Let's Get (Meta) Physical, or The One Where I Reveal Just How Crazy I Really Am

Okay, so I am gonna get all weird on you guys here.


Alright, fine...




Weird-ER. 
Whatever.

True, true, true.

Yesterday, I went to work considerably more dolled up than I have been as of late.  Normally, I just put my hair in some random configuration to minimize the puffball nightmare that is engendered by all of the water that keeps coming out of the sky NONSTOP. 
I usually wear minimal makeup.  Mascara, eyeliner, powder, and some tinted lip gloss. 




If I don't wear makeup, I look like a dude. 


Which, unless I am wrong about Rufus (I'm never wrong, BTW, my gaydar is spot on...are we even allowed to say gaydar anymore?  I feel like I should be allowed to since my GBF is the one that taught me that word in the first place), is not gonna help me.






So, to prep for my inevitable run-in with Rufus, now that he has been identified as prey, I curled my hair, so that my natural curls would not frizz, but just go limp if the evil-sky-faucet opened up over my head.  I slapped an extra coat of war paint on my face, spritzed some perfume on, and headed to work.






No Rufus.






This isn't surprising to me in retrospect, because I realized that, although I said  I was going to get my Ginger on this year, I never actually asked.






Are you confused?








Here's the deal.  So far in 2017, some really bizarre things have been going on in my sparkly little square of the universe.  I joined this one group on FB, and we are all kind of working our way through this 30-Day project.  It's super fun, and words like 'manifestation' and 'abundance' and very touchy-feely sort of thoughts about the law of attraction are passed around all day, every day.






Clap if you believe in faeries.






I am sure some of you are rolling your eyes and saying, "Oh, it's that 'The Secret' bullcrap, isn't it?".




Yes, yes it is.








I loved The Secret when it came out.  I love the idea that we can create our ideal lives through visualization and vision boards and gratitude and intention. 

It's that simple.

LOVE IT. 
The reason I love it, is that it happens to me all the time, and always has.  Over and over in my life, I have asked the universe, God, Charlie the cedar tree (yes, I talked to a tree when I was little.  surely, if you know me at all, this does not surprise you), whomever/whatever for certain things, and I got them. 


They were always things I really wanted, always things I had really visualized having, and things that I simply felt belonged to me.  This has happened with people as well.  People I have wanted to meet, or people I admired and wanted to be closer to, etc. 


So, with this group, all these magical things keep happening  -- so quickly and specifically that it's impossibly to call it serendipity or coincidence.




I can give you one VERY specific instance that occurred a couple of weeks ago.  One of my 'things' I have been wanting to work on is my procrastination.  I have allllllllll these things I want to do today, but usually end up getting to them tomorrow....or later.


I blame this on Scarlett O'Hara, naturally, but it is still super inconvenient and has cost me time and money and a lot of headaches and hassle.






Anyway, I tried a bunch of little tricks and tips from numerous Google searches, and nothing was working!!!


Super frustrating.  I was working out and literally said out loud, "I wish I knew what the answer is to this psychotic procrastination, seriously Mary, this has got to stop" (yes, I talk to myself out loud--all the time.  Expert opinion and all that).




I was sipping some post workout warm-lemon-water-with-apple-cider-vinegar, and scrolling through FB (of course), when a link showed up in my news feed.
It was LITERALLY the answer I was looking for.  Totally and completely.




This is the link. 




CLICK ON IT, I DARE YOU!!!!




It will change your life, seriously.  The last 2 weeks have been super productive, personally and professionally, and I have the 'Rolling 9' and the 'First 5' to thank for it.  What's even better is, there is a section, which he refers to as "Controlling the Narrative" which is literally exactly what our group was doing, but he takes all of the touchy-feely language out, and explains it so it is straightforward AF.  That way, even skeptics like you will have to buy into it.


Seriously, if you have any common sense, you are nodding your head as you read this sentence because you already clicked the link and read that amazing article.


If you haven't read it yet, go do it now before you make me mad!!  Here it is again, just in case you are too lazy to scroll back up to it




"SHORTCUT TO SUPER DUPER LIFE-CHANGING ARTICLE"






You will thank me for it I am sure.




I'm totally fine with that, because gratitude = tacos.  So if you try the stuff in the article and you feel like you want to thank me, rather than the genius that wrote it....send tacos.




Anyway, I say all this because I realized, that in order to really get the ball rolling on this Ginger-Hunting-Expedition, I should probably use the "Controlling the Narrative" exercise on it , and see if it worked like it did with the coffee, the Subway card, and the rusty nail in the parking lot. That probably doesn't make sense to you, but I will explain it in the blog where I tell you all about my first date with Rufus. 




It will make sense then.




Cross your fingers for me, though, it can't hurt!!!

Okay, so MAYBE the Universe doesn't give me EVERYTHING I ask for ^^, but I'm guessing Eva Mendes' manifesting mojo is better than mine!  :)

In Which I Identify a Victim...Er....Prospective BF

Recently, Lexi asked me to get a boyfriend, so I decided to comply.

Simple as that, right?




I mean, surely it's not difficult to identify someone I actually feel is good enough to introduce to Lexi, and then trick him into liking me, right?

Except.


I have been out of the dating pool so long, I think I forgot how to swim.


Those of you that come here regularly to laugh at my pathetic attempts to handle my life, may remember when I decided to try Internet dating. 


I have heard dozens of stories of successful internet dating, went to the wedding of some very dear friends that initially met online, and have watched one woman ride off into the sunset (Literally.  Or maybe figuratively.  They were technically boating off into the sunset, but it can be referred to riding.  Because they were.  Riding, that is.  Riding a boat.  I don't know if riding off into the sunset requires horses, and 'boating off into the sunset' doesn't have the romantic happy-ever-after vibe I was shooting for.  Although, neither does this little side tangent...so there's that) with her Match.com success story.








I just don't think I can do internet dating, though.  The screen names.  UGH!  I MEAN!  So, that's a nope.  I have one friend that very recently was soooooooper successful at internet dating, probably because she had the chutzpah to put 'well-endowed' as a pre-req......god, I love that woman!  But, one of my other favorite humans went on a date for lunch with a dude off the internet and he wouldn't take his heavy coat off because he showed up to the date butt-nekkid underneath.....for real.


Also, I know 'buck naked' is the proper term, and that 'butt naked' is the mispronunciation, but I prefer my way, in which you pronounce 'naked' as 'nekkid'.  Because that is the only way to describe someone who showed up to a FIRST DATE WITH NOTHING ON UNDER A TRENCH COAT!!!


And, the last 2 people I know that signed up for online dating got nothing but perverts and weirdos.....Like nothing but d!ck pics and introductory lines that refer to making the bed bang.  There's a time and place for that kind of stuff, and it's about 15 years and 2 states behind me.

Which means, of course, I am going to have to date in real life.  Since there is literally LITERALLY, not one friend/relative I trust to set me up on a blind date (seriously, most of you are depraved af and would probably gleefully set me up with a freak from Craigslist....part of why I love you guys so much! xoxo), and I don't date friends of friends (for obvious post-breakup 'who gets custody of our friends' reasons), I am going to have to go hunting for myself. 




Yay, me.




Ugh!!  Dating, tho?  For reals? 
First dates are so awkward....Who are you, How did you, Why did you, blah, blah. 


When I was in my 20s, I solved the 1st date awkwardness by drinking too much, sleeping with him, and then either making him my boyfriend or telling him no way, depending on his.....erm, prowess.

I am neither hot enough, nor slutty enough to do that kind of stuff anymore, which means I am probably going to be going on a lot of first dates.....maybe. 

Where do people even meet anymore?  I'm too old to meet dudes in bars (probably too old to say 'dudes', but oh well!), I don't have hobbies or habits that put me in proximity to single men (do any of you??), and I am either an introverted extrovert, or an extroverted introvert --whichever one means that I am a painfully shy, socially awkward mumbler, until I get to know you, and then I will dance on the tables (fall off as well, I am a klutz), keep you out past your curfew so many times your husband won't let you hang out with me unsupervised, and start a conga-line, a bar-fight, or a fire next time we go out....


UGH!!!!!


Okay, something just occurred to me.  I just realized I have a target.  That sounds awful, doesn't it??


Without revealing too much, because I am now operating under the assumption that we will end up dating, in which case he may decide to read these and it might freak him out, I met someone about 18 months ago- very briefly - that made me kind of sit up and take notice.  He is very, very loosely affiliated with my job so I tabled the idea of flirting (I'm not good at it anyway) with him.  I was also in super duper anti-dating mode, so that contributed as well.


However.  I gotta be honest, I see him anywhere from 1-3 times a month, and am constantly acting like a moron whenever he comes into our building.  My boss was, like, 'Seriouly? Are you 12?' after the second time he came in because I rambled on and on about nothing for way too long, stuttered, turned red, and smashed my knee into the corner of my desk, all while discussing I-don't-know-what, because my inner voice was shrieking in my brain to shut up...."stop talking....stop TALKING, oh-my-God-your-face-is-beet-red-and-you-are-stammering-get-a-fucking-grip-you-are-40-not 14"  So, yes, I may have lost track of myself, shattered my knee-cap, greyed out, and hobbled gracelessly around the corner to hide, but maybe it wasn't that bad....I only have my scornful supervisor's words to go by, and she could have just been jealous of the sparkling repartee we were conducting (probably not the case, to be honest), because she did say that, if she was 25 years younger, that man would be hers. 


Anyway, since I am on a mission, I guess I better have an objective, right?  I'm not going to refer to him by name, again because I don't want to give off creepy stalker vibe (although I fear I might be too late!), so we have to give this guy a nickname.  I prefer initials (trust me, you will want to hear about WP, TW, and TP one day!),  but I think I am calling this one "Rufus" since he is a Ginger (if you don't get it, Google 'rufous'), and plus, I really like saying that word. Rufus. Rufous. Rufus.


That sounds like 'Roofies'.  Hmmmmm.....

Operation Rufus is in effect, yo, stick with me while I try to bag this Ginger!!  ;)

Sayonara Spinster??

Haha, I could EASILY send this pic to 10 people right now!!

Everyone seems to agree that I need a boyfriend.




Except me. 




My sister has been nagging me for a year or two, since I am always the 3rd, 5th, or 7th wheel at family events, barbecues, etc.  I am a bad-ass cook and a super cleaner, though, so I always get invited, spinster or not.




My oldest daughter seemed a little impatient at my sister's gender reveal party last week, when I told her I had failed to secure a man since she last asked me about it in November. 


"You've been single for a long time, haven't you?"  she said, nose wrinkling slightly....as if my solo status was mildly repugnant.




I have been single for a long time.  FOUR AND A HALF YEARS, to be exact.  If I am still un-partnered by September 29 this year, I will have been single for FIVE ENTIRE YEARS.




That is a long time, especially for me.  I have always been a serial dater.  I would date someone for a couple of years, lose interest, say goodbye, and then start dating someone else for a couple of years, until it got boring, etc., etc.

See her smiling?  That's me!!

However, my last "relationship" -- and by relationship, I mean 'trainwreck', was a doozy.  All of my friends and family could not believe I was dating this person, many of them were furious with me, and a few of them expressed some real concern.  He was definitely not the kind of person I would normally date, and I have no explanation or justification for spending 2 years with him, or for exposing my daughter to him for that long. 




When I got out --  and that is exactly what it sounds like; I 'got out' of the relationship the same way one would 'get out' of a burning building or a mangled vehicle, swiftly, fearfully, slightly panicked, with much post-escape checking to make sure I didn't actually sustain any damage as a result -- I convinced him to move to Alaska (he was from there), and I ended up moving back to my hometown for a while. 


And, yes, I wrote correctly. 


 I talked him into moving to Alaska.  I am that gifted, and if you don't believe me, give me a call and I will talk you into believing it. 






Skillz, people, MAD SKU-HILLZ.






Anyway, I now have no confidence in my ability to judge men.  I literally cannot believe I didn't see what everyone else did in You Know Who -- that's what Lexi started calling him because she didn't want to say his name, and he has been relegated to Voldemort status since then -- and I cannot believe it took me throwing my phone into a storm drain and getting a new # to not have to hear from him, because he would not leave me alone.






So, I have settled for Singleton status, rather than step back in the dating fray and risk another monumental error in judgment.

#Truth

Also, since I am being truthful here, there are a couple of people I reeeaaaaallllllllllyyyyy want to have sex with, and if I am in a relationship and then the opportunity to sleep with any of them comes up, I will have to pass, and that makes me feel kinda mad. 
 Does that make me a bad person? 
No? 
Just slutty, tho, right?  *sigh* 
 Used to it.....










ANYway, everyone around me seems to insist that I get coupled up, and I am not sure why basically everyone has an opinion on my old maid lifestyle this year...it's weird because, rather than one or 2 people making casual remarks here and there, 100% of the people I consider myself closest to, and even a couple that I am hardly close to anymore but still know me very well have randomly inserted a question about why I am not dating into otherwise normal conversations. 


I usually refer to YKW, but realize that that excuse is wearing a bit thin after FIVE YEARS (4.5 but who's counting?  Oh, wait. EVERYONE IS COUNTING!!!)




I figured I could get away with another 6 months of demurring, dissembling, and denial, until....




Lexi asked me to get a boyfriend.  And she meant it.




For reals.




Shit just got real.  Like, really, REAL.


My daughter is one of the most interesting people I have ever met, and aside from some VERY publicly humiliating instances when she was in Kindergarten, she has maintained minimal interest in my love life (except that one time she told a co-worker of mine that she had JUST MET, that I had a crush on one of our fellow coworkers; completely un-prompted-- just blurted it out....little shit!).






She always took a great deal of pleasure in speculating on her dad's love life (he went through women like Kleenex the last couple years of his life), and singing the "Daddy - and - (insert name here) - sitting - in - a - tree" song, gleefully, when she got the chance.




But, Mommy?  Not so much. 


Until now.


Which basically means I am doomed --DOOMED, I TELL YOU -- to dip my toe back in the dating pool and hope there aren't any piranhas or sharks up in this bitch.






  Stay tuned........

In Which Crazy Cat Lady Becomes Crazy Cat Hater

Cats are assholes.  End of Story.




Actually, it's not really the end of the story. 


If it was, I would seriously be failing at this #500wordsaday even more than I already am.




Last night, I was composing a witty, well-written, explosively funny (I can say that, because it may never see the light of day) blog post, when my asshole cat jumped up onto the table (I STILL haven't found a desk that will fit in my "office") and knocked my water glass over onto my laptop!!! 


Instant panic mode, as I dried off the laptop and tried not to rip the cat apart with my bare hands.


Result - no blog post on Day 2, so I'm doubling up today. 


1000 words.


You're welcome.

Fuggin' animal. 




I seriously hate cats. HATE them.  As I am an Official Crazy Cat Lady (I even have a coffee mug to back that up), i.e. more feline occupants in household than humans, you can imagine the sheer hell that is my life.




I didn't want cats.  Cats suck.

However, my mother 'thoughtfully' gave Lexi a cat for no particular reason, against my wishes.  In fact, more than 'against my wishes', because I actually said, "No, Lexi cannot have a cat because I hate cats and never want to own one again". 


She somehow interpreted that as, "I may be saying I would rather set myself on fire than own a cat, but I really mean that you should promise my child a soft little kitten, thus putting me in the position Asshole Mom of The Year when I try to deny said kitten entry into my home.'




 Communication has always been an issue for us.




 Lexi, of course, fell in love with the furry demon at first sight, and when it spawned 2 kittens, fell in love with them in spite of the fact that we already indicated to some other people they were available. 


Because I suck at parenting and am unable to say no when the lip and the big, fat, slow-rolling tears, and the shoulder shaking sobbing starts, I ended up with THREE FUCKING CATS!!!


Sorry for the language, guys, but I ASK YOU!!! 




THREE CATS just doesn't adequately convey the rage, horror, dismay, and disgust I feel about sharing my life with cats.  They have their own 'room' - very large closet - they each have their own litter box, and they have their own dishes, but STILL!!  It all sucks.




A couple of years ago, I decided I was going to start dating again.  I never got farther than flirting with the idea of a dating website, partially because of the screen name dilemma, but also because I have become Crazy Cat Lady. 




Seriously, who dates Crazy Cat Ladies??




What reasonably sane, non-ChiMo, sex maniac is going to hook up with Crazy Cat Lady?? 




Any takers??




::::::crickets chirping::::::::




See??






So, in addition to requiring that I get far more acquainted with shit -- literal shit -- than I am comfortable with on a daily basis, and that I set aside for them a good portion of my income that could be better spent on sushi, books, and 21st Amendment beer, these fuckers have also made it a certainty that I will not be in a relationship until the year 2025....




That's right, I will be 50 effing years old before I can justifiably cart the Triumvirate of Cock-blockage off to a vet for euthanasia, and will then be free to go out and try to trap some random dude into hooking up with my wrinkled, grey-haired self. 




GAAAAH!!!!




Also, just as a bit of a side note, my cats are totally gacked-out addicts.  I occasionally buy them birthday and Christmas presents (I know, I know, total Crazy Cat Lady behavior, and I probably just ensured that, even at 50, no man is going to want to date me if he reads that statement), usually involving catnip.  Those crazy hookers go bat-shit (cat-shit?) crazy, rolling around on their toys, licking them, and then eventually tearing the toy to shreds so they can smoke, snort, and eat the contents.  Seriously. Crack. Head. Cats.




Unlike dogs, which shower their owners with affection for merely being alive, cats -- or maybe it's just mine -- are the most ungrateful fuckers on the planet.  Never a tail-wag, never a happy yip or even an acknowledgement that you exist and have just bought them food/toys/cracknip, etc.


Also, they wreck your stuff with their claws, and they stick their whiskers up your nose when you are sleeping, causing you to do a sort of double gainer, triple Salchow-type maneuver off the bed, resulting in a neck spasm that incapacitates you for a full day (possible that is just me).




I am not sure if these stupid animals can be entirely to blame for my drinking problem....you know, I was drinking copiously loooong before I allowed my manipulative child to con me into accepting three diabolical, devious, crackhead, slut-bag animals into my home....but I am going to say that they are mostly to blame at this point because I can.


Rotten. Furry. Bastards.



I just read back over this and realized that I used a lot of bad words....Sorry, but this was written in a holy-fuck-did-that-whore-of-a-cat-ruin-my-laptop fog of rage.




My laptop is not ruined, thankfully, but the rage is still here, because I was writing yesterday's brilliant post in Word, and it did not survive the flood, which means I am beyond pissed off because I was actually laughing out loud while I was writing it.....which means, of course, that you all would have been as well- right?




In looking for pictures to post in this blog (I like pictures, I feel they help the narrative, although I have been criticized for it), I Googled "Ryan Gosling Cat" and came up with a bunch of really disturbing Disney-themed-Ryan-Gosling-and-a-cat memes....They were too weird, even for Crazy Cat Lady, so this is what I settled on.



See??  No cat. DOG.  Because he's hot AND smart!!







Until tomorrow....

No More Tears, Or The One Where I Didn't Cry While Writing It

Participating in a writing experiment.  Again.  500 Words a day.  This was day 1's submission.

At the end of December, I decided to blog EVERY SINGLE DAY in 2017.

I even had a starter kit....it was a music-themed 30 day blog-prompt-or-possibly-challenge type thing.

I wrote the first day's prompt on the 30^th of December, crying almost the whole time. I then posted a link to the blog on my Facebook, and the responses came rolling in. Teary-face emoji, comments about me making people cry – again! – and lots of hugs.


 I appreciated it. I wrote from the heart, and I cried while I was writing it so I had, clearly, managed to affect my readers. Good, right?

Except the blog post before that made everyone cry.
  And, yes, I creid while writing that one as well.

Again, pats on the back for being able to express my gut-wrenching anguish in a way that, clearly, resonated with my readers...and by readers, I mean my beloved friends, because I am pretty sure they are the only ones reading it, even though my “stats” page insists that my blog is being read in Russia (Democrat conspiracy, I bet!), France (chuh! As if!), Turkey (I ask you!), and even Costa Rica (seems legit). So, maybe it wan't that big of a deal that they were crying along with me. After all, they have all borne witness to me trying to keep my daughter and myself sane and whole in the wake of her father's sudden death.

I looked back at every blog post I had done since he died, as well as the 2 before, and realized that SEVEN out of the (shamefully low number, but I had MAJOR stuff going on!) eight blog posts I did in 2016 resulted in people telling me they cried, sending me virtual hugs, and teary-faced emojis flying around my FB profile.

Seriously. Suck. It. Up.

Which begs the question....Is what I am churning out gripping, emotionally-laden stories that resonate in the hearts and mind of my readers (friends), or have I become a professional (online) basket case?

I mean, if all I am is the blogspot version of a trainwreck, should I continue to keep writing?

Surely, I can fall apart and cry on my couch without involving anyone else or spending 20 minutes scouring the interwebs for photos of Ryan Gosling that I haven't posted before, right?

I decided to step away from the laptop until I got my three-crying-jags-a-day self under some semblance of control, which I was able to do with the help of a friend – holla, JB!!! Love you, girl.

Once I gained some real perspective and closure and stopped crying all day, I decided to revisit the prompts.


The next prompt asked for info about the parents. Nope, nope, alllllllll the nopes.

Can't. Take. Any. More. Sad. Face. Emojis.

I decided to wait for my muse to show up, and THEN I would start blogging again.

Did I know it would come in the form of this group? Nope.

I am so happy it did, though.

Happy face emoji.

*sigh*