And hiding Psychos

I've always been very guarded. One of my overwhelming fears is being in a relationship.  Weird, right? I've always known that my career was important to me and being an individual even more so.  I have seen people time and time again morph into something they aren't simply because they were involved with someone else.  It terrifies me.  So I have been independent to a fault. I have very rarely even entertained the idea of letting someone into my life in the "boyfriend" manner.  Recently my teenage cousin committed suicide and I was completely lost.  I met a guy and he didn't know me or give me that look that everyone who knew and loved me gave me.  I couldn't handle that look.  It instantly broke me and I needed to be strong for my family.  He had/has a wonderful sense of humor and we connected instantly.  He held my hand and allowed me to be me, not just the girl that had been devastated by a recent tragedy.  And all of my guards went crashing down.  Oh, fuck! I let someone in.  He held my hand when we watched movies. I fell asleep laying next to him (even with my huge snoring problem) and I felt amazing.  Things were good. We had a pretty regular communication.  Then we didn't.  A whole weekend of not knowing what he was doing. Oh! And I would like to think I wasn't that girl. That crazy psycho that overanalyzes every word. But, no I went there.  And cue in FB (another reason for my break from the ever ready social media) and I found out things were being left out of our communications and it made me so upset.  We went for drinks after and thats when I got broken up with. WHAT?!? I had let someone in enough to break up with me.  And I raged. I was mean and ugly and not pretty at all.  Then I realized that having someone see that side of me was kind of amazing.  I mostly missed having that.  I missed having my hand held watching movies or getting random texts when he was thinking about me.  And I knew that I had been missing something big my entire life.  And now I think I will be open to it. To being involved. With someone that respects my dreams, but will let me fall asleep across their chest listening to their heartbeat and put their ear plugs in because I can shake a roof off of a house...

Off the Grid

I deleted my Facebook account a little over 24 hours ago. I recently lost my cousin and was having a rough time with staying positive anyways.  I made it a goal two years ago to only post positive or funny stories because I think too quickly Facebook becomes a dumping ground and get so negative.  Then cue in getting dumped and my inability to filter things when I am hyper emotional.  I knew it would be bad and that I would say things on there that would not only add to the "crazy girl" persona I had taken on the last few weeks but would be mean and hurtful.  So I disabled my account.

I didn't realize how much I looked at Facebook.  In the last 24 hours, I have pressed the FB button on my phone no less than 20 times.  I thought about creating another one so I could FB stalk a certain someone and told myself to get a grip.  I am hoping this much needed break from social media will help me get back to interacting on a more personal level.  Either that or I will become a hermit.

I've come to need an audience for my life.  I guess I can hang a white board around my neck and then write witty sayings on it.  Hopefully random strangers will give me thumbs up so I can ease my "like" withdrawals.  I will keep you posted on how it goes...

Sponge-Bob Self Asorbed Pants

I am a pretty avid hookah smoker. I come from a long, long line of smokers and it has always been pretty gross to me until my friends finally got me to try smoking a hookah.  It was fruity and minty and nothing like cigarettes. And I love it.  It also has little to do with my blog tonight, but I thought I should start out with mentioning that since my story starts with me smoking a hookah tonight....

I am very animated and I talk with my hands.  I was smoking and talking to my Uncle and Aunt on the patio and I knocked the hookah over. The coal went into my lap. I grabbed it an threw it.  I managed to burn not only my hand, but a large majority of my Mum's expensive patio furniture. My first reaction was, "Oh, No! I just fucked up my Co-Ed Softball season!". I wasn't feeling bad because I had once again burned my Mom's shit (I had a hookah tragedy with my Mom's rug and her extremely awesome wood floors previous), it was about me.  And I realized I am a little more self absorbed than I would like to admit.  This coupled with some recent events and a couple of drunken melt downs this week made me think about my issues.

I went to lunch two weeks ago with my best friend from high school.  We sat down and a young guy walks immediately to our table. I said hello and asked him if I knew him and his response was, "No, but I would like your number." I stammered and looked around and kept asking him if it was my number he wanted.  It was very ridiculous.  I finally agreed to give him my number and then glanced over to another table of my friends who were laughing and knew they were teasing me.  It was funny and we all had a good laugh.  Then recently my best friend has found and formed an awesome relationship with a really amazing person and it sent me into a bit of a crazed funk of "Why not me???". 

I am super giving. To a fault we can say. It makes me happy to see my friends happy.  It is so easy for me to give everything.  But I suck at letting people take care of me, too. Even something as simple as a compliment is hard for me to receive. I am a really great friend.  That's what it comes down to. If anyone tries to get closer to me than a friend, I shut down.  I build walls bigger than Berlin. What the hell is my problem??? I would like to say it was because I didn't go to Prom.  That's the root of all girls' issues right? Um. No.  I got asked to Prom by a really amazing guy and I told him that he should ask my friend because she really wanted to go and I didn't really like to dance.  When it comes down to it, I was super insecure and I didn't want to squeeze my ass into some fancy dress and look dumb (but look out world! Thanks to my love of drag queens and some awesome advice by RuPaul I wear any fancy dress and rock out fake eye lashes any chance I get these days).  It all comes to down to me cutting my shit and being open to the possibilities. And realizing that thinking about myself isn't always a bad thing.

Also my mad skills at patching burn holes. Sorry, Mom. 

And Delusional

Did I talk to you about the guy I thought I was dating earlier this year? I'm pretty sure I have 7 rough drafts making fun of the situation that I stopped because I just became that whiny girl that was trying to be cool and funny about how I got my first dick pic.  And it basically ended with an, "Awww!" and "That girl should get a tele-novella".  The problem isn't that I don't enjoy laughing at myself.  I do it all the time.  It was just one of those stories that I couldn't just tell without playing the victim. And I hate victim stories (good luck with the next two Hunger Games movies - bitch gets real annoying, real fast). Sorry for the spoilers.  Ha! No, I'm not.  And that comes to my post tonight.  I don't know what the fuck crawled into my deep, black, rich coffee this winter (what can I say, I like my coffee like I like my men...unsoiled).  I think I was feeling the pressures of being in my thirties and enjoying the fuck out of life.  I need to settle down, right? So I go and start sexting a 23 year old.  Perfectly legitimate response.  Only he has his life together more than I do. He had an awesome job, owns his own house, and is nice to his family.  Except I was being used (I know right!?! A chubby girl first).  Which would have been cool, except this dummy always made me feel like Pretty Woman but without Richard Gere.  No girl wants to deal with Stucky, dumb ass! After making all of the dumb girl mistakes of not hanging out or meeting new people because I was in an "it's complicated" situation (hello, red flag!) for way longer than I would like to admit, I cut off ties with this selfish bozoo. I spent several days listening to Bruno Mars "If I Was Your Man" on repeat.  I think in some f-ed up way I just wanted someone in my past to feel this way about me.  I mean after years of crazy self esteem issues, I finally am in a place where I love myself.  I'm kind of a bad ass. But then the more I think about me and my past, I have no regrets. And I don't want to be some one's regret.  I want them to have learned something from having me in their life.  I don't want to be a constant torment.  And I want to release those that have crossed my path.  It just wasn't meant to be at the time.  And life is full of crazy curve balls.  Who knows who might just get thrown back into your batters box.  What I take from the song now is treat people well.  I'm enjoying this beautiful life.  And I would like to someday say I actually let down all of my ridiculously placed walls and just loved.  Even the stupid painful moments.  Because it's all crazy and it should be fun.  No regrets.

But a great song:
http://youtu.be/ekzHIouo8Q4

And Phallic

Dating.  Daunting at best. It has never been my strong suit. I'd never really considered being independent as a bad thing until a few years ago and I heard some psycho-babble describing personality types.  There were the usual suspects - co-dependent, sadist, masochist, controlling, and needy (shudder) - and then they described the "independent to a fault".  And I realized I had a problem.  You know I am carrying 72 bags of groceries and someone politely asks if I need help, my first response is "No! I don't need help, I need more arms!".  Okay, not that bad, but I have trouble letting people in.  If someone gets remotely close, I brick up the walls. My personal goal over the last three years has to been actually try dating.  Not bar hook-ups or one night stands (I might have minored in those in college), but hey let's go out and get to know each other type dates.  I have no practice in this area of my life at all.  I'm great at making new friends or talking to the strangest people I can find, but dating - no bueno.  I think the small talk awkwardness is just a little too much to bear.  At my age, it's a little embarrassing to try to navigate.  Throw in our technological world where everyone communicates through text, email, Facebook, etc., and I am an outright disaster. Throw in my fucked up sense of humor that does not translate via text unless you know me and we have a recipe for a reality show. Add in the craziest part of modern dating: The Dick Pic.  And while I find it insanely funny, I don't get it. What are you supposed to do with a picture of a penis besides laugh hysterically?  This may be why I am what is called "Super Single" and I need to learn a useful spinster skill (besides drinking) like knitting, cat sitting, knitting for cats, knitting for cat sitters, or karate.  They say the world is a crazy place. I'm not sure "they" have ever been on the World Wide Web...

Ashes, Ashes, we all...Write Down?

The five year old version of me would be appalled at my life. It's true. I came into this world with a stick up my ass (ask Pauly or Will or Mom - they will tell you stick in the mud doesn't even fit. More like stick in the motha' flippin' concrete!). I was bossy as hell and I knew everything. Five year old Brandy lived in a world of Black and White. Right and Wrong. I knew everything and then a little more and I expected everyone else to adhere to those standards, too. For instance: I was in second grade and my brother was in first.  Someone started stealing his lunch every morning while he was out playing on the playground. I read a lot of Nancy Drew books at a young age, so I set up a trap to capture the culprit.  Which meant I staked out the "backpack" area while all the other kids were out playing on the jungle gym. I watched this kid dig through and eat several lunches and I brought fruit-roll up evidence that he dumped in the garbage can from my brother's lunch straight to my teacher with a paper towel so we could dust for finger prints and catch this sorry SOB (sure this was the mid 80's and there was no CSI on TV, but I was a sleuth and I knew this evidence would be damning as hell).  I marched right into my teacher before class, evidence in hand and demanded justice! She assured me she would "talk to him".  What?!? Um, hello! Stealing was WRONG!!! I wanted a grade school trial where we busted this criminal and I got to present my case (unbeatable!) before the entire school! The teacher had to call my Mom to get me to back off. Yeah. I know, no one likes an eight year old that thinks they're a supreme court justice.  It never occurred to me that this kid was hungry, that he probably didn't get enough to eat at home, or that he didn't have the "sweet treats" my Mom always packed us. I never thought about his reasons for stealing lunches, only that I knew that stealing was wrong.  Like I said, black and white.  Me today??? I am 340 shades of gray.  I definitely have grown out of my Nancy Drew self.  At eight years old I knew I was going to be a big shot attorney fighting all the injustice in this world (even though my Mom told me she would rather me be something respectable, like a prostitute).  I had a life plan. Graduate at 21 from an Ivy League school, partner by 25, maybe decide to have kids around 28, but have a live at home husband because I was a career woman.  Flash forward.  Somewhere between High School and my long, long college career, I not only took the stick out of my ass, but threw it so far into the Nevada sagebrush that I will never find it again (you're welcome). Like I said before, I live in the gray.  I laugh all the time and I am grateful everyday for that. I am independent to a fault, meaning super single. I went to college for the better half of a decade and finally found my calling as a story teller.  The arts, who'd a thunk??? Ha! Seven days before my 32nd birthday and I am living at home with my recently divorced Mom because starting a business in the arts blossoms only under the the term: FREE RENT!!! That's right, I just started a business with my best friend (more like my sister) and life is funny, stressful, and amazing all at once.  I'm navigating being 30ish (that's what I like to call it), pursing my dream, living back at home, and trying (somewhat) to date in the technological age (dick pics, really?).  I hope what follows is a commentary on those times.  I'm hoping for lots of laughs.  In the words of Jerry Maguire, "Who's with me???"

Could you pick me up some beer?

I imagine the clerks at CVS think I am not only a lunatic, but a raging alcoholic. It's an easy place to stop on my way home from work to get beer, chapstick, wine, bubble gum, vodka, or if I'm feeling naustalgic, a 40.  While getting a shopping cart full of booze this afternoon I was getting a , "Jesus! Lady" look from the cashier and I had a great conversation in my head explaing to him the need for so much alcohol:  I'm 30 and I just moved back home with my parents (thus the bottle of vodka).  My brother is 29 and he, too, just moved home (thus the two 24 packs of beer).  My Mom just had her two adult children move home (thus the two BIG bottles of wine).  This is logic!  They say you can never go home.  I think it's more accurate to say: You can go home, just be ready to consume large quantities of alcohol. Haha.