Pete and Repeat
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
This morning I made my own hairspray by combining sugar and water in my company wash room.
Let me back up and tell the story.
My week started with hints of awesomeness: New Year’s Eve we did some drinking and I was all dressed up real pretty, I had a relaxing long weekend, and my birthday is coming up. Monday was a pretty lazy day with only a few things that I needed to do, some of which got did and the rest was shoved into my desk for “later on”. Tuesday had a slow start, I generally start with a 10 AM meeting that I call into and promptly put on mute for two hours. Sometimes I take a nap, sometimes I fold origami, sometimes I search the internet for all sorts of hilarity. All three things happened this Tuesday and then I hung up early so my co-workers could take me out for a birthday lunch.
Getting back to my office I observed a bomb of humanity that exploded all over my desk top. Seriously, don’t know why, but I spent the next 5 hours cleaning up the gore that comes with the above referred exploded humanity. By 6 I was ready to run screaming and I was more than happy to go home and do some baking. I find that baking soothes me. Plus I like licking the bowl.
I made cupcakes and just as I was pulling out the first batch Bruce walked in with dinner. Everything was coming together nicely and there was food and I was warm and no one was complaining about their boring ass bullshit needs. I ate my food and then a (ok two) cupcakes and started to bunker down for the night. I set the alarm for 5:45 and 6:00 because I had a 7 AM meeting today that is a 20 minute ride from my place. I took my place on the couch (Bruce snores and when I have an early morning I tend to start the night on the couch rather than spend a few hours wanting to kill Bruce and then moving to the couch) and said goodnight to Bruce.
Imagine my surprise when at 6:40 Bruce wakes me up and says that I am late. But how could I be late? I wanted to be nice to Bruce so I gathered my outfit for the morning in the living room (that means I don’t have to turn on the light and wake him up). I grabbed my clothes, brushed my teeth and twisted my hair in a knot and ran out the door. I made it to the meeting at 7 exactly and I prayed I looked okay.
After my meeting I called interrogated Bruce. Bruce claims that when the first alarm went off at 5:45 he woke me up (“I opened my bedroom door and said hey get up and you muttered something.”) and when I asked if he turned on the light he started to mumble something about telling me to get up. Then I asked, “but what happened to the other alarm?” and Bruce then repeated his story about getting up at 5:45. I asked again if he thought about turning on the light to make sure I was up and this is where he started over in his story. Bruce is always telling me that it’s not his fault when things like this happen, it’s not his responsibility.
And today, I totally realized something, as I was leaving my meeting, slapping on make-up at the red lights so I could go to my next meeting. Bruce is not responsible. He’s many nice things: smart, funny, stable. He’s just not responsible. So when I got to work and pulled through my bag I found my travel toothbrush, an eyebrow brush/liner and a packet of sugar. I managed to use the toothbrush to tease my bangs at the root to give some volume (toothbrush has now been thrown away), I used the eyebrow brush to pull up the hair at the roots and kind of neaten up the fly-aways. I pulled my hair into a loose and casual french braid and then I mixed a little water and sugar together to make hair spray to smooth down the sides.
One of the people from the 7 AM meeting who was also at my 9 AM meeting complimented my braid and my pulled together look. The upside is that I clearly am in training to kick MacGvyer’s ass in an emergency grooming situation. The downside is that I can’t ever think of Bruce as responsible and that’s kind of a big thing yo.
Blogging • It's illegal • You don't bring me flowers • Things to work on • WWBD? • (1) Comments • Permalink
March on soldier girl, can’t you hear the tune?
Monday, October 26, 2009
You don’t listen. It’s true. We all know it. You just do, and it’s always easier to shrug and apologize for past sins that to not do what you want. So you don’t listen.
You’re not the only one. We all do it. The best of us can only admit to a minor awareness of how selfish everyone is. And really, there’s nothing wrong with being selfish. If we weren’t selfish people would never plunk out a mini-me, plan on pre-school while the mini-me is still in utero, intend on our little genus going to med school, and create a geriatrician who will take care of me in my old age. Something that will probably come true as I hurtle through this last decade of childbearing time with no real intention of having a mini-me of my own.
So we don’t listen, not to logic and sense, not to the requests of others, not to our inner intuition. No, we don’t listen.
But we should. We should all really just pay attention.
Drip
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Last night I was on the couch, in exile from Bruce’s snoring, shivering. And sad. Shivering because when Bruce turned on the heat, he failed to turn off the AC. The heat triggered the AC, the AC triggered the heat. My body was sweating and my arm was frozen. And all I could think about was my grams in the ICU. It’s one of those things you just don’t put out of your mind and go to sleep when you’re in the dark, both too hot and too cold. As the distance between then and today, I spend more time thinking about then.
Irony is
Monday, October 12, 2009
watching DJ AM talk about getting some girl named Amy clean from heroin and talking about how he’s going to get her off the dime bag.
Yeah, she totally needs to be on a different path. Yup, she needs help. Uh huh.
You Can’t Handle The Truth
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Today I read a story in the New York Times (I’ll give you a minute to skim). And it made me mad.
The new assholes all over the internet are learning all about the internet. Bitches, we’ve all been here for a decade and now you want to talk about how what you write on the internet isn’t private. Thanks. No really, I hadn’t known that.
My mom has found facebook. She’s my friend. As are a bunch of other people that I couldn’t give a shit about in high school and certainly don’t now. I hide pretty much everyone, especially the girls from college and high school who post all about the meal they cooked for dinner and how their children are now fully potty trained. There is a reason why mommy blogs exist, go get a free blog and leave the rest of us alone. What kills me is that my inclination to post funny things about my day (like imaginary miscarriages - more about that next) has been buried because I know it would offend all these people I don’t even like in the first place.
My mom, new to the idea of the internet, was trying to explain facebook to me. No, seriously, she said: “And you can put little tid bits about your day into the box and people can see it all.” My mom then explained to me how you will be told who else you know on facebook because the magic of facebook (I didn’t try to explain to my mom computer logic and how she allowed access to her email address book, I let it be magic). I was honestly so incredulous about the whole “let me tell you about the internet thing” that I called her back when Bruce and I were driving somewhere, put her on speaker phone and had her go through the details of the internet again. Bruce was equally entertained by the dialogue and when my mom gets to the part of her spiel about how when you post something on facebook you have to be careful because anything you write can be read by everyone else and so it’s not really a private conversation and in fact, everyone in America can read what you just wrote (not getting into the details of how, really only friends can read what you write on facebook, didn’t want to confuse the new girl). Bruce chose this moment to interject “everyone in the whole world can read what you just wrote.” My mom actually squeaked “THE WHOLE WORLD!” She promptly hung up, I am sure to go tell her husband that the whole world can read what she posts on the internet.
On one level I just want to laugh, because a) this is laughing all the way and b) it’s like people really haven’t been paying attention all along. Welcome to Web 2.0 fools. Careful to not feed the trolls. I’ve had such freedom here, posting what I want, when I want about who I want without a care. Facebook is painfully dull because I have to be so cautious about who and what and why and how foul. I’ve never had to worry about snark or scorched earth (remember that guy, I fucked him up! It was fun). I talked about sex, drugs and bikini waxing (more about that later too). I’ve talked about Bruce (who by the way, tried to tell me that he didn’t really know how to text with his phone. The fool has a blackberry for his phone and he can’t figure out how to send a text. Douche). I’ve made fun of my family (see above) and said fuck…a lot. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged with any regularity and I don’t know if I have the brain power to do so again for the time being, but I love the ability to come here and say what I mean to say (John Mayer is annoying - stop twittering you fucking tool). SEE! While my life is far less exciting than when I first started blogging, for instance, I don’t drink, smoke or snort anything (oh but I do take pills yay for pills), I think as I find the next phase of my blogging self I will get back on the writing horse.
The laters:
I was at the gym on Monday and my trainer (who I call the Workout Nazi, something that would offend most of my Jewish family on facebook - losers ruining my good times) kicked my ass and made me puke three times. I had eaten half of a granola bar two hours before and my stomach took way too long to digest. I was trying to do that thing I do when I am drunk and I am going to puke so I breathe deeply through my nose. Unfortunately all I could do was run to the bathroom and vomit. Hard. So I became that bulimic girl at the gym. It was like college all over again without the drunk whores passed out. I knew that all 6 women in the other stall heard the whole thing. I was prepared with a story. If asked if I was okay, I was going to say that I was pregnant (“I don’t know why they call it morning sickness, I have it all day!”). Then I realized that in 9 months they would be like, where’s the baby. At which point I would have to say that sadly I miscarried shortly thereafter.
I was going to facebook the story, but then figured my mom and the facebook mommy bloggers would not find that at all funny. And so I didn’t post.
Also, I’ve gone for a second course of laser therapy for hair removal. By May 2010 I will be like those hairless pussies. HA. No really, HA! I just couldn’t go on with the shaving and the waxing and the hair. Finally I took the plunge. I go, I put on numbing ointment, and a very nice women puts a laser when the sun has never shined. I have the distinct honor of being able to tell you all about the time a laser was slid between my ass cheeks and shocked the hair follicles into submission. The two days after are nice, then there is the growth period where the dead hairs work their way out from the root and then the shedding begins. I love shedding. I feel like if I can live through the electrocution of the hair on my labia (fun with google search key words), which is the most painful thing to happen to me that I will pay for repeatedly, then I can probably do anything.
Pills are awesome. I have been playing with antidepressants to treat my tinnitus. My primary care physician has been refreshingly willing to keep changing things up without requiring me to come in with every prescription change. I’ve not found the perfect pill in the perfect dose. What I have found is that I have an opposite reaction to Elavil (up all night with rhonda shear). Also, Paxil plus sudafed makes me feel like I did an eight ball of coke. You can imagine how much I love Paxil and sudafed when trying to work and not be totally high and fucked up. I asked my co-worker if I seemed high, also, if she thought I was acting straight. She said “yes and no.”
I am now going to go troll the internet and write mean things that all the other people in the world can read.
Blogging • Stuff • It's illegal • You don't bring me flowers • Things to work on • Why I am not allowed to supervise children • WWBD? • (1) Comments • Permalink
Nuts For Nightingale
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I crawled into bed tonight feeling a great deal better than I have in a while. Life still sucks, but I am doing better with the ever increasing demands on my day. And then I got another email from my sister. The fourth one today.
We are hashing out my gram’s estate and all I want to do know is stab myself in the eye with a hot poker. Repeatedly.
She started to conversation with: I think we should do x for D.
I say: okay, sure, are we going to do x this way or that way? We could do it this way, or how about this way.
She says: well doing x this way means this, and I don’t know if everyone will be on board, I don’t know any other way to do x, but I think we should really do it.
I say: okay, so do x that way.
She say: well we have to get agreement from the other two grandchildren.
I say: well, whatever you do, I am fine with the idea
She say: yes, but still we have to do it as a collaborative
I say: I DON’T FUCKING CARE HOW YOU DO IT OR WHAT YOU DO JUST TELL ME HOW MUCH IT WILL COST.
Don’t know if this will go on, but I anticipate yes. Sadly, desperately yes. Mostly because I went to email her back with the above response (in much nicer words of course) and I hit the back button so it looked like it deleted instead of sent. I then wrote out the email again and made sure to send it this time. Turns out I sent it the first time. She is going to be soooooooo pleased to get that email (in much nicer words of course) twice.
FML.
God Bless Texas
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Man, watch out when you go speeding in Texas and are crazy and old. They’ll tase’ you bro’.
Bwahahahahaha
Dirtier than Monica’s blue dress
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
I was just reading a story about the conviction of a NYC bouncer in the 2006 murder of a woman who was from Boston. One of my former roommate actually went to high school with the victim so I was interested in the outcome of the trial.
In the New York Times article there is a very disturbing sentence:
“One of his mother’s hairs was found on the blanket Ms. St. Guillen’s body was wrapped in, as was semen from his brother Reggie Harris, who had died in 1994.”
Let’s review shall we…semen from his brother Reggie Harris, who had died in 1994. I shouldn’t have to say this, but please, someone, anyone, ensure that upon my untimely demise, wash my blankets. Like, within the first year. Whether you keep my stuff or donate it all to charity, please, wash it all.
wiggity wack
I am home from another funeral. The wife of Bruce’s business partner. It’s 6:45 and I am going to bed. Maybe I won’t be totally exhausted tomorrow.
This was over before, before it ever began
Thursday, May 28, 2009
My grandmother’s house went on the market Sunday. Tuesday someone made an offer.
Nothing will ever be the same again. Nothing will be right again. Everything will always just be wrong.
I tell people at work that I’m fine, because I need to be fine there. I need to be business as usual and capable and cocksure. I know my path needs me to be just fine. So I am. But I’m not just fine. I miss my grams.
Drive by
Sunday, May 24, 2009
I know that unless I force myself to write something, anything, I’ll never get back to my prolific posting type self.
Months ago I noticed ringing in my right ear. I was tested and tested and tested, but there’s nothing wrong with me. Well except for the persistent ringing in my right ear. I did some google diagnosing, which I am sure the physicians in my group would love to hear, and I came up with three causes: 1) brain tumor, 2) degenerative hearing loss, 3) crazy. I’m pretty sure it’s not a tumor (ha) so crazy or deaf, pick your preference. In any event the treatment is with antidepressants or anti-anxiety medications, I don’t know why, but they seem to have the side effect of stopping the ringing. I went the antidepressant route and things seem to be less ringy. So that’s good. But I think the other side effect of the medication is that I get less worked up about things that use to set me off. Also, I’m very, very sleepy. All the time. Like during my work day, after my work day, after I wake up from my afternoon nap, and before I go to sleep for the night.
And now, I am going to go take a nap.
Hand Grenade Pins In Every Line
Friday, May 22, 2009
Every sad story I hear or read makes me cry. I’m not a crier. I don’t do crying. And yet here I am crying at home makeovers. Blog posts. News stories about budget cuts.
Plus I’ve come to the end of my hydrocodone supply and unless I drive my car into a tree I don’t anticipate getting another refill, the last two prescriptions were a gift from the doctor who chose to let me slide.
I’m so tired and worn out. I just want to throw it all away.
I don’t think that means what you think it means
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I’ve been watching lots of TV. Reality TV is filling my nights. I fell in love with Taking the Stage, the MTV show that follows students at the Cincinnati School of the Creative and Performing Arts. There was a thing with girl A and girl B and the boyfriend of girl A kissing girl B. Blah blah blah, come to a talent night where girl B sings a song about being with a boy and breathing in the essence of the boy when they are lying next to each other, it was kind of beautiful and deep, it was not, however, ineffable. Girl A, upon hearing girl B’s song, turns to her boyfriend and says: “That is so ineffable.”
My first reaction was to say to the TV, “I don’t think that means what you think it means.” Then I googled, just to ensure that it means what I think it means. Luckily, I am still smart. Score one for the thirty year-old watching reality TV marketed to high schoolers. Unless she meant to say that girl B was so deep and profound about a sacred act that there were no words that could aptly describe the event. In which case, that word totally means exactly what she thought it meant.
I’ve also been eating cookies. Lots of cookies. Cookies are not on the low carb diet. Oddly enough my body has responded by not gaining weight. Must be the odd combination of Vicodin, Lunesta, Elavil, and Codeine.
So, I guess this is the post to say I’m hiding in the dark drinking pink lemonade. Maybe next month I’ll have something to say.
Been away, going to be away
Thursday, April 09, 2009
In the last 20 days my sister gave birth which was traumatic for both mother and child. The day the baby was released from ICU my grandmother was admitted to a different ICU.
My grams died this afternoon, so I don’t expect to be back for a while.
Bigger Crap
Monday, March 09, 2009
Um, I just got home, and there was some sort of carnage from Thursday night that I didn’t know till now. Also, there were some windows open on my computer. I was in the middle of some strange searches. There is a package waiting for me in the office at my complex, but I don’t think I have anything ordered and on the way. Scary. I was checking my email to see if I ordered something and got a confirmation. No confirmation, just some emails in my sent folder that are horrible. Horrible in the sense of what I say and to whom they were sent.
I’ve sent off an apology email, but really? There may be fewer people in my life if I keep behaving like this. Nothing like drug-fueled truth telling to endear me to my ex’es.
People, if I’ve called or written and I am entirely incoherent or the spelling is a mess and I talk about being on drugs, please just ignore what I said/wrote and let’s never mention this again.
And I was so looking forward to another night of restful sleep with my good friend ambien…