Category Archives: life

I’m a loner, Dottie.

For years, I have had an inkling, in the back of my mind, that I might be a loner.

When I truly, TRULY think back, I’ve displayed “party of one” tendencies for most of my life.  In Kindergarten, my teacher remarked to my mother that I often sat on the carpet* alone, playing happily by myself.  Not to say I didn’t have friends, but I also didn’t wail and moan if I wasn’t constantly surrounded by them.

Then, second grade and the bullies hit. One, in particular, was named Ashley Butler. Ohhhhhhhh how I loathe that name, even all these years later. Actually, Miss BUTTler was the only real bully, but she made it feel like the world was against me.

I started to realize that people can and will hurt you, whether you’ve done anything to them or not.

For the next ten years of my life, I had a fairly typical childhood that one has when occasionally being harassed by bullies, but not being the class reject, either.  Having friends, but not  being voted class president (though I was almost always elected representative.)

In high school, I never could quite fit in with people. I had friends, sure, but I also had the Redneck Princesses of the school (rough redneck girls who didn’t realize they were rednecks, but who were also quite popular) who loathed the fact that i really didn’t care about them.   I didn’t think at night “I wonder what Brie or Amy will think of this outfit if I wear it tomorrow?”  I had a friend who wondered things like that, but I thought she was foolish.

My thoughts ran more to, “How can I avoid making eye contact with Angie if she passes me in the hallway?”

I began to develop strategies to cross over to the adjacent hallway if I were ever walking around between classes and encountered someone who made me uncomfortable.

I didn’t really care if I seemed like a standoffish bitch, I was just trying to survive high school.

In college, I thought the world would be different and I would make friends that would last a lifetime.

Wrong.

I joined a Christian group (maybe that word should be in quotations) and, my freshman year, I encountered a few people who were “like” me.  The punk listening, plaid pants wearing, funny and outrageous kids of the mid-nineties.

That year, I also encountered horrible acne and a prescription for large doses of Accutane.

Anyone in the know will tell you that using Accutane will quite possibly fuck up your emotions and your life.

These “Christian” friends I’d made, the ones who were more “normal” than I, were some of the meanest people I’ve ever met. Mostly the girls.  They would pick on me behind my back for having a crush on handsome boy in our group, then claim to be my best friends.

They would practically yell at me about piddly things and one in particular (who honest-to-God had hair on her chest) told me to “stop being so emotional” when the medication got the better of me and I ended up in tears.

These were people who were clearly not following the “love one another” rule.

The “friends” in my dorm were just as bad.  None of them realized I was saddled with crippling depression, made that much worse by my medication (I was naive to the side effects before being prescribed this horrid drug, because I blindly believed my dermatologist knew best. FALSE.)

My sophomore year of college, I lived with a true-to-life cokehead, whom I had actually met through the “Christian” group.  She decided that wasn’t the life for her, and I wasn’t about to judge her for it. I did, however, move out after she kept losing job after job, dropped out of school, and invited all her cokehead friends to dirty up our apartment.

During this time, my affinity for solo activities deepened.  Jaunts to go running on campus, for walks around town, etc became more common place. I sort of wished I had someone to share them with, but I was okay.

Then, I actually had a best friend after a while. We had a solid five year rollercoaster of a friendship that abruptly ended on my 25th birthday.  She’d begun dating a boy who was a previous patient in the rehab facility where she worked (recipe for disaster) and basically ditched me for this lowlife (who screamed at her, left bruises on her, etc).

I think it was at this point that I realized I didn’t need to devote that much of my life to any one person, because it ended up biting me in the ass.  This girl was quite unbalanced, and I didn’t take note of it before, even though people told me things like. “She’s insane,” and “You really need to break up with your best friend.”

I have always been the one people go to when they need advice, or someone to be seen out at a restaurant with, or an ear that will endure hours of venting and a mouth that will offer empathy.

This is most often not reciprocated (earlier this year, someone whinily lamented to me, “Why does nothing ever go right?” about some minor issues she was having, but when I later expressed my frustration at something in my life, I was met with dead air), but I have learned to deal with it.

I am now at the point in my life where I can go for weeks without talking to certain people, because I know if I attempt to make plans and the plans aren’t exactly what they want to be doing right at that second, I will most likely be turned down.

Unless they need me.

So now, I wait for others to reach out to me.

Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don’t.

I have people who claim that I am their “favorite person” or “such a dear friend” that I haven’t heard from in over a month (unless, of course, they needed a piece of information that they knew I could obtain).

So what do I do with this?

I’ll tell you what I’m doing: I’m embracing my lone wolf status.  I am going where I want, when I want, and if where I want happens to be just sitting in my house, so be it.  If I want to take a drive out to the cemetery and walk around, even better.  Going to get tattooed? You’d better bet I’m not asking anyone to come with me.

Because now, these are my adventures, my experiences, and no one else’s.  No one will be there to slow me down, or make me hurry, or give their unwanted input.

I won’t have to listen to someone drone on about their work day, assuming I want to hear it, assuming I have nothing to say because I enjoy my job.  I won’t have to listen to someone talk harshly about their friends, only to have them sing the praises of the same people a week later.

I have started taking time to do more things for myself.  Yesterday, a facial, next weekend, another facial treatment AND a massage.

I mean, I’ve been single for a long time and it’s going quite well.  REALLY well.  I think I might be the one.

*It seems all throughout grades K through 3, each room had a large carpet and we spent a large amount of time on it. In 4th grade, though, no carpet, just desks.  Then, a resurgence in carpet-bearing classrooms in high school as a part of “learning styles.”

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Oh my….

nothing like waiting all week to get some billable work, then finding out you won’t get it until Friday morning.

Then finding out it isn’t the draft you thought it was and it’s incomplete.

Then finding out the sponsor is being assy.

Then finding out the document is not the usual 60 – 150 pages you’re used to, but rather 281 pages of death.

Oy.

But, let’s look on the bright side: the writer is nice and very smart, my scheduling chick knows I’m working hard, and I STILL love my job.

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cocoNUTS

Still nursing an uncomfortable belly, but it’s WORTH IT:

My parents are in town and took me for a steak dinner.  They promised this plus a tank of gas because I helped my mom set up her new printer via phone.  We probably would’ve gotten steak anyway, but I digress.

Once we were finished eating, we stopped by Home Depot for odds and ends, then I remembered that we were very close to a local frozen yogurt joint. The kind with like twelve flavors and a bangin’ toppings bar.

I inquired, but no one wanted yogurt but me.

So I drove up and went in.

And, much to my utter delight, Cake Batter was on the menu.

I got a small bowl of it, then topped it with mounds of coconut and some sprinkles.

It was like a dang coconut birthday cake party in my mouth.

I look like I’m pregnant with Longhorn and Fuzzy Peach’s lovechild and I don’t even care.

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No no no nononononononono. no.

As I sit here with sore and swollen gums, I am pouting like Veruca Salt without the yelling. Although I feel like screaming.

I usually LOVE going to the dentist.

But not after today.

My usual hygienist, Melinda, was the most wonderful person on the planet.  Super nice, did her job well, and was always fun to talk to.

Today, I found out Melinda is gone from the practice.

And in her place they gave me the most bumbling, sloppy, verbose woman I have ever met.

She scraped me with the pick before she even got near my mouth. She couldn’t adjust her settings, light, chair, whatever else well enough so was shifting CONSTANTLY throughout my cleaning.

She jabbed my gums and muttered “plaque” repeatedly, while running her mouth, getting water all over me, almost in my eye, and constantly  having me shift my head and the degree to which my jaws were open.

Halfway through, I almost told her to GTFO of my mouth. Then, I thought “I’m totally going to tell her that I can’t schedule my next appointment today, then call and ask for Eryn instead.”

Eryn is another super pleasant hygienist who did my cleaning when Melinda was out on maternity leave.

By the end, the dentist (who I also love) informed me I have “a little infection” in my gums and I would need to come back in 4 months instead of the usual 6. NOTE: I have NEVER, EVER, EVER had anything like this happen. EVER. Good teeth, only the smallest cavities, and pretty nice gums.

So I made my appointment with new lady, trying to keep up my “give people the benefit of the doubt more often” thing, and taking into consideration that she’s only been with that office 3 days.

But, if next time is like this time, I am SO bluffing on the scheduling, then calling back and getting Eryn.

I have legit pouted since I left, and have been frantically searching the internet to see if I can find out where Melinda has gone.

She is honestly the very best of all health care providers I’ve ever had.

And now, I no longer delight in having my teeth cleaned.

BAH.

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BRB, Dying

After YEARS of wishing one of my favorite bands would reunite, they have begun posting teasers on facebook (yes, my deactivation lasted a few days short of one mere month). They posted this video from their final show, and I had never seen it before. SO. MANY. FEELS.

To this day, I listen to this band in the car, at home, at the gym, at work, etc etc etc.

They are one of the many reasons NC is awesome, and I discovered them at a time in my life when things were a’ changin’ and I was still in my mid-twenties.

Give ’em a listen.

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FREEEEEEEDOMMMM!

I realized today that, not only do I enjoy the actual work part of my job like a thousand times better than my previous job, the number of perks of being able to work from home when I want are quickly adding up.  Of note:

  • pants? COMPLETELY OPTIONAL
  • no bra? NO PROBLEM!
  • making up (and then loudly performing) funny songs and/or profanity-laden word salad at things I see? WHY THE HELL NOT?!
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yiiiiiiiiiikes

so, my good friend is getting married this evening. SO excited. yet the only wardrobe decision i have made is to wear my sparkly plugs instead of my tunnels. i THINK i have a good black dress to wear, but a cursory try-on is all i’ve done. methinks spanx may be in order.

why do i do this? hopefully i won’t show up in an ill-fitting dress and chucks!

The new haunt

So, you know about the house I grew up in and the haunted happenings there (we’ll call it “thirty-three twelve” for the sake of this entry).  My parents’ new house -well, the one they’ve lived in for the past 7 years, a place I’ve never lived- is NOT haunted.

The dorm I moved into after moving out of thirty-three twelve was not haunted, the old, smelly, no central A/C apartment I moved into my sophomore year of college, same thing.  The newly-built complex where I spent the latter part of my sophomore year through AFTER graduating college: no spooks.

My apartment now: loud and sometimes shitty neighbors, the occasional homeless guy in the woods, and, once, a young black man who needed a flashlight because he lost his bike in those woods (I have no idea), but nothing scary.

However, I am about to become a homeowner.  The house I’m buying is a legit old-school house at a mere 75 years old.

Something tells me I may encounter a spirit or two here:

 

Somebody’s watchin’ meeee! -or- Did I really just say that?

While I realize the internet is a public forum, it still skeeves me out a bit to know that someone in my town googled “the fresh cracker wordpress” and landed here.

I have to wonder: did someone from my office somehow find out the blog title and domain and come here to see if they could catch me saying anything bad about work? Too bad, I never mention the company or what we do. Or name names.  I’ve been spied on by coworkers before, had things I’ve said severely twisted to the point of them being given a whole new meaning. Suck it.

Could it be a friend of mine who just forgot to mention that they came here to get an eyeful of ridiculousness? Maybe.

I have one other suspect, but let’s not talk about that.

IN OTHER NEWS: today I was eating lunch with my friend Amanda and talking about baby names [our coworker’s wife is pregnant] and totally slipped and said, “I like the name Zelda for a girl….” Then proceeded to freak out because what I MEANT to say was “Stella”.

SHE IS STILL EVERYWHERE!!!!!

Have I ever told you…

that the house I grew up in was haunted? Now, you might be picturing a ramshackle, run down piece of crap house, but ours was nothing like that.  It was a cute brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood with a very above-average yard (my parents have the greenest thumbs of anyone on the planet).  We had hair touching, and phantom tv noises, and “who the hell was I playing with?” moments and parents falling out of the attic but feeling pushed moments.

My parents have since moved to a larger house in a town about 10 miles away, and every time I visit I go by our old house.  It is apparently empty now, and I desperately want to find the woman who bought it to ask her if anything ever touched her hair or otherwise scared the crap out of her.

that sometimes I do lots and lots of random shit at odd hours? For example, it is now 3:03 am, Eastern time, and I am blogging. Two hours ago I was taking a camera phone photo of myself and my room as proof of the aftermath of ebaying.  I tore shit apart in my entire apartment looking for one USB cord that is seriously about 10 years old, all so I could sell my old digital camera.  I did a total super-cussin’ victory dance that included thanking Jesus [for real], fist pumping, jumping around and doing some weird cheerleader-type stunt with the help of my bed.

One night about a year ago, I decided to move my entire living room around, also at about 3am.  After thirty minutes of sweating and cussing, I realized I hated it and went to bed very angry.  I moved it back about a week later, completely crestfallen.

Cleaning the bathroom and driving also make this list.  Maybe those don’t necessarily qualify as “random shit” but most people I know do not take a two to three hour nap just so they can drive at 4am and avoid traffic, or decide that their bathtub HAS to be sparkling after a night out til 2.

that almost nothing grosses me out? (This does NOT count worms on the sidewalk) If you look closely, you’ll see I have the categories “farts” and “snot and boogers” in this blog.  My family has no qualms about discussing bowel movements and nasal output.  I’m lucky that many of my friends feel this way as well.  It isn’t uncommon for my friend Katie and I to email or text each other:  “Dude, I just took the greatest shit of my life.  It filled the bowl,” or “My butt just exploded.”  The latter is often after we hit up our favorite sushi joint.  Go figure.

My brother-in-law and I discuss farts on a regular basis and I have often been the victim of his crop dusting skills. And he is an EXPERT.

that my ideal house is one that may resemble a castle, will probably creep people out a little when they come over, and will also probably be dust-filled? Ok, so we can probably attribute the dustiness to my hatred of dusting. Seriously. I have not dusted my apartment in YEARS, except for the last time this guy I’m kind of seeing came over.  And that was just a dusting of the bookshelves around my Mexican money and skeleton key collection.  However, dust does lend a certain creep factor to things and although I am by no means some goth girl, I LOVE creepy.

I think antiques and dark wallpaper and damask fabric are beautiful things and I am all over trying to have a house that features this.  Bonuses would include: gargoyle statues, an atrium with tinted windows so it always seems gloomy out, and a library with large windows flanked by heavy, heavy drapery.

Boo!