I Tried… I Really Did

So, sometimes I try to be fancy. I go to the opera and the theatre. Sometimes I even go to the salon and get my faced waxed because I’m too lazy to tweeze. And there are even times when I have my toes painted and have the wear and tear from not believing in shoes washed/peels/scrubbed away. On Wednesday my friend and I went to get pedicures. She was going to a wedding this weekend (hence me using her computer), and I seriously needed some self-care. My pedicure started after my friend’s, so by the time I was done, I didn’t want my friend to have to wait too long.

I got my flip-flops on without smudging the mostly dry nail varnish. After I dropped my friend off, I got back in the car.. aaaaaand kicked the gas pedal. All but one of my pretty painted toes survived. My big toe on my left foot got messed up. Oh don’t get me wrong, I didn’t hurt myself at all. It was just the pedicure I had just paid for was ruined. As I tried to salvage my toe’s paint job whilst driving down the highway, I thought this is why we can’t have nice things. First off, yes, I thought about myself in the plural. And secondly, clearly this entire circumstance made me throw my hands up in the air.

The next day as I wore my flip-flops, I thought about explaining to anyone who’d listen about how I’m actually classy but just really careless sometimes. Then I changed my mind. Mostly because I was the only one who cared about my half painted big toe nail. But also because I figured the people who love me most in the world would understand that I’m not actually completely classy. In fact, most of my friends, themselves, aren’t completely classy. We all try, but rarely do our attempts at class pan out. And that’s all right. Because we have fun. And now I don’t have to worry about messing up my pedicure.

My Assholes

Before I begin this blog, I just need to bitch. (So what else is new? I know. I know.) My computer won’t boot. And it’s driving me fucking insane. Thank you that is all. (Really? Yes. For now.) Oh also, thanks friend for leaving her computer on her bed where I’m house sitting and having a guest log-in, so I have access to the internet whilst at your house. I love you very much.

Now, to the real point of the blog… You’re probably wondering if this is going to be a blog all about my most recent dating exploits. Nope, it’s not. It’s an ode to my brothers. My brothers are all assholes. I’m pretty sure that’s where I got my asshole from. All three of them. Plus the ones who liked to pretend to be my brothers. But mostly the three with whom I share a last night and parents. When I told nicknameless person I used to know about my brothers, his reaction was, “Why are all your brothers assholes?” A clear sign I should have put a knife in whatever the fuck it was we shared, because no one but me talks about my brothers that way. Because, they’re my assholes, dick.

Being the youngest and the only girl, put me in a unique position within my family. I was shown the fierceness of love and protection by a sibling. I was taught that your brothers (and in other peoples’ cases, sisters) were the ones who’d have your back no matter what. However, I never really got the opportunity to return the favor. Seriously, who’d want their younger sister to defend them? Insert crickets chirping here. Exactly. So, when people now say unkind, albeit true stuff about my brothers, I can get a little “defensive”. There are few exceptions to this. Mostly involving people who’ve known my brothers for almost as long as I have.

If you’ve been friends with me for more than a couple months, you know my brothers and I aren’t exactly nice to each other. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d probably say we all hated each other. But you do know better, because you probably have siblings of ¬†your own and understand the careful balance of being assholes to each other and loving the shit out one another. And even if you think the circumstances between my brothers and I are a little extreme, you know I absolutely adore at least 2 of them. But that’s only because I don’t really know the third. Go spacing your kids out! Regardless, without those at least 3 assholes in my life, I’d be a very different person.

It’s weird to think about what my life would have been like had my brothers not been there. Or even worse, if I had a sister. It should be noted, I used to want to have one, but then I saw my friends interact with their sisters. It made me so grateful for my assholes. So, so, so grateful. I always knew (and still know) there are people out there who will have my back and who are proud of me. Of course, I also have to protect the fellas I date from them. And sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if I didn’t have to fear for the safety of everyone I’ve ever kissed. But that’s neither here nor there.

Living with a Dog Again

So if you know me, then you know when I leave the country, things die. Okay, it happened the past two times I left the country. When I went to Japan, the dog and grandma died in separate incidents. Then when I was travelling the British isles a few months later, the cat died of a broken heart/my parents killed her. She was sweet and innocent and just wanted the love of someone who understood her, and she knew I was the only one who did. So she gave up on life, and my parents pushed her over the edge. My big nephew still misses her. I hope you’re happy, Mom and Dad. Right. But I’m not living with a cat. I’m living with a dog.

Lucy is a black and white dog. She probably is a breed of some sort or maybe a mix, but you know, she’s on the tinier side. It’s been three or so years since I’ve lived with a dog of any sort. Save for when I dog sat for the biggest asshole in all of Mountlake Terrace. But that was for a week. Lucy and I have lived together now for almost a month! It’s been pretty interesting to live with her. She’s not quite the dumb ass the other dog I lived with was. Then again, she doesn’t have a kitty who’s systematically trying to see to her demise. That could make anyone not quite right in the head.

I apparently moved into Lucy’s room. Lucy was not consulted, and so she feels as though it’s her God-given right to come onto my bed any time the door is open. She does have a terrifying toy rat she likes to bring with her. Terrifying toy rat is in fact terrifying, especially when I’m not wearing contacts or glasses. My guess would be that in fact Lucy does this to remind me of my position in the pack. Or my roommate likes to claim, she’s doing it because she cares. I’m not totally convinced of that. However, she has stopped running away every time she sees me.

Overall, I didn’t realize I missed living with a dog until there was one in my life again. Especially now that I have zero responsibility to clean up after it. Seriously, that is the best part about Lucy! That and the way her entire body vibrates when she’s excited or anxious or just sitting there. I’m not saying that I actually enjoy animals and babies; it’s just that Lucy is a special little brand of neurotic who is a joy and a delight forever. But if I had to clean up her shit, it’d be a totally different story. Sort of like if I had to clean up my nephews’ shits. So just to recap: My parents killed the cat and I love saying, “Lucy, I’m home.” Even though she’s a dog and probably has never seen I Love Lucy and probably wouldn’t get it if she had.

Don’t Feed the Sasquatches… ?

This morning I get a rather frantic text from my sister-in-law. I didn’t have to read it, to know it basically said, “hey I’m about to kill your nephew. Please take him out of my sight before I bust a cap. Sorry to wake you up.” To which I replied, “yes. It’s okay. Meet me at the parents’ with him alive.” Then I rolled over and went back to sleep for a little bit longer, but it wasn’t enough to actually deal with a hyperactive 5 year old for a few hours on my own.

The big nephew and I have a fallback plan for our adventures. Whenever we can’t think of where to go, we end up going to the falls. They’re beautiful and the hike down and up isn’t too bad. Today however, both of us weren’t feeling super great. I still am recovering from my veins bursting, and he’s still getting better from his bout with pneumonia. As we were wandering around the park, I saw a sign.

 

0423161249-00That’s right… This is an official sign is requesting not to feed the sasquatches. I realize the Pac NW has it’s quirks. We’re a fun bunch; I mean pot is legal here for fuck’s sake! Still though, I think it would be better to have a squirrel or spiders. Because I’ve never seen any of the aforementioned animals in the park, but I have seen a squirrel and plenty of spiders and bugs.

I’m pretty sure I’ve been past this sign a few time. And I don’t recall ever noticing sasquatch on it before. If my memory is accurate, then that means at some point in time, they replaced it to include a creature that may or may not exist. If I’m not mistaken, and I’m pretty sure I’m not, it costs money to make signs. Whilst I think it is lovely and quirky to include sasquatch on the sign, I’m not necessarily a fan of spending money to include having the whimsy.

Also, I wonder if this would be an actual problem. If I saw any of the pictured animals, my first instinct wouldn’t be to share my cheetos with them. Hell no, my first instinct would be to crap myself and then to play dead. The buck included. Seriously, those antlers could kill you or me. They could penetrate my thin flesh and make me bleed. I’m not a fan of bleeding at all. And if I saw a sasquatch, I obviously would keep a lid on that shit because everyone would think I’m crazy… crazier than I am now. So, really, today my big nephew and I could have come across a sasquatch and no one would be the wiser.

Seventeen and a Half Years

Not quite eighteen years ago, I had my lower wisdom teeth removed. I remembered thinking, ‘yeah, I don’t want to go back for the follow up appointment. I’ll be fine.’ And I’m pretty sure I didn’t go back. In fact due to a spotty work history and having travel be a priority, I didn’t make it to the dentist for that follow up until a few weeks ago. It was only slightly embarrassing to say how long it had been since my last visit to the dentist when they asked. Just a scosh. I mean, living in America, good dentistry is supposed to be one of the perks. That and freedom.

This is going to sound like bragging, but it is in fact truth… My teeth are fucking amazing. Naturally straight, and since I take care of them, they’re strong. However, even my fucking amazing teeth couldn’t stand up to the past eighteen years (half my life… oh damn, I’m old). I had five cavities and needed a deep cleaning. When I made a sad face at discovering the cavities, my dentist laughed at me. He laughed!!! Mostly because he said it was impressive that my only issues were a few small cavities after that much time, and he knew of several people who could go a couple years and be in worse shape.

Today, I had two of the cavities filled and the right side of my mouth deep cleaned. I did a lot of “spacing out” this afternoon. And I couldn’t feel my face for a long time. In fact, it is just now starting to gain feeling. I also spent a great portion of the afternoon wonder what would happen if I just bit the rubber gloved hand in my mouth. Not because I was being hurt; it was more the sound that was bothersome, but I was just curious. This is what happens when you give me nothing to do but to hang out.

Overall the experience wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I mean I have yet to schedule an appointment to get the rest of my cavities taken care of, but ya know, I’m going to get on that. At least I have the deep cleaning scheduled for the left side of my mouth. See, I’m totally adulting with this dentist thing. Next thing you know, I’ll be making lunches instead of just throwing random food items in a bag every morning. And I’ll be sorting my laundry and putting it away when clean. Ha ha ha. But obviously I’m getting way ahead of myself.

Monday, Mac’nCheese and Mates

Go alliterations! You know it’s going to be a good blog when the title is an alliteration. Great now to actually have to live up to the expectation. Siiiiiigh. Remind me again about why I thought making the title an alliteration was a good idea. Because now I’m starting to feel the pressure. I can’t handle it. Just kidding. I totally can. I went to kickboxing for the first time since popping my veins in my leg. PS I love telling people that and then watching the grossed out expressions on their faces. It’s awesome!! Right back to the topic at hand, writing this damn blog. Focus. Okay! Ready. GO!!!

Today was Monday. Not Tuesday or Wednesday. I know it was Monday, because it fucking felt like it. I was tired and questioning why 8AM is even a time. Every step I took today felt like I was walking through mud. And my coworkers wanted updates about my life from over the weekend. So, really, I spent probably the majority of my day talking to my friends at work about the newnesses of my life and listening to theirs as well. If I had to estimate, I say I did about 3 hours of actual work today, and even then I felt as though I was straining myself mentally.

After work and kickboxing, the Hetero-lifemate and I went out to one of our favorite haunts. It still reeks of dirty Ballard (the neighborhood I grew up in) even when it’s packed full of hipsters. Nothing about the place is nice except sometimes the staff. And this is why it is beloved by me as well as so many others, the Hetero-lifemate included. She too wanted to hear about the newness of my life. She also wanted to tell me about the newness of hers. We saw each other last week, and yet there was plenty of information to exchange. I guess this is what happens when 2 people are living their lives.

Then I got home, and my roommate was waiting for me. She had left town on Thursday and wanted to catch up as well. She also wanted to make mac’n cheese, because she’s good like that. So as we caught each other up on the goings on of our lives, we combined our knowledge and resources to make delicious mac’n cheese. It seems as though she had some working knowledge of making it as did I, so we combined our knowledge to make something beautiful. That’s right. I just called the mac’n cheese we made beautiful, because it was… If you like mac’n cheese, because there are folk out there who 1) don’t or 2) just think they don’t because they don’t know better.

So even though this was clearly a Monday, it turned out all right. I survived it and even ended up enjoying myself in the end. This means though that Tuesday has a lot of expectation placed upon it. I mean, if Monday could turn out this well, then certainly Tuesday can kick some serious ass as well. I believe in you Tuesday. But I must admit Wednesday most likely will be balls, because of the dentist. So, Tuesday should make up for Wednesday as well. Thus by calculations with Tuesday outshining today and overcompensating for going to the dentist on Wednesday, it should in fact be the most glorious of days. No pressure Tuesday.

Correlation Not Causation, RIGHT???

So last blog about nicknameless new person, I promise. Last night, I said my good-bye to him. Of course, he took offense to it, probably because I added I dodged a bullet. That wasn’t nice of me, but it’s true. But also it was obvious in his response he was ready to bail before I sent the text last night; my guess would be he was probably ready to bail about a week before. I wished him luck and thanked him for the good show recommendation he gave me. Then I said bye. Such a small, three-lettered word caused me to fully embrace the sadness. Not in the way I did the other night, with tears. No. This was acceptance of, one more time, I got involved with self-sabatoging behaviour. At least this time, I could point his out too, which made me feel better.

If I’m completely honest with myself, I knew what we had when we were together wasn’t really what I wanted. I’m a therapist, I can control a conversation without people knowing it. But it’s easy enough to ask about me just by saying, “what about you?” He rarely did that when we were having conversation. However, all the stuff I said about him in my last blog was (and still is) true and I wanted that person to be a longer-term part of my life. Unfortunately, somewhere within me I knew I’d have to tolerate all the bad stuff as well, which I thought maybe I could do. Maybe. Yet, I knew things with new person without a nickname were done as soon as I booked my tickets to London… Two days before I told him I wouldn’t mind being in a relationship with him… Six days before I said bye. It should be noted I heard nothing from him in those 4 days.

At any point in time, if either of us wanted to continue with what we had, we could have texted each other. I could have asked if he needed space; He could have stated he wasn’t ignoring me but just needed space. But neither of us did it. Because we both were ready to quit whether of us were willing to admit it or not. I mean, I booked tickets to London for fuck’s sake. Nothing says running for me like going to London and traveling around the UK and Ireland. But that’s just correlation; it’s not like me booking tickets to travel CAUSE me to be reckless with my dating relationships… I think. No. It can’t be. It

Something as wonderful as traveling and adventuring can’t be my free pass to engaging in carelessness with men. Maybe carelessness is too harsh of a word. I mean, maybe the fact I’m leaving makes me more open to starting something, because there’s an end date. However, that hasn’t happened every time I’ve gone a travelling. But I do tend to be more open to talking/flirting with the male of the species when I’m not in Seattle. If I count those times too, I’m pretty sure I’m batting 100%. But that’s still not causation. Great! Even the trip I haven’t gone on yet fits my criteria for being more open to the gent folk. This is so bizarre to think about.

I used to say travel was my lover. And it would become my mistress if I ever got into a serious relationship. Maybe, just maybe, it was wrong of me to say it. Maybe, just maybe, I am in a serious relationship with travel, and the men/boys/guys who’ve come and gone over the years, have been my mistresses. Or maybe, just maybe, sigh, I know this is going to sound completely insane, but I can have both travel and a man in my life existing in harmony for longer than three months but usually for a much shorter period of time. Much much shorter. Then I wouldn’t even have to consider if it’s causation or correlation; it’d be co-existence. I mean, does shit like that ever happen in real life? Does it even happen in books? Why don’t I read better books that give me hope for something like this to be possible? Do I need to write those damn books myself? Because I really want to get back into writing. Yup that’s what my life comes down to… I need to write and I need to travel.