I'm Having A Nervous Breakdown, And Other Items Of Note

6/10/07: FI-ance flops down on the couch one last time. It's the last time because HE BROKE MY COUCH. I am less than pleased. He knows this and begs me not to stop loving him, then tries to fix it with a mallet and does a pretty good job. I have decided to continue letting him touch me.

I share a bowl of cookie dough ice cream covered in turtle magic shell with the FI-ance at 10pm. Then, I head back to the quart and dig out all the cookie pieces I can find in the top half. My stomach disagrees with these decisions. My toilet's not happy about it either.

6/9/07: The FI-ance takes Lila to get an oil change while I wait at home for the Orkin man. He has them check the brakes too, since we know they're winding down. The mechanics say, "What brakes? This car has no brakes." I put $600 on the "emergency only" credit card.

While in the Wal-Mart parking lot, I make FI-ance get out of the car and dispose of a spider on my windshield. He refused to kill it and instead knocked it off with a huff. That's better than nothing.

6/8/07: We have money again. In celebration we go to a new place for dinner, Pueblo Solis. I eat way too many chips and get full before my enormous chicken fajitas get to me. I eat some anyway, and dammit they are GOOD. FI-ance needs "to calm everybody down" so we head to Ted Drews for ice-creamy goodness.

6/7/07: The FI-ance and I take mental health days from work. At about 3:15 I go to pay bills online and realize we've got a negative balance. We head to my old bank to withdraw cash to add to the joint account. I've forgotten my atm password and begin screaming. FI-ance tries to reassure me, saying we can go inside, so I pull over. I lose it. Cursing, screaming, crying, banging on the wheel and dash, throwing things and scaring the bank employees standing outside smoking. Because of this my mental health day was not very healthy, but was totally mental.

6/6/07: FI-ance has a night of gaming as I go slowly insane over possible wedding stuff. After having hope restored, I realize again we have no money for even a small service and reception. I begin to panic and cannot fall asleep until almost 4am. I wake up at dawn to pee and see that FI-ance is still playing Empire at War (some geekfest Star Wars thing). I encourage him to stay home from work since he drives a lot on twisty roads and has had no sleep. He'll only stay home if I do. Not a problem at all.

6/2/07: I've become obsessed with wedding planning. In my search for an affordable location and caterer I see that it all costs too much. I complain to the FI-ance and begin to cry. He offers a suggestion and things seem brighter. Still, I cry myself to sleep. I am such a girl.

5/31/07: A really strange night. As I get ready for bed I notice a huge cockroach in the hall near the laundry baskets. I begin to scream. FI-ance is in the bathroom and takes time out of his busy schedule to let me know he can't help right now. NO SHIT. I smash the beast with a phone book right in front of the closed bathroom door, then jump up and down on it to make sure it's passed on. I lift the book and there is a stain much worse than you can imagine. I know I will never feel the area is clean enough so I have FI-ance bleach it (I know, it turned an odd pink color) and then put a bundle of abandoned Tux fluff on it so the spot is clearly marked.

I try to calm myself by cleaning up a bit. One of the necklaces I laid on the dresser that day is missing. I immediately know who to blame...Tux. I become hysterical, yelling as I look high and low. "I've only had that necklace for two weeks and now it's gone? WHAT THE HELL, TUX?! Why do you hate me? Can't you for once stop being so destructive and mischievous? Why can't I have nice things anymore? Why do boys mess up everything...?"

I cry myself to sleep on the couch. And what's the first thing I see when I wake up? That's right, another roach, but this time in the living room. I chase it across the room into the hall and then the bathroom, spraying it all the way. I corner it and make it die. I pull up the bathroom rug to wash it, and find my necklace. Everything really does happen for a reason.

I wake up in the morning completely worn out. I head out to my car for work and see that some lovely person has eaten something they didn't like AND SPIT GLOBS OF IT ALL OVER LILA. Really? This is the kind of neighborhood we moved into? Honestly? I am frustrated and angry but there is no one nearby for me to kill. I drive to work with hardened food all over my car. I do not care about the staring.

In the Middle of the Night

"Hey, I didn't think you'd be getting back in bed."

"It's 4:30 in the morning, why would I not get back in bed?"

"I don't know. Maybe you went and joined a cult."

*smack*

"That's my girl. Not joining a cult."

Pretty Pretty Shiny

You know internet, every time I think "damn, I really need to get a job I actually want to work at during the day," I get distracted by something shiny. Like a magazine. I'd much rather read a magazine than send out cover letters and resumes and try to convince people more ambitious than myself that I'm worthy of employment. Why am I so fucking lazy when it comes to getting out of this crap job?

You know what else is shiny? Engagement rings that come with the matching wedding band. Yeah, baby. Those are totally fucking shiny. Mama loves that kinda shine. I finally got my ring ordered on Tuesday. I found it by chance a couple of months ago while searching Overstock.com just to see what was out there. This doesn't need mentioning, but I'm saying it anyway...It. Is. FUCKING. SWEET! And we got a great deal on it, it was about 1/2 off the regular price. Even better? I should get it tomorrow!

I know what you're thinking. But what about the surprise? Having the FI-ance spring it on you at some fancy restaurant or mid-air on a ferris wheel while you eat funnel cake? What about the romance? Where's the cute story in ordering your own ring? Well, I ain't gonna lie. I would love that. Which is why, when Mr. FedEx brings that ring to my j.o.b. tomorrow I'm going to fight with all my heart the urge to just slap that puppy on my finger. Seriously, internet, I've thought about it. I can do this. Open the box, make sure it's ok, and then close it up and not tell anyone I've got it.

When I get home it goes to the FI-ance and he's in charge of figuring out a way to present it to me so that it's all special and shit. And, this has to happen before the weekend is over.

You hear that, boy? SPECIAL PRESENTATION. BEFORE. THE WEEKEND. IS. OVER.

Chocolate Ass

I almost cried last night. The urge quickly degraded into short bursts of nervous laughter, but just barely.

What exactly is the issue with boys and messiness? I do not understand. The solution is so simple. Put your jacket in the coat closet. Hang up your pants. Sell those old video games or get rid of them. Why is my FI-ance so hard to train?

To his credit, he's not horrible at keeping up with stuff. As he said last night, "I'm way neater than most straight men." And yeah, he's probably right about that, but I cannot get him to finally do the few things that would make our house look like a real home. And it's not like I'm asking for the place to look like a magazine layout. It just needs to be more organized. I admit some of this is on me (not taking the Goodwill stuff to the donation center, leaving my box of books to sell under the coffee table...), but more of it is the FI-ance.

Case in point. Last night we watched tv from the couch and ate on the coffee table. We always do this because we are tv/movie people and we are also food people. And we don't have a dining room table or enough space in the kitchen to eat in there. After we finished I started to clear things away. The FI-ance shifted in his seat and I saw something.

"Stand up."

"I hope there isn't going to be any yelling."

"Stand. Up."

He did. And what the hell, for the SECOND time in LESS THAN seven days...HE HAD SAT ON CHOCOLATE. I am not even kidding, internet. He's 36 years old and twice this month the man has SAT on food on my couch. What the Hell is wrong with him?

"I'm sorry baby. Please don't be mad at me. I don't mean to sit on food. Really I don't do it on purpose...Come on...I'm a BOY. I'm messy."

I was slowly dissolving. In the grand scheme this is nothing. He's nice and helpful and caring and he bathes. But this? This matters too, internet! And he thinks it's all so funny. I came so close to crying but just couldn't. Why did I want to cry? Because after having the couch for four years I finally got BRAND NEW COUCH COVERS just last month. And every week sees a new stain. Courtesy of the FI-ance. Spaghetti sauce, pizza sauce, computer dirt, and now (twice) chocolate.

So he apologized a lot, but it sorta doesn't matter. I know he didn't mean to do it, but he laughed through the whole apology!

"That's why we got the covers, so we can wash them."

"As much as you spill food they'll be thread-bare in less than a month."

"Oh, honey, come on. What do you expect from me?"

"I expect you to not fucking sit on chocolate! You didn't even move! How does food get UNDER your ass when you don't even move! What the fuck is wrong with you!? From now on I wash the clothes, underwear and towels, and you can wash the sheets, blankets and slipcovers. Seriously fucker."

I didn't go to bed angry or anything because I was never angry. Just really, abidingly disappointed. I feel like I should just serve dinner on the couch. Fuck all the dishes we've got. Or dye the covers (Did I mention the couch is natural colored? Oh yes, it's that bad.) black so nothing but cat hair ever shows.

Dammit, internet! Why can't a girl living with a boy have nice things? Whhhhyyyyy!?

Wild Kingdom

I'm not used to animals. You know that, right? I mean, I'm finally used to the Tuxikitten and he still freaks me out sometimes, with all his cat-like sneakiness and appearing out of nowhere.

Anyway, we've got about six stray cats that hang out in the neighborhood. They like to wander from yard to yard, peeing and eating things. Imagine my surprise as I sat in the FI-ance's car yesterday and watched one of the strays coming from our yard. That alone isn't a big deal. But, as kitty got closer to the car I noticed a freaky sight--KITTEN HAD A KILL IN ITS MOUTH.

Oh God, ya'll. I have never seen anything like it. Whatever Killerkitten was carrying was pretty damn big and fuzzy. Aside from the horror that that thing might've been caught in our yard, I watched in shock as Killer dropped its prey, sat down in our yard and began to play with it. Then, of course, Killer started gnawing. It was like watching a train wreck happen, you know there's carnage and pain but you're so stunned it's in front of you that you can't look away.

And, obviously, since I'm all freaked out, the FI-ance is totally ambivalent: "Aww, that's a good kitty cat. That kitty cat's doing its job, being a good little hunter...ewww." Luckily he drove away before we saw much more. Also lucky? When we got home The Killer and The Dead were completely gone from our yard. Not a single trace of the circle of life was in place. Thank God.
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You know internet, I really like you. So, as a friend, I'm going to give you some advice: don't ever issue threats to spiders. Do what you need to, but don't say anything about it, because they'll find out and they will not be happy.

So, after all my trauma last Saturday night I spent the week going back and forth in Lila trying not to think about the new species I'd discovered in the car then. Everything was fine because ignorance is utter bliss. Thursday changed that.

I was trying to get to work and running late as usual. I threw my things in the car and did a quick look inside to make sure no spideys were apparent. As soon as I take off I notice another huge , white spider hiding in the space between the side mirror and the thing that holds the mirror onto the car. I actually remained fairly calm. Spidey was away from me and I couldn't get to him in there going 80mph, so I figured I'd wait until I hit a light after getting off the highway. Which is exactly what I did.

I keep a can of cheap air freshener in my car for just this reason. It kills and freshens. Brilliant! I sprayed the bugger and he tried to escape by crawling toward my window which I quickly rolled back up and saw that he rolled himself into a little ball...I thought.

At the next light legs appeared wriggling and I realized what I'd done. When I rolled up the window I sorta...cut the spider in half. I know! Stop it, I feel bad enough already! I have no love for spiders, but I don't want them to suffer when I dispense of them. And I absolutely don't want to watch them suffer. It's been days now, and every now and then I see those three legs and half body waving about wildly, almost like it's begging for help. Then the motion stops and it falls on the door and the wind blows it away. Man! It was actually sad and I still feel terrible about that. I swear I try to be humane in my kills.

Well, then all Hell broke loose. It was like every spider in the tri-state area knew what I'd done. They came out of every crease and crevice in my car. They lined up on the dash board wearing little gas masks and carrying shields. Ok, not really but that's what it seemed like. Have you ever tried to kill spiders while driving alone? I could have died.

As I pulled into the garage at work I had to stop suddenly and take off my shoe to kill one that came out near the top of my head. Then another one jumped down from a web on my door. I couldn't get the shoe off again so I sprayed it and it fell God knows where. That was the last straw. I pulled over and jumped out of the car. I could not find that fucker anywhere so I started spraying every surface in the car with Glade. I spritzed every little corner, seam, and most of the floor. Nothing. No sign of it. After about 15 minutes of screaming (yes, at the car in the garage at work as people came and went around me...what was I supposed to do?), sweating, spraying and praying I quickly got back in, parked and jumped out. I had one of the valets wash and vacuum Lila while I was at work. I gave him a five dollar tip.

On Friday I had a realization: if I treat the car with the bug spray I used in the house I should be ok. Since I found a web inside my car this morning, I believe I'll be doing that tonight.

I Love Lila

Lila Ford is my pewter 1998 Ford Escort. Yeah, I know they don't make those anymore. She needs new brakes. There are several cracks and one brand new fracture on her windshield. (Really, it's surprising that I haven't had to have the windshield replaced by now. I always get stuck on the highway behind some rickety Fred Sanford junk truck with rusty rakes, old couches and other beat-up crap hanging outta the back. And they have those humongoid mud flaps that, instead of just moving the street stuff away from the truck, make every pebble fly at me at 3,000 miles per hour. Hence. The cracks.)

Lila's horn has a short in it. I can only hit the side of the horn with the little ABS etching in it, or the horn sounds...and won't stop. The light on the gear shift has gone out and I keep forgetting to get it replaced, so when it's dark I have to turn the overhead on to make sure I'm in the right gear.

I love my Lila Ford. She is the first car I've ever owned. I bought her brand new when I'd been out of college for a little over a year. Actually, it was August 14, 1998. Yeah, I remember it that well. After four years of using St. Louis' slow-ass busses and (pretty cool but often crowded) Metro-Link, I remember well the day I no longer had to ride with the funky, loud and crazy. Or the occasional stray chicken bone.

Even though I love Lila I have not been a very good mommy as of late. Like, in the last three years. Because that's how long it's been since I've washed my car.

Oh my God! Do not judge me internet! I swear I've meant to. I can't take her to one of those gas station car washes because I've always heard that they take the paint off. With apartment living, and no hose, can you imagine how difficult and time consuming it was to carry buckets back and forth to clean her? Well, I did it. For years, I did it. And prior to that I paid to have it done, every month. I was good for a while I really was. Then I found these giant handi-wipe like things that cleaned the car without water. They took a lot of elbow grease but I used them for over a year. Then? Then...

I got lazy and Lila got dirty. There's a fine coat of dust on her dash. The floor is littered with little dead leaves, scraps of paper and a bit of dried brownie (God that brownie was good). When the FI-ance and I moved I put a plant in the trunk. It promptly tipped over and rolled around as I drove even though I thought it was well braced. How much do you want to bet that the dirt is still in my trunk FOUR MONTHS LATER?

I've been saying for years that I was finally going to take care of my Lila. Well, Saturday was the last straw. Why? Because...THERE. WERE. SPIDERS.

The FI-ance was getting over the flu and craving a Quater Pounder With Cheese, so I made him go to McDonald's with me (I swear he really was feeling better. And, as an additional side note, he wore his robe, a pair of underwear, flip flops and a black snap brim cap. See? Even when he's sick he's cool.)

We're in my car sitting at a light and he goes: "Hey, look. There's a spider on the outside of the window." Immediate panic. I rolled up the window and ran the wipers to try and kill it, then began to itch all over. But that's not the worst of it. I looked at the FI-ance to ask if he saw the damn spider die. As soon as I finish the question my gaze is drawn upward to his sun visor, which is mere millimeters from his cap. And playing host to another very, very large spider.
Then I started screaming.

I turned the light on so he could kill it, but of course "spiders kill worse things, we like spiders. I can't just kill it." Me=Still Screaming. But now I'm driving too because the light's changed. He grabs some ephemera from somewhere in the car and attempts to put the beast out the window. What kills me is that we don't know if he got it OUTSIDE or not. It was too dark and FI-ance was too goofy from flu to notice for sure.

So, America's spiders are officially on notice. As of this weekend Lila Ford will be spotless and unable to accept any new occupants. You dig?

Ahh, Spring...

We were hit with an unexpected cold snap at the beginning of April. Blooming things had to retreat to the earth from wince they came, and those that couldn't will have to wait until next year to be seen again.

Saturday was chilly and rainy, but a fun and family-filled day. The FI-ance and my parents are this close to meeting now, since we saw them both on Saturday (the first time this happened on a non-holiday). His 'rents are the very eager type; if they're up early they assume we are too and insist on calling. Of course, this time we were glad they called because they were about half way to our still-sleep-filled house. On top of that we had to take the FI-ance's car for an oil change before they got to us and it was only 9:30am. Suddenly I had to put on clothes, hide stray underwear and clean the bathroom. And you know there's more, right? I'd told Mrs. FI-ance that I'd scan all the photos she gave me of FI-ance as a wobbly-headed boy by Saturday so that if we saw them she could take her albums back. You know I didn't do it. Stop playing, internet.

After a fairly short visit, where the 'rents dropped off the FI-ance's ladders and loaned us a big ol' saw for hacking away at the tree in the backyard, we picked up the car and then headed out to lunch. I wanted a simple soup and sandwich BAD, but the FI-ance wanted Chinese so I gave in and settled on our local Chinese Buffet. Don't get me wrong, I love a good buffet. My problem is that I love them too much. I always eat one plate too many and I always know I'm doing it.

What did me in this time? Oh, Lord. The. Peach. Cobbler. I will admit here that I am a bit oddball-like because I hate peaches and hate cooked peaches even more. But? But. That peach juice combined with a crispy, brown, flaky crust gets me every time. I had two heaping helpings. Almost ate myself sick.

Which brings me to all my health issues. I went to an internist Monday, she did a little physical exam and told me nothing felt or looked unusual. I go back tomorrow morning for blood work so they can check for thyroid conditions, diabetes, cholesterol issues...

Can I make a confession? I would love to be able to blame my insane weight gain on a semi-serious illness. LOVE IT. How sick is that? Obviously I had to step on a scale when I went to the doctor, and I've gained about 7 pounds since January. I thought about ordering some pants for summer today (size 22 women's...yay), but have since become a bit depressed. I look at all the crap I could be buying if I weren't so fat - cheap, cute stuff. Then I look at the fat people clothes - mostly matronly and expensive. Or, if they're cute, REALLY OUTRAGEOUSLY expensive. I cannot win.

It's also possible I've got irritable bowl syndrome. I might have to go to a gastrointerologist to see for sure. If my blood work comes back clear I'll have no more excuses; it'll be pretty clear that the fatigue is probably due to my 40lbs-in-one-year weight gain.

My doc suggested Weight Watchers and actually going to the meetings. I know it works for a lot of people, but it just seems so cheesy (mmmmm...cheeeeeese...). Sitting in a depressing little room filled with fat people talking about how hard it is to stop being fat. Not being able to say words like "cookie", "barbecue", "ham" or "bread" because it might be some fat fuck's trigger word or whatever.

Dammit. Can you tell how my day's going?

March=Medicine

You know what internet? I've had a weird month. There's been a vague sense of intestinal illness hovering about me all March long. It's irritating. I can't seem to regulate the bloating, farting, going-to-the-bathroom, not-going-to-the-bathroom stuff. I've taken so much stuff to settle my stomach in the last 30 days that I, personally, could keep the Tums and Rolaids people afloat.

I even had to take two days off just for all the farting. It was honestly gas that you would not believe. What do you mean, why am I telling you this? It's Friday morning, stop pretending you've got something better to do. Ok?

Anyway, it was insane. The entire two days I was off I thought something bigger and badder had to be coming, but it never did. I finally took Immodium just to stop the bloat-fart cycle. Unfortunately it also stopped another cycle, which lead to one interesting night a couple of weeks ago.

About four months ago I got recommendations from my gyno for a GP. I sent an email to one (who takes my insurance) to get an appointment, but never heard anything. I was trying to avoid talking to anybody if I didn't have to, but now I suppose I've got no choice.

Fuck.

Has It Really Come To This?

I was minding my own business Thursday night. Doing a little pre-bed grooming: washing the face, brushing the teeth and such. I noticed the eyebrows needed some maintaining. So I started plucking. What, you ask is so special about that? Well, nothing. Except? Except that I HAD TO PLUCK A GRAY EYEBROW HAIR.

Damn. Really? At 32? This is what my future holds now? Gray facial hairs? Seriously?

Don't get me wrong, I realize this is nobody's fault. But I don't think I can do this. It's bad enough I get the occasional whisker that needs removing. I've been dealing with that crap since I was about 24. But if I have to yank a gray whisker from any of my whisker-spots prior to my 40th birthday, I truly think it may kill me.

So, face? You're on notice asswipe. Tone that shit down.

7:20AM Sucks

Well, it finally happened. After getting to work a half hour late for a few days I finally got spanked. I had to have a mid-point catch-up thingy with my supervisor last Friday, and was quite gently told to stop my being late bullshit. I really had been meaning to work on that, but you know what? I hate waking up early and hadn't gotten in trouble so I said fuck it. I knew it was crap, though, so I'm attempting to rectify my shit.

I got up before 8am yesterday and damned if it didn't screw me over. I got a headache, my eyeball started itching and then I felt sick to my stomach. And yes, I honestly do believe getting up early did all that to me.

It is now the same time that I started to fall apart yesterday. Wish me luck.

My Right Boob Is Out Of Control

No matter what bra I put on, it's like Right Boobica has a mind of her own. Every time I look down I find she's trying to unleash herself on the world. I freely admit to staying far away from underwired, super-supportive, side-binding, back-flattening, old-droopy-lady bras. But dammit, Boobica! Control yourself already!!
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I had a dream the night before last. I've had some well-documented freak show dreams, but this one was odd mainly for it's brevity. It was a dark, rainy night. The FI-ance and I were living in the house I grew up in, which had two front doors; one where the door really was on the right side, and one on the left side. The house was dark and we heard a noise. We opened the left door to a life-sized milk chocolate rendering of Arnold Swartzenegger. That was it. I think I might donate my brain to science after I die.
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Almost two weeks ago now I was using the bathroom and talking to my mom on the phone (Quiet! She's my mom, ok?). The house came with one of those storage-y over-the-toilet cabinet things, and Tux likes to lounge around up there. You know, maybe look out the window a bit. Well, silly-cat-face was doing just that, and as he tried to back out of the window onto the top shelf he fell. Onto me. As I talked on the phone while sitting on the toilet. My life, it can get no better.
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So, I went to the eye doctor Wednesday. Apparently my glasses are useless now, even though I hadn't noticed. I've got more myopias & astigmatisms & such, and therefore spent $400 on new glasses. While I'm glad I had the cash to spend and didn't need to lay it on my Citibank, I was really wanting to get something fun and basically frivolous with my tax refund. Like a new camera, or a nice little trip someplace. An additional $400 is going to be spent on starting to fix our screwy pipes. That leaves about $125. Damned responsibility.
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Also on Wednesday? Another bathroom adventure. I'm not entirely sure what's wrong with me. I eat a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast almost everyday, suck down lots of veggies and fruit. But what happened for the second time in 7 days? Yes, I stopped up the toilet. Honestly? That's just not ladylike. What's worse is that after a half hour of plunging (my hand has been sore for two days...shut up), I still couldn't get things to move along, out of my life and out of my house. The FI-ance had fallen asleep at his desk, but I woke him up and if my face weren't so naturally brown it would have turned bright red because I was em-bar-ras-sed. I asked him if he wanted to try. He thankfully said no (I really didn't want him going in there and seeing...well, what he would have had to see), so I headed to WalMart. Thank God they had a toilet snake. Incidentally? As I left and drove home I felt like everyone I passed knew I PERSONALLY had clogged up a toilet.

My Financial Nitwittery Strikes Again

My current major source of consternation is my own idiocy. I've managed twice in the past two months to incur 4 insufficient funds fees and, for about a week, a long string of negative balance fees. The most fantastic part? These God dammed fees ate up a healthy portion of my state tax refund. I finally got up the nerve to call and try to get the shit waived yesterday, but as I suspected, it was no use. I suppose I could've been harder nosed or tried crying, but it's my own fucking fault. I really will get it together one day.

On a considerably more positive note, I've begun saving again. I set up automatic deposits to my savings account on the 15th of every month, with the added hope of putting something in at every other pay period too. I have not told the FI-ance, but now that he's read this I hope he'll continue to trust my spankin' new saving acumen and just let me handle this. OK, boy?

The thing about having a house is that issues just keep coming. We had finally gotten all settled when we noticed the basement drain backing up every time we did the laundry. We called a plumber...and then we called him again 3 days later. Turns out our pipes are offset and that's what's with all the blockage. It's apparently a lateral line problem, which means our fair city has to come out and run a camera through the pipes to see where the issue is.

What's that you say? Oh, heavens no! The camera work isn't free, that'll be $400 please, says the city of Kirkwood. On top of that, when we finally go to get the crap fixed for good we'll be on the hook for %40 of the $3,000 to $6,000 cost of repairs, even though it's the city's pipes that are fucked. What the Hell! As long as nothing is going to cave in, the FI-ance and I have agreed to wait and not put ourselves into anymore debt over this pipe thing. And (knockonwoodpraisetheLord) the basement hasn't backed up in two weeks anyway.

Also, we could use more kitchen cabinets. We've gotten rid of a ton of pots, pans, dishes and utensils, but there still isn't enough room for what's left and, you know...food. I've had to resort to using the oven as storage space, and not just the broiler part at the bottom, but the whole damn thing, y'all. We have one good wall for cabinets, and the FI-ance's estimate of parts and labor sets us back $500 big ones. Why couldn't the heifer who rehabbed this place had thought to put those up? I mean how is anybody supposed to fit all their dishes and food and shit into 4 cabinets, one of which has the sink/garbage disposal pipes running through it? Bitch, please.

Now that's it's warming up a bit there are some spring type things we need. A water hose, stain and seal for the deck, a rake, lawn mower, edge trimmer, and definitely some pest control. Every time I venture into the basement now, I see at least one roach. I cannot stand the idea of those things in my house. Even in the basement. Now, we had a conversation about this just last night: the FI-ance claims (though he hasn't seen any of the bugs) that I'm not seeing roaches. "I bet some of them are beetles." Honestly, I realize that an unfinished basement, especially, is gonna have buggles of all kinds. But I know a roach when I see one. And, yes, we have roaches, of the cock variety, in the nethers of our house.

I'm trying to be reasonable about it. I wanted to go to Lowe's or Home Depot and get one of those giant bug jugs with the sprayer on it, douse the outside of the house and a few important corners inside and be done with it. FI-ance wants to call the Orkin man. Here I am trying to be all do-it-yourselfy, and he wants to spend more money on professional spraying service. Cause that's all there is to it, right? You buy some good killin' stuff, spray it and you're done. Right?

My Current List of Problems

-Being bored at work
-Sick of getting up and going to work everyday but still needing the paycheck
-Having a dining room full of bags and boxes and no idea where to put them
-Owning an excessive amount of books, towels and silverware even though I've given several away
-Staying at home way too much
-1 unfinished screenplay that I wanted to enter into 2 contests by the end of February
-No savings and a huge list of things I need and want
-Being tired all the time, and therefore not doing other things that will make my life better (cooking instead of eating fast food, exercising instead of napping, organizing the house, working on creative ideas, going out at night like a normal relatively young person...)
-No comfort with socializing
-Having trouble keeping in contact with my few non-work friends
-Feeling really busy yet knowing I don't actually do anything
-Seemingly being completely non-orgasmic and thereby becoming less and less interested in sex

I took care of two of these issues this weekend. The lack of energy thing has plagued me for months now, so I finally decided to give up my Flintstones Chewables and try a more mature vitamin. I picked that all day energy One-A-Day kind. I didn't feel anything on Saturday when I had my first dose (I had to cut the pill in half, btw. Why do vitamins have to be so fuckin' HUGE?), but I got a major burst of something Sunday night at 11pm. I started cleaning the dining room and got rid of 6 boxes and 5 bags of our combined crap, put together a bookcase and filled it and two other cases with books. I went to bed at 3am. You know I'm almost dead now, right? I mean, I can feel my eyes trying to go to sleep without my permission as I type. I'm trying so hard to keep busy at work today so things go by quickly and I can get home by 5pm to take a nap before heading out to review my first film (Music and Lyrics) in almost two months.

*snore*

Dear Tux,

Dammit Cat! For the love of Sweet Fuzzy Jesus, please, please stop throwing up. Seriously, like, what do you need, really? Less cat food? More cat food? Different cat food? I cannot take the cat vomit any more.

This morning (7:21 am, luckily just 9 minutes before my alarm was set to go off-you know, the perfect time to get me up) when I awoke to your *hec, hec, hec* vomit convulsions ON THE BED I was so not happy. Is this really the way you like to wake up the people who feed, pet and shelter you? REALLY? 'Cause how about a meow or some purring near our faces, yeah...I hear some cats like to do it that way.

So, the bed. I can only thank God that it was on a small spot on the actual sheets-which I had to run downstairs and wash. But did you have to also spew on the bed post, bed frame, the FI-ance's bike spokes by the bed and the floor around it all? Did you? Huh!? Ok, just my opinion here, but I believe THAT was unnecessary.

You know what Tuximillion? Don't answer any previous questions, just promise me this: while we have most of our possessions in bags, boxes, baskets and crates as we try to put this house together, please, PLEASE don't throw up in, on or around them. I do not want to open a box labeled BOOKS and find my Kate Chopin covered in fur turds.

Maxiporium

I discovered something interesting about myself while engaged in the moving of my stuff this month. I sorta have a lot of maxi pads. Wait, not sorta a lot, but SO MANY THAT IF MENSTRUATION LASTED FROM CONCEPTION UNTIL DEATH NO WOMAN WOULD EVER USE THEM ALL.

I'm thinking about opening a store. Maybe I'll call it The House That Maxis Built. What about Maxi's Place? Maxiporium is a favorite, but I'm open to ideas. After all, the store would be for the greater good, you know.

I. Am A Child

I just had to ask my mom for $500. I feel horrible.

We were prepared for about half of the expense, then we found all this little house crap that needed to be added to what we're having this handyman/carpenter/electrician dude do for us. Because I'm an idiot who's spent her last check on pants (because she's grown out of 6 pairs) and meals out (because she hasn't felt like cooking or saying no her FI-ance) we don't have enough left to pay him and pay my last rent at the old place and the internet man. All this stuff is happening before I get paid again. The FI-ance is paying my rent, the internet guy and an assortment of bills from his old place; leaving not much for our handyman.

I cannot remember the last time I asked my mom for money. It was literally several years ago, probably the last time I moved in 2000. I know for a fact she paid for that. This feels way worse though, because now there's two of us footing the bill for stuff.

But, she's my mom. She said yes and told me to stop by after work today. And considering all the things she's helped me with in the past I know she won't hold it over me or even expect to be repaid. Which will make repaying her (this time, for real) so sweet.

I did sense a certain trepidation in her voice. I think she believes we (ok, me specifically) weren't ready for this living together thing. God, we cannot fall on our faces.

Unbelieveable

I've been mad at the FI-ance for three days now.

It started on Tuesday when he made a big deal of telling me he'd be home early, but then stayed at work late anyway. Then he was all excited about getting stainless steel hoses for the washing machine. So we spent the next hour and a half calling for prices (I will be so glad when we finally have our internet connected at the house!) and then roaming around Lowe's looking for that shit.

I was thinking,"ok, most of the night's busted, but at least we can get some stuff from my place and work on the house." Yeah, that would've been nice. But it didn't happen.

He elected not to go to my apartment with me so he could 1)install the washer and dryer 2)put up the shower rod and 3)put our mailbox up. Not that those things didn't need to be done, but dammit I really wanted his help. And now the balance of the evening was going to be spent apart.

My FI-ance was thinking this was going to be a speedy little trip, and so did I at first. Then I got there and got even more pissed that he wasn't helping me and decided to grab as much as I could, which ended up taking about two hours. He rang my cell just as I was trying to come in the door with my arms full.

Here, internet, is what got me seriously angry. HE DIDN'T OFFER TO HELP CARRY MY CRAP INSIDE. Oh, not that bad, you say? Well, I asked him to help me. AND HE DECLINED. That's right, the FI-ance decided not to help me so he could get back to his installation of things that could have been finished, OVER THE PREVIOUS WEEKEND. (Side note: he did say he felt a cold or something coming on during that weekend and he was trying to rest up for Sunday's big move, it's not that I don't believe it...but, still.)

Oh, Hell! I was so mad. I already had to take 7 trips to and from the car at my apartment and now I have to do the same thing because you won't help me? I wanted to throw a box at his head.

He then had the nerve to ask if I'd go to WalMart with him while he picked up a dryer hose or some such mechanical crap, SO WE COULD SPEND SOME TIME TOGETHER. No, I'm not even playing. Those were his exact words. At first I said no because it was after midnight and I was tired and pissed and in my pj's. Then he needed help putting up the mailbox, so I had to put on clothes and then figured I might as well go to WalMart and buy shit I didn't need to make me feel less like stuffing my fiance' in the dryer and running it on high.

What's worse is that he did it again last night, make me mad that is. Because he got home by 7pm last night, but it was so he could watch Smallville. You read right. At home early; not to see me, but to watch a fucking tv show. I was angry all night and just like Tuesday told him so.

Now that everything's hooked up, maybe I'll put him in the washer and then dry him. I do so love to have options.

He's Not A Trucker

We delayed our actual big, truck-renting moving day until Sunday because of the Ice Storm of the Century that never materialized. I cannot express, after over a FULL YEAR of going back and forth between two apartments, how badly I wanted to get this consolidation thing DONE.
The FI-ance suggested, originally, a 24 foot U-Haul. So, that's what I got. Sunday morning, running behind schedule already, we go to pick it up and his face blanches.

"I...I think this may be too much truck for me. I mean, I've never driven that much truck before. That...that's BIG."

I stared at him from inside the truck, where I was checking the starting miles and fuel level. Internet, I do believe you know me well enough to guess my feelings on this.

"What? Listen, I'm sorry, but I need a smaller truck. Would you rather have me drive something I'm almost sure I can't handle? That's a lotta truck to be responsible for. And I'm not even sure that would fit into your parking lot and around those turns; all that's kinda small."

I know it's unreasonable, internet, but I was livid. So mad I could barely speak. So angered that I almost started crying. I just wanted to get this shit over with and he was breaking the flow.

I did get a smaller truck. A 17 footer to be exact, and I thank the SWEETBABYJESUS for that. As it was the FI-ance: ran into a stop sign, knocked over a street sign, drove onto at least 2 sidewalks and scraped off half of a wheel well while running over curbs.

I'm so glad he convinced me to get that insurance at the rental place.

Everything Smells Funny

And by "everything", I mean me. The FI-ance and me moved into the new house this weekend, and what a looong weekend it was. But I'm not saying that in a good way.

I took my first shower last night after almost 4 days of being too tired to bother. Not to mention needing to locate towels and soap and lotion. Or the fact that when you know you're going to get smelly again the next day, why make the extreme effort of showering?

I'm clean now but I swear I'm still faintly funky. I can't take a bath yet because 1) I don't trust the bathtub (I cleaned it out but haven't bleached it and therefore it isn't butt worthy yet) and 2) the damn tub doesn't have a stopper.

You know how they bomb homes for pest control? That's what I feel like I need for personal funk. Anybody know where they sell a B.O. Bomb?

My Fiance Doesn't Like Bending: News At Eleven

I'm going to try real hard to post about this without snark. It's gonna be hard, ok? But I'm doing it because I love you boy. Now, on to the story.

So you know how we bought this house, right? Well there aren't many cabinets in the kitchen and we'll need to get something to put ALL THE FOOD THAT BOY EATS in. My ideas for a solution were of the obvious baker's rack/inhanced microwave cart type. Then the boy reveals his long held secret: HE DOES NOT LIKE TO BEND.

I was confused. See, I have a microwave cart at my place where I keep most of my canned goods/cereal/assorted dry foods. Apparently, for this whole year, the boy has been irritated by the fact that he has to bend down and look through the cart to get to his beloved bean-n-bacon soup. Still, I was confused. Because, you know, bending is just a part of life. Right? Everybody bends all the time, don't we? You pick up stuff, don't you? Put air in your tires. Or duck down when the head clearance is low. Right? RIGHT???

We have now had at least two arguments about not putting things we use often so close to the floor (!), and in something where everything can't be seen at once (!!). One of these heated conversations took place in the crowded customer service line at WalMart. Yes, really. We are now those people. The kind that make you all uncomfortable when you're trying to return the air matress you poked a hole into with your nipple piercing but are pretending it came with that hole, dammit.

After initially laughing my head off and admittedly making fun of the boy, I've tried to take the high road and figure out a solution that will...accomodate him. But as he's very sensitive about this primary priority issue, he gets frustrated and irritable whenever we discuss it. I suggested, during our WalMart confrontation, that he be in charge of organizing whatever storage thingie we put in the kitchen. Maybe it was just hunger, but can you believe that pissed him off? I bet you can believe him getting pissed made me pretty damn angry. I was honestly being all sincere and stuff, internet.

We looked at some options this weekend, and still can't come to a final decision. He essentially wants a baker's rack made of wood that we won't have to assemble. I know, what the hell, right?

Totally. I cannot believe how much effort we're having to put into this. But, always remember boy: rawr, RAWR, raaaaawwr.