Currently Chasing: Coincidence

So way back in 2005 I met a guy. I mean, I’m always meeting guys, but this was an exceptionally crazy circumstance. More than a year ago I was reminded of the story and I blogged about it here. I’ll wait for you to get all caught up.

So Saturday my daughter has a birthday party. I tell her she can invite three girls. She picks two girls I know well and one girl that I’m not super familiar with. I call her mother and make sure that everything is ok with her coming to the party and then spending the night. Her mother says that it is fine. She mentions that it is her ex husbands weekend with the kids and asks if I can just drop her off at her father’s house the day after the party. No problem. So she sends me his name, address and phone number.

I stare at the name. It’s a fairly common name, not unlike Chris (although it’s not Chris) so I don’t think too much about it. But the address is in the same city as the “Chris” that I used to know way back then so just to be sure I write to a mutual friend.

Me: Hey, so I’m looking at this girl’s dad’s information and I have to ask. This isn’t the same guy from 2005 is it? You know…the air guitar guy? The guy who was growing weed in his house?

Mutual friend: Ha! OMG No. Not at all. I’ve met him, it’s not the same person.

Me: Ok. You are sure right?

Mutual friend: Yeah. I remember that dude, and trust me; it’s not the same person.

I felt some relief come over my body. Not like it would be absolutely horrible to see this guy again..it’s just that we left off on strange terms. Like, him telling me he was falling and love, and me wondering why he couldn’t be bothered to clean out his toilet.

So the day comes and I’m at the mutual friend’s house waiting for all the girls to arrive so I can load them up and take them to the mall. Then I hear someone shout “so and so’s dad is here.”

My friend assures me once again that it is not the same person. So outside I go to meet him and tell him I promise to return his daughter in one piece. As soon as I see him, I know.

It’s him.

I walk up to him and he looks at me like he is meeting me for the first time.

Him: Hey, hi, it’s nice to meet you.

Me: (staring) um, yes, it is very nice to meet you also. (I say this very, very slow while continuing to stare.)

Him: well, ok, it is very nice of you to have invited my daughter. She is very excited about it.

Me: (staring) no problem. I’m sure all the girls are going to have a great time. (Again, very slow. And I’m sure he thinks I’M HIGH)

Him: do you need me to text you my address so you can drop her off tomorrow?

Me: nope. I have your address. Your ex wife texted it to me. (and I may just remember the way in general seeing as though I’VE BEEN THERE BEFORE.)

Him: ok, well thanks again … (he pauses like he is reaching for my name…so I just give it to him again)

Then he gets in his car and leaves and I turn around with wide eyes while mouthing the words to my friend. (IT IS FUCKING HIM!)

She says something about it being a long time, and he’s cut his hair and gained a little weight since then…but holy shit, we are both kind of in disbelief about the whole thing.

And my name is not that common. I mean, my name may as well be television station. You wouldn’t forget someone named television station. Especially not someone you were supposedly falling for! Then again…he was simultaneously dating Mary Jane and we all know how that bitch fucks with your shit.

I should have just let it go, pretended we had never met before and called it a day…however, I hate being forgettable. So of course I texted him with a teeny tiny hint indicating that it is possible we had met some time in the past.

My text: “Hey, this is Terrina. We used to date.

He writes back about how I looked familiar and he was wondering why I was talking so slow and looking RIGHT THROUGH HIM. (yeah, he put it in all caps just like that.) He mentioned how embarrassed he felt about the whole situation but then added that he was pretty baked back then.

Three other blasts from the past made their way to my phone, email, facebook last week. It’s like the universe can smell relationship all over me and is sending old boyfriends to test my commitment. What the universe forgets is that even my current boyfriend is an old boyfriend so I’m already over quota on that sort of thing. I’ve got enough past in my present. Time to keep looking forward.

Currently Chasing: Recognition

I started a new job which of course means new health care. One of the first things I like to do is set up an appointment and establish a primary care manager.  I kind of just meet with that person and give him or her some background and history so they can START A FILE. I love files.

In the Navy you very rarely see the same doctor. You are all over the place seeing whoever has a couple of minutes to see you at the time. You are left explaining and then re-explaining your medical history to every new person you see. Filling out pages of paperwork almost every time you go to the doctor because stuff gets lost or you didn’t fill it out correctly or whatever.

The idea of having one doctor that I see EVERYTIME I’m sick appeals to me.  Even when I was pregnant I didn’t see the same doctor twice. And they were wrong most of the time. They told me I was having a boy and we all know how that turned out. (For those who don’t…well I had a girl. Who came home in an all blue outfit. To an all blue room.)

So I go online and search for my area and doctors in my area and then doctors who are accepting new patients and I find one. Dr. W. That’s what I’ll call her. I call, set up an appointment, and that’s that. I’ve got me a doctor of my very own.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Or maybe I shouldn’t celebrate just yet.

So I go to my first appointment and the office is literally in a building that looks condemned. It’s behind some restaurant and just dingy looking. However, I am not a ‘judge the book by the cover’ kind of person, so no problem.

I park and walk in. As soon as you walk in you feel like you’ve gone back in time. The carpets are old and so very thin…almost like someone just laid some fabric over a cement slab. There are a bunch of different offices to choose from. I didn’t want to choose any of them. However, I found my office and in I went.

Holy shit. I’m not kidding you when I say that people are literally coming to this place to die. All of the patients were very old. VERY OLD. The receptionists were VERY OLD. There was a sign up that said, I’m doing this job because I can’t yet collect social security. Seriously.

The woman was nice enough. She told me to sign in and have a seat. My appointment was for noon, and I arrived 15 minutes early. Because that is the NAVY WAY!

I sat down and reached for a magazine. Golfing magazines. Readers Digest. Adult Health magazines. Ugh! These are magazines for OLD PEOPLE. Where is the gossip mag? Where is my shape or fitness? I’ll even settle for a People! So I decide to just watch TV. It’s the news, but I’m fine with that. They are talking about how the posted calorie count for some fast food isn’t always accurate. Wow. Shocker. They are calling out places like Chipotle and Olive Garden. Ugh. I hate when people talk behind a friend’s back!

So at some point I hear the woman say, it’s bright and sunny outside. I look out the window. It’s a torrential downpour. And then she says something about August. I’m like…Holy Heck…even the news in this place is old.

By this time it’s around 12:30. I’m still waiting. I begin to wonder if maybe these people weren’t so old when they got here…they’ve just been waiting for 30 years.

I walk up to the counter and ask the woman if my doctor knows I’m here. They tell me that she is just running long with a patient. But they can tell that I’m anxious, so they take me back to get my weight and my vitals. This is like giving you an appetizer in the medical world. Uh oh…this one is getting twitchy…hurry…give her a breadstick so she’ll shut the fuck up while we finish cooking her pounds of pasta!  (Which will end up being more calories than they tell me it is...according to the study.)

So after that they seat me in a room and tell me my doctor will be right with me.

I can hear her in the room next to mine. She’s talking to a man about cereal. He is arguing with her about what cereal is best. Then they move on to oatmeal.  And they are seriously discussing this shit for another 20 or 30 minutes. Meanwhile, the battery life on my phone is dying and I’m pretty sure I should use the last bit of it to call someone and tell them where I am in case this is Twilight Zone episode and I end up stuck in this old world.

When my doctor finally gets around to seeing me (around 1:30) she is … old. She’s nice. She sits down and asks what I am there for. I tell her that I just want to establish a medical history and have a primary care provider. She asks me some questions…takes down some information and puts it in a folder. My file.

It wasn’t ideal by any stretch.  But this woman looked like she had seen it all. Like a grandmother. I would not be embarrassed or afraid to tell her anything. And in the end…isn’t that really what we need from a doctor. Someone non-judgmental who keeps it professional and doesn’t run around to the other ladies gossiping about your lack of self breast exams? Someone who knows you.

I realized shortly after walking out that I had left my phone on the chair. I went back in to grab it and Dr. W. was still sitting there.

“You must be my 1 o’ clock? Sorry for the wait.”

At this point I’m over needing someone that KNOWS me…but someone who at least recognizes me (13 seconds after seeing me) would be nice.

Currently Chasing: A place for my brick

So I’m browsing through my favorite blogs today. Some of them being http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/, http://www.datemedc.com/, and  http://www.citygirlblogs.com/, and my latest obsession www.bootyandbrains.blogspot.com.

It was on that last one that I stopped just reading through the blogs for entertainment, and really just listened to the words on the screen. They spoke to me. I don’t usually comment on blogs. It takes a while, and I usually don’t have much to say. But not only did I comment on this blog, but I posted a link to it on my facebook, and then subsequently sent the author a message letting her know I was a fan. (please go there and read this post if you do nothing else today www.bootyandbrains.blogspot.com/2011/06/good-grief.html )

This pretty much sums up the point of the blog, which is about pain in life that seems hard to get over.

BECCA: Does it ever go away?
NAT: No. I don’t think it does. Not for me, it hasn’t. And that’s goin’ on 11 years. It changes, though.
BECCA: How?  
NAT: I don’t know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around — like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: “Oh, right. That.” Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it’s kinda ... not that you like it exactly, but it’s what you have instead of your son, so you don’t wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn’t go away, which is ...
BECCA: What.
NAT: Fine ... actually.

So I sent her a message and shared this story:

There was a girl I knew. Her boyfriend deployed. He had it all. High on faith and a beautiful girlfriend.

However, shortly into his deployment he started to find other people attractive and they entertained his flirting. Enabled it.

Much later his girlfriend wrote me and told me this story:

She said that one night she was driving alone on a road and something made her pull over. She said it was God. HE wanted to have a conversation with her. She said HE told her that her boyfriend was not being faithful, but that HE needed her to continue loving this man so that HE could reach him through her. She said she begged God not to make her go through this again. ( she had been cheated on before and it nearly killed her.)

But she said God insisted that this man needed God and the only way HE was going to find this man is if she continued to love him, support him and bring him closer to HIM.

So she did.

When her boyfriend got back he pretended like nothing had happened.

She called him up one day and said, I need to know the truth.

At that moment he started crying. later he said that in that exact moment God spoke directly to him and told him that she already knew everything and he just needed to be honest.

So he confessed everything.

I don't know what became of them. I imagine they broke up and that was that. Or they stayed together and she managed forgiveness. But she'll always have that brick. Either way. I wonder if it's harder to carry it alone, or to try carrying it with the help of the person who is responsible for it?

My boyfriend and I have definitely had our ups and downs. And I am carrying a brick of sorts.

I'm hoping that if/when we decide it's time to move in together, the brick will not become part of our homes foundation. I know I won't just be able to toss it out. But maybe I can use it to build a bridge...that I can finally one day truly cross.

Currently Chasing: the ability to see what I've been missing

You ever just go through life wanting all kinds of things and then one day wake up and realize, holy shit, I’ve got it; I’ve got it all?

Well I woke up today feeling exactly like that. I mean, I know that part of what people love about this blog is all the self loathing I do, and trust me when I say I’m sure there is more of that to come. But let’s look at the facts:

My day started out with a phone call from my daughter who just wanted to tell me good morning and that she loved me.

I woke up today in my bed, which sits in a room, which is part of a home that I own.

The first thing I decided to put on fit perfectly and looked great.

My hair behaved.

I didn’t forget to take out the trash, or grab the stuff I need to take to the dry cleaners and the post office.

I have money in the bank and a new car.

I have friends who adore me and a boyfriend who changes my air filters, fixes my vacuum cleaner and gets my tv back to working order after my daughter pushes a hundred buttons trying to turn on the Wii.

I currently work at what has always been my dream job, and I interviewed yesterday for another job that will allow me to grow in my career and secure my future.

I have a 401K and a good credit score.

SO WHAT AM I ABOUT TO DO TO SCREW IT ALL UP?       

I mean, that’s what always happens right? Things start going right, you don’t feel like you deserve it, you start thinking something is missing, when actually the only thing that’s missing is your willingness to accept that things are just – good.

All this chasing. Feels nice to pause and see what I’ve been missing.

Currently Chasing: An Oven big enough to hold my honesty pies

I've noticed a problem with writing this blog. It's public. People used to ask all the time, don't you feel crazy about putting some of your personal business out to whoever feels like clicking on this page? The answer was always a clear and easy, no. There were people in my life who would ask not to blogged about, there were people who didn't mind as long as they were given a code name, and there were people who were just as open about their lives and the goings on of it all as me.

But something has happened recently that is causing a bit of a rethink on my part, and I'm nervous. All of a sudden people who I didn't think were reading my blog, are, in fact, reading my blog. Even if they aren't personally logging on and looking at the words for themselves, they are being briefed on its contents. So conversations that normally go like this:

Random Person: hey, how was Afghanistan? Did you meet any amazing people or do anything noteworthy?

Me: Um, sure, I met some of the local population, took some great photos and remained absolutely professional the entire time.

Random Person: well, that is incredible, I'm sure you are better off the experience, welcome home awesome servant to our country.

Now go something like this:

Random Person: Hey, how was Afghanistan? Did you meet any amazing people or do anything noteworthy?

Me: Um, sure, I met some of the local population, took some great photos and remained absolutely professional the entire time.

Random Person: Hmmm, I didn't realize Canadians were members of the local population. And also, I read your blog on the type of 'photos' you've been taking and receiving. And what's going on with that guy who is in love with you? Are you going to see him again? Nevermind! Don't spoil the ending..I'll read about it later.

And so wow. There it was. I do try to explain to people that I take certain liberties with this blog, and often embelish things for the sake of entertainment, and that things aren't always exactly what they appear to be. But for the most part...the blog has become a place where I can accurately convey my feelings on most things. And it's not on a time delay. It's how I feel about whatever, right now.

And now it has become something else as well. A lie detector. One of two things are going to have to happen in my life. Either I start getting less honest in my blog, or I begin getting more honest in my real life.

It used to be a joke with me and the friend of mine who helped me create my blog. I would say, "I can't write about that!" And he would say, "Yes you can! That's what makes the blog great!" and I would rationalize it all in my head with one simple realization. "The person I about to blog about doesn't read my blog anyway, so it doesn't matter." And on with the detrimental-to-someone's-self-esteem blog I'd go. That bit me in the ass once with some guy I met at the gym who was some kind of computer genius who hacked into my facebook profile, got my blog address, and began reading. One of the first entries he read was about a guy from the gym who wouldn't stop being a creepy stalker. And the crazy part is, he commented on the blog to let me know he read it, and it didn't phase him one bit. He was still a creepy stalker, only now on a whole new level. Especially since his apperance in my blog made him feel more relevant in my life.

Now I'll say, I can't blog about that, he/she reads my blog. And my good friend will say, hmmm, fine, just wait a month or two and then blog about the story as a flashback. But whether I blog it now or in a month from now, people are going to know when it's them you are talking about. And others (who know you in real life) are going to be able to put two and two together and figure out who you are talking about...and that kind of defeats the purpose of a blog I can use to vent about things I wouldn't actually say to those people.

So I've made my decision. I like my blog. I'm going to keep writing it. And I'm going to remain true in what I write here...which means I better get busy baking those honesty pies ... and people who know me, know I dno't know how to bake, so these things may not taste as great as they look. But don't worry, you can always wash it down with a Chaser.

Currently Chasing: Not Flannel!

My friend Mike is a card. If you don’t believe me, ask the flannel thong in my recent care package. Flannel PJs I understand, but a flannel thong. He asked me for my size, but in all honesty, I thought he was kidding – until I received the package, and pulled out this string thing with a triangle shaped flannel patch attached to it. Yep, this will surely keep me warm in this 22 degree weather. Thanks Mike, nothing says warrior like a lumberjack style thong…
That package is one of the last ones I’ll be receiving here…it’s about that time. I can’t believe I’ve already been here almost six months. But when I think back, time has really flown. People who were single when I left are engaged or even married now. People have moved, transferred, gotten pregnant and had babies. Six months didn’t feel like THAT long. However, when I talk to my daughter on the phone, she sounds like a grownup. I’ve been away. And I’m looking forward to being back. A new year! So many things I plan on doing this year.
1. Take my daughter on a Disney Cruise. The moment I get back she is flying in and we are heading to Florida. I’m excited and anxious. I’ve always told her we would go on an actual vacation, and we are.
2. I’m going to become a certified Zumba instructor. I’m flying to New York and my friend Danielle and I are driving to Rochester to spend the day getting certified. It’s going to be incredible.
3. I’m running a half marathon. I’ve run 5Ks here and I’m running a 10k at the end of January…and in October, my friend Sonya and I are driving to Long Island to run about 13 miles in the DIVA half marathon.
4. Reconnect with my friends. Before I left I was on auto pilot. Already disconnecting myself from my life so I could prepare for ‘WAR.’ I was not the person they had grown to love, and I’m looking forward to once again becoming ‘me.’
5. Getting my hair done! Don’t get me wrong. I’ve actually had some pretty incredible luck out here. I’ve gotten two haircuts and highlights, and that has worked out well. But I’m ready for Kathy to take me back to fabulous! More blond and a cut I’ve been eye balling for a while now.
6. My lesbian pedicures! Yep, there is a nail salon in Maryland where you order your pedicure from a menu. They serve you wine, cheese and fruit while they spend no less than an hour making love to your feet! And they finish it off with a neck and back massage. You are wondering about the lesbian part right? Well they make you take your shirt off so they can really massage you…and trust me, you won’t mind.
So this year is full of things to do and plenty of time to do it all. I’m excited about what 2011 holds. I’m ready for anything…except a flannel thong.

Currently Chasing: A Fresh Start

I hate starting over. I also hate continuing to cry over things that I have the power to change, but fuck it…here we go!

Whether I’m writing an email and it mysteriously deletes before I send it or I’m updating a status message that refuses to upload.

I hate redoing something I’ve already done. I don’t even want to get old tattoos touched up. I went through the pain once. I’m NOT going to do it again.

I hate it even more when I have to redo something I hated doing in the first place. This is the constant case for two areas of my life: Dating and Weight Loss.

I love being in love. But I hate the process. This is usually why I tend to fall in love too fast. I just want to skip all of the beginning shit and get to the part that feels familiar. I don’t want to worry about every single thing I say…or if I’m going to talk too much and end up saying something that makes you rethink ‘us.’ Or talk too much about an ex, or talk too much about a future, or talk too much about my past. I’m tired of redoing the beginning of a relationship. I just want to move to the part where we’ve accepted everything about each other and now we are living together in happiness. And trust me, that part won’t feel like a redo, because I don’t think I’ve actually ever experienced it.

The other thing I hate redoing is losing weight. Before I came on this deployment I weighed about 160 pounds. As of last month I had gained about 11 pounds. So today when I weighed myself and I was at 166, you would think I would be happy. But I’m not. Because it’s still six pounds heavier than I was before I came here and I hate STARTING OVER. What’s even more sad is that my friend was afraid to tell me how much weight she’s lost since starting this deployment because she knew it would just depress me. She even tried to say she only lost weight this past week because she had to get a root canal. Poor girl, she’s trying to make excuses for her weight loss so I won’t feel bad that I shoved 20 frozen Reece’s Pieces down my throat.

Another friend tried to offer me some advice. He said, don’t look at it as starting over…just look at is as a continuation. Ok, well that’s fine, but I don’t like to ‘continue’ doing something I’ve already fucking done. It’s crazy that my goal weight is now the weight I was before I left, when before I left my goal weight was 10 pounds less than that.

Tomorrow cannot be a repeat of today. I need to mix it up.  I cannot continue to eat too much, fall too hard and complain too often. I don’t need to start over. Starting over would just lead to the same place I am right now. Instead maybe just restart.

Currently Chasing: Good Milk

When you are on your way to Disneyland, the hour-long car ride seems to take days. However, when you are on your way to war, the 25 hour plane ride feels like 20 minutes. I’m not even exaggerating. 
After landing in Kuwait my first priority was, what else…Facebook. So I get on there are read status updates. A friend was complaining that a pair of pants she bought were not comfortable. Let me tell you what uncomfortable is. Laying down in powdered sand in the “prone” position with your M4 and trying to see with scratched-up safety glasses and a helmet that keeps falling and hitting the bridge of your nose. That’s comfortable in the biggest un way. 
Another friend of mine sent a message letting me know she was waiting on a male suitor to come by and make sweet love to her all night. Well that’s nice, but I’d much rather go to sleep on the top bunk in my tent and pretend that the light isn’t shining directly into my eyes and burning out my retinas.  Is that the smell of sizzling bacon waking me?  Nope, just eyelid flesh.
After I got off the internet I went into the USO. Cool place. A group of guys were sitting in the middle of the room playing, what else … Call of Duty! Even overseas, virtual war is better than the real thing. 

So we finally leave for Afghanistan. We had to travel in full gear, so you can imagine that we fit in the plane like Lego pieces. No shit, I packed a funnel and a bottle in case I had to pee. I’m not taking any chances.

So, now it’s day five in Afghanistan and no one has tried to sexual assault me. That’s a plus. But there is a lot of negatives to make up for it. 

We live half a mile from a body of water that contains all of our shit. Not our stuff.  Our. Shit.  They call it poo pond. It’s bliss really. Nothing like the smell of burning hot feces in the morning. It stings the nostrils in a “I can now take on the day” way. Can someone courtesy flush already. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase hot shit. 

Is that the smell of sizzling bacon waking me?  No!

We have an officer in the unit who is addicted to hand sanitizer. Germaphobe! He has given us specific instructions that if he falls in the pond we are to just leave him for dead, 'cause he will never recover. 
And don’t think for a second that naming it something somewhat witty yet completely elementary makes it any more tolerable.
So every morning before I head out I do a check to make sure I have everything I need … Ipod? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Cover? Check. Room key? Check. But I always feel like I’m forgetting something, because I am. Usually my damn Weapon! I can remember my lip gloss in a combat zone, but I can’t remember the one thing that may actually save my life. Typical.
We are here with people from more than 30 other countries. I used to only have to worry about people talking bad about me in another language when I went to the nail shop, now I have to worry about it everywhere. People are always just looking in my direction and talking in a different language. However, “I can’t believe they gave that chick a weapon” sounds really sweet when someone foreign says it. It’s a good thing “pew, pew, pew” (which is the sound my weapon makes) is universal. And can I just say one more thing? With all these countries here, you would think the people of Afghanistan would just throw their hands up and say, Alright, we’ve been assholes. Our bad. We’ll stop. I mean, I don’t like it when one person doesn’t like me, let alone 30 FUCKING countries.
So for now, this is my life. I’m going to go get something to eat. And not bacon.  This time I’m actually going to check the milk. It is supposed to be a liquid right?

Cheaters never prosper

So, I’ve taken a bit of a different stance on cheating lately. I used to just think that getting cheated on, and cheating on someone was part of life. This idea came mostly from watching my mother treat marriage like it was full time opposite day. And from my last serious relationship where my ‘boyfriend’ always forgot to mention he had a girlfriend. I guess saying so would have kept girls off his dick, and I’m guessing that wasn’t the goal.

But lately I’ve been realizing that meaningless sex is as satisfying as a mostly fatty steak. Sure the 20 percent in the middle is good, but look at the price you are paying for an 80 percent useless piece of meat! It’s just not worth it.

I’ve left a lot of 80 percent well done to chomp on some expensive 20-percent piece of shit. And I’m tired of wondering where the beef is.

I’ve had it all wrong. I’ve always thought that as long as the other person doesn’t find out, or as long as you don’t let your cheating affect the person you are with, then fuck it, why not. It’s just sex. And sex doesn’t have anything to do with love. It’s just an activity. Like golf. Holes and Strokes. But unlike golf you don’t get a mulligan. If you hit the ball into the rough, you’ll have to play it where it lies.

And I’ve lied in some pretty shitty places, and to some pretty innocent faces. And I’m tired. I’m tired of being untrustworthy. And to be honest, I’m tired of the Karma that shit brings. I’m ready to love and be loved in return. BY THE SAME PERSON.

I cheated once a few years back with this guy. I knew he was a play boy, but he said things I liked to hear and I wanted to believe him. We wouldn’t exactly keep in touch, but every now and then he would just pop back into my life with some crazy talk.

“Baby, you and I have such a connection. What if we just really tried to make this work,” he would say.

“Really. Like you honestly want to try and build a relationship?” I would respond.

“Yes, are you crazy? Of course I do, you are so amazing in every single way,” he said.

“Wow, ok, let’s really try,” I would reluctantly spit out.

“Ok, well I’m dating a girl right now who lives across country. I’m going to go get my shit from her place and end it with her and then you and I can be together. But I don’t want to make it official until then,” he would say … backpedaling.

Are you fucking kidding me? What did that experience do for me? Nothing. Just fuck with my emotions and cause me to cause pain to someone who actually gave a shit about me.

My point is, before you decide that you deserve to disrespect the person you love by hooking up with whoever is willing to do you, think twice. Jessie is begging Sandra back as I type this … But he’ll never get to play that back nine ever again. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but even Tiger thinks his game sucks lately. Coincidence?

Currently Chasing: An End to the Impulse

I’m impulsive. I’ve always been that way. The first time someone told me I’d look good as a blonde; I went out that night and had a salon dye my hair. It turned our bright yellow. But that’s what I get for not planning.

My old car had a headlight out. I didn’t want to get it fixed. So one day I just decided to trade it in and get a new car, simple as that. No research, no planning, just drove on the lot and traded vehicles.

Even my marriage was impulsive. Engaged on the 13^th of September and married by the 16^th. Three-day engagement seems pretty standard right?

I look around my house and just know that there are hundreds and hundreds of dollars of impulse lying around. My jewelry box should be called an impulse box. I have pictures that I paid half a thousand dollars to have done that are still sitting, unframed, on some shelf. I have a treasure chest full of adult goodies, and I've never even used that glass one. It scares me! Impulsive! The ironing board must have been an impulse-buy as well because lord knows I’ve never used that thing.

I have an entire storage area just for pampered chef cooking utensils that I’ve never even opened. Oh and my friend has three more of those useless purchases in her car, just waiting to make their way to my storage closet.

I wanted an iphone, and even though I knew it was going to cost me an arm and a leg, I just cut those puppies off and handed them over.

I went to Buffalo, met a group of family members I never knew existed, fell in love with them in half a day, and booked a ticket to go back the following weekend using said Iphone.

Went back to Buffalo to see said family. Had a little bit too much to drink. Thought matching tattoos sounded like a great idea…drove to the parlor thirty minutes before it closed. Let some guy who calls himself baldy tattoo a symbol I can only hope stands for sisters on (wait for it) … the back of my neck! Impulse.

The problem with this is that I don’t know what’s in my life because I actually want it to be (I have a shamrock tattoo on my ankle??) and what is in my life because it satisfied some quick fancy. Most of the things I do on impulse I end up severely regretting. Take my Thrift Savings Plan for example. I had been saving money for about 11 years. Then all of a sudden I impulsively took the money out of the plan. It cost me a good amount just to withdraw the money, but I didn’t care.

Then I took the money and started impulse buying. I bought new furniture (granted I needed that due to the fact that my boyfriend decided to fuck his ex over lunch (impulse much) so we had to get out of each other’s presence pronto). I bought a year subscription to bag, borrow and steal…a purse rental company…can anyone say NEED NOT WANT. I bought my daughter a bunch of random shit that spoiled her and that she ended up losing anyway. I paid the lease up on said car that I impulsively bought earlier in this blog and then drove home with basically the same car except I was paying more for it. (Can we say NO NEGOTIATING SKILLS?!)

I bought I bought…impulse, impulse. And then, tax time came around. And they counted that savings that I withdrew as INCOME. Holy hell. I ended up owing the government money for the first time in my extremely young (and extremely gorgeous) life.

I’m most impulsive about my hair. Hair today, gone tomorrow. Red, blonde, brown. Maybe all three. I’ve been there. Stripes, streaks, perms, straighteners I’ve done it. Spikes, faux hawk, swirlies, I’ve done it. My hair is at the mercy of my impulse. Most of you haven’t seen me recently, but my hair is dark…with highlights and it’s shorter than it’s been since my stint on the softball team.

What I’m saying is for now on, I’m going to think. If I want a new car, I’m going to do some research. If I want to date a boy, I’m going to get to know him. If I’m thinking of taking a vacation, I’m going to plan. If I want to lose my virginity I'm going to spend some time assessing the pros and cons. (shit, may be a little late for that.) Whatever, the problem is, I made this decision to start maturing impulsively. And we all agree that's not a good idea, so I'll rethink it. In the meantime, the AC in my car is broken. One quick trip to Carmax won’t kill me.

Currently Chasing: Consequences

A friend of mine procrastinates. He does so every day in every aspect of his life. Even when it comes to relationships, he waits till the last minute to make a decision. His homework for his online courses is due Sunday at midnight, so he finishes it up around 11 (if they want it any earlier than they should move the deadline up, according to him.) He sees no purpose whatsoever in doing anything any earlier than it absolutely needs to be done.

However, I don’t blame him for his lack of motivation. I blame instead, the lack of consequence. The world, which used to be full of consequence, has now become too politically correct to call out anyone on their bullshit. And this isn’t just the case when it comes to procrastination. This is the case when it comes to anything.

The other day I asked my daughter to clean her room. She kicked some stuff around for a couple of minutes, turned on her TV and that was that. An hour later I walk into her portal for dirt and evil and I say again, clean your room. She pushes some stuff under her bed and around her dresser and again gets caught up in the TV. Here’s the problem, as a single mom, if I punish her by grounding her or making her stay in the house, then I also punish myself. Then I’m stuck in the house. Then I can’t go anywhere. So even when there are consequences, they are usually pushed aside with the words, I’m sorry, or I’ll clean it tomorrow. I’m definitely part of the problem here.

If the consequence for her not cleaning her room was a smack across her face, and no 3D viewing of Alic in Wonderland, well guess what? That room would be clean. If my friend’s punishment for not getting his homework done in a timely manner was points taken off his assignment, well he’d manage his time better.

If every cheater, liar and murderer on trial actually got sent to a prison without all the perks of a Holiday Inn, they may not be so quick to cheat, lie and murder. If the consequence isn’t severe these days, then the chance of real action being taken for anything positive is slim to none.

If the consequence for men treating me like shit is me continuing to let men treat me like shit, then men will continue to treat me like shit. Simple formula. And simple solution.

If the consequence for men treating me like shit is me telling them to fuck right off and then summarily moving on with my life, well, they’d think twice the next time they had shit to peddle.

And if my friend wants to wait till the very last possible minute to make me a part of his life, and the consequence is simply me continuing to wait, well I guarantee he’ll wait till midnight on Sunday, and by then the carriage is already a pumpkin.

And you can bet he’s not going to find the time to return that glass slipper.

Currently Chasing: Blast From the Past - New Bed

*Blog originally written May 14.

I bought a new bed today. Not because I wanted to. Mostly because the group of guys that helped me move insisted on it.

"You ARE planning on getting a new bed right?"

I said, "Sure, but it is not my number one priority."

"Well it should be."

Hmmm. So there it was. Buy a new bed or we will all think you are a nasty girl. so fuck. I was stuck. At that point they were all eyeing the bed like it was infected with AIDS or something. I was like dude, "I got the couches from the same chick...what about the couches?"

"The couches are fine, it's just the bed."

One friend even added..."I need a shower just touching it."

Wow. So there it is again. What do you want us to do with this nasty AIDS infested mattress? Do you want us to bring it into your house? Or throw it away...(as they are already on the way to the dumpster.) So I whispered ever so faint...throw it out I guess.

So for a month I slept in my daughter's extra bed. I have an entire bedroom set and no bed. The entire purpose of the BEDroom is to house a bed. It's a whole fucking room for a bed..yet no bed.

And to be honest...the bed was fine. I've slept on worse...I'm in the Navy for fucks sake.

So a few days later one of those same gentlemen asks..."So, got a bed yet?"

I say no...because in all honesty, with everything else going on, I really didn't have the money for a new bed. Not a nice bed. Not the kind of bed you want to come home to. No the kind of bed they build rooms for.

So he says, "Look, figure out how much you can spend and I'll front the rest."

And so it was. We found one today. A super soft, super clean BED. A bed with no AIDS. It's the first time I've ever owned a bed that wasn't previously owned.

Is that gross? I don't know. My ex-boyfriend owned a bed that wasn't previously owned, but it isn't mine...never was apparently. Now I have one of my own.

And I don't even care if I never share it.

Currently Chasing: A Bridge to Somewhere

How many words does a picture really speak? A thousand? Cause that's a lot of words. I guess they are considering all the different ways people might interpret that photo, and then adding all those words together. But I've seen pictures that don't speak many words at all.
Even scarier are the ones that speak too much, to the wrong people, at the wrong time in your career.

The real question here is when is it ok to let the photos stop speaking to you, and for you?

I have oodles of photo albums. They are diaries in a way. They say things like, I was heavy as a baby. I took third place in the spelling bee. I looked retarded with long hair. Sweat pants and a T-shirt do not an outfit make. Your prom dress only looks cool on prom night, not in a random photo a year later while wearing socks. Multi-Braids only look good on Bo Derrick. I was heavy as a teenager. I used to have boobs. I look good in black. I look awful in black. I was cute one day back in '97. I was heavy as an adult.

My pictures also point out years and years of failed relationships. I sometimes flip through the books and think, yeah, look at him, he was hot, and he was with me. Almost like the pictures are kept just as proof. Do I really still need that useless validation? Do I still need these stupid photos as a reminder that I've been there and done that? It's time for me to start getting rid of things. My horoscope said to find something everyday and get rid of it. Give it away. Throw it away. Hell, burn it if you have to.

The first thing I should burn is a bunch of these bridges that lie around and lead to nowhere.

Anyone got a match.

Currently Chasing: A blast from the past...

*Every now and then you will see a 'blast from the past' post. These are funny past blog posts I will share with you from time to time.

So if you know me, you know I can't say no. Or at least I have a hard time saying no. And I'm not talking sex here, I'm talking door-to-door salespeople.
It got so bad that my former roommate used to have to answer the door, because if I answered it, no doubt, I'd end up buying something.
Magazines, a Kirby Vacuum, candy, a dick in a box. What the fuck ever. I mean, I bought the kirby, tried to return it, and fucking bought it again. That is how hard it is for me to just say no.
Ironically, I've never done drugs. But come to think of it, no one has ever tried to sell them to me. Who knows what would happen if there was a door-to-door drug dealer.
Anyway, today...for the first time...I said no. A girl came to the door and asked me if I get the paper. I don't. I don't read it. I get my news online and on the TV. And really just online. I have no time to read the paper. Sad, but true. She says, what about just the Sunday paper. No I say.
"You would be helping me out," she said. "I am a single mother and just for signing you up today I'm going to get a check for a thousand dollars. Even if you just get a couple of issues and then cancel, I'll still get the money."
I said, "Wow, I'm a single mother as well, and that sounds like a great deal. How about I sign and I get a thousand dollars?"
She didn't look amused. I said, "Look, I'm trying to make ends meet also. And paying money for something I don't need is not something I am into doing right now."
She said, "look, you don't even have to keep the subscription, just call in a couple of weeks and cancel."
I said, "I'm going to just say no now. I don't want to have to remember to cancel a service I don't want."
She said, "It's only a dollar per paper."
I said, "I'd much rather just give you five bucks, and you can give a subscription to one of my neighbors, or get it yourself. If we are only talking about a dollar per issue, and you are saying I can cancel after a few weeks, that is only three dollars. Why don't you just pay three dollars for five of your friends, and then collect the thousand dollars?"
Needless to say, she finally left. And I stood my ground. And I'm proud to say I am not the new owner of a lifetime subscription to something else I don't need. Now if I could just stop paying 50 bucks for the gym I don't go to, 20 bucks for the second phone line I don't use, 20 bucks for the needy kids that I never get updated on, 10 dollars for the travel program I don't even know how to use, 19 dollars for the tanning salon I'll die using, 14 dollars for the tax monitoring I accidentally signed up for and therefore do not know how to cancel, 13 dollars for the scholastic books Dev never thanks me for, and 10 dollars for the netflix membership that I never order from, I'd have 157.00. Which would be just enough to pay for the new Iphone I absolutely didn’t need.

It's finally time

(Original Post: June 3, 2005 - Friday)

Well, I think it is about time to take a break from the dating game. I realized today when my ex-husband came to watch his new girlfriend get promoted (she is amazing by the way), that I haven't really come to far in my personal life. I mean, he is on the verge of buying a house, becoming an officer, getting his life together, making things happen, and I am still getting drunk every Friday drinking quarter beers at Baja’s.

Life as easy as a 'click'

I'm going to workout at some point or at least that is what I tell myself. I graduated my very last class yesterday. I wanted to cry. I tried to cry. I felt like Cameron Diaz in that new film, 'The Holiday." It seems like lately a story or a movie can make me cry rivers, but I cannot find those same emotions for actual situations in my life. I guess right now, I'm no longer an instructor at the Defense Information School. I will return in January as a student. I will attend the public affairs officers qualification course, graduate in March and report to my ship in Norfolk shortly after that.Bitter/sweet. I'm eager to move on. But it is going to suck not having an audience of people required to listen to my stupid stories every single day! I went to see a therapist and it was all fine while she was focused on me, but at some point she started focusing on my daughter and I got upset. And she said, are you upset at what I'm saying to you, or you upset that I have taken the focus off of you?Wow, at that point I could stop paying her . She figured out my entire life with one sentence. My profile picture is me in a sombrero flashing a SUFI, I guess you could say I like attention. lol. But then again, don't most people? If over half of the photos in your profile are taken by you, then doesn't that mean you are pretty much the center of your own world?Someone told me self portraits are for the arrogant. They said, "Only the arrogant and egotistical could enjoy looking at themselves over and over again."I guess in a way, I see their point. I mean, why would you need to put pictures of yourself up. So in order to disguise these 'self portraits' we place other people in the photo strategically. (and by the way, I know my spelling is all over the place.) By placing in these other people, we convince ourselves it is a friendship photo or a family photo. But let's be honest. You only use the photos that look best of YOU. You could give a shit what they look like in the photo. Because at the end of the day, when someone sees that picture, it is YOU, you want them to see. And then the family.I think that is why we love digital cameras and we take 20 or 30 photos of the same thing. Because there is bound to be a photo that all of you love. We recently encountered this at the holiday party. We went to the back to take a photo.It was several friends and me. The photographer shot the photo, we went to look at it. We all said, nope. He took another one. A few of us were like, yes, this is a great photo. While a few others of us were like, no "I don't like the way I look." So we took another. This time most were happy, but I was like, "Yeah, I guess we can go with this one even though I look like a dime store ho-bag." So we decided to take another one. The next one I loved. So of course I'm like, yep, this is the one. My friend and quest weren't crazy about it, but we ended up getting it. At the end of the day it's not about how good your boyfriend looks in real life. It's about how well he photographs. We are all looking for the family photo guy. This day in age we are less likely to bring our boyfriends home to meet our parents and friends. We are more likely to send a photo. So the first impression they get of you as a couple is going to come through a photograph. So we end up placing a lot of stress on the camera man. We want that perfect photo. I've noticed recently that people have stopped sending me photos of them. instead I get photos of their children. And I've started doing that. It is a lot easier for someone to forgive a child for not smiling perfectly or for being a few pounds heavy. We know no one is going to give us an inch. We will be judged by our friends and family every time they see that photo. Geez, we are all a real bunch of assholes!I found a guy who looks cute in photos. I'll snap a couple of pictures of us together. Family photo guy? We'll find out. If he doesn't photograph well, I'll change my profile back to single and keep checking self shot profile pictures. lol If only everything in life were as easy as a 'click.'Putting the new back in New Year

Did you hear the one about the shrink?

(Original Post: November 14, 2006 - Tuesday)

I'm about to start a new relationship. I usually hate getting into something different. The whole introduction phase, the 'getting to know you' bullshit. I met him online. I mean, where else right?
No one has time to go searching anymore. Unless of course your search only requires you to enter a zip code. But I'm willing to drive a bit for this one. I could have picked someone closer to me. I would probably be able to see him more often. But if you know me, you know I like to drive far, far away to visit my men.So I'm anxious.
We are meeting Monday. Will he like me? Will he judge me? He's going to want me on my back. Men are all the same right? Hopefully we can talk a bit first. I mean, eventually I will lay down for him, but just not right away. This is my first time after all.
People have been telling me to hook up with a guy like him. But I never listen. Instead I date an arm biter or a coworker. Instead I get involved with a Nazi or some other crazy. Finally though, I'm ready. I can tell this one is going to last. We spoke on the phone today and I could just hear concern in his voice.
He's not going to ignore me for days on end. He's not going to hide how he feels. He's not going to make me apologize for how I am. He's going to accept me. Wow, what a concept. He has a PhD. And I'm going to have to pay him by the hour. But he's going to teach me how not to abandon myself. Let the therapy begin.

Twenty-ten and the mystery globe

(Original Post: November 7, 2006 - Tuesday)

So today is the day. Thirty years ago today I was hatched. I mean, if you want to get super technical, I actually turned 30 nine months ago. How come that time in the womb doesn't count for anything?

Gift cards are all the rage these days.
I've received a gift card to Victorias Secret, Golden Corral, Target and Hair experts! I will soon be a new underwear having, new hair color sporting, new jeans wearing chick who is slightly heavier. All because my mom and dad had unprotected sex when they were 19.I got flowers in the mail today and my students sang happy birthday. They all signed a card and wished me well. Truly concerned. I also received a Globe. I do not know who sent the globe. It is however, beautiful. I mean, it stands out and I would like to thank whoever got it for me. But no one has come forward to claim it. So if it is you dear reader, well thank you. Although yesterday I was lost looking for Outback, and the globe was pretty much useless. How about some GPS next year huh? Just install it in my car when I'm not looking, since it seems to turn you on to give gifts and get no credit.
As for tonight, it's Tuesday. I'm not living it up or partying down. I'm not painting the town or even touring it. I am watching some TV and then calling it a night. I'm tired and I have the bi-annual physical readiness test tomorrow. The bad news is I have to wake up early. The good news is I'm 30 and 11 push-ups is passing when you're 30. If I can pump out 17 the Navy will think I'm a super stud. So will I to be honest.But after the glow of the new PRT numbers fade, well, it'll just be Wednesday. And I'll just be in my 30s. Twenty-ten. A lot has to happen this year.1. I have to buy a house.2. I have to clean up my credit. (probably not in that order)3. I have to find out who sent that fucking mystery globe.

The Three Year Itch

(Original Post: October 17, 2006 - Tuesday)

It's happening. That itch. The twitch. The gripe of a bitch unhappy with her sitch. Let me pitch it to you this way, cause that way is their way, and there's no way I can be happy in that niche.
The Navy has taught me, molded me, scolded me, bought me out. Told me that happy only lasts three years, then fears of confinement set in, and you know it's time my friend, to move on. We all know the feeling. Too well. It dwells. Sells your mind to the first bidder, who will fix and flip. Sip wine while they rip out your insides, and put in stainless steal appliances and stone floors. You'll sell for more that way. You can't stay in one place too long, the same ol' song and dance doesn't stand a chance. We've got to bob and weave, send and receive, and eventually leave. We achieve the goal we set for our soul and then call the detailer when we are in our window. A window you can't see through, and won't ever open. Hoping for air or simple solution. But it will never bring resolution. And you will complain around every bend, but you will sign those papers and volunteer again. Cause it's dependable and steady. The only thing in your life that is. This biz isn't always about peace, but honor pays the current lease. And I know I'll shed those world-weight tears, as I watch my daughter wave from all those piers, as I sail off to places I have no business being, and see things I'd be better off not seeing. Whatever the case, I'm on my way to a ship to take a dip in the Atlantic for a bit. Give me three years to fix, then I'll flip. I can see new wooden floors from here. The Navy loves me. This I know. It's a creed and a code that tell me so. Little ones to it belong. Alone we are weak ... and together, just weak in a group. Hello Virginia. Goodbye to my Land of Mary. I'm weary, oh so very, ready to change my course and keep it steady. For three years, at most. Then return to shore and retire there. With my daughter there, and a closet full of clothes I'm allowed to wear.

A few coming of age tales

(Original Post: September 10, 2006 - Sunday)



30.

Three F'n Zero.

Thirty.

Twenty-Ten.

No matter how you say it, it's said. And I'm almost going to have to show an ID with that age on it. Up till this point I've been able to justify most of my behavior. I dated a 22-year-old a few years ago. We went to an Italian place and had an ok time. He told me he needed to stop by his house for something on the way to the bar. Cool. When we pulled up he said, my roommates are home. When I got in the house I found out his roommates were mom and pop. He still lived at home. Turns out he needed to come home to shit. ?!? While he crapped, I scanned the walls. All the while listening to his mother take me for a walk down memory lane. "This is him in high school. This is his prom date Susan. Oh, this is his football picture. He played Varsity." A very proud mother, and an all of a sudden 'to tired to go to the bar' me. In Italy I dated this guy from the ship. He was a nerd. I'm talking, skinny, short, predictable, nice-guy nerd. He was a bit of a Harley guy though, and always wore a bandana on his head. But, Harmless right? We had been friends for awhile, so when he asked me out I thought, why not? Well I'll tell you why not. Half way through the meal he said, 'can we stop by my hotel room when we leave here?' I figured he needed to change his bandana or something. I ask, "What do you need to get there?" He said, I was hoping we could do it. "Can I finish my fries first Romeo?" HELL NO. He said he is usually really shy with girls and they always break up with him so he decided to take the opposite approach. I just stared. He said, I've ruined the night haven't I? You think?I dated a guy because he had the same last name as me. I dated a guy because he looked like Dane Cook. I dated a guy who only owned one f'n orange shirt. I mean, did he think I wouldn't notice that he looked like a pumpkin every time I saw him? I dated a guy once who later informed me he was a Nazi. I dated a guy who basically ate my arm during a movie. He just kept putting it in his mouth and making slurping noises. I dated a guy who was living with another girl. He kept calling me Sabrina. You'd think I'd catch on. I dated a 21-year-old who asked me not to tell anyone because he was afraid his mom would find out. I went to a club with my girls and I accidentally smiled at some guy. He grabbed me, told me my shirt was beautiful and then tried to enter my skin. I danced with him for a few seconds. When I say dance I mean, snapped my fingers while moving left to right and looking all over the f'n place for a safe house. Finally I just said thank you, grabbed his shoulders and moved him away from me. Who decided 30 was the new 20? That is just an excuse for older people to eat arms. Let's finally call it what it is. Time to grow up.