Fuck People

I try to love the world.

There are lots of good souls that inhabit this earth. I know this. I just spent the weekend with quite a few of them.

But there are also some bad seeds out there. Bad seeds who do bad things. Things like break the driver's side mirror of my car while it's parked at the Biff's house, less than an hour after I departed for San Francisco. The Husband returned from the gym to find my Marilyn disfigured...like so.

Perhaps...broken intentionally? The mirror is pretty perfectly destroyed, without my car being sideswiped or damaged in any other way. If it was intentional, that would be the second time in my life some dickbag has purposefully killed my mirror for no reason other than shits and giggles, and the fourth time that mirror has been broken, either by me or someone else.

Motherfucking fucker. Fuck people.

Luckily, the Buff and I MacGyver'd that shit, et voila!

The mirror even still moves.

So fuck people. I will overcome.

Poor Marilyn.

Emotional Overload

Life is overwhelming right now.

I have so many posts I could write. SO MUCH IS GOING ON. I don't even know where to begin.

I have things I should be doing right now. I should be packing to leave for San Francisco early in the am. I should be wrapping the gifts for the bridal shower I'm going to once I get there. I should be showering, or cleaning, or taking out the trash.

But for now, I'm sitting. On brain overload, totally incapacitated.

Shit That's Going On Right Now

*I had a second interview for that job today. Yup. And I think it went really, really well. I don't want to sound cocky, but I think I might get it, and if I do...i have to decide if I want it. I know, I said I really did, but now I'm panicking, because change is scary and what if I can't do it? And it's not a raise. And it would be a really intense, non-creative, technical job, and I'm worried it'll do nothing but stress me out, and is that better or worse than me hating and being unfulfilled by my current job? Plus side, it gives me more experience on my resume, and I need a change, and it's really just as close to home as my current job....ahhhhhhhhhh.

*This bachelorette party is going to be so fun, but I'm stressin'. What to wear? What to pack? How much am I gonna spend? Will I run out of money before my next paycheck? Did I buy enough of a gift? Should I get something else? 

*I'm breaking up with Thumper tonight. Yeah. It's gonna suck.

Things You Do When You're Poor

• Eat cereal and milk for dinner every night because it's gloriously cheap.
• Inadvertently guilt-trip the guy you're dating into buying you a real dinner when you tell him this fact.

• Wear a dress you haven't worn in over a year (as it's really not flattering) because you don't want to waste money doing laundry.
• Stay at work during lunch to save a tiny amount of gas.
• Contemplate bailing out of a best friend's bachelorette weekend because it will quite literally deplete your bank account. 
• Realize you cannot do this and be a good friend, and wonder if anywhere around you buys blood.
• Find yourself increasingly jealous of your cat's super easy lifestyle. What a lazy little bitch.

Eff Me Fashion

I've been obsessing for weeks about what to wear in Vegas.

This is a tricky, tricky problem.

Well, okay, I do have a closet full of suitable Vegas dresses from my numerous, numerous trips over the years, but we run into a number of problems. Effin' problems. F Problems, even.

The first problem is very shallow. Well, all the problems are shallow, but the first is exceptionally so. See, most have my dresses have been SEEN before...on Facebook. Oh yes, the dreaded, F. FACEBOOK. Effin' Facebook. Spoiling my style. But when you're trying to impress a quarter dozen different boys you hope are creepin' your profile spread out across the country with your sex appeal via your pictures, you kinda want some new duds. So shallow, I know.

Not that they likely really notice a variety of clothes, anyway.

The second big problem: Some dresses just don't fit anymore.

Because another problem: The other F word. A word I am trying to ban from my writing and thinking, a word with way too much baggage... See, of course, in my weeks of darkness on this blog, in the course of my recent binging, yoga-avoiding, and general malaise...I have gained weight. Which means I do not feel comfortable in most of my clothing anymore. Especially tight, sexy little dresses designed to show off the skin I'm not so comfortable in. Dresses I'll feel the need to suck in...in.

Bah.

So I bought one dress, which is all loose and covered up, thinking it would hide the flaws I'm seeing in myself. But in reality, trying to hide these things just emphasizes them, no? A bigger body looks bigger with more fabric on it. And Vegas is for tight and shiny, not loose and demure.

So that dress is out.

(Plus, I already have pictures of it on Facebook from a few weeks ago...dork.)

I did find one option in the depths of my closet, so night #1 is all taken care of. I had decided to borrow a dress for night #2 from my Biff, but since she didn't end up coming to the Valley for our get together this past weekend, that didn't happen. So alas, I had to shop.

Tragic.

I'm not even being 100% sarcastic. It's a little tragic. 'Cause I'm 'po. But you know, such is life, and you know...I like new shiny things.

So today, I shopped at my favorite friendly neighborhood Marshall's, which was pathetically devoid of options, and man this post is extremely long and shallow but at least I'm writing, right, and to wrap it up here, I found a dress I feel comfortable and attractive in for under $20. More than attractive, maybe? Well...see...

It's a bit of an EFF ME dress.

The amount of side boob is...impressive. It has leather. It's black...I did mention I'm seeing Thumper in Vegas, right?

I texted him today: "I am totally going to inflict this dress on you."

He adored the use of the word "inflict."

I'm not completely sure I have the ladyballs to pull it off. I might go find something else tomorrow...or I might rock this sexy little frock in Vegas with my Barbie heels.

Teehee. *cough* Eff. Me.

Morning in the Afternoon

After fifteen hours of sleep, it's September.

How is this year going by so fucking quickly?

Damn.

So, I ate some yogurt. I put a load of laundry in. I'm trying to clean. I'm going to yoga later with a friend!, and then we'll grab dinner. I'm having a life, today.

Or trying to, while slightly miserable.

It's fucking hot in LA, for one thing. I don't like. I miss the cool breezes off Alaskan waters.

Unedited, yo.

I'm fighting against familiar urges and patterns and thoughts. I want to do things. Bad things.

I'm hungry.

But, I'm finding peace. Or working towards it. This is just...life.

It's not so bad.

A Stealth Dick

So, MI? The Chicago boy in my bed yesterday?

Turned out to be a bit of a dick.

I mean, not totally. Down to his very core, maybe not. But yeah, he showed some dickish behavior. I might even go so far as to proclaim him a stealth asshole.

The details of how I came to realize this are pretty much unimportant. I give plenty of TMI on this blog, but this data is too T, even for me. But suffice it to say the cherry on top of the dick sundae is that he cancelled on me for tonight, his last night in town, quite unceremoniously, without even a perfunctory apology.

Dick.

Love is a motherfucker.

I've contemplated writing this post for awhile, but have resisted because, well...it makes me feel pathetic. More than pathetic. But you know, I try to be honest with you all for the most part, and so quite honestly, this has been on my mind for awhile, and maybe getting it out will clear the cobwebs out of my brain and help me move on.

So....here goes.

Confession time:

I can't stop thinking about the Ginger.

I know. I know. It's been a fucking year. And he was a jerk to me. And we didn't date that long. And he apologized for the jerkness. And I accepted.

I should have closure. I shouldn't be thinking about him.

But I don't. And I do.

I fantasize about running into him on the street. I look for him when I'm out at bars. I contemplate if I'd replied differently to that apology, things would have turned out another way. I imagine he's thinking about me, somewhere, somehow. I just...wonder.

I don't really want him back. I just need to see him. I just want that moment.

Just to see.

I've analyzed this obsession. I'm pretty sure I only feel this way because he rejected me, and if things had simply run their course, I probably would have lost interest and I would have moved on. But no, he had to pull some asshole bullshit, and I'm left a year later still with these motherfucking feelings.

FUCK.

I'm crazy.

See, I think I accepted the apology too readily. I was so shocked to receive it, via text at 11 at night, no doubt drunken on his part, and I replied without considering my response for more than a few minutes. And so while I accepted his sorry, I'm not sure I really forgave. I never got a change to speak my mind, we didn't have a real conversation. The last time we saw each other he just stopped by for half a second to pick up his wallet, then left. I didn't know it would be the last time I ever saw or spoke to him. I never again heard his voice, or saw his face. His apology was an intangible thing, without weight or substance or meaning to me. He got to get off scot-free, and I never got a real why.

And so I just can't seem to let go.

SO MANY THOUGHTS.

I know there's nothing I can do, unless I want to be the crazy bitch who Facebooks him a year later. Which I definitely do not.

So...this is why I'm dating like crazy. I'm searching. Searching for that connection I felt with him, that spark, that chemistry I have never felt with anyone else. When I first met him, and he kissed my cheek at the end of our first date, I just about died. I want that again. It has to exist, right?

I just want proof that it's out there. That this stupid guy isn't the only one who can make me feel that way.

In the wise words of Samantha Jones...

Slice and Dice

Last night, I gave myself a paper cut on a cardboard box. A cardboard cut, if you will.

This morning, I did it again. Same finger.

OW OW OW THE PAIN THE PAAAAAAAAAIN.

You have never hurt like I hurt.

Are you laughing at me?

Don't laugh at me. 

I want to go back to bed.

Cookie Cutter Crazy

I'm going to put this out into the universe. Maybe if I see the words on screen, say them to you all, my ever loyal readers, I'll actually hear them, and absorb them, and take them to heart.

I really need to stop eating.

I'm not binging, no. Not really. But I am certainly eating badly, and I am definitely eating more than I need to be. And I have been for quite some time, since my Whole30, really, off and on. But binging, no, I won't call it that. So that's good, right?

You know what I think it is? Despite the fact that things are going mostly well for me right now, teacher training and new boys and fun times, I'm feeling so...unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. I want more of something, and I don't know what, and I'm using food to try to fill whatever this void is inside me. Instead of eating well and nourishing my body and nurturing my soul and making myself happier in the way I know works best, I'm stuffing my feelings down with all this crap I know I don't need, and I'm just carving that void bigger and bigger. Because I don't want to be happy, apparently.

I'm so stereotypical.

I just want. All the time. I want to be happier, but I don't want to do the work. I want more attention, and more validation, and more success, but I don't think I deserve any of it, and I again, don't want to work for it. I want to be thinner and prettier and better and smarter, I want to be more than I am, but I don't know how. I just want want want.

And right now, I really want a cookie.

Things I Need To Learn Not To Do

#1 Priority:

Stop internalizing my stress.

Work is twisting me in knots today, for stupid, stupid reasons. And as such, I now have a splitting, splitting headache, and am literally sick to my stomach. It's nothing I ate, obviously. It's not a real illness. It's all in my head.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!?!

I don't even freaking know.

God.

I'm the fucking worst.

That is all.

I want a beer and a boy.

I don't want much in life.

I'm not super greedy. Despite the sarcasm that runs rampant on this blog, I don't really think I should be filthy rich, or have an amazing job, or be worshipped as a deity. I know I'm not entitled to those things. (Yet.)

Right now, my wants are very simple.

I want a beer.

But I can't have one, 'cause they're gluteny.

And I want a boy.

But I can't have one.

Apparently.

Second Chances

I'm kind of stuck on the fact that the Neighbor Boy didn't even give me a second date.

I mean, for me, I usually give someone another shot as long as they don't a) totally offend me and b) are attractive, to me, as long as c) we had a decent time. I mean, first dates are awkward, so if there was a modicum of fun, one assumes the second date could be better. And I thought we had a good time. Ish.

So my fear, as I told y'all, is that he was totally not attracted to me. Basically, I assume he thinks I'm fat. Which, I know, is a thought from Crazytown.

'CAUSE I'M NOT FAT ANYMORE.

Much.

I know, I know. There are countless reasons why he could have been completely uninterested in me. I mean, I'm a lot to handle. My personality is on level ten. And attraction does not have to be solely dependent on weight, right? He could have hated my face. Or you know...he could have just enjoyed me, but not felt that "spark". Sometimes I don't feel the spark. I mean, I didn't feel the spark.

But I still would have gone on a second date.

Still, WHY do I care so much?

This is why dating is such a mindfuck. Rejection hurts, even when you can rationalize it all day. Even when the guy is perfectly kind and up front about it, doesn't just blow you off, gives you the courtesy of a "friendship" olive branch...it still stings to be told you're not wanted. 

But it's okay.

Bentley loves me.

And chocolate loves me.

NOT THAT I CAN EAT CHOCOLATE.

Stupid diet.

Assorted Thoughts For Your Amusement

• My parents have way nicer toilet paper than I do. So soft...
• A reader (hi reader!) thought they saw me at a Chipotle in LA the other day, and almost went up to the girl to say hi, but didn't. Which is good, because it wasn't me. I officially feel like a celebrity.
• Have I told you one of my ultimate goals in life? To have a paparazzo take a picture of me, thinking they probably should 'cause I just look SO GOOD I MUST BE FAMOUS. Yup.
• MY FUCKING PERIOD STILL HASN'T COME AND I AM A TIGHTLY WOUND BALL OF HORMONES READY TO EXPLODE AT ANY MOMENT YOU BETTA WATCH OUT. 
• SHOUTY.
• I most definitely am not carrying the son of God.
• Right?
• I cried at a really bad movie yesterday. Really bad.
• I'm mentally totally zen about not hearing from New Guy yet, except because of the GOD DAMN HORMONES I AM TOTALLY NOT ZEN.
• I frosted a bajillion cupcakes while volunteering today and didn't eat ANY.
• That's...all. 

Juicy Juice

I have just not been very chatty the last few days.

I don't know why. I guess I just don't feel like saying the same old shet.

Wahhh I can't stop eating carbs, I want my raise, I miss my mommy. Wahhh it's hot. Wahhh wahhh wahhhhhhhh I'm self-sabotaging.

No one wants to hear that, do they? NO.

So what else am I supposed to say, then? I can't seem to make anything up, I've tried. I've sat in front of this blinking blank screen for a good portion of time the last couple of days, and no words have come to mind or finger.

So tonight, I am drinking wine.

Let's see if we can get some creative juices flowing.

Monday Moping

Monday, why do you persist in coming so regularly? Can't you just, for once, NOT? CAN YOU JUST NOT?

I should probably work on not letting the day of the week dictate my mood so much, as my friend mentioned this morning.

BUT GODDAMN YOU MONDAY.

Damn. You.

From Wildfox

A Complaint

An Open Letter To My Neighbors:

Who, in their right mind, cooks at eleven at night?

And if you're going to cook at eleven at night, you cook something simple, am I right? You cook something easy and cheap, mac and cheese, anything equally light. You cook something basic, not smelling delicious, not smelling so decadent I could start a fight.

Okay. I'll stop rhyming.

BUT SERIOUSLY SOMEONE IS COOKING AND IT SMELLS FUCKING DELICIOUS AND I WANT TO EAT IT.

I should just go to bed.

But I am distracted by watching Reese Witherspoon get arrested over and over and over again.

This is BEYOND.

The smells. The cooking. The audacity of it.

This is AMERICA.

All By Myself

Last week, my therapist let me know that she wouldn't be available for our Wednesday session. She offered to fit me in on another day, but I was like, "Oh, no, I'm fine, I'm not so crazy that I can't go a week without seeing you."

Well.

It's Wednesday, and I am in a mood.

A sad mood. A lonely mood. I am home, and all should be well, but I am just...morose.

Maybe it's that I'm sick. Maybe it's that I can't go to yoga. Maybe it's the weather, dreary but without the rain I love so much. Maybe it's the fact that I have no friends.

Someone love me?

Squish

I want to slap myself into submission sometimes.

Despite my post of things I love about my physical self, I am not loving my body today.

There are moments where I look at myself and I know I look different, completely. I spent a long time yesterday looking at old Facebook pictures, this change is not in question.

Then there are moment like right now, where I don't see a change at all, and I'm frustrated and irritated and overwhelmed with a feeling I can't quite name or suppress.

I also feel squishy.

Meh.

I do know where it started, where it comes from. On Sunday I overate by a lot, rationalizing that I'd be working out alllll week. And now I can't, because I'm sick. SO obviously my brain now thinks I'm FAT FAT FAT and I feel bloated.

WAH.

That is all.

My Morning: A Timeline

Like I said, I was up early this morning, when tends to happen when you don't give into your urges to watch a movie and go to bed early.

7:45     Take pictures in Beverly Hills, 'cause you're so cool.
8:10     Arrive perfectly on time for your appointment to get blood drawn.

8:15     Wander around aimlessly as your appointment time comes and goes, wondering why the hell the addresses jump from 120 to 170.

8:20     Finally get the help of a nice streetsweeper who tells you that there are, in fact, TWO 150 N Robertsons, one in Beverly Hills and one in West Hollywood, AND YOU ARE AT THE WRONG ONE.

8:22     Rage on the phone to your mother.

8:25     Cry your second batch of PMSy tears of the morning.

8:35     Park too far away from the correct address. Refuse to move your car since you already paid the meter. Rage again.

8:45     Arrive at the office. Finally. Wait. Get blood drawn. Don't even get a lollipop.

A Broken Burrito Heart

Today was supposed to be a magical day.

The Jogasaki Truck was supposed to be near my office today. What is the Jogasaki Truck, you may ask? The Jogasaki Truck brings you sushi...in BURRITO FORM.

Via @UrLocalEmbalmer

But alas, their truck had a generator problem and DIDN'T COME.

My broken heart is crying.

So I had to have regular, boring sushi.

It was just okay.