Heart shaped rocks

Heart shaped rocks

Hey! Wait! I’ve got a new complaint.

Ok, I don’t really have a new complaint, but I’ve had that Nirvana song stuck in my head for the better part of the last 24 hours now. And yes, I know the song is Heart Shaped Box, not heart shaped rocks, but I found a bunch of heart shaped rocks yesterday, and that’s where my 90% song lyrics and movie quotes brain went with it. Let’s back up just a little bit though, and get to why this is even something I’m bothering to get my blog therapy on with.

Sometimes I feel as if Urban Dictionary hit the nail on the head when they described the tiny little town that I live in like this:  “A little hell hole of a city in Utah where 98% of the population are close minded hicks or Mormons. The weather ranges between freaking hot to freaking cold. There’s a point system to how many prairie dogs you can hit on the way to Colorado. The school system is run by the not German Nazis. The shittiest city on earth to attend high school in. A black meaningless void of which you’ll never escape once you’ve set foot in it. A geographic anomaly in which everything is approximately 3 and half hours away.” In all fairness though, everything is approximately 3 hours away, and 2 1/2 if law enforcement and wildlife cooperate.

Living in this little geographic anomaly tends to make things particularly difficult for the girl who prefers anonymity and generally only dates in those areas 3 hours away. It’s nice, because then nobody knows your business (including the guys, who don’t realize you’re not really worth the trouble…), but here’s the catch 22: sometimes this shit actually works out, and then that 3 hours is a huge pain in the ass. Case in point: I was kind of, sort of dating this really awesome guy a couple of years ago. Then life got in the way and the 3 hour commute was a bit much for either one of us. Ok…full disclosure: we were totally cockblocked by Mother Nature one winter when the relentless witch decided that mountain passes were going to be impassable without 4WD every single weekend he didn’t have his kids. Anyway, he started dating someone else without the 3 hour commute, and I went back to business as normal in the geographic anomaly where my social/dating life is a giant black hole. We stayed friends though, because we’re adults who can handle shit like that.

Skipping forward a couple of years, this guy and I are still great friends. He gets me, I get him, and he has this uncanny ability to contact me when I’m having THE worst day. It’s the best really; if I had it all to do over again, I’d get friend-zoned by him again without even thinking twice about it. Come to think about it, I’d happily get friend-zoned again by literally everyone Tinder has made me cross paths with. But back to the story. Life has been a GIANT douche to this friend of mine lately, and when I talk to him about it(OK, text, because there are like 12 ways of contacting me on my phone, and none of them require me actually using it as a phone…..but also because I can text while at work), I like to throw in the not so subtle message of #MoveToVernal. We both realize this is a scorched Earth option. It’s 3 hours away from his kids, although, I also joke about befriending his ex-wife and then convincing her to move here, so then his kids will be here too. Realistically though, none of that is going to happen. It didn’t stop the talks about this #MoveToVernal option from getting just a little bit serious over the past little while though, and I hate how much I liked the thought of that.

So what’s to hate about the thought of one of your closest friends moving to the same town you live in? Well….there wasn’t any problem with it, until I saw a picture of him with his kids this weekend. They were all so incredibly happy. He is seriously THE best dad, and my first thought upon seeing that picture was “there is absolutely no way he can be 3 hours away from them,” and I felt like a giant asshole for even suggesting it. My next thought was “What in the hell is this crushing feeling in my soul?” That was coupled with the reality that it was feelings. Gross right? I walked right in to the damn things.

Yesterday, my BFF and keeper of my secrets invited me to go to the lake with her and some of her friends. I needed some sun, water, and friends in my life, so of course I went. At one point we decided to jump off the boat and wander around on the beach. We were walking on some wet sand, when all of the sudden we sunk almost up to our knees in the wet, muddy sand. While the kids were laughing about it, it was poetic justice for me really. That damn muddy sand was a whole hell of a lot like those feelings I had fallen right in to for a minute. I was just walking along the beach of life, and then *bam* stepped right in to feelings.

We pulled ourselves out of the mud pretty easily and washed off in the lake, then continued on along the beach looking for cool stuff. One of the girls we were with found some sweet sunglasses, and I found a plethora of freaking heart shaped rocks. I skipped right over the first few of them, but then I had an idea. I kept 4 of the heart shaped rocks and took them with me on the swim back to the boat. Only 3 of them survived; the black one that I joked was a replica of mine broke in 2 pieces in my hand as I swam back to the boat. Turns out it was a little more fragile than it looked. (Mother f wording symbolism there!) As for the other heart shaped rocks, I waited until we were in the deepest part of the lake and threw them overboard, because hearts represent feelings, and feelings are overrated, and just a little bit lame.

 

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Build your ideal partner

Build your ideal partner

Memes other people post provide me with endless entertainment on social media. Yesterday’s most memorable: Ladies, you have $5 to build your ideal man. Here are the options.

  1. Good looking $3
  2. Funny $1
  3. Smart $1
  4. Great in bed $2
  5. Faithful $3
  6. Wealthy $3
  7. No kids $1
  8. Tall $1
  9. Great body $2
  10. Romantic $2

People’s responses in the comments were cracking me up. (For the record, almost all of them were liars who said 10 and 5 were all they needed.) My response: It’s a good thing I manage money better than your average girl, because 1-5 are non-negotiable. This response garnered plenty of laughing reactions as well as a message telling me once again that I’m too picky and will never find someone who fits my impossible standards.

Laugh at me all you want; it’s part of my profession after all, but don’t tell me I’m too picky. Can I “build” something I’ll settle for within the limits of the game? Sure, but the game didn’t ask what I’ll settle for; I was asked to build my ideal partner. So in life, as in internet memes, I’ll continue to not play by the rules, or settle just because “it’s time for you to settle down with a nice boy…or girl if that’s what you’re in to.” Life is too short to settle just because everyone thinks you should, and options 1-5 truly are non-negotiable.

You’re like the white Olivia Pope

You’re like the white Olivia Pope

To say I follow politics would be an understatement. I’m completely immersed in and fascinated by politics. I always have been. I hate party politics though. I take the “I side with”  quiz in its entirety, expanding and weighing importance on each question, at least once a year, and definitely during election years, so I can remove the partisan bullshit and just focus on the actual issues. The results are always rather eye-opening, and often end with me realizing I have a fairly different opinion politically than a good portion of my friends and acquaintances.

This political difference isn’t a new thing for me. In 1988, my 3rd grade teacher (Mrs. Moon) held a mock election so we could get in on the fun. I remember her telling us that usually whoever wins in our class election is who wins in our state voting. I remember thinking that was so cool. Of course looking back on it now, I realize “Duh! We are 8 and 9 years old, so our opinion is going to be the same as our voting parent/guardian’s opinion, so obviously the class election and state election will be similar.” While all of my classmates were voting for Bush/Quayle, I was one of few who chose Dukakis/Bensten, not because I had any strong opinions about either candidate, and certainly not because my parents liked Dukakis; I grew up in a Republican household. Why not Bush/Quayle with the rest of the class then? Well, because the week before, while riding my bike to school, some quail ran out of a bush and across the road in front of me, and I didn’t like it, so voting Bush/Quayle wasn’t going to happen. And not that it matters, but that’s where my refusal to “go with the norm” started.

The other day, I was having a political discussion with someone. Our opinions were vastly differing, but it was an actual discussion, not the name calling toddler style garbage that is prevalent in most partisan political discussions. Then the conversation ended like this:
Them: You’re like the white Olivia Pope.
Me: Thank you.
Them: That wasn’t a compliment.
Me: There is no world where that isn’t a compliment.
Them: Well it wasn’t.
Me: Ok.
Them: I mean, you’re like Command Olivia, not OPA Olivia.
Me: STILL not an insult.
Them: Whatever. I don’t even like Scandal.
Me: Yet you know there’s a difference between Command Olivia Pope and OPA Olivia Pope?
Them: Whatever. It just wasn’t a compliment.
Me: Ok, well if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go home, have a glass of wine, and start binge watching all 7 seasons of Scandal again.

To quote the writers that created the powerful gladiator herself, “I am many things, stupid is not one of them,” so I will never not be anything less than 100% ok with someone telling me I remind them of Olivia Pope, because Olivia Pope is a total bad ass.

 

 

“You need to reduce the stress in your life”

“You need to reduce the stress in your life”

My eye has been twitching for the better part of the last week. It’s been driving me absolutely insane, so I called my doctor to chat about it. After a brief conversation, he told me I need to start killing the stupid people and get massages on the regular. I mean, his exact words were “reduce the stress in your life” but I think we all know what he really meant by that.

I told him there were 3 ways I could see to reduce the stress in my life right now. One of them would be to quit my career and just focus on the morning job, which isn’t possible because then I pick up the super fun “I can’t pay my own bills” stress. And of the other two, one of them is illegal in this state, and the other is a bit immoral (this part isn’t the problem) and requires a willing second party (but this part is), so both of those options are out the window too. He laughed, I laughed, and then he offered to refill my xanax prescription so I can at least shut my brain down enough to go to sleep at night, because he correctly assumed that I am also not sleeping.

This is why I can’t change doctors…like ever….because this one gets what I need before I have to ask for it. And because next time I see him, he’ll probably jokingly ask if my method of relieving stress required a decent defense attorney that he may need to forward my medical records to.

The one with the guest blogger

The one with the guest blogger

I have some of the most adorable friends ever. Some of them are avid readers of the blog (sorry for letting you down with the lack of posting lately BTW), and snap me after reading some of the posts with “OMG girl! Same!!” They get it. The apparent offensiveness of being over 20 and single in a small town is just too much for some people to remain silent about. I love it when people share their stories of what people say to them about being single; it’s ever so nice to know that I’m not alone in some of the completely off the wall comments. I love it even more when they email them and say “Put this on your blog, because I want to remain anonymous.” So without further adeiu….the one with the guest blogger:

Are you single? Are you dating anyone?

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked why I’m single. Seriously. Its NUMEROUS times a day, week, month, and year. I can honestly say that in the last 4 months, not one day has gone by without at least one person making some type of comment. (136 days to be exact. I’ve kept track) I know people want the best for me, are concerned for me, want me to be happy, blah, blah, blah. But let’s be honest, every time someone starts the conversation with, “Are you dating anyone?”, it feels as though they are reaching in my chest pulling my heart out, throwing it on the dirty ground, and stomping it. Instead of asking me how I’m doing or what exciting things are going on in my life. Instant shut down. I don’t want to talk to you any longer. I will find any possible way to get out of the conversation in the next 30 seconds. I’ve even been known to start up a conversation with a perfect stranger to get out of the awkwardness…

Sometimes along with the questions dripping with concern come the awkward questions… “Are you sure you’re not a lesbian?” I know what vaginas do, I’ll pass. “Have you tried a dating app?” Yep. Sure have. Still occasionally dabble in a few. Dick pics daily. Do want me send them to you? “What if you moved out of this small town?” Did that. Still didn’t get married “I know this friend’s brother’s roommate’s cousin who JUST got out jail and “has cleaned up his life” He’d be perfect for you!” No thanks. Skip card. Next player. “Are you sure you don’t want to switch sides?” I’m moody, hormonal, and no one wants 2 of me in a relationship. The world would burn. “Are you dating at all?” I am dating occasionally. I just don’t tell everyone about every. single. first. date. “Is there anyone on the horizon?” Yeah… I’m sure there’s a guy out there standing on the horizon just waiting patiently for me to come and ride off into the sunset with him. Just don’t know who he is.

My favorite is the way most conversations end. “You’re so awesome! I can’t figure out why you haven’t been snatched up yet!” is like you’re trying to shove this broken shell of what once was my heart back into my chest. Exaggeration? Nah… I can’t figure it out either. And you saying that makes me wonder what really is wrong with me. Am I ugly, fat, too much gray hair, too much acne, too many wrinkles, a heartless hag, a disgusting trash person? No clue, but thanks for bringing it up & making me concentrate on all my insecurities…

Why is my being single THE WORST thing to happen? I’ve seen too many of my friends end up in loveless marriages, get divorced, cheat, the list goes on and on. I’d rather be single than deal with that whole mess. But really, let’s think about it. If being single is the worst thing about me, I’m doing pretty damn good!

So, thank you for your concern. I’m doing just fine being single. Next time you start a conversation with your single friend by saying, “Are you dating anyone?” don’t be surprised when the reply is a sassy “Hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

Chivalry is clearly not dead

Chivalry is clearly not dead

I had a Ladies Night fundraising event to attend last weekend, and I had been looking forward to a chance to wear Halston and Louboutin in the suffocatingly small town I live in ever since we started planning it. Yes, Halston and Louboutin would have been WAY too overdressed for this shindig, but opportunities like this are few and far between, so I was going to do it anyway.

As the date of the event drew closer, the realization set in that I had COMPLETELY overbooked myself with 2 events that I couldn’t skip, located 3 hours away from each other. With a little schedule switching, and a little skipping out on the event set up, I was able to work it so I could make it to both, but only if Mother Nature cooperated. Well, Mother Nature can’t wear Halston and Louboutin, so she made damn sure I couldn’t either, by deciding last weekend would be PERFECT for heavy wet snowfall.  Whatever Mother Nature, whatever. Thanks to the drive home taking longer than usual, I wouldn’t have had time for the hair and makeup required for that wardrobe selection anyway.

Option 2 for clothing came straight from the trunk of my car in the form of distressed denim skinny jeans and a shirt from a shopping trip that hadn’t quite made it in the house yet. It’s an odd little place, this town I live in, where you can go to an event that appropriate wardrobe choices can be black tie optional couture or off the rack ripped jeans and a high collar sleeveless dress shirt. It’s definitely not the designer get up I wanted to be in, but it had pockets, and that’s even better.

I was helping finish final set up before the doors opened when it was apparent that several of us needed a little caffeinated help to make it through the evening, and since I was the designated runner, that also meant a stop for more supplies for mimosas. I had ZERO time (or desire) to go find my coat, so I just took off without it. Realizing how stupid that was, but also not wanting to throw on the blazer in my car, because that made the shirt I had on look FAR too matronly for my taste, I ran in to the store amidst looks from people who made it apparent they thought I was COMPLETELY insane. In all actuality, it didn’t feel that cold, and I was outside for a grand total of 30 seconds, so it wasn’t that big of a deal anyway.

On my way back out to my car, the snow REALLY started coming down, so arms full of junk, I ran to my car and dropped it in the trunk. This happened right at the same time a very kind man was backing in to the space next to me. I have absolutely no idea who it was, and I’m sure he just wondered who this idiot in the parking lot with no sleeves or coat was. He rolled down his window and asked “Hey, do you want to borrow a coat?”

I laughed, as I tried unsuccessfully to figure out who it was, because the snow was falling so hard I could barely see, and said “I’m good. Thank you though!”

His response: “Can I get a selfie then?”

I hope he was fast with his camera, because as he was saying that, I was literally climbing in to my car, and I definitely wasn’t waiting in the snow for him to get out and take a picture with me. I was already dangerously close to my hair turning in to the texture of a Chia Pet, and it’s green already so it would have looked just like one.

I still have no idea who this dude was. I don’t have a clue how he would have even got the coat back that he was so willing to let me borrow. I wasn’t cold anyway, so I wouldn’t have taken it even if I wasn’t in immediate danger of becoming a Chia Pet or needing to get back to the fundraiser. Still, his parents should be very proud of him for keeping chivalry alive and well. As for me, I’m just thrilled that even running on no sleep, with no makeup, and hair on the verge of a green Bob Ross, I’m still apparently just barely attractive enough to be the recipient of such chivalry.

That’s oddly specific

That’s oddly specific

Memory lane…sometimes it’s my favorite.

I was perusing the Facebook memories again today and came across a picture I posted back when my man-child was a cute, easier to manhandle when he was being an assholesomewhat well-behaved child, sitting on a recliner at my grandma’s house with my nephew on his lap. This of course was back before he started smoking, chewing, talking like an uneducated hick, and sporting the most ridiculous mullet in the history of forever, all in the name of being cool. He was 10, and life was a WHOLE lot easier.

About 2 weeks before this picture was taken, I had asked him to clean his room and all of the sudden he was walking like an old man, groaning that he had a migraine, doubled over in fake pain, and for good measure, because his friend at school just got 2 days off for strep throat, it hurt SOOOOO bad to swallow. It was uncanny how it all hit him before I even got the word “room” out of my mouth!

I let this charade go on for a couple of hours, because it was HILARIOUS, and then we loaded up and headed to Urgent Care. We had to go, because even if he was faking, there’s always that ever so slight chance that he isn’t, and even at 10 years old, he was apparently well versed in how much worse symptoms of a man cold are than the exact same illness in a woman. That, and because if he wasn’t faking it, the next day would bring an ER co-pay instead of the insanely inexpensive Urgent Care co-pay.

When we checked in to Urgent Care, he had that nurse wrapped around his finger. She asked if he needed a wheelchair, gave him a popsicle from the freezer, and offered to get him an ice pack if it would help his throat feel better. The entire time, I was thinking “you really are so sweet,” while also simultaneously thinking “I can’t believe you’re falling for this!” She apologized profusely for having to gag him with that giant cotton swab for the strep test, and then checked to make sure he was warm enough before leaving the room. Really, she was STELLAR at her job.

When the PA came in the room, he was every bit as nice as the nurse, checking glands, and giving the boy a thorough “does it hurt here, how about here, what about here” look over. Finally he asked “Can you tell me exactly where it hurts?”

“Right by my uvula,” said the kid, with the most deadpan expression I have ever seen on his face.

The PA blinked, took a split second to compose himself and said “That is very specific,” to which my kid responded “Well you asked exactly where it hurts.”

After a few more seconds to compose himself, he informed my kid that the strep test was in fact negative, and he would like to do a flu test and possibly a blood draw to check for mono before sending him home. When he looked at me to verify that it would be OK to proceed, I SWEAR he winked at me. Why? Well that would be because he was the PA who administered the flu test to my kid just 9 months prior to this, and he remembered just how much my kid enjoyed that.

The recovery rate after hearing the words flu test and blood draw was miraculous. He sat up straight, quit talking like he was on his death-bed, looked at the PA and asked him if he thought that maybe it was just a virus and he would feel better if he got some rest, drank lots of Gatorade, and took it easy for the weekend.

“Yes,” said the PA before adding “and clean your room.”

That was the best $30 I ever spent in my entire life.