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

I should be editing, but here I am on effing WordPress

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. IMG_9251

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.

Hope all of you are doing well.

 

~Cassie

It’s always been the same

So I was working out and watching Six Feet Under and the cliche troubled baby of the family was getting an even more cliche talk from a high school guidance counselor (did anyone else get totally mislead by media and think they would actually be sitting down and having heart to hearts with a guidance counselor in high school? Literally never did that once, never once did I discuss my plans for the future with anyone. I had to figure it all out on my own. I did pretty good though) and while said cliche baby of the family was saying she didn’t want to go to college to get a good job to work until she dropped dead of exhaustion (I was like..yep…yep, sounds accurate) the counselor asked what she wanted to do instead.

Whenever someone is a television show is having an angsty existential crisis about the meaning and purpose of life, or they’re just feeling familial and societal pressure to pick a career path for the rest of your life when your brain isn’t even fully developed yet, I always have the same answer for the trite questions they get asked. Like, if you didn’t have to worry about money, what would you do? If it was solely about doing something constructive that you loved the most, what would that constructive thing be? You can’t say marijuana strain tester or your personal equivalent of that, either.

So, what’s my answer? I would write. Like no matter what the status of my life. That’s always been the case. And I’ll admit, there’s been some LONG lulls. I started writing I’d say roughly a year or two after I learned to read. I remember doing it by hand then on an electric typewriter. We didn’t own a computer until I was in the second or third grade. But then of course, having an in-home, then later on in-room computer was very conducive to writing being a major pastime of my childhood. I remember quite distinctly, many pleasant Saturday evenings spent by myself in my room, writing on my computer. Honestly, I had next to nothing of a social life in high school, but I don’t think I bothered to make much time for it. My plan was to keep the files I had managed to start and use them to write during (ha) college.  Of course that didn’t go incredibly well because timewise one doesn’t have a lot to go around for personal writing between working and college and needing to sleep. And at one point I even thought I would take a career path that led me far away from writing or anything to do with it, I was an accounting major for awhile…blegh. That’s like…the tiny part of me that wanted to act basic to fit in…that’s what that was. I remember receiving encouragement from an academic adviser at my undergraduate school and being like…well that’s at least one person to not shit on the concept. And it was like finally hearing what I wanted to hear made me realize that I already KNEW what I wanted to hear. Like they say when you need to make a decision you should flip a coin, because you’ll realize while the coin is turning mid-air that you already know which side you hope to see.

So, like the beginning of Goodfellas, a movie I watched again and again as a teen, you know this whole, I always wanted to be a writer kind of thing.

So I guess I should be spending my evenings writing then, huh? I should. But instead I’m on WordPress, taking 600 words to get to that run-on sentence in the paragraph before this one.
I am the master of run-ons. If you think two degrees in English changed that, I don’t feel like you know me well enough yet. Which I mean, most people don’t so you can feel good about being part of the majority on that one.

This week was a personal best. I budgeted us down to $0.06. That’s how much we have left until my husband gets paid on Friday. I do too but his money will be there first because I work for a company that thinks people won’t show up to work on Friday if they direct deposit our paychecks. True story.

Have I mentioned how incredibly sick I am of being poor? Of being fucking broke, rather? Like I feel like I exist like a bum on certain levels, but like…I don’t know I know I’m smart, but I also feel fucking TRAPPED in a poor person’s shit cycle.
How did it start? Well, I CERTAINLY grew up in a home that was not financially solvent. It’s SO awkward when people ask about vacations you took as a child and you’re like…uhhh….what?  Everyone was too busy being dysfunctional and taking out their negative emotions on one another and being hyper critical of one another, plus we were POOR. My Grandma would buy us school clothes and give my mom money to make ends meet, but she certainly wasn’t going to pay for us to take vacations. She was NOT a frivolous person. Remember, she grew up the only child of an alcoholic shell shock probably gay WW1 veteran farmer, and her parents got married after she’d been conceived…so….yeah, she thought people who had big houses and more than one car per adult and who went on frequent vacations were ungodly, and I mean that in the most serious terms. I’m not at all talking shit about her but the woman certainly had a narrow view of the word. I mean…she was from an all white town (that’s a generous word for it) in Wisconsin, she was born in 1918…she never went to college. She was very well read though, and volunteered as a teacher’s aide for most of her adult life. She was also very into donating blood, for some reason. I do that too, when I can. I have the most common blood type so it’s important.
SO, anyway, growing up poor kind of influences you into being used to always just scraping by, nothing more, of using credit cards to pay for things you couldn’t otherwise afford. AND, of course, there was nothing saved up for my college. My dad implied I should’ve just gotten a full ride scholarship. That’s the thing, no matter how much he praised me, he also had this way of undermining everything everyone else did or liked. That wears on a person, after awhile. And I got some scholarships, but certainly not a free ride. I went to the cheapest state school in my state though…so that helped I guess. So I started accumulating debt right at 18. What else was I supposed to do, not go to college? The only cheaper option that would have worked would have been the community college in my town….but why would I do that when I didn’t have to? I’m fucking above community college caliber, even if I am poor white trash when you look at my credit score. Which I need to start doing soon.
Then, the debt just kept snowballing from there. I took out a lot of credit cards. I remember taking out one and maxing it out immediately to pay my rent. What else was I supposed to do? Then, as the years passed and I was still totally supporting myself and living by myself I took out a few personal student loans as well, in addition to the money from the federal government. A lot more credit cards were gotten. At one point, I had to use one of those credit card debt repayment help services. They turn off all of your credit cards, but collections processes stop, they stop calling you, and you start paying them off at a reduced rate. It really did help. But there were a few I didn’t enroll in that service, and then I just started accumulating more and more as the years passed. The Mattress World one when we bought our bed together a week before we got engaged. The Menards one when we desperately needed window air conditioners for our rental house and we had no other means to purchase them. The Target one the night I bought my 2DS with R (blegh again). The JC Penney one when I realized the same card could be used for Sephora make up and work clothes. Then Care credit we’ve used to get our cats to the vet for years now. Then the three regular credit cards that are pretty much always maxed out. Then I obviously have student loan payments. THEN all the money it takes to just exist.
Ugh, just writing that makes me realize how impossible it all is. We’re making more now that we ever have, but maybe it hasn’t happened long enough for me to notice. It’s like we can’t figure it out. We’re broke AF all the time but literally the only extraneous thing we spend money on is weed. And we used to both smoke cigarettes and drink every single day in addition to always smoking weed, so I’m quite uncertain how there’s less now. And that’s with my in laws still paying for both of our cell phones and my husband’s car insurance. We only so recently started paying our rent ourselves. What, like you’re too good to take free rent money when it’s offered? Please. When people get weird when I tell them that, they’re just jealous. I’d be jealous and hateful too, so I deem it fine.
But, I mean, I feel kind of trapped when it comes to money. Maybe that’s my problem. I always manage to get us just through the week, and that’s all I’m able to do it would seem.
BUT, the huge bright side to my financial complaints is that it doesn’t cost anything to be a writer. I mean sure it takes my time, but what other potentially profitable thing could I really be fitting into post working out after work and making dinner? That’s a whopping 1-3 hour window, also of course it’s my only me time.

Wow, it’s really late, and this has gotten really long. I am beginning to strongly doubt that I’ll bother making dinner tonight.

But like I said, always wanted to be a writer, despite my MANY, MANY other horrid life choices and preferences and decisions, I will always stay true to this one pursuit and it seems so natural and right I can’t explain it to anyone.

See, I can be succinct when I want, but where’s the real craftsmanship in that?

~Cassie