The last boob panic of 2014

  The boy is staying with the family for his Christmas vacation. He can play with his cousins and enjoy his vacation. I decided it's a good time to watch R rated movies, eat Indian food, and drink wine. For the past two nights, I drink a glass of wine, get drunk from one glass, take a wine nap and then cry because I miss my child. So, having a real blast. V asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told him a boyfriend. I think Santa heard me, but in his old age, got it wrong. Instead of a boyfriend, I got texts from an ex wanting to get back together. Because my life needs more complications.
  Last night, during my bath, I noticed my left boob seemed extra heavy. My boobs have been sore for the past week. I took it all in stride because my period just ended. If you're thinking this is TMI, you should know that's my jam by now. Also, for anyone thinking it's a pregnancy, shut it. I can't even remember what sex is like at this point. It's probably the only time I've been relieved I haven't had sex in so long because I could rule that out.
  Like most women, I have one bigger breast, my left one, also known as the bad one. It's the one that had the lump and the biopsy. Most recently, it had another lump, also benign. Last night, I noticed it's almost twice the size of the other one. Straight panic set in. Why is this boob so much bigger?! My first thought is, great, I have to go to a doctor and explain that I need my boob looked at because it's bigger. This is after my last doctor visit where I couldn't poop. This man is going to think I have issues. I really need to see a gyno. I haven't seen one since the golden child was born. I know, this is horrendous. It's the appointment all women hate to make. Someone is all up in your lady business and it's strictly clinical. My last doctor knew I worked at a bookstore and always asked book questions while she was down there. "So, what's the newest John Grisham?" I don't want to talk while you're pinching something inside my inner sanctum. I tend to giggle during the breast exam, too. It's a whole weird scene. Not something I'm anxious to experience again soon. 
  I'm not even sure I'm not imagining it all. Maybe it's always like this. I felt the immediate need to text every ex and ask if they remember the difference in my boobs, but felt that wasn't appropriate. They might remember, though! One ex did drunk text me recently and tell me they were the best he's ever seen. He might be some help. I feel he may think he needs a fresh examination, which isn't going to happen. This is definitely something I would've asked Bob. He would've been reassuring about it, too. Can't ask the Russian. It's the height of complication with him right now.

  I'm thinking and hoping it's just hormones. I want it to deflate like a Macy's balloon after Thanksgiving. 

The holidays

  I've heard a statistic that the holidays of Thanksgiving through Christmas are statistically high for depression. It makes sense. It's a time of family gatherings and if you've lost any family or don't have close ties, it makes you sad. So many great people were lost to us this year. I had a high school friend who lost his son, another who lost her father. My sister in law's best friend lost her dad. Just recently, my niece lost her stepmom. She was a wife, and mother to a young boy. And the Flemings lost Bob. These people were all around last year for these days and now they're gone. Thanksgiving was hard for me. I felt so guilty for being with Bob's family. He should have been there. I love them all so much and being with them is one of the few things that makes me happy. But, my being there meant he wasn't. It was hard to shake. I mean, I've felt that way since his death. It should have been me. He was the better parent. He had so many people who loved him so much. Why was such a loved man taken? His family is so wonderful to me. They treat me better than my own. I'm so happy to be reconnected with them. But, I feel the guilt.
  I haven't really dealt with his passing fully. I feel like it isn't right to grieve in a weird way. We were still separated when he died. He had a girlfriend and a new life. My mind doesn't know where to file any of these feelings that I have. It hits me at odd times, most likely because it's very unresolved. I left the grocery store in tears one day because they were playing Toto's "Africa". Bob and Viggo used to love that song and sing it together.How silly is that? The hardest was the night before Viggo's Christmas program. I remembered how, every year, Bob and I would sit together. We'd laugh and joke and catch up with each other. Even though we separated, we stayed cordial and friendly. This was my first year without that. I would sit alone, cheering on our boy. I felt anger and grief all in one almost undefinable emotion. Once again, I felt it wasn't right that he was missing and I was there. It's just such bullshit. It doesn't make sense.
  The next morning, I sat in the packed auditorium. Beside me was an empty seat that, miraculously, never filled. Instead of sadness, I felt like he was there. When Viggo saw me in the crowd, a huge smile spread across his face. Of course, he was a total ham onstage. Neither of us felt the absence of his father. Instead, we felt the presence of each other.
  I don't think you ever heal from someone's death as much as you scar over.

Weird couple of weeks

  The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of craziness. Topping the crazy was the addition of a cat to our household. Believe me, I didn't want another crazy in this apartment. The boy wanted one. All for him. To make matters worse, it's a kitten. I wanted to adopt an older cat. Instead we got the emotional equivalent to me- a needy kitten. She's very adorable and sooo loving. But, when she wants to brush against my face in the middle of the night, I feel a murderous rage. I haven't slept well since she arrived. Luckily, she lets the child sleep. I'm the focus of her attention. If I don't pet her, she bites my nose. She is me in cat form. This is karma. Or Sparta. I can't decide.
  With the holidays approaching, I had car problems, of course. Driving home from work, I hear a dragging sound coming from the car. I pulled over to the nearest gas station. My exhaust pipe was hanging from the car, dragging on the ground. So, there's me, in dress, under the car trying to tie it with a string. Needless to say, that didn't work. When I emerged from the car, a middle-aged, black guy approached me to help. Saying he didn't have wire, he couldn't do much. He offered me a ride, which I declined. He then asked if I "party". I don't know what the hell that meant. I replied with "I'm a mom." He told me I was beautiful and wished he could have helped. I walked home with blackened hands and twigs in my hair.
  Believe it or not, things got better. I phoned a good friend to see if he was around to ride me from home back to the car to get it towed. He wasn't, however he listened to me sob like a maniac. He offered his help and said "You're not in this alone." Those were the most beautiful words I could have heard. I felt like a weight had been lifted. Since Bob died, it has been a daunting task doing this alone. Just thinking about it terrifies me. I've been so stressed and scared, but I haven't told anyone. I need to be strong. When I heard those words, I broke. This friend has been so supportive. For the first time in months, I felt relief. Those words were the equivalent of a million hugs. I'm truly indebted to him for everything. So, I was able to get my shit together. A tow driver from Stickles towing met me at the gas station. He wasn't just a tow truck driver, he was an angel. He said I could drive it to the repair place, without needing a tow. He was going to strap the piece under my car, but he didn't have his strap on him. He offered to follow me there, since I was nervous. He, then, drove me back home. He refused to take any money. I told him he was an angel. That night, two men restored my faith in humanity. I had some Christmas presents stashed away already, so it didn't ruin the boy's Christmas.
  Work has been crazy due to that time of year. I have my yearly cold and sled dog cough going on. I can deal with it because I have peace for once in a long time.

Eharmony should be for blind people

  I'm becoming way too familiar with the various dating sites. Why have I become that girl? It sucks. In fact, I think this past month of being on these sites has created a deep depression. I had three days off and spent two of them wearing the same sweatpants and no makeup.

  I was on Eharmony for two days and that was more than enough. Granted, they ask a lot of questions to find someone compatible. Good strategy. I'm in complete agreement with that. What I didn't like was having to pay for this service. Three installments of having to pay for this service. But, that little inner voice was saying "You're not getting any younger." So, after payment, it whittled down my choices and I finally got to see some profile pictures. Sweet Jesus. It was not pretty. It was like a mix of a police line up and the next season of Biggest Loser (no offense to either of these institutions.) I then, narrowed it down to two guys, but it was still bad. Those were my options-two guys who I would never want to go out with. Basically, if I wanted to find my "perfect match", I had to accept that I wouldn't be remotely attracted to them. Total bullshit. After close to ten minutes on the phone with their operator, I got a refund. I recommend this site if you like your love in the dark or hate wearing your glasses.
  I had much better luck with Tinder, which is the exact opposite of Eharmony. Tinder is just a profile picture and you swipe left if it's a no and right if it's a yes. You can only communicate if you're a match with someone, which cuts down on most of the creeps. Of course, they still slink through. I had one guy send me a message asking if I "suck it". I responded by saying "No, but obviously you do." One guy was model gorgeous, but had a picture of Ted Bundy in his profile pics. After seeing his flat stomach, I declared if that was how I had to go, then at least I'd be pleased by the sight. Finally, I met one really cute, adorable guy. He stopped into the store and we seemed to hit it off. My co-workers declared we had chemistry. We texted back and forth for a week. Lots of witty banter. I loved it. And then, all of a sudden, he stopped responding. No reason. Quite depressing. I can't even get to first base. I decided I should start a new feature for dating sites- the exit interview. It doesn't have to be complicated. In fact, it could be multiple choice. You send something like this to the person you no longer want to communicate to-
  Hey (insert name), I'm not going to text anymore. Here's why(please choose as many as deemed appropriate)
  A. I found someone else.
  B. I got back with an ex.
  C. I think I'm gay.
  D. I felt meh about you from the start and decided not to continue our texting.
  E. I was just bored and you helped spend some of my bored time.
  F. I have Ebola and I'm quarantined.
  G. I'm dead.
  H. You're an emotionally, needy vacuum of a person.
I would appreciate a reason, whatever it may be. It's not asking for much. Hell, throw in some honesty. How am I ever going to learn if I don't know what went wrong?
  The media isn't helping my post breakup mood, either. If I hear of one more of societies rejects like Charles Manson or Honey Boo Boo's mom finding love, I'm going to drive my fist through the wall. 

Take a day off

  I'm writing this in between breaks from eating. I'm one of those "emotional eaters" and eat my sadness. Anytime I feel down, I usually grab some comfort in food. This is why I have to refer to myself as "curvy" in dating profiles. I'm not overweight, but I'll never be thin in anyone's eyes.
  Life has just been stressful. I mean, everyone has their shit. Mine's the same as anyone else's. Work, love life, money, blah, blah, etc. I thought I was healing from my recent breakup with the Russian, when yesterday felt like a band aid being ripped off.
  We had a mutual break up, but were wishy-washy as to whether it was the right decision or not. My main issue was never seeing him.He's in school, which takes a lot of his time. I get it, I work full-time and have a kid. I'm the epitome of busy.  So, we split. There were texts and emails back and forth, debating about what to do. We agreed to the end of this month for a final decision.
  I had written him an email about a week ago, saying I care for him and I could deal with not seeing him while he's in school. The main thing is that we made each other happy. Quality over quantity. This was his response, I shit you not-"I'm recovering from some kind of illness. I don't know what it is. I have a ton of stuff to do now. I'll write you later." Days passed. I could only assume he had Ebola. Now, I kind of wish he had. He texted yesterday asking how I was and reminding me of our agreement. I told him I still felt the same. He told me he missed sex with me. Great. That's heartwarming. Thanks, buddy. But, he didn't miss me enough for us to get back together. Congrats. You've joined the list of men who have told me they are still physically attracted to me but hate my personality. It's a real pick me up. I've always thought the opposite about myself- I think I'm funny and kind and hate looking at myself. My heart is already a post-apocalyptic wasteland.  This is why people love pets. A fucking dog never looks at you and says "You're hot, but I hate talking to you." If one did, it would be a Youtube sensation.
  I feel raw again. Angry and sad. Crying in the bathtub. Hiding it from my child because he's already dealt with too many tears in his small lifetime. I fucking suck it up and eat my feelings. I'm so thankful I have him. He told me to take a day off today and not do anything. This is remarkable because he wants a sandwich every five minutes, just like my late grandfather. He's willing to forgo that for a day for my happiness and sanity. It's not going to happen. I have to do laundry. Besides, taking care of him makes me happy. My last bastion of happiness. I don't think anyone could ever fit into this household anyway. We're a very close knit duo. No man other than his dad ever fit in. No man ever will.
  Frankly, my chances are snagging someone at this age with my life are extremely slim. I have a better probability of being struck by lightning or attacked by a shark.  I think that was the mad panic for the idea of staying with the Russian. Hey, we don't have anything other than physical in common, but I don't want to be alone. It's not the right reasons. So, maybe he's doing me a favor. I haven't really craved a mate as much as before. Except when I see Adam Scott's character on Parks and Recreation for he is my dream man. Other than that, I'm fine. I think love is dead. It's not actually, It's just rare like a double rainbow or a retail day without any rude customers. The greatest couple I know is my sister in law, Nikki and her husband, Kirk. They have a true and beautiful love. It's the only thing that keeps me from thinking love is dead.
 

Let's not talk about contraception

  I finally made it to the doctor a couple of weeks ago. It was my six month checkup, but I was geared up to find a solution to my month long pooplessness. Seriously, a month is way too long to go without using the bathroom. I was distressed. My usual doctor is a very nice, older Egyptian man. However, this time, I got a young, attractive Egyptian man. Of course, because I would be discussing my bowels. First, he starts off asking about my breast because last I was there I had a weird lump in my breast. Nope, all good, let's move onto worse things. After I painfully explain my situation, he starts to think. Any changes in diet? How often do you normally go? Then, for whatever reason, comes this question "Contraception?"
  "No" I shake my head, but this only puzzles him more.
  "The pill? Condom? Contraception?"
At this point, I'm really flustered and blurt out "NO, There's no one! There's no reason!" which seemed to solve the issue. All the while, my child is sitting in a chair in the room. I swear after that he seemed friendlier to me. Almost like he was considering the fact that I was manless. He sees old people all day, so a woman in her forties is like Kate Upton in his eyes. There were a lot of awkward smiles and gentle brushing away of my hair when he looked into my ears during the examination. Plus, I couldn't understand a word he was saying. Thankfully, my regular doctor came in, and to my chagrin, performed the exact same examination. He seemed to think my problem stemmed from changing my anxiety medication. For a month, I was on Paxil, not pooping and recently broken hearted. I was a bitch. Joan Crawford was probably nicer than I was that month.  He wrote me out a prescription and gave me two boxes of stool softeners. This seems to have solved the issue. God bless that man. I was singing his praises the first time I was able to go. I know this is all too much information, but if you're reading my blog I think you've surmised by now that too much information is my thing.
  Now, I'm fully regular, but still not needing that contraception.

Yesterday was Fight Club and I don't want to talk about it

  Yesterday was monumentally bad. In fact, the Travel Channel is starting a new show hosted by Don Wildman called Monumental Shitty and the first episode is devoted to this day. (Viggo would appreciate that joke)
  Somehow I realized that there were messages sent to me on Facebook that I've never seen before. Lots of people I didn't know and one I wished I've never met-my ex's wife. She seems to think I made a fake profile for her. She then proceeded to say my kid was messed up in the head for being my kid, that I'm old and so on. If she ever mentions my kid again, she has a whole list of people ready to give her a piece of their mind. I'm top of that list. My friends made some very good points about the message. One friend said that insulting a child is very sick and that she could be charged with telecommunications harassment if she persists. Plus, "She looks like a horse and he got chubby. I crept." God bless, Kate. You are my hero.
  Several other friends stated that she seems pretty psycho to still be creeping on me. It's weird, very Single White Female of her, I agree. Constantly looking at my LinkedIn profile which has never changed since I started it is VERY weird. She's unhinged. Oddly, I had wished them happiness. Now, I'm pretty sure no one should get stuck with that kind of crazy. It would be like the Michael Douglas character marrying Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. Another friend said she probably made the fake profile herself just to accuse me of making it. I agree. The whole thing has a Gone Girl tinge to it. If she keeps it up, I will see what I can do about a restraining order or whatnot. Never mess with my child.
  After all that nonsense, I get a text from my mom. Two psychos in one day is way too much. She's finally learned to text. At least they aren't drunken phone calls. Since I'm not speaking to her anymore, I agreed to give her my address so she could send Viggo letters. I'm not going to keep him away from her like she did with me and my Dad's parents. I get this infuriating text - "A fake address. Really?" She claimed a letter was returned saying it wasn't a real address. Yes, the "not a real address" stamp that is so popular at the post office. Anyway, after I texted back that it is indeed a real address, I don't know what to tell you, she said she's sick of playing games. Dear sweet baby Jesus in the manger help me keep my sanity. I realized I had told her the wrong zip code, which seemed to somehow connect in the ball of crazy that is her head and she shut up.
  If you've met me for five minutes, you know I'm not a fan of drama, games or anything similar. I like things easy like a Sunday morning, man. Have you ever noticed that people who say they're sick of playing games are the ones who love them? I want to breeze through my day on an even keel. This probably stems from my childhood which was saturated with drama due to my mother. When I would stay with her on the weekends, it was 24/7 fighting with her boyfriends. I hated it more than anything. I would cower in another room, covering my ears from the shouting. It's why I'm so passive as an adult- I swore I would never be that way. My marriage had a total of maybe three big fights. So, if anyone thinks I'm sitting here like Shonda Rhimes, working on some drama, you're surely mistaken. It's more like a Buddhist trying to usher a spider out the door instead of killing it.
  At the end of the night, I sat in the bathtub. listening to the Walkmen, sobbing. Is it a ying yang thing? If you lead a normal life, must weirdness attack you to even out the universe?  Fuck this universe. Seriously. Any world that would take a great guy like Bob out of it is horrendous. This is what rules it, the crazies and the maniacs. It doesn't matter what good is out there, it gets stomped out by some monster going out her way to say shit about a kid. That's the world. These people run it.
  I feel like Wyle E. Coyote after an ACME anvil smashes him into the desert sand. Fucking defeated. After Bob died, I feel like I'm walking on an ice lake, ready to fall through. His death has haunted me. I'm carrying so much weight. And it breaks, breaks, breaks thinking of the pain his family feels. I never dealt with my own pain. I can't. I have to do this, you know. I have this boy to care for. A leaf could blow me over and I'm plunging into the darkness. I want to be left alone. I want the crazies out of my life. I'm becoming someone I don't want to be.
  I don't know how to fix anything, so I maintain. It's all I can do. We Can't Be Beat by the Walkmen plays in my heart-hopeful lyrics followed by a sad melody. This shit has to be dirt off my shoulder because my priority is making my kid's life as normal and good as can be. Bury this shit with any other pain or anger that dwells inside of me into a deep, dark pit. Fucking bury it.

Keep your day job

  I've been in this awful mood since the break up. It's relentless and has attached itself to me wherever I go, especially at work. So, yesterday when we had to participate in a mandatory storytime, I was less than enthused. All month long, we've been having weekly storytimes  dedicated to one book and it culminated into yesterday's big event. All the managers participated. Not eager to read aloud, lead a parade or make hats, I chose to face paint. I think I've done it once before and honestly, how hard could it be?
  The book is very cute and funny and the kids were quite adorable, which helped lighten my monstrous mood. Right after the story came my time. A very excited little boy rushed over to be first. We went to the table and he watched as I struggled to open the little tube of paint and pick out a little brush. Since the theme of the book was crayons, I thought it would be a great choice to paint one on his little round cheek. His enthusiasm was brimming as was mine. I was actually enjoying myself. A co-worker joined me and started painting a little girl's face. My joy was quickly dashed when, to my horror, I realized my green crayon looked exactly like a penis. Mortified, I tried adjusting it with more paint, only to make it appear even more phallic. I tried to offset my blunder by painting a balloon attached to a string on his other cheek. I gave up when I realized it only looked like sperm. Great, a penis and sperm. His parents were all happy saying "Let's get a picture." I grimaced and started on his baby brother's cheek. No more crayons or balloons with string. Thankfully, my co-worker whispered in my ear "My crayon looked obscene." He was having the same trouble. I mean, this kid's parents had to think that's what it looked like. They have three kids. They're well versed on genitalia at this point. I was thrilled to see that my shift was up and I tore out of there before I could see anyone's reaction to my artwork.
  The moral to this story is never try to paint a crayon on a kid's cheek. Plain and simple.
 

Autumn of my discontent

  I'm depressed. No, I'm beyond depressed. My year and a half relationship has ended. I suppose it was inevitable, but I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared for it. For once in my life, I wasn't dumped or doing the dumping. We came to the decision mutually and it was painful for both of us. On my end, I never see him and it was causing anger and resentment. On his end, he never wants marriage ( I don't either, but he kept bringing it up) and will never live with me. He mentioned not wanting to stay in the country, too. Throw in a twenty year age difference and, voila, you have a break up. We care for each other very much, but neither of us thinks it will last. He said he felt like an asshole because we never saw each other. I felt like I was keeping him from a normal life. Eventually, I'm sure he'll want to have kids (without the dreaded marriage) and this lady isn't popping out any more babies, as much as I'd like to.
  My friends have been so wonderful. I immediately got so many nice condolences. Two friends threatened to beat him up before I explained it was a mutual split. Everyone expressing their love and concern made me feel good. I'm taking it rough. One night I cried into my lasagna. This food should always be eaten and not cried upon. Most of the time, I'm in a dreadful mood. I'm sure my co-workers are delighted with me. But, I can't help it. I loved him. I know there are worse things going on in the world, but it's become a huge fragment of my thoughts.
  Already concerned with aging and weight gain, the burden of possibly dating again makes me think it's a lost cause. I'm not in the best shape. I think about exercising, but when I get home from work, I can't fathom the thought. Tonight, I bought a facial exercising book. Rightfully so, my co-workers laughed. But, twice this week, I've had two people clearly in their sixties talk to me as if I were their same age. I was talking about where I grew up with someone's mother and they asked if I knew so and so and said "Oh, he may be a few years older than you.' Yeah, he is. He's my friend's dad! We aren't even close to the same age. Another guy was talking about a TV station that plays old shows like Petticoat Junction and Mary Tyler Moore. He said "You remember those shows." Freakin' Petticoat Junction?! No, I wasn't born. Now, I do remember Mary Tyler Moore, but I was a child. Do I look 20 years older than I am? Please, no one answer that. Sweet Moses, I've got to get to working this face until head transplants become a thing. How I managed to land my hot, twenty-three year old ex is beyond me.
  I've got my boy with me and that's enough on my plate for now. Trying to be two parents is pretty time consuming and leaves little time for a relationship anyway. But, I mourn the loss of this one. I hope he has a wonderful life.

September, you suck.

  I feel bad complaining about things, because, overall, I have it pretty good. Lots of people have it a lot worse. So, I sometimes tell myself to shut it. But, a few things are bothering me.
  For one, I'm so poor right now. After putting over $400 into my shit car, I can't seem to get caught up. I just got paid today and I literally have less than $60 left. I desperately needed new shoes. If you've ever seen me walk, you know that I walk pigeon toed. It's gross and severely wears out the inside of my shoes, then making my feet hurt like crazy. It's also exacerbating the newly forming varicose veins on my legs. Sexy, I know. I had to get these shoes. Also needed was a frying pan and food to feed my child properly. Thankfully, he loves Ramen noodles, but, good gravy, one can't eat that everyday. Now, I'm bone broke.
  The worst problem occurring lately is the absence of pooping. I know it's t.m.i, but it's true. It's been two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Normally, it's like clockwork. I've never had a problem. For unknown reasons, it's left me like a deadbeat dad out to get some milk. I had to make a wish the other day and, swear to God, I wished to poop. Some might suggest to get medicine. Oh, I did that. You know what happens? The goddamn opposite. It was like I was peeing out of my butt. There has been no in between. Who wants to go to a doctor about this?  "Oh, what are you here for?" "I haven't pooped." Yeah, that's not embarrassing at all.
  Almost as absent is my sex life. I literally have a hard time remembering the last time. It's beyond ridiculous. My boyfriend has returned to school, which keeps him busy.  Before this, we saw each other, maybe once a week. Now, that's out of the question. I'm not really understanding it. Sure, he's busy, but, really? I think I've seen him twice since we've moved. I might as well be in a long distance relationship. Any guys in Alaska need a girlfriend? I honestly don't know why I bother.
  Driving home tonight, I missed hitting a guy on a bike by inches. He was coming down a hill at top speed and rode directly in front of me. Luckily, I'm on point while driving and missed him. He flipped a curb and crashed in the grass, unscathed. I was so relieved he was alright. We both laughed it off, but I came home and fixed a stiff drink. I'm not pooping, I feel like I have a fever everyday, there's no boyfriend, I'm being questioned about Transformers every five seconds and my head hurts. I'm a little cranky. But, I have cable and internet. It's lessening the pain. In the meantime, I will continue to be a raving, irrational maniac.

Motive

  I try to figure out the psychology behind what people do a lot. In fact, I would've loved to have become a psychologist or psychiatrist. Motives are sometimes honest or have underlying causes that are disturbing. I try to keep my own honest, if only for my own clear conscience.  

  Lately, I've been pondering over one, but I think I've deduced it. My Linkedin profile is very boring. Nothing has changed about it since it's inception. However, I've been getting some profile views. It's my ex's wife. This is the ex who cheated. This is the woman he cheated with, whom he has recently wed. I'm wondering why she's looking at my profile. I haven't spoken with him in forever. Our last encounter was a tearful goodbye at Starbucks.  He explained that if he were to make his relationship work with her then he and I couldn't remain friends. A shame, but I understood. We both agreed that he should do whatever to make it work. He didn't want to lie to her about hanging out with me and didn't want there to be fights if he were honest about meeting up with me. Considering how they met, there seem to be trust issues. Quite honestly, in my worst moments, I never helped those fears for her. For some time, I held lots of resentment for what I felt was deceit and betrayal. We weren't the most welcoming to each other. But, she surprisingly sought me out when his cat died. That gesture showed me she genuinely cared for him. I had healed and felt I could even get to know her. She seemed like a caring girl. But, I think it was too much of an issue, which I understand. So, the ex and I parted ways. The only time we've had contact since was after Bob died. I emailed the ex because he was a part of V's life and I just felt he should know, in a weird way. He needn't reply, I said in the email. But, he's a good guy, so he expressed his condolences. Recently, I noticed she had viewed my profile a couple of times. Odd, right? Seeing her new last name, I felt happy for them. Then, I realized that must be the motive. She wants me to see they've been married. Not sure why, though. I am happy for them. He and I never would've worked out. I never would've trusted him again, for one. 

  I remember right after I found out about the affair, we were trying to make it work. I was going through so much shit. I'd just had surgery for fibroids and a biopsy on my breast. He got me my first ever manicure and pedicure at this Eastern European place in Pittsburgh. Throughout the pedicure, he kept going outside to take phone calls. Naturally suspicious now, I suspected it was her. I didn't enjoy the pedicure one bit because of it. We got into a fight. Apparently, he was calling his mom to figure out a proper tip. But, I stood my ground. 

  "It's only been two weeks!," I yelled. "It's going to take time to trust you again."

  The time never came because he broke up with me after Christmas. However much it hurt, it was for the best. He never put me first and I never trusted him again. He was wanting to find a job in other parts of the country and I had a child that I would never move far from. Staying friends was lost as an option for him to make things work with her. It was a joint decision. And, I do wish them the best. They have some issues to work through. I just hope I can be left out of them. I guess I'm just hoping that she can grant me that much. If we all can't be friends, then know that I'm happy for you both, wish you the best. Marriage can be so wonderful. You have that partner to share all things together. I loved being married. Just don't let it get stale. Keep your insecurities to a minimum. I learned from my mistakes. Having to do it all over, I'd never give him a day to regret. So, keep these things in mind, my dear. You have a wonderful opportunity. Don't waste time on things in the past, like me. Focus on the future and your happiness. That's all that matters. Make each other happy. Know that it takes works and it's not always easy. If you're lucky, you'll enjoy your golden years together. I wish you lots of love and memories. Those can be taken away too soon. Life is but a blink of the eye. Make every minute count. 

New place

  We've officially been in our new apartment for almost a month. We LOVE it. To compare it to the old place would be like going from dating George Costanza to Don Draper. There's tons of sunlight, all hardwood floors. It's gorgeous. It reminds me of a bungalow in California. Of course, there are some first world inconveniences. We haven't had cable or internet this whole time. I owed a ton of money to comcast. After paying it off, our scheduled hook up date got pushed back. Most of the time, we were fine. I read three books this month. Viggo has occupied himself playing with toys and using his imagination. However, it's getting to us. We could hear our neighbor downstairs watching Doctor Who. It was like a sirens call. I wanted to beg him to let us watch it with him even though I hadn't met him, yet. We've resorted to DVDs. I've thirsted for something to watch so much that I've watched the awful Transformers movie twice. At night, we've been watching season three of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. Viggo loves the shit out of it. Maybe not the best show for a ten year old to watch. I learned this the other day when he asked what an abortion is. Horrified, I asked why he wanted to know. He replied, "That's what Charlie's mom had." He's also taken to fake cussing. Saying things like "holy sit" and "son of a bench". The era of Sunny is coming to an end. 

  I've taken to taking showers. Anyone that knows me knows I panic in the shower. Water gets in my eyes and it immediately see dragons in my head and freak out. Don't ask me why. But, our water pressure here is little to nil. I tried washing my hair in the sink, like usual. The pipes started making this screaming noise. I'm too old and stiff to maneveur washing it in the bathtub. Plus, my hair looks like Jerry's did in the episode of Seinfeld when his water pressure changed. (Yes, my second Seinfeld reference. If you don't like it, shut it.)

  The other bad thing is Viggo has to walk home from school. Baffling, because there's a school literally a few blocks away. However, they changed the districts and he now goes to a school not quite a mile away. I get him to school but he has to walk home. I immediately called him when he got home his first day. He told me he had to "take a lot of risks" walking.  

  "First, the was no crossing guard. Then, there were 15 bees and I had to cross the street. I had to take an alternate route because some man was mowing the grass, getting it all over the sidewalk. I didnt want to get my shoes dirty and I didn't want to disturb him by asking him to stop so I took another route." 

  Luckily, he's fine on his walks and enjoys school. He's made two friends named Thomas. One lives on our street & they have a lot in common. He's Thomas Fry or "Fryguy" as Viggo has nicknamed him. 

  Life is very good. We're very happy. Tomorrow, we're finally getting cable and internet. My friend, Mark, bought us a totally kickass tv. We're going to be living the life of Riley. For the first time, in a long time, we're both very happy. 

Happy to be moving

  We finally got a place of our own and we're moving this weekend. It's been well over a year since I last lived on my own. I'm not going to miss this place at all. This past week has been such a shit show here. 

  Last weekend, I packed the majority of our belongings. I worked all week and knew it was the only time to pack. So, I don't know if that confused my roommate, Steve, or what because the next day, the new roommate started moving her stuff in. At first, I thought she was just bringing a few things early. Then, Viggo noticed there was a moving truck outside. Plus, she brought her hamsters. 

Yes, hamsters. To quote myself "Oh, I had those when I was little." Anyway, they left before I could clarify what was going in. I texted ole brainiac and reminded him that I wasn't leaving until next weekend. He claimed he knew, but then acting mad at me. I let it be a learning lesson for my child- that's what too much pot does to your brain. Our whole apartment looks like it's out of an episode of Hoarders. The new girl has been sleeping on the couch all week, keeping weird hours. I came home at three in the afternoon and she was asleep on the couch, shielding her eyes from the sunlight like a vampire. 

  Then, things turned flat out three ringed circus. Vasily, Viggo & I were in my room one day. We hear a knock at the door. It's the landlord. He's trying to sell the  house. With him were an Asian family ( complete with child and grandmother) and a random American lady. The landlord is foreign, Russian we came to find out. At one time, under this tiny roof were two Russians, three Americans, four Asians and two hamsters. It's a small world on crack. The Barnum & Bailey circus theme should've been playing. The best part was no one could understand anyone else's accents. I asked Vasily to see if the landlord was Russian. They started conversing in their native language. It was adorable. He even had a horrendous cough like him. I envision the landlord as the little old man who lives in Vasily's soul. In a weird way, it made me fall in love with him all over again.   

  Tonight, it's quiet. I'm contemplating all the things I won't miss- Steve's 45 minute showers when I need to get ready for work, how he unplugs all the kitchen appliances, including my coffee pot as I'm waiting for it to brew and mostly seeing him shirtless. You know, back hair. Not a fan . Most of all, I won't miss the caricature of himself that he has framed in the bathroom. 

I may or may not have eaten ants this week

  This week has been a horror show in many ways. One of them is the fact that I may or may not have ingested some live ants. This was not a Bizarre Foods episode or even a dare. It was pure Erin stupidity.
  My child likes to leave bits of candy or cookies around and then wonders why he sees ants. The last time was due to two gumballs sitting in a dish where I keep my keys. Even though I disposed of most of them, there are a few rogue ants roaming around. One night, I was watching something on the computer and decided to munch on some Godiva candy my boyfriend had bought me. They were individually wrapped, hard toffee candies covered in chocolate, sealed in a large bag. Safe, right? I ate one. Delicious. Then, another. Something compelled me to glance at the third candy before I popped it into my mouth. It was covered in ants. Horrified, I dropped it. Did I just eat ants? Were ants on the first two that I ate? Hmm, that last one did seem extra crunchy. I didn't really want to know whether I did or didn't. It's like when you think you hit something with your car. Do you really want to go back and see that you've killed a raccoon or cat? Shit, no.
  The week has also been fraught with gross bodily fluids. Viggo has had three nosebleeds. I still have this sinus infection. So, phlegm reigns supreme over my ear, nose and throat area. Today, I got to clean shit off of the side of a toilet. If you shit on the side of a public toilet, you should go straight to hell. Not even a glimpse of the pearly gates. I'd like to think there's a special place in hell for public shitters.
  This sinus infection has been plaguing me for literally a month. Yesterday, it hit it's pinnacle. I was fevered and sweating. My entire top row of teeth ached miserably. I wanted to cry. Instead, I thought of the pioneers. This is what I always do when I'm sick. I think "What did the pioneers do before modern medicine? How did they handle sickness?" Think about it, a bad cold is nothing much to us, but to people long ago, it could have been a death sentence. If Pa is rocking a month long sinus infection, complete with dog sled cough and fever, then Ma is considering her options. Did people have back burners for their relationships? For any who don't know, a back burner is someone you keep in touch with in case your current relationship goes sour. Then, you have your back burner to move up to the front burner, a.k.a. your bedroom. Did Ma keep extra friendly with neighbor Fred in case Pa would get lost hunting? I was barely keeping it together with lots of Aleve and hot tea with honey. HOW DID THE PIONEERS DO IT?! I don't know why I go to pioneers. I'm sure people previous to them had it ten times worse. I should really be thinking about those living earlier. Black plague is nothing to sneeze at. I guess because the pioneers were on the cusp of what was to become modern medicine, it seems very sad to me. So close, yet so far away. If I don't think of pioneers, I think of the Hobbits. Yes, they suffered. One particular hard time at the dentist, I subdued my pain by thinking of their pain. They didn't even have shoes! Just their hairy feet. My pain meant nothing compared to their plight. Yes, I know some people think of Jesus in these cases. I don't. I think of the poor hobbits, trying their hardest to fight an impossible battle against evil and their rough journey. I guess whatever gets you through rough times.

Ten years ago

  I can recall exactly where I was ten years ago today. I was in a Wal-Mart parking lot, eight months pregnant and unable to control my bladder. 

  The day was normal. I went to work at the bookstore, then went to dinner with my husband, Bob, at Cracker Barrel. The whole day was spent agonizing over my bladder problems. In the last month of pregnancy, you're warned that you may have issues with bladder control and leakage. Well, I was having that in spades. It started the night before and got progressively worse. To the point that I was wearing a pee pad-like contraption in my pants. Imagining life in that state for the next month was a horrorshow.  

  After dinner, we looked at cribs at Wal-Mart. It was our last month to prepare. We just had the baby shower and were preparing to get the major things like crib and car seat soon. We watched some fireworks from the lot and headed home. 

  That's when I noticed the blood when I peed.  

  "Bob, we'd better go to the hospital?" 

  "Well, if you think it can't wait until morning."

Yes, this is literally what he said. This man hated going to the doctor more than I did. He also thought I was an hypochondriac throughout our entire relationship. In reality, I was just a sickly person. I once threw up 23 times in one day before he believed I really had the flu. At my insistence, we went to the emergency room. 

  I gimped my way in with my legs crossed to keep from peeing myself. It must've looked like a bad Axl Rose dance. I told the receptionist, "I'm having trouble with my bladder."

  He told me in a bored monotone that I was going into labor. 

  "No, no. I have another month. It's my bladder." 

  He rolled his eyes and sent me upstairs. From there I was monitored and within a short time informed that I would be giving birth that night or the next day. It wasn't my bladder. My water had broken and was slowly trickling out. Pure panic set in off both of us. We didn't have anything we needed. It was too late to call relatives back in WV to notify them of the baby coming early. 

  The rest was a long day of pain, followed by drugs for the pain. (Natural is not in my vocabulary.) Bob's dad was watching the contractions spike on the monitor. 

  "Look, Bob, she must be having a contraction. Look at that spike!" 

  I never show my pain, so I was absolutely still throughout the horrendous pain. And, luckily I didn't injure my father-in-law, haha. Eventually, I got my epidural and life was good. When it came time, I remember Bob and I holding hands and crying. We were scared and excited. The next thing I knew, the room was being transformed into the batcave. Cabinets turned into monitors. Cables and cords came from out of nowhere. I was being told to push. I laughed because I couldn't feel anything, how could I push? But, I did and out he came, red as a hot dog and peeing on the nurse. 

  Then, I heard the most dreaded sentence-" Ok, we're going to stitch you up now." This was followed by a night with an ice pack pad. That's shit you never forget. 

  Now, I have this soon to be ten year old boy. He's my best friend and my absolute reason for living. I can't get over the fact that we created him. He lived in my belly. We did one thing right. One perfect thing, in fact. Then, I cry because I remember Bob can't see him turn ten. It doesn't feel right that he misses this moment. But, it doesn't change the fact that he's gone. So, I celebrate this upcoming day with him wherever he may be. Our little guy is growing up fast, Bob. We did a great job. 

Physician, don't heal thyself

  I'm going on my third week of this sinus infection. After having another breast lump scare earlier in June, I was grateful to just be alright. Until I really screwed up my ear. When I first went to the doctor, two weeks ago, I was told my infection was behind my ear. They couldn't do anything for either of my plugged up ears. They weren't too bad, mostly annoying. Then, I decided I was going to speed things along by trying to clean out my one ear with medicine. And water. And baby oil. Basically, I'm a jackass. It started pulsating with pain and went completely clogged. The pain caused me to become the meanest person on earth. My boyfriend's stepmother went to a doctor who suggested her ear problems were caused by coffee. Of course, he thinks this is the root of my problem. Coffee, not a sinus infection. We've had plenty of back and forth discussions on the matter, always ending with my insistence that the idea is ridiculous. The other day, my ear was throbbing. He asked how I was and I let him know about my pain. He brought up the suggestion of cutting out coffee, again. He poked the bear. The bear responded by calling him "retarded". I had the empathy of Ted Bundy that day. Profuse apologies followed the next day.  
  At work, customers think I'm a snob bitch. I don't hear them approach for help. After I finally help them, they apologize for having bothered me. I feel so awful about it. Normally, I'm very nice and helpful. In an attempt to hear them well, I lean towards them with my "good ear". You know, like a ninety year old man would. It's a shitshow. One can only imagine how loud I'm speaking. I should switch my nametag to say "Gus".
  I think I've learned my lesson. Tomorrow, I'm getting this splint-like thing taken out of my ear. I'm going to let nature take its course to fix the issue.

A week without Viggo

  Viggo is going back to WV for the week to stay with family. He misses everyone and it'll be good for him, but I'm dreading it. The past two months with him have made me so happy. Living on my own has been so lonely. Sometimes I would look at his picture and cry, missing him so much. The thought that ran through my head everyday was - a mother should never be without her child. However, circumstances made that so. Being single and supporting yourself doesn't always afford everything you want, including having your child with you all the time. Luckily, moving to Pittsburgh and getting a better job has made things much better. When Bob died, I was able to find an affordable sitter for V and still be able to support us.
  I can't begin to describe how in love with this child I am. When I wake up and see him next to me, my heart soars with delight. Yeah, I creep. I watch him sleep. He looks like an angel. We talk all day about superheroes. We watch our favorite show, Mysteries At The Museum, together. Most of all, we laugh. Frankly, we both need to laugh as much as possible considering what we've been through. Of course, there are tears. He misses his dad. When he cries, I tell him "I know, Buddy" and try to reassure him that I'm doing my best to care for him. We're like two survivors, clinging to a lifeboat.
   Everyday, he tells me I'm the best mom ever. He is my light and my world. Five days without him will be an eternity. But, he needs it. He needs to play and forget all the pain of not having his father. I'm sure I'll cry everyday, but it's worth it for him to be happy. Shit, I'm crying now just thinking of it. I never knew I could love anyone this much, until I had him. That's something that should be in the baby preparation books- you're going to love something more that you ever thought possible. Mothers tell you that, but you never comprehend until you're in their place. In my heart, I always knew I'd become a mother someday. It's the most blessed thing ever bestowed to me.

Life as we know it

  The last two months have been hard to describe. There is a cornucopia of emotions that I experience on a daily basis. The fact that I can be sad and happy at once is a mystery to me. When I wake up, my first thought and realization is that Bob is gone and the impact that it's had on everyone. At the same time, I see this beautiful little face lying next to mine and feel immense happiness. I haven't been this happy in six years. Living without seeing your son everyday is heartbreaking. Getting to see him everyday makes me insanely happy. So, I juggle these vastly different emotions at once. Add the feeling of stress bearing down on me like a ton of bricks. Becoming a full-time parent at the drop of a hat is terrifying. So far, it's been going very smooth. I found a wonderful woman to watch V while I'm at work. I couldn't have found a more suitable person. He loves spending time there. It's things like that which make me feel that Bob is looking out for us. I have this internal battle with my atheism and feeling like his presence is around us. I feel like he's sending me signs that he's there watching out for V. On my hope chest beside my bedroom door, I keep bobby pins and flowers that I wear in my hair. Almost everyday when I'm getting ready, I'll look down to find one flower inexplicably lying on the floor. The dish they're lying in has raised sides, so it's impossible for any to fall out by accident. And, yet, there I'll find one at my feet accompanied by a feeling of calm. How can I feel something that I'm not sure I believe in?
  In addition to my insurmountable stress, I have my mother to deal with. We haven't been speaking since she told me she didn't care if she ever saw me again. I happily obliged her request. Over the past two months, she's become increasingly more mentally unstable. My diagnosis is she's bi-polar. Considering that she isn't on medication and sometimes drinks, it's a miracle she hasn't gone off the deep end sooner. While always cordial to Viggo, she's become monstrous to me. At my last visit with her, I told her she's been emotionally abusive to me for far too long. But, she's not stupid. She realized that with losing me, she also loses Viggo. About a week after I moved him up to Pittsburgh, the police came to my door. Apparently, she had called the police and told them that I wasn't taking care of Viggo. I understand they have to check these things out, but they didn't have to be such dicks about it. The ringleader was the smart ass.
  "Is there some reason you're not letting us see your son?"
  "Well," I replied, "he's in the bathroom."
V came out all happy and oblivious (thankfully). They asked if he was ok and if anyone was hurting him. I kept saying I didn't understand why they were there.
  "We didn't just pull your name out of a hat. We got a complaint" was the answer I received.
 They saw he was more than well-cared for and left. At the time, I had no clue what was going on. Later that night, Bob's sister, Cheri, texted me to tell me she got into it with my mom. Mom called her and told her I was a "liar" and wasn't taking care of him. She declared she was going to find him and take care of him herself. Cheri, God bless her, proceeded to cuss her out and scream at her. On top of everything I'm worrying about, I really don't need this. That line that people say about God not giving you more than you can handle is bullshit. I feel like that scene in Wild At Heart where Laura Dern tells Nicolas Cage she's pregnant and he sits down and lights up four cigarettes. Eventually, I'll get it under control. Thankfully, things are working in our favor (another thing I'm convinced Bob does for us). In the future, I can get us moved into our own place and we can attempt a normal life. As normal as it can be with a boy who misses his dad and a mother who is maniacally nervous about taking care of everything. As far as my mom is concerned, she can go fuck herself. I may not have lots of money, but I'm one of the best damn mothers out there. No one cares more for this boy than I do. I'd give my life for him and I'm doing everything in my power to make him happy. And, he is happy. So, my work is paying off. That's all that matters. We're a hell of a team. I hate our circumstances, but I love that we're together all the time. Seeing his happy face is the best thing on earth.

Grief

  I have survivor's guilt. At least, that's what I've named it. It may be an actual term, I don't know. After Bob's death, I can't sleep or eat much. In my mind, I feel guilty for it being him to go. Out of the two of us, it should have been me. Even though we had been separated for years, we were still a team. A team for Viggo. So, out of the two of us, it most definitely should have been me. Viggo idolized his dad. He was his whole life. He could have gotten over the loss of me so much easier. I just don't understand why it had to be Bob. He touched so many lives and so many people loved him. It's so wrong that he was taken. I'm left to do this job alone. The one we were doing together. I feel such guilt and anger for being the one who gets to live. He was so better equipped for this. He was the best father to that boy. How do I do this alone? When he needs a man in his life, who will be there? I can't be what Bob was to him. I can't even come close. I feel inadequate and unprepared. In the beginning of Viggo's life, I never imagined that we would even be separated. Now, he's gone from the earth. We've all lost him forever. It should have been the two of us, figuring out the tough situations. What do we do if he comes home drunk or on drugs? Who gives him "the talk"? What do we tell him about love? Bob was supposed to teach him drums and guitar, how to fish, how to play football. What can I teach him? He already knows how to read? I don't do anything special. I just feel like a failure before I have even begun.
  I don't know how to deal with my grief. I feel guilty about that, also. Everyone else lost more by losing Bob. Viggo lost his dad. Bob's mom lost her only son. His sisters lost their dear brother. His girlfriend lost the man she loved. I lost a man I had already lost six years previous. Why should I have grief? I don't know, but I have a tremendous amount of it. I'm sure there's a niche out there of women separated from their husbands who are now widows. I need to find this group. No one else feels my exact pain and I feel bad for even feeling it. Everyone else lost so much more. I feel lost.

Bob

  Bob, it's day five, as Viggo would say. That's how he refers to the days you've been gone. I have so many things I want to say to you. I can't believe you're gone. Sunday, you were fine. You looked handsome and healthy as ever.  

  How do I take care of this boy? He's devastated. He keeps asking "Why did he have to leave, I'm only nine?" What do I say to that? Why did you leave? Why? Out of the two of us, it should've been me, dammit. He worships you. You were so close. You were the best father. The best. The only comraderie I've ever seen like that was with Bill and Billy. He says you made him laugh all the time. He asks "Who is going to make me laugh now?" Bob, what do I do? How can I possibly comfort him? And, your family is the same. Missy and Cheri have been the strongest. They are the ones making sure all the plans get made. Dawn is making a cd for you of all the songs you loved. You don't want to see Nikki cry. It's the worst. She lost her big brother and she's lost without you. Your mom is strong but breaks down and it's so hard to see. Why should a mother lose her son? Everyone goes to Cheri's. There's lots of stories about you and laughter. It's weird to see Ed and Matt and not see you. Jason came and you're not there to see him. Everyone is so lost. I feel like I've lost you twice. I put it aside, though. I made you a promise at the hospital. You were laying on this table not looking like yourself at all. I touched your hair and whispered that I promise to take care of Viggo. I will. Somehow. He wants to finish reading your Lone Survivor book. He kept asking about your car. I found out its because he wants to drive it when he's older. He understands but he doesn't, you know. I don't think any of us understand this bullshit. You were 41. You didn't even make it to your birthday. 

  People want to pray with me. I want to scream in their faces. How can there be a God? Why would anything let this happen?  

  I told V that everyday will be rough for awhile. That only time will ease the pain at all. You were his everything. 

Michael Fassbender, you trouble maker

  In my last blog, I was irritated with my boyfriend for remarking that some girls on the trolley looked good. He was trying to express to me that although girls may look good, he hates to hear their conversations and is glad he has me. All I heard was "girls look good" and wigged out. I should've been flattered that he enjoys talking with me because I feel most people tune me out. Instead, I said something about Michael Fassbender being hot. It has now turned into a debate. I think it's a joking one, but we're texting, so I can only imagine it's the case. He told me Fassbender wasn't that great and only rated .75 Hugh Jackmans. He then asked "How many Hugh Jackman units do you think he is?" I told him Jackman doesn't even compare. So, he moved onto Tom Hardy. Same answer. Then, Ryan Gosling. After receiving the same answer as Jackman and Hardy, all he said was "This conversation is over." Fassbender has come out on top. But, my bf is just as jealous as I am and I may be stuck kissing my GQ covers rather than a sexy Russian. 

I want to move to a desert island

  I don't know if it's the long winter, going off of Prozac or what, but I've had it with everyone. Today, my mother brought me to tears in Wal-Mart. I spend at least an hour to two hours every week taking her to shop for her groceries so she doesn't have to take the senior bus. At some point, we always split up in the store. Then, I usually spend a minimum of twenty minutes trying to find her. This week, I felt sick. Even after sitting on a bench and looking down the aisle, she hadn't reappeared and I wasn't feeling well at all. Eventually, we found her only to get accused of rolling my eyes and being impatient with her. I tried explaining that I felt sick only to have her wig out more. Then, I cried. To the point where a random stranger asked if I was alright. Can I just get a break somewhere in life? She apologized but the damage was done. Once I start crying it's like the first pee on a night of drinking. The well has sprung. Viggo tried to comfort me by saying this non-sequitur "Mom, even when I'm not with you, I'm always here" pointing to his heart. That, of course, made me cry harder. The wellspring of emotions was tapped again by an Ancestry.com commercial. 

  Later that night while texting with my boyfriend, he tried to express how he likes me in the worst way possible. He's telling me about girls on the trolley car with him. He tells me they "look good" but he hates what's coming out of their mouths. That, if he hadn't met me, he would stay in his single universe. Ok, I get the sentiment, but, fuck, can you not tell me in a way that says other girls look good?! I never want to hear that. Ever. Guys always think it's alright to express opinions about other girls. I'm only now slightly accepting of Jennifer Lawrence because one ex went so verbally wild when he saw her at the Oscars. I'm what you might call "insanely jealous". Emphasis on the insane part. That emphasis most likely came after bad relationships & cheating. He tried to make things better after his comment about the girls on the trolley by saying there are obviously good looking people in the world but, he would never cheat and blah, blah, blah, I quit listening. At this point, I'm hoping a rogue asteroid hits me directly on the spot. I was so sick of everyone and their reactions towards me. I know he meant well, but the way he said it made me feel like the guy who gets kicked into the pit in 300 after King Leonidas yells "This is Sparta!" 

  I know I'm being sensitive. Like I said, I've been down. This winter has bankrupted me emotionally and $96 gas bills have spent me financially. Yes, I have my health, I know. But, I've gained 10 pounds and my clothes fit me like I'm a human sausage. I need a day of sunlight and no human contact. No humans telling me I'm not working hard enough, not patient enough or that there are attractive people in the world. Shit, even if I have to be lied to, I'd like to be told I'm appreciated and the only attractive person in someone's eyes. I like to imagine Michael Fassbender saying these words after tonight because I'm angry. Also, because he's really hot. You know, there are attractive people in this world, so I've been told. I'll cool down at some point. Granted, being part Irish, this point may be long after I'm dead. I'll just go to bed feeling fatter than usual, unappreciated and unattractive. It's all good.

If you're obsessive-compulsive, don't read this (or read it over and over).

  When I started dating a Russian, I had no idea they'd be so superstitious. The problem with me is that I'm already obsessive-compulsive. Meaning, I've got my own weird superstitions. If you don't have this problem, then, you're fortunate. Imagine feeling like you have to do something a certain amount of times in a row just so you don't have bad luck. That's what it's like. It's something I moderately control, so it doesn't interfere with my life so much. However, now, thanks to my boyfriend, I now have new superstitions to follow.
  There's one similar to our "knock on wood" superstition, except you lightly spit over your shoulder three times instead of knocking. If you are talking about a physical injury that happened to someone and you show it on yourself, you have to grab the imaginary injury and blow it away from your hand. I was talking about my roommate's cat having a tumor in it's throat and I touched my own throat while describing it. My boyfriend interrupts me very seriously "No, babe, don't do that. Now you have to do this." He touches his throat, and blows this imaginary ailment from his hand like it was an eyelash. I was like, what the fuck is going on? I guess you do this to keep this injury from happening to you, too. He proceeded to tell me all the Russian superstitions he could think of in one night. Mentally, I took notes but they were hard to remember. There was something about meeting a woman carrying a bucket, but I let that one slip. Honestly, how many times could that occur in life? I was once again talking about the cat's tumor to a co-worker. I accidentally touched my throat as I was describing it and freaked. Confused about what to do, I blew from my hand AND spit over my shoulder three times. I must have looked like I was having an epileptic seizure. Dammit, I didn't want to have bad luck. When I told my boyfriend about the confusion, he just laughed and shook his head. "Babe, you just grab it and blow with your hand. You don't spit. That's for when you want something to happen." Silly me.
  I started taking these Russian superstitions so seriously. Apparently, you can't whistle inside or you'll become poor. Is that what's been going wrong all these years? I love to whistle, but screw that. It's humming from here on out. One night while we were eating, I dropped my fork. "Oh, a man is coming to see you", he said. "Or, maybe it's a woman. I forget." Which is it? He told me he'd research it. Exactly where does one find out this information? Does he skype with a grandmother in the motherland? You can't just lightly throw this information out to someone like me. It's gospel from this point on. If me dropping a fork means a man is coming to see me, then a man is coming to see me. These new rules are cemented in my brain. I just hope I never come across a woman carrying an empty bucket or I'm screwed.

OMG, I just exercised

  I just experienced ten minutes of cursing, pain and sweat. Yes, I finally exercised. Big deal, you say? Imagine someone with the willpower and motivation of Homer Simpson. I don't have any angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other; I have a devil and a fatter, lazier devil on the other. "Stay under the electric blanket watching Ancient Aliens" one says. "Eat something and then take a nap" says the other. There's motivation in my head, but it occurs when I'm at work. I get inspired to eat something healthy and exercise when I get home. The problem is that I'm on my feet for eight hours. After I get home, I'm emotionally and physically spent. You know how Mr. Rogers would change into his sweater and shoes when he came in the door? I throw on sweatpants and a thermal shirt the same way. That shit is on in less than a minute. If I could motivate myself to exercise like I motivate myself to get ready to relax, then I'd get somewhere. How can I harness this misspent energy? One answer-disgust with myself. I'm not talking about my laziness. I'm talking about my flab. This winter, I've definitely gained weight. Sad, but true.  I was wrestling with Viggo the other day and he pointed at my protruding stomach being held back with spanx and asked "What's that?" It must have looked like the walls of a dam before the water bursts through. Finally, tonight, I couldn't take looking down at that belly pouch. Lady, get a grip, I thought. Granted, I only did ten minutes of pilates, but in my world, it's like running a marathon. For now, I'll take baby steps. Maybe, or if, warmer weather arrives, I'll be able to take some walks. I have to do something. I feel like Brando when he was in Apocalypse Now. They had to change the fight scene with Martin Sheen because he was so out of shape. He should have looked at himself and said "Fuck, Marlon, get it together. " I'm going to try now before I'm past the point of no return.

Winter blows

  Like most people on the east coast, this winter is killing me. It's been a bombardment of snow, ice and bitter cold. This is the worst winter I can remember since '93. Geez, I sound really old making a statement like that. I only recall that winter because I lived with my grandparents at the time. My grandpap wanted me to shovel a tunnel from the back porch to the shed. He totally did one of those man things by telling me I was shoveling the snow wrong. Regardless, two days after I accomplished this task, I could barely move. I was a tiny lady back then. The winter now is miserable in so many ways. Walking is precarious. Tonight I slipped on ice and almost fell, twisting my back in a so not right way. My steps have become my daily Mt. Everest. When I make it to the front door, I feel like I should plant a flag by the door as a sign of accomplishment. Driving in this is even worse. My tires have been as bald as Patrick Stewart's head. My mom, bless her soul, lent me money for new tires. I can finally make it out of the space on my street without struggling. My apartment is pretty warm. That's because my roommate jams the heat. I half expect to see him walking around in Bermuda shorts with a Mai Tai drink, he keeps it so toasty. I miserly turn the heat back constantly. I grew up poor. You learn to layer your clothing and huddle under blankets, not rock the heat. But, I do keep my fingers crossed that the heat doesn't go out. It's happened twice this winter, which is always delightful.
  On the days when I grumble most, I get excited texts from my Russian boyfriend marveling over the snowfall. "Isn't it beautiful?", he'll declare. I'm glad someone can find the beauty. I can only worry about making it safely back and forth to work. These winters are probably nothing to my bf. I'm sure he's thinking we should suck it up. I should, at least. Maybe I shouldn't swear immediately upon exiting my front door in the morning. Sweltering summer will be here before we know it and we'll be whining about the heat. I'll just be happy when walking isn't like some high-wire circus act. Having the grace of a rhinoceros, it's only a matter of time before I fall down.

First world problems

  Let me start by saying that I'm very grateful to have a roof over my head. I don't take it for granted. However, I can complain about the constant problems where I live. At any given time, my roommate and I are doing without something. This week it's the kitchen sink. The roommate diagnosis is that the pipes are frozen. I think it's because of all the grease he dumps down the drain. Whatever the cause, it's hanging tough in there with an inch of stinking water that cannot be affected by a plunger. It makes me think back to some of the problems we've had here.
  In the five months I've been here, there's been quite a few. I'm trying to decide on the worst. It's a toss up between not having a light in the bathroom and the front door knob that fell off. Both of these problems lasted for two weeks. Imagine taking a freaking flashlight with you to pee in the night. Not fun. Plus, I missed the bathroom mirror to use to get ready in the morning. When I "put my face on" in my bedroom, I end up looking like a drag queen with no skills. The doorknob being missing meant we had to walk around the house to the back door, which had to be left unlocked. Neither of us have a key. Our only alarm system was the metal grate that you can't avoid loudly walking over to get to the back. I imagine maybe moonshiners in the south have the same alarm system.
  A couple of times, we've been without heat. It seems to go out on the coldest days. The polar vortex then resides directly in my soul as well as my room. My room is possibly the coldest at times. Imagine Harry Potter's cubby hole of a room attached a basement door and the draftiest window in existence. Voila, my room. Yes, I know I could move, but this place is cheap and I'm poor. The landlord does fix things in time. I think he's from eastern Europe. His philosophy, I'm sure, is to grow a set and deal with it for a while. Not being accustomed to luxury, I deal with it. It's not like Paris Hilton being dropped off at a farm. But, these things are still a huge nuisance. So, for now, I'll continue to wash my dishes in the bathroom and dream of a working sink.

Daily horoscope

  Even though I think they're bullshit, I read my horoscope everyday. Maybe I'm looking for a silver lining to what my day may potentially hold in store. Can you imagine one written from a realistic standpoint? I had an awful day, so I did.
  Monday- Don't expect to enjoy this day except for your lunch break when you read Buzzfeed articles. The rest of the day will be spent in a meeting where you'll hate yourself and 1-4 co-workers, feeling stupid and possibly fending off the flu. At night, you'll suffer from insomnia. Enjoy.
  Tuesday-Expect to feel tired from lack of sleep and still sick. Early in the day, you'll think about healthy eating and exercising only to eat meat loaf at night while watching The Good Wife.
  Wednesday-Really? Do you expect anything from this day? Who likes Wednesday? No one, that's who.
  Thursday- At some point today, someone will point out something that you jacked up. You'll feel stupid, Later on, you'll attempt to meet up with your boyfriend, only to misunderstand each other's texts resulting in a fight rather than dinner. He didn't read that vital text about where to meet. Meet him anyway. He's adorable and thrills your heart. You won't regret it.
  Friday- Your last work day. Expect to sit in about an hour's worth of traffic on your way to WV, all the while wondering if your car will make it. Listen to Joe Rogan's podcast and forget your worries. You get to see you kid tonight. That's what it's all about.
  Saturday & Sunday- These may be your days off, but not on your mom's watch. She will make you spend two hours at Wal-Mart, while she gets her groceries. You wouldn't want her taking that senior bus, would you? Expect your child to try to get a toy, complain about how hungry he is and tell you he saw his second grade teacher. Also, expect to see lots of pajamas and camouflage in public.
  This is a more accurate horoscope for me. It's not always like this, but I had a shitty day. If you want something positive, go read the Dalai Llama

What to expect when you're getting older

  There are a ton of pregnancy books telling you what's in store for you, but nothing telling you about getting older. Granted, it wouldn't be the most uplifting reading. I've discovered many things that younger people can expect in their future. 

  Basically, your body starts falling apart. One day you're eating something and come across something very hard in your food. Is it a rock? No, it's part of your tooth. I have two teeth that have broken apart. It seems to be the norm for my age group. There was an old man in the store the other day whose false teeth came out. "Goddamn teeth" he muttered. That's my future. 

  I've noticed steps hurt my bones. At first, I thought it was just the steps to my apartment. Then, I discovered it is all steps. 

  Remember pulling all-nighters or getting barely enough sleep to function? Yeah, you don't do that past 40. Eight hours is mandatory. You also have to sleep a certain way or you hurt. I sleep like Nosferatu- flat on my back. Any other way and I wake up with awful pain in my neck and shoulders. In your twenties, you usually discover this fact. How did you injure yourself? Oh, I took a nap. If I sleep on my side, I need an ice pack, Aleve and Icy Hot for the rest of the day. 

  When you wake up from this sleep, you'll have to pee. Now. If you wait, you can barely walk. You'll be walking to the bathroom like Groucho Marx. 

  So far, this is all I've noticed. Well, I forgot to mention how I seem to have lost my depth perception. I park like I'm ninety, about two feet away from the curb. 

  I'm sure more things will pop up. Until then, I'm going to savor my youth.