Why I don't vote

That's right, people, I don't even bother to go to the polls anymore. Here's why:

1) My husband is a Democrat. He thinks I am a Republican because of my pro-life stance, but he is dead wrong. I do not, nor have I ever, really affiliated myself with any one party. Okay, when I used to vote I sometimes voted Republican, but not ALWAYS. Anyhow, we never agree on politics, and he won't even listen to what I think. If I just say I don't give a flying frick about any of it, it's one less thing for us to fight about. Although, the other night he picked a fight with me because I said I wasn't voting. Whatever. There's no way to anticipate what's going to annoy him about me, so I've stopped trying to figure it out.

2) ALL the candidates suck in my opinion, in every single election. I got tired of trying to figure out who was the lesser of the two evils, so I gave up. Yeah, I know what you're saying: that by not casting a vote, I'm voting for my candidate's opponent by default. But, since I don't have a candidate, I say BULL.

If not voting casts a default vote for my candidate's opponent, but I don't have a candidate, then my nonvote should actually count as TWO votes, one for each evil party. See? It all evens out in the end. I'm either mental or brilliant... take your pick. Just as long as you know that if you don't make a choice you're choosing the one you wouldn't have picked in the first place....

That one gross guy

One of my early posts was about a guy that hangs out up at the local bar. You know the one... the big, nasty bus driver who lives in his parents' basement and lusts after teenaged girls.

Well, a couple weeks ago my husband took me to see Jackass 2 (Oh, it was wonderful... I laughed so hard I had tears rolling down my face... my husband chuckled a couple times, but otherwise just sat there shaking his head... but that's another post entirely) and we hit the bar afterward.

That gross dude was there, and he frickin' bought me a drink. Okay, usually that's a good thing, but for me that meant that when he came over to talk to us, and I knew he would, I'd have to be nice. Crap.

So he comes over to chat us up, and he's got a frickin' stuffed animal with him. Yeah, you heard me. A little black cow with a shock of green hair. He goes, "This is my mascot, Lucifer Beelzebub Rex. He sits in my car. I've had him for about four years." And you decided to bring him into the bar with you tonight WHY??? I guess it's a good thing it sits in his car... I was afraid maybe he brought it on his school bus to lure unsuspecting girls into conversation or something. I was actually glad to meet his little mascot... one more thing to mock him about. Yeah, hi, I'm a forty-five year old man drinking Pepsi at the bar with a frickin' stuffed animal on my lap. Please be my friend.

So my husband asks him if he's going to go home and catch the end of Saturday Night Live. I half expected him to say something gay like, "My mom doesn't let me watch late night tv," but instead he goes into this long explanation of how he likes to watch the Disney Channel and ABC Family. Well, I suppose it's important for him to stay current on what the teeny-boppers are watching if he's going to snag himself a date, right? Yuck.

It was sooooo hard, because inside I was laughing my frickin' ass off, but I had to be nice because he bought me a frickin' drink. Stifling my laughter was almost physically painful.

In case you can't tell, I'm feeling much better today... I think the fact that my bitchy commentary on life is back on track is a good sign, don't you?

Empty calories

Okay, yeah... so I am actually trying to make more of an effort to eat. After re-reading my post about not eating, I realized that I am massively screwed in the head, and so I'm making a real effort here.

Unfortunately, all I really want to eat is crap like Krispy Kremes and Ben & Jerry's. Cherry Garcia rocks.

My husband got on my case for eating crap, but I told him to shut the hell up. First he's all pissed because I'm not eating, then he's pissed because I'm eating empty calories. Whatever. Nothing I ever do is going to please him.

For some reason, I decided I wanted ice cream around 2 AM last night. So there I am, in my jammies, watching some drivel on tv and eating Cherry Garcia. It was sooooo good. For about 20 minutes. Then the sugar hit my bloodstream and I got violently ill. Remember the dumping syndrome I told you about? Yeah, I dumped big time. Couldn't breathe, sweating, heart racing, retching, the works.

Will that keep me from getting up in the middle of the night tonight to eat more ice cream? Hmmm... probably not.

Depression and anorexia

I have been so depressed for the last week. Depressed because of the blow-out with my dear friend, depressed because of a touchy conversation with my husband that could've destroyed my life as I know it, and emotionally out-of-control because of stupid old PMS.

I cried all day every day, moped around, didn't shower (I know... gross), didn't cook or clean (again, gross), didn't sleep well, and didn't eat. I've finally stopped crying and moping, I have showered, and I'm slowly trying to get out from under the mess that piled up around my house. However, I still have big, dark bags under my eyes and I have lost two more pounds... pounds I really couldn't afford to lose.

The thing is, I really still don't want to eat. I just don't want to. I have to force myself to do it, and I get no pleasure from it. My husband is alarmed. He is on my case day and night to stuff my face, and yells at me when he finds out I haven't eaten all day. It's gotten to the point where I'll eat a tablespoon of peanut butter in front of him just to shut him up. And I'll have a few bites of dinner with the fam for appearances.

My appetite is coming back just a little in the past couple days. Unfortunately, now eating is making me sick. It gets harder and harder to choke down food, and I physically feel like crap every time I eat.

I don't dare tell most people that I am struggling with this, because most women say crappy things like, "Oh, I wish I had your problem." Oh, really?? You want to feel anxious every time you think about having to eat? You want to have a hard time swallowing every bite? You want to end up vomiting half of it back up? You want to spend an hour after you eat in physical pain as your intestines try to digest what you managed to keep down? Yeah, bitch... try that for a few days and then come back and let me know how it's working out for you.

What's really sick is that last year I probably would have said the same thing to a skinny chick who was complaining about losing too much weight.

My friend told me he thinks I should see a doctor. Yeah, I probably should. But I probably won't. The reason is ridiculous and pathetic: I won't go because I don't really care at this point. Yeah, it bothers me and frustrates me, but not enough to actually do anything about it. Eventually I will crash and burn, and then I will take action. I have this insanely perverted need to hit rock-bottom before I will get off my ass and do what I need to do to fix anything. That's the way I work, ask anyone. And I'm not likely to change my spots any time soon.

Next time you hit Krispy Kreme, suck down a couple fresh-baked glazed ones for me.

Why PMS is a good thing

Just Kidding. PMS is never a good thing.

I realized last Friday that I was in the middle of a raging case of PMS, which totally explains why I've been such an emotional freak for the past week and a half. It doesn't excuse my behavior in any way, shape or form, but it does explain a lot.

I feel horrible that my poor friend got hit head on by my hormones. That poor, sweet man... he so did not deserve everything I threw at him.

We got together and talked last Sunday, and I think we came to an understanding of sorts. I'm not sure things will ever be completely the same between us, but the fact that he was willing to even try to save our friendship says a lot. Basically, we are starting over from scratch with some better-defined boundaries. I'd rather start over than have no relationship with him at all. He is so very important to me, and I love him a lot.

I wish I could better anticipate my hormones so that I could go live in a cave for about ten days every month so that my PMS doesn't rear its ugly head and screw up every good thing I have.

Heartbroken

I am so sad today. I've lost my best friend.

I overreacted to a situation, said some things I really didn't mean, and forced an all-or-nothing confrontation. I want to take it all back and go back to the way things were, but I'm not sure it's possible. I'm afraid the damage is done.

The thing is, I know in my heart that I can't live without him. He is my best friend, my drinking buddy, my confidant, my comforter, my sounding board, my truth-teller, and my equal in every way. I have never known anyone who challenges me, accepts me, respects me, cares about me, and instinctually understands me the way this man does. Aside from my children, there is no one more important to me than him. Yet I pushed him away in a temporary rush of anger... I hurt the one person I swore I would never hurt, and I'm not sure he can forgive me, because I know I can't forgive myself.

I would do just about anything to fix this. I will beg forgiveness on my hands and knees if I have to. I am so full of regret, remorse, and horror. I can't stop crying, can't stop the physical pain of this grief, can't stop wishing I could erase what I've done.

I wish I knew why I act the way I do. I wish I could stop being so intense, so controlling, so emotional. I cause nothing but heartache and confusion, both for myself and for everyone I love.

I want my best friend back. I want it more than anything in the world.

One Hundred Pounds!

Yeah, that's right. My surgery was 11 months ago today, and as of this morning I have lost 100 lbs. Unbelievable, right? Check out these pics:



Holy frickin' crap. Somebody pinch me. Hard.

Karaoke Contest

Did I mention that I am a finalist in the big karaoke contest at the bar where I hang out?

It's kinda funny. The prizes are not real spectacular, but several people have told me that they are depending on the cash being offered as first prize to better their lives. Okay... if you really think that a couple hundred bucks is gonna change your life, then you should be doing better things with your time than practicing for a crappy karaoke contest... like maybe getting a job or something. The second and third prizes are gift certificates to the bar.

So the contest is really just for fun, and apparently to lure more people up there on Sunday nights during football season.

I generally dislike competition, so I really don't care if I win or not. It's socially acceptable exhibitionism, which is right up my alley. Plus I get a chance to sing, and since I no longer sing at church I've shifted to the Church of Big Louie's Bar and Grill. And to top things off, I get to watch people and pick them apart as much as I want without worrying that they might see me watching and picking and be offended.

The first night of the contest, one of the finalists took the whole thing super duper seriously. He drank hot tea with lemon all night to warm his pipes up, and then he changed into a costume in the bathroom before he sang. What did he sing, you ask? The frickin' Monster Mash. Complete with the Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre impersonations. Now I ask you: why would you feel the need to keep your vocal cords supple for such a gay song? I mean really. The costume I can kinda see... I mean, you can't really hope to be taken seriously with a song like that, so you might as well ham it up. But the hot tea... I mean, I was sitting there sucking down Southern Hospitalities and chain smoking, and I managed to stumble my way into the finals. Why get your undies all in a bunch over nothing?

What was really funny was the guy's wife. She was there for moral support, and while he was singing she was up there dancing like he was Tom Jones or something. I was a little surprised she didn't throw her panties at him or flash her boobs. I'm glad she didn't go that far, though... she was old and not real attractive. For a brief second I thought about the sad sickness of the fact that she seemed to be getting all hot and bothered about this little guy singing the Monster Mash... I mean, what does that say about their sex life??? Kinky.

The only problem I have with the whole costume thing is wondering what this guy is gonna wear for the finals. Does this mean I have to wear a costume too? Maybe if I show up flashing a lot of cleavage and then spill hot tea with lemon on my top I can score the third prize gift certificate... although I could burn that up in one evening of drinking, so it would hardly be worth it.

Movies I wanna see

1. Jackass Number Two
I loved the first Jackass movie. There is something absolutely hilarious about people getting hurt, especially when they're doing it to themselves out of their own stupidity. The first time I saw Jackass (yeah, I saw it more than once and it never got less funny to me) I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. I can only imagine how much stupider (i.e. funnier) this one will be.

2. The Grudge 2
The first one was soooooo creepy. I love horror movies... always have, always will. The scarier the better. A movie with pissed off ghosts? Awesome. A sequel where the pissed off ghosts are even more pissed off? Priceless.

3. Saw III
The Saw movies are some of the goriest I've seen. Gore is good. Plus, the storyline is so twisted. There is nothing better than a suspenseful, gory movie that makes you have to think a little to figure out where the plot is going.

4. The Departed
Okay... this one is a departure for me. Not funny, not scary. But it has a great cast (except for Leonardo DiCaprio... could his head possibly get any larger???) and the plot sounds interesting. And Mark Wahlberg... yummy.

I'm trying to talk my husband and my best friend into seeing Jackass 2 with me. Yeah, they talk like they're too highbrow for such a dumb movie, but I know in my heart that they would both laugh their asses off. They secretly love to see dumbasses getting injured, almost as much as I do. At least I'm honest about it. I'd probably have an easier time talking them into seeing The Departed, but I'm going balls to the wall and pushing for Jackass.

The horror movies I will definitely have to see alone. No one I know could be cajoled into seeing them with me. So I will go to matinee showings, probably be the only one in the whole theater (not a terrible thing, because I can rattle my wrappers, laugh at inappropriate times and talk back to the screen as much as I want) and be sufficiently creeped out.

Soooooooo gross!!!

So yeah.... school again last night.

Once again, The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up was in top form. Didn't do the readings, yet had soooooooooo much to say. Poor "LeeAnn" (at least that's what The Thing thinks her name is) had to be in a discussion group with him for the first time, and by the end of class the poor girl was about to blow a gasket. In all the time I've known her I've never seen her that pissed off. I felt bad for leaving her to fend for herself with The Thing, but come on... I had to be in a group with him last week, and I just could not do it again. I would've had to injure him. Bad.

Here's what was really gross. Computer Boy was sitting a few seats down from me, and I had an unfortunate view of an awful wardrobe malfunction. Ya know how some guys wear their pants waaaaay too low, and when they sit down or bend over you get almost a full moon? Well, Computer Boy's pants had slid so far down that 3/4 of his bare ass was in direct contact with his chair. Okay, could he not feel that????? I would think that he would recognize that the texture of the chair was markedly different than that of his pants, or that he would at least feel the draft on his skin. He must have a numb ass, because he just sat there making no move whatsoever to pull his frickin' pants up. For like at least an hour. Luckily the chair he was sitting in was different than all the other chairs in the room, so I can avoid ever sitting in it. I mean really. How rude. Now that chair probably smells like ass and is covered in E. coli. Get a frickin' belt, Computer Boy. Or maybe all men who wear their pants too low should be required by law to wear a sensor that beeps or gives them a little electric shock when they start showing too much coin slot.

Here's something that bummed me out and pissed me off. I had a really sucky day yesterday, and when I get angry or anxious I clench my teeth like there's no tomorrow. So I pretty much had my jaw clenched all day, and it stayed clenched at school as my frustration level continued to build. All of a sudden I realize that I have CHIPPED A FRICKIN' TOOTH. That's right friends. Right in the middle of class, I manage to clench a little piece of one of my front bottom teeth right off. I guess I need to work on stress reduction, or else wear a mouth guard all the time. Holy crap. So now I have to go to the frickin' dentist to get my tooth filed down or something. I hate going to the dentist. I hate the smell of dentistry, the whine of the drills, the taste of the tooth polish, the easy listening music... I hate it all. The very first time I saw my new dentist I told her to give me nitrous for any and all procedures. The only way I can tolerate having stuff done to my teeth without either gagging or having a panic attack is to be high as a frickin' kite. Oh no... I'm clenching my teeth again...

Stupid frickin' school

Yeah, I've just about had it with The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up.

First, he strolls into class about a half hour late last night. Now, this is nothing new. He's usually late, but he seems to make less and less of an effort to get to class on time every dang week.

Second, he sits smack next to me. What he didn't realize was that he'd put himself in a very dangerous place. I was feeling extra bitchy last night, and I actually felt the physical urge to start kicking him under the table. Hard. Like hard enough to leave large bruises. I restrained myself of course, but that man has no idea how close he came to a good shinning.

Third, he once again monopolized the discussion even though he had no frickin' idea what we were discussing. Every time he opened his damned mouth I started feeling that shin kickin' urge again. It never ceases to amaze me how far off the topic he always seems to be. He's quoting scriptures that have no relevance to the discussion, rambling on and on about who knows what, and preaching mini sermons. Gearing up for that future ordaination, I guess. If you look around the room when he starts talking, you'll notice that as soon as he says, "Yeah, when you said that I started thinking about..." (which is the way every ridiculous utterance starts out with him) everyone else in the room gets this zoned out look on their face: the eyes glaze over, the gaze drops to the table, people start picking lint off their clothes or doodling, and the guy who plays games and crap on his laptop all night long totally disengages and drifts into a Sim fantasy world. How does this dumbass not see how the rest of the class reacts to him???

Fourth, we got split up into discussion groups to talk about this reading that was posted online. This other lady and I got stuck with The Thing. She and I are looking at the reading (thank God she printed it out and brought it, because I forgot to bring a copy), and The Thing looks all confused and goes, "Uh, did the teacher hand those out last week?" Um, yeah... you were there last week.... did you get a frickin' handout??? I wanted to just ignore him, but I just couldn't be that cruel... yet. So I tell him all the readings that aren't in the text books are online, JUST LIKE THE PROF TOLD US THEY WOULD BE. He goes, "Ooooh.... I guess I didn't go online." Really? I didn't see that one coming. So he goes up front and asks the prof for an extra copy. He comes back, and we tell him what section we're discussing, and even the page it's on. By this time this other lady and I are pretty much done discussing and are talking about what we're going to present to the class. All of a sudden I hear The Thing reading out loud to himself... AND HE'S READING THE WRONG DAMNED SECTION. Holy crap, could he be any dumber???? So he sidles up and wants to know what we got out of the reading, and what we're going to say about it. We totally ignored him. Then he starts rambling on about God answering people's prayers by giving us the church to provide for us, and how that's the way our cohort works. Yeah, well... pray away for someone to pick up your slack in class and make it easier for you to bullshit your way to a degree, buddy. Just so ya know, it ain't gonna be me. So we just continued to ignore him. I couldn't even LOOK at him I was so pissed. So anyway, each group presents their interpretation of the reading. After our group says its piece, The Thing starts in with his little analogy of our cohort being like the church, there to help others. First of all, that wasn't even a topic in the reading. Second of all, the prof never makes a move to shut him the hell up. Lastly, there's no way in hell any of us are going to go out of our way to help him because he is such a frickin' slacker. God helps those who help themselves, dude. Or those who at least know when to shut their frickin' yaps in class.

I was pissed when I left school, still pissed when I got home, and STILL pissed when I went to bed. And, as you can see, I still haven't quite let go of my anger. But at least I'm not yelling about it anymore.

However, as I write this, I'm sending some telepathic shin kicks The Thing's way. I hope he feels them.

Something to think about...

My husband criticized me for being "balls to the wall" all the time. He says that there are some things I should just not say, and that I need to learn to let things go. Hmmmmm. My best friend agrees that I can sometimes be freakishly intense.

I do know this about myself, don't get me wrong. My mom used to tell me that I've been intense since the day I was born. I feel everything very deeply, almost to an unhealthy extreme. I analyze everything and everyone, sometimes too much. I have a hard time letting things go.

Here's the thing: I'm pretty sure I can't change the way I am. It seems obvious to me that this is how I'm wired, and maybe the trick is to learn a little self-censorship rather than try to change the way I experience life. Sometimes, though, I just have to say what's on my mind before it eats me alive.

Something for me to think about, I guess...