2003-10-03 @ 11:10 p.m.
|My first entry of the day was the kind, altruistic one, the one I wrote before I got all liquored up on trans fats, sugar and caffeine. You know, the stuff you eat, when you're breaking up with someone.
I had done relatively well this morning. A bagel after my shrink appointment. And then a bowl of cereal mid afternoon. And then I stopped at McDonalds on the way to my lake walk. As long as I was going to walk a couple miles, why not get something to walk off, right?
So I stepped up to the counter and got the antithesis of the friendly "Stacy" girl on the McDonalds commercial. This woman looked like she had just been released from prison in a work release program in the last 24 hours. Her mouth said "What's your order?", but her body language said "You want it your way, mother fucker, cook it yourself." She made me so nervous, I couldn't even remember what I was ordering. I just sort of stuttered something like "that ice cream thing for a dollar with the chocolate stuff. I mean hot fudge on it..." She slammed it down on the counter and then flicked a bag of nuts so hard it almost flew off the edge. I had to seriously consider whether it was safe enough to ask for a spoon.
I then sat down and started to eat the sundae and noticed a guy checking me out. Yeah, at McDonalds. Yay for me, huh? It was also a McDonalds at a truckstop. Extra points for that. He was talking on a cell phone. Really, really loud. Like, look at me I'm talking on a cell phone at McDonalds. Real cream of the crop material. Of course it was either him or the guy with the 152" waist filling two 52 ounce cups of Coke for the trip home to Buffalo. He was a real looker too, with those size 42 jeans and the back turned baseball cap (possibly a homage to film maker Michael Moore, but I'm not positive).
So I got to the lake. It was cold and windy, but I was determined to get in a walk. Mainly because I was feeling so bad emotionally. Why? Because in my head, I'm trying to get up the courage to break up with the Married Guy. I've had enough of this one-sided relationship thing. The "I do everything for the excitement of 5 minutes of your company" thing. It's really debilitating. And I've been doing it a lot lately.
So, I've decided in an effort to wean myself away from him, I'd alternate. One day I'll write him a cheerful note and not get any reply. And then the next day I'll drive long, rusted spikes deep into my forearms. And then the next day I'd call him and leave a message and he wouldn't return my call. And then I'd alternate by pouring hydrochloric acid over 98% of my body.
Incidentally folks, Married Guy isn't worth driving rusted stakes into my body for. I was just being literary. I'm actually more angry at him right now, than sad. I'd much rather drive the stakes into him...figuratively speaking of course. But I did spend some time sitting on some rock, lakeside, crying my eyes out. I haven't cried about a guy in so freakin' long. And I was reminded why I haven't dated in so freakin' long. And I haven't even had any hot sex with him either. Geeze, what a schmuck.
At first I wasn't going to do the Friday night piano bar thing. I was just too damn angry and grumpy. But today my mother called my old landlord (just the most recent one, not the evil-incarnate one), and he said the owner hadn't written any of the checks for anyone yet (as in my hopefully forthcoming rent deposit check). She made it sound hopeful, like I might possibly be getting something, if not most of it back, so that made me feel a little better. I sure hope it comes true, because I owe my case management place over $750 and I was supposed to pay them back $500 on September 3rd but didn't. And now its October 3rd and I still haven't made a payment. If I can get back my rent deposit, I can just sigh the check over to them and have more than half of the amount paid back. That would be sweet, and we could cut my guilt ratio by about 87%. So send out your good vibes out to my yuppie landlord to guide his $100 Cross Pen to write $440 instead of, well nothing.
Piano Bar was about the same as usual, although there was a rash of head kissing tonight. The piano player kissed my head. My mom's little Jewish friend Mark (she thinks its incredibly exotic to have a "Jewish" friend. I've dated Jewish men and my shrink is Jewish, so the Shalom factor is no biggie to me) kissed my ear. My mom's friend Bev kissed my cheek and played with my hair and said it was pretty. And then the Jewish guy nailed me again on the way out...in the ear again. So my hair got more action than I did tonight. Bev also said I had a really sharp wit. That meant more than all the hair kissing altogether. I don't say much in person, but I do wait for just the right time for some great zingers.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty