Aw Shut Up!

Yeah, so I can hardly even watch the frickin' news anymore.

They're going on and on about the frickin' snow, the driving conditions, snow emergencies, etc. like it's a frickin' natural disaster of epic proportions. Come on, you frickin' idiots... this is Minnesota, and it's frickin' WINTER. Yeah, there's a lot of snow out there, but for cripes' sake... IT HAPPENS. EVERY YEAR, DUMBASSES. IT'S MINNESOTA.

There is absolutely no valid reason to dedicate an entire hour of local news to snow. I'm sure there is plenty else going on in the world that merits coverage. As much as I hate to hear about the misery and destruction going on in other parts of the world, I hate the constant snow coverage much, much more.

No, I don't want to see roving reporters interviewing people who are trying to shovel their cars out so they can go to work. Leave them the hell alone... they're probably already late, and you are just compounding the problem by holding them up, asking them inane questions about their shoveling technique. No, I don't want to see the stiff-haired, faux-tanned anchor people wearing suits that scream, "I have a major stick up my ass," with fake looks of concern plastered on their faces as they report on the news truck that is currently stuck in the station's parking lot. No, I don't want to see the weather guy standing outside holding up a shovel full of snow like he's never seen it before in his life, grinning like a frickin' mental patient, telling me for the five zillionth time how much snow we've gotten and how much more we can expect.

As I previously stated: it's Minne-frickin'-sota, it's bound to snow large amounts every frickin' year, it's not that big a frickin' deal, so shut up, shut up, shut the hell up.

Can't decide

I was up at Big Louie's last Sunday, and an acquaintance of mine said that most people up there think I'm a stupid bitch because of the whole rumor mill thing and my current marital situation. Hmmmm. Of course, I got very upset and fled in tears, spewing various expletives.

Now I'm not sure if I want to go up there anymore. I mean, I hate the idea of people looking at me and thinking nasty things about me. I shouldn't really care, because most of them are stupid barflies who don't even know me, but for some reason it matters.

One of my friends hasn't been able to go up there for a month, and she's going up tonight and wants to see me. I'd love to see her, and she's let me know several times that it's important to her that I go and hang out with her, but I just don't know if I can bring myself to do it. She says that I shouldn't care what other people think, because I know the truth and so do the people who care about me, and that's all that should matter. She even offered to start a horrible rumor about herself so everyone will forget about me entirely. Crazy. Sweet, but crazy.

So I'm totally going back and forth about what to do. "Should I stay or should I go... If I go there will be troubllllle... And if I stay it will be double... So come on and let me know... Should I cool it or should I blow?"

The Drunk Hobbit

So, yeah... I'm up at the bar Sunday night for karaoke (as usual), and I'm sitting alone. This tiny little drunk comes up to me and asks if he can sit with me and chat a while.

First of all, this little creature is repulsive. He totally looks like a hobbit, to the point where I am afraid to look down because I'm pretty sure he has those huge, hairy, bare hobbit feet. Second, he is so drunk he can hardly see straight. He's slurring and weaving, and he's making no frickin' sense at all.

So I tell him I'm waiting on some friends, so he can't sit with me. He goes, "Well, I'll just wait with you until they get here," and parks his tiny little ass on the bar stool next to me. Crap. See, I wasn't exactly sure if any of my friends would be there. I was terrified of being stuck sitting next to this annoying dude all night.

So he starts going into his life story (why does every stranger I meet feel like they need to tell me their life story???), and I'm not even looking at him, trying to give the hint that I really don't give a rat's ass. He's telling me about how he works in a bakery, and how he was supposed to get married last summer but the chick wouldn't sign a prenup, so he had to cut her loose. Um, yeah... if you're slaving away in a grocery store bakery and drinking your income away at the bar every night, I doubt you have enough dough to merit a prenup. (Get it? He works in a bakery and I said dough. I crack me up.)

So as he's telling me his sad, slurred, probably fabricated story, I'm giving pleading looks to the bartender, and other regulars are laughing their asses off because we've all seen the hobbit up there before, and we all know how annoying he is and avoid him like the plague.

Bless her heart, she clued in a couple of the other regulars, who called across the bar and asked me to come over and talk. So I picked up and moved, giving some lame excuse to the fairytale creature as I fled.

Eventually a couple of my friends did show up, which was awesome because then there were no empty seats for the hobbit. However, the hobbit stared at me for the rest of the evening, moving around the bar talking to anyone and everyone who was unable to avoid or deflect him. I wonder how many of me he was seeing... he was really trashed.

One funny thing from when he was sitting there talking my ear off: he asks what kind of cigarettes I'm smoking and what I'm drinking, and I tell him. He asks if they're expensive, and I tell him they are. He goes, "I can tell you're a woman with expensive tastes." I couldn't help myself... I go, "Yes I am. Far too expensive for you." The funny thing was, it was totally lost on him. I mean, I totally dissed him, yet he kept hanging around and talking to me. "Deeeeeeesperado.... why don't you come to your senses...." I mean, come on.

Later in the evening this other guy comes in. He totally looked like a malnourished, deranged Santa Claus. Long white beard, long white hair, plaid flannel shirt with a blaze orange baseball cap, and I'm pretty sure he was missing more than a few teeth. He looked like he'd spent the winter alone in a cabin in the woods, practicing taxidermy on squirrels and chipmunks. I was going, "Oh dear God, please let him sing. Oh please let him sing." Sure enough, he gets up there and demolishes a couple country tunes and a rock ballad. He was totally into it, in the way that someone who doesn't realize how much they suck gets into singing a song. I was laughing my frickin' ass off. Ho ho frickety ho.

It was a fun evening (once I got away from the drunk hobbit), and I'm glad I was able to pull myself out of my funk and go out. It was awesome to see my friends, sing a few songs, and just not think about all the crap going on at home for a little while.

It's all over but the cryin'

Well friends, I'm not feeling too jovial or chatty these days. Nothing seems funny or interesting. Everything is just hard and exhausting.

Here's the deal: my marriage of nearly fifteen years is over. I am leaving my husband. Right now things are ugly, loud, hurtful, stressful, everything yucky you might imagine. I feel like I'm being beat up every single day. Sometimes every hour. Although he's never laid a hand on me, he knows right where to strike emotionally and mentally. Now that he's feeling hurt and furious, he's putting careful thought into ways to mess with my mind... even more thought than usual.

That's why I'm leaving. I'm so very tired of feeling unloved and disrespected, tired of feeling like a nothing, tired of feeling like a glorified maid/nanny/whore. I need to be free of this constant pain, both for my own sake and for the sake of my kids. I just need to get out and start over.

So I might not be posting much for a while, and if I do, it might just be a nasty vent instead of my usual observations.

There. Consider yourself warned.