So. Like, idk, the idea fucking came at me that what I’ve really been looking for all these years is a therapist. I started picturing what it would be like to bitch to someone for an hour about my parents and childhood and husband and drinking problem and weird sex habits and holy shit I started feeling better just thinking about it.
So trial and error after a few dead ends I find a counselor guy nearby who takes my insurance so tomorrow is my first appointment with him. We’ll see how it goes. I’m super not thrilled that it’ll cost me about $50 per week to see him. Why is it that if I want an hour of pole dancing and an hour of therapy it’s $72 a week??? Isn’t that insane sounding? I feel like it’s insane sounding.
Not going to lie I’m really really really uneasy about it, about going, for some reason. No actual reason why. That I can consciously identify other than the effort it’ll involve and the fact that the winter has been especially grueling this week. I try not to let it get me down but it’s also hard to want to leave your house if it’s -25 outside.
So. Therapy tomorrow. With a guy. Finally. The three times in my life that I’ve tried therapy/counseling before it’s been with women. No wonder it didn’t work. So we’ll see.
First, two picture, one is of us together, you’re doing your trademark thing and hiding as much of your face as possible in the picture. I’m maybe a year old? The other is the cover of the Betty comic you bought me one of the times I was staying at your apartment and I waited there while you went to the grocery store to buy things to please me. I didn’t know what Betty was, but it seemed okay so I acted like I knew it and acted excited when she said “I got you a Betty.” She got my brother Mad Magazine so we were both happy.
Well, just like last year on November21st, I was going to write this huge long sentimental blogabout my Grandma, since that’s her birthday. But you know what I failed miserably at that in 2017 and 2018 so I’m going to do it todayto make up for it.
I saw a meme the other day, one of
those long ass ones that tells a story, about how when someone dies,
they go into spectator mode, like in a video game. So your deceased
relatives can watch whatever they want, either POV or from above. At
the end of the meme, it showed a Pilgrim-esque looking guy standing
behind the meme’s main character with the thought bubble “Holy shit
he figured it out.”
IF I could find this meme, I’d fucking
show you rather than describing it. But it’s one of those ones I
thought I saved, but instead, I didn’t, and it has no relevant
keywords. So here we are.
BUT, the spirit of this meme is what
interest me. Because. What is that IS true? That’s how it in The
Lovely Bones, the dead
immediately go into full omniscience.
that is true….
you know what, if the dead do watch us, Lord knows my Grandma has
truly been enjoying herself judging me all this time. That’s what she
liked to do anyway. I grew up thinking talking shit/criticizing was a
completely normal mode of expression.
also, yeah, I could see why she would choose to watch me and not her
daughter, or her grandson. Maybe she spends a lot of time with my
cousin’s out west. Both of them married and had children and are
normal, successful people with Ph.Ds and houses and etc. etc. They
lost their mom young, really unexpectedly, to cancer. I’m related to
their dad (Grandma’s other son whose still living, there was a third
one, another Uncle, and his death when I was 12 marked the exact end
to any semblance of security, stability or happiness in my life. I
had 6 more years to get through and my fuck they weren’t easy) and it
came as a shock to us all when the drinker/smoker of many decades
outlived his wife. He was the only person at my wedding who was
related to me who wasn’t my W, my mom or my brother. At our 300
person wedding, FOUR of the guests were my relatives. But I digress.
you’re watching this, well, first of all, things are different now,
Grandma. You were born in 1918, you’re not going to understand the
world of 2018. And if you don’t want to see a foursome don’t watch a
foursome. It’s better than observing mom though, isn’t it? I guess
the dead can’t do anything to harm the living…because….if they
could, I’d frankly be really angry with my Grandma for not
car-accidenting that guy out of our lives.
That’s it. It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m pretty preoccupied by the
notion that my dead Grandma can see me and is judging me. I mean I
don’t care, I’m just saying if SHE could do that, that’s how she
would use that ability. But that’s just how she was. I’ve said before
how I find it a little hard to criticize even the times she was being
horrible, because like, should I find fault with the only reason I’m
even a little bit normal? Like whatever part of me wants to fit in
and for people to like me…that didn’t come out of nothing. LOOK at
my brother. HE’S what happens if someone is over-exposed to W and has
no other adult influence. But I spent a ton of time with my mom and
Grandma, and my Grandma alone. My brother was taught that W the great
I Am and that to even think
of listening to someone else, doubting W in the slightest, was a sin
on par with damnation.
THINK I’M JOKING?
need to fast forward to the Easter when I was mmmmmm 16. This was
when, now that we were teenagers it was 0 hassle to get us up and
into church (my mother did this job solo ages 0-15, you know, when
there’s work involved in doing so) and suddenly it was life
and death importance that we
attend his church as well. 1) He started attending a church in a city
nearby because his trashy skank coworkers he definitely wanted to
fuck and might have at some point (I mean he cosigned on a car with
one of them….what does THAT tell you, friends???)
went to a Lutheran high school, so naturally I had Good Friday off
from school. W insisted
my brother and I go a Good Friday service at his church. His
penecostal church. Do you REALIZE what those
people are like on Good Friday? AGH, such uncomfortable weirdness.
course, when I protested, when I said I didn’t want to go to his
church because it made no sense to me that suddenly at 16, despite
being a regular attendant of my own church, going to a Lutheran high
school, and being an active member of my youth group, I just HAD to
start going to HIS church too. Of course his religious bent just
works into his narcissism too perfectly, and it was one of the many
things he used to put down my mom and I (to a lesser extent). He
loved talking shit about that church and how it was (remember this
term? I know I’ve told you before) a dead
this GF when I’m 16, he outright asks me, “What’s telling
you that you don’t like going to that church?”
thinks I was being told, spiritually, by a demon, that I didn’t like
that church, because this demon that was allegedly inside me was
frightened by the true spiritual power of his superior Pentecostal
church. YES. REALLY. That was W’s favorite
go-to when you didn’t want to have anything to do with his church.
him, to his tiny, narrow, tiny, NARROW mind, there could be NO other
reason for my not wanting to suddenly be dragged to ANOTHER church.
Especially one where I know NO ONE and my dad’s dragging my brother
and I along to put on a show for coworkers he’s having shit with or
wants to have shit with? LIKE SERIOUSLY. This was my life at 16.
Being accused of demon possession because I didn’t want to help my
dad nail some skank. Like Jesus fuck. IS IT SURPRISING I have such
issues with religion? I mean it feels like I’m going against
everything I was ever taught but…JEEZ. Sometimes it feels like you
need to? Other times you’re like well there’s no accounting for human
error/flaws, and you KNOW W didn’t just come into being one day, that
someone whose THAT fucked obviously went through deep trauma himself.
Not that that’s enough to like, ever speak to him again, but I’m
capable of thinking the thought, at least.
would always hide as much as she could during these exchanges while W
had me cornered somewhere, typically my room or the corner of the
room he was in if he was awake and not on the toilet, rocking in
front of a TV super fucked up and chewing tobacco. Yep. That’s my
mental image of my dad. That and him yelling. ANYWAY. My mom would
also always just tell me to go along with what W wanted because it
made her life easier.
you may be thinking, wow, Cassie, way to go, you turned this tribute
post about your Grandma into talking mad shit about W on a different
national holiday. Well let me tell you that’s precisely the sort of
thing Grandma and I would be talking about if she WERE here, so
*tongue sticking out emoji* I’m going to write and smoke weed all
day. At some point we’ll make like bacon and eggs to tide us over.
Who the fuck knows when my husband will get up, he went to bed at 5am
reeking like vodka. He shaved his pubes in the bathroom sink. I
didn’t see him do it, but I can assure you it happened. Oh well.
That’s really not that bad it’s just like…okay THIS is why the
house can never be up to my personal standards of clean, set by none
other than, you guessed it, my Grandma.
guess my memory palace is mostly just her apartment, then the
playground at my grade school in the spring. Then my room when it was
filled wall to wall with stuffed animals and Barbies and my Lite
Brite and my enormous Fischer Price dollhouse. And I think about her
apartment the most. It was like…eerily spotless. The carpet was
always perfect. The bathroom was always perfect. I guess I run
through the whole place A LOT.
salmon pink candy dish on the glass and wood end table with the
seasonally alternating candies. Root beer barrels. Anise squares.
Chocolate peanut clusters. Those squishy pastel after dinner mints.
Spice drops. Tiny Reese’s peanut butter cups. Individual Andes mints.
It’s strange, for being NOT fat (she was about 5’7” and 140#, so
like not a tiny old woman by any means, but she talked about herself
like she was 340#, it drove everyone crazy) herself, my Grandma was
surely talented at making other people emotionally connect with food.
But I also never eat candy. Because it’s bad for your teeth. My teeth
need all the help they can get, I can’t control myself from grinding
them. I mean I do, but I fucking catch
myself doing it all the time. So I can’t be so good then. But, it
definitely wore off on my mom. To be certain. When I was a kid, she
described overeating after dinner as a “release” I would, years
later, realize just
how fucked that was of a thing to say. Like. EGH my parents were way
too like “Let’s be friends and confidants” with me, and that KIND
of fucks up your perception of propriety and boundaries and makes you
really grating to some
of the other adults in your life, because to them you seem like a
petulant, spoiled, arrogant little shit who thinks they can say and
do whatever they want as their doormat mother and absent father do
nothing. That was a little
true, but I don’t think anyone would stop to wonder why
my mother and I had that sort of relationship. Plus I was a good kid.
I wasn’t fool enough to try and get away with anything under W’s
watch, in that tiny house. Besides, I knew I was getting out soon.
it hilarious that I
didn’t even like start getting fucked up until I was 21? Like I’d
been drunk on rare occasion before then, and I started smoking when I
was 19 (weed and cigarettes) but I didn’t start drinking on the reg
until I met my husband. I’m not blaming him, at all.
I don’t blame anyone for my actions. Because, that’s stupid. I’m just
pointing out these things coincided.
wasn’t until I started getting fucked up that I realized I could get
away from them.
the sweet fuck does that even mean though?
does growing up in a fucked situation make your brain want that
feeling, even though it knows it’s bad? Because I fucking promise
you, I’m the last person to cause drama. Like. That’s just NOT an
activity I participate in. I do everything I can to avoid it, BUT,
I’m not great at backing down if I get challenged. I feel a little
bit like a proverbial bulldog with something in its jaw in those
moments. But anyway.
think I might just be trying to blame my drinking on my childhood.
What shocking, new behavior, for an addict.
figure out if I’m a sex addict. Probably not? I feel like I’d be
getting laid more if I were, right? Pfft.
like I tried blaming the fact that I was married and had my side
relationship with R happening right at the same time as my final
break with my parents. Like I wanted a distraction from thinking
about shit, and boy spending three nights a week at his dad’s house
was definitely that. And to me the whole time my husband said it was
okay, to him the whole time he was begging me to stay and I was doing
what I wanted anyway.
this does not have a Thanksgiving theme to it at all. Sorry, anyone
in the festive spirit who reads this. I honestly don’t like this
holiday. It’s about “giving thanks” but also overeating and
consumerism? Bleh. We’re going to my sister-in-laws. I am not pumped
about the email I’ll probably get from my mom on Monday. But that’s
awhile from now so whatever.
shopping online for Christmas gifts and kind of drunkenly bought
myself three pairs of black boots……………whoops. I kind of
remembered it this morning and was like…wow Cassie, maybe a bit
excessive. But also, they were on hella sale because Black Friday
started like a week ago, sale wise. So whatever. I went on innocently
enough to get a scarf to match my new coat with rewards I’d earned
from buying the coat. But, alcohol. So three pairs of boots, a
hat/glove set, a velour/sherpa scarf and moisturizer later….i was
done. But I also finished my best friend’s birthday and Christmas
shopping too, so, actual gift buying also happening.
I sound like I have a shopping problem. Well going shopping and
eating were the two joys in life, so my Grandma taught me. So maybe
I’m more like her than I realize. Plus I don’t do this often. Of
course I earned another reward..so….we’ll see….I WISH I had a
fucking reason to need sexy lingerie. Younger Cassie would be
distraught over how far my undie situation has fallen. I mean for
one, I weigh a great deal more than I did when I was 21, so the all
Victoria’s Secret collection I had going pretty much all had to go, a
loooong time ago. I used to always
be wearing matching underwear/bra. Now, the only time that happens is
when they’re both black, which is likely, because black is practical
when you’re me and pretty much only wear black clothing. The
underwear I brought out of special hiding to wear that one Saturday
back in October worked their way into the normal rotation but now
when I wear them I’m like….well some luck you were. Not that I
really believe in having “lucky” objects, I’m really not
superstitious. I own a book entitled The Encyclopedia of
Superstition, but never mind all
that. That was a Barnes and Noble find when I was a child, that had a
spooky dust jacket that I threw out because it scared me more than
once at night. I’m actually proud I kept it all this time. My copy of
Homeless Bird, my
SIGNED copy, was water damaged from my transporting it to and from
work for Halloween. That made me sad.
This has been a WEIRD blog post. Enjoy your holidays, and your
families, if you are so inclined. Just because I seem to sneer at
“normal” people doesn’t mean I don’t get why it’s fun to be
normal. I just…hate football, and the Pilgrims were murderers, and
turkey tastes like napkins. That last part is a Brooklyn 99 quote,
before I get sued.
enjoy your long weekends. Fuck knows I am. Yesterday I got the
hashtags of death with my book. I corrupted the file of it I had on
my laptop beyond repair. BUT, I had it on a flash drive, so all was
not lost. I need to buy Microsoft Word. Yeah I get I know I bought
all the boots, but that was with a store charge (duh). I need cold
hard cash for Word. I refuse to use “real” credit cards. Store
charges make it worth your while, and honestly buying small
increments of make up and work clothing isn’t SO bad, now is it?
to get back to my real writing, that I now back up A LOT more
frequently. I spent 1pm-4pm yesterday BARELY holding my shit
together. Like just barely. But it’s all good now. Yet again, my
worst freak out recently has been over nothing. Which is funny,
because I DON’T freak out over the shit I should. Soooo funny how
this new insurance from my husband’s new job kicks in, we’re both
looking into therapy, don’t worry.
It’s possible the very favorable elections that went down in my state of residence.
It might be the weather.
I love the dreary fall, when all is foggy and rainy and the sky is sixty different shades of steel gray on any given day. When the colors are still out. Mmm. Sure, it’s starting to get cold, but yeah, that’s what happens when there’s fucking seasons. Idk I have enough body fat, I’m not that bothered by winter. I feel like it’s one of those things that separates who’s made of the stuff that’s going to evolve and who’s not.
But I’m an arrogant fuck, to say the least.
So, idk about anyone else’s state of residence, but mine turned blue and all the props went through. Yay. Now just two more years until we can get a new fucking president. Okay that’s all I’m saying on that because this blog is NOT about politics, but at the same time it’s hard not to mention something that’s influencing my mood.
Because, the holidays are coming. And. Those are hard for me.
I don’t like talking about it, but I’m sure I should. And lo and behold my mom brought it up for me today.
She and I emailed, as always. I sent my reply to her email from yesterday this morning on my 10 o’clock break, she sent her reply to that around 4pm. In it, she mentioned how last night (so Tuesday night) she only did the bare minimum she needed to do around the house because she was feeling “down in the dumps” (as I age, I realize how many odd colloquialisms my parents and Grandma used). She said “Christmas commercials on TV don’t help.”
Here we go.
Again, please, don’t take this as me trying to make anyone hate her.
You DO NOT understand how little this woman deserves that, from anyone, especially internet strangers.
It just makes me feel so terrible, but not terrible enough, I guess, to put up with W. I’m not. I will never listen to his voice, ever again. Even if that means part of the remnants of my heart breaking. Sometimes, there’s no other way. And besides, I still do what I can for her. I still email her every fucking day, even when I really would rather not bother. Because my life isn’t so much to talk about, I feel, but IDK I know she’s proud of me. She tells me so all the time. I’ve at least done better than her, in most regards. The only difference is, by my age, she’d had her two children. But, let me tell you, I am so fucking glad I don’t have kids right now.
But I still feel like rotten to my core that my poor mother is so miserable. That there’s nothing I can do is also quite daunting. I feel for her. I really do. It really upsets me. But I can’t, I CANNOT relent. I let it tear at me, how she feels, how I miss her, how I KNOW when she passes away, how all these lost years are going to fucking haunt me, and eat at me. But I cannot go back now, not again. I will never listen to him speak, ever again. He’s 65. Given his substance abuse issues…maybe we’ll get lucky? You’d think I was fucked and shameless for saying such things, but no one who KNOWS what went on (like my husband, or my best friend) fucking corrects me when I crack such jokes that aren’t really jokes. Like how when, one year, my boss’s father had a stroke and passed away on June 3rd, which just so happens to be W’s birthday. I was like…WHAT. How unfair. What’s the freaking meaning of someone ELSE’S dad dying on this day? Why? Why does someone who doesn’t want their dad to go lose him when mine is still around, abusing and torturing my poor mother and brother? What the sweet fucking shit is any of that?
Good thing I think everything that’s fucked is sort of funny, or that would be bumming me out.
But to be honest, it doesn’t. It’s how my life is. It was my dice role. As were other things, other things that are more positive. Some of which I have THOROUGHLY ruminated upon in this blog. Like…how many times can a chick mention how nice her tits are? Well, what can I tell you, I notice it every day. One time, when I was hella wasted, when I lived with my coworker from the pet store, in the house I was living in when I met my husband, we were having a small party, and a third coworker and her gay best friend came over, and I ended up getting so shit faced I changed into lingerie in my bedroom in front of the gay best friend. Again….don’t know why, it just happened. He told my coworker, who told me because this bitch was cray, that he liked my boobs. I was like….good to know even a gay guy is so impressed by them he feels compelled to tell my super psycho coworker about it, who repeats it to me, POSSIBLY in an attempt to embarrass me, but whatever. I am VERY indifferent to my naked body being seen. Why would I? I mean, when certain shit isn’t up to you, not a lot else matters in that regard.
Just don’t take anyone’s picture, or take video of them, without their permission. They might hold some terrifying blood grudge against you. And maybe they’re too smart to act on it, but maybe the world’s more based on karmic justice than one realizes. Maybe accidents happen. Maybe no matter what a crazy person says, it sounds ominous.
I do not think that I’m crazy.
I’m just lonely. And I know what I’m looking for in life but only in a vague, abstract way. I guess that’s better than nothing. And I’m gifted with my natural ability to work incredibly hard.
So, today my mom started in on her holiday guilting.
And, if I could, if it wouldn’t get my WordPress reported, I would post a ton of nudes on here, because I fucking like taking them – that’s something I have to give my husband credit for teaching me, because before I never thought any pic of me was good enough, but idk, my husband helped a lot with that. He definitely sees me in the best possible light at all times, in all ways. He also is bipolar. More on that later, I’m not in the mood for getting into that topic but just let me tell you, it makes more sense than I could possibly ever explain. Luckily he got a job that has phenomenal insurance, because we both fucking need therapy. I’m never making light of therapy or counseling when I mention it. I wish I could afford it. The sporadic times I’ve been exposed to it, it helped a great deal. But new insurance kicks in next month, so we’ll see.
Also, shout out to writing in a journalistic type manner, because I would probably be dead without it.
Well, on that fucking goddamn cheery note, I think I’ll be off.
Good Wednesday evening, to you all.
Remember – there’s a difference between pleasure and happiness. You work for happiness.
I’ve gotten three reviews from this exact boss before. This is first time she’s ever requested we do so on a Saturday…and for the specific reason that she wants to do it when no one else is there…..BUT WHY.
I guess if I walk in on Saturday and someone from HR is with her I’ll know. She said it’ll take “approximately thirty minutes.” I’m literally filled with questions and confusion and dread. OMFG it’s been the week for those feelings, hasn’t it???
Like, I would love to say I’m not upset and angry about shit. But I am. I wish I wasn’t. If there was something I could magically fucking do to stop consistently thinking about the same shit, I would do it. I mean I tried rage stigmata, but my hands aren’t strong enough not like they were when I was a kid. At least now I just have to hold it together at work. My husband is good, VERY good, about emotional support. That and his unique status as the first/only guy to ever EVER appreciate me for the awesome person I am are why I’m still with him AND married to him AND took his last name. Again, these things did not occur magically, they are possibly my hardest “earned things that aren’t things” as I like to call them. Like my friendship with my best friend, which most people don’t have with someone from the 8th grade. Or the fact that my ENTIRE life people have been telling me I’m a strong/talented/good writer. Or that my husband tells me all the time that I’ll always have a husband who loves me.
Oh my fucking god, like WHAT IS THIS WEEK? Do you realize how normal and happy and excited I felt last Thursday compared to today?
You know what I found TRULY unfair? How misery doesn’t burn calories. I mean, it should, right? You can say the whole lost-my-appetite-due-to-sadness and yes that does happen to me all the time but I’m still an alcoholic who truly prefers beer. Jesus I haven’t worked out in like a week. But it’s cool because I haven’t been able to afford pole classes in a month. It’s $75 for 4, and it’s $ I just haven’t had. Which is so fucking embarrassing and pathetic. I’m thirty, I’ve been working since I was 16, I worked full time through a bachelors and a masters….and I’ve been living paycheck to paycheck the entire time. My husband is a barista. Yeah. I work REALLY hard at not comparing myself to others…which is good….because I really often think about how no one else I know rents anymore or drives the car they had when they were 19. But whatever. I’d trade actual, genuine friendships/FWB over that other shit. But spoiler I don’t get that either. I see my best friend roughly three times a year, on a good year.
Why doesn’t crying burn calories? It goddamn should. All it does is make my under-eye area super puffy, then the next day it’s a little more wrinkled than it was. How DEEPLY unfair is it that crying causes eye wrinkles???? Like…clearly I already HAVE problems please no more.
Speaking of, I read something that said donating blood burns a shit ton of calories and prevents cancer.
Do you think that last one is true, or is it like Red Cross propaganda? The calories makes sense because like…they steal a pint of your blood and all.
The game plan.
I am on my first tall can.
I have one more.
Before he goes to spar, I’m going to ask my husband to get my the shit for my favorite mixed drink. Prepare yourselves, because I’m about to reveal how trash I really am. It’s rum (a cheap one, because we’re broke AF like always on Thursdays, so probably Castillo…yeah….Castillo.) and wild cherry pepsi on ice. Don’t tell me that isn’t perfect and amazing. But it’s probably just as calorie-laden as beer.
BUT the drunk from booze is different than beer drunk. Personally, I HATE wine drunk. I know, revoke my vagina right now. Like most people I don’t like who I become on tequila, I don’t like any of the “brown” liquors (despite LOVING the phrase “stuff it down with brown,” I just pretend it pertains to beer…although I only like light beers like pilsners or heffeweizens or kolsch. OMFG I love Kolsch beer. Okay I sound like one of the pretension douches. Get this straight, 90% of the time I drink Coors Light from the can. I don’t even pour it in a glass because then I have to wash that glass.
So I’m going to get very, very drunk tonight. I work at 6am tomorrow, and it’s going to be a day spent ENTIRELY thinking about how my boss is making me drive to work an EIGHTH time this week to give me my review when no one else is around. There’s literally no chance it’s for a GOOD reason. W used to do this to me. He’d have to break away from a lecture/screaming session because the POS needs to chill out all the time (by “chill out” I mean sit and watch TV and drink coffee and chew tobacco and get high on pain meds/booze) THEN when he’s done chilling out…if he doesn’t feel the need to nap (thank god W never had a job to get in the way of his lifestyle) it was right back to it. I’d be in my room, or watching TV in a room separate from the room HE watched TV in…and there he’d come, charging in, all angry (even moreso this time because you know, heightened level of fucked up-ed-ness) just to bring it up all over again, and just keep saying the same shit over and over. That’s part of his I’m-going-to-wear-you-down-mentally play. W never stopped being a shitbag cop. No one knows this more than his family. With my mom, he’d come charging into the room where she was attempting to dissociate and say, “AND ANOTHER THING,” that’s how he always started it. Like…keep that fight going…don’t let bad feelings die…bring up mistakes someone made 5 years ago when you’re mad at them for something completely unrelated….just you know, the mean (WOW that was a mistype but a spooky one…) the MANY things he did on a constant basis that I grew up thinking were normal. I was the only one smart enough to get away out of the four of us. I guess W’s way out is a little dark, but you know what the fucker chose his lot in life when he ruined my childhood and my brother’s sanity.
This is why, more than ANYTHING else, I’ve so far controlled my urges to contact N again. Because I’m seriously obsessed by the idea.
Not over sex.
Do I LOOK desperate? Look at my ass in this dress. You could crack walnuts with that thing.
BUT, like….I fucking NEED beta readers. And who else do I know who’s smart besides my very busy best friend? My husband is already my very first reader.
Is this me lying to myself?
IDK. I don’t think so?
I don’t mean to be mean but like….it’s not like the guy is SO good-looking I can’t be around him without it getting weird for my hypersexual self. Like the MEGA fine director who sits by me who says good morning to me on certain mornings. I literally cannot look at him and talk to him at the same time without turning SO red. We had a guy in sales, one who I had to work with because I remove sold units when the buyers come get them, and EVERY time he came over and talked to me, I could feel my face turning red as the conversation went on. Omg he was so cute. I added him on Linked In and he never accepted. He left the company kind of bitterly, but he bothered to come over and say good-bye to me when he said he was probably going to be leaving because he asked for more money and if he didn’t get it he was leaving. SO tragic the day Donnie left. I said his name. It’s common enough I guess. So, I don’t have all that going on with N. Plus I’m great at looking terrible when I want to. It’s a skill if you’re trying not to get creeped on. Not saying N was creepy with me…in fact the opposite…if taunting someone with sex (twice!) is the opposite of being a creeper.
So. I could potentially see asking him to read CF (nickname clusterfuck).
But then part of my brain is like What are you doing? Do you WANT to have to kick yourself later? Why do you love that SO Cassie, mmm? Do you know? Why are you intent on pursuing the men who behave as if you couldn’t possibly matter that much to them?
I always know.
I’d say that’s the deepest loss in all of this.
God I CANNOT stop obsessing over this.
It’s just like when I was like….8-12 years younger than I am now.
Well that’s probably not the best sign.
Well, I think I’m going to finish this night out by writing maybe another page – because side note I want to try and write every day in November – then I’m going to drink heavily and play Friday the 13th online, which is a dope game, if you’re so inclined to gaming.
I’m lucky in so many odd ways. I have a great waistline and breast size, and nice lip/nipple color, and I’ve always had a magnanimous benefactress in my life (first my Grandma, then/now my mother in law), and I’ve been given two cars and three computers (1 desktop, 2 laptops, if you’re wondering) in my life. “Looks are an accident, Dr. Lecter.” “If comeliness were earned, you would still be beautiful.” My god I love Thomas Harris. He’s like my living Puzo. At least I think he’s alive.
I’m waiting for dinner. I’m done with CF for the day. My brain literally hurts right now, I can’t create any more eloquent word thoughts. I can’t. Seasonal allergy related sinus headaches can fuck right off.
How’s my life, in a few words?
I haven’t seen my pointless father or brother in four years. I haven’t seen my mom in the past year, but she and I email each other every day. I’m always torn between still loving my mom, and then being very much like “Lie in the bed you made, bitch.” towards her. She should’ve left my dad when the Bad Shit happened when I was 5. Like, it was the 90s, not the 30s, she could have fucking divorced him. So, no matter how sad hearing about her pathetic life makes me, I kind of don’t let it totally get to me, you know?
Coworker I wanted to fuck, back in the day, is leaving my department, at long last. He kind of offended me about two months ago (whenever Kamikaze came out, it was that very day) and I never got over it, I wrote a freaking huge blog about it and all….BUT, his super hot even younger brother now works in my department. It feels like a fucking porno. Like his little brother is so hot, it’s hard for me to look right at him when I’m talking to him. And before I sound like a disturbed pervert, his little brother is 23. So young but like…definitely legal. MMMMhmm. Anyway. Then of course there’s the other two guys at my work who I would fuck like yesterday. I added the one on Linked In, because I heard people use Linked In to hook up, but as of yet, nothing. 10/10 disappointment.
Something interesting is happening elsewhere, but it feels wrong mentioning just now, on here.
I’m on page 214 in CF. I have about 50 pages left to transcribe, then that bitch is like an actual, complete thing. Working on assembling more intelligent people to read it over before I pay a professional editor. It’s hard because like…who’s smart and trustworthy? That’s a rare fuckin’ combo.
Anyway. Oh yeah, my 12 year old cat Felix is diabetic, he was diagnosed last weekend. I have to give him insulin every 12 hours. It’s kind of annoying because I’m like “Cool, going on vacation just became a million times more complicated for us” but then I’m also like “Self, when the fuck is the last time you went on “vacation”?” IF Shakespeare Behind Bars counts, then that when we went last May, but still. Plus we get nervous leaving the plants for that long, to be honest.
Dinner is ready. Hope all is well. Keep strong and keep on, writing community. Write it first and do it for yourselves.
I have a title for it, now. AND I named both the countries. Both of those items have been on the To Do list for so long, I’m almost shocked I’m at this point. Now all that’s left is having the draw the maps, then color them. Then once I’m certain I’ve gotten the exact placements I need, I’m going to paint them. I was actually very into painting (mostly acrylic and watercolor) as a hobby for a few years, pretty much when I was finishing undergrad and for the first year I was out of college before I was like eh this is stupid lets move downstate and I’ll go to grad school. I still have all the supplies, I could get back into it in a minute. Plus I’ve always wanted detailed maps for my own reference, so I don’t factually contradict myself. These are things to be considered. But anyway.
They say the two things that make people most unhappy are living in the past, and comparing yourself to others. I don’t disagree. But, at the same time, isn’t it kind of hard to deal with something that still upsets you, say 14 years after it happened? Also, I’ve always wanted to be able to give two concise stories that sum up the general tone/atmosphere/feeling of my entire life, from like 6th-12th grade. Right when high school ended, well, you all know what I did. But here I’d like to offer two examples, picked at random from my numerous memories of life be truly horrible and shitty to me during that time in my life. Being myself got me punished, big time, on all fronts, so I learned to hide then I never came back out, again on all fronts. It’s fine, because if you’re smart enough you can use that to your incredible advantage. My whole life people have been telling me they can’t tell how I really feel about something, that I seem like I kind of just go along with whatever and am chill about it. Yeah, well good, I guess, but that is NOT AT ALL what’s happening in my mind. But like, my exterior is a good calm over the storm, or something, I guess? Anyway, here’s two examples of how shitty everyone was to me, unprovoked for the most part, when I was a teenager.
First example – how I was treated at school. I’m going to use real names here because, even all these years later, I really don’t care if I offend them. Two friends (who shall remain nameless because I actually still like these two, and they didn’t hear what was said to me, for some reason) were in first hour chemistry, I was not, but they would convene in the chem lab before school started in the morning along with another friend of theirs who was a MEAN fucking controlling mega-cunt named Alaine who I’D known since the 1st grade, and my friends’ boy interests – Ben who was in our grade from a different city and Josh, who a senior but someone I had also known for most of my life because he went to my grade school and church.
Well, teenage Cassie made the horrible mistake of starting to join this merry band — I didn’t care for either guy, they were both usually pretty rude/mean to me — or Alaine, but I liked the two other people so I went in to hang out with them and not to stand about the lockers by myself, or go sit alone in my first hour classroom with the teacher. Well, I guess Josh and Ben didn’t like that I started doing that, because the three of them never wanted anyone in their group other than the select 5 — Josh, Alaine, Ben and the other two, who were really, overly, weirdly complacent when they were younger. I know why, now. So, one morning, shortly I developed this habit of conversing with that group in the chem lab before school started, I walk in about two seconds into my morning, Ben says, “Cassie, you’re loud and obnoxious and no one likes you.” Josh immediately adds, “I second that.” I looked over to Alaine, who was sitting very nearby, she makes a BARELY audible, “Aw,” noise, like in some TINY part she felt a little bit bad that that had happened, but she wasn’t about to REFUTE that statement in any way. My other two friends, like I said, didn’t seem to notice or hear.
I don’t think they were expecting me to walk out of the classroom without saying anything else, and then remain completely mute during lunch. Because, you guessed it, they were there then too. Josh actually repeatedly said things about how he couldn’t stand how loud my friend Beth and I were at lunch, but luckily he didn’t have the pull to make my friend (his girlfriend, this is actually my Best Friend, this is what I went through in order to have anything to do with her in high school. She was literally surrounded by shitty people who wanted to control her, like her mother and Alaine and Josh. I don’t mean to sound pompously fucking full of myself but I was the actual true, real friendship out of all of that. Maybe they others could sense that, because they did what they could to keep me away.
I remember so well, the night after Ben/Josh said that to me, I was on AIM like always, and Josh IMs me out of the blue and says something like “I see you were quite stung by something I said today.” Like, I think that is it, verbatim. He literally instant messaged me to rub salt in the wound. I did what I did best and completely deflected him. I was deeply obsessed with this guy named Mike who was my brother’s age, and he came into the high school after class had let out (his dad was a teacher there) and I got to see him. So I told Josh that it didn’t matter anymore because I got to see Mike. I was REALLY open about being into him. But in keeping with the overall shitty quality of my life, he talked to me and hung out with me just enough to lead me on. But, I’ve already told you about him, though I doubt I used him real name. Anyway.
I KNOW this isn’t SO cruel or traumatizing, but I don’t know man, I’m 30 and that shit still bothers me. I know it shouldn’t. But it does. So, what do I do with that? Because any idiot knows pretending that something doesn’t bother you, when it does, it probably what gives you cancer. Or at least a lot of problems stemming from your repressed shit. I mean, I guess it’s why I’m so creative and industrious. If you’re both of those things, once you get firing on all cylinders you’re remarkably capable. There’s drawbacks, of course. I mean my biggest issue is all my “substance abuse” if you will. And then the emotional problems, but I mean…tomato/tomato am I right?
So yeah, that’s about how I got treated by everyone for most of high school. And, I fucking promise, I was NOT mean enough or a big enough of a bitch EVER to deserve the way I was treated.
That’s what it was. What condemned me and saved me, and it’s still doing both to this day. is my constant internal notion that I deserved better than what I had in life, in all regards. My brother has it too. The difference between us is that I am most willing to work very hard to get what I deserve, therefore making it something I earned on my fucking own just like I always had to do everything anyway.
So, now, the second story, of the general tone and feeling one had being a member of my family.
Second Example: This was my junior year in high school. I have a job at the same pet store company I would work for until I was 24, I was on my way to a closing 4-9:30 shift after having gone to school all day. We had 4 cars in a single lane driveway at the time, and it was winter. My dad needed to move my car in a hurry, and for some reason I couldn’t do it. He refused to scrape the ice from car windows, instead he would use a Double Gulp cup to dump hot water from the kitchen sink onto the windshield until it was acceptable. He does exactly that, to my car, to move it. He throws the empty (he thinks) Double Gulp cup onto my passenger seat. On that seat is a paper I need to turn in the next day. I unwisely did not save it. I forget why. I was a child. Forgive me. I somehow see the state my paper is in (illegible) and realize that after I get home from work at 9:50 I have to rewrite this whole thing from memory, because I can’t turn it in as is, and a LOT of it is really blurry.
HERE is where I make a fatal error. Well, not literally fatal, but bear with me. I show that I am upset over something my dad did. You CANNOT understand, this was not done. 1) I was to always be the perfect golden angel child. When I was really young, my dad would ask me if I still loved him and try to hug me in front of my mom when they were fighting. She would get SO angry. I still haven’t figured that one out. But I mean asking her would only upset her, and her life is still so shitty, guys, and he would just say, “That never happened” because that’s literally what he says about everything. But I also will never speak to him for so long as he’s alive, so, you know. Guess I’ll have to leave that alone until I can afford intensive therapy. Maybe one day. Back to this shitty winter day that just got way worse because of my father’s laziness.
Well, he sees that I’m upset, and I tell you it’s like a mother fucking light switch, he instantly gets REALLY angry with ME for being angry. That’s not allowed. I CANNOT show negative emotions. Like, you don’t understand how true this is. I’m to be out of the way and not taking up any time/money/attention, but if I’m around I better be fucking perfect AND capable to absorbing whatever level of toxic shit any of THEM felt like spewing at me, and believe me with those three it was a lot of the time.
So now I’m getting more and more upset, because now he’s screaming at me, telling me it wasn’t him because the cup was EMPTY when he threw it on the seat. But if you know DG cups, they had an inside ridge, or at least they did back then, and water collects on it, when you first dumps it out, and doesn’t make it out on the first empty, I’m telling you it was a thing, also, what else could’ve spilled 1/2 cup of water all over my paper? But he refused to believe it, because NOTHING can be his fault, ever (more on that in a moment).
Then, he tells me I better “smarten up about my mood” (I was angry and crying and telling him I had to go to work) or else “we can have this conversation at your work.”
When I was a teenager, on my way to work after going to school all day, my dad got SO pissed at me for getting upset with him for making a mistake, he started threatening to show up at my work to scream at me to embarrass me in front of my boss/coworkers/customers. Because that was VERY much what his threat insinuated. He had a way of doing that.
And, I mention this story, because it’s a time when my brother was actually the cool one. He took the water damaged paper and managed to retype the whole thing for me, so I didn’t have to do it when I got home. So it was over after that, but I remember crying so hard the whole way to work, which wasn’t a long enough drive just then.
Yes, those two stories capture it all right. I guess all fine things go through a refining process, don’t they? I guess that’s what my deal is. Like I’m strangely arrogant about certain things, I do get that, but you don’t understand what I’ve done to even get to where I’m at. Most bitches with highly abusive fathers end up marrying their father (so to speak) and that’s like the opposite of what I did.
But, I have a small snippet of an email to show you, so you can see firsthand how little my mother’s suffering because of him is over. And, I mean, I don’t have people in my life who are shitty to me, friend or surrogate friend, because I have like no one in my life. My best friend is distant in every possible way, which is just her way so it’s fine, but you know, I have no regular companions, besides my husband. If I had to choose between him and friends, I would choose him, but thing is I don’t have to. He isn’t at all the reason I have no one in my life. He’s actually always encouraging me to make friends, but that’s kind of hard because I pretty go to 1) work, 2) grocery store 3) pole dancing gym. I thought maybe I’d meet someone there, but alas, that doesn’t seem meant to be.
I mean, I’m writing a book in additional to a regular working adult life, who kind of lives paycheck to paycheck. I mean, I get the bills paid, but aside from my 10% unmatched 401K I have no savings. Hopefully this book thing turns out, right? Even though, I mean, the only real reason I want to write it is a selfish one. Like, it’s all for me. All the writing, this, the books I’ll produce as the years go on. It’s all for me. I need it, and I like doing it, and I’m good at it. It’s a sword that can be ever-sharpened, writing is. I mean, duh. Look at what I do for funsies on my Saturdays. I get REALLY stoned and watch some Orange is the New Black then get guilty about not editing, then four pages in of editing CF (my book, I’ll tell you what they stand for one day) I realize I haven’t blogged in a minute. So, here I am, a million words in, like always.
So yeah, things that happened to me a long time ago still upset me to this day. I’m not perfect.
ALSO – Josh and Ben and Alaine all grew up to be a special sort of loser, especially the guys. And Josh, who was always SO arrogant about how skinny he was, always saying shit like “Oh, I just don’t like feeling full, so I don’t eat much.” when really he had a typical teenager diet more or less he just had a fast metabolism like so many teenagers do, Josh is fat now. And he still lives in our hometown, unmarried, hosting Magic the Gathering tournaments at the same greasy comic book store I went to a few times with my brother. And he’s fat. Ben, I don’t know much about him beyond the random interactions I had with him in college. He went to my undergrad school for a few semesters the same time I did. I had a sociology class in the mornings twice a week, and I would walk past him on my way out as he waited to be let into a classroom. He messaged me a few times on facebook, because I’m sure when he was fucked up he went through his friends list to see who might be willing to date him. Ben was not at all attractive to me, BUT he’d landed my best friend’s twin as a girlfriend two different times in high school, so I can see why he thought he had a shot. He didn’t.
That’s another thing, I never understood why so few guys were into my in high school. I was attractive, especially junior and senior year. I never understood it. I guess it was a REALLY small sampling of human beings (76 in my graduating class). My husband doesn’t understand it either. To hear him tell it, and I am sure he’s being honest by the way he still acts, 9 years later, that he was attracted to me, a lot, from the first moment he saw me. The same thing happened with Drew (that’s Doug’s real name, for those keeping up), because that was really shortly before I met my husband. My husband never understood why Doug wasn’t into me/wanted to date me. I was like ha me neither. But it all worked out anyway.
So as you can see, no matter what happens now, things are so much better than when I was younger. So there’s that. All right it’s getting kind of late, and Sundays are kind of weird. I only get 3 hours after I get home from pole class before it’s just another work night.
Well, hope you’re all doing well. Love you.
Wow. That was on instinct, but I’m going to keep it.
Not complaining, just kind of annoyed with how my mind works. I was all pissy last weekend because the holiday ruined my ability to get any writing done OR go to pole class, so that was a bummer. (Speaking of pole – I now have one installed in my living room! I am SURE I will post pictures later, but this is going to be a more depressing blog, because, IDK it’s been awhile, I’m not just sex stories and weird shit and selfies and pot and pole dancing and writing a weird sex novel. I mean in large part that is a bunch of my personality, but that is definitely not all. I’m also severely addicted to caffeine, but that, to me, is almost like a wholesome addiction, given what I’ve done in the past) But now instead of using my entirely free Saturday to input on-paper edits (the ones I do in my car, that I KNOW you remember from my other post WordPress is clearly for selfies)
But, instead I got like a little too high, now I’m like lost in thought and it’s hard to read TINY print. Why did I use 12 size font. I mean I know why, it’s so I can be arrogant about it. But I’m still annoyed.
Okay I thought of what my worst trait is. It’s actually not the many, sundry emotional problems, it’s my inability to manage fucking money. Like. I’m very confused as to what I’ve been doing wrong, but I clearly an see that it’s something. It’s kind of my special brand of pathetic, but sometimes I mentally console myself with the idea that it’s probably for the best I’m not pregnant yet, because we really don’t have the money. But, on the other hand, I really don’t think I should let the fear of debt stop me. I didn’t with school, and now look where I am. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I am so significantly happier now than I’ve ever been in my life. To be honest, things weren’t really all that good with my husband until we both stopped drinking…and that was only like two years ago, and we’ve been together for 9 (in July).
I just feel like if I could somehow not be in debt and actually like have my shit together enough to own a house and a car that isn’t ten years old. But whatever, my car from 2008 still runs fine, and it was a gift from my Grandma, she just paid outright for it, with a check. And, if I did get pregnant, my mother in law already offered to pay for our day care, because she didn’t want fear of not having money to stop us from having kids, because we’d be great parents.
So that’s what I actually wanted to write about. Did you catch that I just described too monumentally generous older women in my life? Like. I mean. Sometimes you have to see God where you can, right? And I’ve had two great trading-outs in my life. One was when my best friend moved from our hometown to a city about two hours away to attend state school. I knew she was leaving, and about two months before she left I met my future husband, indirectly through my best friend. Then, pretty shortly after we met, we were dating, and I met my future mother in law. My Grandma died when I was 23, I think. Right after her 93rd birthday. I’ll be honest, at this point in my life I was just finished with undergrad and had a really severe drinking and adderoll and cigarette issue. I was so damn skinny. God I miss that. But not the other parts. And, the day she died, I was really strung out and fucked up, and when my mom called to tell me what happened (we’d all been expecting it….in fact, the reason I didn’t go see my Grandma right before she died is because I didn’t believe my POS dad when he told me she was dying because he’d literally said that about 40 times before in the past three years. My mom was always so disgusted with him during any of those given times, as my Grandma’s health got worse and she went from in-home care to a nursing home to a memory care nursing home, because he would seem downright excited) she didn’t ask me to come over. And I was glad, because my car had a flat tire and my then boyfriend and I were too drunk to deal with it.
Well, as you can tell, all of those were wrong moves. i see that, but you’ve got to understand a few things, this is MY family. not a stable, normal, functional family. And, I don’t know, I can’t remember exactly, but this was either right before or right after the FIRST time I tried not speaking to my dad. I know it was during the three year stretch we lived at this white trash apartment complex behind the mall in my husband’s hometown. I am currently in the midst of my second and actual attempt at cutting all ties with him.
So I do find it interesting when my best friend and my husband like traded out, like almost in a comically obvious fashion. Then, my whole childhood, the only reason I ever had anything extra (so, things beyond the minimal amount of clothing necessary to live and a place to live and food to eat and being sent to school) had to come from my Grandma. She paid for all for my homecoming and prom dresses. She bought me a computer when I was in high school…you know…the one my dad threatened to destroy with a hatchet, mostly out of infantile jealousy?
Then, when my Grandma was in a very expensive nursing home and all of her money was gone and she had to move to a few different shitty ones at the end of her life, I met my husband’s mom. Because he lived at home when we met, I actually met his parents like the second time I ever hung out with him. I remember quite distinctly that his dad was delighted with the idea that I’d gone to a Lutheran high school. I was like…well…guess I get some benefit out of that awful experience.
And my mother in law has been my sole source of clothing and shoes, for the most part, since I’ve met her. She routinely takes my husband and I on a big shopping trip, usually about twice a year. Last time, there were 6 new pairs of shoes. Other times, it’s a new batch of work clothing. She’s unbelievably generous. I was raised way too white trash to be that kind of generous, with people I know, myself. I have a few charities in mind for if I ever make real money as a writer. I mean it’s possible. There’s a vacuum I can fill, I just know it. But anyway.
I’m not trying to brag, obviously. That is literally never my goal. I mean when I try and talk about things i like about myself or my life, it’s really me doing everything I can to not be negative or depressive or complain or whine. Because I seriously fucking hate it when other people do those things.
Which brings me to my favorite charities, as of right now – There’s Free the Girls. They enable women in developing nations (like I know Guatemala was one of them…then I think definitely also some in Africa? I don’t feel like fact-checking) who have been rescued from sex trafficking to run their own business. Women in this country donate bras, and the other women sell them. I cannot explain to you why, but there’s this one like info-mercial about FTG and it ALWAYS makes me cry. A lot. Thinking about it makes me cry. I literally do not understand this trigger, but I really am aware of it.
And the other is called Shakespeare Behind Bars. I get annoyed when I tell people about it, because the name makes most idiots laugh. But it’s a program that has inmates in male prisons put on productions of Shakespeare once a year. It’s open to the public, in the sense that you can apply for a ticket and undergo a background check and attend if there’s enough space. My husband and I are going this year. I got the email that enrollment was open, and they’re doing A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream this year, and I was like meeehhhhh I really want to go, to my husband, and he was like…well we can probably make it happen…. So fuck it why not.
Which I guess that ties in with my first stated issue of knowing my worst flaw is how bad I am with money. Because if I have one element to my personality, it’s a total “fuck it” vibe towards spending money. I mean that’s why we’re trying to have a kid, despite our sort-of financial dependence on his parents. Which feels insane that that even has to happen, because we make a collective $40,000 ish last year. Does that NOT sound like enough for two people to live on? But no, seriously, it’s not somehow. IDK. I’m aware you can pay for advice on this sort of thing. We have Quicken once, I did not like using it. All it did was point out where we spent all of our money. Like I know, I just feel like I can’t control it from happening.
But, anyway. We’re growing our own green now. I’d post pictures, but I don’t want to make anyone jealous. It’s a very small grow, obviously, because our rented house is tiny. Renting a 3 bedroom where we live is $910 a month. Do you realize what kind of mortgage payment that would be? BUT, what are we supposed to do, pull a down payment out of nowhere? We can’t ask his parents for THAT kind of $$, we already ask for enough, on top of the things they give us on their own, which is a lot. It’s ALWAYS been a make enough to just get by situation. And now, it’s been years since we stopped wasting a ton on beer, and booze, and cigarettes, and I constantly drank soda, like I would stop at a convenience store a few times a day for one. So disgusting. Now I’m all about black coffee and La Croix, because I’m old and need to watch calories. But anyway. AND we’ve gotten WAY better at not eating out, or getting fast food. We almost always eat dinner at home, with things purchased from a grocery store. I’m gotten VERY good at feeding us cheaply, but still pretty healthily. Speaking of health, I’ve FINALLY started losing weight. I’m sure I’ve mentioned a few dozen times how my old drinking habits did not mix well when I finally got a desk job. I gained at least 30 pounds that first year. It was terrible. Again, I’m lucky my mother in law buys me clothing, because I went through a huge fluctuation from my earlier years of shopping with her. But, I am finally starting to lose that weight.
TO that end, like i said at the beginning, yes, we have a stripper pole now, okay, I cannot resist a pic, especially since the living room gets good morning light.
Yeah, we had to put it in our living room because that’s the only spot with the most space.
And guess what. My husband was INSTANTLY really good at pole. He can climb, already. He could do every spin I could remember how to show him. It’s because he’s so obsessed with pull ups, and doing shit like climbing trees or brick walls for fun. Pole is pretty much a rope to climb, but you can have a lot more fun with it. He can’t Iron-X off the bat but he’ll get there, I’m sure. I’m so jealous. Like if he went to class, he would show me up so hard on his first day. He really likes it, which I find funny.
So, IDK, maybe we’ll move back up north and open a pole studio. He DID take eight years of dance class. If I was working full time at a regular job and insuring us, I think we could handle running the studio. If it was profitable enough, we could both work there full time. I just know this whole situation we’ve got going on right now is kind of lame. Plus my husband has always struggled so much with finding a well-paying job that he doesn’t detest.
So maybe I’ll be writing a novel and dedicating a lot of time to pole fitness. There’s enough tutorials online, and now I have a pole at home, and a really in shape spotter.
That’s one thing…his job right now is really grueling, and it involves 4 months of being laid off in the winter, but he is SO cut from it. Like it’s weird being like…wow, that’s my husband’s body. He’s getting like PERFECT ab definition. It’s not fucking shock he’s so good at pole, right away, like first time he tried. And I mean, he was just rail-skinny when we met, then he got REALLY overweight for awhile there. He trimmed down for the wedding but I remember the picture of him from the night he proposed his face looked faaaaaat. I’m not being mean, I would totally say that to him and he wouldn’t be offended. He knew how big he’d gotten. And I mean, the way he is now is obviously nicer. What can I say. But now I’m like….thank God I’m so facially attractive, or people might wonder why he and I are together when we’re out in public.
But anyway, I’ve wasted quite enough time on this.