My therapy

Today, I did all sorts of fun things to try to keep the crazy at bay.  I started by attempting to kill myself by means of a spinning class.  In case you haven’t tried out a spinning class, don’t ever be fooled by someone who suggests you might try it out for fun.  Because that’s an evil lie.  It is most certainly not fun.  I’ll even be so bold as to say it’s the polar opposite of fun.  Unless, of course, fun to you means dying a slow, humiliating death in a room full of much older people who spin just fine.

The good news is that it took the focus off my head problems and put it directly on my legs, which want to buckle underneath me when I put weight on them. 

After that, I enjoyed a networking lunch accompanied by my favorite client who is suffering her own miserable pain . . . pain she acquired while belly dancing.  Is it wrong to be a super tiny bit gleeful that I didn’t harm myself belly dancing while younger people did?  We spent lunch making fun of all the people, because that’s what mature people do, right?  And, I got her iced tea because she’s really that hurt.

I made the executive decision, after lunch, that I needed my nails done.  So, I went and had my nails done, and I have to tell you, it does make me feel much better.  Fancier, if you will.

I then made a lame attempt to do some actual work, which failed miserably.  So, I went to Target, bought some self tanner and eyeliner and headed home.  At home, my OCD set in and I cleaned for 2 hours.  *shrugs* 

After which, I gave myself a wonderful pedicure, mixed up a salt scrub and exfoliated away, shaved, and enjoyed a long shower.  Yay me!

BUT, what really made my day was when my favorite client called me for no other reason than to tell me she likes me and wanted to cheer me up a little bit.  So, see?  I’m making good friends here. 

Bottom line – I feel better than I did yesterday.  Not wildly better, but better.  So, I think what I’ve learned from this is that when your financial situation looks pretty grim, spending money will make you feel better. 

What? 

Bad Mental Health

So, today, I’m having a bad mental health day.  Before you roll your eyes, I don’t claim to be having bad mental health days often just to get off work, or out of a committment, or to excuse murdering someone.  I only say I have bad mental health days when I’m having bad mental health.

Today, I’m enjoying a series of tiny little panic attacks.  Most of the time, tiny things are cute. 

What has happened is that I missed a meeting this morning. . . and I do not miss meetings.  I missed it because I completely spaced it.  Again, I do not do space things.  Part of what makes me happy with who I am is that I am very organized.  I keep a calendar with me almost everywhere I go.  I keep an online calendar.  I keep my calendar in my head.  I do not miss appointments.  I might run late for them, but I don’t miss them.

So, when I completely, not just a little, but completely miss a meeting that I was fully aware was scheduled to occur, I feel like I’m losing my mind.

When I feel like I’m losing my mind, I start to lose my mind.

Basically, my life feels like it’s spinning wildly out of control right now.  Is it just because I missed this meeting?  Yes and No.  Yes, because that was the final straw.  If I hadn’t missed the meeting, I would’ve spent another day feeling like I was still hanging on.  No, obviously no, because one million other things are going on that are a mess and are really good cause for anxiety.  But, if I were going to choose one thing that made me crazy, it’s easier to just blame it on the meeting.

Stupid meeting.

Day 1 at the gym

With good intentions, we headed to the gym this afternoon in full anticipation of taking a “Body Combat” class.  However, as usual, I was running late, and we didn’t make it in time.  So, instead, we hopped on the treadmills, walked/ran for 25 minutes, and went home.

1.  We both own treadmills. 

2.  I can’t run 20 minutes anymore.

3.  Usually, there are other people in the gym that are in worse shape than I am.  Usually it’s a good mix that makes me feel ok about being there.  Today, I only saw one person who was in worse shape than I am.  I also did not see any women with real breasts.

4.  I am fatter today than I was Sunday.

Uuum, oh yeah.

And, Happy Birthday, Mom! 

E.T.

I finally gave these stinky mutts a bath a few weeks ago, and there’s quite a distinction between the behavior of the two.  Beans jumps and spins and tries to eat the towel when I dry him.  Cleo lets me do whatever I want.  Including wrap her up, laugh at her, and take photos:

The only time Beans is that mellow is when he’s chewing on his pig, which is weird all by itself:

None of this is pertinent information. . . but aren’t they cute?

BRING IT ON aka My business partner is the most awesome woman in the whole world

After 2.5 gruelling hours of interview-style gym orientation, we are officially signed up for 24 ass kicking sessions with a personal trainer.  I’m not going to say how much it cost. . . because, frankly, when you’re not paying for it, it’s hard to remember how astronomical the fees are. 

I will once again tell you:  My business partner is the most amazing, fascinating, awesome business partner ever.  EVER.

Today, I learned that I’m a big, fat 30.5% body fat.  Eeeew.  Ew.  Ew. Ew.  Something like 45 of my lbs. are pure fat.  Um, gross.

I also learned that I’ll kick 6% of that stupid body fat off my body in 10 weeks.  So there, body fat. 

Oh, but woo!  The gym’s scale says I weight 1.6 lbs less than my scale at home.  I love you, gym scale.

~~~  edited to include more specific information ~~~

CURRENT
Weight = 150.4 lbs.
Fat % = 30.5%
Fat Mass = 45.81 lbs.
Hydration = 51%

SHOULD BE
Weight = 135-165 lbs.
Fat % = 17-24%
Fat Mass = 21.4-33 lbs.
Hydration = 50-60%

~~~ end edit ~~~

So, I suppose I’ll take some gross before pictures of my 30.5% fat body so we can all ooh and aah at my progress over the next 3 months.  And, then in June, when I’m hot, I’ll show you my new jeans.  I’ll also make lots of friend with boats and spend my days lying in the sun on whichever boat is most convenient that day. . .

**********

In other (bullshit) news. . . you’ll have to excuse me if I fall into random bouts of self pity over the next several weeks.  Lucky has just informed me that he’ll be moving out. . . and in fairness, I’ve mentioned more than a million times that I no longer want to live with him, so it’s not like this is something I couldn’t have expected, but I also really don’t want to live in that house all by myself, either.  So. . . between the having never lived alone in my life and the having never not been in a relationship in my life, I’m bound to get stuck in sporadic fits of depression.  Pity party at my place!

I’m tempted to write a lot about why this is all happening and where my emotions fall about it right now. . .but since someone has threatened to sue me for things written about them on this blog, I think I’ll play it safe and not wander into ambiguous territory that might cause someone to believe I’m painting them in unfavorable light. . . you know, because I don’t want to get sued.  *massive eye rolling*

Suffice it to say that I’ve spent the entirety of my life with one addict or another, and believe it or not, I’m pretty fucking sick of it.  Since I was born, I’ve lived with and/or been in a relationship with some sort of substance abuser.  You can imagine, therefore, how sensitive I am about things like alcoholism and the effect alcoholism has on one’s relationship, and more specifically, my life.  No matter how much you love someone, living with alcoholism isn’t exactly something one should tolerate.  I suspect it sucks enormous amounts of suckiness to love an alcoholic who refuses to acknowledge what a damn alcoholic they are.  I suspect it sucks especially suckily to want to marry and have children with an alcoholic, but to be sane enough to recognize that that would be healthy for no one involved, and particularly harmful to any potential children.  I suspect it sucks to be the mature person who walks away because staying obviously doesn’t help. . . and leaving just might.  I suspect it sucks to be that bigger person all of the mother fucking time, and I imagine it sucks to then watch those people who were wonderful except for their addiction beat their addiction and wind up happy and la la la with someone else. 

Wait. . . didn’t I just go on and on about how not bitter I am?  I think I’ve changed my mind a little bit.

I remember very clearly when my mother decided to finally divorce my father.  I remember because I thought it was so horrible that she was divorcing him when he’d finally sought treatment for his alcoholism.  For years, a lot of years, I was angry with her for not giving him another chance.  It sucks that I’ve had to live it to understand that she’d given him a million chances over 15+ years.  No matter how badly one wants to believe that this is the time they’re really going to get better, at some point, you have to take your life back.  Otherwise, you’ll spend your life being hopeful and being disappointed.  Repeatedly. 

On the one hand, I’m grateful that I’m strong enough to remove myself from the pattern before I’ve invested half of my life in the relationship.  On the other hand, I’m pretty annoyed that I’ve spent the time that I have and this is the ending I get.

Is there some sort of test I can start administering to men before I even go on a date?  I’d like to completely avoid any drug addicts or alcoholics or otherwise fucked up men.  If someone would just invent some sort of detector, that would be great.  And, you’d be rich.  Anyone?

SHIT, and I just said I wasn’t going to talk about it, and then I talked about it.  I hope I don’t get sued.

Hot, Half Naked Women

I will start by apologizing for forgetting to take the camera today.  You’re gonna be mad about it, I can tell.

Today involved two events worthy of mention.  There was the Pants Party and there was the “Networking”.

Have you been to a Pants Party?  If not, you should.  Pretty much, a Pants Party involves going to a nice girl’s swanky loft apartment and trying on 472 pairs of swanky designer jeans.  Jeans that any reasonable person would never consider buying at the hefty sum of $200-300. 

So, first imagine the scene:  6-8 relatively attractive women, in one big room, surrounded by piles of jeans.  All said women are in various stages of undress.  Mimosas, champagne, wine.  Mmm.  Lots of trying on of jeans.  Lots of “how does my ass look in these?”  More wine.  More jeans.  More wine. 

$108.25 later, I’m the proud owner of one $240 pair of True Religion jeans that makes me look about 50 lbs. lighter and 2 feet taller (minor detail: I can’t breathe when I put them on, but the personal trainer will fix that). 

Most importantly, I got to spend my morning half naked with a bunch of chicks I don’t know and we all pretended like it was completely normal. 

Moving on. . . tonight’s networking event may just rival Networkaoke.  I’m not sure. . . but it might.

Tonight. . . we belly danced. 

No, I’m not kidding.  Why would I kid about something like that? 

The good thing = it’s one hell of a workout.  Holy crap, it’s one hell of a work out.  AND, belly dancing ladies are hot (today’s theme was “hot, half naked women”).

The bad thing = it was called a networking event, but there was no networking going on.  There was a lot of drinking of champagne, eating of fine chocolates, and dancing of bellies. . . but there was no working of net.

There was also a silent auction, and I bid on something, but I don’t remember what, and I didn’t stay to find out if I won.  Thankfully, it was only a sum of $30 or $35, so if I did, that’s not too bad, and I’m pretty sure whatever it was is cool because I wouldn’t have offered anyone money for something that wasn’t cool.

Pictures of me belly dancing, I’m sure, would have been appreciated.  The forgetting of the camera, an honest mistake.  Really. 

I decided to exercise my maturity and not go out after the belly dancing.  It had already been, after all, one heck of an eventful day. 

Dear Texas,

I have lived here for just over 6 months now, and you’ve been wonderful about the weather.  There was that 2 day ice spell that shut the city down, but all things considered, I’ll give you a pass on that one.

I’ve loved living here through the winter without snow or ice or winter coats or frosted windshields or frozen car doors.  I’ve loved wearing t-shirts in January and sandals in February and being able to open up the windows and let the breeze flow through the house in early March.

The weather, alone, is reason enough for every Indiana resident to pack their bags and move to Texas.  I’m not sure why they haven’t yet.  I don’t know if they know that there is ocean within driving distance.  There is Mexico within driving distance.  The only thing I’ve noticed that Texas doesn’t have is Kroger. . . and you make up for it with HEBs and Randalls and Albertsons.  So, why is anyone still living in stinky Indiana?

MAYBE it’s because you can’t decide what the hell you’re doing with the weather?!  MAYBE it’s because you act like you’re going to be all sunny and warm, and one EXPECTS a 70 degree day since it’s the end of March and the entire winter has been warm, but instead one wakes up and its 40 fucking degrees.  Maybe it’s because you can’t make up your damn mind and some of us moved here because it was warm and it’s not warm and it’s after Spring Break.  MAYBE you need to get your act together if you want people who moved here from Indiana to stay here.

Part of growing up

Much like me, I’m sure you’re all wishing my serious streak would end.  There are too many things sitting in my head right now that I keep thinking I’ll eventually get to and resolve, but then don’t have time for.  So, the serious stuff keeps piling up in my head, and it takes up all the room that used to be open for the fun to party in there. 

One of the many things that are bothering me is the state of relationships that are either winding down or should have long since passed.  The thing about the state of those relationships is that the other parties are very bitter.  The other thing about it is that in one case, I used to be extremely bitter back, but I grew up.  The thing about the other case is that the other party is a fuckload older than me so you’d think he would grow the fuck up already.

Several weeks ago, my ex-husband called me.  The conversation lasted an hour, and we talked about a lot of things, and it was mostly very nice.  Despite the end result of that relationship, and all of the really horrible things that happened during it, I loved him with all my heart, and I suspect I will always love him just a little bit.  Some part of me, even during the worst parts of the marriage and divorce, always thought that he would realize what a jackass he was and would apologize and we’d wind up really great friends.  And, somehow, believing that made it a little easier to leave him (4 years ago). 

Then, I got away from him and grew up a little bit and developed a new perspective.  One which caused me to finally recognize that he wasn’t the only problem. . . and leaving wasn’t the only solution.  That little bit of reality caused me to evaluate my role in the relationship, and made me change quite a bit about how I behave in my relationships.  The change has been so dramatic, in fact, that I’m relatively certain my ex-husband would have a hard time believing that some alternate life form didn’t kill me and take over my body.

For some silly reason, I pressumed that while I was coming to all of these new realizations, and changing my life, and becoming a better person, he was both doing the same, and knowing that I was, too.  And, because during that time, I learned to forgive all of the insane bullshit we put each other through, I expected that he had gotten over it just the same.  I don’t know why I pressumed as much. . . perhaps simply because I hoped so.  Probably more because he moved on, and I figured that moving on meant moving on and letting go.  He’s married now, and I think I just assumed that meant he’d finally gotten over us and all of the excrutiating pain he endured when I walked out.  Because. . . isn’t that sort of a necessity to moving on?  For some reason, I thought so.

I was wrong.  I had no idea I was wrong, and it hit me like a Mack truck because I was so sure he was over it and I had let myself stop feeling guilty for my role in our unhappiness.  I had been living guilt free and happy for his newfound happiness for about 2 years before he called.  That’s how long I thought he’d been over it! 

Then, when we talked, even though it was a very friendly conversation and we caught up and joked and shared some familiar exchanges, he was sure to repeatedly tell me how pissed off he still is at me for leaving him.  At first I thought he was kidding, but when he continued to somehow fit that sentiment into every possible direction the conversation went, I was forced to realize that he really is still very pissed off. 

I didn’t think I was very bothered by it.  At first, I thought, “Wow.  Now, that’s kinda pathetic, dude.  Get over it already”.  But, then it kept eating at me and I almost felt compelled to call him back and tell him about all of the difference it’s made in my life and my personality to be out of that marriage.  I wanted to tell him to look at his life and how much better it is and how he’s changed and is so much better for it.  I wanted to convince him that it was the right thing to do, and that he should be thankful, not angry.  Not bitter. 

Fast forward to now, next relationship.  Lucky and I have been “off again” for nearly 3 months now.  This relationship has been a very different relationship, a better relationship, even.  This relationship started with no intent on either side for it to evolve into anything substantial.  The relationship was, for all practical purposes, very much a rebound relationship for me.  I went into it thinking that I should probably most definitely not be getting involved with anyone so soon, but knowing that being with Lucky made me happier than I could remember being, and I felt very entitled to some happiness at that time.  So, I went ahead and enjoyed it, telling myself all along that I would never allow it to become something I regretted because during the absolute worst time in my life, he made me blissfully happy.  I was determined to never let anything cloud that fact. 

Naturally, things went to shit.  The relationship has turned into a disappointing mess, and it sucks.  All around, it just sucks.  It’s sucked for just over a year now.  And, it makes me sad, but I know enough about myself to know that this has run it’s course.  I’ve stuck it out and waited for miracles and believed that any number of events would cause a complete turnaround. . . and nothing has.  It’s just over.  It sucks, but it is.

I have come to terms with that fact, and have dealt with it.  I’m disappointed, and it’s sad, especially given that Lucky is the only man I’ve ever envisioned having children with, but this is life, and life goes on. 

For some reason, I had the same silly notion about the end of this relationship – that it would somehow settle into a friendship.  Once again, it appears as though I am wrong.  Someone is angry.  And, bitter.

This is where I’ve learned that I’ve grown up.  In both relationships, I think it’s pretty safe to say that I forgave more than was reasonable.  I stayed through pretty rough times, and had faith in men who continued to repeatedly show me how foolish it was to have that faith.  If anyone should be bitter, it should be me.  But, I’m not.  There was a time in my life where I would have fed off the bitterness. . . I would have let it sustain me, keep me alive.  I would have bitched my head off to anyone who would listen about how I’d been done so wrong. 

Somewhere along the path, I learned to let go.  Not only that, but I learned to be grateful for the lessons I’ve been able to gather from those relationships.  I can look back on my failed marriage and fondly remember the good times. . . and truly be so happy that I had that relationship for the time that it was good.  Because, holy hell, there were some good times.  I can look at my relationship with Lucky and be grateful that it pulled me through one of the hardest times of my life.  I can smile at the memories that made me stay for so long, and be happy I have those memories to carry with me. 

I can tell you with all honesty that I can look back on those relationships and be happy that I had the opportunity to be in love for however long it lasted.  And, being happy to have had what I had for a little while is a whole hell of a lot nicer than being pissed off about how it ended. 

When I try to think about how miserable I’d be if I walked around carrying anger and resentment for all of the millions of things that I could take from either of those relationships, it makes me tired.  I could absolutely do it.  I could be bitter as hell over both of those relationships.  I could eat, sleep, and breathe pure resentment for the bullshit I’ve gone through in each.  But, what good would that do?  Who would that hurt, really?  So, when I consider that both of these men are so angry with me, I have a hard time understanding why.  Why, when you have the option of appreciating the good, would you insist upon dwelling on the bad? 

It makes me sad for them.  And, I hope at some point, they’re both able to see it from the opposite side of the fence. 

Very Serious

I’ve been in a very. serious. mood. the past day or two, and that’s not very fun.  I don’t feel witty or funny or even remotely entertaining, so deal with it.

It might have something to do with the fact that my mother fucking car is already falling apart again.  I’d love to tell you I’m kidding, but that would be a lie.  I am, in fact, not kidding.  It’s hard to be funny under these circumstances.

What sucks is there are things to talk about that could be funny if I were feeling funny.  Like watch how funny this is:

My amazing business partner was out of town this past weekend for her father’s funeral (not funny).  Knowing all too well about my monkey obsession, she kindly stole a towel from her aunt’s monkey bathroom and brought it home for me (funny).  As pictured:

Monkey Towel

Me, very happy about the Monkey Towel

Do I need to continue to tell you how awesome she is?  How many of YOU have stolen towels for me?  Oh, wait. . . no need to answer that. 

Visitors!

Recently, my favorite former co-worker friend, TP, informed that she and her family very well could be moving to TX!!!  Close to me!!!  I nearly pissed myself when she told me, and wouldn’t shut the hell up about how awesome it’s going to be when TP and her family move here!  Close to me!  And, then she told me to chill out because it might take a couple of years.  Booo.  And, then! she told me it might be sooner!  And, now! she’s going to come visit so she can look at houses!  WOOHOO!

When I moved here, I took the time to fully recognize how difficult it was going to be to move away from my entire family.  I mean, I was all bad ass and went “far away” for college, but I was still within driving distance. . . which meant that when any number of catastrophies occured, I could just hop right into my car and do what I do best – unsuccessfully attempt to fix it.  Moving to TX has completely eliminated that possibility.  That’s good and bad.  It’s good because I have always done more for my sisters than could reasonably be expected. . . and in one sister’s case, a hell of a lot more than she’d ever dream of doing for me. . . so being removed from that = good.  It’s bad because I haven’t ever been so far away from my family for so long, and well, it sucks to not have people close who HAVE to love me. 

What I did not take the time to completely wrap my brain around was how much I would miss my friends.  I tried to think about it, but maybe it was just too hard to imagine. . . or maybe I was just in denial. . . because I managed to convince myself that I didn’t see my friends that much anyway, and I would visit! and they would visit! and it would be fine.  HA!  HA HA HA! 

My personality allows me to trust a very limited number of people. . . which means I am very close to a handful of people, and have a hard time letting any other people in.  So. . . up and moving away from my comfy handful of really awesome friends that I spent years and years and years growing attached to has been stupid hard. 

When I think about who you all are, and how I refer to you when I talk to other people, I realize that I’m one lucky bitch. . . I’ve maintained friendships that span crazy amounts of time. . . and every one of you is my best friend from a particular time in my life:

My best friend in middle school
My best friend in high school
My best friend in college
My best friend from the suckiest job I’ve ever had
Etc.

I tend to hold onto the single most significant friendship from each period in my life. . . so when I thought I’d just move away from all of you, well, it was just silly to think it would be just fine.

On the other hand, since I’ve been here, I’ve met so many cool people.  I already have my favorite business partner (uuuh, pretend like I have a lot of business partners so this seems significant) and my favorite client/friend. 

My favorite business partner has pretty successfully worked herself into more of a sister role.  For whatever reason, I am as comfortable around her (read:  unafraid of looking stupid) as I am around my sisters.  There is virtually nothing I would not say in her presence, and we both very much enjoy giving each other a hard time.  I can say, with certainty, that this is why we work well together.  It’s pretty nice to have that kind of relationship handy. . . and especially so since she’s older and I don’t have to be the big sister!

My favorite client is more fun than most humans can handle.  The craziness she spurs makes me fondly remember college days with my Amycita.  In fact, I’m relatively certain that AMY NEEDS TO VISIT NOW! so y’all can meet.  My head may explode from the excitement, but it would be worth it.  This favorite client is 5 years younger than I am. . .which doesn’t seem like much, until it’s 2am and she’s still dancing her head off while I try very hard not to let her see me yawn.  For some reason, possibly because I continue to tell myself she’s my little sister’s age, I seem to have no problem making an ass of myself in her presence, as well. 

I’m not sure if I’m growing into my skin and becomming more comfortable with my personality (and/or just don’t give a fuck anymore), or if I’ve just been lucky enough to run into people I relate to relatively quickly since the move, but I’m pretty happy with my new friendships here.

HOWEVER, that does not make it easier to be away from all of my best friends back home!  So. . . TP is winning by planning a trip down here in April/May. . . and she’ll probably kick all of your asses in the end anyway if she moves here (unless you ALL move here). . . but wouldn’t it be fun if you all visited?  Soon?  Like now?  I mean. . . it would have made way more sense for you to visit in the sucky, sucky cold winter (which was 70-80 degress here, btw). . . but I’ll deal with a late spring/early summer visit. 

So. . . GO!  NOW!  BOOK FLIGHTS!  Please?

Love,
Steph

Forget 50, I’M old.

Is it exceedingly pathetic when one goes out on a Friday night and is still trying to recover on Monday?  I feel 100 years old.  I’m not even 30 yet!  I’m close to 30, but I’m not yet, and I thought I got to be crazy right up until the final seconds of my 20s? 

This weekend has been completely lost.  I slept away approximately 72% of the weekend, and spent the remaining 28% on the sofa, staring blankly at the television.  This is what happens when I drink.

This is also what happens when I drink:

Thank GOD, when I drink, I choose to drink with people who are actually more insane than I am, so my insanity is often overlooked.  If you draw your attention away from the singing tiger man and slightly to the left, you’ll see what I’m talking about.    Despite my complete lack of dance competency, you’ll find me dancing . . .and biting my lower lip.  Again, folks, this is why I don’t drink.

Ahem, and that’s one of the photos I can share with you.  There are some that are unsuitable for public consumption.  That’s how crazy it got.