Why is Called a Pet Peeve Anyway?

Day Two: Your Top Five Pet Peeves

It seems appropriate to follow up the ten things that make me happiest, with a list of things that annoy the shitout of me, right? I think so, yes.

Pet peeve number one: People who stand too close to me in line. Back the fuck up please, seriously. I have actually written a blog about this before, and it still rings true – get the fuck out of my personal space! If I can feel you breathing on me, you are too close to me. If I can swing my shopping basket and smack you with it, you are too close to me. If I can hear you chewing or exhaling or just existing in general, you are too fucking close to me! Move!! No one is getting out of the store any faster just because you climb up my ass and hang out there. I like my bubble, and I need you to just fucking stay out of it.

Unless I am dating you or you’re my best friend, in which case I literally cannot get physically close enough to you.

Pet peeve number two: People who let their dogs jump all over you and use “he’s friendly” as their excuse. First of all, friendly does not mean jumping on me, slobbering all over the place, or humping my leg. Second, if he’s friendly, why am I staring at so many teeth? And third, I don’t care if your dog is a cartoon character, I still don’t want it jumping on me. I don’t like your dog.

Pet peeve number three: When people stop texting in the middle of a conversation. I mean, I am definitely guilty of falling asleep in the middle of a late night text marathon, and I can’t count the number of times I have forgotten to respond to something I opened at work and then got too busy to immediately respond to, but like, where are these people going when in the middle of talking about something they just stop? And like three days later, I’m still waiting for the punch line. I don’t get it. Would you walk away from someone who was talking to you and just never come back? Finish your thoughts, people. Say goodnight or goodbye like normal human adults.

Pet peeve number four: Poor grammar. I hate it.

Pet peeve number five: People who make excuses for other people’s shitty behavior. Your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/mom/dad/sibling is an ass hole. Don’t make an excuse on their behalf! Let them fall on their face like they deserve! We’re already judging you for associating with a sociopath; don’t make it worse by clarifying that you do see what we see and are actually okay with it. Pretend you don’t even notice their shitty comments, poor social skills, or shitty personality. Don’t make a feeble attempt at getting us to just tolerate the insanity because you can. We can’t. We don’t like people who behave like shitty shitheads in public. And now we don’t like you that much either, because you brought a shitty human to the party and basically acknowledged it while begging our acceptance – or tolerance, at the very least.

No. I don’t want to party with your shitty other half.

It was far too easy to compile this list, by the way. I may have a short fuse, I can’t be sure. What I can say for sure is that little things can be really agitating. I need a beer after spending time considering all of life’s little annoyances… 

Is That a New Blog, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me??

Somehow I have managed to not write a blog in 10 months.
I blame Donald Trump, obviously.

In reality, 2017 has simply flown by, and I'm really not sure how it's even possible that we've already gotten to October. It's been a big year with a lot of change - some expected, some unexpected, but definitely all for the better.

It has also been one in which I've experienced a lot of stress. And anyone who has followed my blog in the past several years, is well aware of how much of a stress relief writing is for me. So following a conversation with my mom last week about stress, chaos, and craziness, it occurred to me I should probably get my shit together.

So here I am.
30 Day October Blog Challenge.
Technically a combination of three different writing challenges, because I can't decide or commit to just one. And some of the prompts - like, what did you eat today - are stupid.

Starting six days late, so there's that.

Day One: List Ten Things That Make You Really Happy. 

1. An organized refrigerator. Sometimes it's about the small things. I love when my fridge is clean and organized, when labels are faced front, and when all my veggies are chopped and portioned into matching tupperware containers. I realize that this is insane, but I don't care. Happiness is a clean, OCD-type fridge. With that lunch meat drawer stocked full of Tillamook black pepper cheese sticks, obviously.

2. Drinking wine on Rachel's front porch. I think this goes without saying that I love my friends, and I love wine. I also love porches. A big, wrap-around front porch with a lawn to mow is literally my only motivation in life to purchase a home, and Rachel's porch in Battle Ground is pretty close to perfection for me.

3. Starting a new book. Any book. Especially one that is so good I do literally nothing for 3 days but lay under a blanket reading obsessively.

4. Getting voice mails from Blake. This week, he called and left me a message that said, "Hi Auntie. I want to take my Corona fridge to school for show and tell, but my mom won't let me because she says it is inappropriate." I have listened to it ten times, and I wish I could make it my ring tone.

5. The beach. Duh. This one goes without saying, but the beach is my happy place. Whether I am there for a day, a week, just an overnight, it's never enough time but also always the perfect amount of time. Whether it's winter, spring, summer, or fall, stormy or windy, sunny or blistering hot, it's perfection every time. I wish I could live there. And not work, just read books in my jammies drinking wine in front of a fireplace with all the windows open. Nothing better.

6. Being the little spoon. I. Love. To. Snuggle. Snuggling is my absolute favorite, and it's even better when the person snuggling you also loves to snuggle. And when they don't snore. I like to feel someone's hot breath in my ear, and I like it when my neck just fits in the space between someone's neck and shoulders. I especially love to snuggle when it's cold in the morning, and when Juno is laying at the foot of the bed on my feet, or between us in the pit of my knees. And for some reason, it's best when it's Sunday morning.

7. Grown up time with my friends. I am definitely in the minority now with no kids of my own. And don't get me wrong, I like to hang out with my friends and their little ones. But I'm also not a bull shitter, and I like even more to hang out with my friends while their little ones stay home with their dads. I like to drink wine and use cuss words. I like to drink champagne and talk about sex, or watch scary movies, or just have a conversation without being interrupted by small children asking questions or needing to pee. And again, I love your kids. I just don't like them as much as you do. So leave them home every once in a while so I can get you drunk like you deserve. After all, parenting is hard (or so I hear).

8. My birthday. Birthdays are a reason to celebrate, regardless of age. Just because you're not a little kid, doesn't mean you no longer have reason to enjoy yourself and eat cake! Bad shit happens in life, and the simple fact that you are alive another 365 days, honestly, is means to have a party. I will never let my birthday pass by without doing something outside of my daily routine. And the same goes for other people - YOUR birthday is equally as important as mine is, and I'll surely celebrate it. Even if you don't want to.

9. Receiving unexpected flowers. Duh. I'm such a girl on this one. Being thought of makes me happy. Being unexpectedly thought of a little extra makes me a little extra happy. And something about flowers being dropped off, makes me feel even more thought of.

10. Loud music. In the car especially, or while cleaning my apartment. Most any genre of music will satisfy the bug, but loud is definitely necessary.

#500wordsaday: Liar, Liar...Pants on Fire (if I even ever wore pants, which I don't)

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: A Time You Lied

I am feeling the true struggle of writer's block as I try to make sense of what to write about a time I lied...because I am clearly just so pure of heart.

No?

Okay that's not true. I can certainly think of times I've lied about things - especially as a rebellious, headstrong teenager self-medicating in Boones Farm and Apple Pucker (fucking, YUCK) while I ran around with boys who were older than me and looking for ways to feel me up while parked at the North Clackamas Aquatic Park (you know who you are).

But who writes a blog about the shit they lied to their parents about in high school? That seems like a bit of a cop out, since literally all teenagers are dirty rotten liars who cannot be trusted. I'd never get 500 words out of, I lied to my mom about drinking in high school.

Uh. So what.

I think there have been a few points in the last year where I've lot more to myself than to anyone else in particular, and I suppose that counts. It's often easier to convince yourself you feel a certain way, than to admit that you feel betrayed, bullied, belittled, or back stabbed (that alliteration was accidental, just to clarify). It can be easier to say I'm fine, and convince yourself to believe it, than to stop and consider your true feelings about dating someone who had another girlfriend the whole time he was with you, or to embrace the reality that someone who was your very best friend, who you then came to love, treated you like crap and then secretly got married after vowing to be single for eternity.

We lie to ourselves probably more frequently - and honestly, probably on a larger scale - than we lie to anyone else. I'm sure I am guilty of that self-preserving dishonesty. I think the biggest lie I ever tell myself, is that I don't care. Whenever I say, I don't give a fuck - okay, 95% of the time - I actually give at least one fuck. Probably a lot of fucks, in reality.

Several months ago, I abandoned the fucks I gave about one of my very best friends; let's call him Goose, so in the instance he stumbles on this post, he'll know it's intended for him. Because that's how I roll. Goose and I became fast and furious friends as soon as we met, talking for hours on end, all day every day, to the point of crazy-town. Like, looking back I wonder how we ever accomplished anything outside of a Facebook chat window for approximately 60 total days. As most male-female friendships do, this one took a romantic turn at some point, and progressed from friendly to physical, then physical to mushy-gushy, and then from there, came to an obliterating end.

For some reason, I convinced myself (liar, liar, pants on fire) that I could stay friends with him after he broke up with me. But not just that; I convinced myself that I didn't care (there is is again) that he broke up with me without reason, with no explanation, in a Facebook chat window, as though we were in 8th grade and he was uninviting me to a school dance. My inner dialogue did an awful lot of justifying his crappy behavior, a lot of defending his honor, which - looking back - was certainly unwarranted. Truth is, he acted callously, and even after facing reality in a more sober light over the next year, never apologized to me...his supposed "friend." Even when I straight up told him why I was upset, why I was hurt, he offered no apology. Instead he stopped speaking to me.

In my stubbornness, I said, well fine, I give no fucks. If you don't need me, I don't need you. If you can't open your mind to why I might still be hurting, fuck you then. I don't need to wait around for you to understand why it wasn't okay to abandon our relationship in a moment's notice, without ever sitting me down and explaining it. #nope.

I gave (and still give) almost every single fuck.

He was someone who truly got me, and genuinely embraced me; he understood why I was stubborn and hard-headed, sensed when I was exceptionally needy, and passionately connected the dots that put me together; for my great days and shitty ones, he was the first person I reached out to vulnerably, every damn time. As my friend, we talked about books and writing and people and life and goals and problems and booze and sex. And then as my boyfriend we talked about love and passion and life and running away and change and growth. And then as exes-who-were-trying-unsuccessfully-to-be-friends-while-still-sometimes-fucking we talked about sobriety and work and hopes and romance and relationships and sharing space. He understood every nook and cranny of who I am, and until I had to convince myself to stop giving a fuck, I was certain I would forever give all of the fucks.

The lie I tell myself: I give no fucks.
The truth: I still care a lot. About him, and about what he did.

I no longer care about him romantically, so don't get it twisted; we were clearly not cut out for each other, and that's fine. I'm glad he's happy, and I'm happily moving on, boyfriend-wise. But this person is someone I truly did love, on several levels, and it is a challenge to continue to try not to care, when I in fact care very much. I care how he's doing, what he's got going on, whether or not he's drinking, how his family is. I care about him, period. However, I also know we're never going to be friends if he cannot accept, understand, and apologize for the way he treated me when we broke up. Because it was childish and mean, and it bothered me a lot, and he knows on what levels.

We lie to ourselves in an effort for self-preservation, and in an attempt to move forward faster than we're really ready to. All of the I'm fine convincing allows us to put onto the back burner, what we should really be addressing full attack mode. But instead of allowing time to be upset, to be sad-mad-transparent-vulnerable, we push it all down as far as we can and claim to not care.

I don't care.

I don't care is how baggage is picked up.

I don't care is a lie.

I don't care will do nothing to help you, and will only weigh heavy on you later, when you least expect it. When you're starting to build something with someone new, and you find yourself doubting them, doubting yourself. When that someone else says to you, I think we have the same baggage.

It requires honesty. It requires internal honesty, more than anything. It requires that you admit, Goose, you hurt my feelings, and you made me feel irrelevant and unimportant and invisible, and when you didn't apologize for breaking my heart so ruthlessly, it made me feel like the dirt under your shoe. What someone else chooses to do with your honesty, is not relevant. It matters only what you do, how you process your own honesty.

Admitting that you give at least, like one half of a fuck, is probably the first step.

I'm done saying I'm fine.

I give 75% of one fuck today, actually.