I fell in love. With a wolf. It was a mistake. No..that wasn't the mistake, everything else is the mistake. Being in love with a wolf just hurts. And now I want to uproot my life, change everything for a love that can't happen.
Love stinks. Yeah e yeah ah. Love stinks.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
2010's reflection on 2009
1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before? Had sex with someone I wasn't in an LTR with, visited Chicago, San Francisco, and smoke a cigar
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I never really make resolutions - I just hope for the best.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? My sister had her baby, Wesley Isaac. Cute kid.
4. Did anyone close to you die? No, but everyday I live the death of my son.
5. What countries did you visit? Canada
6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009? True love
7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? 2-9-09. It was simultaneously the third anniversary of my son's birth, the last time I saw my English boyfriend and the first time I slept with the wolf.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Surviving the legal battle.
9. What was your biggest failure? Not winning the custody battle.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Only to my heart.
11. What was the best thing you bought? Plane ticket to Hawaii
12. Whose behavior merited celebration? The wolfman's
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? that of my ex-husband.
14. Where did most of your money go? Rent, car payment, lawyer fees.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Every time I saw the wolfman
16. What song will always remind you of 2009? Lucky, by Jason Mraz
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? happier, so much greatness ahead of me
b) thinner or fatter? fatter, WTF!!!
c) richer or poorer? both. I make more money than ever before, but now I have a single income household.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of? Seen the wolfman
19. What do you wish you’d done less of? Obsessed over the wolfman
20. How did you spend Christmas? hating my siblings
21. Did you fall in love in 2009? I think so.
22. What was your favorite TV program? Grey's Anatomy
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? No
24. What was the best book you read? Uh...
25. What was your greatest musical discovery? George Winston's sheet music
26. What did you want and get? Freedom
27. What did you want and not get? Freedom
28. What was your favorite film of this year? Slumdog Millionaire
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 30. I was with my colleagues on an all day offsite meeting.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? My exes' deaths
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009? Why am I not fitting this anymore, stop eating for the love of God.
32. What kept you sane? Playing the piano.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Ed Westwick
34. What political issue stirred you the most? It's all a blur.
35. Who did you miss? My daughter. I miss her even when I am with her.
36. Who was the best new person you met? Wolfman
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009. Take more time for yourself.
One step at a time.
Monday, June 15, 2009
There's Your Sign
I could live without him for the rest of my life. So, do I stop seeing him right now? The rest of them think so. Bad dating kharma...Poor guy. Just a couple of things they say. But I don't want to give him up. I know I'm being selfish, but he's available. Anytime I want his company he's there. And so far the same can't be said for the Bad Boy who canceled on me yesterday, or the Wolf, who lives in Chicago.
Texting Brian to come over when Jay canceled on me was probably not the brightest idea, at least for Brian's sake. But I'm in Fun Mode. I told him as much. Fun Mode means selfish time, which means I haven't been as careful of other's feelings as perhaps I should.
Brian came over and the hug was awkward as usual, but we settled onto the sofa, my legs over his and his hands caressing those legs.
Curiously everytime we kissed, he left me wanting more. I've never gotten to the bottom of why he never goes too deep with his kisses or lets them go on too long. I'm confused and yearning for more, if only to see what it would be like with him.
After he left, he texted me..."you turn me on so much." I cocked my head like a puppy dog as I read it. Really? That's you turned on? At one point he leaned over and kissed a spot of my belly , and it was one of the most adorable, sexy things he'd done yet. But that was all he did. I was waiting for more, but it didn't come. Color me confused. As much as he professes to like me, I've gone further with Jay in one night, than Brian and I have gone in what is it, 9 dates now?
Brian also texted me that he was "trying not to like [me] too much" but that I'm "cool" and he likes me. I thought that we had reached an understanding. Now I feel like I have to have the talk with him AGAIN. I hate having the talk. I'm not good at the talk. I did the talk over email last time. Oh, and to top matters off, I told Brian about my custody battle on Saturday night. He said it put everything in perspective. So now I think he thinks that I'm only not ready for a serious relationship because of my custody fight and not because I just don't want one with him.
Boys are confusing and stupid and stuff. But I like them, lots of them, and I want to kiss them all. Well, not all of them, just the ones that I really like. I meet more of them all of the time. If I'd known when I was 20 that guys think I'm hot , my life would be soooooo different right now. Believe me. I'm living it up in the final days before I turn 30, because though 3o is supposed to be the new 20, it really isn't. Again, believe me. This I learned the last time I went dancing, when, for the first time, I was asked my age. Not just once, but probably 5 times.
I'm no spring chicken anymore.
Texting Brian to come over when Jay canceled on me was probably not the brightest idea, at least for Brian's sake. But I'm in Fun Mode. I told him as much. Fun Mode means selfish time, which means I haven't been as careful of other's feelings as perhaps I should.
Brian came over and the hug was awkward as usual, but we settled onto the sofa, my legs over his and his hands caressing those legs.
Curiously everytime we kissed, he left me wanting more. I've never gotten to the bottom of why he never goes too deep with his kisses or lets them go on too long. I'm confused and yearning for more, if only to see what it would be like with him.
After he left, he texted me..."you turn me on so much." I cocked my head like a puppy dog as I read it. Really? That's you turned on? At one point he leaned over and kissed a spot of my belly , and it was one of the most adorable, sexy things he'd done yet. But that was all he did. I was waiting for more, but it didn't come. Color me confused. As much as he professes to like me, I've gone further with Jay in one night, than Brian and I have gone in what is it, 9 dates now?
Brian also texted me that he was "trying not to like [me] too much" but that I'm "cool" and he likes me. I thought that we had reached an understanding. Now I feel like I have to have the talk with him AGAIN. I hate having the talk. I'm not good at the talk. I did the talk over email last time. Oh, and to top matters off, I told Brian about my custody battle on Saturday night. He said it put everything in perspective. So now I think he thinks that I'm only not ready for a serious relationship because of my custody fight and not because I just don't want one with him.
Boys are confusing and stupid and stuff. But I like them, lots of them, and I want to kiss them all. Well, not all of them, just the ones that I really like. I meet more of them all of the time. If I'd known when I was 20 that guys think I'm hot , my life would be soooooo different right now. Believe me. I'm living it up in the final days before I turn 30, because though 3o is supposed to be the new 20, it really isn't. Again, believe me. This I learned the last time I went dancing, when, for the first time, I was asked my age. Not just once, but probably 5 times.
I'm no spring chicken anymore.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Critically Low
Never having been the pursuer, I didn't know what to think. This new place I've found myself in, juggling multiple men, is a brave new world I've never before experienced. Not content with settling with the one, I've opened myself up and found many willing participants, or so I'd hoped. I'd fooled so many into thinking this new manizer persona I created rather effortlessly was the me I'd always been. But I didn't truly mean to be a boy crazy flirt. It just came out that way, especially with the help of countless vodka sodas. Oh boy, what has become of me.
I met him, he of the canceling text message, at a pub crawl of all places. I hadn't expected to meet him. I already had more that a hand's count of fingers amount of men on my plate, there was no reason to be open for others. But the moment I saw him, I was hooked, and I wasn't too good at hiding that fact, one may say that for sure. Tall, well built, and without his aviator sunglasses to hide them, the bearer of the most beautiful eyes, a glacial blue, captivating me. We were drawn to each other, though I tried to maintain my distance and my attraction. I thought him out of my league. Never before had I pursued someone so entirely good looking and completely a catch. I didn't determine to start now.
As the day grew older however, I became more forward, emboldened with each new shot, tossed down at each new bar. I flirted, shamelessly I was told, and I had to be told, since the events of the latter part of the day remain a foggy haze. He'd found out early in the day that I am the good one, Lara the bad. We compliment each other that way. Angel, devil; good one, bad one; flat-chested, bosomly-blessed. I could keep going. The point, however, is that it came out that I've never, not even once, tried a illegal narcotic, nor had I never, not even once, tried a one night stand. He on the other hand had experienced several one night stands, which didn't surprise me, and had been arrested thrice, twice for disorderly conduct and once for DUI, which mildly surprised me and made me laugh. I was intrigued. He seemed a bad boy, a player, and I have never, not even once, tried a bad boy, and the thought appealed to my drunken mind, it appealed to my drunken mind very much. When he learned that I don't lie, he looked me in the eyes, smiled, and asked, "Do you like me?" Without hesitation, I answered, "Yes." I probably should have hesitated, or at the very least asked him the same question in return, but I did neither, satisfied that it was out in the open, my liking him. And I remember being amused that he'd even needed to ask, considering the level of my flirtation, which again was communicated to me by others.
The evening truly spiced up when I downed my first sake bomb. I plunked myself next to him and in the middle of the Blue C Sushi in Fremont, we began to kiss. I don't remember that part. And I am still horrified, for as someone who despises PDA, I can't believe that I was making out in the middle of a Japanese restaurant. I do, however, remember making out with him at the Ballroom in Fremont. I remember it with the same haze I remember the other memorable parts of the day, but those hazy memories tell me it was good, very good. I remember him feeling me up and not caring since there is really nothing to feel. I remember feeling his butt and him objecting, which amused me since he'd been feeling me up. I remembered my friend getting angry at me because I wasn't paying her any attention. It was like that song, "I only have eyes for you." I was in "Blythe Land" and he was the only star in my solar system. I was completely smitten.
It was a month ago, that memorable day. After that, I learned he isn't such a bad boy, isn't even a player. Well, as much as a thrice-arrested, multiple one-night stand haver isn't a bad boy. I was surprised. And the day I learned that, I texted him, asking him to put something on the calendar for the two of us to get together. Ah but therein life intervened. I was out of town for work, then he was out of town for work. I chalked it up to a good night, the highlight of which would remain a memory. I was okay with that. It is what it is.
But two weeks after he went out of town, I received a heartening text, "Back in Seattle!" I reveled in the exclamation point. I hopped around the apartment. I regressed back to middle school. I realized how into the spector of that night I'd become. I welcomed him home and suggested we get together. He replied with a "the sooner the better!" My heart leapt. I leaped for joy. Another exclamation point. And it was followed by a back and forth debate of availability that ended with him texting me, "I guess I'll just call you randomly to see if we can hang out." I bemoaned my schedule and stared at my calendar trying to find a time to see him. I needed to see him. His kisses remained with me despite the others I'd had since.
I decided to give up my treasured Monday night workout. It was a sacrifice I could live with if I would once again feel those lips on my own. But what if he didn't kiss me? I wondered if it would be weird considering that we'd both been drinking so heavily. He agreed to Monday. But switched it to Sunday. He switched it to today, and I was excited. Sunday comes before Monday.
I dressed with him in mind this morning. I was excited to show him what I looked like when not in preppy golf clothes (an outfit that had to do with the pub crawl's theme). Heck I was just excited to see him, and the anticipation had boosted my mood all weekend, and perhaps made my Saturday night that much more enjoyable in a strange way.
But then. Yes, there was a but. I wore down the battery on my phone reading the textversation, brief though it was, over and over again. I couldn't help myself. And my new mantra (not self-invented, of course), it is what it is, was not exactly helping. "Gonna have to cancel on you today," he wrote, "my test moved to 8pm." My heart dropped when I read that, and the next sentence, "Sorry we'll make this happen sometime" did little to buoy my spirits.
I had a sitter. Well, I'd resorted to asking the swine to take my daughter, but still, and I was so, so looking forward to it. As it was, I was reading the text message in the middle of the Seattle Science Center, and I wasn't hiding the disappointment too well. It is what it is, it is what it is, I kept repeating to myself, as I tried to compose my response. How could you?... Did it really?... When can I see you, then?...This is pointless. I discarded them all and tapped out what I hoped was a lighthearted response that shielded him from the sunken feeling in my chest, "no worries. talk soon." Would we? I'd leave it up to him. I worried that he is skittish, afraid of the girl that pursues.
With my critically low battery, I texted my date from yesterday. "Wanna come over for a movie later?" The response came minutes later, "Totally!" he said. Funny, the exclamation point didn't do as much for me when it came from him. I feel a little sorry for him, Ole Faithful, as he's become. He feels for me more than I feel for him, and though I've tried self-denial, I know that I'm really using him to feel the gaps while I pursue the true objects of my attraction, passion, and to be honest, lust.
Old Faithful will be here soon with his chaste kisses and his concave chest, and we'll have fun, but I'll still be hoping for the text from the Bad Boy rescheduling our much put off reunion.
I met him, he of the canceling text message, at a pub crawl of all places. I hadn't expected to meet him. I already had more that a hand's count of fingers amount of men on my plate, there was no reason to be open for others. But the moment I saw him, I was hooked, and I wasn't too good at hiding that fact, one may say that for sure. Tall, well built, and without his aviator sunglasses to hide them, the bearer of the most beautiful eyes, a glacial blue, captivating me. We were drawn to each other, though I tried to maintain my distance and my attraction. I thought him out of my league. Never before had I pursued someone so entirely good looking and completely a catch. I didn't determine to start now.
As the day grew older however, I became more forward, emboldened with each new shot, tossed down at each new bar. I flirted, shamelessly I was told, and I had to be told, since the events of the latter part of the day remain a foggy haze. He'd found out early in the day that I am the good one, Lara the bad. We compliment each other that way. Angel, devil; good one, bad one; flat-chested, bosomly-blessed. I could keep going. The point, however, is that it came out that I've never, not even once, tried a illegal narcotic, nor had I never, not even once, tried a one night stand. He on the other hand had experienced several one night stands, which didn't surprise me, and had been arrested thrice, twice for disorderly conduct and once for DUI, which mildly surprised me and made me laugh. I was intrigued. He seemed a bad boy, a player, and I have never, not even once, tried a bad boy, and the thought appealed to my drunken mind, it appealed to my drunken mind very much. When he learned that I don't lie, he looked me in the eyes, smiled, and asked, "Do you like me?" Without hesitation, I answered, "Yes." I probably should have hesitated, or at the very least asked him the same question in return, but I did neither, satisfied that it was out in the open, my liking him. And I remember being amused that he'd even needed to ask, considering the level of my flirtation, which again was communicated to me by others.
The evening truly spiced up when I downed my first sake bomb. I plunked myself next to him and in the middle of the Blue C Sushi in Fremont, we began to kiss. I don't remember that part. And I am still horrified, for as someone who despises PDA, I can't believe that I was making out in the middle of a Japanese restaurant. I do, however, remember making out with him at the Ballroom in Fremont. I remember it with the same haze I remember the other memorable parts of the day, but those hazy memories tell me it was good, very good. I remember him feeling me up and not caring since there is really nothing to feel. I remember feeling his butt and him objecting, which amused me since he'd been feeling me up. I remembered my friend getting angry at me because I wasn't paying her any attention. It was like that song, "I only have eyes for you." I was in "Blythe Land" and he was the only star in my solar system. I was completely smitten.
It was a month ago, that memorable day. After that, I learned he isn't such a bad boy, isn't even a player. Well, as much as a thrice-arrested, multiple one-night stand haver isn't a bad boy. I was surprised. And the day I learned that, I texted him, asking him to put something on the calendar for the two of us to get together. Ah but therein life intervened. I was out of town for work, then he was out of town for work. I chalked it up to a good night, the highlight of which would remain a memory. I was okay with that. It is what it is.
But two weeks after he went out of town, I received a heartening text, "Back in Seattle!" I reveled in the exclamation point. I hopped around the apartment. I regressed back to middle school. I realized how into the spector of that night I'd become. I welcomed him home and suggested we get together. He replied with a "the sooner the better!" My heart leapt. I leaped for joy. Another exclamation point. And it was followed by a back and forth debate of availability that ended with him texting me, "I guess I'll just call you randomly to see if we can hang out." I bemoaned my schedule and stared at my calendar trying to find a time to see him. I needed to see him. His kisses remained with me despite the others I'd had since.
I decided to give up my treasured Monday night workout. It was a sacrifice I could live with if I would once again feel those lips on my own. But what if he didn't kiss me? I wondered if it would be weird considering that we'd both been drinking so heavily. He agreed to Monday. But switched it to Sunday. He switched it to today, and I was excited. Sunday comes before Monday.
I dressed with him in mind this morning. I was excited to show him what I looked like when not in preppy golf clothes (an outfit that had to do with the pub crawl's theme). Heck I was just excited to see him, and the anticipation had boosted my mood all weekend, and perhaps made my Saturday night that much more enjoyable in a strange way.
But then. Yes, there was a but. I wore down the battery on my phone reading the textversation, brief though it was, over and over again. I couldn't help myself. And my new mantra (not self-invented, of course), it is what it is, was not exactly helping. "Gonna have to cancel on you today," he wrote, "my test moved to 8pm." My heart dropped when I read that, and the next sentence, "Sorry we'll make this happen sometime" did little to buoy my spirits.
I had a sitter. Well, I'd resorted to asking the swine to take my daughter, but still, and I was so, so looking forward to it. As it was, I was reading the text message in the middle of the Seattle Science Center, and I wasn't hiding the disappointment too well. It is what it is, it is what it is, I kept repeating to myself, as I tried to compose my response. How could you?... Did it really?... When can I see you, then?...This is pointless. I discarded them all and tapped out what I hoped was a lighthearted response that shielded him from the sunken feeling in my chest, "no worries. talk soon." Would we? I'd leave it up to him. I worried that he is skittish, afraid of the girl that pursues.
With my critically low battery, I texted my date from yesterday. "Wanna come over for a movie later?" The response came minutes later, "Totally!" he said. Funny, the exclamation point didn't do as much for me when it came from him. I feel a little sorry for him, Ole Faithful, as he's become. He feels for me more than I feel for him, and though I've tried self-denial, I know that I'm really using him to feel the gaps while I pursue the true objects of my attraction, passion, and to be honest, lust.
Old Faithful will be here soon with his chaste kisses and his concave chest, and we'll have fun, but I'll still be hoping for the text from the Bad Boy rescheduling our much put off reunion.
Friday, January 2, 2009
School Girl Crushes
I'm here. My new home. And it feels good. I can write about anything again, and I don't care.
I try to figure out sometimes why I am so compelled to write on the internet. Most often I come to the conclusion that it's the only thing that gets me writing. Sometimes I think it's the only type of writing I'm good at. But reading back on old posts I can see how overwritten some of them are, which is really annoying. However, it's writing, the thing I've loved most since I was a child.
Though playing the piano has taken my attention for some years as has knitting and God knows what else, I'm drawn again to the Internet, to writing for me, about me. For me.
I'm not expecting an audience, and I sometimes think I write better when I have no expectation of being read. My favorite posts are the first few so long ago as I turned 25. What a different life I had when I started blogging in 2004. What a different person I was and how innocent, make that naive and far too trusting.
I ask people sometimes if they have drama in their lives. I'm always intrigued when the answer is no. What must it be like? A quiet life, I would settle for, needn't even be happy, but quiet, oh, quiet. That would be the ticket.
It's the start of the second day of the year, and things are too messy to be optimistic at the moment, too dramatic, too, well, just too. I'm not making any resolutions, except maybe just get through it. I can do that, but it's a fear of what could be waiting at the end of it that paralyzes me. The whatifs, so many of them, are responsible for this weight on my chest, this burden. But the funny thing is that, even in the midst of this very great drama, I am trying to keep going on with a normal side of me. The lady side of me that wants to love and be loved, but I'm afraid of that side of me as well.
It's responsible for bringing me here. To this place. This very, very dramatic place. My picker is broken, my intuition faulty, and I no longer trust my judgment where my heart is concerned. I love too easily. I trust too must. In fact trusting may be my Achilles heel, for trusting the wrong men got me in this mess.
But still, this lady side of me wants to love and be loved. And I promised myself that I wouldn't date until after the new year, so I could recover from the traumatic ending of my relationship with Slick. And here it is, the new year. People have been waiting for this day to come, and have already reminded me that my deadline had past and brought up men they are dying to have meet me. But the day crept up on me so fast; it took me by surprise.
Is it a good idea to consider dating while this is going on? Shouldn't I wait until after? But I couldn't imagine not dating again for the rest of my twenties. But I couldn't imagine bringing a boyfriend into this point of my life either. I don't even want to try to explain everything while wondering what the reaction would be to this messy ex life I lead. I'm not exactly seeing myself as a big catch. I've weighed my pros and cons, and the cons far outweigh the pros. Any guy worthy of me would have so many other quality options that my bid would fade to the back. Take five identical sheets of paper, wrinkle one of them and offer them to another to choose one piece. Think they're going to choose the wrinkled paper?
So dating isn't my priority. Surviving is. Having crushes will do for now. And crushes I have aplenty. And I can't wait to write about it. That's the good stuff. That's my fun. As if I were fifteen again in Dr. Bailey's Chem class.
I try to figure out sometimes why I am so compelled to write on the internet. Most often I come to the conclusion that it's the only thing that gets me writing. Sometimes I think it's the only type of writing I'm good at. But reading back on old posts I can see how overwritten some of them are, which is really annoying. However, it's writing, the thing I've loved most since I was a child.
Though playing the piano has taken my attention for some years as has knitting and God knows what else, I'm drawn again to the Internet, to writing for me, about me. For me.
I'm not expecting an audience, and I sometimes think I write better when I have no expectation of being read. My favorite posts are the first few so long ago as I turned 25. What a different life I had when I started blogging in 2004. What a different person I was and how innocent, make that naive and far too trusting.
I ask people sometimes if they have drama in their lives. I'm always intrigued when the answer is no. What must it be like? A quiet life, I would settle for, needn't even be happy, but quiet, oh, quiet. That would be the ticket.
It's the start of the second day of the year, and things are too messy to be optimistic at the moment, too dramatic, too, well, just too. I'm not making any resolutions, except maybe just get through it. I can do that, but it's a fear of what could be waiting at the end of it that paralyzes me. The whatifs, so many of them, are responsible for this weight on my chest, this burden. But the funny thing is that, even in the midst of this very great drama, I am trying to keep going on with a normal side of me. The lady side of me that wants to love and be loved, but I'm afraid of that side of me as well.
It's responsible for bringing me here. To this place. This very, very dramatic place. My picker is broken, my intuition faulty, and I no longer trust my judgment where my heart is concerned. I love too easily. I trust too must. In fact trusting may be my Achilles heel, for trusting the wrong men got me in this mess.
But still, this lady side of me wants to love and be loved. And I promised myself that I wouldn't date until after the new year, so I could recover from the traumatic ending of my relationship with Slick. And here it is, the new year. People have been waiting for this day to come, and have already reminded me that my deadline had past and brought up men they are dying to have meet me. But the day crept up on me so fast; it took me by surprise.
Is it a good idea to consider dating while this is going on? Shouldn't I wait until after? But I couldn't imagine not dating again for the rest of my twenties. But I couldn't imagine bringing a boyfriend into this point of my life either. I don't even want to try to explain everything while wondering what the reaction would be to this messy ex life I lead. I'm not exactly seeing myself as a big catch. I've weighed my pros and cons, and the cons far outweigh the pros. Any guy worthy of me would have so many other quality options that my bid would fade to the back. Take five identical sheets of paper, wrinkle one of them and offer them to another to choose one piece. Think they're going to choose the wrinkled paper?
So dating isn't my priority. Surviving is. Having crushes will do for now. And crushes I have aplenty. And I can't wait to write about it. That's the good stuff. That's my fun. As if I were fifteen again in Dr. Bailey's Chem class.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Let 2009 Begin With Reflection
1. What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before? Kissed someone I'd known less than a week.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I never really make resolutions - I just hope for the best.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Aside from blogger friends, no, but my sister got knocked up, which was HUGE.
4. Did anyone close to you die? No, but everyday I live the death of my son.
5. What countries did you visit? Canada
6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008? Harmony
7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? 8-8-08. It was the date I was served with papers announcing the my ex was going to try to get full custody of my daughter.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Getting hired in my current position.
9. What was your biggest failure? Not getting rid of my boyfriend months (years) earlier.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Only to my heart.
11. What was the best thing you bought? Black boots to celebrate my great new job.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration? See above.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? My ex-boyfriend's and that of my ex-husband.
14. Where did most of your money go? Rent, car payment, lawyer fees.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Having a six-pack for my 29th birthday
16. What song will always remind you of 2008? Forever, by Chris Brown
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? sadder, much, because of everything that happened with my exes.
b) thinner or fatter? same, always the same, thank God for good genes.
c) richer or poorer? both. I make more money than ever before, but now I have a single income household.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of? Stood up for myself
19. What do you wish you’d done less of? Cried.
20. How did you spend Christmas? Missing my daughter.
21. Did you fall in love in 2008? No, I fell out of love.
22. What was your favorite TV program? Gossip Girls
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? My exes (man, are they a theme or what?)
24. What was the best book you read? Twilight
25. What was your greatest musical discovery? George Winston's sheet music
26. What did you want and get? Freedom
27. What did you want and not get? Freedom
28. What was your favorite film of this year? No clue
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 29, and I didn't really do anything. My friend's wedding overshadowed me. But that's okay. It's just a day.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? My exes' deaths
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008? Classic Southern girl with a twist of New York.
32. What kept you sane? Knitting and reading blogs.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Jason Statham
34. What political issue stirred you the most? Iraq, of course
35. Who did you miss? My daughter. I miss her even when I am with her.
36. Who was the best new person you met? Will
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008. Never trust a man with your secrets. He'll use them against you in a flash.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. "Bittersweet World"
Tragic.
Everybody tryin to hide
All of those girls habits
its Kinda bizzarre when it's who you are
It's tragic that it's come to this
I bury all of my vices
Tryin to keep my head up over it
When everything's whatever
It's the be all end all
And right before we fade away
Call a spade a spade
And You should know
You can tell
It's a Bittersweet world
Why can't we all just get along
In this
Bittersweet world
Everybody's reapin what they sow
In this
Sweet World
Whatever happened to the magic
That was keepin us
The faith that was the on stardust
Now The hypocrites pointing fingers
With Three fingers pointing right back
And all we're left with is [x6]
The foolish pride and the quick fixes
Ya It's the be all end all
And right before we fade away
Call a spade a spade
And you should know
You can tell it's a
a bittersweet world
Why can't we all just get along
In this
Bittersweet world
Everybody reapin what they sow
in this
Bittersweet world
With closets jull of skeletons
I'm a bittersweet girl
Demons out to get me
As I stand alone
There's a universal bottom line
Everybody's in disguise
Even you and I
Behind the facade tryin to get by
Don't wanna play with fire
Again
There's a universal bottom line
Everybody in disguise
Even you and I
Behind the facade tryin to get by
You wanna play with fire
Yu're gonna get burned
It's the be all end all
And right before we fade away
Call a spade a spade
And you should know
You can tell it's a
bittersweet world
Why can't we all just get along
In this
Bittersweet world
With closets full of skeletons
I'm a bittersweet girl
Demons out to get me
As i stand alone.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Shut up, already
Last night after hours at my mother’s house, I went home exhausted, crawled into bed and watched three hours of reality TV – America’s Next Top Model, followed by The Apprentice and Wife Swap. These shows all shared a commonality – yelling. Yelling because this black girl acts too white, yelling because this lady is a horrible project manager, yelling because not everyone lives in a multimillion-dollar apartment with four nannies, a housekeeper, cook, and driver. Yelling, yelling, yelling.
The funny thing is that I had endured my own three hours of yelling – at my mom’s house. Being the oldest kid sucks big time in my family. The responsibility heaped on my shoulders for the well being of my family is at times overwhelming. I normally enjoy running things, event planning, and bossing people around and am really quite good at it, which is why my talents are completely wasted in this nothing, slavish job, but lately my family has piled the role of matriarch on me and it is driving me to exhaustion. I am seriously considering moving elsewhere – back to the land of sunshine and happiness, perhaps.
As I have said repeatedly, I have been ill, and in the meantime my mother is moving for the first time in 7 years – a huge feat for our family – and requires much assistance from her children, but when they don’t come through – guess who has to hear about it…why, me of course. I have received about 20 phone calls since the weekend from her complaining about the lack of help she is getting from her four children, one of who is an hour away starting his freshman year in college. Only one still lives with her, and she is practically only good for staying out all night and sleeping the day away. The other has had it up to here with my mother’s irrational yelling sprees, so who does that leave? Me, the sick one, no less.
But that is okay, I love my mother and always want to help her when she needs it, but I can’t take the yelling. To be subjected to it with my mother and then to turn on the television - my mode for escape since my scattered brain hasn’t been able to focus on a book since the divorce – and find more yelling was annoying, but the crime dramas were definitely not a good alternative for me last night – would only provide new and interesting fantasies for offing my mother.*
So yelling stresses me out, so I slept terribly, so now I have a terrible crick in my neck, so I haven’t yet heard about the apartment – it’s okay. I will be okay. It will all be over soon, and my mom will go back to normal. There is such a thing as normal, right?
*Disclaimer – will never actually whack my mom, so if she ever does show up dead…it wasn’t me.
The funny thing is that I had endured my own three hours of yelling – at my mom’s house. Being the oldest kid sucks big time in my family. The responsibility heaped on my shoulders for the well being of my family is at times overwhelming. I normally enjoy running things, event planning, and bossing people around and am really quite good at it, which is why my talents are completely wasted in this nothing, slavish job, but lately my family has piled the role of matriarch on me and it is driving me to exhaustion. I am seriously considering moving elsewhere – back to the land of sunshine and happiness, perhaps.
As I have said repeatedly, I have been ill, and in the meantime my mother is moving for the first time in 7 years – a huge feat for our family – and requires much assistance from her children, but when they don’t come through – guess who has to hear about it…why, me of course. I have received about 20 phone calls since the weekend from her complaining about the lack of help she is getting from her four children, one of who is an hour away starting his freshman year in college. Only one still lives with her, and she is practically only good for staying out all night and sleeping the day away. The other has had it up to here with my mother’s irrational yelling sprees, so who does that leave? Me, the sick one, no less.
But that is okay, I love my mother and always want to help her when she needs it, but I can’t take the yelling. To be subjected to it with my mother and then to turn on the television - my mode for escape since my scattered brain hasn’t been able to focus on a book since the divorce – and find more yelling was annoying, but the crime dramas were definitely not a good alternative for me last night – would only provide new and interesting fantasies for offing my mother.*
So yelling stresses me out, so I slept terribly, so now I have a terrible crick in my neck, so I haven’t yet heard about the apartment – it’s okay. I will be okay. It will all be over soon, and my mom will go back to normal. There is such a thing as normal, right?
*Disclaimer – will never actually whack my mom, so if she ever does show up dead…it wasn’t me.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
By Ax or By Chainsaw
Still sick – but out of the misery stage and just in the annoying stage where the symptoms are just reluctant to take the hint and leave – y’know, the kinda stuffy nose, the half-hearted cough, the sneezes that just don’t come. My focus now goes back to my fungus-infested fingernail. I still haven’t taken care of it, and I suppose I should because it is still swollen and goes through painful stages, and to top it off X’s Girl2 passed along a belief that I could have the same thing that nearly led to the loss of Paula Abdul’s thumb, so I really should get on it.
Go to WebMD though and research the fingernail nastiness and the cure almost seems worse than the disease. I am always leery of taking drugs with frightening side effects, but the fingernail is embarrassing, the pain not so fun either.
Speaking of pictures, wouldn’t life be so much easier if one could just e-mail a photo and/or description of one’s malady to one’s doctor, and s/he could reply with a prescription and instructions?
Go to WebMD though and research the fingernail nastiness and the cure almost seems worse than the disease. I am always leery of taking drugs with frightening side effects, but the fingernail is embarrassing, the pain not so fun either.
Speaking of pictures, wouldn’t life be so much easier if one could just e-mail a photo and/or description of one’s malady to one’s doctor, and s/he could reply with a prescription and instructions?
Monday, September 27, 2004
Stuffy, Sneezing, Achy and Longing For a Smith & Wesson
Like I said, I hate being sick. Perhaps that is why I am still sick. The gods of sickness could sense my distaste for their gifted malady and have decided to extend my misery. So nice of them.
Friday after work I picked up Bella, drove straight home and fell into bed. Except for one crawled trip to the facilities, I didn’t move the entire night. Poor Bella. I couldn’t be bothered to get up to feed the dear, so she rustled herself up a nice dinner of carrots and yogurt. I can’t tell you how much I love that she can open the refrigerator on her own now. That is truly a blessing for the ill.
As the poor, neglected child (she will be three in November) wandered around the house, mostly playing Legos and talking to her dolls, I lay in bed dying. Well, not literally dying, just tossing and turning in miserable miserableness. I had piles of tissue surrounding me on the bed all of which were soaked to the core with the nastiness that spewed from my nasal regions. My head throbbed, and the pressure was so great that the entire row of my top teeth ached like they haven’t ached since I was a teenager in braces. So I wasn’t dying, but I sure wanted to die. I kept imagining ways to put myself out of my misery. My personal favorite was the chainsaw I would have used to cut away my teeth, thus removing the most aggravating of my pains. I couldn’t watch television because my eyes hurt, which also precluded reading; I couldn’t listen to music because of my headache, so I just lay there for hours in my state of wretchedness.
If I had been smart, I would have found a mallet to knock myself out with, or at least found a pill to do the trick from my basket o’ medicine, but all I could think of was the misery and the violent ways I could treat myself rather than the rational FDA-approved solution.
I was supposed to be at my mother’s house helping her unload the truck into her new apartment. Before I left work I called her to tell her that it was a “no can do,” so when she called me, why would I expect anything other than sympathy from her phone call? No, no. Sometimes I require much too too much from my mother dearest. When I answered the phone it was to a barrage of angry words. Apparently my sister had abandoned her for a camping trip to the Gorge in George, WA to see Jack Johnson in concert (sorry, I get such a kick out of the fact that there is a place on this planet name George, Washington), Big took off for a b-day dinner with Coco and her sister, and I called in sick. Most upsetting to me was that she didn’t even believe I was sick. She thought I had a date or something. I said, "stop yelling at me, stop yelling at me, stop yelling at me," when she didn’t, I hung up sobbing with frustration. Poor Bubba came in and asked who had been yelling at me. I couldn’t tell her it was her beloved Grandma, but I did let her hug and comfort me. I always feel so guilty taking comfort from a two year-old, but I think that as sick and upset as I was, it’ll be okay, just that once.
X came in, as I was still wiping the tears, to save the day as usual. I had called him on my way home to beg him to come over when he was off work to put Bella to bed, because I knew I would not have the strength, and here he was. He listened to me sob over my mom’s mistreatment of me, and handed me the quarter-pounder meal he brought as a surprise. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and the McDonald’s sounded good in theory, but my stomach didn’t seem to agree, and the fries I did attempt to eat were barely swallowed. Apparently, and I never noticed this before, when you swallow you puff out a bit of air at the end. If your nose is completely stopped up, swallowing with food is a completely miserable experience to pile on top of the fact that there ain’t no air passing through your nose. I couldn’t even taste the fries in the first place. They were chilled and felt like wet, tasteless mush in my mouth. After a few sips of Diet Coke, I abandoned the idea of sustenance, accepted the Tylenol Sinus PM X rustled up for me, and heard a loud tssssssss coming from my forehead when X lay a cool, damp cloth there. There was probably some steam as well, uh huh. See, I was dying. I had a fever, so there.
But then I started to cry again. I was so upset that I had to rely on my ex-husband to come take care of me. I felt horrible about it, and then of course I got upset again about my mother and began ranting about that. X calmed me down, reminding me that we are friends and he would do this for me even if we had never been married, and that my mother wasn’t upset with me, just freaked out about the move and upset about the other kids. Ten minutes later, I was asleep.
The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and to my mother’s house to do what I could in my deathlike state. She apologized for yelling at me, and only let me work for a few minutes before sending me on my way for the weekend. She didn’t want to get sick, and apparently X called her upon leaving my place to say that I really was sick and she wasn't very nice to treat me so horribly in my nearly putrid state.
So I spent the rest of the weekend sniffing and hacking and “ugh”ing a lot. I also got in trouble with my ex-sister-in-law, but that is a story for another blog entirely.
And today I am sniffing and hacking and “ugh”ing a lot, but I am not going to bed after work. I get to look at apartments.
As many times as I have moved in my life, and I do mean many (I am now in my 36th abode – give or take a few), I still look forward to getting settled into a new place and getting to know a different neighborhood. My current place of residence is the first one that I will have lived in for a full year in a looooooooong time. I thought that as a grown-up I would stick my roots and never leave once I had a say, but I think that restless quality was passed down to me from my father. Once Bella starts school, I think I will be able to quash that feeling. There was nothing worse when I was a child than going home at the start of Christmas Break and finding out that we were moving yet again and would be gone before the start back of school, so no goodbyes – again. No finishing the school year in one school - again. No going back for my prized Trapper Keeper - again.
But this was supposed to be about my sick weekend.
Friday after work I picked up Bella, drove straight home and fell into bed. Except for one crawled trip to the facilities, I didn’t move the entire night. Poor Bella. I couldn’t be bothered to get up to feed the dear, so she rustled herself up a nice dinner of carrots and yogurt. I can’t tell you how much I love that she can open the refrigerator on her own now. That is truly a blessing for the ill.
As the poor, neglected child (she will be three in November) wandered around the house, mostly playing Legos and talking to her dolls, I lay in bed dying. Well, not literally dying, just tossing and turning in miserable miserableness. I had piles of tissue surrounding me on the bed all of which were soaked to the core with the nastiness that spewed from my nasal regions. My head throbbed, and the pressure was so great that the entire row of my top teeth ached like they haven’t ached since I was a teenager in braces. So I wasn’t dying, but I sure wanted to die. I kept imagining ways to put myself out of my misery. My personal favorite was the chainsaw I would have used to cut away my teeth, thus removing the most aggravating of my pains. I couldn’t watch television because my eyes hurt, which also precluded reading; I couldn’t listen to music because of my headache, so I just lay there for hours in my state of wretchedness.
If I had been smart, I would have found a mallet to knock myself out with, or at least found a pill to do the trick from my basket o’ medicine, but all I could think of was the misery and the violent ways I could treat myself rather than the rational FDA-approved solution.
I was supposed to be at my mother’s house helping her unload the truck into her new apartment. Before I left work I called her to tell her that it was a “no can do,” so when she called me, why would I expect anything other than sympathy from her phone call? No, no. Sometimes I require much too too much from my mother dearest. When I answered the phone it was to a barrage of angry words. Apparently my sister had abandoned her for a camping trip to the Gorge in George, WA to see Jack Johnson in concert (sorry, I get such a kick out of the fact that there is a place on this planet name George, Washington), Big took off for a b-day dinner with Coco and her sister, and I called in sick. Most upsetting to me was that she didn’t even believe I was sick. She thought I had a date or something. I said, "stop yelling at me, stop yelling at me, stop yelling at me," when she didn’t, I hung up sobbing with frustration. Poor Bubba came in and asked who had been yelling at me. I couldn’t tell her it was her beloved Grandma, but I did let her hug and comfort me. I always feel so guilty taking comfort from a two year-old, but I think that as sick and upset as I was, it’ll be okay, just that once.
X came in, as I was still wiping the tears, to save the day as usual. I had called him on my way home to beg him to come over when he was off work to put Bella to bed, because I knew I would not have the strength, and here he was. He listened to me sob over my mom’s mistreatment of me, and handed me the quarter-pounder meal he brought as a surprise. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and the McDonald’s sounded good in theory, but my stomach didn’t seem to agree, and the fries I did attempt to eat were barely swallowed. Apparently, and I never noticed this before, when you swallow you puff out a bit of air at the end. If your nose is completely stopped up, swallowing with food is a completely miserable experience to pile on top of the fact that there ain’t no air passing through your nose. I couldn’t even taste the fries in the first place. They were chilled and felt like wet, tasteless mush in my mouth. After a few sips of Diet Coke, I abandoned the idea of sustenance, accepted the Tylenol Sinus PM X rustled up for me, and heard a loud tssssssss coming from my forehead when X lay a cool, damp cloth there. There was probably some steam as well, uh huh. See, I was dying. I had a fever, so there.
But then I started to cry again. I was so upset that I had to rely on my ex-husband to come take care of me. I felt horrible about it, and then of course I got upset again about my mother and began ranting about that. X calmed me down, reminding me that we are friends and he would do this for me even if we had never been married, and that my mother wasn’t upset with me, just freaked out about the move and upset about the other kids. Ten minutes later, I was asleep.
The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and to my mother’s house to do what I could in my deathlike state. She apologized for yelling at me, and only let me work for a few minutes before sending me on my way for the weekend. She didn’t want to get sick, and apparently X called her upon leaving my place to say that I really was sick and she wasn't very nice to treat me so horribly in my nearly putrid state.
So I spent the rest of the weekend sniffing and hacking and “ugh”ing a lot. I also got in trouble with my ex-sister-in-law, but that is a story for another blog entirely.
And today I am sniffing and hacking and “ugh”ing a lot, but I am not going to bed after work. I get to look at apartments.
As many times as I have moved in my life, and I do mean many (I am now in my 36th abode – give or take a few), I still look forward to getting settled into a new place and getting to know a different neighborhood. My current place of residence is the first one that I will have lived in for a full year in a looooooooong time. I thought that as a grown-up I would stick my roots and never leave once I had a say, but I think that restless quality was passed down to me from my father. Once Bella starts school, I think I will be able to quash that feeling. There was nothing worse when I was a child than going home at the start of Christmas Break and finding out that we were moving yet again and would be gone before the start back of school, so no goodbyes – again. No finishing the school year in one school - again. No going back for my prized Trapper Keeper - again.
But this was supposed to be about my sick weekend.
Friday, September 24, 2004
Oh Happy Day!
I hate being sick.
I hate the feeling that my head is stuffed with cotton balls, my nose with slime, and my chest with marbles.
I hate trying to hold my head up at work for eight hours straight while I do nothing better than reading the archives of other people's blogs, which in the case of Blonde Champagne is actually a treat.
I hate that we are having an absolutely beautiful day (one of the last before the mist and the daily 44 high/42 low settle in) and all I want to do is crawl into my comforter-clad bed and live there for the weekend.
I hate that X has next weekend off instead of this one.
I hate that...well, I hate everything right now. Including you.
*Update* Okay, so I don't actually hate you, though I am not too fond of Joe and Brit right now for reasons they are aware of and you all would probably approve of.
I hate the feeling that my head is stuffed with cotton balls, my nose with slime, and my chest with marbles.
I hate trying to hold my head up at work for eight hours straight while I do nothing better than reading the archives of other people's blogs, which in the case of Blonde Champagne is actually a treat.
I hate that we are having an absolutely beautiful day (one of the last before the mist and the daily 44 high/42 low settle in) and all I want to do is crawl into my comforter-clad bed and live there for the weekend.
I hate that X has next weekend off instead of this one.
I hate that...well, I hate everything right now. Including you.
*Update* Okay, so I don't actually hate you, though I am not too fond of Joe and Brit right now for reasons they are aware of and you all would probably approve of.
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