Tuesday, June 25, 2013

I'm going to skip this day next year

  After you're 21, birthdays just aren't that fun anymore. They're quite disappointing. I always look forward to the day, and then gradually hate it more and more as the day passes. This year is no exception. I made the choice to work. I could have requested it off, but, not, why would I do something sensible like that? Instead, I began my day at seven and grumbled all day. I was exhausted for one. It's been unbelievably hot at night and I don't have an air conditioner. At some point, during the past two nights, I've stripped off all of my clothing only to sweat just as much in my nudity. The heat is unbearable. Plus, there's a nightingale that starts his shit up every night around one o'clock. It drives me to the brink of insanity.I was tired and impatient all day because of it.  After work, I met up with the boyfriend to go for dinner. That didn't go well, either. Our server was an uncaring, distracted girl. I kept yearning for the man who seated us to take over our service. When he brought us extra napkins, I almost begged him to wait on us instead of her. Another possible mistake was drinking two frozen margaritas. It tends to exacerbate your bad feelings. Things were ok, until it was time for the check. Then, I hear the words "Two checks, please". What. The. Shit. Two? I guess I just expected to get treated on my birthday. I mean, am I wrong? Maybe I am. Maybe I'm a total, pampered ass. But, man, when I heard that, suddenly I was re-evaluating everything. How can he be so amazing in every other way? Is this some kind of karmic trade off? He can be courteous, loving, sweet and adoring, but he'll never pay for your birthday dinner. Am I that shallow that I let it bother me? Yes, apparently I am. Well, that and I didn't get anything. Not a card or anything. I thought he would treat me to dinner. Hell, even Non-boyfriend admitted he didn't get me anything for Valentine's Day but would've taken me to dinner, had we met up. I didn't hide my emotions well, though. He knew I was upset and ended up paying for dinner. I felt like an ass. The rest of the night was him falling asleep for a bit and me crying for about an hour straight. It's just so baffling. He's absolutely amazing. Like the things he says to me give me goosebumps. He told me today that he glimpsed at me sleeping last night and I looked like a movie star, I was so lovely to him. I mean, that's the shit. I've never had a guy say such sweet things to me. And, this is on a daily basis. So, I felt bad about getting upset. He's a great guy and treats me so well that I think it built up these weird expectations in my head of how the day would be. I mean, in the end, I would much rather hear these wonderful things and not get treated special on my birthday. It's like when you're sick and you make those imaginary deals with God or some deity. "Please, God, if I get better I swear to never..." Or whatever is going on that you don't want happening and you'd trade something off for it to go away. In some feverishly lonely moment, I probably made one of these pacts. "Please, give me a strapping, handsome man who puts me on a pedestal and compliments me abundantly. I will give up good birthdays forever!" For now, I just appreciate my many friends who wished me a happy birthday and every other, normal day with my boyfriend.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013


  I've been sick the past two days. When I'm sick, I compare the current sickness to past ones, kind of like relationships. This one is bad, but I've had much worse. The worst was when I threw up 23 times in one day. I was living in Columbus with Bob. Bob always thought I was a hypochondriac. In reality, I'm just a very sickly person. I get every sickness that goes around. Naturally, this time, he didn't take it seriously. Until he found me on the floor of the hallway near the bathroom and I informed him how many times I threw up. Even when I went into labor, he tried to talk me into waiting and going to the doctor the next day. On his behalf, I wasn't due for another month. Our views on my health were always at the opposite end of the spectrum.
  More recently, I caught an awful case of the flu when I was seeing NBF. He was very ill with the flu and I went to give him Gatorade. That's what caring, non-girlfriends do. Unfortunately for me, I caught his bug. I was having lunch with him and not feeling well at all. Thankfully, I left and made it home just in time to projectile vomit in my bathroom. I'm convinced I could have knocked a man down with the force of it. In addition, I was also violently shitting. That reminded me of having the flu at the same time as Viggo. He was in the bathroom being sick. I was urging him to be quick because I was sick. Then, he got to see his own mother shit her pants. One toilet + two cases of the flu=soiled mom pants and years of therapy ahead, I'm sure. It's probably karma for him drowning me like a shower in puke when he was three. He had a weird two weeks where he did nothing but puke. We thought he was fine, until we drove to WV to visit Bob's family and he rained puke upon me. He does this weird thing where he paces when he's puking, too. It's like a vomit fire hose. I puke silently like a model with an eating disorder. Then, I cry. Well, except for the last time I was sick. Then, I loudly barfed like a man. Men are so loud when they threw up. I remember Bob having the flu. It sounded like he was murdering seals in the bathroom.
  I think the worst part of this current sickness is how the toilet here doesn't flush all that well. Seeing the remainders of your revisited dinner only inspires more sickness. I made the mistake of thinking I was better last night and ate ice cream with the handsome Vasily. On our way back, we sat down to rest. Good thing, because I felt like I was going to simultaneously shit and puke. I kept this to myself. Not the impression you want to make on your new boyfriend. However, I couldn't hide it for long and ended up dying a bit on my bed. I've been here ever since, baking in the heat like Colonel Kurtz without his beloved followers. If I had a follower, they would have been sent to fetch me a Sprite. Hopefully, I'll be better tomorrow. For now, it's more rest and Arrested Development.

Monday, June 3, 2013


  It's that time of month. Well, almost. It's coming. It should be feared like "Winter is coming" in Game Of Thrones. This one is going to be a doozy. My periods are either very emotional or very physical. Luckily, they're one or the other. Sometimes I feel I should equip myself with a bomb shelter and hole up until it's over. This is one of those times. There's lots of anger brewing inside me. Uncontrollable, Hulk-like rage. Today, I just found myself indiscriminately yelling at people as I drove. I was like Archie Bunker behind the wheel. "Look out, van of Jews!" or "Don't pull out on your bike, Chinaman." and "Watch out, white dude!" I felt like everyone was conspiring against me to get to work. This is after waiting 20 minutes for my roommate to get out of the shower and move his car because he blocked me in. How much manscaping can you do? I thought guys just washed their junk, their hair and bailed. I don't know what took him so long. So, late for work, lack of sleep and premenstrual craziness did not add up for good times. This period seems to have brought immense anxiety over money, too. I feel like I should be chain smoking like Denis Leary as I stress over things. Not enough money for the bills and shit I need. How much more can I scale back? I already eat Chef Boyardee everyday for my lunch/dinner. My only luxury is a cup of coffee at work. If I have to give that up, I'll cause someone grievous, bodily harm, for sure. I've seriously contemplated selling my used underwear online for extra cash. Yes, it really exists. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Or dirty underwear. I've researched it; you can also sell stockings. Really a cash cow, if you're so inclined. Am I? It's starting to look better and better. When I see people buying frivolous things, I get enraged. This is most likely how Marx got started. He was probably coming home from buying his Spaghetti-o's and saw someone at Panera reading their Kindle and eating an $8 sandwich. This happens to me almost everyday. One day, I'll snap, yelling "Aristocrats!" out my window. For now, I'll just sit here and stress  and listen to my stomach growling.