Saturday, September 24, 2016

Space Truckin' and Time Traveling

Quick Side Note: I sort of wanted to title this one Prude Gone Wild.... HA damn. 

So here's the thing, having a husband with a very serious immune-compromised condition that entails some rather serious treatment (sometimes over a month living in the hospital), a lot of life gets put on hold.  There are a lot of things such as trips, concerts, being out and about, etc. that becomes a lot more difficult when you can't be more than a half hour away from your hospital, can't go in crowds, and don't have the energy anyway.  So with that said, there had been things (couple of concerts) we'd planned to go to but Tom had insisted I hold off on buying the tickets (yah)... so when it came around I decided "fuck it, I'm gonna go and I'm gonna have a fucking great time for Tom."  Begin, "SLO Story."

So, it was October or November (who fucking cares) and Judas Priest would be playing in Paso Robles and the brother in law lives in San Luis Obispo (the mentioned SLO).  There was a group of us, one of Tom's closest friends, his girlfriend (who I'll boastfully put the plug out there that I set them up), and the roomie.   We road trip the five hours down there and see an EPIC show by Judas Priest and then we decided to hit the town.  Well, worth mentioning that the brother-in-law works at one of the pubs downtown and lets just say that even though up until this point I would have been described as someone who never drinks, I was determined to keep up with the crew.   I should also mention that all I'd had was one bean burrito from taco bell and some celery all day.  It was on this occasion where I learned the important lesson of having food in the stomach when drinking.  There was a lot of tequila, a lot of other mixed shots, a lot of alcohol.  Point being, I kept up alright... and then it all hit me so quickly as we waited for our uber.  I tried to utilize a non-stabilized newspaper holder for a means of support-- I ended up finding myself glued to the outside wall while watching some crazy girl shout at our group and her male friend also shouting ... so much shouting (who fucking knows why). I interjected as the peace keeper and said, "hey-hey, it's all good" and the male friend whipped around and told me, "Don't you tell me I'm all good- oh I'm good."  Not sure, whether that meant he was agreeing... but I just stood there and wondered whether anyone else was able to make a plan to get us back to the hotel because I was not capable of doing so.

We get back to the hotel, where it might be fair to say that not a single one of us was anywhere near "clear mind."  I lay on the floor between the two beds because I'm convinced I'll end up there unplanned otherwise.... as I look up, standing above me is the lovely girlfriend (wearing shorts), and I get a straight up view which for whatever reason made me laugh so incredibly hard for feeling like a creeper.  I laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and it was about 2am so the hotel keep called the room and informed the lovely girlfriend that they needed to shut me up. Just to point out, I was then up at a spritely 7am down getting coffee and shitty Svenhard's pastries for the group to wake up and be ready for brunch.  #nohangovershere #winning  So annoyingly kind of me, I know.

----------------------------------------- Fast Forward (Time Machine)----------------------------------------

So life continued, I took advantage of seeing shows I knew Tom and i would have had a blast at, each time sharing it with different awesome company.  It was pretty cool.  The doing fun shit and hosting events was pretty fun.  So I decided to host a party just because... so I did.  It was time people got together, chilled out, had some laughs.. you know... not adult for a moment.  Well, Laura invited folks from various life periods: friends, coworkers, etc. and we had a super fantastic time.  Here's the thing (I say that a lot), I really find that I do well with tequila.  I can drink a decent amount of it and the worst that happens is I end up on the floor laughing hysterically.  I like those results.

Well, Tom also had some "special" brownies that he used for anxiety and sleep, and to just feel better about his day and watch Ace Ventura with extra laughter.  I may have thought it would be a good idea to see what that was all about.  Remember, I also really like tequila.   There I am, on the patio surrounded by some super awesome people, enjoying the moment... and all of a sudden I get this shit eating grin on my face and I realize womp womp, shit's about to be different.  Well it was all fine and dandy for awhile as I just found everyone super hilarious and all I could think of was that I felt like I was "Space Truckin" (yes the fucking Deep Purple song from before I was ever born).  I just felt like I was time traveling.

The evening went on, the giggles worsened, folks left.... eventually I did find myself on my living room floor laughing so hard (now this is a typical tequila situation), that I just remember my head hitting the floor and me dyyyyyying laughing at a friend's impression.  I collected myself and I tried to make a PB&J sandwich to join the couple of folks who remained on the couch.  Oh Jesus... was that ever a trip or what?!  I took the butter knife and scooped the peanut butter out of the jar and as I tried to spread it onto the bread, I just couldn't quite coordinate that.  I thought to myself "clearly the world of snapchat needs this" and I snapchatted myself trying to spread peanut butter with myself saying, "I don't know where it begins and where it ends... but it's just peanut butter--you know?"  Laura, what in the fuck does that mean?!  I head over to the couch to sit down and watch this comedian a friend has put on the television and suddenly I'm hearing everything like ten times and it feels like the world's worst case of dejàvú ... I have to get out of here-- RIGHT. NOW.

I bid the two people adieu and say I'm headed to bed... which meant I walked about ten feet and sat down.  One person decides to see if I need assistance, to which I respond by laying on the floor and describing that I'm in the movie Inception.  He laughed as I tried to explain that I was currently "falling through dimensions but in a circle repeatedly."  It's fair to say this was an incredibly uncomfortable feeling.  I insisted I needed no help to get to my bed which felt an ocean away (ha that will soon be relevant). I tried to stand up and sat back down.  I laid down again on the floor and with my face on the wood floor, cheek skewed as I pushed my body down the hall with my feet, I insisted to my concerned friend, "Nah, nah... I've got this... I'm gonna swim to my bed."
I get to my bed... who the fuck knows how long it took... and as I make my way up to my pillows with probably some really horribly uncoordinated log roll style... I then began to tell my friend how I was convinced I was going to die.  As he laughed and reassured me I'd be okay, I explained that I knew it might be anxiety and that Tom once went to the hospital for being too high and thinking he was having a heart attack, but I was freaking out and weirdly trying to be cognitive about calming down... It was around 4am (provided I remember correctly) when I finally decided to close my eyes and try to sleep this off.

I had a full mimosa brunch planned the next morning for the guests that would stay over; However, I did not wake up at a spritely 7am this time around ... I woke up at 1:30pm to a house of no guests.   My guests so politely let themselves out and didn't disturb me.  Which is good because I described the following day as a day where everything was moving in slow motion.

Worst. Idea. Ever.  That's my encounter of edibles and tequila.  One and Done.  Laura doesn't need a two for woo.  But hey- I was 27 and there's a whole "club" of people who made far worse decisions at that age (terrible 27-Club joke).  Twenty-seven was a very interesting year of finding myself... I'm not sure that I've really managed it, but it was quite the year.  Mother had serious concerns I was "getting too crazy" as she put it.  Each time I responded to her, "It's hardly like I'm out doing fucking meth, calm down."

There's something interesting about having your entire life-plan be so incredibly derailed and something to be said about growing up through adulthood with another person and now suddenly needing to learn what life on your own is like. Life on my own is an incredibly new chapter... I was sharing my lovely home with a young lady who moved in immediately when Tom passed, which eased the fear of sitting in an empty house, but now I sit in this space and I'm learning what being an independent woman looks like.  Once taking the plunge to just trust in yourself, it's almost empowering to realize that you're good enough as just you and that you can choose to spend time and share space with others, but that you don't need it. That's the life lesson I've been working on... making my space and my self just present and mine, not stuck in what was or what was hoped to be. No pressure and no expectations, what a concept for this virgo-eldest child.

Here's to 28 and more life adventures that make my mother shake her head and wonder when I'll just "get it together" and start producing grandchildren, baking pies, and living back in the good ole hometown.  Here's to more morning thoughts of "well that was crazy!" And here's to the existential scavenger hunt of finding yourself in your late twenties when you thought you'd had it all fucking figured out.  Fuck you Universe... I've got this.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Lois Holds Hope...

In August of 2015 I was widowed at the age of 26 (don't worry this isn't going to get super depressing).  Needless to say it's been just over a year and it has been quite the journey.  Amongst the changing of jobs, finishing grad school, navigating life for the first time as an adult without my significant other (we met when I was 18)... the discussion and act of dating has also occurred.

The thing is, as I've just mentioned, I was very young when I met the man who would become my husband (Tom) ... and so I hadn't done a whole lot of dating back then and here I am now, having just turned 28 and trying to navigate not only dating in general, but what dating in 2016 looks like. Both the age and the current year have made quite the difference to how I last left the dating world.

For starters... Dating in 2016 involves apps, fucking APPS! What the fuck is that about?! And there isn 't just one, there are loads! And depending on the one you're on it states more about your intentions, but do not be fooled-- they all have nasty folks who just want to send you photos you never in your life thought you'd receive.  APPS! I just can't quite get my mind over this rat race of a world that we've come down to apps, but I will admit they can be useful in stream lining and filtering through the bullshit that can be dating which brings me to the next item... dating in your late twenties.

Dating at the age of 28 means it's amongst people who've been dating this entire time and are either very jaded by the shit they've come across or they're simply the trash left at the dump that everyone else has recycled through and found unsalvageable.
Here I am having just lost the love of my life who I've essentially grown up with as an adult and seen through some rather large trials and tribulations and felt the real meaning of a partnership and unconditional love... I had envisioned a whole life with this person and he the same with me and it just didn't play along the way we'd hoped (don't worry I meant it when I said this wouldn't be depressing).  The point is, I was fortunate enough to see all the wonderful sides of a great relationship and I miss the absolute fuck out of that and look forward to hopefully sharing that with someone again.
The problem is, those who are out there fall into the following categories:

1. The Narcissist Asshole (10%).  
They're just assholes and there's a reason they're single.  They might be attractive, successful, smart, or funny, but with a side of thinking that they're clear gifts to women (she says heavily sarcastically)... or they might not be attractive, successful, smart, or funny at all, but for some reason they're just incredibly large assholes.

2. The Peter Pan Dude (60%)
This guy literally has not done any emotional or intellectual maturing since the age of 14.  These are your "dudes" (we cannot call them "men") who have zero life ambition to not necessarily consider university and careers, but even consider something significant and full time.  These guys "just want to have fun" which means they just wanna drink, get high, and fuck bitches.  You will never "change" one of these guys and they might be funny, but they're fucking emotionally inept and aren't ever going to wake up magically as a man wanting commitment.  These are the dudes who still hang out with those same middle-school friends and is totally okay living in Grandma or Mom's basement and they skateboard down to their job at Taco Bell and then skate to their buddy's to smoke weed and play Call of Duty all night while drinking 40s of Mickeys... which is totally cool, I'm not hating... but it's not the "man" I'm looking to re-settle down with.

3. The Vintage Piece Just Needing Buffering (20%)
This is sort of what you kind of have to cross your fingers and toes for.  This is the divorced guy or the guy who's been in a long-term relationship or two.  Obviously this guy has some good shit going for him.  This guy was good enough that they were in a serious relationship of some sort, they know what it means to share space, they know what it means to share dreams and push one another (you hope), and something just went south.  So this is where you have to filter....
     Filter with:
                            A. Was it infidelity and on who's part?
                            B. Who left who and how long ago? How mutual was it?
                            C. Perhaps they just grew apart or weren't getting what they needed...

The problem here is also, how many times has this happened... there are some broken people out there and for someone such as myself, we must proceed with caution because B. is a danger zone (Archer reference) and you don't want to just be a part of rebounding and you don't want to get caught up in a lot of negative feelings... ain't nobody got time for that shit.  But the plus side is... again, this person has shown some serious potential and clearly wants all that good stuff that a functional and loving relationship offers.... (unless they're in the A filter as the one who just couldn't keep it in the pants).

The other interesting point in this category is that they tend to be "figuring out life" and you know what, I dig that.  Because I'm fucking figuring out my life right now too so it's kind of a good low-pressure situation; so long as both parties have some kind of goal and are ambitious and hungry for their bettering.  You don't meet a guy in category three who just has it all fucking figured out and Susie and him just weren't clicking anymore... usually Johnny's world is a little shaken as he's getting it back together to re-enter the market. Also, I've found the jaded cynics to also be incredibly witty and sarcastic. Category three fella knows what it can be like when it's "right" and he will be appreciative when that occurs. This category is really the category you want most...

4. The Forged Da Vinci Masterpiece (9%)
The guy who has it together but just has never found "the one".... here's the thing.  This guy may be a unicorn... or may be some fucking sociopathic danger.  This is the guy who is not only eye-appealing but has the house, the degree, the career, good with money, likes to travel, has no kids, hasn't had any serious relationships... but why?  He's gonna tell you he's just been "career focused" or "hasn't found the one" and call me a cynic, but girls are very attracted to a driven and attractive man so it begs the question "what the fuck is wrong with him?"
        This guy is going to:
                        A. Be terrible at texting or calling back
                             The problem here is that A. makes you feel like you're only worth his time when                                  convenient and he's never going to listen to a single story you tell and he's
                             probably not very funny and possibly not even very intelligent.
                        B. Be a desperate texter or caller and smother the fuck out of you which also means
                             he is that straight away PDA, constantly-fucking-touching you guy like the fly that
                             just won't fucking die and buzzes around everyone's food at the family gathering.
                             4B's are just disgusting because they will exhaust the hell out of you with their                                      need of attention. This is the man with mommy issues and so then you have to                                      factor that there will be crazy family attached as well. Just really a no-go zone.

**The 1% remaining is the guy who perhaps genuinely was just university and career focused, perhaps moved a lot, or just had some serious life things going on and is really kind of cool.... it's more or less just a margin of error because I just don't think this can be**

So that is your full evaluation of what dating at 28 and in 2016 looks like.  It's a fucking hell hole of disappointment.  The option is to just sit and hope and pray that you can find a #3 that isn't so broken that they might actually be willing to give you a chance and you might have some good times together.  But as you can see, this can be fucking dismal as hell when you're just missing what you had and you're hoping for a glimmer of that to happen again. The percents represent the general guesstimate of each of these categories in making up of the current late 20's-mid 30's dating pool.

Now, with all of that in mind... it's very hard for me to explain this to my Grandma Lois who (bless her heart) wants nothing more than for me to feel as loved and giving of love as I was fortunate enough to have experienced.  Every time I speak to this woman she asks if there's a fella on the horizon and then reassures me that I'll find one.  Every time I also remind her that I'm an independent woman and I don't need a man and that there really isn't very many good options out there. That said, it was very recently my birthday and I received the following in a letter from my grandmother:

Hi Laura,
Hope this card isn't late (it was, ha)
I heard you have a boyfriend.  We are so happy for you.
You are still so young don't live your life alone. Just hope he's good to you that's all we want.  

It's important to note that there certainly was no boyfriend.  In fact, I'd actually gone on a really horrible date of a category 4B.... a FOUR B!!!! It was horrendous!  But apparently through a game of literal telephone, my grandmother was under the impression that I'd found a man who was going to now take care of me.  When we spoke on the phone and she so excitedly said "I hear you have a boyfriend" and I said "Who in the hell is spreading these rumors?!" She tells me it was my dad and then sounded so disappointed, saying "well we were just so happy for you to hear you had someone...." (she then caught herself and quickly said) "but of course you don't need anyone."  "That's right Grandma, I don't. I'm a strong independent woman."  "You'll find someone," she says. 

No pressure.  Thanks Lois.  Thanks for holding hope for me as I'm researching convents and wondering just how much manual labor would be involved and whether celibacy and not swearing would be things I could realistically handle. 

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Because Mom Said I Couldn't

First order of business-- Why

It has come to my uninterested attention that my cynical views of the world and the stories yielded by my daily encounters tend to amuse folks from time to time.  Therefore, as I now will be finished with school (as soon as I write the paper I'm currently procrastinating the fuck out of)... I need a hobby.

Oh yah, I swear a lot.  Hope you didn't have some form of Siri reading this shit aloud during your morning commute which entails dropping little Timmy off at his crunchy preschool that you should really be biking to... but if you had been doing so, oh well.

But I would sincerely like to say, I'm sorry Grandma... I blame my mom for my potty mouth.

Second order of business-- The Name

When I informed my mother that I would finally be doing what she's tried prodding me to do since I vacated the womb with the resting bitch face I still wear-- I told her I would entitle my writings simply, What the Fuck.
Mumsy then informed me that I could not do that because, "They would never sell such a thing." I said, "Who gives a shit, of course they'll fucking sell it... maybe not on a shelf, but that's what the internet is for--duh."  Clearly the mother and I speak so respectfully to one another.  In her supportive manner she suggested that perhaps I add fancy symbols and shit so that it would look "censored".  We went round and round; She more or less convinced me that "WTF" was probably the better option... Jury is still out.

Why What the Fuck in the first place?  I feel the title is necessary because I not only think it, but I mutter or even just openly say this phrase beyond counting each day. I also probably ensure that I will forever be single because Mother also says "no one will want to kiss a mouth like that."  She's also informed me that no convent will take a mouth like this either. Basically, she's informed me that I'm sort of shit out of life options on my current trajectory.

If there's one thing we can say about Laura's family of origin, it's that the genuine non-filter honesty is always with some mild form of back-handed caring intent.  I can't give you any planned purpose to the ramblings that will take place here, but I can absolutely promise that after my stupid amount of schooling and needing to worry about punctuation, citation, yada-yada... you have my guarantee that I no longer give a shit about that either.  That's to say, don't come here looking for your next literary work of wonder.

So without further adieu, the ramblings of life in general shall commence.