It's back

  My cable and Internet are back on. That night, after work, I soaked it all in. I was literally simultaneously watching True Detective on a tablet, the running of the bulls on TV and reading Buzzfeed on my phone. I was like a mutant superhero that gets its power from electricity. Silence is for Buddhist monks. Give me noise. V thinks he bonded with the cat over our three days of missing media. I only bonded with the pits of despair. 

  When I'm fighting through something physically rough, like a workout at the gym or a visit to the dentist, I think of the Hobbits traveling to Mordor. It helps me get through it. When I can't fall asleep at night, I envision my own episode of Supernatural with myself inserted as a character. My own fan fiction, I suppose (although fan fiction is creepy to me). Needless to say, I'm not a nature girl. Camping would be torture for me. I like watching these goof-ass reality shows where people must make it on their own in some remote location. There is a monetary reward if they make it. There is no amount of money that would make me take that challenge. You could even throw in a night with Tom Hardy. Give me a room with air conditioning, books, TV and a smart phone. Thoreau would shake his head at me. But, I'm much better off than this guy on tv who realized he drank unpurified water. 

Comcast, let's make up

  We've been without cable for three days now. I know, first world problems. The Internet is also out. My child and I are total media whores, so this has been an unforgiving experience. Our box is defective, meaning we lost all 500 episodes of Ninjago he had saved. I sleep with the tv on. It's very comforting. I grew up in a very small, one level house with my grandparents. After I went to bed, I'd sneak back out and sit under the kitchen table, secretly watching tv. When I finally got tired, I loved hearing it in the other room. It was comfort. My grandparents were there and I felt safe. Sleeping to it in my adult life is my equivalent of a blanket or sucking my thumb. Being without it has jostled my world. Sleep is sporadic and difficult. The Russian joked that I could enjoy the silence. He hates the TV at night.  When he stays over, I wake up to both the TV and the air conditioner being turned off. It's endearing for five seconds and then I want to harm him. Give me noise and cold. This is the same man that has a plank of wood under his own mattress so he doesn't sleep too comfortably. This is what happens when you pare a lazy American with a serious Russian. 

  Right now, I'm missing True Detective 2. My soul aches. The only noise in the apartment is my child rifling through his Lego bins. He's handling it well. Except, when I go to read (the only entertainment I have) he incessantly interrupts me. Boys hate being ignored at any age. 

  The cat is cool with it. He's getting a lot more attention. Plus, his shows aren't on until the fall season. 

  Hopefully, the Comcast guy will fix it tomorrow. If not, there may be tears. My tears. I'm sure a grown repairman does not want to see that. 

Somber thinking

  I'm having one of those nights where my solitude is my enemy. Rather than be productive, I'm sitting here thinking about so many things. My forethought is whether or not people are good for each other. How do we know? What if you weren't good for someone? How do you know? I wondered this about Bob. Was it good for him to have me in his life? What if my being in it, shortened his? I think its stemming from a lot of anger I have felt this past couple of weeks. He wasn't there for his sister's wedding or his son's birthday. I get so angry at life, at the universe. When I'm at these celebrations, I feel so guilty. He should be there. I feel angry that he's not. I get so mad that Viggo doesn't have him. He has me. It's so unfair. It's like a universe without the sun or moon.
  I feel like such a failure to him. We were married and supposed to have this unbreakable pact. I feel like I didn't give enough to him or try hard enough. I crawled into a shell when things went sour rather than fight. I didn't try hard enough. Why? We had a child together. A life. Why didn't I fight for us? We were together for so long. We never fought. It was so symbiotic. When life set in and boredom or whatever arose, why didn't we both kick it in the ass? I should've made him happier. That is truly my biggest regret in life.
  Regardless of any of that, we created an amazing boy. Just amazing. A little ball of genius, a weird sense of humor, a new little sun in the universe. Whether or not we made a good or bad impact in each other's lives, we made him. Everyday, he makes me laugh. There's elements of both of us in him, but, at the same time, he's a distinct individual. I wish Bob could see him now. His brain never stops. It's all my weirdness and all Bob's intelligence wrapped up in this tiny, little body.
  I often wonder how my relationship with Bob would've been. Would we have just remained friends? Would we have gotten to a point where we realized we were being ridiculous and find ourselves back together? It doesn't matter. In the end, I always just wanted him to be happy. If that were with me or anyone else. Thankfully, he knew that. I told him quite a few times. I'm glad we stayed friends after the split. All crosses were buried and hurts put in the past. The boy was our number one focus. So, I should just continue that strategy, I suppose. I can't lament what occurred. It doesn't help anything. I always worry about messing up other people's lives, though. How do you make sure you're a benign influence and not some malevolent presence in someone's heart and soul?

Misconceptions

  A text came to me from a strange number asking if I know "where to get green?" I finally got enough info to find that it was a very strange guy that I had a date with a few years ago. I will usually stay friendly with some of these dates simply because we make better friends than mates. He was one, but ended up being a little too spacey for me. Obviously, anyone who knows me well knows that "green" to me only signifies money, of which I never have much of. I'm one of the squarest people out there. It brought to mind some of the misconceptions about myself that I've encountered.

  When I first started dating Bob, he thought I was "rich and liked Whitney Houston". In reality, I was poor and liked Nirvana and Jeff Buckley. Truly mind boggling. I've no idea what gave him that impression. My co-workers, at the time, said I stuck my boobs out when he came into work. However, I just have good posture. I think they only noticed how I acted when I saw him.
  Speaking of boobs, my sister in law mentioned that her husband thought my boobs were fake. I laughed and told him I would've gone bigger if they were. I'm in possession of a great bra. When I lay down, they roll into my sides like pancakes. That's the true sign of real boobs. Fake ones stand at attention. Sometimes I lift them up to where they used to hang. My breasts are the one thing on my body that I don't hate.
  There is the ever present misconception that I'm stupid because I'm blonde. At work, it's most prevalent. That could also be because I'm a woman. I experience blatant sexism from customers. No one ever assumes that I could be a manager. One guy stood at the customer service counter, yet said he didn't need my help. My male co-worker was busy and paged for help. Once again, I asked this guy if he needed help.
  "I'm looking for a manager." he said, impatiently. That's when I get to flash my devilish grin and say "I'm a manager."  His face fell. He was inquiring about a job. I'm sure he felt like an ass. Yes, women can be managers, even blonde ones. Welcome to this century.
  

  

Not even a first date

  Unless you're in the dating world, you have no idea how emotionally draining it can be. For someone who works 40 hours per week, online dating is my best option.I messaged a guy on a site who also works at a bookstore. This took us down a rabbit hole of conversation involving books, movies, tv shows and generally feelings about life. This guy seemed like a great match. In fact, I think our match percentage was 87%. We exchanged numbers and texted everyday for a week. I invited him to a free screening of Jurassic World. He had to decline because of work. I invited him to dinner. He had plans with his dad and assured me he wasn't flaky, just busy. To quote "I dig you". We tentatively made plans for a drink after work and I haven't heard from him since. So weird since we were communicating daily. Now, nothing. Did he get my texts? Maybe he lost his phone. Did something bad happen? Creepily, I checked his Facebook. Nope, no human drama going on. I guess that answers the question of whether he died or not. So, why did he quit responding? We haven't even met, so it couldn't be my looks or personality. I sent one last text saying I enjoyed our conversation, but I was basically giving up if he didn't respond. He didn't respond. 

  This is just a typical experience in the dating world. People have a connection. Then, one member of the party inexplicably jumps ship. I'm guilty of it, too. Before we truly get to know someone, we can reject them for any number of reasons. It's a sad reality. For me, if I stop responding to someone, it's generally to spare their feelings. I should have enough balls to say that I don't want to talk anymore. I hate confrontation. So, I'm sure this guy was wrestling with the same emotions. Maybe it was the fact that I have a child? Who knows. 

  I quit responding to a guy when I found out he didn't have a job and wasn't allowed to drive due to a d.u.i. I'm sure I'm not the first woman to have this reaction to this guy. The phrase "Wanna pick me up and we can do something?" dries ladies up like the desert. No, sir, I do not. I already have a child. I think that was the main obstacle with me and the Russian. You really feel like less of a girlfriend and more of a mom when you have to drive someone everywhere. If I do meet a guy with a car and a job, they seem to be emotionally crippled. I've been on two dates with one guy I like but when the goings good, you learn not to expect much. We have great conversations, so that's all one can ask for. He has a great head of hair, sarcastic wit and is a great kisser. I'm not going to have any expectations. No expectations = no disappointment. 

Birthday

  My birthday is coming up later this month and I'm dreading it. Pretty much after the age of twenty one, the thrill is gone. It becomes just a glaring reminder of your imminent aging and failed accomplishments. At least, it does for me. It's also one of the few times a year I really feel lonely. Most of the time, I'm ok. I like being alone and doing my own thing. But, the birthday is like a punch in the gut. If you have that significant other, then you have someone to make a big deal over you that day. Someone to give you a little present or to give you a cake. If not, it's a depressing day. I always seem to find myself very single around now, New Year's and Valentine's Day. The trifecta of loneliness to single people. The rest of the year, we're pretty good on our own. Right now, I have the enthusiasm of a grave digger. 

  I'm trying to push past it, but, I'm suffering from a cold. Basically, I've been a total maniac. Very grumpy. The other day, I walked into our cafe at work with my co-worker who goes to the gym with me. Another co-worker started discussing with her how great she looks since starting the gym. Meanwhile, the sick fatty was desperately waiting for her coffee. I was on the verge of yelling "OK, she looks great, the gym obviously hasn't had ANY effect on me, now can I get my coffee?!!!" Like I said, grumpy. Normally, I'd be chiming right in, agreeing. That day, I was like, fuck this shit. If I have this goddamned cold on my birthday, I'm going to put my fist through the wall. I keep trying to tell myself to think positive, but then, that grump kills positive Erin in a violent way-bare-handed with glee. If my mood had a noise, it would be that anguished roar the T-Rex makes in Jurassic Park as the sign falls down around it. Ugh, I have to get out of this funk. Sweet baby Jesus take the wheel. 

Bizarro me

  I'm the same me except I have a brand new car and I go to the gym a few days a week. That is so unlike me that I think it's giving me an identity crisis. At first, I really hated the gym. I started using the elliptical machine and hated all existence. I had to think about my go to thoughts of when I'm in pain- the Hobbits traveling to Mordor. "If they can do it, I can, too!", I tell myself. That works pretty well. I've built up my strength and can go for about 15 minutes. Then, I hit the weight machines. I'm starting to love it. Who am I?
  Today, a man told me I looked really good. Me. He was a normal man, not an octogenarian, like my normal suitors, so it was refreshing. But, first, let me paint a picture of what gym Erin looks like. I wear old sweatpants with bleach stains. This is accompanied by a shirt covered in cat hair and a sports bra pulling my boobs into my body until I'm like Hilary Swank in Boys Don't Cry. No make-up, glasses and disheveled hair. When I say no make-up, keep in mind my pink skin undertones that get pinker when I physically exert myself. It's like looking upon a human pig. This is what this man thought looked good. I wasn't attracted to him, but he was a decent looking, in-shape man. He almost walked into a sign looking at me. I felt like that Sex and the City episode where Miranda is wearing her old man Hanes shirt at the gym and the guy says she's sexy. How can this be possible? I can't even get guys to give me that reaction when I'm at my best. My running theory is one I read about- women send out certain pheromones during their periods, signaling to men that they're fertile. Since I've read this, I do notice men are more attentive during these times. Or maybe it's because I'm insane during my period and they're in fear. I get very feisty. Whatever it was, it was bizarre.
  At work, I found a fortune from a cookie lying on the floor directly in my path. It said "In order to stay young, one must change." That same day, I found a Tarot card for the Queen of Staves (Wands) on a shelf. I feel like these are signs. Being a Cancer, I dislike change. But, I quite like all the changes that have recently occurred in my life. If I actually get in shape like I'm always threatening to do, I will be bizarro me.