Cut me off a slice of that Hamm

So I've been watching this new show, Mad Men, and I am completely enamored with it. For one thing, it takes place in 1960 and I have always been fascinated by that era. But I am slowly falling in sick love with the show's protagonist, Don Draper (played by the awesome John Hamm). This is the scary thing: Don Draper is a chain-smoking, manipulative, arrogant, deceitful bastard who not only cheats on his wife but also his mistress. I like to tell myself that I like him despite his faults because he looks so smoking hot doing all these things. But the truth is I find this character so incredibly sexy partly because he does these things. Why? What is the twisted part about me that is turned on by such unapologetic and misguided machismo? It sure explains why I dated so many jerks in my day. So I have to say it's a good thing I met Todd when I did, because if I didn't end up marrying him I would have been in real danger of marrying an asshole.

Malapropism

Current mood:regretting making an ass of myself

Did you ever say something to someone in a conversation like weeks ago and you can't get it out of your head? Just thinking about the stupid thing you said sort of eats you alive? A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with my sister in law and I said, "I've been too sedimentary lately. I need to get active". And later on that night I did a replay of the conversation in my head and realized that, of course, I meant to say sedentary. I just keep thinking how stupid she must have thought I was. It haunts me. But what can I do? I can't really call her and be like, "remember when i said sedimentary and should have said sedentary?" I would just be reminding her and reliving the embarrassing event all over again. This is what I get for trying to say 4 syllable words. I should stick with the 4 letter ones. I never mess those up.

Lollipop, Lollipop, Oh Lolli, Lollipop

Sometimes I feel like I'm holding onto my sanity by a very thin thread. Its as if at any given moment it could be gone and there would be me: catatonic and numb. I don't know if that's giving up so much as just giving in. At some point I will just get to that place emotionally and say "all right, universe, you win." I try so hard to believe that there is something in me that's strong, something that will hold me upright through this tempest of horrible things. But let's face it...I can't even handle the normal, everyday stresses of life without turning to one self destructive behavior or another. What the hell am I doing here? What is the point of me at all? Part of me wants to live, but I don't want to do the work. I want to sink into the madness, let it envelop me like a really good dream. Because the alternative is to accept the nightmare, which is my life.

Skinner's Rat

I was thinking more about what I said earlier. Maybe I'm more like Skinner's rat. Life is my maze, getting out of bed is the lever and the coffee is my food pellet reward. Either way I'm acting like an animal. Damn scientists and their studies on behavior. Its got me all messed up and analytical. Anyhow, the whole point of the blog earlier was supposed to be something else entirely. But I get carried away sometimes and start talking about stuff I never intended to. Anyway, I went into Starcracks this morning (which is my new name for it) and I was just going to get a water and veggie and pesto dip snack. Todd had jogged to Dunkin Donuts (the other love of my life) this morning. (And YES Todd went for a jog, that wasn't a typo). So he had brought me home a coffee, bless his soul. Nothing better than having a cup of coffee on the bedside table when you wake up. So anyway, the point of all this rambling is this...I only wanted to grab a water and some vegetables. But I guess I go into the place so often, that the barista girl actually started making my mocha the second I walked in and I hadn't even ordered it yet. (Ding!) I smell the coffee (Ding!) and I got the stuff I wanted and she winks at me and says "the usual?" So, its official, Barista Girl is like a drug dealer. I think I'm out. I think I can withstand the peer pressure. But she just drags me back in...practically waving the whip cream can in my freaking face. Its a vicious cycle. I would have actually felt guilty if I didn't buy it after she started making it. How messed up is that? I spent $3.25 on something so that Barista girl wouldn't feel stupid. But you know I drank it. And it was totally YUM!
Have a great Friday!

Pavlov's Dog

I spend way too much money at Starbucks. I hate it, because I feel like I'm saying something so stereotypical. its like the same old recycled joke, haha, Starbucks is expensive. WE GET IT. But, honestly, every morning I drive by one on my way to work. Cafe Mochas are like a suburban housewife's crack cocaine. Of course just getting to work in the morning is pure torture. Having to get out of bed, having to get dressed and sort of do my hair. Brushing my teeth, waking Liv up early so she can scream like a banshee in my ear for a half an hour while I dress her. And of course sitting through Pinks. All of this god damn work, just to get to work. So its like I need a little incentive...I'm like Pavlov's dog and the sweet, sweet smell of caffeine is the freaking bell. Ding! My sister in law is an amazing person. She is also a runner. I said to her the other day, "I've done the running thing. I really did. And every run felt like torture, like a piece of my soul was being ripped out. How do you keep doing it, day after day?" I ran 4 times a week for a month. But I just couldn't do it anymore because it sucked. Or maybe because I suck, I don't know. Anyway, she said that she's addicted to it at this point. But here's the kicker, she said that when she gets up in the morning and goes for a run, that she looks forward to that morning cup of coffee and toast. That's her motivation. For running. And I think to myself, what kind of lazy ass am I that I need an incentive just to get out of bed in the morning? Lord Alive. And I'll tell you something, if I ran 5 miles every morning, there had better be some REAL crack cocaine waiting for me when I got home. And a Cinnabun with extra icing.

Insurance Fraud Dads Need Love, Too

So I saw this commercial a few days ago and it actually gave me heartburn; that's how disgusting it was. Basically, this guy is driving a car and looking miserable. That's Lou. Then you notice a teenage girl in the passenger seat looking miserable with a horrible braid hairdo. That's bitchface Jodi. The voice-over starts talking about how this guy committed insurance fraud and now all the people at school are talking smack about this girl because of her dad. The voice over guy keeps talking about how committing insurance fraud is so horrible and that he basically ruined his daughter's life or something. Then...THEN...the guy stops the car and they're in front of a school and he says something like "I'll see you after..." and Jodi gets out of the car without saying anything and SLAMS the car door. Like way to thank your Dad for giving you a ride, bitch.

I guess the point of the commercial is to make us feel sorry for Jodi because she is being made fun of at school because her dad committed a crime. But really it made me what to pound her face into a brick wall. I bet her dad committed insurance fraud in the first place because he couldn't afford to buy her all the Abercrombie and Fitch clothes and the IPod and the cell phone she wouldn't stop bugging him for. She probably kept bitching and bitching about not having enough cool stuff to impress her lame friends at school with. So he broke the law for HER and this is how she repays him? With a slammed car door in his face after he was nice enough to give her a ride to school? If my daughter's friends were making fun of her because I committed a crime, then I would tell her to get new friends. Or I'd give a swift kick to the jaw. But this girl is such a superficial bitch that she probably doesn't want nice friends, so who's fault is that when you pick shitty friends and then they turn on you? I have zero sympathy for this "insurance fraud dad" girl and if I went to school with her I'd make fun of her too. But not because of her dad. I'd taunt her because she is such an unforgiving, worthless, ungrateful, materialistic, whiny, little monster. And then I'd go buy a six pack of beer for her dad, because if he has to live with that banshee he's gonna need a few drinks.

Hungry, Hungry Hippo

I'm tired of hearing about how bad Britney Spears looked at the VMA's. You want to put down her performance? Go ahead. It sucked. You want to talk shit about her whorish antics? I'm all ears. But everyone needs to just zip it up about the condition of her body. She looks fine. Seriously. I mean if Britney is fat then I am officially a freaking hippopotamus. Is it any wonder that women (as a whole, maybe not individually) are so fucked up about food and eating it? Is it any wonder that I don't know a single woman who ever said "I love my body"? Jesus H Christ...I pick up In Touch magazine this week because yes I am a sheep and like to read the gossip rags and on the cover it says "Scary Skinny". But if any of those women on the cover gained any weight they'd be ridiculed for that as well. I'm not feeling particularly sorry for Britney. She has a lot of dollar bills to wipe her tears with. I'm feeling sorry for me. Because I'm looking in the mirror, at my own body, and not a-liking so much what I see.

Pinks II

Pinks, part II Current mood:still disillusioned
so anyway, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Can you believe the nerve of my boss expecting me to work at work?? Anyway, I'm finally in the damn MRI and lying so still. My neck hurts, my back hurts, my ribcage hurts from pressing against the metal slab. Could they make these things any more uncomfortable? So the woman says, "You're moving too much. Try breathing shallow." ?!?!?!? I'm in the machine for 1/2 hour and I have to breathe "shallow" the entire time. I kept thinking that this must be what it feels like to have a lung disease. So it's over with and it was crappy. But you know what? I'm glad its behind me. Now I'm leaving work and going home to open a bottle of wine and eat a gallon of ice cream, which I will probably throw up. Good times. Good times.

Pinks

Today was great. Except take great and think of the opposite of that and that's what my day was like. The only good thing that happened was that this morning instead of watching Pinks when I got up Todd had on Sportscenter. Small little victories, I suppose. Damn, I hate that show Pinks. First of all its on the Speed channel, which is the most moronic concept to begin with.

Anyhow, if you haven't seen it here's a little synopsis and every episode pretty much plays out like the one before. Two guys talk $hit and rev their engines, then they talk some more $hit about who's dick is bigger, I mean who's car is faster. Then they race. Whoever loses the race bitches and moans and complains as if it wasn't his fault. Then the baldheaded twerp who hosts the show starts trying to get them to compromise and the guy who lost is supposed to get "lengths." Yeah I know...how funny is that? Lengths would be car lengths and that's how far the loser gets to start out ahead in the next race. Anyway, they argue about lengths for a while until they agree on a certain number and then they race again. What I don't get is why should the loser get any "lengths" in the first place. If your car lost the race, you suck. If you get "lengths" and win the race is that really going to make you feel good about winning? It would be like a cheap win.

Anyway there is usually about 5 races. It is so drawn out and boring. The only good show was the one where the baldheaded twerp tried to be cool and ride a motorcycle and he ended up crashing. It was awesome. I was in such a good mood for the rest of the day after I saw that.

Anyway, enough about Pinks. This morning I had to go get an MRI and I've already told you how much I hate them. I have to drive to Univ of Penn and I am the biggest idiot because no matter how many times I've gone there with Amy, I still got lost. Like lost driving around the city and calling people and crying my eyes out. Thank god for Tina, Renee, Jodi, and Alisha. Yes it took that many people to help me find my way. By the time I got to the hospital I was hysterical...I go to Penn Tower, which is where I was told to go when the appointment was made. I'm sitting in the waiting room for 1/2 hour and this thought occurs to me: Dwight Schrute is right. There is way too many freaking people on this planet.

I mean this place was teeming with people, breathing all over the place and talking on cell phones to even more people taking up room in other places. I started getting nauseous just thinking about all the people sitting there. We need some sort of plague, but quick. I know you're thinking, "but Gwen, you're a person, you're breathing and taking up space." I know. I'm probably the worst one of all.

Anyway, after holding my vomit back for a while I sort of calmed down and started doing some logic puzzles. For some reason they seem to relax me like Xanax. And I didn't have any Xanax with me. Dumb move, Gwen, dumb move. Finally the lady calls me up to the registration desk and is all "You're in the wrong place, you need to go to Dulles building". Holy Mother of Jesus Christ. So I go all the way over to the other building which is like 10 miles away and wait over there for a while. They call me up to the registration desk again and tell me that I am in the wrong place and need to go back to Penn Tower. I am not kdding. These people don't know what the hell they're doing and I am trusting them with my life? So I just sort of go limp and say "I'm so confused" and I think the lady got a bit afraid of me, something in my eyes was transmitting crazy vibes. I love when that happens. So she makes a phone call and says, "we can take you here". Hooray for craziness! So after filling out a bunch of paperwork, like a bazillion nosy ass questions. to be continued...

I Don't Love Life, But Sometimes I Like It

Todd is watching football. And Liv is entertaining herself for once in her freaking life. Its a miracle. So I have a few minutes to "blog" and I was told that I must continue to "blog" or be murdered, so in the interest of staying alive, here goes. After reading an article entitled "phrases that make my blood boil", I got to thinking about a certain phrase that elicits the same response from me. That phrase being "She loved life". Every funeral, every tribute, every obituary, every fake conversation in a grocery store about a person who recently died, you can overhear some form of this term. It makes me want to hurl. At first I thought the reason behind this was obvious. Who doesn't love life? Who doesn't hold onto their existence no matter how pathetic or meaningless? When people say this aren't they stating the obvious while trying to sound deep and meaningful? But the more I think about it...No. My question is, How the hell do you know that she loved life? Does anybody ever really come out and say "I love life"? You'd never hear it from these lips, that's for damn sure.

I don't love life. Sometimes I like life. Sometimes, I'm a little fond of life. But mostly, I just tolerate it. Every night when I go to bed it is such a relief, I'm thinking "God, i'm glad that's over". And when I wake up in the morning, I feel what can only be described as disappointment. Like, again? I have to do this again? I resurrect to the same day over and over. The same sinkful of dishes with food caked all over them, the same clothes in the dryer that I keep running over and over again because I convince myself that if I can just manage to take them out when they're still hot I won't have to iron anything, the same kitty litter needing to be changed, the same whiny (but beautiful) child asking for juice, the same god damn Berkheimer tax bill that will never, ever get paid. Do you realize the majority of our lives are spent doing things we don't really want to do? And the one thing that we actually love doing, which is sleeping of course, we don't really get to enjoy because we're, well, asleep. I don't know, maybe heaven is like sleeping but knowing what it feels like to be asleep. that would be awesome. maybe this is depressing to you, so i'm sorry. The way i see it, though, is the pursuit of happiness is pretty futile. I mean,there are millionaires out there, people who can ostensibly BUY love and joy, that are miserable. What makes us think we stand a chance?

So I'm going to sleep...the closest thing to heaven I know. Sweet dreams.

This Is Dark

i've been thinking today about honesty...and whether or not i'm going to keep writing these blogs. I guess part of me knows that anything i'm putting up here is completely filtered and candy coated. It has to be. If I put the things that were really going on in my life and in my head, it would be way too dark and twisted. Also, I might offend people. because I do that when I'm being honest. And this is of course based on the assumption that anyone is even still reading...but it seems like some of you are because I am getting views. Anyone reading this crap is a saint.

Lately I've been feeling so mean. I told Todd to stop eating pretzels last night because the crunching sound was destroying my will to live. Each crunch felt like a dagger in my brain and I wanted to smash the pretzels into a million freaking pieces all over the place. But I didn't because then I'd just have to vacuum and I hate doing that. It's way too much work. Everything gets on my nerves. People are irritating. except for a select few...and I think you know who you are. if you're not sure, then you are probably irritating to me. But email me anyway to ask. and if you don't get a response then assume that means you are irritating. God I'm a horrible person. there is no death too painful for the likes of me. also I despise the word blogging. Its disgusting.

My Body Is A Judas

I hate MRIs. Not that I know anyone who actually enjoys having one done, but I just dread them with every fiber of my being. I'd rather have a major surgery. At least during a surgery you're out cold and then they give you really good drugs afterward. With an MRI, you get to be awake the entire time in some unnatural position with a futuristic tube surrounding you like you're in some godforsaken sci-fi movie or something. And don't get me started on the noises...the whirring, the beeping, the high pitched "chirps", and all the while the only thing I can think about is what horrible disease they're uncovering in the process. Cause you all know, I'm dying of something.

Yes, I'm a hypochondriac. But I have totally good reasons for that. It's like crazy with a purpose. I'm carrying around this deadly BRCA2 gene, like a god damn F*cking Judas in my DNA, waiting to kiss me goodbye with a malevolent lump of cancer in one or both of my breasts. How ironic that I spent so many years immersed in self destructive behaviors, and now I find out that all that work and sacrifice (or more specifically "exercise and starving") was wholly unnecessary? My body was probably thinking "girl, I got that covered".

So now, I guess I fight for my life. It's a weird passive aggressive fight, though. It's like I'm not really doing anything but talking to doctors and getting bloodwork and going for tests. And then, of course, my big day. My prophylactic bilateral mastectomy, which is just a fancy way of saying "I'm getting my boobies cut off so I don't get cancer". In a weird way, I was looking forward to it. I thought it would be such a relief to not have to worry (as much) about this issue anymore. Plus, my breasts have never been anything to write home about. Just these little barely there things, a big whatever. But now that its getting closer to setting the date, I'm getting really sentimental about them. They may be small, but they're mine. Am I really ready to cut myself up? Will it be worth it to scar myself forever? To change my body, a big part of who I am? How much am I defined by this physical self really? I am just so angry to have to make this decision in the first place...I wish I could go back to the days when I had control over my own suffering.