Wanderlust, Part 2

I want out of Houston. Duh, half the people in Houston want out of Houston.

Alan, I'm looking at you.

The thing is... I don't know where I'd want to go. Do I go back to MO, where I know people and have friends and pretty much a life (albeit not a fabulous one) waiting for me to step back into it?

Or do I want to go someplace new? Completely start over, in a foreign town where I am known by absolutely no one. Make new friends, build a new routine, start a new life.

Am I insane for contemplating this? Or just young and foolish?

Maybe it's that romantic-at-heart thing I got going on.

All I know is I'm bored with this routine. I really am. But I am nowhere near close to being ready to handle a cross-country move, financially or mentally.

What if someday when I can do that whole "cross-country road trip adventure" thing, I take notes of all the places I visit? Maybe when I'm there, look up the statistics on unemployment, research the cost of living. And once my spirit settles down and I feel I know who I am again, I decide from my notes which place would be best for me to move and start up at again?

Yeah, that idea has merit. And I wouldn't be going in COMPLETELY blind.

Hmm. Must ponder on this a bit more.

So Anywayz...

So, in the news of "O God My Life" (Sorry Squeaks), I actually have a job. Yeah, it makes no sense.

I spent months on end looking for a job in Missouri, and I've been back in Houston for a grand total of two weeks and had one land in my lap. And it wasn't even a case of "Come in for an interview". It was a case of the day after I gave them my application, they called and said, "Come in for training tonight."

Well okay then.

It's a simple cashiering job, and helping package up food for deliveries and take-out. I work at a Chinese restaurant, whoo. Free food. Except I'll always be hungry...

But, on the plus side, this means I'll actually be able to get the paperwork straightened out on the Death Star (Long, stupid story), and then get it legal again (Hahahaha, me, drive a legal vehicle? That's funny). AND I can get it fixed and running good, which would be *awesome*. I'm debating whether or not I want to get it fixed up and just sell it for something smaller and gas friendlier... which to be honest would be the SMART choice.... but when have I ever claimed to be smart?

That's right. Never.

See, I like my Death Star. She may be a little older, and she may be a cantankerous old whore, but you know what? She's big enough that she won't crumple like a soda can, without being too much vehicle for me to drive, and she has personality. She has a true character to her, a charm that only something directly related to me could achieve.

So I'm also contemplating getting my chariot fixed up, and then continuing with upgrades to make her even more awesome. Maybe a new coat of paint? I know for sure I'm gonna get the dashboard fixed from when those tweaker bastards broke into it, and then I'm thinking a new stereo and some speaker upgrades. New tires are a must, and maybe some new rims to look awesome? And don't worry, I'm not going to do something stupid like in a previous post. Just some rims that look good without being ghetto fabulous. Can't be having that stupid bullshit.

I mean, come on. I'm white and I know it. I don't want to be and never will be GANGSTA. And my truck will reflect that. I'd be more inclined to get a lift kit on it, except I'm of the opinion that unless you're driving a full size SUV like an Excursion or a Suburban, that lift kits and off road tires look ridiculous. But I am definitely, DEFINITELY not lowering it. That shit's just stupid, keep that kind of nonsense away from me and my truck, mmmkay?

Okay, brain vomit complete.

Lulz

So, it occurs to me that, being back in Texas, and back in a house where there is *nothing* to do in a TOWN where there is *nothing* to do, my mind will automatically find everything around me that is even remotely blog-worthy.

And this happens right after I announce I'm going on hiatus. OF COURSE.

So much for that idea.

Have a picture of the Wee Idjit (with shorter hair, no less) looking like a hood rat. Sleeveless shirt, baggy jeans that hang past his knees, and work boots. And before you ask, my mother is the one that said he looked like a hood rat, not me.

Bonus redneck points for sitting in a Cars lawn chair thing.

An Open Letter

To All My Friends Who Are Dudes:

Hey. Remember me? Yeah, you do. I'm that one chick with the huge tits and long hair. Yep, that's the one. Yeah, the loud one. Oh yeah, I cuss like a sailor too. I'm pushy and opinionated and sarcastic and cynical.

I'm the dickless guy friend. You remember me. And you love me because I play that role very well.

It's the way people expect me to act. They think of me, and they already have a pretty good idea of how I'm going to react to just about any situation. They also know that I tend to keep my head down and personal shit to myself. Don't be bringing none of that in here.

I am the dickless guy friend. I play video games, go bar hopping just to get drunk and party, likes tattoos, drives a truck. (For those of my male friends that this does not apply to: most of my crowd fits this description.) I have successfully been a female wing man. Most of the time, I don't even have to back up whatever charm my dude friend is trying to pull off. I just exist in his vicinity.

Can I let you in on a little secret, though?

I'm getting tired of playing this game.

People expect me to behave a certain way. I almost feel like there are rules to follow for how I act. It's real fun watching those rules collide with "voice your opinions/feelings/thoughts on this subject".

I'm tired of being the dickless guy friend. Because being the dickless guy friend is interfering with me being ME, and being comfortable with my life. And right now, I really need that.

I need for my mind to quit overanalyzing every word spoken to me, every personal interaction, everything. When you see me with a blank face, staring at nothing? I'm not spaced out, having an ADD moment. No, my mind is kicked into overdrive, going over a particular day, appointment, conversation. Dissecting it and examining every angle.

And I can't stop it.

No wonder I'm always high-strung and agitated.

Let me be me, people. Not the gunblogger, not the dickless guy friend, not the fighter or crazy driver of the Blazer from Hell.

Me.

Please.


Sincerely,

Snarky

Stylish Blogging!

So, because this guy over here tagged me for this award for STYLE, ya'll, and there has been a depressing LACK of content, and it's easy filler..... You get the picture.

The rules are name seven things my readers probably don't know about me, then tag fifteen people to do the same. Simple enough.

1 - I make a lot of noise and act intimidating, but I have never once gotten into a hands-on fight. My dad subtly taught me that growing up. I'm obnoxious as all hell, and I'll get in your face and possibly shove you, but when the circle closes around you and the fists start to fly, I am a spineless coward and will run the fuck away.

2 - As a teenager (and a very anti-social one at that), I participated in sports. Not in high school, though. Fuck no, that would require me actually getting along with people, and we all know I'm no good at that. No, all the sports I participated in were in a wheelchair. With my father being the president of the local Lion's Club (who is known for their involvement with the (handicapped? Disabled?) community) and the fact that he himself grew up in a wheelchair due to CP (More irony that Mike tagged me here and I ended up talking about my dad...), it's no surprised I grew up playing football, basketball, and rugby strapped in a chair. It kept me out of trouble, and I made a lot of friends that really shaped the way I live my life.

3 - I have got some big fucking feet, for a girl. I wear a women's size 11.5 shoe. It makes finding a comfortable pair of shoes a bitch, and finding comfortable shoes that I will actually wear and can AFFORD (Cuz I'm a broke bitch, ya'll) damn near impossible. It's amazing at all that I found my favorite pair of boots for less than $50 after shipping, and they fit me *perfectly*.

4 - I am a coffee whore. I could not make it through the day without drinking multiple pots of it. And I'll drink a pot of coffee and immediately go to sleep. But I'm a snobby coffee whore. I'm always on the lookout for the next delicious bag of liquid heaven that I can't afford. Because I'm difficult to buy gifts for, my family has taken to just giving me Starbucks gift cards, and I'll go find a flavor that piques my interest. I'm not saying Starbucks is the be-all, end-all of coffee. Truth be told, I love Gloria Jeans the most... but they're all the way up in the mall in Independence, and that's a lot of expensive gas for my truck to burn.

5 - I was raped when I was 18 that resulted in me paying a visit to Planned Parenthood for an abortion. I was living with a man who I lied to myself and told myself he loved me. He was a raging alcoholic and developed a drug problem after I moved in with him, but I desperately did not want to live under my father's overprotective restrictions, so I dealt with it. I dealt with a lot of abuse and kept convincing myself to stay, but one day he came home from work with two coworkers, all boozed up. They tied me up and raped me, and instead of calling the cops after they untied me and left, I called my mother to come get me, and I moved home. I didn't talk to anyone for months, and I rarely left my bedroom. I think my father was considering having me committed. Neither of my parents ever knew this happened. This also explains my *intense* dislike and distrust for Mexicans. The other two guys were illegal.

6 - I will be straight-forward, brassy, and bold when I talk to a new person for the first time. And being the nerd I am, this is usually on the internet. But the moment you meet me face-to-face, I will clam up and turn quiet and shy. Blogorado was a perfect example of this: that first night, I was quiet and shy and stuck to a corner and tried not to interact too much because I was terrified of somehow managing to offend all these people that I admired so much. And we're not even going to get into the implications of tension when I'm in this situation with a guy.

7 - I am all about texture and the sensation of touch. I can't eat greasy foods because of this, and certain fabrics drive me insane and I can't wear them. All those chicks that love the feeling of crushed velvet under their fingers? Yeah, get that shit away from me, it weirds me the fuck out.


That was way harder than I thought it would be.

Okay, so let's see if I can come up with fifteen people to tag... Hmmm....

Salamander
Crystal
DaddyBear
Rauðbjorn
JRebel
MattG
pdb
Squeaky
Wai
Sabra


Okay, I tried to tag as many people as I could that hadn't done this yet. Everybody in our circle is pretty damned stylish, yanno?

Happy blogging, folks!

Serious Up, Internet

You know, everybody is happy for me that I've left the Redhead. They keep telling me I did the right thing for myself and Wee Idjit, yada yada yada, et cetera, ad nauseum.

And while I'm aware that they're all correct in pretty much every way, it doesn't change the fact that I've been having an INCREDIBLY difficult time dealing with life in general here these past few weeks.

I'm very lonely. I've been keeping close company with Stud, because, well... he's a very good friend, he's very pretty, he understands what's going on in my head (on more than one subject) better than anyone else I know. When Redhead and I had problems, Stud was a foundation of sanity for me. He is continuing to be so now, when I don't have to burn a lot of gas to get away to see him. It's convenient that we live under the same roof.

I'm not going to deny I still love Redhead. It'd be stupid of me to try. I was with him for three years. He took care of me, I had a kid with him. A lot of the time, things were good. He had mental issues and lashed out, blaming everyone but himself for things that were eating his soul from his childhood. And he refused to seek help, or admit there was a problem. That's why I left. That's why I'm not going back.

But god damn am I lonely. And of course, I decided to voice my opinion on these issues on Valentine's Day. That does not bode well for any and all parties involved, does it?

Drama-Llama Warning

Intertubes, I have a bit of a problem.

This is another one of those posts that is more of a journal entry than it is informative of... anything, really. So, if you want to avoid a whole mess of personal drama, I'd suggest clicking anybody in my sidebar over on the right. They usually have something important/amusing/thoughtful to read, and it will keep you from an overdose of OH GOD WHY.

As you read a few posts back, the Redhead and I have parted ways. I stayed with Sister for a while, but once her newest little one was born, I was underfoot, and I know when I need to make myself scarce. I'm now living with the previously mentioned Bret, Leo, and Mary (henceforth known as Stud, Nerd, and Androgynous, respectively).

Well, it goes without saying that Redhead, in his typical fashion, utterly loathes Stud’s existence. He is so very convinced that I was sneaking around behind his back with Stud for the past year and a half, and the fact that I am now living with Stud just confirms it! Le gasp! He was right!

Not really, but you all know how paranoid conspiracy theorists can be, I’m sure.

Redhead and I both returned to work yesterday. I have been dreading that very thing for the past two weeks, since I moved out. We work in the same building, with him making food on one side of a rec center’s food court, and me working a cash register on the other side. In the past, whenever he has been mad at me for any reason, and we’re both at work… I sit at my register and check out customers, minding my own business. Redhead constantly walks over to my register to hiss and cuss and be insulting and degrading in every way possible.

You can see why I would be apprehensive about returning to work.

Then, the heavens smiled upon me, and a lot of people did not show up for corporate training for the new branch of Einstein Brother’s Bagels we just opened on campus, so those that had any training got pulled to work over there. Which meant Redhead was out of my hair! Hooray!

Except he would wander over to the rec center on his lunch break and hover around my register for half an hour, making me uncomfortable. He was being nice and cordial and making small talk, but his very presence made me extremely nervous. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to his behavior, that I keep expecting an explosion.

Well, when I saw him today, I told him I needed to come by after work and pick up my monster boots. I have to park across campus, and yesterday we got a ZOMG Snowpacolypse. The monster boots are one of two pairs of shoes that I own, the others being soft leather loafer-looking things with slip-proof soles, for work and job hunting. Needless to say, they do not do well when having to crunch across parking lots that have not been visited by the MoDOT Plow Fairy. Not to mention my pants get wet and then I’m just a cranky bitch.

He wanted to know if I would be bringing Wee Idjit with me. No, says I, because it is ridiculously cold outside and I do not want to expose him to that. That’s just mean. Besides, I’d be coming straight from work. He just kinda walked off…. And one of our mutual coworkers immediately sought me out to find out what I said to piss him off. Oh, the old women at work are LOVING the juicy gossip my existence seems to provide.

Look, I understand wanting to see Wee Idjit. I have no problem bringing him over so you two can spend time together. I want you to see him. You’re his father, and a child needs his father. But getting mad at me because I refuse to expose him to dangerously low temperatures multiple times? No. Don’t play that game with me.

Then he called me a few hours later. Told me he was tired of hearing about life with the roommates. He wanted more than anything for me to come home.

It’s too late for that now. This is the third time we have broken up for any amount of time. The first time, I was gone for a weekend and came back. The second time, I was gone for three weeks, in Texas. This time, there is no coming back. Third time’s the charm, as the saying goes. I will not be lured back into the same old routine with promises of change, of less screaming. More nights where I can fall asleep peacefully, without snide remarks and whispered words of hatred because I’m not the little ass-kisser you want me to be.

This is where I make a stand. This is where my life changes. And there ain’t a fucking thing you can do about it. So pull up your big boy pants, if you got them, and learn to deal with it. You can either take me and Daniel and the way we live, the way it is, or you can get angry and throw a fit about it. Makes me no never mind.

This is where the real change begins.

Blargh

Here, have a blog post! Typed up on a real computer, no less!

I'm at a friend's house right now, doing laundry and watching Idjit run around insanely. The bottom of his feet are pitch black, but then again, cleaning usually takes back seat at this house. Clean it enough to make it safe, and make sure there's room for children to play, but sweeping and mopping are small concerns. I'm not much of a housekeeper either, so hey, whatever works.

This is another one of those random, off the wall, rambling blog posts with no real point. I'm currently sitting in Bulldog's very dim living room, playing on her computer because she left the door unlocked for me to come do laundry, and she's not home. It feels nice to have a real keyboard under my fingers. Don't get me wrong - I love my iTouch, and with the lack of a real computer, it does a marvelous job to keep up - but I like to feel the reaction of keys. That and I can spread my hands out and exercise the joints in my fingers, instead of having my not-so-tiny hands wrapped around a small shiny, typing with my thumbs.

Hoooooo boy. I am in a state of shock, recovering from a night of excess. Our friends just moved in down the street this past week, so there was, of course, a house warming party thrown. And the drink of choice (aside from beer, because there is ALWAYS room for beer) was a lovely concoction that my friend Luc perfected before his death. We call it apple pie, because it literally tastes like liquid apple pie. It goes down ridiculously smooth, but you REALLY have to watch how much of it you drink, or Bad Things may happen. Ingredients include four gallons of apple cider, a gallon of apple juice, three instant-mix packs of cider, cinnamon sticks, apple pie spice, and three fifths of Everclear.

Yeah. It packs a punch. And they make it in such gigantic quantities because when they throw a party, a flock of psychos appear with the sole purpose of getting legless before the sun comes up. Apple pie is the best way to go if you're aiming in that direction.

Since we couldn't find a babysitter, and they live so close to us now, Redhead and I decided that we'd go over and get our drunk on in shifts. I took first shift, because I don't drink beer, and they'd been sipping on apple pie all week, so I was wondering just how much would be left. I didn't want to miss the good stuff.

So I go over there, and they give me a double shot of the stuff as soon as I walk in the door. I'm game for this. Then they give me another one, and an XBox controller, to play DC vs. Mortal Kombat. Or something like that. I played Scorpion and my buddy Ninja played the Flash and I got my ass kicked, that's all I remember.

Then I somehow ended up with an 18 ounce glass with Smurfs on it (don't ask me, nothing makes sense with this bunch), full of apple pie. It was all downhill from there.

Two hours after I got there, I had to be escorted home. Yes, it was that bad. I knew I was breaking the night up into shifts with Redhead, like I said, so I did what I could as fast as I could.

Needless to say, I'm not feeling too hot.

Ugh. I think I'm done for now.