okay... so i'm trying to blog... and not really knowing what to say.
and pardon the lack of capitalization and the occasional missing punctuation, i really couldnt be bothered at this point.
but yeah. so. life has been weird lately. here i am, basically house bound. i mean, i can go out, but i cant go out alone. and i cant go out for extended periods of time without suffering for it for days afterwards. apparently, the deal is that i have fibromyalgia, and i'm in excruciating pain 24/7. it had built up over time so much that while my brain was tuning it out (so i didnt even necessarily realize), my body wasn't, and was ceasing to function properly. i've got pain medications now, and they help, but not enough to make it so i can work yet. the only problem is that they dull my brain too, so it doesn't work as well at blocking out all the pain i used to. so while i'm in less pain over all, i feel it more. especially when the meds start to wear off. How exactly that's helping me, i'm not sure... Other than that i dont sleep as much now (i was sleeping 12-14 hours a day for a while).
right. so here i am, pretty much crippled, and suddenly i find myself with 2 boyfriends. who know about each other, and dont mind it at all. now... i'm alt lifestyle. i dont bring it up much here, cuz i dont want to make it the focus of my life. and i've got plenty of friends in poly relationships. but i never really thought i'd have a poly relationship, unless it was me, a guy, and a girl, or me and my bf and another couple. i never imagined myself having completely separate relationships with 2 men. But i am. And loving it. Its about the only thing that keeps my mind off the never ending aches and muscle spasms and sore joints. it wasn't planned, and it definitely wasn't something i was looking for right now, but there it is, and i've honestly never been happier.
Showing posts with label BF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BF. Show all posts
Monday, April 14, 2008
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
I Have No Words...
Okay.
So we went to Target tonight for some last minute back to school shopping. The kidlet needed all sorts of stuff, several of which seemed to be sold out, but whatever, we got the basics.
Walking back to the car, from a distance, I notice a puddle who's origin appears to be beneath our truck. Oh shit, not again I think, remembering when our coolant system failed and dumped a puddle of green on the asphalt not so long ago.
So we get closer, we examine, trying to stay calm.
The liquid is:
Watery
Yellowish
Coming from somewhere underneath the car
Not just a droplet or two
Totally and utterly confused, because its neither the color nor consistancy of coolant, we decide to try to start the car. It runs fine, no warning lights, no nothing.
Ooooooooo kay.
So we drive to Taco Hell to grab a quick dinner (which I opted out of), thinking it would be a good test to see if theres actually anything wrong with the car.
After parking, I get out, and start to investigate again. There are no leaks. There is no puddle forming. Not even a drop of oil.
Ooooooooo kay.
So I start to stand up, and in the process come eye level with the back wall of our front wheel well.
Which happens to be wet.
And just like that, it clicked. I knew exactly what was wrong with the car, and I started laughing.
When the BF came back from getting take out, I decided to inform him.
"Well," I said, "we have just experienced one of the most disgusting car problems ever."
"What?" he said.
--- Dramatic Pause ---
"Someone peed in our wheel well."
Yup yup. That watery clear yellowish liquid dripping from the car was none other than the urination of the person who pulled out of the spot next to us just as I was looking under the car the first time.
I hate where I live. I really, really do.
So we went to Target tonight for some last minute back to school shopping. The kidlet needed all sorts of stuff, several of which seemed to be sold out, but whatever, we got the basics.
Walking back to the car, from a distance, I notice a puddle who's origin appears to be beneath our truck. Oh shit, not again I think, remembering when our coolant system failed and dumped a puddle of green on the asphalt not so long ago.
So we get closer, we examine, trying to stay calm.
The liquid is:
Watery
Yellowish
Coming from somewhere underneath the car
Not just a droplet or two
Totally and utterly confused, because its neither the color nor consistancy of coolant, we decide to try to start the car. It runs fine, no warning lights, no nothing.
Ooooooooo kay.
So we drive to Taco Hell to grab a quick dinner (which I opted out of), thinking it would be a good test to see if theres actually anything wrong with the car.
After parking, I get out, and start to investigate again. There are no leaks. There is no puddle forming. Not even a drop of oil.
Ooooooooo kay.
So I start to stand up, and in the process come eye level with the back wall of our front wheel well.
Which happens to be wet.
And just like that, it clicked. I knew exactly what was wrong with the car, and I started laughing.
When the BF came back from getting take out, I decided to inform him.
"Well," I said, "we have just experienced one of the most disgusting car problems ever."
"What?" he said.
--- Dramatic Pause ---
"Someone peed in our wheel well."
Yup yup. That watery clear yellowish liquid dripping from the car was none other than the urination of the person who pulled out of the spot next to us just as I was looking under the car the first time.
I hate where I live. I really, really do.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Quirk #12
I am a total foodie.
I mean this in the good sense of the word, not that I'm a food snob -- although, I think maybe I AM a food snob... Um. Okay, yes, I'm a food snob. But I have full right to be. I went to culinary school. I know how to cook like a 5 star chef. I invent my own recipes, and they're actually restaurant worthy. I'm familiar with an incalculable number of types of cuisines -- not just what they should taste like, but how to cook them as well.
To me, good food can be better than the most amazing sex you could ever dream of, and I'm happy with that. Of course, this all means that I weigh a bit more than I should... Meh. Who gives a crap. Its not like I weigh 3 metric tonnes or anything.
So last night, after searching for a new apartment, we're driving through this village in the berkeley hills (yes, it really is a village), and we pass by this little bistro that looks charming. I'd been there for lunch before, but not for dinner, so I figure we should try out their dinner menu.
To my surprise, what during lunch time is a charming cafe with reasonable prices and a simple menu, becomes at night a 5 star french californian cuisine restaurant with a prix fixe menu that you have to know a fair amount about food and the french language to decipher.
Personally, I was in heaven the moment I saw that.
I was above heaven the moment I saw that they make their own pate (I can't figure out how to make the little accent thingies, so that looks wrong... ).
So we ordered a 3 course meal. And yes, it was actual courses. Like really. Complete with the table being reset between the entree' and dessert.
The pate was amazing. They used sage in it, and I've never tasted a better pate in my life.
I had the pacific halibut, which was served over a rice pilaf and topped with wilted escarole and shallots, garnished with a baked fig. The whole thing was surrounded by just the perfect amount of a butter and lemon sauce, which I HAVE to figure out how to make.
The BF got a roast chicken leg roulade, again over rice pilaf, topped with wilted spinach and shallots.
I ate too much. I ate way too much. But because it was all cooked to perfection, and from the freshest local ingredients (many of them organic apparently), I did not feel weighed down at all. Which was a good thing, mind you, because we hadn't had dessert yet.
Dessert was classically french. An artisan cheese platter made up of locally made goat and cow's milk cheeses that I cannot for the life of me remember the names of (probably because I couldn't have pronounced them without tying my tongue in a knot). They were small, and amazing, and one was crusted with ash, another was crusted with grape leaves, and the third was just a normal white crust, and it came with a little bunch of champagne grapes... AH.
We didn't order any wine... We should have though. That would have just made the evening beyond perfect. As it was though, it was better than sex, and I have never been happier with a restaurant in my life. I took their card so we could make reservations for the next time we want to go there. Turns out that we were insanely lucky to get a table without a reservation as they were, other than our one table, booked solid. I mean, turning people away at the door booked solid.
Not that I'm surprised. It was $100 well spent (yup. Dinner for 2, $100 USD. You read it right), and I don't regret one single penny. In fact, I kind of wish we'd spent more, as it would have meant more amazing food.
Am I using the word "amazing" often enough? LOL.
I mean this in the good sense of the word, not that I'm a food snob -- although, I think maybe I AM a food snob... Um. Okay, yes, I'm a food snob. But I have full right to be. I went to culinary school. I know how to cook like a 5 star chef. I invent my own recipes, and they're actually restaurant worthy. I'm familiar with an incalculable number of types of cuisines -- not just what they should taste like, but how to cook them as well.
To me, good food can be better than the most amazing sex you could ever dream of, and I'm happy with that. Of course, this all means that I weigh a bit more than I should... Meh. Who gives a crap. Its not like I weigh 3 metric tonnes or anything.
So last night, after searching for a new apartment, we're driving through this village in the berkeley hills (yes, it really is a village), and we pass by this little bistro that looks charming. I'd been there for lunch before, but not for dinner, so I figure we should try out their dinner menu.
To my surprise, what during lunch time is a charming cafe with reasonable prices and a simple menu, becomes at night a 5 star french californian cuisine restaurant with a prix fixe menu that you have to know a fair amount about food and the french language to decipher.
Personally, I was in heaven the moment I saw that.
I was above heaven the moment I saw that they make their own pate (I can't figure out how to make the little accent thingies, so that looks wrong... ).
So we ordered a 3 course meal. And yes, it was actual courses. Like really. Complete with the table being reset between the entree' and dessert.
The pate was amazing. They used sage in it, and I've never tasted a better pate in my life.
I had the pacific halibut, which was served over a rice pilaf and topped with wilted escarole and shallots, garnished with a baked fig. The whole thing was surrounded by just the perfect amount of a butter and lemon sauce, which I HAVE to figure out how to make.
The BF got a roast chicken leg roulade, again over rice pilaf, topped with wilted spinach and shallots.
I ate too much. I ate way too much. But because it was all cooked to perfection, and from the freshest local ingredients (many of them organic apparently), I did not feel weighed down at all. Which was a good thing, mind you, because we hadn't had dessert yet.
Dessert was classically french. An artisan cheese platter made up of locally made goat and cow's milk cheeses that I cannot for the life of me remember the names of (probably because I couldn't have pronounced them without tying my tongue in a knot). They were small, and amazing, and one was crusted with ash, another was crusted with grape leaves, and the third was just a normal white crust, and it came with a little bunch of champagne grapes... AH.
We didn't order any wine... We should have though. That would have just made the evening beyond perfect. As it was though, it was better than sex, and I have never been happier with a restaurant in my life. I took their card so we could make reservations for the next time we want to go there. Turns out that we were insanely lucky to get a table without a reservation as they were, other than our one table, booked solid. I mean, turning people away at the door booked solid.
Not that I'm surprised. It was $100 well spent (yup. Dinner for 2, $100 USD. You read it right), and I don't regret one single penny. In fact, I kind of wish we'd spent more, as it would have meant more amazing food.
Am I using the word "amazing" often enough? LOL.
Monday, June 25, 2007
I Could Have Done Better With Hypercard
I am officially completely and totally disgusted with my department.
Today I was required to attend a "training" session in regards to our online financial management/purchasing/reimbursements system thing. They're offering these training sessions in the hopes of getting more people to use it, instead of submitting paper documents. Well, let me tell you, no amount of training sessions are going to get more people to use this piece of crap system.
Management thinks people aren't using it because "they're afraid of new ways of doing things." HA! This is a research center that gets its funding specifically because they're one of the best in the world at figuring out how to create new and better ways of doing things. The faculty and students aren't afraid of new things. They make their livings off of new things. They APPRECIATE new and better ways to do things.
The problem here is that this online system isn't better. It's new, yes. But its already an outdated, poorly programmed, unweildly mess of a thing. Personally, I don't want to ever log into it again.
Now... I'm going to preface this next bit by explaining that I am extremely tech savvy. You give me a new program to use, and I don't need a manual. I just sit down with the thing for an hour, and suddenly I'm an expert. I'm no stranger to basic programming either. I understand the ins and outs. I've designed websites. I've written programs in basic. My BF bombards me every day with information about programming and programming languages that I never dreamed I'd ever hear, let alone actually understand -- but I do understand a lot of it.
That being said: I could have done a better job at designing this thing, and I could have done a better job of it using nothing more than hypercard. Do you remember hypercard? That lovely little program Mac had back in the 90's that let you basically write your own computer programs just by dragging and dropping page elements? Eh, if you don't remember it, that's okay. Imagine Frontpage or Dreamweaver, but for writing applications as well as websites, and much more simplistic.
Seriously. I could have done way better.
The GUI on this "intranet" is so counterintuitive that I spent 15 minutes just trying to figure out which menu item I was supposed to click on. Me. Me, who only ever needs an hour to learn a piece of software well enough to give classes on how to use it. I was completely and totally lost in this web app. The menu set up was beyond attrocious. The "instructions" on each page were convoluted and misleading. The functionality is so limited, that I can get things done faster on paper. Not to mention the fact that this thing is entirely laid out using tables. There are no divs on the page. None. Just tables. Tables and tables and tables, within even more tables.
There is no "help" menu either. No FAQ. Just a 20 page user manual that you have to download in .pdf.
If a professor wants to look at his available funding (a simple thing, a common thing) he has to sift through several pages full of overly long links (not buttons or anything), each time clicking the right one to get further along in the process.
If a student wants to make a requisition, they have to figure out that the correct section of the site to go to for that is "services" then they have to figure out which professor they're supposed to be logging in under, and then they have to figure out which type of requisition they want to fill out -- and none of this is labelled clearly and simply. It's all in accounting staff jargon that no one understands (well, no one except us accountants).
And you know what makes this whole situation worse? It's taken the staff they hired to do this YEARS to get it to the point it's at currently. YEARS! The BF probably could have had it done in 6 months, with way more functionality, and have it so streamlined that no one would be confused about anything, and no "training" would be necessary, as you could tell exactly what you were doing just by looking at the thing.
Oh yeah, and did I mention that the guy they hired to do this barely speaks english, and makes about 3 times as much money as I do.
And I could have done better at it using Hypercard.
*screams in frustration*
Today I was required to attend a "training" session in regards to our online financial management/purchasing/reimbursements system thing. They're offering these training sessions in the hopes of getting more people to use it, instead of submitting paper documents. Well, let me tell you, no amount of training sessions are going to get more people to use this piece of crap system.
Management thinks people aren't using it because "they're afraid of new ways of doing things." HA! This is a research center that gets its funding specifically because they're one of the best in the world at figuring out how to create new and better ways of doing things. The faculty and students aren't afraid of new things. They make their livings off of new things. They APPRECIATE new and better ways to do things.
The problem here is that this online system isn't better. It's new, yes. But its already an outdated, poorly programmed, unweildly mess of a thing. Personally, I don't want to ever log into it again.
Now... I'm going to preface this next bit by explaining that I am extremely tech savvy. You give me a new program to use, and I don't need a manual. I just sit down with the thing for an hour, and suddenly I'm an expert. I'm no stranger to basic programming either. I understand the ins and outs. I've designed websites. I've written programs in basic. My BF bombards me every day with information about programming and programming languages that I never dreamed I'd ever hear, let alone actually understand -- but I do understand a lot of it.
That being said: I could have done a better job at designing this thing, and I could have done a better job of it using nothing more than hypercard. Do you remember hypercard? That lovely little program Mac had back in the 90's that let you basically write your own computer programs just by dragging and dropping page elements? Eh, if you don't remember it, that's okay. Imagine Frontpage or Dreamweaver, but for writing applications as well as websites, and much more simplistic.
Seriously. I could have done way better.
The GUI on this "intranet" is so counterintuitive that I spent 15 minutes just trying to figure out which menu item I was supposed to click on. Me. Me, who only ever needs an hour to learn a piece of software well enough to give classes on how to use it. I was completely and totally lost in this web app. The menu set up was beyond attrocious. The "instructions" on each page were convoluted and misleading. The functionality is so limited, that I can get things done faster on paper. Not to mention the fact that this thing is entirely laid out using tables. There are no divs on the page. None. Just tables. Tables and tables and tables, within even more tables.
There is no "help" menu either. No FAQ. Just a 20 page user manual that you have to download in .pdf.
If a professor wants to look at his available funding (a simple thing, a common thing) he has to sift through several pages full of overly long links (not buttons or anything), each time clicking the right one to get further along in the process.
If a student wants to make a requisition, they have to figure out that the correct section of the site to go to for that is "services" then they have to figure out which professor they're supposed to be logging in under, and then they have to figure out which type of requisition they want to fill out -- and none of this is labelled clearly and simply. It's all in accounting staff jargon that no one understands (well, no one except us accountants).
And you know what makes this whole situation worse? It's taken the staff they hired to do this YEARS to get it to the point it's at currently. YEARS! The BF probably could have had it done in 6 months, with way more functionality, and have it so streamlined that no one would be confused about anything, and no "training" would be necessary, as you could tell exactly what you were doing just by looking at the thing.
Oh yeah, and did I mention that the guy they hired to do this barely speaks english, and makes about 3 times as much money as I do.
And I could have done better at it using Hypercard.
*screams in frustration*
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
101 Quirks About Me
This is something that a friend of mine has been doing on her blog, and since I've been short of ideas of things to post about lately, I thought I might take up the habit.
Quirk #1 --
I hate wearing shoes. In fact, the only reason I wear shoes at all is because I hate burning/cutting my feet worse.
When I was growing up, we (my mom, my sister and I) all went barefoot constantly. Shoes were not a requirement for leaving the house -- they were only a requirement if we were going somewhere that would be dangerous for our cute toes. Running around in the back yard, for example, did not require shoes. Playing at the beach, or in the grass at a park, or climbing trees did not require shoes. Heck, going to the grocery store didn't require shoes, as long as we were content to sit in the cart instead of walk around.
At home, we NEVER wore shoes. Or socks for that matter. We had hardwood floors, and even in the dead of winter when it was freezing cold we didn't put anything on our feet.
For a brief period of time I wouldn't even wear shoes when walking to and from school. The only reason I stopped doing that was because of the one time that I actually ended up with serious burns on the soles of my feet from walking across asphalt in 90 degree weather.
If I have to wear shoes, they're usually slip on's of some sort, or sandals, or flip flops that I don't have to wear socks with. And the moment I'm anywhere that I can remove them, I do.
I take my shoes off at my desk at work.
I take my shoes off in the car on long drives.
I take my shoes off while sitting in restaurants.
I take my shoes off the INSTANT I get home.
See, I went barefoot so much as a kid (and I'm sure that partially had to do with the cost of shoes, as well as the fact that my mother is a total batik wearing hippie at heart) that now my feet feel completely and totally trapped in shoes. To the degree that I'd even go so far as to say that my feet get claustrophobic.
As such, I am constantly confused by my BF. He forgets to take his shoes off. And he never takes off his socks. I mean never. Except to shower (Well, and for one other activity... No naked men in socks for me!). He even sleeps in them! I can't comprehend how he can stand to have his feet boxed up all the time like that. Meh.
Quirk #1 --
I hate wearing shoes. In fact, the only reason I wear shoes at all is because I hate burning/cutting my feet worse.
When I was growing up, we (my mom, my sister and I) all went barefoot constantly. Shoes were not a requirement for leaving the house -- they were only a requirement if we were going somewhere that would be dangerous for our cute toes. Running around in the back yard, for example, did not require shoes. Playing at the beach, or in the grass at a park, or climbing trees did not require shoes. Heck, going to the grocery store didn't require shoes, as long as we were content to sit in the cart instead of walk around.
At home, we NEVER wore shoes. Or socks for that matter. We had hardwood floors, and even in the dead of winter when it was freezing cold we didn't put anything on our feet.
For a brief period of time I wouldn't even wear shoes when walking to and from school. The only reason I stopped doing that was because of the one time that I actually ended up with serious burns on the soles of my feet from walking across asphalt in 90 degree weather.
If I have to wear shoes, they're usually slip on's of some sort, or sandals, or flip flops that I don't have to wear socks with. And the moment I'm anywhere that I can remove them, I do.
I take my shoes off at my desk at work.
I take my shoes off in the car on long drives.
I take my shoes off while sitting in restaurants.
I take my shoes off the INSTANT I get home.
See, I went barefoot so much as a kid (and I'm sure that partially had to do with the cost of shoes, as well as the fact that my mother is a total batik wearing hippie at heart) that now my feet feel completely and totally trapped in shoes. To the degree that I'd even go so far as to say that my feet get claustrophobic.
As such, I am constantly confused by my BF. He forgets to take his shoes off. And he never takes off his socks. I mean never. Except to shower (Well, and for one other activity... No naked men in socks for me!). He even sleeps in them! I can't comprehend how he can stand to have his feet boxed up all the time like that. Meh.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Why Should I Have to Ask?
Mother's Day.
This year, us girls celebrated Mother's Day for our mom on Saturday, not Sunday. My sister and I planned the whole thing out on the phone before hand, never having to really talk to Mom to find out what she wanted. She wanted what she's always wanted -- just some family time with her kids, to kick back and relax and be able to enjoy the day.
So my sister and I cooked for her. Mom picked up some of the groceries involved, because as much as she likes just relaxing, she feels like she has to help with everything somehow... But I stopped and picked up all the special stuff, so she didn't really know what she was in store for.
Sis helped me put together a fun anti-pasto dish -- tomato basil mozzarella salad, bell pepper salad, salami, olives... And then we made home made, completely from scratch, manicotti. It was fun, and I got to give a little bit of a cooking lesson, teaching my sister how to make the pasta shells (we use an old family recipe which involves making pasta "crepes", then rolling the filling up in them), and even showing the BF how to do it too. Mom kept trying to help, but we kept kicking her out of the kitchen, telling her to go play with the kiddo. I was on my feet cooking basically all day, but I was having a ball. My kitchen at home is tiny, and always dirty (yes, I'm lazy), so being able to cook in a big roomy clean kitchen was kind of a present for me in and of itself. Mom couldn't quite fit her head around that idea, so she looked at me like I was insane every time I told her... And I had to keep telling her, because she kept trying to get me to give her something to do, and kept asking if I was sure, cuz it's mother's day, and she thought I was working too hard. Heh. Cooking, to me, is not work. It is pure fun. Always =)
And after dinner, we all just sat around talking until we got to tired and HAD to go home.
The next day, Sunday, Mother's Day proper, was supposed to be about me... The kiddo, sweetheart that he is, and spurred by his teacher, made me a card, and gave me "coupons" for various things, one of which was doing laundry (woot! I may take him up on that one!).
From the BF tho... I got an e-card. There were no gifts. No special things done for me. It was just another day really. And that made me sad. It made me mad even, because the BF said that I'm hard to do/get things for because he can never tell if its a good time for me or not, so "what would you like to do today?"... He made it seem like in order for me to get anything -- special treatment included -- I had to flat out ask for it. Which kind of defeats the purpose of having a day dedicated to me... I mean, what kind of "gift" do you have to ask for? If you have to ask for it, its not really a gift anymore, in my opinion. And all that "what would you like to do today" said to me was "I don't care enough to put any effort into figuring out what would be nice to do for you, so you do all the work, and figure it out for me instead."
Besides, I'm super easy to make happy. You don't have to do fancy things like take me out to an expensive restaurant. You don't have to organize complex outings. You don't have to get me expensive presents or take me shopping. It's really simple. Think about the things in life that make me stressed out, and take care of one of them for me. Something as simple as cleaning the kitchen (so I can cook, like I love to), or cleaning the bathroom so I can take bubble baths without feeling like a pile of dirty clothes is going to fall into the tub, or doing some laundry so that I don't have to... Any one of those things would be great, and I'm sure, given that genre of "gifts" to choose from it wouldn't be hard to find some more. But I didn't get those things. All I got was an E-card, and an excuse.
Even my 8 year old did better than that... The BF should be ashamed.
I wasn't happy. I was beyond not happy. I was miserably and horribly MAD. So miserable that my body decided it wasn't having anything to do with me being mad, and tried to make me fall asleep instead. So mad that several times during the day I felt like picking something up and hurling it at the wall as hard as I could. But I didn't do that. Instead, I bottled it (as I usually do), then beat myself up over being mad, so I ended up feeling not just mad, but guilty and depressed at the same time.
And what's worse? I can't get over it. I'm not usually one to blame my emotions on someone else -- I always seem to find a way to explain how I did it to myself -- but the BF made me feel like complete and total shit. And I still feel like shit, because I'm here at work, and people are talking about what their families did for them for mother's day, and I get to say "I got an e-card." Needless to say, I've been avoiding the subject all together. So now people are under the impression that I'm even more anti-social than I really am... When in truth, I'm just upset that I don't have anything equally touching to share.
I wish I had an easier time talking about the things that upset me... Then maybe I'd have the guts to tell the BF just how pissed off and hurt I am, and I could get past it more quickly.
This year, us girls celebrated Mother's Day for our mom on Saturday, not Sunday. My sister and I planned the whole thing out on the phone before hand, never having to really talk to Mom to find out what she wanted. She wanted what she's always wanted -- just some family time with her kids, to kick back and relax and be able to enjoy the day.
So my sister and I cooked for her. Mom picked up some of the groceries involved, because as much as she likes just relaxing, she feels like she has to help with everything somehow... But I stopped and picked up all the special stuff, so she didn't really know what she was in store for.
Sis helped me put together a fun anti-pasto dish -- tomato basil mozzarella salad, bell pepper salad, salami, olives... And then we made home made, completely from scratch, manicotti. It was fun, and I got to give a little bit of a cooking lesson, teaching my sister how to make the pasta shells (we use an old family recipe which involves making pasta "crepes", then rolling the filling up in them), and even showing the BF how to do it too. Mom kept trying to help, but we kept kicking her out of the kitchen, telling her to go play with the kiddo. I was on my feet cooking basically all day, but I was having a ball. My kitchen at home is tiny, and always dirty (yes, I'm lazy), so being able to cook in a big roomy clean kitchen was kind of a present for me in and of itself. Mom couldn't quite fit her head around that idea, so she looked at me like I was insane every time I told her... And I had to keep telling her, because she kept trying to get me to give her something to do, and kept asking if I was sure, cuz it's mother's day, and she thought I was working too hard. Heh. Cooking, to me, is not work. It is pure fun. Always =)
And after dinner, we all just sat around talking until we got to tired and HAD to go home.
The next day, Sunday, Mother's Day proper, was supposed to be about me... The kiddo, sweetheart that he is, and spurred by his teacher, made me a card, and gave me "coupons" for various things, one of which was doing laundry (woot! I may take him up on that one!).
From the BF tho... I got an e-card. There were no gifts. No special things done for me. It was just another day really. And that made me sad. It made me mad even, because the BF said that I'm hard to do/get things for because he can never tell if its a good time for me or not, so "what would you like to do today?"... He made it seem like in order for me to get anything -- special treatment included -- I had to flat out ask for it. Which kind of defeats the purpose of having a day dedicated to me... I mean, what kind of "gift" do you have to ask for? If you have to ask for it, its not really a gift anymore, in my opinion. And all that "what would you like to do today" said to me was "I don't care enough to put any effort into figuring out what would be nice to do for you, so you do all the work, and figure it out for me instead."
Besides, I'm super easy to make happy. You don't have to do fancy things like take me out to an expensive restaurant. You don't have to organize complex outings. You don't have to get me expensive presents or take me shopping. It's really simple. Think about the things in life that make me stressed out, and take care of one of them for me. Something as simple as cleaning the kitchen (so I can cook, like I love to), or cleaning the bathroom so I can take bubble baths without feeling like a pile of dirty clothes is going to fall into the tub, or doing some laundry so that I don't have to... Any one of those things would be great, and I'm sure, given that genre of "gifts" to choose from it wouldn't be hard to find some more. But I didn't get those things. All I got was an E-card, and an excuse.
Even my 8 year old did better than that... The BF should be ashamed.
I wasn't happy. I was beyond not happy. I was miserably and horribly MAD. So miserable that my body decided it wasn't having anything to do with me being mad, and tried to make me fall asleep instead. So mad that several times during the day I felt like picking something up and hurling it at the wall as hard as I could. But I didn't do that. Instead, I bottled it (as I usually do), then beat myself up over being mad, so I ended up feeling not just mad, but guilty and depressed at the same time.
And what's worse? I can't get over it. I'm not usually one to blame my emotions on someone else -- I always seem to find a way to explain how I did it to myself -- but the BF made me feel like complete and total shit. And I still feel like shit, because I'm here at work, and people are talking about what their families did for them for mother's day, and I get to say "I got an e-card." Needless to say, I've been avoiding the subject all together. So now people are under the impression that I'm even more anti-social than I really am... When in truth, I'm just upset that I don't have anything equally touching to share.
I wish I had an easier time talking about the things that upset me... Then maybe I'd have the guts to tell the BF just how pissed off and hurt I am, and I could get past it more quickly.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Confruddost?
So today has been a weird day, as evidenced by my last post. But it seems like a lot of days lately have been weird days.
Two days ago, I get a call from my ex asking me for money (which I did NOT give him, btw), then telling me all about his "girlfriend" the "model" who's in jail --again-- for a reason that is so far fetched, I have to wonder if it's made up. The things I'm hearing just don't add up, and given my ex's propensity towards creating fictions that are so elaborate even he believes them... I can't help but think this is another one of those situations. Either that, or I have to believe that both a) he is stupid enough to want to have anything to do with someone who lands themeselves in jail for really BAD things, and thinks I'm going to be okay letting my son be around that too, b) there is some girl out there who is so incredibly stupid that she is either lying to him about who and what she is, or that she's really THAT stupid and THAT desperate to want to be with him -- who she's never even met face to face before.
Do I want to believe any of that? No, not really. But what choice am I left with? I hate thinking the worst of someone. I'm always the one wanting to think the best, the one giving more chances than I should, the one having faith that the "real" them will eventually shine through... But I can't afford those delusions when it comes to my kid, even if those delusions are the reason my kid even exists in the first place.
Then yesterday my ex calls me AGAIN, begging for cash AGAIN. Like I'm some sort of millionaire. Like I have money to throw around now that I'm the one supporting my son full time. Sure, I have a job that pays pretty well. But a third of that check is taken out in taxes, and I've got debts of my own. I can afford to eat out a lot of the time, but thats only because I make myself afford it because I hate washing dishes so much. I eat out instead of buying myself new clothes (which I sorely need, btw), or buying new music, or buying movies (I buy maybe one a month, if that, instead of the 6 or 8 that I used to). Maybe the money I spend on eating out would be better spent hiring a maid to wash my dishes for me... I dunno. That's not the point really. The point is I live from check to check. I don't have extra money to just throw away on loans that won't ever be re-paid. And the sucky thing is that he didn't want to take no for an answer. He kept on with the "I'll pay you back in 3 weeks" and the "but it's only $350" and all. Hell, he still owes me $200 from a previous banking problem... Like I'm going to give him more...
And I've just been out of sorts anyway. Friday night I got a really horrible muscle spasm in my neck and left shoulder. One so bad that I had shooting pains down my arm. The BF ended up having to run out and get me a tube of Bengay just so I could try and get some sleep before going back to work on Monday.
Things have been stupid weird, and stupid weird always makes me feel uneasy. And feeling uneasy makes me stress out, which makes me over anxious, which makes me depressed... So I cry for no reason. Or I cry for a reason that I can't quite make myself verbalize. That happened Monday night... And the BF still hasn't learned quite how to handle me when I get like that, so it ended up in him getting pissed off at me, and me crying myself to sleep.
Sad thing is, all I really wanted was to feel good for 5 minutes... But I couldn't bring myself to say that. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I was feeling miserably bad, both physically and emotionally, despite the fact that I was sitting there crying while trying (to no avail) to massage the knots out of my own neck and the muscle cramps out of my legs (from sitting at my desk for 8 hours).
Of course, the BF has a really bad habit of trying to get me to talk while I'm in tears. He asks me "is there anything I can get you?" and "what's up?" and actually expects an answer. I mean really. I'm crying. Why don't you try to calm me down a bit before asking me questions I don't know how to answer. Why not just hug me, and hold me, and stroke my hair, and wait for me to stop sobbing first? And why doesn't he think of that on his own?
I shouldn't be surprised really. Most of the time I have to ask for hugs and kisses. Most of the time I have to ask for him to cuddle with me. And even then, I get half assed hugs, kisses, and cuddling in response. It's like now that we're living together, he's lost any interest in being passionate with me. Not that I'm saying we don't have "adult time" -- we do. But I'm always the one to initiate it, and it always takes a TON of work to get him to realize what I want (at least, thats what it seems like. Maybe he's just playing dumb?). And then, just like the hugs and kisses, his side of things are half assed. It's like he's not even really trying. I know he's not trying. Cuz when he does try, the whole world disappears, and all I can do is --feel--... *sigh*
Wow, now I'm really rambling huh. I guess I'm more ... I dunno... What's the right word for what I am right now? Frustrated? Confused? Lost? Befuddled? Confruddost?
Anyway, I'm more of whatever I am than I thought I was, and I just threw it all up into your laps now didn't I. *sigh*
I need a break.
Two days ago, I get a call from my ex asking me for money (which I did NOT give him, btw), then telling me all about his "girlfriend" the "model" who's in jail --again-- for a reason that is so far fetched, I have to wonder if it's made up. The things I'm hearing just don't add up, and given my ex's propensity towards creating fictions that are so elaborate even he believes them... I can't help but think this is another one of those situations. Either that, or I have to believe that both a) he is stupid enough to want to have anything to do with someone who lands themeselves in jail for really BAD things, and thinks I'm going to be okay letting my son be around that too, b) there is some girl out there who is so incredibly stupid that she is either lying to him about who and what she is, or that she's really THAT stupid and THAT desperate to want to be with him -- who she's never even met face to face before.
Do I want to believe any of that? No, not really. But what choice am I left with? I hate thinking the worst of someone. I'm always the one wanting to think the best, the one giving more chances than I should, the one having faith that the "real" them will eventually shine through... But I can't afford those delusions when it comes to my kid, even if those delusions are the reason my kid even exists in the first place.
Then yesterday my ex calls me AGAIN, begging for cash AGAIN. Like I'm some sort of millionaire. Like I have money to throw around now that I'm the one supporting my son full time. Sure, I have a job that pays pretty well. But a third of that check is taken out in taxes, and I've got debts of my own. I can afford to eat out a lot of the time, but thats only because I make myself afford it because I hate washing dishes so much. I eat out instead of buying myself new clothes (which I sorely need, btw), or buying new music, or buying movies (I buy maybe one a month, if that, instead of the 6 or 8 that I used to). Maybe the money I spend on eating out would be better spent hiring a maid to wash my dishes for me... I dunno. That's not the point really. The point is I live from check to check. I don't have extra money to just throw away on loans that won't ever be re-paid. And the sucky thing is that he didn't want to take no for an answer. He kept on with the "I'll pay you back in 3 weeks" and the "but it's only $350" and all. Hell, he still owes me $200 from a previous banking problem... Like I'm going to give him more...
And I've just been out of sorts anyway. Friday night I got a really horrible muscle spasm in my neck and left shoulder. One so bad that I had shooting pains down my arm. The BF ended up having to run out and get me a tube of Bengay just so I could try and get some sleep before going back to work on Monday.
Things have been stupid weird, and stupid weird always makes me feel uneasy. And feeling uneasy makes me stress out, which makes me over anxious, which makes me depressed... So I cry for no reason. Or I cry for a reason that I can't quite make myself verbalize. That happened Monday night... And the BF still hasn't learned quite how to handle me when I get like that, so it ended up in him getting pissed off at me, and me crying myself to sleep.
Sad thing is, all I really wanted was to feel good for 5 minutes... But I couldn't bring myself to say that. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I was feeling miserably bad, both physically and emotionally, despite the fact that I was sitting there crying while trying (to no avail) to massage the knots out of my own neck and the muscle cramps out of my legs (from sitting at my desk for 8 hours).
Of course, the BF has a really bad habit of trying to get me to talk while I'm in tears. He asks me "is there anything I can get you?" and "what's up?" and actually expects an answer. I mean really. I'm crying. Why don't you try to calm me down a bit before asking me questions I don't know how to answer. Why not just hug me, and hold me, and stroke my hair, and wait for me to stop sobbing first? And why doesn't he think of that on his own?
I shouldn't be surprised really. Most of the time I have to ask for hugs and kisses. Most of the time I have to ask for him to cuddle with me. And even then, I get half assed hugs, kisses, and cuddling in response. It's like now that we're living together, he's lost any interest in being passionate with me. Not that I'm saying we don't have "adult time" -- we do. But I'm always the one to initiate it, and it always takes a TON of work to get him to realize what I want (at least, thats what it seems like. Maybe he's just playing dumb?). And then, just like the hugs and kisses, his side of things are half assed. It's like he's not even really trying. I know he's not trying. Cuz when he does try, the whole world disappears, and all I can do is --feel--... *sigh*
Wow, now I'm really rambling huh. I guess I'm more ... I dunno... What's the right word for what I am right now? Frustrated? Confused? Lost? Befuddled? Confruddost?
Anyway, I'm more of whatever I am than I thought I was, and I just threw it all up into your laps now didn't I. *sigh*
I need a break.
Monday, May 07, 2007
I Never Have to Stop and Think
I never have to stop and think. Really. I'm always thinking. Usually about all the wrong things, but I am thinking. It's getting myself to stop thinking that's the hard part -- and it shows.
My son, however, never thinks. I swear. He doesn't. Sure, he's 8, and he's still a little kid really, but he acts as if he hasn't got a single brain cell in his head, let alone one he's actually making use of. Sometimes I think there must be something desperately wrong with him -- some sort of mental defect... But then he goes and says something so infinitely intelligent that I know he's in full working order. Like the other day. He says to the BF on the way to pick me up from work: 'What are the numbers on the houses for?' If you stop and think about it, thats actually a rather deep question. Instead of just following the herd and accepting that houses are supposed to have numbers on them, he actually wanted to know the reason for it. But ask him to tell you what the one page story he read 30 seconds ago was about, and all he can say is "I don't know."
Its actually making things really hard on me and the BF. We're at the point where we don't know what to do. I mean, how do you teach a child to want to understand a story? No one had to teach me... I just wanted to know what happened. I wanted to know more than just what happened. I wanted to know who the characters were, and what they were feeling, and why... I always loved reading and stories. If I read something, not only could I tell you what it was about, but I could recite it for you almost verbatim (semi photographic memory... it's picky about what it photographs, and what it doesn't, as well as being a relatively bad photographer -- severed heads and the like).
I also can't seem to get him to recognize the passage of time. We gave him a clock... But he doesn't seem to have made any sense of what the thing actually is, or why he should care.
And he "forgets" everything we ask him to do, or acts shocked when he has to do something that he's done at the same time every day for months -- like going to pick me up from work, like they do every day.
I have a feeling that most of this behavior is just him distancing him from the world around him. The lack of care he got with his dad is telling. The fact that he's now being asked to be responsible for some of the things in his life (like actually doing his homework himself, instead of having someone feed him the answers, and cutting his own finger nails when they get too long, and washing his own body instead of having mommy do it). That he always thought Mom's house was for playing games and having fun, except now that he lives there full time, it's not anymore. He's adjusting. And not really doing it very well.
The BF has been a saint about it, being the positive male role-model the kiddo needs, picking him up from school, making sure homework gets done, etc., etc., a million times etc. I, on the other hand, haven't been adjusting well at all either.
I'm one of those people that needs peace and quiet (from people that is -- I can't live without the TV or stereo or both on all the time). I need to be alone, to have low stress environments, to not have to share my personal space if I don't want to. Having my son more than the every other weekend I used to have him has taken away my space. It's taken away my time. It's taken away who and what I am, at my core, because I'm not allowed to be that person any more.
I can't help thinking of myself as a horrible Mom because I resent the fact that I can't do what I want, when I want anymore. Eventhough I know these are feelings that every mother has at least once in their lives, if not every day. I feel bad that I don't want to spend every waking moment with my child. I feel bad that sometimes I wish I could have just left him with his dad until the end of time (especially bad about that, given how bad things were at his dad's). I feel bad that sometimes I cry because I just want my life back. Eventhough I know these are things that every mother thinks and feels at some point, you can tell me that what I'm feeling is completely normal until you're blue in the face, it's not going to change the guilt I feel for feeling that way.
Growing up, all I ever saw were TV shows and movies that showed moms who, no matter what, always felt only love for their children. Mom's who didn't want their children to move out of the house, mom's who didn't want to go back to work because they wanted to stay home with their kids, mom's who fought to have their children with them full time, mom's who worked 3 jobs and walked away from a social life to raise their children. And I was brainwashed to believe that feeling anything other than the purest, most unconditional, love for your children every second of every day was bad, that it wasn't normal, that only junkies and alcoholics and crazy people didn't dote on their children the way the Cleavers or the Bradys did.
But isn't it normal to want to be treated like the woman that you've always been, instead of just the mom that you are right now?
I want to be able to sleep naked on hot summer nights again. I want to be able to moan as loud as I want when I get off. I want to be able to just lay in bed all day on a weekend, with no one and nothing but my favorite books. I want to be able to stay home sick from work and actually be able to rest. I want to watch horror movies before 9 o'clock at night. I want to get drunk when I get home from a bad day at work. I want to have conversations about art and literature and philosophy without having to stop and explain that I am NOT talking about a video game.
I want.
I want.
I want.
*sigh*
I've got another 10 years left... If I'm lucky... But then it will be too late. Won't it.
My son, however, never thinks. I swear. He doesn't. Sure, he's 8, and he's still a little kid really, but he acts as if he hasn't got a single brain cell in his head, let alone one he's actually making use of. Sometimes I think there must be something desperately wrong with him -- some sort of mental defect... But then he goes and says something so infinitely intelligent that I know he's in full working order. Like the other day. He says to the BF on the way to pick me up from work: 'What are the numbers on the houses for?' If you stop and think about it, thats actually a rather deep question. Instead of just following the herd and accepting that houses are supposed to have numbers on them, he actually wanted to know the reason for it. But ask him to tell you what the one page story he read 30 seconds ago was about, and all he can say is "I don't know."
Its actually making things really hard on me and the BF. We're at the point where we don't know what to do. I mean, how do you teach a child to want to understand a story? No one had to teach me... I just wanted to know what happened. I wanted to know more than just what happened. I wanted to know who the characters were, and what they were feeling, and why... I always loved reading and stories. If I read something, not only could I tell you what it was about, but I could recite it for you almost verbatim (semi photographic memory... it's picky about what it photographs, and what it doesn't, as well as being a relatively bad photographer -- severed heads and the like).
I also can't seem to get him to recognize the passage of time. We gave him a clock... But he doesn't seem to have made any sense of what the thing actually is, or why he should care.
And he "forgets" everything we ask him to do, or acts shocked when he has to do something that he's done at the same time every day for months -- like going to pick me up from work, like they do every day.
I have a feeling that most of this behavior is just him distancing him from the world around him. The lack of care he got with his dad is telling. The fact that he's now being asked to be responsible for some of the things in his life (like actually doing his homework himself, instead of having someone feed him the answers, and cutting his own finger nails when they get too long, and washing his own body instead of having mommy do it). That he always thought Mom's house was for playing games and having fun, except now that he lives there full time, it's not anymore. He's adjusting. And not really doing it very well.
The BF has been a saint about it, being the positive male role-model the kiddo needs, picking him up from school, making sure homework gets done, etc., etc., a million times etc. I, on the other hand, haven't been adjusting well at all either.
I'm one of those people that needs peace and quiet (from people that is -- I can't live without the TV or stereo or both on all the time). I need to be alone, to have low stress environments, to not have to share my personal space if I don't want to. Having my son more than the every other weekend I used to have him has taken away my space. It's taken away my time. It's taken away who and what I am, at my core, because I'm not allowed to be that person any more.
I can't help thinking of myself as a horrible Mom because I resent the fact that I can't do what I want, when I want anymore. Eventhough I know these are feelings that every mother has at least once in their lives, if not every day. I feel bad that I don't want to spend every waking moment with my child. I feel bad that sometimes I wish I could have just left him with his dad until the end of time (especially bad about that, given how bad things were at his dad's). I feel bad that sometimes I cry because I just want my life back. Eventhough I know these are things that every mother thinks and feels at some point, you can tell me that what I'm feeling is completely normal until you're blue in the face, it's not going to change the guilt I feel for feeling that way.
Growing up, all I ever saw were TV shows and movies that showed moms who, no matter what, always felt only love for their children. Mom's who didn't want their children to move out of the house, mom's who didn't want to go back to work because they wanted to stay home with their kids, mom's who fought to have their children with them full time, mom's who worked 3 jobs and walked away from a social life to raise their children. And I was brainwashed to believe that feeling anything other than the purest, most unconditional, love for your children every second of every day was bad, that it wasn't normal, that only junkies and alcoholics and crazy people didn't dote on their children the way the Cleavers or the Bradys did.
But isn't it normal to want to be treated like the woman that you've always been, instead of just the mom that you are right now?
I want to be able to sleep naked on hot summer nights again. I want to be able to moan as loud as I want when I get off. I want to be able to just lay in bed all day on a weekend, with no one and nothing but my favorite books. I want to be able to stay home sick from work and actually be able to rest. I want to watch horror movies before 9 o'clock at night. I want to get drunk when I get home from a bad day at work. I want to have conversations about art and literature and philosophy without having to stop and explain that I am NOT talking about a video game.
I want.
I want.
I want.
*sigh*
I've got another 10 years left... If I'm lucky... But then it will be too late. Won't it.
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