Seven Drafts Worth of Crazy

I have 7 draft posts in my posts folder right now.

( In the spirit of authenticity, I should confess that there are 7 draft posts at the TOP of my folder right now and I actually don't know how many there are all together. But that seemed wordy for an opening sentence.)

That's how many posts I've attempted to write since January, when I had every intention of going back to blogging (again).

I've been blogging since 2007 and I'm not sure when it transitioned from something that helped my depression/anxiety/general weirdness to something that I avoided when I was feel especially anxious and/or depressed, but transition it did.

I also stopped feeling comfortable telling my kids' stories, which made me question which stories of my own I could tell. There were a lot of stories that I didn't feel I could tell here, for various reasons. Like I sort of wanted to write about my job, but I knew if I deeply examined my feelings about the job - the job I bragged about on Facebook and that would have been my dream job in 2007 - I would get even worse at it.

To be clear, I sucked so much at that job that they're not renewing my contract next year. And after digesting the massive blow to my self-esteem and my wallet, I realized that I did not, in fact, love what was supposed to be my dream job. I am tempted now to list exactly why I wasn't considered good at it, and why that's not entirely my fault and how their version of good isn't necessarily right but. . .

that's just my ego talking.

My ego is a loud bitch and she feels like we not only screwed up the job this year, but that we also screwed up a volunteer position that was dear to our heart. . . .

(You're noticing the weirdness thing now, aren't you?)

and she would like to populate this post with excuses. She would also like me to stop talking about her because, you know, . . . .

WEIRDNESS.

Anyway, the 7 drafts. Most of them are some version of this post - disorganized brain dumps that I'm not sure should ever be published. But clearly, until I publish a poorly organized, not clearly written brain dump I'm not going to be able to go back to actual blogging.

And I really do want to go back to actual blogging.

Now I'm Afraid To Go Apple Picking

I went to bed early last night. Since I'm getting up 2 hours earlier than I usually do, that would make sense. But of course that's not really why I did it. It's because I've gotten this horrible cold and I'm pretty sure it's trying to assassinate me.

I mean, Lovebug told me I needed to rest more. He even took the recycling out for me yesterday. Clearly I sound like I'm dying. Hopefully sleep will cure me.

Since my regular late night friends (What? I'm sure if Jon Stewart and Chelsea Handler knew me we'd all be friends) weren't on yet, I had to flip between House Hunters and Taboo.

Taboo was a big mistake. I mean, it was subtitled, "Private Passions", so you can't blame me for watching it. I thought it would be about vibrators and other sex toys.

Wouldn't you think that? Even if you weren't a little high on cough medication?

But no. One segment was about "puppy play". . . . where one part of a pair acts like a dog and the other is a handler. The human-dog person plays with real dogs and other human-dogs and I think some of them get off on it? I don't know, I flipped back to House Hunters before I found out.

I love House Hunters.

Anyway, the only other segment I watched was about these people:

Photo Courtesy of National Geographic Channel

First of all, they are fruitarians. That means they only eat fruit because you have to "kill" vegetables to eat them. Which, fine. Your business. More bacon for me. 

Second of all, they get turned on by fruit and seem to make out with each other whenever they are eating it. Again, fine. Consenting adults, yada yada. 

Third of all, they are also freegans. So the fruit they eat and use in their sex play is coming out of dumpsters. Not fine. Not fine at all. I agree that we waste too much in this country but eating (and inserting? Not sure how far they go with the fruit fetish) food jumbled next to dirty diapers and cleaning products? No thanks. 

Fourth, she makes them dress and wear their hair the same. I don't even like it when couples wear matching sweatshirts. 

Fifth, they would not stop making out on camera. Not appropriate for people over 40 30 20. If you want to do porn, I fully support your right to do that. If you want to make homemade sex tapes, go for it. But if eating fruit makes you so horny that you have to make out with your loved one every time you do it, don't do it on camera when someone is asking you questions. Please. 

Sixth, they'd like to find other people to join them. They want a fruitarian/fruit fetish commune of like minded people to have dumpster rescued fruit orgies with. They are surprised they haven't met more like-minded people. I'm sorry they don't have a community, but honestly? I'm pretty relieved that this isn't a common thing. 

Can you imagine going apple picking if it was? 

Even I Have Some Standards

Oh VH1, why have you done this to me?

At first, I was just slightly embarrassed to watch you. Back then, it was because your videos were skewed toward an older demographic and I was ashamed that I liked the "old" videos. (For those of you under 30, there was a time when MTV and VH1 played actual music videos. Weird, huh?)

Then came slightly more embarrassment as I spent more time on VH1, not watching great fare like Pop-Up Video (Why isn't it on anymore? Why?) but trash like Rock of Love. And Celebrity Rehab (I tried to convince Hot Guy that Celebrity Rehab has a redeeming social value. Too bad he pointed out that I hadn't even convinced myself. Oh well). And I have a crush on Confessions of a Teen Idol.

But I'm drawing the line. Right here. Right now.

I am NOT going to watch TOOL ACADEMY.

Let me just repeat that: TOOL ACADEMY. And Bret Michaels isn't even on it.

Essentially, nine douchebags (aka the Tools) are supposed to become nice guys. Their girlfriends are along for the ride, but they might dump the guys if they get expelled.

WTF?

I'm pretty sure that any guy who deserves to be nominated for Tool Academy also deserves to be dumped. Maybe they should call it "So-Desperate-For-A-Boyfriend-They'll-Put-Up-With-Anything Academy"? Or (and I really hope this is the case) "Couples-That-Want-To-Be-On-TV Academy"?

I watched a few minutes of it. I pray that this show is simply employing out of work Shakespearean actors to portray these Tools and their women (Toolettes?) and that these are not, in fact, actual human beings.

The Other Woman

Hot Guy is willing to do whatever she says. Without arguing, or even grumbles. In fact, if I contradict her, he grumbles at ME.

She's skinny, too.

And she's easily annoyed.

Whenever Hot Guy listens to my directions, she snottily says, "ReCALculating." Like we've pissed her off.

She's Hot Guy's favorite Christmas present, the Garmin Nuvi GPS. As if I'd let some other woman tell him what to do. As if he even listens to me, except maybe where directions are concerned.

I grew up around here. Which makes me smarter than Garmin Girl, who actually thinks getting on the highway is the answer to everything. I want to tell her, "This is Jersey, bitch. You're taking your life in your hands every time you get on the highway. Stop telling us to get on the damn highway when we can use back roads and get there just as fast."

I may have a problem with authority.

I may also have inherited my father's penchant for using the most scenic/least trafficked/strangest way to go anywhere.

And did I mention that I grew up around here?

So I have a hard time listening to the Garmin Girl. In fact, when I'm driving she's not allowed to talk. Though I am secretly entertained each time she says, "ReCALculating." I swear she sounds pissed, like we're inconveniencing her in some way. I like to see how long it takes her to figure out the way I'm taking us.

Am I weird?

Apparently SOMEONE Has Too Much Time On Her Hands

I have a waving acquaintance with most of the people in my neighborhood. It's hard not to when you live in a townhouse complex and spend time outside. I've even had actual conversations with most of the people near me. But not the people directly across the street.

The couple directly across the street doesn't have any kids (not that there's anything wrong with that) and seems to work incredibly long hours. They also seem to think I'm a freak when I sit on our tiny porch and read in the evening (the light is not very good on the deck) because they never wave at me when they come home.

And while it may be possible that I've had too much time on my hands in the evenings (the carpal tunnel preventing much evening typing, Hot Guy being out of town), I don't think I've gone all Rear Window. . .yet. (Rear Window - Alfred Hitchcock movie where homebound guy becomes convinced that his neighbor has killed his wife. I think there was a remake with Shia LeBouef.) I don't think the unfriendly couple across the street has murdered anyone. But I do think something fishy is going on.

A couple weeks ago they cleaned out the garage. They also hosed down enough folding chairs for a small wedding - which they then carried into a house. They also put a refrigerator in the garage. I didn't think anything about it until the other night. A van pulled up to their house and ten chattering young people got out, laden with shopping bags. They went into the neighbors' and didn't come back out. The next night the same thing happened. Last night four or five people came walking up to the house and disappeared inside.

Now, before you say "party". Let me point out that most of these sightings have been on weeknights. And what kind of party entails everyone arriving all at once in the same car? And who has three parties in the same week? And why do all the guests have beat up shopping bags? And why are they all younger than the couple who owns the townhouse?

I think it's weird. My pregnant brain says they've started a cult.

Do you think I need to get out more?

Memes, Or How Britney Spears Stole My Thoughts

I still love it when I get tagged for a meme. Even if I don't actually do the meme (because I've done it before, or because I'm forgetful), I still feel exceptionally flattered. And even though I've tried to make my meme appreciation widely known, I've still never been tagged with one of those "random facts about yourself" memes. I used to wonder if people thought that they already knew enough about my weirdness. Was I sharing too much? Did people think I was TOO WEIRD?

But now I can forget about those concerns, because the wonderful Merry at Mom and More tagged me for this meme:

The rules:

a. Link to the person who tagged you.
b. Post the rules on your blog.
c. Write six random things about yourself.
d. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
e. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment at their blog.
f. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

So, here are six bits of random TMI:

1. You know how people have "the naked dream"? Where they're naked at school or work or something? I've never had that dream. In my exposure dreams, I'm always just missing my pants and underwear, or I'm wearing a short skirt with no underwear (clearly, Britney & Co. have stolen that idea from me).

2. This might be enough to get me declared "Un-American", but I don't like the taste of coffee or peanut butter. Even when they're mixed with chocolate, I can't stand them.

3. When I was little and I heard Muzak, I became convinced that my life had turned into a television show. I knew that commercial breaks happened when I went to the bathroom, too.

4. I'm an only child. And I'm the only one I know that STILL hates being an only child. Seriously, no matter what marital or emotional discord that would result, I would be thrilled if someone turned up claiming to be a product of one of my parents' youthful indiscretions. (BTW, I know that this will not happen, seeing as my life is not actually a television show.)

5. I read exceptionally quickly. When they used to have those speed-reading course commercials, I thought the guy's finger was moving too slowly.

6. I can't get high. Whenever I smoked pot, at best I felt nothing, at worst I got was sleepy and nauseous. Except for once when I had REALLY good stuff in Amsterdam - and then I was high for three days. On my second trip to Amsterdam I was too afraid to try it again (3 days is a LONG time to need that much pizza), so I just stuck to alcohol. I am a failed stoner.

Now, who to tag? Who hasn't done this meme already? Who doesn't mind getting memes? Whose answers would be fascinating?

Travis

Cousin Greg

Mary Kate

33tekfan

Kathryn


Kendra

PS - I apologize if you were hoping to get tagged and I didn't tag you - please feel tagged. And if I tagged you and you've already done this meme fifty times and/or you hate memes, I'm sorry. Consider yourself untagged.