It's So Big!

My zucchini is bigger than a porn stars penis. What in the fuck am I going to do with these?

Unrelated: Between school and child rearing non-stop for two weeks, and final moving things, and being painfully poor, and midterms, I've only just finally managed to get it all together... I have not had much time lately to go out and socialize, have the aforementioned porn star kind of fun, or tend to my garden. Yesterday, I did all of those-- and I'm happy as pie.

That is all.

"You know, sausage is really good."

And there she is in princess panties and one of my old baby-tees, sitting at the foot of the stairs. I don't know how long she's been there, and I'm not asking.

"It really is, Mommy. Can I have some?"

Oh come on. Go to bed, 7 year old.

Unrelated Side Note:

I have packing tape in my hair, mayo dripping off of a bun onto a borrowed black sweater (sorry April) mustard smeared in the inside of my rental text ("Ordinary book usage"? I'm sure) , and I absolutely don't remember where I parked my bike today. I had to hand my friend Corrie a sub to hold for me while I hugged a set of couple friends I accidentally solicited an offer for sexual help from, and I am supposed to be studying for a test right now but instead, I am blogging this. after arguing with my professor about true or false questions I haven't even seen yet.

On the upside, I have removed the packing tape from my hair.

I may be cute like a button, but that button is a messy train-wreck of one indeed.

Because That 4 Blocks Can Make Or Break You.

Moving is a fucking bitch. I'm a fine one to talk however, when considering that I am movings fucking bitch. I have a 7 year old, I do not have a car, and I have the babydaddy from hell who I'm terrified to make any changes in my life because of... one way or another, this shit hits the courts and I'm bombarded with a new set of demands he will make my life a living hell because of.

(To clarify, this is the man who sent me an email saying he works every bit as hard as I do, he's had our daughter for sometimes an entire week while in school himself! Nasty little dwarf, that one is.)

But, I'm also blessed with an alarmingly patient boyfriend who does elect to be a man, do anything he can to help, and never a once complain or snivel about what he isn't required to do-- fuck, he isn't required to do any of it, he's just a good person... he can't understand why you wouldn't always help when you could help a pretty lady with a little girl. There have been a million trips to load up the Hummer, endless nights listening to me fight back tears because little me doesn't like the house, the rug needs shampooed, I can't afford my cat deposit, I don't have time or energy to do these things, I'm broke as shit, my babydaddy is a jerk, my daughter won't sleep in her bed, I hate sleeping alone in my bed, we don't have time to have sex, I have headaches all the time, I'm getting old, i don't have storage, I have too many coffee tables for this place, and so on and so on and so on. I must spend hours a day doing this, so much so that one day I was talking about the new place and he lit up saying "Oh! you're happy!". And I was, though it was fleeting, and that made him happy.

And that's all a woman needs to see to know that for once in her entire life, she got it right-- she met an actually good man, and he loves her. That's the kind of shit that blows my mind.

It wouldn't blow any of my friends minds, however... I have nothing short of 345 emails from friends on facebook saying "Oh, so you moved in with Nivas!" Um... no. We've been together 6 months. That's less months than my child is years old. I have school. I have a daughter. I have friends and interests and values and problems and hobbies... I have a life that is entirely full, and what is more, is now also full of wonderful boyfriend time. I already have a life, period. It's not like this is what I've been looking for or waiting for to be fulfilled... this is icing. I'm not going to sit down with the tub and a spoon and discard my cake, especially not in a mere half a years time. What in the fuck is wrong with my friends?

For real, ladies.

In their defense, my guy friends would never ask me something so absurd.

And finally, I am here. Stopped still in the middle of my life and OK with it. I need to get the rugs cleaned somewhat badly, yes. I need to clear out the rest of my old apartment, yes. It would be nice to get my bed set up, totally. But until those things happen, I'm just so glad to have a huge apartment, a boyfriend who moves me physically and to the point of a big nasty lump in my throat with the kind of helpfulness and kindness and ability to know when to take over and when to stand back that I've never met a man man enough to rival in past (my but that's an awkward sentence, my but a lot of these are awkward sentences actually). Indirectly, simply in being so helpful he has done more for my daughter in way of the availability and peace of mind her mother has to offer than her own father has in 7 years of life and 1 in conception (and had one stellar conversation with the housewarming gift of a potbellied stuffed frog that absolutely blew my mind).

My cat is content on the table in front of me, my daughter is at daycamp, and I can sit in my sun room with a cup of coffee and blog from the comfort of my new house. There is furniture here, and food and a wall full of all of my teas across from another wall full of all my tea pots. I can take a shower if I want to, the water pressure is nice here. It rained earlier and there's a cool breeze blowing through the screen door while the sun breaks through the clouds periodically, the living room is dark and warm the way I like it with its deep burgundy rug and heavy dark vines, there is no dining table but there will be and it will be beautiful, only a small pile of boxes in one corner of that room to be packed before everything is finally done, and in this exact moment in time there is absolutely nothing I have to do... for the first time in weeks, I have a few minutes to simply sit and relax.

Ahhh.

God willing, I never have to move 8 blocks away... that may be one that actually kills me.

And, We Have Interwebs.

It's random, yes, but I've decided to move-- and then moved.

The Internet is set up, the child dislikes the new bedroom (I absolutely woke up with her and a cat sleeping on my head-- so much for re-claiming our independence in sleeping arrangements), there is food in the refrigerator, the notice of relocation has been sent to the courts, the other place is nearly done (I have two places currently... I have arrived).

There is much to say... to be continued tonight. Or whenever I can find time really, but it will be continued-- because I have the Internet again.

God bless us, every one.

Things I have Heard Or Read In The Past Week Or So That Have Made Me Giggle

*"I have never once felt the need to take my laptop to a fucking Panera."
-Random mid day text from the boyfriend

*Ooohhh.... Tidy Cat commercial.
-Spoken very seriously by my 6 year old when peeking at Youtube

* "Order me some Ben Wa balls? So my Ben Wa will be Ben Wow."
-Me, to a friend at a sex novelties party

*"They call it being crazy. We call it being literal."
- Said to me by that same friend, whilst discussing breakups (and more specifically, how a man wanting to divide everything equally in a breakup is begging for a woman to cut the comforters and books cleanly in half)

There are more-- lots more. But it's already 2:00 AM, and I'm certain there will be nothing to giggle about when I'm passing out in a Psych class because I was up all night hitting the blog too hard.

Guess Who's Daughter Is Chewing Her Toenails?

Yeah, that's right.

And again, she is standing while doing it.

"What did we say about this?"
"That you didn't feel like fighting with me and that if I'm going to stand up and bite my toenails standing up, do it where there's a rug so I won't get hurt if I fall."
"OK, but what did I say all the times before that?"
"Not to bite my toenails. But now I'm on a rug, so it's OK. You said that too."

Fuck. I suck at parenthood.

And, This Day Again.

I never have my daughter for Mothers Day-- this is by choice. Today's call was "Hi Mommy, Happy Mothers Day! I think I'm going to go to the park, ok bye, I love you!" Click.

There may have been a little more conversation than that in there, but it was all one sided attempts by me to keep her on the phone-- when she's done, she's done. She is 6 years old, she doesn't care who her mother is and she isn't supposed to. She's not supposed to spend a day celebrating the love and attention of her mother, which at her age she is legitimately entitled to entirely. She's supposed to take me 100% for granted, she's supposed to consider me someone who needs to be here all the fucking time doing exactly what she needs me to do like it's my fucking job. Because it is.

I'll save the "Tell me how much you love me" coy ego-boost fishing for falling asleep with my boyfriend (yeah, I do that shit: Sorry, boyfriend). And on Mothers day, I'll sleep in, I'll have lots and lots of sex, I'll not do my hair, I'll watch horror movies in the middle of the afternoon, and my life will be completely fucking fabulous, laid back, and responsibility free.

The bottom line is, mothers day is a family holiday and I have no family. I have no partner. My mother is dead. Mothers day doesn't particularly apply to me. It's not a happy day, it's one I would rather didn't exist. The man who got me pregnant will never show up, all 4 feel 5 inches of him, to be the big person and say "Thank you for raising our child completely alone with no help from me while I cheated on taxes to declare her and finished my schooling with no job on the returns: And now, watch me skip out while YOU'RE going to school, because shit bitch-- I got my education so thanks for going to school full time with no help from me while I move on to the next phase of my life AGAIN. Trust me, I'll profit on your losses in my refusing to co parent over and over again, because you're the best mom ever!" (and then produce for me a bottle of Chanel Mademoiselle Coco, a Sephora gift card and a promise to babysit any time I want in the next 3 months-- ah, mine is a rich fantasy world indeed). There is no flowers or cards or anything to be sent to my own mother, and I don't know that she ever really dug on those things to begin with, every year since she died is a reminder of how really bad I was at those things when I had the chance, time to reflect on how it must have felt in those last three years of sickness that mothers day came and went with no card to be found in her mailbox from South Bend, Indiana. My 6 year old isn't really going to be sitting and reflecting on how much I have or have not done for her, or what it's going to feel like to either of us thinking back on mothers day 10 years from now-- as well she shouldn't, and I would be the worlds most fucked up parent if for a split second I thought it should be that way. All and all, mothers day is about your community, and I have none. I have a child I want nothing from but her happiness (and the adorable card she made me in her first grade art class), I have no mother, I have no family. And I just want to skip mothers day, every single fucking year.

I went with a friend and his son for lunch today, and was given chocolate from a tiny candy shop in some little town near here. I am blogging while I devour the box of chocolates unceremoniously, in my pajamas. I may watch mommy dearest, I will totally not clean my apartment as I had originally planned on, and tomorrow I will have lunch with another friend of the maternal persuasion with difficult circumstances-- ones I could never begin to fully comprehend. And I'm leaving the "Mothers Day" tag off of it, and chalking everything up to "I had a very nice weekend" of whatever sort it was.

Drunk Indian Boyfriends And Dyngus Day: It's Exactly As Absurd As It Sounds

Yes, he's from Wisconsin, but still. He's raised by people who go to Temple and don't eat cows, and aside from that the man is a million times more all American that an apple pie on a Michigan window sill: He is not Polish.

And he is going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow and as absolutely adorable as his late night call was, I think it's going to serve him right.

Dyngus Day... psh.

My Two Sweeties

I feel terrible for my 6 year old daughter. I've told people for years that she's very socially elegant, that thank God she gets her fathers familys charm (but with none of the robustfully disingenuous smarminess), and none of my awkward squeaky babbling or lack of filter. Today however, I watched my clever and genuine little sweetie meet my other sweetie (my bearded sarcastic jaded sweetie) for the second time, balance a crayon on her head, make some funny noises, throw up a false laugh over it and after a few more minutes of awkwardness, isolate herself beneath a box and yell goodbye from there when my other sweetie was on his way out the door.

And it must not be an exact science for her to process any more than it is for me to, here is this man who she'd never heard of before 4 months ago suddenly showing up with boxes to let mommy store things, cheese flavored like chicken noodle soup, a full beard and a full grown dog he calls a puppy... he's got a giant car and left recycled crayons in little square shapes for her over spring break: He seems a little too good. And where in the fuck did this guy come from, anyway?

And oh, honey, I know the feeling.

But in the end, he was stopping in without the dog and she was ok with it. And if she starts freaking out and acting a little bizarrely, I suppose that's much better than her being unhappy with the situation: Nervous and afraid are very different things, and it could totally go the other direction. And it doesn't, and my two sweeties, while both a little nervous about it, can be in the same room together for small periods of time if need be without anyone totally melting down about it.

Two Toilets

In the 24 hours since my 6 year old has been home, the following have been done:

-A toast to two toilets. Thanks for playing, friends from film class.
-A circus
-Cleaning up the scraped knee from the circus (note to self: Anything that starts with "And now for the famous mimes slide trick" is no longer allowed).
-Cleaning of bed previously refused to be used for new big girl
-Waking up at 5:30 am to find new big girl in my bed with her foot in my ear saying "It's not your bed, it's our bed... right?"
-Explained why we don't tell people they are boring
-Explained why we don't tell people that I said they are boring.
-Explained (see lied) to boring person about why my 6 year old may have thought I called them boring.

Life as I know it has resumed... and I'm over the moon for every boring moment of it. Best 24 hours since the last 24 hours after a long visit, totally.

"Oh, I'm Just Sleeping With the Bassist"

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I hate dating guys in bands. I have always hated dating guys in bands. For most of my dating life, however, I have totally been involved with a guy in the band, and almost always without fail that guy has been a bassist.

And I remember vividly the endless shows of my last serious boyfriend, technically I could probably call him my husband by common law in Indiana if not for that tiny little breakup (during which I skipped town and came home pregnant: It's a wonder we never sealed the deal, yes?): And I remember vividly the first show he asked me to, being at the wing place next door to the coffee shop they frequently played, downing beers with some new anchor-woman from our local news station (a friend of my boyfriends band-mate and best friend). We were guzzling quickly while I was explaining in needless detail exactly why I hate Natale Merchant (really I did-- really, I do). I thought we were drinking so fast for obvious thrills and she thought because we needed to hurry to catch the band. She asked if I was coming, and I said "No, I'm just sleeping with the bassist" and got incredibly drunk alone while my boyfriend catered to teenagers who didn't ask much of a Pixies cover. For months I did this, maybe even a year, and one day to my secret delight my boyfriend came home to tell me that the band was breaking up.

And that's all fine and good, and we were happy for a few years before he got critical and violent and I in turn got drunk and then got in bed with other people... but before all of that I was a good girlfriend. I showed up to watch him soak in the worship of these barely teenage (if even) fans, and to see him wildly happy. A tall nerdy kid with coke bottle thick glasses, a hipster before there where hipsters (when it was just being a geek) feel important and admired and handsome and talented-- a little less Woody Allen and a little more Elvis Costello. And when the tribute fan page popped up as a suggestion for me on facebook tonight I absolutely sighed with relief... there were pictures I had taken, but none that I was in-- and I haven't dated a man in a band or had to go to a coffee shop for any reason other than coffee for a long long long time.

After that immediate wave had passed however, I inched my mouse over to the "like" tab and clicked. It was a time in my life. I was 21, pretty drunk, very pretty, and too cool to be into the band from which I was sleeping with the bassist...

...and secretly, at the time I didn't ask a lot of a Pixies cover either.

*(Side Note: My ex boyfriend is still one of my best friends, and despite hipster not being hip yet at the time, was totally handsome even as a Woody Allen type. I'll say a lot of things about him under my breath, but never that he wasn't attractive in his way. Black hair, black framed glasses, knew mean was totally funny, and a music and pop culture nerd in every way.)
**(Separate Side Note: The above side note is a disclaimer for in case of reading by either my ex boyfriend, or my current boyfriend, who is just my type... Black hair, black framed glasses, knows mean is totally funny, and a music and pop culture nerd in every way. And makes me feel warmer and fuzzier than any ex boyfriend possibly could. AND who isn't in a band, which more than triples his sexy factor in my eyes)

Other Peoples Problems

I can be so self absorbed so often, am so self absorbed so often... but today it's raining and I'm not taking it as some personal lash out from the universe to me.

In a rare moment of too much perspective, I can think of nothing in the world but someone else and their universal circumstances, and there's nothing but love and warm wishes for them today.

A Few Things While I Eat This Apple:

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Yes, sometimes a blog post is exactly what it sounds like in the title.

1)Hot Young Indian Boy Was Staring At Me Again. I rolled my eyes because you know, what else am I going to do? But, I probably also blushed. I should note two things here though. 1) I blushed because he looked at me like my boyfriend does right before he says something wayyy too sweet for a bitchy girl like me to handle and 2) The only reason this guy keeps checking me out is because one day he caught me totally checking him out, like really shamelessly. Again, let me note that this guy looks freakishly similar to my boyfriend, and if you'd ever seen my boyfriend you can see where that's both highly attractive, and not something you can say every day.

2)Dude, I'm such a train wreck at the gym. Seriously, I don't run unless someone is chasing me, I'll work my left leg for 20 minutes and my right one for about 27 seconds if it's more convenient to my conversation with my gym buddy to turn the one way longer, and I don't own a sports bra (though this led to a great jab in the locker room about me yesterday: "If she's going to get her tits done that big, she could have gone a little smaller and fixed her face". First, I want to note that these girls were total bitches, clearly. Next, I want to feel a little smug... my boobs are sooo real)... I don't know why I bother.

3)Hey YMCA Mom that stole my camera after 6 year old swim practice? You're a bad person. I hope as they get older, my daughters cuteness gives your daughter an eating disorder. Seriously, you don't know better when you see an expensive camera than to put it in your purse?

Jerk.

Mmm, good apple. Have a nice day.

And Then This Other Time, I Thought I Was Breaking Up With My Boyfriend, But I Wasn't.

That was a good thing.

Who knew that outright refusal of breakup was an option? My precious boyfriend who suffers my neurotic fears endlessly and patiently. "I do not accept this breakup" were the exact words-- difficult to argue with.

Without going into details, we'll just say it was a curious notion on my part that this would be good for us, and I'm more in love now than ever, and there's no reason in the world I shouldn't be. I done found me a good 'un.

All of that said, there were other severely noteworthy things in my week as well, I just had to make note due to the disappearing blog of yesterday than said quite different things about my romantic status.

Besides my love life, there was an amazing trip to New York, complete with a visit with my sister who suddenly had no idea what state I lived in, who my daughter lived with, and I believe may have said "I'm sorry, do I know you?" at a couple of points during dinner. No, that's not a true story I admit, but overall the woman was beyond playing coy. There are times when you think it's wonderful that you have grown and your siblings and yourself can have really adult relationships because you're all your real selves now. And the last time I saw my sister, this was true. It was warm and funny and candid and overall she was a woman I admired instead of a teenager I looked up to and loathed in equal parts for all of her snide accomplishment. In this visit, though, my sister was every bit the teenage girl that snubbed me while smiling sweetly at me, leaving me feeling shabby and underfoot and hopeless but tolerated. The exception being, this time I traveled clear across Manhattan to a weird ass out of the way gentrified part of Brooklyn for her to say "Wait, why are you staying on the Upper East Side?" as though a simple and practical part of the city, and my choice in friends who live somewhere inconvenient to her was the real problem. Because she's my sister, I didn't say "Fuck you and fuck this", I smiled and I tried to find common grounds and touch base on some warm familiar level.

It never quite happened.

It was amazing being back in the city though, and beyond amazing being with the friend I went to see. She's someone who gets me, who I don't have to laugh around, who I don't even have to talk to. At one point we checked email and sipped coffee and muttered back and forth to each other, and it was fabulous and bonding. I'm at this mind-blowing point in my life right now where I have several women I can call my best friends, and they all get some part of me that none of the other ones do, and I couldn't be happier with any of it. And I couldn't have been happier with a visit with Ashley. For the love of fuck, she got me Swiss cake rolls and went to Sephora with me and made me coffee. There is little more the two of us need than coffee and something to put our feet up on to be completely in our element.

I know it's rambling and messy and uninteresting, but these are things I failed to blog recently and wanted to just to know it's recorded somewhere. And now it is, and I have after-trip cleaning to do, a dance recital to practice for, and 2 papers to write before morning. But I have a precious 6 year old fast asleep in bed, a boyfriend who doesn't let me freak out and I doubt would ever let me break up with him, the most amazing girlfriends in the world who ask nothing of me and I have nothing to ask of, so in the grand scheme of things I think I'm still ahead of the game.

So This One Time I Was Going To Clean My Apartment And Cook Dinner For Myself

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But, then it was 12:14 and that hadn't happened, so I let it go gently and winced through a Bauhaus set played by my charming boyfriend on a late night college radio station (seriously, he has like 20 jobs) and realizing that we will never ever ever be very musically compatible.

And this leads to other thoughts that have nothing to do with the cleaning and cooking that never happened. It leads to thoughts of the past weekend, which was very exhausting and very sad for reasons I won't go into because there's this one tiny part of me that is a private person. And it leads to thoughts of how I don't know how to talk to people. I say I do, and I can talk about what's wrong with you or what's soooo wrong with me just to the degree that my favorite friends nearly have to spit swigs of cocktails back into the glass, yes. But I can't say "I am feeling this way about this, and I don't know what to do with that", ever, ever, ever.

So this event that's none of your fucking business, we'll say I burned dinner for his parents (because that would never ever happen both on account of me not wanting to meet peoples parents without a gun to my head and being a fabulous fucking cook in equal parts, and cannot be compared to anything from a wedding to a death to buying a new home to changing my major or anything in between-- thus protecting my none of your fucking business stance), it left me with unsettled feelings and doubts and fears and sadness and overwhelming sickening preoccupation with my future and what I want it to be, and so I did what any normal healthy woman would do with her feelings: I blamed my boyfriend for trivial things that have nothing to do with the matters at hand. I picked at him for things he picked up for me to eat in the middle of the night when I said I wasn't hungry earlier. I accused him of being insensitive for being sensitive in the wrong way. I decided he was a clueless privileged jerk because he let me pay for dart games and when I ran out of quarters just stopped playing without seeing who would break the tie.

I admit, this may have been unreasonable.

But in that time, all that I didn't know I wanted to talk about fell away and the time passed that I would be able to talk about it before everything had been rearranged to fit different practical molds of what I needed feelings and ideas and plans to be. And now it's hanging there, another something that is between us, because it was never something between us. Not because we're not working out, not that at all... I'm absurdly in love and he's the most wonderful man I've ever met in my life. Just because we're in a relationship, and this is what happens in them. Relationships are like any other new little existence. They start off pure and perfect and without stains of ego and pride and fear and indifference or self involvement, resentment, mistakes and misunderstandings and all of the things that make us what we are together as much as they do who we are individually.

And from then on, things have nothing left but to get more and more imperfect by the second, and I hate that. And it's just a natural progression and I know that, but still... it fucking sucks. Not that it's happening to us too, just that it has to be that way at all.

And removed from this, I am thinking of my daughter. She wants to meet my boyfriend. It's been months in the making, she knew that first weekend when there were pictures on the computer and mommy was singing a lot and giggling at text messages that something was up. Because it's my daughter, who's fucking brilliant, she specifically knew "Mommy, you have a boyfriend. Your friend Nivas is your boyfriend I think".

Yes, 6 year old, you think right.

And since then has been the pending meeting of my boyfriend. I wanted to do 6 months, but that requires a degree of removal from my daughters life that she doesn't care for. We share everything in one another's life, and for me to have this one part that is mine she understands-- but for me to have this one part that is secret and completely out of sight from her, that is where it gets personal.

Her father has her every weekend now for absurd reasons I can't get into without starting to foam at the mouth and developing facial twitches and bulging veins over, but regardless of all that, it is happening and we're in a bad way. She clings to my leg every waking second that she is still able to be at home, she begs me to just one day lets leave early and walk to school together before daddy can come, she wants to keep a calender to count the days until he leaves town so she can just be home again. And I guess that was the point... to stop fighting so hard for the right thing for them, let him bludgeon their relationship himself if he insisted and stop fighting so hard to protect him from himself even if it is for her sake and to just be there to love her as much as I can through the years as this continues on. And I am more able to hold her afloat than to change the course of his mad and erratic current, that's true, but for fucks sake. It's hard on the kid, and she knows I love someone besides her in all the world which I don't think she's ever really realized I could before, and she doesn't even know him.

And he'll be great, I know he will, and it will be fine, I know. But I don't do shit like this, not ever. If men meet my child, it's because we are friends. Dating, then meeting my child is totally against any and all of my rules as a parent. But, this isn't a passing thing we're seeing what happens with, this is an actual thing that we're both committed to good things happening with. And that's wonderful, and yes, that means that in the spring we should get his puppy and my 6 year old together for a little walk in the park or something. I know that, I do... but fuuuuck fuuuuck, fuuuuck.

This is not how mommy rolls.

Mommy doesn't even clean her apartment and make herself a nice dinner, more or less let her 6 year old meet her boyfriend, have a boyfriend, or reflect on how she has a hard time knowing how to talk about how she really feels or what's really wrong so that she can be a better girlfriend for her boyfriend because she really wants to see this work, because she's really really happy.

And icing on the cake... by the end of this blog, I've found that I like more than half of his set list-- and I may just clean to it. Oh, and there's They Might Be Giants, and I just sighed and smiled to myself and muttered "Awwww..." . I probably bit my fucking lip and twirled my fucking hair.

Who the fuck am I? Seriously.

Fuck.

You Know What? Back The Fuck Off.

Yes, YOU, hipster film professor in your too tight jeans with your "Yeah, I'm just a guy like you're just some guys" attitude. I'm not stupid, I'm not a 19 year old who totally digs on your mocking Transformers a lot. I see you condescending every kid in this class, and I see you grading and regarding me differently because I outright fail to appreciate your false accessibility. I know you're a snotty hyper conservative who thinks waking life is brilliant and like perfectly good classic Hollywood movies ironically instead of with any real sheer delight.

And I know you don't give me participation points, and you shouldn't leave your roster open when I talk to you at your desk if you don't want me to see that.

And yes YOU, touch-my-hair-in-math-class-guy. Yes, I dropped the class. Yes, now I see you in the gym. But there are two other things we can note here: 1) I know fully well that you don't actually pick up a single weight or get on a single exercise machine, or even walk the track in the gym. and 2) I notice you are in the gym when I am every time... but I also know that you're skipping the math class in question to go to it. That, my friend? Creepier than you touching my hair.

And yes, especially YOU, boyfriend. If you tell me you know what when we're you know where one more time, I swear on your stupid sports teams I will scream and kick you and tell everyone surrounding EXACTLY why that just happened.

Now: Everyone back the fuck off. It's not my week, and as of current I am foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog... and things haven't even gotten ugly yet.

So This Is Monday

It's not to say that I don't generally have unpleasant Mondays, not that at all.

No, what it is to say is that today, even in the grad scheme of Mondays, was especially unpleasant. Why? I'm so glad you asked (and don't you role your eyes, you can stop reading whenever the hell you want, and with all due respects, you knew what this blog was to begin with, and there you went typing it in to the search bar... I refuse to be the one who feels silly here. Or the only one, anyway)

1) I had my bike stolen.

And by that, I mean it turns out that if you leave your bike unlocked for well over 6 days in front of your college, which is known for homeless people sleeping in it... someone's gonna' take that bike. Who knew? Well, everyone in the campus security office, for starters.

2) So you know how I thought I had raccoons in my attic?

Well, now I know I had raccoons in my attic, and that the largest one was 25 lbs. The pest control guy assured me that it would be released into the wilderness, did not agree to accept addresses from me suggesting where it ought be dropped, and it totally pooped through the cage onto my stairs on its way down.

3) My math professor seems to think I should be coming to class more often.

Well send your snarky emails to my babydaddy who makes me take days out of school to fight false allegations of child neglect, the raccoon living in my attic, and my 6 year old who has inconvenient ideas about when to be up all night having bad dreams that require some sleep in the daytime to recover from. We all know if I miss 2 more of your classes, I will fail the course. One of those classes I am guaranteed to miss (again, talk to the babydaddy-- when it's not his problem, it's not a relevant one), and we all know I'm barely passing anyway. Let's just step away from the send button, shall we? It hurts my heart.

And if upon further reflection you still feel you would like to beat the dead horse of your choosing, let's do it on a Tuesday, shall we?

There is more, my Lord there is more, but in a few short hours it's going to be Tuesday and the whole thing to be done over again.

Well, that's embarassing.

When we got together, not very long ago, my boyfriend and I used to write these long random emails to each other in the middle of the night. They were candid and neurotic and cautiously romantic, and it was a comfort to be able to wear my heart on my sleeve and not feel exposed or vulnerable, but a mutual participant in something overwhelming and new and delightful. He told me recently that he used to watch his inbox for messages from me, even check in the middle of the night, and that he would write me back very carefully.

It's not often that we exchange emails anymore, and I'm not even entirely sure that he reads them at all. Last night, as often, I wrote my boyfriend an email. It was neurotic and personal and candid and romantic. And, in a couple of days when I ask him if he read it, he will do what he generally does when this happens-- he will kiss me and say "I did, and it was very sweet".

And I will feel exposed and vulnerable and I will wish I'd said less, and there will be less between us, and more between us.

I've always said that relationships baffle me because there are only the two modes, advance and decline, and the advancement is short lived and exactly what creates the decline to begin with. And, now comes our decline and I have to wonder why I got on this ride to begin with-- I knew what this was.

Things I Find Annoying: A Sunday List

1) My boyfriend does the most frustrating thing.

Any Sunday that we are spending together that is cut short:

"Aww, I hate losing our Sunday time!"
"Me too. Why don't I pick you up after I gt off and we can go to sleep and I can drop you off in the morning?"
"No, you need your sleep for your business meeting/field work/cross county job trip... whatever the fuck you do. "
"No, it's fine. I like falling asleep with you!"
"Ohh, you like me!"
"Siiiike!!! I'm going to drop you off, yell "see you, wouldn't want to be you" and drive a bunch of donuts in your wet lawn in about 45 minutes. It's awesome that you just believed that suggestion, though"

Or, maybe he said "See you next weekend sweetie" when he drops me off to gently announce that he didn't find it a good idea after all when saying he had and that no, I shouldn't be waiting around midnight in my pajamas to have a cute last minute sleepover. Because he doesn't want to make me feel bad by saying it's not a great idea, and he wants me to make other plans because he's a good guy who knows I only have weekends.

Whatever-- it's the fucking principal of the thing.

2) My EX boyfriend does the most frustrating thing.

Or rather, he IS the most frustrating thing. We're still best friends, or at least we're supposed to be, but sometimes out of the clear blue sky he'll decide to just start being moody and impossible and I'll get the impression that we are not friends at all, and have no idea what I've done. Then I'll walk on eggshells, then I'll feel ashamed, and then he'll yell at me for being weird. Then, I'll cry. And cry and cry and cry and cry.

Really, it's like we never broke up.


3) It Is Raining Snow Outside.

I, personally, find that disgusting. Pick a way to ruin what I thought was the start of our Midwestern spring thaw. ONE way.

Raining snow... what the fuck.

4) My Apartment

Which really just ties into the snow and the rain and such. But, it was 56 degrees a few days ago, I lit incense and opened the windows and cleaned my living room and my kitchen (to a lesser extent) and my bathroom (which is never that bad off to begin with).

But, there's still the bedroom, and that was going to be done today, and it isn't. My problem, largely, is that specifically in winter I cannot clean. I don't know why, but my diet, my cleaning, my homework, my everything falls to hell in the colder months. Not because I'm unhappy mind you, I am actually one of those people that is very happy even in the middle of winter all the time. But still, something in me freezes the second the weather does, and I needed this thaw to last a little longer... I needed it to last until I got under the bed and the top of the dresser at least.

Freezing rain. Fuck this shit.

5) Feminists.

Specifically, the feminist who copied and pasted one of my blogs, and then submitted it to our local female studies performance group to do a stage reading of. You picked something personal, you edited the meaning out entirely, and you completely missed the fucking point.

You exploited my motherhood, my female insecurities, and if I didn't hate feminists before, I do now. Way to support the team, jack-ass.

And, that is all I have to report.