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.

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?

No One's Going to Take Away Your Guns, So Calm the Fuck Down

I don't usually get political on my blog - this is supposed to be a place for introspection with some comic relief thrown in, but this topic has been weighing on my mind for the past few days.
I am SO sick of hearing people bitch about the state of this country, lay the blame on the president, and whine and cry assuming that, because of new gun law proposals, the government is going to take their guns away by creating a countrywide ban.  Guess what people - it's not.  And if all you're going to do is sit on your ass and complain via Facebook, why not be more proactive and start contacting your state representatives and legislators?  Bet yet, get educated?
On a personal note, as far as the issues of mental health and gun control - I don't even know what to think.  I've never been a fan of guns, and more or less ambivalent when it comes to a person's right to own them.  The fact that my ex kept guns in the house solely for hunting purposes used to scare the shit out of me because sometimes it doesn't matter how safety conscious one is when it comes to handling them.
I've been following this whole clusterfuck closely and making sure my points are valid.  I watched President Obama state that no one is planning on taking away the rights of law-abiding, gun-owning citizens as I huffed and puffed away on the elliptical machine at the gym on January 14th.  However, as of today, he has signed 23 executive orders meant to tighten the reigns and curb gun violence, and I agree with them 100%.
If people did their research, maybe they would stop crying.  If people are law-abiding citizens, maybe they would calm the fuck down.  I am shocked at the outpouring of rage in regards to this topic coming from people I thought I knew.

I never knew you hunted with assault weapons.
I didn't think you had any reason to be concerned about having a background check run on you if you go to purchase a new firearm.
I'm surprised you managed to graduate high school without a full understanding of our country's Constitution and Bill of Rights, because your rants make it abundantly clear that you do not have one.
Because, let's face it, the chances of one being forced to protect their home, family, and livelihood while wielding a firearm, at least in Delaware, are slim.  Unless you live on 4th street or in Brookside, I don't want to hear it.  (The people I hear doing most of the complaining?  No, they do not live in crime- or drug- ridden areas of this state.  And to be honest, I felt safer in my own home than I ever did at my ex's, with his cache of firearms and hunting rifles.)
This is my opinion.  I do not demand that anyone agree with me.  This is my blog, and I write what I feel passionately about.  No one has to read it.  I do not shove my thoughts on gun control down anyone's throat.  I will, however, discuss it with people who feel the same way I do.  Unfortunately, I do not feel compelled to discuss it with those who think differently, because I have better things to do - like decide how or whether or not I am going to start writing letters to my state representatives and legislators inquiring as to why my paycheck has shrunk - rather than become a little dumber by listening to uneducated and uninformed people berate me with misinformation.

Most Of Us Really Are Living On the Edge

I'm living in a world where every one gets a trophy just for showing up.
I never got a trophy when I played baseball because I wasn't good at it, and that was okay with me.  I got my trophies singing my heart out all throughout my school career, from dedicating much of my time to practicing, rehearsing and performing.  When I got a varsity letter my freshman year for being on the swim team, I felt it was entirely undeserved, but the swim team is considered all around varsity.  
We spend an absurd amount of money on fancy, gourmet birthday cakes for babies while teaching them it's okay to verbally assault people over the internet.
Seriously, what are they going to think when they find out one day that daddy consistently called mommy a whore or that mommy trashed daddy for not paying child support?
Because, let's face it, we're living in a world where having a baby is not a big deal anymore.  The next generation might as well be called the "Oops Generation."
Which is one of the main reasons I make it a point to take my birth control and practice safe sex.  And when it comes down to it, I don't sleep with people I wouldn't at least consider having a child with.
I'm living in a world where, if asked whether or not I believe in God and all I say is yes, my response is immediately taken as a threat and I'm bashed for even having faith.
On the flip side, I'm living in a world where evangelists and right wing maniacs have distorted faith and religion so much that they now carry a nasty stain.
In my world, I go to work every day.  I pay my car insurance.  I pay my health insurance.  I make about $100 too much to qualify for government assistance.  But I still work, and I still pay my bills, with little or no money left over to put into my savings.
It must be nice to sit on your ass all day and know the government will take care of you.  I bought my iPhone with money from the same checking account I pay my bills out of.  You know, the one my paycheck is deposited into.
I'm living in a world where Nicki Minaj and Justin Bieber are considered "talent."
Enough said.  Where's the noose?
We are living in a world where young people demand respect from their elders without giving it first.
Remember the phrase "You have to earn respect before receiving it?"  Yeah, that's been lost in translation.

I'm tired of seeing the same status updates on Facebook, down to the most unimportant detail of someone's day.
I don't care what side of the bed you woke up on.  Unless it was in the middle of street in downtown Wilmington and you seemed to have lost your pants, I'm not interested.

I don't care what you're making for every meal of every day, either.
We are living in a world where shit like that has become the basis for our entertainment.
I'm stuck in this world where fact-checking has gone down the drain and people immediately believe what they see or read without looking into it first.
In today's world making the commute to work is enough to drive one insane.  We seem to have forgotten common courtesy and the fact that we will all get to our destination one way or the other.  You're not going to be late if you let even just one car merge in front of you.
We are all racing to the red light.
I'm living in a world where if I were to play Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London, it would be mistaken for that Kid Rock song.
I'm shaking my head.
In my world, asking someone to sit up straight is like asking them to shove bamboo shoots  under their fingernails.
Doesn't your back hurt from being slumped over all day?  Oh, and by the way, close your mouth.  You look like you're missing a chromosome.
I'm living in a world where it is expensive to eat healthy and cheap to just not care anymore.
I've been over this before.
I'm living in a world where the word judgmental has become a common adjective to describe someone's character.
Maybe if we stopped and put ourselves in someone else's shoes for a second, we'd think twice.  Maybe if we got to know our neighbors the world would be a nicer place.  Maybe if we weren't so quick to shove our beliefs down someone else's throat they would be willingly to listen to what we have to say.
We are living in a world where children are abducted and found murdered over car parts, or they are abused by someone they trust at a day camp.  You can't send your kids to school, vacation bible school, or sports camp without worrying whether or not they will be returned to you mentally intact or intact at all.
What is provoking this sickness that is rearing its ugly head in our society?  We are destroying our children, one by one, leaving them to grow up jaded and desensitized with no faith in humanity at all.
I am living in a world where evil is overshadowing good.  Drug cartels have taken over Mexico and leaving severed heads in front of elementary schools as a threat to teachers if half of their wages are not paid to cartels.
Excuse me, but what the fuck.  That makes the shit hole schools in run down neighborhoods I sometimes work in look like first class private academies.
The bottom line is that we're living on the edge.  Everyone is on the edge.  I feel it too.  Some days I want to flip out on the person in front of me in line at the store because they're paying for their goods with $20 in change.  But I don't.  Because I don't know what their situation is.  Maybe they scrounged up all they had left to buy a gallon of milk for their kids.
It's easier to be a dick than to be nice.  It's easier to keep walking instead of hold the door open for the person behind you struggling with an armload of stuff.  It's easier to cut the old person off to pull into the parking spot they were waiting for.  It's easier to discriminate rather than open our minds to something we're not familiar with.  We're all guilty of it; it's how we handle it.  Let's face it - we're living on the edge, but Steven Tyler says it better than I can.

Why I Shouldn't Log Into Facebook During Election Time

I personally think Facebook is overrated and overused.  But I've been sucked into the world of social networking just like the rest of you.  I usually log in while I'm drinking my morning coffee and do a quick scroll to see whose birthday it is and to catch any important updates.  Note that I said the word "important." I don't care what your plans are for the day unless they include me.  And I don't work with even 1/8th of you.
I haven't seen too many status updates pertaining to the upcoming presidential elections aside from the torrent of nonsense put out every time there was a debate, but the ones I do see have me second-guess "friendships" I have with those who post about it.  I've decided who I am going to vote for, but it's my business and no one else's.  The only people I've discussed it with are my mother and one of my closest friends.  If you want to know, you can ask me.  I don't need to announce it to all of my friends, anyone I meet, or the Facebook nation, and I'm not going to.  I think we can all agree that this year's election is personal.  For me it all boils down to the social issues plaguing our nation - Medicare, home interest mortgage deductions, immigration, equal pay and funding for Planned Parenthood.
The other morning I read a well written status by a guy I used to go to school with -
"I have finally 100% made up my mind who I am going to vote for for President of the United States. I have spent the past year watching tons of Republican Primary Debates, both conventions, all three Presidential debates, and the Vice Presidential debate. I have taken care to get my news from a variety of sources- talk radio, Fox News, Cnn- the whole political gambit. And I have a million reasons for my decision I'd be happy to discuss with any of you. I endorse President Barak Obama."  (This was quoted with permission.)
As you can see, he didn't attack either candidate or ramble on about why he is choosing to vote for President Obama.  He did what I believe most people on my timeline don't - took the time to get his information from both sides of the spectrum and based his decision on who he thinks is the best person for the job.  Whether it's right or wrong is no one else's call to make, and whether or not I agree with him is irrelevant.  (I do, by the way.)  But my favorite part of this status update is "...I have a million reasons for my decision I'd be happy to discuss with any of you."  Note he didn't feel the need to clog his friends' timeline with his reasons.
I was tempted to respond to a post someone made bashing the President and expressing support of the Republican candidate, but I figured my opinion was better left unsaid.  The person has every right to voice their opinion, but the way it was done and their choice of words is what made me shake my head.  I wanted to respond with something along the lines of - "If he does get elected, I hope you are blessed with a daughter shortly there after...then you might rethink how you feel," but I held my tongue.  I don't have the time or energy getting into "Facebook wars."  I save my comments for nice pictures, celebratory statuses and birthdays.
This is all relevant to a previous post I made, No, You Cannot Come Into the Voting Booth With Me.  I could go on and on about the dumb shit I see posted on Facebook every day.  Why do I keep logging onto it you might ask?  Because sometimes the dirty laundry people air for all the world to see makes me feel better about my own life.

"No Uterus, No Opinion"

-Installment Number Four-
It disgusts me to note that my reproductive system and politics are too intertwined.  So I take birth control.  In order to prevent pregnancy.  I take that little white pill every night and use condoms to lessen my chances of getting knocked up by mistake, even if it's by someone I love.  When I didn't have health insurance, I didn't refill my prescription, so I was even more careful to use condoms and take other necessary precautions.  So these people who think birth control is evil or unnecessary and think that teaching abstinence is the sole answer to prevent unwanted pregnancy tend to get under my skin.  Don't judge me, don't criticize me.  In my opinion, not enough people practice effective birth control.  Let me make my small contribution by not having an unwanted child.  Yes, I might be a privileged white girl from the suburbs and if I were to have a baby right now it wouldn't be the end of the world and I wouldn't end up on Medicaid.  But I should still be entitled to make my own decisions when it comes to my body.  Same goes for every other woman.  What she does with her body is her own business.  I'm not necessarily pro-choice, but I can't say I'm pro-life either.  I don't think abortion should be used as a backup plan, but I wouldn't dare judge another person for the choices they make - it's not my place.  Nor is it your's.

No, You Cannot Come Into the Voting Booth With Me

-Installment Number Three-
I don't even really want to elaborate on the upcoming presidential election.  All I can do is shake my head.  I made myself watch the debate the other night and I can honestly say that I'm frightened for the future of this country.  I feel an impending sense of doom.  It doesn't help that we are bombarded with political ads and are unable to decipher fact from fiction.  I don't know who or what to believe, I don't know if there even is a better option.  So we have to go with the lesser of two evils?  It truly, truly frightens me to think where this country will be in the next four years.  I said to Ma while we were watching Romney repeat and contradict himself, and Obama not doing much better, "You know, if Pop had just been able to get his shit together, he could have been president.  He was a logical man when he wanted to be, and I remember some of his views being a little extreme, but the man would have cleaned this mess up."
Everything needs an overhaul, starting with the educational system.  I'm in schools every day, and what I see scares me.  Teachers are babysitting as opposed to teaching.  (That's a whole different beast, I'm a firm believer in that we are all products of our environments - home life and school life are two entirely different worlds.)  Awards for "adequate progress" are a joke.  The healthcare system, military spending, financial institutions, importing, exporting and immigration policies - it all needs a drastic makeover.  We can talk about it until we're blue in the face, but what are we going to do about it?  If I had chosen a different path in life, maybe I would have gone into politics.  But I'm not cut out for that, so that's why I want a government in office I can trust and have faith in, (ha, what a joke)  that keeps the best interests of the American people in mind rather than lining its own pockets.  I think that's what most of us want.  Okay, I'm done with this part.  I could go on and on, but if I don't have resources to back myself up, I'm going to stop.

My Style Is Mine, Not Your's (But If We Share A Common Taste, Cool.)

-Installment Number Two-
So I like to poof my hair up as high as possible.  I don't fucking care that Snooki made it popular.  I was doing it before she was born.  I like it.  I think my hair looks pretty damn good when I get it just right.  And as lame as it sounds, I get a little pissy when I hear criticism for it.  I do it for me, and no one else.  Did I point out to a girl at the bar the other night that her fishtail looked like hell because her hair was too short to have it all swept on one side?  No, because I bet she thought it looked fantastic.  As well she should have.
Trust me, there's plenty of style trends I think are utterly ridiculous - I mean, who told women that short shorts and boots looks good?  I don't care who you are - shorts with boots in 80 degree weather, or any weather, is not flattering.  And what is with the pajama pants & Uggs combination being acceptable in public?  I get embarrassed for the girls I seeing sporting those "trends."  And that is my opinion.  But you see, I would expect a friend or relative to tell me, "Oh girl, no."  Or "Pull up your pants, you've got a bit of muffin top going on."  I'm not going to be offended, I'm going to be thankful that someone cared enough to prevent me from going out in public a hot mess.
I love my red skinny Dickies, my black leather cowboy boots with the 38 special bullet harnesses, my ripped up leggings and my fitted band tee shirts.  I didn't spend 10 years playing with makeup to finally get it perfect just for shits and giggles.  I fucking love makeup.  I love experimenting with it, I love wearing it.  I remember one night I went over Tommy's in yoga pants, a tank top and no makeup except for a some mascara.  He commented, saying "Wow, you look really pretty."  "Really?  I'm not wearing any makeup."  "Maybe that's why."  Now was that a really nice compliment?  Yes.  But it still irked me a bit.  I don't know why.  Call me crazy, but before I die I'm going to have to teach someone to do my makeup the way I do it so I don't look like a train wreck laid out in the casket.  And I better be wearing leather pants.

What I Put In My Mouth Shouldn't Be Anyone Else's Business

-Installment Number One-
So I'm not a vegan.  Nor do I even have the slightest desire to become one.  If you're a vegan, cool.  Good luck with that.  I don't need it literally and figuratively shoved down my throat.  Unfortunately most vegans I've come across have a tendency to do just that.  Not all, but most.
But I'm not a glutton for junk food either.  Do I hate the fact that organic food is so much more expensive than non?  Yes.  Do I hate the fact that it's easier for me to hit Wawa and grab a container of grapes, cheese and crackers because a) the prep work has already been done for me and b) I can tell  myself it's healthy?  Yes.  I don't know what kind of preservatives and shit have been put in that stuff, but I tell myself it's better than a hot dog.  Yes, I am bothered by the fact that I, among with millions of other people, have become complacent and basically replaced nutrition with convenience.  The problem is I don't know what to do about it.  I don't really know how to grow a garden, and a $50 trip to the grocery store is less strain on my wallet than a $100 one.  It kills me that food - a basic necessity we all need to survive - has gotten so expensive over the last two years.  I've watched a box of Triscuits go from $2.59 to $4.59 in a matter of months.  Same with milk, bread and cereal.  It's ironic that government programs have been established to encourage America to eat healthier, yet "bad" food is still less expensive to manufacture than the "good food."  I can get Hot Pockets for $1.50 as opposed to chicken breasts and fresh vegetables running me over $10.
Does it bother me that I see obese kindergartners all the time because it's easier and  less expensive to run through McDonald's drive through and order from the dollar menu three nights a week rather than have a home cooked meal on the dinner table?  Absolutely.
Occasionally I enjoy a big-ass steak, medium rare thanks.  Or a slice of greasy heaven from Grotto's, which I think we all should be entitled to every once in a while.  Don't judge me.  I have learned the art of moderation.  Go eat your gluten free cookies.

No One Needs A Sprinkle of Pretentiousness In Their Morning Coffee

I'm sitting here nursing a hangover with sea salt and olive oil crackers and a can of Coke, wasting the morning away scrolling through Tumblr.  I kind of wish I had never discovered it.  Things I see and read are insane.  If there's a social blogging forum that wins the award for pretentiousness, Tumblr is it.  Mine has mostly become a place for me to post my own stuff, music I like, fashion I'm into, makeup tips or Instagram shots.  I rarely re-blog anything anymore because I never come across anything worthy of putting on my own Tumblr.  (Haha, who's pretentious now?)  But this also goes for real life too.  I'm sick of the media, social networking and/or people in general telling me how I should eat, dress, vote, decisions I make regarding my body or what I should or shouldn't do about my faith.  If you can present opinions to me in a calm, peaceful manner, of course I'll listen, but it seems people have lost track of how to do that.  Please fact-check what you read before you accept it as truth, no matter how much it coincides with your own personal views or how good it may sound.  I'm capable of gathering my own research in order to make an informed decision.  But for right now, let me just exercise my freedom of speech.  I understand I'm not the only one entitled to that, but damn, there's no need to be belligerent about your opinions.  I always thought I was a pretty judgmental person until I heard second-hand that one thing my sister in law loves about me is that I don't judge people.  I sat back and chewed on that for a bit, and determined, "You know what?  I think that's true.  Never once has someone confided in me and my response been judgmental."  When my friends come to me with dilemmas or confessions of any nature, I don't attack or berate them, I listen to the situation at hand and if they're asking for advice, I'll say my piece and do my best to help them either solve their problem in the most logical way possible, whether I personally agree or not, or just be a listening ear.  My famous line is "Who am I to judge?  Chances are I've said or done it, twice."  I look for the positives and point out the negatives in a constructive way.  You can ask them.  This is one of the reasons the pretentiousness of society makes me utterly sick.

I'm splitting this post into smaller, more digestible pieces because it became one long soap box opera and I do try to keep anyone bored enough to read my blog in mind.  I love you all.  So please read on to see if you have some common ground with me.  You may be surprised.

The Horrors of Mid Morning Rush Hour

My job entails me being on the road a lot, sometimes for the majority of my day.  Last week I put over 500 miles on my car.  I have to drive as far north as Albany, NY and as far south as Virginia at any given time.  The other day I was in Annapolis, MD, the day after that I was in Perth Amboy, NJ.  It gets annoying sometimes, waking up at ridiculous hours just to get in the car and drive.
What pisses me off is how people act on the road.  More and more it seems no one knows how to drive their fucking cars.  I'm not the best driver in the world but damn, at least I know basic highway etiquette.  And how to operate a motor vehicle.
I'd have to say my favorite thing is when I'm stuck in a flow of traffic and the driver in the car at the very front of the line is one of those people who have fallen into the habit of accelerating and decelerating.  It's the speed up - speed down game.  You know what I'm talking about.  It drives me fucking nuts.  I'm sorry, but if you want to waste your own gas I won't stop you.  Just don't cause me to waste mine.  Keep the needle of your speedometer at the speed limit or close to it and no one gets hurt.
I also think people who unnecessarily tap their brakes should be subjected to corporal punishment.  Again, I really can't afford to waste the gas in my tank when I'm paying almost $4 a gallon and filling up about 3 times a week.
We all know the left lane is for passing.  We're taught it driver's ed.  And once we hit that point in time where driver's ed was so long ago that we don't remember...anything...there are signs posted everywhere.  But when I am cruising at 83 miles an hour, in an attempt to pass a slower vehicle, please do not scream up to me and try to wedge your car into my trunk.  There's not enough room in it for you.  I'm going 83-fucking-miles an hour, have some Goddamn patience.  If you want to get pulled over by a Trooper on I-95, that's fine, but I really don't want to.  Give me less than a minute so I can signal and move back over into the right lane and resume a more comfortable 75 mph.  Thanks.  Again, every time my RPM needle is above 2, I can hear my car guzzling gas.
I try not to tailgate, but it's hard to resist when someone is cruising along in the passing lane doing the speed limit, sometimes even below it.  Get the fuck out of the passing lane if you're not using it to pass.  Dipshit.  Yes, I know I just contradicted myself, because I hate when people tailgate me.  Only when I'm driving like a bat out of hell already, doing 20 miles over the speed limit.  If you're doing 50 in a 65, then please have some courtesy and move over into the right lane.  Maybe put your flashers on.
Another thing I don't understand is the fact that traffic volume causes major backups.  The other day I was sitting on I-95 next to the Philadelphia Sports Complex because people were doing the brake-tapping routine and no one knows how to behave when there's road construction.  It happened again at the 95/476 split.  And again on 141 North.  There's a shit ton of construction going on people, get used to it.  I'm sure you make your commute every fucking day.  Learn the new traffic patterns, accept them, and move on.  We all know by now that the lanes on the Broad Street bridge split, as do the ones on 141.  If you don't need to exit, plan on moving into one of the left two lanes.  Preferably before the last minute.
Don't even get me started on motorist behavior when inclement weather is added to the mixing bowl of douchbaggery on the roads.  My  most recent experience with slick roads and drizzling rain caused me to be an hour late to work, therefore screwing my entire day.  One accident on 476 North had 95 backed up.  Making the not-so-smart decision to bypass 476 resulted in me crawling along 76 West for a half an hour.  Isn't there any other way to get to the Northeast Extension other than the Blue Route and/or cutting through Philadelphia?  I was ready to set my GPS on fire and watch it burn.  Believe me, I came up with about three different ideas for revamping the entire infrastructure of Philadelphia while sitting behind a Ford Explorer with  a sticker depicting Calvin peeing on the Eagles, Redskins and Cowboys on its back windshield.  They were a NY fan.  From Jersey.  And another sticker for some bait and tackle shop that said "Size Matters."  If you have to announce that, then you've probably got a small one.
I know it could be worse.  I heard LA is the number one town for traffic congestion and that commuters spend an average of 56 hours a year in their car.  I'd have to say New York is number two.  Then comes my area - I'm surrounded by Philly, New Jersey, Baltimore and Washington DC.  But I deal with it.  Typically I'm on the roads early enough to avoid all the traffic, but some days...I just want to scream.

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?

No Fucking Trucks or Buses In the Left Lane!

It's getting old.  People really really really cannot handle driving on the interstates anymore.  I know I'm not the best driver out there, but when I'm attempting to merge on 476 and there's a big mack truck that decides it's going to cruise on over into the left lane and stay there so no one can pass it?  I get ugly.  Throwing up middle fingers, cursing, cutting other innocent drivers off, basically morphing into Queen Bitch of the Road.

There's no reason for an 18-wheeler to be hanging out in the left lane.  If I'm in that lane, and notice people are starting to scream past me?  I move the fuck over.  Because the left lane is for passing.

There Is A Hell, Believe Me, She's Seen It

I know I've been ranting about the whole mortgage nightmare that my mother's going through.  And I'm sure I come off as thinking she's entitled to a government hand out.  But here's the thing, that's not what I mean when I say she deserves some fucking help. 

It's not that she's asking for money.  She's not asking to have the mortgage company just forgive the entire balance due, on the second mortgage my father went ahead and put on the house under my mother's name without her consent.  She wants to pay it because she wants to stay in her home.  All she wants is to be able to write the fucking mortgage check every month without losing sleep at night.

This woman has been through it all.  I used to have a lot of faith, but not so much anymore.  I don't go to church anymore, and it's not that I don't believe in God or am bitter or anything, but if there's any example of demonstrating faith through hard times, it's my mother.  She doesn't give up.  She hasn't given up, and she won't.  There's those sayings that the meek shall inherit the earth, and that those who have suffered nothing but trials and tribulations on this earth, yet manage to stay strong in their faith, will redeem their reward in Heaven.  If that's the case Mama will have her own posse of angels waiting on her hand and foot when she gets there.

Her first marriage ended because of alcoholism.  Then my father came along and things were good for a while.  Then his alcoholism reared its head, along with his infidelity towards her with countless other women, among them her best friend.  So she was not only betrayed by her husband, but her best girl friend as well.

She's fought so many physical ailments over the years, but to look at her you'd never know.  You never hear her complain.  I have to yell at her when I catch her lugging some heavy-ass box up from the basement or I come home and she's cutting the fucking grass.  (Well, that's my job, so I'd yell at her anyway.)

She lost both of her parents before she was 50 years old.  She's got no one to lean on, because everyone leans on her.  When I bitch and moan about the fact that I still live at home, I stop myself mid-rant because right now, Ma and I need each other.  I don't think I'd leave even if I could afford to.  No matter how much shit I alone have put her through, (and trust me, it's been alot,) she will never disown me.  I jest that I will hand over my firstborn to her one day, but I'm kind of serious.

The other day I was going over some paperwork that my bank sent me concering life insurance.  It's not a bad idea to get some, no?  So I was talking to Ma about it, trying to decide how much to get, because if I got $300,000 worth, and I kick the bucket tomorrow, she can take the check to the bank and tell the mortgage brokers to fuck off.  But she looked at me and said, "If you go tomorrow they better dig a second hole right next to you to put me in."

I cried a little.




Mama with her grandson, Nicholas, August 2010

 

Work Is Not Something I Can Take Home With Me

Work has been kicking my ass lately.  I've been driving up and back down from New York, northern New Jersey, southern New Jersey, and one day this week I'm down in Charles Co Maryland.  All of this driving is eating away at my sanity and it's hell on my lungs.

The other day I was at a job in Chester, PA.  If you're not familiar with Chester, it's pretty much the asshole of Pennsylvania.  It's run-down, it's ghetto, and my co-workers and I were joking about whether or not we should have just left our car doors unlocked so that we wouldn't have to worry about broken windows.

I was dreading work that day.  I had been to this school once before, a few years ago, and was gearing up to deal with asshole little kids who have no disregard for other human beings, chaos, it being so loud that I wouldn't be able to hear myself think, over all a giant clusterfuck.

And it was.  But I had the help of those handy little yellow pills my doctor gave me to take if I feel a panic attack coming on.  I popped one before we even started.  And I was even keel for the rest of the day.

"Okay, sit up straight for me?  Can you sit up straight?  Do you know how to sit up straight?  No, don't scoot forward, make your back straight.  Can you handle this?  Are you sure?"  The whole time in my head I'm thinking, "You fucking little asshole I cannot wait until you get out of my face and your picture is going to be bad no matter what because you are a sorry-looking motherfucker."  But I just put a sickeningly sweet smile on my face and do my job.

One particular thing about schools like this that sticks out in my head is that alot of these kids are poor.  Not just money-is-tight-right-now poor, their clothes are ratty and they're dirty.  Like one has to wonder when the last time some of these children were bathed.  And that breaks my heart.  Are mommy and daddy spending all their money on crack?  Or putting dubs on their piece of shit cars or getting their nails done instead of buying their child a decent pair of shoes and feeding them?  It makes me want to scoop them up and take them away from the hell they are living in.

I see this shit all the time, and there's not a Goddamn thing I can do about it.

Pity Party Much?

There's a half empty glass of Pinot Grigio sitting in front of me and a cigarette burning in the ashtray.

It is Friday fucking night.

I do not like sitting at home.  Ever.  I've done too much of it in the past to let any opportunity to get loud and rowdy pass me by.  But sometimes the opportunities are just not there.  See, most of my friends are all "settled down" and married and have kids and all that happy horseshit.  Yeah that's not my cup of tea, thanks. 

I guess what I don't get is that we're all fucking young so why shouldn't we be tearing it up as much as possible?  I've got stories of nights with Andy and Tyler where we have had a blast and some of it we might remember, some of it we might not.  (And I've only slept with one of them, never have and never will be in the middle of those two, thank you very much.)  I've woken up mornings wondering whose clothes I was wearing and why there was a naked guy spooning me.  There is a reason we're called the Shit-Show of Wilmington.  We've tried to rehash the night before, wondering if we're still welcome in certain establishments.

It's all in good fun, you see.  We work hard, so we party even harder.

Growing Older, But Definitely Not Growing Up

I don’t know what is happening to me.

It’s like ever since I hit my 27th year, my body is telling me to fuck off.

I can’t skip a day when it comes to washing my hair anymore. If I do my roots get greasier than an oilslick underneath an ‘82 Chevy Silverado. But of course the more I wash it, the bigger the halo of frizz that graces the crown of my head. (Because, as I’ve recently discovered, if I don’t blow it dry, it decides to wave up all on its own. SINCE WHEN? Not when I wanted wavy hair, of course!) Doesn’t matter how much I spend on hair products either. Just makes it greasier.

Don’t get me started on facial hair. I mean, I am Italian, so I accepted the fact that I needed to start shaving my legs at the age of 10, waxing the brows at 13, and that my brother and I would both be trimming our “mustaches” at the same time in the bathroom mirror on occassion. But seriously? When did the brows start creeping up my fucking forehead? It seems like I have to position the tweezers closer and closer to my damn hairline every day.

Not to mention the horrific discovery of a giant black hair coming out of my fucking neck one day. And the fact that my mother pointed it out to me. (I mean, shit, we only have each other, so I sure as hell am not going to let her leave the house with lipstick on her teeth and I expect her to look out for me as well.)

WHAT THE FUCK.

My skin has gone from normal-to-oily to “Here Ma, let me just smear my face all over that fry pan you’re about to cook sausage and peppers in, you won’t need any olive oil!” Doesn’t matter how much I spend on skincare products either, and I guess I’ll be saving money now that I don’t need to moisturize anymore. Thank God I never had/don’t have an issue with acne.

The change in seasons is forging a major assault on my senses as well. My sinuses hurt, and I cannot, cannot drink enough water because all the natural moisture in my body is going straight to my face. (But, and I’m sure this is TMI, I have no problem down there, thank God.)

All I can say is thank God my tits are still where they’re supposed to be. The day I discover my belly button between them is the day I think I’ll just throw my hands up and say, “Well, I had a good run!” And proceed to slit my fucking wrists.

If you made it through this post kudos to you, if you care, even more awesome. But I AM bitching and just may continue to do so because why? Because I can. I’ve been through enough bullshit in my life to be thankful that at this point, aside from the massive amount of debt I’m in and the fact that I have no savings starting to gain interest in any kind of bank account, my biggest concern is painfully dry sinuses, frizzy hair, and oily skin. But hey, I still manage to look like a million bucks every day, even if I’ve only got $5 in my pocket.

Flashback - August 4, 2001

I get tired; I am heartbroken; it's become a routine because I care way too much about you; you walk away; you shut down because you're scared; scared because you know I can give you everything you want and need; now it's my turn to walk away holding up my middle fingers towards you; I'm leaving baby; I'm going away; I hope ten years down the road you'll think of me; maybe even see me around; but this time I won't let you back in; to turn my world upside down; I'm walking away from you; my middle fingers up in the air aimed at you; every bitch you come across or on after me; will not even come close; and you'll know it; you already do; you'll realize eventually that you broke a heart that cared more for you; than anyone ever will; there won't be any second chances baby; you're a scared little boy; I'm outta here baby; I've left your house for the last time; giving you both of my middle fingers



At seventeen, he was...my everything.

Why Do They All Have Aliases?

Ever since my Ex and I split up, it seems that the majority of men I become involved with go by some sort of nickname. And they all start with the letter 'B.' For the most part. First there was Buzzard. Then came Bird. Crash. Bling. Tank. Buddah. And various ones whose real first names start with the letter B, but I'm leaving them out to protect the guilty parties.

Just a weird observation of mine.