False Hopes and Face Cream

It’s amazing the amount of money women spend on beauty products to make themselves feel pretty.  For me, it’s all about my hair.  I have very fine, curly hair, and it’s been greying for years.  I spend approximately $800 per year on colour and cut, and who knows how much on products to keep it looking it’s best.  For the amount of money I spend, you would think I’d have luxurious hair.  I don’t.  I spend the money to make it look it’s best, which isn’t that great.

I just finished having a conversation with a co-worker about facials and body wraps.  She is in her late 20s, and she has a four year old son.  In an effort to get the body she had before becoming a mother, this girl spends a few hundred dollars a week on treatments.  It completely floored me when she told me this.  First of all, who has that kind of money?  Second, do these treatements really make that much of a difference?  I can’t image they do.

Besides my hair, I don’t really spend money on beauty products.  I have the basics for make up, but I don’t wear a lot of it.  I have somewhat stylish clothes, but I buy most of them at Winners.  For me, my money is better spent on a good bottle of wine.  I work out hard, and I look ok for my age, but I will be damned if I’m going to spend my hard earned money on false hope and face cream.  Besides, once I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine, I think I look pretty darn good.  I look even better when everyone else has had a couple of bevis….

Speaking of which, It’s a long weekend here in Canada.  Canada turns 150 years old tomorrow, and us canucks will be partying like it’s 1999.  Beer and hockey all the way — yep, it’s true world.  That’s all we do here in the great north.  Ok, I’m lying.  We’ll drink pretty much anything, and I can’t remember the last time a Canadian hockey team won the Stanley Cup.  Tomorrow, our city puts on a big celebration at a park down by the river.  We have musicians play at the bandshell, beer gardens, multicultural food tents, locals artist tables, and tons of fun for the kids.  I’m pretty excited to get out and celebrate our countries BDAY.  Any reason to have a few wobbly pops is a good reason.

On that note — happy Friday friends.  I hope you all have a great weekend, and I will be catching your blogs again next week.

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At War With A Narcissist — Poetry

Clouds of thunder doom and gloom;

Smell the imminent storm.

I feel his presents; he will be here soon;

From the devil he is born.

Sheltered in a house of glass;

Wide eyes brimming with tears.

No where to run for he is fast;

My body trembles in terrored fear.

When day light breaks; he runs and hides;

The light now helps me see.

He’s nothing more than a coward in disguise;

My courage made him flee.

 

Dicks and Guns

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When someone pisses you off, drink a beer and go shoot something.  Sound advice my friends — sound advice.  This is what I will be doing tonight to let off some much needed steam.  After four long weeks of emotional fuck me over, I still have not completely rid myself of a dick of a man.  My lesson is to never, under any circumstances, lend out property to a man.  Specifically one who has been messing with my mind.  At any rate, I lent out a guitar, of which, I now must wait another week to try and retrieve.  So load me up, and let’s get skeet shooting.

This would all make more sense to you all if I had kept up writing through it all, but I didn’t.   Mainly because I was too embarrassed to admit I kept letting a certain man back into my life.  I was hoping he would pull his shit together, so I could write about the happy ever after ending.  Sadly, and not unexpectedly, the ending was not a happy one.   No, no, no — not happy at all.  It was a long, painfully irritating, frustratingly, annoying FUCKED up ending.  One I would like to be done and fogotten with.  However, Mr. Dick has prolonged the ending by one last week.  DICK.

In other news, I purchased myself a tennis racket last night.  I’ve decided to take up tennis, so I signed up for a lesson which takes place next Wednesday night.  I’m not sure why I’m doing this.  I have no one to play with once I learn how, but who knows.  Maybe the universe will get it right next time, and it will send me a great man who enjoys playing tennis.  As mentioned earlier, I’m off to do some skeet shooting tonight.  It’s a work thing.  We are part of a local construction association, and they put this event on every year.  I TOTALLY suck at it, but there is free food and beer — need I say more.

I’ve made a little promise to myself to get myself back on track.  That includes posting regularily.  I’m not normally one to let a man twist my life around so dramatically, but it happened and I need to get on with it.  I’m still reeling from the experience, and if honest, still a little sad at the outcome.  My hopes were high; I had liked him at first.  He was good at hiding his true self, and I was naive to believe his bullshit.  Lesson learned.  On that note, I’m off to change into something more shooting appropriate.  “PULL”

 

F Bomb Tuesday

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If I had a nickel for every minute of the day I feel anxious, I’d have a lot of fucking nickels.  It would be a pain in the ass to have that many nickels to roll.  I would roll them though.  I’d roll them and take them straight to the bank — and then I would quit my job.

I’m pretty sure if it weren’t for men and money, I wouldn’t even have an anxiety disorder.  Money itself doesn’t cause me anxiety, but the lack of it sure does.  Where as DICKs themselves don’t cause me anxiety, but having dick causes me nothing but stress.  I really don’t know why or how men do it, but they sure know how to fuck with my head.

All I need to do is win the lottery, and stop dating men…. problem solved.  Easy peasy lemon squeezy.  If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m in a bit of a mood.  Work and a certain man have been the shits this week, and it’s only Tuesday.  I am to blame for the man issue.  I am a sucker for punishment, and I keep taking him back.  Work, on the other hand, is not something I can control.  At least not the issue I’m dealing with currently.  The best I can do is take a deep breath and power through.

On that note, I’m going to tidy up my desk, go for a run, and then go for a beer with my bud.  I’m not sure how I’d manage if it weren’t for exercise and alcohol.  Here’s hoping for a better hump day.

 

A Simple Kinda Man

If weekends could talk, this past one would be telling the story of strength, sorrow, excitement, fantasy, and rock n’ roll.  A weekend worth remembering, but one that took a great deal of strength to endure on my part.

After two weeks of being completely mistreated by a man I only dated for five weeks, I cut all ties on Saturday morning.  I had planned on waiting to see him in person to decide what to do, but that all changed when he sent me an accidental text Friday night.  Backing up, let me tell you about my Friday night.  If you read my Friday post, you are aware that I was in contact with a musician I had seen last summer.  I found him on a dating site, and he invited me out to his show.  I went — all by myself.  After his set, we sat and had some drinks, and he called me later on that night.  I was pretty taken with him, but I hadn’t finished things with RST (the trucker).

That night when I was on the phone with the musician, I received a test from RST at 1:00 a.m.  It wasn’t meant for me.  That did it for me.  I just had had enough.  I sent him a message telling him to never message me again.  He did, of course, the next morning.  He acted like the victim once again.  I didn’t bite this time.  I told him that his lack of affection and attention made me lose interest.  I told him that I was looking for someone who actually wanted to talk and hang out with me.  He acted confused, but then told me off.  DONE.

The following night, I went out with my friends to watch the musician’s show again.  When he was done, we all hung out and played pool.  He ended up driving me home, and I invited him in to play guitar together.  We drank wine, played guitar, and cuddled all night.  He’s much younger than I am, and I have no idea if it will go anywhere.  Tonight he is coming over to cook me dinner, and I’m looking forward to spending time with him.  He’s fun to be around, and he’s a simple kinda man.   If anything we will have some fun and enjoy each other’s company.

On another note — I’ve tried commenting on a few of your blogs today, but Word Press is acting up.  Hopefully it will let me comment later.  Happy Monday my blogger friends — here’s to a great week.

Bye Felicia; I’ve Found Me A Rock Star

Why are some men such dicks?  Please note I said “some”, as I have heard rumour there are some decent ones out there.  I’ve recently had my heart completely played with, and yet, I still have a strong desire to find someone to spend my life with.  What the f*ck is wrong with me?

After my recent five week, action packed, exciting little fling, I spend two weeks dealing with the aftermath.  He didn’t know what he wanted; he blamed his ex; he blamed me; he apologized (twice); he ignored me after apologizing.   It was exhausting.  Physically and mentally.  For a person with severe anxiety, the uncertainty and back and forth was excrutiating.  I’ve basically been stuck in a constant rumination that damn near killed me.  Ok, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.  At times, however, I became so obsessive in thought, I literally ran myself to almost death.  The miles put on my runners these past two weeks is damn impressive.  My body aches, I’m tired, but not gonna lie — I look pretty great.

Back to the topic of dick.  Funny, cause that is his name.  He doesn’t go by DICK, but he really should.  My heart was awakened after five dormant years, and now it aches of loneliness.  Even though it was bullshit, he made me feel special and wanted.  DICK.

STOP RIGHT HERE.  A miracle just happened….. haha ok, not a miracle, but let me take you back to a crush I had going last summer Read here Play Me A Song.  MR. Dave the rock star, just appeared on a very popular dating site.  Granted I now know he is only 33 years old, so like 9 years too young.  Still, he’s single — the crowed goes wild.

Fuck you DICK.  I’m off to stalk a rock star.

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This is Why We Do it

It’s been awhile since I’ve reflected on my blog.  Why do I write?  Who do I write for? etc. etc.  I think my reasons and audience have changed a great deal since I started my blog a year ago.  Some people have very specific blogs.  They have purpose behind why they write and what they write about.  I’m not really one of those people.  Not that I don’t have purpose.  It’s just my purpose changes as my life changes.

A year ago, I was taking a technical communication course, and we had to learn about blog writing.  That was how it all started.  There was no great epiphany, or any specific topic I wanted to write about.  I just wanted to write.  I like writing as a way of expressing myself.  I tried to put some purpose to the blog.  To begin I wrote about being a single, career woman with no children.  That filled up at least two blog posts.  Admittedly, my start up was very weak.  I’ve had periods over the past year of decent writing, and times of just crap.  Sometimes, it’s just not there.  Nothing interesting to talk about or too much anxiety to express myself.

Today, as I ponder my reasons, I have settled with this: I write now because it has become part of who I am.  I am a blog writer.  I may not be a great one, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t give a shit.  I write about me.  What daily life looks like from the mind of someone who suffers from extreme anxiety and at times depression.  I share myself with the world, so I can feel part of it.  Not only do I write, I read.  I follow blogs of all types, but mostly I follow those of you who share what your world looks like.  I see life through different eyes in different parts of the world.  My fellow bloggers have become my support and I hope I have been that for them.

Hmmmm…. bit of an emotional post for today, but hey, it’s raining.   Rainy days require rainy posts.  Thanks to all my friends here on WordPress — you mean a lot.