I’ve been thinking about past relationships a lot lately; try desperately to learn from my past mistakes. Going with the old adage that if you don’t learn from bad history you are doomed to repeat it or something like that. Spending time in this introspective phase I’ve learned something about myself.
Hello, I am the Dutchess of Kickball and I am a habitual rebound dater.
K was my first real boyfriend, my first love, my first everything. He was my life, but at 19 we were just kids and after three years it was over. It was the end of my world. But after a few months, while visiting friends in North Carolina I met Dill.
Dill was nothing like me at all. All he talked about was football. I hate football. But he showed interest and called me every day so my mind got wrapped around the idea of someone actually loving me again. We were together for a year before I finally realized that the only reason it lasted as long as it did was because I never saw him.
I know I’ve never told the story of Oregon here. It’s too long, too painful and too ugly to reveal in such an open forum. But the entire on-again-off-again saga was devastating. At some point during an off-again portion I met J. He was a child. Immature and infantile. He wasn’t even 21 yet but acted 16. (I think I was 24ish at the time) Pompous and garish and really just a good ‘ole country boy at heart. J had this habit of reading every store sign we passed. It was incredibly annoying. But again, he showed interest and pursued me. I desperately needed someone to show me that I was important. So I went with it. In the end, I literally could not even be around him without hating him.
And now as I sit here, still licking the wounds of my third life changing heartbreak, I need to figure out how to avoid doing this again. I do not want anymore Dills or Js in my life. On one hand, I don’t want to waste my time, I am no spring chicken after all, but I also don’t want to waste theirs either. Plus, no matter what side you are on, ending any relationship isn’t easy.
Anybody have any tips? How the hell do I avoid this?
Read to the tune of "my future's so bright I have to wear shades"
My hike was shortened to "stroll" by impending thunderstorm, sadly the huge thunderclap that made me turn around was the only one of the storm. But I did find a new park I for some unknown reason never even considered before.
I got a mosquito bite on the palm of my hand. Who does that?
The big girl couch has entered the building! After some serious pushing, pulling and the removal of the attic door, it finally made it in! I can not even express my intense excitement about this. I have even decided to get rid of my incredibly loved recliner, it's status of one step above being "the kind of chair you would find on the front lawn of a trailer park home" just doesn't fit into my new decore.
I have fallen in love with the demolition derby. I think my goal for next year is to be in the demolition derby. I want my car to be bright pink and I'll have to paint the hood to read "Girl Rule, Boys Drool" I'll start collecting funds for the chiropractor right now.
My favorite flip flops bit the dust. You know, the super cute black ones with a little sparkle that Olivia ate like three years ago but were so cute I continued to wear them even though they had chew marks in them? Yeah, those. Broken beyond repair. Let's have a moment of silence.
The fireworks display I went to was kind of lame which is a bummer, as this is my favorite part of my favoritist holiday. But it's ok, the holiday was bittersweet anyway, without someone to share it with.
I spent four hours in the tattooist chair on Sunday. I was doing prety good for the first two hours but the fill was really starting to kick my ass. But I made it through and it was totally worth it.
As I begin to write this I am 8 ½ hours away from the freedom of a three day weekend, but sadly I do not have 8 ½ hours worth of motivation to make the time fly by, especially since this is 4th of July weekend, my favoritist holiday of the entire year.
It’s going to be a busy weekend, and I’m really looking forward to it. Friday will be full or running errands and if time permits hopefully taking Olivia the dog for a hike down by the river. Of course that all depends on whether or not it ever stops raining.
The official plans start on Friday evening when my sister and her husband are coming over and we will learn the fate of my new couch. To Fit of Not To Fit. That is the question. We are pretty sure we can make it work, angle it just so to make it around the turn into the kitchen, then it’s a free ride straight into the living room. We have crunched the numbers and done all the engineering required, now it’s just the physical move. It will happen, or I might cry.
Saturday will be a full on 4th of July celebration including watching a Demolition Derby, BBQ and then listening to the local philharmonic playing patriotic songs leading up to fireworks, of course.
Sunday I plan on recuperating while being jabbed a million times by tiny needles. I can’t believe it’s been this long since I’ve been tattooed. I can’t wait.
Stay tuned for lots of pictures, I guess I should go get new batteries for my camera. Ok, I’m off to pretend to work for the rest of day, if the excitement doesn’t get the better of me. Here’s to hoping they let us out early today. Keep your fingers crossed.
It has been rare for me to come out of a weekend with multiple stories to tell, lots of topics I want to address and share with you. I think I’m starting to come out of the emotional coma that kept me home and killed all of my desire to be social again. I haven’t wanted to talk to people in general in a month and a half, but there is a good chance I might have turned a corner. Or at least the world around me is forcing me to have more than one blogworthy occurance a week. It clearly isn’t all up to me.
Saturday night, after one piece of my new furniture finally made it into the house was the End of Season Kickball party. I didn’t have too many expectations for this party, because it would generally be like all the rest. A ton of fun no matter what, but we would laugh and smile, drink cheap beer until we started to wobble. We would play flip cup and maybe a round of beer pong or two. We would eventually dance a little and our perfectly done hair would end up in pony tails. We would mingle from group to group and finally cheek-kiss our friends and make our way home. While it would be fun of course, I didn’t expect much of anything out of the norm.
We did all of these things, with a few extras thrown in. We watched our friends strip down to their underwear and climb into a dunk tank. Yes, out of the ordinary, but still the same kind of antics that you can always find at our Kickball parties.
But the night was slightly different. There was a new boy there. A boy simply because he was of the male species, but not a “boy” like I was striving to turn him into a crush or a date or an anything. But he was a boy nonetheless, and he was cute, and I was drunk and it became my life mission to flirt with him like the sexiest Dutchess of Kickball I could possibly be.
We flirted…a lot. Like, a lot a lot.
And it was awesome.
Not because I thought something might come out of it or that it could be the beginning of anything. It was awesome because it kind of reminded me that I’m not dead. You know that line from some Jewel song that goes “I’m half alive, but I feel mostly dead?” I’ve been feeling like that for a long time now, probably even before the breakup. I just don’t really feel like I’m living, more like going through the motions.
But interacting with this boy was exhilarating. The flirty little touches, putting my arm around his waist and feeling the indent in his muscles where his spine runs down, it was exciting. And not exciting in a tingly, “oh this could be love” kind of way, just touching another human kind of exciting. Like when you accidentally lock eyes with a stranger across a crowded room.
Even though we were both drunk, and you can never count on that meaning anything, Saturday night gave me a boost of confidence that I really needed.
After the break up, just like all the other breakups and layoffs and other intense upheavels in my life, I felt the need for some serious change in my life. I rejoined the gym after two years since my last real workout. I made an appointment for my next tattoo. And I went furniture shopping to finally replace the craptastic living room "set" I've sitting on since college graduation.
I've been very excited to replace the Ikea $100 couch and vastly unmatching hand-me-down love seat.
I paced around the house Saturday morning, impatiently awaiting the delivery of my new furniture. My new, super comfy, plush, MATCHING couch and love seat. The delivery window ticked away slowly as I puttered around dusting some odds and ends and folding some laundry. I constantly checked my phone, like I was waiting for boy to call, and ran to the window every time I heard a truck coming down the road.
About two and half hours after the time they were supposed to be here the delivery guys finally showed up. My big girl furniture has arrived. Woo Hoo. Happy day!
The love seat came in and looks amazing! But wait, there is a problem...the couch doesn't fit around the turn from the garage into the kitchen. After about three seconds of trying the movers tell me that it just won't fit.
At this point my brand new, fabulously matching couch has been hanging out in the garage for two days! It's kind of like a metaphor for my life...the best laid and most exciting plans always end up just hanging out so close, but just not quite there. My life get in the door but never makes it past the garage.
I often wonder what Olivia and Merlot do with themselves all day when I'm not home. What kind of trouble are they making? Do they run around like wildebeests barking (or purring) at every passerby? Or do they cuddle together when no one is looking? I've considered putting up one of those nanny cams that are hidden in a teddy bear or something to catch their secret behavior...especially when I come home to this:
In case it isn't clear, that is the strap of a tote bag that she has gotten stuck around her waist. And yes, I made her stand there long enough for me to take a picture. She wasn't pleased and just wanted me to save her.
