Saturday, November 23, 2013

He's Not Your Boyfriend


You know that guy who texts you on Friday night and Saturday night, around eight or 9 o'clock? Yeah, he's not your boyfriend, but he will keep you company "later," if he has nothing better to do, after he's had a few beers.  Always remember his generosity to you.

He's calling to make sure that you're not out with someone else, having a good time, because you certainly aren't used to that.  He wants to be sure that you are not widening your social circle, so that he will seem like a really good option. Oh, he's also wanting to wreck your social time with other people, if possible.  

He assumes that you couldn't possibly be out without him, except that he's never taken you out, he never intends to take you out, and he can't fathom that anyone else would ever want to take you out. He's perfectly comfortable with dropping by your place, and expecting you to spend your time at home with him, doing whatever activity would make him happy.  I'll leave that to your imagination.

Don't worry that you look like a hag, or that you're not dressed to the nines, because he doesn't really care what you look like, as long as you're not out with other people. It won't deter him from putting the moves on you, even if you tell him not to bother trying.  If you're sad, he'll be the guy who brings you lots of alcohol to help you forget all of your worries so that you can pay attention to him. What a guy!

He will, of course, offer the hospitality of his place to you, for a couple of hours.  If you come to where he lives, even better, because he won't have to bother driving. Aww, you know it isn't that he thinks you're not worth the gas money. He just wants to inspire you by showing you what he's done with the place!  He has completely redesigned the closets, after all, and he will gladly offer suggestions about what you can do to remodel yours. 

There's plenty of encouragement that you can make your closets more efficient, all by yourself without any help from him, because you are such a capable person.  After all, you don't have to borrow tools from anybody now that you know that you can go to Lowe's and find them all by yourself. If you wear some sexy clothes and doll yourself up completely, you might even garner enough attention for the Tool World staff to notice you perusing every rack for answers, and they might even assist you while you wander blindly, looking for carpentry skills to purchase. (You would have rocked the world with your Contractor Barbie!)

Being so capable, you might even figure out where to safely store all of those tools you purchased in your tiny place. You could even remodel your home by yourself, with his mere approval, so that you might have all the extra rooms he has.  Admit it, you've outgrown the amusing novelty of shoehorning a laundry room, kitchen, pantry, and dining room into a space the size of his bathroom.  

And later on, his verbal help and brainpower will obligate you to do things for him.  Words, after all, are worth so much more than actual physical labor.  Ideas are more important than implementation. Just ask any engineer.

Don't forget how excited you are, when he texts you in the middle of a rare evening out, to tell you all the details about the new cookware he's bought himself.  Just listen to all the wonderful things he's going to cook for other people. Aren't you lucky to know what a fantastic cook he is?  It's so great to know people who have fabulous skills, who are thoughtful enough not to bother you with demonstrating them for you.  

Such a sweet guy, not to bother you with by interfering while you show your independence by doing it all with no help.  I'm sure he would treat a daughter the same way so that she would never need to rely on any man. I'll bet he would even let potential sons-in-law know that the secret to a woman's love is not drawing any attention to her birthday, so that she won't have to remember she's just getting old.  

"Shh! Don't even mention it to her! It draws double attention if you mention that her birthday falls on a romantic holiday! Better just ignore the date completely, to spare her feelings! She's so sensitive about this birthday thing! Best to just ignore it!"

He will, however, willingly make that sacrifice himself, so that you can stay in practice for buying him gifts.  And don't forget, you do owe him, for all the things he's done for you, such as gracing you with his presence for a couple of hours at a time.

Maybe I was wrong about the boyfriend thing.  He actually sounds like husband material with all these attributes. What a prince!

(You DO understand irony, don't you?)


Monday, November 18, 2013

Don't Fear the Palette

Tomorrow I'm going to a local oil painting studio to check into classes for myself.  I didn't know there was such a place in town -- my hometown is usually a place devoid of any opportunity to learn visual art. Well, that is, unless you are a child. We do have a few fine art teachers for the kids, but for the adults, not much choice.

Fourteen years ago, I taught myself to paint florals and landscapes from instructional books and practice cards, but there were a few details that I had difficulty with until I attended One Stroke painting certification.  I passed my certification and had a ridiculously fun time that weekend, and finally mastered painting cabbage roses.  I came home and attempted to teach painting classes, but they never quite came together.  I painted several mailboxes, a couple of small murals, various glassware, and several more decorative items, but eventually lost my heart for it because it seemed I was the only one interested in my skills.  (Talent?  Well, I suppose it's possible.  But I don't want to be presumptuous.)


One of the mailboxes I painted for someone.  See? I did nice work once upon a time.  (Blame the crummy Sony camera for the blurriness of the photo.) I believe that I still could, if I had some inspiration. It makes me happy to make pretty things, especially if other people enjoy them and flatter me endlessly about what a great artiste I am.  ;).  

Really, I'm a frustrated wannabe artist seriously lacking in motivation.  And viable workspace.  

Ah, let me clarify something,  I DO NOT WANT TO PAINT ANYTHING ELSE ON CORRUGATED METAL.  Rippled metal makes me cry from frustration.  It just takes such a long time for me to get my feel for rippled metal.  You know?  Well, of course you do.  Lol. 

I'm a bit scared about visiting the studio tomorrow.  What if the other students don't like me?  What if I'm terrible at it?  Egad... What if the TEACHER doesn't like me?  I sound like a five year old, I know.  But what if I'm good at it, or I enjoy it, because the classes are pretty expensive.  Yikes!   Well, it would cost me a lot more to drive to another county IF I can find classes. 

Oil painting... I haven't done that since I was about eleven, and it was a paint-by-numbers of kittens.  :). I ... wish someone had suggested to me that I paint over the lines a little bit, because it LOOKED like a kid painted a printed board.  Hahaha. The things I've learned... Paint over the lines on paint by numbers kits, give people free refills if you're waitressing and hope for a tip, always set multiple wake-up alarms, and don't loan people money unless you can live without them repaying you.  

Still, Bob Ross is my spirit guide, and I might enjoy the class.  On the other hand, if I'm terrible, the teacher will tell me within a month.  Oh, and a bonus: I don't have to know how to draw, and supposedly I will learn along the way, which is great because my skill is kinda sketchy.  

Ha ha ha!  See what I did there?  Ah, you're no fun.  

Actually, I've got a decent skill level for drawing, but I know I could do so much more with some real instruction.  Fear of failure is what makes me hesitate.  Oh, and looking like a total noob in front of people.  If I look at this photo, maybe I'll remember that I am capable of some kind of freehand painting already.

Maybe?  

... As usual, the preceding series of typographical errors and bad auto-correction has been brought to you courtesy of ipad 3.




Friday, November 15, 2013

Personal and kinda icky

Hey, I warned you.  Gross girl stuff ahead.

My new robe and slippers finally arrived.  I'm wearing the robe right now, over my clothes. :). The truth is, I can't stay warm these days. The house thermostat is set at 72°, but I'm shivering.  Hence, the robe.

I'm really enjoying the robe, despite the whiny complaint in the product reviews that it is too thin.  Thin?  Holy cow, it's the thickest robe I've ever put on.  It compares quite well with the one in my London hotel room that I used as a blanket atop the down comforter... In July.  

Well, I was rather unexpectedly sick.  

I put the robe on and in minutes, I'm sleeping deeply.  It's something about the weight -- I always sleep hard when I'm under heavy covers.  

Growing up it was the only way for me to keep warm in my cold north bedroom.  North side of the house, I mean, and someone put the storm windows back up incorrectly after washing them, so there were large cracks where the wind blew in and ice on the insides of my windows all winter.  My family laughed at me for wrapping up like a mummy and piling on blankets, but I was always unbearably cold and kept catching colds and bronchitis.

Let's chalk the window problem up to incompetence rather than malevolence, shall we?  I could go on and on with my suspicions otherwise.  I finally covered the cracks in the windows with duct tape to seal out the cold, and that made ... someone... very angry.

So anyway, I'm a cold bedroom, warm blanket kind of girl these days, but it's not cold enough to form ice inside the room -- merely cool.

Of course, no matter how cool my bedroom is at night, it doesn't help when I wake up between 4 and 5 am soaked in sweat from my head to my toes.  It's not the comforter causing a one-hour problem, because I kick off the covers if I get too hot, and I'd be hot for longer than an hour if that was the case.  Call the episodes what they are -- night sweats.  They have to be -- I've been having crazy mood swings too, and now I'm having a really bad reproductive problem. Not to mention random heart palpitations several times a day.

I just got my period for the second time in three weeks.  Basically, I had one week off and it came again, only worse, more painful, and with a lot more of the warning signs that something is wrong in there.  I've even had fever and nausea and dizziness.   My abdomen is noticeably swollen and I had to put on roomier pants because the top of my pants hurts too much when it presses against my belly.  

It's too bad I can't ask my mother what she went through.  She's gone now, but I did ask her sometime before she died, and she refused to tell me anything related to female reproduction in her life.  She wasn't embarrassed -- she was always willing to give too many details in the past -- she just huffily stated that she didn't remember ANYTHING about it, tossed her head back, crossed her arms, and refused to talk to me.  I don't know what little thing I did to displease her, but I've always lacked a true motherly influence.  *sigh* Always too many strings (her) and traps (the other one) attached to the masquerade of caring motherhood.  

Actually, I was having one of those bad (really gross, so I won't tell here) symptoms for a few years already, but I didn't know that it was unusual or dangerous.  Funny how my doctor never asked me about any specific symptoms.  He just wanted to do the bare minimum exam to collect his fee.  I suppose he needed his patients to get out fast so he could have more time to butcher women in surgery.  Now I'm slightly worried about fibroid tumors, endometrial cancer, and organ adhesions from internal scar tissue.  

I asked him the last time in his office (before he turned into Sweeny Todd) about the lack of urine tests and he said that nothing can be checked for with a urine test.

Huh?  How about pregnancy? Urinary tract infections? Kidney stone residue and chemicals? High blood sugar? (He knows I'm diabetic, for Pete's sake.)

Actually, I've suspected for a while I have kidney stones, because of the pain wrapping around from my lower back to the front, even when I'm not close to having my period.  Monday, my class saw me wince and gasp in pain. When it felt like someone stabbed me right in the kidney.  With an ice pick.  

And yes, there's a family history of kidney stones. The kind that grow to centimeters in size, branch out, and can't be passed through normal means such as flooding with water. *sigh*. I've been dealing with that stabbing pain for a long time now because I dismissed it as a random unimportant pain.  But PAIN it is.  Reclining sideways on the couch hurts after a few minutes and it feels like something is being painfully pinched in there, on either side depending on position.  Okay, sitting up actually hurts too, but I can't lie flat all day.  Running is impossible right now as well.

But I've got to find a new doctor.  One who will investigate these problems. One who, at least, won't tell me that I'm too young for all this; that it's my imagination, now go away and pay my bill.

So... I'm hoping that I can be fixed some simple way, and not have to resort to a hysterectomy.  I had been making peace with the fact that I'm probably too old to hope for my own children anymore, but I don't want that option taken away absolutely and forever. Not while there is still the faintest possibility... I still keep hoping for a miracle, that somebody might want to be with me.  I tend not to believe in things I can't see, and love has been missing for a very long time.  It may make me kind of bitchy in the future.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Oiled Hair With a Purpose

My apologies to all who have seen me since midnight.  Before I went to bed I put a deep conditioning treatment on my hair, and slept on it. I was awake until about 2:30 am, when I finally shut down and fell asleep with my oil-soaked hair.  

In my defense, the jojoba oil treatments have been doing wonders for my dry hair, but the excess oil has to be shampooed out before I leave the house.  It makes the thin ends of my hair thicker and shinier afterwards.  

At 5:15 am, my phone rang.  My father needed me to take him to the emergency room, and I only had time to quickly throw on clothes, pop in my contacts, and drive to his house, mostly asleep.  Let me put it this way, I was so sleepy that I was confused about the light on the eastern horizon.  I remember thinking that if it was this bright at 3 am, running at 5 might not be so scary.  I did have the presence of mind to remember that the ER is always cold, so I put on heavy sweats and knee socks.

I know that when people looked at me they must have thought I'm a greaseball who never washes her hair, but the reason my hair was coated in oil is that I wash mine daily and I probably shouldn't.  Jojoba oil is a good thing.... Unless someone who doesn't know about it sees you for the first time in over 20 years with no makeup and with lank, oily hair.  

I thought nobody was paying attention to my hair anyway, because I wasn't the one there for medical treatment. :D. But I was recognized... Lol. Oh well.  You can't expect people arriving at the ER before dawn to look pretty, and anyway, my appearance was irrelevant.

So when the issues were treated, we were home a quick four hours later.  Thank goodness it was a slow Saturday night and there were only two other patients there.  I'm glad I took Dad, because it turned out that he had a couple of minor complications that could worsen quickly, if unnoticed.  His most important complaint was taken care of too.  

And then I went home and slept until 3:15 pm, having wasted most of the day I needed to prep for my evaluation this week.  (I did manage to mow my yard for presumably the last time this year.  Crazily, snow is predicted for Tuesday.)

Should I be stressing myself out over this evaluation? Some say no, it's just my job riding on a dog and pony show that is not effective teaching formulated for my students' needs, but rather teaching to the needs of a rubric that doesn't take my kids into consideration.  After all, I teach properly on a daily basis, and these evaluations just prove it.  

But they don't.  I think there are something like 51 different things I'm supposed to do while I teach, to satisfy the rubric in a 50 minute class period filled with interruptions.  I don't believe it is a measurement of effective teaching, but I do believe that if I were a sorceress, I might be able to make everything align perfectly with that rubric if I can determine the correct day when all the planets will align.

Rubbish.  I'm inclined to say screw it, I can't make a good score anyway (as I already knew), so I may as well not even try anymore.  Me being stressed out over it won't help me do a good job anyway. Last year it just made me ill and I didn't have any outlet for relieving the stress, so I stayed home from work, stayed in bed, and fasted for 24 hours.  My stomach was too knotted up to eat anyway.  

If it goes badly and my Lands End order arrives quickly, I'll be spending quality time in my new bathrobe with a single glass of wine.  If I get nervous this week, I'll have a glass of wine.  The point is that I have a large bottle of sweet California red wine to enjoy and I'm tired of the sick, nervous feeling I've been dealing with lately.  I will deal with my nonstop internal earthquake one way or another.

The trick is, I believe, to not care anymore.  I'm working on it.  Heck, the world has already lost what little sparkle it held for me anyway.  I bet it'll be easier for me to put on that reassuring smile that others demand. :)

I used to care so much about everything and everyone, foolishly enough, but I finally realized my feelings don't matter to anyone but me. (Besides, it's exhausting being concerned about others' feelings when I know they just want to spit in my face while I'm helping them.) I'm just a stepping stone most of the time, and the rest, I don't even exist.  I've seen that life is better for the cold-hearted and selfish.  They get what they want.

It's better to stick with people like my Dad. I know he cares. (Though he doesn't understand me, I do understand him all too well.  We are cut from the same cloth.)




Saturday, November 2, 2013

Sleazy Creep

Since January, I've been having a problem with someone I thought to be a random stranger, texting me.  Well, not just texting, because he has been sending unwanted photos of his genitals, displayed in what looks to be a very unsanitary public bathroom.  

In all seriousness, I wouldn't put such a personal item in contact with such a filthy surface.  But that's just me, and I hate the idea of needing antibiotics for something more pestilent than my recurrent respiratory infections. 

I'd thought that after I failed to show any interest, he would leave me alone, but a couple of days ago he started up again, from a new phone number.  Still signing his messages with the same idiotic moniker.  Apparently, he has masculinity issues, hence the nickname, the photos, and the assumption that I want to sext with him (ICK!), though he's openly admitting he has a girlfriend and she allegedly has been encouraging him to harass me. Well, at least THIS one didn't lie altogether about his marital status (or did he?) and then cheat on her, all the while lying to me about his availability.  Not that it made me any more interested.  I wasn't. 

You shouldn't date if you're not single or divorced, whatever your intentions.  "We're separated," is the rallying cry of the philanderer.  (Men are badly enough behaved when they're single.) If I had stuck with my own negativity and held onto my suspicions, I wouldn't have been any less hurt by the liar.  Should I have known better? Well, yes.  I'd caught him in too many lies in the past but I wanted to believe there was a good person in there -- maybe he'd been somehow redeemed. I was wrong.  Being positive and believing the best of someone was precisely the wrong thing to do.  Now he has defriended me on Facebook and I have no idea why, but since he turned out to be a really bad friend after all, I suppose that's appropriate.  

Oddly enough, I wasn't referring to him as a sleazy creep, though he certainly jumped off that pedestal I had wrongly placed him on for fifteen+ years.  Silly me, I paid attention to only the good I could see.  I was wrong.  Blame him for the wall I've built since then, bricked with each bad relationship and mortared with my blood and tears.... Wow, that's flowery and pretentious crap.  There's an icy wall, but I'm the only one who cares.

Anyway, I wasn't interested in being icked out by a sleazy stranger who claims to know me, and the creepy photos did not inspire me.  They certainly didn't thrill me.  My day isn't a progression of thoughts about sleazy sex and fulfilling others' sick fantasies.  I'm just not interested, and I'm not ruled by hormones.  I suppose I have to press charges to make this guy stop harassing me.  He'd better hope that breaking this law isn't going to require his registration as a sex offender, but hey, I told him to stop it before and he didn't cooperate.