Archive for Uncategorized

Wisdom from the dorms—the ex-boyfriend edition, pts 2 and 3

July 20, 2010 at 11:49 am · Filed under Uncategorized

And it continues!

Part Two

“How late were y’all out last night?” I ask, when at 11:30am, she answers the door barely awake.

“Well, SnottyBlondeWithABadAttitude was really upset last night about her breakup and we stayed up until, like, 4 sitting on the stairs.”

“Oh. So basically, she was drunk?”

She looks puzzled as to how I know, and I don’t bother explaining the equation as we go back into my room so I can pour a bowl of cereal. Teenage girl + late-night boozing + recent breakup = end-of-the-world hysterics in the pre-dawn hours. I’m sure it’s been scientifically proven, somewhere.

“Well, she and her boyfriend just broke up and it’s actually like, pretty much the same thing that happened to me, you know? Like, they were together for the same length of time and he was really similar to my boyfriend, and I dunno, dude. It actually felt good to help someone else, ya know, who had like, been through something that I had experience with. And you know, just to listen to someone who’s going through basically what I went through and to help her and even get some perspective on my own stuff. And even though she’s really upset about it, I’m glad she finally like, cried about it.” She nods slowly as if she’s sharing the wisdom of the world with me—as though her approval of the drunk girl’s tears shows a certain level of enlightenment. Oh.My.God. I totally get it now!

I just blink and go back to eating my cereal.

Part Three

An hour later, she calls my name from her room, which is odd because she usually jumps at the chance to come hang out in my room. I don’t really mind so much anymore; it’s not so bad as long as she doesn’t open her mouth.

I poke my head around the corner. “So I blocked him on Facebook and he sends me this in my emails.”

I momentarily contemplate popping a bag of popcorn before the show starts (that way, when I start laughing, I can pretend to choke instead), but decide I’m too comfortable on her bed and don’t want to delay the drama.

She reads me the first two paragraphs of an emo-novel from her ex, and then stops to discuss what he’s written, which could have just as easily been summed up in a single sentence like, “You only talk to me because you have guilt about ruining my life and now you feel like shit about it, nanny-nanny-boo-boo. *Giant, emo raspberry.*”

She is indignant. “I mean, I’m just trying to sit back and heal from all of this drama or whatever, you know, that’s been introduced into my life. Because honestly, I’m not ready to date. And every time I think I am, he comes along like this and it takes me two months to get over what he said again. And is there guilt? Heck yeah there’s guilt! Because you keep creating a situation to where I feel like I have to have guilt!” She’s talking to the computer screen at this point, and then turns back to me. “I mean, at the end of the day, he’s the one making me feel guilty! And all this like, drama, is getting quite stressful and it’s starting to seriously piss me off.”

He references that London was going to be a special place for them. “Where does he get off? I mean, like, I just got suddenly repulsed by where I am because of what he said. That’s not right!”

I grunt noncommittally from the bed. He makes some trash-novel-inspired comment about how well he “knows” her.

“What? No one gets to say that to me. No one gets to talk to me like that, especially if we’re not even in, you know, like a relationship!”

“So block him, dude,” I suggest finally. Looking back, I don’t know why I bothered.

“Well, this isn’t like, my main email. I just have to check it for financial aid stuff.”

“Right, but my point is he can still get to you this way, and look how riled up you are from that one email. You really think he’s going to stop at that one?”

“Well, this is just my financial aid email address.”

“Right—but you still have to check it.”

“No I don’t. Only for financial aid stuff.”

… Which last time I checked, was something pretty important and worth checking your email for, but hey, what do I know? I resist the urge to bang my head against the wall.

“I don’t have to check it. But I’m going to block him anyway.”

Hey, whatever makes you feel like it was your idea, sweets. Whatever makes you happy.

At 11:30am, she answers the door fresh out of bed.

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Life goes on

November 23, 2009 at 1:57 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , , , ,

I discovered last week that the happy pills carry a black box warning for a reason, and of course I hit it, and I hit it hard. The PS has been incredibly patient throughout the whole ordeal, holding on through a phone line as I reached the lowest at which I have ever allowed anyone to see me and uttered words I swore I’d never say. She stayed in contact throughout the night during the worst of it, and checked in on me the next morning as I made my way to a working interview, which I somehow passed with flying colors despite the previous night’s drama.

The pills brought on exactly one week of pleasant relaxation, followed by exactly one week of mind-numbing death wishes and desperation. It ended as abruptly as it came on, but the heightened flashbacks that were set in motion didn’t dissipate so easily and on Saturday night, I texted a coworker looking for someone to cover my shift the following morning. I also texted a friend looking for someone to cover my isolation. Neither could help.

My neck got intimately acquainted with a length of line shortly thereafter and I awoke some time later, the plan—ill-devised in such frantic impulsiveness—having gone predictably wrong once I blacked out. I have only a hazy recollection of any of it, but the lingering feelings of self-disgust and humiliation are crystal clear.

And then there was yesterday.

I arrive at work, where the vet and I wind up discussing therapists and medications and mental turbulence, as it has been a trying week for her son as well and she is, at that moment, awaiting a call from Grady’s ER. She asks why, when the brain acts out, it has to be in violence and destruction instead of extreme good deeds. We joke of building entire homeless shelters in a night, of being able to leap tall buildings in a single manic state, and we go on to devise a business plan for a nighttime housecleaning service (since it’s always the night that seems to bring things to a head). We settle on “Crazy Cleaners: We Sweep While You Sleep,” and are perhaps too amused by our cleverness. It is a rainy, chilly day but not a bad one. In fact, it isn’t until our final stop for the day that things go wrong.

The clients have muzzled their dog, but give no warning as to their cat’s disposition. Within seconds, the cat, unusually talented at twisting in his own skin, turns into a flying frenzy of teeth and back claws. It is far from unexpected—cats are always presumed dangerous until proven harmless—but nonetheless, I am clawed and the owner immediately jumps in, only escalating the cat’s aggression and destroying what little control of the situation I have left. The man is severely bitten, and in getting the cat away from him, I am fairly mauled as well. With blood pooling on the table and running off onto the floor, and yet more being slung upon nearby displays, I succeed in getting the cat back in his carrier and turn to the man, who is lightheaded already from his profusely-bleeding wounds. It is then that his wife remarks, “You know, the cat did this last year, too.” I am too dizzy with adrenaline to do anything but stare at her in disbelief before moving to tend my own wounds.

Sitting in the lobby of the emergency room two hours later with crudely taped and bloodied hands, I reflect that of all the ways I thought I’d wind up in the ER this week, this was not a possibility that had crossed my mind. I am pleased at least to see that SVU is on the television and remark to all of Facebook that if nothing else, I can still watch my show while I wait.

In triage, I keep my tongue in my cheek, and my nurse and I banter through most of the vitals-checking and history-taking. She forces me onto the scale with a gleeful grin in response to my statement that I think my weight is 126 but I don’t really want to know for sure. We discover that I weigh nothing close to it, and I joke that at least something good has come of the ordeal. In answer to her question of any self-administered treatment, I tell her I flushed the wounds with alcohol and taped them up over ample triple antibiotic ointment. She turns to stare at me, asks if I just crave pain and torture, and adds that there is apparently a tough streak behind this pretty face.

An exceedingly wrinkled nurse cleans my wounds, wincing at the pain she is sure I’m feeling. She shakes her head and says she won’t be taking my job from me any time soon, while another nurse hands me antibiotics and pain meds in the form of horse pills. She brings also a tetanus booster and I promise to be a better patient for my shot than mine was for his. She laughs, counts down to the injection, and then leaves to find discharge instructions. I curl up in my chair and doze, content with my music, until it is—finally, hours later—time to go home.

Today, a scarf hides the bruises around my neck, and bandages hide the bite marks on my hands and wrists. I hold a pen with two shaky hands to sign attendance rosters, and employ two unsteady fingers to type class notes. My manager asks how I even got myself to school.

Life goes on, I shrug.

Because it does. Always.

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Weekend scenes from the office

October 7, 2009 at 12:04 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

Saturday was a day of particularly nasty dogs and batshit-loony owners (full moon, much?). Pair that with the vet from hell who never shuts the frack up and whose voice is like fingernails on the chalkboard of my fucking soul (this vet was also nearly getting both of us bitten throughout the day with her ineptitude because she was scared of the damn animals she was vaccinating), and I was not a happy camper upon my return. At all.

Ze boss lady summed up the day pretty well from her table across the room:

R_wtfmate

WTFMATE?

The beginning was pretty, though.

R_Rearview_sunrise

And coming into the office to find last week’s doodles still on the board made me laugh, and then proceed to say “beep beep n shit” randomly throughout the day.

Dry erase board art from the doooods

Dry erase board art from the doooods

See? Beep beep n shit!

Beep beep n shit!

Yay, sparks

"The sparks keep me warm..."

R_Robotics4

There is much to be said for being easily entertained, I suppose.

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Further proof that I am a stray dog magnet

September 3, 2009 at 7:51 pm · Filed under Uncategorized

“What have you got today?” the vet-turned-animal-control-officer asked over the counter.

“A mess,” I answered.

“You know no one’s going to adopt this dog, right?” another officer asked as she held a scanner over the neglected dog standing next to me. Scanning him was just a perfunctory measure; we all knew he would have been lucky if he’d ever had a name, let alone someone who cared enough to microchip him.

“Yeah. I know,” I sighed. “I’ll get him out once his time’s up. I’ve got a place for him to go.”

The dog tried to ignore the howling coming from the back; I tried to ignore the fleas turning cartwheels in my bra.

A tired Doberman/Rottie cross with dull eyes, calloused legs, and tormented skin left for months without vet care, the dog really wasn’t desirable to anyone. Anyone except me, anyway, the one who had ushered him out of the road that morning and into my car, the one in whose lap he was now hiding his head as the officers came to take him to the back. It’s the same old story, just with a different dog.

Sometimes when I’m driving, my “dog radar” goes off. For example, for almost two weeks, I checked my slip leash borderline-compulsively before every trek to school, just because of a funny feeling I had. And then wham, driving home last week, I came across a German Shepherd and a Westie playing chicken with the cars in the middle of a busy intersection just before Memorial dumps its traffic out onto Highway 78. So of course, I pulled over, called the dogs out of the road and into the car, and headed on my merry way.

After some minor detective work, I returned the two to their very excited owners and spent almost an hour there talking with the people about various aspects of doggie ownership. I welcomed their questions; it was a nice break from the slack-off owners who don’t care whether their dogs come home or not.

And then there was Wednesday and the dog referenced above. Driving home from class, I got the same funny feeling of impending dogdom and glanced over to where the slip leash was coiled on the passenger seat. I sighed, hoping my gut was wrong. But no.

Moments later, I rounded a bend in the road and what do you know, in my lane stood a scruffy, puzzled-looking old dog. Shit, y’all. This was not exactly a case of “oh, I’m sure he’s someone’s beloved house pet who just slipped out of an open gate,” nor was it a case of “it’s okay, he’s highly adoptable and will find a home easily enough if no one claims him.”

No. This was a six or seven year old Dobe/Rottie cross with patchy hair and inflamed skin on his lower half from God knows what kind of old-dog ailment, and eyes that said, “I don’t know you, and frankly, I don’t really want to.” And fleas. Fleas so thick and happy they weren’t even crawling on him, but just sitting on him and dining away. Fleas that, once hit with the repellent spray, undulated across his skin in a solid sea of black and brown blood-sucking grossness.

Again—shit, y’all. So it was off to animal control to buy me some time and make sure the dog’s sleazebag owner didn’t care to claim him, along with the half-dozen neglect and dog-at-large citations that would now be coming with him (surprise!). On the way to the shelter, his ticket out was secured by a friend with a dog of the same breed mix, and almost indentical in appearance … so hopefully, once his time is “done,” this one too will have a happy ending.

R_Dobe_dog2

This is the milder side.

And this is the milder side.

I swear, if it didn’t happen to me, I wouldn’t believe it happened at all. It’s entirely too random.

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Of toenails, self-confidence, and how mani-pedis make stuff better

August 28, 2009 at 9:09 pm · Filed under Happy-Type Stuff, Life As I Know It, Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

Whether knowing I was a little rocky, or just suffering some serious Inky withdrawals, the Other Half randomly came down to take me to lunch on Wednesday.

When I drain myself emotionally and still try to function as a semi-normal human being, there is a phenomenon that occurs in which I start face-planting into my laptop around 2pm every afternoon. My body just says hell no, recharge, please and thank you, and goes about doing this with or without my permission.

So, I am sprawled out in bed on Wednesday afternoon when the Other Half calls to tell me she’s just a few minutes away. I momentarily consider actually putting on some decent (as in, not “slouchy looking”) clothes, but then decide, it’s a fast food lunch, it’s my bestie who knows what’s up, and it’s just not that big of a deal. So I greet her in black running shorts, a light blue tee, and flippity-floppities.

“I dressed like a bum today,” I shrug, stating the obvious as I climb into the car. Glancing at her, I add, “Oh but so did you, so never mind.”

But wait. I do a double take at her outfit: black shorts, light blue tee, and flippy-floppies. Ahem, did we really just do that? It is exactly this kind of randomness, ladies and gentlemen, that explains why she really is the Other Half. We proceed to have our lunch and afterward, she pipes up, “C’mon, let’s go get our nails done.”

And so we do, on a random girly impulse which neither of us is ordinarily subject to. I have had my nails done exactly one time previously…I know, gasp! horrors! I’m just not that girly, and besides, I’m too rough on my hands to justify or maintain much more than routine grooming or the occasional at-home painting session. But as I’ve come to find out, sometimes a French mani-pedi just fixes stuff.

R_Hands_do_not_belong_on_cutting_boards2

See? Purdy. (Showcasing my hands and feetsies on my blog...new low?)

My toes, now finding themselves displayed in all manner of open-toed footwear.

Open-toed footwear, here we come...

Since when does my self-confidence ride on the state of my toenails? Weird tidbit of useless information about me: I hate my toenails when they’re not painted. Hate. But I rarely have the time or patience to paint them myself (another equally useless, weird tidbit of information: my hands are not the steadiest creations on God’s green earth). So I usually hate them—my toenails, that is, not my hands. I hate them to the point that I will sit on them in class or in the Psych Spectacular’s office to hide them if closed-toed shoes are not a handy option (so grown-up looking, I know). There’s nothing particularly wrong with them, but I find toes kind of nasty anyway and my own left unpainted just bother me. Apparently, I’m good and superficial like that.

And now suddenly, I’m all, “Hey world, here are my toes! Behold the fanciness!” Even my professors are ribbing me about the difference. “Oh look, you got your nails done…and you’re laughing again? You know, Inky, if all it takes is a French pedicure to get you to look people in the eye and start cracking jokes again, we should take up a collection.”

Yes, yes we should.

(Also, it rained. All is well.)

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Protected: Hyperventilation (And I Heart Insecurity)

May 5, 2009 at 10:05 pm · Filed under Gripes & Grumpings, iHurt ·Tagged , , , ,

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Valentine’s Day, nature-style

February 13, 2009 at 10:00 pm · Filed under Uncategorized

I almost wrote “Valentine’s Day, the natural way”…but that wasn’t quite what I meant, ha ha.

Yesterday was not a good day for many reasons but mostly, thanks to a suddenly faulty internet connection that guaranteed I didn’t have the needed access to complete an online test that was due. Yeah, that despairing puddle of misery crying in the floor until midnight amidst a sea of class notes? Hi, that was me!

That glassy-eyed zombie who crawled out of bed at noon today to stare blankly at her textbooks while clutching a steaming mug of coffee and wondering if a #10 blade would be sufficient self-punishment for failing a test by incompletion? Oh, hello again, it was yours truly.

So at two this afternoon, I said enough was enough and hit the road for one of my favorite hiking locations, with my camera and iPod in tow. Usually when I hike, I move along at a good clip, taking advantage of the opportunity to spike my heart rate a bit and enjoy a beautiful day outdoors at the same time. Today however, I went without an agenda or a time frame (or a dog!), not even sure which trail I was going to take. I wound up taking one of the longer woods trails, meandering along with music in one ear and the sounds of the woods in the other. The trails weren’t particularly busy, aside from a stampede of jogging young men who humored me with some harmless flirting each time our paths crossed (har har har…that was unintentional, by the way).

While I was plodding around and embracing a sudden case of ADD that had me straying from the trail every few feet in pursuit of an unusual photo op, I saw this:

r_heart_leaf_shadow

r_heart_leaf_shadow_thing2

It’s a heart. Or a rooster. But I’m going with heart. After noticing that, I got to wondering if I could find other Valentine’s Day type-dealies in the woods. So, in the cheesiest and most sarcastic voice I can muster, I bring proof that nature celebrates Valentine’s Day. There was the “shot by Cupid’s arrow” tree, kinda-sorta-not-really.

r_cupid_tree_thing
There were the branches wrapping around each other in shameless, yet wholly natural PDA’s. Yeah, even the damn trees were hugging each other (or according to my cynical eye, choking the life out of each other).

r_touchie_feelie_chokie_branch

There were other, more convincing tree-hugging (ha ha) shots, but my puter is a tard and says no more. So instead, look how the ducks were paddling around all together-like, and even going bottoms-up together.

r_duck_butts
Yeah, yeah, okay. Honestly, the whole idea was more to entertain me during my walk than anything else; I really don’t care about Valentine’s Day or being single. My best friend called me Wednesday night, and after almost two months of being apart (and miserable and lonely and confused and all that Gwen Stafani “Don’t Tell Me” type stuff), we’re back where we were before and better. Long story of her needing to sort herself out and all kinds of Keisha Cole’s “Sad and Lonely,” so I haven’t written about it because everyone else’s loneliness posts were so much more eloquent…and mainly because it was just too damn depressing. But all is suddenly well-ish (failed tests aside), and I will be happily unattached on any Valentine’s Day as long as I have my bestie back.

Happy Friday the 13th!

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My butt just hung up on you

February 11, 2009 at 11:04 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

I used the title as my status update on Facebook for a little while, but it all still makes me giggle. Yes, I’m kind of juvenile like that.

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The Case of the Psychic Stomach

February 10, 2009 at 7:25 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

My stomach is cussing me out. I do admit to having neglected it today and understand that it is none too happy with me. But it needs to stop complaining, because it is loud and stomachs should be filled and not heard. Or something. I would like to tell it where to shove it but I’m in the library where talking in general is frowned upon, let alone talking back to one’s stomach. Sigh. The talking tummy got me to thinking though, and brings me to my point: my stomach is psychically connected to my sisters’ stomachs. I’m serious.

While laying in bed this morning, I tried to decide whether or not I was going to eat breakfast. Simple question it would seem, but not when some special food demons have come back for a visit. “Breakfast? Well, that depends on whether you’d like to look like a fat cow today, or just a slightly malnourished piggy.” I heart food issues.

Not. But anyway, while I was laying there I started thinking, “If I could eat anything for breakfast right now, calories be damned, what would I eat?” The answer: pancakes! Really sweet, buttery pancakes with lots of blueberries. My mom used to make them on special occasions but that was like, light-years ago and I haven’t thought of them in I don’t know how long. Not sure what brought them to mind this morning.

Less than an hour later, I step out of the shower and what do I smell? Oh yes. Hell yes. Pancakes! My older sister randomly decided to make pancakes, not fifty minutes after I’d decided I wanted them – how convenient!

Now, for added entertainment not related to food, consider that around Christmas I got a weird hankering for the old Randy Travis and Ricky Skaggs albums that my dad used to play in the car when we were little (this from the girl who typically avoids country radio at all costs). I mentioned it to my brother and started looking around on the interweb to see if I could find any of the songs, without luck. Three days later, my brother called to tell me that my older sister had just walked into the room and said, “Man, it’s so weird, but I’ve really been wanting to listen to old Randy Travis and Ricky Skaggs all of a sudden.” *Cue Twilight Zone music.* I am awesome, am I not?

Back to the way my stomach is linked with other people’s though, a few weeks ago I am studying when I suddenly get a craving for pizza. Considering that pizza is possibly my worst nightmare on a plate and only occasionally indulged – with much guilt-tripping afterward – I am rather perplexed but quickly dismiss the thought. While I wait for my next class to start, I text my younger sister: “I’m bored.” “I’m eating pizza with my friends!” Hmm. Okay.

Two days later: Middle of political science class ( so roughly 7:30), I am ravenously hungry for Taco Bell and don’t give a crap about the calories. I say screw it and pull in at the first drive-thru on my way home. As I come in the door with my fast-food finds in hand, my younger sister says, “Mmm, I had that for dinner when I went out with my posse.” “What time was that?” “A little before 7:30.” Eeeh. Great.

She did the same damn thing with French fries last week, proving a) my younger sister eats fast food a lot when she’s with her friends (and apparently, I do too…EVERY TIME), and b) my sisters are totally controlling me with their meal choices. My waist does not thank them, but it’s okay. I am too busy devising ways to use this connection to my advantage to worry much about that.

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So I’m A Student

January 12, 2009 at 5:44 pm · Filed under Happy-Type Stuff, Life As I Know It, Look Ma I Have A Brain, Uncategorized ·Tagged ,

(Oh look, it’s Monday again, imagine that.)

A little over two hours ago, I entered the first classroom I’ve set foot in since third grade, when my formal education came to a grinding halt in the name of home schooling, or something like it.

Home schooling by my mother’s definition included a math book, a vocabulary book, and the complete and total lack of any outside, “worldly” influences (yeah, who needs friends, anyway?). It was, “Here are your books; read a chapter of the Bible and do lessons XYZ on your own, off you go and have fun.” I was to teach my own “material,” work my own lessons and check my own work.

This lasted for almost two years, when, not surprisingly, I got hung up on a math lesson I couldn’t understand, and being my own teacher, stalled out. After too many fruitless confrontations with my mother, during which I was told I wasn’t trying hard enough and was really just lazy, I put away the books, burning with the “realization” that I was “stupid” (after all, none of my siblings had a problem with the work, and besides that, when you’re that age, your mother is still always right). So I dropped out, not that there was much to drop out of in the first place.

Fast forward to turning eighteen, when I pursued and earned my GED, despite my parents’ scathing protests that a GED was a “substandard title” and they “would not have a daughter with a substandard title.” Considering it was my only viable option, I’ve never really been sure what they would have preferred I do.

I’ve spent the two post-GED years straightening myself out somewhat and seem to have come full-circle, once again back under my parents’ roof and now finally pursuing what I’ve wanted for literally as long as I can remember.

I’m going to college.

This weekend was a flurry of “oh-shit-I-need-that-for-class-too-don’t-I” shopping with and without my younger sister (my personal been-there-done-that guide who started a few semesters ahead of me), and lots of menial questions on my part that gave away my nerves over becoming a student once again.

So it’s back to first day jitters, lined notebook paper and No. 2 pencils…and don’t it feel good.

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