This is a really catty post. I am sure there will be more. There are certain boundaries you should NOT cross after dating someone that you also must work with. It's been a very bad couple of weeks. Hence, my 10 commandments :
1. Thou shall not call me by my nickname EVER again. (Sorry you're so used to it. I was used to you, you dumb jerkface, idiotic jerkoff)
2. Thou shall not rub my neck, squeeze my arm, or put your arm around my shoulder. (Yes, all the other guys do but guess what? I am not sleeping with them, nor do I intend to. They do it as a gesture of kindness, not because they want to make some kind of contact because they are dumb jerkoffs who don't know a good thing when they had it.)
3. Thou shall not make special trips to talk to me. (I really don't care about your life. You SUCK and that's all I need to know.)
4. Thou shall not talk to me like a friend. (I was your biggest champion and you lost that you hairless jerkoff)
5. Thou shall not stare at my ass or gaze longingly at my body. (It was yours once. Never again. Because, once again, you are an idiotic jerkoff.)
6. Thou shall not get pissed that you come second in line now. (Come on. Really. Did you expect special treatment after everything you have done?)
7. Thou shall treat me with respect and not single me out like we have ever known each other. (Because really, knowing I am a fool and everyone else knowing I am a fool are two really different things)
8. Thou shall refrain from repeating inside jokes in front of others...in fact never again...ever. (Self explanatory)
9. Thou shall understand that I reserve the right to be catty, bitchy, or nice whenever I feel like it and it means nothing. You will take this like a man because you are the one that screwed up. (LOL)
10. Thou shall quit sending me text messages, emails, phone calls or anything else that I don't ask for. (Unless you are CRAWLING on your hands and knees up my driveway with tears running down your face in shame, I'm not interested in anything you have to say.)
Wow, can I post that at work, do you think? Course, Jeff is so clueless that he probably wouldn't even notice that it was about us. Idiot. Not that I really am upset about what we had being over...it's the way he is acting now. What a freaking mess! UGH.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
BLAH
I've been sitting here thinking. Always a troubling and potentially dangerous activity for me to engage in. Especially when I am so frustrated with myself I could scream.
How do I get myself into these messy situations? Am I really this idiotic? I could have sworn that I was once a fairly intelligent person. But, see, when you make the same mistake more than twice...well, most start to doubt that.
For every bit of intelligent I am there is also that intuitive side of me. I seem to lose my mind occasionally and decide to live. It's like I have two sides to myself that are constantly at war.
One side that is totally rational, easy going, content to live out life doing what I do and just settling for whatever comes my way. And this other part...well...it wants fairy tale fire works. The whole kitten caboodle. I want to feel the fire! Hell, I want to jump into the fire and dance.
Then...I jump into the fire and dance...and man do I get burned. But do I learn my lesson? NOPE. Just hop out and back in.
I'm SMART! Why do I know better and still STILL run right back. It's the feeling, the craving, for that fire. It's the desire for the fire that makes me refuse to settle "just because I should". It's the wanting to share yourself with someone, really sharing everything, that makes me want more. It's wanting to be comfortable with myself and my place. It's THAT I want most.
How do I get myself into these messy situations? Am I really this idiotic? I could have sworn that I was once a fairly intelligent person. But, see, when you make the same mistake more than twice...well, most start to doubt that.
For every bit of intelligent I am there is also that intuitive side of me. I seem to lose my mind occasionally and decide to live. It's like I have two sides to myself that are constantly at war.
One side that is totally rational, easy going, content to live out life doing what I do and just settling for whatever comes my way. And this other part...well...it wants fairy tale fire works. The whole kitten caboodle. I want to feel the fire! Hell, I want to jump into the fire and dance.
Then...I jump into the fire and dance...and man do I get burned. But do I learn my lesson? NOPE. Just hop out and back in.
I'm SMART! Why do I know better and still STILL run right back. It's the feeling, the craving, for that fire. It's the desire for the fire that makes me refuse to settle "just because I should". It's the wanting to share yourself with someone, really sharing everything, that makes me want more. It's wanting to be comfortable with myself and my place. It's THAT I want most.
Monday, May 18, 2009
How a Bean gets fried
My nickname came to me when I was hanging out with some friends in Wendy's about 11 years ago. We had imbibed a few less than legal things at that time and found it very hilarious to make a nickname up for me. I was the only one without one back then. They tried several out and we laughed for about an hour. Then my sister (being as brilliantly sarcastic as I am) says...
"You shall be the BEAN!"...this is met with blank stares...(not that the eyes weren't already glazed over but even blanker than that)
"Uh, why?" B inquires.
"Because she has so many sides...Jumping bean when she's nervous, Mean Bean when she's mad, Queen Bean when she's in charge, Green bean when she's puking, and Fried Bean (our personal favorite) when , well, she's fried."
And that is how my nickname came to be over some fries dipped in frosty at the old Wendys with four hilarious girlfriends who still to this day (along with the rest of my family) call me BEAN. And that's why I smile when AC comments ...I can add butter bean to my list now :)
"You shall be the BEAN!"...this is met with blank stares...(not that the eyes weren't already glazed over but even blanker than that)
"Uh, why?" B inquires.
"Because she has so many sides...Jumping bean when she's nervous, Mean Bean when she's mad, Queen Bean when she's in charge, Green bean when she's puking, and Fried Bean (our personal favorite) when , well, she's fried."
And that is how my nickname came to be over some fries dipped in frosty at the old Wendys with four hilarious girlfriends who still to this day (along with the rest of my family) call me BEAN. And that's why I smile when AC comments ...I can add butter bean to my list now :)
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Ghosts and Mother's Day
I have a lot of ghosts that haunt me. The flit in and out of my mind and life at odd minutes. Thoughts of things lost and gained. Trying to find the strength to go day to day. Finding the strength and still feeling like I'm lacking. Deep thoughts.
My grammy. I miss her so much. She was the greatest woman. Her husband died really young. My own dad was only nineteen when my grandpa had a massive heart attack and died on the front lawn. Just like that. I never knew him obviously. But I would take her to the cemetery whenever she wanted to go. And she would walk up to his grave and put her hand on his grave stone and whisper "Oh, Jim, why did it have to be this way?" Then she would stand quietly for moment and stare. Straighten up. Then she would say she was finished and ready to go home. And that was all.
To her dying day she never said a bad word about her husband. Even though I am sure she was a little bitter that she had to go to work and support her family without him. Her family came from "old" money. She had never wanted for anything in life growing up. She was strong enough to laugh through the rest of her life. She always had something witty to say for any situation. Anything. And the stories she would tell about her life were classics. Of course, I never really knew what was fact and what was fiction but she always made her point.
I guess it's comforting that I come from that woman's' genes. That strength is probably hardwired into me.
My other grandmother (my maw maw) came from a completely different background. She was the daughter for Sicilian immigrants. They spoke no English at all when they came to America. They scrapped every penny and worked hard in the factories to make a good life in America. My grandfather was an alcoholic that overcame his demons sometime after I was born. But still, my grandmother remembers those times. Less now, I think, that my grandfather is gone, but still she carries those memories. She had seven children, one that died three days after he was born. And, yet, the bitterness of those memories rarely show. She is a little harder than my grammy was. A little more worn by life. But she never questioned that what she did was the right thing. She has never said that she would have rathered have another kind of life. She is the one that gave me this advice "When you marry, marry your best friend."
My own mother was the child of and alcoholic father and an immigrant mother. And Irish man and Sicilian woman came together to create my mother (and yes the temper runs hot in me too at times) :) My mother who married the wrong man for her the first time, the second time, the third time.
She worked two jobs to send us to private schools so that we could have a great education. She would drink milk for breakfast lunch and dinner when there was only enough food for us kids and none for her. She paid the bills and cleaned the house. She loved us enough to keep our bellies full and a roof over our head when it would have been easier to maybe do something else. I would fall asleep when I was little listening to her pounding away on the typewriter keys as she typed out mortgage information late into the night for her second job. My mom never missed a single tennis match, volleyball, baseball, basketball game. She was THERE. We never had a single thing that my friends did. No cable, pizza, fast food, phone in our rooms, only one tv in the house. But what those other kids missed out on...MY MOM WAS THERE.
And through all of my mistakes, my drama, my heartache and my joy...she has been there. She has held my hand, counted out contractions, dried my tears.
These are the women that are my examples. The women that I want my girls to be. The greatest sum of all of the parts. The heartbeat of the family. The drier of tears. The humanity that humanity has lost. I want my children to laugh through the trials...work for what they want...hold the hands that need held.
In my girls I see my grammys impishness, my maw maws bs detector, my mothers compassion. Already they are little bits of the best parts. And it's a beautiful mother's day gift to realize that maybe someday one of them will be sitting here adding me to the list of the great women who made them the people they will be....
My grammy. I miss her so much. She was the greatest woman. Her husband died really young. My own dad was only nineteen when my grandpa had a massive heart attack and died on the front lawn. Just like that. I never knew him obviously. But I would take her to the cemetery whenever she wanted to go. And she would walk up to his grave and put her hand on his grave stone and whisper "Oh, Jim, why did it have to be this way?" Then she would stand quietly for moment and stare. Straighten up. Then she would say she was finished and ready to go home. And that was all.
To her dying day she never said a bad word about her husband. Even though I am sure she was a little bitter that she had to go to work and support her family without him. Her family came from "old" money. She had never wanted for anything in life growing up. She was strong enough to laugh through the rest of her life. She always had something witty to say for any situation. Anything. And the stories she would tell about her life were classics. Of course, I never really knew what was fact and what was fiction but she always made her point.
I guess it's comforting that I come from that woman's' genes. That strength is probably hardwired into me.
My other grandmother (my maw maw) came from a completely different background. She was the daughter for Sicilian immigrants. They spoke no English at all when they came to America. They scrapped every penny and worked hard in the factories to make a good life in America. My grandfather was an alcoholic that overcame his demons sometime after I was born. But still, my grandmother remembers those times. Less now, I think, that my grandfather is gone, but still she carries those memories. She had seven children, one that died three days after he was born. And, yet, the bitterness of those memories rarely show. She is a little harder than my grammy was. A little more worn by life. But she never questioned that what she did was the right thing. She has never said that she would have rathered have another kind of life. She is the one that gave me this advice "When you marry, marry your best friend."
My own mother was the child of and alcoholic father and an immigrant mother. And Irish man and Sicilian woman came together to create my mother (and yes the temper runs hot in me too at times) :) My mother who married the wrong man for her the first time, the second time, the third time.
She worked two jobs to send us to private schools so that we could have a great education. She would drink milk for breakfast lunch and dinner when there was only enough food for us kids and none for her. She paid the bills and cleaned the house. She loved us enough to keep our bellies full and a roof over our head when it would have been easier to maybe do something else. I would fall asleep when I was little listening to her pounding away on the typewriter keys as she typed out mortgage information late into the night for her second job. My mom never missed a single tennis match, volleyball, baseball, basketball game. She was THERE. We never had a single thing that my friends did. No cable, pizza, fast food, phone in our rooms, only one tv in the house. But what those other kids missed out on...MY MOM WAS THERE.
And through all of my mistakes, my drama, my heartache and my joy...she has been there. She has held my hand, counted out contractions, dried my tears.
These are the women that are my examples. The women that I want my girls to be. The greatest sum of all of the parts. The heartbeat of the family. The drier of tears. The humanity that humanity has lost. I want my children to laugh through the trials...work for what they want...hold the hands that need held.
In my girls I see my grammys impishness, my maw maws bs detector, my mothers compassion. Already they are little bits of the best parts. And it's a beautiful mother's day gift to realize that maybe someday one of them will be sitting here adding me to the list of the great women who made them the people they will be....
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Reformers
One of the attributes of some people that bothers me the most is what I call reformer syndrome. People who stop smoking are suddenly the hardest on the smokers. Stop drinking? Well, drinking if for dummy's. They stop driving gas cars and say we are all killing the environment. Some reformed people just suck.
I got this call from a girl I haven't spoken to in years. Just a friend and we had been close at one time...but children marriage and distance were all factors in us not speaking much anymore. Well, she calls and apparently, she was baptized recently. (Yeah, baptism seems to be a theme in my friends lives right now. You would think there was a sale or something). But she decides to go on and on about the grace of God. Jesus. The Resurrection. Two whole hours. And in this time she starts quoting bible verses. The wrong verses for the wrong points she was trying to make. I had to tell her she was wrong. Really, had to set her straight. Then she says to me...what do you know about the bible? You might have been baptized but have most definitely fallen from grace.
Now at this point I would have normally given up on the conversation and pinched one my kids to get some screaming action so I could politely get off of the phone (and yes, I'm joking about the pinching). But I felt compelled to get her true opinion on the matter. And it basically boiled down to the fact that she believed there would never be anything I could do to redeem myself for having a child out of wedlock. Then I had to remind her that her first two children both had different fathers, so does that mean that she is also unsaveable? She says that she was baptized after the fact so her sins are forgiven. So do I just need to go get re baptized every time I sin? I didn't get it then. I don't get it now...
So here I open to the floor to the various religious beliefs that float around. Anyone have any opinions (not on me personally...but more the subject of baptizism and sins and all that) ?
I got this call from a girl I haven't spoken to in years. Just a friend and we had been close at one time...but children marriage and distance were all factors in us not speaking much anymore. Well, she calls and apparently, she was baptized recently. (Yeah, baptism seems to be a theme in my friends lives right now. You would think there was a sale or something). But she decides to go on and on about the grace of God. Jesus. The Resurrection. Two whole hours. And in this time she starts quoting bible verses. The wrong verses for the wrong points she was trying to make. I had to tell her she was wrong. Really, had to set her straight. Then she says to me...what do you know about the bible? You might have been baptized but have most definitely fallen from grace.
Now at this point I would have normally given up on the conversation and pinched one my kids to get some screaming action so I could politely get off of the phone (and yes, I'm joking about the pinching). But I felt compelled to get her true opinion on the matter. And it basically boiled down to the fact that she believed there would never be anything I could do to redeem myself for having a child out of wedlock. Then I had to remind her that her first two children both had different fathers, so does that mean that she is also unsaveable? She says that she was baptized after the fact so her sins are forgiven. So do I just need to go get re baptized every time I sin? I didn't get it then. I don't get it now...
So here I open to the floor to the various religious beliefs that float around. Anyone have any opinions (not on me personally...but more the subject of baptizism and sins and all that) ?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
