Last night in a nutshell

NUTSHELL

From here on out there will no longer be any partying at Questionably-Straight friend's house. I just can't do it. I tried: I did. It just doesn't work out. I don't care how nice they are I just can't get along with those people.

Murse Man: Dude! What is in that bag? It IS a machine gun, isn't it? You're gonna blow this places to pieces, aren't you? I also have some suspicion that it's, in fact, empty and you just brought it along to seem interesting. Fun fact: it didn't work and people have been making fun of you all night for it. Also, how cute that you'd boast about being pre-med after you claim smoking won't blacken your lungs because cancer is solely genetic. For the love of all that is holy I beg you: do not procreate. In addition: Look up the word "patronize". You are in urgent need of a medical text book and a dictionary. You are a walking joke. Oh and you suck at pong.
Brown-Pride douche: Quit threatening Murse Man for making Mexican jokes. You were just happily telling racist jokes yourself while calling white people crackers. You don't get to be selectively racist, you jackass! And if you don't want to hear Mexican jokes then quit working the fact that you are Mexican into every damn conversation.
Level-headed DD: Thank you very much for the ride and for being the only other sober person. It's always fun to watch your friends act like clowns. I like you even if you have questionable taste in movies. :P
Bad-Religion guy: First of all let me say your choices of music mostly suck. Second: You are my favorite person at this house but I'd like to inform you that in order for you to be truly open minded as you claim to be you can't end an argument by saying "You're not going to change my mind." Sweetie, darling, dearest, (insert another condescending term of endearment), if you are not open to someone changing your mind then you are indeed NOT open minded. Open minded people are OPEN to change. Change of mind as well as change of heart. But that, in itself, is subject for a whole different post.
iPhone lover: Do work! You kicked some ass at pong and I'm glad I was there to witness it. Let me add that you have wiggled your way into #2 for my favorite drunks of all time. Butthole will always be number one but holy cr.
Skater kid: Didn't we go to high school together? Indeed we did. And as much as you have atrophied your brain with MJ you are one hilarious muthereffer. I am sad to say that I still lost all respect for you when you said you were planning on driving home. I hope you didn't kill anyone.
Questionably-Straight friend: Dude! Where were you last night? I hardly saw you. How is it that you and OnAndOffCrazy seem so normal when you are with us but manage to break up and get back together more often than I can count (literally)?
OnAndOffCrazy: For the record, I don't actually think you are crazy. I've heard some questionable stories though. In reality I like you you are very sweet. I'm sorry I wasn't feeling pong last night. Frankly I wasn't feeling the party at all. I'd also like to remind you that after getting our asses handed to us by Butthole and iPhone lover your boob somehow managed to make THEIR last cup. WTF? Fine! I'll dance with you next time!

In retrospect even if it was a god awful night it made for some funny ass stories so maybe it IS worth going back.

Oh! Wait! Let me throw my panties at you!

Here's a little sequence:

Julia walks to work.
Jack-off drives by and shouts "HI!"
Julia doesn't know jack-off.
Julia keeps walking.
Jack-off drives off.
Jack-off shouts "Fuck off, slut!"

"Oh, damn! Let me reconsider the walking. Please! Come back! Help me take off my bra!"

WTF? People are funny. I guess jack-off feels better about himself now.

Why, yes, yes I am quite greedy.

OH! Font change! I'm wild. Rawr.

Also, irrational.
I am very, very, excited because Monday is Butthole's birthday. I love birthdays. I love making birthdays special! Every one's birthday should be good-every year!
I am making Butthole cake and taking him to dinner Saturday night. I got him so sweet ass gifts.Hell, it's the weekend! I haven't seen him since Sunday so birthday or no birthday I'm excited.
Yes, I'm scared he won't like his gifts (I bought a bunch of crap, I think at this point I've got Christmas covered, and I was already eye balling a couple other things). I'm afraid the cake will taste terrible. Dinner is covered because I'm not cooking :) Here's for the greedy, ok AND irrational:
His friend, iPhone-lover, is coming down this weekend. Yay! Wait, half-yay. I was kind of looking forward to some alone time, or at least dinner just the two of us. Darn it.
Honestly, I think it's the long distance thing that kills it for me. Normally I'd be all about "let me have some me time please!" But I get all the me time I need during the week so by the weekend I am readyreadyreadyREADY to see Butthole.
Another problem is that I know he's not as irrationally eager as me. Yes, he wants to see me, but he's also very excited to see his friend. I don't want to share my Butthole! I don't think there is another person I'd rather see than him. I don't have any "real" friends. Sure, I have friends, but not the kind I can call at 3 in the morning just to talk. That's why my weekends revolve around him. He, however, is normal. He has good friends and family to include in his weekend visits.
It kind of bothers me. I'm not going to pretend like I don't wish I was his main focus like he is mine. I know it's not personal: he doesn't love me less; he just has a normal life and other interests outside of me. I can't fault him for that.
I am well aware that I'm the one that's wrong. I need a damn hobby. Anyway, I'll make the most of it even if I'm not the center of attention. I'll bite my tongue and smile big because damn it! I'm a good girlfriend.
Besides, iPhone-lover is coming! That makes Butthole happy, and if he's happy then I'm happy. iPhone-lover is pretty cool to hang out with anyway. Also, there's going to be cake! I'm not really concerned it'll taste bad: I'm a bad ass baker. Any weekend with cake is good in my book. Plus there's dinner to look forward to. So what that iPhone-lover will probably tag along? I'll just save my cute out-fit for our next "us only" date and order the chicken tacos. As for the gifts... I haven't failed yet.

Enter stranger, but take heed...

You are all invited to Julia's Pity Party!

Location: The corner of Despair and Dissatisfaction. Between the Hookah Bar and the Wrist Cutting Club's building. The name of the place is "Where Dreams Go to Die"

Time: August 26 2009 6 PM until whenever you want to go!

BYOB and Razor blade!
Oh who cares... it's not like anyone is going to come (sad face)

Ok it's not going to be that bad but from here on out this will be a bitchfest. Not just any kind of bitchfest, either: It concerns my family. You have been forewarned.
Phatty and mom have always had a crappy relationship. Every few months Phatty gives up putting up with mom and stops all contact. Cue for mom to: go into victim mode, refuse to acknowledge her part in any of it, (on occasion, usually twice a year) make suicide threats, claim depression, lump all her children together on "Phatty's side" because we are "all against her" since we don't run to her aid, and yell at Little Bro (poor thing still has to live with her).
Realistically this shouldn't affect me. It bothers me, of course. No one LIKES have a dysfunctional family, but I've learned to live with it. It really is none of my concern because they are two grown women and they can talk to whoever they want but here's the problem:
Phatty takes it pretty well when I say "not my business, I don't care to hear it." She understands and agrees. Mom, on the other hand, not so much. She takes my not wanting to hear "it" as a personal attack. It's not her fault so she should get to gripe and whine at me. Now I'm the bad guy because I don't want to listen to anything regarding their immature BS. In her eyes, it's not "their" immature BS. It's all on Phatty. Sure, Phatty is pretty helpful since she doesn't use her fights with mom as a way to fight with me. However, it's really damn unhelpful when she gets a new cell phone number and tells me "don't give it to mom." Yeah... um... Thanks sis. Mom isn't going to ask me for it or anything (and that's when the above argument ensued). I understand Phatty needs to do this to preserve her sanity. Heck, sometimes I wish I was tough enough to cut off contact too. My sister's sanity often comes at the expense of my own.
It is very taxing to try to keep the peace in MY life when I have to deal with a woman who isn't happy unless she's miserable. This struggle is worse when Phatty is giving my mom every damn reason to be angry. Normally I can at least bitch to Phatty about it, but I can't right now so I'm left dealing with it on my own.
You see, Phatty has a lot on her plate right now. In the past year she lost her best friend, had a baby (#3), my big brother left the country, she moved to the middle of nowhere, money is tight (well, that's everyone), and she's had a nightmare of a person come back in her life.
That's the whole year, as of this month there's a chance Baby Buttface is deaf in one ear, Little Turd might be too, oh! And she just found out that at least Buttface (it could be all of them) has high levels of lead in her system. Unfortunately for me I'm a decent sister (not the best) so I'm not about to go complain to her about mom when she's dealing with this much already. After all, the reason I'm dealing with this is because she can't right now.
This, however, leaves me going a bit insane with no one to talk to. I'll get over it, for sure. Mom isn't doing anything that I didn't expect but it definitely gets old. My mom is just so much to deal with. For goodness' sakes, her pseudo-boyfriend even told me yesterday he'd never marry her because of how she is! I'm not nuts and I'm not a bitch, well, not in this regard anyway. Phatty is the only person I can talk to about it and she's currently out of the question as far as receptor of my strife.
I'll just continue to do what I always do. Keep busy, wait for it to blow over (mom's anger at ME!), and eventually act like nothing ever happened. Yeah, that last bit I learned from her.

Let's hear it for the boys...

... and my gut-wrenching fear of marriage. Actually, I'm afraid of divorce but since you can't get divorced if you don't get married first I guess it's safe to say I'm afraid to get married.

It doesn't matter much because marriage isn't in my near future. By near future I mean the next decade or so. Sure, it would be great to say I'd like to be married by the time I'm 26, but that's not realistic. I can't possibly know if I'll be ready by then or if I'll have found the the right guy to spend the rest of my life with.Yes, I believe marriage is a life-long commitment. You are committing to make it through the bad times and never give up. And rest assured, there WILL be tough times. You see, to me, marriage is a partnership. Once you get married your opinion alone stops mattering. It's all about "we" and "us." Both parties are still individuals who respect each other, but I think that valuing the other person's ideals in the end benefits the unit and that's why the picture is bigger than just "me." Just because YOU want to give up because it's too hard for YOU doesn't mean you get to just walk away. WE promised to make it work for US. I made that promise to you, and you to me.

No one taught me any particular values in marriage. My parents did divorce when I was 13 so maybe that shifted something in me. I don't know that I'd say marriage is sacred but it definitely shouldn't' be something you walk into during a drunken night in Vegas. The bullshit against gay marriage making a mockery of such a sacred institution makes me sick when people like Britney Spears have how many 15 hour "marriages."

Because I value marriage so much is that I'm afraid of it. I'd be terrified to be with a guy who doesn't value our marriage enough to take my feelings into consideration. Sure, I'm not immune to a certain liking of the traditional gender roles but it's NOT 1950 anymore. I would have no problem cooking dinner every night, but I would not stand to be told the kitchen is my place. I'd want to be with someone who didn't need to be asked to do the dishes after I made him dinner. He should do that because he is appreciative and because he knows we both have to make everything work together. He would understand that I don't cook dinner because it's my job: I do it out of the joy of providing for my family and in turn he'd want to do the same. He should also be self sufficient so that if one night I couldn't cook he wouldn't starve for the evening.

Therein lie my demands...a few of many anyway. I can't help but think about it even if I'm not planning on marrying anyone tomorrow. I hear far too many stories of a "useless man who thinks his duties stop at taking out the trash and mowing the lawn." I see too many house holds where if the woman is sick for one day the house is a disaster because she's not up and about cleaning up after everybody. I've heard crazy stories: "I went away for the weekend and he left the dishes pile up for me to clean when I came back." "He woke me up when I was battling pneumonia so I could make him a snack." "He demands I do his laundry on time but won't sort his clothes in the right hampers." Not to mention all the stories when there's kids involved, but I won't get into that because if marriage is a gut wrenching fear then procreation leaves me crippled and dry-heaving.

I know not all men are like that. I've heard all kinds of great counter-stories: The guy who gets up extra early to warm up the car on a cold day before his wife goes to work. The guy who has the laundry all taken care of when she's stressed even though they normally divvy it up. The woman who never has to get gas because her husband makes sure he tank is always full. The guy who cooks because she hates to do it herself. The guy who lets her take the extra blanket when the heater goes out.

I get it! I know it! SOME guys are assholes. Others are absolutely exceptional. Either way, whether you marry an asshole or you marry the best man ever there will be hardship.

I'm afraid I won't find a great guy or that the guy I think is great shows his "true side" after I get married. I've heard so many times that "all guys are the same" that I get scared. I'm afraid it's actually true. I, being a pessimist, focus on the bad stories and fear them rather than hope for the good ones. I avoid the risk completely. It's just that when I do that I also risk missing out on something great.

It could also be that I'm afraid I won't find a great guy because I'm not worthy of one. Maybe I'm afraid that when things get tough I won't deserve to be fought for. I obviously have some self-esteem issues to work out.

It takes two to tango, but sometimes it takes one person to walk away from a marriage. What if I marry the guy who wants to walk away?
In my parents' case I know my mom was tough to live with, so in some way I understand his desire to leave. I understand the desire, not the action. Even though I think my dad could have worked harder to make things work I know he didn't want to. I know it because his mid-life crisis was more important than his own children. Even if my mom had been the perfect wife he would have found a reason to leave. I mean, you are supposed to live for you kids, if not your spouse, and he couldn't do that so I have no doubt that there was nothing my mom could have done to make him stay. My dad forgot about his promise.

I know their case is different, but it seems so many times one person "tires" of the other's behavior. Hello? They are the same person you married! Either you knew about whatever quirk is bothering you before you said "I do" or some thing's changed and there's some digging to do before you throw in the towel.

Another reason I'm so scared is because of how demanding I am. I think my fear itself has made me raise my expectations and maybe I won't find someone simply because no one is perfect nor will they ever fulfil our every ideal.

Right now I'm not ready. I am young and I'm not ready to make the commitment. I have a lot of kinks to work out with myself before I can focus on someone else's. I just hope the day comes when I am ready and I find someone who will encourage me to leave my fear behind. I'd hate to miss out on something wonderful because I'm too afraid of becoming another number on an ever-increasing statistic.

Everything happens for a reason.

I'm not always good at speaking for myself. The benefit of living in the year 2009 is that by now anything you've got to say has been said, and it's been said way better than you'd have ever said it yourself. You see, for me, that's good because I can't always put into words the way I feel.
On the other hand if you are Fall Out Boy or any of those pussy whipped new bands on the radio it's probably not a good thing. It probably makes selling music a lot harder and that's why your target audience is a bunch of teeny boppers who smoke and think they are hardcore because they wear leg warmers over their skinny jeans and bangles on their wrists. You see, THEY don't know it's all been done before. Parents don't have the time to educate their children because they are too busy suing the Disney channel: After all if Miley Cyrus's shorts weren't so short their 16 year old daughter wouldn't have gotten pregnant.
There you have it. The benefits and downfalls of 2009. It all depends on who you are.

This is not at all the point of my post.
What is the point? You ask. I thought you never would.

Let's allow Garth Brooks to say it for me:

The Dance

And now, I'm glad I didn't know
the way it all would end,
the way it all would go.
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
but I'd have had to miss the dance.

As it turns out (and I was a bit horrified to find out) this is a excerpt from a country song which I just couldn't bring myself to listen to. I found this piece in a Internet message board I frequent when one of the posters started the thread "Favorite quotes, poems, lyrics." Unfortunately I can't sit through more than 13 seconds of country without wanting to inflict severe bodily harm on myself. However, that is no reason to disregard such wise and beautiful words. This is one of my favorite concepts and one which keeps me from jumping off a cliff when I have a bad day. You always have to remember that life is both good and bad combined. Life is not supposed to be all bright lights and lollipops. Misfortune may feel terrible at the time but eventually you will appreciate the things you learned from the experience.
Thankfully for my ears, The eels put it in a way more musically acceptable form:


This song makes my heart happy. It's probably one of my favorites. I wanted to post the real video but YouTube wouldn't let me. This one came with some good illustrative pictures. I definitely urge you to watch the real thing because, well, Eels is/are the shit.

It may seem like the bad comes all on it's own because the world is out to get you, but it's not the case. Here, to prove that everything I say is BS: Take the song Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts. It's one of my favorite love songs. I'm not so in love with the way the singer sounds but the message is too important to me. I know I said I hate country but there's an exception to every rule, right? Besides, Garth Brooks is totally an old man sitting on his porch with a banjo and a twig sticking out of his mouth. His style is totally old school and traditional, Rascal Flatts has a mild contemporary sound that makes them bearable, ok? Whatever, I know what I'm talking about. Excuses to contradict myself aside...
I'm not going to post a video so that's up to you but it's the best way to say that the bad is a part of life. The broken road led me to you. The bad was there for a reason. So appreciate life, always. The good, the bad, the ugly. And remember that if you are experiencing misery you are still living. Man, you're REALLY living.

Independence, codependence? With music and a super cheesy ending. :)

I should not be left alone with my thoughts. I need to be busy, busy, busy. Now I know why: If I don't have something to keep me occupied I think. Like I already said: I'm a pessimist.

Let me tell you: Negative + Thoughts = Over thinking manic depressive.

I haven't been as busy this summer because my job is slow, Butthole was gone most of the time, my friends all have jobs and Phatty moved to the other side of town. Also, my mom has suddenly acquired a life and I don't seem to see as much of her as I used to. This has left me with much free time and since I still haven't gotten cable I've had time to dwell on every stupid little thing.

So what exactly is this bitchfest about?
Many things. It's not exactly a bitchfest, though, just some reflective thinking. Let's backtrack:
It's gonna be a year since Butthole and I have been together. Dear oh my how I love him. I don't even feel bad or embarrassed saying it. Why should I feel bad, anyway? Because I pride myself in my independence. I used to think being fully in love meant not being wholly yourself. I thought relying on someone else made you weak.

I never wanted to be this girl. I never thought I could be this girl:



Why would I want to be the kind of girl who hopes to be caught when I could be just be there to catch myself? The longer Butthole and I were together I found myself needing him more and more, and when things slowed down this summer I realized how damn scary that was. I've been picking stupid fights and we've argued about some really dumb things. I couldn't figure out why we were fighting so much. I started to wonder if maybe things were just ending. That couldn't be, though, because the thought of not being with him knocked the wind out of me.

Still, with all this free time I found myself over thinking things. Maybe he doesn't love me as much as I love him. Why doesn't his life revolve around me? How come he doesn't tell me I'm beautiful like he used to? Am I becoming codependent? In short, why did I feel like this song applied to me?



Oh good God! I love Kate Nash (Actually, Butthole introduced me to her music, gotta love our shared love of hippie indie music. Yeah, we're perfect together) but come on! How needy is this song? It's sweet and stuff, but it's the kind of song I should sing along to but not feel identified with.

The question is: Have things really finally fizzled after a year, or am I becoming more needy? I think it's me. Maybe our hormones are leveling out a bit, but we are both still crazy about each other so it's not like he's not into me.
I'm an insecure over thinker whereas he's totally chill and doesn't worry about stuff like "OMG, am I getting fat? Has he noticed? Does he still think I'm cute? Why isn't he here yet? He doesn't care, does he?" Yeah, welcome to my head. I think all this time to come up with these questions has turned me into a needy twat. I don't want to be that girl.

Here's the funny thing: I was having all of these thoughts last night (I got off work early) and when he came over they were all gone. Just like that. No question in my mind that we are perfect together. All I could think about was how much I love him.

The insecurities still creep when he's there, sure. At one point while discussing an episode of Scrubs he said we were really good together. Great! Right? It made me so happy to know he thinks about us as a couple (and a good couple at that) but I had to push it: Really? Why do you think we are great? His answer: Well look at all the other couples we know. They are all a mess.
Here's the over thinking bit: The only thing that makes us great in his eyes is a process of elimination. We don't suck so we must be great.
I know this isn't true! But he's a guy! Oh and, unlike me, HE isn't INSANE! So I know better than to take that thought as something more than the first thing that popped into his head to answer my idiotic question. The difference is when he's there I can roll my eyes at myself.

I guess the thought that he doesn't think about these things makes it worse. Like he has the upper hand because he knows I'm crazy about him so there's nothing to worry about. Maybe he isn't insecure because he knows I live and breath for him. That's not right, is it?

On to another song and another thought.
You see, he introduced me to this bad ass Internet Radio thing called Pandora (http://www.pandora.com/) when I was whining about all the crappy music I'm forced to listen to while at work on the radio. On Pandora I found this really bad ass chick Fiona Apple (noticing a pattern on my taste in music?) and this really bad ass song of hers:



I remember a time when I would have found myself in this song. I loved to think of myself as an independent chick who didn't need anyone to worry about her. As much I love the song it's just not me anymore, but for some reason I'm not 100% bothered by it. Sure, it's a little sad to lose yourself, but what if the person you are is better?
But what if you are better because you are with someone who brings out the best in you? That means I'm no longer self-reliant. I'm no longer strong on my own. I've had my "aha!" moment.

How could I not be insecure when everything I am relies on Butthole's validation? It's so scary to think that if one day he leaves me then all the good about me leaves too. That's not how it works, though, is it? He isn't why I'm good. He's the one that in spite of all the bad can see the potential.

That's why I'm not horrified to not feel like a strong person on my own. He sees me like that. He doesn't make me that way; he's just a reminder that I am capable of being like that. I have been so lucky that Butthole doesn't hold it over my head. He doesn't hold it over my head because he'd never think he has anything over me. Because he knows how much I love him but he knows I existed before him. He knows I don't need him but I still choose to rely on him. He's not some cocky asshole who thinks my world revolves around him. I may think it does, but he knows better. He is definitely smarter than me. That's why he's the future doctor. ;)

Codependence, apparently, is an actual emotional disorder or psychological disease: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Codependence
Yes, I know, the all-knowing Wikipedia. Screw you, this isn't a research paper.

I am not codependent: I am in a relationship. Butthole doesn't treat me like crap and feed off of my insecurities. That's the difference.
Relying on someone else isn't bad as long as you don't forget that one day before he came along you knew how to stand on your own. He knows this about the both of us. Frankly, I like knowing I can rely on him. After all, being in a relationship really isn't about being two separate people. Here comes the cheese: It's about two people who can become one stronger item while recognizing each person has amazing qualities on their own. It's about loving each other for those great qualities and not just staying together because you know the other person's insecurities will keep them anchored to you for fear of drowning on their own.

Prepare for cheese overload:
So even though I'd never thought I'd be the type to fall just so you can catch me there's no need to wish I was your favorite girl because you already think I'm an extraordinary machine.
Where words fail, music speaks. -Hans Christian Andersen

Rock and roll, red meat, eggs, Eminem, swine flu, lettuce, flip-flops?

What the hell can't kill you these days?

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/32453516?GT1=43001/from/ET

I, for one, am not worried. My mother's bitching never stopped me from walking around barefoot as a kid. Growing up, my dad's comments about how tacky flip-flops were didn't impact the massive collection I possess today. I have yet to start growing extra toes or have odd purple oozing wounds. Sure, I've stepped on a shard of glass or two, but that stuff's just bound to happen when you're me.
We are seriously looking for a reason to be afraid on a day-to-day basis. Not to sound like one of those nuts with the tin-foil hats but I've gotta wonder if maybe this is the government's idea of distracting us from all the crap that's going on. Ok. No, I don't really believe that but come on! Scientists are wasting time and money on this type of research?
Did anyone actually need some microbiologist to tell them that their shoes track all kinds of bacteria and crap(in this case, literally)? Oh no! It's bacteria that can cause diaper rash/yeast infection/impotence/anal leakage/blindness! I'm going to throw all of my flip-flops out and I'm going to buy that foot sanitizer in addition to my hand sanitizer. They look the same, though I bet they are completely different.Ok... only the first two symptoms were true. And I'll be really horrified if they actually start marketing foot sanitizer. Actually...that may not be a bad idea... after all people buy helmets for their toddlers... Hmmm.. Purell: Call me!
Anyway... here' s a complex solution for your baby's diaper rash:
When you get home DON'T rub your poopy flip-flops all over your hands. DO wash your hands before changing your baby's diaper. Actually, you should always wash your hands before wiping your baby's butt. For that matter, you should always wash your hands when you get home whether you've been rummaging through a bin of dirty flip-flops or not. The world is one nasty place: I'll give microbiologists that much.
I know now you're wondering: but what about my yeast infections?
Remember that bit about not rubbing your hands all over your poopy flip-flops? Ok, well you really shouldn't do that to begin with. However if you do (and yes, I do understand how tempting it can be), just wash your hands before getting down and dirty with your significant other (or yourself, hey! I don't judge).
Steven: Damn Chuck, I have yet another yeast infection.
Chuck: Hey Steven, here's an idea: Don't rub your hands all over your flip-flops next time you watch that Blond Babes, Big Boobs and Beyond DVD you got for Christmas from your nana. That should take care of those recurring yeast infections.
The more you know.
Now just kick back and relax as the itching subsides over time and your baby stops screaming while you watch Sexy Sextuplets and Sleazy Sluts.

Writer's block

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
by Robert Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

You go, Robert! Carpe diem your way through life! I know I don't. Sometimes I wonder if that's a good thing. I've never felt the need to seize the day. I am quite happy eating plain chicken subs and watching DVD's on Friday night.
Sure, there are times when I can get up and go and do something nutty. But it's not the norm and it usually takes much coercing on the part of whoever's nutty idea it was because it sure as hell wasn't mine.
I've gotten better about it this year. I made a really stupid mistake on New Years Eve and I made a promise (a resolution, if you may) to myself that I wouldn't let my fear of the unusual stop me from having fun. Sure I might be uncomfortable at first but I'll always have fun in the end.
It seems like lately I've forgotten about that. I'm probably never going to go sky-diving but I need to start doing other fun and non life-threatening new things. I don't know what it'll be but next time someone suggests doing something I'm going for it. Maybe... if it doesn't involve tying my feet to some elastic band and jumping off a bridge. We'll see.
I'm off to gather rosebuds.

P.S. Yeah... this post was bullshit. I have no idea what to write about. I've started three times and everything I write sounds like I was possessed by a Rainbow Brite who OD'd on sunshine. Frankly no matter how optimistic I feel I'm not about to start hugging strangers on the street. Also, the post before this one got deleted when I pressed something so my brain was too clouded by annoyance for me to write something better.

...all girls feel too big sometimes regardless of their size

Sometimes I can be so stereotypical it's painful. In reality I think we all fulfil some stereotype. And all stereotypes have some truth to them. Nonetheless, it's embarrassing when I realize I'm a girl who's mood can be easily dictated by a mirror and a scale.
For the most part I am fairly satisfied with the way I look. Heck, there are some days when I can actually look in the mirror and go "Hey sexy, you sure look fiiiiiiiiiine in them jeans. I'd hit it." Then there's those days when nothing fits right and no matter what angle I look from everything is the wrong size. I wonder if it's hormones that distort the way we see ourselves from day to day. The guys I talk to say that it doesn't happen to them and that's why I normally chuck it up to hormones (guys don't have periods, right?).
I definitely know it happens to girls even if they all more readily admit to their "fat days" (hello? validation! "giiiirllll you craaaazzyyy... you are sooooo skinny") rather than those days when they'd do anything to hump their own leg. Of course it's due to the fear of being perceived as conceited. After all, in this society, heaven forbid a girl doesn't hate herself.
Lately though... (as in the past effing 3 weeks) I have gained some weight. About, oh, 7 lbs. I have been working really hard to get myself to look the way I know I can. I was doing really good, too! I had lost about 20lbs since last summer and the last time I went shopping I actually squeezed my butt into a size 7 again (it's been a while). And the thing is, I don't do it for anyone but myself.
There's only one person besides me who's opinion regarding my appearance matters. Butthole loves the way I look. On a clear minded day I know it and believe it when he tells me he thinks I look good. But his opinion doesn't sway mine. Which is why it's so tough when I'm having a "fat day." I think he has the power to change it, but I refuse to fish for compliments. He usually gives them out pretty indiscriminately but it seems like lately either a. I need to hear them more or b. It's true that things are bound to fizzle after a year and he really isn't as moved by my wearing a cute out fit. Either way I don't find myself to be as attractive as I used to be to him. Last summer I made him a burrito and he didn't take his eyes of me. As I rolled the tortilla I put it down and said "See? Beautiful!" And without skipping a beat he grabbed me and said "No, you are beautiful" and he kissed me. Yes, yes, it's very cheesy. I loved it, though. I love the way he used to look at me when he'd come over in the morning and I'd still be in my pajamas with last night's make-up still smeared under my eyes. He'd get this funny look like "I can't believe how good you look" and it made me really happy. That doesn't seem to happen anymore.
Fake compliments aren't nice. They aren't flattering and they dont' do anything for me. That's why I don't fish for them. There have times when I've broken and I've point-blank asked him to tell me I'm pretty but it's not the same. So I'm sort of stuck dealing with my insecurity all on my own. It's not like it's anyone's job besides me anyway. I know I need to just get over it but it sure would be nice if I could explain to him how important his opinion is. He's a guy, though, and I understand. To him this doesn't make sense.
I don't talk to him about my weight loss/gain. He doesn't pay attention. Heck, he still thought I weighed the same as last summer because I never told him I'd lost weight. I don't like to discuss it (weight loss) with people at all because I don't care for the "but you don't need to lose weight!" comments. I'm not doing it for that. I'm doing it for me.
Altering the way I look is all about the way I view myself. Until 3 weeks ago I was fairly pleased. I haven't been to the gym in the past 3 weeks and it's starting to show. I think that has something to do with it, too. There has been a change in my routine and I feel weird. It really throws me off. I'm not myself when I'm not doing things as planned. I guess that's the important part I need to focus on. Having Butthole give me compliments would be quick fix. It's duct tape on your tennis shoes because you're too cheap (or too broke) to buy new ones. This is MY problem and I need to get a grip on it myself. I can't expect a third party to patt me on the head and tell me it's not my fault.
Gag... that means doing work... possibly failing. Damn it.
That was some sweet reflection on paper... let's see if I can stop myself from crumpling it up and leaving it in the trash.

Oh sushi you've done me wrong.

A haiku to describe tonight:

I just ate sushi.
Oh god I ate way too much.
Fuck life. I feel sick.

I learned something today (yes, that's Stan's voice, I hope to God you understand the reference): You can definitely have too much of a good thing.
Sushi is effing delicious. Yeah I'm not a fan of spicy tuna, and I'll stick my bare butt in a tank full of jelly fish before I eat ginger again but those skillfully put together pieces of art are a gift from above. That is to say, of course, the Japanese.
You know? I have half a mind to punch those little Japanese master-minds in the head. I'm pretty sure sushi was never meant to be eaten in such an obscenely excessive manner. The Japanese are brilliant for coming to America and exploiting our need for large amounts of food and a good deal.
All the sushi I can eat for $26? Fuck yeah! That's a brilliant idea! Yeah, that might be your initial thought, but by the fifth roll you are slowly regretting your choice of the Sunrise roll and you are considering taking up cordless bungee jumping as a way to tackle your inner daredevil.
Here's the lesson for the day (besides the initial "too much of a good thing" lesson):
Sure, the first 3-4 rolls were delicious. That Love Affair roll put naughty thoughts in your head and you're thinking of how nice it would be to run away to Fiji with that lusty explosion of flavor that just tantalized your taste buds. But let's be frank, after that your tongue is just numb and your throat is pleading that you lay off that slimy spicy tuna/eel/raw salmon et al.
Sure, you paced yourself sipping your Mountain Dew, but let's not lose sight of ourselves. Let's be realistic. Those delicious rolls are contained by seaweed enveloped in a sticky rice concoction that is just waiting for some liquid to make it expand within your insides. Your stomach officially thinks you are an asshole.
But, after all, you paid for an all you can eat meal and damn it if you are going to leave this place without eating dessert so bring out that strawberry Mochi that your delightful partner (the one you left for the Love Affair roll) has been raging about. It turns out Mochi is just a ball of ice-cream encased in a rubbery substance making it oddly resemble that stress ball your therapist gave you when you were younger because your mother was tired of you chewing on your finger nails. Funky bouncy ball texture and all it's fairly delicious. You're sure you would have enjoyed it more if your digestive system wasn't currently organizing a strike and telling your intestines they were in for a rough night.
But such is life... remember my first entry? The one where I said I know what the problems are but I don't fix them? Yeah... I'd love to say this was my first over-eating experience. I'd love it more if I could say I'd never had this experience with sushi before. Alas! I have done this before. And after the millionth vow of "never eating again" and claims of "having learned my lesson" I have a feeling this won't be the last time I conclude a meal with a death wish and a desire to have my stomach pumped.

You blog. They blog. I blog?

Dear diary... mood:apathetic. Oh, has that been done before? My bad.
That's a good opening though, for me at least. It's reflective of who I am: a pessimist.
My first impulse will always be to be sarcastic and cynical and mocking. Especially when it comes to my feelings. A blog is a compilation of my thoughts and emotions put on paper (in this case, obviously it's the interwebs not really paper, but I'm eco-friendly... I digress) and I shudder at the thought of taking my feelings seriously.
I am one of those people I hate who can identify the problem but does little to fix it. So while I am well aware that I have problems confronting my emotions I still let it get in the way of my day-to-day life. Yes, I know it needs to change. I guess that's why I thought up that title for my blog: "Reflect on paper. Then throw it away." Horrific punctuation aside, and a confession that it's 9 in the morning, there's no coffee at the office, and I have zero creativity, I picked that title because it's what I do. I have all of these deep thoughts and do these evaluations of myself and reflect on why I am the way I am. I make vows to make changes and then I never do. So basically I reflect on paper but then I throw it away. I guess you got that.
So here's for a little self-soothing and much needed therapy... which I can't afford so a blog will have to do it.