This morning I had a good cry because I have no strength in my hands. Of course, the cry was helped by a lack of sleep and a very stressful 24 hours.
You see, the tire on my car has been going flat. I re-filled it with air as the weekend unfolded, hoping to make it to Monday morning. It got worse as time passed...duh.
I really didn't want to call AAA. The local guy (the ONLY AAA guy in the area) is a creepy old man who ran his hand across my ass the first time he came to my house. I try to hold off on calling unless I am really desperate.
So I took my car at 1am in 25 degree weather to the sketchy gas station near my house. I refilled the air. When I got home, I could hear hissing out of the hole made by a nail. Thank you, construction crew near my work.
I tried to do a quick cover with a hot glue gun. It just blew bubbles in the glue. I tried to cover THAT with packing tape...no slowing of the air. Tried to find my fix-a-flat. No luck.
At 3 am, I realized that I have a new car! All of the parts are there to change the tire myself! Yay! I am saved!
But no. At 8 am, I enthusiastically went out to solve my own problem only to be reminded that I am a weak woman. I can't open the lid of a pickle jar.
My weak hands were unable to snap open the cover that held the jack to the car. I tried for 10 minutes. I cried. Tried again. Cried again.
While on hold with AAA, I kept trying to snap off that damned lid. Two hands, one hand, with a towel, with just thumbs. No luck.
So, because I am a weak woman with weak hands, I had to call Mr. Creepy to my house.
Wait 1 1/2 hours.
Try to avoid physical contact.
Watch helplessly as he changed my tire. (He didn't use my jack...no need to remove the stupid lid)
4 hours later, Wal-mart had my car all fixed up. Unfortunately, my soul and ego are still feeling victimized. Creepy old men in overalls can do that to you.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Ode to 32
I haven't posted much lately. It is sad. Why do I have little to say when I am not dating? In order to break this sadness, here is my ode to 32...
Why I like being 32:
I have a lot more fun being me. At some point in the last year, I became comfortable being silly, sad, happy, somber or however I want to be without feeling awkward. I enjoy kids a lot more because I'm not busy thinking about myself and my need to be cool while interacting with them.
Why I don't like being 32:
I am now painfully aware that if I want babies to come out of my stomach, I have to find the love of my life in the next 3-5 years. That is a lot of pressure. I'm not interested in dating right now. Even when I date like a whore, no relationship lasts longer than 3 weeks. Tick, tick, tick.
Why I like being 32:
I have a house full of stuff and it is all mine. I know where the nice china is, what groceries I need every week, where my messes are hidden (like behind every cabinet and door), and which sheets are best for winter. It is my home. And I own it...or at least 1/100th of it.
Why I don't like being 32:
I live alone, which means that there is no one else that I should clean for, cook for, or put my jeans back in the closet for. I am not old enough to be motivated to do these things on my own. I am old enough to be annoyed by it.
Why I like being 32:
I have recipes which are now "mine" and I can cook my own comfort food. All the spices are waiting in my cabinet and I can grab them without thinking. My freezer is full of frozen leftover soups and sauces for future dinners. People now ask me for recipes!
Why I don't like being 32:
I actually feel like crap when I eat crap. While it would be easy to eat pizza and fast food all the time, I pay the price if I do. If I eat too much sodium, fried food, grease, or starch I feel achy and tired. Damn.
Why I like being 32:
I know what looks good on me and what doesn't. Shopping is a much faster process because I can spot what won't work for my body type from yards away! This is also a golden age when you can get away with all kinds of style from funky to prudish. Half the world thinks you are ancient and the other half thinks you are a baby. Wear what the hell you want to wear!
Why I don't like being 32:
At this very minute, I have a lot of zits, gray hair, crazy hormones, newly found spider veins, and the beginning of wrinkles. That is wrong. We should have one or the other...not everything at once.
Why I like being 32:
I have excellent credit. This means that I've been a grown-up long enough to be a respectable member of society. I got a used car loan at 2.5%! Used! (this also means that I have a lot of debt, but we don't need to dwell on that)
I also have a great dog. I've had her for years now, so we live comfortably together. She isn't new and exciting like a college kid getting their first dog. She also isn't old and pitiful like our childhood dogs. We are equally wounded, still learning, and loveable. A good dog is a wonderful help while figuring out your 30's!
The end!
Why I like being 32:
I have a lot more fun being me. At some point in the last year, I became comfortable being silly, sad, happy, somber or however I want to be without feeling awkward. I enjoy kids a lot more because I'm not busy thinking about myself and my need to be cool while interacting with them.
Why I don't like being 32:
I am now painfully aware that if I want babies to come out of my stomach, I have to find the love of my life in the next 3-5 years. That is a lot of pressure. I'm not interested in dating right now. Even when I date like a whore, no relationship lasts longer than 3 weeks. Tick, tick, tick.
Why I like being 32:
I have a house full of stuff and it is all mine. I know where the nice china is, what groceries I need every week, where my messes are hidden (like behind every cabinet and door), and which sheets are best for winter. It is my home. And I own it...or at least 1/100th of it.
Why I don't like being 32:
I live alone, which means that there is no one else that I should clean for, cook for, or put my jeans back in the closet for. I am not old enough to be motivated to do these things on my own. I am old enough to be annoyed by it.
Why I like being 32:
I have recipes which are now "mine" and I can cook my own comfort food. All the spices are waiting in my cabinet and I can grab them without thinking. My freezer is full of frozen leftover soups and sauces for future dinners. People now ask me for recipes!
Why I don't like being 32:
I actually feel like crap when I eat crap. While it would be easy to eat pizza and fast food all the time, I pay the price if I do. If I eat too much sodium, fried food, grease, or starch I feel achy and tired. Damn.
Why I like being 32:
I know what looks good on me and what doesn't. Shopping is a much faster process because I can spot what won't work for my body type from yards away! This is also a golden age when you can get away with all kinds of style from funky to prudish. Half the world thinks you are ancient and the other half thinks you are a baby. Wear what the hell you want to wear!
Why I don't like being 32:
At this very minute, I have a lot of zits, gray hair, crazy hormones, newly found spider veins, and the beginning of wrinkles. That is wrong. We should have one or the other...not everything at once.
Why I like being 32:
I have excellent credit. This means that I've been a grown-up long enough to be a respectable member of society. I got a used car loan at 2.5%! Used! (this also means that I have a lot of debt, but we don't need to dwell on that)
I also have a great dog. I've had her for years now, so we live comfortably together. She isn't new and exciting like a college kid getting their first dog. She also isn't old and pitiful like our childhood dogs. We are equally wounded, still learning, and loveable. A good dog is a wonderful help while figuring out your 30's!
The end!
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