Only imports from now on...

I sent the bitchy email (okay, it wasn't bitchy, just not what he wanted to hear) and am now trying to maintain radio silence.

I now have two big pieces of emotional baggage in the same small town five miles from my house. From now on, I only want to date men from out of the county who have no ties to my immediate community (aka- they won't show up at my work after we break up).



Of course, there will be no imported or local men for another four months. The sabbatical is still really good for me. I've now started to grieve some shit that I previously put off by dating all of the losers of 2010.

On another note, I took a friend to the hospital to get her weekly iron infusion (she just finished 6 months of chemo. Yay!). I'd never been to a chemo/iron/other wierd drug dispensing clinic before. It was a lot of fun! Women in the South know that real healing comes from personal connections, gossip, jokes, and trying to hook a young minister up with every single man that they know. You would have thought it was a party if weren't for a dozen people lying in chairs being infused with heavy drugs. What a great service for otherwise sucky life situations! Good job, small town hospital!

I have to be a bitch

I talk a good talk about being a bitch. It is an empowerment thing. When it comes down to pre-meditated necessary bitchiness, I am a complete coward. That is probably a good thing because it means that I don't actually want to hurt people.

It is a bad thing today. The ex-boyfriend emailed me a few days ago. I hadn't talked to him in weeks, not since I refused to take him to the doctor at 4:30am. His email was a "where have you been?" kind of thing. Today he called. I didn't answer the phone, hoping that passive-aggressive would free me from the obligation of outright bitchiness.

No such luck. In his message, he said that he'd dropped by my work and I wasn't there. What??? He is dropping by my work? Why? Damn!

I understand that I did say aloud when we broke up that I still wanted to be friends. It was in agreement with his desire. I just thought that all full-grown people know that isn't possible. I am tired of this man and I am now going to have to outright tell him that I don't want to "hang," "chat," "do lunch," or "check in."

I hate Jaws

The movie "Jaws" ruined my afternoon. Damn you, Steven Spielberg.

Did I watch "Jaws" today? No. Like many people in my generation, I will spend my entire life dealing with the emotional scarring left by watching a horror movie about a giant shark during early formative years.

My earliest memories of pools were that I looked at the deep end regularly to check for Jaws swimming around. Even after I aged into logic and no longer looked for sharks in swimming pools, I did not like to be in water where large things could swim.

Today, some of my biggest fears are of the ocean or swimming anywhere where an underwater animal lives that is half my size or larger. This includes the overgrown catfish in Texas lakes. I even got very anxious the first time that I watched "Finding Nemo" because of the scene with the enormous whale.

Okay, so how did this ruin my afternoon? I've been unable to swim all week because of swimmer's ear. I spent all of my free time the last few days laying in bed and wallowing in the misery of menstruation. This afternoon, I got antsy and decided to go swim laps. Yay! What a good idea!

Bad idea. Apparently, there is a scuba diving class that meets all day long at my pool on Saturdays and Sundays. The only lane open at the pool was the one closest to the class. I thought "no problem" and started swimming. All was well until I reached the deep end and saw a giant black thing with giant black flippers and a tank and mask 3 feet away from me. Logic? Yes, it is some college kid who doesn't care about the fat lady swimming in the next lane. Emotional reaction? FREAK OUT! After two laps, I couldn't bring myself to go back down where a dozen people were at the bottom of the pool looking at me. Everyone knows that when you see a swimmer from below the water, someone is about to be eaten by a shark.

I got out of the pool and left after 3 laps. Damn you, Jaws. Damn you, scuba team. Damn you, deep psychological issues.

poor, poor men

Sometimes I feel bad for men. They don't get to experience the full satisfaction of being completely hormonal while eating fried food and chocolate.

Of course, they also don't experience mood swings, bouts of craziness, sensitive boobs, cramps, ruined underwear, bloating, or overall self-loathing.

Today, however, I choose to celebrate that overwhelming feeling of satisfaction and happiness that lasts for about an hour after eating a completely hormone-driven meal. The first bite is literally like a little orgasm in my mouth. During and after eating, I can feel happiness and satisfaction radiate from my belly to the rest of my body.

It. Is. Awesome.

(until an hour later when regret sinks in and I go back to self-loathing. oh well.)

Public Masturbation

"All four of my kids made all A's this year! I am so proud of them!"
"I am pumped that my sweet little girl made varsity cheerleading for next year!"
"School is finally out and my son tested in the 95% for the 3rd grade. I am proud of my little genius!"
"My kid just read her first book at the age of four! What a smart little thing!"

Okay, parents. I understand that you love your kids and that Facebook is a place to share that love. The rest of us may not want to read your daily posts telling the world what miraculous thing your child did today. The rest of humanity who did not have the priviledge of being squeezed out of your genetic pool just experiences this as a form of public masturbation.

My child passed their end of grade exams. oooooh, that feels good.
My child made the varsity team. Yes, yes...right there.
My kid got all of the class awards at the end of the year....oh, fuck, yeah.

Get over yourself. The next time that I have to read "I am so proud of you" on Facebook, your kid better have won the Nobel Peace prize or saved a baby from drowning. "Whose your daddy" has a whole new meaning for me now.

Let it be known that I actually like kids. I love posts where parents share cute pictures, tell funny stories, or vent about the life of a parent. The only PRIDE I like to read about is the kind that comes from a gay man. Sorry!

the internet is back!

My internet at home was down for about a week. It made me realize how much I depend on that connection to the wider world. Have you lost electricity for an extended amount of time? You adjust to the dark, grab a book, and still have moments of "oh yeah, that won't work without electricity." That is me and the internet.

I wonder what the recipe for that is? Hmmm. No internet. How much do I have left in my bank account? I have to wait until tomorrow at work to find out! Oh, I missed last week's episode of my favorite show. I don't want to watch the new one until I catch up online. Oh wait. Damn.

One short week without high speed information at my fingertips has made me feel nostalgic and old. So much has changed with this amazing invention! For nerdy people like me who love to look up random facts as questions come to mind, it is an extension of my cognitive life. Without Ask.com, wikipedia or about.com readily available (I resist Google simply because everyone uses it), I feel like my brain is left with unfinished threads hanging bare. I have fuzzy memories of my childhood when we'd pick up the out-of-date encyclopedias to learn something but it rarely answered our question.

Oh well. I am old and addicted.

Speaking of addicted, I still love swimming! There is no kind of tired that feels better than being worn out, in a swimsuit, and smelling like chlorine. I've never had a sport before, but I think I've stumbled upon one now. When I get home from swimming, I can't wait to go back. The other women in my class even say that I make it look easy. Woo-hoo! I hope it lasts!

Dear secretary...

Dear Secretary,

We all need to vent now and then about work, especially when it is busy and stressful. The problem is that this month you complain every day about basic things that are your job. No one likes work. That is why it is called work. You are not a victim. Actually, we pay you, praise you constantly, and let you go home at 5:00pm every day.

Get over it.

Love,
The Bitch Down the Hall

nothing

My life right now is a haze of nothingness brought on by the shiny new sinus infection. The GREAT thing about a sinus infection is that an entire day can go by without any real thinking or other imprinting on my life story. I can easily sit and watch the fishbowl screen saver for hours.

The BETTER thing about a sinus infection is that I've actually had time to sleep as much as my body wants, which is a lot. Dreams have been awesome. Sex dreams, relationship dreams with friends from the 3rd grade, tornado dreams, scenerios in which I get to tell off an ex-boyfriend, and all other vivid awesomeness that comes from drug-enhanced sick sleep.

In the last couple of months, I have probably had more sex dreams than I've had in the last five years combined. That is really sad when I am only talking about 4-5 dreams total.

I can easily go months without thinking about sex more or less dreaming about it. My sabbatical from men and paralyzing fear of another UTI means that my nether regions are completely neglected. Though it is not a concern in my waking hours, apparently my body is working it out in my sleep. I have no hot and steamy dream memories to report on...sorry. Simply remembering that I had a sex dream is a big, big deal. I wonder if the swimming and green shakes has something to do with it. Or just a nice sinus infection.

Who cares why?? I will enjoy my happy dreams (with or without sex) for as long as possible! Soon life will take a turn and my dreamland will either turn stressful or disappear altogether. Maybe tonight I can outrun a tornado WITH that cute kid from the 3rd grade....