Confessions of an over-active imagination

Let’s talk for a second about wedding related nightmares.

I’d heard it before — that as soon as you get engaged, you start having wedding related nightmares that don’t stop until after the wedding.  I brushed it off and thought “must be insecurities showing through.”  But oh no, they definitely occur.  I’ve had three so far, and it hasn’t even been three weeks!

The first one was standard.  After months and months of planning a beautiful, exciting wedding, B changed his mind.  My maid of honor was the one to bring me the most unfortunate news that I would not be getting married that day.  Refusing to take her word as truth, I marched myself down a long hallway, flung open the chapel doors, and found…approximately 100 people staring at me silently, looks of abject horror, mixed with pity, upon their faces.  I slowly walked up the aisle, searching for B, but he was nowhere to be found.

The second was rather comical.  At the Wedding Of My Dreams, everything was going beautifully.  We had indeed made it down the aisle together, said our vows in front of our closest family and friends, and were enjoying a beautiful and fun reception.  I went searching for the photographer to tell him something important, when it hit me.  I’d forgotten to hire one!  Immediately I found my bridal party and informed them that we would all need to stop the party and find a photographer pronto.  Cue immediate Google Search for skilled, yet available, photographer to come document the reception and an emergency re-enactment of the ceremony.  Only I couldn’t find any contact information for ANY photographer, let alone a skilled and available one.

And finally, last night’s feature.  I crossed a street in a hurry, followed closely by a male coworker.  Upon reaching the sidewalk, we dumped my bag out into the grass and began frantically searching through its contents.  Finally, I found what I was looking for:  my engagement ring, or rather, the diamond setting to my engagement ring.  It had broken off and was floating around in my purse.  The band still on my finger, I yanked it off and flung open the doors to the jewelry store in anger.  I quickly informed the salesperson of what had happened — that this was the THIRD time my setting had fallen apart — and that I demanded a new ring, with the same diamond as before, re-set in a new band in front of my eyes.  The salesperson just laughed and said to me “Ma’am, in these situations, we suggest installing floor to ceiling mirrors in your home so that you can see your diamond at all times.  Then it won’t be lost.”  The look on her face seemed to say “duh, COMMON SENSE.”  I flung my arms in the air, turned around, and yelled to everyone in the store “OF COURSE!  Floor to ceiling mirrors will make me aware of SHITTY CRAFTSMANSHIP!”

Seriously, wtf?  Especially the last one.

I woke up this morning in a haze, B shaking me awake, and I desperately searched my ring finger.  There it was, sitting perfectly, and without flaw.  I’d never been so relieved to wake up in my life.

I don’t know what this is all about, but I will say:  being engaged also has its downsides.  Namely, the totally paranoid, stressed, overactive part of your imagination kicks into play.

But other than that?  It’s fucking fantastic.

WTF Wednesday: Surprise, Surprise

First of all, let me just say, I’m back from my vacation in Manhattan, and I am EXHAUSTED.  I really do believe it may take me a few days to recover from all the walking!  I wish I had a pedometer to keep track of how much land I covered but alas, this wasn’t the case.  I promise to update in the next couple of days or so with details and pictures (!).  I just need some time to chill out, recharge, and upload all those photos first.  I figured a WTF post would help clear out my brain a little.

1.  Why are vacations so exhausting?  I feel like I can’t sleep properly, and even though I’ve passed out EARLY the last few nights, I still wake up tired and barely able to move. 

2.  I hate it when friends “friends” lie to you.  Especially to your face.  Especially when it’s about something really simple and easy to tell the truth about.  Oh, such as, I don’t know, whether or not you’re in a relationship.  What’s with all the secrecy?  I had a “friend” tell me to my face that her and a guy were “just friends”, but she turns around and tells someone else (who had ALSO asked her this same question a few days before) that she’s been his “girlfriend” for “two weeks.”  WTF?!  Sorry for all the “quotes” but I can’t really keep the “truth” and “lies” separate from each other.  Geeesh.  Talking to her is requiring way too much thought, analyzing, and energy.

3.  Back to work.  86 emails.  Let me just give you a moment to absorb that.

…

86 emails.  86 emails?!  86 emails?!    Holy mother of God, please shoot me.

4.  Gas prices.  That’s all I’m gonna say.

5.  While I was gone, B did a GREAT job of keeping the house clean.  There were no dishes laying around or in the sink.  Our pets were well taken care of.  However, what did he NOT DO at all in the 4 days I was gone?  Vaccuum.  We own a siberian husky.  Doesn’t that say enough? 

6.  Let’s get back to this work thing really quick — if someone is on vacation, you know HYPOTHETICALLY, and they won’t be there for 4 days or so…would you send them an email asking them to do something simple such as “make me a copy of this”, get the obligatory “I am on vacation” automated email response, and STILL WAIT FOR THEM TO GET BACK, you know, FOUR DAYS LATER, and make them still get you a copy of something?  You know, HYPOTHETICALLY?!  Seriously, I may have HYPOTHETICALLY had about 5 such small requests like this.  In those 86 emails.  I wanted to jab my own eyes out with a pen.

Enough bitchin’.  Coming soon:  what I think about the Subway system and those who use it; how many times I lost my MetroCard; what it’s REALLY like to view the Statue of Liberty; how to survive in a small hotel room for 4 days with someone who grates on your nerves; and finally, all those beautiful pics of me, photoshopped to hell so you can’t tell who I am.  You know, just because I like to make things difficult for myself! 

I missed B.  I missed you all!  It’s good to be back

Toeing the line of decency

Have you all ever had a friend who you didn’t exactly trust fully?  I know it sounds ridiculous because you’re probably thinking “why would you consider someone your friend if you felt you couldn’t trust them?”  It’s complicated.  It’s like, I want to trust her.  Life would be easier if I did trust her.  I’m sure our friendship would be more “real” if I trusted her fully, yet, I just can’t get there.  There is just something about her that makes me feel ill at ease in certain situations.

Mostly involving B.

I’ve been friends with her for about three years.  We met through mutual friends and hit it off immediately.  We hung out a lot, did things together, had common interests, etc.  But there always seemed to be this wall in between us that we couldn’t break through.  It was a silent problem — I knew it was there, but I never said anything.  I sensed that she knew it was there too, yet she never said anything either.  But then, about a year into the friendship, I figured it out.  I didn’t trust her around my boyfriend.

I started noticing the overly flirty way she behaved around him.  She sought out attention from him.  B is the type of guy who just doesn’t notice things like that, so when I finally said something to him about it, I wasn’t surprised at his reaction.

“No way.  I think you’re just being paranoid.”

But then, he noticed it too.  I guess after having said something to him, he started to pick up on little signals that to him, just didn’t feel right. 

“You know, I think you might not be so crazy after all.  I can definitely see what you’re saying now.”

He started keeping his distance.  I think he might even feel a little uncomfortable around her at times.  Mostly, it happens when we’re in a social situation and we’ve been drinking.  She gets to this point where it’s like she doesn’t even know what she’s doing.  Before I know it, she’s trying to dance with him, touching his arm a lot, attempting to take pictures with him, etc.  Normally I’m not a person who shies away from a confrontation.  But for some reason, I tend to just sit there silently, stewing in my anger and discomfort.  At first, I tried to convince myself that it was just me.  But then after B said something, my justification turned to “maybe I just made him feel paranoid with my own paranoia.”  But then, a few weeks back, she was being overly flirty with B again, and this time, another friend witnessed it.  She pulled me aside and said “[CP], WHAT are you doing?  Why don’t you go say something to her about the way she’s acting with B?”  I just half-smiled, shrugged my shoulders and said, “Oh, it’s nothing.  I trust him.”  She crossed her arms over her chest, looked at me with concern and said “Yeah, but do you trust HER?”

Last night I had a dream nightmare that involved B ignoring me and spending all his time with her.  I was walking around with a girlfriend, trying to enjoy myself at some sort of carnival, but we kept catching sight of B with her.  They were laughing and smiling.  He wouldn’t look at me.  And when I would call out his name, he pretended not to hear me.  I felt heartbroken, like all my suspicions had been justified, and I was being manipulated.  I was so angry at her — angry for hurting me, for destroying our “friendship”, and for stealing the only boy who I’ve ever loved.  But did I say anything to her?  No.  I stood there, rooted to the spot like concrete, unable to defend myself or fight for the guy I love.  And when I woke up this morning, having slept through my alarm for 30 minutes, I was pissed off.  Did I really need that extra 30 minutes of sleep?  Especially if it involved THAT kind of mental activity?  I don’t think so.

I’m the eternal optimist, and I believe in the good in everyone, so call me crazy, but — I don’t think she does it on purpose.  I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it.  And really, who could blame her?  I haven’t spoken up about it, so she doesn’t even know that it bothers me.  But she’s the type of person that if I go to her with this, she’ll be angry and defensive and just get pissed off and stop speaking to me.  And really, I don’t have the energy to deal with that kind of childish drama. 

I guess I’m just pissed off at myself for not speaking up.  For not having the ability to just put my girl girl panties on and deal with it. 

WTF?  She is the one who is toeing the line of decency and I feel guilty? 

WTF Wednesday: Bringin’ it back

It’s been a while, dear freaders.  Let’s get right to it.

1.  WTF is up with me falling asleep on the couch every night this week before 9 p.m.?!  It’s like I’m good, I’m wide awake, then BAM, I’m out like a light.  Dozing off, waking up because my head fell backwards and hit the back of the sofa.  Thank God for DVR or I would have totally missed The Hills on Monday.  And you know I can’t be having that shit.

2.  Let’s talk for a second about my pants.  I’ve lost 28.5 pounds!  Oooooweeeeeee baby you know I’m proud of myself and happy as shit to be dropping weight and slipping into smaller and smaller sizes, but wtf is up with the fact that I can’t find shit to wear in the morning?  This morning I pulled out a very cute pair of brown slacks from the deep dark depths of my closet.  Ones I hadn’t worn in months.  Banished to the deepest darkest corner of my closet because the last time I put them on, they were so snug I couldn’t breathe.  Only this morning, I put them on and poof, they slip so far down my waist that I just laugh.  I can’t fit SHIT in my closet anymore!  Everything is too big.  Losing weight is putting a hurtin’ on my bank account — it costs a lot to keep buying new shit. (Listen to me complain, I know, I know)

3.  Have you ever seen a blossoming pear tree?  They’re absolutely beautiful!  Except there is this one particular squirrel that seems to really like our pear tree and I keep catching him eating the blossoms right off of it!  It’s made the lower half of our tree bare and ugly.  It’s like poof!  There’s spring and it’s blossoming and beautiful, then bam!  Bare and ugly, like winter decided to rear its ugly ass head.  Picture this:  Me, half-dressed for work, covered up on my bottom by a blanket.  Slippers on feet, wet hair.  Throwing sticks and branches at this squirrel, screaming “go pick on someone else’s tree, motherfucker!”

4.  Dinner tonight with B’s family for his dad’s birthday.  Ugh, ugh, double ugh. Drama drama…  Sometimes it’s just too much.  But I’ll be the good girlfriend I am, slap a fake ass smile on my face and go to it.  Because I know deep down inside, B will be cringing too.

What’s buggin’  you today?

P.S.  I had always said I wouldn’t get political on my blog (don’t want to offend anyone) but I just have to share…  This morning I saw someone’s bumper sticker that said “1.20.09 - The End of an ERROR”  hahahahahaha.

Calling all New Yorkers

I need some help.

I’m traveling to NYC for the first time ever in just a couple of months.  All the details of my trip are set except for the hotel.  I’ve searched high and low, but I’m not coming up with enough options.

Requirements:  there must be double beds, as I’m traveling with a friend.  I don’t want to spend a fortune, but I also don’t want a dump.  Some of the “budget hotels” I’ve looked at are, for lack of a better word, ugly.  As for which section of the city, it doesn’t really matter.

I know some of you are from NYC or have traveled there quite a bit.  Any advice to share? 

Thanks, you all are amazing!

Q & A

Updated: I had planned on answering the questions today, but alas, work has been crazy busy (as has my life, gah!) and I haven’t had a chance.  Besides, I’d imagined to get way more questions than I received.  Thanks to those of you who sent them in!  Those who haven’t, Hello, I can see you on my blog stats DUH, send in a question!  People come up with some great ones, so I know you can do it too!  In the meantime, have a great weekend everyone!  I have to get back to work — it never stops — but I look forward to updating on Monday! :) 

Good morning, Internets.

I struggle with this blog sometimes.  It’s hard to know the difference between too much and too little.  I desperately need to be forthright and honest about who I am and what I want out of life.  But sometimes it feels like a sham.  Am I really brave to put it all out there when I’m too scared to show my face?  To give you my real name?  A glimpse into my world by pictures would allow you to see my hair color, my smile, my eyes.  It would allow you to see just how adorable my pets are, as well as how sexy B is.  (He is damn sexy, I am not afraid to say.)

But until I get the balls to put it all out there, I thought I’d allow you guys to ask me questions, and I will answer them honestly and uncensored.

I know lots more people read my blog than comment, so please, come out of the woodwork and ask me all the things you’ve been dying to know.  Aside from giving you vital information (such as name, phone number, physical address), I’m going to say it’s a free-for-all. 

I’m interested to see what everyone wants to know.  And I promise I’ll update tomorrow with all the answers to your burning questions.

Peace out, girl scouts (haha),

CP xoxo

25

Yesterday was my 25th birthday.

My birthdays have never been the stuff of dreams, if we’re being totally honest here.  Something always seems to go wrong.  Growing up, my father forgot my 18th birthday.  Once, I had a mandatory cheerleading practice to attend, as my birthday fell on the night before a major competition, and my parents asked me to skip it.  As captain, I couldn’t.  When I returned home late that night, there was a cake on the counter with a note that said “happy birthday.”  My parents had gone to bed, angry at me.  Children tend to remember things like that.

On my 16th birthday, just days after B and I started dating, he ignored me.  My feelings were hurt, and a week later, I learned it was because he was nervous and felt bad about not getting me a birthday present.  On my 22nd birthday, he couldn’t be there because our long-distance relationship made birthdays in the middle of the week inconvenient.  Last year, on my 24th birthday, everything was going amazing until someone started an argument at my party and my friend stormed out, leaving us not speaking to each other for three months.

Situations such as these can easily cause one to dread such an event.  Turning 25 was also not exactly something to look forward to. 

Yesterday started off badly.  First, B woke me up to say goodbye before he left for work.  I had off, it being President’s Day and all.  He hurriedly kissed me on the forehead, but did not utter “Happy Birthday.”  I stared at him, quite visibly confused. 

“What’s wrong?  Bad dream, baby?” he asked.

I just shook my head and went back to sleep.  Is it possible my boyfriend forgot my birthday?!

I slept until 8:30 and got up to make some breakfast for myself.  Our dog had gone through the trash in the middle of the night, dragging it into the dining room, hallway, and living room.  Muttering obscenities below my breath, I thought to myself It’s already starting.  The shithole that is my birthday.  Go figure.  I decided to make the most of my day off and get some cleaning and laundry done.  When I attempted to start a load of laundry, I noticed that B had left his laundry from the night before in both the washer AND dryer.  Now, this would normally not be a huge deal, and under normal circumstances, I would just be kind and finish it for him.  But the night before this, the following conversation took place:

“Honey, when you do your laundry today, please make sure to start it early so that I can have the washer and dryer free tomorrow to wash my clothes and all the linens.  It’s going to take me a while,” I asked of him.

“Sure, no problem, babe.”

Only, he waited until the last minute to start his laundry on Sunday and he had run out of time.  Halfway-damp clothes were wrinkling in the dryer while completely wet clothes were growing mildew in the washer.  Frustrated, I threw my hands in the air and cursed his laziness.  Empowered by anger (at turning 25?  at my boyfriend forgetting my birthday? whatever.) I pulled his clothes out of the washer and left them in a damp heap on the floor.  Then I pulled his clothes out of the dryer and place them in a semi-damp heap on the floor next to the wet clothes.  Then I proceeded to start my laundry.  I thought to myself I’ll teach you to take me for granted, motherfucker.

At around 10 a.m., happily ensconced between two massive pillows, a pile of blankets, and my dog, my cell phone rang.  My first official Happy Birthday phone call!  It was bff.  We talked for about 25 minutes, then I proceeded to catch up on some sweet dvr’d television, enjoying my breakfast.  As the day proceeded, and I made not one, but two calls to B, I determined that he had, in fact, forgotten about my birthday.  And so had everyone else it seemed.  Aside from my family and two friends, I had not received any “happy birthday” phone calls or text messages.

Growing despondent, I felt like a child, pouting and sad.  So I decided to really amp up the “sad pathetic child” factor and put on some depressing music.  In the next couple of hours, I managed to wash all the dishes, do most of my laundry, clean up the house, and organize my closet.  I checked my cell phone probably hundreds of times, but it was quiet.  By the time B got home from work (with an ice cream cake - wait, he must have remembered sometime during the day), I was sitting in my comfy chair with a book, reading. 

“What’s wrong, doll?  You look so down,” he said.

“It’s… umm…  It’s my birthday,” I mustered.

“I know it is.  I brought you an ice cream cake!”

He eventually managed to make me laugh by reenacting one of our favorite scenes from the stand-up comedy we’d watched the night before.  But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being totally forgotten and looked over.

There were some close friends I expected to hear from that did not contact me.  Did they forget?  Two in particular left me messages on my MySpace account.  I’m sorry, but when did Facebook and MySpace become the appropriate venue for apologizing, congratulating, and wishing someone a happy birthday?  What ever happened to a phone call, or hell, even a text message?

I’m one year older, but perhaps not any wiser than I was this time last year.  I feel like a spoiled brat who is pouting that no one came to her slumber party.  I know B felt awful because for the rest of the night he tried to make me laugh and forget about it.  I even saw him checking my phone, then his phone immediately after.  I think he was even curious as to what happened to all of our friends.  I decided not to say anything to anyone about it, but really, I just needed to get it off my chest.

It sucks to be forgotten about.

But to change the tone of this entry, a list:

In 25 years, I have:

*owned three cars and wrecked two (but not by my own fault)

*lived in two states

*attended 3 elementary schools, one middle school, one high school, and one university

*kissed 9 boys

*slept with 1 boy

*been in the in-crowd, booted out of it, then said fuck it all together

*lived in 7 cities

*been to Ocean City, MD more times than I can count

*traveled to California, North Carolina, Florida, and New Jersey

*never traveled outside of the country

*graduated with honors from two schools

*broken 3 cell phones by throwing them

*owned approximately 12 cell phones, including the very old Motorola that weighed about 5 pounds

*been in love once

*fallen out of love once

*had my heart stolen once, by someone I least expected

*lived in 4 apartments, and bought my own house

*owned 8 dogs and 6 cats

*discovered I will never be patient, and that I will always trust people until they give me a reason not to

*learned a lot about who I want to be, but not enough about who I truly am

I’m 25.  Holy shit.

Breathe in, breathe out

I think I should clarify for some of my readers a vital detail related to yesterday’s post about the bad dream. 

 My father passed away 3 years ago.  So to dream about that scenario wasn’t upsetting in the sense that he’s already gone, so what more can happen?  The combination of what the dream decoder said, along with the fact that I tend to dream about him from time to time, was enough to stir me up.  Most of the time, I dream that my father is alive again — that we’re doing typical things together like having dinner or visiting with family.  That night was the first time I’ve had a bad dream about my father. 

Once, when I was about 10 years old, two years after my mom passed away, I had a dream about her.  We were standing on opposite ends of a long tunnel.  She was surrounded by bright white light, and no matter how long or fast I walked towards her, she never got any closer.  Her mouth was moving, silent words I’ll never hear.  I used to think it was her trying to communicate with me, through my dreams.  The older I got, the less and less I would dream about her.

Now I just dream about my father.

Once, about a year ago, I woke up after a particularly pleasant dream about him.  And for a split second, I had forgotten that he was gone.  But then, the realization came rushing forward, and grief overwhelmed me. 

I don’t particularly think that my nightmare was trying to tell of future events.  But maybe it was just a stark reminder that I am without parents in this world, and that I am missing out on so much because of that.  In my day to day life, I don’t feel any different from anyone else I know.  It’s when holidays like Mother’s Day or Father’s Day roll around that I get to remembering and feeling down. 

I’ve always wanted my parents to try to communicate with me, in some way.  I might totally sound crazy right now (and hey, I don’t blame you for judging) but I just really would like to go visit a psychic.  Part of me wonders why my father hasn’t tried to reach out to me, but the other part of me would be terrified to even THINK about such a notion.  Yes, it’s just my father, but it’s a ghost all the same.  But I wish he would send me some kind of message, sometime.

B had an unusual experience a couple of weeks ago.  He got off from work early, and he was tired, so he took a nap on the couch.  He was sleeping soundly with our cat on his lap, when she jumped up and hissed, running off down the hall.  He explained that when he opened his eyes, there was the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke around him.  Neither of us smokes and we don’t allow anyone to smoke in our house, so it freaked him out.  His mom was a chronic smoker and she died from lung cancer.  He truly believes it was her spirit that freaked the cat out, which also explains the smell of cigarette smoke.  In a strange way, the whole experience comforted him.  He said he felt as though she was watching over him.

I don’t know, maybe I sound crazy, but I believe that things like that are possible.

Point fucking blank

WTF Wednesday has proven to be a success for Chasing Paradise.  I love to read what’s pissing other people off!  Thanks for the comments, girls

But on to today…

This post by Damsel really woke me the hell up this morning!  You should check it out then come right back here.  No, really, go…

Hi, welcome back!  How was that for waking you up and quite possibly making you want to have sex really badly, right this very second?  Yeah, me too.  In fact, I’ve already emailed B and told him to come home with plenty of energy and lots of dirty fantasies ready and waiting.  I can only imagine him, stopping in at his office later to check his email…see my message, and up pops a hard one.  TMI?  Whoops, sorry! 

But all in all, this post isn’t really about sex.  No, but rather, it’s about the power to just be yourself, to let loose, without worrying about what everyone is saying or thinking about you.  It’s not actually up for argument that the world would be a better, less hateful place if everyone was just free and non-judgmental.  Imagine what people could accomplish together if they didn’t sneer or poke fun at others.  If you didn’t feel the urge to insult that girl because clearly she is wearing Louboutins from last season, pared with last year’s Marc Jacob’s bag.  Our society has become so obsessed with everything new, improved, and never-before-seen.  Who are we competing against in this race to be trendy and “it”?  Only ourselves.  No one else matters.

I’ve never been the girl to want the flashy, luxury car.  Sure, it would be nice, I’m sure, to have something like a 10 disc changer and heated seats and automatic rain-sensing wiper blades.  But you know what?  That’s just not me.  It’s discouraging to see friends of mine trying to compete with each other, each trying to prove that the other is more successful, more happy, because she has a BMW or a Mercedes or hell, even a Range Rover.  Meanwhile I sit by and laugh at them and their $600 car payment.  Shit, for that much money a month, I could do a lot more shit than drop pennies into something that loses a shit ton of its value the second you drive it off the lot.  What is the fucking point?

We can’t even be happy for each other anymore.  Something great happens and suddenly you’re jealous and you don’t even understand why.  This person is your friend (or your family) and why the hell are you so upset?  It’s all a race and when you’re not the one buying the new car or the new house or the latest Chanel sunglasses, you feel cheated out of life.  Out of success.  Out of winning.

It’s an endless fucking cycle and I need it to stop.

Who am I?  I’m about to put it all out there for you, honest and downright real.  I’m still 15 pounds heavier than I should be, but I think I’m pretty.  It’s not all in the matchy-matchy or symmetry of my features.  It’s the sparkling green eyes, the perfectly straight teeth, the shade of hair that is not yet brown, but not blonde either.  I don’t always wear the newest clothes that I adore staring at in fashion magazines, but I have an eye for unique combinations.  I love to wear heels for the way they make my short legs appear longer, but sometimes I just can’t bear to wear them one more time this week.  I adore expensive handbags.  Why?  A lot of it has to do with the quality and clean lines they feature, but some of it is the fact that not a lot of other people are carrying MY BAG.  I like to be unique.  Sometimes a friend will ask me where I got a shirt or a pair of shoes and I lie –because I don’t want them to copy me.  If it makes me a bitch, then oh well.  I’d drop everything and help my friends out in the middle of the night, but it better be for a good fucking reason.  It better not be because she’s mad at her boyfriend for not bringing her flowers on Valentine’s Day.  Sometimes I just feel like screaming “is this really the most important problem going on in your world right now?!”  I judge others based on how they spell and speak.  If you sound like you ignored the most basic fundamentals of your grade-school education, I will roll my eyes and probably correct you.  But it’s only because I can’t stand to hear an otherwise smart person sound stupid for lack of trying.  My biggest pet peeve is people who complain about things, yet do nothing to change their situation.  I’ll just ignore you.  The truth of the matter is, I judge myself more harshly than I judge anyone else, more harshly than any of you could ever judge me.  So don’t bother trying.

I’m really impatient to a point where it annoys even myself.  I sometimes get too angry over situations that really don’t matter.  Sometimes I go home and turn my cell phone off because if I get one more text message, one more phone call, I might explode.  I willingly ignore people’s phone calls if I feel as though talking to them will take too much out of me.  But then I’ll feel bad and make it a point to call them back later when I’ve got more energy to devote to it. 

I love to have sex in public places if I can get away with it.  (Okay, so it’s a little about sex, haha) The thrill of possibly getting caught is quite the rush.  I’m not into anything sinister or freaky, but I didn’t judge a girlfriend when she once told me she enjoys being suffocated slightly during sex.  (It’s not my place to.)  I am at my best when it’s unexpected.  I always wish, during a fight, that B would pass me in the hallway or in our house somewhere, grab me, and throw me against the wall and just go at it.  Sex when you’re angry can be some of the most gratifying sex there is.  Why?  Because you’re so pissed off at the other person that you don’t CARE about getting them off…it’s all about you.  In the end, you both end up enjoying it, and all is forgiven in the glow of post-coital bliss.  I’ve already commented on Damsel’s post how girls who act all uptight and snobbish about sex and its admittedly carnal environment tick me off.  Like I said, I’d rather you tell me how great YOUR orgasm was than to look at me as though I’m a stupid, crazy slut when I mention how B made me come so hard I fell off the bed once.  Judgy Wudgy was a bear…

I have spent so much time worrying if something I said or something I did offended someone or pissed someone off.  Screw it.  What’s the point?  There is a fine line between being gentle with someone you care for (obviously) and holding back for fear of alienating yourself from them through the truth. 

I feel better already.

The one where I say “granny panties”

To borrow a phrase from Mike, I got nothin’. 

Would it be silly of me to wish or pray for some drama in my life?  Maybe not to me personally, but to someone around me, someone in my circle?  Nothing uber interesting is going on in my life, which means that I’ve got nothing to blog about.

I know, so sue me.

I’m not trying to say that my life is perfect or everything is perfect, but things are pretty darn good right now.  Everything with B is moving along peacefully.  All my friendships (minus the one that is still kind of awkward) are in a good place.  My job is great (well, minus the fact that my boss is seriously testing every nerve and the little amount of patience I do have).  I have enough money to pay my bills, etc. 

Everyone prays for no drama.  People don’t like it, and I get it.  It’s not fun when it’s something devastating (like a breakup).  But without a little drama or spice in our lives, every day becomes the same as the one before it, and so on and so forth.

And yadda yadda yadda.

(Ed. note:  Did you guys love that episode of Seinfield as much as I did?)

I can’t really complain about anything.  Sure, there are things in life that don’t make any sense to me.  Sure, there are people who bug the living crap out of me, but not enough to get me down.

See, this is what happens when you get your wish for peace and stability.  Life becomes a monotonous routine of sleep, work, eat, rinse and repeat. 

A little bit of drama never hurt anyone!

I apologize for the absolute LACK of blog-worthy material.  I feel the need to shake things up, get a little crazy, remind myself that I’m in my 20s and not my 40s.  Do you girls ever feel like you’re living a lifestyle that is much older and less spontaneous than the one you should have?  I totally do.

Gone are the days of back-to-back tequila shots, too-tight clothes, excessive cleavage, dancing on bar tops, and dramatic relationships.  Now I’m the picture of responsibility.  I go to bed early, wake up early, eat right, go to work, pay my bills, and keep the drinking to a minimum.

Okay, weekend resolution:  even if it’s something small, something that my past-self wouldn’t have blinked an eye at, I’ve gotta shake things up.  No wait, maybe that’s exactly what my soon-to-be-25 self needs:  to do something that my past-self would have been shocked at - an act that would cause my past-self to congratulate my present-self and buy her a shot.  Or two.

Or else, turning 25 is right around the corner, and from there it’s all downhill to granny panties and walkers.

Seriously.