Thursday, March 30, 2006
Houston, we have a problem.
As with most people, writing is my way of venting, or clearing up the screwed up thoughts in my head, or just keeping track of the things in my life, whether comical, upsetting, or boring. I have journals upon journals of junk that I have written, the earliest being from when I was about 8 years old. Some people drink, some people scream, some people exercise...I write. It gets out my stress.
This measly little blog started one day when I had filled the last page of my last journal and needed a fresh notebook in which to write. But I didn't feel like running to the store to get one. Not to mention that Guy #3
had his own blog, so starting this site was my way of keeping up with him. I couldn't let him "one-up" me. (That's how Guy #3 and I are with each other...everything is a competition.) But regardless of the reasons behind the conception of this blog, and even though I knew that I was putting my thoughts on the internet, for the whole world to read, I never thought that anyone would be interested in what I had to say.
And then people started reading it.
Even though the majority of the people who read this site are people whom I have never met in real life, there are a handful of people whom I actually know, in person, and talk to regularly, who do read this silly little journal of mine. Why anyone would want to read what I have to say is beyond me, but nevertheless, this blog is being read.
Now, I know that this topic has come up countless times on other people's blogs - the issue of self-censoring. It has occurred to me that the more people, that I really know in real life, read this junk, the more I tend to watch what I say, so to speak. I have so many things going on right now that I want to vent about, but I don't, for fear that so & so, or that other person, or you-know-who might read it.
And what good is a journal, if you can't vent?
I can't write about work, which is where I spend the majority of my day, for fear of getting fired.
I can't write about that time that one weekend when I went to Austin and got myself in big big BIG trouble because...well...it was really bad and people shouldn't know about that one.
I can't talk about my friends, who actually read this site, and why I think that they are being bitches right now because then they'll become even more bitchy.
I can't talk about how some of my other friends scare me because of what they do for a living.
I can't talk about those 3 months, at the beginning of the year, when I thought that my life was about to end and the one person who should have been there to help me had abandoned me.
I can't talk about the death that occurred at the end of those 3 months and how I'm still sad about it.
I can't talk about how I really feel about you-know-who because I don't want to make myself vulnerable to any pain.
And as of last night, I've decided that I can no longer talk about people that I have dated IN THE PAST because then I'm bombarded with 20 million questions from a certain someone who claims that they don't care, but really I think that they do.
So what's the point of keeping a blog, if I can't write about ANYTHING that happens in my life? I guess it's something that I'm going to have to work out for myself. In the meantime, I'll be buying a new notebook and pen.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
I still prefer her over a dog. And most men.
There's nothing worse then the sound of your cat trying to hock up a big hair ball.
Especially when that sound is what wakes you up from your much needed, beauty sleep.
And your cat is in your bed.
And you think to yourself, "MY CAT IS ABOUT TO PUKE ON MY BED!!!"
So in a panic, you pick her up and fling her clear across the room.
But she's already started throwing up.
So you end up not only flinging your cat across your room, but also her puke.
Which ends up spewed across your bed anyway.
Lesson to be learned? Don't fling puking cat across room. Next time drop kick her.*Editor's Note: No cats were harmed during the typing of this post. Pink Ralph Lauren sheets, however, were ruined.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
...But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.
Note to self: Don't judge people according to their jobs and/or lack thereof.
I am way too easily impressed by the stature of one's career. I guess it stems from my desire to get accepted into medical school, which, by the way, is going to be hard work. In case you haven't heard, medical schools only accept the creme de la creme, and I'm not too sure if I qualify to such an elite status. So when you tell me that you're a doctor, or a lawyer, or a professor of physics at MIT, I am instantly wowed. I have been witness to the level of difficulty required to attain such positions. In essence, my opinion is directly correlated with the level of education that one has attained. Yes, this is a very very wrong and close-minded way for me to think and I am quite ashamed to even admit that I have the tendency to think this way.
But rest assured, I have fallen off of my high horse.
Several months ago, I began dating a guy that I will refer to as "Dr. Rad." As indicated, he is indeed a doctor. Specifically, he is a Radiologist, hence the moniker. I was instantly attracted to this man's intelligence, wittiness, sense of sarcasm, and drive. "This man has goals, " I told myself. He knew what he wanted to do in life, and he dedicated himself to getting there. He worked hard and it payed off. After all, only the best of the best medical students make it as Radiologists. And that's exactly what I want in a doctor. But at the same time, during his quest to become the best of the best, he had become the cockiest mofo to ever walk the face of the earth. Convinced, he was, that anything I did, he could do better. Not only that, he has devoted so much of his life to school, he had forgotten how to be, well, human. He was insensitive, blunt, condescending, and BORING. So yes, this man had, what I had in my mind, the end all/be all of jobs, but it didn't take all that long for me to figure out that "the job doesn't make the man," and I quickly dropped him like a bad habit.
Conversely, I have become friends with someone (Guy #6) who has been "jobless" for the past 2 years of his life. And even though I thoroughly enjoy this person's company, I have to admit that I looked down on him, based purely on his job status.
But a recent turn in events from this past weekend has made my whole entire opinion of this person change completely. Ironically, my change in attitude stems from my own
stupidity and lack of judgment. He and I made a few poor decisions (to put things lightly) this past weekend that ended with some very drastic consequences. And even though most people want to put the brunt of the blame on him, for the events that unfolded, I must admit that I am equally to blame in the entire situation. Me. The one with the great job and education. Equally
to blame for the wrong decisions. As he. The one without the job.
And consequently, recent turn in events have been the catalyst in his (and my) decision to take it easy for awhile. (read: consume less C2H5OH.) Which, in turn has opened my eyes to an entirely different him. The person that I once wrote off, has become delightfully and surprisingly witty, and clever, and sarcastic, and intelligent.
Well, I shouldn't say that he became
these things, because one just can't become witty, and clever, and sarcastic, and intelligent over night, just like that. Obviously, these qualities were there all along, but they were masked by layers of Patron, Jaeger-bombs, and Budlight, which were further layered by my clouded, conceited judgement of his lack of job.
Moral of story? There are several:
1. The hardest lessons don't come from school.
2. The smartest people don't necessarily have the "smartest" jobs.
3. Don't judge a book by it's cover.
4. Don't drink cheap tequila.
I write this all, not for you, but as a reminder for myself.
Monday, March 13, 2006
"...and he said someday I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying."
Someone actually had the nerve to tell me that they were wishing
for terminal illness for themselves, so that they would have the chance to "live it up" before they died. Are you kidding me??? I've seen terminal illness...it's not as fun as you may think it is, buddy. Terminal ILLNESS
treats you exactly how it sounds...it keeps you ILL
. As in sick, not healthy, nauseous, tired, and in pain. And that's not how I, or anyone else that I know, or once knew, want to spend the last days of my life. If you really want to live it up, then take advantage while you still have your health. Take advantage while you have your freedom. Take advantage while you have the option to do whatever it is that you want to do. I tend to be a very tolerant girl, but I have no empathy, sympathy, or patience for anyone who would actually wish to be sick.
And as much as I despise that you actually made your wish known to me, I still pray every night for you to never see that kind of pain. I still pray for you to be safe, and healthy, and happy. Because that, my friend, are the kind of things for which I
Thursday, March 09, 2006
The Devil lives in my cell phone...
...and he keeps sending me text messages, tempting me to do things that I shouldn't do. Fun, exciting things that involve shopping, staying up late, & consuming copious amounts of alcohol.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
He would have been 29 today
"You know what one of my favorite qualities is about you? You have this natural ability to make people open up to you. I don't know what it is about you, but you tend to put people at ease and make them comfortable enough to reveal their inner most secrets to you. And you do it all without even trying. People like to come to you because you can always find something positive in the most horrid of situations and make that one
positive thing become the focal point of any situation. And without even knowing you, people can sense that about you. That's why you always have strangers walking up to you in the street, telling you their life stories...that's why you have 8 gazillion best friends who will do anything for you, that's why everyone likes you. You make people comfortable in an instant. How do you do that?"
10 years ago today, my husband wrote, what is pasted above, to me in an email, after I sent him a quick little note to wish him a Happy Birthday.
And even though he wasn't the first, nor is he the last, person to tell me that I was "comforting" (for lack of a better word,) what he didn't know at that time was that he did the exact thing for me. Having known just one person who can comfort me like that makes me forever grateful. I hope that I can continue to do the same for everyone else who enters my life.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Dear Guy #6,
Stop reading this blog. Because, you see, if you continue to read it, then I have no choice but to stop writing about you. And what fun would that be? ;-) Yes, I know that I personally gave you this web address, after you threatened me, at gun point, to give it to you. But now that you've read the whole entire freaking thing from beginning to end, you can delete this web address from your memory and stop reading from here on out.
But you and I both know that that's not gonna happen.
But seriously, stop reading. Now. Like right now. Just shut off your computer and walk away.
The Merry Widow*Editor's Note: Before anyone gets alarmed, no, he didn't really threaten me at gun point. He used a knife.