acrobatics

So there's a comment two posts down that might be the best ever.
Can't really take it to heart, though, because a girl's gotta have hobbies and mind is self-immolation for your entertainment.

After Wednesday's epic shitty day I asked the couch surfer if he'd please spend some time with me yesterday. He's not nice and not cute but somehow he makes my head be still. He said he would, and when I got home from work he was here, but on his way out. "We'll hang out," he said, "but it'll be sandwiched between me doing something now and doing something later. I'm running myself ragged."

I told him to not wear himself out on my behalf and headed down the road to have dinner with a friend. When I got home I sent him a text... basically said that it'd be cool if he was here. Hours later he responded saying he was in the burbs and too drunk to drive. He's even giving up the pretense of wanting to hang out with me, which is fine, but it'd be cool if he quit using me as a place to crash at the same time. If I'd wanted to live with someone platonically I would have stayed married for pete's sake.

Like water for

So I was bitten by a cute, dreadlocked circus performer last night. Three times, actually - once on the arm and twice on the neck. I can't remember how it happened, exactly. I do know that she was introduced to me by a (smokin hot) acrobat as his girlfriend. He then introduced her boyfriend, and his date. I commented that the situation seemed complicated. He said "Fuck no. *Monogamy* is complicated", and then proceeded to pet me all night long.

RAWR.

I was, however, in the company of a friend, so did not go home with said acrobat or his multitude of female companions. I would be SO ok, however, if he were to find a way to find me, as we do have certain people in common.

Damn. The things we do for love.

And when I say love I mean, of course, the verb, because I've abandoned hope (all ye who enter here) of the noun.

My couchsurfer (the one who is fucking with my head) told me he loved me. I have only seen him for a few minutes here and there since that moment. This could be construed as partially my fault because I opted to spend my evening last night with circus performers and other interesting characters but, let's not kid, I didn't expect him to actually spend any time at my house yesterday. Or at all. 'Cause, you know, tonight I'm home and he's told me he's probably not coming back this evening.

Which, by the way, makes me feel like crap, even though I'm pretending really hard that it doesn't. Except for bawling my eyes out the whole way home from my walk, of course, but I was wearing sunglasses so who cares?

A choir of furies in your head

I quit taking the lexapro after one month because it's $100/ bottle and who the fuck can afford that when there are things like wine and shoes to buy? Things are blacker than black, though, and I can't get out of my head so when I went to the dr about my fire ant eyes (yes I've got fire ants in my eyes, currently; dr says it's 'pink eye', but I know it's fire ants) I asked him to give me something else & he wrote me an rX for paxil.

Came home and did some research & found that paxil makes you gain like 20lbs in the first couple of months and makes you not have any sex drive or be able to have an orgasm. 'Cause, you know, exactly what an almost-40yr old with depression &  major self esteem issues needs is 20 extra lbs.

Anyhoo, promptly decided against taking that shit. The question now, though, is what do I do? Do I call him and ask him to prescribe me something else or do I just succumb to the horror?

The previous post is kind telling 'cause I'm going through the same shit right now. Last night I heard "I love you. You are my dearest friend and the kindest person I've ever met in my life but the thing that makes it so I can't keep my hands off you is missing". A) that's the first time I've ever had a guy dump me because he *didn't* want to fuck me and B) shit how the fuck do I get myself into these situations? Like what part of me decided that it'd be ok to half fall in love with someone who only ever wants to fuck other people and who can't give me what I need & what I deserve?

And it's not as though he's conned me into this - he told me straight up that this is who he is and what I should expect. "I will hurt you", he said. And he has. A lot.  So last night he decided it couldn't go on because he doesn't want to hurt me (for the above stated reasons) and I practically begged him to continue.

I'm
So
Fucked
Up

How much damage can I do to myself before I completely self-destruct? How much pain can I take before I'm nothing but pain - banjo-plucking on each tendril sending white hot shoots through my heart? Who wants to watch?

I used to be a writer.

I kind of even remember how some days. (fr. November 3, 2005)

warning - pity part to commence in tminus seventeen seconds.

In 1915, The National Council of Teachers of English established the first week in November as Better-Speech Week. I'm not sure why this tickles my fancy, but it does. In honour of this, I shall construct one of my rare blog entries which actually conform to most of the laws of grammar - most especially capitalization.

I'm quite incapable of lucid thought today. I'm trapped in a werewolf forest constructed by my own ennui. The trees are falling and the only one who is around to hear them is me, but I'm tired of being a witness to the systematic destruction of my own faith in love and relationships and happiness. I need to call TNB and ask him to just get it over with - just say the sentence which is, inevitably, a variation of "You are the best person I know and I don't want to lose you in my life, but because of [insert random reason here] I don't think we can see each other anymore".

Do you know how many times I've heard that sentence? I'm wondering if I should try to be *less* of a better person - maybe be a bit more of a Judge Judy-style harpy. Would that be more appealing to the opposite sex? I seem to attract men who are at a crossroads in their lives. They meet me and have a lovely time - have their faith in women restored - then move on to the next one. I can't seem to shake the roll of the cool chick you shag for a while then keep around 'cause she's such a great buddy. Maybe if I were more of a selfish beeyatch guys would take me seriously and stick around.

See - you all think I'm kidding when I talk about my bright future surrounded by my cats and discarded tv-dinner trays, but I'm really quite serious. I'm losing my energy and my desire to even try anymore. 'Cause really, what's the point? It always ends with the same sentence. The only variable is how well I can pretend like it doesn't matter to me - wouldn't want to blow the charade, you know, but sometimes it's harder than others. Only you know how it takes little pieces away from my soul, how it steals the sparkle from my eyes. Only you can see the how my shadow is growing in the midday sunshine. The werewolves are circling, circling, and I'm just lying here waiting.

fuuuuu

So I'm starting off 2011 car-less, phone-less, and half in the bag over a guy who really doesn't feel more than vague affection for me.

I'm trying so hard to put a positive spin on everything. I'm trying so hard. And I'm sorry that you get to hear the shit but if I have to smile and laugh on the outside then this becomes the only place where I can curl up and cry. Well you know, except for when I'm on my 10mile walk home from a party I didn't want to attend last night.

I would like to be curled up in my bed crying, but the aforementioned gentleman is there currently. Credit to him - he did spend an hour driving around looking for me after I texted that I was walking home. Unfortunately I couldn't respond to him b/c (naturally) I lost my phone.

Happy fucking new year. 

Cleaning house

There comes a time after the end of almost every relationship (of the romantic variety) where you have to step  back, take stock, and decide whether or not that person still brings value to your life. Like after you break up and you cling to the pedestrian notion that you can still be friends. Can you? Can you really? Or are you just holding on clutching the final shreds of whatever it was you had together?

I've kind of had those moments a lot in the last couple of months - sure with the architect*  but also with the guy I was hanging out with when I was separated the first time. He's kind of a moody bitch and I quit talking to him a while ago and felt blessed utter relief at not having to deal with the drama. Yesterday he started texting me again.. said he loved me and missed talking to me. We texted back and forth for a while but sure enough it soon degraded into him admitting to something he'd been lying about to me for months, me getting pissed off & telling him so, him getting self-righteous (as though the confession should absolve him of the actual act). Do I look like the fucking catholic church? Nuh. Anyway, I'm going back to the not talking to him thing because it really REALLY was better for me. He doesn't actually bring value to my life and the more he opens his mouth the more I realize (as you do in these sorts of situations) that he's not the person I'd hoped he was.  And that's ok - you can't blame someone for being who they actually are. You can only feel sort of disappointed in yourself for not realizing it the first time they revealed themselves.

All the drunks they were singing

I'm unnaturally attached to "fairytale in new york" this holiday season. Like, I keep listening again and again, and it reaches deep inside of me and plucks on my heartstrings in ways that nothing else has been able to do this December.

Well consciously, anyway - I admit that there are moments when I encounter a random news story, or watch a commercial, or hear a song, and start bawling my eyes out. Nothing, though, nothing comes close to filling me with the sense of melancholy and *LONGING* that this frickin' pogues song does.

I'm back in my old room (rebuilt into guestroom extraordinaire), back where I started, no farther ahead than I ever was. Shit if we could drop back four years and do it all again I'd be almost exactly where I started.  That's fuct.

I'm hiding down here getting drunk by myself b/c if anyone tries to scratch below the surface of my shiny happy exterior I'll start bawling my eyes out because of how royally I've screwed up.

And I don't nec. mean the architect- seriously we didn't have sex for 5 months and you guys *KNOW* me - there's no way that could have ended in anything but tears.  I just mean in general.


Le sigh. I'm drunk. I'm sad. I'm lonely. I genuinely *really* like a boy who's probably really really really bad for me - who's a consumate con artist and who (deep down I know) is probably just practicing his own agenda for being with me. Tonight's one of those nights where I think to myself that I've spent time with the kiddo; I've spent time w/ my family.. if ever there was a moment to walk in front of a truck and put everyone out of my misery it's right now.

Everything old is new again

I've been making a big effort to get out of the house and socialize this past week & it's def. been interesting. I'm meeting a bunch of people and having my sense of desirability (sexpottiness) reaffirmed. There really is something in me that needs male attention. Always has been, I guess.

So last night I went with a friend to see a DJ show at a local lounge & was just minding my business ordering a cocktail* when the guy standing beside me started to chat at me. Turns out he was another good friend of the friend I was with. He had just returned from China so we got to talking about that & basically enjoying a decent conversation. Sadly, this did not sit well with the guy's girlfriend who is, by all reports, a lovely lovely woman. She did *not* like me though. My friend and I were puzzled & kind of amused by the whole situation. I don't want to cross this chick though - she's apparently quite the kickboxer.

Anyhoo, point to the story is that .... actually there's no real point to the story other than that my rather low self esteem was a bit bolstered by the last couple of nights. So that's cool.

*(forgot my card there - second night in a row. I'm going to have to track halfway across SD county to collect all belongings left in bars tonight. Le sigh.)

Rainy Monday

Thanks to a fairly high dose of prescription Ambien and some more than decent red wine, I've actually managed to get +6 hours of sleep the past two nights in a row. Sure I know it's prob not the most healthy approach to bedtime, but hell - I was so tired I was starting to hear voices. Sooner or later they were going to convince me to walk naked down the overpass or something equally newsworthy.

My apologies for depriving you all of the story.

The architect came in with all of the forms to fill out for divorce yesterday. I was more than a little surprised at the suddenness. I mean, sure I guess I figured it was going to happen, I just thought maybe we'd have a conversation about it or something first, you know? Like I'd get a little forewarning, not just a file folder on the kitchen table when he popped by to help me fix my closet door. He says he wants to get it all over with so we can go back to being best friends, and that he wants me to be happy. He says he wants to start dating and wants me to do the same thing.

I laughed. I'm a chubby, almost 40 loser in a state packed full of lithe blonde prom queens. I'm hardly the ideal date. He's gonna have no problem. In fact he told me that he's already got a girl that he's been talking to. I kinda suspected b/c there is one particular new face on his facebook page that rang an alarm bell for me. C'est la vie, I guess. At least my blog will get (somewhat) interesting again.

I was looking back to see if you were looking back at me

super hot bathroom shots for everyone

So last night I went to see Massive Attack & Thievery Corporation. I actually was really looking forward to MA b/c they've been my favourites for as long as I can remember, but it turns out TC kicked major ass. Not because the music was better, but because it was better suited to a live show, I guess.

The one silver lining to these past shitty weeks is that I'm losing weight like nobody's business. I've never been one of those 'can't eat when I'm distraught' people but all of a sudden I am.  I must say it's a nice change from the human hoover I usually become.

I guess eventually I'm going to have to think about dating again. There's a kettle of fish I'm really not looking forward to, believe you me. I had enough trouble when I was in my early/mid thirties finding age-appropriate men who shared similar interests with me. Now I'm 5 years older, almost 40, and still socialize like I'm 25.  Dating the puppies, though, leads to fucking pulling your hair out and stabbing yourself in the eye with a #2 pencil, so I'm kind of caught between a rock and a going to bed alone with for the rest of my life place. Le sigh.

le sigh

One of the forgotten drawbacks of being single - there's no one to help you fold the fucking fitted sheet.

I've had family here for basically the last week so just washed a veritable mountain of laundry. That's exactly how I wanted to spend my sunny sundae. Trust me. 

In other words, I have some wicked fucking insmonia. Like even the sleeping pills won't make it go away.  I've been awake since about 3am. I'm feeling pretty good about life right now - believe you me. Though the positive side to this whole thing is that I've lost six pounds. I was being chipper about that to a friend the other day because god knows you can't be chunky when you are back on the dating market. His response to me was that he didn't think I needed to worry about my 'sexpottyness'.

Say it outloud - it's a fun word. Plus it's about the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a while so there's that.

not so smrt

So my parents were visiting last week and they're big tea drinkers. Tea + my white porcelain sinks = unsightly discolouration. No problem, she thinks, as she digs out her soft scrub with bleach, her mr clean magic eraser and her barkeeper's friend abrasive cleanser.

Belatedly (you know, as the fumes began to rise from the sink) she checked the label on the barkeeper's friend & discovered that you are not supposed to mix it with other cleaners. Especially bleach.

If you haven't heard from me in a couple of days can you please send help? I'll most likely have been eaten by my cats.

Some days

you wake up and realize that your efforts to be a grown up are for naught, and that even though you've really been trying to smile and make things ok, bring them back to where they used to be, it doesn't matter because you've fucked everything up so royally that it's beyond repair and beyond smiles and beyond the powers of grown-uppedness.

So all there's left to do is crawl into bed with a small blue teddy bear and a box of kleenex and wonder if there are enough rX medications in the house to put your out of your misery.

every day is like Sundae

Somedays I wake up and I'm just a blubbering mass of emotude and San Diego's habit of being gross and cloudy till 10.30am or so really works for me. It's like neither one of us really wants to get up and admit that it's Sunday and tomorrow we have to go to work and be all chipper n shit because we manage people and therefore have to be professional and all that bullshit.

Well probably the weather doesn't have to manage people but San Diego is known for our year round awesomeness in the climate department and (let's not kid) the weather hasn't been all that great this summer so it's probably received at least one written warning. From someone other than me, that is - I've just yelled alot.

And no I didn't start *off* yelling - that's no way to motivate employees or the weather - I started off being supportive of whatever it is that they've got going on in their lives. Then I was disappointed, then stern, then disapproving. Then I yelled.

And so what if this happened all within one conversation? I'm mercurial. You know that.

Sheesh.

Oh hello, moving day

Seriously, you guys

Assuming that the movers actually show up as scheduled, it's moving day. Yes I said movers. I'm all grown up and shit now, remember? Please see previous post if you've already forgotten. Grown UP. My apartment is currently a sea of boxes and I'm having minor panic attacks every time I walk through the main room but I'm sure it'll only get worse better, right?

Please keep in mind that I'm once again moving into a *smaller* apartment so will somehow have to cram all this crap, two cats and an architect into a mini-space. Not particularly looking forward to it - trust me. Also not looking forward to the fact that I'm going to be cooking on an electric stove again.

Am looking forward to the new neighbourhood and the balcony and living with the architect again, though. It's not all bad. I just have to get through the next few days.

Or so I keep telling myself....

Acting like a grown-up

Last week the architect and I had one of the best conversations we've had in a long time. Possibly ever. We were pretty honest with each other about where we stood in the relationship and where we wanted to go. Result - I've given up on apartment hunting and will be moving into The Cottage with him. We've been mentally spending the money we're going to save (rent is $500 less a month!) on this not-quite-as-cute apartment and have high hopes that the increased fun money and the trips and outings and adventures it will bring can fix what was broken.

It's been a shitty, shitty 2010, guys, but I've always counted my years from September to September, so here's hoping that this one will be better. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, we're going tonight to see a friend from my childhood play with Dan Mangan at the Belly Up tonight, so I'll leave you with Robots. We need love too, you know.

I rule. It's true.

So my Saturday evening is consisting of getting mostly dressed up to go out with a friend then realizing that he didn't want to go out until like 10pm and then I had a minor panic attack b/c I couldn't figure out wtf I would do with myself for three hours beforehand and I was worried that I'd drink myself stupid like I did the *last* time I went out to a club and so I cancelled.

Now I'm drinking myself stupid but I'm wrapped up in my fuzzy seahorse blanket in my jim-jams so that's ok. If I end up passing out on the floor at least I don't have to worry about waking up to realize that I've made an ass of myself in front of local radio celebrities. Not that I've ever done that.

More than twice.

In other news I've realized that, even though this separation / end of marriage thing is all my fault I seem to be taking it way harder (or at least not getting over it as easily) than the architect. Ironic, I know, and much as I enjoy the opportunity to use that word correctly, yeah not so much this time. Though good for him, I guess - he's getting out and doing things and having fun which is where all of the problems began (you know, 'cause he just wanted to hang out at home and never wanted to go out with me so I felt old and stifled and like my parents and now he goes out all the time while I sit at home wearing too much eye makeup and my pjs. Fuck you irony I see you there.)

skyscraper. I love you.

scattered pictures of the smiles

Sometimes I think back to how things were just over a year ago. Sure I was fat & getting fatter. I drank two bottles of wine a day. I made almost no money. We argued about that fact. But holy fuck compared to how I feel right now, I'd give anything in the world to magically teleport myself to those moments where I felt like I was at home, not this dislocated sense of being the world's most collossal fuck up.

Though shit let's not kid - I always was the ugly stepsister, doomed to a life alone with my cats, being discovered by my neighbours when my decomposing carcass begins to smell like week old shellfish left on the counter.*

I hate playing the what if game, but sometimes I just can't help myself. What if we'd stayed in Vancouver. What if we'd found a cheaper apartment. What if I'd never taken this job. What if we had paid attention to the stupid little signs that things weren't right. What if I wasn't such an emotional fucking cripple and had been able to express myself 4 months, six months sooner. What if What if What if.

What if and a six pack might catch you a buzz. Probably not, though - it'll just get you fat.



*FYI - that's also pretty much what the Salton Sea smells like.

It smells kinda funky

Yes these are dead fish.

Anyway, the downside to disappearing to the desert for a 3-day minibreak is that on the day you have to come home you find that you really really REALLY don't want to come home and so you decide to take a 100 mile detour to the Salton Sea because once you saw it on Bourdain and it seemed all romantic and cool-like but it's really just smelly and full of dead fish. Also you develop a massive stomach ache that feels like someone has grasped your esophagus in their fists and is SQUEEZING your carne asada quesadilla back up towards freedom, which isn't good because it's kinda chewed up now and couldn't make it on its own in the real world. Fortunately I don't have any photographs of the carne.

praise jeebus for sangria

The good think about taking yourself on a 3-day minibreak to the desert is how fucking HOT the desert is, so really all you can do is lounge poolside drinking sangria from a (BPA free, thank you very much) plastic bottle that you smuggled in under the watchful eye of the rentacops. Every once in a while you peel your sweaty self up off the lounger and kind of melt your way towards the pool where you splash around listlessly (way to hot for any kind of list) (though I was probably listing after a bottle or two of sangria). Lather. Rinse. Repeat. When even this becomes too much effort you wander upstairs for a shower and a nap. Clearly I should have spent more time in the desert when I was unemployed, because that is the life I was born to live. Of course I couldn't afford to do it then (and can't really now, because I have 8 days to vacate my apartment and still nowhere to relocate myself or the cats). But that's a story for another day.