Breaking Mommy Dearest - Moving Forward

So I've spent the last two weeks analyzing my relationship with E-Bomb.  She has no idea what's been on my mind because, well - Get over it.  Stop analyzing it.  There's nothing wrong here.  Maybe I haven't come to any real conclusions or solutions to my little problem, but it has given me insight on moving forward and the future of our relationship.
I am saddened by the fact that things have to change, something has to give and I have to be the one to initiate it.  She is too stubborn, she is set in her ways and like I've mentioned before, I don't have the energy or patience or even the will to change her.  She's made her choices, she's established who she is in the 50+ years she has spent on this earth.  Now it's time for me to make my choices and to establish who I am because I'm already 30 years behind.
The one conclusion all of us have come to is that deep down, E-Bomb is sullen because she's lonely.  But that won't change if she doesn't change (We have all noted at one time or another that she's not going to find anyone if she doesn't become a little more open minded and she has proven time and time again that she refuses to.) 
If she wants to find a companion to live out the rest of her time with, then it's on her.  I'm putting down the burden of trying to explain how things work these days.  I can't help that she spent half of her life married to my father and that she endured more emotional abuse than I want to even think about.  They had been separated for four years and Pop has been gone for three.  She claims she is ready to move on with her life, but her feet are encased in emotional concrete.  If her own children, her own siblings or her own friends can't help set  her free, then obviously it's left up to her.  We've done all we can.
All I want is to see my mother happy.  She can claim her life is grand until she's blue in the face, she can continue to hide her true feelings and emotions all she wants, but we all know she feels something lacking.  And there's nothing we can do about it.  I cringe every time I hear her say to a friend, "Don't they know anyone who's single?"  I cringe because even if they did, that person would not live up to her standards.  No one can, and until she realizes that things are a lot different these days - that people as a whole have adapted to changes in society and have learned to accept the bad along with the good, she's going to remain lonely. Her knight in shining armor is not going to knock on the door on a weeknight while she's sitting at home.

     

Breaking Mommy Dearest - Would You Like Some Guilt With That?

Get over it.
Stop over-analyzing it.
Move on.
These are the responses I get from E-Bomb whenever I try to talk to her about any type of issue I may be having at a particular moment.  Ma sees the world in black and white, I see it in every shade of the color spectrum and am persecuted because of that - something I have no control over.  I concern myself with the hows and whys of a human being's behavior and finding a reason behind it.  Ma - not so much.  I also am passionate about the arts, about reading, music, I love to shower those I love with attention and affection.  Again, Ma - not so much.  She teases me about how worked up I get over a good book, she criticizes me for wanting to do little things for whoever I may be dating at the time because to her he's not worth it or good enough.
It sucks because I've come to realize I've spent my entire life walking on eggshells.  Instead of focusing on myself in order to live up to my own full potential, every decision I make comes with the thought, "Ugh, what is Ma going to think?"  Now, I know she supports me and any endeavors I choose one hundred percent, like when I decided to go back to school, when I decided to switch careers, things like that.  IT'S THE STUPID, TRIVIAL SHIT THAT GIVES ME PANIC ATTACKS.  
Oh, my God I didn't have time to cut the grass.
Shit, I took a nap this afternoon, I'm going to hear about it.
Is the house clean enough?
Even when I was away over Memorial Day weekend this line of thinking wouldn't disperse completely.  Following me everywhere I went was the nagging little thought that my mother was pissy about me going to the beach, even though she never gave me any reason to feel that way.  I felt guilty about not being at home to help pull out the deck furniture and finish getting the backyard ready for summer, even though I never once heard "It would have been nice if you were there to help," and I was shocked.
Mother's Day was a nightmare.  I had wanted to make her brunch since I had concert tickets that evening, (which I had told her about the night I ordered them,) but she decided she wanted the pool opened that day.  When she emailed me her plans to have the guy come out around noon, I responded that it was fine, but it nullified any plans my brother and I may have had since I wouldn't be around that evening.  Her response back led me to believe it was no big deal; she didn't really care.  Something along the lines of, "Oh, you guys don't need to do that."
So where she got the idea that I was going to cook dinner that night is beyond me.  A whole scene erupted in the garage in front of Philip and my next door neighbor, nothing short of Ma throwing the back of her hand up to her forehead and saying, "Woe is me, my children do not love me enough to cook me dinner on Mother's Day."  (I must note here that it was after my brother rebuilt the retaining wall behind the pool and Philip and I had turned over the entire length of the flowerbeds to prepare them for planting, which is what she wanted.)  I had to walk away.  Later on in the car on the way to Philadelphia, Philip remarked that while we were all standing in the garage listening to my mother cut me off at the knees he was wishing that he was married to me so he could appropriately come to my defense.
And I balked a little bit of course because he said the M-word, but mostly because E-Bomb does not handle criticism well.  At all.  Even if it's constructive.  Even if it's in an attempt to make her realize that she talks to (at) her adult daughter as if she were still a child.  But it made me sad to think that a man who cares so much about me feels he needs to defend me against my own mother.      
I didn't want to tell her that next Saturday I will be attending a birthday party for one of Philip's nieces, even though he's not in town.  His sister invited me and I thought that was very sweet of her.
"Next Saturday I want to finish the flowerbeds."
"Ma, I told you, I have to work in the morning and am going to a birthday party afterwards."
She makes her little snippy noise.  "Why are you even going to that party?"
Instead of defending my decision, I snapped right back.  "You know, I wasn't even going to tell you."  And she shut right up.
So is this how it's going to be?  I have to close most of my life off to her so as to avoid being made to feel like shit?  I was always so proud of how close her and I were, how I always made a point to fill my mother in on what goes on in my life and it used to be a good thing.  Now all it does is cause tidal waves of guilt to wash over me and aggravation beyond belief.

Breaking Mommy Dearest - Chipping at the Walls

"...Yet she her feet still hit the ground every morning.  She kept her head up.  Her faith remained strong, when most would have thrown their hands up in despair and given up.  If she did any of that, my brother never knew or witnessed any of it."
This brings me to the difficulty I have in getting my mother to open up about what's going on inside her head at any given time and why I have such a hard opening up to her.  This past weekend I had the opportunity to have a few heart-to-hearts with one of my aunts during some breaks in the craziness that is Dewey Beach during Memorial Day Weekend.  I can talk about anything and everything with my aunt.  She's the youngest of my mother's siblings (her and my mother are 10+ years apart,) and helps give me insight as to why Ma is the way she is.  Although sometimes, both of us can end up at loss.
I've come to the conclusion that it's because of the ripple effect, as is common with just about every family.  My aunt had her two older sisters to discuss "sensitive" stuff with; she didn't go to my grandmother and I can only assume that my aunts are the ones I go to when I'm in the same situation because I don't have any older sisters.  Ma has continued much in the same fashion as her own mother as far as keeping her feelings to herself and not really wanting to know much about her own kids'.  Every time I try to share what's going on in my head, Ma can be downright insufferable, sometimes to the point of attacking me verbally for feeling the way I do about particular things.
I wish it weren't like this.  I've been trying to focus on the pleasure the little things in life give me (like a good book, a song that gives me goosebumps, sweet things Philip does for me or says to me.)  I wish I could share these things with my mother and get an equally excited response from her.  But I can't because, let's face it - I don't think she ever really cares.
I do want to chip away at her tough exterior but I get exhausted just thinking about the energy it would require.  I don't want to break her completely, I just want to see that she is capable of bending.  It wouldn't make just my life a little easier, but plenty of others as well.

Breaking Mommy Dearest - Starting From the Beginning

This brings me to my first set of points.
"...so I can only imagine that they were an even more amazing set of parents to my mother and her siblings."  It's common knowledge that the relationships people have with their grandchildren are completely different than those they had with their own children when they were young.  I would balk at stories of MomMom being on the warpath because I could not imagine my sweet, chunky, salt-and-pepper-haired Italian MomMom with the singsong voice being a tyrant.  (Ironic because I threw "Italian" in there...)  But as I got older I started to get it, obviously.  And now that I have "grown up" conversations with my aunts, I learned that MomMom wasn't always sweet and may not have always spoken in a singsong voice.  Well, okay.  There's a rumor that my own mother was a bit of a troublemaker, and everyone knows that my youngest aunt was a hell of a troublemaker - to this day she claims that she learned it all from my mother.  (Yeah, that's still very, very hard for me to believe.)  
Anyway, my mother isn't the "sharing" type.*  Her personal feelings are usually pretty closed off, unless you get her mad as hell and then the whole neighborhood learns just how she's feeling.  Getting my mother to open up is like pulling teeth.  I want to know the intimate details of her relationship with her mother growing up because, dammit, maybe it would give me some insight as to how to deal with her in her role as a mother of two adults and the grandmother of my nephew.
And the light bulb just went off over my head.
My aunts will open up to me.  They don't sugar coat anything.  My first plan of attack has been laid out for me and I didn't even see it until just now.  (I knew there was a reason I decided to write this all out.)  They know my mother better than I ever will, and they haven't built up walls as tough as the ones my mother surrounds herself with.
Maybe I can prod my youngest aunt a bit while we're at the beach this weekend....

PopPop & MomMom, 1974, Ma, 1974 (?), and me, 2012

Sometimes There's Nothing More Gorgeous Than A $100 Bill

If money is the root of all evil, then why do I feel like if I just had a little bit more I would be happier?  Maybe because I wouldn't stress so hard over never feeling like I have enough to make ends meet?  I wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night with depressing thoughts creeping into my vulnerable, sleep-groggy mind, thoughts that tell me I'll never amount to much because I chose a career that I actually enjoy, that I'll never be able to afford to meet another human's basic needs, (a child's,) because I can barely meet my own, I start to panic about getting older and still not really having it together and I end up feeling utterly desolate, unable to fall back asleep.  
There are times I feel like no matter how much money I squirrel away, something will always happen to make it disappear.  Then I think, how do people do it?  How do they get married, buy houses, and have children when I know they are plagued by the same fears that plague me?  I guess the answer is simple - they just do.  My mother says the same thing.
Things change, people are born, they live, they work, they love, they hate, they work some more, try to live a decent life, and then they die, life goes on.  
It is a simple concept, it's just a really hard one to accept, especially for people like me.
I'm not sitting here bitching and complaining about my awful life, as I sip gourmet coffee (a Christmas gift) in a mug I bought when I went out to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame this past weekend, bundled up in warm clothes with properly running heat.  I unbelievably aware of how lucky and blessed I am to have a roof over my head, don't think for one minute I take anything for granted.
Maybe if I list the ways I've fucked up that I have since worked so hard to remedy, I'll feel a little better about myself?  Let's go.

• Back in 2009 I defaulted so bad on my car loan that my car was repossessed.
• Around the same time the car insurance company became tired of not getting paid and dropped me.
• I lost my health insurance for the same reason.
• I've had to borrow $20 from friends just to put some gas in my car.
• I've defaulted on my school loans.
• My credit card debt was so out of control that I just started ignoring the notices that came in the mail and the phone calls that came every day.
• For months, every bank statement I received had a negative balance.

I used to get so mad at how much the bank took from me every time I was hit with an overdraft charge, because I was trying, I was trying so hard to get back on my feet financially, and I couldn't.  Because it seemed like the bank was taking every dollar I was trying to use to get the credit card, school loan and car loan people off my back.
So let's now look at how I remedied (or at least tried to) all of these problems.

• I got my car back and resumed making the payments on time.  (We'll leave it at that.)
• I did end up driving without car insurance for a good year or two.  I don't condone anyone doing that, but once I was a little more financially stable, I secured myself some affordable insurance and have never missed a payment since.
• Same goes for my health insurance.  I did my best to take care of myself so as not to get sick, I went off birth control for about a year (which is actually recommended for women who are on it for long periods of time.)  And again, once I was back on my feet, I applied for individual coverage that I could afford.
• I called the company associated with my school loans and got back on track with them.  I was able to defer my loans until I was able to start paying them again, and since then have not needed a deference, nor missed a payment.
• I consolidated all of my credit card debt.  I know that's not the best way to handle things, but it was my only hope.  The woman I worked with offered me comfort and solace as I cried to her over the phone, as she pointed out to me that my case was no where near the astronomical ones they typical handle.
• I also stopped wasting money on trivial things like getting my nails done, (which I can do myself,) going out to the bars so often, and packing my lunch for work instead of hitting the Wawa every other day.  (Except for coffee refills of course.)

Once I got my shit together, which I swear only happened by the grace of God and lucrative seasons at work, I finally felt like a worthy human being again.  Now my car and credit cards are paid off, and the only debt I am carrying is my school loans, a very small amount on a credit card and the little bit I still owe on the eye surgery I had in June 2012.  These are the things I am using to reestablish my ruined credit and when I checked recently, it seems to be working.
But that little voice still nags me.  "Sure, you may be relatively back on your feet and supporting yourself, but what about a family?  Don't you want to buy a house one day?  How will you afford a mortgage payment?  Childcare?  College-fucking-tuition?"
Maybe once I realize that it's a never ending cycle, that there will always be things out of my control, I can accept it and just keep moving forward.  This constant feeling of being stuck?  It's getting really old.

Yet I Still Love Him...

How the fuck am I supposed to resign myself to a life filled with boring partners?  I mean, let's face it - chances are a lot higher now than they've ever been that I'm not going to find someone who I feel like I could spend forever with.  He left me, remember?
So now what?  Settle for men who strive to be complicated when really their only problem is that they choose to not open their mouths and speak their mind because they are afraid of what others may think?  Settle for normalcy and complacency in this Godforsaken PC world?  Fuck that.  Give me blood, guts and chocolate cake.  I'm not going to settle.  I'd rather resign myself to a life of solitude than settle for something that doesn't get my blood pumping faster through my veins.
So what do I have to look forward to?  Reverting back to an endless stream of lovers that do not stimulate my mind, much less my body?  Men who figuratively - and sometimes literally just - "lay there?"  Because no one knows what the fuck they want anymore.  We put so much emphasis on this fact that it destroys us and the ones who love us.
It doesn't have to be this fucking hard.
The thought of returning to the world of an interesting mind yet a boring lover, or a boring mind yet an interesting lover?  Makes me want to puke.  I had the best of both worlds, I had paradise in my hands and then watched him reduce it to nothing but ashes.

As of yesterday, he and I have plans to see each other on Monday.  I don't know what's going to come of it, but from what I can tell, he's planning on us going to a mutual friend's New Year's Eve party together.  I could also be wrong about that.  Whatever the case, I'm bracing myself for the worst.

Me & My Fat Girl Mentality

Something has been bothering me lately that will probably follow me for the rest of my life.  It's the fact that no matter how much weight I lose or how in shape I am, I will always maintain my Fat Girl Mentality.  Back in 2008, I was a Fat Girl.  I weighed in at over 200 pounds and that was a lot for my frame to being carrying around, so the 60 or so pound loss I experienced over the next couple of years, coupled with incorporating a gym routine over the last year has changed my appearance and mind set drastically.

My own personal Fat Girl Mentality really came to light when my boyfriend and I went to Six Flags last week.  As we were getting on the Ferris Wheel, I became slightly panicky thinking, "Oh no, the side I'm sitting on is going to droop more than his because I'm a Fat Girl and he is a Skinny Guy.  This is so embarrassing."  Then it hit me - my boyfriend weighs more than I do.  By at least 20 pounds.  My paranoia was completely unfounded.
I walked around the amusement park all day, sucking in my gut and pulling my shorts down over my thighs because I was maintaining my Fat Girl Mentality, regardless of the fact that I was disgusted by a lot of other people walking around - men with giant bellies protruding over waistbands, people literally squeezing in and out of the seats on the rollercoasters, little girls in skin tight tank tops clinging to their chubby rolls.  (I no longer have rolls when I'm standing up, but I definitely do when I'm sitting down - but we all do, it's pretty much a fact of life no matter what shape or size one is.  Plus I was taught to dress to flatter my shape and hide the unsavory parts - something a lot of people must have forgotten how to do.)
I felt pangs of guilt as I munched on a chicken panini sandwich while my boyfriend, who wasn't feeling well, tried to choke down a soft pretzel.  I felt pangs of guilt as the sweat trickled down my neck and back while waiting in line for the Batman ride, because we all know that fat people sweat just because they're fat.  I felt pangs of guilt as I chugged a bottle of Coke to get some sugar in my system when I started to feel lightheaded because of the heat.
It leads me to wonder if these feelings will ever go away.  Will I ever be able to be 100% confident about who I am and how everyone else perceives me?  Part of me wonders why I even care - most people seem not to.  I walk around wondering if others are dying on the inside the way I do sometimes.
When you've been a Fat Girl or a Fat Guy at some point in your life, it's hard to be happy about the healthy changes you've made, no matter how many people tell you how great you look or ask you what your secret is.  Now I'm starting to understand why people succumb to eating disorders.  The media bombards us with the notion that we will never look good enough, we will never be pretty or attractive or thin enough, and it's easy to forget that Photoshop is king in the advertising world.  (I have plenty to say about that, but another time.)
Sure, I go around saying that I don't deny myself simple pleasures on occasion like a bar of Hershey's chocolate or a fresh, crusty roll from Serpe's Bakery here in Wilmington, because if I did I would go insane.  I go around saying, "Don't take my carbs away!  I can't live without them!"  Even my boyfriend tells me (jokingly, I hope) that if I lose too much weight he would break up with me.  He was attracted to me from day one, as were plenty of other men - when I was twenty or thirty pounds heavier.  And he supports my quest to be healthier, my quest to be able to run up the stairs to his apartment without becoming winded, my quest to be able to chase my nephew around and not want to collapse from exhaustion.
But the Fat Girl Mentality is still ruling me and I wonder if it will ever go away.  I don't want it to be the reason I strive to maintain a healthy lifestyle.  I want to maintain a healthy lifestyle so that I'll be around for a while, so that I won't succumb to weight-related diseases when I'm older, so that I can climb on top of my boyfriend and rock his world without thinking twice.  I want to do it for me and no one else.

I Create My Own Confusion

Here I am back again at square one in regards to what I do for a living.  If a living is even what you can call it; I'm scraping by unable to save a dime.  Sure, having health benefits is great, still being paid for time off is great, but the toll it is taking on my sanity is of a magnitude I didn't think possible.  No wonder 40-hour-a-week drones, those who spend that time in a cubicle or at a desk, are miserable.  I'm not even in a cubicle but I lose my damn mind walking into that same building every day, going into the same locker room, putting on the same scrubs, and doing the same jobs over and over again.  The time just drags on, and I spend more of it there than I do anywhere else.
Yes, I know how lucky I am to even have a job.  I also realize how lucky I am to have the ability to make choices when it comes to my job and what I do to pay the bills.  The enormity of it is not lost on me.  BUT...
I've begun to ask myself, Is this the quality of life I want?  I know, I know.  It's only been four months.  I've applied for two different positions within the company; I didn't get the first one for reasons I completely understand, but I wanted to prove I had the guts and gusto to move upwards.  Still waiting to be interviewed for the second one, or at least hear something, and it the outcome just might make the decision for me - the decision I'd never thought I'd face again and the conclusion I've already come to - that this is not for me.  I walk around that place and think, I am not like these people.  I can't handle this.  I need to be using the other side of my brain again.  At least the stress that caused me was worth it in some twisted way.
The stress I'm experiencing now is of a whole different caliber - working twice as hard for less money, missing my family, my life, popping one or two Klonopins just to get through the day.  With my old job they were there if I needed them, but it was rare that I had to run to the bathroom with a bottle of water and dig through my purse in search of my prescription.  (Which reminds me, I need to get it refilled for the first time in almost an entire year.  What does that say?)
I don't know what the hell to do.  My old job is beckoning me to come back.  Come back Dana, your passion isn't dead.  Come back, you can make a few small demands from your old boss that would make it worth it to both you and him.
Now that my major debt is paid off, I'd be able to sock away some money.  I'd be able to repay those who have helped me out, because right now, the paycheck goes into my account and then right back out, regardless of the fact that I have slashed my monthly bills by almost a third.  I've been sitting on $20 since last Monday to get me through until this Friday.
Maybe I needed a break from the photography gig to reset my mind frame.  Maybe I needed a wake up call to realize how good I had it, even with all of the traffic and snot nosed brats that I had to make look fabulous.  I remember cutting the grass one day, my thoughts following the trails I was making while pushing the mower, and thinking, Maybe being the Picture Lady, being the school portrait photographer, for the rest of my life wouldn't have been such a bad gig.  At least there I had coworkers I looked up to and aspired to be like. At least there, when summer time came, I had the ability and freedom to express my creativity by taking actual portraits that wouldn't just be discarded the following year.  Oh and the stories I had.  The stories I would come home with were some of the best.
Like I said, I don't know what the hell to do.  I am more confused now than I've ever been.  What does my heart want?  What does God want for me?
I better get my ass in gear and head to the gym to (hopefully) clear my head a bit before it's time to go to work.  Shudder.

When Friends With Benefits Gets Starts To Get Real

Recently the dynamic of one of the relationships I'm in has changed drastically.  I link the word "relationship" to Webster's definition to clarify that I'm not talking about a specific kind.  I am "in" a relationship with someone, but I'm also in relationships with everyone that is close to me.  We all are.
Relationships are funny.  Sometimes they're a walk in the park on a warm spring day, other times they're like trying to shovel 3 feet of snow out of one's driveway.  That goes for all types - familial, friendships, boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife, lovers.  Why this is so difficult for me is the fact that the relationship I'm referring to does not fit into any of those categories.  For simplicity's sake, I'll say it's a (very) sexual, close friendship.  Oxymoron, right?
For the most part this guy and I are cruising along doing our thing.  But I'm starting to get a little restless and I don't know how to address it, towards myself mostly.  This relationship is not following the natural order of things and it's kind of throwing me for a loop.  And I don't need to hear shit about how "it doesn't need follow any kind of order, it shouldn't follow any kind of order, rise, rebel and resist!"  I don't need my love life to be some complicated, over-worked, over-analyzed drama that I have to strive to keep unconventional.  Right now I'm beginning to want something secure, steady and stable.  Don't judge me.
There's nothing really wrong with our relationship, except for the fact that I don't know where it's heading, I don't even know where it will be tomorrow morning.  I know I should be discussing this with him and trust me, we discuss it plenty.
The most recent discussion happened when I informed him that if he chooses to sleep with other people, I don't need to find the aftermath, i.e. used condom & empty wrapper from (I'm guessing) two nights prior, sitting on top of the bathroom trashcan when I go to throw away my tissues after blowing my nose first thing in the morning.
I had always kept the fact that I'm sure he's sleeping with other women, even post-my top drawer of his dresser takeover, in the back of my head, but I was fine with it being there, not hearing about it, not seeing it, basically maintaining the ignorance is bliss mentality.  I was good with that.  But here's where it gets weird - I would never throw something like in his face, whether unintentionally or not.  I don't leave empty condom wrappers laying around for him to stumble upon.  I don't divulge sexual escapades.  I rarely even talk about my past, because we all know that your lover doesn't want to hear about some other guy that's been in your bed, even if you're trashing them.
Having the realization that he is sleeping with someone, or maybe even someones, violently pushed to the front of my mind was not a pleasant experience.  It was downright brutal, and my emotional response surprised me.  It hurt me more than I thought it would.  I cried.  A lot.  I got angry.  Very angry.  It brought back ugly, self-deprecating feelings of just being a girl that someone knows they can call if they want to get laid.
I feel very foolish and stupid.  I feel like I've been led on.  To be honest, I feel downright betrayed, regardless of the fact that we have not claimed exclusivity, due to how much time we spend together and how we spend it.  Now I feel as though people look at me when I'm with him and think to themselves, "Oh, that poor girl.  She has no idea.  Look how clueless she is."  Because for some reason I assume that everyone knows our business.  For all I know, I could have, at one time or another, been in the presence of this other girl while she snickered about their little secret on the inside.  (I know it happens; I've been that other girl.)  His behavior towards me when we're around other people dictates that we're together and I just go along with it because I really don't have a reason not to.  I'm often referred to as his girlfriend and he doesn't bother to correct it.  We're asked how long we've been together and he says "Since early summer or so."  So of course I'm going to be a little upset when he basically announces to me, unabashedly, Hey guess what, you're not the only girl I'm fucking.  I know he cares for me.  I know he values what we have together.   He tells me all the time.  But sorry baby, actions speak louder than words.
Now, I've been no angel.  For most of our "relationship," he has not been the only guy I've been sleeping with.  As I've addressed in previous posts, I've pretty much pushed other guys to the wayside, unintentionally or not, which leads me to think that he's worthy of my fidelity.  But if he's not going to give me that much, I have no reason to feel obligated to either.
He and I have discussed this ad nauseum.  At this point I am, for the most part, over it.  But it's still in the back of my head.  When I go over to his place I can't help but think, Hmmm, who was here last night?  The other night he had plans with a (girl)friend he hadn't seen in a very long time.  Was I losing my mind?  Yup.  So when I saw him the next night, he was telling me about his evening and I asked him point blank if he fucked her.  He looked as if I had slapped him.  Well, what do you expect?  I had a whole speech prepared if he were to say yes.  His answer was no.  Do I believe him?  Mostly yes, a tiny part of me - no.  But it's out of my control now.
The whole thing raises a lot of questions, not to mention there's a lot to the story I'm not sharing because it's too much for one post.  What would you do, based on what I have disclosed, in this situation?

The Beat Keeps Going On...Right?

Yesterday I completed job application number four, and last night I received my first rejection notice from a job I had applied to a few weeks ago.  Okay, no big deal.  It was in Newtown Square anyway.  I couldn't help but still be a little bummed out.
I desperately need a new job.  I'm sitting here smoking Pall Malls because someone gave them to me.  I'm stressing over how I'm going to afford my car insurance this month.  Don't even get me started on the fretting I do over long term things like, "How the hell could I ever afford a house?  A child?  Are you kidding me?  How the hell do people do it?"
It's easy to get disheartened when you feel as if you don't meet a job's qualifications.  There's all kinds of things I think I would be good at, that I would enjoy doing, but upon reading the job posting's requirements/qualifications, I realize that no, it might not be for me.
So I apply anyway.  It can't hurt.  I am constantly tweaking my resume and making every and any type of networking connections I possibly can, and praying.
I wish the winds of change wouldn't just blow, I wish they would hit me with hurricane-force gusts, because living like this is killing me.
I know I'm not the only person my age going through something like this, the problem is, I don't personally know anyone who is.  Or if they are, they choose not to talk about it.  All of my friends seem to be doing pretty damn good.  Don't get me wrong - I am incredibly happy to see them doing well and living fulfilled lives.  I wouldn't want anything less for them.  And I'm not sitting around waiting for some kind of break or handout.  I'm prepared to work my ass off for it - I mean, I do that at my current job, no matter how miserable I am with it right now.
So I just need to keep plugging away, all the while keeping my eyes and ears open.

The Bar Scene, It Is A-changin'...

...at least the one in Wilmington.  Tyler, Andy, Geeta and myself all went out to dinner the other night - the first time the four of us have been together all summer - and then decided to head over to Trolley Square.
I don't frequent Trolley as often as I used to, mostly because the scene has changed over the years, for better and for worse.  It's still a good place to grab lunch or dinner because you have a plethora of dining establishments to chose from, and all of the ones I've eaten at - which is most - have some damn good food and nice atmospheres.  But the nightlife has become...different.
When I was in my early twenties my girls and I used to rule the dance floor downstairs at Kelly's Loganhouse and there were times you could catch decent bands in the bar upstairs, but over recent years management has changed hands.  The dance floor has more or less become nonexistent and the amount of concert series performed there has dwindled.  (If there is one, the advertising is so minimal you'd only discover it was going on if you happen to be there on a random night.)
Now one of the only places that has a DJ is Catherine Rooney's, on Saturdays.  And I can't stand it.  On a regular night it's a good place to hang and get some food, I believe Thursday night is still Martini Night.  But it gets so crowded on Saturday nights that it's damn near impossible to get a drink, much less maneuver through the crowd and make yourself a little room to dance.  There's also Club 3.  If you like house music.  And well, sometimes house music is hard to dance to.
I'm not even going to go into how much I hate the music the DJs play these days - I'm sitting here shaking my head.  What ever happened to R&B?  Jams you could dance to as opposed to what I could only describe as wannabe gangster rap with some jackass declaring "Yo that shit cray," and every where you look you'll inevitably see brand-new 21-year-olds humping each other like they're having awful, strange, awkward sex.
As far as the people go, maybe I just didn't notice them when I was younger.  Maybe I was one of them, I don't know.  Girls dressed to the nines in heels they can't walk in and more makeup than Motley Crue circa 1987.  Oh right, they're trying to get laid.  Yikes.  The guys aren't much better, walking around in matching neon polo shirts, trying to get laid.  Everyone has their cell phone in hand and acting like they're texting someone more interesting than the scene going on around them.  They probably are, because anything is more interesting than the scene in Trolley Square.
Damn I sound old.
Maybe I was the same way when I was younger.  Maybe I notice it more because I don't go out looking to get laid.  I can do that with one phone call, thanks.  Maybe it's because I just spent the majority of August reveling in the Dewey Beach bar scene, which, granted, is somewhat similiar but with a larger age range.  (I like my men a little older anyway.)  Maybe that's more tolerable because it's summer time and everyone is a little more laid back, the bars are bigger and if you don't feel like being stuck in a crowd you can relocate to a different one where you don't have to fight your way to the bar and struggle to get the bartender's attention.  And if you see a girl throwing up on a side street or a guy being carried by his friends you just shake your head and smile, "Uh-oh, looks like they couldn't hang in Dewey."  Maybe because down there you can find decent bands playing every weekend and it's hard to find a DJ spinning music that he's adding his own "style" to therefore you're just listening to a train wreck happen.
But I digress.  The caliber of people that you find in Trolley Square on a weekend night has changed drastically, and it's just not fun anymore.  It almost seems like everyone has a chip on their shoulder, or is desensitized, or just plain trying too damn hard.  Maybe it seems that way because I was for the most part sober the last time I was there.  Or maybe I'm the one who's desensitized.
Damn I really sound old.
Maybe I just prefer the beach scene, or the Philly scene.  Shit, even New York, although I don't get up there as often as I like.  I don't have a reason to wear my slutty rock & roll gear out  in Wilmington.  This town is too trendy for that.  Even my usual watering hole was a different crowd that night.  We barely recognized anyone in the place, which was odd for us.  What, I go away for a month and everything changes?