A random day in the 90’s….

Me: “am I going to find love”

Magic 8 Ball “it is decidedly so”

Me: “am I going to be married by 30”

Magic 8 Ball “outlook not so good”

Me: “fuck you, what about 35?”

Magic 8 Ball “replay hazy try again”

Me ”gawd damn it”

Punxsutawney...

Fact: I have never experienced déjà vu. I sometimes wonder how many people out there are like me and have never felt the sensation of doing something like you have experienced it before. I will admit that I am a little envious of the people who have it, forever curious as to what it feels like and question why I have never felt it. I obviously have my own random thoughts about what it means and why some have it over others. For example, old souls, multiple lives (no, not nine like a cat, let’s be serious). Basically, it would be way too much for me to get into and I do not want my “crazy” to officially start to show... What I do have are repeat life situations; it’s not déjà vu exactly since I know I have done it before. My life at times is on repeat, it is like my own personal groundhog day. People reappearing after disappearing, situations that I thought were resolved are not. I know that when I get the phone call it is going to be the exact same conversation I had a week earlier. No matter what I say it always ends with the same conclusion only to happen all over again in a week or possibly a month. I actually tried to give it a different ending the other day and as hard as I tried it didn’t work. I should be getting a new PayPal bill soon, complements of an old relationship. My groundhog day isn’t all bad though. Some of the situations as backwards as they are with the people they involve, I like. I just know that one day I’m going to wake up and Groundhog Day is going to be over and hopefully my life and realizations are going to turn out just like Phil’s.

For Sale...

Mother fucking Beans. I almost want to stop there because that just summed up what I am about to write. She has to be the most annoying thing on the face of the planet. Even now as I type she is SLOWLY sneaking up onto my arm in her nonexistent stealth mode. It is obvious she has no idea how fat and oversized she is and that there will never be a time that she actually sneaks up onto anything.

Beans is not like most other cats; she is needy, loud and hates to be alone. She follows me around like a puppy, groans and growls when you rouse her from sleep and talks to herself more than what I considered normal. She keeps it no secret that she hates my mom, loves my sister Ali and just puts up with everyone else. I feel I am to blame for this behavior. She has always been given the coolest haircuts, the best clothes so why wouldn’t she act like a twat. I tried to rectify the situation but the damage has already been done. She will just continue to be intolerable but I think that is why we get along so well, we are just alike.

Occupied...

Wait, were you talking to me? I’m sorry I wasn’t listening. I have a lot on my mind lately and when I get like this I find myself “in my head” more often than I’d like. Thinking, questioning, playing out different scenarios, thinking, (shut up I can think more than once) and obviously putting entirely too much energy into any one situation going on around me. I spent the majority of last summer “in my head” and after taking a much needed break, I am not exactly happy to be back.

A large amount has to do with work. Not having enough time, expectations are high, can I get everything done. Once the season starts it transforms into: not having enough events, not kissing ass good enough and not getting things done to Bildo Baggins’ expectations.

The other part is trying to find time for myself. There is it, myself. Is there ever going to be enough time for me? How are things this summer going to go? Will I have more time off, any time off? What about my new relationship, how will it fair? I think the majority of my friends and family have accepted my fate of being M.I.A. during the warmer months. Maybe I should look into getting a new job? Is mine really that bad? Back in my head I go.

Ever since I was 16 I have worked at a golf course giving up most weekends and holidays. Sometimes I dream about a Mon-Fri, 9 to 5 and wonder if I would like it? I could get real vacation days (not just ones in the winter), sick days to use at my disposal AND weekends off. I wonder if that would be one of those: “the grass is always greener” things but maybe not. I should stop thinking so much about it and just let it happen rather than trying to figure out how it will all happen.

FAIL

I was going back through some old crap on my computer when I found a document I wrote a few years ago instructing the reader “How to live happily ever after with the girl of your dreams….. (That’s me)”. I laid it out in bullet form with 6 main headlines ranging from proper attention, bad moods to cleaning. It is actually quite humorous how much detail I went into about some of the things. After reading through it I realize that almost everything remains the same. I don’t ask for a lot and I never have. Below is a list of a few special bullet points that I plucked out to share, enjoy.

1. Give a kiss every morning before you leave and a kiss when you return home….
2. When you’re out without me text me. You could even lie and say you miss me or wish I was there too…
3. NEVER EVER WHIP OUT YOUR COCK AND THINK IT IS A TURN ON…it’s definitely not.
4. Sometimes an unexpected hug is the best way to make me feel special
5. Whatever you like that I do to you….do to me.
6. NEVER assume I’m on the same page as you about anything, the odds are I am not.

Hello? Hello?

The hatred I feel is overwhelming. I can’t think of the last time I wanted to destroy or toss something across the room more than I do now. Some days I hope to get by without the feeling creeping up on me but it never fails, it rears its ugly face and I can’t control myself. I toss my phone across the room, at the wall, and even into my car windshield on one special occasion. As soon as it “thumps out" (as I like to refer to it as) all I want to do is bash it’s face in. No, that call wasn’t important and I guess I really didn’t want to send that text message. Fuck you phone! You are the bain of my existence and I get excited each day to rip a link off of my paper chain to count down the days to my new phone.

On multiple occasions I truly wish my phone had feelings just so I could express how much dislike I have for it. People probably think I have lost my mind when they see me whispering angry comments at the screen because it wouldn’t let me do something. I am convinced it has a mind of its own and I can’t wait to teach it a lesson once I get a new phone and don’t have to put up with its shenanigans anymore (t-minus 24 days). I hope all other phones I own learn from the example I am going to make of this S.O.B.

ROAD BUMP

What happens when you hit a bump in the road that throws you and your passenger around? You saw it coming and knew in your heart that there wasn’t any way of avoiding it. You are honestly surprised that you have been able to avoid it for as long as you have. You walk away a little shaken up but basically unscathed, that’s when you look at the person with you and see the broken heart they are holding in their hands. They look at you, dead in the face and ask you why? Why did you hit that bump? What did they do to deserve it? You realize you have no reason to give, no answer that would be good enough. The only thing left for you to do is get back on the road until you meet someone else who wants to join you on the ride. You can only hope that the next bump you hit won’t leave anyone broken hearted.

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.