Currently Chasing: The End of the Error

A friend of mine has finally ended her love affair with a married man. And not a moment too soon.

I’m not saying I haven’t traveled down the dusty, desperate path of wanting something someone else has, but it’s never done anything but leave me empty and ashamed.  And despite my advice and experience, she did what I begged her not to do. She fell for him.

Why do women sleep with married men? I think it’s because women think they won’t ever find themselves vulnerable with that man. Why would they? What’s the fear? Only that his wife will find out. But beyond that, there is no risk. He’s already taken. What’s he going to do? Cheat on you with another woman? He’s already cheating. You KNOW he’s already a cheater. That fear can be put to rest. You don’t really have to trust him, so it’s safe. Your heart will never really fully open and be swallowed and consumed with feelings of nervousness, insecurities and vulnerabilities because it’s not real. He already has that with someone else. There is a wife at home feeling all of those emotions and that saves you from having to feel anything except guilt. You know the relationship isn’t going anywhere, but you know as long as he can have you he isn’t going anywhere either. He’ll still come back to you. Kind of a sense of stability right? You’re not going to argue because there is nothing to argue about. No money to fight over, no kids. And you definitely won’t be complaining about the sex … chances are that’s all that is keeping you together. He’s going to want to fuck you all the time because you’re not his wife. He’s getting the 20 percent from you that his 80 percent wife isn’t giving him.

But she will tell me that he’s getting the 80 percent from her and his wife is only giving 20 percent. And you know what … I know her, and I know she’s a giver, so let’s go out on a limb and say that’s true. She’s giving him 80 percent and his wife is only giving him 20. That’s even WORSE. Cause while she’s giving everything he’s only giving 7 inches, which doesn’t even amount to 10 percent. What is he doing for you that is so god-damn great besides wanting you to talk dirty to him and tell him he’s the best, but not after 7 p.m. because that’s when he’s home with his wife.

Will he be there to wipe your son’s nose when he’s sick? Hell, will he even be there to wipe yours?  He can’t call you ever and he doesn’t like to text. And his wife may have cheated on him, and even be a horrible person, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not cheating on her because he wants to leave her. He’s cheating on her because he has the opportunity. If you take the opportunity away then nothing changes except that you aren’t in the picture. He isn’t going to cry himself to sleep at night. He isn’t going to sit by the phone hoping you’ll change your mind and he damn sure isn’t going to call and beg you back. He’s going to go home and take his kids to the Zoo.

Oh I’m sorry, he told you that he loved you…He does sweetie. What’s not to love? You’ve given him everything he wants and he doesn’t have to do anything in return. I’d love that too. I’m glad she wised up. I told her to come out here and get one of these “Out of Country” boys I’ve found. Canada, Britain, Australia … breaking up later because of distance is more acceptable than breaking up because he needs to get home to his family.

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: My Sanity

I’ve been paying close attention to relationship status lately. Mostly because I never know what the fuck mine is. A friend of mine posted on Facebook that he was in a relationship with his girl, which is fine. But he posted it each night for three consecutive nights. Way to go boy! You post that relationship status, and you remind us good and often that you are still in it.

Just as often I see a status change and it reads: so and so is now…SINGLE, which of course prompts a million comments. "What happened? Are you ok? Fuck that dude he’s an asshole."

My favorite status is the” it’s complicated” status. That seems to be too much information for me. Yeah, I’m in a relationship, but it’s fucked. Usually, "It's complicated" is code for "you wouldn't understand" which itself is code for "you would understand because I'm not really as complex a person as I think I am, but I don't want you judging me."

I tell my sailor friends all the time. If you want to sail a ship that won’t sink, then stay off the relation ship. Cause that thing sinks faster than the Titanic. And trust me, no one is giving you their make-shift, wooden life raft! So you can forget that shit!

My status simply says single. But for those who know me, I need to be committed, both to a man and honestly, an institution.

So I talk to a friend of mine, who up to this point, I thought had it together … this is what I get …

He tells me that he was thinking about getting a divorce from his wife. In the same breath he tells me that he was thinking about going back to his ex girlfriend. In the same breath (possibly his dying one) he tells me that he shouldn’t go back to his ex because she’s some bitch who cheated on him.

So over the weekend he ended up having it out with both of them. He told his wife it wasn’t working and that they weren’t happy. She told him she would change. He asked her what she would change into. And maybe she said a unicorn or some shit. Whatever would make him happy basically …

So he left the house to clear his mind and went, where else…over to the ex’s house. His ex then pleads her case. She said, maybe this is our time now. We can work it out. He said, we broke up because we weren’t happy. She told him she would change. He asked her what she would change into. Because if all she’s going to turn into is a cheating wife, well, that's not worth half of his shit when they eventually divorce. In the end he told his wife they would work it out, and he told his ex they would work it out also.

What should his relationship status be? NFC. (No Fucking Clue.) or BFI (Big Fucking Idiot.) Update that shit STAT!

With all the drama going on in this guy’s life you can see clearly why … I’m falling for him.

Status update: BFI w/ NFC.

It's complicated.

Currently Chasing: Coincidence

Have you ever met a person in such extremely strange circumstances, that you just feel like no matter what happens, you are drawn to them? Yeah, me neither. But let me tell you this story anyway.

One night about three or four years ago I went out to what used to be called Bar Baltimore. It was a group of us girls. We were showing up early for a huge adult-toy party (adult barbies and adult speak and spells…that kind of thing. Or fake dicks.) I was there with a few of my besties. We had also invited my ex husbands ex wife and his (at the time) fiancé. What could go wrong?

So toward the middle of the night I’m feeling like crap. My ex husbands ex wife was already remarried and anxious to get back to her hubby. My ex husbands current fiancé was eager to get back to my ex husband as well. So there it is, in all its glory, alcohol and loneliness.

Just then a friend walks up and introduces me to her friend. I’m attracted to him right away. But let’s face it, I would have been attracted to just about anything in that moment. In fact, I had been chatting up a fake dick for an hour. So anyway, we end up dancing and talking the rest of the night and within a week, he’s my man.

Now in typical relationship fashion, we begin telling each other all about our ex’s. Turns out he has one douche bag of an ex girlfriend, who just happens to live one street over from me at the time. He said she was dating another guy, but started cheating on that guy with him. Then later in their relationship she started cheated on him with that same other guy. Classic case of ‘have cake, eat cake.’ We’ve all been there. I ask how he found out and he says that she left her email open and saw about 150 emails back and forth and called her on it. And that was the end of it.

So after four or five months he and I ended our love affair. Turns out he was getting kicked out of the Marine Corps and there was some shadiness surrounding why he was getting kicked out and my friends advised me to just cut ties and not get involved. So I did.

A few months later one of my best friends starts long-distance dating a guy on a ship in Virginia. She’s happy as hell with her new pen pal. I tell her to tell her ‘man’ to find me a pen pal on the ship. He says he knows just the person. A few days later I get an email and a photo. A nice looking, tall and SINGLE guy. Wow, I thought they were myths.

We start emailing back and forth and agree to meet up once he pulls back in port. So a week after he pulls in, I’m heading down to Virginia. On my way he calls to talk me through the road trip. And we start talking about, what else…Ex’s.

He tells me this story about this girl he was dating. She started cheating on him with some guy and then ended up cheating on that guy with him. She couldn’t make up her mind. Classic case of ‘have cake, eat cake.’ I tell him that my ex was a great guy, and that he had a similar story to that. I also mention that we broke up because of his shady release from the Marines. We keep talking…him about her, and me about him.

“What is your ex boyfriend’s name?” He asks.

“Why, he lives in Maryland, it’s not like you know him,” I respond.

“Just for shits and giggles,” he replies back.

So I tell him...and there is dead silence before I hear.

“OH MY GOD, That is the same FUCKING guy!”

“No way,” I say.

“I don’t know what’s worse, going before him, or going after him,” he snaps back.

“Should I just turn around?” I ask.

“No, but you have to admit it’s weird.”

Yeah…I’ll admit it. And it was weirder the first time he drove to my house and had to drive past hers to get there.

One day one of his friends said, isn’t it weird that this other girl keeps popping up in your life…maybe she’s your soul mate.

I beg to differ. It’s my life this bitch keeps popping up in. I feel like I should actually know this heart breaker. Cause I’ve been cleaning up her messes for years.

Currently Chasing: My Own Space

I flew to Buffalo this weekend. It’s cheap to fly there, it only takes an hour each way, and I’ve got family there. Win/Win/Win.

So I arrive to southwest to get my ticket and they ask if I want to upgrade to section A for $20 bucks. I decide to do it. This guarantees I’ll be one of the first on the plane, which means I’ll have room for my carry on (which I assure you holds no less than four outfits I won’t wear, workout gear I won’t need, three pairs of shoes I can’t walk in and enough accessories for Mr. T to take it up a notch.)

So they call section A and I line up near the front carrying my life in a bag. But when I look around I realize, there is only a section A. There are only 20 people on the whole flight. I paid $20 for nothing! Lose. I vow that I’ll make it up by claiming a seat right in the front. Not near the front, but literally the first seat. I get on the plane, store my shit, and sit down in the comfortable, leg roomy, first seat. And I’m content. Fuck that $20 bucks. Win.

And then it happens. A couple comes in, looks at all of the empty seats and decides to take a seat right next to me. To make matters worse they are having a ‘talk argument’ about how she emasculated him earlier by making him hold her purse.

“No I didn’t,” she said.

“Yes you did,” he said.

“I didn’t think I did,” she said.

“Well you did. But you didn’t know it, because that’s your personality,” he said.

It’s her personality not to know things? Then it got weirder.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t look at it like that,” she said.

“Well if someone else looked at it that way would that validate me and invalidate you?”

“Invalidate me?” she asked.

And by then I was asking (to myself as well) what the fuck he was trying to say. I mean, I could tell she was a rock, but he was trying to portray an over-your-head conversation and was making absolutely no sense, and she had called him on it. So he changed the subject, quickly.

“I’m reading this book and it talks about how the primary reason for condom failure is small penis size,” he said.

“I believe that,” she responded. “Probably Asians,” she added.

“Ignorant, but probably not completely inaccurate,” he responded.

And with that racism, they both shut up. Then I begin to hear something more annoying than their voices. A clipping noise. I look over to find her clipping the dead skin from around her fingernails. Twenty five minutes later she is still clipping. Get some lotion bitch! How much dead skin can one person have around their fingernails? And where is that dead skin going…into the air, into my nose! I’m inhaling this broad one clip at a time. At one point she cuts her nail and a clipping shoots right into my cheek. That sharp piece-of-a-bitches hand stung a bit. She says, I’m sorry. I don’t respond.

Her and her man begin to talk fight again. This time they are arguing about how they are not arguing. We land. They are still arguing. But now they are whisper yelling so as not to make a scene.

I see them at baggage claim minutes later. She’s still clipping her nails. And he’s holding her purse. I’m holding my tongue. There’s no way his dick fits a Condom.

Currently Chasing: The Courage to Change the Things I Can

I don’t even know how to start this. Truth is, I’ve written this blog a hundred times.

I’ve fallen back into the very familiar pattern of doing what’s comfortable. Caring for people who are incapable of caring back. And then continuing to care what they think. Not any more.

Recently I had dinner with one of these ‘comfort players’ and it was the epitomy of a last supper, let me assure you.

Conversation was sparse, but it went something like this:

Judas: Hey, so I was playing Call of Duty online last night and chatting on the headset.

Me: (in my head): Big fucking deal.
Me: (words coming out of my mouth): Oh, of course I’m interested, please tell me more.

Judas: There was this girl complaining about people camping.

Me: (in my head): Big fucking deal.
Me (words coming out of my mouth): What is camping?

Judas: When someone finds a safe place to stay and then kills people from the safe place.

Me: Got it. Continue.

Judas: So I kill someone who I see camping and it’s her. So I send her an instant message and give her a hard time for complaining about campers. And she writes back and tells me that she’s new to the game so she’s allowed. But she ended up finishing second. Even above me. And then all these guys are requesting her as a friend. So I tell how pathetic is is that all these guys want to be her friend. Like she’s going to be their Xbox live girlfriend or something. And then she requests me as a friend. And I say, so does this mean you are my Xbox live girlfriend? And she types back. Lol. Then later she found me playing again and entered my room.

Me: ……………………………..

Judas: Is there something wrong?

Me:……………………………..

Judas: I can tell something’s wrong.

Me: ……………………………..

There is always some girl around that everyone ELSE is hitting on and whom he thinks is ugly, or lazy or just is overall not attracted to. But it always comes to light that while everyone ELSE is busy living thier lives, he's busy making the most of EVERY option he has. The last time he brought up a girl that he wanted nothing to do with there ended up being a full blown relationship in the works. I knew he was a Tiger fan, but come on.

So we continue to not speak for the rest of the meal. And the ride home. And we will continue like that for the rest of our lives. I hope his Xbox girlfriend is as good to him as his Xgirlfriend was. I should have known better. I thought one day he’d make an honest woman out of me. I didn’t realize he hadn’t yet made an honest man out of himself.

Currently Chasing: Face to Face contact

I'm sick of single sites. Christian singles, harmony.com, match.com, yahoopersonal.com, craigslist. Fuck!

Every time I open my inbox some dating site has spammed the fuck out of me talking about how someone has a crush on me, someone winked, someone wants to date, someone sent an email, someone searched my name, someone wants to touch my tits...whatever!

I can't even drive down the road without all the SINGLE? signs. I mean, seriously? How did people meet back in the day?

They fucking left the house! They mingled. They had hobbies. They went to church to meet Christians, they didn't wait for them to log on. They went to town hall meetings. They married the person they dated in high school. They didn't set ridiculous standards and expectiations and then continually update them like a fucking facebook status.

They didn't focus totally on looks completely overlooking all of the other things that make up a person.

I have drifted into the scary online world of dating. I dated two people from that realm. One who promised the world and delivered a glove. And one who asked if he could have my underwear on the first date.

I meet enough freaks in real lief. I don't think I need the added stress of playing the 'how much of this profile is real' game.

Most of these profiles boast a man making two-to-three thousand bucks a year and looking like something out of a dirty fireman calender. Paleeze! If he's an amazon God with a paycheck to match then he probably has a penis the size of a straw that his girlfriend will use to suck down enough drinks every night to fuck him.

Am I bitter? No. And don't get me wrong. At this point in the economy, it would be nice to find someone to foot half of the bill for life in general. Because it sure ain't getting any cheaper. But I'd rather be broke and happy than rich and drunk.

Lay off the online profile pages. Even if it means taking yourself out for a date. I like me a lot. I'd do me and not call myself in the morning. I'd make bad decisions with myself. As long as none of them involved a computer and a screen name.

Currently Chasing: A Werewolf

Ok. So I just finished watching New Moon, the latest in the Twilight Vampire series. And can I just say one thing? Where or where is my motha fuckin Werewolf!? I mean, come on. And if you don’t know the movie or haven’t seen the previews for this latest flick, let me give you a quick recap.

This beady-eyed, pale Vampire named Edward falls in love with a very average looking and kinda wishy/washy chick. Then he thinks he’s going to bring her harm so the pasty, powdery-looking blood sucker sends her away all old-yeller style, like, “Just go. I don’t want you. You deserve better.” Bullshit right?

So she gets all fetal position for like three months. And then she starts hanging out with Jacob who looks like he just walked out of an Abercrombie ad, except way less gay. However, he is only 16, which is kinda statutory, but whatever. And oh yeah, he happens to be a Werewolf.

And this Jacob dude starts fighting for her dumb ass right away because she has some kind of stupid death wish because every time she gets close to death Edward appears as an image in the night telling her to stop trying to hurt herself. I came close to death the other night and nothing appeared to me except a man asking if he could have my parking spot. (More on that later.)

So Jacob is risking life and paw for this chick and she doesn't even ever give him a single kiss. And Edward already spent the entire first movie getting totally jacked up for her skinny ass. Two men, literally willing to die for her. I can barely get a dude to stop by the exchange and pick me up some garbage bags. I mean really.

And Jacob, good lord. That guy is ab-tastic. There are two things in this movie that are very different than when I was a kid. Number 1. 16 year olds. And number 2. Wolves. They use to just dress up like your Grandma and try to eat you. Now they are getting tattoos and never wearing shirts.

I can see it already. I’m going to be crying wolf all week. Team Jacob!

Currently Chasing: Something better

The person who proclaimed “words can never hurt you” must have been deaf. Because although sticks and stones may break my bones, there are casts and crutches that will get me back to good. However, words will kick you in the face, repeatedly. Words are like tiny tic-tac bombs in the back of your skull, just waiting to explode when you least expect it.

Phrases are even worse. Phrases may as well slit your fucking throat. A few of the slaughter sayings are, “It’s not you, it’s me” “I am afraid of getting hurt” and my all time favorite, “You deserve so much better than me.” Are you fucking kidding me? Rip my heart out with this bullshit why don’t ya!?

Let me tell you something. These are just words, but they are words that pack a fucking punch. “You deserve better.” Then why can’t you mother fucking be better dumb ass? Why am I being punished because you’re not better? If I’m such a damn princess, shouldn’t you be inspired to step up to the white picket fence and ask me to lower my braid of hair for you to climb? Return the glass slipper already! But no, they will simply say you deserve better, and then they will move on. And wait for better to fucking fall in your lap. But if something better ever does come around, he'll be sure to cockblock it! "You deserve better than THAT guy."

It all reminds me of an old Twix commercial. A man is walking with a Twix candy bar in his pocket. It falls out. A little boy sees this and runs up and says, “Excuse me mister, but you dropped your candy.” The man looks at him and says, wow, thanks. He opens it up and pulls out one of the crispy, wafery, chocolaty goodies and says, “You know kid, you deserve a reward.” Then he takes a big bite and says, “Yep, you sure do.” Then he walks away. Some asshole is eating my half of a Twix bar right now, all the while repeating the phrase, “you deserve better!”

It’s ok. I can live without that Twix bar. And let’s be honest; it deserves better than me.

Currently Chasing: Taggers!

As most of you know, I am a Facebook user. That’s all fine and great because I can control the content of my page and make sure nothing ends up on there that I wouldn’t want anyone to see, right? Yeah the fuck right!

Recently I’ve been getting ‘tagged.’ For those of you who don’t know, (like if you just defrosted from a 40-year stay in a freeze chamber) when you get tagged in a photo, that photo becomes available for your list of friends to view. Here is the problem. My ‘friends’ don’t seem to care what I look like in these photos of me they tag. They only care that they look good. Sure, it’s a great photo of YOU. And so of course YOU want the whole damn world to see it. But did YOU happen to notice the fact that it looks like I am sporting some flop sweat and a thigh role?!

“Oh look honey, it’s a great photo of us at the BBQ, let’s post it. AND TAG EVERYONE IN IT.” Who cares that I am NOT supposed to be in the photo, but have wound up in the background shoving a plate of nachos down my throat! Go ahead and tag me anyway fucker!

I have a little more courtesy. I post tons of photos on my page. And of course, they are photos that I like of ME. If you look like a sack of ass, well guess what…I don’t really care. Because when people come to my page and look at my photos it is because they want to see good pictures of ME. They could give a shit less that you look like a damn dump truck. But here’s the deal. I’m not going to tag you just so that all your friends can see you picking panties out of your ass. NO. I’m a fucking friend! I keep that tacky shit to myself … ahem, and my 453 friends.

Can I get the same courtesy? Don’t tag that picture of me coming back from parasailing after having just thrown up the entire contents of my stomach onto my stomach. Don’t tag that picture of me from high school where I’m wearing a gosh damn light up Christmas sweater. Don’t tag those pictures of me from the Christmas Party where I didn’t realize just how ‘drunk’ I was. In fact, don’t even post those at all…I mean, let’s be honest. No one needs to see that shit. Just stop the fucking tagging!

And stop tagging me in quizzes about your life. I have 453 damn friends. Chances are, I don’t fucking know them! OR YOU. I don’t know what instrument you played in high school, I don’t know how many times you’ve been married, I don’t know what your favorite food is, I don’t even know how many kids you have now. But I do know that we once knew each other. BECAUSE YOU TAGGED ME IN A FUCK-UGLY PHOTO!

Don’t poke me or send me a beer or ask me to join a cause or send a zombie after me or ask me to be in your mafia bullshit, or ask me which fucking Simpsons character I am. Please don’t send me a plant or a fucking button or some other kind of fuck-stupid piece of flair.

P.S. If you haven’t already, add me as a friend! I’m personality plus…

Currently Chasing: Texters

Have you ever returned a phone call to someone who you know is going to drive you crazy, only to want to shoot yourself in the head two minutes into the conversation? And then it still lasts another hour and thirty three minutes?

And no matter how many times you say you gotta go, it just doesn't happen. Like, "Alright so it was nice talking to you .... "
"Yeah, it was nice talking to you as well, you know I had kidney stones last year, man it was crazy, I was in the hospital and then your uncle Mike told me that I could come stay there and the worst thing in the world is kidney stones but morphine is cool and that is what they gave me because I was in so much pain."

"I'm really sorry to hear that, but it's about 10:30 at night and I really have to get my kid into bed .... "
Yeah, how is she by the way? You know that rose bush I planted for her is sprouting up, I should send pictures of it. It is so beautiful. Does she still sing? What is she getting for Christmas? How old is she now? when was her birthday? I knew it was in October. I told your Dad it was in October. Did he remember your birthday this year? You know I remind him every year. If I didn't, he would forget.

"Yeah, my dad is so forgetful. Whew, look at the time, I miss you, I'm going to go ... "
"I miss you too. We don't talk enough. It seems like we just lose touch so easy. the last time I talked to you was a year ago this time. I know you were out to visit in May, but I didn't get a chance to see you. I was in the hospital. Man, what a crazy time that was. I think you knew I was in the hospital. I'm fine now, things are going well. Except I'm miserable. I really don't like my life and I'm just not happy. What about you? Did you get out of the military? I talked to your brother and he told me that you decided to get out. It's the right choice. Your dad is worried, but I told him you are making the right choice."

"Yeah, I talked to my brother about it. He agreed I was making the right choice. But I'm going to go now ..."
"Yeah, your brother is going through a tough time right now. His daughter was skipping a lot of school and then one day she skipped and he found out so he went home to catch her and found her in bed with someone. And it was a woman! I guess that's what happens when you raise your daughter to be a boy. We wanted to put her in dance class, but he wanted her to play baseball and soccer. And she doesn't believe in God. So what do you expect?"

"Yep...godless lesbians are all around us. But Damn bitch I gotta go!"

In the end, I guess I didn't have to go too bad, seeing as though I got off the phone and wrote this damn blog. But jeez....you know? Some people and their War and Peace Telephone calls. That's why I text.

So when is it enough?

(Original Post: May 27, 2005 - Friday)

Um, lesbian anyone?

I'm so done with the dating game. I have been on several dates, and can I just say, I will never get those hours back. I'm closer to dying, with nothing to show for it.
One by one they let me down. Talk to much about themselves. try to impress me with how much money they have. Tell jokes when they don't know any. Totally insult my offspring. Hmmmm. Single is better. But single is sexless. lol. I'm not obsessed with sex, but it is a nice bonus when you couple it with someone you absolutely enjoy spending time with.
I mean, sure, I could just randomly pick one of these fuck-offs I've dated....not dating, that would mean more than once, but dated...but let's be honest. I do not like looking at them over food, what makes you think I'd enjoy looking at them over me!

Seriously, get the fuck out

(Original Post: July 22, 2006 - Saturday)

My little one doesn't turn 5 until October 8. The cut off for Kindergarten is Oct. 1. So because of seven little days she is doomed to be the 19-year-old Senior. I can't let that happen to her. Not for seven days. So we signed her up for a private Kindergarten. $550. a month. There is also a $250. Registration charge for a cap and gown at graduation.
Seriously, get the fuck out. Are you kidding me?
A cap and a damn gown. It's K-fucking-5. It doesn't even rate a number. It's 0-fucking-grade. But, who can put a price tag on an early start right? Wrong. They have put a price tag on it and it's 5, 500 bucks. That's how much we will have paid by the end. And I thought I was saving up to send the girl to college. Little did I know I'd be dipping into the savings to send her ass to zero grade school?
And if that is not enough, she needs uniforms. Not just any uniform either. Not just a series of colors she's required to wear, but a particular uniform, from a particular store, that costs a particular amount of money. $50. bucks a uniform to be exact. However, the owl mascot will be sewn on for free, so, it's a deal!
It's also a Christian school. For occasions like Halloween they allow students to dress up; however, they are required to dress as characters from the Bible. This leaves me a bit confused. Does she just wear a robe and a Hello I'm (Bible Character) tag? Or should I dress her as an Ark so she'll get recognized? Possibly a camel. Maybe have her sit on the ground all day and say she was the guy with no legs. (Wasn't that a story...He made the Lame to walk, and the blind to see? Opened prison doors, set the captives free...i've got a river of life flowing out of me, spring out the well, slish splash...) Oh sorry, Bible song moment.
They tested her to see if she was ready for zero grade. She answered everything right, but had no idea what a church was...or a cross for that matter.
They shot me a look ... like, seriously, get the fuck out.

Phantom Pooper!

(Original Post: June 20, 2006 - Tuesday)



I've been listening to a book on CD. It's a Dean Koontz book and I'm addicted. Even if I'm driving a few minutes up the road I'm tuning in. I'm addicted to the villain. A crazy clown with an insane vocabulary. I love insane vocabs. I love people who talk smart.

But not those people who talk smart because they want to be smart- types. You know the ones. Those idiots who talk with big words and email you even bigger words, and think before they speak so they can plan that shit out. Then they say something like, "do you know what I'm saying?" Yes asshole, you are not so heady and cerebral that I need an F'n moment. I get it. Thanks."

They pretend like they are pausing to take in what you just said, but really they are trying to recall the stupid word of the day they got in their email earlier. PS. If you subscribe to the word of the day, then let this be the word for today ... propanile. With that said, let me continue. If you walk up to me in the halls and say "Damn that guest speaker today was homiletic. Seriously, I wanted to summarily dismiss myself, and then shoot myself in the face. What a snoozer." Well, wow, I'm probably thinking, yeah, he was pretty boring, much like a church lecture gone awry. And I'm giving you street cred.

However, if you come up and say "Do you think they will find an ersatz for me next week, because I'm leaving Wednesday, and I still haven't heard anything?" I'm going to ...A. Know you just looked that shit up and tried to make a sentence with it, and B. Tell you to go fuck yourself because the department is fully booked for the next forever. Speaking of propanile ... someone is shitting on the floor in our building. Are you kidding me? While on a ship I have seen some shit. I have seen women put their tampons in the space normally used to store toilet paper. I've heard about grown men wiping their ass with their white T-shirt when the toilet paper supply has been depleted, and I've even once heard of someone being so full of shit you could smell it when he spoke.

But never this.The phantom pooper they call him. We know it is a him because it is only happening in the male stalls. Who is going into the restroom like, yeah, I'll show them. Let me just take a crap on the floor and then you'll know. Are you pissed at the janitorial staff? Cause they are the ones having to deal with your bowel movements you sick fuck. Now they've stationed people in the restroom to watch you shit and make sure your kiddies make it to the pool, so-to-speak. I mean really. All I can say is stop shitting on the floor. And need I say more. Seriously. And stop looking up propanile, you wannabee wordsmith. I made it up. Cause I'm heady and cerebral like that. But I don't shit on the floor.

Saturday, Bloody Saturday

(Original Post: April 1, 2006 - Saturday)

It's Saturday. I should be out, getting drunk and snapping random phone photos right? Hell no. I'm sick. And I'm coughing up a lung, watching Kelly Clarkson videos. Looks like it's going to be a law and order kinda night.
I want to eat, but every time I swallow it's like tiny knives are carving the alphabet down my throat. I need to swallow something that burns, like tequila. Or something that soothes. No comments please.
I went out with a friend earlier. We had lunch and then got pedicures and manicures. I probably should not have braved the outing, but damn. You can only sit inside your misery for so many hours before it tries to eat you alive. She took me to bed, bath and beyond. I bought a scale.
I was going to just buy the twenty dollar scale, but some dude was like, hey, this one calculates body fat and water weight. And I said, why would I want to pay more money for something that will only cause me pain. But he shot me a look like, come on girl; you've got nothing to worry about. My friend told me he was clearly flirting. (I've forgotten what that looks/sounds like, but I'll take her word for it.) So he hands me one of the more expensive scales and we head to the check out.
So thank you mystery man. That compliment cost me fifty bucks.
I did get broken up with earlier this week. The fifty bucks for the compliment seemed like a small price to pay in comparison.

Thank you for not fucking me big time! NOT

(Original Post: March 6, 2006 - Monday)

Ok. I almost saw a guy commit suicide Sunday. Or at least that is what I thought he was trying to do. He got out of his car and began crossing the freeway. In California there are signs warning you that there may be people trying to cross the freeway. Those people are not trying to commit suicide. They are trying to get into the country. I don't think that is a problem here in Maryland, and there are not signs posted, so what else could this guy be doing?
Well guess what I found out. There are signs posted, and they are fucking speed limit signs, and they say 55, and I was going 74. $80 later I'm back on the road and a little defeated. It's the first ticket I've ever gotten off base. Not to mention I'm usually the slowest driver ever. No one wants to follow me anywhere and they don't want me following them. I'm that annoying person you cut off in traffic. Whatever. So today I stop at the bank to deposit my winnings from Atlantic City. I went this weekend and won about $300. Well, $220 if you count my run-in with the Po Po. So there I am. I deposit the money in the bank and walk back to my car. And yep, you guessed it, I locked my keys in the car. The car is a fucking 2006 and I don't have keyless entry and I've gotten so used to just locking the doors as soon as I get out, and well, yeah. My phone and everything is just in there laughing at me. I do have a spare set of keys. They are in the car as well. God I'm a genius. So I call a locksmith. He comes out. Unlocks my door in about 4 seconds and hands me a bill for $95. Oh My Fucking Gorham. Are you kidding me? Yes, I was just about to suggest I pay you $95 for your 4 seconds of laughing in my face. Thank you Sir, for not fucking me big time. Last night I called my phone company. My bill seemed a little extreme so I wanted to call and see what was up. Turns out a while back I accidentally cancelled my text messaging option and I've been paying for them since May. So basically 20 bucks a month extra since may. Not to mention that I have the family plan and the second phone I bought is somewhere in California not being used, but I am paying for text messages on that phone and oh yeah, by the way, insurance. Do you think I have insurance on my piece of shit phone? NO. How in the hell did that happen? Fuck. The lady was like, I'm sorry ma'am, are you not happy with our service because you are a fucking idiot who can't figure out how to read her fucking bill and who got online and accidentally cancelled her text messages, and now you are fucking pissed and want to threaten to cancel your service hoping we will give you a bunch of free shit to keep you as a customer? UM, YES BITCH! That's exactly who I am. Curves gym charged me $300 bucks last month in back membership fees because they said my contract was never officially cancelled. I mean, yes, the year I signed up for had ended, but I had never sent an official letter asking them to cancel it, so they just kept continuing to charge me. I tried to say I was in Iraq...but then I'm sure they wondered why the call was a 410 are code. I'm stealth for sure. I need to stop. I am feeling the urge to cross a freeway.

ENFP Personality = FAT

(Original Post: February 22, 2006 - Wednesday)

So I'm screwed. It has been determined that your personality type directly relates to your body type. What in the hell. And guess what they found out? In general people with a good personality are, yep, you guessed it, overweight. I thought there were no real scientific studies to prove the "Oh she has a good personality so she must be fat," theory. But I was, like I have been often these days, wrong.
Let me break it down ... There is E or I. Which means, Extrovert or Introvert. There is N or S. Which means, Intuitive or Sensor. There is F or T. Which means, Feeler or Thinker. There is P or J. Which means, Preciever or Judger. You will be one of each of these, and that combination will determine your personality type. Now, if you act like you are always on uppers and the proverbial glass is always half full and life seems overall colorful and cheery and you are usually the person inviting people to a party and you love to make friends with everyone and you put the person in front of the problem instead of the problem in front of the person, and you really just have a sunny outlook on life, well chances are you eat too much. They will have you believe that ENFP stands for Extroverted Intuitive, Feeling, Perceiver. I stand to reason that it means Extremely Nice Fat Person. I didn't just come up with this on my own. A coworker who studies these personality types was the one who originally pointed it out to me. He said there is an entire book on the subject. He said that people with his personality type (none) seem to be thin and muscular, where as people with my personality type (lovely) seem to be short and fat. I looked at him kind of shocked. So he quickly backed it up with, You're not short. Then after some more hesitation and a continued look of shock from me, he followed that up with a very delayed, you're not fat. WHATEVER. You can not hesitate and then say that. It's like, "Do I look fat in this dress?" LONG PAUSE. "NO." It fails every time. I guess the reasoning is that extroverted people are very oral by nature. Meaning they talk a lot. And also, ENFPs are very social people who seem to eat in every type of setting. Mad, Sad, Happy, Very Happy. Whatever the mood, just add a chicken wing and we are good. So see, it is not something I have control over. I can either be overweight with a great personality or thin and stale. And if given the choice, well naturally. I'd pick thin and stale.