How do you choose which hurts you hold onto?

I find that I am drawn to two kinds of people in my life...Brainy smarts and wild flamboyance. The brainy smarts, well, I loves me a big brain. The sparks that fly from big brains are what make life worthwhile for me. But my own big brain gets me into trouble and I over think things and start feeding my own insecurities, which leads me to the other recurring character in my life, the loud flamboyant one who shows no fear. I have said before on this blog, I am at times paralyzingly shy. Completely socially retarded. I assume that people forget me as soon as they meet me, and that they are not talking to me. So when I make an outgoing friend, I am fascinated by them, and enjoy their ability to force me out of my shell. Sadly, the other trait of flamboyance is a certain carelessness. They make off the cuff remarks and promises that don't pan out, and it's no big deal.

In general one of my best traits is that I don't stress over things, I am the one that sucks it up and moves on. But I have to say, sometimes it feels like I can hold a grudge like a muthafucka.*

I shake things off and move on, but I soak it into my big brain and start analyzing it, and over analyzing it, and get all butt hurt. The Honey is a Master of Butt Hurt. The people who have stood me up or inadvertently hurt my feelings are banished forever in his mind, and he sneers when their names are mentioned. Which is kind of nice that it's on my behalf, but ultimately it gets exhausting. Sometimes it's people I love and adore, sometimes it's people I am still genuinely fond of. I can't function while in butt hurt mode. I have to be able to put it away and move on with my day. The Honey likes to buff and shine his grudges and set them out where he can see them. Mine are hidden away in a cupboard in my brain, and I only bring them out for a polish when I get my feelings hurt.

I got my feelings hurt today and I so don't want to add it to my dark little cupboard to trot out the next time someone disappoints me. I wish they were at least righteous grudges that I could be proud to hold onto, you know? Then I could call them up and say "Fuck you for killing my dog, ruining my career, or re-electing Dubya after he'd clearly fucked it all up (Hey, wait a minute, I could be onto something..)" But how do you call someone after fifteen years and say "Fuck you for giving me a pencil cup for Christmas when I gave you a full set of towels because I THOUGHT about you and what you needed. And while we're at it, fuck you for casting me as Mare Winningham in the "Who would play you in the movie" game! Because you, lady, are no Sharon Stone." See? They aren't even GOOD grudges and hurts. They are petty and small. It is my sincere hope that by typing this out, I get it out of my system, so that whatever dark gremlin made me just google a picture of Ms. Winningham--who is a fine character actress, don't get me wrong--will crawl back into the cupboard for a while.


*Greg Beck, wherever you are, I still miss your posts.

The Heartbreak of The Flops

So, part of me wants to laugh and mock the commercials for "Restless Leg Syndrome" like I do pretty much any commercial with disclaimers like "Be sure to advise your doctor if you've ever had a Liver transplant."

WTF? My doctor's visits require medical history in triplicate, even if It's just for the yearly. Wouldn't your doctor KNOW if you have a giant fucking scar?

But let's get back to my point. Because RLS sounds like the winner in a pharmaceutical sales rep's "Make up a Syndrome" contest. Like Nanwrimo for leeches.

Except...

My hubby has them beat. He's got the Flops. It's not just his legs, people. His arms go flying, he kicks off the covers and then pulls them back up. He flaps the covers. That's my favorite. But he snores through it all.

He says I don't love him enough because we have not actually said vows in a legal type way.

Tonight he asked me to come to bed early and then (in his sleep) held his hand up over and over again to block my view of the show I was watching on the idiot box.

He doesn't understand that the fact that he wakes up each and every morning, not a bruise or a pinch mark on him, is the proof that I love him.

Sigh.

So I put my foot in it at work.

We have one very blunt, outspoken girl at work, and one very fiery person. The ladies of the fishbowl prefer to stay neutral.

So Miss Blunt observes that Miss Fiery tends to get sick when our boss takes personal days on Fridays. It should be noted that Miss F's best friend is the receptionist, so from time to time on a Friday, the Receptionist (and she's sooo much more than that, but we'll call her Miss Sunshine) says--"Will you guys be okay without her? Because Miss F is sick." Which is awkward for all of us, because then we're resenting Miss Sunshine for just doing her job and being the bearer of bad tidings because it's her best friend she's asking about, and we feel like jerks for wanting her to come in because we're slammed. We've all been sick, we all take sick days. Not many of us call in consistently when the boss is known to be gone.

Huh. Miss Blunt calls 'em like she sees 'em, and I rather enjoy her straightforward attitude, although I tend to be a little more discreet myself--usually.

But this week is graduations of all sorts, as well as our office's busiest time of the year. So while it was a scheduled MORNING off for Miss F, she was supposed to call in to see if we needed her, because the Boss just went on vacation.

She called at noon, and Miss Sunshine told her she didn't know, because the reps were on the phone and I was at lunch, so Miss F said she was going to grab some lunch and call back after.

So she DID call back. At 2:30. I told her um, yeah, come in, and she tells me then she'll have to drop her daughter off so it won't be until at least 3. Then she paused, waiting for me to say, oh, never mind then. I told her to come on in.

Miss Blunt takes a lot of heat from Miss F for talking shit, but this was enough, and I DO NOT LIKE talking ABOUT people. I think the honest way to do it is to talk TO them. So I warned Miss Sunshine that I was going to say something to Miss Fiery about the schmucky call in. She suggested, given Miss Fiery's nature, that maybe I send it in an Email.

So Now Miss Fiery is completely pissed at me, and doesn't see how it's any of my business that she took two and a half hours to take her kid to lunch, because the boss told her she could (take him to lunch, that is). I think she really believes that if the boss had been in the office she really would have taken two and a half hours and then called in STILL not ready to come back.

Wouldn't it be chickenshit for me to let Miss Blunt take the heat for saying what we were all thinking, but never saying it TO Miss Fiery? I'd rather have it out in the open, so we can all move on.

Sweet Jeebus I hate drama. I hate it even more knowing I threw gas on the smoldering embers of this particular drama, but I also have to live inside my own head, you know?

BE a good citizen.
Treat others like you want to be treated.
Take other people into consideration.
sheesh!

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update!

So my boss asked me to apologize, not for the message, just maybe for the delivery of said message, and Miss F and I are okay again.

Okay, I swore no more facebook.

There is this cousin of my father's, though. She is so unhappy about Obama being elected. I have other friends on Facebook that are, too. But this lady joins every freaking group that is protesting his election, his inauguration, his choice of towels for the white house. I have this overwhelming urge to tell her to suck it up, we let Dubya play with the football for eight long bloody years, and it's our turn again.

But she's old, and she just friended me because she's doing a family tree thing, and I guess it's not a bad thing to remember they are out there, and they re-elected Dubya even after he fucked it all up. She'll be my own little alarm clock reminding me to stay politically active. It makes me want to join stupid groups every day just so Obama's picture will show up on her profile--every day.

***warning** this is a three page pity party. Proceed at your own risk.

I want a vacation. I want out of my own skin.

I am clinging to my computer these days, desperately sending everyone to bed so I can have five minutes of "me" time.

Everybody wants a little piece of me.

The kids are HOME all day. When I get home they are all over me. The Honey wants my attention once he gets home. My sweet elderly landlady flagged me down as I was late to work the other day, had me park and get out and come inside her house--I thought she had some sort of emergency--no, just a present for the Honey. The Honey's family has us going over two or three nights a week for Big O to practice for the Quinceanera, and it lasts ALL NIGHT. We need to take the MIL out on weekends. I can't even hide in the bathroom, Little O will just talk thru the door.

Work is playing a big part in my restlessness. My boon fishbowl companion, Bre, has gotten the lateral job change she has pined for (because she really doesn't like customers, which is rough for a customer service rep). New girl came in, and took her spot.

I am socially retarded on my good days. I can get along with anyone, but finding someone that gets me is rare. Bre was one of those people, and now she's gone to the back office. Kim was another and she moved away (Yay, Kim!), and this is not the first time Bre has gone to a different part of the office. I know that playing the "She's not Bre" game is a losing prospect.

I'll adjust. I will.

However.

You know that sensation of just not connecting? Like you're playing catch, lobbing the silly playground ball back and forth, and all of a sudden you see that giant leather medicine ball coming for you, and you just watch it hit the ground, and rather than picking it up you both just blink and watch it as the uncomfortable silence grows? That's a lot of my day. Oh, except that I'm training new girl, we're short staffed, and several of the jobs that I used to marvel at Bre doing have been *ahem* gifted to me. Due to various IT issues, I am the only one in the office that can do things that are normally available to any CSR, so those are getting dropped in my in box. I'm waiting for the lecture about my cluttered desk. With a new girl parked right next to me? I'm always ON. Sigh.

And Bre is gone. And both of the new girls have more motherfucking internet access than me.

Blogher is this weekend. Several of my bloggy idols are there. It would be fun.

And yet...

The folks I adore and would love to meet? Not gonna be there. None of them have even mentioned Blogher, and aren't really the folks who would. My own lack of social skills would have me lurking behind potted plants the whole time, afraid to move. I am painfully, pathologically shy in situations like that.

But it won't be this close to me again for a long time. I adore the bloggy community as a whole, a group based on words and humor (and frequently their kids). These are all things that are vital and interesting to me. Most of the folks at work or in my life would just blink at me like I'd just dropped a big medicine ball in the middle of the room if I said the word blog. (Except for my brother, who totally ratted me out on the whole ice cream maker thing--thanks, Jeffro!)

Sweet Jeebus, if I weren't playing Scrabulous with my best Jen, I'd have gone postal weeks ago. Did I mention that everyone is going on vacation? yeah, that's why we're short at work. My daddi-o even left for FIJI this morning to go build a church--three weeks of slave labor in exchange for a fourth week of glorious snorkeling, and it's tax deductable! I just wanna go to my mom's for a four day weekend, man, but gas prices suck ass too.

What would the flying spaghetti monster say? Maybe I'll entertain myself tomorrow by trying to throw in a few pirate phrases on the phone. The problem is when I start thinking in pirate speak, I sort of wander into some weird leprechaun on crack accent. Like the lucky charms guy after a three day bender. What can I say? It's a gift...

Shut up, Scary Mary! SHUUUUUUUUUUUUUT UUUUUUUUP.

'Kay, I am not a fan of things that start on their own. If I want to hear it, there is a "Play" button conveniently located. Mary is annoying the shit out of me on my own freaking blog. So Wrong.

So, it's just meh. Yes I had a quiet family dinner the night before my birthday, but upon further reflection, I made dinner and I got us all there, and that was a present to myself. The honey was an ass last night, and if I enjoyed listening to him puke, well, it still doesn't count as a present.

I feel stupid and childish that I am completely butt-hurt that my parents didn't call on or around my birthday. I am 37 years old, it's not like I doubt that they love me, so I feel whiny and needy. My brother called me from Disneyland (Okay, my birthday is also his anniversary, so it's hard for him to forget), my uncle, who I never talk to, emailed me. It's been almost a week and I have not heard anything from my mother.

I hate being whiny and feeling stupid. Hate it. I feel greedy and stupid for wanting the honey to get me a present--but would it kill you to show the foresight to get me a card? To figure something out BEFORE my birthday? I am wallowing here, and I cannot stand to be in my own head. But he was a complete ass last night, so it just unleashed the flood. Resentment and long term grudge, thy name is Jennifer.


This has been another whiny self pitying post by jen. I should probably have some Bon Jovi playing.

Sunday Quizfest

NameThatDisease.com - The disease test

That one was cheerfully stolen from Trauma Queen.


Which Horrible Affliction are you?
A Rum and Monkey disease.

Rabies? That one is on me.

A lovely feature has popped up that the fonts on my computer are frequently microscopic, so I couldn't READ any of the quizzes on blogthings to take one, so I guess it's just two today. Mert, I know you can tell me how to fix this...

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On a totally unrelated note, while investigating the annoying noises made by the toity, I have learned a terrible fact. They say that the lovely bleach based drop in products used to cut down on actual scrubbing, will eventually destroy the innards of your toilet. Which makes sense, but--but--I am torn between the reduction of work NOW and the gradual replacement of all those PARTS in the toilet tank. Can't.stand.the.dripping. No more drop ins for me (Sob!)

hmmm.... I may need a life.

...must...pack...boxes...

RESIST the lure of the computer....
GAHHH.
Where are the packing fairies when you need them...
I'll be back soon...unless I go live with my MIL, in which case you'll al be stuck with emailed posts from work with no photos or visits/comments from me. (SOB!)

See?? Even now I'm stalling to avoid the boxes.

The Honey? He's found a Steelers Bar here in town, and invited a buddy from Roseville down to watch them at ten on a Sunday morning. Because I refuse to get cable. So I kind of did it to myself.

HAAA!! I'm still stalling!

Bow down before me, the Mistress of Procrastination! One week until we are homeless!!










Right.







Boxes.

Whining self-pity ahead.

the scandal of the starving baby
Originally uploaded by Djuliet.

Another suck ass day in the house hunt.

I think the Honey genuinely doesn't realize how much this is sucking for me. He lived on the East Side of town before we were together, and I would live there if we had no kids. But I have a son going into junior high, not fantastically socialized for THIS side of town. I could just dress him in Target bags on the East Side.

My yammering insensitive clod Ex called me to see if he could show my house, because the owner is selling it a full forty thousand dollars below market value, just to unload it, and am I SURE I couldn't find the money to buy it? FUCK OFF you lackwit. If I could buy a house, I would already have been out the door (but man, it IS going for CHEAP!). Ex's sister was a little distant at Big O's party, and that stung. Maybe it's just that we aren't close like we used to be, but I felt a chill and it made me sad. I named the Ex "Uncle Ex" to Little O because he's always going to be in our lives, which makes him more than some guy to her, but if Ex tries to chide her for her behavior again, I WILL put my foot so far up his ass He will be my new left shoe. I don't care if she is the spawn of Beelzebub himself, shut your pie hole.

(Little O is doing the exorcist thing again, channeling a demon child that bears little to no resemblance to my sunny brown eyed girl. I may have to call a priest.)

I am acutely aware of all the things I want for my kids that I cannot give them. A study came out that said that sharing a room helps kids learn people skills and how to compromise, and I can totally buy into that. But cramming a twelve year old boy and a soon to be five year old girl into a room that will require bunk beds to open the door seems to be asking a bit much of them. Can I get them a pet to make up for it? Can I afford to feed a pet? Can we tame/train the rats and call them pets?

I bought Big O new tennies for school and almost cried when he turned his nose up at the forty dollar shoes I showed him and picked up the 23.99 plain white sneaks and said "Now THAT's a Shoe!" I have a feeling my luck won't run that way with his sister.

I know we'll make it through and part of my angst is that I feel so low when I know we are so fortunate for all that we DO have.

Fucking print this post and show it to every kid you know who thinks they can afford to take a semester off. THIS is what happens when you step away from school for a "break" --Shit job, no money, wondering if the kid at In-N-Out makes more than I do.