mawwwwwwage

Recently I went to a friend’s wedding.  During the ceremony, and the reception there after, you could literally see the happiness shooting off this fella and his bride. If I had that hippy-dippy ability to read people’s aura’s, theirs would be a blazing hot pink surrounded by rainbows. It was great to see, and it made me reflect on the past few weddings I’d been to.

 

But the Background should be pink

But the Background should be pink

 

A friend of mine got married a little over a year ago.  And we had been friends for a really long time.  I’m talking, upwards of a decade.  In that situation, you really want nothing more than to be thrilled and excited your friend was getting married.  He found the person he wanted to share the rest of his life with, hooray!

(This sort of ties into my previous post, about my inability to sugarcoat things, and if I should even say anything…the quandry…blah blah blah )

A while before my friend walked down the aisle, I met his then-girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancee.  I didn’t know her very well, but she seemed very sweet…funny, entertaining, in love – and she seemed to take good care of my friend – which is awesome.  We hung out a few times after that, and I truly enjoyed her company.

I clearly remember where everything changed.

::cue ominous music::

One evening, we gathered as a group to one of my favorite local restaurants that was doing this great event called a “Beer and Bourbon” night, where they close down the restaurant, create a special 5 course meal paired with craft beers and Bourbons.  Its so awesome.  So, SO awesome.  We were all having fun, hanging out, and my friend’s girlfriend peers over her beer and goes “JoJo.  I broke him”.  Confused, and assuming there’s a joke somewhere, I got “Well how come?  I didn’t know he was broken!”

“he’s going to marry me!”

::confusion is starting to settle in::

“…okay…that’s great!”

My friend now interjects, and tells me this little story about how his girlfriend updated her Facebook status to “engaged”, spinning a little web of deceit.  He only found out after some of his friends started to text and congratulate him, looking to portray this is a funny joke.  A gag.  Now, I am not the girl who thinks its cool to drag your man down the aisle.  It is not a good look.  Not for me, not for you – not for anyone (and I can pull off orange taffeta).  I truly believe if you are going to marry someone, they have to want to marry you.  Enough to ask.  Of their own volition.  And if they don’t, or you have to trick them into it…you’re simply setting yourself up for failure.

As the evening goes on, she continues to tell me how there is a time frame in when they will be engaged, and then married, and then have children.  If the time frame gets delayed, she has a plan to move it along…by “forgetting” to take her birth control pills.

Hard Stop Number Two.

Yeah, that’s me.  Speechless.

At the end of the day, the only thing you can do is tell your friend the truth.  Which I did.  Afterwards, I continued to hear some horrible things she was doing, and saying about people I care a lot about – people I had been friends with for a very, very long time.  I could clearly see the kind of person she was underneath the exterior she was using to blind my friend.  He couldn’t – and it put a strain on our friendship.  It got to a point where he said to me (after one particularly ridiculous incident at their wedding – mind you, I’m trying to keep this story as vague as possible.  My friends know who I’m talking about, and so will he, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings with all the repulsive details about this woman) that he didn’t think I treated his wife with the respect she deserved.

I disagree, I think I treated her with more respect than she deserved.  If it were my choice, I would never have associated with her again, after I read a text she sent to a mutual friend saying she wanted to punch my friend out – for reasons that are so insignificant and immature – or told me she wanted to trap my friend into marriage by getting knocked up.  And we haven’t spoken, really, since his wedding – which makes me a little sad.

And this, friends, is one of the casualties of not being able to censor what you think of people.

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My SUPER Super.

Let me start out by saying that my Super is genuinely a nice person. And I feel a little bit guilty about the post I’m about to write, and then I think back to how annoying he is, and I’m over it.

So I’m a pretty private person, in a lot of different aspects.  I mean, I REALLY value my privacy.  And there are a lot of things that I really don’t like – for example, I don’t like that I have to make small talk with the same person every single day even though we have absolutely nothing in common and nothing to talk about.  Literally, nothing at all to talk about.  I don’t like repeating myself over and over – if I tell you you’re allowed to use my BBQ – I mean it.  I don’t need you to ask me every single day if its okay, just fire that bad boy up and make yourself a hot dog.  If I am carrying a basket with 15 pounds of laundry in it, I don’t want to discuss the weather, I want to get inside and fold my clothes.

My super, like I said, is very nice – almost, overly nice.  He does things for me that I haven’t asked him to do, and while I appreciate it, I almost feel like I have to be nice to him because he’s constantly cleaning my grill and my windows.  And table.  And putting potted plants in front of my apartment.

My God I’m a jerk.  All those things sound great, right?  Well how about 5 o’clock this morning and I have to roll out of bed and walk my dog.  Guess what?  I don’t want to chit-chat, I want to walk my dog and go back to bed.  Or over the weekend, my friends came by and we had a BBQ – I’m not a TOTAL jerk, I invited him to come by if he wanted to join us, I had plenty of food and beer and everything…it just spiraled into a barrage of texts offering to go to the store and buy beer and food and all sorts of stuff for us.

No, Super, I simply want to give you a burger, have a few beers with you, and enjoy my friends.  I don’t want 85 different texts asking me nonsensical questions.  And, how are you getting to the store?  Not in my car, that’s for sure.

What Fresh Hell is This?

Oh. Thanksgiving Week.

First of all, let me just start off by saying that I don’t need a holiday to remind me how lucky I am.  Good family, good job, my sheer brilliance and extraordinary good looks, my humility, great tolerance for the ole sauce, ya know (blah blah blah). 

I DO, however, need a federal holiday to get the day off, so I’ll take it.

As usual, though, the week before Thanksgiving, the shakes start to set in. 

Not the “yay-I-can’t-wait-to-see-my-family-eat-a-lot-of-turkey-and-have-a-great-time” shakes or the “man-i-was-out-late-last-night-and-need-a-bloody-mary” shakes, but the “Jesus-H-Christ-Thanksgiving-is-already-here-I-haven’t-had-a-chance-to-get-a-therapist-up-to-date-of-the-bag-of-crazy-my-family-is” shakes.

Aside from the Gates of Hell opening and Lucifer‘s dog snapping at my heels, another tell tale sign the holidays are approaching is the litttttttle extra touch of neurosis in the conversations I have with my dear Mother, and the littttttttttttle extra grin on my friends face’s when they ask me what I’m doing for the holiday.

Please, don’t get me wrong – I love my family.  And I love spending time with them, but there’s a limit.  There’s only so long I can smile at my extended family before it starts to crack.  In the recent years, there has been some tension between a few family members.  You’d almost think my family was Protestant the way they avoid conflict, so its simply been festering.

This year, is different though.  I’m mandated to go to Second Thanksgiving (yes, I’m being forced, against my will, to eat a second meal, and nope, we’re not Greek, just annoying), but I got the green light from Poppa Bear to behave as I see fit.  I quote:

As far as expressing ourselves and saying what we feel, I see no reason not to espouse your feelings when given the opportunity.

and

So if you feel the need to tell them, please do, whether you filter it or not is up to you.  I personally believe it would not be a bad thing to do, especially  if you feel it would “clear some things up”

And if I don’t follow this advice, he told me to:

lighten up a little – Or Not, Soak a Tampon in Vodka, Insert and Enjoy

(honest to God, this is an excerpt from an actual email my pops sent me this morning. including that last bit)

The way I’m interpreting that is “say whatever you want, you’ll put on a show for us”

Let the games begin!  Perhaps this holiday season will be fun after all.  I mean, I wasn’t planning on boozing this week, but I kind of feel like it is in order.  If anyone would like to volunteer to DD for me, so I can REALLY put it out there, HMU.

By the way, this was my response to my dad:

If the opportunity arises, you can rest assure I’ll be able to convey my feelings towards them and the situation they’ve created as coherently and intelligently as possible, and I’ll try not to use the 25 cent words so they can all follow along as best they can.

Told you I was brilliant.

Things That Piss Me Off

  1. People that talk on their cell phones on the train.  Know what?  I don’t care your sister-mother is having your brother-uncle’s love child in a doublewide, save it for the house line.
  2. People that are looking at you, walking directly in your line of travel, and keep their course even though they’re on the wrong side of the sidewalk.  Get. Out. Of. My. Way.
  3. People that walk three across on the sidewalk, slowly.  If I’m walking faster than you are – holy God kick it up a notch, I am ssllllooowwwww
  4. People that don’t say “God Bless You” when you sneeze.  Watch what happens when you sneeze and lose part of your soul.  I’m not helping you get it back, sucka.
  5. People that don’t hold the door open. 
  6. People that don’t move so you can get off the elevator.  You’re catching an elbow, and if I have coffee, I’m going to spill some on you.  You brought it on yourself.
  7. People that run to catch the elevator, open the door with their hand, and then hold the door open for their slow as sh!t friend half a block away.  Really?  This is an elevator bank.  Another one will be here in 30 seconds. 
  8. People that don’t say “thank you”
  9. Hippies.  I don’t need to elaborate.  Take a shower.
  10. Anyone in my way.  That includes you.
  11. People that don’t get back to me
  12. People that ask me the same thing over and over again. Write it the f*ck down.
  13. People that ignore me when I ask them to do something, complete the initial task a month later, then ask me for something and think I’m going to do it right away.  You know who you are.
  14. People that peel oranges around me.
  15. The smell of freshly peeled oranges. 
  16. People that think because I hate the smell of freshly peeled oranges, I hate oranges.  Not true, they’re a delicious fruit.
  17. People that order a new beer when they still have one – and instead of finishing their beer, leave the old beer on the counter, unfinished.  Finish your beer jerk!
  18. Married men that hit on me.  Do you THINK I’m blind, you’re wearing a wedding band and “WIFE” keeps calling your cell phone.
  19. Those suit shirts that are striped with a white collar.
  20. The a$$holes that wear suit shirts that are striped, with white collars
  21. Girls that scream when they see other girls.  Stop that.

The Moving Chronicles: Part One

Boxes Packed: 10
Boxes Moved: 8
Recovered Items: 4.5
Beverages: 3 beers, 1 martini
Broken Items (as of 10:30 PM): ZERO

Today was a wild success, especially considering the first time I moved I was doing 85 down the Cross Island Parkway with a mattress sticking out the back window of my ex boyfriend’s barely-street-legal Durango (I’m pretty sure I took it without him knowing), hung over, and the last time I moved I spent the 4 days up to it watching tv and drinking beeeeeeeehas, smashing (at least) 11 pint glasses.

I had boxes this time. Boxes! And tape. AND a marker.

Granted, it took me 3 hours to even get started – 2 hours to find a home depot and 1 hour to remind myself if I was tipsy by the time Mom swung by to help me out, she’d kick my butt.

I didn’t kill my landlord, not even when she disturbed my packing groove to show the apartment to an unsuspecting woman (who she’s planning on over-charging), or asked me to stay another year.

I found 3 remote controls, 5 nail clippers, a broken digital camera (that’s the half), and 5 rolls of Christmas wrapping paper. I made friends with my new Super, and the lady a few apartments down invited me over for wine when I move in.

I don’t know if it was one of those “I’m just being polite and don’t really mean it” invites, but I don’t care. I’m going anyway.

moving moving moving

Some people HATE moving.  Me, I kinda like it.  Its almost like a fresh start – and each time I move I say to myself, “Self, you are going to pack your stuff up nicely this time, you’re going to label it, and you’re not going to leave it in boxes for 6 months after you move in”. 

Of course, that hasn’t happened – last time I moved I took two days off work to “pack” and I essentially sat on the couch, watching television and drinking beer.  When my mom and sister showed up to help, I had moved all of my belongings into the middle of the living room next to a stack of bags.  The U-Haul was a friggin disaster, when we opened it in front of my new place, bags came careening out of the back, smashing some of my beloved pint glasses.

In any event, THIS time will be different.  I’m even getting boxes – real boxes – from the store.  And I have a marker, and tape, and I’m going to start this ish tonight. 

Why tonight? Because the new land lord has a creepy crush on me and is letting me move in early (apparently I “brighten his day” over the phone.  And he texts me.  Texts me!  WTH).  I’m going to start boxing things up and sneaking them into my car tonight, tomorrow night, etc. in the hopes that I won’t have to spend too much time talking to my current-soon-to-be-ex-a$$hole-landlord.

She’s literally insane, and I might kill her.  I told her I was moving to a completely different boro, not across town, so if I ever run into her, I’m just going to pretend I’m my twin, Regina.  I don’t have a twin, but maybe she won’t know that.

This weekend will be…interesting.  At the very least, I might have some stories to share when it’s all done.

I Can Never Take a Compliment

 

So I dated this guy YEARS ago, and when we broke up…well, let’s just say that it was “messy”.

In any event, I’ve gotten past it, and I’m pretty sure he has too, so I would like to think that we’ve become friends.  He was in Gotham yesterday, getting fitted for whatever he’s wearing as an extra in a movie he’s in, so I agreed to meet him for a few beers.

After the initial nonsense, he says “well, you look really good. Thin, you look nice”

My response? You’d think it was “thanks!”  Nope.  “Um, what, was I fat and ugly before?”

Broads are crazy.