contact high

When I was a kid, I was lucky enough to go skiing pretty much every winter with my family. I had a child’s fearlessness and boundless energy, so it was pretty much the most fun evarrrr. Whooshing down the mountain at breakneck speed (no helmet, of course), only stopping for a lunch of chicken tenders and fries? Yes please. Skiing was amazing!

In high school I got a snowboard, so I learned how to snowboard. At first I scoffed at the idea of taking a lesson. I was a SURFER, so obviously I could snowboard no problem. But then it turned out that (for me at least) the skill(s) did not transfer from one board sport to the other, so I spent a day careening down the hills and falling violently ass-over-teakettle many MANY times. It’s a miracle that I didn’t break anything. It’s possible that I did sustain an untreated concussion.

Anyhow, the next time I went I took a lesson! And it was easier. And from then on I’ve been a snowboarder. I mean “a snowboarder” in the most literal way possible—a person who snowboards. Not, like a person EXCELS at snowboarding in any way. I’ve never felt completely comfortable on a snowboard. There’s always the possibility that I very well could break every bone in my body. I  mean, it’s fun, but interspersed with moments of panic: getting off the ski lift, getting on the ski lift, looking down while on the ski lift (though this is not limited to snowboarding- can we agree that ski lifts are terrifying?), going too fast, going on too steep a hill, too much ice, too many trees and/or rocks, that moment when you catch your edge and you’re about to fall, falling, trying to get up after falling with people careening around you.

Last year, Niall and I went to Tahoe for his birthday weekend. We stayed in a little hotel by the lake and went out to fancy dinners like real adult humans. On his actual birthday we planned to go up to Heavenly for some fun on the slopes. Niall had said he was going to rent a pair of skis from the local sports shop, and I got the brilliant idea to also rent a pair of skis. Skiing! Hey, I used to be REALLY good at skiing! I probably still am! It’s one of those skills that you retain forever, I’m sure!  I totally should rent a pair of skis and show Niall just how awesome I am at skiing!

As I learned in Tahoe, if there is one thing that can make me feel like an ace on a snowboard it is SKIING.

Holey shirts and pants, you guys. It was so awful. I hyperventilated every time my skis were pointed down the mountain and parallel. Also, I couldn’t keep them parallel. Also,  I didn’t know how to balance facing forward. I didn’t know how to be on my edges  or to lift up a ski to make turns. I spent the entire time with my skis in “pizza” position, body hunched over, and ski poles dragging on the ground, using them like sad little brakes.

On top of all of this, I also couldn’t wear my prescription sunglasses because they were made more for looks than for sportiness. They wouldn’t have stayed on my face, so I just wore regular, non-prescription sunglasses. Not being able to see very well added a nice extra layer of difficulty, so the whole endeavor was frustrating, to say the least.

I managed to take out my frustrations pretty singularly on Niall (on his birthday!). He would shoot off ahead of me and then stop and wait, but the problem with that was that I got mad at him if he waited for me and also if he didn’t. And then he kept POINTING at stuff with his SKI POLE, even though I kept helpfully REMINDING him that the ski pole was the SAME COLOR AS THE TREES AND I CAN’T SEE WHICH WAY YOU ARE POINTING AND ALSO YOUR JACKET IS TOO WHY DID YOU WEAR THAT COLOR JACKET THAT MATCHES THE BACKGROUND I CAN'T SEE YOU WHERE ARE HAPPY BIRTHDAY BY THE WAY.

So.

Eventually I just took the gondola back down to the lodge, hiked out to the parking lot, and switched over to my snowboard. It took me about an hour to accomplish that task (and it was probably the best hour of skiing for Niall).

As you may recall, I recently got married (Hurrah!). Because I’m vain, I decided that I didn’t want to wear glasses on my wedding day.

Sidebar: I still don’t fully consider myself as somebody “who wears glasses,” even though I wear glasses pretty consistently. Maybe that’s because it came upon me gradually. At first I just needed my glasses once in awhile, if I were sitting particularly far back in a college lecture hall. Then I started needing them in all of my lectures. And then all of my classes and at the movies. And then while driving at night. And then a few years ago I went in to get my license renewed and the lady told me to take off my glasses and read the eye chart, so I took off my glasses and the eye chart disappeared. So. Now I wear glasses.

Anyhow, I didn’t want to wear my glasses on my wedding day which mean my choices were either (a) get contacts or (b) possibly not recognize my betrothed as I walked down the aisle. Niall, apparently traumatized by our skiing incident, encouraged me to get contacts.

So I got contacts! I went to the eye doctor and he had me put my head in an assortment of odd devices while he…. I dunno… took some measurements and assessments of my eyes or whatever. And then he gave me a starter set of contact lenses and showed me how to put them in. I spent THIRTY DUCKING MINUTES (literally ducking) trying to put in the first one before I finally got it. And the doctor, while very patient, had to wrap up our appointment. I went home and FINALLY got the damn things both in. They felt like tiny pieces of sandpaper.

People told me I would get used to them and I smiled and nodded, slightly teary-eyed and headachedy. Despite the initial hiccups, I have indeed gotten more used to them over time and have been able to enjoy a whole new world of non-prescription sunglasses, including this baller pair that I wore on my wedding day:

Niall still hasn’t said whether or not he’ll ever go skiing with me again, however.

alarming

Last weekend Niall decided to make meatloaf. The concept had previously not appealed to him, which makes sense given its name. Meat... loaf. However, he realized that he likes all the ingredients that typically go into a meatloaf, so he thought he’d give it a go. I found him the Pioneer Woman’s recipe online and he modified it in an apparent effort to include as many animals as possible (ground beef, ground lamb, bacon strips over the top).

The baconey drippings from the meatloaf got a bit scorched in the oven while it was baking, which meant that our fire alarm went off and we subsequently learned that our fire alarm is the least alarmed sounding alarm in the world. It makes a pitiful little meep noise and also says the words “Fire. Fire.” I don’t feel like our fire alarm takes its job very seriously. In fact, I wouldn’t even call it a fire alarm. It’s more of a fire calmly announce.

By contrast, my old building’s fire alarm system was absolutely MILITANT about its job. Whenever I cooked pretty much anything it would start shrieking at me and I’d have to open the window and fan the alarm unit with a towel until it shut the hell up. If there was fire detected or an alarm pulled in any of the common areas of the building, there was a speaker inside every apartment that would make siren noises and ALSO shout at you:

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.

YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE.

AN ALARM HAS BEEN ACTIVATED.

WE ARE INVESTIGATING THE CAUSE.

PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND STANDBY NEAR THE SPEAKER FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTION.

[short pause]

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.

YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE…. Etc.

This would repeat on a loop over and over until whatever happened was figured out, at which point we would usually get an announcement like “Thank you for your attention, this has been a false alarm” or whatever. The longest it ever went on while I lived there was probably only about 15 minutes, but that FEELS LIKE ETERNITY when, say, you’re woken up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night.

Last night I made brownies and I went to bed right after I took them out of the oven. I woke up this morning feeling unusually warm. The whole apartment felt unusually warm. And then I found out that I had accidentally LEFT THE OVEN ON ALL NIGHT.

I think I may have mentioned this previously, my cousin once used her blow dryer and then put it away under the sink in her bathroom and then left for work. When she came home that afternoon she found that HER HOUSE HAD BURNED DOWN. (She’s fine, her family is all fine, but house = gone.)

Burning the house down is one of my nightmares. And I left the oven on! All night! What if something had caught fire? What if the house had burned down? If I left the oven on, what if this means I might leave OTHER things on and forget about them also? OHMYGOD I’m going to burn our house down, or not put the emergency brake on my car when I park it on a hill and have it roll down and hit someone, or turn on the garbage disposal when somebody is fishing out a spoon, or leave a vulnerable person or animal in a hot car, or SOMETHING TERRIBLE IS OBVIOUSLY GOING TO HAPPEN AND IT WILL BE ALL MY FAULLLLLLLLLT.

My fire calmly announce may not be very alarmed, but I certainly am.

Couch

The important part of this story is that we have a couch. I guess that means you can stop reading now. You’re welcome.

From the beginning: Niall (boyfriend) and I moved in together. Which is a big step! But it doesn’t so much feel like a Big Step because we like each other and he was already spending most nights at my place anyhow, and I was very very ready to not live in my too-close-to-baseball-traffic apartment anymore (side note: everyone told me that baseball traffic only matters during baseball season. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG BASEBALL SEASON IS?).

Anyhow. We told my Catholic parents and then we told his Catholic parents and then we found a place and moved in together. I love our new apartment, for several reasons:

1.       We both live there.

2.       Bowie lives there, too.
3.       Two bedrooms (one is ours and one is spare, but Bowie seems to think one is his).

4.       Two bathrooms (one is ours and one is mine).
5.       Both sets of our Catholic parents are happy for us that both of us live there.
6.       It’s like a mini HOUSE. Well, technically it’s a townhouse. Bottom floor is a little garage, and then you go upstairs and there’s the kitchen and living area, and then you go upstairs again and there’s the bedrooms and bathrooms.
7.       The bay windows.
8.       It has a little patio. With a screen door so Bowie can sit and look out at it.

Or stand and look out at it.

9.       THIS SECURITY SYSTEM.

We're still getting settled, but we did make some grand strides this past weekend. Up until last week, this was how our living room looked: one million boxes of my crap everywhere, my old TV, and two chairs.

You'll notice that Niall had no problem claiming BOTH CHAIRS.

I sent the above photo to my family which had the beneficial effect of my sister piping up to offer us one or two of her spare couches, and then the not quite so beneficial effect of everyone else offering us the contents of their garages.

So on Sunday we reserved a Uhaul. Our rental started at 10AM, so naturally the Uhaul place didn’t even open until 10:30, and then when the place did open another couple cut in front of us but instead of saying anything I just passive aggressively tweeted about it. ANYHOW. We finally got on the road, and by that I mean that we stopped at my sister’s house to pick up the couch, and then back to my parents’ house to pick up some bookshelves (and Bowie)

and then stopped again in San Jose (storage) to pick up some chairs and a coffee table that was my grandmother's.

and then drove to our apartment in San Francisco. We carried the two bookshelves and the coffee table and the chairs upstairs. Then we yanked off the blocks from the couch to make it into a couch with no under before attempting to carry it up the stairs

and around the corner.

And we learned that no matter how much we tried, the couch would not PIVOT.

So we went to plan B which was to set it on fire heave the couch over the back fence and through the kitchen into the living room. We carried the couch back down the stairs, loaded it up into the Uhaul again, and drove around to the back of the house. (We had to drive to the back of the house because, as I mentioned, it is a little townhouse. It’s connected on both sides to our neighbors and ours is in middle of something like 20 townhouses in a row, each with their own little wee patio/yard but only access to said yards if you go THROUGH the houses. The yards all back up to the next street over, which is where we drove. Everybody with me?)

Okay, so. Then we unloaded the couch from the Uhaul and heaved it UP ONTO the fence. I held the couch balanced on the fence for a few very precarious minutes while Niall ran down the street, back around to our street and the front of the house, up the stairs and out through the kitchen into the garden, climbed up on a ladder, and pulled the couch over the fence and down to the other side.

This, by the way, is the fence:

Chair for scale.

Then I ran down the street, back around to our street to the front of the house, up the stairs and out through the kitchen into the garden, and picked up the other end of the couch and we brought it into the living room where it will now stay, presumably, forever.

This week Niall is full of energy and I’ve spontaneously burst into tears three times.

BUT WE HAVE A COUCH.

Pin-interest

Have you ever watched Extreme Couponing? I watched a season of it on Netflix and found it mesmerizing. People have so much dedication to their systems, it's kind of amazing. They plan and tally and work the system and manage to end up spending only a few bucks on carts and carts worth of stuff! And I admire it, even though the things they buy don't always make sense to me. I don't, for instance, understand why one would need sixty bottles of mustard (or, like, even TWO bottles of mustard. Mustard isn't that good and it kind of lasts forever). What I'm saying is that it looks like a satisfying thing to be good at. I don't have the desire or storage space necessary to buy hundreds of bottles of laundry detergent and chicken fingers, but I sure WOULD like to be able to march into a grocery store or Target and buy the things I actually need and only have to spend four dollars. I'd like to coupon, but without having to spend the sixty hours a week looking up internet coupons and stealing newspapers.
Um. Anyway the purpose of that whole paragraph was to explain: there are some things I just want to be good at without actually having to work at and learn it. It's why learning to sew on a sewing machine is still untouched at #13 on my Life Scavenger Hunt even though I got a sewing machine a couple years ago. I read the instruction manual and learned how to thread the thing and sewed a few crooked lines of stitches into an old pair of underpants, but now I just want to go straight to being able to whip up complicated quilts and whimsical stuffed animals. (I was also very disappointed to learn how much IRONING is involved in sewing.)


So. I would like to be good at some things (not EVERY thing) without having to work at it. DIY home improvement is something I'd like to be good at, but I hate reading instructions and also I don't have a workroom or, like, a basic understanding of tools and construction. I can daydream all I want about creating a built-in wall of shelves behind my bed but it just isn't going to happen. For the present time I tend to stick to smaller-scale projects and even they can sometimes turn out disastrous.

I saw this idea at a friend's house the first time, and I thought it was brilliant-- an extra shower curtain rod against the wall of your shower for all the miscellaneous crap that would otherwise be cluttering up the ledges of the bathtub! Apparently it was such a good idea that it had even made Pin-interest (what my mom calls Pinterest). Examples here and here.

The idea looked easy enough, so I gave it a go:

Ta da!

I bought a shower curtain rod at Bed Bath and Beyond and then picked up some cute pink and white plastic baskets at the Japanese variety store (it's like a dollar store with bento boxes). It was a bit of a challenge getting the baskets on there and then hoisting the whole thing into the shower and sproinging it out to secure to the walls, but I did it.
And it came out perfect!

Two hours later:

*crash*

Yeah... it fell down. And then I put it back up. And it fell down again the next day. And then I had someone stronger than me (anyone is stronger than me, but in this case it was boyfriend) put it up. And it fell down again. I gave up, pulled the baskets off the shower rod, and distributed them within the bathroom as freestanding stuff-holding receptacles. I won't tell you what I did with the shower rod (nothing. It's still in the bathroom, leaning against the wall).
My first pin-interest project? Nailed it.

Potpourri

I bought so much felt food today that I could almost host a felt dinner party!
That was the sentence that I wanted to start this post with in order to explain that, hey everyone, I bought a whole bunch of felt food today that I'll be giving to my nieces for Christmas. But then I realized that's... pretty much it.

---

I don't know how to tell this story without making myself sound lame and incompetent, but here it is anyhow: I got a needlestick last week. We had a patient come in who was having knee pain so the doctor decided we should aspirate the fluid from the joint. I was all sterile techniquing and prepping the area and whatnot and then the doctor handed me the (sterile) needle and the (sterile and empty) syringe and said "Okay now you have to make sure that the needle is on really tight because if you have an air pocket you won't get any fluid when you pull back." So I diligently grasped the needle and the syringe, attached them together, and then gave them a good twist to make sure they were nice and tightly fitted together.
And then my hand slipped and the cap came off and the needle jabbed THROUGH MY THUMB and into my palm and all of a sudden I was standing there with a bare needle in one hand and a handful of blood in the other and it was all just a crappy week from that point on.

---

I was driving yesterday and I said to my boyfriend (yep, boyfriend. I'll have to tell you more about him later!) "Hey, I think that's the pawn shop where I sold some of my jewelry." And he said "Well, that's kind of sad." And I've been thinking about it and I guess it is sort of sad. Except for it was a couple of years ago and it wasn't any, like, heirloom or something from my parents. It was actually just some jewelry from an ex. I didn't wear it and I needed the money so I sold it and I don't regret doing so.
This has gotten me thinking about a couple other things. Ex boyfriend KC painted me a picture of my cat for Christmas a couple years ago and then got it all fancy framed for me. Which, at the time was nice except that it wasn't a surprise since he painted it in my apartment and also I later found out that back when he was with his ex girlfriend he had painted a picture of her cat and presented it to her as a gift and also that her painting included a love note written on the back. I wasn't sure which one to be more upset about at the time-- the fact that that mine did not include a love note or the fact that the painting itself was a RECYCLED GIFT IDEA. But I digress.
Anyhow I still have the thing, it's sitting in my storage locker and I'm not sure what to do with it. I'm not going to give it back to KC, who I haven't seen or talked to in two years. I'm not going to give it to the Goodwill because I don't want someone to buy it and have a portrait of MY cat in their house, but I also don't want to throw it away because it's of my CAT and if I'm superstitious at all (which I am) I feel like that might invite bad karma onto him or something. It's also not the best painting of a cat you may have ever seen-- he took a photo of Bowie and then enlarged it, and then traced it on a canvas and then sharpied a grid and used the grid as a guide for where to paint the colors, which means that you can see a grid in the background of the painting.
Relatedlyish, there was a dude I dated for a little bit who brought me a painting of a bicycle and then asked me to shave his back. I actually like the painting-- it is of an old-timey bicycle with, y'know, the HUGE front wheel. So I like it because it's quirky and looks like something I might have picked out for myself and I thought I might just be able to forget about the guy and his odd body hair request, but... Okay no. I just decided that I'm not going to keep it. Okay, is anybody in the market for a portrait of my cat and a painting of a bicycle?
I feel like I should circle back around here and point out that current boyfriend is a good gift-giver. He's also nice to me. Smiley face, etc.

---

I started taking my nieces and nephew to the flea market which is a win-win because I get to hang out with them and I also get to go to the flea market. At first they were shy to talk to the booth owners but now they're total pros, "How much is this? Oh fifteen dollars you say? I'll give you eight." I STILL sometimes get flustered and embarrassed when I try to haggle "Twenty dollars? Ummmmmm. Yeah okay. Here. [Runs away]", so it looks like this is yet another way that my nieces and nephews are cooler than I will ever be.

---

Whenever my dad goes to Starbucks for my mom he says his name is "Pete" in the hopes that someday someone will call out "Pete's coffee!"

Basically I rule at DIY.

Due to certain events this weekend I decided I wanted to have a nice little project with which to distract myself. I have been pining for some spice rack shelves ever since I first saw them. I figured I probably shouldn't get some for my apartment because there isn't a whole lot of wall space left, what with all my flea market treasures, and I also don't want things to be too cluttered.

But then I had a idea!

I'm kind of embarrassed to post this photo because it illustrates the fact that I've been living with my stupid five dollar Target mirror for far too long. It has a bunch of sticky tabs on the back from way back several years ago when I tried to adhere it to the wall of my apartment in LA. That worked for about ten seconds before it came crashing down, so then I just leaned the mirror against the wall. Looking at yourself in a mirror leaning against the wall has two main problems: (1) it's a bad angle and (2) you can't see your topmost regions. So when I wanted to use my full length mirror for its intended purpose I would pick it up and balance it on the freezer door or on a chair. Oy.
I decided that it was HIGH TIME for a new mirror solution which would simultaneously free up some wall space in my bedroom nook for some spice rack shelves!
Time for a field trip to IKEA.

Step 1: New Mirror

I got the Bonett mirror from IKEA ($20) because it was the skinniest one I could find. It is now affixed to the tiny bit of wall space behind the bathroom door. Notice how you can see my FULL LENGTH in the photo?

Step 2: Spice Rack Shelves

I bought 3 spice racks at IKEA for $3.99 each. And this is the part where again I wonder why I tell you everything because you're just going to make fun of me.
I've recently started reading some blogs about improving one's home and organizing. And actually, that was where I first saw the idea of spice rack bookshelves come to life. My execution of it did not go quite as smoothly.
The people on those blogs are always building things and spackling things and painting things and rewiring things, and going on and on about how they and find great old crap at the Goodwill and give it a coat of paint and a new life and DIY is so easy and cheap, just try it! So I thought I would try it. These people particularly seem to do a lot of spray painting, so I thought I would give that a shot. I bought a can of burgundy paint and I had planned to do my painting while I was at my parents' house on Sunday, somewhere in their huge back yard, but then I didn't end up having time. So here I was in my apartment with my spice racks and a can of paint and a nice bare wall and ooooh I was just itching to have them up and done.

So I made a trip down to the basement for scrap cardboard and put down a layer of it on my bathroom floor. Then I started painting (I could only handle doing two of them at once).

Do you like how I cleverly arranged the cardboard in a nest like configuration to protect the bathroom?

I left them in there to dry for awhile (and to allow the fumes to be pumped out the bathroom vents).
Look how great they turned out!

(That's not my address on the box, not even close).

I was quite pleased with myself. I DIY-ed the hell out of those spice racks. And it was easy peasy! No muss, no--
SHIT SHIT SHIT.

What the hell is that? Oh, it's paint. PAINT ALL OVER THE FLOOR.

Apparently, APPARENTLY, I hadn't noticed that while I was working, tiny particles of spray paint were floating down all around me. The floor that I had covered with the cardboard was fine, but the rest was pink.
Yeah, this is why people don't use spray paint indoors. I'm an idiot. WITH A PINK FLOOR.
Although, in my defense, one of the lightbulbs in my bathroom is burnt out so it was rather dim in there and I couldn't really tell that there was so much paint on the floor until after I had moved the boxes. But I guess one could argue that maybe I shouldn't have been painting in a dim bathroom in the first place....

So I stared at the mess for a moment, feeling panicky, and then I halfheartedly opened a bottle of nail polish remover and tipped a little of it onto the floor. OH! It worked! So then I busted out the all natural cleaning spray and some rags went to work on the floor. And that worked too! The paint was actually pretty easy to remove from the floor. But I've learned my lesson: spray painting is for doing outside. After I had used my hippy natural cleaning spray on the whole floor I dumped out some more nail polish remover over the floor, too. Just for good measure. Because the thing my bathroom needed most was certainly MORE harsh, smelly chemicals.

After the shelves had completely dried, I put them together.

Okay, they really do look good, don't they? The color is nice, the paint job looks fairly even, the bathroom isn't ruined. Let's call it a success!

Oh, COME ON!

Not that it matters. But STILL.

The other day I hung out with a friend of mine from college who I hadn't seen in awhile, let's call her Chloe. We talked about this and that-- what we had been up to since we had last seen each other, what our mutual friends had been up to, etc. Being girls and all (not to sound sexist but come on), we eventually landed on the topic of boys. Now, this friend had knew me in college so she obviously knew my college boyfriend, let's call him Jerky.

So we talked about Jerky for a little bit. I told Chloe that it was funny, I had sincerely thought I Fixed him when I broke up with him. He was so sad and heartbroken about me deciding to finally, FINALLY, end that train wreck of a relationship that I thought he was Fixed. Jerky had learned: he wouldn't treat anybody else the way he had treated me, he would stop being such a douchebag, he would be nice to his girlfriend and commit to her instead of sending mixed messages and stringing her along, hell I halfway figured Jerky would marry the first girl he dated after me. But, no, it turned out that I hadn't Fixed him-- threeish years after our breakup he was still exactly the same, still acting shady and not being honest with his girlfriend.

Chloe said she wasn't surprised that Jerky was still acting like that. Then she asked me if I had heard from our other friend, let's call her Amanda. No, I said, I hadn't talked to her in a couple years.
And then Chloe told me that while I was dating Jerky he had hooked up with Amanda.

Oh, awesome.

I knew that Jerky was a shady dude. I didn't fully trust him while I was dating him, but I did believe him when he told me things. If you don't know this about me already: I DO NOT LIE. No, really. I don't lie. It is hard for me to pick up on people who are liars or fakes because I AM PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE of doing this. So, while I knew that something was amiss with Jerky, I never actually thought that he cheated on or lied to me.
 After I had broken up with Jerky and I learned a little bit more about this great wide world, I started thinking that he might have cheated on me during our relationship. The clues were there, you know? Didn't want to say I was his girlfriend + didn't want me to hang out with him and his friends + secretive of his phone and emails + weirdly suspicious of me and angry about me talking to any other dudes + told me I wasn't as pretty as I used to be. Oh, what? You thought I made up this stuff?

Anyhow, I thought that he had possibly cheated on me, but suspecting that and knowing FOR SURE are two different things. Thinking that Jerky possibly cheated on me with some random girl is also very different than knowing FOR SURE that he cheated on me WITH ONE OF MY FRIENDS.

I've tried to write this post several times over the last couple of days but I have been holding back because I'm not sure I'm getting across exactly what I want to say and I keep falling into being yelly and capslocky. I'm not dating Jerky anymore. Our relationship was done years ago and I'm with somebody else now (somebody great-- love you honey, don't ever cheat on me). So on the one hand I feel kind of indignant and mad, but on the other it seems like it shouldn't matter since none of this has anything to do with the current cast of characters in my life.

But, I mean, STILL.

I just don't understand cheating. I don't get it. Why do people do it? WHY? More specifically, why do people cheat and they carry on with their lives, LYING to their significant other? HOW DO THEY SLEEP AT NIGHT? I mean, besides the fact that they're so exhausted from carrying around the charade of their double life and the great burden of their many sins.

ALSO. Why have I gotten screwed over SO MANY TIMES BY SO MANY PEOPLE? I had thought that The Crazy Ex (hereafter known simply as Crazy) was miles and miles ahead of anybody else, in terms of horribleness. He was SO horrible he kind of made Jerky seem Not So Bad. When Crazy stalked me and stole my social security number, all of a sudden Jerky started to seem like one of those okay guys with whom it just didn't work out for one reason or another. But HA HA joke's on me! Jerky cheated on me with one of my friends.

Not that any of this matters now. But STILL.

The lying, you guys. The LYING. Why are some people such LYING LIARS WHO SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES?

Being lied to in a relationship makes you feel crazy. You feel confused and suspicious but also that it might all just be in your head but why won't he just talk to you instead of yelling and making you feel stupid? If I had a nickel for every time I should have listened to my gut feeling I would probably have enough cash to invent a machine called The Gut Feeling that would analyze the situation figure out the truth for you in an objective, fair manner. If you ever wonder why I might have Trust Issues it's because I have been right far too many times.

I broke up with Jerky after several years of dating. I was exhausted and drained from the relationship and I just didn't want to try anymore, not even one more time. And I also had a crush on another guy and tried to see him a little after Jerky and I broke up. You see how I did that? I waited until AFTER I had ended my relationship to start anything with somebody new.  I was in a relationship and I didn't want to be in it anymore SO I ENDED IT. Ta freakin da.
There were a gabillion and one legit reasons to break up with Jerky, but one of the reasons I did it was because I wanted to date somebody else. I didn't pussyfoot around and cheat and lie and go behind his back. No, I womanned the hell up and told him I was done with our relationship. Not that it matters! But STILL!
I don't usually get up on my high horse about things because, pshh whatever, we all do stupid things and everybody's got their own opinions and blah blah blarg. But when it comes to cheating I am very far up on my high horse. In fact, my horse is so high I'm just a DOT to you people. MY HORSE IS VERY VERY HIGH AND LYING IS BAD.

***
So, okay. Deep breath. Apparently not being yelly and capslocky was not in the cards.
The most important thing that I have to remind myself here is that this is all from long ago and that none of it pertains to my current situation. My life is good, I'm happy in my relationship, I've done a lot of healing from past hurts, etc. So that stuff from the past doesn't matter.
(But still.)

Disjointed, Disheartened

Before today, if someone had asked me whether or not my moods control the weather, I would have denied it. I went to the school bookstore this afternoon, killing time before an appointment. I was looking at the sweatshirts when I happened upon the graduation regalia display. The empty cap and gown, standing there on its flattened wire replica of the human form. I stood for a moment in front of it, sighing, reaching out to touch the blue velvet sleeve with my fingertip. "Motherfuckers" I muttered to myself. Or, more accurately, to the gentleman I hadn't noticed was standing directly beside me. As I walked out of the bookstore, feeling generally droopy and sorry for myself, it began to rain. Not that I think myself so high and mighty that the very clouds change course in accordance with my sorrows, but these past few days have had coincidentally good weather for moping and brooding and imagining setting fire to various items in the office of my Giant Paper Thing's reader. Not that I would do either of those things for realsies-- neither inflict gloomy weather upon my fellow San Franciscans nor practice arson. Nope, not me.

***

Several people have told me about times when they failed something. Like the text message I received from a friend in a PhD program, "Did I ever tell you that my advisor failed me for some research units? I was sad/angry etc. But now everything is okay." Stories like that have unexpectedly helped me feel better because I don't feel so completely ALONE IN MY MISERY.
I THINK I am ready now to hear things like "It will be okay! You can do it!" but even when I wasn't, when all I wanted to do was whimper and feel sad, it did help to hear other people's stories of crappy experiences like this and their positive outcomes. Even though I couldn't yet imagine that MY situation would turn out okay, it was nice to hear that other peoples' did. It helped me imagine that there might be a time wherein I could imagine that everything might turn out okay.
This is how I cope with bad things-- I catastrophize. I wallow in pain and make lists in my head of all the terrible things that are happening and dwell on them and cry and feel generally woe-is-me about them. And then after a little while I start to feel better and am able to move forward.

***

Today I realized that one of the reasons that I've been SO devastated about this whole situation is because graduation meant more to me than just finishing school in general or this program specifically. It meant closing a chapter of my life and starting fresh, something I hadn't realized that I was looking forward to so much. Because these past three years have been... DIFFICULT.
The first year I was in an emotionally abusive relationship.
The second year I got out of that relationship and had to get a restraining order.
The third year I had to deal with emotional aftermath and PTSD related to the first two.

A lot of wonderful stuff happened in those years, too, of course. I don't want to make it seem like these years are framed in my mind ONLY by those events. But, I mean, they were tremendously difficult things to go through and they did coincide with school. I remember last year (the second year) when I was in the midst of being harassed and threatened and felt like I was teetering on the edge of sanity. I felt like I was very close to having some sort of breakdown. I remember I kept thinking "I can't do this. I CAN'T DO THIS." I had trouble paying attention, I cried in the bathroom and on the train, and I had to turn in some assignments late and leave a class early because I had a panic attack. But I did it. One friend helped me with my research and another helped me with my assessments and my professors gave me extensions and I DID IT. I made it through that year. And this year I felt like I just had to keep plugging along and I would graduate, nothing could stop me!

And now it feels like I was so close. I was SO CLOSE. But I just couldn't do it.
 

I have been trying to reframe this in my mind-- because this is a thing, right? A lot of people graduate from a program and then have one stupid thing left to finish over the summer or the next semester, right? People do that.
I can do it.
I guess.

***

I honestly don't even know where I am supposed to begin in terms of revising this paper to turn it in again. I haven't gotten all the comments back yet and I just recently took a look at the ones I have received. Some of them don't seem to make sense and some are so JERKY that I can't read anymore because either my eyes are either filled with tears or clouded over with PURE RAGE. I find myself yelling at the computer.

Plus! I had two readers who left comments. They both had very strong opinions.
For example:
Reader 1: "Great discussion of a cutting-edge theory."
Reader 2: "There was no theoretical framework presented."
Reader 1: "Significance poorly defined."
Reader 2: "Significance of the topic was presented well."

Um? OH GREAT! I'LL START THERE!

Howl

That? That's a picture of my old planbook and my new one. Also, me, peeping out to make sure the photo booth thingy was working.
My old planbook, the larger one, has all of my assignments and clinical dates and whatnot and also a very excited all-caps "GRADUATION!!!" on June 9 (both in the week and month views). As I've mentioned before, since I've been a student for so long I tend to buy a new one every new school year so I'm on a July-July planbook rotation system. I had recently purchased the new, littler planbook basically to keep track of my summer plans-- vacations, visitors, friends' weddings, etc.

Today I wrote "New Paper Due!" on July 19 in the new planbook. It almost looks cheerful! HA HA HA. No it doesn't.


When I learned that I can 'walk' in the graduation ceremony on June 9 but my degree won't actually be conferred until September, I turned into some kind of howling banshee.
Anyone else: Well, that's good news! You get to walk!
Me: BUT IT DOOOOEEEESN'T MEAN ANYYYYTHIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGG.
Anyone else: Sure it does! It is a big accomplishment!
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Today is the first day yet that I haven't spent most of the day either feeling waves of ferocious rage or sobbing inconsolably. I've spent the past few days going back and forth between beating myself up over this and feeling SOOOOO VERY WROOONNNGED, but right now I feel more 'meh' about this whole situation. It still sucks. It's still a tremendous disappointment. It still makes me angry and sad, but I think I'm past the Howling Stage of my grief.

I will get through this. I will. I'll rewrite the stupid fucking paper for the stupid fucking readers and I'll stupid fucking resubmit it this summer. And they WILL STUUUUUPID FUCKING LET ME GRADUUUUUUAAAAAAAAATE.


Hm. Well. Perhaps I'm not quite out of the Howling Stage.

Update

I just found out that I get to 'walk' in the graduation ceremony in June but I have to resubmit my paper this summer and the earliest I'll get to graduate is September. Which, I mean, come on that just sucks. Because two days ago I believed that I was within one month of graduation. After how hard I've worked and all the shit I've been through these past three years, it was amazing to know that I was almost finished. And now I'm, well, not.

When I'm ready to joke about this maybe I'll say something like "I guess this means everybody has to get me TWO ROUNDS of graduation presents, right?"
But right now all I can do is cry.

Wallowing

Yesterday I found out that I did not, in fact, pass my Giant Paper Thing. What does this mean? Basically that now I have to work closely with my advisor to rework the paper, turn it in again, and hope it passes this time.
I might also have to work closely with the readers, AKA THE PEOPLE WHO FAILED ME. Oh, hello humiliation, so nice to see you again!
I may or may not get to graduate in June. Basically, my advisor said that I would redo the paper and they would get people to read it this summer. I was shocked-- THIS SUMMER? I stammered something about graduation and she said "Hmm. Well, I don't think it will affect graduation much but I'm really not sure. Let me look into it." Yes, DO LOOK INTO IT.

Things that make me feel better:
- receiving texts, emails, tweets of the "I'm sorry, that SUCKS" variety.
- hugs and snugs
- thinking about how my sister didn't pass the bar exam the first time she took it but she passed it the second time and now she's a kick ass, sought-after lawyer.
- junk food
- soda
- listening to music
- maybe showering? I haven't done that yet but I suspect it will help.
- Bowie cuddling with me
- KC bringing me dinner and taking me to a movie last night.
- thinking about how, even though this paper did not pass, it isn't a reflection of my skills as a clinician.
- being excused from class today

Things that don't make me feel better:
- talking on the phone about it (leads to crying)
- talking about it in person (leads to crying)
- sleeping (leads to crying)
- being asked questions like "why didn't it pass?" Well, gee, if I knew that then IT WOULD HAVE PASSED. If I knew what was wrong or missing or WHATEVER I would have FIXED IT.
- being told to look on the bright side "I'm sure it'll be okay!" "I bet they'll let you walk in June!" "Don't let 'em get you down!" Look. I appreciate what you're trying to do, really I do. But I need to be allowed to be sad for a few days. I was living my life under the assumption that things were going to turn out a certain way and now they are not. I already put my heart and soul into writing that paper. I spent hours and hours at coffee shops, in the library, and at my desk cranking out 30+ pages. I sent it out to be inspected by an APA expert, a content editor, and a neurobiologist. I WORKED MY ASS OFF AND IT WAS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. And now I have to do it again and I just don't know if I have it in me. So if I need to feel crappy about this for a couple of days then BY GOD I'M GOING TO.
- thinking about spending another howevermany hours working on the paper all over again.
- thinking about how hard these past three years have been and and how MUCH crap I've been through and how hard I have worked.
- thinking about the graduation festivities I was starting to plan.
- thinking about how I never, ever, fail ANYTHING. I am good at school. I don't know how to strive for anything but As so the only papers on which I've ever gotten lower than A grades have been papers that have been half-assed. But I did not half-ass this paper. This paper was FULLY ASSED. Which makes me think there was some problem with the assignment or the readers or SOMETHING. This does not make me feel better, you see, because it doesn't change anything. I still have to redo the damn thing, so feeling like I was cheated somehow does not improve my life.
- thinking about how I have clinical tomorrow and I hope I don't cry.

What is WRONG with people?

I recently found out that a friend of mine broke up with her boyfriend. They had been going through a rough patch for some time, and she had been really upset but still cared about him a great deal. She had been open to the idea of working things out between them.

And then she found out that he had been cheating on her for a solid year. He tried to deny it. And when that didn't work, he blamed everyone but himself and even complained that his other girlfriend was cheating on him.

My friend had lived with the guy; she had thought they were going to the married someday. But he had been leading a complete double life. He would take her car and go visit his girlfriend in another city. Everything he ever said to her was a LIE.

Another friend of mine has a child. And the child's father (her ex) has constant revolving-door relationships and hookups. Recently the child said something in front of the guy's current girlfriend. Something along the lines of "Daddy has LOTS of girlfriends." And, presumably, the current girlfriend had some questions.

The guy called my friend (the child's mom, obvs) in front of his girlfriend and tried to get her to admit that the child has been lying a lot recently. So now the poor kid is being accused of lying, just so the guy can save face and continue to lie to and screw around on his girlfriend.

Seriously. What IS wrong with people?

Six or so months ago an ex of mine (no, not THAT one) was in town and I agreed to grab lunch with him and his friends (and my friend K, who I cajoled into coming with me). No big deal, we ate, we chatted, we made polite conversation. And then I asked how he and his girlfriend were doing.
He shrugged "Eh, things are okay. I dunno."
And then, because I knew him and I knew his track record of shadiness and douchebaggery I asked "Is she okay with you having lunch with me?"
"Sure" he said.
"Does she know you were going to see me when you came into town?"
He smirked "Well, I mean, I didn't KNOW I was going to see you."
I prodded further, "So you didn't tell her?"
"Well she didn't ask," he said, raising his arms into the it's outta my hands gesture.
I can't remember the exact phrasing of what I said here but I know that it was some paragraph long speech about The Importance of Honesty in a Relationship. I believe my main thesis topic was this: Lying to Your Girlfriend is Bad.
He interrupted, "Well I didn't lie. I wouldn't call it lying to her."
I squinted at him and cocked my head inquisitively, "Then what would you call it?"
"Not... revealing the whole truth."

AND THEN MY HEAD EXPLODED.

Because NOT REVEALING THE WHOLE TRUTH equals sign LYING.

THEY ARE THE SAME.


Okay okay okay. Let me back up a little. In case anyone gets up in arms about this I should mention that INTENT is important. Of course. Intent matters. Not revealing the whole truth isn't ALWAYS the exact same thing as lying.
But it can be.
And in this situation it was.
I know, I asked.
"Soooo. Are you going to tell her you hung out with me?"
"Well uh. I uh. She probably wouldn't want to know. I mean, she gets jealous."

She does? YOU DON'T SAY!

So do you see what I mean? In this situation, the intent was to keep the poor girl in the dark. He made the choice to lie to her instead of treating her with the respect she deserves as his girlfriend.
I mean, she has nothing to worry about in terms of me. I would gladly sit her down and tell her how firmly I AM NOT INTERESTED in her boyfriend. But that's not the point: if there's nothing to hide, then don't hide anything. It is eleventybazillion times worse to find out that your boyfriend lied to you "didn't reveal the whole truth" about seeing his ex than to have an uncomfortable conversation about the possibility of him seeing his ex.


My friend's boyfriend lied to her face for a YEAR while he carried on an affair behind her back.
And my other friend's ex lied to her so much when they were together that she broke up with him and now he's moved on to lying to other girls. And accusing a child of lying to cover up his OWN LIES.

The lying, you guys. The LYING. It makes my skin crawl and my throat feel tight to think about all the LYING. And all the lovely, unsuspecting, innocent people who are being deceived and hurt by the LYING LIARS WHO LIE.


WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?

something very rash

You know what's kind of embarrassing? When you have to have a doctor tell you that you have poison oak.

And you're a nurse.

And you're studying to be a nurse practitioner.

And you just took a final in your Symptoms Management class which included a section on dermatology.

But allow me to convince you that I am NOT a complete moron but am instead a victim of the following:
1. I. am. very. itchy. Being uncomfortably, distractedly itchy makes it HARDER TO THINK.
2. The rash showed up on a random morning after I put on a shirt that I hadn't worn in a month or so, possibly not since I switched detergents, convincing me that it had to be contact dermatitis.
3. The rash is only on the right side of my body, convincing me that it had to be shingles.
4. The rash seemed to be getting worse, convincing me that it had to be impetigo.
5. The rash looked like it was in a linear pattern, convincing me that it had to be SCABIES.
6. I AM ITCHY.

The rash is red and bumpy and goes all the way down the right side of my torso with random patches on my stomach, leg, and tushy. Can you picture it? Now picture me a couple days ago, wearing a skirt and which is wafting in the breeze and therefore brushing against and tickling the rash. Now picture me clenching my teeth and squinting and trying very hard to ignore the tickling/itching and finally reaching a breaking point wherein I forget that anyone is around me, and with a growl of anguish reach down my skirt and groan with relief as I SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH MY BUTT.

Now picture me picking up the phone and finally making an appointment with my doctor. "I need to come in, I have a rash on my tushy."

UPR Diesel

Okay so I don't actually OWN anything by Diesel because their clothes always seemed too douchey and expensive for my taste. But now! Now I extra don't want to ever own anything by Diesel because look at their latest ad campaign:

Be stupid.
That's it.
That's their whole idea.
I'm not sure what angle they are trying for: A ridiculous gimmick that makes you laugh and therefore buy the clothes? Like those "Make 7... UP Yours" tee shirts? Or are they trying to be all deep like oooh people think they're so smart but you've gotta get out there and try new things and make impulsive decisions and LIVE, dammit...? Or am I supposed to take their words at face value-- stupid people wear Diesel?

I'm not sure what they are TRYING to say to me, the potential customer. But here are the messages I am getting:

Our customers are morons!

Our customers are culturally insensitive! And crazy!

Our customers are likely to have dead hookers under their beds!

Our customers are pervy exhibitionist photobombers who don't care about nature!

Our customers are douchey layabout rich assholes with way too much time on their hands!

I don't know if one could possibly conceive of an ad campaign that would appeal to me LESS. Congratulations, Diesel.

These Boots are Made for Failing

Oh man I almost don't want to tell this story, but in the interest of fully partially disclosing everything, here goes.

A couple months ago I ordered these boots. Here is a photo of them! The right one, anyhow.

And here is the other side.

So I got these boots from Timberland at a deeply discounted price which was awesome but it also meant I had to order them without being able to try them on first. From their description, I thought they would be perfect for tromping around chilly, oft rain-soaked San Francisco.

They arrived a couple weeks later and I pulled out the mess of tissue stuffing and cardboard bits and tried them on. My heart sank. The boots were REALLY snug! Too tight, I thought. But I couldn't exchange them without a big headachey hassle so I decided to just break them in and deal with it, maybe they would stretch a bit.

So I wore them out and about and got used to them and even enjoyed them. They still felt a little too tight and rigid on the tops of my feet but I liked how they looked and I figured they had to break in at some point.

And then just a few days ago I was putting the boots on for an outing. As I held one open and angled my foot, I noticed something seemingly ripped on the inside of my boot. Oh no! Had I already wrecked my new boots? I reached inside.

Guess what I found inside my boots?

Yeah.

I've been wearing my boots for approximately A MONTH with the cardboard inserts STILL INSIDE.

Are you single, married, or have children?

Oh jeez. I can't believe it. My high school reunion is coming up. MY TEN YEAR high school reunion. Gah. Just, GAH. I suppose I should have seen this coming since I am 27 after all. But but but... it totally snuck up on me and I'm not ready! Not that I'm dissatisfied with my life as it is or anything but my PLAN was to not so much attend my ten year high school reunion but to, like, stick my arm out my helicopter window and wave a hankercheif at it.

I guess I'll probably go. It should be, well, fascinating at least. I am curious to see what people have done with themselves. And there will be lots and lots of alcohol. In my flask.

But take a gander at the email I got from my class Reunion Committee:

Dear Classmates,
Tell us about what you're up to! Once a month, we'll send out short profiles from respondents.
Please hit reply to this email address and let us know:
1. Since graduations, which cities have you lived in?
2. Are you single, married, or have children?
3. When was the last time you were on campus?
4. What is your current occupation?
5. On a scale of 1-10 how much have you changed since 2000?
6. Any specific classmates or teachers you'd like to get back in touch with?

Thanks!
- Class of 2000 Reunion Committee

Oh, man alive. Seriously? Even ignoring the grammar there is just so much wrong here.
First of all, why wasn't I invited to be on this exclusive Reunion Committee? Was it because I hated high school? Also, how on earth did you people get my email address?

Also, does anyone really care about the last time I was on campus? I don't care about the last time anyone else was on campus, so I'm guessing no.

Also, why do we only care about my current occupation-- what about college or grad school or travels or, oh I don't know, everything else I've been doing FOR THE PAST TEN YEARS?

Also, on a scale of 1-10 how much have I changed? Well, what is 1 and what is 10?
 
Also, am I single, married, or have children? That's it? Those are my only options? What about people who are divorced or engaged or living with someone or in nunneries? Nevermind the numerous other ways there are to live one's life, I can either be single, married, OR HAVE CHILDREN.

Ways to Disappoint Your Girlfriend

Hey, guys! Are you tired of dealing with your girlfriend? Is her self esteem just a little to high? Does she seem to have just a few too many expectations of you? If you answered yes, well then look no further! Below you will find some time-saving, easy, convenient ways to disappoint your girlfriend and probably take her down a peg or two....

Don't get her a Christmas present.

Don't get her a birthday present.

Don't do anything for Valentine's Day.

Forget your anniversary.

Go to Vegas with your friends over your anniversary.

Go to Brazil with your friends over your anniversary.

Bring her back a pair of earrings from Brazil that give her horrendous ear infections.

Tell her she should work out more.

Lie to her.

Cheat on her.

Tell her she's crazy for not trusting you.

Call her on your anniversary-- to ask her to send you some cash.

Care more about clothes than she does.

Don't introduce her as your girlfriend.

Send your friend an intricately planned out and thoughtful birthday present but get her something generic or nothing at all.

Tell her you're too broke to pay for anything.

Spend all your money on alcohol.

Spend all her money on alcohol.

Don't call her.

Call her, but don't feel like talking.

Talk to her, but don't feel like listening.

Listen to her, but don't offer any empathy.

Tell her you don't like her friends and/or family.

Tell her that your friends and/or family don't like her.

Tell her she's overreacting when she catches you in your web of lies.

Refuse to discuss said web of lies.

Don't invite her to social events with you (weddings, family occasions, parties hosted by mutual friends).

Always want to go to the same greasy spoon restaurant even though it makes her feel sick.

Always split the check, even though you make a lot more money than she does.

Break up with her by deleting her as a friend on Myspace.

Break up with her on a text message.

Break up with her by not answering her phone calls.

Don't break up with her, but just say that you want to take "a break" (Since you're not technically together you can flirt/hook up with other girls. See the nice loophole?)

Wear V necks.

Steal from her.

Tell her she's not as pretty as she used to be.

Tell her she's gotten heavier.

Hang out in Hermosa Beach.



Well there you go, guys. Sounds pretty effective, right? Good luck to you. Oh, and here's a little something in honor of you showing your true colors.

Happy douching, asshats. 

Things I've learned while single: An incomplete list.

Guys don't like it when you tell them they have a douchey name.

Guys don't like it when you tell them they shouldn't be wearing a V neck.

Guys don't like it when you tell them their cell phone carrier doesn't exist.

Guys don't like it when you tell them their law school doesn't exist. (But seriously, quick show of hands. Who's heard of UC Hastings?).

Guys don't like it when you respond to all their questions with flustered, one word answers while staring at your drink.

Guys don't like it when you try to tell them all about Twilight and how hot you think Jacob is.

Guys don't like it when you compare them to Edward Cullen.

Guys don't like it when you tell them you're only flirting with them to get free drinks.

Guys don't like it when you talk about your ex boyfriends.

Guys don't like it when you talk about your crazy ex boyfriends.

Guys don't like it when you talk about the crazy things you've done.

Guys don't like it when you talk about colonoscopies.

Guys don't like it when you talk about prostate exams.

Guys don't like it when you talk about wanting to settle down and have kids.

Guys don't like it when you make jokes about them having to pay for the pleasure of your company.

Guys don't like it when you rip the cigarette out of their hand, break it in half, wave it in their face and say "this is REALLY bad for you!"


So, uh, anybody know what guys DO like?