Ghost Adventures

  "Ghosting" can happen to anyone, but it's especially prevalent in the dating world. It's when someone you're communicating with, all of a sudden, stops communicating back. I've experienced a couple of cases of it very recently. 

  First, and the most perplexing, happened a couple of weeks ago. I was at work and noticed an attractive, dark haired guy in the store. He wasn't looking at anything in particular and always seemed to appear wherever I was. After work, I went to a going away get together for a friend from work. While there, I get a message on a dating site from the guy at the store. We strike up a good conversation and exchange phone numbers. We text the next day and he proceeded to ask me out for a drink that coming Monday. Normally, I wouldn't due to having my boy, but I worked early and figured I could fit in an hour to meet after work. Monday comes and suddenly he texts, cancelling, saying he's "coming down with an illness". Yeah, right. Whatever. I texted the next day, asking how his "illness" was. Nothing. I waited another day, then texted-"Must've been a fatal illness." Totally ghosted. Infuriating because he pursued me. In the end, I think he has a girlfriend. When you exchange phone numbers and you're phone is linked to Facebook, they show up in your suggested friends list. Naturally, I creeped on him. I happened to click on one of his female friends. Her profile declared she was in a relationship with him. Regardless of the true state of this relationship, I guess it's good I got ghosted. 

  I've had another ghosting which was more disappointing. I've been on quite a few dates with one guy over the past year. We get along really well. However, we only communicate via email due supposedly to his sleep habits. He works overnight. I'm skeptical, but not serious about the whole situation. We've kept up communication until recently. My emails have gone unanswered. Bummer because I lent him a book. 

  Guys seem so flaky. Is it so hard to be honest? Throw caution to the wind and send out a text saying you started seeing someone else. Or, hey, I'm not into this anymore. This is why, I think it would be great to start my own ghost hunting team. Just like the paranormal shows like Ghost Adventures, Ghost Hunters, and Paranormal State. But, I investigate ghosting phenomena of the dating world. I'm going to get a gelled up, muscular Axe body using guy to accompany me. We'll hunt down "ghosts", he'll get in their face and yell things like "Is there someone here?! Would you like to communicate with us?!" 

  We'll have all the special equipment like E.V.P. machines and Ouija boards. Maybe a couple of lockdown episodes. I want answers and my partner and I will get them. Wait until we bring in our medium. She'll have some insight. Her insight may be that I should devote my time to something more worthy like knitting or picking up garbage by the side of the road. The exorcism will surely work wonders. It involves a smudge stick, holy water, and the smashing of the ghost's cell phone. I'd watch the shit out of this show if I weren't the one coming up with it. 

Writing

  I'm horrible at accepting compliments, but I love the shit out of them. My self-esteem is usually at the bottom of the river beside some mafia hits wearing cement shoes. Last night, I had a former co-worker ask if I was still blogging and then she said I was a good writer. My heart swelled. Of course, I doubt my writing and intelligence. I went on a strange day drinking date earlier in the week. My date told me I was adorable and intelligent. What??!!!! On a consistent basis, I feel like a dope. This may be why I seem to date men of higher than above average intelligence. My husband was top of the list with a Mensa-like IQ of over 140. Pretty much every guy since him has been on the higher spectrum of the intelligence level ( maybe even one or two fall into the "spectrum" category.) I've never felt on their level. This is a girl with average intelligence. Luckily, I have common sense, which is a damn, fine thing to have. But, I'm horrible at geography, math, and many other subjects. I can name actors and authors with astonishing clarity, however. Abilities that get you nowhere in life. I can answer Final Jeopardy questions correctly 90% of the time. And, I swept the shit out of the Russian history and Scarlet Johansen categories. 

  My drunken date said I was more well read than he was. This guy was very well read. A total turn on. Reading is my jam. I have a lot of friends who read more, so this surprised me. I feel like I don't read enough. 

  As far as writing, I'd love to do more. I'm lackadaisical and doubt my abilities. I have half of a screenplay finished, I rarely blog and this blank journal that's supposed to become a novel is empty. It's not that I don't have ambition. The doubts just plague me. I remember when I was in third grade, wanting to write a sequel to Charlotte's Web. My mom, who was oddly supportive of creative ventures and nothing else in my life, bought me a blank journal in which to write it. All was well with my first draft until kids at school rudely told me I couldn't write the sequel. Way to dash dreams, dudes. I finished one screenplay that I entered into Project Greenlight. I think only Bob read it. The contestants who were supposed to obviously didn't. You were to answer a questionnaire to ensure you did. They said I didn't have any female characters. There were actually two. Regardless, it was crap and it doesn't matter that I didn't progress to the next level. My current one isn't bad, by my standards. The question is- will I EVER finish it? 

  I would love to write a novel, but I'm terrified. I wish I could just grow a set and do it. 

  Thank you anyone who has ever read this blog and encouraged me. It means a lot. The feedback seems genuine and I appreciate it. Even if it's the only thing I write, it feeds my soul. 

Wolverines!

  Because he was always in such a sickly state, the Russian had an idea of what I would do if he died. My mourning would include wearing his shoes and too huge clothes. It's funny because I'm wearing them now after our breakup. It may be the freezing temperature outside or it may be melancholy. I'm going with the former. 

  The break was a long time coming. We shouldn't have gotten back together the first time. Our issues still existed- we never saw each other, his family didn't know about me, he had no idea what he was doing with his life, which caused him frustration. It's not a shock. I can't say bad things about him. He was a good guy. He treated me so well. At every meeting, he'd have a greeting card ready telling me how much he loved me. After we saw each other, he'd send text after text telling me how beautiful I looked. I can't say he was a dick or an asshole. If my friend, Brandi, asks to make his life a living hell, I'll have to tell her "no". Like I said, it wasn't a bad relationship. Age difference, cultural and physical distance did us in. In the end, he was upset, for the millionth time, over something with his parents. He informed me that we would " suspend our usual sweet talk, compliments and gifts for a while". But, that we weren't breaking up. This enraged me. What did this all have to do with me? I bided my time and didn't hear from him for two weeks. Of course, that didn't sit well and the rest is history. It's only fitting that today is his birthday. For some time, I felt sad. A seething anger like a toothache fuels me now. It makes me want to watch Red Dawn ( the original, not the remake) and yell "Wolverines!". Instead, I ate homemade chili and watched War and Peace. I haven't shed a tear. That's not what Wolverines do. I have gotten irrationally angry at sour cream, his choice of topping for pancakes and mashed potatoes. Also, I've made another foray into the online dating world. As usual, getting messages from lots of gems. I guess if your name looks like it would be Bubba and we would have nothing in common, send me a message! If you're attractive and you message me, I'll stare at the phone in surprise for you are the unicorn. 

The Great Catnapping of 2016

  

  The other night was emotionally exhausting. I was in a possible breakup with the Russian (still not sure) and I thought V and I might have head lice (we don't). Both stories for another time. On top of it all, I had a long day at work. I pulled up to the apartment in the late evening and I see our indoor cat, Harrison, sitting on the sidewalk outside. Naturally, I freaked. After having our previous cat die, I can't let anything happen to this one. I can't put the boy through it. Immediately, I jump out of the car, leaving my purse and phone inside. It was a few days out from the big snow, so I was wearing these big, pink Hello Kitty rain boots. As soon as I get close to him, he takes off down the sidewalk. I had to run in these ridiculous boots. He ran about four houses down and up into a backyard. On my street, all the houses are up on a big hill. There I was, huffing and puffing, running after this cat. He wasn't going to evade me. Finally, I corner him in a backyard. Gradually, I get close and coax him into my arms. Judging by the growling, he wasn't thrilled with the situation. 

  He felt lighter, which gave me pause. What if it wasn't him? But, he was right outside the apartment. One sure way to tell was his tummy. When he walks, his tummy hangs down. I like to give it a jiggle when he walks by. So, there I was in a neighbor's backyard, feeling up a cat's stomach. It jiggled. It had to be Harrison. As fast as I could shuffle, I made it back to our apartment. 

  I had two doors to get through. Somehow, I made it through the front door. By the time I got to the door of our apartment, there was a lot of low growling and fidgeting. I yelled for Viggo and kicked the door with my foot. That's when I heard the meow from inside the apartment. 

  "V, is Harrison in there with you?" I yelled. 

  "Yeah, why?"

  "Oh, shit, don't open the door."

  That's when I got a good look at this cat's face. It was not Harrison. It looked absolutely terrified. As fast as I could, I opened the front door and let it go. Just in time because V came bounding out in the hallway. 

  "What's going on, Mom?"

  "I just accidentally stole someone's cat" I sheepishly answered. 

  I'm sure there's some kind of moral to this story, I'm at a loss for what it is. Maybe it's every cat has a doppelgänger or never assume a cat outside your residence is yours. Whatever it is, I felt like a supreme jackass. 

Kardashian blood money

  I'm ashamed to admit, I've contributed to the Kardashian empire. My love of fake lashes is to blame. Ulta sells their beauty products and I've been eyeing up their lashes for some time. But, I'm not a fan of the family. I think their rise to fame is without merit. Yes, they're beautiful women, but that fame stems from a sex tape. They have not garnered my respect, to say the least. I've been morally opposed to contributing to their dynasty of superficial indulgence. But, my morals are weird, much like Anton Chigurgh's in No Country For Old Men. Plus, it was a buy one get one half off sale. I'm no better simply because my quest was a vain one. This probably puts me on the same level. These lashes better look good.  

  It's kind of funny how deep-seated the hatred for the Kardashian family is. Kim Kardashian's book of selfies is constantly turned around in the bookstore so her face isn't showing. People normally do that to book of political figures. In their mind, it's an act of rebellion and erasure. I wish I had a dollar for everything I had to flip around Hilary Clinton or Donald Trump's books. It's not going to stop their book sales. Booksellers are as familiar with the back of the books by now as the fronts. 

  In the end, I guess I'm a little disappointed in myself. I wish I had strong, moral fortitude. Alas, I'm weak. 

New year

  Unlike most Americans, I'm going to refrain from too many New Years resolutions. Work has done me in, I'm on my period, and I think I caught a cold on top of my sinus infection. Energy and enthusiasm are almost non-existent. The most I've accomplished is attempting to cut down on dairy. I'll make it back to the gym when I don't feel like a George Romero character. I had an idea that I was going to be nicer to people. Then, I went to work and it was only an hour before I wished death upon someone. People that preach about love and kindness should work a day of retail. They would come to wish an asteroid would demolish the planet like I do after a day of work. People are so mean. It makes me give up on humanity. So, that attempt at a resolution failed. 

  I've considered trying to do 31 days of blogging this month. Laziness will probably nip that in the bud. Trying to quit swearing is a good idea that probably won't come to fruition. Give me one short drive and that'll be over. I caught myself yelling "cockdick" at someone while driving one day. I become like the bastard child of Travis Bickle and a Quentin Tartantino character in the car. 

    Meditation always comes to mind as something good to try, but I'm too lazy and impatient. Basically, I'm a lost cause. Oh, well. 

The chirp

    I never thought I'd have a new car. It never seemed like even a remote possibility. Being poor with bad credit cemented that in my mind. So, when I did get one, by some miracle, I was beyond thrilled. She's been named "Grease Monkey" by V, but she's far from it. This car is doted on. Its a far cry from my last car. Here's just a few things that were wrong with it when I traded it in- no heat/air conditioning, broken wiper blades, bald tires, my gearshift broke off and I had to push in an orange button, my back window was glued shut, and it was constantly overheating. There's  more, but I won't go on. I think one can get how pathethic this car was. A co-worker joked that I had a car PTSD from it breaking down too much. I do freak out in drive thrus. It tended to overheat in line. One time, it died at McDonald's and we had to coast out of line. That was a fine day. Almost as sweet as when it broke down near Greentree by the Fort Pitt tunnels. Apparently, a tow driver had been hit and  killed there the year before helping someone and no one wanted to help me. 

  Being rid of that car is the best thing ever. It was nicknamed "deathtrap". Pretty self explanatory. 

  The beauty of a new car is that you don't have to worry about breakdowns as much. But, its always at the back of your mind. Which is why, when I started hearing a strange noise, I freaked. 

  The child was staying with relatives in WV and I was on my way to get him. The day was sunny, I was in a good mood. Life was good. As I was cruising down the road, listening to a podcast, I notice a chirping noise. Panic set in. 

  "What the shit! Is that my breaks? No, no, it's constant. Shit! It must be a belt or something! Oh, God, why?" My internal monologue continued on like this for awhile. My usual car panic set in. I started looking at road signs so I could potentially tell a tow driver where I was located. The car seemed to be running fine, however. It was odd. Yet, the noise continued. I got very close to my destination when I was stopped at a red light. I decided to turn down the podcast to listen to the noise in more detail. Suddenly, no chirp. I turn it back on and the chirping commenced. I shut it off  and it was gone again. Here, I recall at the beginning of the podcast, Greg Fitzsimmons mentioning he was recording in Jay Mohr's basement. He made a joke about a cricket being there and that if the jokes didn't go over, you'd really hear the cricket. Duh! I didn't even think of the cricket. It was so loud. On my behalf, it didn't sound like a regular cricket. To be honest, I think I am scarred by my previous car. In the end, I was so relieved. I'd rather feel like a dumbass than be on the side of the road. I love this car so much, but I don't think I'll ever get over the imbedded fear of car breakdowns.