I’m Watching The Twilight Saga: New Moon


You can’t tell me that Cas doesn’t love Dean and feel jealous of Anna mackin on his man.

We all have that one epic fucking ex.  The one you’ve stayed friends with and skirted around getting back together with and never falling out of love with.  If it hasn’t happened yet, and you’re of the persuasion that loves love, then you will get there.  Bob is mine.

We dated when I was 14 and 15, and he was the first person I slept with.  The second person I fell in love with.  When I met my ex husband, I was kinda dating Bob again.  I was saving up to go to California and see him during spring break.  He always hated my ex husband for that, stealing his girlfriend and being a general asshole.  We used to joke about him being my Jacob.  He hated that title.  But he always waited for me.  I even visited him while M and I were skirting around breaking up.  We didn’t sleep together, but it wasn’t for lack of me trying.  (I’ve never admitted that to anyone.)

When M and I broke up for good he was an incredible shoulder to cry on.  He was my emotional rock.  And then I met my last boyfriend, and I did it again, to him.

Last Thanksgiving I started actually pouring my heart and soul into him.  I wanted it.  I was finally in a place and time where I could fall in love again.  I started writing him and flirting and… and he has a girlfriend, now.

He’s moved on.

I immediately apologized and quit texting.  It was heartbreaking.  But nothing less than what I deserved.  And I deserve to feel to this way, like I’ve lost out on a great person.  It’s true.

This movie makes me miss my Jacob.  And makes me realize that he was never a Jacob.

I’ve Got 99 Problems, and My Duodenum is One


I watched this episode last night.  Bittersweet and hilarious.

In three months, I’m going to have surgery.

This isn’t my first major surgeryOr my second.  It’s my third, and it comes with the certainty that my entire life is going to be changed.  I’ve wanted to write about this for a while, but always felt too tired, or not witty enough.

So, in order to cure my bile reflux, I have to get a duodenal switch.  Yes, it’s mostly used in bariatric surgeries but after seeing a shitton of doctors from Charlottesville to Baltimore, I finally came around to realizing that this is the only way to end the random days lost to burping bile and living in the bathroom.

The last time I had an episode, actually, was the day I went in for the surgery consult.  That day I ended up in the hospital with a bowel obstruction called an ileus and almost got myself admitted.  Spent a week at home with some extremely strong medications, alternately puking bile and sleeping.  Good times.  Even puked in the doctor’s office.  In fact, whenever I call the office, now, I start with, “Hi.  This is A, the chick who puked in the office.”

That day I woke up with the bile burps and stomach pain.  The day before I’d eaten Thai food with my parents, so it wasn’t food poisoning and it wasn’t prohibitively unhealthy, either.  It was 100% my faulty gastrointestinal tract.

So, this kind of surgery slices my stomachacdfdebaa58bf8fbba083ab6b042d025 in half, reroutes bile to the end of the line, reconnects with my intestines, and out she goes.  I won’t be able to eat anything of substance.  I won’t be able to drink carbonated drinks.  I won’t be able to live life like I currently do.  But then again, I thought the same kinds of things when I lost my gallbladder, and obviously I learned how to live life around it.  I’ll probably do the same with this surgery.

In preparation I have to get a million tests and an EGD and x-rays and ultrasounds, and two weeks before the surgery I get to stop eating anything solid.  Sounds fun.

So there you have it.  The latest new thing in my life.  I might have a few posts involving the tastings of various protein shakes, since that’s what I’m going to be living off of for 6 weeks.  I’ve tried a few, so far, and so far like Boost the best.  Muscle Milk is too sugary (even tho it only has”crystaline fructose” listed) and Ensure makes me feel like an old lady.  But whatever.

Anywho.  Yeah.  Yay.  At least the bile reflux will be gone.  And that knowledge makes me crazy happy.

Boob Rant of the Highest Degree


So I’m doing my annual boob holster shopping and I notice something…

Why. Why why why why whyyyyyyyyyyyyy would you sell a push up bra in sizes above DD? I made this accident, once. I hadn’t noticed that it was a push up, and it was in my size, and it was red, and omg folks… you could see my tatas from SPACE. They were SO huge and pushed up that when I blinked, my eyelashes tickled my nips.

What goes into designer’s minds when they slap some push up chicken cutlets into a bra that could conceivably hold a tureen of soup in EACH CUP?

As it is, once you get into the D+ range, your body hates you.  Your back hurts, your posture sucks, you have to buy new bras almost every 6 months, men turn into babies around them, sleeping on your chest is iffy, and GOD FORBID you actually use these things for their intended purpose.  I turned into a bountiful fountain of colostrum which literally spurted into the Monkey’s eye the first time I tried to breastfeed.  My ma and I had a good laugh about that.

But seriously.  SERIOUSLY.  That fact that people have obviously bought these products is mind boggling.  Outside of the adult entertainment industry, what purpose do these serve?

This is an actual question.  Please.  If you’ve gotten one of these before, on purpose, what’s your mindset?  Inquiring minds wish to know!

On Love and Relationships

deserve_to_be_loved_supernaturalFunny Supernatural gif notwithstanding, I do.  After the epic shitshow that was the imploding of my relationship of 10 years, I was understandably bitter and angry (hence the title of the site).  I don’t like to show off my vulnerability, and I’ve already written on that earlier this year.  I still have issues with showing what I need from a relationship.  And when I do get overwhelmed by this almost painful need to be held and shielded from the world, I treat it sarcastically and pour lemon juice on the festering wound by surrounding myself with sappy stories and chick flicks.  Essentially I take the emo route of satisfying this emotional trigger.

Yes, I should mention this to a counselor, but last time I did that I had to disclose it and there’s paperwork involved, and blah blah blah.  Work surrounds mental illness and “working through shit” with a horrible stigma that I don’t feel like going into tonight.  But right now, you’re my therapist.  Saves me the $35 copay.

Anyway, yeah.

I was talking to a friend today that the one thing I never counted on was this general whumping of the need for deep emotional connections.  Don’t get me wrong, I am very close to my boyfriend, but in such a way that in no way resembles the person I used to be.  I’m still holding something back.  I’m still very much playing my cards close to my chest.  And I don’t know if that’s even fair.  Should I be in a monopolizing relationship?  Should I, in any way, be selfish like this?  For all I know there is someone without the kind of baggage that I come with that’s perfect for him.  Should I say something?  Should I have this kind of conversation with this other person?

We don’t have that kind of relationship.  I find describing it difficult because when I don’t see him often, I miss him, and he I.  We get along great and have so much in common.  We haven’t gotten into an argument, but how much of that is just me not feeling passionate enough about anything to fight for it?  I don’t yearn.  Isn’t that a fairly big basic tenant of any relationship?

In my mind, and with my experience, there are three ways to have sex.  There is a) Fucking (which needs no explanation), there is b) Having Sex, and then there is c) Making Love.  Yeah, I said it.  Eat me.  Each category is up to every single person’s individual definition, but I have yet to have sexual intercourse with this person that falls in the category of lovemaking.  And this is what I miss.

I feel desired.  I feel sexy and wanted.  But I don’t feel needed, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the big goddamn difference.  This is a fantastic relationship, on paper and in person.  But there’s that added layer of complexity that I’m missing.  That makes something really ingrained in a life.  And I’m not there.  It’s very possible that this person is totally giving out those vibes, but I’m not picking them up for one reason or another.  And that’s sad.  But I’m not feeling it.

What the hell does that even mean?  Does it have to mean anything?  I guess if I were aromantic it wouldn’t be a big deal, but I’m not.  I need romance.  I need to feel needed.  I need to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this other person is really in love with me.  Not just a fantastic buddy.  Not just enamored with the idea of companionship.  I don’t want a companion.  I have two.  I call them my children.


I get the feeling that the answer is staring me right in the face.

I Want an Intern (I Also Have Pneumonia)

So I went in to work yesterday even though I was feeling like ass (I have pneumonia, again).  Someone asked why I was there and I said I had some stuff that had to get done, and her response was, “And no one else could do it?”

sucksassActually, no!  No one else can do it!  It’s all me!  Someone please get me an intern!!  I am the the only who knows how the server works, how the rules work, how to even edit a goddamn picture on the site.  I am the end all, be all of our SharePoint sites.  We have another lady in communications, but her piece is more official coms and weekly action reports, not the site.

On Monday, when I get back, I’m going to have at least 50+ emails.  When I’m out, things stop.  And if something breaks, it stays broken until I can fix it.  I wish I could get an assistant, or intern, or something!

Don’t get me wrong, I love doing this work and helping folks and designing things.  And yeah, I built the site so that it doesn’t need much maintenance, but it still bugs me that if something breaks, it won’t get attention until I get in.  It makes me feel so irresponsible when I’m actually sick.  But when I’m dicking around and just want a day off?  I feel perfectly fine calling it in.  :(

And, oh yeah, btw, I have pneumonia again.  Yay.  This is the second time in a fucking month and a half.  I probably need to see a pulmonologist about that sometime soon.  Doc said that this bout isnt as horrible as last time, but it’s still there.  And that’s why I’m home today.  I’m still coughing my lungs up, and I’m exhausted, and wheezing, but I get the feeling that these antibiotics might not be working.  Probably not, tho.  Especially if I’m still coughing gross and feeling dead.

Anyway.  Yeah.

How Are You Still Alive?

anigif_enhanced-16323-1424464004-22Today in “What The Hell Am I Doing Here?” we look at people who are so dumb, I seriously question how they are still alive.

SharePoint is a change for these folks, and yes, change can be scary.  I give lots of people tons of leeway when it comes to asking me questions, but when the instructions are idiot proof, and I’ve already sat with them and showed them, and reiterated my instructions, I’m going to get mad.

Eventually they asked me to come over.  I stood up pretty mad and stomped my way off.  Along the way I knew I had to calm down and not yell at the poor dumb thing, so I started repeating “beep boop” in the most high pitched voice I could.  It’s a tumblr proven method for dealing with anger.  And it worked.  By the time I sat at her desk, I was curt, but not about to brain someone.  Not that it would have worked, tho.

My friend, who I was venting to, asked if I’m a babysitter.  Sometimes it feels like that.  Then he mentioned he wanted to be a govie.  I said that I was gonna end up spending 20 years smacking my head against the wall and by the end of that time I’d be able to medically retire early from federal service due to “brain trauma”.

Look at all this scar tissue!  It’s been built up over 20 years of working with morons!  How is this woman even able to breathe??” – Some doctor, probably, looking at an MRI of my brain.

But even then I doubt they’d give me that out.  They’d probably promote me a dozen times over so that by the time I’m drooling and peeing myself, I’d be in senior executive service and the director of something.

What even is my life?

Imported from China

I just imported all of the data from my previous two blogs.  So, now if you want to go back into like, 2004, you can.  I haven’t even tried to access my live journal.  I don’t know if I nuked it or not.  It’s kinda incredible that I’ve got 10+ year’s worth of stories and mundane information.  My entire adult life is now in one place.  Crazy.

Update: Yes.  I apparently expunged and deleted my old LJ account.  So, that time of my life is missing.  Probably for the best.  It was during the time right after I got married and live was totally in the shitter.

Drive By Affection

After M left me the first time, right after we got married, I hated how vulnerable I had gotten.  I was extremely defensive and continuously on alert.  I didn’t let anyone get close to me, let alone M.  He paid the price for adultery, in those years.  But I let my guard down after having the Monkey.  One sleepless night we actually held each other and I forgave him for everything that he had done to us.  It was cathartic and felt good.  4 years later and we get a divorce.

Today I’m still on the defensive.  I think even more so.  And, bless him, my boyfriend doesn’t push anything.  He recognizes that I’m not 100%.  I recognize it too, and don’t spend time agonizing over whether or not I’m showing enough affection.  He knows that I’m still a bit of a work in progress.  I’m prone to locking up and becoming hardened armor at the slightest show of turbulence.  He’s actually experienced it first hand.  I hate when I get mushy and emotionally needy and he just smiles and doesn’t bring attention to it when I do find myself letting my guard down for a second.  I’ll impulsively just say, “I love you,” or bury my head in his arms, or hold his gaze and pour every ounce of myself into a kiss.  And then immediately say something like, “Fuck these ovaries,” or “DRIVE BY AFFECTION”, like I just did now.

It’s sad that I’m still cracked all over.  But I’m every day I’m getting better.

What Did Your Keyboard Ever Do To You?

Seriously, do you have to type on it with the downward pressure of a thousand rotund southern preachers?  What gives?

In Hackers there are a bunch of scenes that drive me absolutely up the wall, despite being one of my favorite movies.  Every time someone is typing s. l. o. w. l. y. and banging on the keys loud enough to wake the dead, I want to do some kind of physical damage to something.  And I understand entirely that this is a symptom of misophonia, and I should do everything possible to take myself out of the offending area or block the sound in some way (I’m listening to pandora, right now), but this is a daily thing.  Doesn’t matter how great of a day I’m having or how long I’m actually at my desk… at some point I’m going to hyper focus on the sound of someone typing.

I’m not a mean person.  I mean, for the most part.  I don’t like it when people don’t like me or think I’m a bitch.  But for the love of all that is holy, the longer I spend exposed to these sounds, the lower my patience is for other seemingly innocuous occurrences.

I’m noticing that every day that goes by, I feel more and more overwhelmed by the sounds of my environment.  Maybe today’s episodes are being precipitated by whatever has been up my ass since last week.  Or maybe I’m just finally outwardly showing the wear on my psyche.

This is the beginning of some kind of “down period”.  And I’ve got no choice but to just ride it.

The Air, After it Rained, Kinda Smelled Like a Fresh Band-Aid

You can picture it in your head.

Your parent sits you on the counter or kitchen table and brings over the small white tin box that held at least 10 different brands of band-aids.  The first crisp cut through the paper that shows the small “conveniently flesh toned” bandage inside.  It had a certain smell.  It was entirely different from antiseptic or ointment.

That’s the way that the world smelled, on the back roads of the border between the Fairfax and Prince William Counties.

For a second it took me back to childhood; living in the States for a few years between a mandatory evacuation and Dad’s next assignment.

It was a pretty cool memory.

All of my memories of here are either recent (last 10 years) or fragmented between home leave trips and the three years that I got to be a normal American kid.

There are many days where I feel like I’m assuming the background of a life I never got to live.  I didn’t get Daria and Celebrity Death Match.  I ended up with MTV Europe and BBC.  The Armed Forces Network and Flashback TV.  Music was a mad grab from whoever got to go stateside, recently.

I walk around feeling like a pretender, appropriating a culture that I never grew up with.

Maybe that’s what’s got me down, lately.

Who knows.


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