Stuck in the middle

As I sit here between two strangers on what seems like a never ending flight I realize I have to urinate. With roughly fifty minutes left I am forced to question the strength of my bladder, can I hold it or should I go.

I take in my surroundings; on my right a man is reading and nonchalantly picking at the loose boogies in his nose, to my left a lady reads her Kindle. If I get up, I will disrupt the reading of my row partners. Ten more minutes go by and I realize that my urge has not increased or lessened with the time, a good sign.

Using the bathroom on flights is always a stressful thing for me. I do not know why but I hate doing it. No matter how many times I pee before I get on a plane I always feel like I still need to go. I know that if I do manage the courage to disrupt everyone and go that I will only push out the idea of having to pee but not the urine that should come with it. It is a relief to try but an overall waste.

After almost missing the connecting flight and with all Southwest flights with their policy of first come first serve seating, there were only middle seats left, which is why I am stationed between two strangers. I sat as close to the front of the plane as possible for a quick exit and find myself only three rows deep and you bet your ass I am keeping this in mind for the bladder issue. I bet I can get off this bitch in less than five minutes.

Legs are now crossed and there is still almost thirty minutes left. What to do, what to do. In the next fifteen minutes we are going to be told to put our tray tables back up and straighten out seats. Shit, they just said it, guess I've got to hold it. I hate this.

Life in the Fast Lane

I saw Dog the Bounty Hunter the other day; he was driving a green Eclipse and was about to get on 71N.  He went so slow through the intersection that I got stuck at the light; apparently he wasn’t out chasing any bond jumpers right then.  As he was turning I tried to point him out to my traveling partner Karl but she didn’t realize what I was saying in time. While waiting at the light, I was doing the math in my head;   I figured even with the time spent sitting there and him driving at snail’s pace, I could catch him and show Karl what I was talking about. 

Once the light turned green, my mission of searching for the green Eclipse began.  It took under ten minutes to spotted the car driving in the slow lane like it was Sunday, wait, it was Sunday.  Either way, I pointed him out to Karl and as we pulled up and began to pass we both saw a lady in her mid 40’s with long straggly hair.  Karl obnoxiously pointed out that, “that does NOT look like Dog the Bounty Hunter, and it isn’t even a guy for that matter!”    I laughed out loud and then thought about how more often than not, I say things just to amuse myself. 

I feel like Chunk from the Goonies when he claimed that Michael Jackson came over to his house to use the bathroom , then later admitted that is wasn’t true but still added that Michael’s  sister did.   Stories like that are fun to tell especially to gullible people like Karl.  

High Fucking Five

Whether you are celebrating a witty comeback, your favorite player just made a touchdown or for all I care you just won the lottery; I would prefer to be left out of the high five circle slap. First, I am not excited about whatever it is you are celebrating and second, even if I was excited about it, raising my arm in the air and slapping hands just doesn’t appeal to me.   I would totally prefer to fist pump at my side or do pelvic thrusts.  Please keep in mind none of which need a second person in this celebration.

 I despise hanging out, not realizing a game is on until out of nowhere someone I am sitting with starts passing out high fives like candy, get the fuck outta here, I wasn’t even watching that game.  I have been caught off guard and guilty of receiving a high five every now and again, usually it is in passing or I am trying to “fit in” with a new group and am just not ready to give a stare down towards someone new when they raise up that celebratory hand and not get one back.  I do have some stipulations that go along with the accepting and refusal of the notorious H5.  (which in my world it is now considered a virus) 

If I know you or do not like you the refusal is usually accompanied with a disgusted look as to why you would expect me to return this action.  However, if I am not familiar with you, I may conveniently turn away, experience a phantom phone call or just look around like I didn’t see the “wave” of the high five coming at me.  Begin able to avoid the H5 without confrontation or having to be open about my feelings is the most difficult.    

Now, I am not only avoiding high fives from people who don’t know I hate them, I am also avoiding them from the people who KNOW I hate them and think it’s funny to trick me into this unpleasant act.  Bitches.  

Gene Wilder

You can always tell when someone moved away or the last time they were home by what they refer to the townie bar as.   “Hey, I’m back in town, you wanna go hit up The Dog?  The Dog? It hasn’t been the dog for years”.   There is only one official bar where I live other than AMVETS, however you really can’t count that place because you need to have a membership to get in. My favorite part about the bar is that the people never change, the regulars rotate with every new name and the bartenders are all people you went to high school with.   

Over the years and throughout all the different owners the bar will always be a constant where I live.  It was the Brown Dog Sports Bar back when I was around 21 to 24, I didn’t hang out here a lot because I was still kicking it at my mom's crib.  The only thing I can tell you about that time was it was known for their award winning wings and the cute puppy dog boarder around the dining room.   Any place that can rock a puppy boarder is definitely a high class Sports Bar. 

After “the dog” we had Coaches, Coaches was my shit.  No need to order here, me and Gretchen, my partner in crime, would walk it and my 16oz pounder and her Michelob Ultra would be ready and waiting, always served lukewarm unless you were smart enough to order from the animal trough behind the bar with the popular beers iced down.   Kevin Bacon's stunt double, Clint Bryant and many other infamous individuals could be seen on any random night at Coaches. 

Coaches was also the place that brought out the klepto in me.  They had so many treasures that no one appreciated, I took it upon myself to steal and cherish these items.  Some of my alleged thievery consisted of and in no particular order were: a purple #12 pool ball, a lighted holiday sign, multiple martini glasses, a beer bucket with salt and pepper shakers, gene wilder (my best swipe to date), a music box thingy, small Christmas tree, Miller Lite beer mat, a large blow up display, and I am sure many, many other items.  The only thing that I truly wanted and never had the courage to take was the clock.  Could you imagine a bar without a clock?! It would have been classic. 

Now, the bar is called Kelly’s Place, I haven’t been there quite enough to form my skewed opinion,  I will say you have a 99% percent chance of seeing the owner  drunk and dancing behind the bar, Sexy, sexy.    I have a feeling Kelly’s Place may be around for a while so I have decided to keep my hands to myself and be on my best behavior when I choose to visit.  (for a while at least) 

Gag Me

I was walking around World Market perusing the curtain selections when a 30 something year old women walked by.  I had to take a double take because I thought it looked like she was sucking her thumb.   On the double take, I realized that I was correct; this lady was sucking her thumb.  I jaw dropped stared as she walked by and then I heard the suckling sound as she removed it from her mouth.  Gag me, literally gag me.  I continued to shop around but I had the hardest time trying to wipe the disgusted look off my face. 

This made me start to wonder why I ever stopped sucking my thumb.  It was one of the hardest things I had to give up as a seven year old.  Sure, had I not stopped I may have buck teeth and a permanent callus on the top of my thumb from my tongue.  However, I would also still have that security back that sucking my thumb gave me.  Anxiety would be gone because I could calm myself by rubbing my nose with my finger.  No matter where I went I would always have it with me, readily available at my disposal.  How many gag me looks would I get out and about shopping with my thumb in my mouth and more importantly would I care?   It also makes me wonder that if I would have continued sucking my thumb if I would still be a bed wetter as well. 

Don't look at me.

I rifle through my drawer among all the different options I have available.  Adidas, Jansport, Spi belt, leather, polka dotted, and a random one that says “outdoor photography”.  Which one will go best with the outfit I am planning?  Each one has so many different qualities to offer but when it comes to it, we all know that with a fanny pack you can never go wrong. 

My obsession began around 5 years ago.  The first time I “rocked” a fanny pack was at Cedar Point amusement park.  I thought it was a perfect opportunity to look like a complete ass.  Throughout my day at the park I was let down by the amount of attention the fanny brought, I figured there was bound to be someone like me out there snickering and pointing.  By the end of the day I had slowly became obsessed with the convenience and functionality this glorious little bag on my hip brought.  If I wanted to take a picture boom, done, need my wallet, walla, my phone, just a zipper swipe away.  It was fantastic.

I believe everyone should wear a fanny pack at least one time in their life, if only to understand how accommodating this little bag can be.  I wish I could say a fanny pack was a common accessory in my wardrobe but alas it is not.  It is always a staple for vacations and any other activity I wish to make other people jealous of me. 

As a side note, I have always said Fanny packs are going to come back just like terry cloth.  Terry cloth did by the way. 

Peanut Butter Jelly Time

The first time it was pointed out, I took it rather lightly and didn’t think much about it.  My girlfriend had come over and said she could tell that I seemed happier, apparently when she used to come over I would be like “hheeyyy” and just blah in general. A few days later I was talking with my sister after Thanksgiving and it went something like this:  "I like that you're happy again, I missed you.”  It’s weird to hear people say things like this when you think you were happy and that nothing really changed.  However, that wasn’t the last time I heard this, just today, my mom pointed out that her daughter was back; that I was laughing and joking again just like I used to and how nice it was. 

It makes me sad to hear and know that everyone around me had to endure and just watch me be miserable, hold there tongue because it wasn’t there place to speak up.  More importantly, it makes me wonder who I have been and when the "happy me” officially disappeared.  I try to think back and put a finger on the exact time my life wasn’t what it used to be.  The more I think about it,  the more I realize that it doesn’t matter and that the past is the past and I have all the time in the world to joke and annoy all the people around me just like I used to.  

Scorpio & TBD

Hey baby what’s your sign is going to be my new pickup line when I go out.  For the past 8 years whenever I meet someone new I always get out my trusty “Birthdays, Stars and Numbers” book to see if we are compatible on some level.  Hoping one day the book will inform me that I have officially met my soul mate.   I figured if I ask “what there sign is” beforehand I can cut out a lot of the meaningless small talk.  “Wait, you were born when?  Sorry, we’re not compatible.” Clearly, I could never just trust how I feel; I barely keep my thoughts in order let alone my feelings.  As of yet the book hasn’t steered me wrong or maybe it has, who is to say right?  I have yet to date a guy whose birthday falls into any category that might be for me.  Which means I am still looking and still hoping for the quote un quote MR. RIGHT.   

If you know anyone born on : January 9^th or 29^th, February 7^th or 27^th , March 5^th or 25^th, April 3^rd or 23^rd,  May 1^st or 21^st,  June 19^th,   July 17^th ,   August 15^th ,   September 13^th ,   October 11^th ,   November 9^th  and lastly Dec 7^th.   Send them my way, apparently we are meant for each other. 

the debt of a relationship

I never thought you could put a price tag on what you and someone else shared together.  Apparently, I have been misled because you can.  According to a recent bill I have been presented, a little over four years equals the cost of $16,000 however with the proper adjustments I now only owe $5,000.    The title was named “the money and time I have invested in the house for our future together”.   What started as acceptance has turned into anger and now disbelief, how could he ever put a price tag on what was us. 

Over the years we did multiple projects together both inside and out.  A few of the main ones consist of gutting and renovating both the kitchen and bathroom, building a shed and landscaping.  It was a lot of work for both of us and also a lot of arguing and fighting.  No one ever said relationships are easy and ending a long-term one has to be single most difficult decision most people have to make.  It took a little over a month before I was given the paper with the breakdown of what I owed him.   I was told that it was not supposed to be considered a bill; I guess I should have just ignored the payment plan on the bottom.   In hindsight he was the one walking away with nothing, no place to live, no new kitchen or bathroom, no shed to store empty windshield wiper bottles, nothing.  I don’t regret any of the time we had together but I do regret not following my heart sooner when I realized the one I should love the most wasn’t the guy living with me.

Best Friends

I was sitting at lunch and it happened, I made the sound I always hear my cat make, a brief push of air out my nose in annoyance.  I never realized before that I mimicked Beans but I think it has something to do with the increased time we are spending together.  With work lessening and the majority of my days off spent home with her, I guess one would expect something like this to happen.  It’s like two friends who hang out all the time; they start talking the same, having the same mannerisms, you know the drill, except I’m doing it WITH MY CAT?

I get made fun of for being “a crazy cat lady” and I think it is unwarranted.  Yes, I do abnormal things with my cat but I don’t consider any of it as crazy.  I do the same things any parent would do for their own kid.  Haircuts, clothes, holiday photos, all normal activities in a human relationship, why is it that when you put a cat in the mixture that it turns into something unusual.  I think cat ladies are getting a bad rap.  You never here “crazy dog lover “uttered to someone who does the same thing I may do to beans to their dog.  I am offended and disgusted by the prejudice out there against cat ladies. We need to hold strong and band together to stop the war against cat ladies.  

The Inviting Face of a Stranger

It never mattered where I was, whether I was walking through a store or standing in line, people loved to talk to me.  I always used to imagine myself as an uninviting person.  Eyes down low, arms crossed, attention occupied with something uninteresting but it never worked.  Random conversation from strangers would come at me from all sides… I tried to duck and dodge the attack, but it always failed.  I’d be hit, forced to respond with,  “Yes, these deals are amazing” “I know, this shirt is adorable”  (Which is why I am carrying it around the store with me you fuck stick, I plan on buying it), fake smile plastered across my face the entire time my head reeling with what part of my body language allowed the attack.   

I used to be envious of my friends who had that mean look to them, the uninviting face, the ones who never get forced into uncomfortable conversation about random things with random people.   I am no longer envious though because I have accepted my fate and embraced it in many ways.  I have a face that invites people in, like a vampire, ok, maybe not. (I wanted to make myself a little cooler than I am) Anyway, the face that says “talk to me, I give a shit”.    I am no longer annoyed or put out by these random attacks; instead I play the game, if they are excited about a sale, so am I.  If they like the shirt I am carrying around, I inform them where I found it, the cost and if there are any more.  Why not, right?  My next step is to be the random person who attacks and talks to that one person who looks like they want to be left alone.  Look out strangers, here I come.

Cheese and Crackers

The food of a single

 I like to think about how my eating habits have changed from when I went from being a couple back to a single.  Before breakfast, lunch and dinner used to be somewhat planned out and important and now they are meaningless. 

What used to be French toast with bacon has turned into only coffee.  Lunch happens if I’m working and at home it doesn’t.  Dinner has by far taken the biggest turn for the worst.  On multiple occasions I have eaten saltines with cheese, popcorn shoveled in with a big spoon, a meal of stove top only and who can forget my dear friend crunchy peanut butter.  I love cooking for others but it is a whole lot of hoopla when it comes to just cooking for little ol’ me.

 When feeding time occurs it always is a process trying to figure out what to eat.  The first time I open the pantry door nothing looks good, fifteen minutes later when I look again only to realize that the secret pantry stocker has yet to be there, I close the door and walk away.  Seven minutes later, I sneak to the door, say a small “let there be food” prayer and look again.  Hmm, all the sudden it catches my eye, a box of bisquick, pancakes? Nope, no eggs, back to the couch. Five minutes more goes by, the door is wide open; my eyes scan the shelves looking for the hidden gem that is going to satisfy my belly.   I know I need to make my decision on this trip; my stomach can’t bear another teasing.  That’s when it happens, my eyes lock on the can of freshlike green beans and I know that I’m not going to find anything better.   I wouldn’t call this a successful meal but at least I don’t have to go through this again until tomorrow.    

Gawd Damn Buckeyes

Over the years, I have slowly developed a dislike for the Ohio State Buckeyes.  I feel as if I should rephrase, I dislike the Ohio State Buckeye crazy obsessed fans.  I have learned not to divulge my feelings to openly, instead I now lead them to believe that I am just a dumb girl who hates football.    Maybe I’m just getting older but when I hear that resounding “O” ”H”, I cringe and scrunch my nose like someone just shit their pants, looking around for the culprit.  I know it is sacrilegious in Ohio to think let alone say something of this nature but I must get it off my chest.  

I feel I should fill you in on my last outing with the buckeyes…

Incident #1 

I was at the Varsity Club (I know stupid to begin with) during an Ohio State Football night game.  It was crowded loud and uncomfortable.  I was the fifth wheel on a bicycle rickshaw so the night wasn’t going so smoothly to begin with.  I decided to head to the bathroom even though I didn’t have to go, by the time I waited in the line I figured I would have to go then.  On my way back from the bathroom the buckeyes must have made a first down or something equally as great because everyone was celebrating.  I was walking through all the people when all of a sudden I get hit in the shoulder and slightly knocked off balance by some fucking douche bag.  Wide eyed and in awe I kept walking to the sanctuary of my group.  (Note: the fucking douche bag never acknowledged my existence)    

Incident #2

Still there, the game is over and I hate life.  I am sitting in a chair minding my own business when no other than Bart Simpson starts talking to me.  (ok, so it really isn’t Bart Simpson and no, I was not that drunk, this guy just looked like his human spawn)  The conversation began with “Bart” asking why I don’t like football.  This is when I made the biggest mistake OF MY LIFE.  I told a diehard Ohio state fan that I do not like diehard Ohio state fans.  WHO KNEW!?  After I was chastised for being so narrow minded about the fans and informed how all football fans are stupid obsessed in every state.  I should understand that “Bart” loves the buckeyes because he graduated from there and his mom has two degrees from there.  Apparently, a college degree gives you the right to make a complete ass out of yourself every Saturday in the fall.   I decided after this that not only to a dislike the fans, I should avoid all encounters with them.

I honestly believe that some fans probably pray to the buckeyes and not god.  Could you imagine “Dear Buckeyes please give me the strength to not get so intoxicated during your next game that I can make it home and not end up in the bushes again with an unexplainable wet spot, chipped tooth and an unnatural urge to scratch my crotch.  Amen”

Running in the Rain

I started jogging over a year ago and what started as going one mile turned into going five.  My favorite part is running in the rain.  The light drizzle that’s starts and turns into a full fledge storm.  It is like being out alone up against no one but myself.  Each step is taking me a little further and at the same time closer to my final destination.  

Liberating, exhilarating and sometimes freezing it is one of the best feelings I know.  When it falls down on my head and runs down my face, I feel as though I could go all night.  Staring up into the drops and smiling at them as they hit me in the face.  Clearing my head of the issues from my day, problems of the month and questions of my life.   As my jog comes to an end I run under the shelter of my porch and into my house.  Chilled to the bone, I remove my soaked shoes, socks and hop in a warm shower to unwind to the thought of running in the rain. 

Natural Born Quitter

I stated giving up on hobbies when I was young.  It seems like everyone around me excelled at something and when I think back through my life I DID NOT excel much.  I’m not saying I wasn’t good at something, I am saying I have mastered being a quitter and non-starter better than anyone around.

As a kid my sisters stopped asking me to play games because I would quit before the game was over (only if I was losing).   Once, I brought up to a boyfriend about wanting to learn how to play the guitar or banjo and was told that I wouldn’t get the instant results I would need and not to bother.  Is that what I need, instant gratification?  Hmm, deep thoughts.

 I went through a phase where I made jewelry, I can ride a bicycle rather well and I will say I am great at cutting people’s heads out of photos and putting them on other pictures.   Does any of that even count?   I am still trying to knit but the largest thing I’ve made is a bracelet.   I own a banjo and mini guitar that I haven’t ever attempted.  I guess I am waiting for the right time to pick it up and impress the world with my skills.  Maybe it’s time to pick one and get serious. I laughed out loud at the fact I even wrote that.