Once upon a time, I was in a video store with my then boyfriend trying to pick out a movie to watch. I picked up John Carpenter's Vampires, and proceeded to tell the boy about the coolest scene in the movie, where a guy uses his hot-from-being-fired gun to cauterize a wound he received. Said boyfriend looks at me, shakes his head, and says, "You're not like other girls, Betty."
Name::Braindead Betty From::Indy, Indiana, United States
A different UPS driver than normal came into our work today. After he left, the warehouse manager said he was “totally checking (me) out.” I have a problem sharing her conviction. He was probably thinking, “Why is this woman wearing shorts? Doesn’t she realize if the sun hits her legs at the right angle, the glare could blind everybody here?”
Unfortunately, I have to take the warehouse manager’s word for it. I am notorious for not realizing when a guy is hitting on me. Jay alternately gets really frustrated and immensely amused by it. He is forever awkwardly butting into my conversations at the bar because he feels protective of me. I’m surprised he hasn’t resorted to hiking his leg and pissing on me before we go in, just to say, “She’s my territory. Other guys back off.” (Okay, okay, he’s not that unreasonable.) It’s actually kind of cute watching his completely inept attempts at acting casual.
The last time we went out, I was so proud of myself though. A guy came up and started talking to me, and the first thing he said was something along the lines of, “Surely you’re not here by yourself?” to which I, being the wonderful wife that I am, replied, “I sure am baby, let’s go back to your place!” Okay, that’s not really the way it went. I let him know that my husband was there. I told Jay about it later, very proud of myself and my observation skills. Jay looked at me, announced that he’s known that guy for years, and that he’s gay. The guy, not Jay.
I mentioned in a previous post that I burned one of my fingers and my thumb while I was camping this weekend. I, of course, ended up with nasty blisters on both. It’s soooo tempting to pop these suckers. I don’t know why it’s so tempting either. Rationally, I know that popping them will just end with pus and pain, but I still want to.
Recently, I bought one of those do-it-at-home yoga DVD's. I figure that I should start doing something to get in better shape. I'm getting to that age where my metabolism is starting to slow, I can't stay up as late, my hangovers start getting worse. Besides, I figure it's got to be cheaper to lose weight rather than buy all new clothes, which is what I'll have to do if my figure continues at its current pace.
Anyway, I popped the DVD in last night after Bean was in bed, thinking that this would be my best chance to have a little peace. I made it through the routine okay, and I could tell that once I've worked at it for a while, it really will help my flexibility. At the end of the routine, it has you lay on the floor, close your eyes, concentrate on your breathing, & close out the outside world. Pretend I'm asleep? I rock at this! So, I'm laying there, feeling my chest expand and collapse with my breathing, and I must have done too good a job. All of a sudden, I feel Jay kicking my foot. He asks me, very concerned, "Are you dead?"
I open my eyes and glare at him. He's not helping me close out the outside world at all. Apparently, he really was worried about me. He said I was "out here doing this new thing that I've never done before, just laying there not doing anything." I must say, I'm so touched that if I die in the living room, he'll be concerned enough to kick my foot and make sure I'm really dead. Overcome with grief, I'm sure.
I'll be the first to admit that growing up, I was a weird kid. I remember some of my oddest habits included shaving with my dad (he would put shaving cream on my face and I would scrape it off with a spoon. Not that weird except for the fact that I was a girl. Shaving. My face.), liking Richard Simmons, going through phases where I thought I was a different species (like a horse), & thinking that my dog could talk to me. I guess it shouldn't be any surprise to me that my daughter's picked up a few odd habits of her own.
Honestly, if she wasn't only two years old, I would probably be sending her to a shrink. She has long, in-depth conversations with people that aren't really there. And not imaginary friends, real people. This morning, for example, I heard her talking to her Aunt Mimi.
I don't worry about it too much though because, honestly, how much of a grasp of reality can someone who's in love with a 6 foot tall yellow bird really have?
I am a huge klutz. There's no way around it. If there's a way to trip, stumble, drop, etc. I will find it.
It's the reason I've never been any good at sports. In junior high gym class, we were playing tennis. At the end of class, I was headed back inside and decided to jump over the tennis net. My foot caught the top of the net, and I ended up with a sprained wrist and a skinned hip from that one.
It's also the reason I've never even attempted getting a job as a waitress. I remember one of the few times I was able to get into a bar before I was 21, I was with a large group of friends, and I spilled my drink reaching across the table. In the rush to try and catch my drink, I wound up spilling the person next to me's drink. All over my favorite white sundress. Oh, and both the glasses broke. Way to not call any attention to my underage self, huh?
Anyway, the reason I bring this up is because I've been at it again. This past weekend Jay and I went camping and kayaking with a few friends. Saturday night, I went to turn the lantern down and accidentally grabbed the wrong spot and burnt my finger and thumb horribly. They blistered with 5 seconds. Nasty. Then Sunday when we went kayaking, we took a break to swim and relax at about the halfway point of our 8 mile journey. (Which was a blast by the way) Anyway, as I was getting back into my kayak, I slipped and fell. Busted my knee, and let me just say, I'm very happy I'm not a man.
Which of course, is all the reason in the world for my "friends" to bring up other stories about my clumsiness and camping. Their favorite happened about 4 years ago, but apparently never gets old. We were camping on some private property that included an old rock quarry. There was much swimming, much imbibing of alcohol and much revelry. My friend Bear, whose property it was, has been going on and on about how much fun the cliff diving is at the quarry. So in the midst of our late night inebriated skinny dipping, I decide I would like to try the cliff jumping. I work my way up, 6 foot, 10 foot, etc. all the way to the highest jump, which is somewhere between 25-30 feet. I jump down, carefully keeping my feet crossed, waiting until just before I hit to take the deep breath that will have to last me until I can swim back to the top. When I hit the water, according to my friends, a resounding *SMACK* could be heard throughout the entire quarry. They immediately rushed towards where they saw me hit the water, because sometimes *SMACK* equals faint. I swam towards the surface and as I breached, the first words out of my mouth were, "Holy Hell, that hurt!" Apparently I had somehow leaned back during my descent and was unable to correct by the time I hit the water. I ended up hitting at about a 30 degree angle. The next day I discovered a bruise that started at the back of my left knee, went up the back of my thigh, across both ass cheeks, and down my right leg almost to the knee. Which is what makes this one of my friends favorite stories.
Boy, nothing quite like sharing your most embarrasing moments with all the internet!
It's amazing how much can be accomplished in one drunken night. This past Saturday, I went to my favorite dive bar to watch Jay's band play, and I had a great night. I made some new friends, one of whom is a hairdresser and a sideshow freak. Guess who I'm calling next time I need a trim.
I also got to emcee part of the evening, which brought about a whole new can of worms. See, every Saturday night is Punk Rock Night at this venue. There are 3 people involved in booking the bands, making sure everybody gets paid, emceeing, etc. One of these people, Blue, is getting ready to move to Texas shortly. The guy who started Punk Rock Night, Che, is the person who was supposed to be emceeing Saturday, but he asked me to keep an eye on things while he ran his girlfriend home. He also asked me if I would like to take a more official position with Punk Rock Night.
Personally, I would love to. The problem comes in when it comes to Jay. How can I be in charge of booking, yet still treat his band impartially? It puts me in a bit of a moral dilemma. I think I'm going to end up doing it though.
I've also been trying my hand at a little bit of graphic design lately, nothing fancy just flyers for the band shows. This is the flyer for the show I've been talking about: And this is for the show coming up this weekend: I must say, I'm pretty happy with them.
I spent a good bit of this evening ignoring the dirty dishes in the sink in order to jump on the bed with Bean.
She had a great weekend. It was her 2nd birthday yesterday. (Yep, born on the fourth of July) She spent all weekend telling anybody who would listen "Happy Birthday Cake!" We're not having her party until this weekend, but we went ahead and gave her her big birthday gift yesterday. She got a Barbie vanity. My inner feminist cringes about giving her stuff like that, but she genuinely enjoys it. She's such a girly-girl. She's all about shoes and purses and playing dress up. I really don't know where she gets this stuff from, because to this day if asked to describe myself, one of the first words that pops up is "tomboy."
I like to rationalize her obsession with looking into mirrors as her learning about action and reaction rather than vanity on her part. Really, how can a two year old be vain? Especially because I'm very careful about how often I compliment her on her beauty. I make sure to tell her how smart and special she is just as often.
The trait I love seeing in her the most is definitely one she gets from me, though. That's her independence. Mixed in with a good bit of old-fashioned bull-headedness, might I add. She never wants you to do something for her that she can do herself. And when she decides she wants to learn to do something new, she practices doing it over and over until she has it perfect. My little girl certainly doesn't settle for good enough. (Which can be a pain in the butt at times, I admit.) I just love the look of pride and accomplishment in her face when she finally masters a new skill.
Oh, and in the "sometimes bad things happen for a good reason" department, Jay found a new job, paying quite a bit more than he was making before. So things are looking up on that end. And I've also gotten wind of a new job opportunity, that will end up with me pretty much doubling my pay. I'm not so sure about the job itself though, so we'll see how that ends up. I'll keep you updated.