Trial run

The other day I took my mom to dinner. While eating I mentioned that I’m probably not going to ever have children.

Mom: Why not?

Me: Well, if I had a kid right now I’d be over 40 when that brat turns 5. I am not running after a 5 year old when I’m 40.

Mom: I’ll take care of it.

Me: So you want me to have a baby so you can take care of it? You’re going to be over 70.

Mom: So? I can do it.

Me: Why don’t we do this, you come over and take care of me and my place as a trial run and we go from there?

Mom: Um, no.

Well, I tried.

Choo, choo

I’m going to let you in on a little secret – I’m psychic. Shhh! Don’t tell anybody. Let’s just keep this between us…and the internet.

Here’s the thing, I can tell by the decisions you’re making and the people who you choose to have in your life how things are going to turn out for you. For some of you, it’s not so good. The problems are honestly as plain as the nose on my face and I have a pretty big nose. You, for some reason, are completely oblivious to them. You have absolutely no clue that you’re in the middle of the Pennsylvania Railroad just waiting to be smacked by a train on its way to Topeka.

Choo, choo, motherfucker.

Now, I could use this power of mine to warn you but what my power also tells me is that that is a bad idea, too. Why? Because you’re not going to believe me. I might try to pull you aside to discuss the train schedule but I’m not going to dive an push you out of the way. If I do, you’re going to be all, “There’s no train, asshole. I’m just having a lovely time on these to steal track thingys,” and then get mad at me for trying to point out the obvious. Somehow, I’m going to end up being the bad guy.

Instead I’m going the opposite direction. I’m getting as far away as I can possibly get because, while some people may like them, I find train wrecks just incredibly sad. So, I’m waiving my right to “I told you so”, getting a parrot and heading to sea. Yes, Polly does want a cracker and a bottle of rum.

When I see the smoke, maybe I’ll come back. Maybe.

(After writing this post I now kinda hate trains. I may have gone too far with that analogy.)

Blank pages

While looking through my room last night I found, in various places, 4 beautiful blank notebooks differing in size and design. If I looked further I assure you I’d find many more.

It is a habit of mine when come across one of these in a store to snatch it up without so much as a second thought. I’m drawn to their hard covers and crisp, clean pages. The thought is always that one day I will fill those pages with stories and wisdom learned during the course of my ridiculous life.

But they remain blank. One was even still in it’s box, wrapped in tissue paper.

Every time I pick one up and think about putting pen to paper I stop myself. “My handwriting isn’t pretty enough,” I say. “The words aren’t good enough.” Because once in that book, it is permanent. These books are too perfect to ruin with sloppy penmanship and jumbled thoughts.

Sometimes I just stare at the lines hoping that any minute, like magic, “it” will come to me. Just one word. I just need to find that one word and the rest will follow but my mind is as blank as the page so I once again slide the notebook into a drawer or place it on a bookshelf vowing to try again another day.

The sad fact is, I’m a writer without a story. Can you think of anything worse?! Well, other than war…and famine…and dead puppies…and Republicans… Okay, so it’s not THE worst but it is very frustrating. Especially when people say, “You should write a book.”

And I don’t want to write about what I write about. I want to show you Gatsby’s world. I want to introduce you to Heathcliff. I want to make you fall in love with Mr. Darcy. I don’t want to write about poop, beer, and…more poop. I want to make you feel the sadness of Ophelia going mad and mourn her death. I want to create characters that stay with you forever.

One day. Maybe. Until then I continue to stare at the pages waiting for an epiphany.

10 reasons why I’m not an adult

1.) I get my groceries from the gas station. In my defense, it is a nice gas station. They have hotdogs on that rolly thing and flavored coffee.

2.) The other day I thought, “If I had a kid I could name it None of Your Business so when people asked what his name was he could say it and everyone would think he’s rude!!” I might have been intoxicated at the time. I still think it’s a good idea.

3.) I like Ke$ha. A lot. For real.

4.) I have sucked my thumb since I was born and will continue to do so until the day I die.

5.) A good majority of my underwear are covered in cartoon characters: Oscar the Grouch, Sesame Street, Cookie Monster, Animal, Angry Birds, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Superman.

6.) If I don’t have clean underwear sometimes I wear bathing suit bottoms.

7.) Last weekend was considered productive because I got my hair re-toned in the pink and red and sent an email requesting a consultation for my new tattoo. I didn’t get a tattoo. I didn’t get a consultation. I just sent an email and I put that in the win column.

8.) Renewing my passport has been on top of my priority list since it expired…in 1999.

9.) Tupperware doesn’t last around here because, instead of washing them, I just throw them away.

10.) I have Disney’s 1951 version of Alice in Wonderland on my phone and watch it all the time. My ringtone is The Walrus and the Carpenter. I really wish they made Alice in Wonderland underwear.

They say a picture is worth a 1000 words

This one almost leaves me speechless:

What ISN’T wrong here?

Let’s discuss, shall we?

This was taken in 1990, right before I started 7th grade. As you can see, I have always been up on modern technology trends. I was quite fond of my very cool camera with it’s 110 film. If you look through my assortment of photographs from that timeframe you will realize that I am indeed part Asian. I have a ton of pictures of absolutely nothing…including pictures of people taking pictures of me taking pictures of them.

Next you will notice that I am rocking the braces. I actually wore those things 2 years longer than I should have because the orthodontist I had been going to just wanted more money. When I moved and found a new orthodontist they informed us I shouldn’t have been wearing them anymore and we sued the first orthodontist who was a jackhole for making me go through that shit. There’s a special place in hell for that guy.

Don’t ask about my hair. I don’t know what that is or why it’s nappy on one side. This was just before I permed my bangs. Because, you know, if you perm them then you don’t have to curl them with a curling iron in the morning before you tease them up. You can just go straight to the teasing. Or someone would have thought. Needless to say, that didn’t work out so well.

Lastly, let us explore my completely health, totally normal, obsession with Joey McIntyre. I’m just kind of glad you can’t see the rest of the room. I think at that point I probably had posters on the ceiling. The Big Bopper and Tiger Beat were my crack. I am fairly certain I still have posters somewhere. For real.

After seeing all this I bet you will find it hard to believe that I was not very popular in Jr High.

Crazy talk

Sorry I haven’t posted recently. I’ve been so busy…and by busy I mean drunk. You don’t want to read drunk posts by me. They’d either be totally sloppy sobby or completely incoherent. Although, now that I think about it, it might not be a bad idea. Plus it gives me another excuse to drink.

Anywho, I woke up this morning with a brilliant idea. Stay with me here because it’s so off the wall I’m not sure you’re going to be able to handle it. I mean, it’s really crazy. Like SO out there I might be carted off to the insane asylum. Are you ready? Are you really ready? I’ve decided that from now on. I’m going to start living. My life. For me.

Bam! How do you like that?!

No more worrying whether or not so-and-so is going to be okay or needs anything. No more going out of my way to help. No more wasting my time. You need something? Do it yourself, get it yourself, or go fuck yourself.

I am fully aware that I am to blame for people taking advantage of me. I let it happen and I encouraged it because I like the feeling I get when I make someone else happy. I had money saved up for something that I really wanted but instead of just getting it, I talked myself out of it saying it would be better off spent on others. That’s on me, but now it’s getting to the point where it’s expected and that ain’t cool.

I can not even tell you the weight that was lifted when I came to this epiphany. Of course! How silly of me! Do things for myself? What a novel idea. It only took 35 years to come up with it.

Well, I can’t take full credit for it. A very dear friend, who is my confidant and keeps me as sane as possible, said to me one day, “Do it for you,” and I was all, “Do what? Masturbate?” then he said yes and the conversation took weird turn but eventually came back around. “Fuck everyone else.” After I clarified that he wasn’t being literal, I realized that I might be happy if I let just myself be.

And, apparently, if I got laid.

Things I irrationally hate

Coexist bumper stickers. Keep in mind, this is coming from the girl that asks for World Peace for Christmas. I know these things are supposed to be all about love and harmony and all that bullshit but I really hate that your car, if you can call a Prius a car, is telling me what to do. Go fuck yourself, car. I’m going to hate people just because you told me not to. AND THE STAR OF DAVID LOOKS NOTHING LIKE AN X!!

People who back in to parking spots. I don’t get it. It takes you longer to back into a parking space than it does to back out of one so you’re not saving any time. What you’re saying is you have all the time in the world when you first get to a place but need that extra 2 seconds to make a quick getaway when you leave? That’s suspicious. People who back into parking spaces should be investigated for illegal activity.

Talking on the phone. Do you know why they invented the text message? So we wouldn’t have to speak to each other. I don’t even text words anymore. If it’s not a Someecard relaying a message close to what I want to say to you then it’s a gif of a cat waving. This is how I communicate now. Get used to it and stop insisting we talk. Talking is SO 2009.

Who needs words when you have this?

That guy. You know, the one that everyone loves? I hate that guy. He’s nice, he’s sweet, he’s handsome. He compliments and notices when you’ve bought something new. There’s something wrong that guy and chances are we’re all going to find out what it is when it’s too late. Just remember, everyone thought Ted Bundy was charming, too.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

I’m taking a few steps back on that whole growing up things. Being adult-like isn’t all that fun so I chopped off all my hair, dyed it black, and threw in some pink and red while I was at it.

This was a good idea, right?

When people comment on my new ‘do, I tell them it’s call “The Midlife Crisis”. Those that know me, smirk and nod. Those that don’t, scoff. “How can you have a midlife crisis at 35?” I tell them that I’ve come to the depressing realization that there’s no way that I will live to see 70. I may already be well past midlife because my lifestyle is far from healthy and liver takes a beating. I drink more than a stripper’s stepdad on bowling league night. I will be shocked if I make it to retirement. So, I’ve decided that I’m going to continue regressing maturity wise.

My new hair makes me feel good though so mission accomplished. It’s short and fun. I haven’t been this giddy in awhile. Even my boss likes it. He admitted that after he told me that it looks like a fishing lure he uses to catch swordfish or wahoo. He has suggested I stay away from the ocean for awhile.

This whole adult thing is hard

Where exactly does one go to buy a mattress? I’m asking for a friend. A friend named Me.

The only major purchase I’ve ever made is my last car and I’m not sure I even did that right. I signed a bunch of papers and they let me leave with it so I’m guessing I didn’t fuck it up. But if someone shows up to take it, I won’t be completely surprised.

How, you’re probably wondering, do I have anything? Well, when something dies, like let’s say my washing machine, I just ask for a new one from my dad as a Christmas/Birthday present. Unfortunately, both holidays (yes, my birthday is a holiday) have passed and as spoiled as I am I’m not sure I can get Daddy to buy me a belated President’s day or Yay! It’s Almost March present.

The other night I explained this to my date and asked him how someone would go about making such a purchase, because, you know, I like to be up front about how clueless and spoiled I am with a person I could possibly have a relationship with. What you see is what you get. I’m not going to pretend to be normal to get you in my grasp and then spring the crazy on you later. I lead with the crazy…and that is probably why I’m single.

But I digress.

Floyd, an alias for him we’ve mutually agreed on, to his credit did not outwardly react to the ridiculousness of my inquiry. He simply said, “Google it, Agatha.”* And I did. And there are actual articles!

Did you know that there are different types of mattresses? Apparently all these years my mom has been buying me ones consumers refer to as “harder than caveman beds” but I could have been sleeping on something called “plush”. In my head I imagine those ones are made of clouds and kittens. I wanna sleep on clouds and kittens.

Did you also know that if you buy a mattress most places will deliver it AND take away your old one? I cannot even begin to explain how long and hard I’ve thought about how I was going to get a queen sized mattress home with my little VW Beetle convertible. As for the old one, it would probably have become the new dog bed because I have no idea what you do with oversized trash like that. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have just dragged it into the trash room and I think the nearest dump is in West Virginia.

So, this weekend I have blocked off time to go shopping for new bed. This sounds pretty much like heaven. Shopping and spending hours on my back? Yes, please. I get to go bed hopping and this time it’s not going to end in a pregnancy scare. Win.

*Okay, so he didn’t call me Agatha but that’s the alias that we gave me even though I don’t need one because this is my blog and my real name is in the title. I just wanted to bring it up because I like it a lot.

This is not a fun post

The problem with being on top of the world is knowing that eventually you will slam to the ground.

That’s what being me feels like. Incredible highs and the lowest of lows. Sometimes when I’m happy I’m not really happy because I know that soon I’m going to be sad. But when I’m sad, there seems like no end to it. So I sit in my closet, crying my eyes out, thinking of my niece and nephew and how much they mean to me so I don’t kill myself.

How is YOUR day?

The depression has gotten worse over the last couple of years. Every morning anymore is like, as Forrest Gump says, a box of chocolates – I never know what I’m going to get. Sometimes it’s the bright, beautiful flavor of caramel, sometimes it’s coconut. I really hate coconut.

I used to be able to control it better. Whenever I would feel down I would remind myself that I have it pretty good, that I was being selfish and at least I’m not some starving woman in Africa. Now, when I try the same technique I think, “Yeah, but she’s probably skinny, has a husband and kids who love her, and doesn’t have to work 40+ hours a week.” I know I should go to the doctor and I should be on medication but I don’t like the idea of having to rely on pills to be normal. It makes me feel like I have less control over me or being me.

I’d be very disappointed if this whole internal battle wasn’t a surprise to most people I know because I go to great lengths to try and hide it. I’ve told maybe a couple of people, most when I was wildly drunk, thus, I assume, not taken seriously. I can smile and laugh and as soon as I feel that uncomfortable tightening in my throat I’ll excuse myself to get a better grip on my emotions. I try my best to mask it with humor. I think I do a pretty good job.

You might be asking why I would write this post if I had put so much effort into keeping this a secret. The fact of the matter is it’s getting harder for me to maintain my composure. When I finally break down in tears out of no where I want people to be prepared and not think that I’ve just suddenly completely gone crazy but know that I’ve been slowly losing my mind over time. Plus, maybe this helps you, whether you know me or not, understand who I am better.