Confession

So remember the relationship that I mentioned "broke" me during the in-between time?

Well, I happen to be in contact with someone who resembles the guy from that relationship so VERY well, it's scary. The voice. The hand gestures. The laugh. Even the god d*** smile.

This new person is nice. Not someone to hold this against. But anytime I manage to spend more than a few minutes of time with them, I am left spend about 2 hours full of inner rage against the ORIGINAL. The one who destroyed me. No, he didn't hurt. I would never let him HURT me. No, he just screw with me and my mind and all that I thought I knew about everything. And then left me floating on a river of uncertainty, where I let myself be led down the current to places I shouldn't have gone.

You can defend him and say that it's not HIS fault and I should have controlled things better, but this bastard used me and dumped me over the phone on my birthday people. And he was out of college when this occured, so don't go sticking up for him!

Anyway, those 2 hours of rage are pretty extreme, and let me know that maybe we never fully get over those guys that screw us over. I have a friend who recently got screwed over by someone and I warned about this side effect that I am living with.

On the flip side, I ran into him at a wedding of a mutual friend recently and had the DISTINCT pleasure of giving him the complete cold shoulder and being able to show him how completely happy I was (I was attending with the man who would be my fiance within 2 months) while he had no date at all. It really felt wonderful. However, I still have to live with the relapse of hatred and anger anytime I spend too much time with his doppelganger.

And that is my confession. My . . . hmm . . . third glass of whiskey is empty. And I don't think it will be refilled now. So no more confessions tonight.

Love . . . . or something like it

I don't know if I even know what love is anymore.

Yes, I am engaged to be married - so such a statement should be quite shocking.

Yes, I love my fiance. And yes, I know I can spend the rest of my life with him. But I don't believe in "true love". I don't think that the romantic love that is sold in movies and books and Hallmark cards even exists. Yes, I used to watch the movies (now, not so much) and yes I read the books (guilty pleasure) but no, I don't think it exists. It's a fairy tale. It's just not REAL. It's total crap.

It all goes back to a horrible relationship that I had during what my fiance and I refer to as the "in between time". You see, our story is a very romantic story for most people to hear. We were college sweethearts. The couple that everyone thought would marry first. Heck, we were the couple I thought would marry first. I loved him with all of my young and naive little heart. Then life got in the way. After college our lives took different paths and they didn't intertwine very well. We fought constantly. And I just got tired I guess. Rather lazy of me. And I actually hated myself after awhile for being so lazy. But the in between time started when we broke up. (And to finish our romantic story before I go off on some drunken tangent - because I AM drinking right now - years later, after I had moved across country and we hadn't spoken for year, and we had random run-ins at airports in very movie-like moments, we met again on facebook, reconnected, and decided to spend the rest of our lives together in classic romantic movie format)

It was during the in between time that I had the bad relationship. The one that I fully believe broke me. I've never been the same since. I was cynical. I drank alot. I became introspective. I became a loner. I lost who I was. I lost my sense of self.

So, whether or not I've given readers (which I doubt there are any) enough back story, I will tell you where I am today. My fiance is at work. Where he always is. I have had a LONG week at work. I have been looking forward to Friday like crazy. It was the beacon in the distance. The day I could sit back and unwind. The day most normal people want to unwind with that special someone. But me, I unwind with a glass of whiskey. Because I am back to my drinking ways - the heavy drinking and drinking alone. Is this good or bad? And this is ONLY the FIRST Friday he had to work on his new schedule.

Sometimes, I think I stopped believing in love because I was protecting myself back in the in-between times. I was hurt a lot back then. And a person can only take so much beating before they start to find SOME sort of armor to wield. Then I never learned to take it down. I'm sure I CAN take it down for the fiance. Because he DOES believe in the romantic love. (I have a bad habit of telling him to "man up" or laughing off his more sensitive moments - I am a HORRIBLE person)

I really am trying to overcome this handicap of mine. I want to. Because I know I am with a man who I can trust enough to do so. It's not like we don't have our problems. He forgets to do the dishes, fold the laundry, etc. But that is part of learning to live together. What I need to do is learn to let go of all my pain and hurt from not ONLY the between time, but also the first time we dated (because lets face it, there is still some pain there) and let myself love with all that silly and sappy romantic love that other people seem to have.

Unless I have simply morphed into one of those cynical people and am unchangeable. Is there something wrong with ME? Is this the worry that goes through the minds of people as their wedding date approaches?

Or this could just be the alcohol talking.

"Man she's got issues and she's taking them all out on me"

Assumptions

One of my biggest pet peeves while I am driving is people that ASSUME that just because I drive a little bug it means my car must have no pick-up. So right before a red light, they do all they can to get in front of me (so that when it turns green, they won't be behind that slow bug). Or they pull out right in front of me, because OBVIOUSLY they can get going faster than a little beetle.

What these naive drive do NOT know is that under my hood is a turbo engine and that my little honey (named Tracey) can go quite fast. She is speedy. And she can mow down their hunks of steel. If they would just get OUT of my way, I could be ON my way. Really people, you don't drive as fast as you think you do.

Why did you work SO hard to pass me, only to go the speed limit, when I was obviously going about 5 miles over it? If I wanted to do the speed limit, I would have been doing it. And you aren't doing me any favors by keeping me within the limits. Really. You aren't my mother. You aren't my father. Get out of my way.

Honestly. I may be a bit over aggressive. It's true. But you have to be to make it on the roads these days. And I can't stand people that just make the assumption that my little car doesn't have the guts to go. Because believe me, she does.

Waiting

Sitting on the floor Indian style
Waiting for my Gin to hit me
Momma sayin prayers for her bad child
Waiting for my Gin to hit me

Lately, it feels that I spend all my time. I wait at work. I wait at home. I wait on the way to work. I wait at the store. I'd love to capture all that time that I spend waiting and get just a QUARTER of it back and use for some better purpose.

Well here it comes just like I knew it would
A warm feelin that makes me feel good
Laying on my back no pillow for my head
Waitin for my Gin to hit me
Well I can't sleep til I'm half dead
Waiting for my Gin to hit me

Lately, I go in to work each day, thinking THIS day will be different. THIS day I won't have to wait. I will have all the data I need to begin working on the current problem at home. I work with my team and we map out our direction. We have a plan of attack. We KNOW how we will get things done. And our plan is brilliant. We will get the work done, once and for all, and we can move ON to something else. Get this monkey off our backs. But then we work down our plan. And hit a wall.

We take an alternate route.

Another wall.

We sit back and formulate another plan.

Another wall.

We go home. Come back the next day. Formulate a NEW and BETTER plan.

Another wall.

It all comes down to the horrid and awful truth. We simply must wait for others to provide us the things we next to move on. And no one but use seems to care that time is just ticking by. Ever so slowly. Does no one else want to move on from this project???

Sitting on the floor Indian style
Waiting for my Gin to hit me
Momma sayin prayers for her bad child
Waiting for my Gin to hit me

At home, I wait always for the Fiance. I may as well be single and living alone for all that I see him. Granted, I see him more NOW that I did before he moved to the east coast to be with me. But between his work schedule and mine, I eat all my meals alone with my last paperback novel. I spend my evenings on the couch with my dog or on the computer or doing the housework. The days creep by as I wait until the nights I get a chunk of 4 or 5 hours with him. Then those evenings are gone and I wait, once again, for another evening with him.

Some tell me that this means we won't ever fight! But that is only because we see each other only in passing. We discussing division of housework in notes. He wakes me up as he crawls into bed late at night. I wake him up and I crawl out of bed early in the morning.

And yet, I keep waiting to see him. And waiting for him to work up the ladder of seniority until he has a better chance of getting better hours so that I don't HAVE to wait so long to see him . . .

Well here it comes just like I knew it would
A warm feelin that makes me feel good
Laying on my back no pillow for my head
Waitin for my Gin to hit me

How much time does the average N. Virginian spend waiting in traffic? I am sure there is a statistic out there - but goodness, I've spent 3 hours going 20 miles before (3 accidents on 95 north during morning rush hour). Weekend traffic in the summer. Christmas traffic. Friday traffic before a holiday weekend. Merging off of HOV. Stop and go. Creeping inch by inch. Your car becomes your home - and your music capabilities very important. Learn any possible alternate routes. What stations give the best traffic. Or just get used to waiting. Because you'll be waiting for something all your life. Even if you don't know what you are waiting for.

Now don't bury me until I'm dead
Cause I'm waiting for my Gin to hit me
Waiting for my Gin to hit me

* lyrics from Waiting for my Gin to Hit Me - by The Skeletons, a great song, even if my drink of choice is Jack or bourbon

Yuppification

This morning, while brewing my morning cup of coffee (iced, with creamer and sugar) on my Keurig, it hit me that my Keurig, no matter how much I love it, is the final nail in the coffin of my youth.

I had always saw myself as outside "the crowd". I did my own thing. I wore flares and corduroy blazers when other girls wore straight-legs and hoodies. I had a pixie cut when long and straight was in. I listened to music genres when I felt like it - and not when it was the cool thing to do. I didn't go out of my way to be different (that is just as bad as being one of the drones, really) - I just WAS.

But then I got cranky. What is that horrible noise that is playing on the radio today? And the clothes in stores? It looks like the eighties woke up and threw up everywhere. I find myself clutching my old music in terror. Listening to softer rock (GASP) and shopping at the Gap (HORROR).

I bought a home in the suburbs. Have a little poodle-mix fru-fru dog. I drink iced coffee made in my high-end Keurig on my way to work each morning, wearing clean-cut clothes from the Gap and Banana Republic. My wide-leg jeans and flannel have found new homes through the good-will.

I worry to my fiancé that we are becoming Yuppies.

Me: We can't be TOTAL Yuppies - we own a record player. No true Yuppies would ever play a record.

Fiancé: No, that record player is something a Yuppie would buy in an attempt to prove they aren't a Yuppie, but fail.

Me: Grrr.

Is being a Yuppie so bad? Doesn't it just mean that I am a young professional? Does it mean that I am doing well in today's world, despite the economy and all the things that could potentially go wrong? Or is it more? Does it mean that I've let go of my ability to be young and individualistic? Do I now follow the crowd? Have I been socialized?

Which came first, though - the Yuppification or the success? Don't you have to start with the dressing nicer to get that first job? Then you start, bit by bit, to be yuppier and yuppier to do better and better until suddenly you've crossed the line of no return. Then suddenly you buy that house in the suburbs. Have the poodle-mix fru-fru dog. And stand in front of your Keurig one morning realizing that you've put the final nail in the coffin of your youth.

A Good Day to Die

I probably devote 30 minutes a day - minimum - to pondering how I will die. I don't believe it will be a peaceful death, surrounded by loved ones in a hospital bed. Or in my own comfy bed in my sleep. I won't be old and gray.

No. I picture my death as brutal. Bloody. A car accident, perhaps. Body parts scattered across the highway. Stabbing. Gun shot. Blood and tissue splattered across a white wall. Pieces of my body collected in a box, some missing, and handed to my next of kin with deepest regrets. The pain is great at the finale - but isn't the pain of living rather great itself?

I can see that sort of death for me. A young death. Terrible tragedy. Little old ladies clucking as they gossip over it. I don't see a happy ending. Not because I'm depressed. I just don't see a happy ending for me.

The upside to such an ending is no need for retirement savings. Just blow it all and live in the moment. All that retirement savings is is simply a very large bet that you will live to spend it. Granted, one that most people WANT to win. but how many actually live to spend that retirement savings?

If you be against living to retirement and lose - find yourself old and poor - you can always cheat and STILL win by bringing death to you own door. It's quite simply a bet that you can't lose!

Okay, so I'm morbid. So what? For some people, the probability of death is success, not failure.

Maybe I just think too much.

The Itch

I got a couple drinks in me tonight and started feeling the itch. But not the itch that normal people feel.

Oh no.

Not me.

That could never happen.

No, I felt the urge to start blogging again.

Now, we all know where that road has led before. But road can take different twists and turns. I could be on a different roads for all that I know. But here I am. Blogging my bleeding heart out.

So I reclaimed the old blog. Amazing how a girl can remember old passwords and log-on names. (And dude, I haven't posted since April 2006). Then I read my old posts. And deleted them. Time to move on and start again.

I started this blog back in 2005 as a grad student who just wanted to get a degree, find a better d*** job, a grown man that would love her, and a bit of independence from her parents. Well, flash forward 4 years - and I've got a master's degree, an awesome job, a fiance, and I own a home halfway across the country from my parents and the town I grew up in. Think I found that happy ending and the pot of gold at the end of rainbow?

Honeymoon's not over yet.