Shits and giggles

Forgive me, faint of heart for the crudeness of the last few posts. When last we left our heros, non-food objects and general anal retentiveness threatened health and humor. Looming deadlines and pending travel added to the stress. I am happy to report that movement has occurred for all of us and serindipity continued in the postponement of our travel plans. It truly is the little things.

Freudian shits

So the dog has a blockage in her lower colon. Something non-food. Ironically, so do I. Literally and figuratively, I feel like I have a stick in my ass. Her rhythm is off, my rhythm is off. I was counting on this week to get stuff done and now it is Friday. There is a phantom smell of dog vomit coming from somewhere I can not find. I've been tired all week but now I can not sleep. I need to cancel my appointment with BS tomorrow afternoon because I simply do not have the time. An hour of this evening was spent dodging the crap of other dogs, walking every patch of grass within a mile of our house, frustrated nearly to the point of whimpering that she just would not or could not poop. I was already unhealthily consumed with her bowel habits, now I'm literally walking on my tiptoes and holding my breath hoping that she is winding up to deliver the goods. Not sure what that says about me. Pretty sure I don't want to figure it out.

If she doesn't pass something tomorrow morning, we're supposed to check in with the vet for perhaps another set of X-rays to see if the blockage has even budged and to discuss what we need to do next to break up the logjam. Surgery is a last resort option that begins to tip the benefits vs risk scale as time passes without foreign object passage. The good news is that it made it so far through her digestive tract. The bad news is that it refuses to move on. It would be funny if it weren't potentially life threatening and scarily expensive. We've spent over $300 this week and she still has a problem. I can't imagine how much money it would cost to actually fix something. They didn't even charge me for an office visit today and it was over $100. I'm scheduled to fly out on Saturday, adding a sense of urgency about this movement and a sense of anxiety about leaving her in the care of others. I can't fathom the mechanics of a dog enema but I am probably going to google it when I finish this post. Don't even get me started about work. Something has got to give. This has been a very shitty week. Pun absolutely intended.

Dog Mom

Before we get started with this post I want to acknowledge that I do understand that human children are different from dogs. But even those who have dogs and children can appreciate that the perpetual childhood of a dog can be taxing at times. With children, there is a point when they start to take themselves to the bathroom, fix themselves some basic sustenance, and manage some self-care when they are ill. They also usually learn how to get to the bathroom in time for however they are going to be sick. Not so with dogs. Even if you strategically place multiple large towels across your nearly new and terribly expensive wool rug, you will still rise to find your sick and pitiful looking dog resting on one of the towels after disgorging the contents of their stomach on to the rug. It's been a week with this throwing up thing and I finally took her to the vet yesterday. Over 200 dollars later, we came home with Pepcid. F&@king Pepcid. And she's still throwing up. Predominantly on the newer and more expensive of the two rugs in the living room. I'd bet good money that even if I switched the location of the two rugs, she would still throw up on the new one. Dogs have a sixth sense about these things. It's a hateful sixth sense but a very accurate one. So I sit here waiting for the next round of gagging so I can rub her belly calm and she can wait until I leave for work to desecrate our living space.

Batman, glitter shirts, and theme suspenders

Batman was a lovely man, a grown-up Urkel, if you will. Theme suspenders. Check. Theme tie. Check. Black and white wing tips. Check. Very large retro glasses. Check. He was right out of central casting. He mentioned at some point having shopped for glitter shirts when he was going to clubs. He’s the guy in the club with the glitter shirt ladies, and he is rock-in’ it. He knows he looks good too. Glitter shirt. Christ. I was inwardly wincing at the sheet music tie and suspenders. I would have blushed the entire night with embarrassment if he had showed up in a glitter shirt.

He was entirely too nice of a guy for me to mock and far too earnest to go out with again. Still it was nice to feel my power. It was nice to be sure a guy liked me. I definitely had hand. I knew before we went out that I was unlikely to be attracted to him but I still wanted him to be into me. Had he been underwhelmed by all that is me, I might have considered impaling myself on one of the beer taps. I would have taken an unnecessary vow of celibacy and completely given up.

I’ve been thinking about the date today because I can. In this space, I’ve documented my fixations with Mr. Coffee, IBC, and now cute guy with dog (more on him later) and none of these guys were/are ever into me. On paper, Batman is great; music teacher, loves all kinds of music, plays guitar (one of my Achilles’ heel), and he’s into me as is. A little too into me for what little he knows but into me nonetheless. I wrote a friend recently who was giving me unsolicited dating advice telling her first to please stop. More importantly, I told her that I recognized that I have questionable taste in men. I don’t think there is anything wrong with anyone I’ve liked necessarily. It’s just that I can and routinely do pick the least interested/available man in any room to become fixated with. I told her that until there is some shift in me that allows me to like people who like me instead of being drawn to guys who aren't interested or just like having someone into them without returning the favor, I think things are going to be about the same as they ever have been.

6 more guys to be rejected by on match until that expensive and ego-deflating experiment is over.

Some things are cool just because you get to say you're doing them

Example: I've got a date tomorrow. It doesn't matter that it's not with someone I'm really all that excited about seeing. It's just nice to be able to tell people I'm doing it. Makes me sound desirable.

Example: (off camera question: What did you do this weekend?) Oh, I went to stay with some friends at their family cabin in West Virginia (okay maybe the WV part doesn't sound as cool and honestly, as a person of color, most similarly hued folks-including my parents-questioned my judgement in being out in the middle of nowhere in WV. But it still sounded cool and I think they were secretly impressed).

Example: We went shooting last night after work. (I mean, how bad ass is that? p.s. I'm a pretty decent shot--among people who don't do a lot of shooting)

Example: (off camera question: What did you do for Valentines Day?) We had a girls night out; went to see a movie, had pizza, then when to a desert place. (It was fun but I called it a night early. I had a screaming headache and had my fill of estrogen laced conversations seeking/giving advice about dating and guys in general).

With just a few more data points, the uninformed would plot out something that looked like a fun single girl having a fun single life with all her friends and dates and weekend trips and miss all the dead air in between when I sat in one of my two chairs surrounded by general chaos and (today) carrot colored dog vomit on my throw rugs. The delta between the data points and real life is wide and deep.

In other news, it turns out Batman was an apt moniker for my would-be boyfriend. He's really into Batman. It amuses and troubles me equally. Not because I have anything against Batman or comics; I do not hide my own love of cartoons and know that I'm pretty much a nerd. But I'm a cool nerd.

I know, even I laughed.

Batman returns

I got another e-mail from Batman...I suppose I should just answer it. There is probably something wrong with me that I consider the upside of this eventual meeting is that it will be blog worthy. I'm sure of it.

Low Self Esteem: self fulfilling since 1 BC

A few things I hate about me:

1. That I'm keen on the relationship status of artists that I like and am a little bummed when they are married or in committed relationships. That is absolutely ridiculous. I don't talk to guys I actually see everyday. I can't figure out what kind of f*@^ked up chemistry allows me to actively lament my lost shot at an even modestly famous celebrity. If they could weaponize estrogen...

2. This list seemed like a good idea at the time...

In other news, a co-worker of mine that would be easily hate-able if not so affable was enjoying more professional good fortune and made a comment about how much he loved his job and couldn't imagine how people who hate their job, who struggle to get out of bed and drag themselves in everyday, do it. It was all I could do not to pipe up and tell him how we manage. The man is a study in the adage of success coming when you do something that you love. But it would shortchange him to not highlight his professional acumen and political astuteness. There is also something I catch from time to time that suggests that he can affably tell you to f@%k yourself. Something hard and selfish.

In still other news, I was pleased that BS had kept things fresh between us by not wearing a blue sweater on our third session. I did however, leave the session thinking that either a: BS and I probably won't last past another session or b: BS and I probably won't last another session and therapy may not be necessary or even helpful. I thought this would be challenging and instead I kind of feel like I'm running our sessions. I find myself thinking of bringing an outline or agenda and it has so far ended up just using him as my accountability buddy. I told him during our last session that I was kind of embarrassed that we were using his time and expertise to do that kind of stuff. We spent 20 minutes setting up a goal for tackling my room of shame in 15 minute increments. WTF? In his defense, he sorta brought up the 'why' in the 'what' of the things I do in our last session and I blocked that shot. But I expect him to challenge me, I'm not the doctor, I have no idea what works. He wouldn't be my chore-buddy if I had any idea what works. I left last Friday feeling like a fraud. I don't need help, at least that kind of help. I need to get off my ass and stop making excuses for not living the life I want. And it seems BS can't help with that or help me unlock the motivation to do so.

I think I understand why I do what I do, I think I have stellar insight many of the random events, non-events, and circumstance that have shaped who I am. I think I can nail with pinpoint accuracy what my hang-ups are with men. I'm pretty sure I know why I keep ending up jobs I don't like too. I know that few things are less attractive than low self-esteem. I annoy myself with that but I still reflexively don't like myself. Mostly (I think) because no man I ever wanted, wanted to be with me. I also understand that I have questionable taste in men. I have epiphanies and revelations on a regular basis. I'd be very surprised if BS said something that surprised me. Is that the most arrogant I've ever been in public? Possibly. The point is, no matter the reason(s) why, I still have to do something about it. So I'm a little ambivalent about exploring the nooks and crannies of how the stupid guy in 7th grade who said I was ugly carries forward into today.

Earlier this evening, I was thinking of the move here and remembering how enchanting it all felt, how I filled with hope whenever the skyline came into view. I was confident that I was here for a reason, and that my husband was here. Random people bought me dinner, everyone was super nice, and I was charmed by the city and excited about my work. And now I'm over it. I really don't have much patience or staying power. I hope one day they sell Ritalin OTC. I would be mad focused. It would be awesome. I think it's horrible but I totally get the moms who do meth. It's hard to do it all--it's physically impossible. But if you don't need sleep, you can get so much more done and with a pep that honestly rarely happens naturally in the body. And bonus, it keeps you skinny too!

I digress. The point is, in the Alchemist, at the beginning of each major step in the protagonists' journey, the universe is audibly saying 'yes.' Things fall into place, you are confident you are where you should be. But then the honeymoon is over and you wonder at times if you missed an exit or perhaps misinterpreted the universe. There is a crappy confusing lull as the universe has you treading water until the next current. So basically, I'm either where I'm supposed to be and this just sucks, or like Gob in Arrested Development, "I've made a huge mistake."