Get off my lawn you damn kids!

We still live in an apartment. 

Funny story:  we went to the bank to see about getting a loan to pay off some of the debt we’re in so we can one day buy a house (it’s a vicious circle, but we figured one big payment instead of 35 payments per month).  When we told the bank person we rented and how much we paid in rent, she looked at us and asked “have you considered owning?”

My husband tells me that the look on my face when she asked that was priceless.  I can tell you what was going through my head…hate, pure and simple.  As soon as she said that (with her knowing full well how bad off we are) I asked her if she would give us a home loan.  She said we’re too high risk.  At that moment I considered ways of killing her.  According to my husband, the look on my face gave this fact away…noticeably.

Our meeting ended rather quickly at that point, and as it turns out, you can’t get a personal loan without some kind of equity…like in a home.

Ha ha ha. 

Oh irony, how I love thee.

So anyway, we live in an apartment.  I was woken up at 3:30 this morning because our downstairs neighbors, who are relatively new to the building (and oh so young) (hush, I’m aware that 32 isn’t old, but I think these two are just barely legal to buy alcohol), started blaring their stereo. 

I fear that I have turned into the kind of neighbor who will go downstairs and pound on their door and demand that they turn the radio down.  I’m already dressed in my crazy finest (in case you were wondering, Nightmare Before Christmas pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and a blue zip up hoodie.  The rat’s nest that is my hair really seals the deal, along with the remainders of the mascara I couldn’t get scrubbed off and need a sandblaster to remove).  Mostly I’m afraid they’ll wake the baby.  I could really care less if they have a radio on or not.  Except that the place where the music is originating from is right below my son’s room.  I heard the music and lyrics quite clearly from my room…and the living room.  When I walked into my son’s room I felt like I was at a concert. 

Yet the child hasn’t stirred yet.

Maybe I won’t have to be the crazy fist shaker after all.  That would be nice.

The post in which I rant like a lunatic

We, as people are creating a “War of the Worlds” world.  I’m sure of it.  We are creating a world where colds aren’t getting worse, but we are becoming more immune to the simple everyday germs that surround us.  The ones that keep our immune systems in check and, well for lack of a better term, healthy.  We need germs, we need some exposure to them or else a time will come where a simple cold will kill us.

I’m all for automatic water faucets, hand dryers and paper towel dispensers.  I wish there was a button you could hit with your hip on the way out of a public restroom that would open the door for you so that you don’t have to touch the door handle with your nice clean hands after some disgusting ape chose not to wash theirs.

*Side rant:  there really should be a rule that if you even walk into a public restroom that in order to leave it you must wash your hands.  I cannot count the number of times that I have used a public restroom (yes, eww, let’s all shudder with me now, but when you have a baby sitting on your bladder, you’d be amazed at the places you go) and gone to the sinks and washed my hands and watched some pig of a woman walk out of a stall, come over to the mirrors, check her make up and leave the restroom.  Part of me wanted to run out of the restroom and use an entire bottle of hand sanitizer on her, the other part of me just tried to stop dry heaving.

I love, to a point, that society is creating a world where you don’t have to touch as many oogy things.  I was never a fan of touching public restroom flush handles, I would more times than not use my foot.  Luckily those things always worked no matter how you hit them.  But now the potty’s have sensors that automatically flush for you, this is a problem though if you sit there too long because you made the mistake of getting the XL coffee from Dunkin Donuts and you have to pee what could be a small creek.  Those automatic flushes…hoo boy, and a little bit oogy.

Anyway, my point is this:  the one thing this world really doesn’t need is an automatic soap dispenser.  And here is my logic for this point; you can touch the one germ infested thing because, and this part is very important, you are washing your fucking hands!

Automatic soap dispensers, this is only my opinion, are feeding a hysteria and right now, Lysol is trying to cash in on it.  I bring you, the Lysol No-Touch Hand Soap System.  Go ahead, watch it, I’ll wait.

(Sorry, tried to add video but it just wasn’t happening, so here is the link to the video that Lysol has on their website if you haven’t seen the commercial yourself)

My favorite part is where the lady tells us that soap pumps have “a lot” of germs on them.  No shit Sherlock, that’s why you’re washing your fucking hands!  It’s not like I pump the soap onto my hand and then wipe it off on the towel and leave the room without adding water and doing the whole hand washing motion thingy.  And, I don’t know about you guys, but when I clean the bathroom and kitchen, hell even in between regular cleanings when I use those damned bleach wipes, I tend to wipe down my soap dispensers.  So maybe I don’t have “a lot” of germs hanging around on my dispensers.  And then, just for good measure, I wash my hands.

I realize that stuff like this plays into a germaphobes life, I can guarantee the next time I go to either my girlfriend’s house or sister-in-law’s house, one or most likely both will have them.  The killer part is, one is a preschool teacher, the other was a massage therapist.  These people come in contact with more germs than either of them wants to dream of.  My girlfriend’s boys are sick, all the time, because she over sanitized.  My sister-in-law who is about a month away from giving birth, has avoided getting sick her whole pregnancy.  When that kid comes out and gets his first cold, she is going to melt the fuck down.

Meanwhile, I touch people and their nasty hair all day.  I’m lucky if I get to wash my hands in between clients.  And, I’m forgetting to mention the two little germ factory’s I watch for a few hours every day.  If the boy could learn to cover his mouth when he coughs, well it would be an act of God himself.  So, needless to say (or maybe not) I have been sick many times during my pregnancy, and both baby and I are fine.

Anyway, back to the touchless soap dispenser.  If people are washing their hands correctly (some shit about the length of the song Happy Birthday is adequate, personally I use ABC just because I touch people and their nasty hair all day) then we don’t need to worry about the damned germs hanging around on the soap dispenser pump, do we? 

Have I gone over the deep end?  Am I the only one who thinks this is insane?  Please, let me know.  If I am, maybe I’ll go out and buy the no touch soap dispensers, because if you can’t beat em, might as well join em.

Another year older, maybe wiser…

Every time I hit a milestone birthday, I do something to myself.  Not like fall down a flight of stairs something, but I either pierce something or tattoo something.  This year is the tattoo. 

I’ve been itching for a new one for awhile now, and if my mom is reading this right now than it’s highly likely that she is crying.  If my Grandma were to see this, she would be disappointed that this is what the birthday money she sent me was going to.  I’m sorry to both of you, but this is something I need to do. 

When I was turning 29, I quit my job.  The longest holding job that I have ever had.  Being there for seven years felt like a victory and like a gauntlet every day.  I realize that this is what real life is all about, but it shouldn’t be the reason that you change yourself, and not for the better.  I turned myself into someone that everyone in a library expects you to be, and the worst part is that I did it to myself on the inside.  I changed who I was inside which is most likely the biggest crime one can commit to themselves.  To change who you are will hurt you everyday.  A voice in your head will always ask “is this who you really want to be?” 

I changed who I was on the outside because I couldn’t stand that I wasn’t myself inside anymore.  I wanted to look on the outside who I used to be inside.  Does any of this make sense? 

Let me try to explain. 

I used to be the hard rocking, punk style, goth girl.  While I wasn’t known for getting into trouble, I was always able to find it.  I didn’t relish the idea of openly breaking the law, and no matter what my mother thinks, I was never influenced by my friends.  If I got into trouble, it was me and me alone who got me there.  My friends, while some of them are utterly useless and non-supportive, are mostly good people who would not even dream of dragging me down in their problems.  We were good like that.  We never intended to involve anyone who didn’t need to be involved.  Therefore when my girlfriends started to find out what my ex had done to me, they were livid and perhaps rightly so.  I was essentially letting a guy continually hurt me, and I wasn’t calling out for help because I had gotten myself into the situation and come hell or high water I was going to get myself out.  I felt no reason to bring them into the situation and make a bad guy of anyone.  When my ex and I did finally break up I was able to retain my friends because no one had to be involved.  No one was choosing sides.  It made sense at the time. 

As I grew older (ha!) I toned down this look that required mass amounts of make up because I discovered I didn’t need that much anymore.  I changed my look.  I grew out my red hair and went back to my boring brown.  I toned down all the bright colors that I had used to hide bruises and cuts, and was able to go to more earthy tones.  It should be noted that I found these colors incredibly boring.  I covered up my tattoos and removed my piercings.  I felt I was evolving beyond all of that at 21 years old.  I was an idiot. 

Next came working at the library.  It was fine, at first.  Then the day came when they told me that if I didn’t change some things about myself than I would be out of a job.  I took this threat seriously and didn’t see it for what it was until about five years later.  I changed who I was.  I changed my attitude, which most likely did need a little toning down.  I became quieter, even more so than I had been before.  I became withdrawn.  When I did go out with my friends I felt like the old fuddy duddy because I (at 21 mind you) didn’t want to drink because I had to go to work the next day.  I didn’t stay out all night because I needed to be pleasant when working with people the next day.  I don’t think my now husband realized what was happening then because he was so busy with work.  He did realize it slowly over the years when I became so withdrawn that the idea of having sex mentally exhausted me to the point where I would break down into tears and ask what had happened to me?  Where was I?  Where the fuck did I go?!

And then it dawned on me.  It happened because the first guy I ever loved, died.  He died at 29 years old.  I felt the world slip out from under my feet, and I actually for the first time ever, felt my heart really break.  I was a zombie for about a month.  I had to explain the whole thing to my husband and reassure him that if were to happen to him that I’m positive I would feel the same way.  The mere thought of it happening to my husband actually puts me into a panic attack, because I honestly don’t believe I could go through that pain twice in one lifetime.  At the end of the month though, I went to my hairdresser and had her cut off my long manageable (easier to put up to keep out of the face, think librarian bun) brown hair, and make it red.  I took my shoulder length hair and went chin length.  I put all my ear piercings back in, got some of my removed piercings repierced and let the tattoos show.  I looked like me again, if only I could feel like me.  So, I quit my job. 

For the first time in over a year, I feel like me again.  I go out with friends and I laugh and occassionally drink, maybe a little too much but I know  my limit and I’m never the driver.  I proudly wear who I am on my sleeve.  I enjoy my music, I wear bright eyeshadow and lipstick again, I proudly show a cop my cleavage to get out of a ticket and I’m just so happy.  Okay, yes I still occassionally cry but I don’t cry anywhere near as much as I used to.  Therefore, I’m going to celebrate this victory with a new tattoo.  I got a butterfly when I turned 21 and at 30 I want to get a nautical star.  I know someone out there is going to explain what a nautical star actually means, and I will gladly listen to you.  Although, to me a nautical star means that I will always, come hell or high water, be able to find a way back to myself.   

What a day

It has been one of those days folks (is it too soon in the week to say that it’s been one of those weeks?).  If it could go wrong, it kind of went wrong, or at least didn’t go the way that I had planned for it to go in my head.

6:30 am- I had to pee so that meant I had to get out of bed.  I’m going to be 30, that seems a little too old to willingly wet the bed.  I got up and while I was shuffling my way to the bathroom, trying not to open my eyes so that maybe I could go back to bed for a little longer (I’m a morning person, but I do try to fight it for my husbands sake), my cat tries to kill me.  By try to kill me I mean that she got under my feet every step I took.  This cat surfing led me to have to turn on the bathroom light so that I could see where the furball was so that I wouldn’t trip and kill myself.

6:35 am- The light went on and my brain said “Oh ok, we’re up now!  Great!”  I continued the cat surfing into the kitchen to make the coffee.  I then proceed to the living room to read my various emails and read my morning funnies.

7:45 am- I finally remembered that I had made coffee.

It should be noted in here that with my husbands job change he is working nights right now, and will be working nights once he is working on his own which will be in about a week and a half.  This sucks for me because I am a morning person, but I feel obligated to wait for him to get home before I go to bed.  This therefore is throwing off my 10:30 pm bed time.  It should also be noted that he does not expect any of this from me.

8:30 am- Watch my husband, who has just woken up, attempt to set up his new Blackberry for work.  Considering that he is technologicaly handicapped, this makes for a good time for me.  I love that I got my giggle so early in the morning. 

9:00 am- Having had enough of laughing at my husband I decide that it is time to go take a shower and get ready for my day.  Maybe I should have waited another half hour to let the second cup of coffee kick in because it was as if I had never taken a shower before.

• I decided to wash my hair with conditioner.  I couldn’t figure out what the issue was and why there was no lather today when there had been lather yesterday.  WTF!  I realized my mistake when I finally opened my eyes and looked at the bottle I had put down. 
• When I did grab and use the shampoo I did something that I haven’t done in years, I got shampoo in my eyes.  Plural.  I thought I was going to die, and if not die than definately go blind.
• Didn’t die or go blind, but cut the hell out of my ankle trying to shave.  I say ankle because after the first leg I gave up.  I then proceeded to cut the hell out of my armpits.
• I must have had a thing for the conditioner because I attempted to wash myself with it.  Again I wondered why I felt so silky smooth but had absolutely no lather.

10:00 am- After attempting to recover from the shower ordeal I took an hour off from the rest of what I usually do in the morning to stop the various bleedings.  When I did finally decide to go and put on my make up and dry my hair, it was almost as bad as the shower.  Almost.

• Stabbed myself in my still stinging eyes with my mascara. 
• Got my hair all tangled up in my brush while drying my hair.

Yeah, I was a little bit special ed this morning.

I managed to get dressed without incident.  Miracles will happen I guess.  After having such luck putting on clothes I figured it would be best to stay out of trouble and sat back down and vegged/spaced out until…

1:00 pm- I basically babysit 5 days a week, and in about a week I will be unemployed for the summer.  I pick the kids up from school because their dad is a postal worker and their mom is a kindergarten teacher.  I will be out of a job for 3 months because mom will be home.  Anyway, I went to pick the kids up and I almost got hit by some asshat in a Dodge Ram pickup truck who apparently didn’t see the bright red car right in front of him.

1:15 pm- Sitting in front of the school I had the windows rolled down even though it was humid as hell, but I didn’t want to leave the car running while I was waiting because of how much gas costs.  I overheard a conversation between two neighbors.  The one guy was pissed and I mean PISSED because the other guy was planting flowers that didn’t “go with the color theme” in the pissed guy’s yard.  I mean the one guy was really pissed, like I thought I would have to call the cops pissed. 

1:45 pm- I pick up the boy (the girl has band on Wednesday’s and dad will pick her up on his way home) and we make our way home.  I’m pulling up in front of the house and he tells me that he forgot his “homework.”  So, we turn around and go back to the school and make our way inside.  The classroom is locked.  He starts to cry about how mad his mom will be.  I go to the office to get them to unlock the classroom, and (thankfully) they do without too much question.  Yeah, his “homework” was a coloring sheet that was given to the class for fun.  I thougt it was weird since it is basically the last full week of class.  Why would they (2nd grade) get homework now?

2:05 pm- Dad gets home.  We BS for a couple minutes and I head on my way.  I have a wedding to go to at the end of the month and no longer have shoes to go with the one dress that I have and like.  Despite the day that I have had I decide to go to Kohl’s because they are having a sale. 

2:45 pm- Got stuck in traffic.  It took me half an hour to get 3 miles.  I did finally manage to get to Kohl’s and I made my way right to the shoe section.  I knew what I was looking for, sort of.  I did find something, and pretty much right away.  They were also on sale so they came home with me. 

(I’m going to be a girl for a minute:  The dress is a sort of aqua blue/turquoise, white/off white and light grey.  It’s a handkerchief hem and comes down to about the mid calf/knee area.  These are the shoes:

3:30 pm- Decide that I have wreaked enough havoc on the outside world and head home.  I decide to have breakfast for dinner (no husband to cook for) and make scrambled eggs and toast.  I proceed to burn the hell out of the toast and dry the hell out of the eggs. 

5:30 pm- Decide I am going to blog about my day up to this point and pray that death does not follow the instant I have pushed the Publish button.  Then again, I may get up to go to the bathroom and have to continue my cat surfing.  Surely she won’t continue to try to kill me.  Right?

It’s days like this that I really miss smoking.

Some days…

Some days I wake up, and I wonder what the point is.  I don’t have a job, I’m a social retard and I’ve pretty much abandoned the friends I had made while working at the library or maybe I made it so that they abandoned me.  I don’t blame them for this, it was like I needed out of the life of hell that I had created for myself while working there.  I regret my choices and unfortunately there is nothing I can do to fix the mistakes that I have made.

Some days I wake up in the morning and I just want to cry; and nine times out ten I actually do.  This actually happens more often when I’m taking a shower.  I guess I feel better knowing that in the shower you can’t see the evidence that my emotions got the best of me.

Some days I wake up and I’m just so angry.  I can’t explain why I’m angry, but I feel the rage inside me take over.  I get mad at my dad for leaving.  I get angry at my mom for putting up with crap from a man who was so selfish.  I stay mad at my dad for his drinking, and sometimes I think that he deserves the diabetes he has now because it means he can’t drink the way he used to and therefore can’t emotionally hurt someone else the way he emotionally hurt my mother. 

I get angry at myself for staying in a relationship where I was a victim for so long and even though it was over 10 years ago that it happened I can’t help but be reminded of it when I least expect it.  I get mad at my ex for putting me in that position; I had always thought myself stronger than that.  I get mad at myself for what I did to get out of that relationship, but I know what I had to do was to save myself.  Again, I regret the choices I made and I hate knowing that there is nothing I can do to make it better.  But, and I know this is wrong, I feel vindicated because he finally repeated the actions on someone else.  He finally hurt her the way he hurt me and now all the people who thought I was a liar… well they know the truth.  I wouldn’t have wished this on her in a million years, I don’t hate anyone that much, but at least now she knows why I did what I did.

At least when I wake up feeling this way, I know that I’ll feel better tomorrow.  I just wish that until tomorrow came, I could let go of the past.

Cat supervision may be necessary

 

 I have a cat.  A psychotic cat.  A cat who will not let me go into the bathroom by myself.  I think she’s afraid that I’m going to somehow hurt myself.  Which actually brings up a funny story. 

One day I went into the bathroom with a cat underfoot, and I asked her (yes, I talk to my animals) if I needed supervision.  She looked at me as if to say “of course you do.”  I proceeded to to step into the garbage can.  I said ow, my husband laughed hysterically. 

Anyway, when I do close the door all I hear at the door are furious, furry beatings on the door.  Since my husband works during the day, I can usually do everything that I do in the morning with the door open.  This appeases the cat, and doesn’t freak me out when I hear the noises at the door.

So, one day I’m in the shower minding my own business.  The cat had been in the bathroom with me when I got into the shower, therefore I expected her to be there when I got out. 

Yeah, she was still in the bathroom with me.  Hell, she was in the shower with me.  And she appeared to have no problems with getting wet.  I on the other hand, did have a problem with a cat sitting in the shower with me and staring at me.  Maybe I need to learn to shower with a swim suit on? 

Whoever says that cats don’t like water, is a liar and must meet my cat.