has slipped away.
He told me he loved me. He's been telling me that regularly for the past month, the past 8 months. But what he wasn't telling me was that he was spending his time with another. He didn't cheat, not yet at least. And he said he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't. So to the trash pile I go. She's prettier, younger, thinner, and less work since she has a much more carefree lifestyle. She also just broke up with her boyfriend and oh-so-conveniently lives upstairs. He said he still loves me, that he's not in love with her. But he wants easy. So I am discarded.
My own 9/11.
So I sit here and watch the flames grow closer and feel the heat singe my eyebrows. I have nothing left, but the decision to either let the fire take me or have one more moment of control and hurl myself from the window and get to experience freedom one more time.
I can't do this again.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Back For More
Today I did something I haven't done in a long time. I went to Espresso Royale, got a drink, and sat at a table in the corner and read. It was nice; an activity I've missed since I've stopped being a constant downtown fixture. However, I did notice something.
If you sort of go away for a year, and then reappear in your old habitat, it looks very similar, but is different. As for Espresso Royale, there were a couple new baristas (one was familiar). There was still coffee and art from local folks hanging on the walls. The soundtrack was indie-friendly artists like Bjork and Jeff Buckley. Most of the tables still had to have stacks of napkins and Flagpoles stuck under a foot or two to keep them from wobbling. And most of the people hanging out there were of the hipster/artistic/cool-student/townie-in-the-making (if they don't leave for Portland or NYC after they graduate) ilk.
But these were different hipster students than were there the last time I was there. Hipster students that I had never ever seen, in my multiple years of frequenting that coffee shop, sitting around and loudly blabbering on about all the shit that hipster-students talk about like they own the damn place and like everyone else in the room cares what they're saying. A strange feeling came over me, one like maybe I'm getting old...
And suddenly, I wanted to stand up and yell, "GET OFF MY LAWN, YOU FUCKING KIDS! KEEP YOUR GODDAMN FAKE-TOWNIE HANDS OFF MY AZALEA BUSHES!!"
This moment was spurred on by a hipster-student-chick in her early 20's wearing a lip-ring and mismatched prints who felt it necessary to sing along quietly, but not quietly enough that I could not hear her from 4 tables away, to three Jeff Buckley songs in a row. Congrats, kid. You know the words to some songs off the most popular album of an indie-loved artist that died when you were 10 or 11. You are so cool.
But what happened that almost make me puke was this: she went to the counter to get a drink. While waiting and chatting with the barista, the song "Dream Brother" came on. She enthusiasticly announced, "I love this song!". The barista said something along the lines of agreement back to her (so I assume; he was using his inside voice so I didn't hear him). Then I heard her proclaim, "I have this album on vinyl!!"
VOMIT.
Jesus. I'm so glad she left before "Hallelujah" played. She might have piddled on the floor from excitement.
Other observations of today:
Office Depot < Office Max.
I was behind an ACC sheriff deputy all the way down Hancock from downtown in front of the station by the federal building to N. Billups St. He went 20 mph the whole time. I think he was trying to figure out if I was sketchy or not since I drive a car that I rarely see white people driving. Either way, he completely ran the new 4-way stop at Chase St. Didn't even slow down. I started laughing, and I think he saw, because he turned at the next street.
If you sort of go away for a year, and then reappear in your old habitat, it looks very similar, but is different. As for Espresso Royale, there were a couple new baristas (one was familiar). There was still coffee and art from local folks hanging on the walls. The soundtrack was indie-friendly artists like Bjork and Jeff Buckley. Most of the tables still had to have stacks of napkins and Flagpoles stuck under a foot or two to keep them from wobbling. And most of the people hanging out there were of the hipster/artistic/cool-student/townie-in-the-making (if they don't leave for Portland or NYC after they graduate) ilk.
But these were different hipster students than were there the last time I was there. Hipster students that I had never ever seen, in my multiple years of frequenting that coffee shop, sitting around and loudly blabbering on about all the shit that hipster-students talk about like they own the damn place and like everyone else in the room cares what they're saying. A strange feeling came over me, one like maybe I'm getting old...
And suddenly, I wanted to stand up and yell, "GET OFF MY LAWN, YOU FUCKING KIDS! KEEP YOUR GODDAMN FAKE-TOWNIE HANDS OFF MY AZALEA BUSHES!!"
This moment was spurred on by a hipster-student-chick in her early 20's wearing a lip-ring and mismatched prints who felt it necessary to sing along quietly, but not quietly enough that I could not hear her from 4 tables away, to three Jeff Buckley songs in a row. Congrats, kid. You know the words to some songs off the most popular album of an indie-loved artist that died when you were 10 or 11. You are so cool.
But what happened that almost make me puke was this: she went to the counter to get a drink. While waiting and chatting with the barista, the song "Dream Brother" came on. She enthusiasticly announced, "I love this song!". The barista said something along the lines of agreement back to her (so I assume; he was using his inside voice so I didn't hear him). Then I heard her proclaim, "I have this album on vinyl!!"
VOMIT.
Jesus. I'm so glad she left before "Hallelujah" played. She might have piddled on the floor from excitement.
Other observations of today:
Office Depot < Office Max.
I was behind an ACC sheriff deputy all the way down Hancock from downtown in front of the station by the federal building to N. Billups St. He went 20 mph the whole time. I think he was trying to figure out if I was sketchy or not since I drive a car that I rarely see white people driving. Either way, he completely ran the new 4-way stop at Chase St. Didn't even slow down. I started laughing, and I think he saw, because he turned at the next street.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Is It Curtains For This Here Blog? Or A Moving Box?
I'm thinking it might be time to move this rant of mine elsewhere. Or perhaps just call it a day. With the rising popularity of That Other Social Networking Site (use of that word may be a ban-worthy offense here... don't want to piss off Tom. Or get my knees broken by a Murdoch goonie.), and a decrease in the amount of time I spend per day online, I just don't check in with the old MySpace account nearly as often as I used to. One downfall of starting a new blog somewhere else is that the past 4 or whatever years of absolute bullshit I've written will no longer be there. Unless I move all that too, which I don't know that it's possible to do. Also, the 3-5 people who do read this do so because of the nifty little 'New Blog Posts!' notification... without that, I have no audience. Not that I need one to continue my bitching...
I finally get to use the car insurance I've been paying since I got a car. Yesterday I had a sucky day, which included having a sucky misperception of size and distance, and I ever so suckily clipped a coworker's pickup truck in the parking lot while turning into a parking space after my lunch break. Just a little cosmetic damage since I thankfully don't speed in parking lots. Perhaps I need an eye exam. Perhaps I just suck.
The other day I got a postcard in the mail announcing the date and place of my 10 year class reunion. I will probably go, even though I really have no reason to. I had a small group of friends in high school, and the number of those I still have some sort of contact with is even smaller. I was not popular, nor was I disliked really; I was just there. Anyway, from what I can gather from these folks' MySpace/Facebook pages, most of these people have somewhat real jobs and somewhat real families consisting of spouses and children. I don't have any of that, and by the time of the reunion I still won't have any of that (barring any unfortunate mishaps involving the use of prophylactics). And I'm OK with that, but it leads to conversations that are over in about 90 seconds what with the lack of wallet photos and shiny rings and business chatter. I suspect this could end up being a very boring event since people do pretty much end up all the same, though I tend to be pretty good at being nothing like them and therefore just don't fit in. However, I believe there will be a cash bar- not as good as an open bar, but a bar nonetheless. And events like this plus alcohol also have the potential to become awesome.
Speaking of spouses and children... babies freak me out. I don't like them much and I never have. Babies stare at me a lot. Pretty much every time I see one, it just stares me down. I don't get it. When I was little and someone in the family had a baby, it was assumed since I was a little girl I'd want to hold said baby. And ever since I can remember I never did want to hold the baby. "Erin, look at the cute baby! Do you want to hold him?" "No, thanks." "Why not? Why don't you want to hold the baby?"
Translation: What the hell is wrong with you? You're a six-year-old girl and you are supposed to want to hold babies and play dress-up and house and make believe you're a mommy to your dolls so you can be primed for the real thing in about 20 years! What is the problem? Is she gonna turn out to be gay? She is sort of a tomboy... is this her dad's fault? WHY AREN'T YOU A NORMAL LITTLE GIRL???
So, I didn't want to hold babies. And I still don't. You know why? Because when I do, they generally respond in one of three completely undesirable and highly irritating ways: They cry, puke, or shit themselves. Sometimes they'll do all three almost simultaneously. None of those are something I want happening in my arms. No thanks. I also don't think newborns are cute or adorable or any of those other kinds of descriptors. Newborns are not cute. They look like little aliens. They're red and wrinkly and a lot of times their heads are all misshapen. They don't get cute for a least a few weeks, if they ever do at all. No offense people... I don't HATE your babies, I just don't want to fawn over them. Or hold them.
Until next time...
I finally get to use the car insurance I've been paying since I got a car. Yesterday I had a sucky day, which included having a sucky misperception of size and distance, and I ever so suckily clipped a coworker's pickup truck in the parking lot while turning into a parking space after my lunch break. Just a little cosmetic damage since I thankfully don't speed in parking lots. Perhaps I need an eye exam. Perhaps I just suck.
The other day I got a postcard in the mail announcing the date and place of my 10 year class reunion. I will probably go, even though I really have no reason to. I had a small group of friends in high school, and the number of those I still have some sort of contact with is even smaller. I was not popular, nor was I disliked really; I was just there. Anyway, from what I can gather from these folks' MySpace/Facebook pages, most of these people have somewhat real jobs and somewhat real families consisting of spouses and children. I don't have any of that, and by the time of the reunion I still won't have any of that (barring any unfortunate mishaps involving the use of prophylactics). And I'm OK with that, but it leads to conversations that are over in about 90 seconds what with the lack of wallet photos and shiny rings and business chatter. I suspect this could end up being a very boring event since people do pretty much end up all the same, though I tend to be pretty good at being nothing like them and therefore just don't fit in. However, I believe there will be a cash bar- not as good as an open bar, but a bar nonetheless. And events like this plus alcohol also have the potential to become awesome.
Speaking of spouses and children... babies freak me out. I don't like them much and I never have. Babies stare at me a lot. Pretty much every time I see one, it just stares me down. I don't get it. When I was little and someone in the family had a baby, it was assumed since I was a little girl I'd want to hold said baby. And ever since I can remember I never did want to hold the baby. "Erin, look at the cute baby! Do you want to hold him?" "No, thanks." "Why not? Why don't you want to hold the baby?"
Translation: What the hell is wrong with you? You're a six-year-old girl and you are supposed to want to hold babies and play dress-up and house and make believe you're a mommy to your dolls so you can be primed for the real thing in about 20 years! What is the problem? Is she gonna turn out to be gay? She is sort of a tomboy... is this her dad's fault? WHY AREN'T YOU A NORMAL LITTLE GIRL???
So, I didn't want to hold babies. And I still don't. You know why? Because when I do, they generally respond in one of three completely undesirable and highly irritating ways: They cry, puke, or shit themselves. Sometimes they'll do all three almost simultaneously. None of those are something I want happening in my arms. No thanks. I also don't think newborns are cute or adorable or any of those other kinds of descriptors. Newborns are not cute. They look like little aliens. They're red and wrinkly and a lot of times their heads are all misshapen. They don't get cute for a least a few weeks, if they ever do at all. No offense people... I don't HATE your babies, I just don't want to fawn over them. Or hold them.
Until next time...
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Must I limit myself to one? Here are three.
I've been in the new house in Bishop for almost two weeks. So far it's awesome, except I'm still not used to being more than five minutes from downtown Athens. One of the first visitors we had to the house was a 3.5 ft long copperhead snake. He decided to chill in the basement until we shooed him out the sliding glass door with a pole. I'm quickly falling in love with the 5 rabbits, 4 chickens, 3 dogs, and one cat (I'm not including my own) that are on the property so far. Goats are yet to make the move, though they should be there soon. I now want my own goat or two, and a horse. Though I have very little horse experience, I did really like working with them in labs for school even if they freaked me out a bit with their size, and I'd like to do it more.
I still need a job. The market right now is complete crap. The only thing saving me is that my new house is pretty much half what I was paying in living expenses before (even though I loved my house), and that I was actually laid off, which means I am entitled to unemployment insurance for a bit. Though that pays less than 50% what my average pay was before I was laid off... still, it's better than zero.
One thing that irritates the hell out of me, and I meant to write this in a previous blog that included all sorts of shit that annoys me, is cars that have headlights that automatically turn off. Well, the fact that the headlights turn off all by themselves is not what makes me want to throw things or stab things with forks, but the fact that people who own these cars are the laziest motherfuckers on earth. They always get out of their cars, leave the lights on, and walk away. For real?? Just turn the goddamn lights off. It's a flick of a switch. "Oh, they turn off on their own", they say. "And??" is what I say. Are you so frickin' in a hurry that you can't be bothered to take the 0.034 seconds it takes to rotate that handle 38 degrees counterclockwise? Douchebag. That feature is there to save your ass for those times you forget. Man, I can't wait for when they all come out one night and they can't get anything to work because they relied on their (brainless) car to turn their shit off for them. They forgot that automatic things will fail, and they relied on it to save the day. But no, their battery's dead because that crap finally malfunctioned like all automated things eventually do and then the lights stayed on and then the battery died and now they aren't going anywhere. And then they gotta call their buddy to come pick them up from Happy Spa ('cause they're not gonna ask a stranger for a jump in front of Happy Spa, of all places...), and then face years of flak for getting a 'body shampoo' that one time. Hell, that incident will probably be mentioned in the Best Man's toast at his wedding, for god's sake, and there will be all sorts of jokes about happy endings. See, it's not worth it. Just turn off your lights and save your reputation.
I still need a job. The market right now is complete crap. The only thing saving me is that my new house is pretty much half what I was paying in living expenses before (even though I loved my house), and that I was actually laid off, which means I am entitled to unemployment insurance for a bit. Though that pays less than 50% what my average pay was before I was laid off... still, it's better than zero.
One thing that irritates the hell out of me, and I meant to write this in a previous blog that included all sorts of shit that annoys me, is cars that have headlights that automatically turn off. Well, the fact that the headlights turn off all by themselves is not what makes me want to throw things or stab things with forks, but the fact that people who own these cars are the laziest motherfuckers on earth. They always get out of their cars, leave the lights on, and walk away. For real?? Just turn the goddamn lights off. It's a flick of a switch. "Oh, they turn off on their own", they say. "And??" is what I say. Are you so frickin' in a hurry that you can't be bothered to take the 0.034 seconds it takes to rotate that handle 38 degrees counterclockwise? Douchebag. That feature is there to save your ass for those times you forget. Man, I can't wait for when they all come out one night and they can't get anything to work because they relied on their (brainless) car to turn their shit off for them. They forgot that automatic things will fail, and they relied on it to save the day. But no, their battery's dead because that crap finally malfunctioned like all automated things eventually do and then the lights stayed on and then the battery died and now they aren't going anywhere. And then they gotta call their buddy to come pick them up from Happy Spa ('cause they're not gonna ask a stranger for a jump in front of Happy Spa, of all places...), and then face years of flak for getting a 'body shampoo' that one time. Hell, that incident will probably be mentioned in the Best Man's toast at his wedding, for god's sake, and there will be all sorts of jokes about happy endings. See, it's not worth it. Just turn off your lights and save your reputation.
Monday, March 16, 2009
I'm moving to the country, but I really don't like peaches.
In approximately two weeks I'll be bidding farewell to Athens proper.
No, I'm not going back to Ohio (though that has been a recurrent thought for a while). But I am going for a complete change of scenery and am moving out to Bishop. Into a house that sits on 30 acres, mostly wooded. I will be sharing the house with some others that I've just met (well, I've met one of them. I'll be meeting his wife tonight, and then possibly his friend in a month or so). But it will be cheaper. And quieter. And there is a creek and a pool and a hot tub and goats and rabbits and dogs and chickens and a tractor that will plow up the ground to make a space for some organic gardening and a 5-acre pasture with a giant 'burn pile' in the middle of it that will produce one hell of a bonfire. I will have two rooms to myself, and my own bathroom. One of the rooms has a little deck, and all the rooms have lots of windows and they all have sliding glass doors (though most of them don't lead to anything... I have a feeling that the house's owner wanted full-wall windows, but I bet big ass regular windows are more expensive than a sliding glass door, which gives you the same effect). So yeah.
I can't wait.
No, I'm not going back to Ohio (though that has been a recurrent thought for a while). But I am going for a complete change of scenery and am moving out to Bishop. Into a house that sits on 30 acres, mostly wooded. I will be sharing the house with some others that I've just met (well, I've met one of them. I'll be meeting his wife tonight, and then possibly his friend in a month or so). But it will be cheaper. And quieter. And there is a creek and a pool and a hot tub and goats and rabbits and dogs and chickens and a tractor that will plow up the ground to make a space for some organic gardening and a 5-acre pasture with a giant 'burn pile' in the middle of it that will produce one hell of a bonfire. I will have two rooms to myself, and my own bathroom. One of the rooms has a little deck, and all the rooms have lots of windows and they all have sliding glass doors (though most of them don't lead to anything... I have a feeling that the house's owner wanted full-wall windows, but I bet big ass regular windows are more expensive than a sliding glass door, which gives you the same effect). So yeah.
I can't wait.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Are you feeling lucky, punk?
Today I found my first four-leaf clover of the season. I took a NetFlix movie to my mailbox, looked down, and there it was. So I picked it, brought it in and stuck it between the pages of my trusty copy of "The New St. Martin's Handbook" with my other pressed clovers. This is the only thing I have ever used this book for, of course. Pressing four-leaf clovers. And yes, I did say other pressed clovers. I have hundreds. Pretty much the only slightly remarkable talent I have is the ability to find four-leaf clovers. I've been finding them everywhere since I was little, and over the course of my life have probably picked entire meadows of them. But they bring me no good luck whatsoever. I have also always had chronic bad luck, and unfortunately no amount of fabled good fortune can reverse that.
Speaking of good fortune, at Beet Tower a couple of weeks ago, Ann brought over a handful of the fortune cookies that Taco Stand has, and everyone took turns opening them and reading their fortunes out loud. I open my cookie, and lo and behold, it's empty. So I go get another cookie, open that one, and it's empty too. I was going to stop there because, hey, no news is better than bad news. But Ann went and got a third cookie for me. I open that one, and the fortune is not really a fortune at all, but a statement saying something along the lines of "don't question things you can't control" which I thought was funny since it sort of felt like the cookie was reprimanding me for not being content with no fortune. Twice.
Anyway, back to the clovers... If anyone thinks they may benefit from having as their own a four-leaf clover found by me, let me know. I can find you one on a page describing proper subject-verb agreement or acceptable usage of semi-colons or even the ways to cite sources in a formal research paper. Maybe the good luck will work for you. And I won't be running out of them any time soon. I'm sure I'll find myself with nothing to do on some sunny day, and next thing you know, I'll be outside in the little field next to my house looking for more clovers. The neighbors will wonder what I'm doing, and may start to talk. But maybe that will be the day I find my own lucky clover, or better yet, that pot of gold those leprechauns are always talking about.
Speaking of good fortune, at Beet Tower a couple of weeks ago, Ann brought over a handful of the fortune cookies that Taco Stand has, and everyone took turns opening them and reading their fortunes out loud. I open my cookie, and lo and behold, it's empty. So I go get another cookie, open that one, and it's empty too. I was going to stop there because, hey, no news is better than bad news. But Ann went and got a third cookie for me. I open that one, and the fortune is not really a fortune at all, but a statement saying something along the lines of "don't question things you can't control" which I thought was funny since it sort of felt like the cookie was reprimanding me for not being content with no fortune. Twice.
Anyway, back to the clovers... If anyone thinks they may benefit from having as their own a four-leaf clover found by me, let me know. I can find you one on a page describing proper subject-verb agreement or acceptable usage of semi-colons or even the ways to cite sources in a formal research paper. Maybe the good luck will work for you. And I won't be running out of them any time soon. I'm sure I'll find myself with nothing to do on some sunny day, and next thing you know, I'll be outside in the little field next to my house looking for more clovers. The neighbors will wonder what I'm doing, and may start to talk. But maybe that will be the day I find my own lucky clover, or better yet, that pot of gold those leprechauns are always talking about.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Observations, Neuroses... whatever you want to call them.
So my life is once again descending into the shitter, and it leaves me pondering. And what does my strange brain ponder? Instead of focusing on the issues at hand 100% of the time, this kind of crap creeps in. Honestly, though, I think it might be this kind of crap that actually is keeping me sane.
- If you misspell 'kmart' when trying to go the website, you may end up somewhere completely unrelated. I accidently typed 'kmairt' and ended up at a site called 'newmissbootay.com'.
- Speaking of misspelling... at least 90% of the people who are posting housing ads on Craigslist where they use the word 'roommate' are misspelling it. Aren't most of these kids in college? Didn't most of them get higher SAT scores than I did?
- Speaking of Craigslist... I need a job. A real-life job. I don't need to fill out surveys all damn day, or request information from 50 online colleges. The number of spam/scam job listings is phenomenal. And bullshit.
- Drinking coffee pretty much always guarantees to be followed by a satisfying poop.
- Most drivers on the road are anti-turn signal. Which makes me anti-them. They aren't on your cars for pretty shiny flashy time, people. I don't want you to use your turn signal so I know what you are doing; I want you to use your turn signal so I know that YOU know what you are doing.
- Pretty much any clothing that isn't 100% wool or silk, or made of paper, survives a regular old washing and drying just fine. Dry Clean Only be damned! And if it came from Goodwill, it always gets washed.
*exception: the wool Banana Republic coat that still had the pockets sewn closed that I bought there for $5. That will not be washed...
- Now that I'm happy with the size of my boobs, I'm not happy with the size of my waist.
- Right now it is 63 degrees outside, and the forecasted high is 68. There is still snow on the ground. Now, last time I checked, stuff made of water melts at temperatures above 32 degrees. WTF?? What is this shit made of?
- And speaking of the snow... how amazing that we can get 7" of snow one day, and 4 days later it's 70. Who needs real seasons?
- There are some shitty, shitty rentals out there. I just looked at a house the other day- granted it was cheap; only $400 a month for a two-bedroom, but geez. Not only was it nasty (it reeked of mildew and dog and the carpet had many large unidentifiable stains on it, where there were still fibers in the carpet at least, and the doors barely fit the doorframes, and the bedrooms didn't have doors), but every wall in the place was made of cinderblock. I know some buildings are made of cinderblock, and that's cool. But even the internal walls, down to the little breakfast bar thing between the kitchen and living room was cinderblock. So the house had no real walls, and no insulation. When you touch the wall, you can tell what the temperature is outside. Huh. An ectothermic house.
- My neighbor has what I think may be the oldest dog in the universe. He's blind, deaf, has no teeth (well, very few, and those are worn down to little nubs), has several squishy subcutaneous masses, and smells awful. His muzzle is all grey and he's skinny as a rail. He wanders around the yard, baying at nothing, and it takes him several minutes to take a dump. But he looks happy as can be.
I had more. But just like usual I've forgotten what else I wanted to write here. Eh, whatevs.
- If you misspell 'kmart' when trying to go the website, you may end up somewhere completely unrelated. I accidently typed 'kmairt' and ended up at a site called 'newmissbootay.com'.
- Speaking of misspelling... at least 90% of the people who are posting housing ads on Craigslist where they use the word 'roommate' are misspelling it. Aren't most of these kids in college? Didn't most of them get higher SAT scores than I did?
- Speaking of Craigslist... I need a job. A real-life job. I don't need to fill out surveys all damn day, or request information from 50 online colleges. The number of spam/scam job listings is phenomenal. And bullshit.
- Drinking coffee pretty much always guarantees to be followed by a satisfying poop.
- Most drivers on the road are anti-turn signal. Which makes me anti-them. They aren't on your cars for pretty shiny flashy time, people. I don't want you to use your turn signal so I know what you are doing; I want you to use your turn signal so I know that YOU know what you are doing.
- Pretty much any clothing that isn't 100% wool or silk, or made of paper, survives a regular old washing and drying just fine. Dry Clean Only be damned! And if it came from Goodwill, it always gets washed.
*exception: the wool Banana Republic coat that still had the pockets sewn closed that I bought there for $5. That will not be washed...
- Now that I'm happy with the size of my boobs, I'm not happy with the size of my waist.
- Right now it is 63 degrees outside, and the forecasted high is 68. There is still snow on the ground. Now, last time I checked, stuff made of water melts at temperatures above 32 degrees. WTF?? What is this shit made of?
- And speaking of the snow... how amazing that we can get 7" of snow one day, and 4 days later it's 70. Who needs real seasons?
- There are some shitty, shitty rentals out there. I just looked at a house the other day- granted it was cheap; only $400 a month for a two-bedroom, but geez. Not only was it nasty (it reeked of mildew and dog and the carpet had many large unidentifiable stains on it, where there were still fibers in the carpet at least, and the doors barely fit the doorframes, and the bedrooms didn't have doors), but every wall in the place was made of cinderblock. I know some buildings are made of cinderblock, and that's cool. But even the internal walls, down to the little breakfast bar thing between the kitchen and living room was cinderblock. So the house had no real walls, and no insulation. When you touch the wall, you can tell what the temperature is outside. Huh. An ectothermic house.
- My neighbor has what I think may be the oldest dog in the universe. He's blind, deaf, has no teeth (well, very few, and those are worn down to little nubs), has several squishy subcutaneous masses, and smells awful. His muzzle is all grey and he's skinny as a rail. He wanders around the yard, baying at nothing, and it takes him several minutes to take a dump. But he looks happy as can be.
I had more. But just like usual I've forgotten what else I wanted to write here. Eh, whatevs.
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