Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Guilt trips

And cue the depressing blog entry for the week...

I have a problem, and it's getting worse as I get older.

I feel guilty all the time.

Not in my work life. I feel fairly confident in every aspect of my professional life, which makes no sense since my professional history is spotty and inconsistent.

I feel guilty all the time in my personal life. I never feel like I am helping enough, that I am a good enough friend. I think I need to always be around, to answer every text within a second of receiving it, to return every phone call. I would never ignore my friends or family. I am early to everything, even though that usually means I sit and wait because most everyone I hang out with is always late. But if I am late, I apologize profusely and feel guilty about it for hours.

This weekend I offered to help my sister by baby-sitting her kids while I am on Christmas break. Everyone in the room laughed at me, and my feelings were kinda hurt. I love my nephews, and I was just trying to be helpful.

On the drive home it was still nagging at me. I don't like being the butt of the family joke ever, let alone when it's my aunt-skills. Then I realized...I don't WANT to babysit my nephews over my Christmas break. I don't want to be responsible for anything during those two weeks off. I only offered because I felt guilty, because AJ got kicked out of his daycare (when that kid smiles I don't understand how anyone could dump him) and I knew Nicole would be in a pickle.

But it's not just that. I feel guilty if I have to cancel plans with friends. I feel bad when Nick texts me and I don't answer him right away. I feel bad if my mom calls and needs help with something and I can't help. I feel terrible when my Grandpa won't take my Grandma to buy new sweatpants, so I drive down to Glenwood to pick her up, just to turn around and drive back to Omaha to take her shopping. Then I drive her home.

It's not like this is all bad. I love spending time with my Grandma, she's in my top five favorite people. I love talking to Nick, so I want to answer his texts right away. But I don't know, something just snapped in me this weekend and I am really just done with putting extra effort into people who don't return the sentiments.

This may mean some weekends alone, but that's okay cause it's winter and my electric blanket does NOT make me feel guilty. Neither does Netflix.

Monday, November 25, 2013

The day my dream of being a writer died

When I was a kid, I kept a journal. I started when I was in middle school and I kept notebooks and notebooks of journals until I started college. I never let anyone read them, although I'm fairly certain my older brother did behind my back, and I would bet money that my mom snooped through them. I treasured my journals and knew that I would have a writing career someday.

I went to college and, of course, got started with the student newspaper right away. I loved the people I got to be involved with, I loved the late nights in Lage putting the paper together, I loved getting to know people on campus and interviewing (hot) senior boys becuase they were worthy enough of a feature. I had so much pride in The Tack (the newspaper with a point) and I eagerly took assignments and poured my heart into them.

The advisor to the paper was a man named Chuck. He had years and years of newspaper experience and he made sure we knew that. I made the mistake of taking one of his classes, and one day our lesson was to read one of his prior columns and list everything he did right. I'm serious. He seriously planned an entire class lesson around us sitting and complimenting him. I couldn't deal with that, so I IMed my friend (who was also in the class, sitting across from me) something smart-assy, and she fired back with something equally smart-assy. I giggled out loud.

"Are you seriously IM-ing someone right now?" Chuck called me out.

I stared at him like a straight-faced emoticon. And then I got seriously annoyed that I was paying a ridiculous amount of money to sit in a class and tell a man how awesome he was (his column wasn't even awesome. It was too fucking long and it bored the shit out of me).

"Yes, I am," I answered. "I finished reading your article and I have nothing to say about it."

He looked shocked. I was probably the first person in history to not bow down to him. He told me to get out of his class.

"Are you serious?" I was floored.

"Yes, get out." He pointed to the door.

"Awesome!" I grabbed my stuff. "Going back to bed!" I yelled at my classmates.

What a jackhole. The next day I was supposed to leave with Chuck-o to go to a newspaper convention. I politely bowed out. I wanted to quit the newspaper all together, especially when he pulled me off to the side and apologized for kicking me out of class, but said he had to use me as an example because he knew no one was paying attention. But I didn't quit, because I loved The Tack and I really wanted to be a writer someday. Then Mr. Chuck laid another strike and single handedly ruined my dreams of being a newspaper writer.

That year (my sophomore year) some guys in my class did a stupid thing that probably seemed like a big joke the night they did it, but it ended up having pretty bad ramifications. One drunken night, they beat a swan to death with a bat. Gross, yes, and I believe they got charged with some sort of crime. We reported on it, they served whatever sentence they got handed, and that was that. I know it's gross and it's not like I'm belittling what they did. It was fucking stupid. But whatever. The news of it faded, like news like that always does, and then the campus started talking about the next stupid thing that some stupid student did while drunk.

Several months later, one of those guys was in a horrible car accident. Like almost died. He was a football player and a popular guy, so the campus was pretty tore up about it. I got assigned to write a story on it, and I spent time creating the perfect piece, talking to his parents and his friends. It was a news story, so I kept it professional, but I worked hard to make it just emotional enough.

When Chuck was reading it over, he told me I had to include in the story that Lance was one of the guys who beat the swan to death. "You just have to mention it somewhere," he said.

I refused. He said it was the professional thing to do. I told him that I was not going to do it, that I had just spent time talking to his mother on the phone and I was not going to humiliate him or his family like that. He told me that it would not be printed if I didn't include that line.

Guess who won? And guess who spent the next several weeks getting hate mail, threats and even a nice phone call from Lance's mom, crying and asking why I would do that?

I hated Chuck. I hated the newspaper. I had no idea what to do. So I gathered up as many Tackers as I could find who felt the same way and we went to the Dean of Students to complain about how he treated us.

About a week later Chuck resigned.

I wish I could say that I overcame that and I work in newspapers today, but I didn't. He killed my dream. I did stay with The Tack during the rest of my college career, and I absolutely loved it. Jamii, who took Chuck's place, was amazing (and is still amazing, as she is still at BVU). I wouldn't trade my time with The Tack, and with the staff, and in Lage, for anything. But I knew during that time that I couldn't write for newspapers.

Which is why I blog. He may have killed my dream, but he didn't kill my writing spirit.

Friday, November 22, 2013

"Bad" luck?

During a recent conversation with my grandma, I mentioned that if my Aunt Tammy didn't have bad luck, she wouldn't have luck at all. Grandma could not figure out what I was talking about.

"You know, like she buys a new car and immediantly gets in a wreck and totals it. Then she gets another new car and it's destroyed by hail, the same week that all of her appliances break."

Grandma still couldn't believe I thought that about Tammy. "That's what I think about you!" she said pointedly.

What the deuce! I can't believe anyone would think I am that unlucky. Then I thought back to the last five years  of my life...

...that time I miscarried a baby, and of course it couldn't be a normal miscarriage, it involved emergency surgery and loss of internal organs.
...that time I got laid off from Harrah's, when I thought I was going to retire from there.
...that time I was unemployed for ten weeks, only to find a job and then get laid off again six months later.
...that time I found a huge lump in my neck and have to have it removed via surgery which equaled an entire week in the hospital.
...that time I got laid off again, after many promises of "safety".
...that time a semi went in reverse down 72nd Street in Omaha and pushed me along with it.
...that time my "guarenteed" job at Metro got pulled out from under me.

Okay, so that's some shitty situations. But here's the weird thing: I still feel incredibly lucky. I feel so so so blessed every single day. All of those things happened for a reason. I wouldn't be the person I am today had any of those events not happened. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I developed a "whatever" attitude. Not "whatever" as in I don't care, but "whatever" as in I know I can get through anything. I can weather any storm, and I can get through anything. I'm not scared of things happening in my life (except murder...I am absolutely terrified of getting murdered and I don't think anything will change that). After the first hit (the miscarriage) when I was sad and depressed and pretty much wanted to die, I took a full year to be sad and mourn and then I said enough of that. Now I know I will never be that low again. Now I want to be healthy, and I want to live and be happy. I try not to waste days, and I try to never have a day go below a 7 (most of you know I base everything on a 1-10 scale). Every night when I lay my head down, I think of how lucky I am, and how blessed my life is.

I bet (and hope, because she's amazing) that my Aunt Tammy does that same.

Thursday, November 21, 2013


The other day at work, I was discussing retirement plans with three of my co-workers. Well, let's get real. I wasn't discussing it. I was sitting and staring like a straight-faced emoticon, and my boss was talking excitedly about all the wonders that are involved with 401(k)s and 403(b)s and Roth and dividends and interest rates.

"Man, I'm just so jazzed up about this stuff!" He exclaimed as well all stared at him. "I'm just really passionate about it."

"No, it's good to be passionate about stuff," I said. Then I asked the other two what they are passionate about.

One girl said hunting. I don't get that, but it's her passion, not mine. One girl said nothing, which made me think about exactly what mine are...and...

...it's not like my passions are that great.

What are some things I can get really jazzed up about when I am talking about them?

Coach purses.
Celebrity gossip.
Glenwood or Omaha.

I know that makes me sound pretty stupid, and I am not stupid. I also am passionate about my job, and, as dorky as this is, I am passionate about registrar stuff. I just don't have a lot of people that I can talk to about that kind of stuff. I wish I could say I am passionate about running, but I freaking hate it.

I hope if you are reading this that you have a passion and you get jazzed as shit about it.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

I can't do that

The other night when I was driving home from work, my jeep had a stroke.

This is exactly what happened: I was cruising along, listening to my audio book (shut up, it's cool to listen to audio books and you know it). As I made the final turn to get into Omaha, my jeep started scccccreeeeeeeeeching as it slowed down, and then it started sccccccccreeeeeeeching as it sped back up. It was ridic. I turned my book off and just listened to my heart pounding as my vehicle continued to sound like a dying dolphin. Then all of a sudden it felt like the bottom of my jeep just fell out from under me, and I started puttering. I pulled off on the side of the road, called Nick in a panic, and then called my dad.

I seriously didn't know what to do. I don't know how to handle situations like that.

Everything has somehow worked itself out. My jeep is now fine, but now, of course, I am thinking of all the things I don't know what to do that I should know how to do.

  • I should know how to handle a situation like that, but I don't. I have State Farm Insurance and I sang "like a good neighbor, State Farm is there" but nothing happened.  Do I call a tow truck? Do I call a garage? Do I call a cab? I have no idea.
  • I don't know how to change a tire. In driver's ed when I was supposed to learn, my dad just signed it for me and said girls don't need to know how to change a tire. I 100% agree with him, but that probably won't help me at some point in my life.
  • I don't know how to prepare a turkey dinner. Again, it's okay because I go home for those holidays. But maybe someday I will want to make my own turkey.
  • I don't know how to do anything with my 401(k). I am now getting signed up for my retirement account at Midland, and while doing this I realized I have accounts not only from Kaplan still, but from Ameristar. I left Astar in July 2009. Seriously Jen? Get your shit together.
  • I cannot handle any kind of medical emergency. During my neck surgery issues, I pretty much had to live with my sister/parents to get through it. Last night I took a shower that was too hot and I almost passed out. I got a splinter in my hand once and it took me a week to get out. I am a disaster.
  • I don't know how to golf. I feel like as a professional, I should at least be able to get through a couple holes.
If anyone would like to help me with any of these, please text me.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Do I have to wear a bra?

I am pretty sure I have blogged about this before, but as the temperature drops this is sure to be a hot topic in my life again.

I do not want to do anything. Ever.

When I am at work, I am ON the entire time I'm there. I am talking for 12 or 8 hours in a row, depending on what day of the week it is. I am thinking and using my brain and wearing a bra and usually uncomfortable pants.

When I am not at work, I don't want to do anything. There is no better feeling in the world than taking off your bra and knowing you are free for the next several hours. I love sleeping so much, I can't even explain it. When I have to get up in the morning and make my bed, I always look at it like it's a lover I'm leaving with blue balls. My bed wants me to crawl back in. It needs me. And I'm leaving it high and dry.

Last winter, I pretty much went into a coma. I was under an electric blanket for most of December and January. And I can feel myself migrating towards that lifestyle again.

The sad thing is, I will make plans. I even get excited for them. But the second best feeling, behing taking my bra off, is having plans get cancelled.

Don't try to lie and say you don't love this too.

You are planning on meeting someone for drinks. When you wake up in the morning, you're pumped about your plans. Then they day gets rolling, and you start thinking how  nice it would be to spend the evening in front of your tv, under your electric blanket with no where to go. It would be nice to get your DVR all caught up, huh? Maybe you could even have a little snack, take a little nap, have a glass of wine or two...man, don't you wish you could stay home?

Your friend was thinking the same and she cancels. And it's like the clouds have parted and a colorful, bra-less bird is floating around welcoming you to her world.

It's going to be a long winter.

Monday, November 18, 2013

I wanna do what I wanna do

So my weekend was kinda a suckfest.

Everything was going wonderfully until Friday at about noon. That's when I got to Glenwood. I was there for the next ten hours, helping my mom move.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to help. Kinda.

At the end of the night, Mom told me she didn't need me to come down the next day, which was good because I wanted to watch football all day and just do what I wanted. I got home, showered, watched some tv and marked it up to just a shitty day with high hopes for the rest of the weekend.

The next morning Nick texted and asked what was on my agenda for the day. I delightfully replied that I was free as a bird.

I spoke too soon. Grandma called me ten minutes later and was upset; no one was showing up to help and the ones that were there weren't doing anything, and "things seem to happen faster when you're here Jennifer."

Mother fucker. Like I can really tell my Grandma no. So off I went, again, only this time I called in reinforcements in the forms of my three siblings. The four of us joined forces, but I was still there for ten hours. At least the Husker game I missed was a pisshole of a showing by my dear team.

On Sunday I absolutely refused to go near Glenwood or the suburb of Pacific Junction. Instead, I slept in, then ran a few errands, then laid on my couch. I didn't do anything extra special, but it was the best day.

When I laid down last night, I thought about what a great day I had. That's when it hit me. I seriously only enjoy myself when I am doing exactly what I want, when I want.

I'm a spoiled brat.

And that's number 6581351 why I need to stay single and childless foreva.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Breaking up is hard to do...so don't.

This weekend, my mom is leaving her husband. Is it weird to just declare that in such a public forum (who am I kidding, like four people read this blog)? She has decided she's done dealing, and she's out. They have been married just shy of twenty years, and I guess she's felt this way since the beginning. She said she always knew this "wasn't a forever thing".

This is so annoying on so many levels, but if I get started on them I won't stop. I am not close to my stepdad, nor am I his biggest fan, but this is still going to be weird and be a huge adjustment for my family. So am I okay with it? I don't know yet. I guess we'll see just how needy (excuse me, how much needier) my mom gets now that she is a single lady.

This whole thing has really got me thinking about relationships, which is probably why I have been riding the guy hating train for a few weeks now. I don't adjust to change well, so yesterday I was thinking...what other couples would throw me for a loop if they decided to break up? I can only deal with so much heartbreak caused by other people's heartbreak. So, I present to you, a list of couples who are not allowed to break up:

  • Dad and Peg. Duh. Obviously this one would throw my life into the most turmoil, I would even go as far as to try to stop the break up. I would maybe chain myself to the one who decides to move out and simply not allow them to leave. Clearly our lives have been intertwined for a very long time, so breaking up would not be easy or clean. Moving one of them out of the house would also not be easy or clean, and I would protest the whole event so I wouldn't have to be involved with that. Not to mention the fact that our blended family is pretty mixed up, now that there are kids involved. But I could probably just forget John was ever around since he is only a step anyway (I kid, I kid) (Seriously I'm kidding, stop crying bro).
  • Jan and Dick. Nick's parents are not allowed to break up, and I texted Jan yesterday and told her that. She said not to worry.
  • Nancy & Randy Schmailzl  and Connie & Tom Sperling: I grew up in these houses, and I would lose my shit if either of these couples decided to break up. I honostly don't think it will ever happen, but they should probably both be warned I will protest with a fury if I even get a hint of a breakup.
  • Jill and Brad Beasley: I have never known a couple more perfect for each other than my friends Jill and Brad. If they can't make it, I will lose all faith in not only love, but humanity.
  • Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell: I dare to say these two are my favorite Hollywood couple. I LOVE how they have never gotten married and are just together. I wish I could find a guy to do that with me. No marriage, just the common knowledge that they are end game, and that's enough. If they break up, I will go into mourning and watch Overboard on repeat for several days.
  • Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. I know. I'm probably putting myself at risk for getting so emotionally attached to this couple. However, since Brad adopted her oldest kid and they have had a whole slew of kids since then, I feel pretty safe. I have always been a huge Angelina fan, and I want her to be happy. And yes, I love Jennifer Aniston (duh) but I was always Team Jolie. I even had a Team Jolie hoodie that I wore proudly until I tore it on a drunken night at the bar. (It is probably not a huge surprise to anyone that I was Team Jolie).

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

I won't.

As I was beating on my chest today, trying to cure my heart burn (side note: why do I think beating on my chest will stop heart burn?), I realized that I know, very clearly, that chocolate gives me heart burn. It happens EVERY single time I eat it. So why do I continue to take a piece (or two) (okay three) whenever it is offered to me?

Simple. I won't stop. I won't give up chocolate, even though right now all I want to do is curl up and beat my chest to death.

It's delicious. And I won't stop.

I also won't stop drinking soda even though I know I should quit. You know what else? I won't stop drinking regular, full fat, full throttle soda either. Normally I stick to Diet Dew, but sometimes there is nothing like a regular Dew, or Dr. Pepper, or Pepsi.

I also won't stop watching scary television shows and movies (Breaking Bad, American Horror Story) even though I have to watch with my eyes covered, or from the bathroom (I peak out the door). I love them, even though I know I shouldn't watch them because they give me nightmares (apparently I am a child at heart).

I also won't do burpees, even though I know they are good for you and a great full body workout. I just won't. I fucking hate them.

I also won't stop eating carbs, so don't try to make me.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

I'm single, not pathetic

This Sunday at brunch (I like to say that because it makes us sound sophisticated) my friends and I were talking about another girl who is in a crappy relationship. I realize this seems to be a theme with me lately, but it's the truth. I'm not going to get into the details because I'm not even friends with this girl, but I will say this: Life is way too short to be miserable in your own home.

Anyway, this girl is in a crappy relationship because she doesn't want to be single or go through certain things alone. "Well, she sees how I am struggling to find a guy, and she doesn't want to go through that, so she's just staying with him," my single friend said.

So let me wrap my head around this: this girl, who has been through a lot, is so afraid of not finding someone else, that she is staying with a guy who seriously treats her like ass and is probably (definitely) (without a doubt) (I would put money on it) cheating on her? And being in MY situation is what is so scary for her? Being single is a worst thing than being treated like complete shit?

I may be single, but at least I am (usually) always sure of myself and I know that the people I'm hanging out with are with me because they want to be, not because they feel guilty or are too lazy to end our relationship. I'll take that over being able to have my Facebook status say "in a relationship".

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Ho Ho Ho and Merry Christmas

Most of you probably know my family's thing with Christmas.

We are ridic.

At this point we have been ridic for so long we just continue being ridic, even though we all agree it's ridic.

Let me explain.

My dad owns the lot that his house sits on, the three lots to the right of it, and the lot behind the house. And he decorates all that for Christmas. He starts the day after Halloween and on Thanksgiving night he throws the switch and we all walk the block and stare at his masterpiece.

I usually take one day between Halloween and Thanksgiving to go down and help him. I don't know if I am actually much of a help, but I try. I am not great with electrical stuff, and I get distracted easily and tend to wander off with the kids. But I try to do a few areas of the yard to make the project a little easier for him.

Today was my volunteer day. So this is how I spent my Saturday: Got to Dad's, started my laundry (hell, I have to do laundry at some point over the weekend, and it's free there). Helped Bill by throwing reindeer and extension cords to him while he stood on the garage roof. Asked if I could get up there and was denied. Created a setlist so we could listen to music. Found a Ho Ho Ho sign that was brand new, so I put that together and hid it in the yard to see if Dad would notice. Ate snacks. Helped Kate with the bank lights (this was actually quite a job and took quite awhile). Taped clear lights to hula hoops for a project Kate wanted to do (this sucked bad). Ate Chinese food. Put lights on a bush. Made inappropriate jokes to my brothers about lighting up my bush. Taped lights on the handrails leading down the steps. Walked around with Gracie and Kaylee for far too long taking pictures of them with all the decor.Played with a huge inflatable Joy sign and made Kate take pictures of me. Made John senior picture pose with me. Dad finally made me do something, so he sent me to find a spot for the Joy sign to sit instead of on my head. He handed me a knife to do this, so I played with that for awhile and screamed when I couldn't get it down. Helped John and Bill set up candles for the driveway. Decided that was enough for the day. Caved when Dad asked me where the Ho Ho Ho sign was and showed him.

I am exhausted. Here are some pictures from my day.

Friday, November 8, 2013

That time (nope...those times) I got laid off

The other day, a co-worker and I were talking about previous jobs and our work history. Without knowing anything about mine, she declared "I don't know what I would do if I got laid off. I would probably just freak out and cry."

"Oh, I cried," I said.

"What, you've been laid off before?" she asked, with wide eyes, as if I was an alien or a mutt of some sort.

Oh, honey. I laughed out loud. "I've been laid off three times. And kind of another time. I've been laid of 3.5 times."

I admit, the first time I got laid off I freaked. I cried. I got wasted and puked on myself and I woke up the next morning feeling completely lost and sorry for myself. Each time it got easier. When it happened with Kaplan, I didn't even cry until I had to tell my dad. And even those tears ended up being laughs. Neither Dad nor I could believe my rotten luck.

Each time it got easier, although I sincerely hope no one has to go through 3.5 lay offs in their life. I sincerely hope that. I wouldn't wish something like that on even my worst enemy. I have, however, come up with a few tips to those people who are unlucky enough to get the axe.

  • Tell everyone. Seriously. You don't have to badmouth your ex-employer by any means, but you need to tell everyone possible that you are looking for work. I posted on facebook every single time I was job searching, and you would not believe the leads I got. Use Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, whatever. Just get the word out there that you are looking.
  • Take your time. When I got laid off from Ameristar, I panicked and took the first job I could get, which was the Sales Manager job at Spencers Steakhouse. I knew from the minute I walked into my first interview that I would not like the job, the people or my boss. That guy knew I was desperate and didn't want to go on unemployment so he completely fucked me over and completely lowballed my pay. It was a joke. I would have made better money on unemployment and actually taking the time to apply and interview for jobs.
  • Apply for things outside of your comfort zone. When I got laid off from Harrah's, I swore off casinos. But then I veered right back and ended up at Ameristar. When I got laid off from there, I went to Sales..which is what I was doing at the casinos at the end. On a whim and not really expecting to get hired, I applied at Kaplan, and ended up completely switching industries, and it was a great decision.
  • If you get a part time or a temp job, treat it like that. Keep applying and looking for full time positions. Even if they promise full time, don't believe anything until it's a done deal. It's your life, and you need to protect yourself.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Happy #30 NTB!

Happy 30th to my best friend Nickolis Theodore Boone. You're officially old now. But please don't start acting like it (more than you already do).

And now...a photo montage of our lives together:

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Best day ever? Not so much.

I saw this article recently about wedding days.

At 33, I realize my family and friends probably assume I will never get married. And that's fine. I can't lie - I often assume that day will never come for me. I've really been thinking lately I probably don't want it to, at least not anytime soon. I am just SO COMFORTABLE doing exactly what I want all of the time, without answering to anyone. I also greatly enjoy always knowing what is in my fridge, always knowing that things are exactly how I left them, and always knowing exactly how many rolls of toilet paper I have.

I digress. Let's just pretend for a moment that I finally do find someone who wants to marry me. I am not going to be a great fiancé.
  • First of all, I do not want a huge splashy engagement. I don't want anyone around. That's a very private moment and question, and there will only be two people in our marriage, so I don't want a crowd around to see my reaction. I will probably cry, or scream, or get really awkward, so I only want the man I love to see that.
  • Second of all, I don't want a ring. I know, for most girls that's the main point of being engaged. I just don't want it. I've been told that if I get in a situation like that, my man may insist I wear a ring. I guess that's fine, but he can't spend more than $100 on it, and I would actually prefer $50-$75. I can't deal with an amount of money any larger than that being on my finger. I will lose it. I am not a jewerly person, so I will lose it, and then my man will be pissed, and then we will probably call of the wedding anyway.
  • I am a planner. I can't help it. And the worst part about my planning skills is that I don't want help. I want to do everything myself; I don't think anyone can do it as well as I can; I don't want anyone's input. I assume most men don't really want to get involved in the wedding planning anyway.
  • Since I am such an anal planner, I can't imagine that my wedding day is really going to be that much fun for me. I will be too worried about every detail. So, with that being said, I already know I don't want a huge wedding. I want to get married on a Sunday morning, and then we all go eat brunch.
I will, however, be an amazing wife. I won't get into details here, because I think my parents may read this blog.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Still on the boy hating train

So, my guy problem solved itself, like it always does. However, I am still annoyed with the opposite sex. Why, you ask? Here are my reasons:

For some reason, as of late, I've noticed that guys really like to sleep with their ex-girlfriends. I've heard of two instances in recent history where a guy is dating someone else, and then they get caught with their ex. As most of you know, I'm not a big fan of monogamy or relationships. So I get wanting to "reheat leftover pizza" (that is a quote from the male mind I use to bounce ideas off of). However, I am not okay with this reasoning, which was given to both of my female friends by their male companions:

"I am totally into you. But I just needed to give her one more chance, to make sure there wasn't anything there. I know now, without a doubt, it's over with her."

Give me a break. That is not true. And the worst part is, my friends BELIEVE this bullshit! Friends, listen here: your guy just wanted to "snowplow her again" (another quote from the male). Now it's just up to you to decide if you want to keep them or not. But if you do keep them, just know he will probably be screwing her doors off again sometime in the future. 

Another one of my friends ended a relationship a few weeks ago. This guy was an asshat (but all guys are asshats, according to my male), but the worst part is he was MEAN to her. He would make her cry at least once a weekend and he would play into her insecurities. He was our age, but acted like he was 21 and spent his weekends wasted. During the relationship, especially towards the end, I would often ask her "what is it that you are fighting for? He isn't even nice to you and you cry all the time, and I don't even think you like him that much."

It was all set up for her to end the relationship. But what does she do? She lets him take control, so he dumps her. Now, weeks later, we are still mourning over this guy who was (and I can only assume, still is) a complete douchebag. And the worst part is, she is now sugar coating the relationship. 

"He was really nice sometimes, wasn't he? There were some good times, right? He really liked me in the beginning."

Come on, yo. He was not nice to you. Ever. 
Okay, I take that back. He was nice to you maybe twenty percent of the time. If one of my students was giving a 20% effort in one of their classes, I would encourage dropping that class.Which he did. 

And don't get me wrong, I get that it takes a long time to get over people. Trust me, I get that probably better than anyone. But I can't deal with these stupid excuses. Which is probably why I will remain single forever.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Guys drive me CRAZY

First of all, it's November. It's some sort of National Novel Writing month. I have never written a novel, although I think I could. I even had a dream the other night that I think would make a tremendously popular novel.

Since I will not be participating in the novel writing, I decided I would make every effort to blog every day. Lucky you!

Today's entry is all about guys, and the ways they drive me batshit crazy.

I remember in college, when I had a column in our student newspaper, I wrote one week about how crazy guys made me. My reasons were things such as not answering emails or MSN Instant messages fast enough, or ignoring me to play stupid football games on their Playstation.

I would like to say my reasons have matured with age, but they have not. Guys drive me BATSHIT crazy and it's pretty much for the same reasons.  So I am going to make a list of the reasons guys drive me bananas, and hopefully some of this venting helps me not kill them. Some of these aren't limited to lovers or gentleman callers, male friends and relatives are also included in the mass hatred I am experiencing right now.

1. When I try to get ahold of you, whether it is via texting, emailing, phone calls, snail mail, smoke signals, whatever...FUCKING ANSWER. It does not take long to send a text reply or check your email. If you are obsessed with your phone, I know you see my attempts for attention. So answer me.

2. I am not going to be interested in everything you are, and in reality, you shouldn't want this. Yes, I like to watch football. No, I am not interested in your fantasy draft. Just tell me if you win. And yes, it may be "so hot" for women to know all about sports, but I will never be one of those women.

3. Sometimes I just want to feel safe and small and taken care of, and that might mean you getting on top of me. (This one is only in reference to lovers.)

4. I will agree that video games aren't that dorky anymore, and I have even been known to get uber obsessed with certain games (#guitarhero #homeatingsoupforlife). However, I don't want to watch. Don't ever invite me anywhere to watch you play video games. First of all, I'm 33 and (for the most part) I don't do anything I don't want to do. Second of all, if I did go, I would just end up playing on my phone the whole time, and I can stay at home and do that.

5. When I was younger, games were played. I admit it. If I got ignored, I ignored back. I knew if I did certain things, I could get certain reactions from certain people. So I get it. When you play games on me, I know what you are doing. So stop it.