CupCate.com

"Holy ****...I can buy my own tampons!!"

Here I am!

I took a little blog hiatus, as for the past couple weeks I didn't really have anything other than gratuitous amounts of bitching to offer on the internet...so I just kept my mouth shut, and my fingers far away from the Compose link.

I take myself too seriously in my own head and heart, the last thing I need to do is to puke it all up in a post, and have my inner bashing and Emo moments of shame published online.

That's what my frantic emails to my old therapist, and midnight phone calls to my imaginary friends are for.

However.

I had a lot of strange, yet utterly fantastic, things happen to Iain and I this week. I find myself either laughing hysterically or crying in disbelief that we have finally reached this point in our lives, and have actually arrived at this stage in our "Ultimate Plan To Take Over The World"™.

Last February, I was still waking up at 3:30 every single morning, making Matcha green tea lattes, and wallowing in a pit of long distance relationship despair. (I was also suffering a suspicious elbow injury which I later figured out was probably do to all those late night "special phone calls" to England, but that's beside the point.)

My head was full, my heart was heavy, and my stomach so anxiety ridden that it was constantly angry with me for only feeding it espresso, taco bell, and croissants; thus causing it to seek revenge by giving me horrible cramps and numerous fits of constipation, or its counterpart, diarreaha. (Isn't sharing fun??!!!)

Throw in a bit of sexual harassment from my customers, a boss that hated me, and the never ending fretting over how the hell I would-

A) Afford the move to England
B) Quit my job without my Boss slicing my throat and beating me to death with spoiled Frappuccino mix
C) Explain to my mother that I was moving to England...like for reals.

Never mind everyone asking me where I was going to live,

("With my Internet boyfriend! DUH!)

Where I was going to work,

"Um...I have a couple of ideas."

(...Which actually meant: "Fuck no. All I know is I'm getting the hell out of this place, and never making someone a 'Ven-tay, 'atra Crrramel  Frappachacha' ever again...ever!")

And what kind of Visa I was getting,

"Um, a Working Holiday Maker's Visa...well, I should be getting that anyway. I'm just waiting to hear back from the Consulate"

....Which I did a few days after I sent my application off:

"Dear. Miss.CupCate. Your application for Working Holiday Maker Visa was denied, as you are a US National, and are therefore NOT PART OF THE COMMON WEALTH."

What I thought 'common wealth' meant when I read over the initial application, I'll never know. My ($200) bad.

How I lived through the stress, judgement, disapproval, and disappointment from others regarding my move, I really don't know. Well, I do, actually. It was probably due to my blind faith that everything would work out, Iain's practical planning, and the fact that we could no longer be apart from each other.

We were actually at the point where if we had to be separated for one more month, we would sell all our possessions, buy a small house boat, and live along the canals of Amsterdam. By day we would juggle and recite beat poetry to tourists (Iain's mad crazy on the bongos). And by night I would do nude interpretive dances to Iain's "Afro Celt Sound System" CD in the Red Light district...

Thankfully for us, and sadly for Amsterdam, it never got to that point.

Considering that our online romance originally sparked while I was flaunting myself under the name Adzurro on MyForeignBride.com (I think it was my offer to "take in lover man who presend me apartment in spa plase of egypt" that hooked him), marriage was always in our plans. **

When I moved over to England, I had just over $1,000 in my US  bank account -er- make that £500 due to the US Dollar's incredibly astounding strength as a currency! Thanks Georgie!

Iain and I knew that until I could get a visa that allowed me to work, we would be living off of dented cans of chicken broth and boiled pots of rain water.

That's just how it was going to be.

However, the thought of financially depending on Iain, and having to ask him to buy me tampons every 28 days was so traumatic that the idea of shaving my head and assaulting innocent vehicles with golf umbrellas seemed totally plausible.

I was an independent woman! The shoes on my feet? I bought 'em! The car I was driving? I bought it! The watch I was wearing?? I bought it! Cuz I depend(ed) on me!

If I wanted to go out to dinner, buy an appetizer AND a dessert, and then go to a movie....I could totally afford it.

But no. Not any more.

The shoes on my feet? He bought 'em. The house I live in? He bought it. The clothes I'm wearing? He bought it.

Cuz I depend on him.

(All the ladies! Who are Dependent! Throw your hands up at maaaaaaeeee!)

Iain and I weren't exactly thrilled with the idea, as he's had past partners do the, "Oh I'm sorry, when you said that we would both have jobs, I thought that meant that my 'job' was to sit at home all day coloring and writing haikus about Xena ...." thing. While our poverty situation was based on the fact that I could not work because it was THE LAW, it was still difficult for me to have to depend on him, and to be draining our financial funds, rather that contributing  to them.

My god, the things we have learned about patience these past 10 months...

We've learned that you cannot force things to happen against their will, or speed time sensitive processes that are  simply that: time sensitive.

We've learned to accept our financial situation. We don't like it, as, well,  it makes EVERYTHING hard.

Not having money makes everything panicky.

Gah! The cat has fleas, we can't afford to take him to the vet!

Blarg! Does my tooth hurt? I think my tooth hurts. Holy shit. We can't afford the dentist!

And then I would lay awake at night imagining having to take our cat to some backstreet vet from Compton who's office consists of an ironing board used as a examining table and keeps his medical instruments in a tool box...or having to knock out my tooth with an ice skate like Tom Hanks in Castaway.

I think my worst moment was when my STUPID ASS FUCKING BANK (Washington Mutual) decided that July 3rd would be a good day to charge me $75 worth of "International Cash Withdrawal Fees", which depleted my account. Why is July 3rd significant? OH Washington Mutual FUNNY you should ask! July 3rd is significant because it was 2 days before Iain's BIRTHDAY and I was buying him his fucking birthday present. Needless to say, I cried in front of the cashier, all the way home, and then to the cats.

Never mind my HOME MADE birthday gifts, or Iain's self-paid Christmas gifts from me, there are also the effects it has on your own entertainment, social life, and self-esteem.

I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but one of the greatest financial obstacles I've had to overcome would be having to start a new life, make new first impressions, and try to give off my impression of who "Cate" really is to my new community....without any of the usual suspects.

For example...Starting a new year at school always involves shopping, doesn't it? Buy a new binder, new backpack, new glasses, new shoes, new tops....this is the NEW ME, and every accessory and possession must represent that.

Our accessories tend to define us, don't they?

Our appearance, our clothing, our fashion tells a story about us.

How many occasions do we run out and buy a new dress, T-shirt, or complete outfits for?

Job interviews, cocktail parties, dates, weddings, birthdays, Fridays, bad days, dinner parties, award ceremonies, meeting the parents, travel days....

I've had to go through every single one of these occasions, and let me tell you, our bank account hasn't exactly let me go shopping for them. "Recycle, re-wear, reuse!" has been my motto. And it's been fucking difficult.

I've had to make my very best impressions be about ME.

I haven't had a new manicure or haircut to make me feel empowered at a job interview.

I haven't had that new, sexy dress to surprise my husband with on his birthday.

Not even the new, posh sweater to help me "feel sassy" when walking into a room full of new people.

I've had to try and repress those, "God, I'm wearing the same jeans as I did last time I saw them, and I hate this stupid shirt that I've worn a thousand times..." feelings that I used to convince myself that I was ugly, unattractive, and therefore unworthy of everything.

Around the time I wrote my "Real Beauty" post I had a meltdown in our local Starbucks (Yes, that was me in the corner crying into my chai) because I thought I needed a hair cut. I needed new jeans. I said I needed a new shirt, a dermatologist, a gym, a house full or organic lowfat hippie food, new shirts, new underwear, a new bra, etc, etc. Basically, the message I was sending Iain was,

"Hand over your credit card and let me buy and fix everything wrong with my wardrobe, body, face, and hair. Money will fix how ugly and fat I feel."

I never actually said that. But my message was basically, "Money will fix how ugly I feel about myself." He offered to get my hair done, cut out our already limited funds so I could join a gym, take me shopping if it would make me feel better.

 I stopped crying. I looked at him. And something snapped,

"No, thank you, sweetheart...but no. If it's not my hair, it would be something else."

And it would. All of the money couldn't turn off the negative, horrible things I was telling myself.

I then told myself that if I couldn't feel pretty and good enough about myself in my old jeans, Converse, and worn out tshirts...then there's no way I could feel beautiful and worthy of love even if I were wearing the Burberry Prorsum dress of my wet dreams.

However, on the same token, I'm starting to learn that just because you're leaning on the "our credit card debt is large enough to fund a small country" side of things...doesn't mean you can't enjoy life.

Iain and I don't have a TV.

Truth be told, we'll like to have one, and will have one when we can justify spending the money on a TV license...

But we talk to each other. We go for walks, because HEY! walks are free.

We still go out for drinks, even if we can't afford it, because Iain and Cate going more than 1 week sober = getting the shakes, cold sweats, and severe hallucinations.

("Honey?...Do you hear the bagpipes? Is there a man playing bagpipes in bathroom?")

We've tried to focus on the future, and that this stint of surviving off of one income is only temporary.

However, as level headed and accepting as we've tried to be of our situation, it's caught up with me the past two weeks. Probably, because I knew the end was near.

'The end' meaning that our second round of 'Will she or won't she get deported?' would be happening in the form of our  appointment to get my Spouse visa.

This appointment was scheduled for this past Friday, and considering what a hot fucking mess our last appointment in LA was, we weren't exactly all warm and fuzzy with the idea of going in front of yet another UK government official and having him decide the fate of our lives.

However, this time, I didn't get us lost, or break out in hives, NOR did I have diarrhea! (high five!)

In fact, we were so prepared, and on time, and organized that I feel like I could now teach a "How To Stay In The UK As A Foreign Bride" class.

The whole process only took 2.5 hours, and unlike last time when they practically demanded a blood sample and pound of flesh...the only documents they asked for were my application, our passports, and our fucking marriage certificate.

That's it.

The immigration officer -who I love dearly and plan on sending a naked Christmas card to- was efficient, quick, and didn't treat me like the Ukrainian Bride Con-Artist.

Amazing.

And now, here I am, a legal UK resident who can stay for 2 years (after which I can apply for settlement) and...

I! Can! WORK!!!!

Me! I can work now! I can work and make moneys and buy things and pay bills just like a real grown up!

And I can even stay up as late as I want!

We just sat there staring at my visa.

"Dude. You're a resident, now."

"Dude. I know. I can like...work."

"You can buy things!"

"Holy fuck...I can buy my own tampons...."

Of course we're excited that I can stay here legally for the next tour years...but I CAN BUY MY OWN TAMPONS, NOW!!

The ultimate glory of all this is that I actually have my new gig all set up!

As of late, I've been doing some oober freelance  writing/blogging (I think the legal term would be 'Volunteer Writing') for the lovely folks at Shiny Media, who found me a few months ago on Vox, and were like, "Hey, do you want to write for us?" to which I was like, "Dude!  Totally!.......As long as I don't have to make you Frappuccinos!!!!...Wait, I can't actually work yet. How about I work for free for a couple months! Cool?" and then we laughed, high-fived, and did a super secret handshake.

How super neat is that?

They have saved me from said head shaving and the "umbrella on car" action I described earlier, and I like contributing to their blogs <<<<<<THIS MUCH>>>>>>>>>.

So now, I'm trying to wrap my mind around having a grown-up writing job, being a freelance writer, and now doing things like going to swanky awards ceremonies in Soho, drinking free wine, and being asked to accept a Shiny Award on behalf of Vox.

(No really, you guys will get your award. Sure it looks nice on my coffee table, but I swear! You'll get it!)

I even have BUSINESS CARDS.

Okay, I may have had business cards before, but these say "Freelance Writer"....not "Assistant Manager/Coffee Master/Espresso Wench".

The only problem is, is that basically, my brain and psyche like to do this really cool thing where I like to tell myself that I'm a horrible, undeserving, useless, worthless human being when anything good happens to me.

Hmmm, maybe this would be because ever since I was little I was given the impression from my "supportive friends" that if I did anything deemed praise worthy -such as getting all 'A's, being the lead in the school play, or never getting detention- that I didn't deserve it, must have cheated, and was an unworthy, greedy, miserable bitch.

...And that NO I wasn't going to be invited to Shannon's birthday sleepover.

Now as an adult, I have this whole "I don't deserve this" complex and can often be heard moaning, "SHANNON! INVIIIIIIIITE MEEEE?!?!?!!" in the night...

However, it's ironically getting better as my successes become greater, despite the counter affect of my "supportive friends" getting greener and faithful "out for blood" haters (kisses to y'all, by the way) become more psychotic.

The beginning of this new week, marks something wonderful. It's the end of the "emotionally trying but positively influential" prologue, and the beginning of the REAL chapter one.

Our second month of marriage, my first month of pay, and the end of dented cans of chicken broth.

And now we can finally buy the cats new shoes!

** I kid, I kid. Marriage was in our plans because I was a knocked up. I somehow convinced him it was his, so then he decided to marry me. Sucker.***

***Seriously, though. We met on MySpace. I wasn't really knocked up. But, for some reason, he really did want to marry me. Go figure.

Vox Hunt: It's Like This...

Audio: Share a song that reminds you of a current or past relationship.

It's still hard for me to listen to this song, or watch this video and be reminded of the way I felt being apart from you for so long...The countless hours, the endless minutes. Trying to get through the days, instead of living them.

Now, with you, I live every single waking moment, of every single day...

Girl,all the heart-shaped lobster ravioli in the world ain't gonna make that boy love you!

"Be Mine!"

"Be My Valentine!"

"Kiss Me!"

"I Got You Babe!"

Just as the thought of a white, pouffy, wedding made me want to throw myself into a pit of 100,000 burning copies of Martha Stewart: Martha's Wedding Ideas...I'm guessing you can take a wild stab at my feelings toward Valentine's Day.

I was all set to write a "All of My Hilariously Disappointing Valentine's Day Experiences" post, straight Bridget Jones style, yo...

But then I came across this tit of an article, entitled: "Why I Hate Valentine's Day: 6 ways the holiday wreaks havoc".

Before reading, I was like, "Oh awesome, this should be interesting!"...

And by about half way through, I had already broken out into hives, and was desperately searching the flat for a paper bag to breathe in.

According to this article, the  "6 Reasons" that Valentine's Day is so horrible are:

1) Valentine’s Day makes people afraid to start dating someone

2) Valentine’s Day can wreak havoc for those who date around

3) Valentine’s Day can bring a couple to make-or-break status

4) Valentine’s Day can cause a relationship to linger... too long

5) Valentine’s Day ratchets up the pressure to have a perfect night

6) Valentine’s Day forces you to play Kreskin on the gift front

Some of these are just obvious, and very "OMG. Waaah. I'm single. My life is miserable." But JEEZUS, some of the things that were written in this article made me want to hunt down the writer and interviewees, beat them over the head with a copy of He's Just Not That In To You, and raid their homes for whatever "You Must Be In A Couple To Be Worthy Of Living & How To Make Your Crappy Relationship Work At Any Cost!" book that they're clutching to their bosom every night whilst they cry them self to sleep.

The article is just filled with the contradictions and the gaping holes that are in women's "logic" of what Valentine's Day and romance should be, and is just further proof that when it comes to VDay, MEN CAN'T FUCKING WIN.

One of the women interviewed, Heather, said:

“I hate seeing girls carrying home flowers that their boyfriends sent them, because I know that’s never me, even when I have a boyfriend—that’s just not how I am in a relationship. All of the expressions have just become formulaic—why bother if you know what’s coming?"

The writer (whom I'm so stoked to rip on I'm practically foaming with anticipation) went on to talk about Heather's idea of Valentine' Day and said,

"She says she’d rather her boyfriend did something nice for her unprompted than something “romantic,” just because it’s a day when he’s “supposed” to. So much focus on one little day can actually make people start to second-guess the hearts and candy they do get—is he really that into you, or did he just pick up the generic be-a-good-boyfriend package on his way home? "

So far, we've established from this article that "women" don't want their boyfriends to do anything just because they're "supposed to", but don't want to be left out and hate seeing all the "other girls" with the "formulaic" gifts such as flowers or chocolate. And if your partner does feel compelled "be a good boyfriend" and chooses to get you some flowers or whatever, you end up questioning his sentiments?

Well, what I take away from this, is that maybe women don't want the typical romantic Valentine's Day bullshit gifts, but still want effort and romance. Maybe their boyfriend can tell that, and think that he'll get her something thoughtful that she'll actually use! Ya know, not just flowers that will die, chocolate that will get eaten (probably by himself), or a necklace that will get worn once every 7 months...

The author of this column wrote about friend's boyfriend who "had a knack for giving her exactly what she needed" like, for example "a toaster, a rolling pin, a hot-glue gun". That seems thoughtful isn't it? Maybe those are things she always says she wants, but will never go buy. However, apparently these gifts had "so little romantic quotient" that her friend quite frequently ended up spending VDay night "in the bathroom sobbing". Her friend's reasoning?

“I mean really, how could I not take those gifts as a sure sign that he thought of me as a pal he happens to sleep with rather than the sexy woman who rocks his world?”

For fuck sake! Seriously? Would you rather lingerie? Oh no, I imagine that would make him out to be only interested in sex, in your body, or that he wished you looked more like the girls in FHM.

What does a boyfriend/husband get the lady of his life to make her feel like she's "the sexy woman who rocks his world" without having her in the bathroom crying over a gift.

While a toaster or a hot glue gun isn't typically romantic, I can see the thought behind it. It shows that he was listening to her when she said she wanted on. That he remembered. That he wanted to her to have something she could really use! I could understand if he bought her a useful gift that she didn't actually need, but fuck! What do you women want?!!?

I loved how the writer also used women's own blind fantasies of Valentine's Day as "proof" that this holiday is bad because it "causes" couples to "make-or-break" their status. Her proof? Sophie, a lawyer in Putnam County, New York's sad little Valentine's tale.

"'I did the whole bed and breakfast suite in the country thing—very storybook,'she says. When her honey got there, he took one look at the overwhelmingly romantic (some might say stifling) set-up and decided that he really wasn’t ready to move in with her, as they had been discussing. Everything was seeming too couple-y, too fast for him. 'Lovely timing, right by the fireplace,' she recalls."

That poor girl! Just look at what that evil St.Valentine caused her boyfriend to do! Never mind that she clearly wouldn't be able to identify a red flag if it beat her over the fucking head, or that she obviously hadn't clearly gauged her boyfriend's readiness to move in correctly, OR that they obviously had communication problems...It's that Stupid Cupid's fault. This holiday is pure evil.

Just as most weddings and engagements that are fuelled purely by the Bride/Fiancée's psychotic plans and expectations efforts; a Valentine's Day that is planned and organized only by the female half of the relationship is, clearly, not a good sign. Take more of the "proof" that Valentine's Day is evil, this time from another interviewee, Suzanne, a copy editor from Boston:

"One year, I decided to treat my guy, and I made a really fancy dinner—red, heart-shaped lobster ravioli, champagne, chocolate soufflé,” she says. For all her hard work, the one thing she skipped buying was flowers, assuming that her guy would at least pick those up out of instinct. “Nothing, nada,” she says. “Here I thought I really didn’t expect anything, because I’m not into that as a holiday, but I was still wondering if this guy even knew me or cared about me at all."

Can we all pause for a moment to reflect on the aroma of bullshit that is seeping from this quote? Who the fuck spends all day to "treat" their boyfriend by making fucking HEART-SHAPED LOBSTER RAVIOLI and MOTHER FUCKING CHOCOLATE SOUFFLÉ if they're "not into" all the Valentine's Day bullshit? Are you serious? And then to go on to say that you "didn't expect anything" is fucking bullshit! She clearly didn't get flowers to TEST her boyfriend to see if he "knew or cared" about her "at all"!

I can just picture her earlier that day, on the phone with him while she delicately cuts ravioli shells into little hearts telling him,

"No, really sweets, I don't want anything for Valentine's Day. I hate that stuff. Seriously, don't you worry! You know me, babe...Me? Oh, I'm not doing anything. I'm just reading a magazine!" ...Really babe, I'm not preparing Chocolate Soufflé or anything! And I'm definitely not secretly hoping you'll propose tonight or nothin'!

Perhaps the worst of all this, was when the author uses the excuse of "Valentine’s Day can cause a relationship to linger... too long" as one of her 6 reasons VDay sucks a big fat one.

Her proof? She once stayed with a guy who "didn’t even have a TV, for starters" but was "nice enough" and "that all my friends thought he was way hot" because she DID NOT WANT TO BE SINGLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY. She said she knew their relationship was over earlier that winter, but "obviously I wasn’t going to break things off during the holidays" and then stayed with him until after Valentine's day.

"It would have been easier to call the relationship DOA earlier rather than stretch it out unhappily in the hopes of being coupled-up on Cupid’s special day. In my case, it seems, St. Valentine's was the patron saint of emotional inertia."

Oh holy Jesus on rye. Really? Are you REALLY blaming Valentine's Day for your idiotic, pathetic relationship behavior? GAWD! I don't even know where to start with her...

However, things start to make more sense after reading the small print at the bottom of the column. The writer of the article?

Laura Gilbert.

Laura Gilbert who was once the Senior Editor for Maxim magazine. I have no idea why she left the magazine, however, all I really found was a collection of articles she wrote for Maxim while being the Senior Editor.

Articles like: " Take Her Home…Guaranteed!" where Gilbert gives advice to Maxim Men about how to trick a woman into having a one night stand,

"Whether or not we’ll admit it, a night of anonymous debauchery is often exactly what we want!"

Her "we" meaning just women in general. Obviously, her insight into the female psyche is uncanny.

Or perhaps you'll enjoy her "Sexy Coeds Confess" article where she let's Maxim readers in on how "university hotties really get down".

She's like, the nerdy looking "GV behind the curtain" who's the Queen of Female Chauvinist Pigs . Okay, maybe not the Queen...but definitely a Duchess.

So, what's my own personal take on Valentine's Day?

I used to be a Valentine's Day whore.

Prior to being with ye old idiot (aka Spencer) I had only been on one Valentine-esque date with the elf-like lead singer of my second favorite punk band at my high school.

He gave me a mixed tape, and a card, and I was like, soooo totally excited when I got home. I actually had a Valentine!

Cut to 20 minutes later when my phone rings, and it's The Punk Elf, letting me know that he got back together with his ex girlfriend, and advised me to not listen to the tape he gave me...as he had recorded San Dimas High School Footbal Rules for me, and had -so romantically- replaced the name Whitney with my name.

Awesome.

Somehow, over the years, I would manage to morph into a "bitter, single girl" every February 14th, even while I had a boyfriend. I would spend so much time fantasizing about the gifts I could receive, or what my boyfriend might have planned, that by the time the damn day actually came, anything other than a pair of glass slippers and a horse-drawn carriage would caused me to end up sobbing in the bathroom.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to be wooed, swept off your feet, or be so drunk on romance that it's a struggle to not puke on your lover.

I just think that too many women are so starved for any form of romance or happiness in love, that they use this holiday as a "sign". Like, if he can't get his shit together and be romantic enough on VALENTINE'S DAY, then he really doesn't love me.

In some cases, he won't because -you're right- he doesn't really love you.

But there's also the fact that he may really love you, and you just have your head shoved so far up Lifetime and Hallmark's ass, that you wouldn't appreciate his gifts, no matter how heartfelt or thoughtful they were.

I'm not saying that you need to settle in order to be happy...

But, at least for me, I've found that once you have the "Omg this is so great I think I'm seriously going to throw up on your shoes" love...you won't be secretly longing for gifts and heart-shaped lobster raviolis.

Iain and I are staying in. We're cooking curry, using the £14 that's left on a HMV gift card from Christmas to buy a new DVD, gettin' drunk, and maybe we'll go all the way, but we'll just leave that to drunken chance, no?

The thought of roses, or flowers, chocolate, and a candlelight table for 2 doesn't gross me out.

It's the thought of doing that stuff while every other couple in the world is, and for the same reason every one else is, just seems a bit weird.

Plus, anything that is elaborately planned out and arranged simply because of a random date on a calendar isn't nearly as romantic as going to celebrate something simply because you want to...not because it's expected.

Romance is what you make it.

The other side of this is that, when asked, "What are you doing for Valentine's Day!?!!?" you're either supposed to sob and chug wine because MY GAWD you're SINGLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY, or squeal in delight if you have a boyfriend because your man has something super duper special and neat-o planned.

BUT, if you're one of those couples who could give a heart-shaped, organic chocolate-dipped fuck about Valentine's Day...No one believes you!

Valentine's Day isn't supposed to be evil, but over the years, I think our own romance-starved relationships have fueled the wide-spread epidemic of unrealistic expectations of what Valentine's Dya is supposed to be about.

I'm not going to let it drive me nuts or  wear black and I'll even try to resist the urge to pelt every couple I see that's pretending to like one another and trying not bicker for a full 24 hours with those "Fuck You" candy hearts...

It's just a damn day.

Sure everyone is being more disgusting, and fake than usual...and it can, understandably, rub your own unpleasant romantic situation in your face..
.
But why not just take some personal responsibility for your life, and stop placing blame on half naked,arrow slinging cherubs, or on clueless boyfriends who can't read your mind and magically know that that YES YOU WOULD like him to buy you some flowers.

PLEASE do not end up crying in the bathroom tomorrow over an electric shaver your boyfriend bought you, or pointlessly slaving away over heart-shaped lobster raviolis hoping it will beguile your boyfriend into being a grateful lover, when really, romantically shaped pasta cannot, and will not ever change a miserable twat into the loving, appreciative man of your dreams.

Just say NO! to heart-shaped ravioli, this Valentine's Day....

...And just say YES! to alcohol and the possibility of going all the way.

Already got the red shoes, and the little dog...Now I want the bubble!

I've decided I'm going to go live in a bubble.

Or rather, a big Martini glass, with a bubble over it.

I'll have wireless internet, and a door to receive food.

The food consisting strictly of...

-Ranch Dressing

-Stuffed Crust, Extra Cheese, Extra Pineapple, Zucchini, with Ranch instead of Tomoato Sauce pizza from Roundtable

(And for me, they WILL DELIVER INTERNATIONALLY)

-Chicken Korma and pashwari naan

-Grilled Cheese Sandwiches from Mel's Diner

-Heinz Baked Beans

-The Red Baron cheesy garlic bread they used to sell in my high school's cafeteria (Word to LCHS)

-Heinz Ketchup and Best Foods Mayo

-Mexican Food cooked personally by Bonita.

-Kristen's Cupcakes.

-Miracle Dietary Supplement to prevent arteries from clogging

I'd like an email filter to not only block junk mail, but to prevent "Asshole Mail", and "Nit Picky, Bullshitting, Naggy Ass" emails, as well.

I'm thinking this Martini Glass encased in a Bubble will also include a queen size, canopy bed, and a secret code that only very few, like 3 people, know so they can come hang out...and a heated toilet that magically cleans itself.

I want a plasma screen TV that doesn't allow any shows with Paris Hilton or Rosie O'Donnell to be played, and willl filter out the Girls Gone Wild commercials. Did I mention Tivo? Did I mention I'd like Grey's Anatomy and Bridezillas to be playing all day, everyday?

But most importantly, I'd like my new home to have a sniper rifle with a super, international, intergalactic scope so I can shoot "STOP BEING SUCH A TWAT" bullets (okay, maybe not bullets, but paint balls) at every single person who has been pissing me off lately.

I've got the fucking rage, lately. RAGE.

I've got sickness, a raw nose, and a heavy-flow menstrual cycle...I'm ANNOYED.

Look, I generally try to channel my rage and pissed off-ness into a more intellectual, and intelligent way of expression...But today...Not going to happen.

I really don't want to rant and bitch...but...

Fucking hell!

I was thinking about THIS post, and just things and conversations and moments in my own personal life as of late..and I just don't understand why people get so fucking crazy when good things happen to other people?

Why do I know and have an uncountable number of women in my life that are so ridiculously insecure, unstable, paranoid, easily threatened, easily put on the defensive, envious, jealous, and so maliciously conniving?

I wonder why people let each other go so easily. Why is it so hard to admit fault? Why is it so hard for some to put up a fight, and admit that they're vulnerable, and have made a mistake?

Why do people need to lie and make excuses for themselves before apologizing and admitting even a granule of fault?

Why is there this overwhelming need for attention and dramatics that some people are so demented and self obsessed that they really do believe that the world revolves around them? Like the world is one big, fat conspiracy to maliciously bring down their life?

YOUR life that just seems to be this perpetual orgy of deprivation**?

Why do people just walk away? Give up?.

Why don't people don't fight more? And I'm not talking domestic squabbly bullshitty fights...

I mean, those "take a deep hard look at yourself during an emotional battle" kind of fight.

Those awkward, uncomfortable, heated fights between yourself and your friends.

That "make it or break it" conversation with a family member.

Your children.

My dad.

Your mother.

Why don't people care enough to fight?

Why don't you have enough passion in you to fight for me?

Am I really that disposable?

Are people really that blind to their own actions? Why is it when a mirror is thrown up in their view, a mirror to question and present their faults....

People run. Deny. Lie. Dismiss. Avoid...Anything but look. Anything by think.

They can't believe you would say or would think such things about them. It's not just MY fault.You did, this. You did, that.

Make a big show, a distraction, throw insults.

You? No. Never.

That's all I ever get from people, if that.

Sometimes people just disappear. Not wanting to fight. Not wanting to discuss.

I will not accept blame that manifests itself purely to lighten the burden of your guilt.

I will not apologize so you can feel better, knowing that I've apologized and therefore must have done something wrong, making the problem not JUST you.

Where's the passion?

Why didn't you have enough passion to fight for me?

And don't just fight for me as a possession, or as a cure for your solitude...

I have lost and given up on so many people lately. Cut you out. Cut you off. Peace.

That is what far too many of my supposed friendships and relationships have dwindled down to lately...

That doesn't mean that I give up easy. I fight. I will fight all fucking night if I need to.

One of these days you'll get to hear the story of how on our "last night" in London together Iain and I fought with two of our - now former - friends from 1am to 10:00am the next morning. Non-stop.

If you shut down, throw up your hands, and throw down the cop-out of "Well then I guess you're right! You're right about everything!" and walk away...

It takes every bone in my body not to run up, jump on your back, and scream in your ear "FUCKING TALK TO ME" until I get you to talk.

I'm not always a fighter. I know when to shut-up. I know when there's no battle to be fought, or won, and when to just do my own thing while an army battles an invisible foe.

I know when I've lost. I know when I can't win.

But it seems that people always just let me go.

Really, I do know it's me letting them go. Letting go of the relationship or friendship we had that existed purely on my own efforts. When I stop putting forth the effort, there is no effort to be seen, therefore it's easy to say that because I am the only factor in this relationship that has shifted their behavior, that I am to blame for the ultimate change.

Never mind that you never tried, anyway. I stopped, therefore, it's my fault.

If you really loved me like your daughter. Like your best friend. Like your "sister"...

And I came to you, laid out my honest emotions, and vulnerable opinions as to WHY there is a rift in our relationship...

Wouldn't you STOP? Wouldn't you THINK? Wouldn't you want to rebuild? Fix, clear out the wound, and THEN bandage it up?

I will not smooth something over for the sake of keeping the peace.
 
I am never neutral. If I am, it's because I don't know enough about something to have an opinion either way...

Politics? Fuck if I know.

Real friendship, real love, real family? That I know.

Maybe it's a curse that I know these things too well. Maybe I understand TOO much about myself.  Maybe I have been hurt too deeply in the past, and know all too well what a red flag looks like.

Maybe I know too well what a toxic friend, lover, or parent looks like.

Maybe other people don't lose their "childhood best friend" and their father in the same month.

Maybe other people don't have family members they once looked up to, not acknowledge their wedding.

Maybe I'm jaded. Maybe I'm bitter...Or maybe my eyes are just too open.

I don't understand how a friend that I had for such a long time...A girl that watched me grow up. A girl who I held after her break ups, stood up for when she was judged, and put nothing before...

The girl that was there for my first Frappuccino, my short red hair, my high school musicals and the hours and hours of Christina Aguilera karaoke... 

How could you just cower and run when I called you on your bullshit?

Would it have been so difficult to just LISTEN to what I had to say? Is it really that UNIMAGINABLE that you could be possibly be... WRONG? (*gasp*cough*panic attack*)

Let's see...

I go back home for the first time in 6 months for 3 weeks, didn't have a car, and live 20 miles away from you...

And you're too busy doing school projects, going to sorority meetings and working at your part time job to somehow find time over 21 days to DRIVE to come see me? Even ONCE?

I ask when you're free to go to lunch, and I get a god damn SCHEDULE of your life in return. Good to see there's a small window between 4 and 5:30 for me to hitch-hike it up the Freeway just in time to catch you before your yoga class...Fuck, I'm sorry that you'll have to give up your nail appointment in order to meet up...The SACRIFICES you make!

Amazing that after THREE MONTHS of silence, the first form of contact comes in an email from you asking, "We're no longer friends on Myspace?!"

Seriously?

And you still don't understand why I didn't exactly accept your "sincere congratulations on your marriage" that was embedded in between your cold, Psychology 101 mid-term essay style response to my "Are you KIDDING ME?" email?

How do you then, justify cutting someone out of your life and ending a 7 year friendship with a curt, 4 line email that ends with a simple "Good bye".

Perhaps I should have known this would happen. Maybe I'm at fault for thinking that she had grown up enough to finally be able to handle my "grown-up" issues and adult life.

When I told her about my fiance visa, and she asked me if I could CHARGE THINGS ON MY FIANCEE VISA I should have known to run away. (GV Alert! GV Alert!)

How could I really expect a self-obsessed 21 year old to really be able to grasp hold and appreciate and understand my battle with depression and therapy? (Yes, I see the irony here...)

I should have known that her ego's capabilities don't include owning up to fault and making mistakes. Maybe I should have realized years ago that she had already let me go...

Maybe I should have realized my time to let go was long over due...

I would not trade a single failed relationship for the precious, few, genuine ones I have now. There's the old saying of, "If you love someone, set them free" and hopefully, if it's true love, they'll come back.

I've loved friends, family, and boys.

They have wronged me, or I've been blind to the true conditions of our relationship...

So I have stopped trying. Stopped calling. Stopped kissing.

I've been met with silence.

I've been met with hate.

I've been abandoned, and left alone.

All the better. All the wiser. But all the more bruised.

My high expectations of others is my fault, and my burden that fuels my depression and worst moments.

It can be found in every relationship, friendship, and downfall of my life.

I have extremely high expectations of myself. My imperfections are not handled perfectly enough.

...And that is why I want to live in my own little bubble today.

I think that there is always some sort of bubble around me. A defence mechanism I choose not to put up. This bubble, this armour, that I keep hidden until I've been so beaten down that I have no choice but to lash out and put it up.

I can be a push-over sometimes. As cynical as I can be, I still like to believe in the best in people. Not that they're perfect, but that they'll rise to the occasion when there's a conflict.

Rifts and conflicts will naturally arise in relationships and friendships as they progress.

It happens.

Some people are toxic lost causes that we don't need in our life. Some are just leeches that like to suck the joy out of our successes and latch on for the ride, seeing how far they can get themselves while "drafting" behind our lead..

Recognize those moments where you need to fight, instead of flee.

But never underestimate how euphoric and empowering having a small circle of true, genuine supporters can feel.

To my own, humble circle...Thank you.

Y'all can totally have the secret code to my bubble.

* * I totally jacked this line from "On Beauty" by Zora Smith

Vox Hunt: Worth A Thousand Words

Show us a picture that's worth a thousand words.
Submitted by sami711.

Here we are in the 'kissing chair'...
Although I'm not quite sure I understand what a 'kissing chair' is.

I'm quite happy with just a couch, or a recliner. The bed, also, works quite well for the kissing.

But, here we are, just moments after gettin' hitched.

And here I am explaining and rambling when it's supposed to be 'worth a thousand words'...