Monday, November 29, 2010


So I'm going to be a little whiny because I just spent several days with family of both the mine and the in-law varieties, and I love them very much but they make me regress several years. If you don't like it...whatever, I do what I want. So there.

Ya'll make no mistake. I love my mother. I have no doubt she loves me. Mother-daughter relationships always seem to be complicated. Please consider that my disclaimer.

My mother is one of THOSE. You know, one of the critical ones. She doesn't view herself as critical; she sees herself as CONCERNED. Sometimes I can accept her version of things, like when there is something that might actually be an issue to be concerned about.

My mother's pet "concern" since I was 12 has been my complexion. I don't have acne, but I have a tendency to stress breakouts (ahem, MOTHER) and this apparently worries her. Look, I don't love having zits (especially at 28; I was promised I would outgrow this. Lying liars seated upon thrones of lies!)but...of all the things I myself have a tendency to get anxious about, my face is not really one of them. I need time to worry that a meteor will crush me or my husband will die if the house isn't spotless or my car will spontaneously crash if it isn't completely clean inside and out or that other drivers will swerve into me at high speeds for no reason or that there is a serial killer in the closet in the guest bedroom. This doesn't leave me time for "concern" about my face. I'm clean, I'm eating right, I'm not touching my face, I'm doing my best. The rest is in God's hands as far as I'm concerned, and He's probably a little busy with more important things.

So of course I'm broken out over Thanksgiving, and of course this is the END of the WORLD as we know it.

"Are you drinking plenty of water? You aren't touching your face are you? You don't put the phone against your face do you? Are you cleaning your phone? You should clean your phone. (Through this portion, I am sitting there stoically, nodding and shaking my head where appropriate, hoping that if I ignore this it will go away) Are you washing your face?"

Clearly, the bad thing did not go away. Also that last one makes me feel about 7 years old and I can't bite my tongue anymore.

"No, Mom, do you think that could be the problem?"

And then she STARES at me. With this...face. It is wholly indescribable. Imagine that you have just told your mom you have cancer. The look of horror and shock and worry and near tears you would see in her face is the closest I can get to describing this expression. Also, if this is the face I get over PIMPLES I hope to high heaven I never have to tell her I have cancer.

"Mom, why are you WORRIED about this? It's unattractive, it's not fatal. I already snagged me a man, you know. He's not going to leave me over it. I'm not going to get demoted at work. My friends will still be my friends."

"Alright, Ms. Smart Alec, what if you get (whisper) scarred?"

"Then...I will be scarred? Are you afraid the villagers will come after me with their pitchforks and their torches?"

Now she is wringing her hands in worry and also shooting me the death glare because of my smart mouth. But she takes my point. FOR THE TIME BEING.

An hour later I am presented with a cucumber and instructed to slice it up and rub it on my face. I do it because it's not worth fighting over and I figure if she sees me doing something maybe it will make her leave me alone for the rest of my visit.

And I will be damned if it didn't work. My mother was right, I was forced to admit it, and now I will never hear the end of anything again, world without end, amen.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Random Things For Which to be Thankful (HA! I managed NOT to end a sentence in a preposition for once in my everloving life! Am Awesome).

Well, I had my car transformed from a 2000 Fiery Death Trap back into a 2000 Volvo: the car that Twilight ruined. So that's good. And it cost about half what the dealership quoted me, and they gave me a loaner car which made me love my OWN car so very much more. It was a giant red 96 Volvo. And when I say red, I mean it was the reddest red to ever red. I generally have no car vanity. I'm not defined by my car, therefore I've never been embarrassed of one before. Other people have been embarrassed of my cars, but I never have been. Until I had to put gas in that red monstrosity. I tried very hard to hide while fueling up that abomination to machinery everywhere. Seriously, I think it should probably be destroyed with fire before it has a chance to propagate more of its kind.

So now that my car is fixed and its Daylight Saving Time, I've started doing my run at the river trail on my lunch break. More specifically, at the Big Dam Bridge (longest pedestrian bridge across a river ever or something that I don't really care about). I like running there at this time of year because I generally have the area to myself. In the spring and summer you have about a million other people, 999,999 of them on bicycles. You may have never noticed this, but cyclists are assholes. There is no need to ride 5 across the path, and yet they continually force me into the weeds and mud because they are assholes in stupid pants. But at this time of year it is just me. And the deer. There were two in the middle of the path today, and I got so close to them I could have pet them if I had not learned my lesson about deer several years ago when I let one into our house (okay, it was a doublewide trailer. Whatever, I let a deer in is the point). Also the Big Dam Bridge gave me the opportunity to have the following conversation:

"So, where do you run?"

"When the day lasts longer, I like to run in my neighborhood. But at this time of year, I usually run at the Big Dam Bridge."

"Why do they call it that? I think that name is just horrible!"

"Because it is big? And it runs across the dam? And it is a bridge?"

"OH! I thought they were calling it the Big DAMN Bridge just to be hicks or something."

"Okay, then!"

Interesting thing about running in my neighborhood is that while I don't really know anyone, I am constantly recognized at the corner store or even while running. Because I am the only person who does it on a regular basis, and I guess I'm memorable. I like the opportunity to have conversations with people I might not normally talk to. I also like to feel like a celebrity. The best way to feel like a celebrity is to be recognized by complete strangers. Speaking of, my corner store is awesome. The people who work there are all competent and they remember customers and generally what we purchase (Before the great fixening of my car: Wow, girl, you sure buy a lot of oil! Yeah, I've gotta get my car fixed. That sucks!)But also if you go after a certain time of night you can meet the crackheads, who all tend to be very interesting and kind people, for some reason. Just, you know, in a crazy cracked out way.

Speaking of crackheads, I am on a definite energy upswing right now which is always awesome. One of the reasons I go on and off medication so often is because I tend to miss the manic energy that comes with being overly anxious. But, I'm having energy upswing without being unmedicated, and that rocks. Yesterday I managed to clean the kitchen, vacuum the floors, sweep, mop, clean the carpet, steam clean the bedspread, repair the rips in the bedspread, wash all the laundry, put the laundry away, make chocolate chip pancakes for dinner, clean even the darkest corners, clean the French door, sweep the back porch, do the dishes, clean the leaves out of the carport, wash the car, and vacuum the car. And then do a hot oil treatment on my hair before watching Boardwalk Empire and Walking Dead. For which I am also grateful, Amen.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Loose change

Back a few months ago, I was bitching about having to pay $900 in car repairs. I had no idea how good I had it. Those were the good old days. $900? Psh. No problem.

Because now I need about $1,900 worth of repairs on my car.

On my $4,000 car.

I am no mathalete, or anything, but my calculations are indicating that purple flying pigs will ice skate on a lake of frozen gold in hell before I pay that much for this car.

Seriously, the guy at Volvo called me on the phone and as soon as the words "nineteen hundred dollars" left his mouth I said, "Holy shit." And that's all I said for several minutes. Then I laughed at the very nice, clearly delusional gentleman when he asked me if I wanted them to get started on that. He was super nice about it, actually, but he did warn me that I'm likely to die a horrible fiery death at an indeterminate time and place. That's kind of always been a possibility hasn't it? It's not like it's more likely now that I know about it.


Halloween consisted of Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, a lot of Ghost Hunters, A Haunting in Connecticut, and Paranormal Activity. I LAUGHED all the way through Paranormal Activity. Until I went to bed. Where I suddenly became terrified of the demon and sweated all night with 13,000 blankets pulled up over my face. Because if I can't see it, it's not there, and also everyone knows that blankets are the ultimate in protection against demon possessions, axe murders, and serial killer clowns.


I have always been jealous of people in big cities with reliable public transportation who have hilarious and shocking stories about their fellow commuters (just for context: my office is 14 miles from my house. In order to take the bus to my office, I have to walk 1/2 mile, change buses 5 times, and walk another 1/2 mile. Cars are kind of a necessity here). Anyway, I always wanted to be able to tell stories about fellow commuters and the receptionist at the office generously supplied me with one.

As she was driving in to work the other day, she was cruising along in the middle lane to avoid one particularly horrible set up where two exits are about 1/4 mile from each other and the first one backs up the interstate for about 2 miles in the morning. She and I both need the second exit. This is usually no big thing. You stay in the middle lane, get over immediately after the first exit, and take the second exit. Except THAT morning, when she was trying to get over, the car next to her was staying right beside her. She slowed down. The other car slowed down. She sped up. The other car sped up. This continued as she turned to give the guy "What the fuck?" face. At which point she realized he was staring directly at her while driving and jacking off.

And really? Dude? In the car? While driving? Part of me respects his ability to multi-task and part of me wonders things like was he planning to masturbate in the car that morning or was it spur of the moment? What exactly was his long range plan? I mean, did he bring something (like a sock? a...condom? a jizz rag?) along to contain the ejaculate? Was he planning to improvise? Is his steering wheel covered in crusty old spunk? (What? Inquiring minds).


And to get the bad taste out of your mouth, I bring you: Unparalleled cuteness I should probably feel bad about including in a post about Happy Highway Masturbator.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

In completely unrelated news

Slightly related to my last post, I realize that I was a little angry and might have sounded a smidgen...bitchier...than intended. I would like to say here and now that the point of the post wasn't actually about her weight, but more about her complaining about something that she does absolutely nothing to change. Just to be clear:

I don't think you're fat. I don't think anything about your weight. You can weigh whatever the hell you want and still be completely sexy (minor anecdote: my cousin, who is like my sister, has struggled her whole life with her weight. She once managed to drop down to a size 8 - the smallest she's ever been- and...she...really didn't look that great. She needs her curves. She's incredibly beautiful and I love her). I don't hate fat people. I don't even think you ARE fat, remember? I apologize if I was not as clear as I should have been.

In completely unrelated news:

It's election day, and I am voting even though I am not convinced it really matters. But I don't want to talk about that. I want to talk about the awesomest campaign commercial of the season.

Basically, it goes like this:

[Imagine you are listening to James Earl Jones, Kevin Spacey, some Shakespearean actor, and that guy who does the movie previews combined. Only...MORE]: Chad Causey is from WASHINGTON D.C. He is NOT FROM HERE. Chad Causey has FRIENDS in WASHINGTON, D.C. (please imagine Washington, D.C. being stated in the same way you might say THE LANDFILL or HELL). Chad Causey's ad people are only separated from Nancy Pelosi by 3 degrees. NANCY PELOSI (I think there might be subliminal text here that I'm missing about Nancy Pelosi being a minion of hell, out to do the work of the evil one - in this instance I believe Barack Obama is playing the part of the evil one). Chad Causey...BARACK O'BAMA (see? Told you). Don't vote for Chad Causey.

And then I die of giggle. I don't know why the ad people don't want me to vote for Causey (liberal cooties, maybe? He has brushed up against Pelosi and O'Bama, and after all, we all know liberalism is contagious. Like communism) but they say his name so many times that it will be the one I recognize on the ballot, even if I don't know anything else about him.

In other unrelated news: someone just brought me a free muffin. It was delicious. It ALMOST was worth getting out of bed this morning for that muffin. Almost.