So. Lately I have a lot in my life that I really need to think about. I have a lot of decisions that I have to make in a pretty timely maner, and there’s not a lot of options for any of them.
I’m on the cusp of breaking up with Guy. It could go either way. One thing I really can’t stand is a stalker of kinds. Checking up on me, calling when I’m out for an hour or so. Just generally making a nuisance of himself. It’s bothersome. I’ve been fine on my own for all this time, I hope I can manage a damn trip to the grocery store without falling into a ditch. But that’s his reasoning for calling me. To make sure I’m alright. 5 times in the course of a shopping trip. So I asked him if he was nervous about something. I know I’ve had some guys that were douches, but I don’t call him when he goes out to poker night or to the bar with his friends. I leave him alone, cause I know that’s his time away from the house.
I think I liked ot having a cell phone better. I think I’m going to start accidentally leaving it at home when I make a trip to the store.
But all that, tied in with the fact that my boss has been majorly hitting on me has me all spun around. My boss is cool shit. She’s awesome. And there’s so many good reasons why us being together would be so awesome. And then there’s the big fact that I’m total horrible relationship material. I mean, look at right now. I’m getting chastized for not calling! I told her this too. I’ll forget birthdays, numbers, times. I’ll be late or I’ll cancel when you’re counting on me. I’m tied up with my job in the Navy, and my kids. She’ll be shortchanged nearly all the time. But it seems to make her want me more. I don’t get it at all. Let me make this clear now, cause I just read what I wrote. This isn’t my boss from the Navy, it’s my boss from the job I have as a chef.
So it’s fucking crazy.
Then there’s all the little shit. Like trying to find a three bedroom apartment for us to move into if it turns out I can’ keep the house. I don’t know what’s all going on with that. I also have been studying for the Petty Officer’s exam that I have to take on Saturday morning that I’m totally scared I’m going to fail. I’m a wreck right now.
Anyway.
I just need to vent and be done with this test for good. At least until the next one.
First. I miss my Guns.
Second, the guy on the right is his birthday present.
Third, I hope he reads this.
Now, I’m actually going to get to the blog. Let me get out the soapbox, cause this is going to be a doozy of a bloggy.
I know there’s a million words out there floating around, being written, being disseminated. All about the gay community. It seems that everyone has their little opinion about it, and alright, I fight for your freedom, so go ahead and have your opinion. It’s yours.
But there’s a fine line between freedom of opinion and shoving that opinion down people’s throats and making them hear your opinion, loud and fucking clear. And there’s using that opinion to manipulate people to do things that in your little mind, you think is the right thing and that it should be done.
Apparently when people think their lives are just perfect and ready for a hallmark card, they feel the need to go ahead and stick their little hands into everyone else’s, cause they’re doing so well that they just know exactly how things are supposed to go.
Anyway, I’m so pissed off, I’m going to lay it all out for you, and you all can make your own call on it.
A friend (a very dear one) has basically been told by his sister that he needs to come out and tell his mother that he’s gay. Now, this is after losing a father and a boyfriend all in one year. Moving twice. Getting a new job and about to turn 21. I told him that he should wait until he was good and ready to do it, and he had already in his head set a date for it. But his sister gets on facebook and sees his profile. Instead of minding her own fucking business, she decides that since he’s out to his close friends, he must come out to his mother. He’s a disgrace, being on facebook and prolaiming himself gay.
So, my favorite video blog is gone, and so is his profile. I was actually surprised when I saw that it wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t thik he would take it down, but I’m sure he had his reasons.
So here’s me, speaking out against people who follow their own agendas. They’re currently in the car for a long duration and I have a suspicion that her sister is going to blab to their mother and leave him to sort out the pieces. This is something that he really doesn’t need right now.
At any rate. I love you, baby. I hope things are going well and that people will surprise you like I said. And we’re all here for you, just as much family as they are. 
So, I’ve entered the world of iPhone he’ll. I got here kicking and fighting and shouting my resistance the whole way, but here I am. I blame the tmobile experience, and their downright shitty customer service.
So, here i sit, on the shuttle home from the airport writing this.
I’m also utterly addicted to FML. Seriously. A lot of them piss me off though. There’s a lot of guys who spend a lot of time getting told they’re gay, but they’re adamant that they’re not. Seriously, get rid of the emo hair and fashionably frayed pants and grandma might not think that anymore. I also have an entire rant about people flaming the fat girl FMLs. I’m a former fat girl, and trust me, sometimes it really fucking sucks.
I’m writing this with a friend in mind. I want to tell him about loss, he and I both know it well. He’s younger than me, but has had the same hardships. He just today lost someone very close to him. This comes nearly back to back with losing his father. I listened to him at work today and just tried to be there for him in case he needed it.
I wanted to tell him so many things, but grief is an odd thing.
I want to tell him to remember everything. All of it. The good, the bad, all the silly things. I want him to know that remembering doesn’t make the pain worse, it keeps you close.
I wanted to tell him that there’s so much more out there. People, experiences, places. The loss is an experience, part of the life you have to live. To appreciate the good, you have to take everything else. Living numb of grief is also denying yourself other emotions.
He had issue with the Karma aspect of our religion. He doesn’t understand why horrible things are happening, and I want to tell him that he didn’t do anything wrong or evil to deserve this. He had the goodness to be his father’s son, and the grace to be close with his friend. Those good times and love can’t be the product of something evil.
I want to tell him that our religion accepts death in all forms. It’s a part of us. Death is insult to no one. The death of someone close has nothing to do with personal karma. People are taken from us, sometimes with no reason. People come and go in this life, but the ones that leave early stay with us the longest.
I most of all want to tell him that while I don’t understand his personal pain, I understand pain.
Instead, I listened to him, cause that’s all I can do for him right now. This is his, his moment.
I love him, and despite the fact that I’m bitter and grrrr all the time, I try to tell him (and all my close friends) everyday. Cause tomorrow’s not a promise.
So many people for so long have been writing so mahy words and ideas, sometimes I wonder if mine are even that important to be heard over the calamity of all the others. There’s times when I lay in my bed and wonder if there’s even a point to me putting my shit out there in the market. Would anyone care to read it? Isn’t there enough out there? Am I original enough to get my point across? Or, am I the only one who would care to hear what I have to say.
If words were drops of water, I think there’d probably be enough floating around out there to fill the Grand Canyon. Or even an ocean. I don’t know. It’s daunting. I’m not going up against anyone, it’s being a part of a community, but still there’s nothing more than I’d like to do some days than lie in my bed and hang the whole thing up.
I wish there were more people in my area that had the same interests, maybe I wouldn’t be getting these lost feelings. I dunno. I suppose I log on and find a bunch of people with the same ideas, but it’s not the same. I sign out and I’m all alonsie again. Yeah, I’ll cut this emo bullshit now.
Maybe this is me giving myself a proverbial pep talk. I had to wrestle my laptop away from my room mate just cause I felt like writing something. Now I got down some words and I get this creeping insanity coming up behind me. I can’t shake the shit.
I dunno. Does every writer have a monkey like this riding their back? Is this common place? This insecurity? Or am I just projecting all my self doubt into this one endeavor?
I suppose it has yet to be seen.
I pinched this from She Moves Among the Sparrows’s blog.
Do you snack while you read? If so, favorite reading snack?
Not really. I avoid the usual snackage that’s out there. I don’t even venture down an isle that has chips or cookies. Honestly. If it’s in the house, I’m going to eat it reguardless of wether or not I’m reading. There’s no point in even having the temptation in front of me. There’s an exception, it comes in a little white pepperidge farm bag. Milanos. Yeah, I know, they’re not all that great, but I crave them here and there. And I’m all about the indulgence. Sometimes.
Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you?
If they’re y books, I mark away. I’ll highlight, underline and write myself notes. Especially textbooks. I’m not for the selling them back. Once I buy them, I plan to keep them, so I make all the marks that I want in them. I also dogear pages. I don’t do it to borrowed books, but like I said, once I make the investment, there it is, it’s mine. I also doodle the most insane little things in margins.
How do you keep your place while reading a book? Bookmark? Dog-ears? Laying the book flat open?
Augh, I’m an epic dogearrer. I try to use stuff, like train tickets, scraps of paper, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll inevitably fold the page down and totally throw all my good intentions to the wind.
Fiction, Non-fiction, or both?
Fiction. Some good unsolved non-fiction is good for the soul as well.
Hard copy or audiobooks?
Hard copy. I’m not big on the paperback due to the amount of abuse one of my books has to endure. I’ve never ventured into the audio books. I read really fast, and I usually get impatient waiting for someone to read something to me. I was thinking about getting audio language tapes since I’d spend a lot of time in the car on my way to work for a while. But I work five minutes from the house now and it doesn’t seem like it’d do me a lot of good anymore.
Are you a person who tends to read to the end of chapters, or are you able to put a book down at any point?
I’ll set it down and come back to it at some point. I have a few different books going in a few different rooms of my house right now.
If you come across an unfamiliar word, do you stop to look it up right away?
Nope. I’ll try to get it out of the context that it’s used, and if I’m at a computer, I may look it up, but other than that, not really.
What are you currently reading?
Janet Evanovich. I like long series, and this is actually a decent one. I also read Harris, Hamilton and a few others. If it’s got immortal sexiness in it, I’m there.
What is the last book you bought?
Three to get Deadly.
Do you have a favorite time of day and/or place to read?
Whenever and wherever I can.
Do you prefer series books or stand alone books?
I like a good series. I get impatient, but meh. I also like the good standalone here and there. It’s good to poke my head out of one world and get a taste of another.
Is there a specific book or author that you find yourself recommending over and over?
Charlotte Perkins Gilman
How do you organize your books?
People organize their books? Seriously?
I’ve never felt worse in my life. Even when I blew my eardrum all over the wall when I was a little thing. I feel like asking my man if he loved me enough to kill me quickly. Seriously, there is no way a person can be this ill. Not without something serious hitting them.
Yesterday was awesome. I watched my brother run the Chicago Marathon. Quite possibly one of the coolest things he’s ever done. Excaberated the extent of how shitty I feel, but I won’t detract from his moment.
I have a lot of blocked numbers calling my phone lately. I’ve been ignoring them, trying to get my bills paid and hoping that they’ll stop. I don’t answer them. On principle. If they called from an actual number, I’d have answered it by now. It like removes a piece of accountability. I want to know before I answer who’s calling me. I also hate answering the phone to get a recording that tells me there’s an important phone call coming in. Really? If it was so fucking important, why the hell didn’t they call me the first time? Hang up. All the way. Seriously, the best way to make me pay you is by calling and being really nice and guilting me into giving it to you. Cause if you call and respectfully ask me for the money that I rightly owe you, I will totally go out of my way to make it happen. I always fully intend to pay my bills, I’m not going to file for bankruptcy or just skip out on them, they will be paid, just sometimes not in as timely a manner as I would like. Honestly.
Enough of that bullshit cause it just makes me mad to think about it.
I haven’t gotten off the couch in well over 24 hours. I think I need to get up and go do something soon. This is the first time in as long as I can remember that I’ve called off work. I was throwing up, and there was blood in it. I think if it keeps us, I’m going to have to try to go to the hospital to the emergency room. I’m panicked though, because I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to pay for it because I’m not entirely sure I’m on my exhusband’s insurance anymore. And the Navy only covers me if I’m active duty. There’s not a whole lot of options. I don’t want to have to be paying a shitload of money. I can’t afford it. I’m stressing out, suspecting that it’s an ulcer, and that’s totally not making it better. On top of that, I think I’m catching the flu or something, cause I ache all over. And I know that when I go in to get the flu shot that the Navy makes me get, it’s going to make it a lot worse.
I dunno. There’s nothing I can really do about any of these things, but I keep stressing out about all of them at once. I want a cup of coffee, but I think it’s going to give me heartburn, and I’m fairly certain that we’re out of milk. Milk makes it better, i’m sure of it.
I dunno.
I dunno.
Fuck it all.
So I think I broke one of my fingers. Just the end of my middle finger, but it’s on my right hand. It hurts to do nearly anything. I also burned the hell out of my arm, but that seems to happen every friday for some reason. It’s all good, I put some swag on it and it’s all better.
I have a shitload of stuff to get done today and I can’t seem to want to get moving. I worked on a small chunk of this stiry I’m writing last night while we were watching old episodes of Heroes. I’m still pnching through it to see what comes of it, but half the time I’m trying to convince myself not to scrap it and give up on this. But whatever.
I actually managed to pay my bills and get myself a shiny new bit of makeup. It was my impulse buy. I allow myself those every once in a great while. Now I need to go get myself some pants. I realized after I lost all this weight that I have no pants whatsoever. I have like one good pair of jeans, and I’m sick of wearing those to work. I think a trip to Old Navy is in order, I just need some plain black ones, and I think I have an old gift certificate somewhere in the abyss that is my house.
After that, I have a good long bout of cleaning to look forward to. I ork all week and nothing gets even remotely looked at while I’m gone, and I’ m sick of living in filth. During the week I’m too tired to do anything about it, but now that I have today to sit and look at it, I realise that something needs to be done. I hate spending the day that I have to relax cleaning, but apparently none of the other adults in this house seem to know how to do it. 
Anyway, just dropping a line to say what’s up.
What’s up.
Sooo.
Drama is a bitch. Not the class, but the lethargic emo whining and bullshit I deal with on a daily fucking basis. I get up every morning and go to a job that sometimes I love, other times I hate, but still, I wake my ass up and go. My feet hurt, my back aches, my arm is throbbing, but I don’t complain. Not aloud at any rate. I fucking deal with it because I have to do it, and not a damned bit of whining is going to change that fact.
What I can’t seem to stand is martyrdom. Friends who stay with you, rent free, saying that they’re doing everything they can to find their fucking nirvana, but not taking basic care of themselves or the simple things you ask them to do. Not like they have to wake at a decent time and do anything constructive. Like pay bills or anything.
So yeah, as you may be able to tell, things have been hectic here. Seriously fucked up. Like dysfunctional fuckered up. I try to stay neutral and just deal with the much larger problems I have to go with everyday, but I get sucked into this drama and I can’t get away from it. I try to ask this friend of mine if there’s anything wrong, is she depressed about anything. What the hell is going on that she can’t get out of bed at any time while the sun is out? Why the hell is seven minutes of time too much to ask for 24 hours a day of living rent free? I just don’t get it.
Long story very short, my daughter got left at school because said roomate took a damn nap in the middle of the day. This is roughly a few weeks before I have a custody hearing with my exhusband over my kids. I don’t need this right now. I really don’t. Cause if my kids get taken away from me, I lose it. I lose everything. I have nothing without them, because everything I do, I do for them. Not a singe day goes by that I’m not happy as hell I have them in my life.
Anyway. I’m in a bit of a catch 22. I can’t ask her to pack her shit and gte the fuck out because despite her chronic fuckups, I need her here. She doesn’t want to be here, but her apathy keeps her from going anywhere. I just don’t know what the fuck to do about the whole situation. Am I making a mistake? Am I being anal? I don’t fucking know anymore.
I know tomorrow is going to bring another work day and another day of calls from said workplace to see if anyone is indeed at home and awake to get my children from school. I hate this feeling, but for the time being, there’s nothing I can do about it at all. My stomach is in knots and I can’t fucking focus.
Times like this, I want a beer, but times like this are the times I know it’s really not that good an idea.
So. I started work again on Monday. I broke down and went back to my old job, hoping that they would hire me. Looking almost forward to scrubbing dishes. But I got my job back, and a sort of promotion.
All week I’ve been working under the head chef, and the job as his assistant has opened. I worked alone on friday and managed not to fuck anything up too bad. It was awesome.
So now I’m back to the conclusion that I’m always going to be working with food. Seriously. I have this sweet ass job in the Navy, but I think food is really so much simpler. I honestly like working a long ass day cooking. I worked for 12 hours straight and really felt like I had only been there for 2. I like a day like that.
So I made dill glazed salmon and hot potato salad, and they actually turned out really well. And people commented on me. I hope they weren’t just saying it to make me feel better, but whatever.
So this happens and I’m thinking of going back to college, but dropping my Literature path and going to culinary school. And it would work with the job I have now because they’re always looking for new ideas and I think it would collaborate with their ideas. Whatever.
So things have been altogether pretty peaceful around here. The months of not working got to me and I’m fairly behind on a lot of bills. I’ll be glad to be getting this paycheck and starting to pay some of them off. I hate being in debt. Really, I do. And I have to start taking over the utilities or I risk losing the house altogether. I’ve never been more thankful than to see a 40 hour work scedule with my name on it. Hard work or not, I love it.
On a side note, while looking for a sweet pic to include in this post, I learned that my all time favorite actor was a chef in real life. Yay. If Vincent Price can do it, then hell yeah, I can too.
Food for thought and all that.
