A quick reminder that I'm not well

The VA contacted me recently by snail mail and told me that my claim for disability was under review. Well that's just peachy. Then I got a letter stating that I'd have a bunch of appointments to verify if I am in fact in need eligible. Understandable. What I had not prepared for is the trip to that particular office.

I am pretty much afraid to leave my house somedays. Brings out my completely illogical fears of being unable to make it back to my home. Despite my constant search for a job I really dread going to them because I don't like getting lost. I swear by Google Maps. If I find a place to be inaccessible I'm not going there. So you can imagine my freakishly out of proportion reaction to getting lost on the way to my first appointment.

First off there were at least four ways of getting to this location by bus. I left with plenty of time to make it there and I even choose the best route (the one with the least amount of connections). I left at nine for an eleven AM meeting. The traffic was fairly light and I'm expecting this to be an easy trip.

What I did not plan for is the grossly inaccurate distance I had to walk. Normally I like walking, just not on the side of the road. I also like nature too, not up close and personal like the snake I encountered on said side of the road. The same goes for the mud I slipped in or that soccer mom that almost rolled over me.

Like any person with anxiety issues I panicked. While the road continued the buildings became more sparse and then completely disappeared. I found myself on an empty road with woods around me, highway flowers, a big ass snake and those huge red ant you only read about in National Geographic Magazines. Looking at my watch I saw that I was late and I feared that if I missed this appointment I'd be automatically disqualified. I'm not going to say I don't need the money. I had to make this meeting and walking down a road that seemed to go on forever without any signs of civilization scared the shit out of me.

I became this sniveling hysterical creature I haven't seen in ages, inconsolable, begging for help that wasn't there and desperately wanting to go home. I really had no choice but to keep walking. So I walked and cried, imagining my body being eaten by carrion birds. I pictured my dog slowly baking to death in my empty apartment. No one would come looking for me because I'd managed to alienate everyone local because of my reclusive tendencies. I'd sort of die on this empty road.

When I finally found the building out in the middle of nowhere I was too tired to even be happy that I arrived. I wanted to go home. I didn't feel safe even if I manage to get back to civilization. I didn't want all these people staring at me. I was covered in mud, there was a snake, I was late, I failed to help myself and now everyone knew it.

Someone took pity on me and I was able to meet with the person assigned to assess me. She was coincidently the person there to my mental health. How oddly convenient. She asked me how have I handled my anxiety, then answer for me because I was still upset. It went something like, I have changed my behavior so much to avoid situations where my anxiety will be triggered.

Well there is a way to look at that. I wonder if that's what she wrote down? After my morning the day pretty much went smoothly. I made my next appointment and even donated plasma today. I am pretty tired and my legs hurt. I am glad to be home though. Things make so much sense here. The noise outside is sort of comforting. Even the chickens are welcome to me right now.

How dare you ruin my City: The 116th Boston Marathon and it's Bombing

My Facebook friends and to a much lesser degree my Google + friends know that I am a native Bostonian. They know that I have a special place in my rude Bostonian heart for the Marathon and all the parties leading up to it. Some of my Navy friends will say that I've even gone home in April on leave just to watch it at the mile 20 mark with a group of very special people.

It was no major surprise that I would mention the Marathon once or twice last week leading up to all the excitement that was expected to go down this weekend. I was secretly hoping that someone would spill all the highly embarrassing stories so I could live vicariously through them and reflect on how much fun I was missing out on by being here in Sand Diego and not there where I belong. I'm a Hasher and Boston is my Home Kennel. There will never be a Kennel quite like it. Ever.

So I'm really sad that someone bombed Marathon, twice. Right at the finish line. Read a few articles from the Globe here. I'm more than sad, I'm angry, I'm enraged and I'm pretty powerless. Absolutely powerless. The rational person inside me says to ask if all the Hasher are accounted for, and I got one person telling me yes. I'm happy about that. I really am. But I'm still mad. It's not enough that they are all accounted for and hopefully unharmed. It will probably never be enough.

What bothers me is that I fell like I should have been there. Boston is where I truly ever belonged, I never had to pretend to be anyone else. I had a group of friends that accepted me completely flaws, crazies, anger management issues, ever changing body shape, employment status and everything else wrong or right with me. I had all that and I had a beautiful city as a backdrop. I understand and so do they why I left and they accepted that. Not too many of my friends back home understand why I never returned after getting out of the Service. So on top of all the rage I feel toward this unnamed Bomber I feel guilt for not being there.

Don't get me wrong I don't wish to have been maimed or injured like the people at the finish line. I wish I was where I normally would be. Passing out beer at mile twenty. I'm a Hasher whether I and active or not and that's what Boston Hashers do.  It's been the tradition since forever, not as old as the Marathon itself which is 116 this year but still pretty traditional.  I remember the last time I stood at mile twenty there was an announcement on the radio about us. I got tongue kissed in the face by old men with marathon ick mouth. We got to harass the Kenyans at they ran by. I heard Joey McIntyre (NKOTB) ran this year. I would have loved to see that shit.

What made all this debauchery said and unsaid so much fun was that Boston is a relatively safe city. I say relative because you have to consider the context. Now that's all ruined. Next year people will run the Marathon just to spite the terrorists. The free spirit of the race is gone. People will leave their kids at home next year. The Hashers might not even be allowed at mile twenty next year. You gotta admit we are strange. You can forget Patriots Day in New England. This is going to turn into a day where before we do anything else we'll have moments of silence and stories of triumph over adversity. The Boston Marathon was never supposed to be like this.

Yeah I feel pretty fucking violated. There is no nice way fro me to say that. I feel ashamed too. I am  busy  hiding out here away from all my friends and I hate to admit it family (gross-- family). I feel like I should have been there. I should have been there helping in some way making a list and coordinating people, just generally being of some use. But no, there isn't any action I can take. I can't even donate money. I'm broke.  The only thing I can do is complain about my own impotence in angry posts on Facebook:

I think I said this when my brother was shot several years ago. It's not often I demand that level of barbarism. Also the Marathon only started in 1897 not 1843 as stated in my post. I added the Wiki Link above. 

And I do want to know why? The so far the news sources haven't a clue as to who is responsible. Me personally I think it is a Domestic Terrorist. There is some speculation that it might be a random Saudi National, but I'm not leaning that way. Another part of ME speculates that it might not even be political. 

Of course it could be political and then the real fear begins. It could be related to the wars. Americans are still the Infidels. Maybe the jihadist are just reminding us that we are not safe.The Threat levels we've all grown accustomed to since 9/11 will have a whole new meaning. Every middle eastern person will look like a suspect now. Let the racial profiling begin again.

  

Or it could be about taxes which ties in with Patriots Day like the article said. Massachusetts regularly gets an extra day to file taxes if Patriots day falls on the 15th. The American Revolution began in MA about taxes, but nobody had to die today to make that point all over again. If it's taxes, then, hey, I get it, no one likes taxes.  

If the reasoning behind today's bombings was something different, I guess I need some clarification. What I'm not looking for is another Batman massacre. I'm hoping and wishing that the person who did this is of sound mind and has some kind of conviction or belief that what they did was right. I hope that this person had a series of goals that they they met today. Because otherwise today was pointless, and the thought of that makes me even more angry.

Yes and instead of writing, sewing, cooking, or sleeping...

I went to the movies. Not just any movie, I went out with a

Even the poster is deceiving.

bunch of women I hardly knew and saw a Tyler Perry Movie.

Now if you'll remember, I talked about Tyler Perry some time early last year  in The Blessing and pretty much after watching this movie I firmly believe that he's wasting my time. It wasn't even that good a movie. I'm sure the rest of the ladies in the group enjoyed it though. I was not impressed from beginning to end.

Temptaion: Confessions of a Marriage Counselor is supposed to be this steamy movie about a seemingly happy woman being swept off her feet by this man who represents the Devil Incarnate. It's there trust me. From what the advertisements and the movie trailers said this was going to be sultry and sexy. A far cry from what Mr. Perry normally does.  Consider my hopes dashed when I realized that this sensual, erotic experience turns out to have a PG-13 rating. I mean check out the trailer:

Even the page on Imdb looked all grownfolk-y and stuff. (yes that is a picture of Kim Kardishian, no she did not do a good job) The movie followed the same stagnant formula all Tyler Perry's movies followed. Do the right thing, if you leave God behind you'll only end up hurting yourself, everything that is all consuming is bad, and you might even die from it because God will only go where you let HIM. By the end of the movie I felt like I'd done something wrong. 

The guy who does all the bad things in the movie was played by some guy who was clearly cast for his dashing good looks. The acting was terrible on his part and there seemed to be something really bad about the way he projected his voice. It got annoying really quick and when h finally stopped doing it somewhere near the end and actually started "acting," it was too late to save the rest of this train wreck. On another note, that same guy was an extra in the pilot episode of Fringe. Go figure!

Overall I don't blame most of the actors and actresses for this movie. I blame the script. Granted some really good people did really bad, the script couldn't be more awful. And let me tell you why.

People we've seen this shite already on Lifetime. There are a million billion movies just like this starring has beens from the 70's, 80's, and 90's that have in some way shape or form all chronicle the rise and fall of one woman being lead away from the good life by her coochie. I said coochie, yes and it's more powerful than any drug if tempted by the wrong guy. Ladies you've been warned. Every Lifetime Movie Special has the female lead end up killed, pregnant, raped, or HIV positive, because the guy she "fell in love" with, was utter poison to her life. I guess the moral of the story here is to stay in your house for the rest of your life. Yeah, with duck tape over your mouth and around your ankles ladies, because all that bad stuff that happens to us is all our fault.

Trust me when I say you could save your $11 and the trip to the theater by just catching one of those on the telly.

Then there's Brandi making this movie just that much more predictable by admitting that she was the former love interest of the villain and that she been running and hiding from him for damn near ten years. Doesn't that just tie up everything so neatly. Do I sound bitter? Maybe a little. I hate things that end so neat and clean the way this story did. I feel insulted to think I spent money to view this and even more insulted that this movie was made for my "demographic." Like that drivel concerns me, gimme a fuckin' break. At least he's not misquoting the Bible in this one.

Truthfully I saw the movie the day after it cam out on the 30th.  There really is no nice way to talk about a movie I didn't like. My disappointment with it hasn't dulled much either. So with that being said, I really don't think I'll being watching anymore Tyler Perry movies until they come out on Netflix.

And you shouldn't either, unless you like that stuff. Of course I'm judging you right now if you do. Totally judging you.

Totally Judging.

Totally.

Migraine - Let me tell you how I feel.

I blame you. And you get no thanks... 

Who? This guy? No this guy.

This migraine. 

Yep migraine, you've ruined so many awesome moments. You make my dog's light patter on the rug sound like metal grating on metal. His very dog like breathing feels like super dry hot dusty clay raking over my face. The ticking of the clocks, murderous death counts banging thunderous echos through my so quietly dark home. You make staring at my computer torture the glare alone makes my neck throb. No thanks to you, Migraine, what was a great day has turned to an absolute SHITE of a night.

And while I lay on my bed with a wet rag between my teeth trying to be comfortable. You, migraine, wreak havoc squeezing and wrenching my weakened brain. There is no escape. There is no mercy. There's just you and me in a battle for supremacy over my body. 

You win. Every time.

Things That should Never Happen in the Same 48 Hours

Taken from IMdB

The last two days have been rather interesting for me. They may not be very significant to you or anyone else but I think they should not have occurred while I was aware. We could call them a Series of Unfortunate Events. Or we could just say the last 48 hours and be done with them.

Let's start with 12/12/12 and the over abundance of Facebook messages stating that the end of the world was at hand. Come on people, if the End was at hand do you think I'd have time to troll Facebook? Negative Ghost Rider, I'd be screaming bloody murder and huddling in a corner with my dog. Fact: I really would be huddling with my dog because, what else would I be doing?

Speaking of dogs, right before I headed out with my Best Friend to do some serious grocery shopping, some ass clown hit one outside my house. Anyone who follows me on Google+, Twitter or the infamous Facebook will know that there is more than a slight problem with the stray dogs in my neighborhood. There's also something with everyone owning chickens and roosters but that's another issue all together. 

A dog that looked to be some Malti-Poo or Bichon Frise mix was hit in front of my apartment the other night and Animal Control had to be called. I'm sort of familiar with this little one so I was pretty sad that it was now suffering. My neighbor an Army Medic, assessed it and pretty much listed it's injuries as: a shattered pelvis, one broken leg, a couple cracked ribs, one or two head injuries, possibly some internal bleeding. The driver never even stopped. 

What pissed me off is that the owner of the dog arrived right around the time Animal Control did. They said that the dog "Toby" escapes every time they leave the house. Are we serious? You know this is going to happen and yet you do nothing to prevent it? We were very angry over that statement and did not feel bad when Animal Control offered to euthanized Toby right there on the spot. The four of us (my two neighbors, my BF and myself) felt that Toby's owners were beyond irresponsible.

The next day finds me stuck in the house all day trying out my new medicine. It makes me so sleepy that I miss a super important call regarding a job interview, another super important call regarding the guy who stole my check back in June and my appointment to donate plasma. Anxiety medicine is supposed to calm me down, not put me out. Now, awake at 2:30 in the morning, the earth began to shake.

Which brings me to, this morning Earthquakes, yes I said quakes as in plural, meaning more than one. In fact, there were two somewhere off the coast that were 6.1 and 6.4 in magnitude. Nothing could make me more homesick for Japan than an earthquake. But not this time and of course since no one would be awake at 2:36 am I figured it was safe to get on Facebook and post about it. I was wrong there were a few and from them, I learned that San Onofre was built to only withstand a magnitude of 7.0 Earthquake. Great, what in the world is San Onofre? 

From Wikipedia

San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station. I looked it up. Methinks back to March 2011 when the Plant in Tomadachi, Japan went into melt down. All hell is breaking loose in my brain. Good thing I'm on the worlds greatest anxiety drug, I can sleep right through it. Which is exactly what I do after reading all about how jacked up San Onofre is on Wikipedia. Hey, the meds throw me off...

Which is why at roughly 12:45 this afternoon I wake up again to Facebook all atwitter with people saying how saddened they are by what happened in Connecticut. What happened in CT? My dad lives there and I'm a little concerned.

Well I'm sure you know now that someone open fired at a school killing defenseless people, mostly children under the age of ten. This is very bad, but whats worse is the fact that the media is glamorizing it. I'm not going to talk about the gunman, or the President's reaction or putting our nation's flag at half mast. I'm not going to contribute to the hysteria surrounding this terrible event. I'm going to say it is a sad day, a terribly sad day and keep moving. And here's why:

Right here is where I'm supposed to have a youtube video about why 24 hours of constant coverage about a mass killer only glorifies the gunman into some kind of antihero. The video I wanted to play here is not loading so sorry kiddies no youtube insight here.

My day is not ever and I know that something somewhere will make this day even more perplexing. Ah yes... Okcupid.com is doing a 12 matches of Christmas thing. Whatever happened to just enjoying the Holidays because it's the Holiday's????

Since I haven't been sleeping

Since the last week in July I've been on the silent and even a little bitchy side. I've even been quiet on the blog. AA and a bunch of uber smart and over paid people would call it isolating. They'd be right, but I'm not paying any of them to have them tell me that. Nor am I looking to join a meeting just to share in the moment.

It's my anniversary. August First 2011 was the day I tried to kill myself. I'd come to the end of my rope with my Chief on the Mustin and the Mustin all together,  I felt like an absolute failure.  The shop and the ship exhausted everything I had, faith in myself as a sailor, a leader, a woman, a human being. I had two options kill my Chief, which I'm pretty sure a lot of people would have thanked me for, but she wasn't and still isn't worth the bowl I shit in, or kill myself and risk an eternity reliving what a failure I was to myself.

I obviously choose the latter. Then for five months I fought the command, whom I trusted initially with my life. They did everything in their power to make me say I never took the pills. I wanted to die that day. I almost did, and while I was trying to recover I had to revisit that feeling just to prove I had them. I can't say that I've recovered. I probably never will. I've seen Klan members on Youtube act with more decorum than the people at the command during my case proceedings. I lost friends, but then they were truly friends I'd still be talking to them.

So before during and after August First this year, I locked myself in my home. I turned off my computer and made very little ventures into the real world. I got worse, I stopped cooking and worser still, I stopped writing. It was like I shut off my brian. All the supposed progress, the attempts to be functional, the reaching out for friends, none of that mattered. I parked myself in front of the TV,  I watched 007, Mad Men, Doctor Who, Serenity, The Nightmare Before Christmas and a really bad version of Snow White.

I'd love to say I'm over my funk, I don't think so. I think when I'm ready I'll listen to Brave Bird. It's the song I played while I waited to die. If I could fly away that would be my theme music. I can imagine my wings getting sun kissed as I soared. Maybe I might skip the song. For me it's not ruined but I'm sure a few people would be creeped out if they heard it playing.

But alas I'm not the brave bird in the song. I'm Ms. Townes the very damaged piece of work. Regardless of what else is going, I still aspire to tell a great story.

So, baby steps. I'm once again two books ahead in reviews and once I get my sleep patterns back on track I hope to get back into my writing. The outline is all good, it's still an outline. But the outline is up to Chapter 11 while I'm stuck in funk central on Chapter 9. Oh what I've give to just let go and move on.

Hey if anyone is interested in actually hearing the song, or just morbidly curious here it is and it's lyrics: http://www.jango.com/music/Amel+Larrieux?l=0

I'd love to get over this and a bunch of other things. I'll never be anything if I shut myself up in the house and never reach out. I'm like that kid in Return of the Dragon: I'm missing all that heavenly glory because I'm still focused on the finger. Bruce Lee was a fucking genius.

Still a taboo: Interracial Dating?

Eye roll please...


I date whatever comes across my plate. Not because I'm desperate, but because I've spent most of my life exposed to different people and never discriminated romantically by color.


In second grade I had the hugest crush on this beautiful boy named Eric he was black. In fourth grade it was Tommy, from Cambodia. By seventh grade it was the dreamy oh Mc. Steamy Mike B. who was this Italian heart throb that all the girls absolutely adored. My "First"was a guy with a name to this day I still can't pronounce properly from Cape Verde. Luckily he had a nick name and I didn't have to feel bad about not being able to say it. So I can honestly say I've liked, loved and lost the rainbow.

I never worried, despite the movies, about dating outside my race. There was no major drama for me, like in Mississippi Masala or Jungle Fever or even Something New.


I mean I knew I was going to catch a little flack from one or two people in the family when I was dating the accountant, a big tall white guy. It was minimal and honestly he treated me like a queen. I also think my dad didn't like him because he was a nerd and her wore black socks with shorts and sneakers. Hey, he comfortable with himself.


When I joined the Military I had a relationship with a couple of guys that weren't Black. I'd like to think they liked me for me and not my color. I will admit there was one guy that dated me because he was deeply religious and he wanted to convert me. Imagine me trying not to swear in front of another Sailor, an Engineer to boot. They got the worst mouths in the Navy how odd was that?


But I'm not breaking out my book of shame for no reason and frankly I don't really think of it as a book of shame. What I'm showing is the fact that I don't think interracial dating is that big of a deal. I've come up pretty much skirting that negative stigma. What shocks me is how much of a issue it is to others. Maybe I need to take off my beer goggles or rose tinted glasses but I thought we were through with that.

I've had four documented moments of "what the fuck" since the beginning of June. I'm a little verklepmt. I can understand a certain fascination with other peoples, the allure, the mystique, but what I can't see is the oh so sublte ways in which people say this to each other.


Why is shit like this a taboo? And why is it okay to say shite like this:

Or even better:


Did we lose manners when we gained the ability to text message? What parent teaches their children to say things like this?


I'm getting off topic though. My question is and I'll keep saying this: Why is dating a black woman still important?


I don't wake up each day and say today I'm going to find me a white man and rock his world. Lately I've been busy trying to rock my own damn world, you can take that anyway you want, by the way. My hopes and aspirations for companionship don't have a color requirement. I'll admit I'll steer clear of some cultures because I've witness, first hand the accepted treatment of women. I, however will give each guy a chance to prove he's not his culture. This jaded dater, however has not been proved wrong.


But this is what I've been getting lately and I'm finding it harder and harder to want to date period.  Ladies if you would, look at this from my point of view. I'm being approached by men, intelligent men, only because of my skin tone. My attractiveness as a female does not fit into this equation, nor does my sharp wit or my goals to become an epic story teller. I'm now being chosen for the ethnicity of my name and the color of my skin.


I've lost awesome career opportunities sadly because of my color. Now I'm being almost harassed for a "good time" because of it. Talk about a being unworthy. My other qualities I've worked really hard to fine tune mean absolutely nothing. It's a blow to my ego, it really is.


I don't want to be dated because I'm black. I want to be dated because the man I like, likes me back. I want to date him because he doesn't think I'm an item on a bucket list, like, zip lining or snake charming.


Maybe I should be happy I've gotten past that particular issue in myself. I must say I don't really feel smug about it since those who've manage to catch up are already taken.

How your room looks like your life

I watched my first complete episode of Doctor Who today. Frankly I'm only glad I now know what the fuck TARDIS is. I can't see what all the fuss is about. Surely this can't be it.

So what brought me to this moment in wee hour musing, my room. Well My life I should say. I am not a happy camper. I'm in that helpless funk I always seem to find myself in. Once again I'm wanting to throw in the towel and I don't know if that is the right decision. So what did I do? Well I sat down to multiple episodes of Mad Men and then One episode of Doctor Who. Escape much? That would be me.


I'd like to be a person of action. I'd like to say that I can fix this. I love to say that I will think my way out of this latest predicament, but I can't. You know what "Can't" is? Can't is the action word for Doubt.


Roll with this: I heard a story sometime this year, from a movie, a television show, a news article, a blog or a book I read about the Devil's greatest weapon. I'm not particularly religious but once in a while I hear something that makes sense.  If I remember correctly a man wanted a fail proof weapon against his enemy. Just when the man began searching for a means to destroy his nemesis another man approached him.


This new man seemed all knowing and powerful so the guy puts his problem to his ear. The worldly man displays an arsenal of things meant to wring the utmost satisfaction out of besting rival large or small. He offered them for sale. The man clapped with glee but was still not convince that what he wanted was there.


The worldly man slowly began to put away his weapons. The "buyer" noticed that there was one item he was never shown. So he asked about it. The strange worldly man told him, that this particular weapon was too powerful. It was so damaging that only a few people were strong enough to wield it. The price of it not much but the true sacrifice came after it's been used. Even the person using this weapon could fall prey to it.


The man thought about the pleasure he'd get from seeing his rival fall. If the price was low, he could make such a sacrifice. But what kind of sacrifice? What would he have to do? How long would he have to pay for something he'd already bought? Was this unknown sacrifice worth the trouble?


The Worldly man put the item in his jacket pocket. He patted it over his chest before continuing to pack up his things. With a smile he thanked the man for his time and apologized sincerely for not making a sale. The man watch the stranger walk away.


He never vanquished his enemy. After the visit with the strange man he wondered if he was ever strong enough to do it. He feared the consequences of taking him out. As his business fell into decline and he faced ruin he often thought about the man and what he carried in his breast pocket. He asked around the town if anyone else met the man. They never saw him, after a while people thought he was crazy. Soon after he lost everything he began to believe it himself. He never lived up to his full potential.


The strange man in this story was an agent of the Devil and of course I roll my eyes at giving the man a name or a title. But there is meaning there. Doubt cost nothing. It's a tiny seed that need very little attention and grows all by itself in the minds of everyone.


Doubt causes fear, hesitation, reluctance, a lack of faith in yourself, in others, in God or your higher power, jealousy, envy. Doubt can make a strong man falter. It can make, a happy woman angry. Doubt can take away security. Doubt can hold a person trapped in a job they don't want.


Doubt makes you, me, especially me, stop reaching for that next step. And I admit I am crippled by it. I feel  doubt all the time. I feel it now and instead of sleeping right now I'm awake doubting what will happen later today. Doubt has me wondering why finish the book, will I be able to attend school this fall, will I ever meet someone who finds me worthy, will I be homeless, doubt cripples me everyday.


I look around my messy room and wonder how this happened? Simple I stopped believing I could do anything. I stopped functioning as I was intended. I'm weak and incompetent. Doubt is the greatest weapon ever invented. When I see the papers strew across the floor I don't see that they are in an organized pile by subject. I see a mess that looks like it will take ages to sort through. Even if they are already sorted I feel overwhelmed at the thought of putting it away.

I wonder how to combat this thing called doubt. I wish I had he answer. I'm happy that I managed to come to grips with the fact that it's just a room. The mess isn't that bad and the papers are organized. The stuff on the floor isn't junk, it's dog toys for Chewy and picking an outfit is something I take a little pleassure in, even after I've tried on everything in my closet.




I will because it's five am, lay my head down and try to organize what I can take care of quickly. then I'll worry about the other stuff when it stops being other stuff. It's not healthy to have the kind of doubt I have. My world will not come crashing down around me. I'll just treat my life like my room and clean.

The Rebound Guy

My Blog Buddy Woody (If we ever meet in person, that town better watch out) wrote about breaking up a few days ago.  I'm guessing by what she wrote and what a few other women I know love and/or respect have said there is no practical use for the Rebound Guy. I disagree.

I had a Rebound Guy once. He was awesome (if there was a word I could possibly overuse). I met him at some large gathering of friends.  I'm pretty sure it was a Pub Crawl. Over the course of the evening someone asked me how I was handling my recent break up. 

Surrounded by a lot of mine and my ex's mutual friends, I bolstered my courage and said, "It fucking sucks I need a Rebound Guy." Those who were listening replied with cheers, toasting, and I think one even slapped me on the back.  All I really wanted was to get my potato wedges, it was a restaurant after all. Crawl back home and sleep. But I stayed.


As most pub crawls go they only get bigger as the night wears on. "J" my new friend, like any good predator sought me out attempted to reel me in. This chick has game though, he pretty much fell for what ever line I threw him, then kindly drove me all the way back to my house. No kiss, no hug, no nookie. Some where during the course if the Pub Crawl though I behaved really bad, was asked to put my boots back on by a bouncer, but other than that, and throwing my phone number out, I pretty much was a good girl.


"J" called me the next day.

He told me that he wouldn't mind being my rebound guy. He said he kind of gets that a lot with chicks. I kind of felt bad for him, but I realized the sight of runny mascara must turn him on. Who does that? Seriously, who dates chicks on the rebound? "May I introduce "J" the professional Rebound Guy.


You know if I wasn't so emotionally involved in my last relationship I think me and him would have had something to build on. Then again this guy likes emotionally uninvolved. Also he was a government contractor that traveled a lot so this is probably all he's got time for.


Anyway with that out of the way, we hit it off pretty well. After a month his job in Boston was over and I was back to my old self again. When he left I was like thanks, then to make it more awkward he said thanks too. He left on good terms, I was back to bad ass status and not feeling all down about myself.


Maybe I'm a bit off to think that getting a Rebound Guy is a good idea. I think you have to be clear headed about the situation. I do agree that whoring yourself out at the bar/club may be a very bad, and dangerous thing to do. But what if you are just used to having some one around? What if you seem to be stuck at those shindigs that are always you+1?  You can't go by yourself, that's lame. (Clearly I've evolved since this statement)


When you brake up with someone, you loose that hanging partner to all the cool events that couple go to. The invites start drying up and you're stuck on a Friday night drinking with your single friends who all hate being single. I wasn't ready to go back to that when my actual boyfriend left me. I needed a buffer. And "J" stepped right in.


I've had a few more break ups since that. I've handled each on of them differently. Of course each break up was different. One was a compulsive liar and cheat. One thanks to orders PCS'd to some other country. Another, through a mutual emerging dislike, just stopped calling and trust me when I say I was okay with that. No need for a Rebound Guy there. The one I actually waited to be physical with, turned out to be physically incompatible, that was awkward. 


The one that PCS'd to a different country would have required a Rebound Guy if I were in port as scheduled to see said ex off on his flight. But alas  my ship was tasked and we never got to say good bye. I had to get over that one all by myself. For him I totally would have found a Rebound Guy. If the stars and operational tasking aligned, I think would have been fine.


The point I'm trying to make is that you don't need a Rebound Guy to boost your confidence or your self esteem. You need a Rebound Guy because he's got no ties to you, your ex, your friends or anything else going on in your life. He fills that space your ex left, heaven forbid you guys had any shared plans. Plus Rebound Guy gradually sets you down as opposed to being abruptly dumped. As long as yous twos are clear on these facts it should be a pleasant experience.

One thing is golden here though: THE REBOUND GUY IS TEMPORARY. You don't date these folks indefinitely. When you've moved on from your ex, you move on from the Rebound Guy too. Don't be like this chick:

That shit ain't real, it never happens. When Hollywood starts talking about love again, there is always some poor woman that actually believes this. I believed E.T. was real until I rode the ride at Universal Studios too. Take the time after you've moved on and do your closet cleaning, revamp your wardrobe, change your hair color, take up yoga or what ever it is you do after the scab falls off. The point of this is to come out better than when you went in.




I'm off my soap box.

Thursday's Bean Counter: Internet Edition

This edition of the Bean Counter is pact full of stuff from the internet:

Because it's Fucking Bruce Lee bitches!!!

 +100 Seriously, it's Bruce Lee need I say more???

My Profile on OkayCupid is being stalked by some guy in Ireland STILL. This was in last week's inbox : -10

It's only gotten worse since then.   -25




Lost power on Sunday for about seven hours.  -12


Luckily it was during the day time. +5


Unluckily it was during the day time in San Diego in June. -15


Some time around 10AM Wednesday the blog hit over 5000 views. Rock the fuck on. +43


Finally upgraded from Text Edit to Pages and was pleasantly pleased to find out that I have over 41,000 words down in The New God. +50


Spent two hours looking for batteries for the wall clock. Found the batteries then couldn't remember where I put the wall clock when I put it down. FAIL -21


Took Chewy to the Groomers dyed his tale  green this time. Now he color coordinates with my current bed set, his leash and harness, my designer house key, his poopy bags, most of the towels in the bathroom and a bunch of other things. At least he doesn't have an ugly mow-hawk like last time. +/- 0


Realized I was dragging around at least three inches of badly damaged hair. I cut some of it myself and I was okay. +5


Realized that I might have to take the rest of my hair to a salon and have some random person coming at me with a pair of scissors. -12

My sole reason for venturing to Los Angeles in July just canceled. Maxwell I know you're just doing this so I don't throw my panties at you. You ain't sick, get yo fine ass back on stage. I been waiting years to see you again. -30 


The upshot is them $100 tickets will get refunded. +13


Karaoke on Monday was a crap shoot. Super sore throat again and three hours of sleep. I crashed after two songs, even though I signed up for five and one was a duet. -17

My favorite Happy Panda buddy on Facebook was on fire today with a million billion e-cards my favorite today was: 


+25

Then he came back with this:




+26 I'll never think about Oreo Cookies the same ever again.




Mom is still threatening us with her presence and the count down has started.  I don't even know how to begin to score that one....


The California DMV is not as bad as I expected! Even though there's dire warnings not to miss your scheduled appointment, I was seen promptly since I came in there looking like a lost puppy. What did I learn from this? THE DMV MAKES APPOINTMENTS FOR ID'S??????? WINNING +18


Shared my first ever pod cast with everyone I know and care meagerly for. Most of them said that my section sounded like hot steamy shite. They didn't mean it the nice way. So I guess I'll be sound proofing my office if I want to do more.  -12


Decided that I needed a vanity set like three years ago. Finally went looking for one in the millions of billions of thrift stores all over San Diego. Awakened a memory of being dragged all over Boston with my mother doing the same thing, until she found one. Broke down and cried because I'm turning into my her.  -40. 20 for the realization and another 20 for the awful public display.


Since I don't even care what the last tally was I'm starting new. What's the total? 93 Fuck yeah life is pretty good this week.

Teaser for Wednesday / Call the Cops-and the Post Office

It is my greatest pleasure to say that this Wednesday I am going to review Gini Koch's latest book in the Kitty Katt Series Alien Diplomacy. While this weekend I struggled with a weekend edition on dating and failed miserably, I did finish her book and got to ponder it at leisure.


Then comes Monday and with that the start of my next book for next Wednesday. Trust me anything after Gini Koch better be dam good. Thanks to Madison Woods' facebook page I find this written by Ms. Koch herself, in Science Fiction Daily, about why her science fiction is so freaking awesome. Because it's funny. FACT


She makes a valid point and then sells you on one her other series to the point that I really want to go clear a section of me already cluttered book shelf just for her. Lord help me I might have to get another shelf.






Call the Cops -and the Post Office


Kiddies this weekend while I was home alone the whole weekend (yeah that's bad) some jacktard decided to wash a check of mine and attempt to cash it. Lucky me or unlucky how ever you want to look at it, I'm broke. He re-wrote it for $675 I don't have that in my account. I have like $40. It of course bounced.


I tried to figure out how this happened and came up with mail box tampering. Thanks to my friends and their expert level skill on Google, we found the guy. I have his facebook and myspace page, I know what high school the guy goes to. I've manage to prepare a packet for whom ever decides to actually investigate. But here I should share with you how this made me really feel.

I'm pretty butt hurt about that. Frankly I feel that it's appropriate. I could be wrong though.


So I took the following actions: I called the bank, the Post office my Uncle Jack, the Police, the big three credit bureaus, the police again, the bank again, my brother Darryl, my brother Dana, the Post Office again, Dad to wish him happy birthday and finally Mom.


There are a billion things I could have done this weekend but this gross violation of privacy took front and center so I had to deal with that.


What I want to know is: Who steals from poor Veterans on meds? Seriously, the check was for meds, I need those. Have you seen me off my meds? It's not pretty. And I tell you what this guy should be scared if I go up there to get my refill and I can't get them. I might jut blow my top.


What I keep hearing from the parties not associated but still concerned is that the Post Office will probably be the ones to catch the guy as opposed to the Police. That does not bode well with me. My parents were both at one time Police Officers. I'm pretty cool with the ones I have to deal with and it looks bad to me that another agency might get all the glory on this.


But what can I do but keep my information organized and give copies to both.




I think I'll go start my next book Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter. Don't forget to check back on Wednesday for Gini Koch's review.