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Wednesday, June 24, 2015

rude much

My mom had invitations designed for the party she's throwing for J and me in September, and they look really nice. I was kinda worried, because her taste tends to veer towards the "classy 80s businesswoman"--glass-topped coffee tables and big statement pieces, I was worried the invites would look like the cards from American Psycho--but they turned out well. Plus she used a selfie that I took of us the day we got married, so there's that. Anyway, she sent them out last weekend and I had a couple of friends text me to say how cute they are in person. One of the people I invited is my friend Janelle, from college. She was a few classes ahead of me, so we really only hung out when I was a freshman, but we kept in touch because we had the same group of friends pretty much throughout college. She used to be best friends with this really gross and horrible controlling person named Leah, but they got in a fight and stopped talking, and then Janelle started spending a lot more time with me as a result. She was definitely not one of my wild friends, when we hung out we'd usually go to the movies and then hang out in her dorm room and drink vodka. She also was pretty disapproving about a lot of the things I did, and wasn't terribly afraid to express her opinion, and she told me on more than one occasion that I was definitely her "token crazy friend," like, is that an insult or a compliment? With Janelle, it was impossible to discern.

Anyway, we stayed in touch on Facebook after college, and she only lived about an hour or so away, so I'd drive down to where she lived and we'd go to art museums and stuff. Then she moved to Seattle and I didn't see her for a couple of years. She wound up moving back to Maryland after her mom started having health problems, though. We text occasionally, and she's the kind of person who always remembers birthdays and boyfriends' names and the like. So I invited her to the reception because it would have felt like a major slight if I hadn't.

After work yesterday, J and I were out walking around in our neighborhood, looking for cute puppies so I can finish convincing him that we totally need a dog. He wants an Italian Greyhound and I want a Pomeranian but somehow I don't think those breeds would mix well, so we're stuck. At least, until the day I come home with a Pom puppy and shrug and just say that the dog store was all out of Italian Greyhounds. That's how getting a dog works, right?

"Hey," I said in a low voice, tugging his hand. "Look at that little guy!" This woman was walking by pushing a stroller with two dogs in it, and one was a Pom. He looked sooooo cute and happy, I just wanted to reach in and steal him.

"We're not getting a dog that needs to be driven around in a stroller, Laur," J said, a little too loudly. The woman overheard him and glared at us, then protectively shuffled her dogs further away. I started giggling and rested my head on his shoulder.

"Yeah, but he was so cute! Ours would be able to walk," I said confidently, knowing how much J hates the idea of walking a dog. He's through and through a cat person, but I'm trying.

"I think something like that would bite me on the ankle every time I walked past it,"

"Nooooo! He'd love you, you'd be his daddy!" I batted my eyelashes at him until he finally cracked a smile and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, if that's what my princess wants, that's what she'll have," J teased, gently. I blushed, and leaned over to kiss him, until I felt my phone going off in my back pocket.

"Is everything okay?" There was a little concern in his voice; my mom's been spending time in New Hampshire and looking over my grandmother's house. Half of me was expecting some bad news because my grandmother fell out of bed at the nursing home yesterday and apparently 92-year-olds who weigh 75lbs have a hard time shaking things like that off.

"Oh, yeah, it's my friend Janelle. She said she got the invite, she's excited for the party,"

"Ah, cool,"

"Yeah, she just asked if anyone else she knew from college was going to be there. Hmmm," I thought about this. I don't actually talk to anyone else that I went to college with now. My best friends when I was a junior and senior in college were townies, or kids from Frederick who went to different schools. Plus, in my senior year, I was dating Patrick and spending a lot of time in DC with people like Matt and David (ew). It's been a really long time since I had a group of friends that I went to school with. So, yeah, I didn't invite anyone because it's been a few years.

It was starting to get dark, and J suggested we head home so that he could start dinner (#blessed). I was being quiet and thinking about my weird college friends. When we got home, I changed into yoga pants and my favorite hoodie and flopped on the couch with my phone. Texting Janelle back, I wrote, "Nope! I don't think so! But lots of my friends from Frederick and DC, who are cool. You will like them."

My phone pinged a minute later.

Janelle: "Ummm how am I getting there exactly? Am I making my own arrangements or can you pick me up? What's the deal?" 

Seriously? I rolled my eyes. J was in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around. We were having salmon cakes with a green chile-wasabi sauce, and I offered to sear and shred the salmon while he made the glaze. Getting up, I headed towards him. J had set out the salmon fillet on a cutting board, and once I set a pan on the range with a little olive oil and herbs, I went up behind him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, kissing the back of his neck. J relaxed his posture and exhaled in a relaxing sigh as I closed my eyes and rested my face right above the collar of his shirt. Little comforting moments like that are the best. He turned around in my arms, gave me a kiss, and gently pushed past me to grab some stuff from the refrigerator.

"She actually just texted me back and asked if we could give her a ride, hah," I joked, trying to keep a little bitchiness out of my voice. I was honestly surprised that she would ask, her house is over two hours away from my parents'. Plus, we're flying in, and we won't have a car, and we'll only be there for 48 hours. And if I drove her home, I wouldn't be able to drink at my own fucking party. And anyone who thinks I'm forgoing that is actually insane.

"Really? Wow, that seems kind of.. um, obliviously rude," J said, tactfully, making a face as he grated some fresh ginger for the sauce.

"Yeah, a little bit. I'm just going to tell her she needs to arrange her own ride." I texted her back, and told her exactly that, in kind of an apologetic tone. I feel bad, because she doesn't drive, but who's fault is that? I have no patience with people who didn't get their license and expect to be chauffeured around, save people with a disability or something. It just seems really selfish to me.

A few minutes later, my phone pinged again.

Janelle: "So you're not even going to invite Tegan?" 

I groaned again, reading the text. J came up behind me and started rubbing my back. I held my phone up so he could read it.

"Did she really just ask you that? Who's Tegan?"

"Uhmmm, she was a college acquaintance, kinda. She's a friend of Janelle's. She graduated in the same class as Janelle did, and then moved to Minnesota. I don't think I've talked to her since 2011, maybe. She's nice, though."

"Do you want to invite her?"

"Ha, no, not really. We barely knew each other in school, and it would be super awkward. Plus, my parents are hosting, I can't really invite any more people unless they okay it. That's pretty rude,"

"Well, it's rude of her to bring that up. It's not really her event,"

"I know, right," I quickly texted back: "Well, Tegan and I haven't talked since 2011, so it might be kind of weird."

As soon as I was back in front of the salmon, my phone went off again. 

Janelle: "I can give you her phone number, if you want to talk."
Janelle: "or do you want her email?" 

"Wow, she is really pushing this Tegan thing," I commented, trying again to keep my voice in a neutral tone. This whole text thing was really annoying me, but I didn't want to be a bitch. I texted back: "Sure, I can email with her maybe? I don't have a Facebook anymore." I have zero interest in talking to Tegan again, because she's nice, but we had nothing in common in college and we probably have even fewer things in common now. But again, I didn't want to be a cunt so I didn't say that to Janelle. It was really irritating that she wasn't getting the hint, though, and I still couldn't believe she actually asked me to go pick her up. I used to drive her places in college sometimes, until she asked me to drive her to a party where I wasn't even invited. Amazingly, she didn't understand why that was awkward and rude. That was the end of the rides, though.

We finished making dinner (good, but needed more basil), and I made Moscow Mules before plating everything on a tray and carrying it out to our deck. Inside, we only have our bar and the couch as eating options, and I loathe eating off the couch. But outside, we have these fantastic chairs and a hammock and some nice plants, along with a grill that I'm afraid to actually use. It's kinda private, but not too much. I really want to have sex out there, but every time I've had that idea, it's been pouring rain, which sounds sexy in theory but we would probably not enjoy it too much.

"So who all did you invite in September?" J asked, idly, cutting into his salmon with a fork.

"Oh, the usual suspects that you've heard about. Matt and a date (he and Helena broke up!! Did I tell y'all? I don't think it was because of the threesome.), Anna and her fiance, my hippie friends from Takoma Park, some beer friends from DC.. Was there anyone else you wanted to come? Like, it probably wouldn't make sense for our friends here to fly out, but is there anyone you can think of who could make it?"

"Nah, just Kelly. And Ma invited her parents, and her sister, I think," J paused, thinking. I was honestly a little nervous about meeting more of his family. I love his mom, but I have yet to meet my other in-laws. Oh well, I guess if they don't like me, it's already too late. And J isn't very close to them, we both have kind of a bad relationship with our grandparents. While he was thinking, my phone pinged again. I groaned.

"Ugh, what now," I groused, checking my texts.

Janelle: "So did you invite Tegan yet?" 

Rolling my eyes, I wordlessly tossed my phone to J. He read it, and gave me the appropriate response.

"Seriously? What the fuck? You can't fucking invite people to other peoples' parties, is she twelve?" He gave me a weird look, shaking his head.

"She's like 29, and yeah, I don't fucking know. I'm not answering that," I put my phone on the table, face-down. It was pretty clear that she wasn't going to take a fucking hint, but I knew if I answered now, it would come off meaner than I intended.

Grabbing our plates, I headed into the kitchen to load the dishwasher. J blew out our citronella candles and followed me, taking the dishes out of my hands and gently pushing me away from the dishwasher.

"Go relax, baby. Pick something to watch, I'll be right there." He kissed me on the side of the neck and shooed me out of the kitchen. I put on the season 2 premiere of True Detective, since we're obsessed with the first season and hadn't seen the second opener yet.

We watched in silence for about twenty minutes, and then I realized we both couldn't stop yawning. The show was okay, not stellar like the first season, and I was pretty disappointed. Rubbing my eyes, I suggested we go to bed early, and J agreed. While I was waiting for him to finish in the bathroom, I realized that I had left my phone outside after dinner. I dashed outside to grab it, and saw that I had two more missed texts.

Janelle: "When are you gonna invite Tegan?"
Janelle: "have you invited Tegan yet??"

"Ughhhh!!!!!! J!!!!!" I half-whined, half-yelled, and waited for him to get out of the bathroom. When the door opened, his forehead was creased with concern.

"Baby? Are you okay?" I glared at him, holding my phone out. He read the texts, and pulled a face.

"Wow. This is.. a little Rain Main, to be honest," he said lightly, handing my phone back and heading into the bedroom. I shook my head, trying to do my "calming" breathing.

After several minutes of staring at my phone and doing the thing where you type something and then delete it, and then type it back again, I managed to come up with a response. I said: "This is going to be awkward, and I apologize, but I really can't invite anyone else. My parents are hosting the party, not me, so it would be rude of me to ask them, and I only want our very nearest and dearest there. Tegan and I have not talked in years, and she was always nice to me, but this is not the time to reconnect."

"Do you think that was mean?" I asked, quietly, showing my phone to J.

"No, honey," he patted my hand and stretched out his arms like he does when he wants me to curl up on his chest. I plugged my phone in, checked to make sure that my alarm was set for the next morning, and switched out my light.

In the morning, I had a text.

Janelle: "Sooooo i don't think i can make it, cab fare is over $200 one-way, you will have to come visit again"

I showed the phone to J, muttering under my breath about how she hadn't even bothered to apologize for being so extremely rude. And yeah, it didn't fail to escape me that she fucking pinned the blame on me. Yes, we will definitely have to go visit again. Just to see your rude ass.

"So..  nothing of value was lost..?" he smiled slightly, trying to make me laugh. I just shook my head, but then I started laughing too. What the fuck is wrong with people, seriously?

This whole thing is just making me soooo happy that we didn't have an actual wedding. I would not have been able to cope with ridiculous fucking people and their dumb requests without losing it. I think my blood pressure is still up from yesterday, and that was barely even a thing!! What the hell. Plus, some of J's friends were SUPER rude after we got married. One of them even said "Well I guess my invitation got lost in the mail," in this snooty detached voice. Ew.


 

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

get out of my state

Patrick: super busy?

I was sitting at work yesterday morning, minding my own business (online shopping at Urban Decay and Nordstrom) when Patrick IMed me on Gchat. I have him set to 'always show' in my contact list but he always makes himself invisible so that trick didn't work. I immediately got this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd sent him money via Google Wallet a couple of months ago to cover utilities and bills for when I lived there last August, but I probably still owe him a couple hundred, and I figured he was IMing me about that. Or to tell me another weird rapey story about his sexcapades.

Me: nope
Me: what's up?

Patrick: how's it going?

Me: not badly. you?
Me: how much more do I owe you?

Patrick: vacillating between existential panic and terror of the future
Patrick: ya know. job search

Me: seriously? I woulda thought places were snapping you up

Patrick: eh. Had a pre-interview with  an edutech place on Monday. they prefer someone willing to relocate to urbana-champaign tho, lol

Me: oh god
Me: why
Me: so that's obvi off the table

Patrick: eh, i dunno. it grew on me.

Me: that place is kind of a hole.
Me: I haven't been or anything
Me: but that's what people say

Patrick: what do you think of the new decemberists?

Me: eh. i only like one song. the rest of the album was kinda not doing it for me.

Patrick: it was better live.

Me: you're such a fucking hipster. ew.
Me: so you would really consider moving here?

Patrick: they're paying for all of that, or they would be if i get the job

Me: i still can't believe i live in illinois.

Patrick: you were so jazzed about it, though

Me: well I love chi
Me: but i fucking hate the midwest
Me: and the pizza here is a blight on the face of mankind

Patrick: hahahahaha
Patrick: can't find any thin crust?

Me: THEY CUT IT INTO SQUARES. SQUARES.
Me: and it's not even thin crust. it's like, cracker crust. ick.

Patrick: ya i know
Patrick: I grew up on it, though

Me: so you'd really move?

Patrick: ya, it's starting at like 200k a year. and i'd be closer to friends in iowa.

Me: welp. i'm never paying you back.

Patrick: so i'd be like a 2 hr drive from you, bird

Me: i sold my car :)

Patrick: i'd be driving out there in mine
Patrick: and likely driving around, since that "hole" doesn't have public transport

Patrick: did you run off??

Me: nope, just working

Patrick: so tell me about hubs and married life

Me: i really enjoy it. i think it suits me better than anything else.
Me: plus no one pumps you for details about your wedding after you're already married.

We started talking about Matt, and the same thing happened that always happens when I wind up talking to Patrick now. We start out really hostile and defensive, and eventually that barrier comes down, and he winds up feeling more like an old friend again. That used to make me feel relieved, but now it just makes me feel weird, because I feel like we shouldn't be that close anymore. Sometimes it still makes me sad, like, really sad to think about him. After we broke up for the first time, I wasn't regretful for a really long time, and then it hit me insanely hard that I still loved him. I don't, anymore, but I did for a long time, and if he hadn't been so obnoxious to me last summer, we probably would have started dating again. He was my first real adult relationship and the only other person who I felt like I could have been with for a really long time. Although I realized a long time ago that we were way too different to stay together because we want vastly different things in a partner. And we've had some incredibly ugly fights (if you think the one with J was bad last post.. not even a fucking blip on the radar where Patrick is concerned) and just been horrible people to each other.

The conversation dropped off after a while, and I didn't make any effort to start it back up. I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that he was moving here, and it was making me feel really weird and unpleasant. One of the reasons I moved was because I really did want a fresh start. In DC, I was getting to the point where I couldn't go out without seeing someone that I knew, usually from a past hookup or something, and it was getting pretty unpleasant. That makes me sound horrible, but DC isn't a huge city, and I was really promiscuous, so, yeah. It adds up. And after college, I didn't have great luck with jobs. In DC, 90% of the jobs available are federal contractor positions, and most are IT related. I guess it's kinda like finance in Chicago. Anyway, I was trying to get away from my past when I moved here. And I don't love the idea that someone who I'm pretty conflicted on decided to relocate to the area. I know he's not moving because of me expressly, I'd just rather the connection not be there.

Everything is back to normal at home. I think we both felt really guilty and awful for a few days, and I realize how horrible I was being. J did get the work from home job, and I'm fine with it now because it really does make him happy. Seeing him so miserable before was really difficult and painful, so if this fixes that, then everything is good. I'm looking forward to when I have work from home days as well (probably in a month or two), although I don't mind going into work now because I like my job.

So I think I'm going to write Patrick an email and just say I'm done, and that we can't talk anymore no matter what. It doesn't feel right talking to him, even when I'm being guarded. Maybe I was dumb for thinking (for years, lol) that I can be good friends with an ex. Even the good times we've had together in the past couple of years were always weird, especially during and after I was dating David. I even have a weird, sick feeling in my stomach just thinking about it now, which is probably a sign that yeah, I just need to tell him that everything is over. I feel like a moron for being so reluctant to cut the cord, but that's life I guess.

We got a wedding invite for Anna and her fiance a couple of weeks ago, and I'm really excited because it means two trips out east within like, a month and a half of each other. I got reservations at minibar as a surprise for J, and we need to pick a really cute hotel and rent a car and stuff. I'm so excited!!! I love DC now that I don't live there anymore. Funny how that works.

--

I'm guessing that some of you have probably noticed the posting schedule change, or rather, evaporate. I'm not going to stick to the original schedule, unless my life gets a hell of a lot more exciting in the next couple of weeks or so, and I don't want to write boring filler posts because I know those are a fucking drag to read and I don't really wanna do that to you. So I'm just going to update once a week or whenever I feel like writing now.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

so we had a fight

I was kind of panicky at the end of last week and through the weekend for a really dumb and somewhat selfish reason. One of the jobs that J was applying to was a 100% work from home gig. I know this is selfish and horrible, but part of me was feeling really resentful and jealous that he would get to stay at home all day while I have to go downtown. That's not even fair, because I'll be able to work from home a couple of days a week once I've been at my new job for more than a month or so, but when have emotions ever been rational? Not really ever, I guess.

So yesterday, J was texting me a lot because he'd done a couple of writing tests for the job and had a phone interview. I kept trying to be all happy and upbeat about it, but I was feeling worse and worse as the day went on because he couldn't stop talking about how excited he was to be able to be home all the time. I wanted to reach through my phone and strangle him.

When I got home from work, the apartment was insanely hot and stuffy. J came out to the foyer (we recently hung up some paintings there, which makes me feel kind of adult) to greet me, but I pushed him away because I was overheating. I hate summer. 

"How was your day, baby?" J asked, looking equal parts guarded and hurt. I had to actually keep myself from rolling my eyes as I paced into the bedroom.

"It was okay, better now that I'm home. Why are the windows in here open? It's like ninety fucking degrees outside," I huffed, slamming them down before he could answer.

"Um, I needed some air. I'll go change the AC," he started, and walked into the other room. I knew I was being kind of horrible, but I followed him anyway.

"Why didn't you just go outside? I mean seriously, why were the fucking windows open?" I glared.I could feel my resentment about the job thing pouring out of me in these ghastly waves. It was like a bad smell in the room.

"I don't know! It was stuffy in here, and I wanted some fresh air," he started, but I half tuned out. I was glancing around the apartment and noticing that the dishes hadn't been done; the kitchen was actually kind of a mess.

"Ugh, whatever, just put the AC back up," Going back into the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed and started pulling one of my cutout platform boots off.

"You know what? Fine! I won't touch the fucking windows anymore! You want that to be a rule? You want me to fucking leave you alone?" His voice was at that level that's right between raised and yelling, and I felt myself cowing and looking down.

"No," I started, but he cut me off.

"You want me to go outside? You want to be left alone?! Fine!!" He yelled, and spun on his heel. I didn't move, but I heard him pick up his keys and then the door slam.

I was so mad that I was seeing red. I couldn't believe that he just yelled at me and then left!! He's never done that. What a fucking asshole! I could tell that he would probably come back within a few minutes and apologize for screaming at me, so I decided to lay down for a while since I was so tired. I cranked the AC down to 62 (my happy place) and got into bed, still wearing my striped minidress and sheer black tights from work.

After an hour went by, I realized I still hadn't heard anything. We were supposed to go out to dinner because a brewpub right across the street was having a neighbor appreciation night and giving away free beer, but I had to wash my hair first. I figured that I would get in the shower and by the time I was done getting ready, he'd be back. I locked the bathroom door so he couldn't come in when he got home, and took a really long time washing my hair. I sort of wanted to take a bath, but we're out of my favorite bath bomb so I didn't. Oh well.

The cord of my hairdryer kept bumping up against the bathroom cabinet and sounding like footsteps, which made me feel really jumpy. It was close to 7:45, and he still wasn't back. If I hadn't been so pissed off, I probably would have been hungry. That made me remember dinner plans again. Why wasn't he back home yet? Ugh. He was probably over at his mom's, bitching about me. In that moment, I hated him. I hated him for yelling at me and leaving, even though I probably had a lot to do with that. I hated him for not coming back and being nice to me and holding me until I felt better. I hated him because he would rather be mad and stay out than try to fucking reconcile with me so we could have a good night together. At this point, I didn't even WANT to go to dinner with him anymore. Fuck him.

"What are you doing tonight?" I texted Curtis, banking on the fact that he has no social life.

"Well, I just adopted some cats, so I am hanging out with them. You are welcome to come by, L," he texted back. How can someone be awkward, even over texting?

"No, can we go out somewhere and get dinner? Somewhere with wine? Soon?"

He suggested some places, and we went back and forth until we agreed on a gastropub that was pretty much in between where we both live. I pulled on this black sundress with eyelet trim and my espadrilles and left. The only thing I was worried about was seeing J outside, because I did NOT want to get into it again with him in public. Ew.

"So! It's really good to see you, what do I owe this pleasure?" Curtis smiled at me before looking down at the menu. I tried to wipe my bitchface off and smile back, but somehow I don't think it happened.

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to get out for a little bit," I didn't feel like going into the details of what had happened yet.

"Well it's really nice to see you," he said again, folding his menu and closing it on the table. He looked pretty good, he'd grown out his hair a lot (it used to be buzzed). I reached across the table and ruffled it, not meeting his eyes.

"Yep. Things are.. about the same, with me," I shrugged a little bit and ordered a glass of rose.

"You look good. How was Amsterdam? Do you have pictures?" He asked, politely. I am pretty sure Curtis gave zero fucks about my honeymoon, but it was still nice of him to ask.

"Yeah, just scroll through here," I handed over my phone. "It was a really nice trip, coming back here was super depressing after that, though."

"I thought you loved Chicago?"

"I do," I said, exasperated. "It's not the same, though."

"Oh," said Curtis. Inwardly I was wondering why I'd done this, because it was so evidently a bad idea. "Well, how do you like being married?"

"Really? Why are you asking?"

"Oh.. I don't know. Just because, I guess." He looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah, but aren't you divorced? Why do you even care?"

"Still separated, but I just wanted to know how you are doing," he said, slowly. I sighed. I knew I was being a bitch.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out. I'm not really feeling well. We.. we kind of had a fight," I mumbled, swirling my wine around in the glass. Curtis made a concerned noise that made me want to hit him even though I'd just apologized.

"What happened?"

"Uhm.. I dunno. He yelled at me and then he stormed out. I can't believe he would do that," I mused, still looking at my wine.

"That doesn't sound like him," Curtis looked at me, his face creased with concern. I shrugged.

"Yeah, it was weird. I dunno." Refusing to give him any more of an explanation, we looked at cat pictures of his new furbabies until I finished with my wine. I left after that, without eating, because my stomach was still tied up in knots. I wasn't really mad anymore, but I was really hurt that he hadn't tried to contact me or call me and apologize.

When I got home, the lights were still off in the apartment and his keys were still missing. I felt tears start to well up. It was almost 9, and he would still rather stay mad at me than come home and try to fix things? I started sniffling and then really crying, like ugly crying, and got back in bed. Not five minutes later, I heard the door open and close and heard his footsteps come into the bedroom. I hid my head under a pillow because I didn't want him to see me ugly sobbing.

"Are you ready to stop crying and talk about this, honey?"

"No," I mumbled into my pillow between sobs.

"Please take the pillow off your head." I threw it on the floor, feeling the bed shift as he lay down next to me.

"What do you want?" I heard him sigh, and was expecting him to leave.

"I want to talk to you. Please roll over and face me." I sat up, with my face in my hands. I could feel tears and snot leaking all over my hands and through my fingers. Ewww.

"Are you feeling better?" At this, I dropped my hands and faced him, rolling my eyes. Seriously?

"Am I feeling better?" I asked, incredulous. "Am I feeling better? You're the one who fucking yelled at me and then left!!"

"Honey, you were yelling at me first. I left to give you some time to cool off," he stated. I could tell he was trying to stay calm and failing.

"You were gone for hours!!" I whined, biting my lip as another wave of sobs hit me.

"I don't want you to treat me like that anymore, it isn't fair to me. I don't like it when you raise your voice to me,"

"I don't like it when you yell at me, either!!!" I glared, suddenly mad again. I couldn't believe he wasn't apologizing to me. This was not how I imagined things were going to go.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. I didn't mean to hurt you," he reached out and started petting my back. "I'm very sorry."

"And then you left and ruined the evening because you wanted to stay mad at me more than you wanted to make up!! You were gone for hours," I repeated, blowing my nose.

"I wanted to give you time to cool off. And I had my phone on me, you could have called."

"You left! I wasn't going to fucking chase you! I thought you hated me and needed to be alone and would have just gotten angrier if I'd called you to come home!"

"Baby, I was home. I was on the deck the whole time." I stared, mute.

"Oh,"

"Can you tell me what's really bothering you now, please? I don't want to do this all night," he said, in a tired voice.

"You get to stay home and fuck off all day and I got home and it was fucking oppressively hot in here! And the kitchen is such a mess! You didn't do anything today!" I knew I was lashing out again, but I couldn't help it.

"I am doing everything in my power to make sure that I am once again, providing income for us! I have been so stressed about getting this job! I'm sorry I didn't clean more yesterday, I was very busy with the tests and the applications. You don't want me at home? Fine, I'll get another fucking job and we can both be miserable!!" He was getting exasperated again, and I still felt like shit.

"Stop yelling at me,"

"I am trying to do the best fucking job I can do make you happy!! But you have to tell me what you want from me,"

"I want you to stop yelling at me, please"

"Okay." We glared at each other and I sniffled.

"I wasn't even upset for most of the time you were gone. I was fine for like, two hours. Then I started thinking that you weren't coming home because you'd rather be mad and hold a grudge than try to make me feel better. That's why I'm mad, now."

"I'm sorry. I realize it could have come across that way, but that was honestly not my intention at all. I just wanted to give you some time to cool down."

"I hate it when you leave like that. It makes me think you're going to leave me for real. I need reassurance when I'm upset, not space." I felt like I was 5 years old. My eyes started burning again, and I dropped my head so he wouldn't see the tears roll down my cheeks.

"I'm never going to leave you, okay? We're stuck with each other now. I love you very, very much, and I would do anything I could to make you happy. I'm really sorry that I hurt you," he said, gently. I dove into his arms and buried my face in his armpit.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, too. I didn't mean to do that," I mumbled. He didn't say anything, just started to rub my back gently.

The rest of the night was not great, but at least we weren't fighting anymore. We ordered Pizza Hut (stuffed crust) and watched Game of Thrones in bed. This morning, I still felt really bad and I wound up crying again because I still felt really hurt. I'm not sure why. I feel okay now, and we've been texting a lot like usual, but I just want things to go back to normal. 


Thursday, June 4, 2015

in college, I was very Vivienne Westwood meets a Victorian gentleman on acid.


The rest of our time in Amsterdam was pretty amazing. J didn't wind up coming on from those mushrooms, and I felt bad that we didn't get to trip together because we had planned it. We even had this conversation about how occasional drug use (and again, nothing heavy/even possibly addictive) is something we consider a romantic activity--probably because we're both really fucked people with odd standards for relationships who have both done a fair amount of recreational drugs. So at my urging, on the last day, we found a different smart shop and bought more mushrooms. This time, they came vacuum-sealed and we picked ones that were supposed to be really intense. They worked for him (yay!! I wasn't laughing hysterically on my own for hours!!) and we came on in the hotel room again, and tried to have sex. It was really awesome, and also the first "successful" time I've ever had sex on a hallucinogen. The other times I either wasn't interested or wasn't aroused. I guess I did mushrooms with all my shitty boyfriends and none of the good ones.** 

Anyway, here are some Amsterdam pictures. I stopped taking pictures on maybe the second to last day, just because I was getting sick of whipping my phone out constantly. Also I'm pretty sure that we were high in all of the selfies. Just sayin'.

Going home was really hard, even though I was excited about having another week with J where neither of us are working. Although I was probably the more miserable out of the two of us at our old jobs, J was still really unhappy, so he quit when I did and he's looking for something else right now.  figured this would be a good time for both of us to have a fresh start, 'cause really when would be a better time? It was definitely the right decision. My new job is awesome, it's such a good fit and I'm so happy there, I don't think there's anything I would actually change. It's an incredibly quiet office with a ton of privacy (and no cubicles!!), which is good because I effectively hate talking to people all day. (again, writing this blog is really making me realize why I don't have more friends. Apparently I'm just not that into them. Whatever.) But since J isn't working right now, he's being a House Husband, and he's fucking awesome at it. He's been making me these baller lunches all week and cleaning the house and cooking dinner and running errands while I'm gone. He had an interview yesterday and has 2 more on Friday and I'm actually kind of sad. I will miss these lunches.

So we spent all last week walking around Chicago and fucking and napping and eating a lot of really good food. One day we were leaving the apartment and these two really cute girls were sitting on the steps outside of the building. We chatted for a few minutes, and I kept looking and wondering what it would be like if we had a threesome with one of them. I think I have that thought with a lot of other women that we meet, not in a mean way, but it feels like a really intrusive thought. Is that weird? Probably. J is kind of a harmless flirt with random women, he's very charming (goddamn Leos) and funny, and it doesn't bother me at all. It's kind of fun to watch him pull out this chivalrous side with strangers, it always makes the energy a little charged. I wonder if my wild side is going to come back out now that we're married and have the rest of our lives to do crazy things together.

Last Thursday, I woke up and decided that I wanted to go shopping. I almost never shop in-store anymore, I find the process kind of trying and not especially fun. But J is a champ, and immediately offered to go with me.

"Ugh, no. Trust me, you don't want to do this. It takes me like, three hours to buy a shirt. And I might not even get anything," I paused, slipping into espadrilles, "I'm kind of a bad shopper."

"You do have quite a few things,.." J pointedly gazed into our open closet, the vast majority of which is completely dominated by my wardrobe.

"Yeah, but I don't even wear most of that," I paused, thinking. It was true. And I got rid of a ton of stuff when we moved! But then I got all my clothes back out of storage, and y'all can't think for a second that I would get rid of my eggplant velvet blazer with the high collar. I mean, staple, right? (in college, I was very Vivienne Westwood meets a Victorian gentleman on acid.)

"So why do you need more stuff?"

"That's a really bad question to ask a woman, I think. I should remember that the next time you need more comic books," I gave him an innocent look which turned into a smirk in record time.

"Ha! Well, madam, I will also remember that the next time YOU need more wine," J smirked back. I made a face and pouted until he came over and started rubbing me on the back.

I was kind of nervous because I hadn't bought jeans from a new store in a while, and I didn't know what my size would be. I had an eating disorder for a long time (16+ years), and I've only recently--like within the past few months--started trying to heal from it and recover. I'm 5'8'', and I used to be around 110 lbs/size 24 or 25. I was super strict about what I ate (I used an app on my phone to track all calories, I wouldn't eat anything in restaurants or bars, I'd purge if I felt like I'd eaten too much or I'd drink laxative tea, etc.) and how I worked out (barre classes 5x a week, running every other day, pole dance classes 2x a week), and I still thought I was fat. I've never been at a point in my life where I was comfortable with my body and how I looked. This is super ridiculous now, because I look at older pictures of myself and realize how fucking skinny I was. But I was so ashamed of how I looked that I never wore a bathing suit or anything that was too fitted. I remember I wore a bodycon dress once to this birthday dinner that Matt had in DC and I kept holding my bag in front of me the whole time because I was convinced that my stomach was sticking out and that I looked horrible and fat. In pictures from that night, you can see my ribs sticking out through my dress.

Anyway, that's pretty much over now. I'm not sure that I was ever able to relax in my life before I met my husband. He's one of the only people that I've ever actually felt comfortable enough to eat whole meals in front of, but more importantly, enjoy food with. And as a result, yeah, I've gained weight since I moved last August. I haven't weighed myself--we don't own a scale, mostly for that reason--but it shows. I'm still pretty uncomfortable with the idea that I've gained weight, but I'm trying to come to terms with it because I wasted so much time hating food and hating myself and being miserable. It honestly means more to me now to enjoy life and do what I want instead of fucking micromanaging every little thing like I used to. It sounds so simple, but realizing that my value comes from more than just my weight has been extremely difficult for me, and I'm pretty late to the party on that one. And I feel like for every day I have where I feel good about myself, I have three more where I constantly stress about how overweight I am. Even though I'm not really overweight. The idea of trying to accept myself as I am is infinitely more challenging than just hating myself and holding myself up to a really unrealistic standard for my frame and metabolism. I still do the thing where I look at almost every other woman I walk past and ask myself whether or not she's thinner than I am, and I hate myself a little bit for it.

I've had the "are you sure I'm not too fat?" conversation with J so many times, it started to really irritate him after a while. He's really patient with me, though. I told him I felt like it was false advertising because I was so thin when we met; it makes me feel ashamed to think that people probably look at me and think I let myself go.

Sorry that this was kind of a weird and serious post. I've just been thinking a lot about the weigh thing recently because I've been buying more new clothes. I'm a size 28 now, which feels huge to me but is probably pretty average and I should chill out.  Trying to stay positive about this is hard, but maybe writing about it is a step I've needed to take for a while. It took years for me to even admit that something was wrong, and I was definitely around people who weren't very supportive or who made value judgments on me based on my weight. My mom is definitely the reason why the whole thing started--she still has really bad disordered eating, but she won't even recognize that she has a problem and she likes bragging about how little she eats. I don't think she's had a carb since the 1980s. And my stepdad loves the fact that he has a hot skinny wife who loves working out, so obviously he's never going to say anything. It's very frustrating sometimes.

I hope y'all had a good week. I'm honestly a little depressed about the weight thing, but again, trying to just work on that daily and not feel like such a loser. Being an adult is hard sometimes. I turn 27 in less than a month and I've been feeling really weird about it. It's funny, when I read this Life's Greatest Journey post, it felt fucking spot on about how it feels to be turning 27. And J laughs whenever I say that, because he'll be 33 next month-we're almost an even 6 years apart. But it's different for men. Y'all know what I mean.

In keeping with how extremely personal this post has been, I thought I should share this picture with y'all. My friend Mary (who is an awesome photographer, check her out here) did photos with us the day before we got married last month, and they turned out really well. However, this picture is important because it's one of the only pictures I've ever seen where I'm actually smiling and not just doing this half-smirk thing that is kinda my trademark smile. And I only noticed this because multiple friends pointed it out in astonishment.  So good job, Mary.



**I realize I've probably given pretty conflicting views on drug use, so I'll go into a bit of personal history/I can't remember what I've already told y'all. I did a lot of recreational stuff in high school and college, mostly smoking pot and taking LSD and mushrooms, sometimes ecstasy (before they called it molly, lol). I was kind of a wild kid, to put it mildly. Are y'all surprised? The funny thing was, nobody had any idea. My boyfriend in highschool was older, he'd already graduated, and he was 21. I had a fake ID and we used to go dancing at clubs with all of my gay guy friends and roll on E. But in school, I did really well, had a 4.0 GPA and was in a bunch of AP classes and teachers always liked me. I didn't do anything "harder" until I was in my early 20s, and then I had some friends who used to like to do coke a lot, but I never had anything resembling a habit even though it was a little too much fun. Then when I was 22, I didn't have health insurance and wound up with an abscessed tooth, which is about the most fucking painful thing I can imagine. Seriously, I would not wish this on my worst enemy. I was on vacation when it happened, and couldn't get it taken care of right away, so I started taking vicodin for that. And then I got hooked on vicodin. I was addicted (to the point of not functioning very well in public/it was obvious I was "on something") for about a year and a half, during which time I was also taking xanax for anxiety and got hooked on that as well. I had to go into the hospital when I was getting detoxed from the xanax, and it was pretty hellish. So now I'm kind of afraid of pain pills--we had them in the apartment after J had surgery and once I realized he wasn't going to take them, I made him get rid of them. The temptation doesn't ever really go away. I know it's the same feeling for him, he was addicted to coke for about 3 years and he misses it constantly. But those are things that we'd never touch now, especially not together. I still smoke now (obviously, quite a bit), and would like the chance to take LSD again, especially with J, but I think anything else is probably out of the picture because neither of us wants to put the other at risk. I guess everyone has triggers, and his is blow, and mine is opiates. This is a bummer, since I always wanted to smoke opium. Fun cautionary tales!!

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

I guess I'm immune to most poisons? (amsterdam part ii)

The guy behind the counter looked and J and me, and then nodded.

"Yes, do you want light, medium, or heavy trip? You have done this before, yes?" J and I looked at each other and nodded.

"Medium," we said in unison. I giggled. This was too absurd to be real, I'm not sure I ever thought I'd be in a place where I was buying psilocybin mushrooms over the counter. Sometimes life is pretty weird. The clerk nodded, and offered us a few different varieties. We picked one that he said would be good for being outside, paid, and then left. Being in Amsterdam was also weird because I'm used to never carrying cash, and the euros felt a little bit like play money. But everything had been really reasonable so far, even dinner was only like 60 for both of us.

When we got back to the hotel, it was pretty late but you could still hear groups of people walking by on the streets, under our window.

"Baby, you should look up those gardens to make sure we can visit tomorrow. I think the weather is supposed to be nice, too," I called out over my shoulder as I went into the bathroom to wash my face. We'd brought my laptop in case we had really bad jet lag and wound up staying up all night, but so far, that didn't seem to be happening.

"How do you spell 'Keukenhof'?"

"Uhm.. K--e--u--k--... shit!" My face's reflection screwed up in the mirror as I started laughing. Fuck, this pot was so much stronger than back at home. I felt like such a moron.

"Shit, baby, it doesn't look like they're open. I think they closed May 16th," J began, hesitantly. I ran out into the bedroom and scrolled down further on the page. Ugh, he was right.

"Damnit!! I really wanted to see those," I pouted. J immediately started rubbing my back and the back of neck, making these heavenly little circles with his thumb. I relaxed into his hands and sighed a little bit, but I think he took my sigh as a sign that I was about to start crying, and started kissing my neck and cooing that everything would be okay. Sometimes I feel bad because he spoils me so much and I feel like he's too careful with my reactions. Like it wouldn't kill me to be upset every now and then. But I probably shouldn't be complaining.

"It's okay, honey. We can find something else to do," I turned around so I was facing him, and kissed him on the forehead. "We'll have fun doing whatever, why don't you pick something?"

It was supposed to rain over the weekend, so we were saving a lot of indoor stuff (the Palace, a lot of old churches, etc) for then, and I didn't have a lot of other outdoor ideas.

"Why don't we walk over to the Rembrandtplein? It's maybe half an hour from there, there's a little park there, and places to relax, and also restaurants if we want dinner there," J suggested, using his fingernails to trace little patterns on the inside of my arms. I nodded, and started pulling off my clothes to get into bed. We turned out the lights and snuggled up together in the middle of the bed. Whenever I'm in king size, it always reminds me of how much I want one for home.

Also, I'm not sure how I've gone this far without having this realization, but vacation sex is truly the best ever. It never feels like you're rushing or doing anything but enjoying 110% of what's going on, and I think the fact that we were both in such radiant moods helped tremendously. It reminded me of the first few times we were together last August and I just kept trying to absorb every detail and let myself sink in. Then again, a few drinks with dinner and copious smoking doesn't hurt, either.

In morning, we woke up around 9. J was standing in the corner of the room, looking at the little packages of psilocybin truffles that we'd bought. They were in these brushed metal tins, with labels all over them, but not much in the way of instructions. He looked at me.

"When should we take these?"

"Uhm, hmm. At least two hours after a meal, so let's have an early lunch and then do it? That way we won't still be fucked up when it's time for dinner, and we've got all afternoon." Looking at the mushrooms in their packages, I suppressed a small shudder. Mushrooms are most disgusting things ever (I don't even like regular mushrooms), and eating them is the worst.

We spent the morning wandering the city, occasionally stopping to smoke. I had wanted to do some shopping (I'm on the hunt for this bag), but the only stores I really wanted to hit were in the Schipol Airport, so we were doing that on the way home. So instead we went in and out of little stores, looking for art for the walls at home. I found some very cool charcoal drawings of the buildings along the canal and a little watercolor which I almost didn't get because it's not framed. J also steered me into a jewelry store and bought me a right hand ring (silver with moonstone), and it was so funny, a salesguy kept trying to bring out other rings but they were all engagement rings. J was eventually like, "hey, we're already married," and the guy lost interest in us and left after that.

When we were back in the hotel that afternoon, I changed into some of my new lingerie and we settled on the bed with a can of Red Bull (it's a good mushroom chaser) between us and the tins of mushrooms. They were vacuum-sealed inside the tin, but didn't smell all that horrible. The taste wasn't -too- bad either, but it was still pretty gross. I kept gagging and having to drink more chaser, and then I spent like twenty minutes flossing my teeth afterwards. The plan was that we were going to come up in the hotel room, and then head outside once we were tripping and more comfortable. For the interim, I snuggled up next to J on the bed and we started watching a movie. My stomach hurt, but again, not unexpected.

"Baby, are you feeling anything?" I asked, about 45 minutes later. We hadn't been talking, and the fabric wallpaper on one side of the room (it was vertical cream stripes) was moving around and the stripes were mixing together, and I was pretty sure that the ceiling hadn't had rainbow lights on it before. I was staring at my hand and watching my fingers pulse and swell in time with my breath.

"No, not really." He looked at me with kind of a strange expression on his face. His pupils were completely normal-sized, though, and he looked fine.

"Does your stomach hurt?"

"Nope, I feel fine,"

"Does anything look weird?" I pressed, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. My hands suddenly felt really rubbery and clammy and gross. Eww.

"No, not really. Why? Are you feeling anything?"

"Uhh.." I started laughing, "yeah. I'm tripping a little bit. Or at least coming on," I sat up, and all the patterns and lights I'd been seeing slowly grow on the walls fell away. "It's actually coming in waves, I think a little one just passed."

"Well, it's only been about an hour. I still have time, who knows?" J tried to smile, and it suddenly dawned on me what was happening.

"Oh. Fuck. Fuck!!!" I grabbed his arm, and looked into his face. Still nothing.

"Baby, shhh, it'll be okay," he said, as another wave started to hit me. I watched my fingers elongate and the patterns on J's shirt start to swirl together. I closed my eyes. Shit. I did not want to be doing this BY MYSELF for hours while my sober husband just hung out and babysat me. That would not be fun for either of us, by far.

"I knowww, it's just.. fuck!! I wasn't supposed to be doing this alone!" I whined, rubbing my forehead on his shoulder.

"I guess I'm immune to most poisons?" he shrugged a little bit, wrapping his arm around me. I did have to admit that it felt really good to be that close to him, and I felt really safe and comfortable.

"You're so irritating. I love you," I breathed into his neck.

"I love you, too. And remember, drugs are unpredictable, baby."

"I know, but this wasn't supposed to be! We scheduled this!"

Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I remembered similar experiences with bigger ex-boyfriends. Like, we'd all eat the mushrooms at the same time but I would trip faster than they would. It had actually happened a few times before. That sort of gave me hope. And besides, it wasn't like I was having an unpleasant time. I still felt safe. It was just extremely irritating that we weren't experiencing this together.

"It'll be okay, babydoll. You're with me, and you're completely safe," he crooned into my ear, stroking my hair. I relaxed into his arms and just let him hold me and pet me for a while, figuring it would calm me down. Luckily, it did the job and things started to feel a little better after a few minutes.

"We can go out, you know. I'm okay to be outside," I started, looking up at him.

"We don't have to, though. We can do anything you like," J reached down and felt my hand and squeezed.

"I know, but we could always just go sit outside and smoke at a cafe. And if I feel freaked out, I'll tell  you. Just don't like.. abandon me, or run off, or anything," I looked at him. His hair was moving around a little bit on its own. I was definitely tripping, but it was on the lighter side for sure.

"Honey. I will never, ever abandon you. You're my wife. I'll always be by your side," he promised. I nodded, and then got up from the bed. Once I realized that I was going to have to put actual clothes and makeup on, I started laughing hysterically and doubled over. J had to pick out an outfit (high-waisted skinny jeans with a loose sweater and my boat shoes) for me, and then help me get dressed because I couldn't stop laughing.

I had kind of a bad moment in the bathroom doing my makeup but only because looking in mirrors when you are tripping is the worst thing ever. Don't do it. You will never like what you see. But then I was fine again, and I grabbed his hand and skipped out of the room after bae was responsible and made sure he had the room key and some cash.

Being outside was a good idea, and I was honestly fine. I just kept holding J's hand and letting him lead me down the street. We walked over to the Rembrandtplein, and I played with all the statues that were up, and then we flopped down on the grass and cuddled for a while. Again, I would have felt bad about PDA but a) honeymoon and b) mushrooms.

"Do you want a smoke?" I rolled over on my belly and pointed across the square, where there was a row of coffeeshops all playing music. J looked at me, and I kept staring into his eyes. They were soooo pretty. He's so cute. A smile tugged up the corners of his mouth as he watched me stare at him.

"Yes, baby?" he didn't break my gaze, but reached out and started lightly stroking my neck. I purred, and leaned closer to kiss him. I guess I got really into it because he kind of had to gently push me away, and then we got up and scurried over to a coffeeshop. Oops.

The coffeeshop that we picked that time was also kind of a club, but people were actually dancing this time. We smoked, and then I pulled J up to dance, but we weren't really dancing so much as standing there and swaying with our arms wrapped around each other. I felt so close to him, it was the coolest feeling in the world. It felt entirely anonymous, being in a strange city, but also wonderful because we were experiencing that together. I was also starting to really come down, and my stomach was hurting again. J led me out of the club/coffeeshop by the hand, and we started walking back towards the hotel. When we passed a pizza place that I'd commented on earlier that day, he steered me over to a table.

"This is so amazing," I bit into a slice of margherita that was perfectly thin, chewy, and greasy. Why does everywhere in the world have better pizza than Chicago? :(

"I knoww," he commented, mimicking my exaggerated manner and then laughing. It was cute because I know he meant it, too. My husband is just as much of a pizza snob as I am.

"Baby, I'm really sorry about today. That couldn't have been a lot of fun for you," I looked at him as he was shaking his head no.

"I had a wonderful day with you. All of my time with you is wonderful," he said, before taking another bite. I frowned, because somehow I don't think this is true. But I guess the fact that he's always willing to say things like that is what counts.

"I love you, too. I had a good day with you. And I barely freaked out! But my tummy still hurts," I complained, unbuttoning my jeans under the sweater.

"Aww, honey. I'm sorry. What can I do?"

"Just love me,"

"Always," he looked up at me again and smiled.