A Wish Fulfillment: Declaring Spinsterhood

Evidently there’s a book coming out or has just come out recently about being a spinster. Of course, it portrays spinsterhood in a good light. At least according to the things I’ve read about it. But I totally proudly called myself a spinster before it was cool. Now… I sound like more of a hipster than ever before (and since my contact lens broke, I look like one too). I remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird and being fascinated by the old lady who sat on her front porch yelling at the kids with a shotgun under her shawl. Well, maybe, she wasn’t a spinster, but still. I wanted to be her when I grew up.

I turned thirty-five this year. Thirty-five was the perfect age to get married in my mind at one point in time. Granted, that number  was pushed back multiple times as I approached each age, realizing  I wasn’t wanting to get married at that point in time. Finally this last time, I said fuck it all, if I get married it will be when I meet the right guy; not when I reach the right age.  And I embraced being a spinster full on.

Imagine if you will a woman sitting in her kitchen weeping. Why is she weeping? Because she’s engaged to the wrong person and every tells her it’s too late to do anything about it. The dress, the church, the cake are all ready to go. As she sets down the aisle the feeling of dread drowns her, making it the worst day of her life rather than the best. This is a repeated nightmare I have had since I as about twenty-three. When I was twenty-three, my friends started getting married, and I pushed back the ideal age to get married for the first time.

Here’s the thing. While I’ve had repeated nightmares about marrying the wrong man, I have never had a nightmare about being single. Do I go to sleep every night glad I’m alone? No. But I do go to bed every night I’m not stuck in a bad relationship. And the aspect of not being in a bad relationship never gets old and tired.

Being a spinster doesn’t mean I’ve sworn off men or romantic relationships or life in general. I’m also nothing like the crusty, old lady in Great Expectations whose name has slipped my mind. (But it’s okay, because I’ve never actually read. Although I have seen South Park’s interpretation as well as the Gwenyth Paltrow/Ethan Hawke fiasco. But still it’s the second character name I can’t think of in this blog.) I believer there are decent men still out there. You know the ones, who think men and women deserve equal rights and pay and are willing to put forth an effort to make a relationship work. Those types of guys. I have to believe they’re real and out there; otherwise my hope for humanity is doomed. And hopefully, not all of them are taken and some of them are into ladies with sweet hockey bodies without being creepy chubby chasers. Pardon me while I shudder internally.

Now that I’ve explained what being a spinster doesn’t mean to me, I probably should explain what it does mean to me. It’s the acceptance of that I’m closer to forty than thirty and probably won’t get married. Look, I’ve been single for the majority of my life, and if that never changes, I’m not going to live an unfilled life. I’m not going to die alone more than anyone else dies alone. I don’t need a man to complete me or my life. And again, that’s not to say I wouldn’t want someone cool to share my life with,; I’m just not counting on it. I can see some peoples’ pouty, sympathetic expressions over my last statement. As if me not expecting to get married is giving up on living. Let me assure you that’s not the case. I just know myself too well.

I am thirty fucking five years old, and I’ve gone this long without settling. I’m not going to settle now. I may have had one or two or maybe more drunken indiscretions. But none of those ended in Vegas and being legally tied to the fella. (So, yes I’m not perfect.) I’m not looking for Gilbert Blythe, although in theory it could be nice. However, as we’ve learned from modern pop culture, perfection is boring. (FYI pop culture is the only place where mere mortals can be perfect.) And yet, I do have standards, which I don’t think are completely unreasonable. Once again I mention chubby chasers, not being on is on the list of standards. There’s just something creepy when a guy only want you for one specific attribute. There are more standards, but you know just giving an example of one. The point is, person reading this feeling sorry for me, stoppit. And perhaps you should stop reading now if my realism is too much for your traditionally-minded ways to handle.

Are they gone? Good. I probably ought to have put a disclaimer at the beginning or something. But it’s too late now, because I don’t believe in going back; only forward. (As is clearly evident in my other non-edited blogs.) I’m not chastising all married/paired folk either. Some of my dearest friends fall into that category. Here’s the thing I’ve learned from watching those in intimate partner relationships around me, all relationships ebb and flow, especially marriages/life partnerships. I’ve heard about some pretty wicked douchebaggary from some friends’ partners. Some I expected it from, but some of the worst offenses were from partners I’d have never expected it from. On the other hand, some partners of my friends have turned out to be quite amazing, when I was convinced the opposite was true.  Somehow, I don’t see myself tolerating some of the straight up bullshit my friends have to deal with. (Nor do I picture anyone being able to tolerate my bullshit.) And just to reiterate, I’m totally cool with not having to tolerate a life partner’s bullshit.

Embracing spinsterhood is about not settling on what matters to you. It’s accepting love exists, but it may not come your way ever in the form of a man (for me). It’s about being complete without a partner and living life fully. Spinsters aren’t waiting around for their knights in shining armor to rescue them from a life alone. Why? Because spinsters know there’s nothing from which to be rescued. And life doesn’t suddenly start when you get into a romantic relationship. They are well aware this is the only chance we get to live, and nothing needs to stop you from living it.

Ready. Set. GO!

You know when you wake up and realize it’s Friday, not Wednesday or any day earlier in the week. Yesterday was Monday. (So wouldn’t that make it Tuesday?) No. Not really. At least, not in my head. Yup. That’s how sick I’ve been this week. I’m pretty sure my parents are trying to kill me with their bronchitis and snot filled noses. (Enough with the bodily fluids.) Apologies. I have been talking about bodily fluids more than normal as of late… well at least this week.

I went out for a coffee with a friend this afternoon. I had to park quite far away from the cafe/second hand book shop where I was meeting my chum. We drank our coffee and commiserated about life being what it is. Then it was time to say good-bye. I started to walk to the car with my friend in tow. We got to the street where I swore I had parked, but my car wasn’t there. I wasn’t worried. I just assumed it was a block up, and so we walked up. Holy shit! It was nowhere to be found. My panic began to rise, and I turned back before I decided to go up yet another block. To make a short story, longer, I finally found my car. Much to my friend’s delight and amusement.

Yup… that’s where I’ve been this week. I suppose if I was actually on food that had nutritional value rather than throat scratching ability and/or ease of preparing my mind would be working better. Also I think if I wasn’t being awoken multiple times a night by the sound from the Grudge, I’d be more rested. (You have a house demon?) NO. I make that sound when my throat gets too dry? I think that’s why. Regardless, I wake myself up by making sounds from horror films. It’s amazing let me tell you.

All right. I’m ending this bad boy now before I go on too long about being sick. Because I’m a benevolent blogger.

A Shout Out to Nurses Everywhere

I used to think I could be a nurse when I was younger… much, much, much younger. But then I realized I really don’t like being around sick people. (Ummm but you got your degree in psychology?) Yeah, but that’s different. Counseling people usually doesn’t involved bodily fluids except for tears. And tears aren’t snot or trigger my gag reflex in any way.

Recently, I’ve been thinking about this again because my parents have bronchitis. Not just normal coughing, like a smoker in a smoke filled room coughing. They both get to the point of gagging. Amazing. For the past two or so weeks I have spent the majority of my time in my room so I wouldn’t have to deal with that BS. I’m not taking their hacking personally, because I’m not crazy in that way. But I really don’t want to be sick because throwing up is one of the worst past times for me. (Isn’t it for everyone?) Perhaps, but I don’t want to make large, sweeping generalizations.

The thing about hanging out in my room is that I have a black curtain to block out the sun. My room faces eastish, and not being able to sleep because the sun is blasting through your window is on par with listening to both my parents try and hack up a lung at the same time. I digress. So, because of the absence of all sunlight or daylight, since I live in the Pac-NW, I tend not to have any idea of time passing or what’s happening in the world. Being in my room is akin to being a hermit in a cave but with easy access to indoor plumbing, I imagine. I can’t say for sure though as I’ve never been a hermit in a cave. For instance yesterday, I was going to go to a friend’s house in the evening, and I looked at my clock and I still had several hours to go. The next time I looked at my clock, I realized I ought to have left a few minutes ago.

I would rather be completely unaware of time, space, etc than hang out with my two sick parents who let me live with them for free and tolerate my unemployment. I’m such a dick. (You totally are.) But once again I bring up vomiting. Seriously, what good would it do anyone if I hung out with them and threw up because they were gagging? I will put forth that in all likelihood I would cause them to gag more, in the best case and throw up themselves in the worst case. Also, I’m starting to get coughy myself. And what good is it for all three of us to be hacking up lungs? Someone has to be able to pet the cat lest she scorn us all with her constant shouting.

This is why I would make a terrible nurse. At least one of the main reasons, I’m sure there are loads of other reasons why me nursing would be a terrible career move. However, because of my inability to be a nurse, I have way more respect for them. (Oh really, what about that one time after your surgery?) I was high on narcotics! Also, I don’t think that nurse got my particular brand of piss and vinegar. But quite frankly, my memory is quite hazy, I just remember the look she gave me when I said something. Once again I digress. So, when I haven’t just come out of abdominal surgery, I have a strong respect for nurses. They are amazing people who I assume have really high tolerance of bodily fluids and other people gagging. Therefore, nurses everywhere, I say thank you.

A List of Helpful Hints when Making an Online Dating Profile

I try not to do lists. But today I feel rather coughy and don’t know if I have the mental capacity to write full paragraphs that flow nicely. Now I realize I’ve talked about my own awkwardity of attempting the online dating communication, but I’m not the only one who has issues when it comes to this. So, lets begin shall we? I will attempt to keep this gender neutral I really will but please remember I mostly look at male profiles.

1) Show your face in your picture. This is 2015 there is no reason to be ashamed about online dating unless you’re in a “committed” relationship and you’re looking for a bit of side action. If you have a profile picture where’s it just from the neck down I’m going to assume you have a pregnant wife at home full of children. And you’re the lowest life form on the planet.

2) If you message me, “Hi. Can I get your number?” I will automatically file you in the serial rapist/killer file. I realize that for one to be a successful rapist/killer they need to have some level of ability to interact socially. Still though, I live in the Northwest. This region of the country has the highest number of serial killers tied to it per capita than any other region in the US. That’s not to say I want to have the everlasting online exchange of messages… unless you’re living in a different country. Then I don’t mind so much.

3) When filling out the part about your favorite films etc, stay away from listing only creepers. This actually happened to me one time. Some guy messaged me, and I went to check out his profile where he had listed Woody Allen and Roman Polanski as his two favorite directors. On a dating profile you list one who married his stepdaughter as soon as she turned eighteen when he had been living under the same roof as her and the other admitted to statutory rape. That can only lead me down two thought paths. The first of which is this fella was completely socially unaware. Or the other being he’s a complete sexist, agist, douchebag who values pretentious entertainment over taking a stand against perverts. Other name dropping that will put you in this category includes: Morgan Freeman and Bill Cosby off the top of my head but I’m sure there are more entertainers out there who fit the category.

4) Try to not come off like a Manic Pixie Dream Girl… or whatever the male version is of that. This is one I have to do myself. It’s really easy to do when you don’t have a job and live with your parents and have an amazing fringe. I’m well aware of how little money there is in unemployment even whilst attempting to get a novel published (hell I’m aware of how little money I’ll get if said novel is published). I’m straight up weird not quirky. Yeah… Bad me. Do not try to fool that guy who has a rather cute display pic you’re a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

5) Take time to actually fill out the dating profile. This is on par with not showing your face in your picture. And for those of you who don’t show your face and have no information about yourself displayed, stalking your victims online is in bad form. I don’t care if you half ass answer the questions, and yeah, we all know most people don’t read the damn things anyway. But still… if you’re looking for sex, friendship, dating or whatever else you can list as what you’re looking for put forth the effort to give the other person some idea of if you like pina coladas and dancing in the rain. Unless of course, you’re looking for someone who will speak to based only on what your display pic looks like.

6) This one is going to be controversial I know, but if you’re obsessed with yoga, cross fit, being outside in general, ultimate frisbee, etc, tone it down just a skosh. The activity loving ways overwhelms me. It makes me think I shouldn’t even look at you if I’m not into your hobby of choice. And if you do feel that way and post it on your profile that’s fine. But don’t message me if you’re an “avid outdoorsman”. As you can clearly tell from my picture and profile, outside isn’t really my thing. I’m pale and overweight. Neither of those things scream “Cross Fit is amazing!” (Side note: I don’t know that much about cross fit. Perhaps I should learn before I pick on it.) So, if you’re wanting a partner for your activity of choice, it’s cool to just pass by my profile. My feelings won’t be hurt. Honest. Also, I’m more than willing to admit 9 times out 10 your activity loving ways intimidates me.

7) What is the deal posing with wild animals, especially jungle cats? When I see you posing with a wild animal, I don’t think oh yeah he’s adventurous. I think, he’s one lucky sonofabitch to not have become dinner. Need I bring up Sigfried or was it Roy? That tiger that tried to eat him was their pet. So, you posing in front of some wild beast is stupid and counter productive to living. I feel as though I should mention I’m not really an “animal lover”. I fear anything that kill me, as it says so on my profile. So I’m totally bias. But at least I can admit it. Also, posing with anything you’ve hunted and killed, is ew. But you know again, my bias.

8) Posing with a sexy woman and/or in a suit is the stupidest thing. Okay, perhaps I got a little carried away and used some hyperbole. But seriously fellas, if you’re display has one or more women hanging all over you, I file you with the dude who idolizes Roman Polanski. Sorry. I look at it as a blatant disrespect of women. Yes, they could all be your friends, but you’re on a dating website, not lets just be friends r us. My narrative for you when I see pics like that, is “Hey look at all these hoes who want me.” Really man? Come on. Does that work? Then with a suit… all guys look at least 10 times better in a suit. Are you saying you’re so insecure with how you look, you have to tie a noose around your neck? If I’m completely honest, I won’t immediately write you off for wearing a suit. But I will be looking for the next red flag.

9) If your handle includes a six or nine or certain words, I will be immediately disgusted by you. That’s all I gotta say bout that.

Okay, I’m all out of ideas for the moment. And I’ve been looking at too many profiles for fodder for the this blog. So, I’m just going to close the internet now on my computer.

Listen to Your Charismatic Actor/Writing Instructor: A Bonus Saturday Blog

Recently, I started to prepare a query letter. 1) Eek! and 2) Why the hell didn’t I listen to my technical writing instructor? Damn you, Kovar for being correct. I’ve given shouts out to my friends and certain members of my family. But never to any of my official educators and not because they don’t deserve it. Most of them do deserve their own individual blog about how marvelous they are as humans and how they changed me by imparting me with their knowledge. That’s not going to happen though. Mostly because I’m a dick and also I may be inspired to go back to school, which would never do.

Kovar was an actor, writer, director and all around entertainer and as far as I know still is. The man was super charismatic, not the type you’d expect to be teaching technical writing courses. But every time in my academic career if I had to take a writing class and he was offering it, I’d take it from him. Is that how you get variety and a more rounded education? Absolutely not. But it did allow for me to get to know him and trust his opinion and accept his constructive criticisms. Perhaps I should also note that Kovar taught a few creative writing classes as well, which of course I took.

My undergrad is part creative writing and part social justice and part global studies. Go being able to create your own major! And my Master’s in Psychology. So, it was in one of the technical writing classes when we had to write query letters. Since I knew I was never going to query a magazine to write a psychological article, I “may have” half-assed that section. Kovar being the amazing instructor he was came to me and talked to me about the drop in quality. I gave him my reasons, and he probably rolled his eyes at least in his head… if not literally. Then he rebutted with but playhouses and book publishers require query letters as well. Silly Kovar, I was going for my Master’s at that point. I wasn’t going to be a writer of anything except case notes.

In hindsight, as I struggle to write a good hook, Kovar was correct. I should have taken his teachings on the query letter much more seriously. I’m pretty sure he knew even if I was going to be a counselor, I was still going to be writing non-psychology related material. Not to toot my own horn, but I think he hoped it as well. The man also taught me about the compliment sandwich and APA. He was on the board for my undergrad degree. Seriously, he had a huge role in my education. And now I must go and get ready for the day. But thank you Kovar wherever you are. I should have listened to you.

I Ate KFC… This is How I Die

A couple days ago, I had KFC. Despite your views on the Colonel’s secret recipe, I was compelled to go there. And even as I entered the parking lot, I knew it wasn’t going to turn out well. Let me back up to a few days prior, Chic-Fil-A opened a location in the city across the lake. Regardless of your views on the company, a friend posted pics of his trip and it looked delicious to me. Then the next day I happened across a youtube channel where the guy reviews food. On the videos I happened to watch, he was reviewing fried chicken joints. Not biological chicken joints, but restaurants where chicken is primarily served in a quick fashion. And from that moment on I was obsessed with getting fried chicken, and not the find my mom makes. I wanted something deep fried.

Now, there are only a handful of chicken fast food places, and even less that are easily accessible to me. Hence me ending up in the KFC parking lot knowing my expedition for chicken was going to do me in. The thought of an entire bucket of chicken made me nauseated and then I saw the price and threw up in my mouth a little bit. Seriously, I know the urban legends about this place; I know there’s no way in hell that bucket of chicken isn’t your main way to get profit. So, I ordered a sandwich with potato wedges and a Dr Pepper. Then headed home. Since I live in Seattle, traffic was bad, and I was hungry, I began munching on the potatoes. At the next red light, I took the sandwich out of the bag.

In case you missed it, I’m a fussy eater. I don’t like tomatoes and bacon as well as a shit ton of other foods, but tomatoes and bacon were my primary concern for the sandwich. I checked. There was chicken, a cheese-like substance and a mystery sauce. There wasn’t even lettuce on this bad boy. Once again, I knew this wasn’t going to end well. I took a couple bites of the sandwich, and it was everything I expected it to be. Then I took another bite… into bacon. The mystery sauce was something with chipotles in it so it had a smokey flavor. So the bacon wasn’t immediately known until I noticed the bite was chewier than before. (That’s right it was chewy bacon not crispy like the American way.) So, once again I checked my sandwich. There. Under the cheese. A single strip of bacon had a bite out of it. I did the only sensible thing and took the bacon off the sandwich and continued eating the sandwich.

The rest of my sandwich experience was everything I thought it would be. However, I was nagged by the bite of bacon I took. Unsure of what my reaction would be I got home and drank some Chinese diet tea-SUPER. If I feel my insides are blocked I don’t bother with OTC uncloggers, I got straight for the tea if prunes and popcorn don’t work. I thought if I could just speed the process along, it will be better. Except… I ended up with stomach cramps so bad I couldn’t sleep. And I spent the whole of yesterday near the bathroom. BUT! I didn’t end up with the weird indigestion things that happen when I eat red meat. Then again it was only a bite and small one at that. So. Who knows? I’m going to go for the tea is in fact magic. All the same for a few hours there I was convinced KFC was going to be my undoing.

Being Correct and Other Unrelated Titles to Today’s Topic

I wonder what would happened if I gave up sugar… I mean apart from the shaky withdrawals and night sweats. Recently my intake of sugar has been concerning to even me. With all the Easter sweets and chocolate and then it all going on sale after the holiday, it’s no wonder there seems to be an excess of mostly chocolate and some non-chocolate sweets littered throughout the house. And since it’s here, it must be ate. Those are the rules; I don’t make them but I follow them (when they suit me).

As of late, the first thing I eat after I first wake up involves chocolate usually coating peanut butter or a peanut butter like substance. Don’t judge. I just had to take a break from writing this to eat said peanut butter coated chocolate. Because well, I was in charge of watching the small nephew and he needed attention. Then to reward myself for being a responsible adult, I gave myself a chocolate. Because that’s what thirty-five year olds do… at least it’s what I do.

The rubbish bin in my room is full of chocolate and sweets wrappers. Perhaps, I have an “addiction”. Perhaps, I overindulge. Okay, there are no perhaps about it. I definitely have sugar misuse/abuse issues. If I carry on at this rate, I’ll probably be a diabetic by the end of the year. Seriously, I’m genetically predisposed to developing it. Even my non-overweight relatives have developed type 2. So, yeah, I’m really not joking around when I say I’d probably develop it by the end of the year. Also, my dad had a heart attack at the beginning of the year. A clear sign I need to make healthier choices about my consumables. And lets not forget what sugar does to one’s teeth, and I’m far too vain to let my smile go to shit.

Recognizing the problem is the first step to change, right? I love chocolate and sweets and sugar. I’m a firm believer in the food chart from Elf. Here’s the thing, I can’t attempt to break my sugar addiction before I finish my Easter chocolate and sweets. It’s only once a year I get creme eggs and Juicy Pear Jelly Bellies. (But Jelly Bellies are available year round.) Yes, I know but there’s something called moderation. Thus I limit myself to Jelly Bellies once a year. [Insert eye roll here] I know it’s ridiculous to eat as much sweeties as I do and only moderate one type of sweetie.

Right I need to go celebrate being right about the sex of my friend’s baby. (I think I’ll have a creme egg.) Don’t question my dreams… Go baby girls!