Screw it.

Following the news? Summarizing, discussing, and linking? 

Screw it. I’m too tired and too busy. I don’t care enough to commit to this right now. I already failed the Blogathon challenge – failed it within like, four days, actually – and every time I think about coming over here to write, I get overwhelmed by the restrictions I put on this site about what and how I was supposed to be writing. Which led to almost no writing at all.

So I’m done with the formal blogging shit. It’s not for me right now. I need a place to rant about personal crap, and for now, this is going to be it.

SO! MOVING ON.

We found out today that the house we were looking at buying is a no-go unless we can put down 10% plus closing costs, which is way more cash than we have on-hand. That means that it’s just not the right time for us to be thinking about purchasing. That simple. We’re trying to save for a wedding right now; we don’t need to stress ourselves out unduly about one missed house opportunity. There will be others. I’m not exactly relieved, but also not quite as disappointed as I thought I would be.

Also, it needs to be said that this place was quite the fixer-upper. Like, mildew in the basement, nasty carpets, a bathroom that needed to be redone, and horrible, horrible apple tiling in the kitchen. I know we could have done the work on it and dramatically increased its value, and yeah, it sucks to basically be throwing our rent money away each month, but it was also an insanely small house with an insanely small yard, and I was (legitimately, I think) worried about the logistics of fitting 150+ pounds of very active dog in it. I mean, the thing had like, ten freaking square feet of yard space. And I would hate – no, loathe – myself if we got in there, were committed to the property, and couldn’t stand living with the dogs. They’re family. In fact, they’re pretty much our childrens. Especially for me, because hello there, biological clock, and also, fuck you. I am not giving them up for one crap little house.

This means that now I can focus on more regular expenses: getting Nate’s ring, buying the new Sonata Arctica album when it comes out next Tuesday (YAY), squirreling away money for the wedding and honeymoon, investing, and…oh yeah, paying the normal bills.

Whew. Cranky post is cranky. Sorry about that.

Oh, one more random thing. Do you ever get cravings for certain foods that don’t go away for like, days on end? I’ve been craving tuna subs for the last three days, and it’s driving me crazy. I’ve even indulged it, but it’s still there! And it’s so specific: a cold tuna sub on Italian bread with cheddar cheese, lettuce, cucumbers, pickles, green peppers, onions, and just a little bit more mayonnaise on top. *swoon*

Dammit. 

Blogathon Day 3: I Don’t Understand College (pt. 1)

It’s true. I don’t understand college at all.

I used to think that I did, but the way I started my college career really should have warned me. I was eighteen when I decided to take a semester off to figure out what I wanted to do – as if that kind of knowledge would magically reveal itself in the span of four short months. It didn’t. What ended up happening was that I panicked about not having started college right away like everyone else I knew, which led to me making the safest, easiest school decision I could. For two years, I attended a small state school about an hour away from my parents, and for most of my time there, I was miserable.

My mom always used to tell me that she was certain I’d flourish in a college environment. “There’s so much structure! You belong in academia,” she’d say, sounding so certain. I guess I believed it.

I’m not so sure I believe it anymore.

I had enjoyed elementary and middle school; high school was hellish, but then, wasn’t it hellish for everyone? College would be better: more people, more challenges, more freedom. More interesting classes. Coming from a small high school and a strict home environment, these things were a big deal.

But paired with these great things were a lot of awful things: trying to make friends as an introvert terrified of crowds, dealing with a financial services department that didn’t care to explain to me what I was getting into with student loans (and then trying to scrounge up money for classes when aid inevitably ran out each semester), trying to balance work with class loads, and dealing with a terribly toxic, codependent relationship.

I didn’t know what questions to ask or where to ask them. I didn’t even know how to find out where I could ask the questions I needed answered. Getting help was an alien concept to me, though I made several half-assed attempts. I floundered. And then I broke down and gave up.

Gosh, this story is pathetic so far. More tomorrow.

Blogathon Day 2: Bad Exes and Other Ailments

A quick note – yesterday’s post was so pathetic because I worked a nine-hour day and then spent four hours at the clinic waiting to be seen. It was incredibly draining and left me with basically nothing to say. Today, however, I need to rant.

“How did I become so obnoxious? What is about you that makes me act like this? I’ve never been this nasty.”

– Pink, “Please Don’t Leave Me”

I’ve tried writing the first sentence of this post about seven different ways, but since nothing seems to be working, I’m just going to say it:

If you have been broken up with and have found yourself acting irrationally, irresponsibly, or abusively towards your ex, and if you feel like the above lyrics apply to you, LISTEN UP.

THE WAY YOU ACT IS YOUR OWN GODDAMN RESPONSIBILITY.

Yeah, you may feel like your life is over. You may be unable to understand where things went wrong. You may feel like your ex is a super villain who conspired to ruin your life, and as such deserves every ounce of venom and vitriol you can send their way. You may feel like you don’t have control over yourself, and that you’re such a nice person, usually, it’s not your fault you’ve turned into the Ex from Hell, because they made you do it! It’s their fault for being so mean! And if they would just listen to your ranting voicemails and respond to your Facebook messages and read your maudlin poetry, they would understand your pain and you could get back together and everything would be rainbows and roses!

Well, guess what? It doesn’t work like that.

And the only fault for that kind of behavior lies with you.

Relationships end for many reasons and in many ways. Sometimes they’re mutual, sometimes there’s a clean break, and sometimes one person is left gathering the shattered pieces of their heart from the floor even though the other person spend three hours gently explaining why things weren’t working. And yes, sometimes people are total asswads who don’t care how their actions affect their partner. I hate to sound cruel, but that’s just the way it is.

However, whether you’re the break-upper or the breakee, you can’t control how the other person reacts. The only thing – I repeat, the only fucking thing – you can control is how you react. Blaming the other person like they’re some kind of puppet-master pulling your strings is just a convenient form of self-indulgence that lets you convince yourself that they hold all the power. They don’t! And thinking like that  doesn’t allow you the agency to pick yourself back up and move on, it prolongs the healing period for both of you, and it’s manipulative as hell.

So don’t do it. After a breakup is, in my opinion, one of the best times to be totally self-absorbed…in a good way. Focus on yourself. Take care of yourself.

Do what you need to in order to heal – as long as it doesn’t involve the other person.

And for god’s sake, don’t write them poetry.

Really, New York and Company?

So today I was shopping on New York and Company’s website and happened to find a skirt I liked. Really liked, in fact, which is rare for me, because I hardly ever wear skirts. I clicked on the size chart to double-check my measurements against their sizing, and what was the first thing I saw?

This.

“All women are not created equal.”

Are you kidding me? Someone actually thought that that was an appropriate tagline for their sizing chart? My mind = blown.

I guess you could argue that it’s supposed to be kind of funny, because of course all women are not of equal sizes. But there’s no way that you can argue that that wording doesn’t totally suck. It’s a comparison phrase typically used to denote value. If it said “All cars are not created equal”, it would be very clear that it meant that some cars are of lesser quality than others. Women are not all the same size, but that phrase specifically goes out of its way to imply that if your size lies closer to the right side of the chart, you’re worth less than a size 2. And that is just wrong.