Neglect, Thy Name is Jessifers

So I started this little Wunderbloggen because I needed an outlet after a huge heartbreak.  Some of you may remember the first posts were all bad poetry and teen angst.  Virtually cutting myself for all to see.

Thankfully this has passed and my little journal of narcissism has evolved to diet journal and neighbor tattler and largely disused anecdotal platform.  Like a lot of people, I need struggle and strife to be truly creative.  When I'm happy I just like to bask in it and be.  Paint flowers and ponies (that look like misshapen cocks) and sunshine.

So what do I do with this little fella?  Keeping it around reminds me that I really have nothing interesting to say.  The neighbors are relatively meth-and-drama-free right now.  I have 2 great dogs, an amazing job, a fantastic roommate and a boy who makes me feel feelings, and is okay with it.  I quit Weight Watchers because I am perpetually broke and unmotivated.  The biggest problem I have right now is that my ex has a girlfriend that he likes more than he ever liked me.  Which makes my pride wince a bit.

Rough life, I know.  I will always be a teenage goth girl at heart, I suppose.

Maybe I just need to bring some drama into my life so that I can create more effectively.  Start a cat fight or hit a pedestrian or something.  But is it worth it?  I could go off my meds.  That's always good for the crazy brain juices.  But let's be frank here (Hi, Frank!)  If orgasms aren't worth going off the meds for, not much is going to be.

No, I guess I may have to be content with life being...content.  Find creativity through happiness.  Continue painting happy little zombies and enjoying the company that I keep.  What else is life about?

Heartbreak will come soon enough, I'm sure.

Who doesn't love ponies??

Have Another Breadstick, Fatty

Subtitle:  My plan to fat shame the world.


It has been a brief moment since I last whined on this thing.  Mainly because nothing has happened.

Seriously, nothing.

This has been the least eventful couple of months ever.  Oh, I did watch 3 seasons of Sons of Anarchy in less than a week.  That's...something, I suppose.

I have also completely gone off my diet.  I (no lie) had onion rings two times yesterday.  I CRAVE them.  I want them inside of me.  I might punch you in the face if you deny me my o-rings.  I would DEFINITELY smash your nose into your brain if you tried to come between me and an oreo shake.  Or fried cheese.  Mmmmmm, fried cheese.


Needless to say, it's becoming a problem.  So, I have employed my co-worker to start being mean to me when I eat too much.  People bitch so much about shaming the fatties, but really, if we don't know how disgusting we are, how will we ever learn to love ourselves?  Not for who we are, oh no.  But who we could, nay, SHOULD be.  When we stop eating delicious food.

My co-worker does not want to do this.  She has mentioned that she feels like an asshole.  So, I am going to make her scripts, dependent on the situation, to keep me from eating things I don't need.

"Really?  You really want another bread stick?  Are you SURE?"
"I'm not certain you're going to like the way you look after you eat that cheeseburger."
"Man, your pants are looking a little tight today.  Would you like me to order you a salad instead of that shake?"
"Jesus, fatty, see if you can shove something ELSE in your face whydontcha?"

This plan is fool proof.  She's super nice, so logically she would never say something about me that wasn't true.  And if I get past logic, I can say hey, she has a point.  I DON'T need cheese curds and french fries.  That WILL make my ass look fat.

Now for the BIG picture.

I implore all of you, friends, to do the over weight people in your life a favor and just start shaming the shit out of them.  Sure, the weak might use that as an excuse to eat more or...cut themselves.  But really, what's bad about one less chubber in the world?  Eventually we all really do need to learn that no one will TRULY love us until we stop trying to accept ourselves for who we are and become what others think we should be.

My Tummy Hurts

Sometimes, too much of a good thing can be...too much.

For example, I ordered pizza today.  Ate...quite a lot of it.  Then my roommate made sausage wontons, and I am incapable of finishing the ones she gave me, which is really really sad. 

No really.  I've been thinking.  I realize I bitch a lot.  About dumb things.  And use sentence fragments.  And start sentences with "and."  I really don't want to be that person.  So, what I WILL say is that someday, it would be nice to think someone is awesome and have them say hey, I think you're pretty awesome too. 

And that's the end of it. (In case you were curious, the first thing has nothing to do with the second thing.  No metaphors or anything, I just really ate a lot today.) 

I am now going to resume giving zero fucks. 

This is what I look like today.  With fewer pants.

Random

Do I miss you?  Yes, every day.

Do I think that you have spent one second thinking of or missing me?

Not even a bit.


We get what we pay for I suppose.

Quandry

At what point does a person differentiate between following their guts and feelings and doing what is best for themselves, and just letting go and realizing that EVERYONE is going to fuck them and there is nothing to be done about it?

I'm tired of trying to trust people. 

It's exhausting. 

The Importance of Being Friendship

One of the things I miss about my ex-best friend is being able to text her all of the hateful things that run through my head, instead of sending them to the real recipient.  Things like

Dear____________,
Funny how you had plenty of time for friendly hang outs until I stopped having money to feed you.

or

Dear____________,
I'm super happy that you had the foresight to get all of your stuff out of my house before I even knew you weren't coming over anymore.  But not before I got it all washed.

or

Dear____________,
Thanks for asking how surgery went.  You're a good friend.


I don't have that anymore and I do believe she was the only person who understood that part of me.  The truly hateful part that no one needs to see.  So, these paranoid, mostly (probably) unfounded thoughts just rattle around in my brain getting bigger and bigger.  She would have texted back something calming and sane and I would have moved on from them.

These are the choices I have made and I don't regret them.  But tonight, these thoughts are blaring behind my eyes, making it hard to see anything else.  I feel foolish and sad and it's probably the vicodin or something in my stitches making my girl brain go CRAZY and it still doesn't matter but here it is.  I miss texts.  And that's all.

Jinx Myself Much?

Remember yesterday how I said there was a small chance that the Essure wouldn't work?  GUESS WHAT HAPPENED!! 

I had to get the traditional tubal ligation, which sucked.  Still sucks. 

But, it's done!  I'm gonna be sore for a few days but whatevs.  Totally worth it.  My mommy bought me ice cream and cherries.  :)

Now, back to the vicodin.

The State of the Roads

Tomorrow is my "surgery."  That makes it sound so much more serious than it really is.  It's an outpatient procedure to make me a non-baby maker.  Which is the best thing ever, really.  Spending $70 a month on birth control for the next 20 or so years makes me want to die almost as much as the idea of growing a human being inside of me. 

Seriously.  There is another HUMAN BEING growing inside of you.  Leeching off your nutrients and forming from nothing.  It makes its eyeballs and fingernails and kidneys while it is inside your body.

VOMIT. 

So, that's tomorrow morning.  I'm more nervous now that my doctor told me sometimes it doesn't work.  The body can expel the coils or sometimes they can't place them.  If that happens they're going to do an actual tubal ligation and just tie me off.  Not excited at that thought, but it's better than nothing I suppose.

I just deleted a big long rant about a boy.  Being upset does no good and pretending my feelings or opinions count for shit is ridiculous, so why bother?  I have friends that love me and want me around even when stress happens, and that is all that matters.  <3

In the wise words of Jane Austen, if you don't have anything nice to say, keep your conversation to the weather or the roads.  Or your reproductive choices. 

Wish me luck, my 8 readers.  I'm excited and terrified.  :) 

I Give

I am an angry beaver today.  There is no getting around it .


Fuck you for ignoring me.  Fuck you for continuing to put me second to any fucking thing you can come up with.  Fuck you for saying I'm your best friend and making me believe you weren't full of shit.  Fuck you for saying you'd be there me.  Fuck you for ignoring me.  FUCK YOU FOR IGNORING ME.  

Christ on a cross.  I'm a goddamn idiot. 

On a better, less vague note, I finally scheduled my baby maker fixin' appointment.  Yay for me.



This is pointless.  I'm gonna be over here being pissed.

New Plan

Last weekend, my roommate of 2 years had to unexpectedly move out.  This makes me a super sad panda.  I could not have asked for a better roommate, and I had a lot of fun living with him. 

Asshole.

So, he moves out.  There goes that rent.  Shit.

THEN, I look at my mortgage payment and realize it has gone up...a lot. 

Fuck.

Not much I can do about either of these things.  I can't sell my house.  I don't want to find another roommate.  Girl Roommate and I can both be...difficult, one might say.  She and I are polar opposites when it comes to cleaning, cooking, housework.  Boy Roommate was perfectly in the middle (as in he was just as lazy as me, but didn't mind being yelled at to do things) and I don't know that we could find another dynamic like that. 

I am formulating a new plan to save money. 

No Spend Summer.

I was already KIND OF planning on doing this, just to see how it goes.  I made a half-ass budget, and I really do make good money.  Where does it all go, you ask? 

Let's be honest here.  Mostly booze and blow.  Substituting pizza for the blow. 

So, I'm gonna just spend less.  Easy, right?  SUUUUUURE.

The main points that I have worked out are

1.  Keep lots of vodka in the house, and little food. 
2.  Gorge on food at work, because they pay for it.
3.  When I feel hungry at night, take a shot of vodka and go for a walk.
4.  Dandelions are food.
5.  There is no shame in eating leftover coffee grounds.  Tasty AND reduces waste.


It seems like a good, solid plan so far.  I'll keep working on it.  If anyone has any suggestions (Don't say drink less vodka.  That's just crazy talk.)  I'll be happy to hear them.  

Half Thoughts

This has been a tumultuous couple of weeks.  And by that of course I mean I'm a well paid white girl who lives in the suburbs in an awesome house with awesome people and never wants for anything, but sometimes gets wrapped up in her own little crazy brain and makes mountains out of potholes.  (That's a thing, right?)

I'm having a hard time completing thoughts lately.  Poor Internet Stranger has had to face the brunt of this so I'm gonna try and get some of it out here.  I'm fairly certain he's mentally looking at porn while I talk, but let's be honest here, I'd be doing the same thing.

WW online is going pretty well.  Went to see my very judgmental doctor and she actually had nice things to say to me.  Down 22 lbs since the last time I saw her and apparently I have perfect skin.  Like Nicole Kidman.  Does that mean I naturally produce botox?

Next week I will turn 33.  It seems like the absolute most boring age to be.  Which means I will be FORCED to create my own excitement.  I will kick this off by going to Minnesota and hanging out with some of my favorite people in the entirety of the universe.  (Meet them.  Tell me I'm being hyperbolous.  Also, that's a word.)   Camping, Hmong town, great little outfits.  Not to mention love and snuggles and feeling at home.

Yeah.

Thoughts are hard.  I'm gonna listen to Concrete Blonde on Pandora, pretend I'm accomplishing things, and mentally prepare for George Clinton tonight.  More...spending 6 hours in the car with my parents tomorrow after going to see George Clinton. 

I will leave you with one of my favorite pictures that I recently stole from the internet.  Nature is fucking rad.

Does this mountain make me look fat?

Bravo Stickers and the Joy of Fiber

Last week I decided to quit Weight Watchers and join Weight Watchers Online.  I'm losing about 4/10 of a pound per week which, yeah, is better than nothing, but I don't want to pay $50 a month for less than 3 lbs per month.  WW online is $18 per month, which seems more reasonable since I had quit going to meetings anyway.  I have plenty of cheerleaders, I don't need complete strangers telling me I'm rad. 

Duh.  Of course I am. 

Although the last meeting I went to was very interesting.  It was all about fiber.  Since then I have been working really hard to up my fiber intake.  Which means that I do basically nothing all day but poop.  Which is AWESOME.  I won't go into details, but I can feel my intestines shrinking from not holding on to so much goodness. 

As per usual, I have not thought this entry out very well.  But since I don't go to meetings anymore, I don't get Bravo stickers, which are WW rewards for the little accomplishments that come between the big weight loss goals.  So, I'm gonna list some of my own here.

When NG and I broke up a million years ago, I lost about 6 lbs from not eating for a month, mostly from the underboob area on my right side.  Even with all the weight I gained over the years, that little bit of fat never came back.  (Weird, right?)  I always thought it was strange because there was no fat there to grab, and the left side was grabbable.  Now, my left underboob almost matches my right underboob!  Go me!

I am on the smallest belt hole on a belt that 4 months ago I was on the largest.   (That sentence makes sense, I swear.) 

I like doing sit ups and try to do them every day, working on adding some every week, splitting them between boring and kettlebell. 

I look forward to cardio night for more than just the drunken makeouts that follow the exercise. (What?  Pshaaaw.  That never happens...)


That's probably enough for now but I'm gonna keep posting these as they happen.  Summertime is almost here and it's gonna be a good one, friends.  Lots going on and way too much fun to be had.  One month until I leave for Minnesota Birthday Extravaganza.  Then begins the Summer of Music.  I may have spent WAY too much money on concert tickets for this summer.  But goddamn, there is so much goodness coming to KC this year! 

Rambling.  Rambles.  I have to poop.

The Beast Within

I ate cheetos on Sunday for the first time since I started Weight Watchers back in December.  Ever since, I have been CRAVING THE FUCK out of junk food.  But it's been so long since I purposefully ate that stuff that I don't even know what I'm craving.  Just random things to munch.  NOMNOMNOMNOM GET IN MY BELLY!! 

Whatever you are.  I'm not good at snacking anymore. 

Which, most days, is super duper awesome.  I am "living the plan" as they say.  And by "they," I mean Weight Watchers.  I don't even track anymore.  I just eat well.  I'm exercising.  (Kettlebell, whut whut!)  Losing slowly but surely.  Making good choices. 

But this week, Post-Cheeto Week, I want...more cheetos I suppose.  I want to bathe in gravy.  I want oreo shakes. 

I think my brain is self-sabotaging because we're SO CLOSE to our 10% goal.  Never mind that it's taken damn near 4 months to get there.  Whatever.  We're close.  And my brain is rebelling.  "NOOOOOO!!!  Be fat and unhappy foreeeeeeeeveeeeer!!!!  We like you sedentary, wasting away!!!!"

Anyway.  Cheetos. 

IF ONLY!

The Impossibility of Closure

You left me at my most vulnerable.
You never bothered to worry if I was okay.
You never cared to tell me why.
Not even worthy of a real conversation.
Just a couple of drunk dances.

I hope someday you realize that is not how friends treat each other.  And you make an effort to make sure the next girl is okay.  Not just wait for her to get over it. 

(That wasn't supposed to sound like a poem.  I just don't have a lot of complete thoughts right now.  But I do have a new painting.  GO!)

The Siren Beneath the Water

UPDATE, duh

I can't believe I forgot to mention this!!  The meth heads are GONE.  Whether they were evicted or just ran off in the night, they are OUT.  They left all of their lovely furniture which is now in a dumpster in their parking lot (if anybody is in the market.) 

I'm sure their replacement meth heads will be along shortly.  There are plenty to go around. 

As a PSA, I leave you with the notice that sits above our time clock at work. 

Turn, Turn, Turn

This summer is going to be a busy one.  Not only do I have road trips planned out the wazoo, (I feel like that word should have more letters) Girl Roommate and I have big plans for the backyard.  As in, we will turn it into a place that we actually use, instead of just walk through. 

My first exciting project will be taking down the back patio.  It looks weird back there, we hardly use it, and frankly, it takes up about 1/4 of my yard.  I'm SUPER stoked to buy a sledgehammer and pry bar.  I feel like this will end up being an exercise in destruction futility, but I'm still excited.  Then there will be grass planted, bushes planted, and a real seating area fixed up, complete with fire pit.  Luckily I have Girl Roommate to help motivate me, because if you know me at all you know motivation is NOT my middle name. 

Next, we will be fencing the yard.  Hopefully we can hire someone to do this, because talk about pain in the ass, but if not that will be our super big summer project.  Take down the old gross picket and put up chain link.  Then cover the chain link in prettiness.  Weeping Willow bushes, climbing roses, honeysuckle, hostas.  It's gonna be amazeballs. 

One thing that I keep forgetting is that this house is MINE.  All mine.  Nobody else's.  If I want to destroy something, I have every right to do it.  I can rip up carpet, paint the walls a million times, cover the fridge in stickers, tear down the superfluous deck, plant bushes, take out bushes, bust down walls, add jellyfish light fixtures, all or none of these things.  I've lived in this house almost 2 years and other than some bad ass artwork, I haven't really put MY stamp on it.  Part of the reason for this is money, but a lot of that is an excuse.  I have a mindset that I need to be careful because someone will get mad at me for fucking things up.

But they WON'T.

Isn't that amazing?  No one will give a shit!!  I have no one to answer to except myself, my finances, and the codes administrator.  (That's a thing, right?)

Now if only I knew how to do things...

This Might Just Be The Rage Talking...

So, I went to Kentucky this weekend.  Amazing.  So beautiful and everyone is so flippin' NICE.  And short, which works out well for me since I went to a show and could actually SEE for once.

The bad part, which I am focusing on because of the lack of medication flowing through my veins, is that somewhere between here and Kentucky I lost my medication.  I do not need my medication in the way that some people need their medication.  Or whatever substances they use.  But when I am forced to go cold turkey off my medication because I don't realize I lost it until a Sunday night and it can't be refilled until the following Tuesday, bad things happen.  I liken myself to a heroin addict, forced by her parole officer to get off the junk.  The brain, while not born needing this chemical, has come to love it and requires it for normal function.  When it is taken away suddenly, the brain gets angry and mixes up all the wires up there just to let you know it misses its chemical.  Were I to wean myself off of the medication, the brain would have plenty of notice and time to get used to the idea.

Anyway, my brain has spent the last few days being less than pleased with me and letting me know in the least pleasant ways it can think of.  Coupled with me knowing that since I had just filled the prescription, my insurance would not cover it twice in one week, so I would be out a fuck ton of money.  That makes me grumpy on a GOOD day.

All this time wallowing in self-pity and headaches has had some interesting non-medical related side effects.  I cried to a Ryan Gosling movie.  I decided that I am done done donesky with a good portion of people in my life.  Not like ohmygodIhateyouyou'reaterribleperson done.  Just...done.  Tired of feeling like a second class citizen (in the white person problem sort of way, of course.)  Tired of feeling left out.  Tired of thinking about it.  And how does a person fix something like that?  They give themselves something else to think about.  It's all up to me, kids.  And if I don't like the way I'm being treated, I am the only one with the ability to change that.  I can't change you, but I can change how much room I give you in my life.

Got my meds back today.  Hopefully the run-on sentences will subside with the irrational anger.

Musings on Canvas Shoes with a side of Mom Don't Read This

I went to Portland last week for the first time in roughly eleven years.  I'm not gonna talk about that here, other than to say it was amazing, wonderful, best time ever, and I should have more thoroughly considered my footwear.  If you want to know more about my trip, buy me a drink and I'll be more than happy to tell you.  (Spoiler alert: I did not see any crazy clowns.) 

Needless to say, I did not track my Weight Watcher's points while I was gone.  I hit my 5% goal a week before leaving, then ate pizza 3 times before I left.  So, I'm not feeling too hopeful about tonight's weigh-in, but by gods I'm going anyway.  The nice thing about this program is that just by being accountable, it makes these minor setbacks seem not as overwhelming.  Which is part of taking control of what I eat. 

I have decided that when I hit my 10% goal, I'm gonna try and find me a man.  Not to put too fine a point on it but (to quote Carrie Bradshaw) I need to feel the weight of a man on top of me.  I'm a pretty lady.  Eventually I will be a pretty, hot lady.  I deserve to get laid by someone who appreciates me!  Boyfriends are over rated, but banging will never be so. 

My brain is working too fast for me right now.  Time to take the pukey pup to the vet.  Joy! 

Seriously.  Most pitiful creature ever.

Homeless Clown

Next Thursday, as many of you know, I will venture to the town that has held my heart for the last 11 years, Portland Oregon.

I'm excited beyond explanation.  It truly is my home away from home and I hate that it's been so long since I've been there.

To get everyone else as PUMPED as I am, I'm going to share a couple of my favorite stories from my time living there.

First, I would like to share the homeless clown story.  If you've ever gotten me talking about Portland before, you know this story.  But it's a good one, so shut up and let me talk.

In downtown Portland during the summer they have the Saturday Market.  It's basically a bunch of hippies who rent booths and sell their homemade handicrafts.  I got a pair of custom made clogs.  They cost $150 and they never quite fit right, but good gods were they gorgeous.  For clogs.  Milling around, you can always see the best of Portland.  Street vendors, hackey sackers, the little person who sits on his electric scooter between 2 buildings and comes out to ask for money when you least expect it.  My favorite was always the homeless clown.

Under the bridge next to the coffee shop where a lot of people congregated, he set up a little area where he would make balloon animals for money.  He was insanity at it's finest.  Dirty, muttering, his rainbow clown wig almost grey from filth.  My sister and I were in line to get coffee once (like ya do in Portland) talking to the guy who made my clogs.  His entire head was a giant tribal tattoo.  I bet he never regrets THAT now.  Behind us in line was Homeless Clown, muttering to himself.  All of a sudden he started screaming FUCK FUCK FUCK THIS at the top of his lungs and ran off.  From that point on, he had my heart.

At his balloon making station, he had a rug.  It was the kind of rug you would set by your front door for people to wipe their feet.  And like his hair and clothes, it was fairly disgusting.  Next to it on a chair, he placed a sign that said "It's a real rug.  You can stand on it."  

One day my 4 year old niece decided she would like a balloon animal, so we walked over to homeless clown and she, in her precious wee baby voice, asked for a giraffe.  Homeless Clown told her to stand on the rug.  She made no move, I assume because she realized the potential error of talking to Homeless Clown.  He apparently did not like this because he yelled GET ON THE RUG!!! 

She did.  She got her shitty balloon animal.  Next time, we went to the fat balloon maker.  He could make swords and crowns.

Obviously I have no idea if Homeless Clown is still there.  Would I even recognize him if I saw him?  What if he's wearing a disguise?

This turned out way longer than I was expecting.  So next week you will get the story of my only friend in Portland and the time she made me go hiking.

Luna Beast Strike Again!

After washing my bedspread, it took her less than an hour to get her dogness back all over everything.

She should be very glad she's adorable.

Pretty sure there's another dog under her somewhere

Stupid Slow and Steady

I've been at Weight Watchers just over a month now.  I have lost 9.8 lbs.

Is is just me, or is that not a whole fucking lot?  True, I don't exercise, but goddammit.  Just because I don't drink soda and didn't have any water weight to get rid of; you'd think my body would REWARD me for that.  I can't help it that my body is over 200 lbs of SOLIDNESS.  Have you seen my ass?  It could stop a train.  Seriously.  Smack me on my ass, as hard as you can.  I dare you.  I won't even feel it. 

Really, any progress is better than none.  I weighed in last night and I am 1.2 lbs away from my first goal of 5% weight loss.  So that's frustrating.

Perhaps I should NOT eat chicken fried steak for lunch.  Even with the gravy on the side.  Or y'know, I could go for a walk.

Sure.  I could do that...

What?  It could be hot...

No I promise. This was my dream.

Last night I dreamed that I kept shitting myself over and over.  And the only toilet I had access to looked like an Infinity pool and when I flushed it shot water all over my hotel room. 

In my extensive research to figure this steamer (heh) out, I ran across this interpretation:

Bowel Movement

To dream that you have a bowel movement signifies that you are successfully getting rid of your old habits/ways and thinking patterns. It is usually analogous to the release of strong emotions, such as anger or hatred.

To dream that you have a bowel movement in a public place suggests that you are expressing regret about something that you said. You may have spoken your mind a little too loudly.

I can't say for sure, but I think they're full of shit. 

Boom.

Animal Torture

Everyone said you can't put a sweater on a giant dog. I set out to prove them wrong.

Also...drunk.

My Brain Visits the Past

I have recurring dreams.  They are never the same dream over and over, but a theme.  They always used to involve my first husband, and me trying to get back together with him.  In the dreams I was living at my mom's house.  Except the one where we went on an adventure and got chased by a shark in a swimming pool. 

The last few weeks, I've been dreaming about high school.  This is a recurring theme for me as well, but not very often.  Last night I had two.

In the first one, it was graduation time!  Everyone was so excited.  The ex-bff and I decided to infiltrate the rival high school to see how they were doing with their graduation rates.  We went at lunch time and to our surprise, everyone that we thought went to our high school was at the other school.  And they didn't graduate for 3 more weeks. 

We felt very superior. 

We decided to check out how their lunchroom compared to ours.  To put it mildly, it was abysmal.  They had hot dogs and...apple crisp.  SO lower middle class.  But they were giving out samples, so that was interesting.  They also had a salad bar.

Really, Rival High School?  A salad bar?  In 1997?

And, as dreams do, it ended there.  I woke up at 4 AM, watched some Andy Griffith and eventually fell back asleep.

High school dream #2 was not so full of me feeling superior.

Once again, it was graduation time.  I was feeling very confident in my ability to leave high school, until I realized that I had basically skipped the entire last semester.  I decided to show up to the 2nd to last day of school to gauge my standing.  I had forgotten my locker combination so I had none of my books, and the teacher who replaced my math teacher gave me a 6 foot easel to carry that I lost. 

(I love dreams.  They don't have to make any sense at all.)

I got to English class only to be ridiculed by my professor for not having my book.  Or knowing anything about what was going on.  So, after class I figured fuck it and went home.

At home, both of of my sisters were in town for Christmas!  My parents were married and we were all living in the house I grew up in.  My niece Zoe was attempting to distract me, but being the observant person that I am, I noticed that my bedroom was completely pink.  My father redecorated my room as my present.  Pink carpet, pink bed, pink matched luggage.  I was soooooo happy, I could've died.

And then Dolly shit all over everything.  Giant, steamy piles of dog shit all over my childhood dreams. 

:)

Resolve, Take 2

Friday I got home from work and wrote a quick little update about my new year's resolution.  I went out and completely obliterated my weight watchers points and basically sour pussed around Westport because waaaaah, my life isn't exactly how I thought it would be.

Saturday as I was leaving for my evening plans, I had a panic attack and spent the rest of New Year's Eve avoiding a very good friend who was trying to help me.

Sunday I hid in my bedroom all day.

2011 started with depression and insecurity and it turned into the worst year of my life.  I lost my best friend, the person I thought I was going to grow old and die with.  I lost a boyfriend who, for all his faults, made me feel more secure and loved than anyone before or since.  I gained a solid 20 lbs onto my already overweight ass.  I struggled with depression more than I have in my life.

So, 2012.  We've got some work to do.  My initial resolution was "only date boys that are nice to me."  But I think that completely misses the point.  I don't LIKE boys that are nice to me, because I don't like myself.  (Also, they are usually vanilla lamers, but that's beside the point.)  And it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, because my thoughts overrule. 

I'm gonna work on me.  I don't really know what form that will take, other than losing weight.  But I hated myself when I weighed 130 lbs.  I don't really think getting back there will solve any of my problems.  Plus, I would look like an ass on a stick.  I think things like being a better friend, caring more about my house being clean, and finding someone quality to bang will come with a better attitude and perhaps a little more self love. 

But I might settle for ass on a stick.  It wouldn't kill me to feel hot for hotness's sake.