Don't Honey Me

I am beyond happy that my friends have found love (or are too delusional to realize they're dating a serial killer). I even like that they want to share it with me via Facebook. I don't even care if the proclamations of love come in week intervals.

What I cannot stand, however, is the use of the words "honey," "hubby," "hubs," or "baby." They make me want to take my non-existent fingernails and scrape the skin off my face, strip by strip.

"Out to dinner with my wonderful hubby!" SCRAPE.

Picture caption: "Me and my honey on our way to the beach!" SCRAPE SCRAPE.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE just use his or her name. I could probably even deal with a non-generic nickname too.

Unless you want me to walk around looking like Skeletor and scaring children. Choice is yours.

But really, think of the kids. The kids.

Life is a Highway

I'm afraid of heights. I never get too close to the edge of anything when I'm up high. No matter how much glass or metal railing is between me and the abyss, I won't go near it.

But roller coasters? I love them. And sometimes, the taller and more ridiculous the drop, the more anxious I am to get on it. I ride them to get out of my comfort zone, to challenge myself. There's just something to be said for the feeling of exhilaration you get while riding. High-speed turns! Massive drops! You don't know what's coming next, and while it's a little scary, it's also really exciting.

Apparently my love for roller coasters has translated into other areas of my life, namely my relationships. Most of us have been there. You meet someone and they're different and exciting. All new relationships have that element. Wondering whether you should call or if they'll call. Getting to know them. The first brush of hands. The first kiss. The first time. Each of those is a huge rush and the anticipation is almost enough to kill you.

Where we run into trouble is when that feeling never goes away. You've been dating for 3 months and you're still wondering if she's going to call. You wonder when he's going to introduce you to his friends. Six months has come and your'e still only seeing each once a week. He doesn't want to spend more time with you. She's still talking to her ex-boyfriends, but they're "just friends."

But all your concerns go out the window when you're together. You feel like it's almost magical. Because when you're together, it's all about you. You're back on that ride. The rush you feel when he holds your hand, caressing your thumb.  When she pulls you out of the way and kisses you so passionately you think you're going to explode on the spot. You just get this feeling that he or she knows you so well. Ultimately, you figure the highs outweigh the lows and the cycle continues. At least until it ends, because all roller coaster rides do.

What we seem to ignore the value of a steady relationship. Something more like a long drive on a highway. No, you're not going to have all of the exhilaration of 100 foot drops and hairpin turns. What you get instead is the potential for loads of beautiful scenery. The depth and breadth that comes only when you make a significant investment of time and emotion. There's a deep satisfaction in seeing all that can grow when you get past the first touch, the first kiss, and first time.

The real bonus is that it's a ride that doesn't have to end.

Not a salmon

I've mentioned this before, but I'm what you'd call a "hard learner." I tend to engage in the same patterns of behavior over and over, sometimes without realizing it, other times pretending it's not the same and rationalizing the shit out of it. Fortunately I've reached the point that I'm no longer shocked when the results are the same. (I don't know what's really all that fortunate about it, perhaps I'm just a little less stressed out? Or I'm insane, whichever.)

I was stumbling around the interwebs yesterday, looking for decent por...I mean, inspiration, when I found myself at Clay Collins' page. I got there because the author of the blog I was on said that his "about me" page is the best she'd ever seen. I linked to it, but brace yourself, it's a little on the long side and he comes across as a bit of a toolsack. (No, no one ever says toolsack," but I was getting tired of toolbag, not that anyone but me says that either. Whatever. Don't judge me.)

The damn thing is long enough to have sections and I won't lie, I almost didn't make it to the section entitled "The Power of Giving Up." Y'all get the benefit of me having already read his ego-novella, and can just CTRL+F your way there. This is what got me:

So often we hang onto the complete bullshit that society brainwashed us with . . . until we get to the point that we completely and utterly lack the strength to carry on that way.

I read it and was like, "LIGHT BULB!" He goes on to say that when he dropped everything in his life that didn't make him "ridiculously happy," the rest of his life fell into place.

I don't know how it's possible to drop everything in your life that doesn't make you ridiculously happy, because we have to eat, sleep somewhere safe, etc. However, I'm willing to bet that if I cut out a lot of shit in my life that makes me batty, I would be happier and able to spend more time focusing on the things that do make me ridiculously happy.

His next section is called "Purpose is Not Your Savior (And Lack of Purpose is Not Your Captor)." I really had to stop and think about this one because I know I've said on several occasions how I feel like I'm lacking purpose in my life. I feel directionless and it's disconcerting for me not to feel like I'm going SOMEWHERE.

But then I thought about it and I realized that the push to be going somewhere and doing something specific with your life is imposed on us by society. Why can't the purpose of my life just be to do things that make me feel ridiculously happy and really LIVE my life?

The way I see it now is that purpose is like having a goal. I have loads of goals, but if I'm honest about it, I don't often achieve them. I feel 18 kinds of pressured and I just can't bring myself to work to accomplish them. It's like I could never figure out how to make my purpose meet what makes me ridiculously happy. The idea that I don't really have to have a purpose is extremely freeing. Like wearing a skirt without underwear on a windy day.

For me, the biggest takeaway from his post is this:

The only thing holding you down, holding you back, is your inability to give up on anything that’s not 100% you.  And the only thing that can set you free is your uncompromising refusal to do anything that’s not in 100% alignment with who you really are.

I read it and thought, eh, I don't know. I sat with it a little longer, and it was like DUH! When I'm faced with doing something I really don't want to do, it takes me that much more energy to get moving on it. I go through it that much more slowly and that much less carefully. The end result being that I sometimes get to do it twice. Joy.

There's a catch with this for me though - I think I've forgotten who I really am. (I know that seems hard to believe, but it's true.) There are times I do things or spend time with certain people, and I get a feeling of, "YES! This is IT!" But then, in the bustle that is life, I forget about that feeling until I'm doing whatever it was again or I'm with the same person again.

The problem with the bustle is that I end up feeling like I'm swimming upstream and ultimately just exhausting myself. I need to hang on to that feeling of YES! and make it an everyday feeling so that I'm 100% Lyndsy, 100% of the time.

And no, I'm not offended that you were just a little horrified right then.

From the Archives: Fatty Walking

I was perusing cnn.com today and I came across this story. There are so many things I want to say about this, I'm afraid it's all going to come out a jumbled mess. Oh well, you'll deal.

1. Anyone who thinks they can walk ACROSS the country in six months has to be out of his/her mind.

2. He's ranting and raving about how he needs to take control of and change his life. Yet, on this trek, he's been eating fast food. I can see how eating fast food would help with weight loss...oh, wait, no I can't.

3. It's amazing to me that he's only lost 105 pounds on this year-long trek. Oh wait, no I'm not, see #2 above.

4. "He says he's gone through 15 pair of shoes, 12 pairs of pants, three shirts, 30 pairs of socks and his own sanity -- twice."
a. I can get the shoes and pants, but only THREE shirts. Methinks that's a tad on the nasty size.
b. I'm not sure he ever had his sanity. Most people would get a gym membership and hop on the treadmill, but no, he decides to trek across the United States.

5. He speaks of taking control of his life, but he left his family behind in California. I think it's safe to assume that he's not working right now, so who is helping to support his family?

In the article it mentions his website. So I went, expecting a great site, all about his motivation and commitment to a healthy lifestyle. I clicked on the link that takes you to the page where he says why he's doing this.

My Name is Steve Vaught, (born Stephen James Liller in Youngstown, Ohio). I am a 39 year old, happily married father of two great kids and I have a pretty good life here in Southern California. You would think that I would be happy because of these things, but I am not. I am not happy because I am fat and being fat makes every day unhappy.
I don't actually think that he's not happy because he's fat. Maybe he just doesn't know how to value the things he does have.

I am going to walk across the United states from San Diego to NYC to lose weight and regain my life!
Treadmill?

Being fat is physically and emotionally painful. It diminishes the quality of the good things in life and it will ultimately bring about an early demise. So being overweight darkens every good thing that you achieve in your life and even prevents some things from happening at all.
For all of you who read this and don't know, I am a fatty. I wasn't always fat, but I am now. And what this guy is saying, just isn't true. I've celebrated many happy days without thinking, "God, this would be so much better if I weren't a fatty!" I graduated from college and was accepted to law school while being a fatty. Nowhere on any application has it asked me, "Are you a fatty? (If so, cease filling out this application as you will not be admitted.)"

For the last 15 years I have been slowly gaining weight and it seems that whatever I do, it just spirals ever upward.
Put down the cupcake! Say "Yes" to the salad bar and "No" to the fries!

Socially being fat is hard to deal with because I feel that am looked down upon by people even when they are not doing so maliciously. It may be human nature. You know, "survival of the fittest". Also, I feel as though I am being taken advantage of by companies and people that want fat people to buy their latest "miracle pill" or prepackaged food that will help me lose the weight.
The big problem here is the intelligence factor. I am fat, but I do not feel that I'm being taken advantage of with miracle pills. I know they're crap and I move on. I personally think that those pills are marketed to anorexic girls who always think they're fat when what they actually are doing is giving Calista Flockhart a run for her money for "Human Skeleton of the Year."

So, after consulting the family and getting their blessing I have made the decision to stop this merry go round and dedicate myself to losing the extra weight. I have an addiction and there needs to be dedication and sacrifice to cure addictions. If I had a drug or alcohol addiction I would go to rehab. Well, what I have in mind is rehab for the fat guy.
I'm assuming his addiction is food. Perhaps he should have tried getting his jaw wired shut. Mighty hard to shovel food in your mouth if you can't open it.

I am going to take six months out of my life and walk across the United States from San Diego to NYC.
Ah yes, the six months that turned into over a year. How he thought he could do it in six months in the first place is beyond me.

My main purpose in undertaking this journey is losing weight. More importantly though, I need to change the behaviors that have allowed me to be in this situation in the first place. I know that to permanently lose this weight I must learn to be more responsible to myself.
Obviously, eating fast food the whole way across the country is EXACTLY the way to do that. Well done, Fat Man. Perhaps, since this got to be a huge thing, he could have stopped off at people's homes, not slept in a tent, and eaten a real meal every now and then.

Nuts you say? Well, maybe.
No "maybe" about it.

But how nutty is spending a fortune on miracle weight loss drugs or fad diets that never seem to have lasting results or dangerous surgeries that cost about the same as a luxury car?
Surgery isn't the only way to not be a fat ass anymore.

What about the fact that only 3% of weight loss attempts are permanently successful?
So, somehow him walking across the country makes his weight loss more likely to succeed?

What about the anxiety, depression and pain involved in everyday activities when you are fat?
He's going to give my fat ass anxiety if he keeps this up!

I donÂ’t want to miss out on birthdays, graduation, marriages and grandkids because I chose not to take my life back.
I'm interested in knowing why he's missing out on this stuff. My family welcomes my rotundity to family functions still. I also have a feeling that they still will, whether I want to go or not.

I am going to sacrifice some time out of my regular life to gain 30- 40 years of a better, leaner, healthier and happier life.
I doubt he'll be happy now if he wasn't happy before.

So considering all of that, I would be nuts not to do this.
Do I even need to comment?

Losing the weight will be the easy part. I plan to keep the weight off in the future by maintaining a proper diet and level of activity needed, as well as remembering how easy it is to gain weight and difficult to lose it.
Has losing the weight really been the easy part? He still needs to lose a lot more before he's really considered healthy, and what level of activity compares to walking across the country?

I think this man wasted a year of his life that he could have spent with his family. He could have gone walking around his neighborhood, changed his diet, and developed a healthier and more positive attitude on life, and all at home.

I just hope he's not walking back.

YOU can't possibly know

I'm single, as in never-been-married single. My longest relationship was about 6 months, and I lived with him for about 4 months of it. (Yes, I do have questionable judgment.) I'm so awesome I've moved back in with my parents until I figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life. My credit score could use some help. I couldn't stop going to school, so now I have two advanced degrees I'd rather not have. I don't have kids - I've never even been pregnant (except that time by the aliens, but that soooooooo doesn't count).

So, even though I've obviously had no real, useful experiences in my life, I am still able to offer helpful and constructive advice/opinions sometimes. Yes, you heard me right. Just because I haven't done X, Y, or Z does not mean I'm fucking useless.

For example...
When I was in law school, I had a roommate who insisted that it was necessary to lie to your boyfriend to get him to understand the situation. NECESSARY, she said. I looked at her like she'd lost her mind and then asked something along the lines of, "Wouldn't it be better just to tell him how you really feel?" The way she looked at me you'd think I'd grown a second head. Rather than explain to me what the fuck she meant by that and how lying could ever HELP a situation, she looked me straight in the eye and said, "You'd understand if you'd been in a long-term relationship." I said, "If lying is what it takes to have a successful long-term relationship, I think I'll pass," and I walked away.

Now, at the time it was true that I'd never been in a long-term relationship, but I don't think I've ever been in a situation where lying to someone you really care about actually SOLVED anything. We're pretty well-resolved AGAINST lying in fact. Most of the time we run with the idea that truth and honesty serve as the basis for a successful relationship. Since that time, I have been in a long-term relationship and I can say this, lying did NOT help that situation. Shockingly, it made things much worse.

Another example? Don't mind if I do...
I have a very good friend to whom I turn regularly for advice. I may occasionally be prone to emotional fits and outbursts and I call him when I need to get my head screwed back on the right way. I have an immense amount of respect for his ability to step back from a situation, process it while detached, and come back with a solid conclusion. Apparently not all of his friends have the same idea about him...

A good friend of his was involved in a relationship that was a good time, but the durability of the relationship was a touch questionable. All of a sudden, the guy decides to move in with his girlfriend of 2 months or so. My friend was like, "Um, dude, not smart." His friend retorts, "Well, you've never lived with anyone, so you're not exactly qualified to comment on this." (Okay, I'm making that up, but it went something like that.) In an unsurprising turn of events, they ended up breaking up and he moved out a few months later. Didn't see that one coming...

Something not relationship-related? Okay!
I am the second oldest of 12 cousins. I have spent more time than I would like babysitting my evil shit cousins (okay, they were awful as small ones, better now). I've watched them for extended periods, when they were sick and when they were healthy, and at a range of ages. No, I don't know what it's like to go for days on end with very little sleep and then to have to watch the little one as the insanity sets it. But I DO have some experience with kid moodswings, potential causes of illness, etc.

At this point, I'm one of the few people I know who is childless. For some reason I can't seem to get anyone to fertilize my lady garden (perhaps because I say shit like that...). Because of this, I have to watch myself when my friends talk to me about their kids. I have heard, on more than one occasion and from more than one friend, "I HATE it when people try to tell me how to raise my kid. I know better than anyone what's going on with my kid!"

I never try to tell anyone how to raise their kid. All kids are different, every family dynamic is different, and families have different financial means. Sometimes though, I say useful things. Like when my friend's kid was running a low fever and was cranky as all get out and wouldn't eat much. I suggested, as quietly as possible, that the kid might be teething. Sure enough, the little bugger was cutting some teeth. Made my friend feel a lot better that her kid wasn't dying or suffering too immensely.

The Problem?
Part of the problem is that we chuck our good friend Common Sense out the window when we get emotionally wrapped up in something. Moving in with someone after a couple months? NEVER REALLY BRILLIANT. I can't think of a single person I know where that's worked out well. And we know that if we saw someone else doing it, we would be like, "Well, that shit isn't going to work," though we happily traipse down that path. Lying is RARELY a good idea. (Yes, Mom, I did love those pajamas...). Usually you end up having to explain yourself later and you break the trust you've worked so hard to create.

Some of it is that we don't want to admit that we done fucked up real bad. "You can't possibly know what this is like because you haven't done it" is just a defense mechanism. We don't want to be WRONG, to have to admit that we went down the wrong street. The words our friends say find their way to our fear. If we weren't afraid, we'd be able to hear what someone else is saying without flipping our shit over it. We'd thank them for their words and decide whether to act on their advice, comfortable in the choices we made.

The reality of it is that no one can live anyone else's life and we never really know what's going on for someone else. Every person is different - their experiences, intellectual and emotional capabilities, manner of processing things - all of it. If we believed that people could never offer advice because they aren't US, we'd miss out on vast amounts of wisdom from people we respect and who could help us. You never know, that piece of advice could change your world.

Honestly, this is really just my nice way of saying that the next person who tells me to shut it because I haven't done whatever it is that they're doing is going to be on the receiving end of a loud, angry, profanity-filled tirade that will leave you crying like a school kid who just found out that he has to walk around all day in pants he pooped in.

Do Good Guys Finish Last?

I posted this on my Facebook page tonight: What a woman needs, is a man who will protect her like she’s his daughter, love her like she’s his wife, and respect her like she’s his mother. Be that man. 


I really didn't think anyone could object to or bitch about it. Turns out, I was wrong.


A couple of guys left comments and I have to say, I'm a bit irritated. 


The first guy: Wow! That's hard, even for the best of us.
He followed up with: The first and third, no sweat! The second? I've tried that and it didn't work...TWICE! SO maybe love her like she's Venus!


The second guy: I am that man and what has it gotten me...not a damn thing! Good guys do finish last.


The first guy agrees with the second guy.

And then I banged my head on the wall.

Here's what I think: Nice guys don't really finish last. I think the problem is in the term "nice guy." 

What I'm about to say isn't going to be PC and it certainly won't be nice. I know you're shocked, but here goes. A lot of "nice guys" are actually just pussies who are so wrapped up with the idea of being in a relationship that they stink of desperation and trying too hard. And when they finally get to a second date with a woman, they start talking about long-term shit. Gee, wonder why it didn't work out. 

These guys try to be what they think a woman will want in her Prince Charming. All the women reading this know what the problem is, but because there may be a few of the less intelligent sex reading this, I'll be clear. IT IS RARE THAT MEN HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT A WOMAN REALLY WANTS. They try to be it, the woman doesn't respond super well, so they try something else, and she doesn't respond well, so they try something else, and she walk away. The men don't stop to think how FAKE all of this looks. 

Allow me to educate: We know you're guys and therefore victims of testicular drag. More than likely, you don't really enjoy getting all dressed up for shit. You fart and burp and scratch yourself. You'd rather watch sports than go to the ballet with us. You need time to hang out with your male friends. We know all of that. Don't try to bullshit us about it. Be honest. Obviously relationships require compromise, but don't totally lose yourself just to get the girl. We can see it happening and we won't stay.

I have one more thing to say about the quote. No one is perfect, and every day won't be perfect, all women ever ask is that men try. And really, how hard is that?

A Life Sentence of Lyndsy

Continuing with my friend recognition theme, I'd like you to meet someone else...

How I Met J...
It's 1999. (And yes, I just got that song stuck in my head too.) It's the week before I begin classes my freshman year at the University of Florida. At this point, having only lived with each other for 2 days, my roommates and I are all getting along. One night we get bored and decide to cruise the campus, like the badasses we are.

After unsuccessfully cruising, we end up back in our dorm area, and my roommates decide to see how crazy I actually am. Clearly they have only known me for two days, or they would have known better. They dare me to knock on a random window. "Psh," I say, "That's nothing!" I knock on the window. We wait. Nothing happens. We move on.

As we're walking away, the window opens. We turn back and all cock our heads to the side, like dogs puzzled by human speech. A guy is hanging out the window, "Wait there!!" We look at each other, confused. Wait for what?

Our befuddlement does not last long, for out the double doors of Weaver and East halls come running three menfolk. One tall and gangly, running as though he were an injured 12-year old girl. The others shorter than the giraffe, but easily distinguishable. One blond, one brown hair.

They run up to us, and since we are young and naive (and they appear harmless), we invite them to our room. They accept and follow us. We spend the evening quite companionably, though I remain... concerned... by the dark-haired, non-giraffe one. He sits quietly, but intensely, seeming to absorb everything going on in the room. I'm worried that he's trying to steal my soul, but as I appraise him, I see that he's cute, so I think I'll let him have it.

Why he's obviously insane...
After our fateful introduction, I spent a bunch of time with J, Injured Girl Giraffe, and the blond who I call Georgia Peach. Until I scared the giraffe with a lengthy printout on penis length. (I was just giving him the facts!) J and I kept in touch for a while, but it was our sophomore year that he really got a full Dose of Lyndsy.

See, his roommate, K, must have hated him, at least a little, because I would con someone into letting me onto the floor, and then I'd swing by J and K's room and K would let me in. I would promptly fall asleep on J's bed, at which point K would depart for class. J came home after a full day of actually challenging classes (unlike my political science classes - when I actually went, that is) and there I was, asleep in his bed. A little like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, except I came back, day after day.

It's not just that I was there when he got back from class. I stayed until late in the evening. I stayed until after he took his shower in the communal shower. He'd come back to his room, wearing only a towel around his waist and I just sat there, on his bed. Any woman in my position would have done the same thing. He's AWESOME to look it. I did the best I could not to drool all over his bed. But bless his heart, he just managed to get dressed under the towel and hop into his bed. Sometime after that I'd leave. Unless I'd invited friends over to sleep in his bed. Then we were all there for a while.

Even after I graduated, we stayed in touch. I'd call him a few nights a week and I'd walk around my block and talk to him. For an hour or more. Many nights. He rode with me to Michigan when I started law school. He came to visit me in Seattle and didn't get creeped out when I sniffed him after he showered (he does boy smell VERY well).

He pays attention to me even when I'm not paying attention to me. Enough attention to know to send me a particular Dave Matthews CD (since I had the others) and to send a Toby Keith CD for Christmas. He always remembers my birthday and he sends the greatest, funniest cards.

He doesn't care that I constantly sexually harass him. He reads this blog and laughs when I'm funny, and probably when I'm not. He thinks I should keep it up. He's listened to me whine about more guys than I remember. He thinks I don't live up to my full potential and he tells me that. He's always supportive, even when I'm not being the greatest friend. He lets me sleep in his super comfy bed with him, even when I molest him in my sleep.

He's brilliant. He's funny. He has a good sense of humor. He's got a good sense of himself. He's beyond patient, especially with me.

And most importantly, he loves me for me. With all of my weirdness, loudness, annoyingness, and wonderfulness.

I couldn't ask for a better friend. I love him with all my heart, and fully intend to carry out the life sentence of Lyndsy I imposed on him in college. And you know, I think he's okay with that.

Is all hope lost?

I don't have traditional faith in my life. Without really knowing what I was doing, I left the Catholic church before I could be confirmed. Something in me just told me it wasn't right for me. As I've gotten older, I've realized how right I was.

That doesn't mean I don't have my own brand of spirituality. That I believe in some kind of higher power comforts my religious grandparents and father. They overlook the fact that I don't believe Jesus was the son of God, and focus instead on the way I live my life. At the end of the day, I think how we behave is more important than what we say we believe.

I do believe in some kind of higher power and I believe that higher power has some kind of plan for me. Nothing super specific, just that I'll accomplish personal growth in certain areas. For me, this translates to the idea that everything happens for a reason. I may not like what happens, but I appreciate that I can learn from it, whatever it is.

I try to remember this during times of my life where I feel like I'm struggling and drowning. I had planned to say something else, but I just looked at the words I chose: struggling and drowning. And now I'm wondering if it's my struggling that's making me feel like I'm drowning. Sometimes the best thing you can do is to stop the obsessive struggle and just float along.

Which actually leads quite well into what I WAS going to say. I have all these ideas about what my life is supposed to be like, and it's just not like that. It also doesn't look like it's going to be that way anytime soon. I keep feeling like *I* am doing something wrong to keep my life from being the way I expected it would be. I feel like I'm trapped in a net, and the more I see that and struggle, the more caught I become.

In a warped way it's kind of funny. I am now living the life I said I never wanted to live. Living back in Florida, working a job I tried to avoid. Did I doom myself to this life by declaring over and over that it isn't what I wanted? And in reality, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I keep having feelings of deja vu, which is an indicator to me that I'm where I'm supposed to be. Somehow it's still just not that comforting.

I don't know how to let go of all the expectations I have for my life, things I really want. What if I never meet Mr. Lyndsy? What if I never have kids? What if...? What if...? I ask myself these questions all the time. I try to accept that it may not happen, because it IS a possibility that I won't have kids or that I won't meet Mr. Lyndsy.

But I feel like letting go of the expectation,s accepting that they won't happen, just floating along is tantamount to giving up, losing hope. And is there anything worse than losing hope?

My Hetero Life Mate

After yesterday's post about Bullshit Friends, I feel like taking some time to chat about my Good Friends...

Many moons ago, when I was still a law student, I took a job as a student assistant for the HR department at my school. I worked with some pretty nice people, one of whom was too nice for her own good. And here's why...

I was at Target one Friday evening, bored out of my mind. I planned on taking myself on a hot date (let's face it, any time I go out with myself, it's pretty f'in hot), but I wasn't as enthralled about it as I wanted to be. I was meandering through the store when I bumped into my co-worker. Her Friday evening was obviously as exciting as mine.

We chatted for a few times, and then I began reeking of desperation. I mentioned my plan to go to Chili's for dinner and a movie so many times that she finally asked me if I wanted some company. I was pleased as punch. (I can't believe I just wrote that.) And since she didn't have a car at the time, she was totally at my mercy.

I think we had fun, but you'd have to ask her for the truth. It couldn't have been that bad, because we continued to hang out. For years.

We're both extremely stubborn. And stupidly so. We were out to dinner one night in a January and we were talking about going camping. I hadn't really been. She thought I was too much of a wuss to go. I'm pretty sure she was the one to suggest President's Day weekend, and without thinking much about it, I agreed. Not brilliant. In Washington, February isn't a particularly warm month. But, I had to go through with it after she said I was too much of a wuss to do it. I replied that SHE was the wuss. So neither of us backed down. And we froze our asses off. Do you know what it's like to try to put together a tent in the dark when the elastic in the poles has broken? It's NOT FUN.

Neither of us has traveled much and we thought it would be fun to take off on a trip for a couple weeks. Oddly enough, the only place we could agree on was Ireland. I'm a pretty easygoing traveler. She wanted to plan everything out, I didn't want to plan anything out. At the end of the day, all I had to do was follow her. Which got more and more challenging as the trip went on since I kept acquiring crap. She laughed as I lugged one giant suitcase, a rolling rugby bag, my backpack and a messenger bag all around Ireland. Bless her heart.

We survived that trip, though there were a few close calls. Me almost going over the edge of a cliff in the Aran Islands. Or falling off the back edge of a formation on the Giants Causeway. Joanne, angel that she is, photographed all of the near death experiences. She wouldn't dream of killing me on that trip. One, the authorities would come after her since we were obviously traveling together (see, there is a reason I blog what I do). But, the bigger factor is MY MOTHER. No one wants to deal with her when something happens to me.

Joanne left Seattle in 2010 to pursue a life in Texas. In the months leading  up to her leaving, I refused to call her by her name, calling her The Bitch Who's Leaving Me. She took it well, though I bet she secretly wanted to stab me every time I said it. After she left, for a few months, all I called her was The Bitch Who Left Me. I didn't really hold it against her though. I was the one who found a car that met her specifications.

Not living near her has been a huge bummer. I lost a good movie and dinner buddy. Someone who doesn't judge me for being, well, ME. Snarky people watching isn't quite the same when I do it by myself. It has given us opportunities to have different fun though. We spent this past weekend at Disney World. And while I'm sick as shit now (thanks Joanne) it was totally worth it.

HLM, I'm glad we're friends.

TO THE CURB with Bullshit Friends

Bullshit Friend and I have been talking about seeing Snow White and the Huntsman for MONTHS. Literally, months. So, imagine my surprise with this text exchange:

Me: Snow White and the Huntsman comes out tomorrow.

BF: I can't wait to see it! Sorry, but my cousin asked me to go.

O RLY? Your cousin asked you to go? Did she do this THREE MONTHS AGO when we started talking about this? No? Oh, right. PISS OFF.

Meanwhile, when I go to see movies either on my own or with family, movies that we'd sort of talked about seeing but hadn't gotten around to it, I get chewed. "I can't believe you went without me!" (Of course, BF's either gone without me or tried to go without me and gotten bailed on.) 

This is also after BF decided to give me "space" after an interesting episode with my family. BF was acting like a dick to me (being rude, punching my arms, smacking me "playfully") AROUND MY FAMILY, and for some reason can't understand why my family would be upset about it and not be super friendly the next time BF is around them. PERHAPS WE NEED TO CALL IN SHERLOCK HOLMES TO SOLVE THE MYSTERY.

This is basically one of my only friends locally. Fucking great.

I'm pretty close to telling BF to sit and rotate. Something keeps me from doing it, but I don't know what. I spend a lot of time frustrated, and that seems useless. I do have a tendency to keep people in my life longer than is healthy for me... Maybe now is the time to break the cycle. 

TO. THE. CURB.

My Life: The Uneventful

Back when I had stuff going on, there was shit to blog about. Now? Not so much.

My life is a bit dull. Uneventful. I might even go so far as to say BORING. Sorry Diane. (Diane has a theory that using the B word brings all manner of havoc into your life.) The upside is that I'm not losing my mind. The downside is that I don't have anything to blog about, except how boring my life is.

I go to work, I come home, work out, read/watchTV/play Scramble, and go to bed. Just writing that made me yawn. 

Perhaps I'll try to scare up something to write about. Hopefully I can do this without landing myself in jail. It's not a happy place to be. There's MRSA there.

My life as a bougainvillea

Outside of my parents' house they have a Demon Plant. Well, that's what I call it. In real life, it's a bougainvillea. It looks pretty, sometimes, but that's only so that it can lure you close to it and KILL you. It has all these nasty thorns on it, and they are THICK. They will go through the bottom of your shoe and into your foot if you're not watching where you walk. I hate the fucking thing.

My parents and I have recently attacked ours. We got sick of walking near it and having it reach out and snag us. It may have had some death going on with pieces of it as well. We hacked it to death. There's about nothing left of it, and I couldn't be happier.

Here's the problem. We can cut it down and cut it back as much as we want, but there's a MASSIVE root system underground. After a hurricane, they tried to flush it out and dig it up, but to no avail. No matter what they do, they can't get the damn thing gone.

I realized the other day that there are some things in my life that are like that fucking bougainvillea. I was having dinner with a friend the other night and we were talking about the last woman he dated. I asked why he stopped seeing her, and at first he didn't want to tell me because it was superficial. I have no idea how he thought he was going to get away with that. I forced him into telling me and he said it was because she'd gained a few pounds. Not 2 or 3, but something closer to 20. (I think he probably has no idea how much she gained.)

I had an IMMEDIATE reaction to this. I stayed calm and inquired about the reason for the weight gain and we moved on with the conversation. But for a couple days after that, I struggled with my desire to chat with him. I started wondering why it is that he spends any time with me since I'm not some skinny little thing and then I thought, well shit, he canNOT possibly think I'm attractive. And while that may be true, I certainly don't want to have it thrust in my face.

After I stepped away from it for a minute and thought about it. It's not my place to find fault with what someone else finds attractive. He may not like chunkier women, but I don't tend to find super skinny men attractive. And the reality is that all of that can fall by the wayside when you actually get to know someone. They become more attractive when you get to know and like their personalities.

If he'd said he stopped dating her because she was too short, I probably wouldn't have had any reaction to it at all because that's NEVER been an issue for me. But because weight's a trigger for me, it stings when someone calls it out.

I've come really far with accepting my body image and acknowledging that I'm more than just my weight. But no matter how far I've come with it, the little things just pop into my head. Sometimes I can hear my mom saying, "You'll never get an attractive man to marry you unless you lose weight," and I completely regress.

One day, I will figure out how to dig out those nasty little ideas. I will get to the root system and completely eradicate it. Until then, I'll just chop the hell out of the bougainvillea out front.

Paralyzed

Sometimes in life there are things we want so badly we can feel them physically. I don't think there are that many things we want that much. If there were, we wouldn't remember them the way we do.

I tend to believe that things happen in their own time and if they're supposed to happen. As much as I want something to happen (getting that job and staying in Seattle, for example), it doesn't always. I generally trust that if it doesn't happen, it's for the better.

But the waiting is agony. I'm your classic over-thinker. (Yes, that may have been a bit of an understatement.) I go back and forth, round and round, trying to look at everything from every angle, and trying to determine with some kind of certainty what's going to happen. No, I never really feel like I have success with that. Still, like the dog determined to get through that sliding glass door, I continue running at the door full steam until my head hurts so much I can't take it. I just KNOW there's going to be some kind of breakthrough if I keep at it.

I start strong, but after a while, I start to second guess myself. I wonder if I should be doing something differently. If I should be acting instead of just waiting. I believe that if I'm supposed to act, I'll get some kind of cue to move from the universe. A little voice will scream, "Action" in my ear and then I'll jump into the scene. But what if I don't?

Really, I want things to just happen. Like magic. You know, TA DA! And off we go.

Of course, if you've seen The Illusionist or The Prestige (both great movies), you know that every magic act is rehearsed until it's perfected and it's not really magic at all (at least like we want to believe it is). Nothing just HAPPENS. Someone has to do some work to get it there.

And that brings us to where I am right now. Is something supposed to happen? And if it is supposed to happen, am I the one who's supposed to be making things happen?  If it is on me, do I have it in me to do it? Can I overcome whatever insecurities, fears, and doubts I have to make it happen? Will I irrevocably screw things up if I push it and it isn't supposed to be? Can I live with that? Can I live with not doing something and just leaving things as they are?

So I haven't made a decision. But, by not making a decision, I'm making a decision. Ain't that a bitch?

Touchy Feely

It's been brought to my attention recently that I don't talk much about MY feelings. When I was first told this, my reaction was, "Seriously?? I am ALWAYS talking about my feelings." But when I got to thinking about it, I realized that it's not true.

In truth, I HATE talking about my feelings. I want other people to talk about their feelings to me. I talk about other people's feelings. But my own? No thanks, I'll pass.

I wondered if I just don't have feelings, but that doesn't seem right. I'm sure I do. Right?

A while ago, I made it my mission to tell people how they enrich my life and that I love them. I don't think we do that enough (I'm sure I've said that here before) and I know how much of a difference it makes to me when someone tells me that they care about me. I've also seen people have very positive reactions when I do reach out.

Even still, I'm not always great about it. And telling people I care about them is the extent of it. I don't know what happens to the rest of the feelings I have. Whatever it is that happens, I don't really process it in any way that I can appreciate it.

Someone also pointed out that when I'm interested in a guy, I never talk about how he makes me feel, it's always about how I make him feel. I know why I do the latter. I need reassurance that he really does feel that way. It's never the guy I'm interested in that I'm talking to about his feelings, it's MY friends who will of course reassure me of his feelings for me. Going to the guy himself would be way too traumatic for me to do.

But, the more important thing to pay attention to is that I treat my feelings like they don't matter. I sort of let everything get swept under the "I'm so into him!" rug. Even when the guy's a dick. I was totally all about a guy even though I KNEW that I couldn't count on him for shit. The dumb ass told me that I should at least give him a chance to prove he wasn't a fuck up, and when I did give him a chance, he totally screwed me and I was left to find a ride to the airport at 4am for a 7am flight. Gee, thanks.

Sometimes it's that the feelings are just super scary. It's like if I don't admit them, they don't really exist, and I won't get hurt. That "logic" is total crap and when people try to act that way, I call them on their bullshit and kick their asses into line. Of course, most of life is easier said than done.

In the Disney movie Hercules, Meg sings a song called "I Won't Say (I'm in Love)." The whole song is about how she won't say she's in love with Hercules when it's really obvious that she is completely in love with him. I can't fault the girl for trying it. It feels so much safer that way.

Of course, a safe life is a lonely life. At some point, you HAVE to break out of your shell. Even if I somehow manage to start dating someone without breaking out, he won't stay with me if I don't open up to him. It's not really a relationship that way. I wouldn't want him to be that way with me.

I still haven't really decided whether I'll choose safe and lonely or open and out there. I was chatting with a friend the other day, and as I was telling him about someone, he responded with, "you are like love of your life in love with this guy." Even if it's true, at this point, I'm totally not saying it.

Random Ramblings

I apparently haven't been in much of a mood to blog lately. I'm not really sure why that is. Still kind of not really in the zone for it, so instead of having a nice coherent post, I'm going to ramble about whatever pops into my head. (And to everyone who argues that's all my posts EVER are, piss off.)

1. I canNOT stand it when people change lanes in an intersection. I don't know if it's because it's against the law in like EVERY state or if it just seems particularly dangerous. All I know is that people down here in South Florida seem to do it every chance they get.

2. I'm a bit unimpressed with myself as of late. I haven't been writing. Haven't been snapping photos. And now that I'm working 4 days a week, I can't just go out whenever I want and do it. Of course, when I wasn't working, I didn't do it then either. Blargh.

3. I HAVE been keeping up with my exercises. Karen from A Fitter Image has been kicking my ass and I'm feeling pretty good. The core strengthening exercises we're doing really seem like they're helping and that's excellent news.

4. I'm sort of getting used to being back in Florida and almost enjoying it. I have a tan started so I don't look so pale and not like myself (read: not like a mixed kid). I love that while everyone I know in the Seattle area is freezing, I'm out riding my bike. I've been able to catch up with friends I haven't seen in ages. Two weekends since I've been back have been spent reconnecting. I'm currently working on designs for my own teleporter so I can zoom myself to the most comfortable bed I've ever been in each night and then back in the morning so I can go to work. (I'd just drive, bike or walk there, but it's 3 hours away.)

5. I've gotten myself worked up about something over which I have very little control. I'm fighting my natural impulses to get all into it and irritated about it, but you can only do that for so long before it's exhausting. Going with the flow seems like a better way to go so I'm working on it, but listen to what I just said: WORKING ON GOING WITH THE FLOW. Harumph.

6. I want a cupcake.

7. I love frozen yogurt, especially now that it comes in CAKE BATTER FLAVOR. How amazing is that? Add some Reese's cups, sprinkles and marshmallow cream and I'm in heaven. Want.

8. I still believe things are going well for me, so I stay hopeful that they'll stay that way. Working has been an adjustment and it's made me realize just how much the office life isn't for me. I'll do it because I gots billz to pay, but man, I heart me some freedom.

9. I still want a cupcake. And some Coke.

See you later. Hopefully I'll have something coherent to say.

LeBron, no one cares

Kobe Bryant: Hey, LeBron, it's Kobe. Call me back.

**LeBron James, distracted by something shiny, returns the call 2 days later**

LeBron: Kobe, man, what's up?
Kobe: LeBron, we need to talk.
LeBron: Obvi, why else would you be blowin' up my phone?
Kobe: Seriously, I called you once. Left one message. Didn't even text.
LeBron: Whatevs.
Kobe: Look, I'm here to help you.
LeBron: Help me what? I don't need yo help.
Kobe: Yes, you really do.
LeBron: Man, you're irrelevant now. Why would I need your help.
Kobe: ::silence::
LeBron: Kobe, you there?
Kobe: Yeah. So, here's the thing. No one cares about you anymore. It's all Jeremy Lin and Linsanity. You need to get with it.
LeBron: Naw man. That shit ain't right.
Kobe: Look, I've been through this. I was hot shit forever. And then you came along. You were the little brother I didn't want.
LeBron: Like a brother from another mother?
Kobe: Uh, yeah. Like that.
LeBron: So, now Jeremy's my brother from another mother?
Kobe: Yeah.
LeBron: Aw damn.
Kobe: So stop saying stupid shit, like you'll dunk for a million dollars. Be classy.
LeBron: ::sucks in snot, voice wavering:: Okay man. I feel you.
Kobe: Seriously man, keep it classy.

LeBron James said he'd participate in the dunk contest if there was a $1M purse. Here's my question: Does anyone care if LeBron does it?

First of all, the dunk contest is ridiculous. Earlier today I walked past the TV when they were talking about ridiculous it's become. Back in the day, when people actually played the game, rather than passing the ball high to some guy whose parents obviously overfed him steroids as a kid to dunk it, it WAS something to watch. Now you have to jump over 6 flaming cars, while wearing flame attracting material and singing Lady Gaga's latest song in French for anyone to care.

Second, I don't pay much attention to basketball (since it's all about big players and dunking, with no basketball SKILL), but I have heard ALL about Jeremy Lin. HE is the new IT GUY of basketball. Sure, LeBron's all amazing, but so was Kobe Bryant, and who's talking about Kobe these days? Granted, Kobe had that nasty little "alleged" rape situation and it didn't help his popularity, but he's still playing and he's still good.

Third, what's with demanding a big ole heap of cash? I seriously doubt that LeBron needs a solid gold Humvee or diamond-studded swimming pool (thank you, Weird Al). What's $1M to him? Maybe he's got a crazy hookers and blow habit we don't know about. Maybe it's his collection of women's lingerie. I don't know, but I seriously doubt $1M is a big deal to him.

It's just gross. The whole thing is just for publicity and money. Not everything an athlete does should or needs to have some crazy high price tag on it.

Will someone PLEASE send LeBron a memo to tell him to get over himself?

Ignore that I look like a nutter

A picture is worth a thousand words. I think this one certainly deserves more than a thousand, but most of them would just be "OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR FACE?" on repeat.

 

That look, my friends, that look is called STREET WALKER. And I thought it was SEXY. I was browsing through the pictures on my phone one day and I realized just how awful it was. A friend of mine sells Mary Kay products and ALWAYS looks very well made up. I sought her out. And spent a ton of money. And then decided to do for others what she did for me. 

 

Last night I was chatting with a friend about selling Mary Kay products. She responded that she couldn't even imagine me wearing makeup. I gave her the run-down on what I wear and she commented she'd never worn eyeliner, wouldn't even know how to put it on. Naturally that meant she couldn't imagine it on me. I suggested the most brilliant thing in the world - I would do BEFORE and AFTER shots of me in makeup. Taking the photos myself was a bit challenging as I'm a bit of a dumbass with self-portraits. Not one of these photos has my whole face in it. However, I think you can still tell where there's makeup and where there's not. Maybe. I hope.

A hint: I'm wearing makeup in two of them and I happen to think I look better in those two. I leave you to be the judges. 

And yes, I do realize I have creeper eyes in that upper right photo. I'm not a creeper. I swear.

This Means War: A Movie Review

It was inevitable that I would see this. A romantic comedy with Reese Witherspoon and two guys that you can't help but drool over. It's a no-brainer.

Don't bother reading critics' reviews of the movie. You aren't going to see this because you expect an Oscar. You're going to see it because you want a little dose of love in your life. It's an ensemble cast of gorgeous people doing things that no one in real life could do. (Seriously, using CIA resources to launch war on your best friend because he's dating the same girl you are?) IT'S NOT REAL. We get that. 

Lauren (Reese Witherspoon) gets thrown onto an online dating site by her best friend Trish (Chelsea Handler). Through an odd twist of fate, she meets Tuck (Tom Hardy) and FDR (Chris Pine) on the same day - after a date with Tuck she stumbles into FDR who eventually forces his way into a date with her. The rest...is the movie.

Reese Witherspoon turns in an excellent performance, as usual. I think she even gets to break out and have a little more fun than we've gotten to see out of some of her other movies. She almost seems more like one of us. There was even a scene where I felt embarrassed  for her. Amazing, right?

Chris Pine and Tom Hardy play very well together. As young CIA agents, they bring enough action to the movie that any guy forced into seeing it should be amused. The movie blends the action and the romance together well. Not quite enough for it to be an action flick, but not too far off either.

Adding Chelsea Handler as Reese's sidekick was a brilliant touch. It adds edgy humor (can Chelsea do it any other way?) and I found myself laughing out loud quite a bit. We all need a friend like her.

All in all, a fun movie. It's not original. It won't win any awards. Yes, you'll know the ending before it happens. But who cares? It's like getting home after a long, hard day at work, and crawling into your warm unmade bed.

I bet you like your ribs too much

As you all know, I'm into the online dating. Recently, I started seeing a rash (poor choice of words, methinks) of profiles that mention "GGG." I'm pretty sure that the guys aren't talking about supersized boobs, so I googled it. Turns out, GGG stands for "Good, Giving, Game." It's a concept created by Dan Savage who is the author of Savage Love, a column in the Stranger, a Seattle weekly (?) publication. It's an extremely popular column, and worth a read.

Anyway, Good, Giving, Game: "GGG stands for 'good, giving, and game,' which is what we should all strive to be for our sex partners. Think 'good in bed,' 'giving equal time and equal pleasure,' and 'game for anything—within reason.'"

This came up today because I got into a conversation with a friend about a dating situation she's involved in. She was sort of trying to avoid the guy today, and I told her I couldn't understand how she does it. She was like, "do what?" And I responded (perhaps not entirely truthfully), "I ALWAYS go where there is sex to be had." she was like, "meh, it's not that good," which led to me revising my statement to, "I ALWAYS go where there is good sex to be had." (Not sure why I'm mentioning this since it's not entirely relevant to the story.)

So we get to talking and she further explained that he likes to ask for things, but not do things, if you know what I mean. And you know what, that's totally unacceptable. It's just completely wrong. You don't get to ask for things if you aren't willing to do them.

I'm going to be super clear about something right now. Men, any time a woman decides to pleasure you with oral sex, it's not because your penis is a Rod of God. It is NOT a gift for us. We do it because we know it makes you happy. And, also, in case you didn't know, IT DOESN'T TASTE LIKE CHOCOLATE.

So here's the deal, if you're going to ask for us to enjoy your lollipop, you better be ready to tend to the Lady Garden. That's the "giving equal time and equal pleasure" the wise Mr. Savage speaks of. Get over yourselves and do the right thing. Or, you can have a rib removed and take care of it yourself.

Damn VD

Last Valentine's Day I moved out of my boyfriend's house. Looking back, it's clearly one of the best decisions I've made, though it was hard to make at the time.

Never having been with anyone on Valentine's Day, I was so hopeful that it would turn out to be a great day. A card from someone besides my mom, flowers from someone other than a friend who understood my love of black flowers. But it wasn't to be. No card, no flowers. The excuse for not giving the card? He didn't feel well that day. Because Valentine's Day is a surprise every year. You never know when it's going to pop up on the calendar. Oh wait, IT'S ON THE SAME DAY EVERY YEAR.

A year later, I'm single. Living in my parents' house. Unemployed. No idea where I'm going with my life. I got a card and package of candy from Joanne. My mom told me I'm her Valentine.

As lame as all of that is, it's still better than last year.

I know Valentine's Day is an overcommercialized and obnoxious day. I think we should celebrate the people we love every day, but sometimes life gets in the way. Whether you're married, engaged,  partnered, or single, take some time today to tell the people in your life that you love them. You never know how much it'll mean to someone else.

"Remember, the light at the end of the tunnel may be you." ~Aerosmith

Want, want, want

We all have lists of things that we want. Sometimes we write them down, sometimes they're in our heads. I'm not just talking about grocery lists here either. I'm talking about big life goals too. If we're not careful, these lists will make us crazy.

On any given day, there's a long line of things that run through my head about my life. An average day goes like this for me:

Morning-ish: Wake up. Realize I didn't get up with an alarm. Think, "Crap! I'm late for work!!!" Freak out briefly then remember I don't have a job. ACK, new wave of panic.

1. FIND A JOB BEFORE STUDENT LOAN AND CREDIT CARD PEOPLE ARE KNOCKING ON THE DOOR AND I AM FORCED TO WORK AS A "LADY OF THE NIGHT."

Afternoon: Search simplyhired.com and indeed.com and (ugh) craigslist for jobs. Fall into a state of despair over the lack of suitable jobs. Spy the bag of peanut butter M&Ms on the floor and begin consuming them at an alarming rate. Once hands are covered in candy-coating and stomach is rolling, realize how many calories I've just consumed and OH GOD...

2. REALIZE I HAVE TO STOP EATING CRAP AND START EXERCISING OR WILL BE A CHUNKY MONKEY FOREVER AND THE REST OF MY LIFE WILL BE SHIT

Later afternoon: Get on my bike and go for a ride to undo some of the damage from earlier M&M binge. Use feelings of self-loathing to power bike. Pass by good looking men also out exercising. Glance at them and remember

3. I AM SINGLE AND LIVING AT HOME WITH NO PROSPECTS. MUST HUNT ON INTERWEBS FOR SUITABLE MATE WITH WHOM I CAN PROCREATE

Evening: Showered and clean, sit around on interwebs looking for suitable mate. Chat with girlfriends online about lack of suitable prospects for person of my attractiveness level, or really any attractiveness level. Fall asleep sad and crying over lack of anything valuable in my life. 

My car is 10 years old. My clothes aren't suitable for living in a place where the temperature rarely drops below 70 degrees. My feet are screaming for a pedicure. I'm sleeping in a twin bed on sheets I've had since I was 4.  Yes, my life is full of win.

But the thing is, I'm in a house where my parents are supportive of my decision to quit a job that wasn't working for me anymore (mostly). My twin bed is surround by craft materials that I've used to make Valentine's cards for some really amazing people in my life; people who support me while my life takes a detour I didn't expect. Yes, I have student loans, but I also have a million college degrees that will eventually help me find a job that will keep me in M&Ms and on the internet. I may not be thin, but I'm relatively healthy - which is a blessing since it wasn't true this time last year. 

The lists that run in my head are good because they keep me striving for more in my life. And I should be striving for more. But I let myself get bogged down by all the negative parts of my life. There's a fine balance there, and I don't do a great job walking the line. I need to take some time, every time I get hit by my list, to think of something positive so I can stay steady. 

I also need to keep in mind that things happen when they're meant to. I'm not a particularly patient person. ("The hell you say, Lyndsy!" No really, I'm not. It's okay. I know it.) I want things to happen when I want them to happen and HOW I want them to happen. As though *I* really know best. 

There are probably a million songs about not getting what you want, but the one that jumps out at me the most is Garth Brooks' "Unanswered Prayers." When I think about it, there are probably THOUSANDS of things I've wished and hoped for that never came true. And I am SO thankful they didn't (me rocking some Stepford Wife outfits, leading the PTA, all while dying on the inside). There were a few things that I MADE come true for me. The universe was pushing me one way, but I pushed my own way. And you know what, they ended rather poorly (me moving out of my boyfriend's house at 10 o'clock at night, fresh bruise on my chest, for example).

I can want and want and want as much as I like, but the reality is that it's a waste of energy. I need to push toward my goals; nothing comes to lazy people (except unwanted pounds). But I also need to remember that what I WANT and what's BEST for me may be two different things. If I open my mind to the possibility that there's something amazing out there for me, even if I haven't envisioned it yet, I may be pleasantly surprised.

Day 5: Yes, I made it

When last we left off, I was trying to jump curbs in my car and fight off bedbugs at a Super 8. Perhaps because of the bedbugs, we were up REALLY early on Sunday to complete our trip. We were checked out of the hotel by 6:30am. Yeah, I don't usually know what that time of day even means.

After the night before and because of the early hour, Matt took the first driving shift. I got comfortable in the passenger seat and tried to stay awake. American Express finally seemed to catch on to the fact that I was traveling across the country and I had to get a call into them before I could fill up the tank.

Matt's morning was made when we saw a Dunkin Donuts next to the gas station. We'd been looking the entire trip, but they only became commonplace when we got to Florida. Matt pulled into the drive-thru and they took our order. We got to the window and a young guy leaned out for the money. He looked into the backseat and saw Orpheus' cage.

Guy: What is that???

Matt: It's a guinea pig [tone of "duh"]

Guy: That is a big rat.

Me: [Glaring at guy though he can't see me]

Our progress was steady until we hit Gainesville. Matt suggested I pull up the traffic layer on the GPS. I noticed a line of red ahead of us and then gray. I couldn't figure out why there was just NO traffic. We were directed off the highway and into the city to get to 441 and back on the freeway. Wildfires the night before caused a number of car accidents and I-75 was closed off in both directions. We passed areas where the fires were still smoking a little. VERY happy we didn't go through there the night before.

From there, it was smooth sailing. I dropped Matt off at home right around 3ish - the time he asked to be home. I got home around 4 and texted Matt to let him know I made it home and to thank him again for riding with me.

Me: Made it home. I can't thank you enough.

Matt: No problem. I would do it again. Just not tomorrow.

Me: LOL, or the day after :)

Matt: Or in your car.

Me: Agreed.

He's obviously crazy.

Day 4: I still hate Texas/My car IS an off-road vehicle

Day 4 started with a delicious breakfast at Our Place in Fort Worth, Texas. It's Joanne's usual spot, and for good reason. Our server was a little off her rocker, but the food came out correctly so I won't slam her too much. I think the highlight of breakfast was watching Matt try to get the powdered sugar off his french toast, but stealth style. Joanne and I are chatting and then she's looking at him like, "WTF?" So I looked over, and there's powdered sugar flying off the table onto the floor and his phone. Joanne and I burst out laughing. Matt didn't see the problem.

Also amusing was Joanne finding a banana peel stuck to my bike rack. The day before, Matt had asked me to chuck his peel out my window since I was riding closest to the grass. I didn't get it very far and Matt actually thought it hadn't even left the car. With exaggerated confidence I declared that it had definitely cleared the car. Oops.

I don't intend to drive through Louisiana all that soon again. Matt got the morning shift for driving and we're cruising along at a nice 85mph since it's a 75mph speed limit there. Before, too long, there are some pretty blue lights flashing behind us. The state trooper asked Matt to STEP OUT OF THE CAR. Totally not how most states roll, so Matt's a little on edge. I'm sitting in the car for a while, wondering what the hell is going. I can hear pieces of the conversation - Matt's FL license, but the WA tags on the car, etc. Eventually the trooper comes over and asks if it's my car. Snappishly I tell him it is, and I had over my license and registration. He didn't even bother looking at my license.

The conversation between Matt and the Douchewhore lasts a few more minutes and I'm wondering if they're swapping recipes or something. Matt comes back, finally, and is frustrated as all hell. Apparently the first thing the Dick with a Radar Gun said was, "I'm going to give you a citation," and then proceeded to ask Matt where he was from, as though Matt would have ANY interest in chatting at that point. Ugh.

We stopped in New Orleans for dinner. It was HELLA crowded there. I guess a Saturday evening isn't a great time to make a pit stop there, but whatever. I popped into some tourist trap store and picked up a zydeco CD for my stepfather and some other stuff. We walked around looking at the restaurants in the immediate vicinity. Here's the thing, I'm not an adventurous eater. Spicy foods hit my tongue and I immediately want to expel them from my system. Some of the restaurants looked intriguing, but I wasn't about to chance it. Fortunately, Matt's not into spicy or unfamiliar foods either, so I didn't have to feel like a tool for suggesting the Hard Rock Cafe. It were delicious.

We hit the road again and drove as quickly as possible through Mississippi and Alabama. Those are great states to cruise through at night, not much to see. The night really isn't my friend though. Somewhere in Alabama we had to get gas, so I pull off the highway and decide to go to the big TA Travel Center station. I wait for oncoming traffic to pass, and then I go. *I* think I'm going into the gas station. Turns out, I was actually to the left of the driveway, on some grass. Didn't realize it until my car is flying over a curb. We landed with a thud and I looked up to see that I was actually in a gas station designed for SEMIS. I pulled into the closest parking space to inspect the damage to my car. While I'm sure he was pissed off at me, William Christopher doesn't seem to be any worse for the wear (except for the tumbleweed I pulled out of the grill...). Matt's just shaking his head and I KNOW he's dying to tell me AGAIN how he's a better driver than I am. At that point, I would probably have had to admit he was right...

After getting gas, I kept driving. No idea how Matt didn't force me into the passenger sit. We hit the Florida state line, and I started to crumble a little bit. At that point, it became real to me that I was actually moving back to FL. I'm crossing the border, in my car that's loaded down with my stuff. Poor Matt had no idea what to do while I was crying. We stopped at a seriously sketchy Super 8, sure we'd be carrying bedbugs back to South Florida with us.

Day 3: Thanks, Texas, but I'll pass

The driving. Oh the driving. Our goal for Day 3 was to get to Ft. Worth to visit stay with a friend of mine. That meant getting through 2.5 states. Now, it's not like Arizona and New Mexico are HUGE or anything like that, but they aren't tiny either.

We set out pretty early (7am or so) so we'd make it before midnight. Matt got us checked out of the hotel and brought me a cup of delicious bacon for breakfast. That's right. A CUP of bacon. A-mazing! I obviously got the better end of the deal - he had a soft apple and an unripened banana. (Which seemed to love us. More on that later.)

When we hit the road, it was still a bit dark out. That didn't last long. As I was driving through some beautiful red rock areas, out of nowhere (NOWHERE, I say!), this giant orb rose into the sky. It produced a magnificent light and radiated heat. I was unsure what it was, having not seen it in so long. Matt informed me it was something called "the sun." Well, this "sun" was REALLY blinding. We pulled in for some gas (in the middle of empty space), and I bought a pair of cheap sunglasses. It was either looking like I was in a bad '90s movie or drive us off into the tumbleweeds. I added some peanut butter M&Ms to my breakfast here. It were wonderful.

Once my eyes were appropriately protected, the driving got much easier. The views we got in New Mexico and Arizona were gorgeous. It seems hard to believe that so much nothing could be so breathtaking, but it was. When the sun started to set in New Mexico, I wanted to pull over and take pictures, but that seemed inadvisable since there wasn't really a place to go besides the side of the road.

We finally crossed into Tex-ass (which is how I said it every time I saw a sign with "Texas" on it, pretty sure Matt wanted  to beat me to death). The traffic backed up and the towns were totally po-dunk. We passed through Amarillo around 5pm and should have stopped there for dinner. Had we known what was coming, we would have. But, we thought it was too early and assumed we'd pass through another decently sized town. Ha.

We got to Childress, Texas and couldn't take it anymore, we had to eat. We'd eaten so much fried and fast food, that we wanted something different. So we chose Pizza Hut. On a Friday night. Whoops. We tried to order it for carry-out, but they told us it would take 45 minutes so I told them we'd eat-in instead. The girl took forever to understand my order - 2 personal cheese pizzas and an order of cheese sticks isn't really that challenging of an order. When she'd finally gotten it, I picked a table near the back that looked like it had been cleaned in the last week or so. Matt expressed concerns about the safety of the car and my bike decided we should sit near the door. HE picked a table that was coated in I don't know how many people's lunches and dinners. As I went to set my arms down on the table, he screeched out, "DON'T TOUCH THE TABLE!" Like that was somehow really going to be an option.

We looked around and were sort of appalled. The salad bar was gross looking and there were croutons or something all over the floor around it. No one ever came to wipe off our table either. We watched people come and go, and I thanked whatever powers I believed in at the time that that place wasn't my hometown.

They finally brought our food and asked if we wanted silverware. The waitress brought back plastic forks. That's it. A KNIFE might have been helpful. We didn't try to push our luck with her. I started eating, and almost immediately regretted it. The personal pan pizzas aren't even that big, but I didn't finish mine. We paid and got back in the car. Within 30 minutes of being back in the car, I felt sick. About the same time, Matt looked at me and said we were never eating there again. My agreement was rapidly granted.

We finally rolled into Ft. Worth around 10:45. I don't know that I've been happier to get somewhere. I loved catching up with Joanne since I hadn't seen her in over a year and a half. And, it was really nice to sleep in an actual bed.

Friday was a loooooooooooong day.

Day 2: A great place to hide a body

We made a very important decision upon waking up: Screw the Pacific Coast Highway. We’d had nothing but low-to-no visibility, so the whole point of traveling on it was lost. We got in the car at the hotel and pulled up Google maps on our phones. We told it to take us to Vegas the fastest way. Unfortunately, because we’d already come so far, we had to continue on the PCH. We did finally make it over to I-5 and had relatively smooth sailing.

I also had some little nuggets of joy. First one – when I opened the car door to load my bags, an odor wafted out at me. I knew there was no way I could ride for a whole day with the smell, so I started to investigate. I sniffed all around the car, but couldn’t identify it. Then I realized what it was. My nail polish was in the trunk, in a plastic case. Apparently the plastic isn’t strong enough to contain the odor. Rather than suffer, I threw it away in the hotel room. Fifteen bottles of nail polish – gone, a casualty of the road.

When I went to shut the trunk after taking out the nail polish and filling the space with something else (my car is COMPLETELY packed), I went to shut the trunk lid. Turns out, the trunk didn’t really need my help. It came flying down ON MY BOOB. I have a nice welt and bruise to prove it. JOY.

The next bit of fun came when we stopped at the gas station to fuel up before heading out for the day. I was walking around to the back of my car to get to the gas tank. A homeless man was standing behind my car, staring at my bike. I thought he might be considering stealing it, so I said hi. His response was, “My Specialized Flyer bike was nicer than yours.” And then he walked off. Fucker.

It nearly gave me a panic attack to hand over the keys, but I just couldn’t drive after a while. My neck was 85 kinds of tense and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I asked Matt not to kill us. He said he wouldn’t make any promises.

At one point, we were having conversation and I was munching on some blueberry Jelly Belly. Not much else to do in the car when you’re driving at 90 miles an hour a high rate of speed. I responded to him and looked away. When I looked back over at him, he was laughing uncontrollably. I asked him what was so fucking funny, but he wouldn’t/couldn’t answer. Apparently I have a slight problem with spraying it instead of saying it. I’d totally spit jelly bean on his face. I told him I was just trying to share the jelly beans with him and that I was hurt he was laughing at my offering. The bastard.

As the night descended upon us, we got to thinking about Vegas and whether we should continue to Vegas or just head toward Dallas. Knowing that we wouldn’t get in until at least midnight pushed us toward skipping it. I also learned that I might not be the world’s best pet mother. Matt was the one who asked if Orpheus would even be allowed in the hotel if we stayed at a place on The Strip. I looked back at my baby, sitting in his cage, staring at me as though I’m forcing him endure the most horrific experience with this trip (not surprising, since Matt feels the same way). I made the hard decision and said, “Well, he can probably sleep in the car.” Matt at looked at me as though I’d grown a third head and I also got the sense that if he ever has children of his own, I will not be allowed to go within 500 feet of them. He said I lack maternal instinct. I stared at him blankly, but ultimately we decided to bypass Vegas and re-routed ourselves straight to Dallas.

We got pushed onto some really odd state roads and ended up going through a place called Nipton. The road to Nipton is dark, scary, and prone to flooding. If you were looking for a place to bury a body where NO ONE will ever find it (as long as you bury it deep in the ground), that is the place. I pointed that out to Matt. I was a bit freaked when he turned to me, smiled like Heath Ledger’s Joker and said, “I was just thinking that.” There were very few cars and it was PITCH BLACK. It was the darkest 31 miles of our lives. There were no gas stations along the way and we were just shy of pushing the car to the gas station ourselves. No cell signal meant I wouldn’t be able to call for roadside assistance either.

We took a brief drive along the historic Route 66, humming the son to ourselves. Yes, we know we’re dorks. We made it to the hotel in Kingman, Arizona for our earliest check-in yet – 10something

Quick re-cap of the trip so far:

Times Matt’s told me that I need to re-set my lady cycle to match his: 2

Times Matt’s asked “Are we there yet?”: 3

Times Matt’s denied that he volunteered to do this drive with me: 15

Highest elevation point: 7,355

Times Matt has said he’s a better driver than me: 7,500 7,501

Times Matt’s threatened to kill me and leave my body somewhere: 10gajillion

Times I’ve been thankful he’s riding with me: How many hours have we been driving? At least once an hour.

Day 1/2 and Day 1: Visibility, what's that?

We spent the first day and a half playing a little game I like to call, "Where'd the road go?"

When Matt and I set out on our fantastic adventure, it was dumping rain in Seattle. It had taken a little longer than I expected to get on the road (I need to learn to pack less for a trip, my car is stuffed), and we didn't leave Seattle until almost 7pm. We stopped at the Claim Jumper in Southcenter before truly beginning our adventure. The rain didn't let up in the time we ate. It dumped on us all the way to Vancouver, Washington, where we stopped for the night. Hours and hours of rain. I was excited at the idea that it would clear up the next day and we'd have gorgeous views. Ha.

We started the next day by driving 15 or so miles in the wrong direction. I'd been through the Portland area a few times, so I had a vague understanding of where we should be to head to US 101. We reset the map, and sure enough, going the wrong way.

I wish I could say the driving got better, but frankly, it did not. We had SERIOUS visibility issues the whole day. Fog would descend upon us, forcing me to reduce our speed to a crawl. We had ZERO views.

It wasn't all that bad...until night fell. We finally crossed the border into California sometime in the early evening (after stopping at some agriculture checkpoint. The woman could see the cage in the car and asked what kind of pet I was carrying. She let Orpheus through. He told me if she'd said no, he would have bitten her and run to a pre-decided rendezvous spot. I'm sure the plan would have worked).

We drove through a few boring towns and then got onto the Redwood Highway. I will say this about that drive: It is dangerous and treacherous. It was dark. There was HEAVY fog. There were steep grades. I'd have my foot off the pedal, cruising down the hill and then all of a sudden, FOG! A SHARP TURN. Brakes slamming, turning, WHEE. Fuck.

Here's the other thing: There is NOTHING on the PCH. Nothing. It took forever to find a place to eat - both at lunch and dinner. Lunch ended up at a place I'd been to before, which was pretty good and thankfully did not make sick to my stomach. Dinner was HOURS AND HOURS later, because again, there was nowhere to eat that didn't look like it was infested with roaches and assorted diseases. We finally stopped at a place called the Lost Coast - a brewery. It was also pretty good - my turkey sandwich and fries didn't seem to want to kill me.

We decided to press on, assuming we'd be able to stop in an hour or so. We are funny people like that. Assuming there are decent places to stay along a well-traveled highway. Fuck that. We ended up driving another THREE hours before stopping in a place called Willits, California. More hours of dense fog, rain, and sharp curves. I have never been on a more nerve-wracking drive in my life. Fuck me.

Finally too exhausted to go on (or so we thought), we almost stopped in a place called Laytonville around 11:15, but when we went to pull into one of the "inns" we noticed it was a bit sketch, so I did a U-turn in the empty highway to go back to the other one. I ended up making a FULL DONUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY because there were some seriously skeevy people hanging out in front of the other "inn." We drove on.

We are both foolishly hoping that today is better. Travel guides, please smile upon us today.

One Hell of a Ride

My time in Seattle is drawing to a close. Tomorrow I begin the road trip that will take me back to the land of the Evil Day Star (read: Florida). 

Yeah, that's right. I'm DRIVING back to Florida. Matt, the brave soul, flies in tomorrow to take the ride with me. And my sweet little guinea pig, Orpheus Offenbach. Five days, two people, one guinea pig, one car. Should be...interesting. Especially since Matt informed just yesterday that he gets a bit crazy (and not in a good way), when cooped up in the car for a while. Gee, perhaps he could have mentioned this to me SOMETIME BEFORE NOW. Oh well.

We plan on stopping somewhere in Oregon tomorrow night, Vegas on Wednesday night (yeah right, we aren't getting there by then), Dallas on Thursday, New Orleans on Friday, and being home on Saturday. Hahahahahah. So not going to happen.

I'm hoping to get some great pictures along the way and I'll post them here. It's not every day you get to make this kind of drive. Also, it's not like you WANT to make this kind of drive all the time. I know William Christopher (my car) isn't really thrilled. He'll be 11 years old this May, and I think he'd rather I put him on a truck and shipped him. Oh well.

Wish me luck! (And pray that Matt and I don't kill each other. I mean, if someone was going to kill me, they should have done it before I did all the packing...)

Testicular Drag: A PSA

I'm here today to talk to you about something that affects all of us - male or female. That something is testicular drag (TD).

Yes, everyone, I AM talking about a man's testicles. I'm going to assume that everyone knows what the testicles are and the purpose they serve. (For those who don't know, please go to Wikipedia.)

What isn't often spoken about is testicular drag and the way it affects the men in our lives. Perhaps the best thing I can do is to talk about some of the symptoms of testicular drag.

• Inability to think clearly when a scantily clad woman walks by
• Inability to think at all when sports are on television
• Inability to understand and speak about simple emotional concepts
• Failure to provide the correct answers to questions, even after being told repeatedly what the correct answer is
• Inability to admit error (especially seeking out directions when clearly lost)

Perhaps the most egregious symptom is mansplaining. Not familiar with the concept? Allow me.

From urbandictionary.com:
delighting in condescending, inaccurate explanations delivered with rock solid confidence of rightness and that slimy certainty that of course he is right, because he is the man in this conversation.

Even though he knew she had an advanced degree in neuroscience, he felt the need to mainsplain, "There are molecules in the brain called neurotransmitters."

Another definition, perhaps clearer (from Karen Healey's blog):
Mansplaining is when a dude tells you, a woman, how to do something you already know how to do, or how you are wrong about something you are actually right about, or miscellaneous and inaccurate "facts" about something you know a hell of a lot more about than he does.

(She awards bonus points for the man explaining how a woman was wrong about something being sexist.)

We've seen the symptoms. I'd wager we all know someone who suffers from this terrible affliction. But how does it happen? Testicular drag is quite simple: The force of gravity on the testicles pulls energy away from other important activities in man's body - particularly brain function. This provides a simple, yet compelling, explanation for the nonsensical comments and activities of men.

Sadly, there is no cure for testicular drag. The only relief we'd be able to get from TD is for men to acknowledge there is a problem and seek out guidance from those not afflicted. They could learn  ways to communicate more effectively and find value in other activities (i.e. shopping and gardening). Sadly, many will not even acknowledge TD exists and will use mansplanations to divert us away from the issue.

For those of you who encounter a man who's suffering an acute episode of TD, the key is to remain calm. Remember their affliction. Speak slowly, using small words. Offer visual clues to guide them (keeping your cleavage covered completely). Mostly importantly, we have to understand their limitations and adjust our expectations accordingly (read: lower them). By following these steps, we'll all be able to live with our men a little more easily.

This PSA was brought to you by your caring friends at Dose of Lyndsy. Please feel free to comment with your thoughts, concerns, or questions. A support group will be created shortly.

I'm beautiful, and so are you

 If you lost 60 pounds, you'd be beautiful. - Lyndsy's mom

You'll never get an attractive man to marry you unless you lose weight. - Lyndsy's mom

Someone like that wouldn't be interested in someone your size. - Lyndsy's mom

It's been years since my mom said those things to me, and they still sting when I read them. And I guess they should. They're terrible things to say. Bless her heart, I know she was trying to help me. She wants me to be happy and she truly doesn't believe that people who overweight can find love with attractive people or probably succeed in life at all.

I'd been thinking about this post for a while, but for some reason, I delayed writing it. Then, two days ago, I got a Facebook chat message from a friend, "I hate being single lol." I responded with a laugh and asked why. I got this response. "Lol idk. Like I'm too shy to say anything to guys. My mom makes me self conscious to ever say anything," and it broke my heart, but I could understand where she was coming from (see above quotes). 

Our mothers come from the same twisted line of thinking that beauty is about what you look like on the outside, especially size (perhaps it's genetic - our mothers are sisters). I don't know what's happened in their lives that makes them think this way, but I feel so bad for them. The pressure on them to comply with this ridiculous notion of beauty has to have been immense. 

My mom would occasionally try to argue it was about my health, but I know that wasn't really it. And if it were about my health, she really shouldn't have been saying it. We all know how we feel when someone says something like that to us. We end up feeling worse about ourselves, which leads to us engaging in whatever destructive behavior got us to the point we're in. When my mom said that to me, I didn't immediately head to the gym. I went to the closest McDonald's and supersized whatever I was eating. Hardly going to help the weight issue.

Most of you know I don't believe in coincidence. A few days ago I had a wonderful phone conversation with a man who recommended the movie What the #$*! Do We Know?! I started it, but it was late and I couldn't focus enough to watch it (it's mind-bending shit about quantum physics). I forgot about it. Then today, someone mentioned it on Facebook, so I queued it back up. Here's the lack of coincidence: Part of the movie is about how our negative thoughts and attitudes affect our chemistry. With continued negative thinking, we re-wire our brains and it impacts our reactions to things and makes it harder to have a better response. That's a horrible summary of it, but the point is this: The longer we bombard our bodies with negative attitudes, the harder it is to break out of it. 

Huh. So, by drilling it in to us that we're fat and no one will love us, these moms are actually helping perpetuate the condition. Oops, probably not their intent.

What's worse is that it's based on bullshit. First of all, my mom premised her statements on the mistaken belief that she and I define attractiveness the same way. We definitely do not. (No offense to my dad or stepdad.) Second, she assumes that everyone subscribes to her warped view that physical attractiveness is the most defining factor of what attracts people to relationships. If a guy does that, he and I aren't likely to be compatible anyway. 

What people are attracted to is sexiness. Sexiness is about confidence. A friend in college told me that, but I didn't believe him at the time. But look at Queen Latifah. I dare someone to tell her she isn't attractive. Look at Seal. His face is crazy scarred and he's married to Heidi Klum and they have tons of babies (read: even more sex). I could go on all day with examples, but jeebus I've already gone on for a while. 

I spent years being screwed up by my mom's bullshit about my weight and other things (school loans, use of the word "douche"). After a while though, I could see it was all crap. I was DATING. As a fat girl. Guys liked me. And I wondered why and it killed things for me. But then I had to think about they could possibly like and I started to see that I'm funny as hell. I've got a heart of gold. I'm smart. 

All of us have gifts. We need to spend more time cultivating them and less time worrying about what's "wrong" with us. Chances are good, nothing's actually wrong with any of us.