We can't ever go back to Arizona!

So I've not spent a ton of time really dwelling on this fact... moreso I accept it. LIfe's a bitch and then you die. Now it occurred to me the other day that people have a lot of complaints. "OH my GOD I was halfway through getting ready and all my friends BAILED on me, SO SHITTY!" or "I'm never going to get to go on vacation because I can't get any overtime!" or my favorite overhead one: "This is bullshit we can't smoke in the bar."

These people are complaining. Loudly. And they're acting like their life has been somehow derailed and they're quite put-off about it. Now I rarely bitch about such things... and I started thinking... Of all the bitches I do have, how do they rate comparatively? And also, have they somehow been resolved?

I don't even keep a tally on all the things that go wrong. I'm sure somewhere, in an old email, facebook status or maybe even on here I can find every single thing that pissed me off. But I don't hold onto it.

Of what I can remember...
Sattie Satalino died. Sattie Snuffleupagus was purchased for a measly $600. WIN!

Now when I tell people stuff that's going on, the answer I usually get is "I'm so sorry to hear that!"

I don't think its that bad... but I have noticed people either live in a bubble of unreality or they tend not to think of others feelings. The people I know to not be that way are the people I see the least often.



In other news...

Some of you may have caught on to the things that unfurled for me on Friday. (Yes, all two of you). I posted something about how in this town the past is never the past.

The thing was... I was trying to be good.

I wasn't out drinking, wasn't partying, was just going to work, going home, playing some xbox, cleaning my new car, buying an MP3 player and planning to set up a computer for my mom, and to run wireless internet in their house. I was staying away from the locals. That didn't stop the inevitable from hitting me in the face.

Dear reader (who is most likely one of my two closest friends who actually read this), you know how I have lamented about the fact that I have a scarlet letter. I "dated too many people." I only SUSPECTED this, by the actions of guys around me.

Well people, its 100% true.

Here is what I wrote on that night, but couldn't post due to a mass of annoying problems such as hacked email and my internet no longer working.

Sometimes I assume I am overreacting. Maybe it isn't as bad as I think, maybe I am ranty for no good reason. Let's also not forget, those damn birth control pills make you kind of nuts… maybe it isn't as bad as you think.

Until someone comes out and says it to your face. What you knew all along. Brimming underneath the surface. No one will date you because you dated "Ex" and you fucked "That guy" and oh don't forget "The Other Guy."

HO. LEE. FUCK.

Haven't we evolved past that as a species? Also, shouldn't we remember how small this town really is, how many "nice guys" there really are and hey, maybe the reason I dated people who were all similar is because they share my interests?

Thanks for the red letter, people who know my ex.

And when I said this is why I am moving to Milwaukee I was told "Its the same everywhere."

My response? No its not, because I'm not going to be around people who know "ex," or "That Guy" or "The Other Guy" and no one will have heard "The Other Guy's" shitty remarks and jokes at my expense.

So you know what? I AM ALREADY AHEAD.

"A small town is a vast Hell."

No truer words ever spoken.

So guess who's sitting here thinking "Fuck watching what I eat" and shoveling sharp cheddar dipped in spicy mustard into her face… yeah, me. And washing it down with a Coke!

At least there was a funny part to all of this. I asked the rival pizza delivery guy and friend if he was going out… then I briefly discussed that I was pissed, why, and said I should take the new Sattie for a drive. I replied that, yes, we were going on a drive. He's probably one of the few people who understands getting pissed about dumb shit and doing something totally random to blow off steam.

To Walmart.

My friend, being similar to me when he's not feeling the best, completely understood driving to Walmart at 1:30 am, listening to Pandora's Prince station on the cell phone (conveniently connect to the radio via the tape-deck. Yes, the TAPE DECK!), buying a seat cover to keep the amount of seat cushion shrapnel to a minimum (rip in seat = itchy foam pieces touching me), and buying armor all and shit.

I forgot how odd it is in there. I get that there are cultural differences. Some dude's repeating the opening call to some rap song. Over and over again. Then he'd pause, yell "Gimme that Becky!" stay quiet for not nearly long enough, then go back to repeating that intro over and over again. Also, the people behind me saying "He shon't be nobody's nigga, he a nigga of no one." These people are lily white. They talked in complete Ebonics… I assume they grew up somewhere that makes this less strange, than say, oh, ME talking like that with my upbringing.

So Sattie Snuffleupagus and I head to the car wash.

We use the vacuum.

We throw away our garbage in the receptacle.

We fight with the machine, trying to coax the money for the automatic wash in.

30 seconds after pulling into the bay, I suddenly think:
A: The outside sounds are pretty clear
B: The door looks like it got wet or something once
C: IS THERE A DOOR SEAL ON THIS CAR?

it was a wet and uncomfortable ride home for my left side.

It didn't so much spray on me as it incessantly dripped on me. Lots of dripping.

Well, at least she's clean. Next time we'll know, Automatic Carwash is a NO.


So yes, I eventually got over that comment. And I moved on. And something vastly strange happened over the weekend...

The usual person was hitting on me.
Some married guy was hitting on me.
Some random dudes at the bar were hitting on me.
A guy I haven't talked to in a couple years was texting, and saying he'd get a room at the Comfort Inn...

ummmm......... ???

It was just that kind of weekend.

Cue carosel music!

Instead of being good, I partied like a rock star on Saturday. Ridiculously so. Ended up showing up at home in a party dress my dad referred to as "lingerie" and took a nap before working in the tent at Racetrack. Saturday was ROUGH. Sunday was recovery and that was still kinda rough. But not as rough as trying to be good and having every single mis-step in your life pointed out to you. I can comedown from the things we did Saturday easier that getting over that crap.

Substances leave your system, but remarks like that jab at your soul.