Switch-Hitter

Usually I am not a huge fan of crowds. Even more so when it involves crowds in small spaces. Add in alcohol and I would rather shove matches under my fingernails and pretend I am a human sparkler. Despite this fact, I purchased two tickets to see Shinedown & Saliva at a local bar/restaurant. After a long day of rubbing naked people (as Max likes to call it) the last thing I wanted to do was stand in a crowd and try not to get barfed on or squished. A text from Will changed my mind and I hopped into the shower.

I did my hair but with no more effort that I would for a day of work. The only thing I did differently was put on some eyeliner. Say it with me now folks... oooh! Yeah, that is about as girly as it gets for me. I grabbed my comfortable jeans and threw on a fitted tee that happened to be on top of the pile. With comfort in mind, I reached for the black steel toe boots. Hell if I was going to get my feet stomped and dangit they are comfy.

I grabbed a hoodie and hopped in the truck. Off we went. The evening started off relatively mundane. The opening band was pretty darn good and the place was actually pretty spacious. Way better than I had anticipated. And then the little weasels wanted to get closer to the front. Read: squish your way through a drunk crowd. Uh... yeah. Not my cup o' tea here boys. My "date" (I'm giving you the look JB) was kind enough to hang with me as he is not one for crowds either. And he is a big guy. You generally get left alone when there is a big guy not but a few inches from your side. If he looks disgruntled, that's even better.

And now I must add, the previously mentioned rule only applies to men. When in large crowds, women don't like rubbing against men. Sends the wrong message. So what do they do, they rub against other women. It is FAR easier to move someone of a similar size than it is to move someone twice your size. Read: Bernice gets moved a lot by women who "just want to squeeze through." And trust me, half of the women would have difficulty squeezing into anything smaller than a door frame and yet wrap themselves in the stretchiest, most revealing clothing on the market. (More on that topic in another rant.) The other half look like they have spent this side of 40 getting rode hard and put away wet all while bleaching away any brain cells they may or may not have left. But I digress. The smooshing was too much and I had to draw the line when half a beer found it's way into my back pocket. We retreated to the balcony where there was a bar (for the boys - I had decided not to drink thankyouverymuch) and room to breathe, even if we could only watch the show on the tvs above the bar.

And that's when Max introduced me to her. A little skanky, sweet as can be and smoking three cigarettes to every drink she was consuming. Apparently she and Max go WAY back and dangit if she didn't take an instant liking to me. Yay. She respected my need for the personal bubble for oh, about five seconds. At second six, the grab-ass started. Quite literally. While I am quite fond of my own derriere, I would much prefer it be admired by anyone who feels the need from a distance. Distance is decidedly not part of her vocabulary.

The first time I laughed it off. She was drunk and let's face it, I'm a catch. (Don't worry, I rolled my eyes typing that one.) The second time, I told her I was flattered but I would really appreciate it if she would try to observe some self control. She seemed to get the point. The evening carried on grope free but laden with many a "you are very pretty" and "I really love your eyes". To which I responded with a polite thank you and went about enjoying the show. That is, until she decided I looked a lot like a pole and commenced her attempt at a booty shake. In my direction. My face may or may not have ever achieved such a shade of red. Thankfully the show was over and I was out of there like a bat out of hell. There aren't enough awkward turtles in this world or the next to compensate for that moment. I tried to laugh it off considering her BAL but it was still pretty high on the Ick Scale.

Seriously though, since when is it acceptable for women to blatantly be piggish to women? Would I have been as tolerant if it were a man? I'm guessing not so much. And this bothers me. Was it because I knew I could knock her on her ass if I so chose? Or because I knew absolutely nothing would come of it besides everyone else having a good chuckle at my (and her) expense. Who knows. Either way, I'm not sure if I should be flattered at being seen as a catch through her version of beer goggles or grossed out at the same fact.

What do you think?

Normal

Life has been chugging along at a relatively dizzying pace. My to-do list grows daily and yet I feel like I have accomplished nothing. I feel like I couldn't think my way out of a wet paper bag so please hang in there with me while I organize my thoughts into randome blurbs.

It has been pointed out to me that sometimes I get a little crazy and it sucks, but I do. (Sorry again JB.) I have found that the lack of sleep directly coorelates with how "crazy" I get. Throw in some sickness and I'm ready for the bin.

Today is an "oh-shit" day. I am very much a numbers person and I have spent a good hour staring at my budget and playing with different configurations. I'm sure I can handle my finances, but there is still that little voice in the back of my head telling me I am going to fail and fail miserably.

I am going to be boring a new exit in the contractor soon if he doesn't get his lazy butt back to my house to finish the repairs he started. This process started in November '08 and now 5 months later all I have to show for it is a pile of gravel in my yard, a partially completed egress window, a tree that is going to die from being uprooted through the winter and not a contractor in sight. If it is not finished by the end of next week, he will be paid for the materials he has purchsed thus far and he will be fired. The job will be given to Rick.

Somehow I decided it would be a good idea to host a Pampered Chef party. Darn me and my need to expand my gadget drawer in my kitchen. I may be good at improvising with the few cheap tools I have, but cooking would be so much more enjoyable (and faster) if I had the proper utensils. Right?

I have been afflicted by the fever that is know as Twilight. Why I started reading, I'm not sure, but I am on the fourth book and I am struggling to finish it. More than once have I launched the books against the wall in utter disgust and yet, I get up, walk to the book, find where I left off and start reading again. I have not seen the movie and I'm not sure I want to. I have visions of how I see the characters in my head and judging by the few trailers I've seen, I will be sorely disappointed at how the roles were cast.

I know where I am at right now in life and I know where I want to be, but all that in between is nothing more than a blank page. It is annoying because I want what I want right now. Not in six months, not in a year, not in two years. Have I mentioned patience is not something I am good with?

I need a massage. I'm falling apart. Perhaps duct tape would be more appropriate.

I feel dumb. I can't come up with anything meaningful or even slightly entertaining... oh wait... that reminds me. Oh yeah, that's a story for another time. Or at least for when I end this post and write that one.

I'm still trying to decide what I want to do in regards to the fire department. I want to go back, but I don't think I can handle any "responsibility" other than showing up on my crew night and not purposely killing anyone... and I'm not talking patients.

Regular posting to resume soon. Sorry I suck at life as of late. It should get more entertaining. At least I hope so.

That Damn Elephant

I really have some things I want to write about and honestly, I have but I just couldn't bring myself to publish them for public review/consumption/judgement.

So here it goes... I'll feel better after this, right?


**DEEP BREATH**



Recently, I made a choice. It wasn't a snap decision and it wasn't something that I came to lightly. I have cried until my sobs became dry body-wracking heaves, my stomach confusing it's contents for the dispair and isolation my nerve endings were brutalized by. I have rationalized and talked. And talked. And talked. And I have spent hours upon hours, laying awake in bed running through the last couple years of my life. Everyone expects a huge event, a defining moment for one to make such a decision and really I can't identify just one.

As I remembered, the bads seemed to outweigh the good. I forced myself to think about all the good stuff. The times I laughed until I cried, grasping at my stomach in blissful agony. The times I wanted nothing more than to have him at my side just because he could. The more I thought about the good stuff, the more it all hurt and the agrier I got. I knew things were on a steady decline and I know for a fact that there have been occasions where I just wanted to walk away. But that's not what you do. That's not how it is supposed to be. So I stayed and I fought the best way I knew how. Sometimes it was by fighting, which of course wasn't the perfect answer, but I was willing to fight for what I wanted and what I needed. I had to show my emotion somehow and crying just wasn't doing it. Yelling and screaming seemed so much more effective. It was then, and only then that I would get a reaction.

Eventually, I came to the realization that yelling couldn't possibly do any bit of good. Not for me and especially not for him. But I NEEDED him there not just emotionally, but physically as well. I NEEDED him to show he cared in a way I understood. I talked love languages. I asked what I could do. I tried everything I could think of - notes, dinners, favors, giving up time for his hobbies, brushing off the little things that bugged me; everything except outside help. Surely I could make him understand my way. Meanwhile, we both continued to drudge along with the day to day of life. Each of us living in our own sepearate worlds Monday through Friday and praying we could somehow meld together on the weekends.

We would often stay up late and talk for hours. Not once did we ever come to a conclusion other than "we ain't happy." And then we would both pass out from the utter exhaustion of the night.

Rinse and repeat.

Days into weeks, weeks into months and months into years.

We were two ships, each on our own course, passing through the night. Literally.

Toss in IF issues and you have yourself a real pile o' doo.


In no way am I making excuses for myself or for him. Honestly, I have not allowed myself to be sad about it all. Since I am the one that filed, deep down I don't believe I have any right to be sad. I'm sure some day soon, that wall is going to come head on fast and hard. I think the thing I am most sad about is that I hurt him, his family and my family. His family couldn't have seen it coming. I learned at an early age to put on a mask and do the dance in public. Your dirty laundry stays at home and therefore I put on the show. They really are great people. Supportive and loving. And while divorce certainly isn't a strange concept to them, it still breaks my heart to not be a part of their family anymore.

My family has certain expectations of me and while I know they love me and always will there are certain things that are, well taboo for the lack of a better word. The big 'D' is one of them. When you marry, you marry once and only once. There is little I hate more in this world than snakes and letting my family down. While this instance doesn't involve anything to do with slithering reptiles, I still feel completely and utterly the failure for letting them down.

All those feelings are small on comparison to the emptiness you feel with being sad all.the.time. Sure, occasionally I laughed. More often I cried. The fear of the unknown was almost as terrifying as the judgement I was certain I would receive from my family.

Then one day I was telling a dear friend that they had to do whatever it took to be happy. It is one thing to live your life worrying about everyone else first all while enduring each day instead of enjoying it. And a light went on. Why wasn't I enjoying every day of my life? Why wasn't I happy? Why wasn't I making myself happy?

Am I being selfish? Maybe. Depends on how you look at it.

Either way, this is how it is. A reality I have created and will take and make into a positive. Even if the road to better is long and sucky. I am now the driver and I am looking forward to getting to know my new Navigator a lot better as well.

Allergies

In my family we have a few food allergies. My mom, brother and sister have either been diagnosed with celiacs or have such a high index for suspiscion they just go about life as if they have been diagnosed. Needless to say, mealtime is generally a little tricky to say the least. My dad has Type II diabetes so that just throws another wrench into the mix. All of us, to some degree have issues with lactose. Then there is me. All the things my family can't eat, I can. Bread? No biggie. Sugary candy? Safe. Eggs? More please! While they all mow down on guacamole and fruit salad, I'm stuck drooling because I can't have it!

This little allergy of mine has gotten better since I started getting my allergy shots. I can eat raw carrots again in moderation. (Read: four baby carrots is my limit) I can have broccoli and cauliflower with mild irritation to my mouth. But melon... oh how I love melon... insta-itch and mandatory constant throat clearing commences. Avacado does the same thing. We wont even discuss what onions do to me. I am a lady after all. This weekend I tried edemame... no dice.

I am really tired of the smallest little thing sending me into a neck-scratching, snot-dripping, tongue itching fit and sometimes I just don't know why.

So alas, I am left with grapes, strawberries, cherries and oranges. As for veggies, it is a 50/50 change for any given day.

Today, I must mourn the loss of bananas. While I sit here and pout I will do my best not to rip my tongue out with my staple remover.


*sigh*


Doomed to a life of meat, potatoes and steamed veggies.

The Truth

The truth is I miss it - the little black box that brings terror, pain and excitement. The shrieking has not pierced the darkness of my dreams or pulled the food from my mouth as it sits poised ready for consumption. My heart has not submitted to the adrenaline-nduced pounding. Faces have not looked up at me with relief or gratitude. My mind has not scrambled to pull that distant piece of vital information that would surely explain what is being presented in front of me.

No broken glass. No broken bodies. No broken hearts.

All except mine. I miss it. I miss it more than I thought I ever could and yet, something in metells me it isn't time yet. Soon, but not now.

I never thought I would miss it this much and I still can't bring myself to go back. At least, not yet.