Sunday, August 30, 2009

Weekend Wedding Weary

I think I may come to regret telling PRex that "I will do anything to help you with your wedding, but I can't be a groomsman..."

Because now, I'm on the hook to do a reading at his wedding. A reading! At the wedding of the boy who lived in my house for three years; the boy who painted my walls and chose the refrigerator; the boy who made me realize how nice it is to live solo...

I've never done a reading at a wedding; mostly because most of my friends would die of laughter if they saw me standing in front of a crowd reading Scripture. I asked if it could be a pagan reading; his answer "my mom is doing the pagan reading." D'oh! I'm really curious to see what he and his fiance are going to pick for me to read. If its the one with gongs, or prancing gazelles I'm going to choke. But, I'll still do it. Because I'm a sucker.

The thing is, I'm really happy for him. His fiance is great for him and they seem to be doing really well. Still a bit weird to actually participate in the ceremony of the first boy you ever had sex with, but hey, at least I'm not a groomsman. I'm pretty sure that the Prof is going to come with me; he's heard quite a bit about old PRex and how we interacted with each other and I think he's pretty curious...

PRex's wedding will be the second that Prof and I go to together. The first was Saturday. Its been years and years and years since I've sat in a church, watching two people get hitched, while holding a boy's hand. Like, since uh...1998? Seriously. And it was really nice. I mean, nice in that neither of us got struck by lighting when we walked into the church. And nice that I resisted the urge to drink from the holy water fountain. It looked like a water fountain!! Seriously. Someone should label it for us heathens so we don't shock people's grammies.

The wedding was the first time that Prof had met many of my friends; including the bride and groom. They of course, liked him (at least, I think they did). The groom gave him a big drunk bear hug and said to him "You deserve a medal, you bastard. Three months? I can't believe you've lasted this long..." He was drunk, but not incorrect.

We also saw a new redneck joke in action! Wedding reception bonus!

"You know you're a redneck if you bring your own can cozy to the country club for your bud light."

I was dumbstruck. There's a picture somewhere.

And finally, my friend Kiwi is getting married next year and because she couldn't talk her fiance out of that extra groomsman, I'm on the hook. She broke the news last night: "Sorry babe; you're gonna have to wear a dress at my wedding..." I was going to wear a dress anyway, but now its probably going to be shiny. Maybe I'll bring a matching can cozy.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Disney Hurled

I recently caught up with an old high school friend (two, actually) - we had a loverly lunch at a fancy restaurant; they shared stories of their kids. I shared stories of... well, I don't much remember. We talked a lot about kids.

One of them was getting ready to take her two elementary aged kids on a surprise trip to Disney World. I thought it was ingenious actually; taking the kids to Disney and skipping all the obnoxious Christmas-like countdown to it. "When are we going to Disney?" "Mommy! How many more days before we go to Disney?" "Mommy! Can we go now? I want to go NOW!" The Disney countdown would be just like the kid Christmas countdown, except the parents can't use Santa to make them behave, sit down and shut up.

My friend and her husband apparently pulled it off; I just perused her 180 pictures of their trip on Facebook. And I gotta tell ya; their trip looked like my personal version of hell.

Maybe its because my head has hurt for a month, but good lord! It makes my head hurt more! Why, oh why, would someone want to drop that much cash on a vacation like that? Magic Kingdom one day (including lunch with the princesses!); Epcot the next (Epcot sucks, even when I was 8); followed by Disney Exotic Animal Jail; and maybe Universal Studios. All those annoying people everywhere. All those lines. All those really expensive mouse-head shaped frozen deserts that cost 8 bucks (that melts all over you before you even take a bite because you are on vacation, in Florida, in August...). Oh god. The insanity of it!

I know, I know, I know. The parents have fun because the kids are thrilled and having the time of their lives. And I know, "if I had kids, I'd understand." Well, thank god I don't. I like my vacations to involve scenery, and kayaks, and drinks. And no kids screaming to ride Dumbo.

They probably don't even have Dumbo there anymore. Heartless Disney bastards.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

"Family Planning"?

Have you checked out the "family planning" section of your local drugstore recently? If you haven't, you really need to. Unless you have a problem with sex shops. Then you should stay away.

I stayed home from work today. If you are counting, that makes two days in one week that I've been completely out of commission because of a headache. Woke up with stabbing pain in the left side of my head. Lucky for me, I had already made an appointment with the doctor earlier this week so I dragged my ass into the car, made a dangerous left turn onto the highway and limped into her office. The pain made me nauseous. Moving made my head pound. It sucked.

The doctor had little to offer me except a cocktail of random possible n0n-cures: a low dose of some anti-seizure med that causes serious side effects (though one of them is weight loss. Hmmm), a steroid that will make me twitchy, a serious pain pill and a referral to a headache specialist. We also talked about quitting or changing the birth control pill. In my heart, I'm pretty sure that's the problem. I think if I stop taking it, most of the headaches will stop.

And so will the sex.

So, as I was waiting for my pain and migraine prescription, I killed time by wandering around Rite-Aid. After grabbing some full sugar coke, some sun chips and shaving gel (though, why do I need to shave if I'm going to have to stop having sex?) I found the Family Planning Section; where you can buy both flavored lubricating gel and a paternity test kit. Intriguing.

You used to have to drive to seedy shopping malls and put on a disguise to buy some of the stuff that's sitting there, right out in the open, next to the pharmacy counter. A personal massager? Yeah right. Real personal. Vibrating rings for your condoms? What does that have to do with planning your family? And, I swear, that place has more varieties of lube than pep-boys.

They still sell the Today sponge, but at 15 bucks for three of them, it hardly seems worth it. Though, Elaine from Seinfeld sure thought so. The sponges were right next to the DNA paternity test kit; think that says anything about its effectiveness? Reminds me of the Rhythm Method bracelet reminder system I saw at the co-op last weekend -- right next to the baby bottles.

After enduring more than 30 minutes of bad 80's love songs, blared way too loudly from the ceiling for someone with a headache, I bought my crap and left without the pain pills. The pharmacy was unable to count out my 30 pills and put them in an amber container before my patience and tolerance for small talk with other customers wore out. So the pain continues, but its much less than it was earlier today.

I so want the headaches to stop. And I'm so afraid that quitting the pill will be the fix. For that problem, anyway.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Dark Cloud - Silver Lining

I've always had headaches. Lots of them. Way more than normal people. Sometimes I go through good stretches; sometimes, I go through bad stretches. And it always seems that the bad stretches last way longer than the good ones. I'm in a bad stretch right now. I wake up with a headache. Daily. Sometimes it stays with me all day; sometimes I can shake it. This one, I couldn't shake.

It started on Thursday. And kept pumping on Friday. It didn't feel like a migraine, but I took a migraine pill Friday night anyway because it was really important that I lick this thing. My weekend plans were kayaking, kayking and more kayaking. And driving. Lots and lots of driving between rivers. And camping. I was particularly excited (scared?) because we were going to paddle a new river; a bit bigger and more technical but a good challenge for me since the other rivers have become a bit boring and mundane. I spent a good portion of the night organizing and packing up the car, making sure I had everything I needed for two days of paddling, one night of camping, meals and enough drugs (all legal, if not slightly abused) in various shapes and sizes to keep me going.

My alarm went off at 5am on Saturday. Yes, I am insane. And my head still hurt. I finished packing up the car with my assorted camping gear and food, popped 2 advil, 2 alleve and 2 sinus pills, grabbed some coffee and hit the road at 6:15.

At 7 am, my stomach ached and my head throbbed. I was almost halfway to the river. I drove 15 more minutes, and the tears started. I couldn't do it. I couldn't paddle like this. I couldn't even drive; let alone put a helmet on my head and try to avoid slamming into rocks. But I didn't want to quit and be defeated. Especially this weekend. So I passed exit after exit, my head hurting worse and worse as I got closer to the mountains. And me feeling more and more conflicted and indecisive.

I finally pulled my phone out and called the prof. It was 7:30 am. Why he was awake and answered the phone I will never know; but he did. And I think I about bawled. "My head hurts. I can't do it. But I have to do it. I don't want to quit."

And he said the best thing: "Kayaking is supposed to be something you enjoy; not something you suffer through." Yes, its common sense, but I needed to hear from someone else that it was ok to quit this one time.

So, I pulled off at the next exit; turned around and came home. Well, home to his house anyway. He had never seen me so upset; if there's one thing that will make me distraught, its quitting. If there's something that will make me even more distraught, its letting someone see me distraught. He held me for a really long time, and that's what I needed. I was absolutely miserable. I crawled into his bed and took a migraine pill. He laid with me for a little while until I feel asleep, then went off to do something more productive. He got me chocolate and full sugar coke, because he remembered that I said (weeks ago) that the combination was good for headaches. He earned so many points that day, I can't even count them.

The pain in my head eventually subsided to a dull thud, and I crawled out of bed to eat a sub, chocolate and coke. Even though I could barely get off the couch, we had a nice day together. I sat and read, and tracked the water level on the rivers I was supposed to be on. He sat and read and played guitar and watched stupid crap on youtube. We watched two segments of Blue Planet - so at least I got my nature fix, if only from tv.

The day at his house went so much better than the day would have gone if I had come home to be with the cats. No one would have brought me coke and chocolate. And no one would have reassured me that I wasn't a loser for not paddling class III rapids with a migraine. But it wasn't just that. The unexpected time to just be with him made up for not being able to be on the river. How's that for a strange turn of events?

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


This is why I don't do relationships. I am a mental midget. A communications reject. A brooding bitch.

This whole conversation about me being nice to him is bringing me down. Which is definitely not nice for me. And instead of bringing it up tonight on the phone, like an adult, I didn't mention it. Instead, I treated him to about 20 minutes of short unspecific answers to his questions about my day. I could feel my face frowning. I didn't want to be talking.

There were a couple emails today that referenced the niceity discussion, started mostly by me. We had dinner with his friend from work and her husband. He got an email from her that he forwarded to me - the email, of course, said how nice and smart and funny I am. Notice, she said how nice I am? I, of course, had to point out that she thought I was nice. He replied back that I was nice. To her.

And while the comment had a smiley after it, and he didn't mean to hurt my feelings (I pretend to not have any, so how would he even know that was possible?) it really got to me. I have made vast improvements in the realm of not being a complete asshole to the person I am dating. And I have never, not once, said anything to him privately or in public that I would consider mean-spirited. But clearly, my teasing has bothered him.

And now its bothering me.

This is what I hate about relationships. And probably why I don't have many. You have to actually consider someone else's feelings. And then have feelings of your own. Which you then have to discuss. Sometimes at length. Mostly way longer than you want to.

So the problem boils down to the fact that he is an adult and can tell me how he feels and try to rectify it. I am a baby and stick my head in the sand, then pout, and refuse to discuss how I feel, except with friends and strangers on the interweb. So much for personal growth.

Monday, August 17, 2009

The 3-M Edge

Three months doesn't sound like a long time, does it? I sign up for classes that last longer than that. I have emails older than that that I have yet to respond to. I had bills older that that on my desk until the Office Overhaul in July. I renew library books for that long. I have spaghetti sauce in the fridge that's at least that old (I need to clean the fridge out, fyi).

So why does it seem like such a big deal?

Because the last time I dated the same person on any kind of serious and monogamous basis for longer than than three months was in 2005. And he only lasted for a little over five months. But what about BB, you ask? He was only my boyfriend for about two and half months before he turned tail and got the hell out. And while we slept together on a monogamous basis for six months or so, it wasn't a real relationship (as you all of course knew WAY before I knew it).

This time, its an actual relationship.

And now that we've passed that three month mark, I'm finding myself slightly panicky. We're getting to the point where he's pointing out some of my flaws (I know, there aren't many, but there are some). Particularly those flaws that affect him. And he has every right to point things out to me that make him feel unappreciated. And to ask for me to cut it out.

So, I have to decide to stop being an ass, take someone else into consideration, and change part of my persona. He's not asking for much, seriously. But a kinder, gentler Susan? I feel like I'm going to have to give up a part of me. My Edge. I like the Edge. The Edge cracks me up. The Edge makes me cool (in my own mind, at least). The Edge is probably why you read my rants and bullshit. But the Edge can sting, particularly when you aren't used to it. And when its aimed in your direction.

Do I have to get Dull to pull off a real relationship? I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Dream Machine

I got to leave work about 30 minutes early today. Well, it was 45 minutes early, but it took 15 minutes to empty all the water out of my kayak onto myself and the driver's side seat of my car. Why did I have to empty my kayak at work, you ask? Because I'm a lazy sack of shit who has refused to take five minutes to put the boat away and the skies have opened up for 2 days straight. Why did I have to empty it on myself? For fun, of course! Or maybe, because I'm a moron.


I had an internal struggle as to whether I should use the time to go to the gym, but the skies started clearing and the sun started poking through, so I decided to go kayaking instead. But by the time I got home, the skies were ominous and grey and threatening again. So my only option was to leave the boat on top of the car to fill up with water yet again, and take a nap.

I didn't really intend to nap, but I started reading a book, then got sleepy, and it was raining... 2 hours later, I woke up, wondering whether Prof could possibly, really be a transsexual.

(yes, you read that right. Keep reading)

I really shouldn't nap, because strange, strange things happen in the bowels of my brain when I do. And for some reason, I vividly and sharply remember my nap dreams.

This particular dream was disturbing and enlightening at the same time. In the dream, I had attended a class that Prof was teaching (I may or may not have actually been a student in the class). For some reason, my mom and a bunch of other professors were there as well. Fast forward to a totally unrelated scene where my mother had my kayak on a trailer on the back of a golf cart and the straps were breaking and she wouldn't stop to fix it. Then, my mother told me that the other professors had shared with her that Prof, my boyfriend, used to be a woman and had had a sex change operation.

Of course, my immediate dream reaction was revulsion and horror. The mother figure wanted me to stop seeing him. But in my dream, I told her that that what was in the past was in the past and that I supported him and that we would work through it. Then there was a flood in the shower that we kept fixing, but the room would fill back up with water again. Then, I woke up.

How come my subconscious self can say the right things when a horrible situation arises, but my conscious self always botches it?

Clearly, Prof is not a transsexual. Is that the right term? Or is it transgender? Well, whatever it is, he isn't one. He's definitely a boy (though he prefers to be called a man). But for a split second between being asleep and being awake, I wondered if we had talked about gender identification issues!! The brain is such a strange thing.

We could probably analyze the crap out of this particular dream, but I think I've done a good job. The transgender thing, while totally out of left field, is likely a reaction to an issue a close friend is having right now (not with a transgender boyfriend though!). And the sticking up for him thing? Well, I don't really know what that is about, other than the fact that my subconscious is telling me that I'm in this thing, while my conscious self is still deciding. And maybe my conscious self is freaking out a little bit that we've been together for three months. Last time I hit the three month mark with a boy was 2005.

So, of course, I had to tell Prof right away so he could start coming to terms with his transsexualness. He was ok with it. And I'm sure it made him happy that at least my subconscious self is on his side, because sometimes, I don't make it real easy.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Back from the Beach

Something horrible happened today.

The professor left the beach house; and I was sad.

Sad! I experienced, like, emotions!

We spent five entire days together; I should have been relieved to see him go. But I wasn't relieved at all. I was honest to god sad when he drove away.

Holy fuck.

Sure, I was sad that beach week was over too; nobody wants to come home to overgrown grass, bills and cat poo after a great vacation. But there was more to this little pouting session than just having to have responsibility again.

I took eight books, two board games, my guitar and a box of wine with me to the beach house. I read half of one book, played guitar for an insta-second, and drank one glass of wine. He brought at least ten books (damn academics), a board game and his guitar. He might have gotten through one chapter, but he did squeeze in more guitar time than I did. The board games did nothing but collect dust and get in the way. Yet, we didn't get in each other's way. Or on each other's nerves.

We slept until we wanted to. We went to the pool. We kayaked. We rode bikes. We played skee-ball and I kicked his ass on bumper cars. He kicked my ass at air hockey (jerk). We ate delicious dinners at fantastic restaurants. We talked. A lot. About nothing. About everything. But so much that neither of us read the books that we brought. And so much that Scrabble, Scattegories and Connect Four were completely superfluous.

It was a good week.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Urinal Cakes

I am a bit of a control freak.

If this comes as a shock to you, you are either new here, or you don't pay much attention.

When I leave for vacation, I like to leave my house spotless. Well, as spotless as possible for a girl who stores both her mountain bike and kayak in the living room, near where the cat likes to poo on the carpet. So, let me restate: other than the river funk, trail dirt and cat poo, I like for my house to be clean.

So, I'm cleaning and packing, and wasting time, and cleaning and packing, and blogging. Then, for extra fun, I decided that I would give the toilets a once over, so that the bathroom would smell good when I came home (unlike my living room. Wonder if I can get the couch and the tv into the powder room?)

The powder room is in good shape, because it gets the bowl treatment on a regular basis, so I can pretend to visitors that I am an actual grown-up. So, I wander up to the master bathroom, with my fancy Target Method citrus smelling toilet bowl cleaner and get to work.

Only, something is different.

The toilet is, like, way gross.

I look at it, horrified. What the hell has happened? Why is the rim of my toilet so disgusting? And covered with weird yellow spots? I seriously ponder this for about 30 seconds; which is a long time to think about your toilet (go ahead, try to visualize your toilet for 30 seconds and see what happens).

Then I remember.

I have a boy now.

And, that boy occasionally sleeps with me at my house (lucky bastard). And on those occasions, he uses my toilet. I mean, I don't want to completely place blame on him for the disgusting state of my toilet, but if it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, its probably peeing on your toilet.

Why, you ask, did I feel the need to share this little tidbit of information? Mostly because I'm procrastinating from actually having to touch the toilet, which I haven't worked up the courage to do yet. But also because, its reason #347 that having a boyfriend complicates your life. Who wants to have to spend more time cleaning toilets? Jeez...