Adventures with: The Men Who Like Me

I have said time and again that there are only two kinds of men that I date. It is not because I have a particular type or go out of my way to find these guys. In fact, I make a special point not to pursue men. (In case you did not know this - they really hate that. Write this down.) I date guys that vary in race, upbringing, age, social status, etc. and they ALWAYS fall into one of two categories. I'm going to share these with you, in case you have managed to snag one of these yourself.

Diedrich Bader - The Beverly Hillbillies movie

Jethro Bodine

You know this guy, even if you don't know Jethro right off the top of your head. He is the handsome idiot cousin of the Clampetts on The Beverly Hillbillies. The guy is so stupid that he makes your head hurt, but it balances out because he is so damn pretty.

Yes, I have dated this guy (not Diedrich Bader, unfortunately). It is the first of the two types that attracted to me. I'm a relatively smart girl who has been going to college for more than a decade. (Don't judge me, I get distracted.) I have a great education, and I am a big fan of straight talk. The Jethro Bodines of the world adore women who are smart and blunt, and they will fall over themselves to pursue you. And honestly, what is a bigger turn on than a beautiful man chasing after you?

It's all fun and games until the new wears off. You're happily staring at your hot boyfriend, then you decide to discuss something like foreign policy, the last book you read, sandwich-making, and dingbat there looks at you like you're speaking Mandarin. I shit-you-not that I had one of my most beautiful exes give me a blank look when I used the word "mayonnaise". I told him that it was "mayo", and he asked why I didn't just say that to begin with. *sigh* I suppose I should give you the best Jethro Bodine example of all.

I was out with some of my college friends and one of my old high school classmates who was visiting from Brazil (he was an exchange student) one night. I brought along Jethro because he was a lot of fun. Our conversation came to the topic of "reciprocation". Jethro had absolutely no idea what we were talking about. Not only was the double entendre (sexual innuendo) completely lost on him, but he had no idea what we were talking about on a general level. The words were too big. I had to give a vocabulary lesson with nearly every word we used with more than two syllables. I finally got so frustrated that I found some excuse to go home. Of course, Jethro did not get the hint and stayed out with my friends. What happened the rest of that night, I have NEVER lived down. Hell, I don't even know the full story. Nor do I want to know it.

Peter Pan - Painted by me 10/13/2011

Peter Pan

This is the second and most prevalent group of men that I have ever had the unfortunate pleasure of dating. I cannot even pinpoint why they are even attracted to me. Perhaps it's my sense of humor? (It is probably that my figure looks like it is built for fun.) Trust me, you know the guy. Look at the signs:

• If he doesn't still live at home, he is always over there. (I am NOT talking about a healthy relationship with his family. I mean he is over there because he does not want to secure/maintain his own residence.)
• He is unable to form lasting, meaningful relationships, friend or otherwise.
• He is still hung up on that girl and refuses to attempt to move on.
• He is over the age of thirty-five, never been married, and has no kids.
• He can't maintain a job for more than a year, regardless of the reason.
• He feels better lying to you than saying a hard truth.

If you know a guy that suffers from at least two of those symptoms, he has a case of Peter Pan Syndrome. He is the perpetual little boy that will never grow up.

Don't get me wrong, Peter Pan is fun. This man-child is not going to grow up for a reason. He knows how to party, and he does it well. You are going to smile, laugh, and sweetheart, you are going to fall in love with him. I have never dated a Pan without developing some sort of emotional attachment to him. How can you not fall for the guy that makes you smile and is so much fun to be around? You know what? I'll tell you how. Once you identify him, you can rest assured that he is 1) going to want you to be his eternal playmate AND NOTHING ELSE, or 2) going to make you his mother. (Trust me that #2 is worse - little boys always go through a phase where they hate their mothers. It gets ugly.) I have learned that once you identify the Pan, if you have any sort of responsibilities and can't be the eternal playmate - RUN LIKE HELL! (You will thank me one day.)

***

Now, I'm not saying that all men in these groups are bad. I mean, I keep dating them. I would not know what to do with myself if I found a man that did not fall into one of those classifications. I hope to find one. Until then, I think I'll be sticking with the Jethros for a while. They may be dumb, but they sure are pretty to look at.

What? I have smart friends with whom I can have those meaningful conversations.

New Rules

This is going to be a super short post because I'm doing the book blog thing (that you're welcome to go check out), and my brain has been overwhelmed by that lately. And this book thing that I'm doing a terrible job of writing. Plus, I know you guys are sick to damn death of me bitching all the time about whatever superficial problem I have going on in my life. (Rest assured, the Gingerman is gone, and there will be no updates on that. Period.)

Anyways, so the Gingerman shenanigans does not happen again, I am implementing some new rules in my life found on bitches gotta eat that I think are golden. That lady is a little over the top, so I won't be doing everything she talks about on her blog, but she has some good generalizations going on. Anyways, these are the main ones I'm going to use:

Delete shitheads from my phone? Done. And the Facebook is gone, so I can't stalk these guys and cry about not being pretty enough to keep him away from the fat, ugly bitch he was screwing on the side. Besides that, I really like the idea of deleting a guy's phone number if you don't hear from him for three days. Oh yeah, I learned something similar to that one from He's Just Not That Into You (the book, not the crappy movie). If he's not talking to you or calling you, it's because he's not thinking about you. No exceptions. (God, why can't I just get that in my head already?!)

I am the single mom of a five year old. I work for a living. I review books and paint as a hobby. I have a ton of awesome that I can be doing instead of moping over any guy who doesn't give two shits about me. You know what. I'm happy. I'm hanging out with my friends and doing what I love. I'm not spending my time worrying about someone that I don't even like that much. Oh yeah, if I'm stressing over you, I don't like you anymore. Why can't I ever remember that one either?

When I'm single, I remember that I'm an attractive female. Hell, I'm downright sexy. Why the fuck do I stay in a whatevership when I start feeling bad about me? I am a goddess, and you dumb assholes should be worshiping me. This last thing that I was involved in had me so down and low that even my best friend had a hard time putting up with me. This always happens. From now on, as soon as I start questioning myself - feeling crazy, ugly, whatever - you're gone. No questions asked. See ya.

I know that I should have figured all of this out in middle school, but I'm a slow learner. I'm a trusting, loving sort of person, and I assume everyone is the same. Well, kittens, from now on you get the benefit of the doubt for three days. If that. After that, I'm cutting you loose and setting myself free.

(Someone please remind me of this in a month.)

Adventures with: Heartbreak and Valentine's Day

Hello, kids. International Single People Suck Day has descended upon us again. While you are reading this, I am probably hiding in a hole somewhere or wishing that I was. I have always detested this holiday, and I do not see this changing any time soon.

What happened to your resolution to be more positive, Kayla?

Funny that you should ask that. I am going to try to be positive. I am also going to keep it real. Valentine's Day even made me nervous back when I had a significant other. It even holds a special memory for me - in 2006, I got "morning sickness" for the first time during my pregnancy with Bug. I was miserably pukey, and it was beautiful.

All of that aside, this day seriously makes me sad and stabby. So if you see me around, do not approach me. I am going to be telling myself that I am so fucking amazingly awesome that I will not need any sort of distraction or interruption. If I stop, I will fall into the Bog of Eternal Stench a la Labyrinth. I think putting forth the effort is positive. 

To be honest, I am hurting right now. I know it will piss some people off in a major way for me to say it, but I miss the Gingerman a little. We had a six month whatevership, and I enjoyed the hell out of it most of the time. Even when things run their course, walking away is hard. Especially when feelings are involved, and they were on my end. I do not get to date intelligent guys very often. After several years of blank stares from beautiful idiots when I used a word with more than two syllables, I was ready to chain this dude up in my basement until he got enough Stockholm Syndrome to wander around freely. I wish that I was kidding.

Whether you want to admit it or not, when we date another person, it usually ends up looking like this at some point.

It's fun to give away your heart, isn't it? Let's pretend that the recipient is more excited to have it. (Be honest,  you will anyways.)  Sometimes they hand one back to you, though I'm sure it is not nearly as nice. There are other situations where an individual is extremely creeped out that you would hand that writhing mess over so soon. *looks away sheepishly*

We would all like to believe that it is being held fondly and lovingly by our counterpart.

That's a lovely fantasy. The sweetheart loves your gory mass that you have put him/her in charge of. It's probably because s/he has no ears. And an ugly sweater. See? There I go not being positive again.

Basically, what I've learned from this is that not everyone wants to hold your own slime. Yes, your heart is a lovely thing to give someone. No, I do not think that people should never fall in love again because the world is a big ball of suck that likes to shit consistently upon my head. Okay. Maybe I do. A little. But that's not the point. Hell, I got so caught up in the pictures that I'm not even sure that I have a point.

I guess what I am trying to say is be careful about who ends up with your internal organs. Make sure it is something they're interested in having, instead of it hanging out in their back pocket, while they spend the day aromatically mutilating it with their last meal's after-effects. And believe me, they will. Sometimes without even realizing it or meaning to do it. You also want to stay away from those shitheads who may as well be walking around with a scalpel and an ice chest.

I guarantee that you would not want to see the state of my poor passed around chest-meat. But I'll probably go on being just as free with it. I'm sure that I'll thrust it into the horrified hands of the next poor soul who will be locked in my basement trying to escape. I'll be smiling like the silly idiot that my friends think I am the entire time. Again. And again. And again.

But I'll still hate Valentine's Day.

Adventures with: Art

I call it "Duckface with Oven Mitts"

Adventures with: Baggy

I have three cases of baggy going on in my life.

I am still on a weight loss kick. I have not lost a lot of pounds this week, but I am down an inch or two. Every pair of pants that I own - except for my one pair of skinny jeans - is baggy. They are baggy to the extent that if I am not careful, I could get arrested for sagging if I went to Shreveport wearing them. I need to go shopping. My skin is also baggy. Saggy. Chewed bubblegum. Yes, I think it is time that I suck it up and start exercising.

This morning, I have been researching the other baggy all over the internet. Apparently, that Preparation H thing no longer works since the live yeast was removed from the formula. I know - LIVE YEAST! That is shudder worthy. Anyways, I have dark circles and bags under my eyes. Worse than usual. I did a very hard thing yesterday. I spent hours crying about it. I was up all night thinking about it. I have dark under-eyes naturally (sad but true), but this is ridiculous. There is no way, shape, or form that I can pull off my 25 today. I moisturize twice a day, exfoliate as often as my sensitive skin allows, I do not smoke, and I pamper my moneymaker (ha!). Still, brutal emotions will not even allow me to pull off my REAL age.

If this is not a reason to become a heartless, closed-off bitch, I do not know what is. Too bad I made those resolutions yesterday.

*sigh*

Adventures with: My Anniversary on Earth

Yesterday marked one of my anniversaries on Earth. Let's say it was... Hmm... My 25th birthday? Yes, I think 25 is a good age. I had a good run with 22, but I can't really pull it off anymore, short of having surgery. (I don't want to start doing that for another five years, at least.) I think this is a more meaningful time for me to make resolutions of what I am going to do with my life this year. Seriously, what does January 1st mean to me? Before Bug, it was a hangover. Now it's just an extra day off of work. Here are a few goals that I would like to accomplish, and I am going to try pretty fucking hard to get them done.

1. Eradicate the Negative Relationships from My Life

I know this is such a cliche thing, but it is true. I have found myself being unhappy most of the time here lately. Yes, a lot of it is depression (a battle I will probably fight for the rest of my life), but I cannot exacerbate it by being around the wrong people. There is absolutely no reason that I should allow myself to be surrounded by people that do not want the best for me. I have so many great friends that I do not spend nearly enough time with, and I should not waste any more time on people who do not deserve my awesome sauce. I love each and every person that I have in my life. I should be spending more time with the people who love me back. I should also string the assholes up by their toenails, but I think that is illegal in this state. If it is legal in yours, let me know. I will be buying another car soon, and I love to travel.

This is a promise to my friends who have been around for a long time that have been neglected lately. I will make more time for you. Thank you for always being there, even though I am terrible. I know I am the shittiest friend when it comes to making plans and returning texts/calls. I am not promising that I will pick up the phone, but I am promising that I will try harder. If you have been around long enough, you are well aware of how distracted I get. I hope you also know that I love you. And watch you through your windows sometimes. I'll start knocking on the door more often, instead of just lurking in the shadows. Because that's not cool.

2. Finish Writing ONE of My Novels

This is something that has gotten quite ridiculous. If I combined my books and notes into one giant file, I would have a fully written novel. I have three works going on right now, and it is time for me to commit to one. I have been jumping around the three, based on whatever I am feeling at that time. I think taking care of my first goal will make me more consistent in my moods. I love all three WIPs, but the third one is really speaking to me. I am going to finish it before it goes quiet. I would hate to use waterboarding on my own characters to keep them talking. Or maybe I should...

3. Lose Forty More Pounds

I am almost down to the weight I was my senior year of high school. I am not almost down to the size. You know, having a baby kinda readjusts where your junk hangs. I am not complaining. I have a womanly figure now, and my weight is going in my waist. I am not have the straight-down body type any longer (not that it was a bad thing). I am happier with my appearance now than I have ever been in my life. Am I perfect? No. Am I going to be perfect? I hope not. I just want to be healthy and confident in myself. I am almost there now. Just think how good I'll feel when I'm closer to the weight my doctors think I should be? (Sorry, Dr. Doofus, I am NOT going back down to 98 pounds.)

4. Make a New Friend

Yes, I know that I already neglect my old friends. This is more of a goal for me to be more open to talking to strangers. Believe it or not, people terrify me. I hate being in a situation where I am surrounded by strangers that I am expected to speak to. Don't get me wrong, I love being in a crowd as long as I get to just watch (and take notes for my writing). I need to open myself up to forming new relationships and giving people the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone is an utter shit. Sure, most are, but I cannot close everyone out because of the assholes. I am a great person to know, and I should be more willing to share myself with the world. (See, I told you about the confidence thing!)

5. Be More Positive

I am a world class bitcher. I am an award-winning worrier. If the Doctor landed the Tardis in front of me, I could come up with a million and one reasons why I should walk away. I would bitch about the Daleks and Weeping Angels. I would be worried that he is only approaching me for terrible reasons. While I am bitching and worrying, I am not seeing that the Doctor (shut up, this is my fantasty, k?) just wants to hang out with this fantastic lady. Yes, the glass is half empty (with a crack in it), but it is also half full. It also has the potential to hold so much more than what it has. Instead of being bothered by what is missing or what I am denied, I am going to push myself to fill the glass up. And break the damn thing! I mean, seriously, isn't it time to let that damn glass go? Now excuse me while I go frolic in that shimmery ray of sunshine. Fuck some sunburn!

Are any of these goals going to be easy for me? Hell no. I am a die-hard pessimist who gets too caught up with everything that is not going right. I am the main person who is telling me that I cannot do something. However, I owe it to myself to be my own Number One Fan. I am going to shake things up and try something new. This is my life, and it is time for me to start enjoying myself. I am going to share the wonderful person that I can be with myself, and the rest of you. So prepare yourself for AWESOME Kayla!

Adventures with: Cray Cray

I try to avoid using the phrase "cray cray" very often, because I do not want to lessen it in any way, shape, or form. In fact, I put it up the Crazy Scale above "bat shit". So when I tell you that I have been adventuring with the "cray cray" lately, please understand that this bitch has been totally nuts.

Yes, I have been just rolling around in the insanity for the past month. First, I had that concussion. I don't care who you are or what you say, having a head injury is going to affect what you have going on in your life. I understood that there was something "not quite right" going on upstairs (I was having massive headaches and things like that get your attention), so I didn't make any major, life-changing decisions. I was even nice to the Gingerman despite him going a month without attempting to see me, forgetting about me on Christmas, and just being an all-around male. I knew that I shouldn't deal with stressful things while my wiring was a little faulty. Well... Except fight with my mom. I can do that year-round. It is to be expected. (And it was the holidays.)

I have been losing an insane amount of weight. I do not care how you diet, but when the pounds start falling off, it's going to affect you. The first three weeks are the hardest for me. I love losing the weight and seeing it melt off, but damnit, when you're hungry, it makes you think things. And do things. And want to do things. When you do NOT do those things, it makes you pissy. Or at least it does for me. I have lost 25 pounds in the past six weeks since my wreck. Yes, you read that correctly. I look like a deflated tire, but I am down to the same weight that I was my senior year of high school. (Please disregard the fact that I was fat my senior year of high school. I just like the way that sounds, okay?) So, I want you to combine the weight loss mindset with the recovering head injury. Are you starting to see what I mean yet?

This is the kicker here. This will completely and utterly explain where the "cray cray" comes in. If you are a guy or not a fan of the TMI, please skip down to the next paragraph. I'm serious. I'm about to say it. *stares* Alright then, you're asking for it. I don't ovulate. I haven't had a constant period since I was probably fifteen, and it's been MAYBE twice a year since then. Well, not really since then because after I had Bug, I got an IUD. That meant no hormone bursts for me, and a relatively normal life. Until, I had my IUD removed after it's five year expiration a few weeks ago. OH MY GAWD!!! I thought I was going to be fine until I let my body normalize a little. Nuh uh, didn't happen. It normalized all right. It normalized right to the hormone levels that I was dealing with as a teenager. Can you imagine suddenly finding yourself feeling as if the world was out to get you, although you knew full well that you're an insignificant speck on the wall of time? Or, that your friends all hate you because no one talks to you? No, it's not because they know that you hate talking on the phone or are the worst person alive about returning texts. That would make sense. Making sense is silly. Estrogen bursts do not believe in sense. It's all hormone-based emotions thrown on a person who hasn't had any more lady chemicals present in her body than those necessary to keep her from growing a penis. I'm guessing you're all females at this point, so imagine having an honest-to-Bob period after more than six years without that pleasure. And after hellacious PMS that has not been around here in more than a freakin' decade. Yes, it has been bad.

Did I mention that I have panic attacks, too? I haven't been taking my medicine since my wreck because I didn't want anything like that while my head recovers. So, let's throw together a concussion, a diet, estrogen, and a panic attack. I swear to you, it feels like a teenager has hijacked my body. Half of my brain is trying to talk to me and reason me through this, but the rest of me has thrown the bat shit out the window. I have gone full-fledged cray cray.

But did you see where I've lost 25 pounds?

Adventures with: Hooray!

I may have mentioned this in passing to a few people, but I haven't advertised it heavily as I have in past adventures. I don't like the pressure. Anywho, I've been kinda dieting. I mean, it's nothing hardcore - Bob forbid I should exercise. *shudders* I've been eating smaller portion sizes and mostly raw fruits and vegetables. And *sigh* no cake. That being said -

I've lost 15 pounds since December!

Yes, I know that is not ideal for a month's work (I'm 5'1" with a small frame under the pudge), but half of that time was spent puking from a concussion. I'm in it to win it now. I lost weight a year and a half ago when I was doing my crazy diet, but most of it came back. That being said, if I lose another 15 pounds, I'll be down to the biggest that I was before I had Eden. If I lose 30 pounds, I'll be high school weight (later teen years, mind you). So I'm going to see this through.

Will losing weight change my life? Not really, I don't hate my body now. However, if I want to lose it, I should do it soon. I'll be 25 (shut up) next month, and I've heard it gets harder to lose weight after passing that future decade marker. I just figure that I may as well do it now.

Also, you're all invited to enjoy my birthday with me next month. Unfortunately, there will be no cake.

Adventures with: Ketchup

I suppose I cornered myself into writing this blog post since I was unintentionally vague about my being engaged on Twitter. (That sentence is intentionally vague.) No, I am not engaged. I was, however, engaged for about two and a half weeks back in the early 2000s – and I won't say which year out of respect to my former fiance*. Not that he reads my blog, but you know how these things are. For all intents and purposes of the story, his name henceforth will be Freckles. Yes, he was a ginger. Did you have any doubt?

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I was a young and beautiful college student. (Hey, it's my story!) I had fallen in love with one of my very dear friends after a very traumatic event in my life. Freckles was not someone I would have agreed to date under normal circumstances (he was neither gut-wrenchingly handsome or in his thirties), but I have never regretted falling in love with him. (Well, except after our messy breakup, but don't we all at first?) And I digress. Back to the story. Freckles and I were holed up in a nasty hotel room and we had just gotten lunch from a local Greek restaurant. Yes, we were holed up in a nasty, cheap motel because we were secret lovers. Ours was not necessarily a forbidden romance, but I was definitely keeping it under wraps. Why? I don't know. I guess I'm just a natural hoarder of things – just not on an A&E scale. My friends did not know, my family did not know, the mailman did not know. Get the picture? Jeez, I'm off track. New paragraph?

Greek food! Yes, we were eating gyros and seasoned wedges from a local drive-thru Greek place. It was mediocre (at best), and was in need of condiments. I dug around in the food bad and managed to find some ketchup packets. I figured it was a long shot because Freckles hated all things tomatoes. I laid the packages on the table, and pushed some over to my love. I am not exaggerated when I say he went absolutely apeshit.

Does ketchup make you angry? Do you ever find yourself spewing filth at the sight of it? This boy did. You would have thought that ketchup was made from the blood of newborn kittens by the way he was behaving. Needless to say, I was confused. Bewildered. Startled. Intrigued.

I did not interrupt him. It was too much fun to watch. His wrath was not aimed at me – it was one hundred percent at the ketchup. He picked up every single packet, took them outside, and stomped on them. Oh yeah, there was some anger going on. People were turning around to look at this angry ginger. I just continued to watch through the window. Who am I to stop him?

After Freckles decided that he was finished demolishing all things ketchup in his general vicinity, he returned to the table and began to eat like absolutely nothing had happened. I watched him for a minute with raised eyebrows (to gauge the safety of the impending interrogation), and I decide to dive into this one.

"So... Are we not ketchup people?"

If looks were capable of physical harm, I would have been just as flat and beaten down as those poor, massacred ketchup packets.

I eventually cajoled Freckles into explaining to me his intense hatred of ketchup. (I knew he disliked tomatoes, but I don't like liver, and you won't see me going schizo at the grocery store at the sight of it.) Apparently, it was a family thing. His grandfather owns a bunch of ketchup factories that manufacture for that brand (and others) or something along those lines. They weren't exactly on good terms (i. e. Freckles was a spoiled shit and this explained it), but he was the only heir. He was expected to do things that he did not want to business-wise, so he did nothing at all. It took a minute for me to digest that. I asked him how much he stood to inherit.

"Millions."

No, I did not marry this man. He was one of those real life embodiments of Peter Pan. He also had some anger issues (big shock, right?). And I can never look at ketchup the same way again.


*I also changed some details to protect his identity, but believe me, it was NOT the good parts.

Adventures with: Breaking Up With Facebook

I have quite a few friends who are wondering why I left Facebook. I toyed with the idea for several months, and even announced my intention to leave at one point. Due to an overwhelming response of friends and acquaintances who wanted me to stay, I did so.  Then came October. I recognized that I had a problem, and I needed to get away from it. I had become dependent on the social networking service as a social outlet for myself. 

What was the catalyst, you wonder? I know that I am nowhere near old enough for such a thing, but I missed my high school reunion. I do not regret it in the slightest because I did something for someone that I care about greatly instead. What bothers me is how easy it was for me to decide that it was not a big deal if I did not go. I told myself - "I talk to these people on Facebook every day."

Think about that for a minute. These are the people that I grew up with and experienced the turmoil, heartbreak, joy, and elation of all things high school. Some of these individuals I have not seen since we graduated all those years ago.

Facebook.

I was fine with blowing off my childhood friends because they were instantly available on the internet. That was not okay. I had a problem. I was giving up real time with real people. It had to stop. Instead of me announcing what I would do, I quietly went to my page and deactivated it. No fuss, no fanfare, it was just done. I let people find out on their own.

Gingerman* was one of the first. Bless his heart, but he had to have thought that I had deleted him. I think that is what everyone thought. I have had a few people come over to Twitter to ask me what the Hell was going on, and I just told them that I was taking a break. People have come into my workplace asking where my Facebook page is, and I cannot go anywhere in the vicinity of my hometown without people drilling me about Facebook. I was getting more questions about my Facebook page than I was about my life, daughter, family, etc. It is mind-blowing.

I am not taking a break.

My Facebook is gone. I value the non-electronic relationships that I have with people. If someone needs to talk to me, I'll be glad to meet him/her for lunch, coffee, beer, whatever. It is so important to me to have a life that is not advertised on my timeline or page. Sure there are snippets on Twitter and blog, but I am not as tempted to post every aspect of my existence. I want to see people and talk to people. Even texts and phone calls are preferable to lurking on someone's page without talking to them. It is so easy to think you know someone from reading their Facebook life story, and not bother to connect to that person further than that.

I crave interaction.

So there it is. That is why my Facebook is gone. Sure, I am working on my novel, my other writings, and my painting, but my art is not main reason. It has benefited from its demise, though.

*I cannot stalk the Gingerman now (not that I ever did). I am not his girlfriend, so I do not need to know everything he is doing or who he is talking to. He does not have a Twitter. We have privacy. Unless you count me staring into his window. Yeah.

Adventures with: Disturbie

I have a new friend. He gives me ideas and gets those creative juices going for me. I think he's going to start hanging out with me. A lot.

Meet Disturbie.

Isn't he precious? Yes, it is a "he". I know because he has a penis. (No, that's his belly button in the picture.) This was my cousin's doll when she was a little girl. I thought he was creepy then, but after twenty years of wear and tear, he's downright revolting. I like him now. *smiles*

Why did I name him "Disturbie"? My aunt saw that I had taken a picture of him and told me that it was disturbing. I thought she said, "It is Disturbie." You know, like "Look! It's Chucky!" Well, that's not what she said, but his name is Disturbie now. I think it's a good name for a twenty-plus years old baby doll, and he's going to be moving in with me. I even have one of Bug's doll beds in my room that he's going to sleep in at night. We're going to make stories, even if they aren't always about him.

Gosh, he's just fantastic!

So, I think I've found my muse, even if he's plastic. With a penis. And missing an eyeball.

Sweet Disturbie, we are going to have adventures!

Don't you just want to kiss and love on him? Come on, don't kid yourself. You know you do.

Adventures with: A Telephone Pole

This summer was a hot one. There was practically no rain for months, and I thought we would never have grass in our yard again. September brought random forest fires throughout my area - some arson - and at one point; I had to evacuate my home. It was terrifying, stressful, and I am immensely glad that it is over. When little sprigs of grass began to reemerge in November, I had to sit on the ground to admire them and thank God that my slice of Louisiana had regained its usual mugginess.

I am not going to blame the rain. I am too glad to have it returned to us to shake my fist at it. I suppose it is an easy enough thing to forget, the danger of driving on a wet road.

I was on time for what I needed to do for work yesterday. It was my turn to buy the daily drinks for Bookboy and I at the library since he was kind enough to buy this poor woman lunch. I had ample time to go to the store and post office before opening the library. I was not in a hurry, and I was not driving fast.(1) I was not on my phone(2), as it was playing Beauty Queens by Libba Bray over my radio for me. I was not distracted. It probably saved my life.

As I rounded one of the corners on windy Highway 168, I watched an 18-wheeler go over the yellow line into my lane. This is a common occurrence on this road; many people avoid driving on it when possible for this very reason. There is only one thing a person can do, and that is to take the ditch. I have done this numerous times because there are discourteous truckers going through Ida and Rodessa quite regularly.

This time was different. Instead of stopping in the shallow ditch, my car began to slide toward the trees on the side of the road.

This is not the location of the accident, but that an example of the roadside flora.

I knew if I went into the trees, things would be bad. Not only are there tall, bendy pine trees, but there are tall, magnificent oak and pecan trees. However, the only way I could miss the trees on my crash course is if I hit a telephone pole.  It is not very often that I have to choose between the lesser of two evils on such an awesome scale. I would have preferred not to hit anything, but there was no way to avoid it. I turned the wheel, and began to spin.

Many people cannot remember anything about their car accidents. I refused to allow myself to lose control of my senses, even though I had relinquished control of the car as I spun toward the telephone pole. I did not indulge myself in lost consciousness as pain enveloped me as my car slammed once, then twice, into the telephone pole. I was convinced that the impact would break my shoulder as pain exploded everywhere, but I stayed in the moment, even as the airbag exploded underneath my chin, throwing my head back. I saw and smelled the smoke rising from the hood of my car even before I stopped. I knew that I was going to have to leave my somewhat-beloved Mazdarotti as soon as the car stopped spinning, despite whatever injury that I might have.

I have heard recounts of other accidents where people say that time completely slows. Mine was over in probably less than five seconds. As soon as the car stopped, I pulled cords to bring my phone to me. It was close, as I believe it was what hit the front of my head during the whirlwind inside of my car. I jumped out, leaving everything else where it had landed because not only was the hood smoking, the airbags were as well. My entire car stank.

I was surprised that the door easily opened. The cords connecting my phone to its charger and my iTrip were wrapped around my seatbelt somehow, so the most difficulty I had was disconnecting from all of that. Once I was outside of my vehicle, I knew that I needed to call for help. I felt completely fine, except for an achy shoulder (I checked - it did not feel broken), so I called my coworker because I knew that he was closest. I then called my aunt & uncle because I would need a ride to work, and they were also close. It was not until my beloved aunt began screeching at me about calling 911 that it occurred to me at all. Why should I? I was uninjured and the 18-wheeler was most assuredly long gone and probably already out of state. I promised my aunt that I would call 911 immediately, just to get off the phone.

Thankfully, the first car to pass by my accident was a good enough Samaritan to stop. They had slowed to look at the accident, and then saw me wandering by the wood-line about a thousand feet behind the car and rushed to me. Luckily, the wonderful man and his children were not on an adrenaline high and had the good sense enough to call 911 for me. I took that opportunity to start ranting to his son (who was very young and driving the car) about not having his seatbelt on, because I was convinced then, as I am now, that it was the only thing that kept me in the car and probably saved my life.(3) The Good Samaritan then had me sit in his car instead of on the fence that I had found because it was still raining and I was shaking like a chihuahua at a pit bull party. More cars came. Bookboy arrived and retrieved my belongings from the car, and my family came to check out the car and me. A childhood friend stood at the front of the car, and kept me talking and distracted from everything. She told me that I should take my earrings out (she knew that I would be going to the hospital, even though I had been trying to convince everyone that it was quite unnecessary). I was able to get one out, but the other was stuck. Apparently, when the airbag hit, one of the French hooks went into my neck. Thank goodness my childhood friend was also a mother (we have iron stomachs, most of us lot) and kindly pulled it out for me. I think that was what bothered me most of all and set me on the path to being convinced that I should seek medical attention.

Once the adrenaline began to wear off, my head began to hurt - badly. My neck was extremely painful (not where the earring was, mind you), and it scared me. Once I began to feel dizzy and queasy, I told my aunt that it was time that I went to the ER. I had called my doctor, but she said that it would not be a good idea for me to go to the office. Duh, Kayla.

A police officer met me at the ER door and took my statement as I waited to be treated. He was a high school friend's father, and it was very comforting to talk to someone I knew. The doctors were unfailingly kind (as always), and one was extremely hot (a nice surprise). I checked out well enough. Nothing was broken, but I did manage to sprain, strain, and tear a good number of muscles. I am also supposed to wear a neck brace for a few days. >.<

Overall, I consider yesterday a win, despite my car losing its fight - and life - to the telephone pole.

Taken by my aunt at the wrecker's location - the fender is still at the site of the wreck

Here are the only injuries that I can post, because you are not seeing my hematoma rainbows on my chest and thighs unless you buy me dinner first.

This is where my neck had been burned and bruised by the airbags

I did not even notice that my thumb was sprained until I had gotten home

There are no words for how grateful I am to be safe and alive today to write this blog post. I have friends who have died from hydroplaning and similar accidents, so I was blessed to walk away from that accident, mostly unscathed, and to come home to my daughter and my family after only two hours in the hospital. I am not saying that I do not hurt - I do, oh, I do - but this is definitely the lesser of two evils.

(1) Please ALWAYS leave early and drive slowly when the roads are wet. I am so glad that this bit of wisdom was drilled into me even before I started driving.

(2) You know not to text or call people while driving, especially when it is raining, right? (Just nod and agree.)

(3) Please buckle up anytime that you are in the car.

Adventures with: Bug & the 80s

As my readers know, I am the single mother of a fantastic kindergartner named Bug. The people that know us personally know what a strange creature my child is. Everyone who knows her bombards me with questions, mostly along the lines of, "What has she come up with lately?" Because of her shenanigans, she is a mini-celebrity at the local ER (I am keeping her teenage years in mind by NOT telling you that story).

Ever since she was a baby, she has always had the strangest obsession with stuff from the 80s. For example: her favorite movie is Labyrinth. She is currently on a Pee Wee Herman kick. She has stolen my Rainbow Brite DVDs. The list could go on all day. Anyways, she is convinced that I am going to marry the Goblin King (David Bowie circa 1986), and refuses to believe that he has aged in the past 25 years.

My Husband-to-be

All of this I can handle. It's cute, even. Hell, I wouldn't even mind marrying David Bowie because I respect a man in guyliner, and I wouldn't have to work unless I wanted to. My problem of late is this:



EVERY time we get into the car, my child demands that I play this song. She knows every word. My five year old can sing this song with more emotion and force than most grown people that I know. It is outstanding. I just cannot help but crack up when she belts it out. She is off key through its entirety and she sounds like a munchkin. The song is cheeseball hilarious and she gets pissed when I laugh at her. What can I do?

Heaven help me if she decides to obsess over Bryan Adams.

NaNoWriMo Update #3

Last night I made the official decision that NaNoWriMo was not for me. I love the "seat of your pants" writing requirements, but I have discovered that it is not my writing style. That is not to say that I am not grateful to have experienced it, because "the little girl" has been born. Shall I explain?

I went in to this project knowing my character. I have known her, researched her, and rolled her around in my brain like you do a fine wine in your mouth when you're tasting its excellence. I could feel her in every inch of my soul, and she wanted out. I knew that NaNoWriMo would be the perfect opportunity to put her to paper.

I was wrong.

In trying to make my daily word goal, I was writing just utter shit that was not beneficial to my character's story. She began to transform into an angsty teenager in love with a guy that is a complete dickwad. My character is strong, extraordinary, and so powerful that she has wrapped herself into a shell of self-hatred for what she is capable of. The teenage girl was not my character, and I don't want to write about her. Yet.

Mixed in with that silly teenager, there have been a few scenes that I wrote about "the little girl". That is the only name that she has right now, and maybe the only one she will have. I don't know yet. I only have about 3k words about her (as apposed to the 18k total), but the quality of those are exponentially better than my YA love story. I had my baby horror novel creeping in around the edges, and it's fitting. Shouldn't that be how horror novels are born? Slinking into other works, taking over the words that are not supposed to be there either, devouring them? I believe so.

I want to write for the same reason that I read. I read because I want to escape from the reality that is my own, and live in another world for just a little while - even if it scares me. I would be humiliated if I created something that I did not want anyone else to read, and no one wanted to visit. I want to make a story that will be worth the escape, even if it is for only one person. Even if it is only for me.

My NaNoWriMo project was not that story. It did, however, give birth to the one that is that story. I am going to write it and maybe one day, you'll get to read it. I hope so.

Thank you everyone for the support so far, but now the real writing is going to start, and I'm going to make it good.

Adventures with: Photographs

I found a picture album with a lot of old photos of myself yesterday. It had been heaped into a pile of other things, and I was quite surprised to see them. Many of them I have not seen since before Bug was born.

I'll share one of them with you.

This is one of my favorite pictures of myself. (No, his face is not blacked out in the original photograph.) I was young and pretty, with my hair the shade of red that it's supposed to be. Look at me smiling - I look very happy and in love, don't I?

There is a secret behind the picture. Two nights before this was taken, the guy on the right beat the crap out of me. After an evening of verbal abuse, admissions of cheating on me with multiple other women, and drinking, he decided that I was being disrespectful to him. It started with him dragging me out of a bar and backhanding me in the cab. The highlight of the evening was me bleeding on the sidewalk in front of his cousin's town house. The neighbors called the police and what I remember as a SWAT team trying to haul him off to jail while I hid under his cousin's bed because I felt like I had done something wrong. The night wrapped up with us in a motel room in another state that he made ME pay for because his cousin kicked him out. I woke up that morning with him on the phone with his ex-fiance telling her how much he missed her.

No, you're not reading this incorrectly. That all happened before this picture was taken. The girl in that picture was completely ruled by the guy next to her from the way her makeup is done, to the clothes she is wearing, to the way she is standing. Needless to say, that guy is no longer in the picture, figuratively and literally.

The woman I am now would say that I would give up everything I possess in that picture - youth, beauty, clothes, etc. - to never be in that picture again. In a way, I have. I may not be as young or pretty or dress in stylish clothes, but I am now strong enough to break things off with a guy who respects me and treats me kindly (that I also care about) as opposed to being someone to stay with an abusive, hateful twat for a month after he gave me a concussion.

I think being who I am versus who I was is a fair trade.

NaNoWriMo Update #2

I have been a little out of whack lately with NaNoWriMo, but I am getting my game face on. I am going to finish this by the end of the month. I am no longer going to hold myself back or imagine that there are outside forces keeping me from my goal. Anywho, here is my latest:

14943 / 50000 words. 30% done!

I hope to catch up by doing 1k/hour bursts over the next few days. I won't be writing in chronological order anymore so I can just get the scenes out that I believe are important. I'll add all of the fluff later.

Wish me luck!

Adventures with: November

The world is out to get me. The Universe hates me. Murphy's Law is operating to its fullest extent, barring great bodily mutilation or some other incident of excessive horror. Something that cruel would only serve to shut me down completely. The Powers That Be only want me to be irritable, depressed, and insane.

Meet November.

This is what the second to last month in the year holds in store for me annually for as long as I can remember. It is a big nasty ball of Suck, and there is nothing I can do about it. I have grown used to it, and I accept it as part of my life. Is it terrible that Life takes a shit on me for an entire month every year? Absolutely. However, it helps to know that it is going to happen, and I can just resign myself to it. Luckily, I realized that November had set in by the 7th and got the toilet paper handy.

I do not know why I always forget about the coming of November. I swear every year that I will be ready the next time that it hits. That is never the case. I am a die-hard optimist (deep down, ok?) and the month always plays the defenseless and cute card in the beginning. This year, the month started out as easy as it always does. I was able to get some of my NaNoWriMo project done, and all other aspects of my life were in their normal mode of mediocrity. Then November slowly started rolling out the attack.

Last week, I had a law official come into my place of business to question Bookboy and I regarding a crime that was committed at my workplace, in a sense. Thank Bob we were not faced with the Prisoner's Dilemma, as we naturally turned upon each other as soon as the cop walked out of the room. If we had been arrested for a crime (we were not and we have not done anything illegal), we would have been clawing each other's eyes out in order to get a better deal. Yes, we would turn on each other in a heartbeat, but that is the nature of our relationship. We are coworkers. A little backstabbing and self-servicing is demanded. Anyways, in terms of November, that is not so bad. That is something that one could easily expect from April or September.

It was not really until Sunday that I began to see the pattern of terrible that is November. I blogged about Sunday's Gossip issue a few days ago, but that was not the whole of the awful for that day. There was a gross miscommunication between the Gingerman and myself. We are the same in a lot of ways, but we have some major differences in others that make things very difficult for me (and for him because when things are difficult for me, I make life difficult for everyone). That being said, I ended up being very pissed off at him, and I am quite sure that he is completely disgusted with me. I do not know for sure - we have not spoken since then. Even better - my mother called to talk about what was going on with me. Bless her heart for caring, but when I am in the middle of an emotional meltdown, I only want to discuss things with the others involved (and maybe break the noses of the gossipy offenders). Glorious November rolls out the goodness!

It is not paranoia. This is Every. Fucking. Year. No exceptions. Let us head over to Monday so you can see. I ran away from the world to my friend Un-Nicknamed's house on Sunday night. She is mean enough to hold the evils of November at bay - which is also why she is Un-Nicknamed Friend. The terrible got right back on track when I left her house. Bug did not want to go to school and had a complete meltdown when I tried to drop her off that morning. I do not need to go into details. All of the parent readers know and those without children will not understand what I am saying until they are parents. It sucks to put it that way, but that is just how it is. The most I can say is that November was not pulling any punches when my child turned and chased me to my car, tears streaming down her face, begging me not to leave  her there. A tear-stained, snot-nosed child is not the main ingredient to a fantastic day - just so you know. Work was not really memorable except for a patron telling me that I looked like I had "bedroom hair" which translates to "you look like you just got done having sex" (which is never the case in November), but Bug was an emotional terrorist for the evening when I got home. Hooray!

Tuesday was the day November chose to pelt me with paperwork and bills and letters. None of it was anything good. I got a letter from the school board saying that paperwork that I sent in over a month ago was not there and bad things would be happening within two weeks if they did not get it. I got a letter from the DMV stating that my insurance had lapsed and my presence at their fine facility would be required - and soon. Then there was the most fun thing of all - a questionnaire for jury duty. It is November, so I am going to be selected for the pool. That is fairly awful, but if I am summoned for the pool, it will be the fourth time this year. Yes, you read that correctly - FOURTH. Honestly, I have given up. I hope they pick me so I be done with the nonsense. Somehow, I doubt they will so I can be summoned again. And again. And again. And again.

I chose the Ninth of November to be the day to take care of All The Things that was set upon me the day before. I had the foresight to ask Un-Nicknamed Friend (UNF)) to accompany me on my quest against the Evil Paperwork. I am not saying the day was not riddled with greatness. I had a morning coffee date with my favorite mommy friend, and there was much giggling and snark involved. It was a lovely November refueling point, and I paid for it later. After the coffee date, I decided that I would stop by my credit union before meeting up with UNF. I only had to deposit a check into my account, and I wrongfully assumed that November would turn her vindictive eye the other way. Almost immediately upon me sending my deposit slip and check through the drive-thru's Magical Sucking Tube, the teller told me that she would be unable to deposit it without the branch manager's approval. Would I like to go in and speak with the manager? Not particularly, but I resigned myself to it. After half an hour of waiting in the lobby, one of the loan officials invited me into  her office to assist me. She took a quick look at the offending check, and told me that I would have to speak to the branch manager. Apparently, requesting to speak to the branch manager does not really sink in until a person has seen everyone else in the branch first. I imagine that it is like a video game where all other enemies must be defeated before advancing to the Big Boss. After another fifteen minutes, the credit union's Big Boss stepped forth to do battle with me. For whatever reason, sometime in the past few months my credit union decided that it would no longer take perfectly good third party checks unless the person the check was made out to was a member of our credit union. Are you incredibly bored with this description of events? Of course you are. I am bored with writing it. November won and I left with my check. Game Over.

Getting right down to the point, I also lost to November with my insurance agency and the DMV, despite having UNF with me. (As a side note, she thought I was in need of medication at the beginning of my November explanation, but after I outlined it all for her, she agreed that I was in trouble until December.) I had to pay a fifty dollar reinstatement fee because of my douchebag, irresponsible agents. Did I have the fifty dollars? Well, hell no. I did not get to deposit my check. UNF was able to cash it at her bank, which everyone is boycotting and bashing right now for 99% reasons. I do not mind them because they can cash a fucking check! Try that one on for size, small business America. I paid the money, and got things done. The only part of all of that where I came close to coming unglued was when I was on the phone with an idiot from the main insurance company who accused me of speaking in riddles when I asked her to tell me the dates of which my coverage had lapsed. I am sorry America, but when my period there is up, I am going back to AIG. They may be crooks in public opinion, but they got shit done when I needed it. Simple questions also do not astound their operators. If small business wants to beat out corporations - hire non-idiots. But this is about November... I will tell you the worst part of the DMV. I had my number, and I asked UNF to hold on to it for me while I went to the restroom. My body is still actively rebelling against the removal of its cousin, Gall Bladder, and my number was called mid-attack. I knew that it was going to happen - it is November.

Yes, I am a big ball of stressed-out crazy. That is only because I do not know what November has in store for me next. I know bad things are going to happen. I am braced for the impact. I look forward to it. I would love for every bad thing that I have left built up for this year and the first part of next year to come at me right now. Why, do you ask? Because it is November and I am ready for it.

Adventures with: Gossip and Those Who Partake

The past week has been defined by words. Not only have I been surrounded by the words that I am creating for my story, but I have had to face words of others' creation - gossip.

I will be the first person to admit that I delve into the gossip coffers from time to time, making deposits or withdrawals. I will not try to excuse it in any way, but I would never say anything to be intentionally hurtful. There are mainly three ways that I will gossip. In one sense, I am a 70 year old woman trapped into a much younger body - I like to talk about things that happened "back in the day". For instance, sometimes, I will tell stories (which I know to be true) about people that I used to know or date. I exaggerate and weave the stories into silliness that usually makes my audience laugh. The embellishments are obvious, and they're so ludicrous that not only does it not matter, but it makes the truth much more interesting. It is almost always extremely self-deprecating.

Every once in a while - and it is probably one of my biggest failings - I like to people watch. When I people watch, I make jokes. I make up stories about those people and share them with whatever friend is close by. I even save what I see for poems or short stories that you will never read. You may not think it is gossip, and you might be right, but if someone took what I said and passed it on - it could soon be the latest notch in the rumor mill.

I also like to hear gossip, but I can honestly say that when I hear something that is none of my business or something I know absolutely nothing about, I usually won't pass it on. Sometimes, I forget it as soon as the subject is changed. I will enjoy the story told, and then move on with my life. I guess the storyteller/storylover in all of us comes out once in a while, and we wallow in the warm gossipy juices of What Is None Of Our Business.

When it comes to gossip about me, I'm always very shocked by it. I am a very bland person, and my life is probably as interesting as that of the common garden slug. Barring the sudden arrival of Morton's girl, I'm beyond notice. I like it that way. I'm not showy like a snail, carrying my house around like I'm some wannabe turtle. I keep things simple. Why would anyone want to talk about a slug? Who cares if a slug has moved underneath a different leaf or rock. It's just a slug. Right? Now I'm not saying that I'm not important and special and blah blah blah - I'm just saying that there is not much remarkable going on in my neck of the woods. There are much more interesting things to talk about. I will admit that I have had scandals back in my day, but nothing of any significance in the past 2-3 years.

Very recently, someone that I used to know said something extremely hurtful about me to someone who does not know me. Then, through the grapevine, it ended up in the ear of a person who I care about very much. Most people can shrug these things off easily, but not me. I am not a celebrity nor was I ever even popular in school. I have never been a subject of interest. Not only am I unused to people discussing my mediocrity at all, but I am astonished by the fact that I have near-strangers saying one of the most insulting things (about a very private aspect of my life) that I have ever heard about anyone, let alone myself. I have to be honest - I did not know how to deal with it. I am aware that I should just shrug it off and not give another thought to the matter at all, but all I can do is wonder why someone would be so ugly to me. It was intentional, it was malicious, and it was done for reasons beyond my fathoming.

I want this to be a funny post. I want to make jokes about Fraggles, fry cooks, or Lindsay Lohan's short jail term. I want to be beyond the notice of strangers. I want to be able to write. I want to finish NaNoWriMo. I want to be able to get the words out, so I can fuss over them like they are children who have been jumping in mud puddles and clean them up. I want the words that are of my own making, that I get to control, that I get to manipulate into harmless lies that tells stories about people that are only real in my head. I want the hateful words being said to be taken back and forgotten. Most of all, I want to forget how much words can hurt.

NaNoWriMo Update #1

I had a slow writing weekend for various reasons, but I'm getting back on track. I've already written over 1k words today, and I'm only about 2.4k behind where I should be with NaNoWriMo's daily goals. This is my current progress:

9222 / 50000 words. 18% done!

Yay!

As always, if you want to be my writing buddy and shame me into doing better, here is my Participant Page. :-D

NaNoWriMo

I probably won't blog much, if at all, this month. I'm making my life crazy and following a dream by participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

Here's how I'm doing so far:

7132 / 50000 words. 14% done!

I'll be updating this from time to time.

If you're interested, come visit my Participant Page. Be my buddy - I love new friends.

Wish me luck!