Friday, April 28, 2006

How did I get this fat?

Every now and then, this happens to me, so it probably happens to you every now and then, too.
You go to someone's house, and you're standing there, in their kitchen or whatever, talking to the person, and suddenly, you see something move in the corner of your eye.

You look, and OMG, you double over laughing. It's a cat, and it's HUGE! You point and laugh, and say stuff like "what do you feed that thing?" etc, and the cat stops and looks at you as if to say "oh, just go fuck yourself, human."

Today, the outgoing inept, bumbling manager got the pictures back from her retirement party. There was this group shot of all of us, and I was there, front and just off-center.

I? Am that cat. :(

I had no idea. OMG, I was about ten times bigger than everyone else. I was huge. Mind you, I knew I'd gained, and when I look down at the keyboard, I can feel some extra flesh in the chin area, but I had no idea that it was THAT bad!

I was horrified. Suddenly, stuff started to make sense.

Like when the outgoing manager was telling me that some people had seen me at a meeting and didn't realize it was me. She told me that they didn't think it was the same person, and she said that my hair is dark now, whereas before it was lighter and had a lot of blonde hightlights. And I was...yeah, the hair was lighter.

Now I know why she paused. :(

And when I came home and I said to DH that I should start exercising and I need to lose weight, he didn't say "You're perfect the way you are" like he has said so many times over the past eleven years. He just didn't really say anything.

So, that's it, folks. I'm fat. I'm the fat cat that walks across your friends kitchen to shrieks of laughter.

What the fuck are you looking at, humans? Never seen a fat cat before? Huh? HUH?


So now what am I going to do? Lose weight? OMG that just sucks so bad. I HATE diets. I LOATHE exercise.


How did this happen? All the fast food joints? The wine? The beer? Eating out because it's quicker and easier? Too much TV? Not enough exercise? Winter? Spring? WHY can't it go away as fast as it arrives?

And you know what really sucks? They're going to blow up the friggin picture and hang it at work. So, for years to come, there I will be, staring out from the wall, with a look on my face that says "what the fuck are you looking at, human?"

(Actually, the look on my face is one of complete naivete. I had no idea I was looking so well-fed.)

*waddles away*

Monday, April 24, 2006

A Rebuttal - for friends

Note: the following post was edited during Monday morning cleansing. I was really pissed off when I typed it out, but now I'm sobererer and would like to sound like it. So now, on with the show...

>Love is being decent and honest and kind and honorable. Love is being respectful and

This definition of "love" should go in the biggest, most expensive mother-effin dictionary in print.

Honestly, I totally believe it.

It? Was written by an anonymous person in response to my last blog post.

To that person, who identified themselves as "disgusted," I would like to address your questions.

How would I feel if it were my husband? Well, I would be pissed. I would be hurt, pissed, disgusted. It would totally destroy my entire world (well, if I realy loved the guy).

Would I want to save our relationship? Hell, no.

There's nothing to save, disgusted.

If he's in love with someone else, he's gone. He's gone.

What's to save? A loveless relationship? In your words:

>Love is being decent and honest and kind and honorable. Love is being respectful and trustworthy.

Let's look at this statement.

Decent: no, it is not decent to cheat on your spouse. No, it is not decent to live with another woman/man while claiming to love the person on the outside of the relationship. Is it decent to love another? Yes. Love = Decent. Love isn't planned. It just happens. If you've ever been really in love, you'd know this already.

Honest: Honesty is leaving when you're in love with someone else. Honesty does not mean that you should stay with someone who does not make you happy. You have to be honest with yourself before you can even think of being honest with the rest of the friggin world.

Kind: The kindest thing that dingus can do in this case is to set his wife free to find the person who was truly meant to be her lover.

"honourable, respectful, trustworthy" brak brak brak. Grow up. When you grow up and get a brain, you'll learn. I'd be wasting my time and energy tapping out a response. Life is so much more complicated than this Sunday school shit.

The point of my previous post was that you cannot help who you fall in love with. No, I didn't mean that when you feel attracted to someone that you should screw them. People who have looked into another's eyes and felt that *zap* of recognition, and know immediately that this person is going to play a huge role in your life before you even hear them speak, those are the folks who are supporting this relationship.

It may surprise you to learn that I support the wife, too. She should be free to find that spark that she doesn't get with him. If she were my daughter/sister/friend, no way would I sentence her to a lifelong loveless marriage just to protect the sanctity of MARRIAGE. That makes no sense, disgusted. How is that a caring parent? "Save your marriage." What are you saving when there's no love? A facade? A public image of a happy, perfect union? A false sense of security and suppressed pain? Woohoo. Good times.

Go congregate with all the other people in your little world who follow G-d's law and who live the perfect life while aching inside and wanting it to end.

As for children, many of them come from broken homes where mommy and daddy are still together. What's a broken home to you? Two happy parents living separately? To me, it's miserable people stuck in miserable marriages. Kids know. They pick up on it. You're staying together because of me. I'm the cause of your unhappiness. What's so honourable and respectful about that?

Get out from under mommy and daddy's roof and learn. Get some life experience so you'll be able to offer intelligent, insightful advice instead of this textbook crap you're reciting. If you're already out, and you're living with a husband or wife, then I think we know what you're life is like. No wonder you're bitter.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Love is...

It has come to my attention that a new definition of love is needed.

Two kittens, a white picket fence, a friggin' DOG??! Fuck that.

It's all about electicity, foks. Chemistry. That's right, when you look in someone's eyes, and that fusebox down there comes alive and tells you to just throw all that you thought that was right in the world to the wind, abandon everything and everyone, and just go to that happy place. That's what it's all about. If we all just did it, this world would be a better place.

You know that feeling. You look in those two eyes, and there it is. It's the reason you broke up with your last wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend. It's the reason you left the last job for this one. It's the reason you decided to shop at this grocery store rather than the one closer to home. It's the reason you decided to stop for gas at this place in time. It's the reason you came together. It had to happen. It was meant to be. What is happening now is happening for a reason.

Even looking back, and you probably are thinking to yourself, how the fuck did I get myself into this situation? And you're probably thinking that it's a bad thing. But why? Why is it a bad thing? How can something so good be so bad?

Because of society.

Well, fuck society.

Let's cut to the chase: this biggest concern right now is the children. Some idiot is always gonna be screaming "what about the children??!"

A broken home is one where mommy and daddy don't really love each other and don't even like each other very much, but stay together because it's the best thing to do.

A good home is one where the grown-up(s) provide a good home for the babies. I don't care how many grown-ups there are, or if they are the same gender, or if they are legally married. Who gives? If they kittens are fed, have clean litterboxes and regular *tonguebaths*, you're doing a good job. Bonus points if you show respect to everyone in the house.

The worst thing you can do to a kitten is to live a lie. To pretend that you love their mommy or daddy. Don't do that. Kittens need to feel that their mommy and daddy are happy with their own lives. Don't lie to your kittens. They will know, and they will resent it.

Selfish? Yeah, you've heard that. How can you give up all that is "right" for love, for electricity, for chemistry? How dare you?

I guess you have to understand what I've come to learn: people around you, the people who care about you, need to accept what makes you happy. Those who love you, who really care, will stick around. Those who don't, weren't friends. It's that simple. It hurts, yes, but in the long run, when you look back, it will all seem very logical to you. You'll know that you did the right thing. If you do it for love, it's the right thing. It's the simplest lesson to learn and yet it's the hardest.

And above all, it is worth it. What you're going through's just a blip in time. When you're eighty, and you look back, these few years will be just a little hiccup. I promise.

I love you guys. Both of you. I'm rooting for you.


Thursday, April 13, 2006

Hey, Boss!

I hate you, you fucking fuck. I came back here, after a fifteen-month hiaitus, to save your sinking ship, you dorkwad. The only thing that made me hesitate was the thought of working for you again. That dimwit manager that you protected for so long is finally leaving, and yes, the opportunity to rescue a program that I love was enticing, but I seriously doubted the fact that I could work with such a condescending patronizing fuckstick as yourself. The extra hundred-and-ninety bucks a month isn't really worth putting up with you, but I'm doing it because I have this unreasonable attachment to the workplace you are so insistent upon destroying with your hairbrained ideas and your penchant for spending money we don't fucking have.

You are an asshole. The way you belittled me in that meeting tonight made me want to stand up, spit on your extra-clean glasses and muss up your perfectly-groomed hair and tear that starched suit to shreds (well, maybe just the jacket, because...ew). The only reason I didn't was because I figure when you have a bad day you probably go home and beat your wife. Yes, I held back, but I did it for her, even though we've never met, and never will, because we are women and are pieces of shite and don't deserve to be introduced to anyone let alone to each other.

I want to walk into your office on Monday and tell you how insulted I was with what you said and how you had to say it in front of everyone. I want to let you know that you were able to walk all over people for two years because that lazy bitch let you do it and she joined in whenever she could.

But I don't think I'll do that.

Know why?

Because I think your days are numbered. You are going to get the shaft soon, you moron, and I want to be there to watch your face when you find out that your shitty people skills have shortened your term. I want to be there to see your face when the very same people you call idiots tell you that you aren't needed anymore. I want to be there to see you cry.

Don't you use me to help you pose in front of people. Don't use the staff to do it, either. It's only been a week and a half, and already I want to kick you to the curb. People are begging me to help, because you are such a patronizing shithead and you treat them like children. There's only one way to help, though, and that's to go to your boss. But, I have other things I have to worry about right now, like the mess left by the incompetence that you encouraged. You, my friend, are doing just fine screwing yourself over. You don't need my help.

I just keep thinking...good things come to those who wait. Keep your cool, Frisky, keep your cool.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

My unrequited love

I saw you last night.

It's been twenty years. It disturbs me how much you, or the idea of you, still affects my life.

When I saw you, I barely recognized you, because you didn't look like you've looked in my dreams, in my thoughts, in my fantasies.

You looked like me. A person who's lived for the past twenty years. Had bad relationships, great sex, some kids, gained things, lost things...

But you still looked so fine.

And I -- I looked my worst. I had just finished my first day at my new job, and I felt like I'd been through the spin cycle. I had been shopping with my kids for two hours, for new shoes and coats and stuff. I had been waiting for the waitress to bring our meals for about a half hour, and I was getting so tired and I just wanted to go home and soak in the bath.

And then I saw you, a dark, shadowy figure in a long suit coat, walking by the window next to where I sat, and then I saw you walk past me, not seeing me, looking at your parents, who I had watched walk past me a few minutes before.

And like twenty years ago, I watched. I didn't move. I didn't breath and didn't speak. I just watched. The vision in my mind, that vision of you, changed. It updated, to the person you now are, the man you've become, so that you could catch up with me, the 40-year-old woman I've become. Tired, changed by life experiences, cynical about how your most treasured dreams never came true.

You didn't see me, and it was just as well, because I didn't look my best. It had been a bad day.

It was also the 11th anniversary of my father's death.

So me, ever the romantic, I got to thinking: is this a gift from my father? Is this a sign from him that you are okay, that you're doing well, that you're still alive? Because for all I've known, you could have been dead for the past 19 years.

I mean, it's funny, after 20 years, that we were on our way to MacDonalds when DH said "why don't we try that" and pointed to the restaurant, and I said "okay" when I knew I probably shouldn't spend so much money, and it was late dinner-wise, but I said "okay" anyway, just in time for him to turn the car into the parking lot. If I'd thought about it any longer, I would never have seen you. I would not be writing this.

When I got home, I took the bath and went to bed, and dreamed of being alone. I was lonely. I was living in my hometown, where we met, and I was alone, worried about how life was passing me by, so I decided to move to where I live now, but I still felt so alone. So empty.

For the past 24 hours, my world has been a dark, rainy night, and everybody in it a dark, shadowy figure in a long suit coat, shielding themselves from the rain.

And then I look at my DH, who has loved me for all these years, and my beautiful kids, and I think that maybe my dad was sending me a gift after all.

Maybe, in spite of how I have felt all these years, things turned out the way they were meant to be.