Frankly too pissed off to sleep July 6, 2009

Moments ago my boyfriend told me that he wouldn’t be able to join me at a work event tonight because something had just come up, and by something he means our friend Greg*.

You see Greg, though he comes across as this strong confident person because of this fabricated persona that he’s created for himself and now feels the massive need to live up to, is actually just constantly one failure away from a monumental breakdown of epic proportions. He becomes self loathing and goes into a ‘dark place’ in ways that I have never seen from any person before.

I’ve known him for years; he’s been a co-worker, a roommate, even my boss for a few months there, and every time that he gets depressed it gets worse. This time he is dealing with loosing a general manager job recently at a local wine bar ( sincerely through no fault of his own), and now apparently his girlfriend of the past year has left him. Women are always the primary cause for these hollowed out depressions for him, and to cope last time something like this happened (and apparently also many years before I met him), he turns to drinking obscene amounts, as in, enough to kill some people. He also turns to coke and pills, all at the same time.

That’s actually the reason why he was fired from the job where he was my boss: because he was so stressed out by the pressures being point on him, and so afraid of failing, that he essentially sabotaged himself by doing this shit to the point of being nearly unrecognizable as a friend. Last summer John and I spent so much time trying to talk him down from these deeply depressed states; trying to be a good influence, and trying to be good friends by taking his absurd 4 am strung out phone calls where he says that he’s hit a new low and promises to us that it will never happen again.

Of course it did though, however after last summer’s events he really seemed to have turned his life around: he got a good job, he quit all the drugs, and he got a girlfriend who really understood him and wanted to be there for him. She even took him to her family’s for holidays, he was thinking marriage.

Now this morning, after blowing us off last night for a dinner, John gets a message that Greg sent at 1 am saying loosely “Heather left me, but I’d leave me too. I’ve got a bad job, I’m fat, and worthless. Want to find some pills and coke.” So now John will spend the evening with Greg once again trying to pry him out of this miserable drug-induced hole that he’s dug for himself. At this point though I love and deeply care about Greg, I’m about at my end. I can’t pretend to not care about the catastrophic damage that he is doing to himself anymore, I can’t be part of his life if this I what he’s going to do with it whenever something goes wrong. Call me closed minded, call me a bad friend, but I need him to know that if he gets into that shit again I’m out, my friendship gone.

When we lived together I had to sometimes check to see if he was still alive after a particularly bad night. That’s not supposed to be  part of being someone’s roommate, I shouldn’t have to deal with the possibility of finding an overdosed body dead in my house! And now, I’m afraid he’s going to die. Every time that he gets depressed it gets worse and worse, every time a new rock bottom. So now all I can imagine is his funeral, and it makes me so angry that I can barely speak, or apparently, sleep.

*not his real name

Sensibility sets in June 30, 2009

I am cursing being what some may deem a “mature adult” at this one moment, as I have just decided that I will forgo my wondrous dream car, at least for now, in order to pay for school. I have spent the last several hours online and on the phone trying to deal with the nightmare that is FAFSA, only to realize that no one seems to know exactly what they’re talking about, and I’m pretty sure that the deadlines have just expired, leaving me screwed and a little lost.

Then suddenly moments ago it all became clear to me, I don’t need loans, I’m going to pay for this out of pocket. I’ve been saving for this car for quite a while, and I’m going to be working my ass off all summer so at the very least I can have all my tuition for this next year at OSU saved up by summers end.

At this point this may be the most sensible thing I have ever chosen to to do to date, and it makes me a little nauseous frankly.

So goodbye glorious Crossfire, my sexy little convertible roadster. While I have lusted after you for many months now, I’ve wanted to attend Ohio State longer, so unfortunately, you get put on the back burner. I’m sorry my love, I’m so sorry.

Good weekend June 30, 2009

I had been looking forward to this past weekend for months, seriously. Which might be kind of lame seeing as how it was the wedding of my boyfriend’s sister and I had no real purpose or role in the whole process, but I seem to get off on wedding planning so I was raring to go.

The whole thing was beautiful of course, but what really made it amazing was the supremely awesome, anal-retentive, and insanely detail oriented abilities of the bride. She made so much by hand, but in a super professional manner, that she could honestly go into business doing the invitations, menus, favor packaging and every other color coordinated detail that one could imagine. In fact, she’s seriously thinking about starting herself up soon. Even besides all that though it was perfect and the final event went off with out any real hitch.

I did not catch the bouquet, which I suppose means that my streak is officially over, but I did manage to jump  and (partially) land on a small child in my attempt to do so. I do believe that the videographer caught the whole thing too, I may have to finagle a way to post that someday.

Then we got back yesterday only for John to bring in the mail which most notably contained my acceptance letter to OSU, I literally jumped up and down and squealed like an excited little girl, so I guess you can say that I’m happy.

But here are some pictures of said items made by the bride just for funsies:

Just some of Kristy's creations.

She made the invitations, save the dates, menus for both the rehersal and wedding dinners, placecards for both dinners who’s colors complemented the menus to indicate which meal we received, as well as wedding day timelines for the wedding party, a seperate one for the guys and girls, with everyone’s numbers on them. Not to mention the really amazing programs that I unfortuantly don’t have with me. Crazy huh?

She also assembeled all the favors, put together dozens of “out of town baskets” for each person staying in a hotel, as well as the most elaborate  necessity basket (a different one for men’s and women’s naturally) with everything that anyone could ever possibly need. In short, she was amazing, and whether she actually goes into business or not I am going to hire her for my wedding.

The boy and I

One last note, what do you ladies think of my dress? As in, don’t you think it would look super adorable on everyone as a bridesmaids dress for my future wedding?

two years later June 24, 2009

** Please do not read if you don’t care for girlish sap, Thank you**

Two years ago yesterday was my boyfriend and my first date. Quite naturally as nothing I tend to do ends up average or sensible, neither was this experience.

It was his five year high school reunion and he wanted an attractive date in order to bother his ex-girlfriend, most notably their class president who was to be running the show. We were co-workers and good friends so he asked me to go, but I originally said that I couldn’t make it as it would be the last day of my three week road trip out west with my best friends, so he asked another girl to join him. Soon thereafter I came to the profound personal conclusion that I was frankly head over heels in love with him. However I didn’t want to make a move before I left for my trip, so I didn’t say anything, even at the party we attended the night before I left, and there were so many ample moments to spill my guts or pounce on him in the yard, I refrained, and it was painful.

While on the trip I thought of him daily, and spent my nights texting him for sometimes hours, talking about the craziness we got into that day. Near the end of the travels I realized that once I got back into Wisconsin, if I left the next morning and drove all day instead of visiting with my family that I could get back in time to go to the reunion with him. So he told the other girl that she didn’t need to go with him after all. Though it might make me a bad daughter to skip out on family time, I still consider it to be one of the best decisions I ever made.

The trip up to his home town was awkward as I spent every moment in my head trying to think of the ideal way to tell him that he was my soul mate. The reunion was even more awkward as it included meeting old friends, his cousin Dustin, and most notably his ex-girlfriend, who played nice but was visibly not pleased. We spent the time sitting in the back making sarcastic comments and jokes on her behalf as she so desperately tried to “make the reunion fun”. At a point she asked who had the youngest baby, and without missing a beat John raised his hand and asked “Do fetuses count” right as I was drinking my vodka cranberry. I knew he was for me.

We went back to his parents’ house afterwards (they were away for the weekend), and it was there that we went outside to relax and have a drink, so I mustered every ounce of liquor induced courage and told him how I felt, it was eloquent, dramatic, and emotional. When I finished he paused for a moment, blinked and responded with merely “ditto”. What an asshat.

We spent the remainder of the evening going to a show of his cousin’s band and then went back to his parents house. We slept on separate floors and he didn’t try a thing, not even a kiss. It wasn’t until our return to his apartment the next day that we finally had our first kiss. It was exciting and new and strange because we were such good friends, in time we got over the weirdness, pushed through it really. And a month later when he confessed his love for me I responded only “ditto”, though I had wanted to shout it out for months.

I write this knowing that John’s a sneaky bastard and he not-so-secretly reads my blog, but I’m beyond caring about being vulnerable and putting my feelings on the table with him, he’s the only one who I have ever been able to say absolutely anything to in my entire life, and I love him more than I thought it was possible for someone to love another person.

Now we’re happy, two years later and barely a fight or real argument. There is no pettiness or jealousy, only love and trust and compromise and constant laughter. This is real, and I’m so eternally grateful that I never let myself settle on someone else, though it would have been simple, but I never would have had even a fraction of the joy that he gives me everyday.

I love you John and I couldn’t see myself spending the rest of my days with any other person. Thank you for pushing me to actually believe in myself and thank you for always being there every moment that I have ever needed you. Thank you for just being you, and loving me as I am, no matter how rough, crass,  or unapologetic I may be. Thank you for finally letting me be me, I love you more than I can ever appropriately convey.

classes done, sanity seeping back June 14, 2009

This past Thursday was my last final for the quarter and I don’t think that I have ever breathed a bigger sigh of relief afterwards. I was ready to be done back in March, when the quarter began, so waiting until June was an exercise in terribly failed patience for me.

When it was all said and done I wiggled my way into another glorious 4.0 quarter, however, how I pulled it off was the truly glorious part of this situation.

You see, Chemistry kicked my ass this quarter, it raped my soul essentially, I had never taken it and clearly got the world’s most God awful professor to teach it. He barely spoke English, so I didn’t understand his lectures, they just kind of gave me a headache,  so I stopped going halfway through the quarter and was just essentially teaching myself . He would just put the lecture notes up on slides and use a laser pointer to do the lectures. (Really?!? This is what I’m paying for?) Yet his quizzes and tests were almost irresponsibly difficult, and the class average was usually a failing grade. Not to mention that in every single  quiz or test there were huge, glaring spelling and grammar mistakes as well as atrocious formula mistakes. I can overlook the fact that your sentence structure makes your question incomprehensible, if you at least can put the correct math on these things.

Needless to say that my nerves have been shot for three months now worrying that this jackass was going to demolish my GPA, but in the end I only needed a 92% on the final to barely squeeze into an A for the class. And you know what I got?- a motherfucking perfect score! 100%! I still can’t believe it, I keep checking my grades to make sure that it isn’t a mistake.

I also completely aced my German final, but that one isn’t terribly surprising. Then on my math, I was in the same boat as with Chem. Where I would either end up with a low to mid A, or an incredibly high B, as in 89.4% which would make me painfully crazy. But once again I received a perfect score, leaving me at a nice 95%.

To say that I was in shock when I received my grades is an absurd understatement, I was jumping off the freaking walls with glee, which is a lot of energy to muster after finals mixed with a full week of work.

I have decided however that I’m not going to do summer classes, the ones I needed were both crazy accelerated courses so they would be five weeks of class M-F for two and a half hours each everyday. So if I missed one day I’d be oh so fucked. Not to mention that after this whole year of killing myself in school my brain has run dry and frankly, I just need a damn break already.

So I’m just going to work a bunch and save everything to buy my sexy new dream car before classes start in the fall. Until then I think I’m going to just relax and work on my pale.

Do I go for the irresponsible car or… the irresponsible car? June 11, 2009

Right now I’m about 1/3 the way through saving for a new (to me) car, an endeavor that I hope to have completed by summer’s end. My plan is to pay for everything outright in cash and thus avoid thousands in interest over the years, not to mention I feel it will give me fantastic bargaining power.

So after months of saving for said car I think I finally have my ideal car choices narrowed down to two, and I don’t know which is less responsible for me to pursue.

Car one: The Pontiac Solstice. I have had a raging boner for this car for years. I love it. It’s cute, it’s sexy, and to own it in central Ohio is frankly as nonsensical as I am, so it fits.

Car Two: This one is a recent development but I also find the Chrysler Crossfire rather sexy and adorable as well. It’s also in the cute roadster style, but I can actually get better prices with lower miles on the used Crossfires vs. the Solstice, not to mention that with Chrysler going out of bussiness I can ensure a steal when I do buy.

So I’m torn, neither is a “reasonable adult car”, but I figure that if I can pay for this out of pocket, and love what I drive before I have to worry about trading in for something more suitable for children and whatnot, then why not be gloriously happy to be 25 and able to finally buy myself something this fabulous?

According to reviews on both they seem to have a lot of fans, the crossfire appears to get better overall marks though. So let me know what you think, I could use some friendly opinions on the subject.

Wedding fever: I has it. June 3, 2009

As I stand here less then three weeks away from my panic inducing 25th birthday, I feel overwhelmed entirely by the fact that I am now “that age” where everybody I know is getting married. EVERYBODY!

I just went to a friend’s wedding two weekends ago and now have another one right around the corner for John’s sister. Last summer there were three, two of which I was in, and half of my graduating class is now either married or has very recently gotten engaged. Let me first say that I could not be happier for those that I care about  finding true, lifelong happiness- honestly. However, the whole process of this ‘engagement express’ that is your mid-twenties, has already started to reach points of mild insanity.

A few weeks back my dad was asking me the question that everybody does now: “When are you and John getting married?”. My response was the same that I’ve given for years when broached on this topic “I’m too young to get married”, I’ve said it so many times that anything else just seems illogical at this point. And yet, what my father said next manged to really startle me “You’re not that young, you’ll be 25 next month”. As much as I rarely, and I mean rarely, agree with my father, this time he might be a little right. Not that I’m saying that I want to get married right now or anything, but that maybe I’m finally at the age where something like that wouldn’t be so shocking or absurd.

That being said, I seem to have developed a nasty case of wedding fever. I can’t help it! With everyone around me infected there is no way of avoiding this plague forever. I’ve never been one to try to plan out my dream wedding as I feel that it’s just a way of setting yourself up for disappointment if you idealize everything for years, not to mention I believe that all wedding arrangements should be made as a team, with compromises all along the way. Because this isn’t just the bride’s day, but rather it should be a day that accurately portrays the union of two people, not just some stubborn, selfish little girl who doesn’t care about the opinion of the person who she supposedly loves the most. That rant aside…

I can blame this said “fever” almost squarely on John,  as he has brought up things that we will do for our wedding including debates over location (Indoors vs. outdoors- the feud rages on), the number of people we would invite (fairly small, no more than 75-100 people- if you aren’t actively in my life I’m not inviting you just so that you can indulge in a free meal and open bar). But mainly, the nail in the coffin was that he found the perfect, and I mean perfect, first dance song. (Which we have naturally slow danced to in our living room like in some cliched movie). Right now we’re just hoping that it doesn’t become massively popular and overplayed, thereby ruining it for us.

Now, I find myself thinking of what I would like my ring, dress, colors, flowers, and everything else to look like. I even thought of where I would love to get married, and even John agrees, it’s at the botanical conservatory here in Columbus. Super gorgeous with tons of plants and flowers and really amazing old architecture and artwork installations. Unfortunately I guess it’s really popular and thereby hard to get into, but I have a wonderful regular who’s a member of the board there so she could totally get me in. (Horray for connections!)

I would want to get married in this garden

And then we would have the reception in here

Needless to say that that idea is just a glorious fantasy and I don’t know if any of it would ever come to pass, but I’ve now become this crazy girl, obsessed with weddings, and planning out the details of mine despite the fact that I am years away from even a proposal.

Ughh! I’ve become such a girl I can’t stand it.

A wedding AND a funeral, I’m living a cliche May 26, 2009

This past Saturday John and I went down to a fabulous country club in Cincinnati for the wedding of a good friend of ours. Naturally everything was gorgeous and super nicely done, and I’m beyond happy that we went.

I honestly didn’t know if I could emotionally and mentally deal with the prospect of having a funeral and a wedding less than a week apart from one another, as I feared that it would just send me into a tailspin where I would start crying, loudly and uncontrollably, during the ceremony. But no, to be quite honest I truly think that going and getting to experience such joy after a week of such penetrating sorrow, was the perfect thing to help get me back to being me.

So Lauren, thank you for getting married and inadvertently getting me out of my funk, I know that was your sole intention.

And as for Lauren, I am so incredibly jealous of her honeymoon, it sounds like the coolest honeymoon ever and I may just have to shank a hobo to get one similar. They’re taking a three week world trip where they’ll go to London (where I believe she’s at now), Paris, Egypt and Thailand. How freaking cool is that? Hobos will most definitely be shanked.

The reception was also super nice and I loved it, but there was a rather odd, and quite interesting spot in the whole affair: The Real housewives of Cincinnati. No, that’s not actually a show, yet, but if it was I think I found who they would have on it; a flock of rowdy wealthy cougars whom had no qualms in indulging in the open bar and subsequently ripping off the chair tie backs to use as accessories to their outfits. Exhibit A:

And B for the jury to consider…

That second one wasn’t even taken intentionally, I was just trying to take pictures of people dancing and this is what I accidentally captured; a major what the fuck moment.

I also caught the bouquet, for the fourth time in five weddings, so I’m pretty sure that I’ve found my talent in life, though nothing can compare to the sheer mayhem that was the Great Bouquet Fight of  ‘08 between Haute Pocket and myself, seen in terribly clarity here. I have another wedding, John’s sister’s, in a month, so I better start limbering up now.

With the bride after catching my prize for the evening.

bad week May 21, 2009

This past week has been immensely rough on me in every way possible. After scraping by and doing well on another round of big tests I thought that I had finally gotten a break, free from stress and worry, at least for a few days. Until.. I wake up last Friday morning to find four missed calls and three messages from my mother, as soon as I heard the first word on the first message, my name, in a quivering voice, I knew what had happened- my grandfather had died.

He had been getting progressively sicker for a very long time, with strokes, pneumonia, chronic weight loss and terrible dementia. For the last year he’s been in a care facility because he had gotten so bad. My mother and her sisters had all come down there to take care of him, and each other, that last week before it happened, but then last Thursday at 8:00 he passed peacefully in his sleep. While it is truly a blessing, and we all knew that it was coming, it’s still one of those things that you just can’t be prepared for, not entirely at least.

The funeral was set for Monday in Peoria, IL, all I had to do was make it through the weekend. I thought that it would be helpful to get out of the house and be busy to take my mind off of everything, and to a point it was, but then we got so busy because the Ringling Brother’s Circus was across the street all weekend, that it just became too much and I was barely holding it together. The next day, Saturday, I had to close again, still depressed and distracted, but now becoming sick, very sick, all night at yet another incredibly stressful night at work. Near the end I broke down, sobbing, my lymph nodes were so swollen I could barely breath and had a skyrocketing fever, and here I was working, slaving, while trying to defeat the terrible pangs of sadness that washed over me. Not my best days.

On Sunday we were finally able to make the 6 and a half hour drive to Peoria, after working 23 hours in the previous two days with less than 9 hours of sleep between the two because of how awful I felt. Upon arrival it was actually really nice to see all my family, close and extended, because it is just so rare to get all of us together at the same time. Nowadays it’s only weddings and funerals that can bring us all back together, more so funerals.

The next day was the service itself, and after days of mourning I thought that I was prepared, but no, nothing can prepare you for that moment when you walk in and you see that person, that person you knew all your life, lying there, lifeless and alone, a shell of the person you grew up knowing. My grandfather was about 5′9″ and at his death had shrunk down to a terrifyingly frail 108 pounds, seeing that is so jarring to the system there is really no recovery.

The service was very lovely, and he received military burial rites with the flag going to my cousin stationed in Afghanistan. During the whole ceremony I came to the horrifying and wholly depressing thought: everyone I know and love will die and leave me. The more people that I care for in life, then the more excruciating pain I will have to endure. Someday, I will have to bury my mother, my father, ever my closest friends and John. And the thought of that is still sending me into a terrible state, because I don’t think that this is ever going to get easier, but rather, just harder and harder with each person who leaves me.

We left the next day after a nice family breakfast and headed back east. My terrible cold is finally receding and I feel a little less numb, which is why I finally decided to write about all this a week later because I didn’t think that I would be strong enough to before, but even now I can’t stop crying.

I just feel so alone and vulnerable.

That sucks out loud May 8, 2009

Last week I wrote about how I had found the inside track to see as many concerts as I wanted to this summer by merely working them for my restaurant who does their food now. In my mind this was all supremely amazing: see a concert for free, get paid to do it. Simple, genius, badass… or so I thought.

While the general thought process is solid, it leaves out one teeny tiny detail to which I became painfully aware this past Tuesday while working the Killers’ show. I was not facing the stage. I could see the side of the stage, I could see the thousands of screaming fans, and I could hear the music, but I could not actually see the band. Let me tell you, hearing the music and knowing that you are literally just a few hundred feet from witnessing an amazing show, but not getting to because you’re working along side the GM and the owner, pure fucking misery. I was actually in pain. What really killed me is that once the show started we weren’t busy, at all, and really should have just packed up and called it a night. But no, I was forced to stay, and be sad and pathetic singing the songs to myself.

I did get to witness the first three and last three songs and part of one in the middle, before an asshole security guard screamed at me to get off the walkway and away from the VIP area. Prick.

What I did manage to see however was wonderful and I can at least take a little solice in that knowing that my night wasn’t a total bust. I also was promised that the next show that I really want to see, I get to work the VIP section, (which essentially means doing almost nothing before the show then just getting to stand in prime, close view and watch the concerts), I’m pretty sure that I’m going to use that for when OAR comes to town in June. Good choice?