New Year, Old Demons

There is a song that I love and used to listen to on repeat. When I hear it now, it reminds me of being young and angry, in that indignant way that seems to fade and soften sometime in your twenties and leave you sort-of resembling a normal person somewhere in your thirties. Some of the lines read: I have climbed the highest mountain/ I have sailed across the sea/ I have wrestled with my demons/ and woke up with only me

Perhaps because the entire life of this blog has revolved around relationships, or because of recent events in my current life, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about personal demons, specifically, how much do we (er, I) allow the little cloven feet of the things that haunt us to trample on the potential of new and greater things?

By no means do I claim to have the answer to this question, nor as to how to vanquish said demons, but I can say that, in my personal experience they interfere in more ways than I’d probably like to admit. It’s as of they – the demons, that is – wait, gathered on the edges of consciousness, and as potential-holding things occur in real life, they press in closer, one or two slipping over the break and into awareness – and, because life is like that, they are precisely the one or two terrify the hell out of you at that exact moment. Every time.

When I was a little girl, I never had much of an idea as to what I wanted. But, I was stubborn, a little defiant, and had seen enough in too few years to tell you what I didn’t want. And when I did, I would often insist with such conviction for such a small person that the people around me took it as my unwavering word.

For instance, I did not want to be an artist. Continue reading

The angels are watching us.

This morning, I was awoken from not quite enough hours of sleep by a phone call from my mom. She asked me if I was up – I’m sure the answer was obvious by the fact that I spoke no actual words during the entire exchange – and she responded to my mumbling with, “Great! You can take Mommom to the hospital to get xrays. She’s waiting for you now.”

Suddenly, I was awake. “Mom. Seriously. I have to–”

“Take your grandmother to the hospital, Kari. She’s waiting.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandmother. Beyond belief. But nothing is simple with her, and I knew that this would turn into some level of a minor ordeal, or, at the very least, take way longer than it should, for any possible number of reasons. Continue reading

Dinner Party from Hell: PART II

dinner party from hellMany thanks to the wonderfully hilarious Jeff Blomquist for guest writing this fabulous post. In addition to being laugh-out-loud funny, it also confirms that this entire, horrendous adventure actually happened. Enjoy!

I am not a social person.  I’m a scientist and engineer by trade, and a science fiction reader and science fact writer by hobby, which means that most of my time is spent crunching numbers and studying alone.  I have a few very close friends that I really extend myself for, and otherwise, I wait for people to make plans and coast through books about robots and quantum phase theory.

I helped Kari pack up what few belongings had not been molested or stolen by drug dealers, and she and NE nestled comfortably into her new row home apartment.  It was clean and quaint, in the way that city homes are, and boasted clean street, completely void of burning cars.  I was immediately relieved to find that the drug traffickers in her new neighborhood employed unparalleled organization and professionalism when measured against the tenants in her old apartment: territories were fastidiously marked with sneakers on power lines, and syringes and used foil were properly disposed of in dark alleys.  This may seem shady, but residents in Kari’s previous residence had left used needles in their arms, and disposed of themselves in the wide open sidewalk.  This new house would be a home.

Kari is a creature of social poise when playing the hostess.  Remove her from top billing and she becomes a rowdy, gin-soaked laugh track–precisely what every party needs.  It’s no secret that her ability to bolster a party is something of a coveted skill, especially by someone who studies electrical harness drawings for a living.  Between the moving assistance and her desire to meet my new girlfriend (who, for the sake of convenience, we will continue to call GF), Kari had plenty of excuse to throw a dinner party.  I dropped by often enough with invitation that the formality of “Coming Over for Dinner” startled me: it was as if someone had written me a formal invitation Brush My Teeth.

“You and GF should Come Over for Dinner,” she had told me over lower-case dinner.  “What are you doing next week?” Continue reading

The Dinner Party from Hell

dinner party from hellThe highlight of my weekend was a lovely, lovely dinner party with some of my closest and most awesome friends. While I was there, it was brought to my attention that I have not posted in quite some time, and for the sake of not disappointing some of my most loyal readers and wonderful friends – not to mention the ridiculous amount of time it’s been – I knew I needed to write a little something ASAP.

Naturally, having a dinner party with good friends made me think of other dinner parties I’ve been to – and even hosted, in some cases.

And, of course, whenever I think of dinner parties that I’ve hosted, there is one epic disaster that comes to mind. Continue reading

Made Up

make upNo one has seen me without makeup for the past decade.

It all started when I was twelve. My mother had a rule – seventh grade would be each of her daughters’ coming of age, so to speak, and that mean makeup, the tweezing of brows, and the like.

She insisted throughout the entirety of my childhood and adolescence that my appearance reflected on her ability to parent effectively. If I looked a mess, it made her look a mess, and vice-versa. In her mind, I suppose this logic justified the hell’s version of “What Not to Wear” that became my life. Continue reading

Daddy Issues

My mother swears that I have “daddy” issues.

SWEARS.

This topic of conversation usually comes up when I date anyone who is at all older than I am, though I think she may be biased – after all, if I am truly plagued with issues revolving around my father, that doesn’t leave much room for issues with my mother.

I often point out to her hat I am not actually opposed to dating men who are my own age, or even younger. It just usually turns out that they’re dumb as hell – a little bit of a turn off.

In fact, much to the detriment of her point, the only relationship I have ever had with another person who is younger than I am was probably the most obvious manifestation of whatever “daddy” issues I have left (aside from the years that I swore off men altogether, but that’s another story).

When I brought NE home, he was not yet my fiance. He was a guy I was dating, and to this day I’m not sure how he convinced me to bring him to my parents’. Up until that point, I had never brought anyone home to meet the ‘rents, and hadn’t been planning on breaking the trend anytime soon. However, NE convinced me that it was a good idea. Somehow.

Not to mention, it was the morning after we had slept together for the first time. The morning after we had a huge blowout argument about my not wanting to commit and my refusal to relinquish my right to see as many other people as I wanted.

Really, I don’t know how this happened. Continue reading

Antidepressants, Caffeine, & Nicotine

It’s 3:00 am.

I have to get up in less than 4 hours.

And, yet, here I am. Ready and willing to tell you a story – a bedtime story, if you will.

Once upon a time, I thought I was in love.

It turns out, I was actually experiencing an artificially induced high from a chemical cocktail made of a mix of antidepressants, cigarettes, and caffeine.

It turns out that the two feel nearly identical. Continue reading