Pardon Me While I Totally Unload on You

This one isn't pretty or funny or even easy to read probably. But maybe some of you will identify and I could certainly use some support. Or maybe you should just skip this one, up to you.

I hesitated about whether to write this or not, as I'm sure some of my IRL friends have found their way here. But then, most of my IRL friends are aware of the situation, and if they aren't, it's not like it's really a secret. So, onward.

My parents are alcoholics. They will tell you that they aren't. That they "might indulge a little more than they should" but that they are not in need of any help or harming anyone. They have been for as long as I can remember, if I think back on it, though I didn't really catch on until my first (and only) summer home from college, when I suddenly thought to myself "God, has it always been like this? Or did it get worse after I left?"

The truth is, it had always been like that to varying degress...4 or 5 empty beer cans in the sink by the time dinner was on the table. Entire bottles of wine consumed in one sitting. Bedtime scotch and special occasion tequila shots. Drunken phone calls to my grown sister and midnight ambushes while I was trying to do my homework.

They are both alcoholics, though my father is far less an issue for me than my mother. His general response to drunkeness is to pass out in his recliner in the living room. He doesn't bother me when he's wasted. My mother, on the other hand, reveals all of her very worst qualities when she is hammered. And hammered she is on a regular basis.

Take this scene, for example, on a weeknight last week. Keeping in mind that I have been living there now since mid-March, truly making an effort not to pick fights and to just get along.

Daddy had made steaks and the 3 of us had sat down to dinner at 7:30. Steaks and potatoes and wine. I did not partake of the alcohol. Mom opened a second bottle at about 9pm. She had clearly already had plenty, but suggesting to her that maybe we didn't need another bottle is a battle I no longer try to fight. When we got up from the table shortly thereafter, my father went promptly to bed and I retreated to my bedroom with the door closed for some True Blood before bed.

At 10:45pm I left my room to go out front and retrieve some blankets a friend was returning. I walked back into the house to find my mother sitting in the kitchen floor. I put on my best smile and my perfectly calm and not-at-all-annoyed voice and said,

"Do you need some help?"

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"Did you fall or did you just decide to sit down there?"

"No, I'm just hanging out down here by the [air] vent."

"Are you hot? Would you like me to turn the air down?"

"No, I'm ok now."

"Would you like some help up off the floor?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid I'll just pull you down with me."

She then proceeded to crawl, on her hands and knees, across the kitchen floor, where she reached for the counter top and managed to heave herself, not so steadily, back up to a standing position. I continued to try and be nice:

"Would you like me to help you to bed?"

"I can't go to bed until the kitchen is clean. I need to wake up to a clean kitchen."

"OK, well how about we get you to bed and then I'll take care of it. It will be nice and clean in the morning, I promise."

She ignored me and started hobbling her way around the kitchen, but not before she POURED ANOTHER GLASS OF WINE.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What's that?"
"Why, if you're already so drunk you can barely stand up, are you pouring more wine in your glass?"

"That's a good question. Because the bottle isn't empty, I guess."

I'm not making that up, she actually said that. She refused to leave the kitchen a mess, so I went in to help her and try to speed up the process so that she would GO TO BED before she ended up on the floor again, this time not on purpose. While rinsing dishes she says:

"You think I'm pathetic." (this is a common tactic when she's wasted - guilt)

"No Mama, I don't think you're pathetic." (yes I do)

"Well I AM drunk. And I don't like it either."

"Well Mama, you are the only person who can keep that from happening."

"I know, but that would require self control that I obviously do not have."

"There's help for people who want it, you know."

I should point out here that the subject of AA is not well-received in this house, despite the fact that my mother has a cousin that she adores who has successfully completed the program and is still very active in the community. I do not understand this. I guess it's that whole "the first step is admitting you have a problem" thing. We're not there yet. Anyway, she then says to me, after a few moments pause:

"I know. You're sober and you just have all the answers."

To which I promptely responded "Alright. You can get yourself to bed then." and walked back to my bedroom before I totally lost it. Bitch-slapped her purple teeth out of her purple mouth lost it.

I'm not sure why I even try anymore. There have been many events over the years, total meltdowns and calmer conversations, that have resulted from their complete refusal to acknowledge that they have a problem. It has progressed from both of them vehemently disagreeing with my accusation to each of them telling me separately that they're worried about the other's increasingly ridiculous alcohol habits. It's gone from too many beers before dinner to entire bottles of wine in front of the TV to pouring another scotch at 4am to bosses calling spouses because someone didn't show up for work and no one is answering the phones at home. It is completely and totally out of control. And it angers and saddens me beyond words. Because there have been so many words and not one of them has made a difference.

Sometimes I think I'm getting through to them or we're making progress. Sometimes someone apologizes for how it affects me or one of them says something to the other, supports my cause. But the reality is that they don't want help. They don't want it and they won't get it, whether I use my not-at-all-annoyed voice or my hiccuping-between-sobs voice. I don't know if there's a singular event in the future that might end it or whether it will always be this way. I don't know if it will some day drive us completely apart. Lord knows it's come pretty close in the past.

And you know what the hardest part is? It's not the drunken ambushes, the guilt trips, the face plants in the hallway. It's not the ridiculous dinner conversations or the public embarrassments or the hypocritical statements. It's seeing, almost daily, plain and clear right there in front of me, how much they hate themselves. And the fear that I might someday end up like them.

They are barely functional train wrecks. They have so much practice they can fake it even to themselves. But not to me, (sometimes not-so-)late at night, sitting in the kitchen floor. I know how truly awful it is. How totally out of control. It is a sad, pathetic thing, and it's been going on for 20+ years.

Seriously Woman

If you guys knew the week I've had, you would forgive me my bloggy transgressions. It has been total hell.

And it's not likely to get much better this week because I have decided to try and move next weekend instead of waiting til the end of the month. Because if I don't get the fuck out of here I'm going to bitch slap my mother and I'm not sure relationships recover from that kind of thing.

I shouldn't even be in town next weekend. I should be going to Austin to behave atrociously in honor of Sharky's pending nuptials. But I am a sucker and can't say no so I will be TEACHING SUNDAY SCHOOL for Christ's sake. Actually, it will have nothing to do with Christ, as I'm Jewish. But you get my point. Molding young minds vs. partying my ass off? Clearly I've lost my damn mind.

Things have hit the "honeymoon's over" skids with Babe this week. I know part of it is me being a stressed out B, but it hasn't been helping matters. I don't think we're gonna break up or anything, but the stress of the joblessness combined with the distance from his place to mine is definitely taking it's toll. Another reason to get my bed into my own place ASAP.

Just don't even get me started on work. If this wasn't a 4 day week I'm pretty sure my head would have exploded last week. They do not pay me enough to put up with some of this shit.

So that's the short, random version. I will do better this week because when I don't get my daily dose of ridiculosity (mostly courtesy of Lilu, Maxie and Shine, check those bitches out, they're hilarious!) I go a little bit crazy-nuts. And isn't venting one of the many advantages of this awesome bloggy universe?

I Told You So

or, Why You Should Listen to Your Instincts When Travelling with Your Mother

My mom and I flew to Tucson this weekend to babysit my 14 month old niece while my sister and her husband went to Las Vegas for a vacation. My mom is still there actually, as they won't be back until late tomorrow, but I have a job that, you know, pays, so I figured maybe I'd better come back early.

I would like to preface the following story about our travels with this: I hate traveling with my mom. It consistently proves to be an infuriating/miserable experience. Like the time she nearly made all 4 of us miss our plane to Maine because she wouldn't get out of bed on time and then didn't understand why I was "power walking" through the airport. Or the time we drove to Arkansas to visit her family (just the two of us) and she ended up in the ER on Saturday night and nearly died of sepsis. Yeah, that was fun.

I should also probably point out that my mom LOVES Southwest Airlines. Love loves them. Would have tiny airplane babies at the age of 62 if that were biologically possible.

But I digress. I took a half day from work on Friday and was home in plenty of time to unload a bunch of shit out of her car so that Daddy could drive us to the airport in it (did I mention he bought a brand new BMW convertible last week? No, I'm not kidding). She was planning to leave work NO LATER than 2pm because we needed to be at the airport at 3 for our 3:55 flight. They got home right on schedule and we loaded up and headed to the airport.

Now my father, he is not a patient man. So when traffic stacked up for no apparent reason about halfway to the airport he proceeded to pitch a ridiculous fit, slamming on the brakes in my mom's already-hard-to-stop Durango and just generally acting like a total fucking jerk. By the time we arrived at the curb-side check in I was ready to slap him across the back of the head and tell him to chill the fuck out.

In between his ridiculous cursing and squealing breaks and thankGodtheseatbeltslock fun, he and my mom set about trying to convince me that I should check my bag, since my mom had to check hers and I wasn't going to save any time not having to wait at baggage claim. The conversation went something like this:

"How close is our connection?" I asked.

"We have an hour! Plenty of time!" my mom replied.

"No, we have 50 minutes, according to these boarding passes. If we're delayed at all it's going to be really tight." I hesitated.

"It's less than an hour before takeoff and the website says everything's on time!" she continued.

"Alright, fine. But I'm telling you, I've had to literally sprint through an airport to make a connection before. And guess what? My bag didn't make it." I pointed out.

"But this is Southwest!" she assured me.

I consented, grudgingly, and went back to being scared for my life. We got there, checked our bags curb-side, and went in to the airport. Where we discovered, can it be?!, that our flight was delayed. 45 minutes, so far. No joke. At which point I said to my mother, "See? Now the connection is going to be really close if we're really that late! Didn't I tell you?" and etc. She continued to brush me off. We worked a crossword puzzle. I was having an awesome crossword puzzle day and was kicking some serious difficult-clue ass. We boarded the plane 30 minutes behind schedule.

The ride was pleasant, we sat with a 33 year old guy from San Diego. My mom bought all 3 of us drinks with her years-expired drink coupons ("Southwest is so great!"). The flight attendants came over the loud speaker to tell us we were making our descent into Albuqueque and some of us had some pretty tight connections, could everyone else please let them off the plane first. They're holding the planes for us but they'd like us to board as quickly as possible. I looked at my mom and she said "Calm down Mare, I'm sure it will be fine!"

So we power walked through the tiny Albuqueque airport, boarded the plane, and took off. A very short flight later, we were on the ground in Tucson, deplaning and making our way to the baggage claim.

I would say that I don't have to tell you what happened next, but I do. Because it was epic in the I Told You So department. It was an eat-shit-and-die I Told You So. It was a you-had-sure-as-hell-better-listen-to-me-next-time I told you so.

I waited at the carousel while mom went out to see if Brandon was on the curb waiting for us yet. I pulled mom's bag off the carousel (YES. HER BAG MADE IT.) I watched several very similar 20" rolling black suitcases make their way off the conveyor and get snatched up by other people. And then there were no more bags. And my mom walked back up and I said "It's not here. I TOLD YOU SO."

And then we stood in the baggage office where the Southwest employee DID NOT ACKNOWLEDGE OUR PRESENCE for a solid 10 minutes. I'm not even kidding you, that bitch didn't even look up and say "I'll be with you in just a minute." She typed and she answered the phone and she radioed someone and not once did she look up until, after 10 WHOLE MINUTES she looked and me and said "OK, how can I help you?" with a smile that I wanted to slap off her stupid face.

(I should point out here that I am not a hypocrite. I also lack patience, like my father, but I was perfectly calm and nice to her when she finally helped me, unlike my father who would have stuck his hand in her face 2 minutes in and demanded she help him right this instant).

So I registered my bag and was informed that it would most likely be in on the 10:40 flight from Albuqueque. Since we had to come back to the airport the next morning to drop off Adrianne and Brandon, I told her I'd pick it up (also, we didn't know their address. So that was helpful). She promised me a $50 travel voucher for picking it up instead of having it delivered. My mom was instantly pleased with the outcome of the debacle ("Only Southwest would do that!"). Me, not so much.

I should also mention that when I went back Saturday morning (in the same clothes I'd had on the afternoon before, only now I had nice cheesy baby handprints on my white shirt), there was no one in the baggage office. So I waited for 20 minutes to speak to someone at the ticketing counter who radioed down and found out that there was already someone down there. So that was fun.

Needless to say, I was thoroughly annoyed at this whole thing and made sure to tell my mom many, many times, that I was right and she was wrong. And then when my dad picked me up at the airport last night, I made sure to tell him a few times too. Because that was way more satisfying than the $50 travel voucher, let's be honest.

Proving LiLu's Theory

Before you yell at me for not updating since Wednesday, here are my excuses: I didn't blog Thursday because I was all "one day off is no big deal!" Then I didn't blog Friday-Saturday because I was too busy being all honeymoon phase-y with the boy. I could have blogged last night, but then it occurred to me that, why would I spend time I could be catching up on sleep Sunday night when I could spend time I will desperately need something to do at work on Monday?

OK, now you can yell.

Feel better? Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, on to the post I could have written last night but put off until today.

Oh, also, before you start, if you'd like the title of this post to make any sense to you, you should go read LiLu's theory on relationships if you haven't already. That chick's a genius (and also fall out of your office chair, snort in your cube funny).

For those of you too lazy/lame to read the post, LiLu's theory is that the person you're meant to be with is the one who can tolerate your kind of crazy. Because we are all a little crazy. Past experiences inevitably leave us a lot smarter but also a little bit scarred. It's as true for men as it is for women, but most men are a little bit better at keeping their crazy under wraps.

I had my first mini-meltdown of my relationship with Babe this weekend. Now, I don't want to go into the gory details for a lot of reasons including his privacy, but suffice it to say that there was some major drama involved in his last relationship before me and I am the first girl he's really dated since then (1.5 years ago). Said drama has...slightly amplified my otherwise "normal" early-relationship jitters. So really, it's saying something that I kept my shit together as long as I did. Especially since our favorite activity involves consuming lots of alcohol (ok, it IS consuming lots of alcohol).

When I got over to his place on Friday, he was super sweet. We cuddled on the couch watching TV and he played with my hair and scratched my back, things he knows I like and therefore made me very happy. When we were ready for dinner, we walked over and got some pizza, and then when we heard from our friends, we headed out for a night of drinking games.

Now. I am no longer the lightweight I once was when it comes to alcohol, especially beer. I can now put that shit away without suffering too thoroughly most of the time. However. We played Fuck the Dealer and guess who was the dealer at the end of the game? I think I consumed 2 whole beers in about 5 minutes. Which wouldn't be too terrible, except that kind of drinking takes a little while to catch up with you (and also they were probably beers 5 and 6 of the evening). I won't mention any names, but somebody flashed the guys she was playing in beer pong to distract them later that evening. She was pretty wasted.

When it was time to go home, Babe (who had stopped drinking a while before so he could drive and was, therefore, significantly more sober than I was) packed me up and hauled me away. And for some reason I'm not even sure my drunk self could figure out, I started a fight. About politics. On a Friday night, while drunk, with my new boyfriend. Because I had been bottling up a lot of crazy, I guess, and it got the better of me. He had some personal experience with the topic at hand and was not 1) too sure why I felt the need to bring it up or 2) why I was so upset with him when, at no point, had he disagreed with me. I cannot answer either of these questions. Because I'm special, I guess.

So we got home and, despite the fact that I had stormed away from the car and was still very hostile, he made me cinnamon toast (probably in an effort to sober me up some). And then I continued to argue/cry and generally be a supreme pain in the ass until he finally fought back a little and made me feel really awful for bringing it up at all (which was totally legitimate, let's be honest). Then he left me on the couch and went upstairs.

I sat there trying to get my shit together and decide whether I was going to go upstairs and try to fix it or stay mad and let him go to bed or whatever. About 5 mins later I went up and, still a little sniffley, told him that I was sorry if I upset him and that wasn't my intention, but at the same time, the points I had made were important to me and if that was an issue for him, then maybe we weren't supposed to work out. Because I have totally been that girl who takes it all back and just wants to fix it, and that doesn't end well. So I went with the middle ground, and hoped for the best.

He came over and gave me a big hug and suggested we go back downstairs and finish a movie we'd been watching earlier. That it was ok that I'd lost it a little, he had his moments too, and maybe I should have quit drinking after Fuck the Dealer. I nodded my head and we went downstairs. Where I proceeded to watch the movie with my head on his shoulder and one eye closed because otherwise I had double vision. Yeah, a little too much to drink.

About 15 minutes after we'd gone back downstairs, while he stroked my hair with my head on his shoulder, he kissed my forehead and told me "don't worry, I don't give up that easily. It's going to take a lot more than that to run me off." And I swallowed away some more tears and told him "I'm really glad to hear you say that."

And so, my friends, example 57,348,941 of LiLu's Love Theory. He gets my kind of crazy. And he knows exactly what to do to make it better.

Thank God. Cause I would have been pretty bummed if I'd sent him packing.

We spent the rest of the weekend being a ridiculously cute couple. We went to see District 9 on Saturday night and he held my hand/had his arm around me through the whole movie. And he was worried when I kept looking away from all the icky alien grossness that I didn't like the movie (which I did, it was excellent, if a little vomit-y/violent).

Tonight I'm going over to make lasagna for him, his brother and his brother's roommate, the Social Broker. In case you didn't know, I make the best lasagna you'll ever eat. I'm pretty psyched.

Dear Economy, Go F Yourself

Blah. Sorry for the negativity, but Babe got laid off today. Which makes no sense, since he was out of town 3 days last week helping set up their new office. They eliminated his position company-wide...but they can afford to open a new office. Brilliant (I can't say that without thinking of those Guiness commercials...).

This would be less scary if he a) wasn't already completely strapped this week, b) got any kind of notice or c) any form of severance. But such is life, and he has a positive attitude so far, so I am just trying to do my best to smile and be helpful as much as I can.

The good news is, I kick serious heiny at resume-writing and one of my close friends is the badassest recruiter and networker in the area. She's also Australian. And my future roommate. I know, you're jealous.

That's right, it's official. Mary is getting the hell out of dodge. And just in the nick of time, apparently.

I am a little bummed because Babe and I kind of have enough drama to work through without adding the stress of job hunting. But such is life, I suppose, and we'll make it or we won't. The major goal is not to turn into the same girl I was the last time I dated someone who was jobless. That would be the one that ended in the quarter-life crisis. So yeah.

Thoughts/prayers/Internet love and other such silliness, choose your flavor. He'll take all the good karma he can get.

100 Things

Because I am both unoriginal and bored at work. Enjoy:

1. I'm a blond haired, blue eyed Jew named Mary. People have a really hard time with this. But the name comes from my paternal great-grandmother, Mary Katz Cohen. Her father was a Rabbi. Besides, technically, Mary was Jewish.
2. I actually converted to Judaism when I was 18 with my mother. You know, to make it official. "In case you ever want to marry an Orthodox Jew." Right.
3. School was never very hard for me. Except BC Calculus. That shit nearly killed me.
4. My memory is a little ridiculous. I get it from my father. You can play a song I haven't heard in ten years, and if I knew the words then, I still do. I think it's why I was so good at languages.
5. Probably as a result of my memory, I am an excellent speller. I read a lot as a kid, and if I've ever seen it I can look at it and tell if it's spelled correctly. Most of the time I can even correct it if it's misspelled.
6. I am a corrector. This annoys a lot of people, especially my very best friend. I try not to do it, but sometimes it just slips out. It's not my fault I'm smarter than you. (KIDDING!)
7. I'm also an interrupter. Although I like to think I've gotten a lot better about this one. It requires a concentrated effort though :p.
8. When I'm drunk, I cannot shut up. I probably talk too much even when I'm sober, but it's about 100x worse when I'm drinking. And I know I'm doing it...in my head I'm thinking "Shut up, Mary. Nobody cares." But I just keep talking.
9. I refer to myself as a serial monogamist. I have been known, on rare occasions, to date casually, but mostly I'm That Girl Who Always Has a Boyfriend. I like being a girlfriend, what can I say?
10. My favorite color is purple. If it is available in purple, I will almost definitely buy it in purple. However, I hate purple-flavored things. They all taste like cough syrup. That shit's gross.
11. I am a cat person. I can tolerate dogs on an individual basis, as long as they don't 1) jump on me, 2) stick their wet nose in my crotch and/or 3) lick me.
12. I never drank in high school. I didn't really drink in college. Including a semester abroad in Spain. Andalucia, to be exact. Party central. Yeah, I'm not sure how I did that either. Don't worry though, I'm making up for lost time.
13. I have a half-sister who is 13 years older than I am and a brother who is 18 months younger. I have nothing in common with either one of them except some DNA, supposedly.
14. I never thought I would be an aunt. My sister never wanted kids and my brother...well, God help any children he may have. And then my sister got pregnant at 36 (on purpose!) and now I have a niece, Macy Gwen.
15. I worked for 13 years taking care of other people's children. I was a better parent to most of them than their own parents will ever be. And yet, I'm sure I'm going to do all the stupid things they did that annoyed the crap out of me when I have my own kids.
16. I don't like politics. I know I should care, and I do, but I hate following it and I don't know enough about most things to be able to make a valid argument. I do vote though, so don't yell at me.
17. I never watch the news. Again, I know I should, but it just angers/depresses me. I'm still young enough to get away with being relatively clueless.
18. Speaking of depression, it runs in my family like whoa. And we're not just talking a little bit of the blues here. We're talking full-on, certifiable crazy. My 6 months of therapy last year consisted mostly of my therapist going "It's amazing how functional you are after the stuff you grew up with." Amen, sister.
19. I get bored with my hairstyles very easily. I always want to cut it off about 6 months after I decide to grow it out. And I almost always hate it when I do. So I've started dying it sometimes to stave off the scissors. I'm currently Medium Dark Brown.
20. I like being good at stuff and surpassing/defying people's expectations of me. I think part of my appeal is that, when you get to know me, I'm not what you expected when you first met me.
21. I get along way better with guys than with girls. I do not do shopping/fashion/catty bullshit. I prefer sports/beer/stupid jokes. As a result, most of my friends are guys.
22. Girlfriends/wives always hate me when they first meet me. I'm told this is because "if you were a dog it would be ok. But you're hot, so they freak out." If you say so. They usually end up liking me once they get to know me.
23. I hate being hit on. With a fiery passion. Fortunately, when you're the only girl with 5 guys at a bar, that doesn't happen very often. BONUS: You also don't have to pay for very many drinks.
24. Despite the fact that I hate being hit on in bars, I met my last two boyfriends in bars. The first one because I worked there and he was a regular. The current one because he tagged along with his brother, who's a friend of mine. But he didn't hit on me!
25. I am a Diet Coke addict. I consume scary amounts of it. Cancer amounts. But it's so good...
26. I will eat pretty much any vegetable but straight steamed spinach. I will eat spinach in quiche though.
27. I am terrible about taking pictures. I always have my camera but I never freakin' use it. As a result, I am a picture-stealer. All the best pictures of me were taken by someone else's camera :p.
28. Numbers and I do not get along. I skip them, transpose them, miscalculate them. It's bad. I frequently look like an idiot because of it.
29. My favorite dessert has been and will always be Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream. I'm never moving anywhere they don't sell it, so don't ask me to.
30. Speaking of moving, I would be perfectly happy to live in Texas for the rest of my life. I like it here. Except for the 100+ degree days. I could do without those.
31. I am a huge freaking wuss when it comes to cold. I'm that person in the office with her space heater on even though it's 70 degress outside. I am easily over air-conditioned. But I'm a hot sleeper...it's pretty much the only time I'm not freezing my ass off.
32. Despite being a hot sleeper, I am a bedtime cuddler. It hurts my feelings if you roll away from me when we turn the lights out. You shouldn't be offended, however, when I roll away from you in the middle of the night because we're both sweating our asses off :p.
33. I have what some might consider a disturbing affinity for children's movies. Especially Pixar movies. And The Emperor's New Groove. Don't judge me.
34. I love the TV show Friends. I can't pick a favorite friend, they all have their moments. I can also quote half of most of the episodes. But I don't, no worries. At least, not anymore.
35. I cry in almost every movie I watch. Sometimes it's happy crying, but I do it just the same. Maybe because I'm not so good at expressing my emotions in real life? I don't know.
36. Speaking of disturbing affinities and crying, I had a nice long cry at the end of the seventh Harry Potter book. Mostly because I was sad it was over. And happy for Harry and Ginny and Ron and Hermione.
37. I have several celebrity girl crushes: Jennifer Aniston, Tea Leoni and Carrie Underwood to name a few. I would totally tap that.
38. I didn't ride roller coasters til I was 16. I spent the whole time we were in line saying "there is no f*ing way you are getting me on that thing." And then I rode it and survived and now I'll ride pretty much anything.
39. I am extremely clumsy/accident prone and I bruise like a peach. It's sometimes speculated that I'm abused due to all the bruises. Like when I broke my arm in kindergarten and they asked me "if my mommy hit me." Nope, I did this to myself. Thanks for your concern though.
40. I truly believe in "mind over matter." I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but I hit a point in my life where I decided I was done not doing things because I was scared. Life's a lot more fun when you can just suck it up every once in a while and try new things.
41. I can handle almost any bug, no problem. I cannot handle cockroaches. I literally hyperventilate when I have to kill them. And then I have another whole episode when I have to pick them up and throw them out. I'm freaking out right now just thinking about it.
42. I am a Daddy's Little Princess. Despite the fact that our relationship is not always sunshine and roses, I am well aware of the fact that he does not often tell me no.
43. I'm really anal about doing things in order. Like TV shows...I can't start watching halfway through. This is why TV on DVD/DVR is so awesome. I can be OCD and still enjoy all the shows everyone starts talking about midway through Season 3.
44. I hate horror movies. I do not enjoy spending 2 hours freaking out about when the next scary thing is going to happen.
45. While not a horror movie, Jurassic Park was the only movie I've ever had to leave the theater in the middle of. I could not tell you why it so thoroughly scared the shit out of me. Maybe because I was like 10? My sixth grade boyfriend (who was there at the time) made me go back and watch "just the scary parts" 2 years later and I was fine.
46. I startle easily. I can know that you are standing around that corner waiting to jump out at me or that you're going to try and tap my shoulder and make me jump on your way back from the bathroom, but you will still get me every. freaking. time.
47. Unnecessarily mean people really irritate me. If you don't have anything nice to say, keep your damn mouth shut.
48. I am built like my mother and have long, skinny everything. My ring size is a 4.5 and my inseam is 35 inches. I found a picture of my mom when she was 22 and you could paste my face on it and never know the difference.
49. My feet are also long and skinny. And narrow. And did I mention long? My dad used to tease me "just think of how tall you'd be if they didn't turn so much down for feet." My dad, he's a funny guy.
50. I have no desire to be any taller. 5'6" is tall for a Jewish girl. And I like wearing my sexy red high heels.
51. I love to bowl. In high school, I had my own ball. I still have my own shoes. It's twice as much fun when I get to beat a guy's score. I don't go nearly as often as I'd like to anymore.
52. I play adult kickball. And while I'm relatively decent at the kickball part, I am usually pure ownage at the flip cup part. Now there's a marketable skill...
53. Many people I know have gotten/are getting married. I am simultaneously jealous and relieved that I am not one of them. I want a wedding, but I am SO not ready to be married yet.
54. The most important people in my life are survivors...people who have lived things no one should have to. I have plenty of friends this doesn't apply to, but the ones I truly love are the ones who are as broken as I am and still get up and live every day as best they can.
55. Conversely, I cannot stand people who sit around and bitch about their "problems" while making no effort to change their situation. I will not sit and listen to you bitch about how fat you are while you suck down that milkshake. I will, however, be more than happy to hear about how sore your abs are because you did the ab class last night.
56. I'm not the kind of person who fakes relationships. If I don't value your friendship, I'm not going to try and maintain it. If you pitch a hissy fit about something you never told me bothered you, odds are we're done. Some people are only meant to be a part of your life for a little while. I'm ok with that.
57. I am TERRIBLE about keeping in touch with people. Truly awful. Phone calls, letters, emails. It makes me hate myself a little bit. It's also probably why the people I've been friends with the longest are the ones I can pick right back up with like it hasn't been 6 months since we last spoke :p.
58. I grew up on snow skis in Vail, CO, but I haven't been skiing since I was in high school. Despite many years of experience and the skill to do so, I have never skied a black run. Back to that whole I-don't-enjoy-being-scared-shitless thing.
59. I had never been to a beach until I was 17. I love the beach. I want to get married on the beach. If you can make it, great. If not, I'll see you when we get back.
60. I love to sing, but not by myself in front of people. I miss choir like crazy. I loved the validation of my talent paired with the anonymity of not knowing which voice was mine.
61. I am a lyrics whore. John Mayer is my favorite songwriter. Sara Bareilles is also awesome. Well-written music truly moves me.
62. I cannot dance. I'm sorry, but my knees cannot take me that near the floor. Sometimes, when I'm drunk, I think I can though. I prefer to dance with girlfriends over boyfriends 100% of the time. Think Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" meets Pink's "U + Ur Hand."
63. My dad and I have the same initials. He got mad when I "stole" his email address of firstintiallastname@whatever.com. Sorry dude, you named me!
64. I've had Gmail since you had to be invited. Google is the shit.
65. "Republicans" bother me because I think they're hypocrites. Fiscally, they want you to stay the hell out of their business, but socially they want to legislate all kinds of stuff that's none of their damn business.
66. My mother is from Arkansas and says things like "caddywhompus" and "six of one, seven of the other." The first times I said these things, people looked at me like I was nuts.
67. I like checking things off lists. Maybe a little too much.
68. I am notorious for having to move my furniture around every 6 months or so. It's amazing what I woman can lift/move when she sets her mind to it. I once moved a queen-size bed down a flight of stairs and into a U-Haul by myself.
69. Speaking of queen-size beds, I once inflated a queen-size air mattress without a pump. I have a ridiculous lung capacity (probably because I was a singer). I did get kinda dizzy though.
70. I love citrus scented things. Best ever is the Satsuma body wash at The Body Shop. Orgasm in a bottle.
71. I am almost incapable of using an entire bottle of shampoo before switching to a different one. I have no idea why this is. It drives my mother nuts. I'm pretty sure she's still hanging on to half-used bottles of stuff I bought in junior high.
72. My favorite pair of jeans is from Walmart. My second favorite pair of jeans is from Old Navy. I cannot spend exorbitant amounts of money on clothing. I just don't care that much.
73. I was in college before I knew what a hair straightener was and I'm still learning the finer points of applying make up. As in, how to apply eyeliner without looking like a raccoon. Did I mention I don't care that much?
74. Despite my lack of attention to my appearance the majority of the time, I like to think I clean up pretty well.
75. When I was a little girl, my mom used to have to sew skirts onto my favorite tshirts to get me to wear dresses. Now I love to wear them. They're so easy and they show off my looooong legs.
76. I was uber-involved in youth group when I was in high school. I've been to Temple maybe 10 times since I graduated. But I still consider myself a faithful person and know that I can always good back when/if I need/want to.
77. I've agreed to teach religious school to 8th graders in the fall. Comparative Religion. I'm still not sure how I got talked into this. Probably because I have a really hard time saying no.
78. I wanted to be a teacher from when I was in elementary school until my third semester of student-teaching in college. I was prepared for the problems the students bring. I was not prepared for the complete lack of support from the school administration/government.
79. I love strawberry-flavored anything. Candy, cheesecake, ice cream, soda. On second thought, make that strawberry-flavored things that are awful for you.
80. I have been at my current job longer than any other job I've had since I graduated college. It's been 6.5 months.
81. I could eat Whataburger every day for a month and not get tired of it. Whataburger taquitos might be the best thing ever. And my god, the ketchup...they call that shit "fancy ketchup" for a reason. One more reason I can never leave Texas.
82. I love college football. Do yourself a favor and do not get me started on the whole Texas-OU-Tech fiasco caused by the BCS tie-breaker last year. We won head to head. What. the. fuck.
83. I also grew up going to Dallas Mavericks games. Back when they were truly awful. You know, when Jason Kidd was originally a Maverick. My dad's best friend from college was the arena announcer until Cuban bought the team. Dirk Nowitzki is a badass.
84. That best friend who was the arena announcer? He used to scare the shit out of me. His voice was loud and deep and he always smelled like scotch and cigars.
85. When I came home from college after my freshman year of college, I swore that was the last time I would ever live in my parents' house again. This is my second time living at home since then (though the last one was *very* short-lived).
86. I've lived with three boyfriends, two of them only for the summer, the third for a year. Well, most of a year. I broke up with him two months before the lease ended :p.
87. The only place I've ever lived by myself was a 385 square-foot efficiency in a not-so-savory part of Austin. The bathroom was so small you had to lift the toilet seat to close the door. No lie.
88. I don't really eat cooked fish. I do eat shrimp (Reform Judaism people, look it up). And sometimes sushi, but mostly I like the stuff that doesn't actually have any fish in it. I'm weird, I don't know what to tell you.
89. I am a gadget/technology freak. I always want the latest and greatest toys, especially by Apple. I totally get this from my father. I'm on my 3rd Mac computer and I own 2 iPods and an iPhone. It's like a drug.
90. I have two giant couches, a washer and dryer all sitting in storage right now. None of which are paid off yet. Damn you 0% interest for 12/24 months.
91. Did I mention I haven't always been too good with money? This is how you end up in your parents' house at 24 years old. Credit cards are the devil.
92. I had what I refer to as my "quarter-life crisis" at the end of my junior year of college and consequently tumped my life on it's end. It was the best thing I ever did for myself.
93. While my family is often about as impossible to deal with as they come, they're still my family and they always will be. The hard part is finding the place between enabling and loving them anyway.
94. I have totaled two cars and wrecked another one and walked away from all three wrecks with a few cuts and bruises. Some of them weren't even my fault. My father refuses to have anything to do with buying me a car after the two that I totaled malfunctioned and nearly killed me.
95. When I read anymore, it's usually crappy chick lit. When I find an author I like, I usually read everything they've written. It's that whole doing things in order and checking them off lists thing :p.
96. I wish I was crafty, but I so am not. This results in lots of projects I start but don't finish. Like knitting. And scrap booking. And sewing...you get the picture. I was always jealous of those girls in school who could do those stupid bubble letters so perfectly.
97. I've traveled to Spain, France, Italy and Israel. Two pieces of advice: buy a backpack and half the number of cities you're planning to visit. Trains are twice as taxing as actual sight-seeing.
98. My second toes are longer than my first ones. And I have hitchhikers thumbs.
99. My favorite place to be, ever, is cuddled up with someone I care about watching movies and making love during thunderstorms. You know, like in fairy tales.
100. My mom says I've always been an old soul and I get younger every year. At 24, I feel like I'm just starting to get a handle on "being a twenty-something." I'm loving every minute of it.

A Cautionary Tale

Welcome! As this is my first post to this blog, I thought it appropriate to provide a bit of background on myself, my life and my current living situation.

The Players:

My name is Mary. I am a 24 year old college graduate who, after 2.5 years of living on my own in the "real" world, moved back in with my parents in April (to quote a favorite blogger of mine "BE YE NOT SO STUPID"). There were a lot of factors that went into this decision, the most pressing of which was the debt I acquired while trying to make it on my own (I am not, apparently, Mary Tyler Moore).

My parents have been married for nearly 26 years. My dad will tell you he married my mom because she's the only one who laughs at his jokes. I laugh at them too because I'm a daddy's girl. My mom and I? We can coexist, but we have to make an effort. Sometimes, it's a lot of effort. Go into my bedroom and scream into a pillow effort. But hey! We're trying!

The addition of my 2 cats brought the household total to 4. Yes, 4 cats. Since our arrival, the oldest cat (but newest addition), Belle, has been sentenced to life outside after proving that she wasn't likely to adjust to the exponential increase in feline residents. Helen is the longest-residing (and also dumbest) cat in the house. My 2 cats are Romeo, a fat orange guy who likes to yowl, and Slim, a grey kitten and the "cattiest" of the bunch.

I also have a nearly 23 year old brother who...well, let's just say we're polar opposites. He lives with his girlfriend and a roommate they can't stand about 20 mins from us. If you put all 4 of us in the same place, things get...interesting.

The Rules:

I am living in my parents' house with the understanding that I am saving money to pay down my debt. This means no rent, but it also means unsolicited commentary on every.penny.I.spend. I must provide proof each month of how much I'm paying toward my debt above what I was paying before moving home. Let me tell ya, figuring out how to do that without giving them total access to my finances required a few extra brain cells.

There are 2 more rules, as dictated to me by my father shortly after my homecoming. They are, and I quote:

1. You don't have to come home every night, but if you aren't coming home, call.
2. There will be no entertaining men in this house.

He said "entertaining men," no lie. Not only will there be no sleepovers, they are not to enjoy themselves in any way, shape or form at any time! Way to cover all your bases, Daddy.

The House:

We have lived in the same 4 bedroom, 3 bath house since I was 2 months old. Shortly (and I do mean shortly) after my brother's and my departures from the nest, my parents rearranged the 3 extra bedrooms in the house. What was once my bedroom is now my mother's office, what was once my brother's bedroom is now my father's office, and what was once the office is now the guest room/my bedroom.

I have pretty much free access to the kitchen and the large television in the living room. I have a small (ancient) television in my bedroom that you can't see when laying in the California king-size bed because the bed is SO.FUCKING.BIG.

The size of the bed lends itself to the stacking and accumulation of laundry and other crap. Which would be ok except every time my mom walks past my open door, she has to comment. Also, there's the fact that the SO.FUCKING.BIG. bed leaves little space in the room for anything else. It's fun in the dark, I promise.

For the most part, if I go in my bedroom and close the door, I am left alone. Unless there's a cat crying outside of it. Or mom is drunk.

This Blog:

My intention in writing here is to chronicle the...insanity? hilarity? hair-pulling frustration? of living at home again. I'm sure it will also involve commentary on other parts of my life as well. Join me, won't you, as I battle in the utimate cage match to the pain? And yes, that was a Princess Bride reference.