Something

I got to go home for Christmas, which I suppose, in a lot of ways makes me fairly happy. I brought along Wayne so we can, again, display our highly dysfunctional relationship to my family, friends and assorted loved ones still stuck in the void I call home. Aren't the holidays great?

He mentions on Christmas Eve that before we started fighting and Lesli became the obnoxious nuisance that she still is, he was planning to buy me a ring. I had by that point finished off a litre of cheap wine and was spending most of my remaining brain power just trying to focus on his face (since when do noses casually float in the middle of a forehead?), but it occurs now that I was making a fairly large deal out of Mom's new diamond ring from dad all night. My mother has so much 'frosting' that it's a wonder she hasn't been robbed 3 times over by now, but I've always said, with a certain amount of conviction, that my brothers had both better marry women who appreciate large yellow gold diamond rings, because I have no use for them. Well the new ring is no less LARGE than the rest, but it does seem more aesthetically pleasing to my untrained eye than the formers.

He did ask, fairly casually I might add, what my ring size was, and my mom and I debated for about 5 minutes on whether or not my grad ring, which currently resides on my opposite ring finger, is a 7 or 8. I was drunk though, not born yesterday. Men are so silly when they're trying not to be obvious.

Anyway, back to that. So I was going to get a ring. I mean, I had a fairly good idea. We ARE living together, we DO profess to be in love, and well, before I realized what a life-sucking waste of skin Dawn was, we HAD gone out for drinks one night with Wayne when he told her in the strictest confidence and, she of course being WHO SHE IS, can't keep a secret.

Well, after he told me that I got the warmest, most fuzzy feeling inside, but that may have just been the wine, and I felt so deeply in love (may also have been the wine), and felt really, well, horny (definitely a combination of the wine and a lifelong insatiability for all things sexual).

So Christmas morning was nice, except for having a happy, psychotic, slightly overweight and very impatient 12 year old pounce on my head to wake me up at 9 am. Wine headaches are not pretty, neither are ones induced by both wine and head trauma.

Groggily descend the stairs, start in on the 6 scratch and win tickets in my stocking (resulting in 6 festive, bright-colored bookmarks!), back up the stairs for morning nicotine, and back downstairs to open up gifts.

Well.. the good news is that if I wasn't irritating enough with my 3 current cameras, I now have another to annoy everyone with! Fantastically good news.. too bad my dog is the only one that ever seems to enjoy being captured, while everyone else seems to react like African Aborigines who think I'm stealing their souls.

And a promise from Wayne.. he's paying for my tattoo.. *blissful sigh* Fabulous.

Bad Dreams & Concussions

So has anyone ever had a few nights of what seems to be a never-ending series of bad dreams?

The past few nights, my subconscious has been kicking my ass late at night, stirring up those sleep-induced images of anything horrible that might possibly be on my mind.

I had one a few nights ago, where my dog escaped through an open window as I was walking to catch my bus to work. Now please understand my apprehension when it comes to my dog.. not only is she likely to be the only form of a 'child' that I'll ever have, but up until 2 months ago was a little country bumpkin with no understanding of such things as 'traffic', 'city transit buses' and 'streets'. She's just not street smart! Half of it might be attributed to her long term ignorance on the subject, and the other half may be attributed to her breed. She is, after all, a Siberian Husky, one of those breeds that when, after hopping the 6 foot gate, happily runs down the CENTRE of the street, ignoring garbage cans like a normal dog, chases the neighbourhood cats, and then comes home 3 hours later, tongue happily lolling out of face. "See Mom, I'm a big girl, I can walk MYSELF!".

I admit, I'm a little anal when it comes to the dog. Half the time one of the guys gets a phone call at 6 when I figure they're home.. something about the dog, and where is she, and did she get out, and does she have water?

I have the best luck. I swear. After just recovering from the flu (or was that the bubonic plague?), I had enough energy to take her for a walk. We're happily strolling down the sidewalk on a beautiful day (yesterday) when suddenly I realize that my head, err now my shoulders and finally, oof, my tailbone are on the ground. Precisely in that order.. if you can ever help it I highly recommend NOT falling on your head first. I get up, see stars, glance over at the people going into the Kingdom Hall for Jehovah's Witnesses (BASTARDS.. you think nothing of knocking on my door in the middle of a really good movie to hand me some brochures and to try to pawn off your crackpot 'religion', but feign interest and sympathy when my head connects with a sidewalk? Noooooo. I hate your religion. :( ), and slowly get up. This process is impeded by Summer firmly planting her front paws on my chest.

I waver to my feet, try to touch the pretty stars and let my dog pull me towards home.

Now I'm not blaming my entire dreamscape on a bonked head or the sidewalk or the idiot who's not sure how to shovel said sidewalk, but I do think it's contributing!

Back Off!

So Monday was one of those glorious such days where I laid claim to a day off and didn't get beaten into submission and had to let it go. I spent a large portion of the morning, sleeping, well, and a large portion of the afternoon as well, considering I woke up when the streetlights were starting to come on.

I spent a very bland few hours watching TV, chatting online and checking out the best website in the world for those completely dog obsessed and lacking real hobbies (another shameless plug www.showdog.com ). After that got mundane as hell, I noticed Wayne's cell phone sitting on the bureau by the front door (please, don't ask me why we have a bureau sitting by the front door!).

I'm absolutely obsessed with this boxing game he has on his phone, so I grabbed it, curled up under a blanket and prepared to put Lightning Lars through another round of absolute punishment resulting in yet another TKO by yours truly.

I'm flipping through the options on his phone and come across the 'Messaging' tab, and being female and snoopy as hell, I click on it to take a look at any text messages he's recieved. The first one's from me, no biggie, click on the next...

"Cum see me Tuesday? I Want You in my Life. I don't care about Bridget. No Games. Please?"

What the hell?!?

I flip to the next.. his ex wife about picking up the boys on Friday.

The next.. "Some people are hard to forget and you're one of them. I wish we could have worked. Truly."

AGH!

The next few are sort of disjointed, and then the final straw.

"Wayne, I.. uh huh... need you!"

So I sit there dazed for near an hour, staring at the wood panels on the walls, counting them. I think I kept getting to 8 and then would get confused about the last I counted.

Then I flip back through the phone, trying to figure out who they're from.

The final one is from his coworker, Lesli. I personally, have not been able to stand the woman from the very first time I met her. She walked inside our house the night of the keg party, casually appraised me, sat beside Wayne, and proceeded to act like her and I had known each other for some extensive amount of time, and now shared a plethora of inside jokes.

She proceeded to follow him around like a lost puppy dog all night, resulting in 2 of my friends mentioning her obvious crush.

Anyway, the slightly disjointed ones are from her, as well, so I call my techie genius friend, Corey, to get him to get me to figure out the rest.

He mentions matching the numbers on the upper screen, as they're all an ID number of some sort, and sure enough.. ALL of the numbers match. It's Lesli.

I fume, pace, grumble, kick things and cry for a bit.. all in about a 5 minute span, while Corey patiently waits for me to finish. He tells me to go for a walk, under no circumstances should I flip out at Wayne as soon as he walks in the door and to calm down.

I do calm.. I call my mom, have a brief vent session, pet my dog furiously, smoke 2 more cigarettes, and then call Alex to see if they'll be done soon, since, obviously, Wayne doesn't have his cell on him.

Then I wait.

Less than 1/2 an hour later Alex and Wayne walk in the door. I make small talk with Wayne about some minor issues, and then shut the door to the office, while I prepare for the big one.

The conversation goes much like this.

"So, the weekend I left to go home and Lesli and her boys were here all weekend.. where did she sleep?"

"On the couch"

"And where did you sleep?"

He points to the futon he's sitting on in the office.

"Right here"

"Ok, so what exactly possessed you to do what you did?"

Blank look.

"Wayne?"

"Did what?"

"What happened."

"Nothing happened."

"Care to explain the messages on your cell phone, then?"

At this point he shakes his head sadly.

"She's gone fucking psycho"

I go quiet, and then turn back to the computer screen, ignoring him.

Alex walks in.

Wayne turns to him.

"Has Lesli gone psycho?"

"Oh God", he says, "She's fucking nuts!"

They both look at me while I stare at my feet.

Let's zip through a really productive, yet really longwinded mediation session with Alex running the show and Wayne and I getting a chance to be candid with each other, without anyone walking out in anger to the next step.

So Lesli has just got out of a 13 year marriage with an abusive alcoholic. She needs to get laid in the worst way, and seems to cling to any of the guys on her crew that treat her with respect, act friendly or goof around with her in the way that they all do, but she's apparently not accustomed to.

So now I guess she's got her sights set on him, despite the fact that he's told her it's NOT GONNA HAPPEN! Now to come up with some way for me to make it crystal clear that he and I are together, and she needs to find someone who's not mine.

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All's Fair in Love, War & the Bedroom?

So I'm talking to my 'unofficial therapist' tonight and he suggests that if the 'running' with Wayne doesn't grab his attention enough for him to sit down and talk to me without getting defensive, then perhaps I try something that's a little more 'below the belt' (pun intended).. withholding sex.

My theory on withholding has always been that it's cruel and unusual punishment.. not only for him, but definitely for me. I enjoy sex, I'm in touch with my body, and I have been called a nympho on more than 20 occassions. I've always felt there with other options, but on that note, I've always had a special someone that was willing and tangibly cared enough to sit down and work out problems without immediately getting defensive or making an excuse on why it's 'not the right time'. If 2 in the morning is not the right time, and 9 at night while he's watching a movie is not the right time, and while I'm on the phone with him and we're both at work is not the right time, and when we're in bed at midnight is not the right time, then I'm lost. When is?

He just needs to sit down and talk to me. I know he has things on his mind, and things to get off his chest, and whether he's afraid of my reaction to said things, or just because he truly does hate talking, him withholding this information is wrecking anything we might have had. Wayne.. if you ever read this, please, for the love of anything sacred/holy or your set of golf clubs, talk to me!

I feel like I'm ranting right now, but I wonder some days if he even cares. I think he does. He does little things like putting up lattice over the fence where Summer jumped out today so we can prevent that ever happening again, and umm, geez, I suppose I got kissed a few times today, but..

all those cute little romantic gestures that he used to do when I KNEW he cared are missing now, the phone calls at midday, sweet emails or posts on Alberta Central about our tacky, yet, sweet togetherness (shameless plug http://connect.tickle.com/group/group.html?groupid=AnLO99A.AbVuJot- Alberta Central.. probably not the right time, but YES, we met online!), and the last time I got flowers was the day after I made him exclusive and broke it off with the other 3 guys (we shall get back to that some day). Right now when I need them to know that he does still care, the slightest bit of notice that I get that he even notices my existence is when he asks me to rub his feet. *sigh*

So what's the deal? Do I withhold for now and see how it goes? Is it pathetic to think that if I do, and this just doesn't work out, I feel like I'll be in for a long haul with the next time. Yes.. I do think I am a nympho.

Notes on Motherhood?

Oh wow...

I don't know whether to laugh, cry or bundle up in shapeless clothes COMPLETELY hiding my figure...

I had a client come in tonight.. while I'm in the process of entering his personal information into the computer system, I suppose I was quieter than he was used to because he kept breaking in with small talk. Commenting on the song playing on the radio, asking when we changed our name, etc.. and then the kicker 'So when are you due?'.

My jaw hits the floor, I feel my face flush inevitably the deepest shade of red possible, sit stark upright in my chair and subconsciously touch my tummy.

I stutter. "I-I-I'm not!", trying not to sound too indignant, but certainly coming across as highly offended and embarrased, and contemplating the potential problems that situation would cause between me and my 'fixed' boyfriend.

Then it hits me.. if I've put on enough weight that some strange young twenty-something guy will comment on my 'due date', how much weight do I appear to have put on when it comes to the people closest to me?

I know weight is an issue for all women, and that most of them struggle with it all their lives.. it's inevitable. It's like all woman are born, and at the moment they first appear, screaming defiantly at the world, "Damn It, I'm cold!!!", BOOM, they're cursed to hate their bodies, and gain 35 lbs. if they eat a piece of cheesecake thicker than a piece of looseleaf.

Curves are great.. let's not deny that.. but if we continue calling all women that have a nice rack and the same size waist as most 14 year olds today, curvy, we're going to be a society of slightly overweight, but extremely unhappy women striving for a body that only exists between the pages of Cosmo.

If someone who's in for hibernation (ok.. so it's a bad excuse, but Bears do it!) packs on a few extra pounds accidentally as winter hits (BTW.. you try jogging when your breath literally freezes in your throat and the traction is about as great as at the local ice rink on sidewalks everywhere!), and some guy who's never met her from atom guesstimates her to be around 4 months preggo, that's a tad depressing.

Anyone else ever been asked this? What plastic surgeon did you refer the person to after you broke their nose in 3 places?

The Centre for the Opposition of all things Large, Lazy & Blonde

Well I got written up today.

Apparently Saturday, as I dealt with a client until 1/2 an hour past closing time, as I simultaneously attempted to close so Wayne could get to his Christmas party on time (I was with the client until 5:30, his party was at 6, we still had to drive 10 blocks to do the deposit, then back across town for him to drop me off and then the opposite side of town for him to go to the party), I neglected to sweep and wash the floors of the branch, clean the bathroom, and I assume, dust.

Sure.. I had my priorities together... I really want to stand around with a floor mop in one hand and a vacuum in the other while my angry ex checks his watch for the bazillionth time and wonders why the hell he agreed to drive me ANYWHERE the night of the hallowed Xmas party.

I need a beer -- a beer and a vodka, and to see her bloody parakeet or cockatiel, or whatever the hell she proudly owns but neglects now, getting eat by my cat. Petty? Yes.

Funnily enough, this comes after her getting reprimanded for having a DISGUSTING desk when our Support Centre asked us to take some branch snapshots and I (Oops) sent them off without thinking to clear the metric tonne of assorted crap of her desk (must find those pictures and post them.. too bloody funny). Another whoops.. I sent them off to a few other coworkers in different branches to show what the desk of an 'organized manager' must look like.

I also talked to my ASM about the transfer again today.. there's not really anything available right now, but I've set up a tentative appointment for this Monday OR next Monday to see about getting me my own branch and title.. at least he didn't laugh when he said it. I think I'd be capable as long as I don't have to continue working under the killer whale anymore.

Say it with me now.. I Hate my Boss, I love my job, but I hate my boss, I love my job but my boss broke the bathroom scale.

Oooh.. petty again. Must endeavour to stop that. Or.....

I should just go to bed.

Let me Transfer!

Well.. in my last post I mentioned that there's no love lost between my manager and myself.

So this morning I log onto the internet, turn on my MSN, unblock her for today (for posterity reasons.. she knows I spend copious amounts of time online fiddling around, so it only makes sense I be available for a modicum of it) and immediately she sends me a message asking for my number. Apparently she's one of 'those' that don't actually remember anybody's number, but have it programmed into their cell phone or other similar pocket organizer/communication device. I give it to her and immediately my phone rings.. I trip over the dog, the cat and Wayne's jacket on the way to answer it, dreading whatever it is she has to say. The majority of the time.. in occassions like this (ie. my day off), it's because I have to go and solve a problem (ie. Dawn doesn't want to work) and therefore must offer my solitary day off as sacrifice to the blonde Goddess of all things lazy and large.

Happily, (well.. is it??) it's not one of THOSE kinds of calls. I've been working my hand at getting a transfer to a closer, busier and better run branch for the past few days on advice of a coworker, and Dawn's calling to tell me that my Area manager believes that branch has already filled the position. Ummm.. considering I just talked to the manager of that branch last night 20 minutes before I cashed out and jetted home to the promise of warm, gooey delivery pizza (very good, BTW), it seems highly unlikely.

I'm, of course, much too tactful in person to scream in her ear and hang up the phone in frustration (they can't honestly expect me to continue working the way I am, can they???), so I let her ramble about all things Dawn (the new Fibre Optic tree her mom bought her, the new guy/roommate that moved into her place, the bus load full of small children she devoured last night while watching a movie.. err.. so I stretch the truth a little sometimes), until finally I'm saved by the other line at the branch ringing.

*sigh* Blissful relief.

So I reach for the Yellow Pages, look up our company and call the promised branch only to find out the manager is out today, and one of his assistants isn't sure when he'll be in.

I now have clumps of hair missing due to my frustrations and agonized overthinkings.. hell.. he might have just taken the day off, right???

Oh please company.. just let me transfer!

My First Post

Woo.. this is so fantastic.. here I am and I have a blog.

That's quite the pseudo word isn't it? Blog..

Makes me conjure green chunks or the sound my dog makes after she eats too much of whatever that was she pulled out of the garbage can.

It's pizza night! I can't put into words how excited I am to be not cooking again tonight.. or last night.. or the night before.. or... quite honestly, I don't really remember the last time I actually made a meal from scratch that wasn't 'open-can-watch-congealed-crap-fall-into-pot-and-Heat'. Hey.. who cares? If you can get past the initial appearance of canned cream of mushroom soup, it's actually pretty enjoyable when there are arctic like, frigid temperatures outside, and some frozen dude stuck on your front lawn.

About me...

Hmm, well I'm a 21 year old female, who may or may not be in a relationship. I have a guy, I live with him, and on occassion we actually sleep in the same bed. We fight a lot, work stupid hours just to avoid each other a lot of the time and own a dog together. Now that I think of it, I think that's pretty much the basis to every long term committed relationship I know. Unless they just own a cat.. and then there's no hope.

I have a job, and I love it, but I hate going to work everyday because my boss is a nimrod who doesn't earn her $200 more a month salary. I'm the 'power behind the scenes girl' which basically means I get to make her look good at every turn or surprise visit from head office and then gets called in on her day off because her daycare's heat was accidentally turned off all weekend.

Did I mention I have a dog?

She's a great dog. She has no comprehension of bladder control, she eats on the couch and eyes the cat hungrily whenever I'm not eyeing the two of them, but I love her nonetheless and everyone thinks she's one of the most gorgeous creatures they've ever met.

So yeah, I also have a cat. She's the spawn of Satan, but she's pretty and when you ignore her long enough she actually fawns on you to gain your attention. There's no attention like that from a cat who feels ignored.

Well.. I suppose that's all for tonight.

I actually used to have another online diary thingie but apparently they close your account after 190 days of inactivity. I really ought to write them and just tell them I had nothing going on for 190 days and they should re-instate my account so everyone can read about how I drink too much coffee and, err.. maybe not.