Oh, hello! Lovely salad today. Dressing on the side.
I used to be fun. Honest.
Back in the day, I would get dressed up and go out with my friends. We’d drink, and dance, and laugh, and pick up boys (who wanted to be men.) The night would be considered young at 10pm. Heck, we wouldn’t even leave the house until after 10. That was back when people could still smoke in bars – you’d come home reeking of cigarettes, and need to take a shower. Sleep (or pass out) for a few hours, then start making plans to do it all again.
But, somewhere along the way, my fun got broken. I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to it, and when, but the thought of going out and being jostled in a loud, too crowded bar holds all the appeal of the cats chewing my toes off. Maybe it’s a function of getting older, or the after effects of being betrayed by the above mentioned friends, or the result of acquiring more mature friends, or being more choosy with who I do consider a friend, but my fun seems to be gone. (I know I previously described how I suck at the whole “I wanna be your friend” thing, so I won’t go there.)(Okay, just one thing about that – if someone calls to go to lunch or dinner or whatever, and I am not *completely* sure they are among my handful of friends? I experience something that can only be described as a mild panic attack. Seriously. WTF is wrong with me??)
Now, it seems that “going out” is more around the happy hour time frame. A lovely night is home, with a book. Dinner out? I’d love for it to be done by 8pm. Bed? On a school night, I like nothing more than to be in bed by 9, reading. Weekends? It’s later, but still not the crazy early morning hours of the next day. It’s a very low-key, comfortable existence.
But the more I think about my fun and what happened to it, I realize that what I have really *is* just an existence. Sure, it’s comfortable, it works (sort of), it’s somewhat lonely, but I’m not really *living*. I do have fun when I go out with my true friends. Or when I go to the hockey games with Herb. I really do. But how do I get out of my head, stop over analyzing every word/look/gesture with the ones who haven’t forced their way in. (And let’s face it – they do have to force their way in. And for those that have? Thank goat they did. I cherish them.)
Maybe once I stop expecting the worst from people, or suspecting the worst of myself, I will be able to find the instructions and fix my fun. I just hope that all the years of sweeping it into the corner, and moving it from one apartment to another, from one state to another, and finally to this house, haven’t permanently crushed it. I suspect the pieces have been pretty disintegrated and crushed, but maybe not irreparably harmed. Hopefully, with a little bottle of self-love, a healthy-sized box of kind words, and a final rinse-off of trust, my fun will re-emerge as some shadow of its former self. Maybe then, I will be able to water it daily, play it good music, feed it good food, and have it return stronger than before. To be clear, I have no desire to relive the crazy days of leaving the house at 10pm and driving home (usually drunk. I know. You don’t have to say it. I KNOW!) several hours later. But I do want to not be suspicious of people and their motives. I do want to know that I have something to offer/contribute. I do want to hear myself laugh until my tum hurts.
I miss my fun. I hope it hasn’t given up all hope. After all, I did keep it with me for all this time, despite my neglect. That should count for something, right?
Oh, hello! Just getting the makings together for tacos. They will be up soon.
Yesterday? Sucked ass. Today? Much better.
I have been looking online for new tattoo ideas. I know I shouldn’t be, because I used to have one on my ankle and spent many, many, many dollars trying to get it removed. All it left me with is a 3rd degree burn scar, and some blue ink patches. It’s really pretty in the summer when the weather gets warm, and my scar gets angry and weepy and purple. Remind me to post pictures of it the next time it happens. Good times.
Two years ago at girl camp, I got a new tat. It’s a very proper kitten on my right back/hip. Not in the tramp stamp spot though. She’s very pretty- with green eyes, and pink in her ears. She looks like my twins, too, with the white “blouse” on.
And now I want to get another one. Every time I watch LA Ink, I want to get one. I’m thinking of some sort of Celtic Cross, with a Claddagh, and a word in Gaelic under it, but I can’t find the perfect design, and I don’t know how big, or where. I did see a really pretty one of a Claddagh across the instep, but OMGoat that must have hurt!!
I’ll keep looking. Maybe by the time girl camp rolls around again in April, I will have the right design (and the money) to get it.
Oh, hello! Just tea today. I hope you don’t mind.
I started today with a plan for a post about how I don’t think I know how to have fun anymore, and to be all introspective and stuff. But, the joke was on me.
I woke up with a headache, but didn’t think too much about it, because I wake up EVERY day with a headache. So, you know. Whatever. I’ll get ready and go to work. When I get there, the leg jiggler is there “rocking” out to some random 80s tune on his iPod speakers. Kill me. The headache is getting worse, and that shit isn’t helping.
Once he knows I’m there, he decides to chat. A lot. About nothing. He’s already had 2 Mountain Dews by that time, and so he was on a caffeine buzz. Super. The head is pounding now. Full fledged migraine pulling into the station.
He finally goes away long enough so I can do something before our one-on-one meeting. You see, we have to have a meeting to further discuss what’s going on at the Gas ‘n Stuff. Because, even though we just merged with another company, they now want to feck up our department and move everyone to new jobs and new managers. (The good news: I soon won’t be reporting to the leg jiggler. The bad news: the new manager? unknown. And the job has not been posted yet.) So we’re meeting, and he’s being his usual self – you know the type of manager who asks you if you have questions, but when you do ask, they start in (again) talking all about themselves? Yeah. That’s him. So eventually, he gets around to criticizing my character again. (Not a constructive criticism, either. More of a “Yeah, I don’t care if you are 42 and this is how you’ve been for that long. Could you change everything about yourself? Because it doesn’t match what I think you should be. It has nothing to do with how you do your job – that’s fine. It’s just your personality. Thanks. That would help me out a lot.”) Cue the ugly cry. Super.
That finally ends, I go to my next meeting – on the phone, thankfully. Then I leave to take a migraine pill and nap because I can’t take it any more. I’m home, napping. Thing one is on my tum, thing two is right up against me. All napping. Lovely. The phone rings. It’s a head hunter. (YAY!) He wants my help to find SOMEONE ELSE FOR A POSITION FOR WHICH HE KNOWS I’M NOT QUALIFIED. AYFKM? You don’t have a job for me??? Of course you don’t. That might salvage the day.
So here I sit. The head is a little better. I still have to report to the leg jiggler until they hire someone new – very likely months away. I forgot to take my contacts out for my nap. And a head hunter DOESN’T want to hire me.
I think it’s official. I became Thursday’s bitch. I think I’ll go back to bed.
Oh, hello! Let’s have pudding while we watch the show.
(I’m too lazy this week to post links to the previous weeks too, but Episode 6 links to all the other weeks, if you are even interested.)
Blue team: Total pounds: 35 Total %: 2.65
Liz -4 to 228
Rebecca -5 to 232
Tracey -4 to 202
Allen -8 to 270
Rudy -14 to 355 (GO RUDY!! 87 pounds down so far.)
Black team: Total pounds:34 Total %:1.98
Abby -4 to 204
Dina -5 to 208
Amanda -6 to 218
Danny -15 to 357 (GO DANNY!! 73 pounds down.)
Daniel +1 to 277 (WTF??)
Shay -5 to 411
Dina went home. This week, they are going to go head to head on the scales. What ever that means. (Editor’s note: Is it just me, or does it seem like Shay should have lost more weight by now? Usually, the fatties lose weight much more quickly. Especially that size. Granted, she is down close to 60 pounds, but still…)
Rudy is ticked off that Dina is gone. Liz is all whipped up that they voted her out.
A new morning dawns, and they come in to face Sami. They are half-way thru the season. (Thank god.)
Head to head against someone from the opposite team. The winner of the weigh in gets a point. The team with the fewest points sends someone home. Who ever wins the challenge decides who competes against whom in the weigh in. Only one player at a time, they can switch at any time, but each player only gets one turn. They have to bob under a bar and hit a disk hanging on either side. They get a point for each disk hit. First team to 500 wins. Black team switches out players really quickly. Blue team is going longer with each player. It’s down to Rebecca v Daniel down to the end. Rebecca wins for the Blue team. Black team is pissed since they haven’t won a challenge yet. Blue team has 10 minutes to decide. It comes down to:
Rebecca v Amanda
Tracey v Abby (shocking… Crazy had to editorialize.)
Allen v Danny
Rudy v Shay
Liz v Daniel
Pretty good matchups, IMO. It’s face-off week. They all talk smack about each other. Blah blah blah.
Bob’s team is in the pool. He’s trying to kill them in the pool. Jillian’s team is in the gym. She’s “picking” on Amanda. Amanda is sassing her. Jill is telling her that she’s stuck in being a failure. She needs to have courage. Amanda is now sitting on the treadmill and crying. Total meltdown. Jill tells her that if she quits (the treadmill) now, she is a failure. (Harsh, but kinda true. (Look at me getting all philosophical! *heh*)) Amanda walks out of the gym. Jill says under her breath “Why are these contestants so friggin difficult this season?” (Uh, yeah, ‘cuz last season they were all sunbeams and unicorns. *eye roll*)
New challenge. They are at a baseball diamond. The numbers on their jerseys represents the number of pounds they have lost so far. There are life-sized pictures of themselves in the outfield (when they first started). Derek Jeter is there virtually to tell them about the challenge. (Aside: Shay in baseball pants? Not so much.)
2535 balls in the field. Grab a ball, throw it at a picture of an opponent. 316 hits and they are out. The winning team gets lunch made for them by Curtis Stone, and a 2 pound advantage. Abby and Tracy are sitting out. Black team wants to get out Allen and Rebecca first. Allen is out. Amanda is out. Rebecca is out. Daniel is out. Rudy is out. (Aside: I kinda hate Shay.). Liz is the last one. And she’s out. Black team wins. They can use the 2 pounds either 2 for one face-off or split them so 1 pound each for 2 face-off. Curtis is making them barbecue. (With Jennie-O turkey.) Burgers using portabello mushrooms as the bun. Hmmm…
Hour one recap. Last chance workouts. Jill is talking with Abby about what is changed for her. She actually asked Abby what it’s like to lose everything you ever loved. We hear her story. OMG, *sobbing now*. I cannot even imagine what it must have been like. My stupid problems are so small. Even Jill is moved. Abby has chosen to live. Not just exist. What a remarkable woman. Truly. She is certainly an inspiration for me. Wow.
Okay, Jillian is all up in EVERYONE’S business this week. Amanda was crying. Shay is on the floor sobbing about her mother. I know they have to get to the bottom of the issues, but dang Jill.
This week’s weigh in:
Blue team: Won the weigh in. Black team has to send someone home.
Liz -7 (Down 46 so far this season) Won the face off.
Rebecca -9 (Down 56 so far this season) Won the face off.
Tracey -5 (Down 41 so far this season) Won the face off.
Allen -8 (Down 63 so far this season)
Rudy -14 (Down 101 so far this season) Won the face off. Broke Dane’s record. 100 pounds in 7 weeks.
Abby -3 (Down 46 so far this season)
Amanda -4 (Down so far this season) (Has the 2 pound advantage)
Danny -12 (Down 85 so far this season) Won the face off. Has immunity for the elimination.
Daniel -5 (Down 40 so far this season)
Shay -9 (Down 74 so far this season)
Black team has 20 minutes to decide who to send home. Danny is safe. Abby is volunteering to go home. (BTDub, Sami’s dress is really pretty this week.) Abby votes out Amanda. Shay votes out Abby. Amanda votes out Abby. Danny votes out Daniel. Daniel votes out Abby. Abby is going home. Sami is going to cry!
At home update: HOLY CRAP! She looks amazing! She’s doing public speaking. She gives me chills. She’s down 80 pounds. She’s hot!
Next week: they are going to Washington DC. Oh, and more drama with Crazy.
Oh, hello! Help yourself to some beef stew. Mum made it.
So, after having read Debra’s brilliant post, I was inspired to straighten/clean/discard/sort through my stuff. It’s slow going, but the end result is worth it. This past weekend, I tackled, among other things, the front closet. More specifically, the shelf in the closet with all the really important winter scarves, etc thrown up there into a ball.
What did I learn? Bottom line? I have a problem. Turns out, I have eleventy jillion scarves. All beautiful. All ones I think I love. Also? I have 24,000 baseball hats. Which, you know. Good thing. Because I only regularly wear 3 of them. What. The. Heck? What do I need this much stuff for? Yes, I love the scarves. And yes, I still wear a lot of them. I could probably sell them on eBay, but it would break my heart to let them go to someone potentially yucky!
Earlier in the week, I had been wondering to myself why I still had so much outstanding debt. Um, duh, Mary. Why do you think you have so much debt?? (Yeah, I’m talking to myself. Don’t judge.) At least now, I have cut up my credit cards and can’t rack up more.(That’s a whole other post.)
I also recently went through all my purses, and weeded those out. And shoes. And I’ve been going through my clothes as I change them out for the season. It really is freeing to get rid of “things”. I think I’ve said it before, but I read somewhere recently that you should have in your life only things that enrich your life, and make you feel wonderful. Trying to eliminate things that don’t fit that bill is a worthwhile challenge, and one that I endorse heartily. It still isn’t easy, and I will continue to chip away at the rest of my clearly necessary stuff that I don’t even remember I own.
What will remain will be all things that I love. And make me smile. As it should be.
Oh, hello! Have some tamale pie. It’s fab.
Do you blog? Or read blogs? If you read other people’s blogs, do you comment on them? I try to comment on the blogs I read. I don’t know if my comments have any meaning to the author or not, but I want them to know that someone is out there, reading what they have to say.
Me? I LOVE seeing comments on my posts. I know there are many of my posts that have no meaning to anyone other than me, so I understand why there wouldn’t be a comment. But I get that Christmas-morning feeling when I get an email telling me that someone has commented. Is that weird? Needy? I don’t know.
My friend, K2Kid, didn’t read my blog for a long time. Then she found it. And said she liked it. And claims she still reads it, but doesn’t comment. I’m okay with that because I certainly don’t want anyone to feel they have to comment. Unlike some other bloggers, I do this for my own amusement. (For now. But if anyone is interested in paying me to do this… let me know.)
I read some blogs that are very personal, and were bourne from some huge life change/tragedy as a way to get that “stuff” out. I get that. And it’s very likely that I may have a time for that too.
Regardless, if you read this, I’m glad you do. If anything I write hits a nerve with you, or makes you smile or think or whatever, then I’m glad for that too. And if the mood ever strikes you to comment, or say hi, do that too. (But not mean comments. I don’t mind comments that disagree with me, but mean ones? No. Thank you, though.)