Tag Archives: sucks to be me

In need of purpose.

I don’t really know why I’ve been under a rock lately, but I have been, and as any snail or earthworm would have you know—once you’ve been under a rock, getting out of it and actually living life is sort of hard and is definitely a pain in the ass.

There is an episode of Sex and The City when Charlotte leaves her job at the gallery because she thinks her and Trey are going to be parents, but when she can’t get pregnant, she tells the other women and Trey that she’s “trying to get her day planner together.”

I’ve never really seen that statement as a dilemma until now.

I still go to work, physically. But once I get here, I usually just drink coffee, eat peanut butter right out of the jar, and play Candy Crush. Seriously. That’s what I do for 8 hours, 5 days a week.

Occasionally, I will think about all of the productive things I could be doing with my workday, like:

  • Improving my many other blogs
  • Reading a book
  • Googling things to blog about
  • Pitching to new venues about hiring me for more blog classes
  • Improving my blog class
  • Cleaning my office
  • Cleaning out my email inboxes
  • Replying to emails

But no. I play Candy Crush and watch old episodes of World of Jenks (I love Chad).

The thing is, it’s such a struggle for me to get up and out of bed in the mornings and arrive on time wearing makeup, that once I get here I am a total zombie. But! I am trying to change that. I am setting GOALS for myself.

Like… clean off the desk at the end of the day, write AN blog entry, go to a meeting. LOOK busy!

It’s kind of working.

I am fairly certain I recall going through similar feelings around this time of year, every year. It’s nice outside, and I want to be at the pool and not in my office, so I take to chair-spinning contests with myself. It’s only logical.

Anyone else in my boat (with a pina colada in hand?)?

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Back from the dead… maybe.

HEY HO.

I am at work right now for the first time in a week… I took vacation days because my mom flew into town. We had a lovely visit, but on the last night of her trip, I started to feel a little tickle in my throat.

Yeah, and now I feel like absolute donkey-do.

Fever, runny nose, coughing, the whole 9 yards, but I’m at my desk all bundled up in my snuggie. I figured I should just come to work and see how long I’m able to last…

Anyway, because I’ve been off in la-la land, I didn’t do a good job of keeping up with the blog. Didn’t even arrange the “Dear Mr. Nice Guy” post for Friday.

My apologies.

I promise… things will get back to normal around here sometime.

PS. Today is our 3rd year anniversary!!!! GO US.

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Hi, Betsy!

Over the weekend, D informed me of some pretty cool news: Not only was E’s graduation coming up, but D said her mom wanted me to be there.

WOW! I am so in, right?

The kindergarten graduation ceremony begins at 9:30 Friday morning, so I took the day off work. After the ceremony me, E, D, and E’s mom (D’s ex wife, just to be clear) are going out to lunch to celebrate.

D said he was going to buy E a bouquet of flowers for the occasion. Flowers? Psshh.

I ventured to Target in search of the perfect gift; nothing too flashy, but something to show that I care, and that I’m cool, and that she should like me, dammit.

I really wanted to get a “Graduation Barbie”…which, turns out that even though Barbie is a mom and a doctor and a veterinarian and President, she didn’t graduate. So I was left wandering down the Barbie aisle.

Eventually, I came across the Barbie Pocket Learner:

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Yeah, looks awesome, right?

According to the packaging, this little gadget has 24 interactive activities including logic, vocabulary, numbers, and more! You can even send Barbie “emails.”

I was pretty stoked that I found a cool-looking toy that was somewhat educational for a low price. So, I grabbed some wrapping paper and headed home.

Sunday morning, while making the obligatory call to mom, I was messing around with the pocket learner, planning on getting my number-game on, you know?

So I turn it on, and it’s Barbie’s pretty face, paired with some danceable tunes, and Barbie says to me, “HI BETSY!!!!”

Ohhhhh fuck.

My mom hears this and says, “But her name isn’t Betsy!”

I know this fact, and also know that if E turns on this toy and it says Betsy and not “E” I am doomed FOREVER.

So I search through the toy, looking to where I can customize it and make it say E and not Betsy. Who is this Betsy? Some lil whore whose mom was off looking at frozen pizzas while Betsy was left in the Barbie aisle customizing all of the pocket learners.

I had no luck, so I went to Google and looked up the instructions (the learner was still in its package, mind you) and still had no luck.

But the pieces started coming together—it was a toy for 3+, didn’t have any complex instructions, and chances are, it had no real customizable capabilities.

Then, it finally clicked. Barbie was saying, “HI BESTIE.”

Not Betsy. Le sigh.

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Stop calling me fat, you fatty.

It’s nothing new that I cannot stand the janitor lady that works in our office. I’ll call her Jennifer Lopez because it starts with the same letters as “Janitor Lady,” and because she has a big ass. No seriously, it is the biggest ass I’ve ever seen.

EVER.

Everyone in the office is always SO excited to see her and they are all, “HEY JENNIFER, GOOD MORNING JENNIFER,” blah blah blah.

But I’d noticed that whenever I do say hello, or good morning, she comes back with something snippy. One day, when she was emptying my trash, I asked her how she was.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“Me too,” I replied.

“Well at least you get to sit down all day,” she said.

Umm ok, thanks, bitch.

That was two years ago and to this day, I don’t say anything when she comes into my office.

Yeah, I get it, her job sucks. But you don’t have to take it out on me.

Last year, I wore a dress and some boots to work one day. Jennifer Lopez was quick to tell me my legs looked “thick.”

Thanks. Bitch.

About two Fridays ago, someone in our office brought a box of donuts for breakfast. I am still sticking to my plan of eating clean, but I’d been to the gym 3 times that week and figured a little sugar and bread would be an okay treat.

I was standing in the break room, pouring some coffee and nibbling on a donut, when in walks J-Lo.

“Look at you, eating that big ole donut. You going to eat that?” she asked me.

My blood started to boil.

“Yes I am,” I said.

“I guess you can,” she said.

“Excuse me? You guess?” I said. “I can eat whatever I please.”

“I guess so, you’re small enough,” she said. “But you know your weight fluctuates.”

I didn’t say a fucking word and I breezed by her with my donut in tow. Bitch.

She’s trying to call me out for eating one lowsy donut when A. I can and will do whatever I want, B. I am skinny, and C. Shut the fuck up.

This is the same woman that is so big, she is facing diabetes medication if she doesn’t slim down, and yet I still she her eating McDonald’s all the damn time. So fuck off.

I am over any attempt at being nice, I don’t care if I am huge, you do not speak to me like that.

The following week, I walked into the kitchen to grab my afternoon snack (an apple and a slice of low-fat cheese), when what do I see? Oh, Jennifer Lopez getting a bag of Fritos and a Sprite from the vending machine.

It took everything I had not to say, “Look at you eating that entire bag of greasy chips and that sugary Sprite! It oughta send you right into a diabetic coma, you fat bitch! Have a fantastic day!!”

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Hey Lopez, stop avoiding me!

Today, I finally get to see my counselor.

That sounds super crazy, I know, but the last two visits with Lopez, he’s been all “Well it sounds like things are pretty good, so let’s try visiting every 3 weeks.”

Um are you hearing the same conversation I am hearing, because to me, it sounds like I need to stick to the 2-week regimen before I go insane. Mmmkay??

I don’t know what it is, but the past month, I’ve been pretty depressed. I think it’s a combination of several things that’ve got me down; troubles at my job, issues with my freelance work, sometimes relationship issues, family stuff, money… blah blah blah.

And sometimes I just wonder if there’s simply an ebb and flow to the way I feel. Sometimes I’m in a good mood, sometimes I’m in a really bad mood, and other times I don’t want to get out of bed.

When D and I first got together, I found myself not really knowing what to do in the moments we weren’t hanging out. Yeah, once again, sounds really crazy, I know. But the relationships I’ve had in the past haven’t really been relationships…and we haven’t spent much time together.

I’ve never been dating someone who makes time to see me almost everyday. So when D is at work all day on a Saturday, I find myself wondering what to do. Before I was in a relationship, a Saturday might be spent doing freelance work, hitting the gym, or taking a walk to the Starbucks downstairs and posting up with a book and a latte.

But I can’t bring myself to do those things (freelance, yes, if I’m on deadline) for some reason. Part of me thinks I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts, which Boots told me that if I were reading a book, technically I’d be alone with someone else’s thoughts…and then I corrected him to say that every time I sit down to read a book I read a few pages and then realize I have no idea what I just read.

Maybe it’s just stress?

I was thinking the other day about my dating past, and I realized that I’ve never been in a relationship that was just good. Where things were just good. It was always on some extreme high or incredible low; I was always an emotional mess.

So when D and I part ways, say in the morning before work, and we kiss each other goodbye and wish each other a good day, sometimes I find myself stepping into my car and asking myself, “Is he mad at me?”

Simply because I am used to a guy getting pissed at me for some dumb reason or there always being some sort of drama. I’m not used to just being.

Baggage is a bitch.

 

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When a 6-year-old hates you.

Last Friday night, D told me he had to go out of town for work on Monday, and would be late picking up his daughter from the bus stop.

He asked if I’d be willing to pick her up and entertain her until about 6 p.m., when he got home. I said I would only do it if she wanted me to. So he said he’d call her on Saturday and find out what she wanted to do.

In the 24 hours that passed, I started thinking that if she wanted me to pick her up, we could finally complete the craft I’d gotten supplies for: decorating buckets to plant flowers in (I even bought flowers and potting soil). When D got home, he could make us dinner, and it would be a fun evening. D agreed that it would give me and E a chance to bond.

On Saturday night, D and I went out to meet a few of his friends and have a margarita. Mid-drink, I asked him if he talked to E.

“Yeah…um…my mom is just going to pick her up,” he said. “She really wasn’t too keen on you picking her up.”

I hung my head. “Oh,” I said.

The tears started to well-up in the rims of my eyes. I was heartbroken.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It makes me really sad,” I said. “I didn’t think she liked me, but this just drives it right home that she doesn’t. I was really hoping she’d want me to pick her up.”

“Baby, don’t be upset,” he said. “She just likes for me to pick her up. She really wasn’t excited about my mom picking her up either.”

I stirred my drink.

“This is completely new for her,” he said. “She likes you, she’s just not ready to be with you one-on-one.”

I tried to just put it all out of my head, drink my tequila, and move on, but I was really upset. I understand this is new for her, but it’s new for me, too. I’ve never dated anyone with a child, and I’ve really never been around kids, so I don’t know how to act, and it’s frustrating.

The fact that she doesn’t like me is a strike against me. No matter how great a girlfriend I can be for D, the love of his life doesn’t like me. And I get it, if I were her, I wouldn’t like me either.

Because I can be honest here, I’ll tell you, that since this conversation, I don’t want to be around her at all. I feel like the evil stepmother. I understand that if I don’t spend time with her, she won’t get to know me and she’ll never like me. But if she doesn’t like me, I don’t want to be somewhere that I’m not wanted. I don’t want to intrude on daughter-father time.

I’m really torn. I like D, and I think our relationship is going to be around for awhile, so what do I do?

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Kickball can shove it.

I’m fairly certain I shared with you guys last season the joy (read: nervousness and stress) I felt when I joined the local kickball league.

I joined for 2 reasons: 1. Two of my friends started the team and they needed as many people, especially girls, to join. And 2. I thought it would be something fun and social that I could do during the week.

Last season, I had a pretty good time, but I noticed that many of the other teams in the league were really serious—as in, they recruit really good players and get really fucking pissed when someone gets an out.

Our team wasn’t like that. In fact, we were the laughing stock of the league because we brought a huge stereo (we call it The KaBoomBox) and coolers of beer to every game, and played drunk as shit.

Somehow, our debauchery paid off and we were winning games left and right. We even got an out when someone from our dugout belched so loud, it caught the other team off guard. It was a great time, and we went pretty far into the playoffs.

But this season has been way different.

The league has really cracked down on drinking. Some of the teams still do it, but you have to be really secretive about it, and it’s getting to be a hassle. A few games ago, we were in the dugout waiting for an ump so our game could start. One of the players from the other team, we’ll call her Brit, came over and started yelling at us saying we couldn’t have beers, even if they were in cups.

She walked away and I was all, “What the fuck was that about?”

Apparently she is a “commissioner,” basically a glorified tattle tale. I’ve seen this girl around many-a-time because she plays on three different teams, wears a bandana, gloves, and shin guards, and she pitches overhand.

Yeah, um, it’s KICKBALL.

The following game, I decided to screw it, I wasn’t going to drink. I’m trying to watch my figure and since it’s such as hassle anyway, I was just going to bring a Powerade and forget it. Well low and behold, here comes Brit, still pissy about the beer and The KaBoomBox being too loud.

That night, we were up against a pretty serious team who kept shit-talking all night. We lost, and my team was really upset. I didn’t care. I was in this to have fun. So what, we lost.

Well my teammates started talking about a strategy for next game, we should put THIS person here and THIS person there… then they started talking about hosting a practice and a pickup game with other teams.

Excuse me?

I don’t want to practice. I don’t want to play a pickup game. I payed $45 to play on this team, I really just want to go on the field, kick the ball as hard as I can and try to make it on base, okay?

The next day, one of the guys on our team posted a diagram on our Facebook group.

kball

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You’ll notice “Lucky” isn’t on the diagram. Because apparently, my team doesn’t need me.

And yeah, I’m not an awesome player, but this isn’t a professional league. Sorry I’m not a fucking all star.

So I’d had enough. I was going to stand my team up Tuesday night and join D for dinner and a movie. I felt rebellious. I will show them, I thought.

And then? The game was cancelled due to rain.

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