Hope And Other Bullshit

People keep coming up to me and telling me how impressed they are by how strong I am. About how great it is that I moved and how impressive it is that Ive been able to keep everything together despite all of the recent bullshit. How lucky I am to be strong because that makes everything magically ok.

They're all assholes. Was that inappropriate? It's not any less appropriate than telling me I'm strong like it makes all the problems in the world go away. It doesn't. All it does is tell me about a character trait that's totally irrelevant to the conversation.

Of course I've kept it together. I don't have the luxury of curling up in a ball for a week because I have a broken heart. If I don't go to work, I don't have a job. If I don't have a job, my bills don't get paid. Being tough isn't a trait you develop one day because you think it sounds like fun. You do it because you don't really have a choice otherwise, so you might as well suck it up, Nancy.

Strong or not there's only so much hurt you can handle all at once before things start to fall apart. Even the strongest people in the world have a breaking point. Anyone who claims otherwise is a liar. Everyone falls apart. Everyone has scars. Some just hide it better than others is all.

I caught a glimpse, a very tiny glimpse, of something that might actually start to turn this shit show around for me. 

I don't like it. 

If I chase it and it doesn't work, I'm going to wind up so much farther down and out than I was to start with that I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it. If I don't' chase it, I'm stuck in a perpetual state of feeling like this. Which honestly, isn't that good.

I've never been a big believer in hope. At best I always thought it was bullshit. Something people held on to for lack of any other option. Something to keep you sane in a world that doesn't make sense. Right up there with believing in God, I always considered hope to be something people did to make themselves feel better when they couldn't afford a new pair of shoes.

At it's worst, hope seems like a cruel joke. I can't count the number of times I've seen someone so far down that they seem like they'll never be able to get up again, and they always say the same thing. "I have hope". Inevitably what seems like a change in luck comes along and blows up in their face. Their perpetual hope winds up leaving them a bigger mess than they were to start with. 

Never been a big fan. Tried it a few times anyway. Didn't work out well for me. Actually, I don't ever think it's worked out well for me. That being said, I think I need a little of it right now. A little pointless, stupid hope. Something to maybe make the universe feel alright again. 

A breath of fresh air maybe. 

But all I can see are the ways it won't work. The million ways that I get my ass handed to me one more time because why the hell not? Kick her while she's down. 

Because I'm a fucking idiot, I'm grasping at that little shred of hope like maybe this time it'll be different than the plethora of other times I've thought that and had my spirit stomped on. I have to. I've run out of alternatives. 

I guess I hope if I keep chasing it like an idiot, I'll eventually come out ahead. Kind of like those people who are convinced they'll win the lottery someday.

They probably won't. But there's always that chance. 

You can't take me anywhere

I've decided I want to do everything in the world. And if I have to do it by myself, I have to do it by myself. This sucks, but hopefully it's a situation that takes care of itself.

Because of this, I got to go to a very exclusive party in a very exclusive place with very successful, notable and beautiful people tonight. I also got to go to it alone. My current situation notwithstanding, I probably would've wound up by myself there anyway, mostly because the people I gravitate towards would rather chop off their own testicles than go to some red carpet bullshit party.

So I got poured into some ridiculous dress, propped up on some crazy tall heels and let loose into a super exclusive party full of people way out of my league. It's the same scene every time...coke in the bathroom, alcohol everywhere, more drugs than I can even name, incredibly expensive clothing and really shitty music.

You can imagine how well I fit in.

The thing with me though...give me high enough heels, some of those drugs and that alcohol and I can fake it long enough to get by.

Despite my ability to blend in, at the end of the day I'm still myself.

This poses a problem.

This poses a bigger problem if I'm already feeling vulnerable.

I was meandering to the bar, chit chatting and making small talk with people I have jack shit in common with when I heard a snapping noise. I kept walking. There wasn't a drink in my hand and come hell or high water something good will happen this week and I'm not positive that little shred of good isn't hiding at the bottom of a bottle.

I heard the snapping again.

I kept walking.

That's when I heard the whistle.

I stopped mid stride and stood there just for a second. There's no way anyone at this party would be whistling at me. Unless they maybe thought I worked there and they needed a drink, but not for any other reason.

I heard it again, immediately followed by a "Hey! Dollface!"

I turned around to see a gorgeous man in a very expensive suit staring at me. Brown hair, gorgeous brown eyes and a resemblance to Robert Downey Jr. that made me look twice. Then he smiled at me and proceeded to whistle in my direction again and nod his head in a kind of "come here" gesture.

As it stands, I'm kind of in a weird place. I just want someone to scratch my head, kiss me on the cheek when I have nightmares and watch TV with me. A normal girl would see this man and think "Maybe he could be my head scratcher. And oh, he looks like Robert Fucking Downey Jr. maybe you should give this a whirl, the worst case scenario involves waking up in a penthouse with someone who looks like Robert Downey Jr."

Unfortunately, the girl he was whistling at wasn't normal. The girl he was whistling at was me.

I decided now is as good a time as any to start talking to guys I might want to spend some time with. I very casually wandered over to him, smiled and said nothing. He leaned in, right against my ear and whispered "Dollface. You look stunning. I have a penthouse, you should come see it."

I took a little step back, smiled sweetly and leaned right into him until my lips were almost against his ear whispered "Clare. My name is Clare, not Dollface. I am not a dog. If you whistle at me again, I'll rip your lips right off of your face.", kissed him right on the mouth, turned on my heel and walked away.

I don't know why I don't get invited to more of these things.

It occurs to me that I could be in bed with a gorgeous man that drips money and style. Instead, I'm sitting in the middle of a gigantic bed wearing the worlds most ridiculous dress and eating pizza while watching USA.

Because this is what I do. I ruin everything by threatening to rip people's lips off of their faces.

It's a miracle I'm single, isn't it?

There are a few things about life that you convince yourself of as an adult. For example, when you're laying naked in front of your doctor while he pokes various things into your orifices, you tell yourself that he is a professional and he sees this all the time so you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You convince yourself that when you're at the gym, your trainer is more concerned with your form than the fact that you gained 37 pounds over Christmas. You tell yourself that your bartender knows that you are just tying one on and isn't whispering to his wife that you're an alcoholic when he sees you at church.

Despite our insecurities, we convince ourselves that this is the truth so we can carry on with our lives.

I tend to run at 100 miles an hour, all the time. I work, I have a side job, I write, and I'm working on some super secret side projects. I've been keeping up this pace since college, and I never thought that it would catch up to me. I keep my body fueled with a very specific combination of nachos, Diet Coke and Twizzlers, and it's worked for me for almost 10 years.

I was at work on Thursday, and all the sudden I got dizzy. I blew it off, decided it was my blood sugar, and immediately remedied the situation with an emergency Twizzler. It didn't help.

I figured I was tired, and went back to work.

It was only when I almost passed out walking across the office that I realized something was Wrong with a capital "W". Thank the lord for my friend Mary*, who was kind enough to walk me to the clinic on campus, if only so she didn't find me passed out face down in the parking lot in a pile of snow.

Some poking, prodding and a few tests involving needles later, I got my diagnosis.

Exhaustion and dehydration.

To which my response was a simple "Exhaustion and dehydration? Who the fuck do I look like? Lindsay Lohan?"

Turns out, nachos, Twizzlers and a gallon of Diet Coke do not a healthy diet make. It's been a few days and I'm almost feeling back to my normal spunky self. I'd be lying if I said it didn't spook me a little bit. So I decided it was time to get back on the "taking care of myself like an adult" wagon.

Alie over at Hyperbole and a Half wrote a great blog post about how she decides to be an adult, makes it approximately one day, and then burns herself out. She then rebels, starting the vicious cycle all over again. I am equally guilty of this, but this time is different. I don't ever want to feel like I felt on Thursday again.

The first place I went was the grocery store. Time to stock up on food that doesn't have nacho cheese listed as the main ingredient and Gatoraide.

In her post, Alie writes "For a little while, I actually feel grown-up and responsible. I strut around with my head held high, looking the other responsible people in the eye with that knowing glance that says "I understand. I'm responsible now too. Just look at my groceries."

I'm concerned with making sure I make lasting changes, so I started where I always start: Lots of fruit, vegetables and chicken. I threw my purchases onto the belt and waited while the cashier scanned my order.

I had always convinced myself that the people who work at the store don't actually look at what you're buying. Much like doctors, dentists, trainers, and the person who waxes your bikini, they've seen it all before and they don't actually give a flying shit either way.

The cashier hit total, and smiled at me.

"Yours is the healthiest order I've seen all day".

At that second, my world changed. We were lied to. They do notice what we buy. Flash back to the time I bought stain remover, hand lotion, condoms, sugar free chocolate syrup and batteries in one transaction. Facepalm.

My life might never be the same. Now that I know the truth, I will never be able to buy all of my items at the same place. God forbid I need condoms or tampons, I might have to leave the state. Never will I be able to go to the gynecologist without wondering who I'm being compared to. I may never get anything on my body waxed again ever.

But, one good thing came from this.

If I was the healthiest order she had seen all day by process of elimination, that means every other order was less healthy than mine. Which means only one thing.

I won.

I won at being an adult today, and the rest of you can suck it. I'm going to sit here and bask in my well deserved glory.

The only thing that could make this better? Some nachos washed down with some Diet Coke.



*Who I owe so much thanks to. You're such a great friend, and I appreciate you so much!

Today is awesome.

I just had a long, meaningful conversation with key people in our organization.

There were charts and graphs and awesomeness.

It was about a half an hour long.


So you can imagine my joy when I got back to my desk and found out that my fly was unzipped.


At least I wore underpants today.

I've never been one to make a huge deal out of my birthday.

I don't demand candles, or a huge cake (unless Jeffery Donovan or Vin Diesel is jumping out of it, in which case I want my goddamn cake), or presents.

All I really care about is that the people I care about give me a call, an email, an IM, something.

My birthday was yesterday. Again, it was almost a non event. I saw The Dark Knight (incredible movie, see it, seriously), had a few drinks and went to bed. Nothing huge.

I got a shitload of emails, IMs, forum posts and text messages all wishing me a happy birthday, which is awesome. Well, awesome as long as they weren't from Mikey, who has resorted to starting every one of our conversations with the phrase "HA HA YOU'RE OLD!" and "God loves me best!"

Not one of those emails, IMs, forum posts and text messages came from my friends back home. Not. One. Understand, I've known some of those people for going on 12 years now. If I was to forget their birthday there would be absolute hell to pay. Not one of them called me. Not even my best friend (who is apologetic as hell). The rest? Haven't heard from them.

And I am pissed.

For 364 days of the year, I deal with their issues, neuroses, bullshit and drama which a lot of the time is the result of their own actions. I'm supportive even when I want to strangle them. I take calls at all hours of the night, I give good solid advice and I don't blow smoke up their asses.

To make matters worse? I made it easy for every one of them. A few days before my birthday I even reminded them. I mean for fucks sake.

One day a year, just one, I expect them to pick up the phone first. That's all. I don't want a parade, I don't want diamonds (ok thats a lie), I don't want parties and cake, all I ask is that they flip open the same fucking cellphone they call me on to unload all their stupid, bullshit, petty problems and let me know that they appreciate me, just for a fucking second. Just a "hey, thanks for listening to me ramble on about my engagement/best friend/boyfriend/girlfriend/job."

It may sound selfish, but if I'm not important enough to call once a fucking year, then I'm certainly not important enough to field phone calls about their daily lives, engagements, weddings, best friend, boyfriends, girlfriends, jobs, and so on. It all seems so clear now.

I wrote a few days ago about knowing who my real friends are, and I apparently do now. And when I stop answering their calls? They'll figure out who their real friends are. I'm through giving a shit about people who care less about me. Call it a birthday present to myself.

There are certain things by whatever force of nature, just happen.

Spring follows winter. The sun rises every day, and sets every night. Gravity will always keep us from flying randomly off of the earth. Skinned knees will always hurt more than major injuries. Much like earthquakes, tornadoes, droughts, volcanic eruptions, there are some forces of nature that just can't be prevented. The most classic example of this phenomenon is my ability to embarrass myself every single time I leave the house.

It is a force that can't be contained, at this point NASA is busy trying to figure out how mitigate the damage left in my wake.

My sleep schedule is massively screwed up at the moment. And I mean massively. Since Wednesday, I have averaged 3 hours or less of sleep a night. Now, to function as a normal human I need at least 6 hours of sleep, 8 if you want me to be nice.

I flew out of O'Hare Airport to Indianapolis on Saturday morning at 6:00 AM. This is the shortest flight in the history of the universe. It takes literally 1 hour to get there, including check in and baggage claim. By the time I got packed and to the airport, I had clocked exactly an hour of sleep on Friday night. Tired is not the appropriate word for what I was.

Sleeping on the plane was simply not an option. I am neurotic enough that I can't fall asleep in public places. I won't do it. Something in my psyche just won't allow it, and this most likely stems from a friend of mine who once fell asleep on a train and woke up in another state. I have managed to convince myself if I was to ever fall asleep on any public transportation, I will wake up in Bolivia. It doesn't matter that the Metra doesn't go to Bolivia, I am sure I will still somehow wake up there.

So, I get to my seat next to a Vin Diesel look alike, which proves that 1) God is a Woman and 2) She loves me. We chit chat for a minute, he turns on his iPod, I pick up a magazine and try to relax.

Only to wake up about an hour later, snuggled up to Vin 2.0. And I mean snuggled. My head was nuzzled against his chest and my arm was kind of draped across him.

Apparently, my inability to fall asleep in public is only limited to times when it won't be embarrassing as shit for me.

So what do you say when you wake up half laying on the hottest guy you have ever seen?

If you're me, the answer is "Oh Jesus, I didn't drool on you did I?".

Not only did I fall asleep and then snuggle a complete (and gorgeous) stranger, I then admitted I drool.

Isn't it amazing I'm single?