So here's the thing: Even though I love love love you, (please note that I used 3 loves and not just 1) I cannot live with you.

And no, it's not you. It's totally totally totally me.

You see, I'm an only child. And as an only child, I have this innate inability to share. Anything. At all. Period.

And this includes my house.

I want to be able to talk on the phone, without you listening in. I want to be able to leave my bedroom door open, so that the cat can wonder in and out, whenever she wants. And I hate that I have to close my bedroom door, whenever I want to change my clothes, have a private conversation (in hushed tones,) or just be left alone. I hate that whenever I want to leave the confinement of my bedroom, I have to put on a bra, or clothes for that matter...for just in case reasons. But most of all, I hate that I'm the one who has an extra room in her house. Because if it wasn't for that, then I wouldn't be in this situation, now would I? It sucks that every single person, on the face of this Earth, thinks that just because I have this extra room, with this extra bed, that I'll be happy to share it. Guess what? I'm not. I didn't buy this house, with this extra room for you. I bought it for me. I bought it for the very rare event that my parents might want somewhere to sleep whenever they come and visit. Or my grandpa. But really, that's it. Because as mentioned previously, I don't like to share.

But I just don't understand, really, why you're at my house. I want to understand. Actually I'm trying really really hard to be understanding. I wake up every morning, and talk myself out of being angry about it all. But...well...I don't know...I guess that if I were in your situation, I'd go home. As in home-home. Like to my parents' home. I don't know...I've never been in your situation. So maybe I wouldn't. But I don't think that I would or could bring myself to live in anyone else's home, other than my parents', without paying rent. And yes, I know the money situation. Which is why I think, were I in your situation, I'd go home. But like I said, maybe I would act differently, if I walked a mile in your shoes. And I think that's why I haven't said anything to you. What if there is that one day when I need a place to stay? I know, for a fact, that you would let me stay with you. Even though I would just go to my parents' house instead.

I'll get over it eventually. But admittedly, it won't be until after you leave. And hopefully, you won't hold it against me. Because we both knew ahead of time, that this is the way that I am. And even though I'm typing this out on the internet, for the whole world to read, I'm banking on the notion that you won't read it. I'm banking on the notion that the whole world is assuming that I don't blog anymore.

And yes, I know...I'm selfish. But I'm allowed to be like that in my own house.

Labels: Randomness, Squatters, Yes I'm shallow...get over it

So please don't wear white.

Oh, and also please don't pick your teeth or rest your elbows at/on the dinner table.

Love,
The Snobby Widow

Labels: Randomness, Top Secret, Yes I'm shallow...get over it

Today I bought myself a fabulous purse. I figure that a fabulous person like me deserves to buy herself a fabulous gift every so often. And yes, I admit that I have a purse addiction. I LOVE purses. And not cheap ones for that matter. These are purses that require me to save money for a few months before I can afford to buy them. For the most part, I am quite responsible with my money. I pay my mortgage, I pay my utilities, I pay my medical/dental/vision/home owners/auto insurance, I pay off my entire credit card bill in full every month, and I even give to charity every month. I put money away for graduate school, retirement, and whatever emergency that may or may not come up. I never spend more in one month than I make in one month. And let me tell you, that's not a lot. I work in science...not a lot of money to be made in my field of work, especially without a PhD. This means that I have to be relatively frugal. I buy off brand clothing, food, gas, etc. So why is it, then, when I decide to buy myself an extravagant/expensive/name brand purse, the whole world comes down on me and judges how I spend my money?

There's only one person on this earth who knows how much money I have. Her name is Wanda. She does my taxes. And you know what? She could care less. She's probably the only person on this earth who doesn't make judgement based on my financial status. Yet everyone else, the people who assume they know how much money I have, judge me left and right. And whether they think that I'm rich or poor, they all come to the same assumption: The Merry Widow gets money from her parents.

Well, I'm here to set the record straight. I'm an independent woman and I work hard for my money. In fact, I worked really hard all last year in order to get a well deserved promotion/raise. This is how I pay for my purse habit. My parents haven't given me money since my last year in college. (Yes, my wonderful Daddy paid for my college. He worked hard to provide me with opportunities that he didn't have. I love him for that and am more grateful than you know or care to know.) Now this doesn't mean that my parents don't buy me gifts. I am, afterall, the center of their universe (aka only child.) I fully admit that they do spoil me with nice gifts, like purses that I can't afford to buy on my own. But still, I take care of myself, pay for myself, and have yet to ask them for a dime since the day I graduated from college.

So some people say to me, in their sarcastic tone, "It must be nice that you can waste your money on retarded expensive purses. I have to actually pay for important things, like my kids." Well la-dee-fucking-da. Yes, I realize that parenting is an awesome responsibility, both financially and mentally, and I commend you for making your kids your priority. That's how it should be and more parents should care for their kids as you do. But that doesn't mean that I don't deserve to buy myself a purse. In fact, you and your kid have nothing to do with me and my purse. And no, I don't know how much formula and diapers cost. But do you know how much chemotherapy costs? How about MRI's? How about funerals, for that matter? Guess what...I do. My husband had cancer and died. Remember? All of that stuff wasn't free either.

"You know you can't take that purse with you in the afterlife, right?" Yes, genius, I know that. You must be confusing me with my dead husband, because you see, I'm alive right now so I'm gonna enjoy my purse right now, while I still have the chance. Maybe you should spend a little more time enjoying the pleasures of life, and a little less time caring about what I buy. And then maybe, just maybe, I'll buy a purse for you too.

Labels: Yes I'm shallow...get over it

Is it bad that one's teeth are a major deal maker/breaker for me?

I was hanging out with a really cool guy last night. But everytime he smiled big, I couldn't stop staring at his missing tooth. It wasn't even one of the front teeth, or even a tooth near the middle, for that matter. It was like the 2nd to last molar. But still, I could see that it was missing and it grossed me out.

About a year ago, I was dating a guy that I like to affectionately call "asshole with small dick." I remember thinking, during one of our early make-out sessions, that I had yet to get a good look at his teeth. I freaked out. "What if his teeth are gross, and yellow, and scuzzy, and crooked?" I thought to myself as his tongue was examining my tonsils. So I did what any sane, logical, college educated girl would do. I stopped kissing him and asked him if I could see his teeth. (And you wonder why I have such trouble find a guy....) Anyway, he actually didn't see anything wrong with this request, showed me his teeth, and then asked to see mine. And after we both were satisfied with what we saw (he actually had perfect teeth) we went back to making out. And you wonder why we didn't last!

I once told my friend, Laura, that I would divorce someone if their teeth fell out.* I explained to her that I just couldn't be with someone who could not properly keep up with their dental hygene. I mean, if they can't take 5 minutes out of their day to brush and floss, then how can I expect them to take proper care of me? (*Note: If teeth fall out due to getting knocked out (i.e. fight, car accident, etc.) then this is acceptable as long as tooth/teeth in question get fixed and/or replaced.)


The moral of the story? You should brush and floss. Daily. Oh yeah, and also I'm psycho and shallow.

Labels: Boys have cooties, Yes I'm shallow...get over it