Now that I am single, and have been so for about six months… (I know, shocking. I never write anymore and suddenly I drop this bomb on all of you lovely people)…I know how I want to get married. I know where, what I want to wear, etc. Fantastic. I’ve never had a wedding plan. I’ve been engaged twice, almost a third, never had a wedding plan. Now that I’m single and never expect to meet someone…I’ve got a plan.
Anyhow, back to my regularly scheduled life.
Namaste, Mother fuckers.
I did something bad today; I stayed home even though I probably could have sat through an 8 hour day. I woke up with a sore lower back, a sore chest, sore legs and sore arms. Oh, and don’t forget the headache. OFMA was holding me when I started to have a small panic attack about work. Its been happening more and more lately, to the point where I’m really worried that if something doesn’t change soon I’m going to mentally check out.
One of my best work buddies quit. Two weeks ago he walked out and I lost my connection to funny websites and the rant and rave that I need to get by. This was also after one of my other co-workers was laid off. Basically, this is the same situation that occurred right before I lost my job in the mortgage industry. The stages are as follows; your co workers start to get laid off; you get more and more work to do, but no increase in pay or really and thanks for doing the work of four people when you’re barely getting paid to do the work of one; you find yourself freaking out that your boss hates you, and then you start to think that you might be correct in thinking this.
So today, instead of going in and spending 8 hours having a small panic attack that would lead to me possibly blowing up at coworkers, I did the semi-responsible, semi-selfish thing of taking a sick day.
OFMA and I laid in bed till 10pm when his mom called him. We joke about this quite a bit. She asked why he was still at my house and he said I was taking a personal day. It sounds so glamorous. Honestly, we stayed in bed, then got up and went to lunch at Jack in the Box before heading to the library.
At Jack in the Box we lived by the principle that if I was taking a sick day, maybe we should eat something that could make us sick. The two of us together consumed: one medium curly fry, six tacos, 1 taco nachos, 2 extra large sodas.
It was sort of like wheeling out a whale when we walked to the car.
We then went to the massive library near his house and walked through the children’s book section, comparing notes on what we read as kids and what we want to read to the future children we may or may not have. OFMA and I walked to the used book sale and totally cleaned up.
Pauline, the Friends of the Library Volunteer, was a sweet lady who had a hard time counting. She finally gave me my stack of books (a Garth Nix novel, The Wind Blows Backwards- totally obsessed over that one in school, a text book on English history and a guide to crossstiching Disney characters) all for 2$. Cleaned up, heck yeah. This is in addition to the 15 other books I’ve bought used in the past month. I’m slightly frustrated, slightly worried that my job will lay me off and that I will have time to read.
I also found out today that my roommate is moving September 1st, meaning I need to find a new living situation and fast. My sister says she’s down to move, but everyone knows I really want to live with OFMA. However, at the moment that option is not on the table. Sigh. He needs a job. My friend is offering OFMA a job, however, he seems to never take the time to go meet with my friend. Its right up his alley and would look great on his resume, but he just…ARGH. He promised me he’d call my friend tomorrow, but I really don’t see that happening. Lame. Super lame.
Its not bad enough to get exhausted come 9 pm on a weekday, is it? At 24, I find myself suddenly uninterested in partying. I stayed out late tonight because it was a dear friend’s Angels and Demons party at once of my favorite karaoke spots. Happy Birthday, by the way. After parking my car about a block from my house, two kids, both about sixteen approached me. They were obviously intoxicated by something.
“Um, we come in peace,” the first one began, looking at me suspiciously. It makes sense, as my makeup is all but smeared off and I’m sure I smell like beer, cigarettes, BO and my friend’s attempts to remove the liquor from her body by hurling it into the bushes. ”We forgot out IDs” he continued, “and need to go buy cigarettes. Can you help us out?”
I channeled the days of high school drama and went “Dude, I’m so sorry, I really shouldn’t have even been driving. I”m totally gone.”
The kid bought it, even walked half way to my apartment with me pretending that I couldn’t walk straight (it wasn’t hard I was in heels).
As I got into my apartment I realized two things. A) They could key my car…or b) that I got old real fast.
Interesting. And now I go to sleep in full make up.
I’m having one of those nights where I just want to beat something….that make sense?
Its always the same feeling right before I go to bed on Sunday night. “BLECK”
At the moment I can feel myself getting sick, and I know that even if I’m throwing my guts up, I have to be at work and functioning from 7am until noon. After that I can function on auto pilot, but until then I will be placing up to 30 separate piece orders with 30 different companies. That means I’m awake and functioning at 6:30, awake at 6. So instead of being a good smart girl, it is almost 1am and my boyfriend just left again.
I am a little scared of myself lately. The more I’m with OFMA the more I realize how shitty the guys I’ve dated have treated me. I realize how worthless I felt I was and how much I really hated myself to have stayed with my ex fiance for as long as I did. It hurts. It causes me to break into tears at really inopportune moments and make OFMA think he’s done something wrong.
Its harder on Sunday than any other night because I can’t stay up with him. OFMA doesn’t spend the night because he doesn’t want to keep me up and keep me from getting up on Monday. I know if he was here, I wouldn’t go to work. I want him to be here though, right now because I feel super sick to my stomach and just want him to hold me until I feel better. Sigh.
Anyhow, I’ve also seen a continuing trend arising. Most of my friends messages today on Facebook were about Weddings. Either a) how they are planning a wedding, b) how they attended a wedding or c) how they are looking forward to attending a wedding. I’m starting to wonder if there really is a government plot to marry off all my friends and boost the economy. There has to be. There’s no way this is all just coincidence. At first I thought it was because of my relationship with OFMA that I was starting to notice all this stuff. But I have other friends, married friends, who have noticed the trend. Increases in advertising for tux rentals, dress shops and engagement rings…not just an accident me thinks. I need to sit there one night and tally all the commercials I see. One night I saw one for Jewelry Exchange (in TUSTIN!), heard one in the car for Robins Bros and then returned to another one for Jared, followed by one for Kay Jewelers. No wonder guys think chicks are obsessed. All we see all day long are “BUY THIS DIAMOND FOR YOUR GIRL. OTHERWISE YOU DON”T LOVE HER.” Its such a crock. No wonder our divorce rate is so high. The American culture is obsessed with the wedding, but not the marriage. After all, a wedding is a big celebration. A marriage is something you can easily end with a piece of paper and some lawyer fees. Chaps my hide, but then again, I am a product of divorce, so maybe a bit more sensitive to it all. I never thought of divorce as screwing me up, but lately I’m starting to see it. OFMA’s parents are nuts, but they are nuts together. Oh well, going to bed….
So I’ve started a major self campaign to drop a bunch of weight. At the moment I’m a size 14 but carry it well. Its mostly in the boobs and butt, but they are darn sexy. However, despite the claims that I’m friggen hot, I’m still not happy with myself at this size. I want to be a size 10. According to my stick thin sister, she’s a 9. I can get there, but the truth is I’m mostly lazy. I started eating fast food because I didn’t feel like packing lunch. I stopped exercising because I didn’t want to do actual work. The last time I dropped serious weight I was preparing for the wedding that ended up not happening. So here’s the deal. I’m doing it for me this time. Three nights in a row now, I’ve worked out. I’ve been bringing my lunch for weeks (which also helps with the economy crunch on my end) and am finding it easier to tell people no. My boyfriend is happy whatever my size, or so he says. Personally I think he just likes having the boobs in his face, but that’s besides the point. Size 10 here I come.
So this week I discovered the Fredrick’s of Hollywood store next to my house has gone out of business. Packed up. No warning. Poof! This is a shame, because to date it was the only place where I was able to find anything for my ample bosom. I am a 40D. Yes. And not a fat 40D either, thank you. I am an all natural big busted girl. From the time I was in 4th grade and my grandma told me I needed a bra, until now, I have a serious problem finding Bras that fit and that I like. Today, I spent a total of 4 hours online looking for a new cute lingerie set, and no one seems to have a cute, affordable, green lingerie set for a 40D. Sure, they have one for A cup. They have one up to C usually. But the second you tip over into that D range all hell breaks loose. Nordstroms directed my to the Maternity Bra section, if that gives you any clue to what I’m dealing with. Target, Nordstroms, and Macy’s all failed to have cute lingerie in my size. Fredricks wanted $20 to ship….a 7-10 day ship time might I add. Victoria’s Secret is a joke once you get past a B cup.
Its strange to me, because most of the guys I know love big boobs. They love to squeeze them, play with them, touch them. I find it strange that in California, the land of silicone, we seem to have so few places that cater to the large breasted woman. Shame on you bra manufacturers. Think of us busty girls from time to time, not just your runway flat as a pancake superstars.
This was written Saturday, but I’m lame and didn’t post:
Today I went to the cousin of my cousin’s wedding today. Sounds totally complicated. She’s the daughter of the sister of my aunt. My aunt is married to my uncle, my mom’s brother. There, a bit more simple. It was a Baptist affair. Super sweet, but I tend to have really weird reactions to weddings. Mostly, as a woman, I sit there and critique it to myself. Luckily, my mother the goddess that she is, decided to go with me. I’m lucky enough to have a mother who is as sarcastic as myself. We arrived early, worried we would not make it on time. This is in part to a communication error on my part. I believed the wedding was at 1pm, because that was the time I entered into my cellphone a month ago. Turns out, it started at 10:30am. I found this out because my mother texted me the information at 9:05am, requesting I make it to her house by 9:45am. Forty minutes? And they say I don’t have magic powers. Luckily, I straightened my hair the night before when OFMA was at work, so I looked spiffy. I rushed around, threw on this gorgeous chocolate brown dress I have and did my makeup as quickly as possible. I ended up looking super classy.
I arrived at my mother’s house just as my cellphone began to play the voice over from the Haunted Mansion attraction at Disneyland (Foolish Mortals, No Windows and No Doors, etc) which happens to be my mother’s ring tone. I have a hard on for Paul Friese, the voice of the Haunted Mansion. I didn’t answer, but rather parked my car and called her as I walked up. She told me she’d meet me outside. Instead I walked in the front door to my stepfather having a small freak out. His bosses from his rapidly downsizing company were coming for dinner tonight, so he was a wreck. My stepfather is extremely OCD when it comes to cleaning, his wardrobe etc. His closets have all the same type of metal hangers, all the same color, holding his close all an 8th of an inch apart. Its actually like modern art when you see it. This is in complete contrast to my mom’s closet (their closets are across from each other) which is filled with things on and off the hangers, outfits that she meant to give to me or take to Goodwill and a stack of shoes that vary in their ability to make a matching set. My mom and my closet style is similar. I’ve seen OFMAs closet. His is more like my stepfather’s, but not so OCD.
Needless to say, my stepfather was not going with us. My mother and I quickly get into the car before he turns into the cleaning Hulk. As soon as we’re down the street, my mom pulls out one of her Virginia Slims and starts to smoke. My stepfather hates when she smokes. She looks at me, and sighs saying “he stresses me out when he gets into the clean frenzy.” Despite the description of my mom’s closet, she is in fact a pretty neat person.
We arrive at the wedding to see a somewhat motley crew of family members and friends of the bride and groom. Luckily, I’ve met many of these people before or was raised with a good handful of them. My mom and I sit in the front. She looks around and whispers in my ear “white trash wedding.” I look around and realize that this is pretty true. There is a large portion of the crowd that is under 22 with a baby in their lap. There are many people who wore short obnoxious dresses or khakis, jeans and polo shirts instead of a nice button up with slacks or knee length skirt. It makes me laugh to myself.
Here is what I can’t stand about weddings:
1) When the couple chooses to have a song played at the beginning, after the regular intro music which is supposed to set up how they feel about their relationship. Usually during this song, nothing happens. People just sit around and look confused thinking that they can’t see what’s going on. Nope. This is stall time music. This is the “OH CRAP, I’M GETTING MARRIED” song as they rush through the final and epic choreography that goes into the stupid processional.
2) When the groom doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t look like he really wants to be there. This is a sign that he is a) terrified or b) thinks he’s made a mistake and doesn’t want to run without freaking both families. Just be cool honey bunny, she’s terrified to.
3) Pastors/Priests who use this as a time to discuss their own church, religion, etc and don’t focus on the couple. Included in this are pastors who use the same damn verses, cliche statements and visual imagery every single time. When you go to 4 weddings in a row, its gets super old (ring has no beginning no end, love is patient, love is kind, etc).
4) Halter top wedding dresses on larger girls. They don’t look good. They make your boobs look like crap. I know it was only 99$ at David’s Bridal, but please. It makes you look fat and you don’t want to go back and look at your wedding pictures ten years from now with your bevy of children and think Ewwwww, really? This is also usually paired with the infamous Chola makeup look. Two inches of blue eye shadow, too much bronzer and a lipstick that just doesn’t work.
5) Screaming children during the ceremony. Leave the kids at home. Get a sitter. Get duct tape. Do something. This is not your children’s time. This is the couple’s time.
6) The unity candle. The unity candle is a personal pet peeve of mine. I’m not sure why it gets me, truth be told. I think its the fact that it looks like you lose all presence of self into one flame. I much prefer when they tie two cords together into one knot (aka tie the knot for those of you playing the home game). Then you are two separate beings, but one unit. Makes sense.
So I was planning on writing the things I like about weddings, but meh.
So I was looking at the nifty little things that show me blog statistics, numbers and search terms that brought people to my blog.
My favorite term ever that brought people to my blog? “how do i get my aunt to have sex with me”
Not sure what particular article it felt fit that theme, but thanks Search Engines!
Yesterday afternoon was the celebration for my stepsister’s 40th birthday. Stepfamily gatherings are always akin to having teeth pulled and usually have me denying my line of work as something “office related.” While my job is taboo, so is the pay. I don’t make very much, at least in my parents eyes. My little sister, however, just managed to pull a major raise without a college degree; something that gets rubbed in my face on a somewhat daily basis. Thanks, yeah, I really need to hear that she makes so much money and has such a great life. Especially after years of hearing my parents talking about how they never thought she would grow up, and the countless stories that started with “when we were drunk last week…” My mom was explaining to my stepsister’s mother that my sister had just received a raise. Realizing I was in ear shot, she suddenly covered her mouth and said “sorry, don’t think you were supposed to hear that”. Thanks mom.
Needless to say, I was thrilled to escape and go to church with my boyfriend. When I was five minutes away from church, I called OFMA on my handsfree and asked him where he was. He’d just gotten home. He hadn’t showered. He was going to be 20 minutes late. I got to sit by myself in a Catholic church. Saving two seats. Old people walking around looking at me with disdain for reading something other than the bible while I waited. It was pretty much torture. So OFMA shows up with one of our friends in the middle of the service. I will call him The Magic Man, or MM, because I think he would kill me for it. So we go through the service. I have a problem with the Catholic church, other than the pope thing. I don’t understand why Christians who are not Catholic cannot take communion. Its like an exclusive country club, and you’re the maid so you will never be accepted, but of course your money is fine, and your labors, but you cannot take part in one of the main rituals. So I go up for the little blessing head tap thing. OFMA is in a different line then usual, so I follow him. The lady who does the ritual for me looks at me intently, almost as if she wants to say something to me. I smile at her, she smiles back. She looks really familiar for some reason, but I can’t place her. She does the random head tap thing and blesses me and I go to sit back down. When the service ends, MM suddenly disappears. I spin around and ask OFMA where the heck MM is (saying hell in church is usually a no no). He points. MM is standing with OFMA’s ex girlfriend and her parents. The woman who gave me the blessing is her mother. I follow OFMA as he goes to talk to his ex’s family and her. I can’t go to the car, because at this point they’ve seen me, and MM has mentioned I’m there. I get to stand there for the whole ten minutes, trying to make polite conversation with the family of the girl who broke OFMA’s heart. I can feel their judgment. I can see the anger in her mother’s eyes that this chunky Protestant Heathen is the woman that has made OFMA forget their little girl. More than awkward.
Finally, we leave. I mention that it was awkward. OFMA apologizes and we go have dinner with his folks. We decide to watch a movie. We pick Shaun of the Dead. I have a pathological fear of zombies, but I’ve seen SOTD before so I figure it will be ok. OFMA and I try to make out to the movie, but I finally get so anxiety ridden over the zombie noises in the background that I stop him and make him turn off the DVD. We end up watching a little bit of the Discovery Channel Blue Planet stuff and then go back to making out. Finally, its time to head home. I’m still icky from the zombies and exes.
I get home and the neighbors have devastated the courtyard of our apartment with a party. Beer cans, cake plates, trash of every description but medical waste, its all over the courtyard, up to the steps of my stairs. I refuse to make eye contact with my neighbors for fear that I will rip them a new one and end up calling the cops. When I woke up this morning, the courtyard was still littered with their filth. If its not gone by 5pm tonight, I’m calling my landlord. I try not to do this ever. One because I don’t really want my landlord to come down, and Two because I”m pretty sure if the cops are ever called some people are not going to be living their for long. I wish people would be more considerate with their parties. I don’t care if you have one. Just don’t have it til 4am on a Sunday and clean up your mess you darn fool!
