New Life

So, does that make me a slut if I already slept with him? I have no clue. You know I know nothing about dating. I only took hostages before....

But I rocked the pjs my friends. I rocked.

Oh my god! He's coming over right now. I have ten minutes and I'm in my pajamas!

Okay peoples. For the first time with this man, I wasn't totally apathetic that we were getting together, I was slightly anticipating it - so much so that I went to the club right after work so I wouldn't go home and freak the fuck out beforehand.

It was so nice and he's so nice and even though he pokes me on my politics, that's just so okay. We talked and talked and he met my cats and Ryan (which means I let him into my house, so now I'm super hoping that he's not psychokillerpantsman.) and then as we were chatting in the driveway? He went in for the hug. Yep. It was that whole, "I think he wants to hug me, do I want him to do that? Do I want to do that? Oh, he's putting his arms up. And then down. And my god, I think he's just totally agonizing overwhetherornottohugmerightnow. What do I do? Do I act like I want him to do it? I could cross my arms and that would mean no, but I think I DO want him to hug me, oh he's coming in. This is so awkward. He's so awkward and it's kind of nice that he is nervous about this and oh, he's not hugging hard like I like, and there, I hugged him back and he finally relaxed, oh, he's pulling away now. Yep. All done. AND he's smiling. Okay. I'm smiling too." Yep. That's the conversation going on in my head in about the ten seconds it took for him to decide to do it. And it was nice. I liked it. And he's coming over on Sunday to grill and have a backyard barbeque. Which means we'd be together when it gets dark out. That's never happened before. Maybe he'll try to kiss me? Okay, I'm going to stop thinking about it now, because then I WILL freak the fuck out and I kind of like enjoying what happened last night.

There you go internet. I think I'm dating again.

Mr. Internet is coming to pick me up in ten minutes to go for a bike ride. Does that count as date three?

Shania tagged me for a meme. Of which I have never done one. I'm not even sure what meme means? It's all about ME? They tell me alot in AA (when I'm being dramatic and stupid) that it's not all about ME anymore and to shut up. So, you can come to my blog and tell me to shut up too, but I probably won't listen or take it too personally. I'm tough like that.

So anyway, it's a list of eight things I want to do before I die. I don't much like to talk about death anymore since I watched Jason's life close in on him so quickly at the end there. And since I was probably teetering on the edge myself quite a few times before I finally got sober, I shy away from the topic. I'm just so grateful to be given one more day to not hate myself that I kind of want to call it the list of eight things I want to do while I'm busy living life. How's that? I like that mucho bettera. So here goes. Feel free to comment and add to the list of things I should be doing to live my life. My world's still kind of small....

1. Write a book and get it published. (My goal in college was to "be published" and I did that like six months out of college and it was kind of a let down sort of goal it was too easy.)

2. See the Grand Canyon. (Now some people think this is just a boring old hole in the ground, but for some reason, I think it could potentially be a mystical experience full of old spirits. Could be the biggest bust ever, but I want to go.)

3. Live in Grand Marais, MN (At least for a little while and especially during winter. Something about being able to brave the elements and win. I like that struggle.)

4. Live on the ocean in South Carolina (Again, at least for a little while. There was something so intriguing about the coast and the ocean that still talks to me in my dreams.)

5. Get married and have kids (Totally can't control this one, so I don't know why I'd put it on there. If I don't get these things I might feel like a failure, so don't be too hard on me if I don't.)

6. Go parasailing. (Didn't do it when I went on a cruise in 1999. Totally regret it.)

7. Drive cross country. (I love to drive and I love road trips. Not sure if I need or want a companion on this journey.)

8. Visit Ireland. (Too bad I quit drinking before I accomplished this. There's something super appealing about drinking dark beer in an Irish pub that was a part of this dream.)

9. Be content with myself.

10. Get a job that uses my counseling skills. (I miss that so much.)

That's it. These are the things I have planned to enjoy my life with. Death? I defy you. Again and again.

Oh, and I do plan to have sex sometime again. Hot damn.

All day this week, I've been a day ahead. I even got up extra super early this morning to go to a doctor's appointment that I have tomorrow first thing. THAT my friends, makes me growly.

Oh, and Mr. 13th Step is out of prison and is now coming to meetings. He's still a very fine looking man, and I have to admit, my head is not at all as pure and skipping through the roses pretty as I would like you to believe... Sometimes I have "bad" thoughts. Like manipulating him back into my bed. Which this morning? Doesn't sound half bad at all. mwhahaha.

The world is blowing up
The world is caving in
The world has lost her way again
But you are here with me
But you are here with me
Makes it ok

I hear you still talk to me
As if you're sitting in that dusty chair
Makes the hours easier to bear
I know despite the years alone I'll always listen to you sing your sweet song
And if it's all the same to you
I love you oh so well
Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow
I love you oh so well
Enough to fill up heaven, overflow, and fill hell
Love you oh so well
And it's cold and darkness falls

It's as if you're in the next room so alive I could swear I hear you singing to me
I love you oh so well
Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow
I love you oh so well
Enough to fill up heaven, overflow, and fill hell

The world is blowing up
The world is caving in
The world has lost her way again
But you are here with me
But you are here with me
Makes it ok

Oh girl you're singing to me still I love you oh so well
Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow
I love you oh so well
Enough to fill up heaven overflow and fill hell
Love you oh so well

When the biggest concern you have on Therapy Tuesday is whether or not you want to have a naked burrito two days in a row or get the lasagna and peas, I think you could say that therapy went pretty damn good.

Oh, and my undies are currently in the bathroom. I had a laughing attack and well, you know what happens sometimes - a little bit of glee leaks out. And of course today is the day I'm wearing a dress. With no undies. And I'll be alone in the office ALL DAY LONG. How is it that no one will be here to witness it? I mean seriously. This is funny stuff and NO ONE IS HERE OR WILL BE HERE ALL DAY for me to tell this hilarious stuff to. Please laugh amongst yourselves...

It was a nice afternoon. We went to Phillip's Avenue Diner, which is a "down home" sort of place with burgers and milk shakes - kind of a Sioux Falls legend, then to the Old Courthouse Museum. It was casual; we walked downtown. I let him pick me up since he doesn't strike me as the psycho killer sort.... And next week, we're going for a bike ride. I think for dates, I'm doing pretty well.

Both times though, about five minutes before we get together, I am SO not interested in going. I don't want to put on that happy face and try. I don't want to be perky and conversational and I don't even really care. What is up with that? I don't understand this at all. But I go anyway, which is something that I've learned to do in sobriety. Whether I want to go to something or not, I go. And I usually have fun. So I went and I had fun. Not super fantastic fun, but just enough that it might be nice to do it again. I don't know what's going on in my head that makes me shy away at the last moment all the time, but I'm going to keep going because I don't know what to do if I don't.

There's that part of me that thinks that getting to know someone is just a hell of a lot of work and where is the one that just sweeps you off your feet and you fall instantly in love and then spend the rest of your life getting to know? Somehow that sounds easier. But I also know that easier is not always the best way. This dating thing? Painstaking. Is it supposed to be like that or am I just maybe not ready?

Well,

I'm going out with him again. Lunch downtown and the Old Courthouse Museum this afternoon. I'm just SO not sure how I feel about dating. Apathetic maybe? Seems like a lot of work at this point. Phht.

Okay. I have to admit. Most of my funny posts end up being about my cats. And I have a fear of being the crazy cat lady. Sadly, I think that time is coming, and I'd like to beg off for a few more years, but I have to tell you this one.

My bathroom is small. Very small. Probably 4' X 4' plus the tiniest shower you've ever seen. The shower is right next to the toilet, and since there's no place to prop your foot up whilst shaving, I pull back the curtain a bit and use the toilet seat for leverage. Sure, water gets all over the floor, but I'm prepared for that. I've got towels everywhere. (No step out rug, Kiki seems to think of those as immediate litter boxes. Every single one of them. Within a day.)

Dax has got a fascination with water that I don't understand in a cat, but he'll jump up and try to drink out of the faucet when I'm brushing my teeth and a lot of times, will hop into the sink and lick at the droplets left in the bowl. He's weird.

So, yesterday morning I'm taking a shower and I open the curtain and stick my leg out. Nothing unusual about that. I find that Dax is in the sink, peering at me like he wants to check the shower out. I'm thinking - no way. He's not going to like it and then freak out and probably scratch me, so as I'm yanking the curtain closed, he makes a leap for it and lands between the toilet tank and the wall (this is like one foot of wall. Maybe one foot) and gets stuck. People. I'm sopping wet here. The toilet seat has banged down on my toe and my glasses have flown to God knows where from the top of the toilet tank.

You see the mess?

Dax frees himself and goes yelping off to the living room, I try to remain calm and finish my shower. I mean. What do you do? Stop everything and then start over? Let's not forget to mention that I got up late. I mean, really.

I get done and start looking for my glasses (while I'm limping, my toe still hurts today) and find that they are behind the toilet and they are missing a lense. For my glasses wearing friends, here's one for you. How do you find your glasses when you don't have them on? It's near impossible. So, I tromp, soaking wet, into the kitchen for the old pair. Then I'm literally on my hands and knees in the bathroom, looking for this lense. I'm still soaking wet. Why I didn't dry off to look, I don't know. I'm wet, I'm starting to get cold, my glasses are broken, my cat is meowing because his tail is wet and I am not happy. So not happy.

The missing lense? In the toilet. Yep. Why I thought to look there? I don't know.

Okay internets. It was good. Not great. But good.

I had a horrible day with the good surgeon. He blew a gasket about something that was really unimportant in the scheme of life and I started bawling at work. I hate that I did that. I hate that I couldn't keep my composure. I hate that after all this therapy and AA and time that I couldn't seem to put things in perspective. But he yelled. He was so angry. And at nothing that I did. Nothing that WE did, nothing that anyone really did. And I don't like irrational, angry people today. I knew he had a history of being a jerk to people in surgery for years and years, but he's never directly yelled at me. And I lost it. I hate that I cried and ran to the bathroom and slammed the door.

He came back later in the day to see patients and was like a wet puppy, but I can't turn around that fast. I just can't. He went from one of my favorite people in the whole world to someone whose not safe. And whereas I have lots of good, good friends, safe is a whole entity in itself. He was safe, and all of a sudden, he's not.

Angry words? Totally frightening. I shut down. In an instant. The irrational anger? Terrifies me and makes me indignant and when I feel those things, I cry. I cry alot. It's the way I deal with the unfamiliar. I hate it about myself. I wish I could just talk back, but I can't. I was so proud of this job. Ecstatic that in the year and a half that I've been here, I've never once not wanted to go to work. And now? I just want to call in sick or quit. Which is neither here nor there, because I won't. But it sucks and I'm feeling sorry for myself. I hate that I don't want to go to work tomorrow. It has been the highlight of my waking days - he's been my intellectual muse. And now? He's not safe.

The date? He was very nice. He talked about his recent (very recent, a little bit of a red flag, there) divorce and asks why if I'm so pretty why I've never been married. What do you say to that? I'm fucked in the head? Seriously. But I just said that my fiance died almost three years ago and I'm finally ready to date. And then they get this pity thing, and I don't know what to say. It's not about pity, it's about reality and the fact that I think I've done a hell of a lot of work to get where I am today and I don't really want to talk about it. Don't know how we got to talking about AA, but his whole family is in recovery. How weird is that? So he gets it, but doesn't get it, and it's okay, but I'm still so embarassed to even be ME at this point that I just don't know how to be.

He said he wanted to call me this weekend, and I e-mailed him my phone number. He may not be the one, but I did it.

And there were no dryer sheets in my shirt this time. Ha!

Just so you know, I already "talked" to someone from match.com and we're having coffee on Thursday night. How daring is THAT, peoples?

Just so you know:

Gatorade does not freeze.

Neither does vodka.

I poured a little bit of Gatorade on the bonfire in the firepit and it flamed instead of going out. There is something wholly wrong with that. Liquid that does not put out a fire? The Devil.

Here's the short and quick version.

I'm back at work, but I'm still feeling like crap. My poor tummy. And I don't feel creative when I feel sick. I can't wait to tell you about the wedding and family vacation. AND my trip to Carrie's! I'm now on facebook - thanks to her! And I'm reconnecting with all sorts of people. Wow!

Oh, and for all of you interested in my dating life? I put my profile on match.com. Yep. It's out there in all it's glory. We'll see how it goes... I'll keep you updated, should be good fodder for the blog, eh?

How is it that I get sick when I get home? Yuck. This has been an awful, awful day.

And exhausted. Pictures tomorrow my friends....

So, we all know that I'm a bit of a late bloomer in some departments. Dating, marriage and babies, getting my head out of my ass and living my life all stike me as appropriate topics to attach that first sentence to. And because of that lateblossomedness, you get to hear the story about my very first visit to the ADULT store.

I've never been to a bachelorette party and I've never participated in getting such things as hopping penises and coochie, coochie tic tac toe. And whereas I might *ahem* own a few things that could be put in the category of apparatus, I have never bought said apparatus for myself. Gifts. All of them. So...... Moving on.

My sponsor is getting married at the recovery campout I'm going to this weekend. Her sponsor, my good friend M and the girl that I sponsor decided we'd do a little girls only, iced-coffee shotting bachelorette party at the camper tonight.

M is in charge of iced coffee and twinkies - something about twinkies and donut holes. You figure that one out. And the rest of us were supposed to go get party favors. Look. I blush when I PASS Annabelle's, much less go in, but that was part of the devious plan - to get me to go in. Ha! I felt like a criminal even turning into the parking lot. My face got hot when I opened the front door, my hands were sweaty and I know that my heart was beating faster than normal when I walked in. Being presented with that much sex all at once was a little overwhelming and I got that yucky nervousy feeling inside. I accidentally touched a "feels real" penile sort of thing and literally gasped. The salesladies were laughing, my friends were laughing and I was sort of like get-me-out-of-here-before-I-can't-breathing/giggling. (I think that would be briggling. I like that word.)

They eased me into it - looking at the stilletto heels, costumes and lotions for awhile before taking me to the big guns aisle of, well - of the THINGYS. Holy schnikies people. I think my eyeballs just about popped out of my head. I'm pointing at things saying, people actually put that thing (pointing) in there (pointing at my girly parts) with incredulity. And he's supposed to put his thing (pointing) in THERE? (Pointing still. I've got to stop that.)

And if someone wants to privately tell me what these bead things really are for, that would be very welcome. I mean, how do you ever find out if your friends don't tell you and instead stare at you and ask you, "What do you mean you don't know?" I. Don't. Know.

So there you have it. I've been indoctrinated into the girls-who-have-bought-sex-toys club. Thank you very much. There will not be a repeat performance very soon.

Oh, and I'm leaving on vacation. Don't miss me!

Just because I think you need to stay interested in my hair doings, this is the "I got up late" with a side of "I really don't care" thrown in.

Do you think my lack of girly knowledge about hair and makeup, fashion and perfume is why I never get asked out on dates? My brother says it's because I'm intimidating. I mean seriously. Intimidating? Yeah, I'm 5'11'' and sometimes I laugh too loud. Is there anything really wrong with that? I'm very smart. How is THAT wrong? And I seem to be quite funny at times. That's intimidating? And if I wasn't intimidating, what else is wrong with me? I think about these things, you know. And they bother me.

It's raining today. I only tell you this because it is the reason this morning's fiasco even happened. I have this thing called "Rainy Day Hair." I have baby hair, wispy and fine, maybe wavy when I take time to do something with it. I'm lazy in the hair department. Well, in all things girly department. And on rainy days, the hair thing is just too much. So, here's rainy day hair.

I dry it and put it in a bun and then hair spray the shit out of it. I usually never put product in my hair - as I said - baby fine, it gets droopy and mucked up if there's anything remotely sticky in it. But on rainy days, when it's plopped on the top of my head, I like it to stay there. Got it? Rainy Day Hair.

I got up a little late this morning - something that also happens frequently on rainy days. Don't you just love to snuggle in a little bit more and listen to it pounding on the windowpane? I do. As I'm scurrying around, well - there is no scurrying for me in the morning. Let's just say plodding quickly. You get the picture. Anyway, I'm drying my hair, I've got it on the top of my head, bobby pins stuck here and there and I reach for the hair spray in the bathroom cupboard. And THIS is what I put on my head.

See. Kiki got a little literally pissed one night when we were having a party and people were coming in and out of my apartment and up and down the stairs and she did not like that one bit, so she peed on the carpet right outside the bathroom. And if you've had cat pee problems, you know what an awful and horrible thing this is. Vinegar, baking soda and peroxide does the trick if you want to know. And then I bought this fancy spray stuff and it worked people, it WORKED! So, it lives on a shelf in the bathroom and looks remotely to my tired and non-girly trained eyes like this:
There will be no cats on my head today.

My PLAN got derailed last night and I turned into a wild-eyed deranged feral cat. Why is it that the damn PLAN is all-powerful?

I got home and was completely intent on washing my swimsuits and towels and getting them packed in the pink bag and out to the car. One less thing to worry about. But NOOOOO, Gay Boyfriend's new boyfriend was doing his laundry. And as I'm standing there with an armful of towels, he says, "But I have to do laundry next. Does it have to get done right now?" And I'm thinking, "You little shit. You've been home ALL DAY LONG and you think you're going to do laundry now that I'M home??? And why does someone who doesn't even LIVE HERE take precedence over my laundry needs, huh? Tell me. Explain that one to me, asshole."

But I did not say those words. I just thought them and I graciously exited into my apartment to rage to myself. He didn't know about the PLAN, so I can't be that mad. But still.... Righteous Kate is really no fun and if you cross her, you usually end up quivering in the corner, pleading for her to stop stabbing you with her words.

Put her back in the cage already and modify the PLAN. Damn.

I was crabby this morning. What else is new?

I spent most all of last night making lists and then lists of lists for this ten day trek that I'm undertaking. See, I can't travel without a list. And it has to be checked in triplicate or I freak out. No joke. On every single page, I have in bold and underlined - MEDICINE. Because I always forget my medicine and if I forget it, I have to do all kinds of gymnastics to get it called in by the on-call doctor to some po-dunk pharmacy in the middle of nowhere who doesn't take my insurance. It's some seriously potent stuff and when I forget to take it, I get, well - I get crazy, my head gets fuzzy, my tounge gets all zappy and my ears ring. Yeah. This medicine fixes things.

And I've started this new trick with all the last minute day trips and camping with and without my tent. I have three bags that always go. (And they're all pink by the way.) One has all my shower things and towels, one has all the beach things including swimsuits and towels and sunscreen, and one has my clothes. The bathroom and beach ones are always pretty much packed and in the car. But the clothes one? It requires thought. And I don't much like a lot of thought on Monday mornings. Or Tuesdays either. So, hence the list.

And usually? I leave without a toothbrush. Every time. Hands down.

Just so you know how much I hate the keeping track of what I eat thing....

Seems like yesterday I was getting ready to go camping. I suppose when you're blissfully out of it (coughing, hacking and sneezing), sleeping all day long and night (getting up three times in the night to blow your nose and drink a bunch of water which makes you get up five more times to go to the bathroom) like a baby (you with babies, know I'm lying here) because you're sick and exhausted, time flies.

I'm starting to make my lists for camping (August 8-10), family vacation (August 10-15) and visiting CARRIE!!!!!! (August 15-16) and realizing that I will be gone for 10 days. Wow! I can't remember the last time I was gone for more than three or four days in a row (don't remind me of treatment, thank you very much). I think I'm going to have to buy more underwear. And bras.

Now seriously - how many of you have more than two bras that you absolutely love? Gay Boyfriend was disgusted with the fact that the two bras I have and wear regularly don't get washed in between wearings all the time. He seems to think that something that close to your skin should be washed like underwear. Every single time. I try to explain to him that they are expensive and need to be preserved at all cost - so washing them frequently is really not an option. He gives me this vomitous look and says he doesn't want to know about it. Am I off here? Maybe I really am a backwoods redneck. Seriously.

But I certainly have enough SHOES to last me about five months at one day a pair......

How about these brand new babies? Cute, no?