home redefined and an additional mind fuck

I don’t come home everyday to bug you. I don’t walk through the door and ask how your day was so you can give me that “wow, you are annoying” look. I wasn’t plotting on the way home how I was going to piss you off tonight, and when I left my dishes in the sink this morning it wasn’t to simply piss you off.

I didn’t pack anything before you got home because I knew you expected it, yet your “You got far while I was at work, thanks” comment still warranted a “you’re welcome.” We get along great except for all the times you forget that NOT EVERYONE IS EFFING LIKE YOU. It doesn’t bug me that the knives are in the wrong slot, or that there are clothes on my bedroom floor. Frankly, you are the only one that has a problem with it, the only one that decides it is annoying- So don’t tell me to make an “executive decision” on something small, because we both know I wasn’t asking for me. If you could chill the eff out, my sanity would appreciate it.

My life’s goal isn’t to annoy you, so stop mistaking the way I live my life as simply getting in the way of yours. I wouldn’t dare waste my time, plus I am sure you would disapprove.

End of Rant, part 1.

Girl movies really mess with my head. Girl movies that analyze girl thinking about boys with boys also analyzing girl thnking are a million times worse.

He’s just not that into is great, frank, and relatively entertaining. But, holy hell, if there is ever a girl move to make you feel lonley, that is it.

End of Rant, part 2.

mother knows best

I have a bone to pick with mothers in general. More importantly, I have a bone to pick with people that think that their mother did it best. Their mom’s way is the only way to load the dishwasher or make spaghetti. The only way to grill a hamburger or the right way to bleach a sink.

DID YOU NEVER STOP TO THINK FOR A SECOND THAT THE WAY YOUR MOM DID IT MAKES NO SENSE?

Everyone does things differently, and one person’s mom isn’t going to be the best at everything. Sure, she might grow the best tomatoes, but her sense of style sucks. So when you say that you do it that way, because your mom does, know that I am going to be looking for ways to do it better. We like the way our mom’s do things because it is the only way we know how. So don’t get mad at me or assume I am doing it wrong, because my way doesn’t match yours. You can’t annoyed at me or take over, because your mom isn’t here.

I love my mom. She does some things very well. But she isn’t good at everything and I feel like you thinking your mom is, is a smidge naive on your part.

Simple as that. And don’t even get me started on your Dad.

Hope & a Handgun

I am hoping for your sake that you are happy. I am not sure I would be in your situation, but then again, I am not you. I know you didn’t get to choose, and you made a commitment, but please know that sometimes you get to consider what you need to be happy. Would you be there now if you had known then?

If you took making him happy, because it makes you happy out of the equation, is there anything that he does that makes you happy? And if you could choose to live without all of those qualities, would you choose the ones that he displays the most?

Is he everything that you wanted him to be? As you move to stand on your own, and he gets bigger and stronger and more hateful by the day, will your stance make him move? Will he wince in pain, or cause you hurt? Are you strong enough to let him go?

Can you tell me if you need me? Can I let you go if you don’t? I will be here as you blossom, but remain tethered to him. Does it feel like life, or does it feel like letdown? Are you in there, alive and well? Or are you pushing things aside, day by day, hoping they will go away?

Please, close your eyes, and think of the life you would have. You would be you, living your own stories instead of his. Running, your way. Loving, your way. Caring for others, aloud and in the open. Will you cry with me when it doesn’t work out?

Can you leave the pain and the hate? Does it look like that to you?

Or does it just look like marriage?

Just plain mad

eww. Some days, even the internet can’t fix it.

I was doing so well today. It was kickball day. And then we lost in the bottom of the last inning, because I DIDN’T CATCH THE BALL. Seriously, ME, one play, all fucked up. Pretty effing classic.

So I went to the gym buzzed and ran to my most maddening songs. Because I was mad. Mad that he didn’t text me today (seriously, like that’s going to happen), mad that I gave him a month of me. A whole month! I still can’t believe it. For two days of fun, I spent a good number of days worried and sick to my stomach waiting. Mad because his roommates hung out with him all weekend (ya, I know, I would classify that as jealous too.) Mad someone was moving on with life and I am here, being all mad.

And all I can think is, “Go on, throw all the fun away.” over and over. Why would you do that? Who does that?

Then I remember it wasn’t fun. There are 2 days out of 30 that were fun, and here I am still mad, throwing all of my own fun away. I am mad that I was suprised. Mad that I was secretly waiting for something to happen. Like it wasn’t over yet.

PLEASE, DEAR GOD, LET THE MADNESS END.

Happiest Place on Earth

stomach in knots yet again. Can’t wait until tomorrow comes so I can finally give up hope on Bear. It is like Disneyland* or Christmas, you just want to go to sleep so it comes quicker.

*oddly enough he loves Disneyland. Says he likes it because of the details. Here is a little detail for you, son. Call me, puh-lease!

motorcycle moron

He never spoke of liking them, or wanting one. I have a hunch it is the male equivalent of the post-breakup hair cut.

Nothing to heal a little heartache like a brand new motorcycle, moron.

The asphalt won’t dull the pain. I promise you.

pushing the envelope, no postage needed.

Unfortunately, I deleted a number of hilarious emails in a serious spring cleaning bout over the weekend. Fewer emails equals less brooding.

But, I will recount one for you.

I received an ecard from C. (yes, I know, stupid. But hey… like the entire relationship is above ecards? I think not).

It read: I was much happier being in denial.

I replied something along the lines about it being perfect for the situation, puke, ugh, puke (all while being fantastically charming), where did you find it?

C.: It was under a new section labeled Fucking Asshole, Complete Douchebag, Gun-Toting Right Wing Mother Fucker (which were the names I had bestowed upon him at the wedding).

Me: Well-Played. I didn’t think you had it in you. I had heard someecards.com was going to try to cater to their best customers. In fact, they called me and asked for suggestions. Keep a lookout for “Don’t make fun of my spanx, I’ve seen your man panties” and “I’m sorry your firearm doesn’t compensate for your lack of balls.”

He replied: Don’t push it.

I countered: At least now I know where “it” is.

message me

There is more said in the meta-communication than what is actually said. That was a huge theme in my college courses, and the last few days, it seems to be popping up everywhere.

Resume submitting: I inserted my voice, made sure it was present. Then had to tone it down a bit. Because my voice sounds like a 22 year old trying to be funny. I was erring on the side of professionalism, but wanted it to reflect me at the same time. I wonder if all of those people you hear about landing their dream job via crazy antics simply thought their message wasn’t getting across.

Friend bailing: I invite you because I know you would like to be included, or at least have the option. It is polite, so I extend the invitation. I am okay when you don’t come, but there is no need to make up an excuse. A simple thanks, but no thanks works every time. It doesn’t reflect any better on you that you can’t leave your house to socialize, because you tell me the traffic will be too bad. The message is the same every time, it is only the excuse that sounds different.

Unreturned messages: Whether it be via phone or email, there is something valuable being communicated in each unanswered attempt. In fact, the time it takes you to return them and the medium by which you respond tells me everything I need to know. The words that accompany the silent message are simply filler. For certain uncertain personalities, this message kills me. I am hoping you get a clue as to why I am not calling you back.

Roller coaster nausea

I am roller coaster nauseaus, because emailing you today was like being on a roller coaster. And I still have all of these questions:

Here I am again, always telling you how I feel, when we both know that it is not what I think that matters. If it did, I wouldn’t be here. I still don’t know why you broke up with me. I don’t know what you were thinking before you did it, I don’t know if you to talked to anyone about it. I don’t know if you changed your mind somewhere down the road, or were waiting to see what happened at the wedding. I don’t know if you liked me at all in the beginning, or if you think you could like me from this point forward. I don’t know if you tried to tell me you messed up, or if you think this isn’t going anywhere, so why even bother? I don’t know if you drove by my house with your sister, or if you meant what you said when you broke up with me. I don’t know if you want to have casual sex, or if you think that would be impossible. I need to know what you have to offer me. I have put myself on the line too many times for you. Do you think you deserve a second chance or do you think we should be friends? Do you have feelings for me that would make that impossible?

Where were you when I needed you? You had three months to figure it out and you never contacted me? What did you think would happen? Did you really think I was scary? Is the fact that I am not a practicing Christian make you doubt this? What do you mean you have never had this before? WHY ARE YOU LYING?
What has changed between then and now? Why am I losing sleep over you? Are you losing sleep over me? What did you tell yourself to talk yourself out of it? Do any of those things still apply?

Finally, do you have resources? Referrals? Because I need to ask someone else, because I have a feeling you just lied to me.

I think the answers would just make me more nauseous.

raised by wolves

Lord knows I am not a perfect roommate, but holy hell there are a few things I think everyone should know (and be aware of, and practice…)

Dawn does not go in the hand soap dispenser. two different soaps. for two different purposes. and don’t even get me started on the fact that they were two different colors.

No one ever taught you how to load a dishwasher? oh and while we are on the subject of the dishwasher, it is not magic. it is a dishwasher. it cleans with hot water and steam. Your crusty-ass dishes come out dirty, because you put them in there REALLY dirty. It’s not rocket science.

Caphalon pans also don’t belong in the dishwasher. Neither do Teflon pans. Not unless you want to be eating cancer in 4 months.

Replace the TP and Refill the Brita.

If you take out the garbage, you have to replace the trash bag. Half-assed effort doesn’t count.

Don’t use my towel. ever.

The cutting board doesn’t clean itself. Especially after you let tomato seeds cake to it.

What were you, raised by wolves?