I get an email every day to let me know what free book titles are available. Usually the books aren't great, but I signed up as Princess (insert first name). Guaranteed smile every day. 

How is it only Tuesday? It feels like a handful of Mondays. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about the American Dream. Growing up, I wanted what I assume most middle class people wanted. It never occured to me that there was something else to want. You get married. You buy a nice house with a garage and a dog, have a few kids, keep your yard neat, and work 9 to 5 basically forever. 

It's not what I want these days. I love my house, but I don't need it like I used to. All of the things are suddenly just things. Well yes, okay, I have intense feelings for some of my clothes. Mostly though, I think I could take my dog and drive away. Shouldn't I want this more? Want more more? 

I'm at a crossroads in my career, in that I don't want to be doing this anymore, but I don't know what it is I want to be doing. I am not independently wealthy and I never did nab that husband, so a job it is. I would like to work remotely so I can hang out with my dog, or work somewhere she is welcome. I'm not sure what's out there and what will pay the bills. Part of me wants to sell everything and move somewhere to lead a less compicated life. I'm not sure I'm at the point where that would be enough. Then again, I weeded and put down mulch the other day. Who is this person? 

My Facebook feed is full of eyelash extension videos. I don't wear eyelash extensions, I don't search for them, I don't talk about them. Have you seen a video? Some sort of rubber is put over your eyelid and then your lashes are unnaturally pulled up and stuck on this thing. That's as far as I've made it through the video. It creeps me the fuck out. 

I just realized that I am giving my dog all of the things I want... Unlimited hugs, kisses, snuggles. Tell her she's a good girl. Speak softly and sweetly. Calm her nerves. Provide attention. Teach her. Offer comfort and stability. Try to maintain her schedule. Put effort into making a better life for her. Holy fucking schniekies. 

I didn't know there was such a thing as a praise kink until maybe a year ago. I just knew that there are certain words and phrases that I want to hear more than just about anything. I wasn't hearing about it or seeing it anywhere. I felt it. What I see all the time are words like slut, whore, and bitch. Very much a your kink is not my kink and that's okay situation. If I'm honest, it repulses me to be called a whore in any capacity. A good little whore? No, thank you. But that's all I would see, besides the occasional good girl. Granted, I'm no Magellan, but I read. That simple good girl has been the carrot dangling for so damn long. 

There's a very specific empty spot in my brain reserved for something wonderful that opens with good girl. I didn't even know there was more. I'd walk through fire for that. 

I can't think of many mornings that I am happy about being up before the sun. Today is really no exception. Took the little miss outside so I could watch her do everything except her business. She sits down and looks at me like, now what? But that's another story. We went through our weekend morning routine and now I'm back in bed. The room is dark, the windows are starting to brighten, the air is crisp on my shoulders, my legs are warm under blankets, and the world is still. The whole day is ahead of me. Oh, pardon me, ahead of us. She's at my feet. Even if the rest is full of laundry and chores, this moment right now is pretty great. 

I bought my own damn video game system. I am worth it. Boom. Done. 

What seems like a lifetime ago, I was getting ready to transfer colleges. I took a trip to the new one with my aunt and grandmother. We walked the campus, drove around the area, grabbed lunch, and did a little shopping. We went to this cute little gift store across the bridge and I remember seeing a suncatcher I really liked. It was maybe 6 or 8 inches across, with a blue sky and two peaches below. It read something like, Kisses are like peaches, the longer you wait, the sweeter they are. I wanted that suncatcher. But I also wanted to buy a daisy frame for my aunt as a thank you. Daisies were her favorite flowers. Being a poor college student I couldn't afford both. I bought the frame thinking when I matriculated I could come back for the suncatcher. And I did, but it was gone. I still think about it. Whenever I see a display of suncatchers I always look. I know I won't find it again, but I always look.

I like flowers as much as the next person, but they aren't something I usually think to buy for myself. Two weeks ago I was shopping and saw bouquets for ten dollars. Pretty, but next to those were some for eight. Better, but no. Next to those were some for six, and I picked out a small bouquet of pink daisies. They are still just as pretty today and every time I look at them it makes me happy. I should do that more often. 

Just shy of two weeks ago I made the decision to not be second choice. Not to be second to work, to easy habits, to comfortable. As one does in situations such as these, I made a drastic change to my hair to gain strength and determination, and I chose myself. Someone recently told me that when you say no to something that isn't serving your needs you are saying yes to the things you really want by clearing the path. I'm wide open, Universe. (That's what she said.)

You know what happened to No Spend February? Yeah, me neither. I think it fell into one of the empty Amazon boxes. I made it halfway, I think. And then, by the power of She-Ra, I had places to go and crap to buy and feelings to compensate for. Uh huh. I'm not sorry about it. Don't even think about No Spend March, that's not a thing. 

Three different names, all from the same city, all logged in within moments of each other. Nothing suspicious going on there. Definitely separate people here for genuine reasons. Be still my skeptical heart. 

He keeps track of my kisses, like subway tokens and silver dollars. Imagine being so precious that all of your kisses are catalogued with an IOU. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and he wears his heart under several layers of snowsuits and scuba gear. But he counts my kisses. 

Does anyone have Fleshlight experience? I have questions. Thanks. 

Someone asked me the other day why I love my dog so much. I am a nurturer by nature, it's just what I do. But that's not the only reason. Dogs are not dogs, they are people, and she is my family. She is the family that is separate from my terrible family. She is the family that is happy to see me every time she looks at me. Every single time. Comes over for kisses and snuggles. Wants to be close to me. Puts her paws on me if I'm not giving her enough attention. She sleeps in my lap, I'm not kidding. If I move during the night she gets up and repositions herself between my legs. She loves me unequivocally. I don't feel like I hold much value for my family. And because I don't trust them with my feelings I don't get to let my guard down and be soft. But to my dog, I'm happiness. I give her all of the love and hugs and kisses and belly rubs and snuggles that she lets me. I feel like I matter. She is my heart and I will choose her over my terrible family every day of the week. She's lying next to me now, turned away from the light of the screen. I know as soon as I get into bed she will walk over my leg and settle, anchoring me. 

What could be causing the toilet to take longer to fill? The hose is on all the way. No leaks. Brand new valve. I've not timed it but it feels like it takes much longer. Any ideas? Is it maybe just how the new one is? 

The best thing to happen yesterday is that I decided it was the last time I have to have Christmas with my family. Sure hope you had a better holiday. 

Stand back, world. I have confirmed my good standing with plumbers around the world. I changed out the fill valve. Its my second time so I knew what I was doing. The hardest part was getting the round screwy bit on the bottom off. Someone put that puppy on way too tight. Pliers and a jar gripper for traction did the trick. No leaks, no squeaks, no plumber's crack to peek. 

i don't play a lot of video games. In fact, I don't have a gaming system made in the last decade. But once or twice a year when I visit my nephews, I play this game that makes me really happy. So much so that I looked into buying a system just to play it. But a few hundred dollars doesn't seem like a solid investment for one game when there's so much else I need it for.  

A few months ago my nephew got an entire system upgrade. My dad bought it. The entire thing. With every last accessory. So I thought, maybe he might do that for me, too, if I asked. My nephew told me everything I needed and I set up a wishlist for my birthday. My dad came to visit and he brought presents. All the accessories, yay! But no gaming system to use them with. Disappointing. But Christmas isn't all that far off.

A few weeks ago I was talking to my sibling and mentioned the whole birthday thing with the accessories. He said ask him for Christmas. I was really hesitant. If he didn't do it for my birthday I didn't have high hopes for Christmas. But if I don't ask I'll never know. It's still on the wishlist, I sent a text asking Santa to please get it. No response. 

Its not about the gaming system. I would never have asked for it, I know it's expensive. It's about worth. Am I worth enough to spend the money to buy it? The nephew is. Am I? He has the money. You probably already know how this ends. 

No. He didn't get it for me. I'm not worth it to my father. I am only worth the accessories. 

I guess eventually I'll have to buy it since I have everything else and try not to think about the little value I hold for the man I try so hard to please. This is why I try not to ask him for anything. I don't know why I was hopeful. I know better. 

Waitress the Musical is in theaters for a few days, in case you were not aware. I saw it twice. I have been listening to the soundtrack for quite some time so while I'm familiar with the music and the story, it was nice to put it all together. It gave it more meaning, and definitely endeared several songs and characters that I had quickly dismissed prior. I highly recommend it if you have time tomorrow. Last day. 

There is this one character, Dawn. She works at the diner and is quite quirky and loveable. She has a song that is entertaining, and in my opinion, extremely heartbreaking. There are two lines that hit me:

What if when he sees me, what if he doesn't like it? What if he runs the other way and I can't hide from it? What happens then?
What if when he knows me, he's only disappointed? What if I give myself away only to get it given back? I couldn't live with that.

I feel that so much. That feeling of not being sure, thinking I'm not enough. That I'm not worth the effort. It's something that resurfaces in rocky relationship times. And sometimes for no reason at all. To drown it out I need to be loved out loud. Consistently. To quote another song, this one sung by Dawn's also quirky beau:

I love you like a table. Cover me in stuff and I will hold it up, strong and stable. I love you like a table. 

I'm a lot of work. I know this. I also know that somebody out there won't mind. 

Was just told I sound like a fun mess. Thanks? 

The beauty of not having someone to answer to is that I can leave dishes in the sink whenever I want. So I did. It's the holiday season, friends. Find joy where you can. 

It's a busy time of the year. I find myself both looking forward to the plans I make, and dragging my feet at their execution. Yesterday I had a thing in the morning and a different thing in the afternoon that I had to do something for, but I hadn't done it yet because I'm awesome like that. Between the two I sat down for a while because a girl needs a break. And then I rushed like crazy to get the thing done, grab the dog, put shoes on, and head out. I realized I had slipped my right foot into a slipper without thinking and corrected it. And then on the drive, halfway there, already late, while talking on the phone to a manager about some new changes, I realize I have on the left slipper.  

Just about a month ago I made some decisions about where I was spending my heart. Turns out there were little tears I had sprinkled here or there, like Gretel, to find my way back. Keeping a finger on the comfortable prevented me from fully looking towards the future. For the first time in a very long while, I fully let go and embraced the idea of what might be pretty wonderful. That has made all the difference. I feel like everything is coming together now. I just needed to get to this moment. I almost don't want to write this out loud to you, journal friend, for fear of jinxing it. But you know, you can't jinx what is meant to find you. Good things are in motion, and they are all mine. 

I am being outmaneuvered by my dog. She is on two new medications. Pill pockets used to do the trick. For some reason she now knows what is inside that pocket. She eats around it or spits it out. Or, like this morning, sniffed it and walked away. This week I have tried peanut butter, cheese, chicken, and hot dogs. They all worked. At first. And now I'm back where I started, with a pill she spits out or eats around. Luckily she didn't notice the first pill, but this is the more important one so I have to figure this out. I'll pick up some liverwurst later and see if that helps for a while. I swear, this dog. You could put a juicy steak in front of her and she would sniff it and walk away. I'm running out of options. Maybe chicken nuggets? 

While I never forget that I am female, I sometimes remember that I am a woman. Doing things that make me feel pampered and pretty are necessary for my sweet little feminine heart. I'm not good at routines, but this is the second night I have put on a face moisturizer that feels like silk and a lip masque that tastes like berries, and I feel bathed in beauty. I don't often remember that I am delicate. I like it. 

A friend recently told me to manifest what I want in life. She is manifesting a good man. She put herself out there and eventually met one. Then she screwed it up, but that's not the important part right now. Is manifesting simply opening yourself up to opportunities? You're not just going to meet a good man. You'll meet a mediocre man and a pretty lousy man and probably a real asshole. What more goes into manifestation that avoids the plunders? Or are they still there and you weed? I feel like since I severed ties with you know who it sent some sort of a signal into the universe that put a spotlight on me. And now I have to figure out the good, bad, and mediocre, and weed. It's weird. 

Shutting people out is confusing to me. It was one of the very first coping mechanisms I learned early in life, and it worked well. I used it often. Or, you know, all the time. By the time I learned it wasn't healthy it was too late. In the spirit of self-improvement I put effort into salvaging relationships when I could push past my initial reaction of shutting out, which wasn't often. Much more difficult for me and against every instinct I had. Those weren't always done in a healthy or whole way, either. Ignoring things instead of addressing them, having the other person react in the opposite way of what was expected. I struggled a lot with the what and the how. I still do. Only now, circling back to shutting people out, it's acceptable and encouraged in some instances. When the hell did that happen? How do you determine when it's the right move? After years of trying to undo the shutout it feels wrong. Right, but wrong. Like I've given up. Like I'm falling back on an isolating coping mechanism. Facts are facts and they may stack the deck for motive, but I can't help but feel like I'm the emotionally stunted person using her go-to move. I think about this a lot. Is it right? Or is it just easy? 

A phrase I have reminded myself to keep close is Not my circus, not my monkeys. You're familiar? It comes in handy in all sorts of situations when you're someone who tends to react full force with feelings. Me, tons of women, and golden retrievers everywhere will wag our tails or hang our heads based on what happens to us. To us. Reactive. Not making our own decisions. Which means that the limbo that continues is my fault because I haven't enforced boundaries and expectations. And the not being valued continues because I let it. Feeling hurt, feeling lesser than, allowing my mood to be swayed by an outside influence that I already know doesn't do me any good is my own stupidity. And you know what? I don't even want him anymore, so why does it bother me? I am out. No more. Cold shoulder. I'm tired of this. I'm trying to change the narrative in my head. Not my circus, not my fucking monkeys. 

Amazon Prime Day in July?!?!?! There was never any true hope for me, was there? I mean, I showed a little restraint. But I also bought my dog a pool. 

You know the saying, you are what you eat? I heard a variation today I like ever so much better. You are what you digest. Think about it. We, sometimes unwillingly, ingest things that are good for us and reap the nutritious benefits. We also take in those that have spiraling negative effects. And then there's corn. Yes, corn is an antioxidant and contains vitamin C, but for the most part it remains unprocessed and pointless. That's the definition of corn in this moment. Argue with me later about fiber. So, you've got your positive veggies and fruits and grains. You've got your negative chocolate ice cream. You've got corn. 

What about when it comes to your words and actions? Are you filling your plate with nutritious positivity? Or are you spiraling negativity about others. About yourself. Your actions. Or is it all just corn? I find, and maybe some of you will feel the same, that I get lost if I don't have a daily agenda. Consider it the plate to put food on. No plate and you just walk around nibbling, not planning out nutrition, not balancing indulgences. I have no plate and no plan and I feel awful. It's all corn and I don't care enough about any of it to make a change. I don't want to have a corn summer. This is my reminder to build a nutritious plate every day so I ingest positivity. 

Is this a little too in my head? It went in a different direction that what I was thinking. Originally the connection I made was about taking in the positivity in your surroundings and letting go of anything that doesn't serve you. Drop the corn. Only I seem to have had an epiphany somewhere in there. It could use a little more connection, but hopefully you'll figure it out. By the way, I love corn on the cob. Just not as a neutral state of being. 

Someday I'm going to circle back to this philosophy and hashtag drop the corn. You heard it here first. 

Help me out here. When you say you love to torture people, what does that exactly mean? Because I'm thinking that's not a kink, that's a serial killer in the making. I don't really understand the desire to inflict pain. Can't you just get in a bar fight? People who want to intentionally physically hurt people and act on it are predators. Right, right, consent. Yes. Consent accepts that you are a predator. It doesn't change the status. Bah and grumble with a dismissive hand wave, as long as the circle stays where it is, I suppose I don't have much commentary other than my original thought. I don't get it. 

I have been spending way too much money because it's super easy to click click and have it all delivered. I decided a few days ago that I would muster through No Spend July. Day one and I have already broken. Tomorrow isn't look all that great, either. You think you have everything you need, and then you realize all of the good stuff is at the store. A girl has needs, yo. 

On another note, none of my remotes in the bedroom have batteries in them. I know what you're thinking, but it's rechargeable. Where have they gone? 

Me: I had the best apple the other day. Apples remind me of blah blah personal details and connections.

Just about every message from the general you: Oranges are orange.

I cry a lot lately. During movies. Listening to songs. In the middle of therapy. Either I'm having some sort of an emotional breakthrough, or a breakdown. Or, Jesus Christ, I'm hormonal. Shut up. No, really. Shut. Up. 

I am not ashamed to admit that this morning I was in a Neil Diamond mood. I have weeks where I am singing Cracklin' Rosie all day. Not so much lately, hence the need. I have my favorites and the songs I skip over. I play Forever in Blue Jeans twice. So I am driving to work, merging with people who don't know how to merge, and a song queues up that I would normally skip over. But I was clueless merging so I wasn't paying attention. And then I hear the words.

Far. We've been traveling far. Without a home. But not without a star. 

All of the sudden I start tearing up thinking about how people left everything and everyone for an unknown, optimistic opportunity. And the song goes on. 

Free. Only want to be free. We huddle close. Hang onto a dream. 

At this point I am full on ugly crying with red rimmed eyes, sniffling, trying to see because I'm driving around a bend, and I'm coming up to the parking lot a red rimmed, sniffling mess. Deep breaths. Composure. Skip Heartlight today and for all eternity. Head into work. Tell me it's not just me? If you say I'm hormonal I will deck you. 

Its hard to not be somewhat jaded. To not want to call people out on their shit. Dive bar. It's an internet dive bar. What am I doing here? 

When they misinterpret your question as dismissive and leave, do you put in the work to fix it, or do you count it as a blessing and leave it be? I'm thinking the latter. If they make assumptions and give up that easily, eventually it will happen again. I can't fix that for someone, I'm working on my own insecurities. 

A few years ago I saw a cute idea. Take a blow up kiddie pool and put a bunch of outdoor pillows and a blanket in it. You've got yourself a portable snuggle spot under the stars. Adorable, right?!?! Trust me, it is. I bought all of the things. My boyfriend at the time thought it was silly and he didn't want to be seen in it. Disappointing. Still have the snuggle spot, didn't keep the boyfriend. 

Does anyone else have piles of books you haven't read yet? I've got cases upon cases full and piling up on top of each other, mingling with those that have been read. But then I've got the books I'm going to read next. And the books that are important topics I need to focus on. And the books that I borrowed and haven't given back yet. And the two books I've started. And the secondary pile I'm in no rush to read but moreso than the bookcase books. I like the look of stacked books. They make the room cozy. Relaxed. If I'm reading I'm not focused on things that bother me. Stacks of books are like little towers of bubble wrap, keeping me out of emotional harm. If only I got to more of the piles. But they aren't going anywhere, and there will always be more than I can get to. I hope it's always like that. 

When you look up at the night sky and see Orion, I bet you are looking at his junk and you don't even realize it. You're certainly not looking at his face, he doesn't have a head. Now you'll never not think of this when you automatically look up at his junk, and then lift your gaze. You're welcome, pervert. 

If it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, it's probably still fully married even though it says it isn't. 

I heard something today. Situations don't just happen, you choose to be in them. Or not be in them. It's not out of your control. If you have an alcohol problem and your friend offers you a beer and you accept, you are saying that you choose that beer over recovery. You had options, but you didn't think it through. Reacting instead of thinking is a choice. Being there when you know there's beer is a choice. Not being prepared with something else to drink is a choice. Not asking for something else to drink is a choice. It didn't happen to you. You happened to you. You left it to chance fully knowing that every other time this happened you chose wrong. 

Retrain your brain. Whatever it is... addiction, negative thinking, taking abuse, spending money... Don't leave it to chance. You are in control. You choose. Own it. Then do something about it. 

I have been accidentally french kissed by my dog more than intentionally by humans. I'm not sure what to make of this. 

You know when you need to do stuff but you just don't care? So you don't do it and you create a lazy habit of living in comfortable oblivion getting by on the bare minimum? I don't know how long I was in it, but today I crawled out of it. I love a clean house. I love that it smells like the cake I baked. That I have breakfast and lunch ready for tomorrow and a plan for dinner. Even though it hasn't been a traditional winter, I think my body relates to bears in wanting to hibernate. Do they have seasonal disorder? Maybe I just live on ursa time. 

If you found a normally locked door unlocked, wouldn't you worry? 

I went away for the long weekend and came back last night after dark. Unloading the car, putting things away, blah blah. I stopped and looked at the kitchen door. Unlocked. I lock every door when coming in out of habit. Unlocked. I start looking around, checking closets, go downstairs, check that door, the windows. Nothing. Nothing looks missing. Eventually I head upstairs, with a kitchen knife. Okay, with two kitchen knives because what if the person waiting to murder me knocks the first one out of my hand? Secret knife in my hoodie pouch. 

Now, you're probably saying but you have a dog, she will attack. I would think so, too. What she did was walk upstairs and go straight to her bed. The weekend wore her out. I was on my own. You might also think that's a good sign if she doesn't hear or smell anything unusual. She also has walked right by french fries and never noticed. Let's not count on her awareness to save the day.

Back to me. Back when I was paranoid I bought a, what are those things called, the zapper thing, because I don't know how to use a gun and I would probably shoot a hole into my closet and ruin several of my favorite dresses. I went to get that to continue my search and it was dead. Why would I keep it charged? Indeed. Kitchen knife and secret hoodie knife it is. Every closet, peeled back the shower curtain, looked under every bed. Checked my jewelry. All fine. And then I closed and locked the bedroom door and wound a belt around the handles and slept with the tv on. 

What about the kitchen door? All I can think is I missed relocking it the last time I went out. You better believe I won't be doing that again any time soon. The kitchen knife and secret hoodie knife are still on the nightstand. 

You'll probably want to know that my dog was suspiciously quiet so I turned on my phone flashlight and looked around. My bra was wrapped around her bone and she was wearing my panties like a ski mask. We are back in the realm of shit you can't make up. 

From time to time I am asked what I'm looking for. I haven't specified in my profile, and from what I'm told my description doesn't really fit in around here. Nor does my writing. I'm going to talk about the collective you, not specifically you, dear reader. Clearly you are the exception.

I have been here long enough to see that most people fit into boxes. The fantasy life they won't ever live because they are afraid or established or stuck. The fantasy life they won't ever live because they aren't successful with relationships in their real lives so they look for extremes here to counter that. The exploiting for sex and excitement. The genuine living this life out in the world and here to meet like minded people. The watchers. 

Here's the unpopular part, remember that you like me. I think we're all messed up to some degree and that's why we're here instead of talking to someone face to face. This isn't the place for emotionally healthy people. This is that dive bar on the shady side of town you hope no one sees you walk into that's full of regret but it makes you forget for a while. And I'm in here, too. I'm not looking for someone to take me home. I just want to swap stories and laughter. I don't think what I'm really looking for is here, but in the moment I'm all for the entertainment when an interesting conversation heads my way. Everything good starts with a conversation, even if it doesn't turn out the way you hoped. I'm happy to be pleasantly surprised, but I fully expect to walk out of this bar alone. 

You have to appreciate when someone goes the extra mile to let you know they aren't stalking you, they just like your journal. Nothing ridiculous has happened lately and I haven't felt like diving into the serious. Unless you count that I am so obsessed with playing this game that my left arm gets sore from holding the phone. God damn random user named Michael tried to overthrow my supreme reign, like I was going to let that happen. Kiss it, Michael. He came in third place and I am not ashamed to say I'm glad someone else swooped in and stole second out of nowhere. I usually don't have much of a competitive streak, I don't think. I play games and take risky chances because it's just a game. And that whole big risk, big reward thing. I might also like to trip people up and will ruin my card hand to make sure you don't get the seven of diamonds. Maybe I am competitive. Or just a pain in the ass. 

Is bigfoot real? Back up your statement with facts. 

I went to a paint and sip party last night at a friend's house. It was a lot of fun. We painted a tropical scene with a conch, and let me tell you, there were a lot of vagina looking shells on those canvases. Just no way around it. In the end I think mine looks more like a croissant with a vagina growing out of one end. All in all I'm happy with the painting because I Bob Rossed the hell out of it. My sea has waves. The rocks are mossy and you can clearly see the angles and where the light hits with warm and cool colors. Bob Ross. Such a good man. He taught us so much, didn't he? He left me high and dry on vagina shells, though. It is what it is. 

I'm reading this book on habits. There's a little bit of the science, but mostly it's anecdotal moments of famous and not so famous people and how one small change created an avalanche of positive changes. Sometimes just within themselves, sometimes branching out to entire companies. It's fascinating. As I'm expected to, I'm mining the nuggets and looking at how they fit into my life. A lot of times an easy answer to why you do or don't do something is I don't know. Maybe you don't know, even when consciously thinking about it. And then you're listening to someone else's story and it comes to you, THAT'S why you do the thing! Or you already knew the thing but hadn't figured out the alternative better habit, like replacing junk food with a bowl of apples so when you need something quick and lazy it's the better option. I know I'm going to forget more than I remember, but right now its helping me to piece together the reasons why I fall back into certain habits and how to move beyond the comfortable to solidify the new, better ones. Not today, of course. Today was a shit show. But it's a plan for tomorrow. Progress. 

The BDSM test. You realize it's conforming to someone else's personal definitions AND it's at least twenty years old and has not been updated at all? Because it's not a real thing. Like horoscopes and Harry Potter house tests, it's meant more to entertain than to be taken as truth. You're not an aquarius Slytherin rope bunny because you checked some boxes in a make believe exam. Just stop it. 

Did you also spend a bajillion dollars in December? In keeping with my new word for the year, recognize, I am recognizing that I need to stop buying all of the things. No Spend January. Are you with me? I know you didn't get the heads up on this and spend an extra bajillion dollars on the last day of December like I did, but it's probably for the best. You don't need three new dresses. 

The puppy is asleep in my lap, there's a movie on TV, and I ate chocolate cake for dinner. Fantastic way to end the year. Tomorrow I'm eating salad. Haha, just kidding, I also bought a piece of chocolate cream pie. But the last thing I spent money on this year was signing up for Run the Edge. Maybe it will all balance out. 

Legitimate question. Who is it you're trying to entice or impress with a name like AssDestroyer or JizzGobble4u? (Sidenote: I did not look these names up and have no idea if they are actual names, but if they are and its yours, you have no one to blame but yourself.) I know not every person is lured in with rainbows and teddy bears, but does anyone stop and say, WOAH. JizzGobble4u. THAT'S what I've been looking for! Have you ever said your screenname out loud? Try it now, I'll wait...

Is it embarrassing? Would you refer to yourself as that name... hi pizzapuppiescows, jizzgobble4u here but you can call me Tony. Very little judgment, honestly, I'm moreso trying to understand the logic. Alright, slightly more judgment than that because I just can't see anyone owning up to these names and I suspect you're probably an accountant. I keep thinking about scenarios where your name would be needed, like a coffee order, or a reservation. Renting a car. Jizzgobble4u, all one word on the document, no last name. Like Cher. Makes me giggle. 

Covid. Yep. Add me to the tally. I actually feel like I'm on the mend so I was shocked when I tested positive this morning. 8 days until Christmas. This might just give me a quiet Christmas at home, and really, isn't that the best present? No family drama! I'm on board with that. I mean, I'll see what my doctor says, but I'd rather not jeopardize anyone's health just to open some presents, and that's really saying something because I love presents. And if I can't smell or taste anything I'm going to live on spinach smoothies because why not? I already miss the scent of my dog, if you can believe it. She doesn't smell like dog. Or it's her own unique spin on dog. I miss it. She's been hovering more than usual, like a little four legged nurse. I even woke in the night to find her gently licking my side. Such a sweet girl. Can people pass covid to dogs? Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Except now I'm Googling. 

Okay, it's rare, but possible. And I should avoid contact with her. Very unlikely. And she shouldn't sleep in my bed. Not happening. And I shouldn't snuggle her. Out of my control. I hope she's okay. It's too late for me. Save my dog. 

We're nearly there, friends! 2023. Doesn't it feel like we jumped from 2020 directly here? Are you tired? I'm tired. Normally at this time of year I start reflecting on where I want to be and changes to get there. A word to focus on. A goal. My 2022 word was: Bloom. It's been a hell of a year to bloom. I lost a close family member. I gained a puppy and a full heart. Missed some opportunities. Took a few chances. Did scary grown up things. Said no. Said yes. Set boundaries. Suvived the worst November ever. Showed bravery and resilience. There's plenty I did poorly, or entirely wrong, or didn't do at all. But there's a lot I did right. That's the big picture. In moving forward I have been moving forward. I'll continue to bloom, I'm not done yet. There's just so much to be proud of, and I want to pause, just for a little while. So I think my word for 2023 will be: Recognize.

You know how it's been on my mind lately, and for a while if I'm honest, about the spinning circle of the good but not right for me guy, yes? Yesterday an opportunity presented itself and I took a deep breath and set boundaries. Literally. I said we needed better boundaries because we're just friends, right? And he said, I don't know. Here's the courageous part... I said I didn't want to be a placeholder. !!! This is huge in my world, in my head, in my learning how to value myself. Standing ovation, I'm waiting. 

I am guessing he didn't take it well. He said okay. And I haven't heard a peep since. Which is part of the problem. Was. Saying you want open communication and actually doing the open communicating are two very different things. As a friend I would have listened. As a friend I care and don't want to hurt him. As anything more, severed ties. Okay, more like severed ties that were reattached and cut again several times these past two years. Just like training wheels, leaning on the comfortable and convenient, being the comfortable and convenient. I'm in a much better place than I was two years ago. I don't know if you've heard, but I set boundaries. Tell your friends. 

Back to me. Of course I feel bad. Worried I hurt him. Worried the timing is all wrong. And yet... not my circus, not my monkeys. You're familiar, yes? I have to remind myself of this all the time. If I ruled the world I would move from task to task, make it efficient or pretty or whatever it needed, and then hand it off to someone to continue running with my changes so I could fix the next thing. If there is a job where you are never responsible for finishing anything you start please let me know. 

Oh. Right. I'm okay. I'm not beating myself up. It was long overdue. It's what I need and I'm proud of myself for following through. Sending him positive thoughts as I move forward without monkeys. 

Being friends with an ex is only a good idea if you have zero feelings left for them. Logically, I know this. I was reminded for the twenty eleventh time that men are simple creatures. When they want something, they do something about it. No action, no option. Logically, we don't fit together, we just really wanted to. I have a hard time separating the fact that he is a good and decent person from that. Maybe its the idea of letting a good one get away. Maybe that's why he holds on, too. 

You know what I miss? Banter. Long talks about nothing just enjoying each other's company. Laughing. Texts about simple things. We never had that. I will call a truce on my hated of French for a brief moment to emphasize a feeling. In French you do not say I miss you. You say, you are missing from me. That slow and easy connection is missing from me. I feel all the little pockets of empty where it should reside and spill into, like gravy. It's relationship gravy, and I need it like I need air. 

End of truce. 

People who put money away upside down, facing different directions, and mixing denominations are not my people. And if you take it a step further and have crumpled bills stuffed into pockets and purses all haphazardly, then you, sir, are a heathen. 

It's quiet around here at 4 in the morning. Makes a girl think about why she is awake. Oh, that's right, the puppy needed to go outside. The ups and downs of cuteness, friends. One minute she is snuggling next to you, the next you're coaxing her outside so she won't pee on the carpet. You're thinking about how females are all the same, aren't you. Despite that ONE TIME, I have never needed to be coaxed outside.

Now that I'm awake do I get up early and get things done, or do I try to go back to sleep for what will end up being six seconds before the alarm goes off? You're right, six seconds of sleep is the clear winner here. 

There is a reason I don't mention my father often. Yes, I have father issues. Yes, it has helped shape who I am and what I try to overcome and who I try to be and not be. Let's talk about that. About him. If psychological family philosophy isn't of interest you may want to skip this one. 

My father is a selfish, self centered, chauvanistic bully. Always has been, and he has no idea that he is. A lot of excuses have been made for his behaviors. He grew up doted on, his father was the same, blah blah blah, excuses. Now, I've known for some time that I am both more intelligent and emotionally aware than all of my parents. Still, I think people should recognize their own behaviors and adjust accordingly. Silly expectations, that's on me. 

He makes me feel like a second class citizen. My opinion doesn't matter, my thoughts aren't worth paying attention to, he is right and I am wrong. It has created a lot of issues for me going all the way back to when I was a little PPC. Everything is a confrontation. It's never a question of curiosity, it's always a derogatory statement in the form of a question with a side of judgment and attitude. And it gets my back up. So I shoot back. Most people do not. I can't help it. And I know it just makes it worse because he won't back down for anything and won't see beyond needing to be the loudest. I'm trying to do this while feeling like a second class citizen and a lifetime of being dismissed, and I fumble a lot but I'm trying to stand up for myself and stand up to him and his opinions. It's scary difficult. It takes a lot out of me. It carves emotional scars a little deeper than they are. 

I can honestly say that he has had girlfriends I would have traded him in for and if he died tomorrow I'd very likely be okay with it. I'm not heartless. I do a lot for him, I try to be a good daughter even though he's not been a very good father. I've come to terms with that fact. It can't be changed. He wouldn't own up to it if confronted. It is what it is. It took a long time to come to that. 

An entire Thanksgiving meal just for the two of us since the rest of the parents couldn't be here. I ruined it at least three times, according to him. And my kitchen is too cluttered. And I need to do this and that. And I wait on him, bring him things, clean up after him, and stop talking when he ignores me for scrolling on his phone. I both wish and would never wish for you to actually feel this. It's so heavy on my brain, on my heart. 

He left this morning and I am elated. I have a whole weekend to recover. To put my house back together. To erase him from my life until Christmas, when he will buy me things he likes without thinking about what I like or asking what I could use or looking at my wish list created for this very purpose, and I'll pretend to ooh and ahh and hope there are gift receipts. Prick. 

Okay let's try this again. 

Kicked off the month with the headlight. Not long after that I am pulling into a space at work and a wheel well cover thing falls off of my car. I've been driving around without it, no idea how important it is but I'm sure I'll find out soon enough. Follow that up with taking the trash out one night and the bin hitting and cracking the rear tail light of the car. Perfect. 

Let's move beyond the car, shall we? I'm hosting all of my parents for Thanksgiving. For the week, really. I plan out a full menu, hit several stores for every ingredient. Buy a giant turkey so I can make things like turkey soup and turkey pot pie afterwards. Two days before T Day one parent gets covid. The next day another parent gets covid. They aren't coming. I'm down to one parent showing up and roughly four bajillion dollars worth of food. Sigh. But okay, their covid symptoms aren't too horrible and that's what really matters, so let's get back to me. I power through. Fancy Tuesday night dinner. Afterwards I brine the turkey. It's going great, I'm nearly done, just need to add a little more water to top it off. I turn to the sink to finish. And that's when the brine bag tipped over and a river of salty herbal apple cider rushed over and into every nearby surface. At 10:00 at night. There's a lake on the stove. I don't mean a splash of liquid, there's depth to it. A tsunami flowed over the stove, between the stove and counter, all over the counter, into drawers, down into cabinets, and onto the kitchen mats and the floor. Did I mention it's 10:00? Right. Thankfully the entire bag didn't tilt so I refill and hope for the best so I can start kitchen recovery. An hour and an entire roll of paper towels later, I have emptied full drawers into the sink, pulled the stove out to sop up brine and all the herbs down the sides of the stove and counter, washed the floor. And all I can do is laugh, because November is kicking my ass. 

But wait, there's more. My dad is in charge of the pie. He brought some ingredients, can't find them, asks me to look through his things. Sure, I can do that. Unzip compartments to take a peek. What am I looking at? It doesn't fully register and I nearly put  my hand in to pull it out. Then it hits me. These are sex toys. Big fucking EW. Why would he not remember that there are things in a bag his daughter probably doesn't want to see? November is trying to kill me. 

I met a man. He was interesting and I liked him more than I planned to. Besides being a nice person, we seemed to be on the same page about a lot of things, and that's rare for me. And then he disappeared. Then reappeared. Then disappeared again. I'm chalking it up to bad timing. Oddly enough, the most recent ex is sniffing around. A lot. I have no idea what to do with that. 

If CS had not been hungry and eaten the original version, you would have also read about the work thing, the arguments with my dad, and my traitor dog. And there would have been comedy sprinkled throughout. But I'm tired. So this is a poor second attempt to document why November is the absolute worst and there are still several days left. I give up. November wins. 

I have to laugh. I have to fucking laugh. I just wrote a giant entry catching you up on everything else that has happened since the headlight, and CS ate it. Just add it onto the pile. Fucking November. 

I ran over a headlight. Not a bulb, no that would be too easy. I ran over a whole headlight kit. Set. Contraption. Whatever that entire piece is called. I ran it over. But not with a wheel, oh no, that would have been too easy. It got lodged under my car. I had to pull over and get on the ground in a dress and push and pull this thing to get it loose. Yep. I think my car is okay? It didn't blow up. 

You know how things happen in threes, right? The two hour tour I took the other night was one. This was two. I didn't have long to wait for three. About an hour later I drove to not one, but two wrong pizza places to pick up my order. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I have lost my mind. In trying not to jinx myself I won't mention this being over or what else could possibly go wrong because I still have two whole days to this week and I need to make it through without calling a mechanic. And I still have to try to fix the kitchen fan, did I tell you that one? A balloon wrapped around it and the whole thing is dead. The lights, the fan, an outlet on that side of the kitchen. I know, I checked the circuit breaker. That's not it. Life is hurling adulting fast balls at me one after the other and I'm trying not to strike out. I'd settle for a walk as long as it isn't because my car stopped working because I ran over a fucking headlight. 

Another ridiculous story you just can't make up, this really happened last night. So. Like most people, I drive to and from work five days a week. I take the same route. I'm not great with directions so while I know a few other ways to get there in theory, I stick with this one way. I had made plans to go out with a colleague friend last night and we were going to meet back at work where she would pick me up and she would do the driving. Perfect. I get back to work, we go out, have a great time, she drops me off at my car at 11:45. I head home the usual way, it should take about a half hour. Only there's construction and an accident and it's jammed beyond belief. So I follow a couple of cars who got off, thinking eh, I'll pick up another road I'm familiar with. And I do. I know this road goes out in my direction so I can start there and find a cross street along the way. So I'm driving. And I'm driving. And it's now well past the thirty minute mark, I don't recognize anything, there are no lights on the road, and I have no cell service to pull up a map. But alright, I have half a tank of gas and I can figure this out. And I keep driving. For over an hour. I get to a road that I know leads me home. But which way? I make a choice and fully commit, because another half hour goes by and I still have no idea where I am, still no lights, still no cell service. I see deer and can confirm the saying about deer in headlights freezing up is accurate. Eventually I realized I made the wrong directional choice and turned around, find my way home. At 1:57. When I say I am directionally challenged, clearly I'm not kidding. 

Lately I wake up in the middle of the night and the puppy is snuggled right up to my side. Tonight she had pushed her face into the crook of my neck. I love how much she loves me. 

Someone recently asked me for clarification on something in my profile, that if he was to assume the responsibility, what was it that I was responsible for and how would it affect his ability to assume responsibilty? In all this time no one has asked me that. It's a brilliant question. I needed to think about it because my initial reaction was to create a laundry list of what I think I contribute, things like loyalty, honesty, snuggles, nurturing, etc. And then I paused. Those are all things that I do contribute for sure, but it doesn't account for what the other person needs from me, especially to function as person in charge. I will absolutely be and do all of the things I say are my part. And figure out how to be and do what he needs added to my part. Give and take. Relationships take work. Snuggles are the easy part. 

You know, when I had short hair I didn't have to snake the shower drain and pull up gobs of hair. It's disgusting. Is it worth it to have long hair if I have to do this every few months? 

It's cold, it's gloomy and rainy, and I am cranky. I go from room to room, cleaning a little of this and that. Not a single room is perfect, but at least they are all partly clean. That counts, right? If there was a Daddy I'd be whining right about now and maybe going over his knee for an attitude adjustment. I suppose second best is a visit with my vibrator and a nap under cozy blankets. 

Worst furniture put togetherer ever. Okay, I didn't fully look at the directions. But it was just drawings, no words, and all of the legs look the same. I only had to take it slightly apart twice. And then I couldn't get the final two screws in (that's what she said), but just on the top. It'll be okay. Really though, every time I put something together I have to take it apart at least once. Or if I'm too far in and the mistake isn't that horrible I just leave it. The second to last desk I put together had a piece flipped so you saw the rough edge. The last desk I put together I may have had to take the top off and stripped the screws so one kind of hangs down, not fully committed to it's life purpose. Eh, it's functional. Don't worry, for the real stuff I call a professional. While I was screwing in the kitchen (wink wink), someone was in the garage attaching things to studs so they wouldn't fall down on my head. Studs. Screws. It is very evident that men named these things. 

Side quest... I mostly know the, what's it called, alpha bravo charlie thing. I might have to think about some of them. But it's not fun at all. So with one guy friend if we're on the phone and he didn't hear me I'll make up my own. Saliva, hippopotamus, egg salad, licorice, vestibule, eclair, squiggles. He always makes fun of me that I use girly words, and then he'll say things like rainbow, unicorn, balloons, etc. Cracks me up. 

So yes, sort of a little bit mostly capable of putting things together. This is what you do when you're masquerading as an independent adult. 

Are you ready? Because this one chaps my ass. Do you watch Hulu? Have you noticed the ads for hims meds that are for erectile dysfunction? and the ads for hers that are for anxiety disorders? Let's pause for a moment. The number one concern for this company is that men's dicks are working and women's brains are under control. What about his anxiety? What about her sexual dysfunctions? More women have trouble with orgasms than men, but there isn't a pill for that. Why? You know what the top medical issues are for men? Heart disease, diabetes, and stroke. For women? Heart disease, breast cancer, and cervical or ovarian cancer. Hmm, what's missing? You know what's missing? Wilfred fucking Brimley telling you to eat some oatmeal. The more nonfiction I ingest, the more I believe that women should run the world. No more pissing contests, all the kids would have food, and we'd have one massive war of all wars and then it would be done because we are ruthless and loving creatures. I'm kidding, but I'm also not. Pay attention to what you're seeing. Ask yourself these questions... What's the story? What's the other untold story? Who has the power? You'll see emerging patterns and maybe even want to join my army. And to that I say start soldiering in your own backyard and fight misogyny in your circle of friends. Use your male privilege to help balance the scale. 

Like many of my ponderings here, it all starts with reading a book. In this particular book a character was talking about a two year relationship he had with a woman but it wasn't serious. She was sort of a place holder for a while. Those were the words. Place holder. I get it, people want companionship, sex, having your needs met in the moment. Like that song, "If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with." I suppose I've been idealistic most of my life, hence the waiting and saving of various things, so it's probably not difficult to believe that this bothers the holy Moses out of me. I don't like the idea of a place holder. At all. I mean, I suppose sometimes those place holders turn into something unexpected. What do you do if it doesn't? What happens when you meet someone else? What if they do? What if being together prevents you or them from meeting that person? 

I make quick decisions. I walk into stores and if I like it I don't hem and haw. I buy. I order at a restaurant and I don't ask the wait staff which is better. I know what I'm getting and how I want it prepared. In the past I've experienced the same uncomfortable break ups as you, if you've ever tried to break up with someone. It sucks. But I don't draw it out, that doesn't benefit anybody. If you know it's not working, rip off the band aid and make yourself available for new experiences. Or don't. If you like the place holder and everyone is comfortable with that idea, more power to you. Just make sure you're both on the same page. For the record, I will never be on that page. Don't come at me place holding, buddy. Some people might say I'm missing out on all of the everything. To me, he is all of the everything, and I don't want to tarnish that with place holding. Does that feel like pressure to you? When it's right, it won't. 

I excel at cutting people out. Call it a super power. It's not always a clean cut on the inside. Sometimes it takes years to be able to sever the heartstrings. I think people always stay with you. Good or bad, short or lifelong, they are in your wrinkly little brain (yeah, yeah, it's big, I believe you) evermore. I have always considered this ability more of a curse than a blessing, like something is wrong with me. And maybe something is. Maybe there's no maybe. I'm sorting it out. It doesn't change the fact that I am actively making the most difficult cut of my life. There is very little support for my decision, but I've got to do what's right for me. I was just thinking that maybe my prior experience in this was making me stronger for the superbowl of all severed ties. Two years ago I don't know if I could have held my ground. But I'm building trust in myself and being brave. I am valuable and what I think and feel is valid. Important. That's all I need to worry about. All of that mess over there, that's not my responsibility. 

Something I've always had trouble with is regrouping when I've a million things to do. Logically, I know to stop, prioritize, and do one thing at a time. It's what I would tell you to do. And yet I flounder. It's so difficult to be responsible. Tomorrow will be better, right? 

Do you ever feel like you're the star of The Truman Show? I feel like that all the time. You're probably watching me type right now. It seems like everywhere I go people look at me. I can't be that beauitful. Okay, okay, maybe just a little. I have three instances that back up that statement that I'll tell you about some other time. But really. I don't think I stand out in any way. I don't look glamorous, I don't even wear makeup. It's the logical conclusion. I am the star of a secret reality show. I'm pretty sure the person I share my office with was a writer for my show who needed more control over the happenings and so they planted her for everyday interactions. I keep waiting for someone to slip, and maybe that's what all the looks are, like spotting a celebrity in the wild but not going over to them. Vain? You betcha. Is there secret merchandise? I'd like a tshirt. 

I just made chocolate chip cookies topless. Here's what happened. 

I'm on a health kick (the cookies aren't for me). The other night I made lentil bolognese and it called for red wine. Just a little. I'm not a wine drinker but I do cook with it. So, smidge of wine into the pot, cork the bottle. Google tells me I only have a few days to finish the bottle, but I can freeze the wine. Pull out a small ice cube tray, pour half the bottle in, stick it in the freezer. And I learned that wine takes a lot longer to freeze than water. I should have known this but I wasn't thinking. I pulled the tray out with the amount of force you would if it were ice. It wasn't ice. Wine all down the front of my shirt. Now, I'm already in the process of making cookies so what do I do? Whip off my shirt and rinse it under cold water to try to get the stain out. Do I go upstairs to get another shirt? Stay with me here, I know I'm topless. But no, I do not. I grab an apron and tie it on. These damn cookies better be delicious. 

I am a little oddly obsessed with my ears. Or rather, with having clean ears. I'm not sure why, it just is. One time I was sitting in a room full of people at a workshop and the ice breaker was what would you bring to a deserted island? As people introduced themselves and answered the question I heard all of these brilliant high brow responses. But all I could think about was there wouldn't be any Q tips on the island and I would definitely need those. Yes, I know, you're not supposed to put those in your ear. C'mon, man, who doesn't? If the answer is you, immediately stop reading this and go away, we cannot be friends. 

So yeah, it's Prime Day. Do I want some fancy kitchen gadget? Probably. Did I buy a hair drying curling thing that I will likely only use twice? You know I did. But you know what else? That ear tool with the camera on the end so you can see all that inside business. And holy buckets, one day shipping! So yeah, it came in this evening and I fired that bad boy up to see just how well my Q tipping has done. 

First, it takes some getting used to, the view is backwards. Oh, there's an app so you can see the camera's view on your phone. Left is right, up is down, etc. Everything looks HUGE, you will love that. But so does the wax. Mine was not bad, but with my vigilance I was expecting bare floors. Not the case. Don't worry, it wasn't much, and I officially have clean ears now, but sweet baby Jesus I cannot believe how amazing that little tool is. A clean ear keeper's dream. Ten out of ten. Go get one. Don't use it to make other things look bigger. 

Is this the weirdest post so far? I'm not sure. 

I had one of those dreams that takes you all over the place (takes has an s because the subject is one, not dreams- grammar is important). I actually knew all of the key players in this dream, that almost never happens. It was all family. Started out at some kind of a community pool that was right next to a prison. Random, I know. My brother was playing catch with some kid in the pool using my dog's ball. Of course the ball bounces out of the pool area and over the fence into the space in front of the prison. Can't get it. I decide I'm going to ask the guard in the tower with the gun if it's okay to go around and get my dog's ball, but right then all the sirens go off and someone is escaping. The pool transforms into the house we're all staying at with a bunch of sliding glass doors right there. I'm freaking out and trying to close and lock the doors because the escapee has climbed the fence and is about to come into the house. And he does. His name is Han and he sits down with us and eats some pie that my sister made. The pie is terrible. But then my parents show up and it's a big game of pretend Han didn't just escape and we also don't have completely working electricity so fake them out with switches and light bulbs. I think at that point it morphed into this whole trying to set me up with this guy who happened to stop by situation, and now we're at my grandmother's house. They all love him. I do not. He's a nice guy and all, but just not for me. Blah, blah, blah, details, and then it's Christmas and an entirely different house I don't know, but my family is there and someone bought me another puppy. It's small and brown and although his name is Jelly Bean I rename him Buffalo Bill. He's running all around chasing cats and having a good time. Phone call from my grandmother because I made her cookies turns into a tech support call for a gift she got. She's dead, by the way. I don't often dream of her but here she is. Blah, blah, family stuff. I don't remember the reason but my brother and I end up outside searching for something down the street. Not the dogs, something else. We don't find it and as we walk back to the house the door is wide open. We're concerned. Go inside, inquire, and my fucking step father left the door wide open and didn't know it. None of the animals got out but son of a bitch if that isn't par for the course right there. More weird stuff happened but I'll stop there. Buffalo Bill? I guess it's not impossible. I mean, it was my dream, right? But so random. The real puppy is doing the heavy sleep breathing a few inches from my head. I both love when she's close and find it annoying that I can't move around the way I tend to because she's blocking me. She is extra cute, though, so right now I'm going to give her kisses and try to sleep for a little before the alarm. 

6:00 me: Should I take a nap? It's kinda late. Maybe I should just power through...

...

6:03 me: Okay, a quick nap. The puppy will wake me up.

...

...

And she did. At 9:00. So that is why I baked a cake and cleaned the kitchen at midnight. 

She woke me barking like mad at the noise outside. She is the nosiest of neighbors. I even bought her an ottoman and set it near the window, though in truth it's also for my benefit so she'll stop ruining the pillows on the chair she has claimed as her lookout spot. Does she use the ottoman? Of course not.

It's now after 1. I'm awake. I need to be up in five hours, bribe her to eat, pack, not forget the stuff in the fridge, and get on the road. Chances of me being on time? Place your bets. 

What if mosquitos in fact bite everyone, but not everyone has a reaction to the bite? There's probably science on this, but I like my theory. That's it for today. 

Wait. I just reread what I wrote at the beginning of the month about overcoming obstacles. My people, I am actively working on it. I have four different professionals for four different things and a to do list a mile long that I shorten as I can. Still some scary stuff, still some out of reach stuff, but progress. I am a (wo)man of my word. At least I'm trying to be. Okay, now that's it for today. I've earned it. 

Even when everything goes wrong, there's always tomorrow. I don't always believe something good is headed my way, but I feel like I'm due, and I'm ready for a positive change. Or more exact would be I'm open to change. Overcoming my own obstacles is the mantra for June. Be brave and get out of my own way. Remind me of that when I start to panic. Working towards happiness is most definitely hard work. I know, it's vague. I'm thinking about a job change and getting my ducks in a row. And you know, nervousy house stuff. Is it weird to want to paint the garage so it looks nice? Not at the top of the list, clearly, but I keep thinking about it. 

Alright, let's get down to it. Reasons why you may not get a response:

1. There wasn't time for a sufficient reply.
2. I got distracted.
3. The message received was generic. 
4. The message received was disgusting.
5. The message received very much had nothing to do with my profile other than my image or state.
6. Your profile is blank.
7. I chose not to reply.

It's not personal, I don't know you. I'm sure you're fantastic. Your interest does not mean I owe you my time. In a perfect world we would all get a polite rejection, and sometimes that happens. But sometimes we're having a hell of a day and delete is the best option. Or any one of the above reasons. No response is a response. A "revenge" message is a clear picture of your character based on your own assumptions. This almost feels like a rant, but I'm filing it under public service. 

My parents have accidentally almost killed my dog. Twice. 

I had a small surgery yesterday and they are here to "help." Twice now they have put their stash of daily old people pills in places easily accessible to the puppy and the bags ended up in her mouth. Last night she chewed a hole in the bag and for sure ate a fish oil pill. It's questionable as to if she ate a piece of a beta blocker. Luckily I caught her before she could gobble up any others, and she seems to be alright. Holy shit though, that was close. The closing conversation went something like this:

Me: Can you keep the bags on the counter where she can't reach them?

Parent: I'll keep them in my pocket.

Me: Can you keep them on the counter since we know she can't reach them?

Parent: I'll keep them in my pocket.

Me: Can you keep them on the counter? 

Parent: Yes. 

Me: *trying to keep my cool, not kick my parents out of my house early, monitoring my dog for signs of beta blocker consumption, oh, and fucking staying awake since I just took pain medicine*

Some of us are not going to make it through the week if I don't stay hyper fucking vigilant. At this point in my life I'm okay with becoming an orphan if necessary.

If you're looking for me I'm right beneath the Big Dipper. Or the Little Dipper. I don't know which it is, but there I am. 

My dog clogged the toilet. 

Okay, technically, I am the one who flushed the wipes, but it was all her. You know those treats that fit into some sort of holder and are meant to occupy the dog for quite some time? She ripped the holder and instead of it taking hours to eat the treat, she ate it in a matter of minutes. Everything seemed fine. And then I woke around 2:30 to her trying to eat a great big pile of mush that had just come out of her butt. Gross. So what do I do? I grab flushable wipes to clean it up. And then I flush them. And then the toilet revolted. Thank the lord I have more than one because I forgot about it until I came back upstairs and it's still unuseable. I looked up how to fix this. There is no magic solution to pour in there and dissolve them. The plunger is most definitely not working. I cannot call a plumber and tell him the dog clogged the toilet. This is just another problem for Tomorrow Me. And probably Middle of the Night Me. And that's not even the end of the story, but that's all I've got left to give tonight. 

*Update*  I FIXED IT!!! I seriously thought I was going to have to explain this to a plumber. I just spent a lot of time plunging. And um, then I had to pee. So maybe I had the magic solution because right after I tinkled, flushed, and plunged, it worked. Natural plumber, at your service. 

I could really use a snuggle. Puppy snuggles have helped fill the gap tremendously, but sometimes there is no substitute for human contact. Play with my hair. Rub my back. Rest your head on top of mine. There is comfort in the weight of you. I miss that. 

I love cookbooks. I love flipping the pages and looking at the potential life I could create, one where I bake bread from scratch while there's a roast in the oven and a homemade pie on the counter. Keto cookbooks smooshed next to vegan cookbooks pressed up against fix it and forget it, and so on... All of these opportunities. I had two little packets of cashews for dinner. 

You know what? I bought granny panties. So granny they shouldn't even be called panties. They are underpants. You could fit me, my grandma, your grandma, and half of Canada in these things. And I have never been more comfortable in my life. You can bet my underpantsed ass I'll be rooting around in the drawer for all of the grannies before wearing a pair of wedgie makers. Don't get me wrong, I love the wedgie makers. They are pretty and sexy and they make me feel feminine. These days my dog is the only one who sees me naked, and all she cares about is stealing my socks. 

Oh friends. What I'm about to describe may change our relationship, but it 100% happened just now and I'm not sharing this story with anyone else. 

My puppy woke me a short time ago to go outside. Glancing at the clock and seeing it was 4:30, I didn't do any of the things I would normally do before taking her outside. Her waking me means we need to go now. Yes ma'am, let's go. We get outside and she decides that dandelions are interesting and this patch of grass tastes divine, and so on, as she does sometimes leading up to her business. She has a flare for the dramatic, like her momma. Meanwhile, I've had to pee since the moment she woke me. All the way down what felt like ten thousand stairs, through every moment of her moseying outside, I. Have. To. Pee. And I'm not going to make it back to the house. 

Chances are if you're reading this you are genetically male (is that the correct term?) and so you would just pull up a patch of grass and unzip. Not having that luxury I faced my two options. Either I could wet my pants, or I could squat and tinkle. Friends, I really tried to use all of those downstairs muscles to make it back to the house. Truly I did. But it wasn't going to happen and I did laundry earlier today. So I did the unthinkable. I moved to a spot less lit. I slid my pajama pants down a bit. I squatted. And I peed. I'm sure someone's door camera caught it, or maybe someone out for a walk. Hopefully it was just me and my puppy. And now you. It's our secret, okay? 

If you've been a longtime follower or avid reader of my journal, you may remember a particular set of rocks on my drive to work that form a heart at a precise moment. That little section of land would sometimes flood when it rained and some portion of the lower part of the heart would be covered. Being the rarely logical and often magical person that I am, I attached direct meaning to my own heart. If the rock heart was partially underwater, maybe my heart was also having a hard time. Sometimes it worked out to be true. Sometimes I thought maybe it was predicting things to come. Likewise, beautiful days and whole hearts meant it would all be okay. 

Over the years that little section of land has permanently flooded. It really bothered me at first, having my heart underwater all the time. I've had emotional ups and downs and sometimes it feels like I'll never resurface. Driving by every day, with visual confirmation that my heart is perpetually sinking, well, it doesn't make for a bright start to the morning. 

And then there were motherfucking ducks. 

I honestly was pissed off, how dare they benefit from my heartache? Swimming around, creating ripples, it just didn't seem right. The other day I realized I have started looking for the ducks. I've noticed how the, I'm just going to call it the heart lake, has taken on more ground. It looks as if it's always been there. Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe I can give my heart lake back to nature because I'm certainly not going to drown. I look for hearts elsewhere sometimes. In leaves, in puddles, somewhere nature might offer me a trade. When I see them I smile. 

"If they like you, you'll know. If they don't, you'll be confused." -Mel Robbins

Yep. Confusion. It would be helpful if he was a dick, but he's not. He's a good person. Part of me is scared to lose him for very selfish reasons. There are always men, there will always be men. But I trusted this one. I felt safe. And superficially, he is very handy around the house. That is of extra benefit since I've got anxiety about service people and needing work done, etc. Losing him worries my head, not my heart. Grown up stuff, the things I'm afraid of. But dammit, I'm the one who broke it off and I did it for a reason. That reason still exists. I need to toughen up and let him go. 

Don't do this to people. Don't let people do this to you. 

• It's after midnight. Why is everyone I know either texting or tagging me in shit online??? 
• I sleep with the most random stuff that I happen upon while moving on every possible square inch of the bed. Tonight's discovery: the new phone battery, a cleaning cloth for the bedside light, a paper fortune teller, and something wrapped in plastic that was stuck to my calf. No idea, it's dark in here and it's on the floor now.
• I don't need quantifiers or qualifiers to say that I am pretty. I usually add IF or WHEN, or the most damaging-- BUT. I am pretty is a complete thought. And I believe it. Put some punctuation on that puppy and move on. (But you know, you still have to say it once in a while...that doesn't count as a "but.")

Friends, a question: What is femininity? How do you define it?

I don't really know the answer or how it pertains to me. I equate femininity with pink, frilly bows, makeup and a shoe fetish- none of which I obsess over. For a female I have giant feet, which don't make me feel all that feminine. And I will definitely fight you for the last piece of pizza (see the 11/15/15 entry- I'm serious about my pizza). But I can't kill a spider without having a heart attack. I like pretty things. I giggle. Think what you will.

I feel it's in her movement, her nuances. The way she goes about the moment. How she curls her hair behind her ear or puts chapstick on. Nothing you can pinpoint. Femininity, to me, is much like having grace or being a natural alpha. It comes from within and manifests in a million different ways that have no ulterior motive. You can teach someone feminine ways, but never how to simply be. Just as you can teach someone how to be a dom, and they'll do all the domly verbs, but it isn't an intrinsic part of who they are, so it's always just a little bit off. If you pay attention. 

That makes femininity, in my definition at least, in the eye of the beholder. If you think she is feminine, she is.