You’ll have to speak up, I’m wearing a towel

Yeah I don’t know, it’s a Simpsons quote. And the fact that no one I know, not even my husband, ever gets my sundry references depresses me.

I was thinking about it the other day, and my fantasy guy is just a male clone of myself. Someone who’s smart but pulls these major idiot moves, and like a 7.5 on the scale of attractiveness (I’d be an 8 if I were more in shape. I know this. I used to be a 7 but then I finally had the orthodontia I so desperately needed. This is all coming from me, not anyone else. I’m not even remotely sure of how attractive other people find me. I think it’s somewhat). But anyway, we all know how much I can go on about my appearance. I don’t think it’s so hard to figure out just why that might be. It’s just interesting, to me, because I truly am a fucking disturbing grab bag of traits, am I not? So, back to my fantasy guy. He’d have my facial bone structure (only a masculine one, but the same lovely cheekbones pls) but a super heavy brow, and a way thicker jaw, and really thick black hair. That’s kind of how R looked but he had a prettiness to him, that some men have, and he always had this like…brooding look…even when he was fucking. Plus R was JUST barely taller than me, and weighed less than me, and that’s already the exact parameters my husband meets, so my fantasy guy would NOT be R’s size. He’d be NOTICEABLY taller than me, like I can wear whatever heels and STILL not have to worry about towering over him. I’ve only been with one guy that met that guideline, and he was the WOW boyfriend…and….every time I think about how much shit I ate from that guy it fills me with a special kind of rage, the kind where I’m just infuriated at myself for putting up with being treated bad, like way to think well of yourself, fucking idiot. So a guy who’s just definitely bigger than me, but by NO means do I want a fatty. I mean, I like skinny guys. Duh. Especially, honestly, my husband is way ripped, in that “I’m skinny af” kind of way, and it’s nice because he doesn’t do a whole lot else for his appearance, i think in part because he works landscape and we’re broke as fuck ALL the fucking time and he drives a 16 year old Bonneville and and and and and you all the shit by now I should hope.

So, there you have it, I spent like three hours at work this week thinking about how my fantasy guy and I would interact. I’m not describing it here, because there could fucking come a day when I need to write that shit into a novel, and so, yeah. We all know how I get about the idea of someone stealing my ideas. I truly pity them, because IF they got away with it, I would pour my heart and soul, the pieces left of both of them, into destroying them in whatever way my relatively intelligent (yet impulsive) mind could think of.

SPEAKING of my writing – I am like nearing what we could almost call the completion of my first rough draft. So much work lies ahead, but I feel pretty comfortable thinking that, by January 2019, I will have a polished first draft. At that point, I have three people who had volunteered to read it for critiquing (none of these three are school friends either, so this will be more “is this a good enough/interesting enough plot to keep a normal person with kids reading?” sort of endeavor with them). Then I have a few other people I might ask. Like my best friend, hopefully she’s not too busy, she starts working as a doctor officially, for real, on her own in five days! I’m honestly excited for her, and I never feel that way for anyone but myself. And like, idk, there’s like no one else in my life that I’m actually proud of, besides her. Maybe one day I’ll tell her the many, many positive things I’ve said about her here. I’m not one to do that though. Like that one Professor from my undergrad college probably doesn’t have the faintest notion that I would like….LOVE to fuck him, like so much and a lot. But, what am I going to do? Out of the blue email him that? I don’t know how to have anything to do with people. I think there’s a reason I have ONE friend, and I see her like twice a year because she’s busy living far away (well, sort of) and being a doctor and traveling out of country all the damned time. I mean, truly, in some fucked, weird way, it’s a good thing I don’t have any friends, and I haven’t seen anyone biologically related to me in over four years, and we’re literally paycheck to paycheck af and we rent and we have a ton of credit card debt AND student loan debt (all mine, sorry babe). We own our cars, I guess. We have PLPD on them, too. But anyway I don’t want to start complaining. We started growing our own weed, so that saves us like $5000 per year, give or take minus expenses. Other than that….I really don’t live so extravagantly. I cook dinner five nights a week, the other two nights we’re definitely not going anywhere nice.  But anyway. All of this seemingly sad shit in my life is actually a strange, good thing because it means I have an inordinate amount of time to write. And I mean…aren’t writers supposed to be sad and poor and depressed and addicted to shit?

OH, have I mentioned how I’m totally back to drinking every day. Yeah. After doing so well for like…months. I’ve got it down to 2 tall cans per day. Which is way too much on a fucking 7 day a week basis, I get that, but yeah, my husband…dude…he’s doing exactly what you think someone coming off three years’ sobriety would do. Nothing’s happened. Yet. Yet. He’d be SO offended by that yet, but let me tell you, and I know I have, you know what that’s all about.

Only other interesting shit – I’m kind of into the idea of fucking my neighbor. He lives with his long time girlfriend, who’s this cute, friendly little thing, she reminds me SO much of a friend of mine from my retail days. I like, in no way want to harm their situation, but if he was like us, then yeah, that’d be so awesome. And don’t get me wrong, this guy is like a…hmm…okay 6 I guess? There’s just nothing all that remarkable about him, not that he’s bad-looking in any way. But, idk, sometimes i can sense when someone finds me attractive. And you know who REALLY likes that? Drunk me. And I’m usually plastered when I see this guy. So who knows, maybe that will pan out.

Don’t tell me about how anonymous sex won’t make me feel better. I fucking know. It’s still fun and distracting to pursue. So lay off me, I’m…..well I hate the word “horny” but that would’ve worked well there.

Okay, stopping, for real this time. This weekend is supposed to be sweltering and I’m going to spend the whole time in my white trash pop up pool, drinking coors light, reading henry james The Bostonians in an inner tube. Because summer.

~Cassie

No time. Better write 1700 word blog for no reason

I mean I guess writing always has a reason? There’s got to be some logic behind why there’s ALWAYS so many words/thoughts running through my mind.

I don’t know what I want more, to be less angry or to have more time. OR, I guess, if I could just have like…$200,000….that would solve all of my money qualms, and then some. I guess that’s a lot of money. But I owe over 100K just in student loans (yeah, remember how it used to be around 90K? Yeah, that’s because student loans INCREASE even if you’re paying the minimum payment on time every month….so, think about how cool that is for me, for daring to want an education) and then there’s some credit card debt…like that’s all less than $10,000 though, so really if someone could just pay my student loans, or even just the federal one, I earn enough I could pay the rest.

I don’t know why I’m saying any of this, other than I’m high of course.

But really, in a fun hypothetical world, would I choose less anger or more time?

What’s funny is both of those things have the same meaning for me. I worry sometimes about how angry I am, pretty much constantly, and how it could possibly negatively affect my health. I truly desire to be nice and happy. I do. If I don’t like someone I’d rather ignore/avoid them than have confrontation/petty drama. HOWEVER, I get so damn fiesty when someone riles me, please don’t take the first part of that thought to mean I’m some pushover. My mother is a doormat, she just has that personality, so I don’t like seeing it. And more time, I’d just be a more well-rounded person. Because, on some/many days, I’m not capable of doing ALL of the following five-six nights a week:
-Minor household chores (make bed, wash dishes, attend to vomit on floor from cats as needed, possibly clean litter boxes and take out trash)
-Working out for an hour – 30 minute warm up then 30 minutes on the pole, or just 30 minutes on the bike, but I choose pole 9/10 times
-Writing – ideally, this would get its own hour also. BUT, even if I can get a single-spaced page done per day…that’s still 30 pages a month, more or less…that’s not horrible, it’s better than 0. Plus the plan is ALWAYS to do more on the weekend, but let me get to my weekend chores in a second
-Cooking dinner – I feel hella guilty if we eat out (Chinese or fast food if anything) or if we eat frozen pizza or eggs and rice for dinner. Plus I think my deep obsession with eating at home as much as possible is one of the reasons I’ve started to lose weight…that and the greatly reduced drinking
Most days, I just don’t have the energy to get through all of that between 4:30 and 8:30. Because I go to bed around 9 pm every night but that’s because on my LATE days I get up at 5:30 am. Two days I week it’s 4:30 am. During the six month winter, that’s a bleak time to be awake.

Then, okay I should have time to write on the weekend, right? I don’t have kids, I’m not in school, I sure as fuck don’t have social plans. The only things that hinder my free time are chores, SO MANY, and my in-laws wanting to spend time with us. Which is usually unpleasant in its entirety for me. They’re really starting to show their age, not physically, but in their behavior. I cannot remember the last time I went somewhere with them and didn’t internally CRINGE about twenty times. It’s like they have this rudeness-based autism that only comes out when interacting with a waiter.

On weekends I always get up early and go to the grocery store before it’s busy, because I so hate stores and huge groups of people, and the general population is SUPER fucking rude down here. Like…I’m always appalled at people at the grocery store, there’s ALWAYS people who cut you off/rush&run right past you like they’re in some sort of Speed situation. who won’t get out of your way while you patiently wait for them to do so as they unnecessarily block an aisle…not to mention the employees. They’re always stocking that time of day and GOD do they glare at you when you need to get in their way. I feel their pain. Truly. I know that feel only so well. But guess what bitch I’m the customer now and I need yogurt to pack in my husband’s lunch…so there.
THEN THERE’S THE SELF CHECK-OUT. OMG every week I get a new example of shitty human behavior there.
Of course I use self check-out, I was a cashier for ELEVEN years, I do not want to watch someone else do a poorer/slower job than what I could do. And they don’t like reusable bags and that’s what I always use because recycling. And I assure you, I am very conscientious and patient and chill with whoever is in front of me. I do not crowd them in any way (EVERYONE thinks if you stand VERY close to someone, they will naturally work faster, I learned that in retail as a teenager) I don’t glare at them, I wait until they’re COMPLETELY done and walking away before I even start. It’s only polite. But then, WITHOUT FAIL, the person behind me is a rude, ignorant idiot who starts ringing up their stuff when the ENTIRE bagging area is still filled with my shit.
They can see how much stuff I have. They can see that I’m by myself (my husband works Saturdays when he’s working, so from now until December) and still they think being obnoxious and implying I need to hurry up so I can put the halfway barrier up is the way to go. They’ll convey their impatience by standing as close to you as possible. They’re RIGHT there as you’re ringing up, again as if I’m going to move any faster because they’re just STARRING at every move I make, from 8 inches away. I shit you not, EVERY TIME I GO TO THERE. I guess it must be the time of day I shop. Well today a woman did the usual I’m going to crowd you thing, then when I didn’t respond to that she was like, “Can you put the thing up?” I could NOT but the barrier up because I had too much shit, I wasn’t going to crush/destroy a bunch of bags of chips and fresh meat and bread and whatnot because she couldn’t wait two extra minutes. I’m OBVIOUSLY fast at bagging. So I responded, in a very impatient tone, “Yep, in a second!” And I bagged a few more things until I could actually push my shit down without destroying it. Then I pulled it across and was like “THERE YOU GO.” My deep displeasure was quite evident.  It felt wrong being so rude to a woman so much older than me (like 60s probably) but like…she just couldn’t wait a few more minutes? How is it that I am capable of being kind and patient but no one else is?

That’s literally the grandest and truest frustation of my life, what I just typed. It was exactly what my whole childhood was like. They treated me terribly and used me for their purposes, I wasn’t allowed to be an autonomous person with my own thoughts/opinions/desires/feelings (I had to go back and type that because feelings didn’t even come to mind at first), because I existed to be the disposal of other people. Even my poor mother was guilty of that. Though I do love my mom, and I loved her mom too. They were normal, functional people who actually loved me and only wanted what they thought was best, and they tried their best for me. So…NOT any other relationship I’ve ever had in my life. I mean that’s almost true of my husband but sometimes I worry that he’s not so normal and functional, that’s all. I’m not saying that to be mean, I’m saying that because I’m worried. It’s like…how long do you put up with being absolutely broke and watching your spouse do nothing but talk and talk and talk and talk and talk about what he’s going to do about it, with nothing ever actually happening in that sector. But then if I tell him about times he’s done something similar before I’m “bringing up the past” and that’s forbidden, so basically I can’t remind him that I’ve seen the same exact pattern of behavior in him previously. Convenient, isn’t it, for him?

Also, okay, time to be real, I did something really bad like a month ago. And then i did something really stupid last week.

It’s not an interesting sex story, sorry. I don’t have any of those. I mean i had wrist bruises all week from being taped up on Monday, but I enjoy being restrained (not EVERY time, but on occasion, I find it hot) but that’s not the thing, either of them.

The really bad thing I did. Yeah, my husband started drinking again. He’d gone almost 3 years. I guess I kind of knew that he didn’t plan on staying 100% sober for the rest of his life, from the way he’d been hinting. It started again when we went to Shakespeare Behind Bars. When we were first down there he said something about wanting to buy a pipe and pipe tobacco which just annoyed me because he’s always impulse smoking when he wants to drink. So we had a beer at the Applebees we were forced to eat at, then one more in the hotel room.

Then, fucking duh, the inevitable began. We are trying to keep it confined to weekends. Of course it started at one day a week. I mean that’s the thing if you’re an alcoholic you kind of find a way.

Truly the only thing stopping me from drinking every day is the idea that I would be SO fat if I did that. Plus the other beauty detriments. Then the health problems. Yeah no thanks. But other than that I DO feel the deep need to be drunk like all the time. We really don’t need to explore as to why at this point, but like what am I supposed to do about it?

Then, the stupid thing? Yeah I got a $190 speeding ticket. 43 in a 30. Just like last summer I locked my keys in my running car. *sarcastic slow clap for self*
Just what I need, right? Ugh. It’s annoying to think how much stuff like groceries I could have bought with that money. That’s about what I spend per week on food. Wait let me get an exact number. This year so far I’ve spent $3,835.43 on groceries. Yikes. But that’s literally everything we need to live, pretty much.

So that’s what’s up right now, more money issues, and marriage issues, and nothing changing, and nothing changing and nothing changing.

I haven’t been in the best mood lately. Obviously. I actually just freaked the fuck out at my husband Thursday evening. I cried so much I had that annoying under-eye-bag-puffiness that’s my number one telltale sign I’ve been crying, everything else goes away pretty quickly, but even the next day, if I cry enough, they’re still so bad. Like in the few pictures of me the day after my wedding, SO PUFFY. It’s all I can notice. Anyway.

So I need to go. Did I tell you we bought a white trash pop up pool because it was HOT AS FUCK last weekend? Now it’s like 70 out so no pool for me today, which sucks because it was sweltering all week, but anyway I have to go care for the water because obviously my husband won’t. He’s a landscaper and he never mows his own lawn. I broke down and did our backyard by myself last Saturday with a push mower. As in, no gas/electricity, you push the rotating blades yourself. And the grass was WAY overgrown.

Anyway. time to chlorinate that bad boy. I’ll post a pic of last weekend when it was all perfectly summery out. Now it’s like early spring up in this bitch.

~Peace

~Cassie