I'll Stay The Same

As I was driving home from work yesterday it occurred to me that I had just posted a bunch of words that made it sound as if I was complaining that I'd never been a junkie or some shit like that. And I got embarrassed.

And then, because the thought popped into my head, I was convinced that I talked about the fact that I don't inspire passion in people. Based on the fact that nobody has ever driven for two hours, parked outside of my house and then slept in their car overnight to make sure I saw them and they could plead their case to me the next day. Totally forgetting the detail that this person was a junkie. And totally forgetting that I didn't write about that because the thought just popped into my head.

And then, I spent the rest of the evening having long bouts of uncontrollable crying!

Welcome to my brain on birth control. I've entered that magical week and a half-ish time frame where I lose all sense of logic and reason for pockets of time, I spout off whatever mess pops into my brain and then, oh....about 30 minutes or so later I realize what I've done and I'm deeply embarrassed and have no desire to face anyone ever again.

So, no more birth control for me. None. For a few reasons. One? I'm tired of being a guinea pig trying to find one that is going to work for me. Two? I don't exactly need it at this juncture in my life. And three? My health insurance has changed at work due to the economy and my current gynecologist doesn't take my insurance and to continue to go to her I'm going to have to pay the out of network costs so now I can only go see her for my annual exam and emergencies. I'm not going to pay extra money to go crazy once a month. I'm just not.

So. That's that. I don't wish I was a junkie. I don't wish I was dysfuntional in order to feel interesting. I don't wish I attracted the attention of dysfunctional, junkie type men who do weird and obsessive things to feel that I'm desired or make people feel that passionate about me and being with me. But, apparently, whatever hormone they use in OrthoTricyclen Lo does. Crazy fucking hormone.

Next month? You'll get to hear all about how my cramps are trying to murder me by making my uterus explode and that I just filmed the sequel to Carrie. I know...I'm excited about that, too.

My Kind's Your Kind

So, I've been sitting about doing a lot of thinking recently. I, apparently, do that a lot. Which, could be good or bad depending on what the topic is I'm allowing my brain to focus on for so long. The most recent topic is my status of being boring and relatively normal.

I've become convinced that this is going to ultimately be my downfall. I don't create nor welcome drama into my life. I don't create a scene. I don't attract attention by doing outlandish things. I'm simply me.

I don't have a history of being abused. Sure, I'm divorced, but not because I was cheated on or beaten or forced to have three ways with trannies while he watched. It was for boring and adult and reasonable reasons.

My entire existence is boring and adult and reasonable.

I don't need anybody to take care of me. I don't need anybody to swoop in and give me guidance.

I come from a small town in a small state and I was relatively free from crime and strife.

My Mom and Dad are still together and have a very normal, loving relationship.

I don't drink frequently. I don't do drugs. And I've never been addicted to anything. Once I decided to be an adult and not hang out partying with my friends? I just simply did that.

And I'm not interested in fancy frou frou things just for the sake of being interested in those things. I have no desire to go to hip or cool or trendy new restaurants. Not unless the food really is good. And they don't mind if I ask for ketchup if they provide me with french fries.

I don't like wine. I really don't. And if I'm eating, I'd much prefer to have tea or a coke. Or even water.

So, I'm not only boring and normal but I'm tragically uncool.

And what I'm starting to notice and pay attention to as I'm out in the world and / or talking to those I talk to....I believe most people are attracted to all of the things that I'm not. Even if it drives them crazy. Even if it causes them to then act crazy and irritable and say they don't like it. It doesn't really seem to be the reality.

I'm too boring and too "normal" and I'm going to be boring and normal and alone with my dogs and my photography hobby and that's just gonna be that. I'm gonna continue to wake up in the mornings by the sounds of my radio alarm clock and dance to cheesy tunes like "Jessie's Girl" as I proclaim today to be a good day!

And I don't want that.

Maybe I should stop brushing my hair. I could try to write bad poetry about my woe over never huffing paint. I could wear mismatched clothes and hole strew shoes and talk about how it's my statement against the mundane!

I dunno. I should probably be thankful that my life has been so uneventful and free of such things that others have dealt with. That I don't have a truly sad story to tell. Yet.

It's coming. I just have to be patient...

What You Say Is Way Too Complicated

My parents had to put our dog to sleep earlier this year. I was sad when I heard. I was in my early 20s when Dad brought her home. She was homeless and wild and would bolt out the door anytime it was opened for more than a second. But once she realized that was home and they would always provide her with food and comfort? She settled down and became a groovy little dog. It was weird to not see her when I was home. And it was sad when I went to her grave they made for her at my Granny's house. And I just felt like I needed to mention that.

While I was home I photographed a wedding. For money! I was paid to take photos. Which, is weird. And I really didn't like it. And now that I'm editing the photos, it's like...a chore. It's not how I usually feel when I'm going through and editing and working on photos that I wanted to take. Which, naturally, made me believe that anytime something I love becomes a "job" it takes away the joy. But, that can't be. People say all the time that you should do what you love! Find a job that will allow you to do that! And so maybe I just don't love doing wedding photos. And that I'd be happier if someone paid me to take photos for them at the zoo. Or of their flower gardens. Or take candids of them and their friends and / or family at an event they want documented. Things of that sort make me happy. It's looser. It's funner. It's more off the cuff and not so defined. And I like that. Not so much the wedding photos. But now I know. This is how you figure these things out.

I have a long list of little piddly crap things I have to take care of and it's adding up and driving me crazy. I need to package up a bunch of shit and mail it. I need to make CDs. I need to finish editing the wedding photos I was paid to do. I need to clean my kitchen. I need to change the sheets on my bed. I need to get my dogs' nails trimmed. I need to brush my Golden. I need to clean my bathroom. I need to mail my Dad a key to my place. I need to send people directions to the meetup tomorrow. I need to do my actual job. I need to vaccuum. I need to balance my checkbook. I need to take out the trash. I need to buy a few cards to go in the packages. I need to buy shoes for the wedding. I need to mail my dress to Randi so it's not all wrinkley from the flight. I need more time!

Yeah. Not so much. Maybe I just needed to make a list. Yeah. And now you see my list. My blog has become a glorified list. I should pack it in...

'Cause You Can't Take A Fish For A Walk

So, I've been in a battle with my beagle. She's become quite fond of laying on top of the back cushion of my favorite chair. And I don't want her to because she's gonna smoosh it and make it all out of shape and she's a dog and she must do as I say. Yeah! So, we've been fighting for a bit. Because she's a stubborn assed beagle.

I've shooed her away. I've yelled at her. I've glared. I've said "Off!" and pointed my finger. And she moved, but she always goes back as soon as I leave the room for 10 seconds.

Well, this morning I made her sit down and I talked to her. I became that person. The person that decides that her dog will understand all of her words and will listen and this will work!

So, I sat her down and I talked calmly and rationally to her. "Phoebe, look. I really don't want you to lay on the top of that cushion. I like my furniture. I like the way it looks. That's my favorite seat in the house. And you're gonna make the cushion all smooshy and uncomfortable for me." And she's just looking at me and staring with this look on her little beagle face and I finished up with "So, that's the rule. You cannot lay there. You don't have to like it, you just have to follow it. OK? Good talk." And I walked away shaking my head in disbelief that I just did that. That I'm now somebody who would be a good participant for a reality show. I'm a crazy talking to her dog lady.

But I go about the rest of my morning.

And then I peek my head out of my room into the living room convinced that she'll be laying right the fuck on top of that cushion again. But no. She's on the couch. Laying on the seating area of the couch like a good dog.

So...yeah. There's that.

She'll Break You In Two

If you have a delicious lunch at Five Guys Burgers and Fries, it is really not a grand idea to go home and let your Wii Fit weigh you. I also just learned that while you are on the webpage for Five Guys to get the URL you should not find out that there is one about 20 minutes away while at the same time whining about your weight. This is not a plan for success. Unless success would be eating bacon cheeseburgers and being fat and filled with the desire for naps. Then sure, a nearby Five Guys location is a plan for a win!

I received my invite to Randi's wedding on Monday. It's a lovely invitation. Nice colors. Good font. Nice ribbon. The envelope is even pretty. But it was addressed to Andrea and Guest. And I was instantly caught off guard by the emotions that popped into my head and my chest. In that one instant of reading the words "and Guest" I went from feeling OK to feeling more lonely than I've felt in some time. I don't like being caught off guard by such feelings. I'm still trying to shake that one. Yeah.

My Mom found out about my Flickr a month or so ago. She indicated she'd never visit again and showered me with praise about my many talents. I went home this past weekend. And she kept making references to things I'd said on Flickr. So...yeah. My Mom is Flickr stalking me and so there's one less place I have to be free.

Walls are closing in on me. It's my own fault really. I've been careless. I let my guard down, dropped some walls, and got all open and sharey and careless. And now people are in. And poking around and seeing what's there to see.

Oh sure, I was letting strangers poke around and see what there is to see. But that's safe. A stranger isn't going to sit with me over dinner and ask me why I'm not dating. Why most of my pictures are taken within the confines of my apartment. Why I'm closed off and making people feel unwanted. Strangers don't do such things over a nice meal. They just offer to buy my panties and things of that sort. Things I can deal with and handle and walk away from. Yeah.

Yeah, I'm not gonna take the pill anymore. After I'm done with the package I'm on I'm done. I'm done being a guinnea pig. I'm done putting all of these hormones into my body and wondering why I'm such a paranoid emotional mess. Is it because of the pill or is it because that's who I am? If I take the pill away, I'll no longer have that confusion. Less confusion is good. Sure, more horrid cramps and hemmoraging aren't good, but I've weighed it out. Less emotional rollercoaster trumps increased pain and disgustingness. I need to feel as if I'm in more control over myself than I have been.

I have to pay my taxes today. Goddammit.

Yeah.

So Beautiful Our Lunacy

The other day I needed to run to Target and then the grocery store. And at first I was just going to slip on whatever was laying about and put the hair in a band and go. But then I reconsidered and I took a shower and got dressed and did the hair and all that whole routine.

Now, some of you may be thinking that it's because I realized that every time you leave the house is an opportunity to make an impression. That you never know who you may encounter or run into out there in the world. So look your best! Dress to impress!

You'd be wrong.

Because what crossed my mind instead was this - "What if I get abducted?"

And then I looked at myself and decided that if I were to be abducted, I'd need to look way better than I did. Because once I escaped, and I would escape because I'm the deadly combo of feisty and determined, they'd interview me on the TV and I'd need to look better after escaping my 15 minutes of being 'napped. I could imagine some confusion and disappointment on the part of the reporter if I was looking all haggardly and they want to hear all about the days on end I spent trapped by this crazed loon who dared to 'nap me when I revealed, instead, that he'd only been able to hold on to me for 15 minutes. I can't disappoint the reporters.

So, I showered and dressed. And? Managed to not get 'napped. That was a good day.

That's Where I Feel So Beautiful

Hi.

Go here, read what she has to say, and vote. For her. Please. She's an amazing photographer and her dream is beautiful. It speaks to me personally. I still struggle on some days to find the beauty that is my own face. The beauty that is my own body. And it sucks. And there's too many of us that have these same feelings. And she knows this. She was, and sometimes still is, one of us. And she has a daughter who is one of us. And she wants to use this opportunity to show her daughter, and daughters everywhere, that we are all beautiful and special. And that is beautiful. Please...vote for her.

Today. This is the last day. So...go! Shoo! Vote! NOW!

Thank you.