Thanksgiving: What I'm thinking about at 12:20 instead of prepping bread pudding and putting rolls out to rise

It's now Thanksgiving by 21 minutes, and I have slinked my way back to my computer, back to this online purging, because what better time to purge than eating season.

And instead of during eating season, preparing said eats, I am thinking about my mother. My quite dead mother. The mother who I found out had died as I prepared my Thanksgiving meal 8 years ago, in a different house, in a different life, as a different me. That me, also, had just the evening previous cut and laid out 4 cups of  half inch bread cubes to stale for the butterscotch bread pudding, double recipe, to be prepared half with and half without chocolate chips.

Before I slinked my way back to this computer, I was contemplating waking my husband up to tell him about my mother.

Oh. Also, I got married. It's been a busy year. He does not drink alcoholically, he does not hit, he does not lie, he does not call me names, and he does make me waffles. Really good ones. With ice cream on the top. As that's better than I've done in the entirety of my dating career the last 5 or 6 years, I did a wise thing and married him. I am still a neurotic single mother... but now I share a bed with a neurotic single father, and together we are a very happy hot mess.

But that is a different update.

So... right. Before I slinked my way back to this computer, I was contemplating waking my husband up to tell him about my mother. Not mentioned in our vows, however,  was a promise to wake the other when we feel an overwhelming urge to blubber out "My mother learned how to read well to read me bedtime stories" and thus 'asking' without at all asking, them to get their head that quickly in the game and know exactly where we're at. And then to understand why we're extremely angry at them, as of course we know we will be.

And so, I reasoned that this abstract waking may not be very fair, and left our bedroom.

On the way to the kitchen, I saw my cat. Not the old black one with the sagging belly and puffy fur that was there when my mothers death was announced to me, sitting on the couch next to my toddler, but the new sleek black one who was brought to me three years ago by a cheating boyfriend, and who I could not turn away because like my husband, he was a boy who actually seemed to adore me. And I thought about telling this furry boy (who no longer seems to adore me but rather, I suspect, is using me for dry cat food and a warm crotch to sleep on when I am laying on my back) about my mother.  "She was a trucker for a period, you know...that was when she lived by Coney Island and made my brother and I boxes with our names written on them in glue that she covered with sand from the shore. I lost mine when I was hitchhiking a teenager to make to to my brothers graduation"

But by time I'd made it to him, my new hostage was gone.

However, I was left thinking of my brother also-- I thought I could maybe text him in the middle of the night... "Hey, remember when Momma was a carnie and she brought us those giant stuffed animals, that big gray dog and what was the other thing? A bear? Remember when she came to visit and her husband got drunk and passed out on his horn in his car for like, 10 minutes?"   But, that's not reasonable behavior. Not at 12:40 on Thanksgiving morning.

Guess what is reasonable behavior, according to me, at 12:40 on Thanksgiving morning, then?

Perhaps you guessed, say, sitting on the floor of my kitchen, so close to the Internet, to eat hazelnut ice cream in my panties. And if you did, you would be right.

But in my thoughts, not once did I get angry. Not at her having been gone so often, not of her forgetting birthdays, not of her ultimate decision to drink herself to death when it came time to choose between the disease of her liver and the disease of alcoholism. Not even at myself for all of the years I didn't send birthday cards, for not reaching out better, more, for being a shitty daughter because I'd deemed her a shitty mother.  I did think, though, of my stepchildren, how I know she would entirely enjoy them. And my daughter, how madly she would love her. And my husband, how much he would appreciate her no frills nature.  And I thought about how much she would like the life I made for myself, the integrity I at least try to live with, the maternal part of me I so resented her for not having that I couldn't recognize that she wanted so much to possess.

And I thought that 8 years, and entire life, later, gentler, more forgiving, more grateful...I like to think that today, it wouldn't be the frustrated obligatory love between a child and her live away mother. Today, I believe entirely that she would like me. And she'd feel like I really like her too. Because I think who I am today really really would.

And so it's thanksgiving. And I hate thanksgiving. But maybe this year I won't hate it as much, as this year I have gotten old enough to find that I am grateful.

In With The New

Some people-- namely, but unnamed, some of the other single lady bloggers I know of-- rush back to their blogs after a breakup, suddenly realizing that they love being single, their girlfriends are like, the best, dating was soooo lame and they totally love motherhood (all the while never noting where that love was for the time they were in a relationship).

They come back with a whirl of independents, frantic clanks, and a serious bang.

I however, come back with a slow head-low slink, the name of the unborn child I should never have named still on the tip of my tongue, my ex safely a year behind me, and a daughter who is still a million times better than your daughters, a million times better than me. I come back in a exhausted heap in the middle of a Saturday night after a crafters busy season because my daughter won today in a big way and I've been losing to glitter all of last month, and at some point in ever single mom with a blogs life.. she's going to use that blog again. And if that single mom is me... it's not going to be very profound.

My daughter won today in a big way-- let's go back to that, because it's always easiest for a single mother of a 10 year old to open with "my daughter is soooo intelligent" kind of blurb. And oh yes, she is.

Because today my daughter told me "You must not like the way you look because you frown every time you look in the mirror. But Mommy, you actually look more, like, wrinkly when you frown".

Fair enough, 10 year old.

So, almost a month into the new year, I am making a resolution. It's an absurd one, childish and motivational poster-esque, but it's the one I'm making and I'm at peace with this. When I look in the mirror, I'm going to smile. Because she's right, I don't look as old when I smile, and that in turn may give me a legit reason to smile more often-- not knowing what I look like when I'm not smiling as the primary information I start my day with.

So, that's where I am. There is more to say, and this isn't an explaination as to where I've been in blogging or why I'm where I am in life... it's just that. My daughter said the smartest thing, and I decided ages after the last time I decided to rock my blog, to post it.

And... done. 

Oh, look: A blog.

So. There was a cheating boyfriend, a breakup, there was a new boyfriend, there was a baby coming, she never came, the depression did, and there is now no boyfriends.  There is however a new house and a yard and a cat absurdly named The Edge. There is a new business, there was a falling out of epic proportions with the previous girlfriends, but in the two years since, my life is better for it.

And there is more to report-- but it's not that kind of night. It's more of a "Hey, I still have my blog" kind of night. And here it is.

Unrelated to any previous post...

I am sunburned. My daughter is sunburned.

And?

Well, it's March. This is the best sunburn EVER.

"I'm Bored"? Well, I'm boring. Or creepily maternal-- whatever.

I had a friend point out today that I have not blogged in forever and she finds that boring. Which is fair and accurate, and the truth is I'm probably not as boring as I think lately-- and I'm glad that my friends know that even when I don't.

That being said... in school, in the most god forsaken 190 poetry class full of borderline illiterate proofs that my school is not a real school, I have to write when told about what is going on right then. And the truth is, I used to keep a blog just to make sure I would write every day, shamelessly, just to go through the motion of stating what is happening or what I am thinking, for perspective (A little too much perspective, which to this day people have not laughed at). Why have I not done that lately? Because I don't wan t perspective because I've made peace with the sadness and coldness of my relationship partner? Maybe. Because when I write catty things about people who dick me over they end up with hurt feelings because someone told them to go read my blog and I become the bad guy? Defs. Because I want to make cold mean jokes all the time that don't translate as well in type and just make me look (more) like a cold hearted bitch ? Omigod, absolutely. Because as she gets older I realize more and more that people don't want to hear about how my kid did the cutest thing? Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But, as it happens, when my friend suggested I blog (and by suggested I mean posted a very direct command to my facebook wall in somehow the cutest way ever), I had already been thinking about blogging. I had been making my bed and thinking about how by time I've found a willing father that I would want to have babies with and gotten to a place that it would be reasonable to have another child, I will be about 37 years old. Which with all due respects, is not a desirable baby-having age for me.

What I am saying is, I will never have another child.

And, though I never wanted to be a mother to begin with, though my life with my daughter has been disaster after disaster of single motherhood simply because sometimes that's what single motherhood is, at some point in the past couple of years I find myself thinking that I would do it all over again. Well no, not the poor thing. Or the single motherhood disasters thing. Or the breastfeeding for fucking ever thing. Or the letting my child decide themselves if they want to be an introvert or not because she is who she is to the degree that I have (and who she is, turns out? TOTALLY antisocial, and as a side note, in no way interested in learning how to swim, dance, play an instrument, or any other activity that involves anything besides drawing pictures, cuddling, watching the cartoons I grew up on, or reading: Which admittedly I think is every bit as awesome as I am concerned that it may be unhealthy) . But in later years that I would have liked, I realized that I'm sorry I didn't know I loved motherhood-- and I didn't know it would be too late before I figured it out.

But there is also another thing I know-- I don't reallllly want it. I think I do, but what I want is to have done it the first time now, when I have the people in my life that I do now instead of when I was so all alone. There are several people close to me, as well as several more I know just a little but who are close to people I love and trust enough to assume makes these people amazing too by proxy. And, I wish I had a chance to have shared my pregnancy and first years of motherhood the way I can't wait to share theirs. I never had a baby shower. When I was in the throes of some very severe postpartum hysteria (it's a real thing and it depends largely on support systems and other such circumstances), I never got to call anyone in the middle of the night to say "I'm so happy I have this little girl" when I was suddenly struck by how extreme a love for your own child can be, or "I feel like I could stick my head in the oven right now if I have to be awake nursing for another second" when I was overwhelmed by every single thing that every single day consisted of anymore. I wish I'd gotten to see my best friends holding my daughter and crying with me and laughing with me as she grew. And, when I see how much I am going to get to be a part of with my friends, I have this horrible self centered moment now and again where before I think "Oh this is exciting", I think "We never had this. I did it all wrong." And it passes extremely quickly, and it doesn't happen all the time, but every now and again I think (mistakenly) that my life was different in such a way that I would still have time for another child.

In short, I do not want to have another child. Not at all. I want to have this child, the one I never expected or wanted, under different circumstances, with all of the beautiful people I have around me now there to be part of it. And when I start to think about that, I miss what is much more important: That the mothers I know and love, pending and current, are in my life now, and I get to be a part of what I didn't have. And as my daughter sees that as she and the 6 different babies that are going to be bore in the next year grow older and older, she is going to learn what it is to be a woman and a mother... and a good girlfriend. And one day, when she finds herself in a family way under whatever circumstances, favorable or not, she will have those kinds of relationships. She will still have what I lament having not had for her in the beginning, hopefully. She will learn have what I still have so many years to teach her matters.

She will have a fucking village of women to be there for as much as to have there for her.

And I love all of my girlfriends. My absolute best and most cherished girlfriends are, I'm pretty sure, never planning on being pregnant or mothers, and what our bond is is something superhuman but not about motherhood. But there's a different bond I feel right now for my pregnant friends, this little secret that just we know. And I love that I have them now and get to watch them become mothers, (sometimes again) and be reminded all over myself of what at a cheesy beautiful fucking Icouldthrowupinmyowmmouthathowi'macting mess of joy and heartache and hope it is. And just like my daughter, this is a new phase in my life: The phase where the women around me are having babies.

And shame on me for not before this blog fully appreciating how absolutely sincerely delightful and beautiful it is that I get to be witness to it-- and, honestly, that seeing the beauty of parenthood doesn't have to involve me doing it again.

And to one of these women, the (pregnant-- I didn't mention that, did I?) friend who demanded this sappy horrible god awful blog... you're right. I'm not normally that boring. Don't you kind of wish I was now?
Ohh. There's no emoticons in my blog. Here is hoping this will do. <3

Things I Shouldn't Have Done Today

Because there's always a few.

1) Bought more than I can afford in lingerie because I feel so (Deleted for being wayyy too creepy even for me o 5/29/12)... Oh no.... clearly I'm not the crazy one here. (But clearly I am. Because you know, the deleting of most of that paragraph)

2) Worked out with a 100 degree temperature. The worst is, I reasoned (correctly, I dare say) that I was going to be so out of it that I wouldn't notice how hard I pushed myself. I totally doubled all of my weights for double the time. And now I totally ache outside as well as in. And I don't just mean my shattered soul, I mean my intestinal hemorrhaging. No, not really-- but at this point, nothing would be shocking to me anymore.

3) So I have this ex boyfriend who always wants a picture of my boobs. I sent him a picture of a heavy dude in the gyms boobs instead (with heavy dudes agreement).

He sent back a compliment.

I win.

None the less, I know I shouldn't have done it. Sorry about that, Christopher. Stop being a fucking creeper.

4)smoked 4 cigarets to try to make myself feel better despite being extremely sick. Didn't work. Bad idea.

5) Heading out to smoke one again right now.

This is what Leaving Las Vegas would look like if Nicolas Cage didn't drink, I have no doubt. It may be lame, but it's my lame. And at least I'm not going to die in a hotel... just on my porch in a mountain of cigarette butts with several thousand dollars of lingerie on that won't change anything.

Why Thank You, 5 Year Old Boy.

"Hey, you. You're that girls mommy, right?"

"Um, yes I am."

"Is that a perm? Because it's a really good one if it is."

OK, Kindergarten student-- thank you for that. And Kindergarten teacher who looked embarrassed at overhearing? Don't worry. It's really only natural curls that look this way.

Ah, The Normal Girls

Normal girls, ones with parents and a lawyer and a close brother or sister... when they think about their relationship they don't think about the things I do. They think about their wedding and it isn't "How will I keep my brother from not rapping? Is he in jail right now? Are my dad and his new wife allowed to come to a non Catholic service now that he's devout? Are they even still in town? All of my side is going to be drunk girlfriends and middle aged men I spend most of my time talking about why we don't drink with?" They think about their gown, train or no train. They think about If their father will pay for a brass band or if they should just go with a DJ, not if their boyfriend would acquire the debt from the unpaid biopsy bill if that happy engagement ever happened.

And they don't think about what happens if that never comes about the way that a girl like me, one without family does. I don't think about if I break up who will get the things we got together, or if I will have to de-friend his sister on Facebook. I have to think about things like "Who is going to know I want all of my organs donated and the remainders of me to go to science? Who can clarify that I have a brain that is valuable to alcoholism research and it isn't to go anywhere else? That my mother died that way, and I saw friends die that way and I want memorial contributions made to it and my brain can't go anywhere else?" I have to wonder who will pick my daughter up from school to tell her if it happens in the middle of the day. I have to wonder who is going to check on my ex boyfriend, my best friend, on my birthday and death day every year and understand how close our friendship is and also to understand through their own experience that they are losing someone they love or at least once loved the same way.

Where would my cat go? Who would take her? Who knows what kind of food she eats? Who would tolerate her drooling?

And these are all just facts of life. If I lose a partner, I lose the voice that can speak for me in the absence of family, in the absence of my own.

And all of this is really only to say that I should stop watching Greys Anatomy in entire season chunks, at least before bed. Because I didn't do my sociology homework, but I'm only concerned with who would know who to call when surgery fails if I am all alone. And all this to say is that I am not one of the normal girls. And that it's clearly not all about not having a family.

Sorry Sandra Oh... we're going to need to take a break. It's not that I don't love you, it's just that you make me crazy.

Unrelated, But Kind Of Related

At the aforementioned special event, I completely for got to mention the awesomeness. On our way out, I saw my dreamy academic adviser having lunch with another professor from my school. He looked extra 90's power-pop, I think his hair may have been parted even MORE in the middle than usual.

"Why hello, Dr. Pearl Jam (that's what I call him in my mind). How nice seeing you here. Oh, and what is that smell... Cool Water?"

"Close, CK one. I notice you're here instead of in class, much like myself."

"Why yes, Dr. Pearl Jam, I am. Here we stand, not student and professor, but man and woman."

"So it seems. I also notice, outside of the educational environment as we seem to find outselves... you're beautiful."

Yup, that's exactly how it went. That's the conversation.

The one I had in my brain while I shuffled out quickly with my child born out of wedlock, a picture of my boyfriend on the front of my phone, and the knowledge that I'm clearly much older than this professor filed away in my mind.

Yup, that's exactly just how it went.

Better Off Without A....

Today, my best friend got engaged. What that also means is the man I lived with for 7 years, raised a child with (not her father-- the man who raised her and her father are very different things) put a ring on another woman's finger and said they have both wanted this from the day that them met.

At which point, I was still living with this man.

And I eventually had put together that he was into some girl he had met towards the end and that's why he was so mean (and oh, it was mean, uncivilized is the mildest I could call it). What I had not been aware of until now when I was watching my past on one knee begging to be someone else's future, was that these two people were already deeply in love in those last hellish weeks: That this is why I had gone through so much that I still wake up shaking sometimes today.

Since then, my ex has started taking medication, seeing a counselor, doing all the things someone does when they need help for rage or any other malady that hurts other people. He's done this on his own, which I respect and am glad for and lets him be one of my favorite people in all the world. And I'm going to be the best man. And I'm going to be wildly happy for my best friend and the woman he is going to marry, who is a lovely woman to say the least. And that's all fine and good all these years later, I can't wait for that day.

But at this moment in time I want to go on record as saying "What the fuck? Seriously dude? Wow."

And now, that is said. And now, I can simply stand back and enjoy everything to follow. Because some things are shady as shit, that's just how it is... but what's done is done and once the initial sting wears off, all that we're left with is two happy people, who are happy with someone else. And get to enjoy one anothers happiness as what it is. And that's a fucking rarity if there ever was one.

So "Ouch"? Yes. And then, moving right along.

Maybe I Can Be Even Clearer, Babydaddy:

If you keep reading my blog with such dedication, I can only assume you would like to see yourself in it more. Pictures and all.

I'm tacky, and I'll go there. Stop fucking stalking me, dude. Don't you have a wife and home and job and shit? Because generally when dudes stalk me, they are sleeping behind a local Martins and recognize me from shopping or something. Because stalking is kind of a tacky hobo behavior.

Don't be a tacky hobo, dude. It doesn't suit you. You're really more of a Little Lord Fauntleroy meets Damien Hybrid than a lifetime movie skid row creepster. Even I'll give you that.

Some Things

1) Over the weekend, my boyfriend did something amazing. He took me to a They Might Be Giants concert. There were not shirts I wanted in my size, and the teenagers in front of me were douchy as shit, and my breast hurt from the biopsy (really, they're a much cruder process than I had expected!), but it was They Might Be Giants, and both Johns were charming, and my boyfriend is not the hugest fan but was still willing to not even sit but stand through an entire show. Previous to that, there was amazing sushi, and much nagging from me about where we were going, and he was a gem all the while.

Unfortunate, however, was a young girl in the bathroom before the show. 8 minutes before the show, actually. She was slender and pretty and probably a couple of years younger than me (which is already a couple of years younger than your standard TMBG fan). She fell from the stall, asked if she could hug me, and fell into me before I could politely decline (though have we met me? The truth is I probably wasn't going to anyway). "Ijustlovethemsomuch!" she slurred, burped a little in me, and swooned back into the stall to throw up. While throwing up, however, she said something to the effect of how this was going to be the best show of her entire life.

And I never talk about this, seldom with my friends and almost never online, but now and again there's a moment: Here's one of those moments. That poor drunk little girl who couldn't even keep it together, already falling all over and puking in her hair before her favorite band even hit the stage, it was a little close to home. It was me 3 years ago, and it was unsettling to see what I was like now that so much time, so many meetings, and so many days without a single fucking scotch, neat, double, have passed. I remember often times that I quit drinking because I was a train wreck, but it's easy for me to forget exactly what that train wreck looked like. I just wasn't present for any part of my life, I was always blacked out and crying by time the most important parts got to me because I was celebrating their pending arrival. And it was sooo unsettling to me to see in this little girl, and it made me sooo grateful that I'm not that girl today.

And unrelated, it kept bringing me back to the thought of this chapter (this is not the best translation, I know) of the little prince http://www.angelfire.com/hi/littleprince/framechapter5.html ... I can't see the connection. Maybe it's something I was thinking of the last time I was drunk at a concert, fuck if I know. But, that's what I keep thinking of in relation to this drunk girl.

2) Girls Night:

I have really amazing girlfriends. I am very selective, there are maybe 8 girls in my life who I am close to for extremely different reasons, and I trust them and I feel safe with them. In the world of girls, this is no small thing to boast. Last night was girls night with a few of these girls, and I couldn't have been happier. I have women in my life who get my jokes, who I can gossip about the evils of gossip with, and who can periodically understand complete non-words "You know that blond girl with the face who was like... (insert weird non-word expression here)" "Oh, yeah! I know that girl". I am at peace with the females around me: That's fucking huge. And I blog it a lot because it always blows my mind. For all of my bitching, I have things going on that I don't really know other women who can claim.

3) Oh My God, SERIOUSLY, fucking roommate.

My roommate was one of my best friends. I went out on a huge limb to move with him. I put off decorating because he had certain ideas and I didn't want to step on his toes and do it all while he was out of town every week this summer with his girlfriend. I actually would never have selected this three bedroom duplex in a million years if I wasn't planning on having a roommate for at least a year. But, now that roommate isn't even my fucking friend, has only one friend (everyone has that one friend that dates that way I guess-- but still, it fucking sucks). And, he's moving out in January. Which he randomly told me on our (my?) porch a few weeks ago out of the clear blue sky and started offering up replacement roommates who he hadn't even talked to about it. And who I wouldn't let live with my child. And who maybe aren't employed or aren't looking for roommates, or who don't even like me.

And it's the shadiest, most childish, most irresponsible thing a fucking human being can do to a friend. And it hurts like fuck, and it also makes a complete mess out of my life and leaves me really scared of how I'm going to pay bills, etc.

And as if this wasn't all enough... seriously guy. Don't fucking keep all my plates in your room. If you flood the bathroom, fucking clean it up. be a little apologetic. Don't use forks on my fucking Teflon. Don't burn the bottoms of the handles of my saucepans.

Or not, whatever. I just wish the asshole would move now, I'm so hurt and furious and fed up. A bad friend a bad roommate AND screwing me over... what am I getting out of this? For real: This fucking sucks.

And, that is all. Now, to try to scrub the char off of the bottom of my pan handle, call my boyfriend to thank him again for an amazing Friday night, and to post pictures of my girls all up on the Internet, then to cuddle my favorite girl before writing those papers I like to put off until 3 hours before they are due as a rule.

So, I'm In Love.

What of it?

Well, since I prompted you to ask (and seem to feel certain that you all looked at your monitors and muttered to yourself "What of it indeed, Nanda?), here's what of it. That's when shit goes down.

No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition.

No one ever expects their boyfriend of 2 years to ask them out to dinner, and then suddenly say they want some space. As though this talk couldn't have been had over brushing teeth in the morning, or walking each other to the train. And yet, this is what happened to someone I love very much and the person she loved very much. The last time I saw her, with him, he went onandonandonandon about love and their future and how he worried about losing her.... blahblah. The guy's smarmy, lacks a degree of class that even I'm eligible to scoff him because of, she's better off I'm sure-- but whatever. That's not the point, not to her.

The point is, she didn't expect it. Because everything was fine.

When you hear about breakups, it's never "Oh, everything was completely terrible, they didn't get along, then one day he came home, she was having sex with the neighbor on the kitchen table, and they all had a good laugh about it and said "Whew, guess we can cut this act out now, huh?" You never hear about those kinds of things because quite frankly, they don't matter. Throwing away a dress that you don't like that doesn't merit the same kind of concern, conversation, or thought at all the way that, say, your favorite jeans suddenly tearing at the knee in that one place that can't be sewn up again... that's something you tell everyone about all day and feel ugly in everything you try on for months after.

And I'm not worried about what would happen to my unhappy relationship if it wasn't around anymore... hoorah if that be the case. I'm worried about my happy relationship. It's always when people think they're happy that shit goes down.

Always.

Unrelated, besides being a mother, student, girlfriend, friend, etc... I am now a tooth fairy. There wasn't any training or certification or officialization... my daughter called out from the back seat of my ex boyfriends car on family day "Hey Mommy, my tooth came out". I took a picture of the bloody slightly scared grin with a hole in the middle, made a quiet call to my sweet perfect boyfriend (who is inevitably going to break up with me out of nowhere when I least suspect it because I feel that way) to request a gift and 3 gold dollars to be dropped off discretely after hours, and it was on. There was some crawling into the bedroom on all fours in the dark. There was some half crawling out, a surprise cameo from the roommate (because he's not here much, yes, but also because like, it was dark: Surprise!") which involved loud gasping at a loud door closing at the end of the hall.

He was like "What are you doing?!" and I was like "Ssh!! I'm the tooth fairy!". Thank God my daughter sleeps like a 52 year old drunk man for that confession of secret identity. I mean seriously-- did I need to clarify to such a degree? I guess it was only the lack of megaphone that stopped me from tagging on "I'm also Santa, that sleeping bird the other day was actually dead, and I didn't even want to have her until the 5th month of pregnancy!"

Seriously. I can't believe they gave me a baby. And, that she's lived long enough to lose teeth, and mentally healthy enough to sleep soundly knowing I'm the woman in charge while she's dreaming.

I mean fuck... it keeps me awake at night all the time.

And, that is all. Now, while awaiting a random breakup from my boyfriend because I'm deeply in love, and to find out in the morning that my daughter heard everything and KNOWS I'm the tooth fairy, a damn liar, and clearly scared of the dark (I'm really actually quite lucky the night light didn't give me away) and she never wants to speak to me again, I suppose I should do some of my homework. Because I think I failed to mention this: It's also a new semester, with new assignments, and 2 classes that I don't want, that I can't possibly enjoy, and that I haven't even started the reading for.

I may be the tooth fairy in real life, but it's only a rich fantasy world in which I'm an actual grownup.

"We Stopped At Perfect Days"

I deleted this post. Because it was ridiculously mushy and discussed the shade of the boyfriends neck and the way he swings his arms when he walks. But we did stop at perfect days the day this was posted initially, and I would relive the moments that were posted here a million times over if I could. But, at the same time, I wouldn't want to have to read them as they were written whilst trying not to gag at my own words even once more.

Sometimes, Actually, You Can Have Too Much Of A Good Thing.

Seriously. If I ever ever ever have to go to the fucking zoo again, I will lose my mind-- literally. You will find me muttering to myself while attempting to feed my own hand to an Emu or something.

2 times in one day? Really? I've totally had worse ideas, I know... but on this particular day, I absolutely can't imagine what those might have been.

This Is My Life

Last night it was my pleasure to see a very lovely wedding with Mass, which filled me with waves of Catholic guilt a non-practicing should ever have to feel, and a deep sense of relief that there is that non practicing whatnot: There was about 128 mentions of the bride and grooms children, need for children, intent for children, and Catholic responsibility to give children. Honestly, there may not have actually been 128 mentions... but there were definitely at least 12.

Babies, Babies, Babies.

Interesting side-note... when all was said and done, the newlyweds were riding back to the reception with us because my boyfriend has a 2010 Hummer and until someone gets a 2011 Hummer, he's got the most MTV Pimp My (Event Here) car in town. Which is funny, but not the side note. The side note is this: I was talking to the bride and said something about cranking out those babies and was she nervous about all the talk about it, and she stared at me blankly and said she hadn't noticed. But then, she's a regular church goer and I'm a single mother: We may have different triggers.

After this it was my lovely pleasure to sit at the not dancing table with the not present boyfriend (not like he's not there for me or something like that, I mean physically: He doesn't like to be around me when we're out because he has too many social responsibilities. I assure you, that marriage would never have lasted if he had brought me a cup of coffee or had a piece of cake with me or something-- whew. At least one of us was thinking. Understand, I am rolling my eyes somewhat severely here, not in an "I should break up with him" kind of a way, but in a "most girls" would break up with him kind of way), drinking enormous amounts of coffee with his best friend who had unofficially become my plus one by making conversation with me and pouring me iced tea, and discussing the eventual joys of pregnancy (AFTER said baby gets all up out of the uterus) with a very close preggie friend of the not present boyfriend who I find to be quite a joy (disclaimer, we were discussing it strictly for her, I am not pregnant, I realize that may have read that way... whew).

And this sounds like a normal night in the life of a normal if not slightly dysfunctional unmarried couple in the Midwest. Less so, is that we had to leave the reception no later than 10:30... Because we were going to be on time for the scheduled private evening with WWF Wrestling champion Hacksaw Jim Duggan.

That's right: My boyfriend bought a wrestler.

Now in fairness, he didn't singularly buy this human being for the evening, someone else chipped in as well. The point is not, however, who paid with him: The point is, on a Saturday night I was in the company of a bought living person who is extremely famous in the wrestling scene.

And, he was actually a very nice man, if not a little excessively trashy. He did know a lot of euphemisms for the act of performing fellatio and how to work them into completely unrelated conversations, and he absolutely without a doubt managed to tell my boyfriend in several ways that he would like to see his (very attractive) sister and (well, I'm very attractive, it's true) girlfriend exchanging rather adult natured pleasantries. Which my boyfriend beamed at because I guess what normally requires threatening words and perhaps a threat to fight is quite less offensive when uttered by a famous douche bag in a bar.

Fair enough.

Eventually a couple of my superbest girlfriends came out, one had her cleavage signed, by boyfriend maybe had way too much to drink, and the night was over. The entire next day I wandered around thinking to myself in a sleepy haze... "This is my life."

My boyfriend buys wrestlers, I'm going to be married at an excessively old age, and the Catholic church will want babies from me that I don't want to give them. My cosmic Internet soulmate gets her breasts signed by celebrities she's not familiar with because it's good blog fodder and she's fucking fabulous in ways I don't know how to explain, my daughter will be home tomorrow and I can't tell her about parts of my week while she was away, and my desktop has a picture of me clutching saucily at a middle aged man with long hair, a beer gut, and the undying affection of my deeply Indian boyfriend who more than once began a chant of "USA" in one of the less cultural bars in our town on Saturday because really, he's the most all American boy you'll ever meet and loves wrestlers, their catch phrases, and I secretly think the baffled looks of some clueless bar guests for which the evening must have looked even more surreal than it did to me in the morning.

This is my life.

Hey, Fisher?!

Who reads me from there? For real? My boyfriend assured me it's not his best friend who he mentioned lives there (he seemed to think it was completely absurd that I would find myself so interesting-- actually said that as a matter of fact... fair enough, but ouch) and after he talked to me like I was crazy for about 5 minutes I hung my head in shame and realized clearly it's not that.

So who the fuck is it? Because I looked it up and it's some fancy part of Indy. If I know some fancy person in Indy, can I come tan in your back yard and go swimming? I love tanning and swimming.

Another 3 Things I Have Learned About Myself

1) My healthiest relationships are always, without fail, with my exes.

I don't know why, it's just one of those things. I want to date all of my best friends so we can break up and be even closer. I realize this may not be a reasonable statement, but neither is "My healthiest relationships are always, without fail, with my exes". Sometimes, reasonable has nothing to do with it, not with this girl.

2) I'm one of those girls that just shouldn't look up pictures of her boyfriends ex wife.

I'm prettier, sure. And I'm almost definitely nicer. But, the lady has a better body. I mean, it's double mine, I'm not denying that... but it's just a better all around shape. And there's no reason I should have needed to know that. There's also no reason Facebook ought to think we should be friends. I sleep on what was probably her side of the bed. We don't need to share anything else.

3) Actually, I write a pretty fucking good paper the night before class.

And I guess I kind of already knew that... but it's nice to reaffirm.

Things I Have Learned About Myself This Week

1)I can't make zucchini bread.

I really can though, actually. I'm all about it, I can do it with my eyes closed, I know how much of this and that I like and when the air is drier or moister and the oil or flour needs to take that into consideration or there needs to be a few tablespoons of pudding instead of actual vanilla extract... so it's not that I can't make zucchini bread really. It's that I can't bake zucchini bread that comes out successfully, ever.

Great texture and flavor? Yes.

Burnt crusts? Every last fucking time.

2) I don't care how much time you give me, I'm not going to start on my final project until 2 nights before it's due.

No, really. Always. Did I get a weekly study guide broken down into 4 perfect little painless sections, about 20 minutes of work a night? Did I care?

Yes and no. Now I've got 3 days to do about 5 hours of work, which isn't so bad. But the last 3 days, when about 14 hours of work was done? Well, that was a little more bad.

3) I can be such an asshole.

Even if my boyfriend and I don't care about people hitting on me or me flirting with people or having crushes (a girl has to get her banter somewhere, and my boyfriend is a scientist-- he doesn't want to bother, and I don't have the energy to try and force him to), there's a 3rd party here that ought be considered. Sometimes, the guy in my aloof thoughtless flirting web is just an innocent bystander who has recently had their heart broken and people feel the need to remind me to 'be careful with that'. To which I say I have a boyfriend, I'm not trying to start anything with anyone at all, duh. To which well meaning person will peer at me point blank and say "Exactly".

Ohhhh.

4) I'm now one of those girls that overdoes it lifting at the gym because she was still feeling pumped when she should have hit her cardio for a while.

Seriously. My arms are still fucking killing me, but I was feeling it-- I couldn't quit!

I have a problem.

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.