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