There’s no question that relationships take work. However, the current divorce statistics would
suggest that most couples decide it’s not worth the effort after they pop out a
couple of kids, the newness wares off, and reality sets in. I’m not sure I blame them, but then why go
through the hassle of getting married?
You’re certainly not doing me
any favors.
I think it’s kind of unfair that I go to your weddings, buy
you gifts. Go to your baby showers, buy
you gifts. Spend a small fortune
celebrating your life events, and then you have the balls to get
divorced?!?! There should be some kind
of money back guarantee for these things!
Quite frankly, I think it should be the other way
around. You buy me gifts for NOT getting married, for managing NOT to get knocked
up and imposing my spawn on society, and being able to take care of myself
without requiring any kind of government assistance. But hey, what do I know?
I was raised to believe that marriage is a forever kind of
deal. I had great examples to follow
while I was growing up, and I've seen that it can actually be done. However, I don’t think it’s for
everyone.
The thought of legally binding myself to ONE person “until
death do us part”…the idea of only sleeping with the same person for the rest
of my life…no wonder so many marriages end in murder. These are scary concepts!
Hell, when I found out that my accidental pet kitties could
live to be 20 years old, I totally freaked out! Somehow I had no idea that cats lived that long, and I briefly considered
taking them to the humane society. And let it be known that I
like animals way better than people. At
the time (six years ago), 20 years seemed like a pretty big commitment that I
didn't know if I was ready for.
Don’t worry, I kept the cats and learned to love their furry,
expensive, at times a bit stinky, little… faces. I imagine arranged marriages kind of work the
same way?
I just can’t help but wonder if we’re fighting human nature
by committing our lives to only ONE other individual.
I’m not suggesting that everyone go out and have affairs
(although there are websites that specialize in that very concept), or that an “alternative”
lifestyle is the answer either. Nevertheless,
asking someone to be completely faithful to one person for the rest of their
lives is a pretty huge expectation. In
reality, I honestly don’t know too many people that are very good at it
anyway. As a society, do we have
unrealistic expectations of love?
It’s bad enough that some of the most recent fashion trends
are at best icky, and I’m not just talking about skinny jeans. Anybody that knows me knows how I feel about
them, and for the most part I can’t support their use. The only exception made is if skinny jeans
are worn with boots.
Skinny jeans are the fashion industry’s idea of a joke, and
everyone fell for it. I’m not sure why
nobody figured it out, but they’re not flattering on most people. Yes, I
realize this is MY opinion, and obviously most people don’t agree…because
manufactures keep making them. Hence,
this must mean people keep buying them, Economics 101.
Don’t even get me started
on how stupid guys look wearing skinny jeans. No one wants to see that shit.
Not to worry though, I’m not here to single anyone out. I’m an equal opportunity offender. I've also had enough neon color everything,
pastel and/or floral patterned skinny jeans, harem pants, mullet skirts/dresses,
crop tops, and UGG boots with shorts. Just
because celebrities wear them doesn't make it right! They get paid to look stupid, you don’t.
Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I’d like to discuss my distaste for teenage
girls dressing like hookers. Don’t get me wrong, the boys look stupid too,
but at least their shit isn't hanging out everywhere. Ewe.
I’m all for using clothing as a means of self expression,
especially when you’re a teenager. I
mean how else can you really express yourself at that age right? I get it, I was a teenager once.
Let’s face it; life is pretty boring until you hit that
magic # 21 (or 19 if you live in a state that borders Canada). If you’re lucky, by 16 you have your driver’s
license, but you probably still have to ask to use your parent’s car. You probably still have a curfew. You’re not old enough to drink…legally. Ugh.
But ladies, do you really need to wear shorts that are so
short and tight that your lady parts can’t breathe? Not only is it not flattering, but it’s not healthy either. And unless you’re
over the age of 18 and built like a supermodel (which most of you aren't),
enough with the crop tops too.
When I was in high school, or actually until I moved out, my
parents would NEVER let me leave the house wearing stuff like that. If I wanted to look like a hooker I had to be
sneaky about it!
Mom and dad, do you know
what your daughter looks like when she leaves the house? Are you actually buying these clothes for her? Granted, kids are going to do what kids are
going to do, but you don’t have to make it easy for them.
On that note, I’m sure I've pissed off more than a couple
people, however, this is my blog not yours. If I've offended you…read something else:)
On Monday I found out that my favorite laundry detergent was
discontinued…a long time ago. Since I’m
always the last one to know everything (for example, Mothers Day dinner was
moved from 4:30pm to 4pm and I guess they just “forgot” to tell me), I wasn't completely shocked at the response I got from Tide. However, I was completely disappointed to
find out that my long time love affair with that lilac scented wonderfulness
was officially over. Strike one.
On Wednesday I was given the devastating news that my
favorite radio personalities (Drew & Mike on WRIF) would soon be going off
the air. I've started
my mornings with these guys since high school!!
It’s like a part of my childhood is being taken away from me. Fart jokes and all, they will be missed. Strike two.
On Thursday I was notified that apparently I haven’t paid my
cable bill in two months. Whoopsie. There’s $300.00 I wasn't ready to part
with. Strike three!!!
At this point I was feeling pretty down and out. What I didn't know yet was that my luck was
about to turn around.
Friday
was a day just like any other. I woke
up, took a shower, fed the cats, and went to work. At lunch time, I went to Costco with a couple
of coworkers…and there it was. Folded
neatly on a table among hundreds of other unadvertised articles of clothing,
the ever elusive “perfect” pair of pants! *mind blown*
Now,
what is truly spectacular about this story is that any Costco shopper knows
that there are ZERO dressing rooms there.
That’s right ladies; I bought dress pants, without trying them on, for
$30…AND THEY FIT AMAZING!!!! In my 33
years of existence, this has never happened. Until now.
This
kind of occurrence is an anomaly, so of course I went back the very next day
and bought the same pair of pants in the other two colors.
The
moral of the story, no matter how bad things get, sometimes true love really
can be found inside a pair of pants.
A few years ago, I found myself accidently watching an
episode of The Biggest Loser. I’m thinking it was one of the final episodes
of the season because there were only like five contestants remaining. Anyway, I was shocked when I found out they
were going to make these fat asses run a marathon…yes, a whole marathon (26.2
miles for those who are not aware).
Granted, at this point in the season the contestants were
already well on their way to becoming their healthier selves, by working out
all day every day and eating whatever those fitness Nazis told them to. However, even for really healthy people, running a marathon takes weeks of training. I know, I looked it up.
While I chowed down on my Whopper with cheese and Onion
Rings, I found that I was inspired by this idea of running a marathon. And as an added bonus it would give me an
excuse to buy some new athletic gear.
Count
me in.
Even more surprisingly, as I watched in amazement, each contestant
completed the race (I don’t think they actually ran/jogged the whole thing but I suppose that’s not really the
point). I knew what I had to do.
At the time of this revelation, I had been an ex smoker for
about six months, so I was feeling pretty healthy. However, I've never been a runner and i'm not from Kenya, so I knew
this was going to be a challenge. Oh
yeah, and I have Asthma. Yes, stop
yelling… I’m aware that smoking and Asthma don’t go together.
The very next day, I strapped on a pair of running shoes,
turned up the tunes…and ran for TWO MILES…without stopping or walking at all! Every minute of it sucked!
This may not seem like an impressive feat to most, but let
me reassure you that I've NEVER excelled at running distances. Even when I was in middle school I remember
feeling like I was going to die when they made us run a mile in The President’s
Challenge (a dumb fitness test they made everyone do back in the day).
I started running two miles a day, four times a week, and I
kept doing it until running two miles started not to feel awful. Then I upped it to three miles, and so on,
and so on. After awhile, I actually
started to look forward to my self-inflicted torture tests.
After about five months of this, I had worked up to a long
run of about 7.5 miles and was feeling really great about my new found
ability. I even had plans to run the
Detroit marathon later that year! But like some good stories, sometimes they crash and burn.
One thing led to another and I was forced to put running on
hold. Life became chaotic; I started smoking
again, and lost sight of this particular goal.
Alas, I have regained my senses! As of this past Friday, I've recommitted to
quitting smoking…again. I can’t wait to
get back into torture, I mean running. Maybe this time I can reach my goal. I just know something like this will happen to me.....
Over the course of the last couple of years I've really been
struggling with this theory of a biological clock. I call it a theory because I don’t seem to
have one. I keep expecting to wake up
one day and hear it ticking. So far….nada.
In all honesty, I can’t stand most kids. My favorite is when they cry on planes or in
a restaurant. However, everyone assures
me that I’ll love my own - I think I’d like that in writing please.
While all of my friends seem to be on a mission these days
to pop out a couple of screaming, vomiting, needy bundles of joy, I can’t help
but wonder if motherhood is something I’m destined for?
Most of the time I’m not even sure I can take care of myself
let alone another person. Is there
anything at Taco Bell babies can eat? I
already don’t have time to cook, clean, or do laundry, and I can’t even tell
you the last time I went grocery shopping.
The thought of breast feeding has always grossed me
out. The thought of using a breast pump doesn't sound much more appealing. There’s
nothing even remotely sexy about being hooked up to a machine like a cow.
I recently learned from an episode of Grey’s Anatomy that
you poop on the table during child birth…ha ha this just keeps getting better.
Episiotomy…nuf said.
I like the idea of having someone that’s obligated to take
care of me when I can no longer feed myself or start forgetting my own name,
but let’s face it; sometimes kids can be ass holes. As I've already assured my parents, “Nick (my
brother) will be rich and will put you in a good home when you get too old.”
In all fairness, my brother and I did give my parents an option.
We told them it would be a lot cheaper to send them off on an iceberg
like the Eskimos. I don’t think they
liked our idea. (Shhhh, we haven’t told
them that’s still plan B).
In last
week’s post I mentioned that I had lived in New York City for a period of time
last year. I feel that this is the
appropriate time to expand on that and tell you a bit more of the story.
I had moved
there for love and the promise of a new exciting chapter in my life. I was happy. Everything leading up to the move seemingly fell right into place. I was able to rent out my house to an
acquaintance with zero effort, my parents willingly offered to help with the
move, and I didn't even have to look for a new job because my company was going
to let me work from my apartment in NYC!!!
I was positive this was a sign of good things to come.
Sometimes
good things happen to good people, and when they do, we are overcome with a
sense of justification that our hard work and endured struggles have finally paid
off. The Universe is finally throwing us
that home run pitch, and all we have to do is swing.
This wasn't one of those times.
New York
City, otherwise known as the only place in the world where it’s completely acceptable
to live with three other people in a 1,000 sq. ft. apartment when you’re 32 years old.
This was quite an adjustment from my 1,000 sq. ft. house that I own and have all to myself. On top of that, our monthly rent was
$2,800. No joke.
The constant
smell of garbage permeates the thick air EVERY day. It begins to become amusing to sit outside on
the apartment building steps every night and watch the rats scurry from one
garbage pile to another for their daily meal.
Nobody has
central air because most of the buildings are too old and landlords are too
cheap.
Don’t even
get me started on the worst cable service in the world ~ yes, it’s worse than
Comcast.
Dogs poop on
the sidewalk (because there isn't any grass).
The below
ground subway platforms are hotter than Death Valley. No air circulation, just
dead…hot…stagnant…“air”. But the rats
like it down there so I can only assume it’s for their comfort.
The NYPD generally abide by a shoot first ask questions later philosophy. On top of that, most are a pretty bad shot. Let’s not forget, NYC is also home to the rudest, meanest, most self involved, completely oblivious people you’ll ever meet (actually not meet, but physically run into)…and the Yankees. If they’re not any of those things, they’re generally just plain weird.
Don’t get me
wrong, there were good things. Like 24
hour food delivery.
And I must
give the city props for having the least aggressive bums I've ever encountered. For the most part they just sit there and
keep to themselves.
When I was 12 years old, I had a plan.I was certain that by the time I was 25 I would be married to the love of my life, progeny number one would be on the way, and I would be on my way to the storybook ending I deserved.That’s what I was taught to believe anyway, and my parents made it all look so easy.What I know now that I didn’t know then, was that my parents (who are still disgustingly married after 34 years) got lucky!
Around age 27, after yet another heartbreak, a million bad first and sometimes second dates, more one night stands then I’d like to count, and a couple of attempts at serious relationships that in retrospect were probably doomed from the beginning…I woke up.I woke up to the realization that I was going to have to come up with a plan B, because this one obviously-was stupid.The elusive Prince Charming was NOT coming to rescue me anytime soon.
I was on my own.
Let’s fast forward to present day (age 32 closing in on 33), where I have a decent job, I’m educated, I own a home, a couple of cats I’ve managed to keep alive, and I did it all on my own.I’m relatively attractive by most standards, confident, witty, and smart with very little emotional baggage…so you might ask how is it that no man has managed to trick me into the sanctity of marriage?That’s easy, because I have once again found myself in an “it’s complicated” relationship status.Ridiculous.I know.
So why do I put myself through this torture?Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.
I’ve never been one to easily give up on anything, including relationships.Call it a personality defect I guess.So when my ex-boyfriend, we’ll call him D (who I moved all the way to NYC for last year…that’s another story) decided that he had made a huge mistake by ending our 9 month relationship and wanted to try and work things out, my first instinct was no F-ing way!But in the back of my head there was this voice, which turned out to be my mother’s, saying “relationships take work” over and over again with an annoying persistence.I started to wonder if maybe I should listen to what he had to say.Had I given up too easily?
Gradually, I started not being a bitch when D would text or call me, and eventually he persuaded me to give this relationship another shot.After all, hating him had started to become exhausting.But first, let’s add just a little more absurdity to the story shall we?He recently moved from NYC to Houston, TX, I live approximately 1,300 miles away.How is this ever going to work?Can it work?Should it work?
The future of our relationship remains to be seen.
