I’m breaking up with you.

No, I don’t care to give you a reason.

No, we can’t be friends.

I’m packing my things and I’m taking the cat with me.

We’re going somewhere you can’t find us.

Goodbye DBS3.

It seems that, when people talk about the future they want for their kids, they always want to give them a better life than they had. That’s all fine and good. You should want a lot for your spawn. But….. what if you’re… you know… good? Like…. when I have kids, I’m cool with them having the same quality of life that I did when I was little. I didn’t go to Disneyland until my sophomore year of high school when I got a little frisky on the Matterhorn with my ex boyfriend. I bought my first car for $100. When I got said car, I was told to get a job. So I did. I slept on the roof. I picked blackberries and salmon berries. We took vacations every summer.

I had it pretty good back then.

I am completely ok with giving my imaginary children the same kind of life that I had. Any better and it’ll be bad.

Well played, Mom and Dad…. well played.

This morning, as we were sitting at Starbucks/ Zoops, the only thing I wrote was about my consistently exploding vagina. I was reading “Only Revolutions” for the 15 billionth time and he was filling a sketchbook.  There were dogs everywhere. We’re into dogs. Way into dogs. We name them… decide which ones we will keep. He told a black dog on Friday that she should go have puppies or she should come live with him and they’ll run away to Washington to run in pastures…

*wait…. what’s THAT supposed to mean?* I asked myself.

… We met the  friendliest curly haired dog on the planet (I think he thought he was a cat… he was VERY into it….) and I named him Denali. He was my favorite of the morning. Other than Whicket (pronounced WHO-ick-it). I say I am going to get a dog. Today. He says I will have to come to his house every day…

*wait…. what’s THAT supposed to mean?* I asked myself.

… back to the story…. we’re sitting there doing our individual together thing and I realize that I’m having this Exploding Vagina Syndrome all over the table. Its rolling off the table and spilling out into the streets.  We’re looking at dogs, but there’s also babies everywhere. Children are running wild in the streets, Lord Of The Flies is being acted out on the sidewalks. There are little people everywhere.

Little people, dogs, and That One Guy.

Despite the fact that I knew– nearly for a fact (we’re talking like…. 2% chance of actual happening)– that it wouldn’t ever be happening, I still found myself…. thinking about it. It was horrible. It…. it was horrible.

Just now, I read my Whore-Or-Scope:

The Moon’s return to your sign this morning is a green light for you to slip beneath the surface and luxuriate in the rich imagery of your imagination. But you are no stranger to the symbols that surface from deep within your subconscious mind. Unfortunately, putting your dreamy fantasies to work can be quite challenging. It might be easier on everyone now if you just watch them unfold and wait to make your move.

Or just don’t make your move and live with the decision that has been made and just be painfully aware that it was for the better and one day, you’ll have to have your heart broken again when he starts dating someone new and you’re no longer the most important person in his life up there on that pedestal wearing the Burger King crown……

shit.

Best weekend ever.

only she doesn’t blow.

she rocks. and no, I don’t assign my tattoos a gender.

You’re probably a little surprised that I got this, aren’t you.

Yeah. I figured you would be. I have kept this one (like its friend on the other arm that will most likely come around next month) pretty quiet. I didn’t even tell Ezra about it.

I saw it on a bumper sticker a few months ago and it kind of stuck with me.  After The Double Infinity ,  I’ve become quite fond of inspirational tattoos. I woke up this morning and read my arm and felt pretty good. Seriously. I looked at it, read it, and smiled. Now, there wasn’t really an opportunity for me to partake in any particular joy today, but…. yesterday… yesterday I partook in some joy by getting the tattoo.

While we were at Red Robin, I was sitting there being Shy New Group Arwen and I looked at my arm and thought “Just do it today. Don’t wait anymore.” It had just been such a good day that it seemed right.

“I’m getting a tattoo after we leave here.”

“Of what?”

“‘Don’t delay joy’ over here on my arm.”

“…That’s kind of awesome. I like that.”

So… I did. After I dropped Ezra off at home so he could be a Bitty and do his homework, I drove over to Captain Jacks in order to no longer delay my joy.

“Well… we’re pretty full this afternoon. We can maybe do it later tonight, but for sure tomorrow. Call us around 7 to see if we can get you in?”

Huh.

How ironic.

Next month, to finish it off, I’m getting “Gam zeh ya’avor” on my left arm in the same place.  I think they’ll work well together and independently of each other.

which i’m into.

Ezra and I went to see Star Trek with a group of his friends and oh. my. god.

no.

wait.

OH MY GOD!

I was expecting to like the movie. I expected it to be good. I did not expect it to make me want to skip lunch at Red Robin for um… more… Adult Pleasures.

Yeah.

It was that good.

From the very start of the movie, it was very inspirational. I now know that if I can make it through the birth of James Tiberius Kirk tear free… well hell. I can survive anything.

In addition to being that good, was my introduction to my Other Secret Boyfriend (I mean, other than Zachary Quinto, John Cho, Simon Pegg, J.J. Abrams and -now- Chris Pine), Michael Bay. I mean… seriously. Transformers is going to be so. Flarking. Good. I mean…. shitman… its going to blow my mind.

And I am finally sold on the idea of Terminator. I have only liked T2, so you can imagine how un-excited I was for Salvation, but… I’m fully prepared to go see it at Midnight on the 20th. Its going to be reelgood.

oh….

yeah….

and I’m getting a tattoo tonight.

yes, its been a good day.

a very good day indeed.

Now, if you’re anyone who is anyone, you know that cornflakes taste like the wrong end of a butthole (believe me, the correct end doesn’t taste much better. and that’s the point.) dipped in corn. I can also tell you that Puffins, regular and cinnamon don’t taste that much better. The cinnamons turn into a mealy chunk of paste that wedges itself to the backs of your teeth.

But who ever invented bananas with dry cornflakes was a freakin GENIUS. Puffins with apples? Brilliance. O’s with pears? Amazing.

End Transmission.

No… wait… not end….. There’s this new Raisin Bran coming out that’s like….. Raisin Bran KickAss or… The Raisin Bran Ultimatum… Raisin Bran: Final Contact…. maybe its Raisin Bran Domination. I can’t remember. BUT…. I’ve never been so excited about an adult breakfast cereal in my life. And by “Adult”, I clearly don’t mean little crunchy pieces that look like boobies and wieners and peepees and such.  But I can tell you as soon as fugging Wells Fargo releases the Vulcan Death Grip that they have on my paycheck, I’m so going to buy a box of Kick Ass Raisin Bran, a carton of Vanilla Silk, and i’m eattin that sucker like there’s no tomorrow.

Anyways, Why Evolution Is True. I saw it a few months ago on one of Our trips to Powell’s, but I had already bought my books and… well… it was in a hardback and very rarely do I fork out the green for a hardback.

Its a life choice.

And actually, now that I think about it, I saw it at Borders back when it was just us… not Us. So that was prolly back Decemberish. Maybe the beginning of January. Doesn’t matter. Its been a while. That is what matters.

I finally broke down and bought it (along with another Brautigan book that holds a very loved poem called “If I Should Die Before You Do”). Now, when I was learned about that thrr Eevo-loo-shun, it was pointed out that it is called Evolutionary THEORY. Theory. Not hypothesis. Perhaps I had heard of Gravitational Theory? Yeah. Same thing. Of course, I went to school before you whippersnappers and I had never heard of- and I don’t think it had technically been coined as a phrase- Intelligent Design.

ID…. it just SOUNDS like a 21st century politically correct term. Anyways, as you could have guessed, I’m not down with Intelligent Design. I’m not entirely sure WHAT I’m down with, but I’m certainly not down with that.

WEIT says that it is a book, not to convince a “non-believer”, but to inform the “believer”. Something about we’re taught about Evolution and we believe in it, but we don’t really KNOW why… like… not the important details.

So far, I’m way into it. Its real good. I’m almost 1/2 way thru and I started last week (please take into consideration how much time I actually have to read….) but.

but.

About mid-way into the second chapter, the author starts making comments like “There’s no reason a Creator would do that….” and “This makes no sense if dolphins were specially created.” Its like he’s taunting Creationists… and if he’s not taunting them, then he doesn’t have much confidence in me as a General Public to recognize, on my own, that it doesn’t make much sense for a dolphin to, at one point in its embryonic development, have a nubbin for a leg.

I’m not really into that. I would like my authors to have some confidence in me… you know…. I’m not stupid. I mean, my logic could certainly be called into question when taking into consideration the $28 that I paid for the book, but when it comes to recognizing that something doesn’t make sense? I did alright in high school. I was pretty good at college. I’m pretty average for the audience, I’d like to think. Don’t be an ass, Jerry Coyne.

Or be whatever you want. You wrote the book, got it published, and are now drinking my $30 in a crystal glass on your yacht in the mediterrainian surrounded by… well… it doesn’t seem that someone who wrote a book on evolution would be surrounded by international models, but hey….

perhaps Nerd Book Writers are evolving…

*wink*

the next night, whilst laying in bed listening to The Shins reading more about cacti and such:

yano…. he keeps talking about “Why would a creator do this?” and “Why would a creator do that?” and I find myself getting more and more annoyed.

 

One can’t know WHY a Creator did something because they are not THE Creator.

 

In order to know what The Creator was thinking when creation was happening, we would have to know WHAT The Creator was/ is.  (In my head I’m singing “What If God Was One Of Us”….)

 

If “we” knew what “A Creator” was thinking during the process, that wouldn’t make him much of a Creator now, would it. I mean, you can understand something without necessarily “reproducing” it, per say, but….

 

You’re not God.

 

You can’t know what God was thinking when He made shit.

 

So stop asking your stupid rhetorical buttplug questions and just tell me what I’m here to read.

Buttplug.

Pancakes are truly out of this world

The Saturday that E and I broke up and basically, kind of just stopped sleeping together (because it seems that is all that has changed…. I just don’t stay the night over there and he doesn’t stay over here), I decided that it was time for me to have some good old fashioned comfort food. I know you expect me to buy steak as comfort food (and I did) but more importantly, I bought bread that I love (Cannon Beach bread from Franz), I bought peanut butter. I bought honey. This was actually THE worst comfort food on the planet because it didn’t comfort me at all. Just a few days earlier, E had re-introduced me to PB&H so eating a PB&H sammich just made me even more sad.

So I ate some steak.

But now, the Cannon Beach Bread is gone, the steak is gone, but the PB&H remains.

Also remaining is the box of buttermilk pancake mix from the morning that E made me Banana Pancakes because of Jack Johnson. Owesome (that was for you. Lest we forget).

I, for some rickdiculous reason, thought that peanutbutter and honey pancakes would be delightful for dinner. Funny, cause I don’t even like pancakes. But when they have a little crusty ring around the outside from the oil in the pan, they’re amazing.

I can tell you here and now, Peanut Butter and Honey Pancakes are the most amazing thing I have ever put in my mouth.

Ever.

and now I’m all sad cause its like…. I’m eating little memories.

worst. comfort food. ever.

We Are.... ISFJ

Man am I tired.

But no… seriously. I am so beat. I know that people do what I do for years at a time, but they aren’t me.

I’ve been working out my excuses the past few days…. I think I’m going to take (or attempt to take) a leave from school. The shortest amount that one can take is 30 days and I think that might be what I need.

Yesterday I worked hecka late and couldn’t get to school before the cut off, so I went over to Ezra’s and stole some chocolate mateys from Anders (well… they were stolen for me) (its ok if you’re confused. “Went to Ezra’s? But….. the last post…. didn’t you guys…..?” The answer is yes: you should be confused. Its a tricky, strange, alright situation. Maybe someday I’ll tell you the details. Tabitha.) Earlier in the day, he had taken the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator and said he wanted me to take it too. So I did.

When E took it, it told him what we all already know about him: He’s a leader. Always. He’s a thinker not a feeler. He’s TinMan. (yes. I realize that TinMan had a huge heart and he was so feel-y that he prolly should have had several restraining orders on his name, but… that’s not the point I’m getting at with calling him that, though) When I took it, we were told what we all already know about me: I’m a feeler…. a nurturer… I am more likely to “solve” a problem myself rather than burdening someone else with it…. its one of the downfalls of me in a leadership position. Like I said…. things we all already know about me. It said that we ISFJs (Introverted Sensing Feeling Judgement) are prone to burnout, we’re overworked, and as a result may suffer from psychosomatic illnesses.

One of the most common “light hearted” questions I’m asked is “Are all of them yers?” in ref to the 8 children that I walk with on a daily basis. The second most frequently asked question is “When do you have time for YOU?” I typically lie and say “Oh… I find time…” But really…. I don’t. On account of my constantly making time for other people in my life (or at least trying…) I really have very little Me Time. I thrive on Me Time. I NEED Me Time. Remember when I used to take baths and eat tomatoes and read Steinbeck? Now, if I take a bath, its quite quick because I have to get to bed so I can do it all over again.

There was a situation with Baby Jesus at work and I realized that I was overly stressing myself out on account of him, trying not to burden other people with my “problem” until eventually– Tuesday– I cried and begged the director to let me step out of class so I could compose myself.

I crocheted Botsy on my free time. I got knitting needles for Christmas and a knitting book for my birthday. I have no time to even THINK about them.

It took me 3 1/2 months to get thru a 252 page book that I actually enjoyed.

Jones asked where I live now.

Traci said “Fuck it dude…. lets go bowling.” and I realized that we couldn’t go bowling because I never have time off when we could go.

I bought new running shoes but….. I have no time when I CAN go running! Unless I learn to do it in my sleep…..

I went through 2 hair colors without ever seeing Jess. She never even really saw the awesome that was pink.

I now talk to my mom for 15-20 minutes a week. A week people. We used to talk for at least an hour on Monday and Tuesday. Each. 15- 20 minutes.

WIGAH is that I don’t have time. I keep telling you I don’t have time, but…. I’ve been burnt out before. I don’t like it. I enjoy my job and I enjoy what I’m going to school for. But if I don’t take a break, I’m going to give up on them both. I’m probably not even going to do anything fantastic on my break…. I’ll probably just sit here and read. But I’ll be doing something. I don’t know…. maybe we can hang out.

Per E’s request, I’m going to give it a few more days just to be sure. But I can assure you here and now, Its going to happen. One way or another, I’m taking time off.

Suck it, BeauMonde College of Hair Design. You are Optional and I’m Opting to take time off.

Bitch.

i will always use this image for this situation. always.

Just how long do you have to tell yourself something to make it believable? I mean… I’m sure its longer than 24 hours, but….. its been a long 24 hours.

A very.

very.

very long 24 hours.

Maybe if Saturday’s events had transpired on say…. a Tuesday…. this wouldn’t have felt so long, but…. seeing as it was a Saturday and we all know what my Saturdays and Sundays have consisted of over the past 3 or 4 months, you can understand why its been particularly long.

I’m actually a little impressed with my ability to hold it together a) last night walking around (I drove away and was able to make it to the end of the block…. ok. That’s a lie. As soon as I pulled out of my parking spot I was bawling) and b) this morning for breakfast with The Fam. Now I just have to get through work and school.

And taking him his pillow and picking up the picture we did last weekend that I seemed to think had some eerie meaning or some shit.

yeah.

turns out I was wrong about that.

again.

its getting harder and harder to trust my heart.