Posts from — March 2010

I have a slightly different theme, here at The Diary. It’s actually a different them with the same header and background. A little less pink and a little better structure. I’m still fine tuning things like the comments and I kind of want my cute little post icons and such back.

Alas, I am HTML/PHP dumb challenged so I am doing things by trial and error. It’s fun, though!

Spring has sprung! I’m LOVING it and my open toed shoes have made their debut. Unfortunately my pedicure has not. It’s on the list, though!

I am excited about setting some travel plans already for the year. I wish I had more money to spend… I am a cash only operation so if I want to go somewhere I have to save and pay cash. Saving is not my best habit. Hopefully I will be spending less on food soon and I can shovel that money away somewhere. [Read more →]

Okay, so.  I need that one guy that reads my blog to like… blank out for a couple of minutes because I need some girl talk time.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here… and stuff like that. Long whinging post ahead. I’m just talking it out.

If anyone is sneaky enough you’ve found my futile attempts at dropping the pounds this year. Sad to say, I’ve failed, once again. I am, once again, sitting at 20lbs over my OMFG I CAN’T EVER GET TO THAT WEIGHT point.  Essentially I need to lose 20lbs before I can even start to lose weight. Encouraging, hmmm?

I was thinking about my post last week, about what that DJ had to say about Kirstie Alley (how she should just be happy being fat) and I realized that everyone anyone says about anyone who is fat, I internalize. I automatically assume they are talking about all fat people and that includes me. When she said that about Kirstie, I also automatically take it onto myself that she is talking about me and you (if you’re fat) and everyone else.

It bothered me because it’s something I’ve really been bothered BY lately. This whole… diet thing. I’m not a big eater. I just don’t move a lot. I prefer to sit at my computer and do things rather than go take a jog somewhere. Me? Jog? You must be out of your MIND. What’s more, I have no desire to change that. I like my sedentary habits. I have online commitments to things that I love and want to keep.

I don’t mind eating healthy at all. I just don’t like cooking and a 10 piece nugget meal tastes better than a salad. I mean, it’s just that simple. Cooking everyday or every three days and carting my meals around with me and not eating what others can eat (and only having 1-2 measly lbs to show for it)… it doesn’t last long, for me.  There are things I feel better when I eat, and things I should avoid because they make me feel bad when I eat them. I’m not always successful at sticking to those guidelines.

I always say to myself  that I am a grownup. I do what I want. I eat what I want, when I want to eat it, where I want to eat it. I don’t like to exercise and I just refuse to do it. So all of these complaints should lead to the fact that I should just be happy being fat.

But I’m not. And I can’t be. I make attempts at it, but in the end I’m just not happy with the size of the clothes I have to buy and what I look like in the mirror. I’m not happy that the major reason I don’t get together when my friends travel the country is because I’m always the biggest and least attractive and I don’t like feeling like the special friend. Or the girl that watches the purses and the coats. Or the girl that gets elbowed out of the way so men can get to them. No thanks, I can feel all bottom of the totem pole at home. Not that it’s their fault at all. It’s just something I feel when I am out with others. I don’t measure up. I don’t think I can measure up.

I said a few weeks ago that I wanted to start dating. And despite all the kind words, I just don’t see what other people say they see. More to the point, I think men see what others see, but feel they’re ‘too good’ to date me. And if they were to date me, there’d be certain criteria I’d have to fulfill. And while it’s easy to say well you don’t need that guy anyway, the reality is that just about every guy is that guy. He never wants to think of  himself as that guy. He won’t admit to being that guy– but no guy is going to choose the fat virgin. He might end up with her. He might settle for her. He won’t choose her. I don’t know that I blame him.  That is my reality.

I read people’s diatribe’s and long, long, LONG and unrealistic list of demands. If that’s what they truly believe, I’m in that same place I’ve been before where I don’t think there are men out there looking for women like me. (I swear, Tex, if you come up in here with some lid for every pot I will fly to H-Town and BITE YOU! Wait, you would enjoy that…).

I realize that it’s easy to be melancholy and down on myself than it is to get up off of my ass and start doing something about the amount of space it takes up. It’s easier to sit in the dark corners and lament about how men don’t want me. It’s easier to look for the bad news before the good news. I’m kind of lazy, and so I shoot for the easy.

And when I am done with the easy, I look a little deeper and see if I can find the strength to do it one more time. Did you see Michael Jackson’s This is It? I loved it. Every moment. Especially how he was so encouraging to the band and the singers, he wanted to admonish them with love. L-O-V-E. In my head, when I say ‘one more time‘, for some reason I hear him saying it. I’m not encouraged by it, or anything, but it does make me smile.  Anyway. One More Time.

And as much as I would like it to be about me, I know in my heart that it’s not. Were it for me, I’d stay fat. For me, I am not going to get up and exercise. Nor am I going to eat healthy or grocery shop. I’m doing it so I don’t feel like the fat kid. I’m doing it so I have a fighting chance at being noticed. I’m doing it so I can walk past a mirror and like what I see in it. I’m doing it so I can take a picture and not cut it off at the neck (international sign on every dating site, ever, for This Girl is Trying to Hide How Big She Is. And NEXT.

And I know I will get some nice comments and thank you… but I listen to men and what they say when they think other people (women) aren’t listening. I watch what they do and how they react to certain people. And it’s not that I don’t just adore my personality and think I’m the greatest, ’cause I do think I am awesome. It’s that non-conformity along this particular vein has put me in a place I don’t want to be. Conforming, along this vein, might pull me out of it. I have to do something, because right now I feel like I can’t date until I can pull a glance from someone.

And right now I don’t. And I don’t blame them.

One More Time,

Yesterday I marched into my boss’ office and informed him that I was thinking about not coming into work today. He looked at me and said, “You’re gonna play a little hooky?”

“I thought I might,” I said.

“Go for it,” he said. “Whatcha gonna do?”

“I have no idea,” I said, walking out of his office. “But it won’t involve getting up at 6am.”

At least it wouldn’t have, if I had remembered to turn off the alarm. I feel a nap coming on.

I wanted to thank everyone, everywhere, for all the birthday wishes. I don’t think I’ve ever had that big of a birthday. I mean I didn’t have a party or anything but in all of my online haunts, people remembered (Or Facebook told them).  I felt loved and it was a great day, only slightly marred by no phone call, text or email from Mom & Pop Jones or BigMike.  SIL did send me a message on Facebook. I think it was her… she and Mike share an account. One of them sent me a message around 7:40 last night. And my mom sent an email this morning. She apparently lost her cell phone and Dad… you guessed it, only has my old number.

I just don’t know what to do about those people.

As predicted, Boss bought lunch. YAY! And then… I mean… I work with a lot of guys. I prefer it, actually. Mostly so that every holiday doesn’t have to be celebrated with a potluck and every new baby doesn’t require a baby shower and who can deal with the rise in estrogen once a month?  There are about a handful of women, but the staff is mostly men. Those men gathered around our lunch table yesterday and sang Happy Birthday to me. I was touched, from the bottom of my heart. and then I ate like 3 pieces of pizza and salad and wanted to take a nap except that I had a long, convoluted contract I had to help write. Boooo.

I rushed home and changed and ran a hot flat iron through my hair and got ready for my dinner date, who was charming and lovely and great company. I”m so excited to have made a new friend! I ate a lot of food (herb crusted salmon with potatoes and asparagus) and then ate dessert (warm apple crisp a la mode). And then the waitstaff sang to me and gave me a second dessert.

Which I tried to eat but I was already overfull and had to be rolled out of the restaurant. Since I took today off, I had planned on staying up late and playing on the interwebs but I crawled into the bed minutes after I got home, was nodding by 10:30 and I’m almost sure I was asleep by midnight.

SIGH. Great day.

So now I am up but still in bed, catching up on the interwebz. I plan on doing some reading ( I bought a couple of real live, not-Kindle books this week!) and doing some writing, but generally hanging out and enjoying myself.

And napping.  Getting older is hard work.

So, folks… Another year has passed. Mmmmhmmm. That big calendar has flipped another page and I’ve gone and gotten a year older. The Big 3-6. 36 is still mid 30′s isn’t it? (The answer to that is YES). I feel like late 30′s is like… 38 and 39. Until I get there and I’ll feel like my late 30′s is like… 41 and 42.  Jay Z said that 30 was the new 20. That makes me 26. Except I didn’t really like me at 26. Soooo…

Conundrum.

I really wanted to post something poignant and meaningful and reflective but to be honest I am tired of whining. I am annoying myself, which is why I haven’t been blogging much lately. I feel like I have a lot to say but everyone else is already saying it, so I just read and comment and wave my hanky like I am at Sunday service and my fave blogger is preaching the Gospel.

So I am just going to enjoy the one day a year that it’s all about ME and I don’t feel like a self centered bitch for making it so. Boss will probably buy lunch (which I will have to go get, so I don’t see how that’s fair). And I am meeting a friend for drinks and eats. A good time will be had and I will roll into bed with a smile on my face, thankful for another year that has passed.

And the next day I will wake up and try to decide what the hell I am doing with the next 365 days.

You know the stuff. Spam.

I’ve had to turn the spam filter back on. I know the blog gets sassy when people leave comments containing fewer than about 15 characters. While I’d really love to get comments from everyone, I wasn’t getting MORE short comments when I turned it off, which means I am sifting through ‘this post is most wonderful. I have bookmarked it for later reading. Please to be clicking my link and buying viagra/cialis/breast enhancer’  for no reason. I don’t even have a penis, guys.

My spam filter works great, and it keeps me from logging in and seeing the 22 spam comments that Akismet isn’t catching.

:kanyeshrug:

Yeah, so. I have about 4 or 5 blog posts writing themselves in my head. At the same time. And each of them are 4 sentences long, which isn’t a blog post. WTF.

You know what that is, though. A blog post of random shit. So here we go. Ready? Okay! (I always wanted to be a cheerleader but the skirts were too short for my bigass and flabby thighs and I am also way uncoordinated, so… I pretend.) [Read more →]

I think I have blogged myself out the last few weeks, what with my self indulgent retrospect. However, I don’t want to fall in the habit, again, of not blogging, so I present to you a istybitsyteenyweeny… meme. I stole it from someone. Can’t remember who. Oh well.

1. How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

33. I swear I was 33 for 2 years before I realized that I actually get a year older as birthdays pass. I think 33 is the perfect age for men and women… old enough that the things you say have some cred, but not in your mid or late 30′s and so people don’t look at you with sad eyes and start to whisper about ‘old maids’ and ask questions like, “So… you just never wanted to date…. or???” like this whole process is completely up to me and I just walk outside my door to the Man Tree and pick me a ripe one.

Who, me? Bitter? Nah!

2. Which is worse, failing or never trying?

I would so like to say never trying. I would. But I have failed and that shit blows. It makes me never want to try again, ever. So. Failing. Not to say that I don’t still try, and that I am always successful… just that failing SUCKS and so I avoid doing it at all costs.

3. If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?

My only guess is obligation. No one wants to be Mrs Mean Girl, or Mr Not Nice Guy. We do things because we ‘should’ and not because we want to. There are a lot of things I do, simply because I am obligated to… and let’s be frank about it. Sometimes married people wake up and don’t ‘feel married’, but God Bless it, if they go look at their marriage certificate, they most certainly ARE married, so act like you like it and get with the program!

4. When it’s all said and done, will you have said more than you’ve done?

Yes.  So? Hmph. I say a lot. I say I am going to do a lot of things that I don’t do. I have poor follow through. I don’t think that being all ‘self actualized’ makes it all better, but at least I know that I do this and can work on it. I think I am better now than I used to be. Progress. Wrote a song about it. Like to hear it? Here it go.

5. What is the one thing you’d most like to change about the world?

Mean people suck. We don’t all have to be best friends but… guh. Why are people so mean???

Yesterday afternoon I happened to catch the last 20 minutes or so of  the Dr. Phil show (don’t judge me!). He was profiling people who were in recovery from addiction to painkillers. A timely topic since 80′s heartthrob Corey Haim, a known prescription addict collapsed and died in his apartment.

A twiend and I were discussing the program briefly after the show. She broke her ankle earlier this year and said her doctor had no issues with writing her script after script for pain meds, but she would often sit in pain because she didn’t want to become dependent on them. I could definitely relate.

I am the kind of person to try every other remedy before I pop a pain pill. I hate pills anyway (they stink!) but also because my father suffers from chronic pain on a daily basis. Debilitating migraines and back and neck pain plague him to the point where he now takes shots to alleviate the misery. The minute something begins to hurt, he calls for his pills. He has a cabinet in his bedroom that looks like a pharmacy shelf, full front to back with both over the counter and prescription medications and pain killers like Oxy and codeine.

I once went home for a visit, said I had a headache from the flight. He handed me a pill and like a dummy, I took it. I figured at the worst it would be Tylenol 3.

Soon after I took the pill, my mom asked me to go to the store. Safeway was just down the street a few blocks but it took me forever to get there. Once  was there, I had forgotten what I went to the store to buy. After wandering the store for a few minutes, I remembered that I had made a list, slowly picked up the items and drove home. “I feel funny,” I remember saying as I dumped the bag of groceries on the counter. “But my headache is gone.”

My mom looked at me, her eyes narrowed, talking to my father over my shoulder.  ”What did you give her?”

My dad shrugs. “Oxycodone.”

It was then decided that my dad was no longer allowed to give me pain medication. A headache, to him, means gripping, searing, illness-inducing pain. So pain releif, to him, is a prescription medication.

I’ve had several friends that suffer from chronic, debilitating pain as well. It hurts my heart to see them have to seek out others with the same prescriptions to get a little relief, when doctors are so afraid of patients getting hooked that they don’t prescribe enough to keep a patient pain free. To the other end of the spectrum, a doctor that was a guest on Dr. Phil’s show said t drove it home by saying, “If 11 manatees washed up on the beach every single day, there would be outrage. But these are people, and nothing is being done.” It’s not only celebrities that are dying from overdoses! It’s regular people. It’s you and it’s me.  That’s frightening, to me!

I don’t think that my dad is abusing his medications. I do think he is dependent upon them, and that’s something I’ve never wanted to be.  I guess maybe that’s why I have such an aversion to medication. ANY kind of medication, since I also refuse to go on antidepressants. I’ve seen my dad pop a pill for something my whole life. There’s something about it, that is unappealing to me.  It’s not what I want to be.

While I am sure there is a middle ground between ‘pops a pill for everything’ and ‘never takes pills, ever’, maybe I just like being different but I haven’t ever been tempted to explore it. I feel like I am such a black or white, off or on, hot or cold person that my pendulum would simply swing to the other end.  You never know, I could be staring at myself up there on the Dr. Phil show!

Becoming dependent on something, to me, is a loss of freedom and control. And if it’s one thing I like, it’s being in control.

Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I had a fabulous weekend.  I didn’t do much of anything and didn’t go much of anywhere, but it was  a fabulous weekend nonetheless!

I got off work a little early on Friday, since the boss was out of town. Came home and enjoyed being there, watching it alternately rain and hail outside my bedroom window. Saturday I woke up early and pulled out some writing I’ve been working on. Took a nap. Then took another one. Just because.

And then it was my favorite time of year. The Spring Forward. I know people hate Daylight Savings and I don’t really blame them, but for me it means MOAR SUN and I NEED SUN. I love that the days are getting longer and warmer because it means just another inch toward spring. That makes me very, very happy.

Sunday I finished up the writing piece I was working on and spent the day dinking around online. Had Chinese for dinner and watched the Parade of Freaks on TLC– My Foot is Huge and I’m a Turning Into a Giant and I Cant’ Seem To Throw Things Away. SIGH. Is it sad that these things are entertaining, to me?

In all, it was great. No stress, no issues, no sad days, no sitting around wondering what is the meaning of life and other useless ponderances. I enjoyed myself.

And you, Blog? How was your weekend?

Gearing up to get back on track Monday with New Life Friday. I’ve determined that I want to be social this summer and I can’t do that if I’m not feeling good about myself, how I look and such. So, New Life Friday is back in full swing.

But it won’t be just diet and exercise. All work and no play makes for a boring Curvy. I want to challenge myself to really sculpt a new life– make new friends, read different kinds of books, explore things I’ve never done before. Expand my life and my very narrow view of the world. Make New Life Friday about more than trying to shed some lbs so I can meet a guy… it has to be about developing confidence in myself.

I think that every spring I try contacts and every Spring it just doesn’t work out. I still want to try because I feel like I look so much better with them. Unfortunately I don’t SEE better with them. And my eyes are so dry with them in that they irritate me. Maybe if I ease myself into them, though, I can better adjust. I don’t know.  I’m looking into it.

I’m also OVERJOYED to have found my favorite hair stylist again. I have been going to the same salon for 3 years and all of a sudden I call to make an appointment and my fave was gone! I’ve had other people doing my hair for about 9 months and it just wasn’t working out. I was desperate and took to the internet. I searched for every combination of Dominican +Salon+ the city I knew she worked in and nothing. Happened to search by her name and BINGO! I can’t believe how easy it was! I’m so happy to find her, because she knows my hair. It thrives under her care– I always love how it feels, how it smells, and how she knows it’s personality. She’s the type of person to say, ‘I don’t like how that conditioner feels on your hair’, or ‘your hair seems to be growing better lately’ because she KNOWS MY HAIR. LOVE, so HARD!

So I am going to be going back to her next week for my relaxer and then every two weeks for a shampoo, roller set and blow dry. Trying to get my hair to grow and stop breaking off. Would probably be helpful if I wrapped it at night though.

Well, I have plans to make and writing to finish. I’m off!

The years since FK have been full of those Single Girl cliches that you read about in magazines and relationship books. Traveling, having fun, cultivating friendships with women, being busy busy busy, so busy that I’m not supposed to even notice that I’ve not found The One.  Busy not looking for anyone (he always comes when you least expect it, or some other pandering bullshit), busy not having expectations, busy being fulfilled in my career, busy building a life. To say that the men I have met in those years have not managed to spark a morsel of  real interest would be an understatement.

The last dates I had were in the summer of 2008. I thought I had met a pretty cool guy. He worked at Home Depot. I LOVE Home Depot. I used to walk through the model kitchens and bathrooms in there.  We had a great first date at a cafe–Intermezzo is one of my favorite first date places. Conversation was good, so we decided to go to dinner at a nearby restaurant. He was great to talk to, told awesome stories about his time in the Army in Germany.  As he walked me to my car, he saw that I had a pair of windshield wipers in my backseat. I sheepishly admitted I just hadn’t made the time to switch out my wiper blades. He suggested we meet the next day for brunch and a walk thru the Park and he would switch them out for me.  I was excited. I kind of liked him.

We had a pretty cool 2nd date. We ate, then walked down to the park, sat on a bench in the sun and talked and fed the ducks. Laughed about our favorite movies and episodes of Family Guy. He never did switch out my wiper blades, but we had a long, full summer day together. After which he didn’t make further plans with me.

I was determined to not be daunted by that.  Meanwhile I am messaging GreenEyes like crazy. “What do you think? Does he like me? Will he ask me out again? Should I call him?” After getting a series of  ”Calm your ass down” messages from her, I relented. Go with the flow. I’m breezy!

On occaision,  he would call when he got off work, and we’d talk for a few minutes every night. Since he worked retail, his  schedule varied wildly but after a few weeks he made another date. YAY! We met at Outback t in the Perimeter, and then after lunch he invited me over to his place. I didn’t have any weird feelings about him, so I went. We ended up watching a couple of movies. He was all close and touchy feely  (hand holding and such) but didn’t try to kiss me and didn’t go for any heavy petting. Except for that, actually, he didn’t make any moves at all.

He seemed nice. I liked him. We got along, and he made me consider doing things I normally don’t do, like sit at a sports bar and watch football. There are few people I will do that with.

I invited him to my place for dinner. We watched a movie and ate. He sat all the way on the other end of the couch. Didn’t make one move. Conversation was still great, but I was already feeling the slide.  The slide to the Friend Zone.

One day we were talking and the language changed. The things he started saying,  and how he would say them, couched between ‘friend-like’ phrases. This was something I used to get on FK about, like calling me ‘buddy’. I hate being called buddy.  This guy would call me up and say, ‘Hey bud, what’s up?’ One day he decided to give me some advice on how to attract men.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if the advice didn’t start with  ”If things don’t work out with us, you should be more open to meeting new people, instead of sitting in the house all the time.”

While he was right, he pissed me off by offering the advice in the first place. If he wanted me to leave the house more often, why not invite me out? Why am I getting advice on how to attract someone besides him?  I gave up, right there. He was, to me, brushing me off, trying to pawn me off on someone else already. I stopped answering the phone when he called. Eventually he stopped calling.

This is what happens. I meet someone, it goes okay, and after a date or two, I become “the friend”.  Or we might have a few dates and the guy says,  ”I know you want to wait, but I can’t. It would be unfair of me to try to push you into doing something you don’t want to do– but we can be friends. “ Oh, thanks for playing, here’s a consolation prize! My friendship!

*flips the bird*

Dudes, I’m not trying to be your friend. I have male friends. That’s not what I was looking for with you. I can’t do the Friend Zone. I can’t be demoted from Someone Special to Someone You Know. My brain and my heart don’t work like that, and I know I shouldn’t be ‘that’ attached to people right off, but I have to really like someone to go out with him in the first place… it’s just not that easy for me.

This isn’t a traumatic, He Done Me Wrong song. I know that this is dating. This is what happens to millions of women who date. It’s a game of chance, it’s a game of numbers and it takes perseverance and a iron will to keep pushing through. Or maybe a lot of alcohol. Either way, I just wasn’t cut out for it. I felt rejected at every turn. When I asked men about why I end up there, in The Zone, I get a myriad of answers. Most of them involve sex- if I’m not giving it up, men are not interested.

I don’t understand, then, how some of my (admittedly thinner, cuter, more stylish and worldly) friends can go 4,6, 9 months of dating someone before they decide to take the step.  I feel like I offer a lot to men. I also feel like everything I offer is not enough if it doesn’t include sex on date two. Booohiiissssss.

I made the not very difficult decision to pull myself off of the market.  It was nerve wracking and my self esteem took a beating every day that I was out there. It’s hard work, being charming and open and trying to be the Right One, just in case He’s right around the corner.

I took down all my ads, stopped reading relationship books, stopped thinking about dating, talking about dating, wanting to date. I believed that I wasn’t what men were looking for. Some  said maybe my standards were too high. Maybe I was pushing them away, somewhere. I had no clue, all I knew was that what I was doing wasn’t working and I am hardly insane so I am not going to keep doing the same thing and expecting something different to happen. I didn’t like dating at all.  So I stopped doing it.

Years ago I eavesdropped on a conversation that a guy had with a girl. He mentioned that he was looking for the woman that made him do the relationship work. And then in the next sentence, said something about knowing that he could walk into a place, pick a woman, be nice to her and know that he was going home with her that night.  And that he would, because he could. All the commentary about what he wants doesn’t match what happens when his feet start walking and his nether region starts talking.

I’m so tired of lip service. I’m so tired of relationship books that tell me what to say, how to act, what to change, who to be in order to attract a man, without doing the same for our counterpart. I freely admit that I am a complicated, sometimes nutjob of a person.  Newsflash: Men are not the easiest to deal with either!

I hesitate to type this, like it’s an impossibility (sometimes I feel like it is), but I want to date. I want to return to dating, that is. I miss feeling attractive and desirable– those feelings, though fleeting, were nice when I felt them. I want to meet someone that likes me for me, that is interested in more than what I can do for him in an intimate setting, who ‘gets’ me.  I want to say ‘we’ and ‘us’  again. I only had one chance at that, with FK. It was nice.

I am really embarrassed to admit that I want to date, I want to return to my quest for The One. In fact I have held this post for awhile, simply because that sentence is there. If it was just whining and lamenting about dating, it would have been up on Tuesday.  It could be because after years of searching for it, it has eluded me, so I have insisted that I don’t want it. I don’t need it. It’s not for me. I don’t think it’ll happen for me. I don’t think I’m made that way. I don’t think men want me. I’m not the kind of girl that men are looking for. All of those phrases have left my mouth at one time or another and at the time I believe I truly meant them.

I don’t think I mean them anymore. If I do, I am tired of meaning it.

It makes me sickly nervous to even think about going on a date. I’m not the best dater anyway, but on top of that it’s been forever since I went out with someone. What will he think of me? Where would I even meet him, since the pool of viable online daters has severely dried up, here?  A quick romp through my usual haunts reveals men who’ve been there since 2005! And I know, for sure, that I am not physically ready to get back out there. I want to look and feel my best and be confident in myself. I’m decidedly not there.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t see bright eyes and a cute nose and full lips and (when I actually DO my hair) great hair and a rockin’ rack and a curvy shape. I still see that awkward, bucktoothed, blind as a bat, unfortunate looking creature that I was in my teens. It’s a picture I am trying hard to erase but even after I close my eyes against the image in the mirror, it stays in my mind’s eye. It is the picture of me inside my head, when I see myself. It is the picture of me that I think everyone sees. It’s that ‘assuming the worst that people could think about me’ and believing that and basing my whole experience on that assumption.

I don’t know how to block that image and those thoughts. I wonder do they ever go away? If I lose 100 lbs, will I still feel like a fat girl? If I got contacts and a weave, would I still feel like the ugly duckling?

If I decide to get back out there, muster up some strength and confidence and put my best foot forward and just keep pushing and keep going for it, could I still never find HIM? Could I still end up alone?

The scary part of asking those questions is that the answer could still be yes.

I like to be blue. Leave me alone. I’m blue.

But then when I am sick of being blue, I look for something to cheer me up. One of my twiends posted up this link called Emails From Crazy People a few months ago and I haven’t stopped laughing since. A couple of favorites:

Coke, Not for Kids:

I heard that cocaine is made out of coca cola’s innocent children. I’m hoping that this is wrong.. well is it?

I know that a lot of innocent children are harmed during the making of coke, but to think that cocaine is getting profit out of their teeth is just wrong and makes my feet warm. How are we supposed to protect our children if propane is making profit out of both cocaine and coca cola and the only ones to thank for gas is the children? I’m assuming this is why we’re supposed to tell our kids the tooth fairy exists, so we can give their teeth for cocacola’s cocaine, but how do they get it? I guess the general question is me wondering if cocaine is made out of children’s teeth and if this can be prevented by telling them the truth about the tooth fairy. My son is fifteen now and I think he’s getting suspiscious, I had to take him out of school because his friends were telling him that the tooth fairy wasen’t real, and I’m not going to let my bills pay for what cocaine is doing to our children!

This is for all the parents out there who don’t want Coca Cola being the new Google!

[Read more →]

Sometimes I wonder about people and their defining moments. At what moment does someone go from someone who paints to Painter? Someone who blogs to Blogger? Someone who crafts to Artist? Someone who writes to Writer?

For some it might be when they start getting paid to do it. Or when others begin to call them by the title. Or when they’re recognized for it.

I wavered a bit on posting this here because I’d already written about it in my writing journal. It’s so not a huge deal and yet it is, because it is my first. A few weeks (okay, like a month ago) I wrote out an entry in my writing journal about how I was fit to be tied and full of jealousy because GreenEyes was writing for a national publication and here I am, calling myself a writer and I’m writing for diddly squat. I blog, but I only call that writing in terms of counting the words for my annual word count goal. It does help me express myself but I blog to blog and not to write or craft or create. It’s nothing I am doing on purpose to have my talent recognized.

So I decided to get off my literary ass and start writing something that could be posted somewhere and sit for eternity. I admit that I did not aim very high. I submitted a piece that I spent quite a bit of time on to a short story archive– the kind of place where they’ll post pretty much anything.  The other was a bit more discriminating, but too late, I realized that they hadn’t posted a story since Fall of 2009. The backlog, if they’re even posting new stories, is likely huge. I don’t even want to worry about that one.

I submitted my short story, entitled ‘Try To Say No‘ about a girl trapped in a friends with benefits situation that she can’t get herself out of, about a month ago, I’d guess. Maybe less time than that. Yesterday I got an email that it was accepted at short-story.net. WOOP!

I don’t know if, at this point, I call myself published. I may save that distinction for a more discriminating entry process. I DO know, now, that my work (besides the fanfiction that I have written which is strictly for fun) is part of an archive and will remain there until… well until the site goes down, I suppose!

What I do call myself, now, is writer. And not even tongue in cheek and rolling my eyes and pretending to be modest about it. I also need to call myself busy working on some other pieces. Like finishing my NaNoWriMo piece. It’s STILL not done. I may have to go back, in the story, and start from a different angle, or something. Or figure out how I want it to end and work my way backward.

Maybe I’ll finish it before NaNo2010 begins. : /

Today is March 10th, National Women and Girls’ HIV/AIDS Awareness Day (NWGHAAD). Created by the Office of Women’s Health, NWGHAAD is March 10th of every year. Its goal is to serve as a day for women to come together to encourage dialogue and educate women and girls about the HIV/AIDS epidemic and its increasing impact.

The Diary is proud to be on the list of blogs Rocking that Red Pump today! For information about the Red Pump Project, visit the site here!

I “Rock the Red Pump” because:

• Black women make up 66% of all new diagnoses of HIV in women
• Women are the caretakers and when we get sick, it truly affects those around us
• HIV is one of the deadliest diseases in the world, yet it’s one of the few that isn’t communicable (like malaria) or initiated within the body (like cancer)
• I want women to be empowered to live well with the disease (if they are positive) and for those who don’t have it to make sure they don’t get it.
• Every 9 1/2 minutes, someone is infected with HIV. It’s time to stop this trend!

I had a boring post scheduled to run today about my personal spending getting out of control and how I find a way to spend money everyday. And also about how my laptop took a nosedive off of my countertop on Friday morning, so I was afraid I was going to have to shell out some funds for PC repair but everything seems okay except the sleeve I carry my laptop in has a broken zipper, and my power supply cable is frayed and I have to renew the tabs on my car and I was freaking out about it all (see Queen of Overreaction).

But I thought that post was boring so I trashed it. Aren’t you glad I didn’t post that?

Today is Tuesday, a day I jokingly call Fun Tuesday because it kind of isn’t. Tuesday is the day we have our weekly  staff conference call. All of the execs from our various centers call in and give a status on how things are going in their respective areas. I actually like the Tuesday call, I like even better the Quarterly Staff meetings, but the preparation sort of drives me insane. I usually just have a few hours to make my rounds with the staff, particularly a lovable curmudgeon of a Sales Manager who can’t use a computer to save his life, compile the reports, send them out and then prep for the meeting, which I run here in Atlanta from my laptop. I am a lowly cog in the wheel of this organization but when I am not here people act like they don’t know whether to scratch their watches or wind their butts. SIGH. Did I mention I love my job? :) My boss is pretty much the best, ever. Sometimes.

I had some random thoughts rolling through my head on the way to work, so in my “me time” before I start Fun Tuesday,  I jotted them down:

My dad leaves town tomorrow. It hasn’t been the hell I thought it would be, but I am ready for him to go. He called on Sunday with some nonense and ruined my good vibes. Sometimes he makes me want to throw things but the only items I have of value are my electronics and nooooo, not my babies!

I am glad I reconnected with my cousins and I am going to be spending some time with them in the near future. And my aunt is not doing well anyway so it’s important to be close and help out where needed. And my lil 2nd cousins are 16 yr old twins and oh so cute.

Is Daylight Savings this weekend? I thought I heard that. I’m sad about losing an hour of sleep (I freaking love sleeping) but I am so happy to be one step closer to my favorite time of year. Perhaps I will celebrate by brunching outdoors… after it stops raining.

Got some great news over the weekend! My sister-in-law (Big Mike’s wife) is pregnant and they found out on Friday that they are having a girl! I have two nephews, 8 and 2 (2 is Joe’s son, born a few months before he died. Except for the skin color, 2 looks exactly like him!). This is the first girl. I am so. excited. I now have to plan a strategory trip home so I can be there to meet my niece!

Got to get my hair done this weekend. And I want to shop, but I have tons of cute clothing in this size in my closet. So, no. But me and my pink trench? 2 Peas 1Pod. I’m just saying. It’s uber cute and it’s getting me lots of compliments. Some days in the office, I never take it off.

On March 15th I am going to try to get back into my New Life Friday groove. I want to be social and such this summer. I can’t do that when I feel like… meh I am not even going to go there. You know? Tired of saying bad things about myself.

This weekend on the way back to the south side, my dad and I passed the Hooters on Cobb Pkwy. I randomly laugh because he suggested we go there. Did I mention my dad is a Minister? I do so hope he was joking. Though, it reminds me of being back in Podunk– there is a store called Erotique Boutique across from the mall near our house. My mom drives by one day and says “That store has a drive thru window and it’s open 24 hours. What kind of erotic emergency could a person be having a 4am and need to go through the drive thru? What do you order there? A McVibrator and a Side of Lube?”

My mom, Ladies and Gentlemen.

With that, I have to get to work. Sales Dude will be calling in a few minutes and I need about 30 seconds of deep breathing to deal with him.