I hate break ups. I am going to go out on a limb here and say that they are not fun.
Mr. GenY bit the dust. It is fine, which is to say that it's good in the long-term sense, but Jesus H., I am really sick of crying. Oh, the whoa that is my life and stuff.
I keep telling myself that this is normal. I keep telling myself that this is supposed to feel like shit, that it is supposed to feel like my heart's been ripped out, that this too shall pass. That a year and a half spent on some dude (who I knew wasn't emotionally available when I first met him) is a long time, and that it will also take some time for me to heal. To repair the gaping hole in my heart, and other melodramatic sentiments of the like. Blah blah blah, cry me a river, I know.
See, this is why really, really bad love songs are written. Gaping holes in the heart, my friends.
My clan has been duly informed of said break up, and they are prepared. For the 3 a.m. calls, when I really want to call Mr. GenY instead. For the crying and carrying on and the stages of grief. For the gritting of the teeth when, after 3 months, I still have not moved on and they have to tell me that they are ready to strangle me with the (non-existent) cell phone cord if I bring up Mr. GenY's name one more goddamned time. They know that they need to kick my ass, and they know that they have to be gentle with the ass kicking.
Because I really don't want to be in this position again. It was doomed from the start. Age difference, lifestyle difference, maturity difference, and those are just the big ones. My friends know that. So they will have to remind me of what a tool Mr. GenY was, and who cares if he looks exactly like Shia LaBeouf? Big deal! Looks are not everything, they will say. I will sadly agree, and hang my head in shame that I gave some 25-year-old guy all my power. They will speak of how amazing I am, and that I deserve much better, but all I will be able to think about (for awhile, anyway) is how his eyes sparkled when he talked about those obscene Gangland shows. And how he made the cutest smooching sounds to his dog when we were on the phone. And how he would just randomly say, "Yeah", whenever there was a lull in the conversation. And how he once called Barack Obama a dicksneeze, just so I would punch him.
Love sucks.
I heart him. I wish I didn't, but I really, truly do. I can't just turn these fucking feelings off, no matter what my head says. My head is ready to beat my heart's ass the next time it so much as feels a mushy, positive feeling for Mr. GenY. I'm kickin' it old school, the hard way, and I hate it. I HATE it! But I don't want to become one of those bitter women who are rude to cashiers just because they are having a bad day. Damn, in 2008, is there any hope left? Is there any love anymore? Is there such a thing as doing right by someone else? Am I the only one out there who still believes in integrity, in honesty, in trust? Am I too old to be dating anyone? Or should I just go buy some cats and call it a day?
My landlord won't let me have cats, anyway, so I can't even do that. I guess my only option is to get through this, to face the blinding pain, and to come out of it that much stronger and that much more hopeful. I know that time, she is a bitch. She will move very, very slowly over the next few months, making this totally agonizing. What a cheerful thought.
Oy. Almost makes me want to become a lesbian. Again.
July 23, 2008
July 9, 2008
Smackdown! GenX vs. GenY
An Open Letter to the Youths of Today Who Utilize MySpace:
Look kids, I know that your internet image is very important to you. I get that you cruise around on MySpace like I used to cruise around in cars. To look cool. And to find boys. I totally understand that the bowels of the World Wide Web are 2008's stomping/training grounds. I am not without a smidgen of sympathy for you, however small.
But quite frankly, I seem to be up on this whole 2008 business more than some of y'all. And I am fucking 39-years-old! It is pitiful that I have more game than many of you do, truly it is. Because back when I was your age, 39 did not understand a goddamned thing. 39 was outdated and embarrassing. Sadly, I have just recently become aware of this because I am doing some marketing work on MySpace for a friend of mine. Being forced to look at your pages is cringe-worthy, for the following various and sundry reasons:
1) Goth is out. Goth has been out for a very, very long time. Even Trent Reznor looks kept and clean these days.
2) 1995 graphic displays do nothing but make you appear out of touch and weird (and not in the good way). Also, my computer heaves and sputters at these graphics, which makes me fondly recall old school dialup.
3) Saying shit like "I am who I am! Love me or hate me!" will surely make most people hate you. Good call.
4) I don't need to see a picture of you puking on some club floor, dude.
5) I don't need to see every fucking picture you have ever taken, dude.
6) Finding IMDB photos for every single movie you enjoy seems like a complete waste of time to me, but that might just be 39 talking.
7) While I enjoy looking at/ogling over David Beckham as much as the next person (or anyone with eyes, really), 30 pictures? Really? 30?! (I counted, Y. I'm keeping track of your transgressions here.)
8) Internet quizzes are, like, so totally FUN! Here! Let me put ALL of them on my MySpace page!
9) Being in love is awesome. I am in full agreement with you on this. Mentioning your boyfriend/girlfriend 30 times on your page is not.
10) This sounds like a gimme, but seriously: why would you think I could read your page if your background is light blue and your font is light blue? Are you trying to singe retinas or something?
Y, you should know that I am very fond of you, in a general sense. We tend to get along smashingly well, probably because my maturity level usually hovers at around 17-18 on my good days. Some of my best friends belong to you, as does my semi-boyfriend. But my peeps seem to understand a concept that you do not, and it is very simple.
Sometimes, Y, less is more. Overkill is boring and tired. Please stop.
Forever Yours,
GenX
Look kids, I know that your internet image is very important to you. I get that you cruise around on MySpace like I used to cruise around in cars. To look cool. And to find boys. I totally understand that the bowels of the World Wide Web are 2008's stomping/training grounds. I am not without a smidgen of sympathy for you, however small.
But quite frankly, I seem to be up on this whole 2008 business more than some of y'all. And I am fucking 39-years-old! It is pitiful that I have more game than many of you do, truly it is. Because back when I was your age, 39 did not understand a goddamned thing. 39 was outdated and embarrassing. Sadly, I have just recently become aware of this because I am doing some marketing work on MySpace for a friend of mine. Being forced to look at your pages is cringe-worthy, for the following various and sundry reasons:
1) Goth is out. Goth has been out for a very, very long time. Even Trent Reznor looks kept and clean these days.
2) 1995 graphic displays do nothing but make you appear out of touch and weird (and not in the good way). Also, my computer heaves and sputters at these graphics, which makes me fondly recall old school dialup.
3) Saying shit like "I am who I am! Love me or hate me!" will surely make most people hate you. Good call.
4) I don't need to see a picture of you puking on some club floor, dude.
5) I don't need to see every fucking picture you have ever taken, dude.
6) Finding IMDB photos for every single movie you enjoy seems like a complete waste of time to me, but that might just be 39 talking.
7) While I enjoy looking at/ogling over David Beckham as much as the next person (or anyone with eyes, really), 30 pictures? Really? 30?! (I counted, Y. I'm keeping track of your transgressions here.)
8) Internet quizzes are, like, so totally FUN! Here! Let me put ALL of them on my MySpace page!
9) Being in love is awesome. I am in full agreement with you on this. Mentioning your boyfriend/girlfriend 30 times on your page is not.
10) This sounds like a gimme, but seriously: why would you think I could read your page if your background is light blue and your font is light blue? Are you trying to singe retinas or something?
Y, you should know that I am very fond of you, in a general sense. We tend to get along smashingly well, probably because my maturity level usually hovers at around 17-18 on my good days. Some of my best friends belong to you, as does my semi-boyfriend. But my peeps seem to understand a concept that you do not, and it is very simple.
Sometimes, Y, less is more. Overkill is boring and tired. Please stop.
Forever Yours,
GenX
July 3, 2008
Completely sober and tripping on acid
This video signifies why I love this show. This group number was choreographed by the legendary, Emmy-winning Mia Michaels. The YouTube video comment says, and I quote:
"I drop some acid before I watched this or did Mia just turn up the trippy?"
It is fucking disturbing. In a really weird, make-you-think kinda way.
"I drop some acid before I watched this or did Mia just turn up the trippy?"
It is fucking disturbing. In a really weird, make-you-think kinda way.
July 1, 2008
ohmyGOD!
Dear Senator Obama:
Ya know, I keep pretty damn current with all the hot and sweaty political news. I am nothing if not disgustingly informed, although some might argue that the word "informed" could easily be replaced with the word "obsessed". (Sadly, those people would not be wrong.) I usually check progressive websites many times per day, often to chuckle at some asinine thing John McCain said at a VFW fundraiser in BFE, Alabama. Then I read your response to his asinine comment, and I sigh and smile and swoon, and then I shout, "Atta boy, Barack! Atta boy!" And then you and I transport back in time to the 1950s to catch a double header at Wrigley Field, and eat hot dogs, but only because tofu dogs haven't been invented yet.
But I have spent the past two weeks immersed in a very emotional and horrible medical situation that required immediate attention. So please forgive me for the belated questioning: DUDE! WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT?!
Who the hell are you? Has a soul-sucking alien invaded your body? Did you and Hillary Clinton actually figure out the physics required to become one person? Or are you sick, too, and maybe have a case of Cheney on the brain? What is this, with the voting of the FISA bill? And the personal attack on General Wesley Clark? And the sudden devotion to Bush's wonderful faith-based initiatives? And the criticizing of MoveOn? And all of the other boneheaded crap you've said and done in the past two weeks? Does Michelle know about all of this bullshit? Where's Michelle?! I'M TELLING MICHELLE!
ohmyGOD, I'm wondering now if I wasn't completely wrong about you. I can't even believe I am saying/writing these words! I totally believed in you, man! Every cynical person I've talked with about politics, for the past 7 months at least, appears to have been right. I wanna be right! I don't want those clowns to be right! Because they were all (in sweet, soothing, condescending tones), "He's going to play the liberal card until the general election starts. And then he's going to move to the center, just like Al did, and John did. He is not the rock star that you think he is, Steph." And I was all, "You are so wrong! Ha ha ha, I laugh at you. Wrong! This guy is the real deal! Why do you have to be so negative about everything?" And then I would babble about positive energy and goodness and light, and What the &*%$# Do We Know? would somehow seep its hippie way into the conversation, so that I could in turn look down on them and, thusly, feel superior. As an American, one upsmanship is totally my right.
Barack, sweetie, let me spell this out for you: stop listening to the fools who keep telling you to "Move to the right! Move to the right!" You do not need them, because they could not be more wrong. How can you not see this? How can you not know this? It didn't work for Al Gore or John Kerry, and it ain't gonna work for you. (OK, technically, it did work for Al Gore, but that's another story.) In general, Democrats are really, super sick and tired of members of Congress who appear to be watered-down versions of Republicans. We do not need another pussy! We have enough pussies as elected officials! We do not need another idiotic Democratic candidate for president who is masquerading as a toned-down Republican. Next thing I know, you'll be chilling at NASCAR events and talking smack about gay marriage.
I am your base, Senator Obama. I feel betrayed and somewhat unhinged, but that could just be the aforementioned medical issue. But I really feel deceived by you. I am no longer sure that I can trust you. And you're going to have to win back that trust, sir. From what I gather, your base is pissed as fucking hell about all of this. I am one of those people, one of those funtastic "netroots" folks. Actually, this is one lesson that you should have learned from George W. Bush: do. not. piss. off. your. base. Ever. I am the bread to your butter, the cake to your ice cream, and the tequilla to your lime. We compliment each other, we go well together, and we look awesome in both ebony and ivory. C'mon, man. Don't wreck this Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney moment in time. And don't make me consider voting for Ralph Nader, or not voting at all, especially after my diatribe to Hillary supporters several weeks ago. I hate eating crow, because it tastes like total shit.
I'm sad. I'm heartbroken. I thought that what we had was real. How could you do this to me? Please tell me that you love me. Please tell me that this is all a big misunderstanding.
Yours,
Steph
Ya know, I keep pretty damn current with all the hot and sweaty political news. I am nothing if not disgustingly informed, although some might argue that the word "informed" could easily be replaced with the word "obsessed". (Sadly, those people would not be wrong.) I usually check progressive websites many times per day, often to chuckle at some asinine thing John McCain said at a VFW fundraiser in BFE, Alabama. Then I read your response to his asinine comment, and I sigh and smile and swoon, and then I shout, "Atta boy, Barack! Atta boy!" And then you and I transport back in time to the 1950s to catch a double header at Wrigley Field, and eat hot dogs, but only because tofu dogs haven't been invented yet.
But I have spent the past two weeks immersed in a very emotional and horrible medical situation that required immediate attention. So please forgive me for the belated questioning: DUDE! WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT?!
Who the hell are you? Has a soul-sucking alien invaded your body? Did you and Hillary Clinton actually figure out the physics required to become one person? Or are you sick, too, and maybe have a case of Cheney on the brain? What is this, with the voting of the FISA bill? And the personal attack on General Wesley Clark? And the sudden devotion to Bush's wonderful faith-based initiatives? And the criticizing of MoveOn? And all of the other boneheaded crap you've said and done in the past two weeks? Does Michelle know about all of this bullshit? Where's Michelle?! I'M TELLING MICHELLE!
ohmyGOD, I'm wondering now if I wasn't completely wrong about you. I can't even believe I am saying/writing these words! I totally believed in you, man! Every cynical person I've talked with about politics, for the past 7 months at least, appears to have been right. I wanna be right! I don't want those clowns to be right! Because they were all (in sweet, soothing, condescending tones), "He's going to play the liberal card until the general election starts. And then he's going to move to the center, just like Al did, and John did. He is not the rock star that you think he is, Steph." And I was all, "You are so wrong! Ha ha ha, I laugh at you. Wrong! This guy is the real deal! Why do you have to be so negative about everything?" And then I would babble about positive energy and goodness and light, and What the &*%$# Do We Know? would somehow seep its hippie way into the conversation, so that I could in turn look down on them and, thusly, feel superior. As an American, one upsmanship is totally my right.
Barack, sweetie, let me spell this out for you: stop listening to the fools who keep telling you to "Move to the right! Move to the right!" You do not need them, because they could not be more wrong. How can you not see this? How can you not know this? It didn't work for Al Gore or John Kerry, and it ain't gonna work for you. (OK, technically, it did work for Al Gore, but that's another story.) In general, Democrats are really, super sick and tired of members of Congress who appear to be watered-down versions of Republicans. We do not need another pussy! We have enough pussies as elected officials! We do not need another idiotic Democratic candidate for president who is masquerading as a toned-down Republican. Next thing I know, you'll be chilling at NASCAR events and talking smack about gay marriage.
I am your base, Senator Obama. I feel betrayed and somewhat unhinged, but that could just be the aforementioned medical issue. But I really feel deceived by you. I am no longer sure that I can trust you. And you're going to have to win back that trust, sir. From what I gather, your base is pissed as fucking hell about all of this. I am one of those people, one of those funtastic "netroots" folks. Actually, this is one lesson that you should have learned from George W. Bush: do. not. piss. off. your. base. Ever. I am the bread to your butter, the cake to your ice cream, and the tequilla to your lime. We compliment each other, we go well together, and we look awesome in both ebony and ivory. C'mon, man. Don't wreck this Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney moment in time. And don't make me consider voting for Ralph Nader, or not voting at all, especially after my diatribe to Hillary supporters several weeks ago. I hate eating crow, because it tastes like total shit.
I'm sad. I'm heartbroken. I thought that what we had was real. How could you do this to me? Please tell me that you love me. Please tell me that this is all a big misunderstanding.
Yours,
Steph
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