Image result for big stuff small stuff

Ugh. Life, amIright? So much to recap, so much to say. For now, I’ll say this:

Maybe I’ll start demanding the big stuff. When I’m polite about asking for some small stuff, that never works in my favor, so I should really try to get something out of all this, right?

It’s been a while (& it’ll be all over the place)

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything. It hasn’t been for lack of desire, or lack of material, cause lord knows there has been plenty to post about. There has been a part of me that has stopped caring, and another part of me that has cared too much. Sometime’s I find it incredibly hard to balance the thoughts in my head with the actions happening in my life. Sometimes it’s all too much and I want to scream and sometimes I just want to shut off my brain and stare at a blinking cursor on a screen until something exciting happens.

It’s so hard waiting for something exciting to happen. I’m at the age now where I can look back on my early 20’s and long for the adventure that awaited. Now I’m in my 30’s and that adventure? Well, it’s still possible to have, perhaps, but the choices that I made leading me to this point have kind of put a damper on that. Did I need the new car three years ago that I still have a couple years of payments on? No. Did I really need all of those purses that are sitting in bins in the closet in my bedroom? No. Did I need all of the clothes that are sitting in bins, or on hangers taking up valuable closet space, that I never wear? Again, no. I do need the stacks of books waiting to be moved onto my bookshelves that I cleared off and moved to different spots in my house. I absolutely need my library now that I have it. I need my smartphone and my data plan, because how else am I going to be connected to the world when I’m out in it? Ugh, it’s all so ridiculous. The things I spend money on – the things society, in general, spends money on.

I watched one documentary on minimalism and suddenly I’m questioning my entire existence. I decluttered some closets, and I have 6 bags of clothes ready to either re-sell or donate (I haven’t decided yet), and that’s on top of the clothes with stains or tears I tossed, the magazines that have been building up that I never have time to read (WHY DON’T I HAVE TIME TO READ A FUCKING MAGAZINE? WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH MY LIFE?!), and the other crap that just accumulates when you realize you’ve lived in the same place for 6.5 years now, and you used to move like a local nomad. Before I bought my house (which is another thing to tie me down), I lived in 5 different apartments in 6 years. At the time, I was shocked when I renewed a least on the last apartment I lived in before I became a homeowner. Ya know what changed in my life? He did. He came around and he liked the apartment, and he would spend the night, and he would bring things over, and it almost became our place for a little while. Then he took up too much space in my one bedroom, and forget about the cost of a two bedroom, so I bought a house. I got such a great deal on a fantastic home in a good area, that it only cost me $100 more a month than my rental. Even though taxes have gone up, and insurance has jumped a bit, I’m still paying far, far less than any of my friends renting two bedroom apartments.

It’s just another payment.

I really need to streamline even more than I have already. I need to pay off my car and my credit card. I want to buy a van. I want to go on little van travel adventures and throw an air mattress in the back and camp and drive and camp and drive.

I just finished writing a fiction book, that started as a real life commentary on my real-life non-relationship relationship with my ex. In it, fictional me (the girl with the cajones) travels across the country in her Jeep (I wish!) and settles down with a new life in California. It’s a fun story to tell, but not at all something I could ever do. I would never want to leave everything behind and just go. But I wouldn’t mind taking brief sabbaticals from the life I have here, in the back of an old conversion van with a mattress and some beaded curtains.

So bringing us around to the point of this blog, I found a couple of relatively inexpensive old vans that would suit this purpose. I screen grabbed and texted them to him while he was having a shit say at work.

“I’m definitely not in a position to make more big purchases nor help insure them.”

Uh, okay. Way to pop my fun bubble. It’s not like I said NOW, or IMMEDIATELY, or anything. I just shared a small bit of my vision with him, and he took his needle to my bubble. I told him it wasn’t like I wanted to do it right this minute. I just tried to breathe some life into some meh days. I said someday. And he said “someday, yes” as if that’s supposed to give my bubble some air.

I asked him:

“Do you even remember how to dream anymore?”

I am so tired of him always being a downer. Letting his life, or money, or the lack of money or whatever else is in his head, hold him back. He’s a musician – he should be all about overextending himself and having some fucking adventures. He doesn’t see the possibilities anymore. I’m really not sure what his problem is, but it’s so obvious he has at least one.

We still aren’t engaged & he’s had the ring for almost two years.

Maybe I’m just the problem. Maybe he doesn’t want to do these things with me.

I can hear his response to that “don’t be crazy” or “babe, that’s ridiculous.”

But come ON. What am I supposed to think? I’m so tired of going round and round in my own head, because my issues or problems are always dismissed. Always. About everything. I’m always wrong, I’ve misinterpreted, I’ve gotten my signals mixed.dreamer

I’m trying to declutter my physical life and I would REALLY love to declutter my mental life too, but he’s not helping much with that.

I’m ready to just LIVE my LIFE and not have to imagine what it would be like if only.

Ugh, if only.

Deep down in my core.

September 16, 2015

Some of my very bestest friends are the only ones that know something is wrong. They don’t know the nitty gritty details, because those are private and not mine alone to share, but they know enough. & they sure do ask the tough questions to get me thinking and soul searching. And all I can come up with? I love him. I want to be with him. Despite all of the absolute SHIT he has put me through, the sleepless nights of worry or tears (or both), and the ups and downs of his own sometimes miserable outlook on the world and the people in it, there is no one else on this planet I can imagine myself being with, growing old with, and loving. He may drive me crazy sometimes, but he drives ME crazy – not someone else. In his own weird way he has picked ME to show that side of himself to. I’ve been learning to accept the bad (at least my perceptions of bad – it’s a process, but one I have actively been working on because it’s important to him, therefore it is also important to me!), right along with the actual good. & bless him, he’s been trying. I think we have struck a balance, and I think that it’s working for us.

Deep down in my core, I love him. Deep down in my core, I am in love with him. As crap as things can be sometimes, I need (& clearly want) him in my life. I need to know that he’s still willing to crawl into bed with me after a fight, and I love that he doesn’t push me away when I need to reach out and touch him to remind myself that he is still there. I can’t say I always do the same for him, as I have been known to recoil when I am hurt and he reaches out to slap a bandage on it.

That’s a terrible thing he does – he tries to staunch a flow with a temporary fix. You can’t stop a river with a dam made of ill intent…and he tries to. He tells me what he thinks I want to hear, but he doesn’t know I know he’s lying. I always thought actions spoke louder than words, and when he bought me a ring? That spoke volumes…too bad his action was only to buy him a temporary reprieve. Who would have thought? Certainly not me…not at the time. Not until Monday, though I could feel suspicion creeping after our anniversary.

As if it wasn’t enough that I have to walk by the package with my ring nestled safely inside of it every single time I enter and exit my kitchen, when I finally, FINALLY, had the guts to bring this up, and to tell him how much it hurt me to have to do that, and that I have been doing that every day for MONTHS, and how I wanted to know what he was thinking, he basically tells me it was all for naught and it (aka “that thing I bought you” better known to me as “The Ring”) wasn’t what I was thinking.

It broke my heart. I am so deeply sad that it hurts to even breathe.

Even now there is a part of me that tells me he said that and made me hurt so badly to throw me off the scent, because I had the unfair advantage of knowing it was there, and therefore knowing it was eventually coming. “Not all girls know when their boyfriends buy them a ring.” True, but I’ve never asked for a big surprise. I’ve never needed to be the fucking princess.

I’ve been carrying fear within me for over a year. After the first “I don’t believe in marriage anymore [for no reason whatsoever that I can actually tell you because I say things seemingly just to hurt you]” fight out of nowhere, it seemed prudent to guard my heart. I’ve been building a wall. I’m trying to save myself from the pain. Breakups are HARD. Even knowing that there’s someone else out there that could love me more, it wouldn’t be loving me the same. I’m not sure I’m okay with that. He is my person; He is my best friend. I feel like I can tell him everything (& I have), but I don’t feel like he’s always honest with me. Is that really love? Ugh.

I don’t understand why he can’t just be honest with me – he’s clearly being honest with himself.

He thinks that marrying me will be him compromising. Well, what have I been doing for many of these 6 years we have been together? I’m compromising too! Why should I be the only one?

But really, why should he?

This isn’t a compromise, not truly, unless we both give and take a little bit. [What in the hell do I even have left to give?!]

Compromise means that there needs to be a reciprocal modification of demands to reach a mutually agreeable outcome. How do I compromise my desire to get married? That’s not a compromise…that’s giving up a dream.

No one has dreams of never being married…not unless they dream of never having someone to love.

I don’t want a marriage so I can buy a big house with his money, a shiny new car with ours, have a bunch of babies, and get fat and know that someone is stuck with me unless they want to drop thousands on a messy divorce. I don’t want a marriage to control him. I don’t want a marriage so I can try to change him. He is who he is and I have come to accept that. He has a great head on his shoulders. He’s a hard worker. He’s got a good heart. He’s completely integrated into my family, which is the most important thing in my world. I accept him. I may not always accept the things that he does, or the way he acts, and I don’t have to accept those things to accept him. I love us and that’s because we are who we are. He’s not always going to make me happy – I know that. I don’t expect him to always compromise himself for me with the little things. Loving him, not wanting to change him, and being a great wife someday…That’s my promise to him.

I can promise him that I wouldn’t ever, EVER, throw his being my husband in his face as a reason he can’t do something that’s perfectly acceptable to do:

“You’re my husband, you can’t have a guys’ night.”

“We are married now, you’re not allowed to play music.”

“I’m your wife, that’s why.”

“Now that we’re married, you have to get a real job so I don’t have to work as much.”

Ew. No, never. Ever.

I want a marriage with him because I love him. I already share my life with him. I share our home (MY home that I purchased with my own money & have accepted him into). I make my own money; I don’t need his. I don’t want his freedom; I want his love and devotion. I want him to be my husband. That should be his compromise for me.

But, he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with how I feel, not really. He doesn’t want to be typical, (he compares it to an “ice cube tray” instead of a “cookie cutter” and I think he’s trying too hard to NOT be typical with his comparison. Dude, what?!). Why are you in a relationship? Living in a house? With pets? & a car? & computers and recording equipment and an iPad? a cell phone! a bank account…savings account…credit cards! You shower every day. What’s not typical about your life? Reality check! He may have an atypical approach to his thought processes and what he wants out of a career and life, but on the surface? Typical. He’d be horrified to realize that.

Really, what’s one more “typical” thing, when it means SO much to the person you are already sharing your life with? What is so wrong with taking the next step? Everyone is scared. It’s not without risks. Nothing good ever is! We can have a typical wedding without having a typical marriage. We can make it what we want! Fuck what everyone else thinks.

This didn’t start as one of those fundamental differences that other people have. We used to be on the same page! He asked me who I would have in my wedding party for fuck’s sake! Granted, he did tell me he didn’t believe in marriage at one point, not without a successful career – HELLO THESE THINGS ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE – YOU CAN HAVE ONE WITHOUT YET HAVING THE OTHER – but we moved past that, mostly because it came in the middle of an argument about something completely unrelated and I think he just wanted to hurt me to get the fight over with so he could go back to drinking with his friends. After that night, it was a doozey, I very, VERY, VERY, specifically told him that if marriage was off the table, the relationship was over. It’s normal to have doubts or reservations. I get that. We ALL get that. But he stayed. And then he stayed again. AND THEN HE BOUGHT A FUCKING RING. All of those things told me that it would happen, eventually, and I wouldn’t have to have this conversation again, as he knew how I felt, and if he loved me, he wouldn’t make me wait or lie to me or mislead me, which is still a betrayal of my trust.

Not All Conversations Have Words.

This is not something you do to someone you love. It’s not as if his reluctance or his opposition stems from a brutal divorce that he barely made it out alive from with his soul intact or from a broken home. Not even close. I’m not sure what this stems from.

A month or so ago, he told me that he didn’t forget what he had bought for me, and that I would get it eventually. Yay! I didn’t even have to prompt the conversation! He wasn’t even drinking! Maybe, finally, at last (!) my time was coming. And then, nope.

We agree on the no kids, we agree that we can’t get a dog yet, but someday maybe. We don’t have hugely differing beliefs about religion or politics, and when we do voice them, it’s a mostly friendly debate, as we both know how to have intelligent conversations. Our major point of contention (aside from marriage, clearly), is music (legit). Our taste in some music is the biggest difference we have, and since he’s a musician that’s pretty fundamental, but hardly worth ending a relationship over.

So here I am: in the most compatible relationship I’ve ever been in and the deal breaker is he loves me, he wants to be with me, he’s committed to me, he would do anything for me, he sees himself growing old with me (even if he’s convinced he’s going to die young), and yet he won’t get married, because that’s too typical, even though marriage was on the table in the beginning, and every time it’s come up since it’s still been there as a future possibility, because I spelled it out in no uncertain terms that if he wasn’t going to marry me, then he needed to leave me, because my end game with this relationship concludes with a husband and a marriage and a combined lifetime of happiness. He’s still with me and to me that speaks volumes. But apparently, he’s been lying to me about the purpose of his actions, about his intentions…and sometimes, with his words. I’m at a loss.

The. Fucking. Fuck.

Le Sign

Le Sigh.

The Wedding Invitation

So, it’s been a stretch. So much has happened that I probably won’t even touch on (at least not yet). This post isn’t so much about what he said, it’s more about what I want to say.

So, in a previous post I mentioned BF & Mewling Quim. Well, they are getting married in October; I just received a formal invite yesterday after not being sure I would be invited at all. It was covered in glitter, bitch. Glitter annoys me just as much as she does, so in a way, it’s fitting.

I used to really, really, really, enjoy hanging out with BF. Boyfriend, BF, and I used to be thick as thieves, which was really nice. He’s such a great guy, but unfortunately, he’s with the MQGB (Mewling Quim Glitter Bitch).

She was annoying from the onset. We were friends for a little while, then shit happened, she went crazy in my house, and I was done. She cried trying to get me to be friends with her on New Year’s Eve 2014. Barf. She has no one, so now she clings to the guys in the band, my boyfriend included. She does it out of spite; she does it because she hates to be alone.

A new fun tidbit: there are some new band girlfriends(!) & I love them dearly and we have become great friends. Hooray! We bonded one night over our mutual dislike of another area female musician who hits on all of our boyfriends, has a weird body to shoulder to head to neck ratio, & smells like curry.

Anyone with half a brain can come to a gig and see that MQGB and I do not get along. We sit at separate tables, we don’t acknowledge each other, and seriously, blog post aside, she does not exist in my world except for when I hear about her talking shit about me, or when she gets a wedding invitation with fucking glitter on it, as if she is 4 years old. For me, that’s fine. I don’t need someone to validate my existence. So when I made these new friends, let’s call them…Sings Pretty & Bass Lovin’ Nurse…it was obvious to them that MQGB & I didn’t get along. I briefed them on the situation, but made sure to keep it as neutral as I could, because if they want to be friends with MQGB, fine. We are all adults.

Well, as time goes by, neither SP or BLN are taken with MQGB. This pleases me, obviously. What doesn’t please me? That MQGB keeps trying to turn BLN on me and SP. “I hate those girls.” “I hate that girl.” “I do not like her.” *Points.* Of course, referring to me, because I’m apparently a terrible human being. The amount of shade this girl throws behind my back (I’ve been told every time she does it she looks at me in hopes that I hear and she gets a rise out of me) is ridiculous. I thought I left that behind when I was in elementary school and my former bff called me “Miss Priss” because I did not share her affection for Joey McIntyre – I was a Donnie gal (not sure how that relates to being prissy) – and stopped talking to her. Lord help MQGB if I ever hear her utter a negative word in my direction behind my back.

The MQGBitch has balls, but it’s a good thing that BLN’s balls are bigger & she’s told MQGB off about taking behind my back. It makes my heart swell with happy. I’m glad not everyone buys into her bullshit. 

So, background given, I’m torn about this fucking glitter wedding invite. I seriously do not like this girl. Boyfriend is in the wedding, and is also DJing the wedding, so it’s not like we can walk around hand in hand and have a fantastic time together. He’ll be out of town all weekend, because MQGB can’t get married in her ‘dream city’ to live in (in a dumper of a house with fucking CARPET IN THE KITCHEN), she has to get married in her stanky nasty home town she couldn’t wait to leave in favor of my own adopted hometown, an hour away from the comfort of my bed. I don’t want to chip in on a hotel, nor do I even want to go. I don’t like her. I don’t support her. I think BF is making a huge mistake – I don’t want to air their dirty laundry, but she has legit SPIT IN HIS FACE IN FRONT OF HIS FRIENDS. I can’t get behind supporting him marrying someone that would do that. She grabs drinks out of his hand. She’s a paranoid chihuahua.

I know I should go because BF is (or was) my friend. I should go because I know MY boyfriend wants me there. But I really don’t want to see this bitch I hate have her special day when I am still waiting for mine.

Considering he hasn’t manned up enough to put a ring on my finger yet, why the fuck should I?

Seriously? Why should I go to bear witness to the happiest day of MQGB’s life when, 1. I don’t like her and she’s really annoying and I really just do not feel like going; 2. I can already tell, based on the aforementioned fucking glitter, that it’s going to drive
me bat shit crazy, and why should I be driven even more crazy by this MQGB; and 3. I don’t even have my ring on my finger.

Because he bought one – a ring that is.

I suppose that’s something to be saved for another day.

Decisions, decisions.

This girl looks pretty; MQGB is not.

So this is officially the beginning of the end….

….it’s not like I didn’t see this coming. It’s not as if I haven’t felt it deep in my bones that we wouldn’t make it.

A lot has happened since I last blogged in April. A lot is actually the understatement of the year, so if there is an award for that, give it to me now because I win, hands down, no contest.

I am officially NOT great. I used to be great (at least I used to think I felt that way). Not anymore. I’m so over it and so completely jaded at the idea of relationships. This shit is too hard (on me mostly; he doesn’t seem to give a shit).

Here’s the deal: we all know I want to get married – my family knows, my friends know, my co-workers know, and I’m pretty sure perfect strangers know as well. Even HE knows. But he doesn’t care. I told him before we hit our 5 year anniversary (this was August 2014) that if he didn’t have the intention of marrying me in the near-ish future (I didn’t put an official time limit on it – only that I didn’t have face wrinkles or HAD to dye my hair to cover gray), that I didn’t want to hit the 5 year mark with him. 5 is kind of my thing. I love the number, I do things in groupings of 5 (not all OCD like, but sometimes), and aside from all of that, it’s a HUGE milestone. But if he didn’t want to get married, or wasn’t sure, that was on him to end things, because I was content to just go along in life knowing that I was with someone who was committed and who wanted to marry me eventually. That’s kind of the point to a relationship, right?

I TOLD HIM THAT. I sat him down and had an adult conversation with him about my goals in life. I spelled it out for him, clear as day, that I was happy with him, and we could be together forever and all that sweet nonsense, but if he wasn’t completely sold on the idea of marriage as an end game…then it was up to him to end the relationship. We are adults. That’s what adults do.

Apparently, I’m dating a child.

So, the 5 year mark passed, and the little girl that always imagined her perfect wedding was all happy and giddy inside! It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even 4 months from now, but he wants to marry me since he didn’t break up with me! Hooray! I was elated that everything seemed to be going so well. But, let me tell you, if it seems too good to be true, it always is.

A couple months past the 5 year mark, he got drunk. He Got Drunk. The kind of Drunk where it all come spilling out. The kind of Drunk that you get when you’re a man, but you’re also too big of a pussy to have an adult conversation sober. I’d like to point out that up until the drive home from dinner (that’s right; we had dinner and drinks – a couple for me – the top shelf for him) that we had a fantastic night. Good conversation, lots of smiles, happy happy happy. I believe his trigger (it’s always something with him) that night was listening to the local top 40 station on our 7 minute drive home and him bitching about music these days, the shitty lyrics, the awful overproduction, ad nauseum. I believe I said something along the lines of ‘it’ll be okay. It’s just cheap pop music. I enjoy it – it makes me happy for the few minutes it’s on in the car.’ That was the wrong thing to say, because he started going off on a tangent, blah blah blah. He’s a musician, as we have discussed, so I think he’s just jealous – not like I’m going to point that out. So I listened. Once we were home and inside the house, he plopped on his side of the couch (which his hair product and awful way of sitting has ruined, BTW) and kept going off. I finally said, ‘Hey! Stop. We had a good night so let’s not keep being all negative and shit.’ Apparently that was the worst thing I, or anyone else in the history of the world, could have possibly said ever, so he turned his anger at the music industry on me.

He told me, flat out, that he was no longer sure he believed in the idea of marriage. He didn’t think he wanted to ever get married. He said that people only get married so they can have kids and since he didn’t want kids, he didn’t see the point in a little piece of paper. He told me he had felt that way for a long time, since before I had the conversation about it prior to our 5 year anniversary, but he wasn’t sure how to tell me. Then he had the audacity to ask if I was okay.

I stood there in the dining room, mouth gaping, staring at him as if he was a complete stranger, when the bottom dropped out of my world.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Not even close. I won’t bore you with the details of this otherwise normal Thursday night, but I told him to get out of my house. I told him to call someone to pick him up, because I didn’t want to be in the same universe as him, let alone the same house. He told me he didn’t have anyone to call, and I told him I didn’t care if he rode around in a cab all night, he needed to get the fuck out. He ended up calling the one guy on the planet that is more pathetic than him, and spent the night in his filth. I told him that he was not to set foot into this house until he thought about what he had said, and if he didn’t want to get married, we were done.

He came home around noon the next day. I know this because I was up all night sick, so I didn’t go into work. “Hi babe,” when he walked into the house, as if the night before hadn’t even transpired, “why aren’t you at work?” You. Must. Be. Kidding. Me.

I told him I was sick and didn’t feel like talking until he had showered his stink off. This boy REEKS after 2 beers. So add the whole top shelf plus whatever nasty cigars he decided to smoke and I wanted to vomit even more than I already had.

I was empty inside, physically and metaphorically.

Once he was clean, he asked if I was hungry. Really? REALLY?

So, okay. I told him we needed to talk. We talked. He said he wasn’t sure why he said all of that, because he loves me and he didn’t mean to hurt me, but he thought I should know he wasn’t sure about the whole concept of marriage, but he was still open to the idea of marrying me, because he loved me and wanted to be with me. What the fucking fuck?! Now he’s putting me on, because seriously?

He said he handled the whole situation wrong (ya don’t say?!) and he was very sorry.

And like the sucker I am, we went out to lunch. Things were fine. He had successfully reassured me that marriage was still on the table, and he would, for sure, 100%, tell me if he was ever completely against it. Because I deserved that. I deserved the honesty.

It was a whole new world for us after that. Things were legitimately GOOD. I was almost borderline great for a hot minute too. Almost. Damn that word.

Tonight. Oh tonight.

He had a show and I was (and still am) completely exhausted. So I stayed home to nap. It was a local gig, roughly a 10 minute drive at the speed limit. He should be home by 1:30/1:45am. Cool. I have time to chill on the couch, have a delicious glass of wine, watch a movie and a couple shows, and just relax.

He barely texts (which is normal), and then he goes, and I quote (except the names, because, duh, anonymity all around):

“I hafta ask u one question. going along with BF and Mewling Quim thing. and how u get mad. r u mad that i dont wanna get married? had to ask.”


[backstory, BF is his best friend, and Mewling Quim (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Mewling+quim) are engaged and getting married this year. I don’t like her, because she’s a MQ, and since I want to get married, I’m jealous. SO what? I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t get mad, I just asked him to spare me the details that I unfortunately had to hear 42408995 times last weekend because she won’t fucking shut up.]

Why in the fuck would you text me that? Are you kidding? He must be drunk. So much for driving. Then he texts me that a couple of his old work buddies are taking him and BF out, and BF cleared it with MQ already, so I should be okay with it too.

Yeah, not after that text message; not in this lifetime. I would have been bummed about the going out and not coming home, but I could have handled it better had it not been for that text. Why in the fuck would you say something like that to me over a text and then pussy out and not even come home? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

So we argued over the phone. Cause if he isn’t going to be mature, neither am I. I am just so blindsided right now.

He said that a stranger asked him when he was getting married. So that prompted a text to me. He’s an idiot. I am almost (but clearly not) at a loss for words.

I don’t know the proper way to put letters together to convey the hurt and sadness and disappointment I am feeling. I read those 31 words and my skin broke out in a sweat, went numb, and flashed hot. I almost threw up where I sat.

What is so wrong with me that he would say that over text?

I feel like everything is a test with him and that I am failing.

I’ve been putting off having the marriage conversation again, but looks like he did it for me. It seems there is no hope for a ring in my future.

Almost 33 years old and I have to start all over again.

& if my life is true to form, once he and I break up and go our separate ways? The next girl he dates is the girl he’s going to marry. Every. Fucking. Time.

He told me that he would be home by noon to have our day together. Did I mention already that I locked & blocked the doors? I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want him to try to be apologetic and charming and manipulative. He will be. I don’t want him to see me cry again. I wish I was stronger.

I’m just so sad. So unbelievably fucking sad.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt so great.

Yes, you read that correctly: great.

If you know me at all, which you really don’t, but I’m sure you can figure out from some prior posts, I’m not typically a “feeling great” kind of gal. I brood, and I worry, and I over analyze everything. But, for the past almost 4 days now, I’ve almost completely stopped worrying about anything that isn’t directly related to what I’m doing right now, here, in the moment. It’s liberating. I used to think that turning my care off would be the equivalent to having chronic bitch face & that’s not something that I want. I thought that turning my care off would detach me from life around me, but, as it turns out, it’s done the complete opposite.

Let me start from the beginning.

The boy & I had a HUGE, epic misunderstanding. This is basically because he’s an idiot who only thinks about the moment, and not how the things he says or does can be misinterpreted, or misconstrued, or misunderstood long after that moment has passed (at least for him). He has no idea the drama and hurt feelings that the seemingly meaningless words he tosses around (regardless of his intentions) can have on me. No idea. And no matter how many times we have argued and bickered and had an all out battle, he doesn’t seem able to apply that knowledge to other, though not necessarily similar, but equally debatable, situations.

I finally told him that I wanted him to move out. I told him I wanted to break up.

& no joke, I think that may have saved our relationship. For a day or so, I wasn’t sure he even remembered that we had discussed the end of our relationship (I may have woken him up after he got home from the hanging out at a few bars with a buddy and passed out on the couch – I wanted to check his sobriety – he assures me he was sober). However, as Friday night came, he actually kept in open communication with me via text, which has always been an issue. Not only that, but he was actually really nice on Saturday (not that he isn’t nice to me, it’s just…there was a different feeling in the air that’s really difficult to even describe, so I won’t – you’ll just have to take my word for it).

The true test came that night when I went out to one of his shows & there was drinking involved. He was going to drive, and said we would discuss taking a cab at the end of his 2nd of 3 sets. I said that was fine with me. Then he took a shot that some happy listeners bought for the band. And then another – that I delivered to him, happily. Typically, this would piss me off because we were supposed to discuss taking a cab – not have him decide on his own accord.

But Saturday night, I decided that really didn’t matter. It was $30 bucks coming out of his pocket, not mine. What did I care? & as a result, he didn’t have more than one beer in his last set and was drunk, but barely. It was a pleasant night. I even made him an egg sandwich when we got home – to be nice…not to sober him up.

I refrained from judging or getting angry about something that really didn’t matter, and as a result, he behaved how I would have liked all along. It seems that we are both learning.

Aside from him raising his voice to express his extreme displeasure about the WWE network during Wrestlemania, we haven’t had a harsh word for each other in 5 days.

Do I honestly believe we will never fight again? No, I’m sure we will; we are both stubborn individuals. Do I think that talking to him about moving out and breaking up had a deeper impact on him than I anticipated? Absolutely. Are we going to survive the war? Who knows…but for now, we did won the battle.

And that’s why I haven’t talked to him about it since it happened. When it came down to it, as I’ve told him before: it doesn’t matter what you say…it’s what you do & how you act that really matters. Show me, don’t tell me [unless I text you, then you better tell me ;), but that’s a whole other story].


The difference between commitment & marriage (Happy Valentine’s Day)




1. the state or quality of being dedicated to a cause, activity, etc.

“the company’s commitment to quality”

synonyms: dedication, devotion, allegiance, loyalty, faithfulness, fidelity

Commitment, to me, is a natural precursor to marriage. It’s something kept private; it’s not shouted from the rooftops. It’s whispering “I love you” before falling asleep. It’s never going to bed angry. It’s something that means the world to me. It’s knowing that there is someone out there who wants to be with me, who will do whatever it takes to stay faithful to me, and who thinks of him & me as us & we. It’s being able to sit in comfortable silence. It’s knowing what he is thinking because you know him so well. It’s finding your other half and being able to recognize that.



1. the formal union of a man and a woman, typically recognized by law, by which they become husband and wife.

“a happy marriage”

synonyms: wedding, wedding ceremony, marriage ceremony, nuptials, union

Marriage, however, is so much more than commitment. It’s not just a legally binding contract; it’s a public choosing – it’s a public showing of affection. It’s SCREAMING to the rest of the world that I love this person, I would do anything for this person, and of all the people in all of the world, I’m choosing this person to be family. It’s more than a piece of paper and it’s more than just a built in support system: It’s a way of life. It’s showing the world that I have found my other half & that I never want to let him go.

Everyone who is in a relationship clearly wants the commitment that goes along with that. & to some, that commitment alone is enough. It’s not enough for me. Marriage is something I’ve always wanted…that ultimate commitment…the shouting from the rooftops, the ‘I do’, the romantic spectacle of it all! Unfortunately, I can’t marry myself, or this would be another non-issue.

I don’t need flowers, I don’t need chocolates or candy (though I’ll eat them, as usual, when he brings them home for me), and I don’t need to have the typical dates or relationship activities (because goodness knows neither of us are typical), but I want the typical marriage. I want the proposal, I want the engagement ring, I want the wedding planning, and I want the dress. I want the vows, though not necessarily in the church, and I want to make my mother cry and my father sniffle in public and bawl like a baby when it’s all over. I want his dad to get hammered with my dad & I want us to stay relatively sober enough to remember every joyous moment.

I want all of that, but I can’t have that without him. & this is my dilemma.


Here’s to changing my outlook…..

So I purposely stayed off the “New Year; New Me!” bandwagon up until this point. I make resolutions every year, and every year the resolutions fall through the cracks of my life within the first week or so. I once managed to give up alcohol completely for over 2 months (but drastically under three), but that was neither a resolution nor a huge success.

This year, before dramatically announcing my plans to be a better person in 2014 (& for the rest of my life), I decided I would actually *try* to turn some of these resolutions into habits and successes before jinxing myself from the get-go.

We are over 3 weeks into 2014 now, and I can safely say that I’ve failed. I still eat like crap (though a non-alcohol consumption related sickness post ball-drop helped me cut a few pounds for a week), and I still harbor awful thoughts sometimes towards my significant other. I’ve been trying REALLY hard, but he’s so easy to resent & get pissed off at.

We had a party, not a open door free for all like college days gone by (waaaaaaay by at this point), but we (he) invited his new (second) band and their significant others over for a 20’s era throwback party. There were 8 of us in all. I have known some of these people for almost as long as I have known him, and I just recently met some of the new additions. It was a nice, and I thought mature, group of like-minded (somewhat) individuals. We dressed the part, which for me was a stretch. I’m no fan of dressing up, but I knew it was something that would make him  happy, so I obliged. Nice LBD and even a sequined headband with a feather to top it all off. I even tried to do one of those forehead hair curl things that I despise seeing when we watch ‘Boardwalk Empire’ and I’m SO thankful that I was actually born in the 80’s and missed out on all of that stupid weak over dressed and undersexed (or over, in her case) feminine bullpoop.


Ahem, back to the issue at hand. So here we are, 8 adults getting together for some drinking, some poker playing, and some eating. I could have had 7 toddlers in the house who would have made less of a mess out of my house. Spill your red wine? Don’t just stare at it! WIPE IT UP! ACT WITH URGENCY! THIS IS RED-FUCKING-WINE ON MY RUG! Drop a chip? Please pick it up so you don’t keep walking all over it and spreading crumbs everywhere. This would be no problem if I had a dog, because at the first sound of a delicious human food morsel hitting the floor, every dog my family has had will wake from a deep sleep in the furthest room from the kitchen and eat up every last particle. I don’t have a dog; I have two very lazy, and very anti-people food cats. They would turn away from fresh salmon.

When people, even unintentionally, set about destroying my home, a home I spend a great deal of money and time making look lovely and put together and CLEAN, I get pissed off. It kills my mood, my buzz, and my night. However, being the selfless trooper that I am, I dealt with it until I could deal no longer. Approximately 2 hours after I was killed, I pulled the boyfriend to the side and told him that I was going to bed and the sub-woofer and guitars needed to be turned off and put away. I told him that I needed his understanding, because I wasn’t feeling well and was so overly exhausted I could barely focus anymore. I told him to set the tone for the rest of the night, and to start winding things down because he knows I can’t sleep when there’s too much noise happening. It wasn’t like people hadn’t been drinking here for 8 hours at this point anyway….seriously. I WORK FEWER HOURS IN A DAY & those 7 hours are terrible.

So I headed up to bed, hopeful that he would turn the party volume down…I overheard him asking people to use hushed tones, and I was super grateful. & then, rising above the sounds of a dying party, came his voice, loud and clear above all of the rest of them. What was this?! He was being so LOUD! & then the guitar started up, and whoever was playing it (this was a group of multi-talented musicians) was murdering the poor, classic Gibson. My heart ached for its strings!

Fast forward through my weeping & calling him and telling him to stop the madness. We fought. We fought HARD. He was yelling at me like a nonsensical maniac, and I was crying like a blubbering idiot. It wasn’t very productive.

Basically he pissed me off, then he pissed me off again on Saturday night. I didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. He essentially forced me to turn my emotions off entirely, which is never good in a relationship. I shut down early Saturday morning because I just couldn’t handle anymore. I’m not sure why I keep dealing with it. P thinks I’m insane, and I’m right there with her sometimes.

The problem I have is that when it’s good, it’s great. & when it’s shit, it’s unrelenting diarrhea.

This new year, new me thing is off to a terrible start. But, this is it for me. I’m changing myself in the hopes that it makes my relationship stronger, and my life more enriched and meaningful. I’m taking more me time, and I’m going to let some of his stupidity roll off. I’m going to not let the small things, the everyday annoyances, get to me as much as they usually do. I’m going to work on my relationship blood pressure levels, and when something doesn’t go my way, I’m going to get to the root of the problem in myself, before I try to try to get into it with him.

I have to know myself before I can be a truly successful member in this relationship. I won’t put the vast majority of the blame on me, because it is mostly on him, but I can’t feign innocence any longer.

He says he can’t be truly happy until he’s successful musically. Well, I can’t be truly happy with things as they stand now. If the new year brings me happiness without him, then so be it. I can only hang on to the idea of a perfect relationship between the two of us for so long. So he’s going to work on himself, and I on myself & we will see where that leaves us. We both have a long way to go with each other & independently, and here’s to hoping for a healthy, happy 2014. We may have gotten off to a rocky start, but I’m hoping for a smooth finish.


Merry Christmas (4 little words)

I have to admit that it crossed my mind. The scene was set, my brother in law was running the video camera, there were very few presents remaining under the tree. Most notably, one left from him to me – I recognized the wrapping paper. It was too big a box for a ring, but he wouldn’t be the first man to nest boxes to throw a girl off the scent! I just read about a guy who cut the lining in his jacket and hung the ring from a carabineer between the lining and the exterior fabric so his girlfriend wouldn’t see or feel a ring box bulge.

I stared at the box…I paid close attention to the body language of everyone surrounding me…I wanted to know if they knew what was inside that box. No one’s gaze lingered…no one kept looking at me trying to hide a small, knowing, smile. They either had excellent poker faces or nothing was in that box that would prompt those four words that every girl dreams of hearing…

Then it was time. I opened the box while trying not to look expectant (I even took a bathroom break before opening it, just in case! I was taking this moment seriously, in the event that it was a life-altering one). And inside was a small box, the perfect version of a miniature present ring box, red with green bows. I slowly lifted it out, expecting that at any moment he would get off the bench next to me and drop to his knee.

Then I noticed that no one was recording this moment. I opened the top of the box…there was a ring alright…of the Harry Potter variety.

It’s not that I was disappointed…it’s just that I forgot putting a ring other than one with a diamond on my Christmas list this year.

Earlier in the day I cursed those who had posted engagement ring pictures all over my news feed on Facebook & my photo feed on Instagram…but secretly (sorry P), I hoped that I would get to be one of those girls.Image