Tired of Trying to Appease You

You know, there comes in a point in every relationship and friendship when you have to step back and take inventory. You have to whip out the clipboard, tally the score and haggle with yourself--what will I tolerate? Who is expendable? What can I do to fix this, or is there any fixing it?

I'm at that exact point right now in a friendship that I really did, and still do, value. I am at the end of my patient little rope. I feel like I have been a pretty good friend to this person. I have looked out for her and kept her secrets...I have gone out of my way to let her know that I think about her...I have helped her in every way I can and I have tried to give the best advice possible. I really genuinely care about her, but there's only so far that my care and concern can be stretched.

I feel like I am constantly trying to appease her--say the things she wants me to say, agree with her point of view even when I don't really, apologizing even when I don't feel like I've done anything wrong (that is probably the one that bothers me the most and I only ever do that because I can't stand for someone to be mad at me, even if they have no right to be). Not only do I step up as a friend and do normal friend things out of love and appreciation, but I do things that I probably shouldn't just to avoid her irrational wrath and immature temper.

Last night, for instance: I had a date with a guy that I've just recently starting see who, by the way, she set me up with. After our dinner, we were supposed to go to her house to drink a little and play games. Turns out, though, that my date had had a really bad day and was really tired (partially from working all day and partially because he has some pretty serious health concerns that do cause him to become fatigued fairly easily) and all he really wanted to do was have dinner, go watch a movie, take a nap and then take me home early. I sent her a text explaining the situation and asking for a rain check and she went absolutely ballistic. I was actually caught completely off gaurd by the whole thing. If the situation were reversed, and her husband had been worn out and wanted to reschedule some pretty casual plans, I would have been pretty understanding and just told her to have a good night anyway. Isn't that what friends do?? You forgive little inconviniences and flaws, make allowances for mistakes and extend understanding to sticky situations (especially those that weren't that big of a deal to begin with).

The worst part is that I do feel really bad. She has this infuriating way of making me feel bad about myself, or making me feel apologetic, when I shouldn't be. I don't feel like I did anything wrong, certainly not anything to deserve the verbal lashing I got last night, but here I am, agonizing over what I can do to make it better, how I can appeal to her and make things right again.

Ugh. It sucks even just thinking about it.

I Can Buy Chocolate For Myself

But it sure would be nice if someone else thought to do so...

It's weird....I have been in tons of relationships and I've even been married once...but I have only had one Valentines Day when I wasn't single. And I happened to be pregnant on that one, so there was no candlelit dinner (KFC has some sort of code against open flames), no see-through nightie (I was seven months pregnant...my regular pajamas were perfectly obscene), no passionate love making (at that point, it was sea-turtle style humping), and no emotional professions of love (I...was...pregnant. Inflating to the size of a Winnebego and having swollen feet can just suck the romance right out of any relationship...). Oh, and it snowed that Valentines and the power went out and I got my socks wet.

So, I've never had a good Valentines. And it looks like this year will be another depressing rerun of all the years previous. My Valentines even sucked in elementary school. At a very young age, I had the acute understanding that the stack of cartoon character, baseball card sized Valentines on my desk had nothing to do with love (or tolerance, even)...they were all indicative of one thing: That everyone else had gotten the long list of classmates names, too, and that their mothers had nagged and guilted and forced them to check every single kid off the list (yes, even the one who smelled.) And, to make matters worse, while all the other distracted mothers bought boxes of cheesy premade cards and threw their kid a pink Sharpie, my mother whipped out the big tupperware box of lace and construction paper and glitter and proceeded to seal my fate as a weirdo by forcing me to make each...and...every...stinking...Valentine.

I haven't really mastered this art of being Single and Fierce and Valentines just draws more attention to my severe lack of romantic life and tragic abscence of confidence and coolness. I'd like to be able to say that I don't care...heck, I'd love to just be able to act like I don't care. But I do and it's painfully obvious. I snap my head up every time a delivery man comes, panting, eyes watering, hands shaking. I continue to esentially spazz out until the precious bouqet makes it's safe landing on someone elses desk, and then I go back to playing solataire until the next of the devils henchman come to torment me further. The flowers are never for me, but I never stop hyperventilating and hoping, even though I know that if there is a man out there paying to send me flowers, I've never met him and therefore he must be stark raving mad.

And then there are the looks of pity from all my friends and coworkers. They never come right out and say that they think I am pathetic, but facial expressions can be just as embarassing as words. And even worse than the looks are the consolation prizes--the gross, leftover chocolates from samplers, the wobby flower that was throwing off the other eleven in the vase. And sometimes, someone will feel so sorry for you, that instead of tossing you a few leftovers, they will actually go out and buy you a gift. That means that they were thinking of you and feeling sad for you at some point in time when you weren't even standing in front of them, which is absolutely mortifying.

So, I am twenty years old and sickeningly single on yet another Valentines Day. You'd think by now that I would really even notice, or that February 14th wouldn't even register as anything important, but the anticipation and that disappointment and the awkwardness never seem to fade. I am really not one of those women who is desperate for a man. I'm not even a big fan of lavish gifts or lots of attention. I don't submit to bikini waxes and you'll never catch me swooning. And I am the first person to protest the commercialized holiday. But secretly, I think Valentines Day is a really sweet occasion. And, secretly, I wish that someone would even just notice me enough to send me a little tiny vase of pink roses. I don't need diamonds and I'll pass on sex, but a "Hey you seem like a nice person and I think you're kind of cute" Valentine wouldn't be too bad.

The White Sheep

I am so sick of being surrounded by arrogant black women who think they are so fierce because of their skin color and who try to make me feel like a stupid little girl because of mine. They try to exclude me and intimidate me and attack all my weak spots and it's starting to get on my nerves, even though I know they are doing it because they are insecure with themselves and feel pressed to flaunt their race even when they aren't (and probably never have been) faced with adversity or discrimination.

Honestly, I try to avoid interacting with black women at all costs, especially if they are older than me. (Just a note: I have found that black men are much less condescending, confrontational and irrational. I've never had a problem with a black man...I live my life having problems with black women.) And I am sorry if that makes me a racist. But I think I am allowed to say that sometimes I feel unfairly judged and treated because I am a twenty year old white girl. But no one ever says anything about that kind of racism because, what, we deserve it? Because we are young and white, we must be privileged and spoiled and naive and therefore it is the place of black women all over the world to make us feel inferior and weak? Have they accepted it as their responsibility to keep us in our place? I can honestly say that my life has been perfectly shitty, thanks, and I've had to struggle just like everyone else. It's almost like some sort of unspoken competition for the title of Better Woman and that is just so unrealistic. Just like black women don't want to be judged because of their skin color (although they love to be praised for it), I don't want to be judged because of mine. And it is no more okay for black people to make rude generalizations or assumptions about white people than it is for white people to make them about blacks. Racism is racism, no matter which way you flip it.

And the most annoying part is this: I am not allowed to say anything or be pissed off about it because the world is still not ready to accept the fact that black people can be just as racist, close minded and abusive as any white person, and sometimes more. I should not have to allow you to talk to me like a dog, exclude me from work related events or conversations, ignore me or talk trash about me, because of any old race issues or slave horror stories. I was born white just like you were born black and I have no more control over that than you do. And if you think it is ignorant for white people to judge black people based on stereotypes, it is even more ignorant for a black person to mistreat a white person because of the racist or bigot they assume that they must be.

And I am sick of being neutral about my race. Black people get a damn month to celebrate their heritage. There are movies and books and talk shows all about racism and slavery and the opposition and discrimination that black people have had to overcome. Black people are encouraged to show off their skin and be proud of their race. White people have to walk around like mummies and act like they haven't even noticed what race they are. If we were to all run out in the street and start dancing and praising the Lord for making us beautiful and white, the reaction we would get from the African American community would not be a good one. But you know what? I love being white. I love my hair and the color of my skin and my lips and my bone structure. I love that I can lay out in the sun for a few hours and get a pretty tan. I love that my tattoo pops against my ivory skin, like clip art on a blank computer page. I love the way I scar. I love my nipples and my kneecaps. And I love my ancestors. I love the people who discovered and cultivated and nurtured our baby America. I love the people who figured it all out and raised big strong families. I love the people who travelled over ocean and mountain to establish homes here. I love the men who forced our government and looked to the future.

I am not and will never be apologetic and ashamed of my ancestry. I am about as white as they get and I am thankful for that. I wouldn't have it any other way, and not because any other races are inferior, but because white is what I am and what I love and who I am supposed to be. And I really wish that some of these abrassive and obnoxious black women who seem to get so much pleasure out of putting me down and making me feel bad could find some confidence in themselves from within themselves. I think it's really sad when people have to hurt other people or make them look bad in order to feel good about themselves. I am okay with my skin and I am okay with yours. I don't look at you and see a black woman...I see another person. And I am always willing to treat you as such. But I do have my limits. I will not compromise my own beliefs in order to avoid offending you, when all you do is try to offend me.

I'm done.

Miss Personality

I love my job. I love my desk and my paper clips and the customers I get to meet and work with. I like most of my coworkers and the professional environment. I've even gotten used to the background noise--the balances printing and CNN.

However, there is one person here at the bank who just makes me want to scream. I am not going to say her name because, no matter how much she annoys me and how little I think of her, I have common respect and decency. But this person is honestly the rudest, most inconsiderate, cold and stuck up individual that I've ever come into contact with. She sticks her nose up in the air and then talks down it to me, she prances her grotesquely skinny and boyish ass around here like she owns the place, she's a 28 year old know it all and she refuses to even say hello to me. I've made comments before about her silent treatment and how much it baffles me and I always get the same response, no matter who I'm talking to: "Oh, that's just _______, she's just quiet."

I'm so sorry, but I think that your personality should always take a back seat to courtesy and professionalism. I've never worked somewhere like this, where people are allowed to be bitches because "that's just the way they are". No, no, no. That is not acceptable. It's times like this that I wish I could call a few shots and run this show a little because I would sit her immature and petulant butt down and tell her, point blank, that there is a time and place to be snooty and cold and dismissive and it is not work. We are all grown up people and we should all know by now that, for the most part, it doesn't matter what we think or say or what we would prefer or how we feel about people or how bad of a day we've had, you still have to suck...it...up (no matter what "it" is) and be mature. I really don't care if you like me or not, but you should at least treat me like a coworker--with respect and any level of interest and regard.

I've just started realizing more and more that the standards and morals that I have that I thought were so basic and reasonable are not always the norm. I was raised to be polite and to give everyone the same basic respect. I like to listen to people and give them time to express themselves before I cut them off or stop paying attention. I like to make people feel comfortable talking to me. I am new to this bank and so far, I have received little if any welcome. There are even people in management positions that cannot climb down off their high horses and speak to me or give me a chance.

It's not necessarily a blessing to be born more mature than everyone else.

Throwing in the Towel Before I Ever Shed Another Tear

So, I am going to blog about this once. I am going to talk about this once. I am going to address this issue and resolve any misunderstandings regarding it once. It is not a big deal, it's not something I want plastered across a t-shirt. I don't want to have to explain it all the time or reenforce it every day.

Yes, I am officially completely done with men. And I mean it. I am done with them in every way possible--no more sex, no more dating, no more crushing and flirting, no more relationships! I know that no one is going to take me seriously until I've turned down a few guys or not gone out and slept with one of my favorite boys, but I really am very serious about this. And I have some very solid reasons. (And they are not all related to the recent indescretions on the part of a friend or the shame caused to me by the last boy who caught my eye.)

#1: No relationship has yet proven worth the pain, embarassment or anger that they all have caused me. At the end of everything, all you have left to show for all your primping and perfuming and compromising and sacrafice is one more person you hide from when you see them in Wal-Mart and razor rash on your va-jay-jay. Why keep subjecting myself to all this torture and inconvinience when I already know, from the moment I lay eyes on that cute boy or give him my phone number, what the outcome will be? How many times have I hoped for matrimony and ended up stress eating myself into a new size pants instead?

#2: Sex is too much work! By the time I get done shaving my ridiculously long, cumbersome legs, braiding my arm pit hair (just kidding, really), powdering, spritzing, fluffing, combing and tweezing, I'm too tired for sex! And why should I spend all that time getting ready for some dude (who, by the way, thinks he's doin' good if he remembers to smear on some Old Spice before he rolls me around on his mismatched sheets for exactly three and a half minutes) when my vibrator does a better job, doesn't care if I haven't shaved my legs in years and never talks back?! Oh, and I never get the sneaking suspicion that my vibrator is comparing my boobs to anyone elses or wishing I was thinner.

#3: I have other better, more important things to do. Really. My son, my education, my career and my family should always be more important than anybody sportin' a scrotum. My mom is putting me through college and supporting me pretty much 100%; my son is delightful and funny and growing up more every day; my education deserves my attention and dedication; and my job is a source of pride for me, so I'd like to hang on to it. When I look back on all of my relationships, I don't see anything that any of those guys have ever done for me that could even begin to compare to the love and support and care I get from my family and friends and the opportunities afforded to me by my job and education. The most I've ever gotten from a guy is a negative result for herpes (but believe me, I was thankful), and I can most definitely give that to myself just by sitting at home playing legos and memorizing the periodic table.

#4: I know myself and I really do have an astounding lack of self control. I know that when I'm dating or sleeping with someone, I let the other areas of my life go neglected and unattended to. I blow off school and I spend less and less time with Payton and I become more and more excessive and obsessed and addicted. I have known these things about myself for a while, and it's time that I start using the pattern to fashion a model. I know that I am not a responsible, productive, healthy person when I'm dating or having sex, therefore I know that in order for my life to be balanced and normal, I need to avoid these situations. Makes sense, eh?

#5: I am just SICK of crying and being embarassed and getting angry and feeling bad about myself because of one stupid guy or another. They are all the same and I am better than that! It feels awful to develop feelings for someone and think about them all the time and spend time with them and start the process of getting comfortable around them, just to have it all fall apart in your hands, in front of everyone, over something stupid and pointless. And the only way for sure to avoid that feeling is to steer clear of boys!

#6: I have been saying for a long time that you can't trust anyone, but I haven't been living my life according to that rule. I've just tripped right out of one relationship and into another, having my misplaced trust betrayed and my feelings hurt. This is what we call a pre-game plan! I just fell out of one stupid involvement with a stupid, stupid guy and instead of sitting around waiting on the next doofust to come along and make it that much worse, I'm going to actively avoid men.

So, wish me luck. No more sex. No more boys. No more dates. No more relationships. I am done.

Frustration

So, I quit smoking. I don't know if I really was that addicted, or if fate hates me and waits till I try to kick the habit to dump random life shit on me, but all I know is that I am having a terrible time today. I kind of quit thursday night (I say kind of because Saturday night, I smoked three, which is an improvement over my usual, with Ashley) and I've done okay, but I really am struggling today.

Reasons I Want to Chain Smoke Filterless Camels Today:

1) I just lost a friend and a boy that I actually really like. Apparently, girls, it's okay for your friend to invite a guy you just started dating to her house for a party even though she knows you can't go and won't be there. And it's okay for him to accept this invitation. Oh, no, wait, I got that all backwards, you're right, it's not okay! I don't know if I am the only person on the face of the planet who would be uncomfortable and slightly pissed about this situation, but that's how the two of them (yes, they are behaving similiarly now...I wonder...) are acting, like I have no right to be mad. I'm sorry....but what reason in the world would someone have to invite a complete stranger who just happens to be dating one of their friends to their house knowing that they will be all sloppy drunk and making sexual overtures at random people? They don't even know each other...argh! It was bad enough that she ran her mouth about stuff she had no business talking about in the first place, but I just found out today that she gave him explicit directions to her house (and probably her panties...skank) and he followed those explicit directions and made an appearance (fuckwad). I don't care if all they did was talk about foriegn policy, that is never acceptable!

2) The people I work with are unfriendly and rude. Someone at another bank I was training at actually told me before I started at this bank that the people here were some of the most unfriendly she had ever worked with, but I dismissed that because I understand that everyone has different social needs and preferances and everyone has their own opinion. I came to this job hoping to make some new friends and get to know everyone here. Apparently, I did something wrong the first day I set foot in the door because ever since then, I have been getting the cold shoulder. I'm talking about people who won't even speak to me unless forced by professional protocol (and, at our bank, they stretch that pretty far). I used to come in every day and say hello to everyone and try to be helpful and cheerful, but their foul moods have rubbed off on me like old charcoal. I am sick of kissing ass and doing the please-like-me dance. These people have no reason not to like me! I have done nothing to deserve this silent treatment and honestly, they all just make themselves out to be little immature bitches when they stick their noses up and talk to everyone but me. I am a perfectly nice, normal person and I try very hard to mind my own business and just do my job and be respectful, I do not deserve this. And, the funny thing is, when I don't talk to them, that's when people actually start to notice anything about me at all. Um, so are we rewarding negative behavior now? Honestly, where is professionalism anymore? I have never worked anywhere like this. You would think that a bank would be more professional than the kitchen at a nursing home, but at least at the nursing home, we all tried to figure out ways to work with each other and put our differences aside. We were at least fucking polite. I can't stand this anymore. Everyone is all stuck up each others asses and I'm sick of it. I'm standing on the outside and I'm starting to realize that they are all just miserable people who would rather make someone else feel bad or left out than take some time to get over themselves and get to know someone else. (And just so you know, no, I don't mean everyone at the bank. There are a few down to earth, sweet girls who treat me like everyone else. A few means three--Meghan, Carmen and Ashley.)

3) I am about to start my period. Now, don't think that makes the first two complaints insignificant. I might be hormonal, but I am still sensible and I know when something hurts and when something is wrong. My reaction might be slightly different than it would have been two weeks ago, but the sentiments are the same. I really think I need to start taking some hormone pills or try some new birth control, because I cannot stand the way I feel right before I start. I am edgy and irritable and snappy as hell. I cry about nothing and I develop all these weird paranoias. (No, this does NOT apply to the first reason. I am not paranoid. It doesn't matter to me if they fucked on her front porch or not, it wasn't acceptable. I don't think that knowing the nature of bad human beings makes me paranoid. Chances are, if the president of the United States will get his dick sucked by a fat bitch in the Oval Office, your twenty one year old drunkard, hornball friend will fuck the guy you really like at a party. Common sense, right?) The last time I was about to start, I read this story in a magazine about this little boy named Aidan who died when he was two of some rare disease. When I got to the part about his family packing up his toys and taking down his crib, I burst into boiling tears and I literally cried for about three hours. I cried myself out of tears. My mom felt bad at first and then she just got annoyed because I wouldn't stop. And the funny thing is, once I actually start, I'm an angel. I feel all relieved and calm and demure and I flit around blowing kisses and sprinkling money dust on everyone (not really). I think I have PMPS--Premenstraul psychotic syndrome.

4) I need, I want, I HAVE to have sex! Okay, so maybe this is a little bit TMI (I actually don't know what that means anymore as far as my blogs are concerned), but I am insanely frisky (my nice alternative for that oogly h-word). I want a boy...and you know where. I was supposed to have a little date tonight and tomorrow night, but thanks to my loud mouth, inappropriate alcoholic ex-friend, I can scratch that (and it's a sad, sad shame, too, because I have a feeling that boy knows how to throw down...I hate her even more now). It did just occur to me though that if I were to get fucked really good, I would probably want a cigarette. AUGH! Now I miss AJ. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! Seriously, though, there's nothing I love more than falling back on the pillow, sweaty and satisfied, and letting the man responsible for my screaming and moaning light each one of us a cigarette. Then, we smoke and smile and wrap our legs around each other and bask in the afterglow of one outrageously good lay. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. But, I guess since there's no indication that I will be getting laid any time soon, or that if I do, that it will be any good, I don't have to worry about succumbing to the craving for that postcoital cigarette.

Anyway, this is my blog and I will do with it what I please. And what I have done is a beautiful explosion of hatred and anger. Kisses

To Whom it May Concern: Mind Your Damn Business

It has come to my attention that there are certain people viewing my profile and reading my blogs who have no business to and I would just like to make a brief statement regarding the idiocy of this.

First of all, I am fully aware that unless I adjust my personal settings, myspace is completely public and everyone has access to it. I'm okay with that. I've never put my phone number or my address on here and I try to keep everything as general and first-name as possible. However, I do have a problem with the fact that people who don't really know me or have any business (or shouldn't even have any interest) going through all my blogs or looking at my boyfriends profile, get on the internet and do just that, and then have the audacity to tell other people about it or involve themselves in it. I think it just goes without saying that, even though anyone can read my blogs, I write them for myself and my friends. And if you aren't me or one of my friends, you can read all you want, but at least know where the line is and refrain from confronting me about something I've written or making (and then verbalizing) all sorts of wild assumptions. I write really silly stuff in my blogs...I write really serious stuff in my blogs...I write really boring stuff in my blogs...I've been known to write a little poem...and these things should only be relevant to you if you know me.

And the things you read about or by someone you don't know are taken out of context almost immediately. For instance, Aaron might say, "Black people have no business dressing up like Santa Clause." If you actually know him, you laugh. You laugh because you know he's not racist, that he's very sweet and openminded and that's just his sense of humor. Now, if you don't know him, you might think, "Why, he's a big fat racist!" But you would be wrong. And you should have enough sense in your head to know that you might have misread something and it takes more than reading a few sentences to form an opinion of someone. And you have no place running off at the mouth or causing some big hoopla about it.

I'm just disappointed in humanity anymore. I'm disappointed in adults who do childish things and try to justify them. I am disappointed in people who lie about shit that isn't even remotely funny or appropriate to lie about to get their way. It's the equivalent of a child stomping their foot and flinging themself down on the floor in order to get her way. For intance: "I just won't go to class today and I'll the teacher I was diagnosed with breast cancer so she'll pass me anyway" or "My husband lies and cheats and doesn't love me or pay any attention to me, so I will hurt and lie to anyone and everyone in order to manipulate him into honesty and faithfulness." (Oh, and make a little note: He will never be faithful.)

And to the person that this whole blog is directed to (sealed with a kiss, of course): Go ahead. Call him. Print it off. Make copies and nail them to all the trees in your neighborhood. I don't care. I am ok with myself and I am allowed to write whatever the hell I please. You just need to ask yourself what you're looking for here. Why are you continuing with this? You asked me questions, I gave you honest answers, you fucked me over, I said fuck off. That is where the story ends...theoretically, ideally. It would be nice if you would just go away. I would think that you would want to wrap this all up and tuck it away, move on with your life. But you have allowed yourself to be trapped in this cycle. And your life is going to dwindle until you have nothing more. And I guess that's when you go crazy?

Pepsi Will Kill Your Bladder and Wow My Feet Hurt

I don't even have anything left to say after the title!

But, seriously, kids, Pepsi will kill your poor little bladder (and your kidneys...and your urinary tract...and your lawn..just kidding...about the lawn, that is). I went to the doctor yesterday and did my traditional Pee All Over Myself and The Floor Before Finally Getting Three Drops in the Cup routine (big favorite with the cleaning crew crowd) and hey, guess what! I have a raging bladder infection. I knew there was something wrong, but it didn't occur to me that it might be bad until Julie came in and sat down, looked at me with this horrified expression on her face and said, "So when was the last time you drank any water, Bethany? Gatorade? Lemonade? Orange Juice? Anything that's not brown and carbonated?" Hee hee, oops.

I have a serious aversion to water. When I was a little kid, I had some pretty serious kidney problems and I couldn't have anything but water. I drank water until my little stomach was freezing cold and my pee was reusable. I dreamed about Coke. I fantasized about Coke. And when I turned 18, I went out and bought one, damnit. And it was everything I could have ever imagined and so much more. And I've been hooked ever since. And now that my mommy can't make me drink water, I don't. At all. It takes a lot (like severe dehydration, large sums of money, the fate of the world) to make me drink even the slightest drop. I don't care how refined or filtered or from what spring it came bubbling and sparkling from, it's gross and unsatisfying.

Oh, and I worked last night at Barnes and Noble. It was really my second day, but Monday I just read some stuff and watched other people work. Last night, I actually got to do something...and my feet suffered. I had forgotten what it's like to just stand for any significant amount of time. I guess I've gotten pretty comfortable here behind my desk in my little cushy rolly chair, kicking my shoes off and eating too many christmas tree cakes. My feet were absolutely killing me by 11 o'clock! I did get to work with a really sweet girl named Chrystal though. She was so much fun to work with and she really made me feel comfortable training because she was so laid back about it. She didn't make me feel pressured which makes all the difference in the world when you're trying to learn a new job and you already feel like a great big idiot.

Oh, and for those of you who care, my cell phone is on the blitz because it's...I forget the technical term...oh, you know...a peice of cow shit rolled in pig intestines. And yes, I just made that up, but it's surprisingly appropriate. First of all, it will not hold a charge. The car charger won't plug all the way into the phone unless I hold it (basically redneckerize it) this really funny way and just sit there, never moving or breathing. Obviously, there is only so long I can do this. So, if I'm talking to you (Christine!) and all of a sudden, it cuts off, you know why. And don't get mad, just know that I'm on the other end still talking to myself, oblivious, and that I will keep doing this for at least five minutes. I'm an ass and this should make you feel better.

Aaron comes back in four days! I am so excited. I was telling Christine today that it's kind of been the opposite of when he left. I know, that's obvious, but I mean as far as my emotions go. When he left, it took a few weeks before it finally sank in that he was gone, that I couldn't just grab the phone and call him for no reason or even the best reason in the world. And now that he's coming back, it's sinking in the same way, really slowly. Sometimes I'll just be minding my own business, doing something incredibly important (aren't I always?) and then I'll just start smiling all of a sudden because it will occur to me that in a little over a week, I will be able to see him! That sounds stupid...but when you go so long without seeing someone, it's the biggest deal in the world. I will be able to see him and hug him and kiss him and scratch his chin (loves) and hold his hand and look in his eyes and...wow, I'm excited!

So, now I'm sitting here drinking my 24 oz. Pepsi, taking my bladder medicine (look everyone, irony!). Tonight, I am going to meet mom and Paytonio at the mall to hang out and get a bite to eat and then we're going to Sams to do something itenerary free shopping. Jimmy is being a melodramatic asshole.

Kisses