This is about to be an extremely short and whiny rant.
I stop, or argue with my family and friends, because you know, by now I should be married right? At least once? And screw me saying that I want to do it once and right, even though that’s the truth. It’s kinda now “Have another baby, or get married, or do something dang-it!”
Because my life has turned into: work, Monster Teen quality time, church, internet surfing, rinse and repeat. My phobias of crowds and talking to people outside of work has gotten worse. I don’t know how to interact, without sounding like an awkward fracktard. What do you do in this situation? Because I seriously feel like I’m turning into my mother. After my parents separated, she had one doomed to fail relationship. It went so badly that she didn’t date for over 10 years. She swamped herself in work, family, and church.
And here I am, following along the same water slide without a way to stop the speed. It’s not like it’s all about relationships. I even have trouble making friends outside the office and internets. I want to do more, but I have no one to do it with. All my friends are married or in serious relationships. I’ve surrounded myself with what I want, but still cannot get it.
How do I reach in and pick myself out of a slump like this? I feel like I’m sinking.
Okay, another weekend came. And by God I planned to get out of the house! And this time I did. Yay! But it doesn’t always happen that way.
I have a bad habit of letting life just pass me by sometimes. Not because I want to, but just because the world outside is so daggone DRAINING. I’m a hardcore introvert. I hate crowds, I’m uncomfortable in large groups unless I have some trusted friends along that I know will not leave all alone to my awkward lonesome. My personality is pretty much like Grumpy Bear.
But I do like to go out and have fun. I swear!
It’s just, well Fridays, after dealing with all my fake smiling and caring and listening, and trying to be “with the group”, I usually feel like run over dog poop… That may have sitting in the sun all week-long, baking. So a couple of weekends ago while I was still thinking about going out on another date with “Mr. Pleasant Online, but just Meh in Person”… All the plans I had were cancelled from just being worn out. And he, well, I was called a flake. And at first I laughed about it, but then got quite irritated.
I mean, I’ve got science to back me up: introverts need re-charging. After a week of teaching and smiling so I don’t have to hear “what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Every five seconds, I need time in my dimensionthe5th cave. Even the Monster Teen can sometimes fall into irritating territory. I’ll try not to, but will tune him out when he wants Mommy time, and tells me long drawn out stories about school and friends. I feel bad, because at those times, I could seriously not care about anything coming out of his mouth and just wish he would STOP TALKING.
So, it’s not like I actively say I’m going to flake out on friends. I just get too daggone overwhelmed and want quiet time. Quiet time and being out at a bar, or even over someone else’s house does not equal the same thing.
So mister pleasant and meh got dropped. He can deal with someone less flakey. Not like he was getting to see my giggles and bits anytime soon anyway. Pfffft.
You’re judging! I can hear your little judgey thoughts.
So, when I was little, I had more than a little fear of the dark. My family (on my mother’s side) is very superstitious, to the point where many claimed to see ghosts. You didn’t open umbrellas indoors or it would cause bad luck, and if a door opened by itself, it was a dead family member coming to visit. People had prophetic dreams, and could interpret if you wanted them to. And never sleep on your back, because the devil could ride your dreams that way.
And as a child I was one of those with prophetic dreams and seeing things that weren’t there. It could all have been my always overactive imagination, or something “otherworldly” (you can’t see it, but I’m totally wagging my fingers and going “whooooo” like a ghost).
Anyway, one house that we lived in North Carolina was haunted. Like there wasn’t enough to hate about living in NC, ugh. In the house, the TVs would cut on and off by themselves. We saw people walking in and out the house out the corner of our eyes, when the doors were closed and locked, and no one else there. I did NOT like to stay alone in the house!
And of course, being a young preteen fan of Stephen King and all horror movies, I couldn’t sleep in the dark. Who knew if something would try to come out the mirror and murder me. Or from under the bed. Or from the closet. In fact, one night I was having a very vivid dream. There was something in the corner of my room, tan trench coat, fedora pulled down low, and glowing red eyes. It didn’t move, just stood in the corner of the room, with wafting evil filling my brain. I turn the light on, and it’s still there and in fact begins to move toward me. Then I wake up and really turn the light on and its gone. That is still one of the creepiest frackin dreams I’ve ever had, and I dream in color, with soundtrack, and midget’s always like to visit.
So, anyway, around 20 or so I learned to sleep without a lamp or night-light. Yes, it took THAT LONG. All I have to do is view where everything is before I cut off the light, and then rush to the bed, with eyes tight. I don’t EVER look at the mirror, because something maybe watching me from there.
But the other night… I heard noises in my bedroom. I’m sure it was a box that I had rifled through earlier, and things were still settling in there. And maybe I was hearing my cat that likes to scratch at the door sometimes since I refuse to wake up to cat sleeping on my face. But yeah, there were noises. So like a 10-year-old the lights stayed on, and I slept with the lights on. I don’t care if I’m past 30. Judge me all you want!
The night is dark and full of terrors O_O (GoT reference)
Again, here’s a bit of poetry that I’m not sure I want people who know me to know about. Just a-writing out my frustrations with relationships. Pffft, I mean the absence of relationships.
“Stalemate”
By dimensionthe5th
I play a game in my head
Where I’m not gun-shy
Or unafraid of getting my feelings trampled
Even though I can barely make eye-contact
Without stuttering when it comes to attraction
I play a game
That I am confident in my romantic thoughts
When it’s more bumbling cowardice
You never know until you try
But over the years…
Trying has become so hard
Bloody inside emotions
Battered, never completely healing
My heart may never again be
Pure and Green like a spring blooming
It wants what it wants
But doesn’t want the hassle
The trial and error
The re-dos
Of feeling out the other hearts motivation
Of hoping not to go down in the flames of lust, love, and like
Can’t live without it,
But can’t live with more disappointment
So instead
A miserable stalemate rules
Random things irritate me. If you’ve read other posts of mine, you’ve realized that. But today, little things in the office seemed to combine and transform themselves like Voltron into a day of constant irritation. Soooo, onto the list of things that for some reason drive me batty at work:
1. Restroom Light Warriors.
Okay, look, I know we need to practice light conservation and all, but there are 3 stalls in the restroom closest to my office, and students and staff constantly going in and out all throughout the day (not my ninja restroom: see here: http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/04/10/first-world-female-problems-girls-dont-poop/). About 3 times a week, I walk in and someone has turned off the light. Why does this bother me? Because I’ve watched enough weird and scary movies that I expect to find a dead body. Most likely a student of mine, after I’ve told them why they suck.
2. Over the Shoulder Ninjas.
I used to have a real office, with a door and all at my last office. Now I have a cubicle. And I absolutely HATE people who like to sit there and look over your shoulder for a while before they let you know they are there. It doesn’t matter if I’m doing work, or reading an article on why the Song of Ice and Fire series is sexist. I have deployed multiple times and I may become violent at any time. And since I’m sitting, you may get punch in your twig or hoo-hah. Keep messing with me -_-
3. Bubble breakers.
Seriously, if we are really cool, by all means sit close to me. I still may say that you are in my frackin personal space. But if I don’t know you all that well, why the frack are we within kissing distance of each other?! I mean face on! Turn to the side or something so I don’t feel like I’m getting breath particles. I don’t know where your mouth has been. I’m a smoker, so I know better than to waft my smoky breath right at people. But unless you are brushing after every meal, dude, I don’t need to see your leftover meal on your teeth in 4d.
4. Toilet Shedders.
Oh my god, the many NSFW work photos I went through by typing in pubic hair. WTF was I thinking?
Okay yes, I have a serious issue with restroom everything it seems. But have you ever went into a stall, about to sit down and see secret lady fur atop the seat? *Shudder* I mean, I may trim the lady bush, but any straggler hair goes down the shower drain. Why are the ladies shedding like my cat sheds on my carpet?! And why are you not at least trimming that bad boy between your legs, because that hair is LONG. I mean, are you growing out an afro? Planning to get dreads with beads all dangling? Why are they falling out all over the toilet? Are you balding down there? I really don’t like focusing on other women’s ladies parts, but this is becoming a huge concern for me.
Other than that, I really like my office. The people are really weird just like me. But I swear if this Pubic Conspiracy continues I will take photos and post pics saying “Have You seen the Owner of these curlies? Please come and pick them up in Stall 3.
If you’ve never been around the military, there’s one thing that you know: we’re not allowed to get fat. I know you’re probably saying “I’ve seen PLENTY of tubby troops, looking like they’re about to try out for the Biggest Loser.” Well, all I can say is many slip through the cracks, mostly because their leadership is not putting a boot up their hey-nanny-nanny to get fit. Also, a lot of us are just broken from deployments.
And that’s what’s had me depressed and frustrated. I’ve been on a no upper body workout for the past couple of months and loads of pain killers. Certain painkillers cannot be taken on an empty stomach. Which means I was barely working out from pain, and eating a lot of food. Especially a lot of unhealthy food. I guess you can’t help but to get fat if you are having a slice of pound cake as a “quick breakfast”.
And then, you go to the doc, get a height and weight done, and find out you’re about the same size you were when you were pregnant with the Monster Teen. It makes you get on that pity train faster than the hounds of hell after you.
But I’ve been in the military for years, and understood what I needed to do. Cut out all deserts. Cut out pastas and bread. Fruits and veggies meals with only a small portion of protein for one meal a day. Cardio for at least 45 minutes a day with a trip to the sauna for at least 15 minutes afterward. And the unhealthy stuff: double dose of green coffee pills and raspberry K each day. And fiber pills each day, along with a water pill. On top of that, loads and loads of water to keep me hydrated.
It makes for a grouchy DT5th. I growled at people who had cupcakes the other day. I seriously blanked out and had a honey bun in my hand from my pantry the other day. I was getting ready to leave for work, and the stupid thing was there. I gasped and threw it back on the shelf, running before the fat girl personality inside me took over again and grabbed the honey bun. I think I really may have a split personality right now!
I dream of donuts, and cake loaded with icing. Milkshakes. Fully loaded potatoes with sour cream and butter and salt. Oh my. The office had donuts the other day. The smell of them had tears pricking my eyes. My coworkers saw as I whimpered and tried not to breathe, moved the donuts from my sight, and then waved folders to try to get the smell out the area.
I’m gritting my teeth with hunger, even when I just had a huge bowl of spinach. Fatgirl DT5th says it’s not enough food. It wants some pasta!
Pray for me readers of these interwebs. I feel like I’m a step away from the Stephen King short story where the man stranded starts eating himself. Fatgirl DT5th wants to gnaw on my arm.
I may need an exorcism and some pound cake after this next weigh-in. Before I turn full on crazy and gnaw on someone like I’m on Bath Salts.
Seriously, this just happened. And it’s why I’ve always hated to talk on the phone, especially to customer service. Because even if English is their first language you’d think they were from another frackin planet.
So, I’m trying to make an appointment for my son at the local base clinic. Every base clinic has an appointment line. But for the monster teen’s behavioral health appointments, I have to call the main line, and then ask to be connected to Pediatrics. Well, I call the main line. And of course even though I’m number frackin 1 in the queue, I wait like 10 minutes listening to the worst musak EVER. It’s like Star Wars porn music.
After wasting years of my life in the span of 10 minutes (and feeling awkward about the wookies in my head) I finally get answered and explain the whole situation, get forwarded to pediatrics and only get out “I’d like to make an appointment -”
Lady: “oh, let me transfer you! *Click* sends me back to the main line.
*Whimper*
…
*Growl*
…
*Looks at phone ready to commit murder*
*Star Wars porn music begins to play again* Oh my sweet baby Jesus skateboarding. Are. You. Kidding. Me?!?!
The SAME operator answers after 15 minutes this time, and I explain to her what happened. “Oh, yeah, it happens all the time with that office.” Really? Then shouldn’t they get someone more competent to man the phone lines? I mean, I know the government is getting tight on the money, let’s look at the people who can’t do the simple job of answering the phones correctly.
So main-line lady connects me again to Peds, and stays on the line to explain not to hang up on me. And, I will say the ditzy lady apologized profusely, but that wasted much of my hour lunch break.
Maybe I just expect too much of people. Or maybe I’d just rather have better musak porn while I’m on hold.
Someone said something to me the other day that made twitch with WTFrackness:
“You know, even though you try to act like you’re not black, your pictures of you don’t lie.”
Sigh.
It’s the same thing I’ve heard over the years in different ways, over and over again. You act white, you sound white, you’re forgetting that you’re black. I assumed you date only white guys (with the unsaid “because you’re a oreo”). Shouldn’t you know this (because you’re black)? Or the most mind-boggling of all: oh, I forgot you were black.
*looks in the mirror*
Hmm, milk chocolate skin, non-artificial big beautiful lips, and a badonk that needs tail lights.
Hmmm, yes, I’m still coloring with the brown crayon.
I guess it all has to do with stereotypes and how people believe a black person should behave. And how I forget that I’m supposed to be a walking, talking caricature of a black female. I blame my mother.
See, the mother is Hispanic and Black. And you would think this would grace her with some innate rhythm. Uh, yeah, not so much. The only thing my mom can do is move her feet side to side. Seriously. I’ve seen her do this on the dance floor. And it’s not even always in rhythm to the song, this most basic of the basic 2-steps. So there’s strike one.
Strike 2 is that along with no rhythm, she is a geek. It doesn’t matter that she grew up in the hood until she was 20 or so. She speaks like it, much to my horror, and I constantly am correcting her. But even with only a high school education, the woman in her spare time likes to read, write poetry, create inventions for her dream kitchen, and watches sci-fi and supernatural shows. This woman produced one child that thinks she’s Japanese and draws manga, a son that can create his own video games and is a math whiz, and me who loves to write poetry, short stories and dreams of one day finishing her own supernatural book series.
So, growing up that way, and being a complete and utter nerd, I didn’t learn all the stereotypes I was supposed to live up to. I can’t do the whole neck swivel thing. My rhythm is a learned thing from watching other black girls so I never looked like a complete fool on the dance floor. I’ve never owned a pair of apple bottom jeans. I can’t stand Tyler Perry movies, or the show The Game, or the so-called African-American section in the bookstore. I know more about anime than I know about BET (although I do love hip_hop, well before now; see this post:  http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/04/04/frack-me-im-getting-old-losing-my-love-of-hip-hop/ ). I’d rather have Riesling than Moscato because Moscato is just too sweet, and I need my wine to have some kind of bite. Even though I’ve fought singing along in the past around my peach crayon friends, yes, I do know all the words to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing, and Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Give me a couple of glasses of wine and I’ll stand on the table with you and sing along.
But does that make me not black? Or does that make me an individual. Contrary to belief of some, I don’t want to be white. Growing up, in the suburbs in mostly white neighborhoods did confuse me for a while, and make me pessimistic about life in general. I didn’t look like my friends. They didn’t understand that my hair wasn’t straight like theirs. That my lips were pretty much my whole face until I grew into them. But I grew up and grew to love myself and my looks. Frack, now I’m quite vain about them.
But that doesn’t make me not black. Being able to speak without slang and ebonics does not mean I’m trying to be white. It means I was taught to talk correctly by my schools, my biological sperm donor, and my mother (even with my mother’s articulation issues. I love that woman!). Just because I’m not interested in most black dramas/ comedies, etc does not mean I’m not black. Just that black people need to make more sci-fi/ fantasy stuff for me to watch!
I like myself the way I am. I’m not apologizing for it.
Although it makes me twitch, its YOUR (whoever you random people may be) problem for trying to fit me in a box. Nobody puts baby in a corner and all that.
Funny, this whole post reminds me of the saying “I don’t have to do nothing but stay black and die!”
See, most guys are all fart jokes and poopy humor right? Or is that just mostly military guys? Anyway, women are opposite. Mostly, until we’re like old as dirt and smell like mothballs and baby powder anyway, we don’t want you to know we fart. Or have to poop. We don’t even want other women to hear us (unless we’re drunk. Whole new ballgame right). So, it’s an issue when the need comes and you work in a big office. It’s even more irritating as a teacher of adults. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t want to have to use a stall next to my students I was just teaching, especially if I have to number 2. And then see them as I come out to wash my hands. Huuuuumiliating!
So it becomes a search for the empty bathroom for ninja pooping. The bathroom that’s a little out-of-the-way, so usually it’s empty when you sneak in to do the business. Half the time the light is off when you walk in, which makes me a little paranoid that I’ll find a dead student sitting on the potty. Morbid, and weird, but you should know by now that there is no way I can control the wtf-ness that runs through my brain. I just tell my brain that I’ll sit back and let it go crazy… Because it’s just easier than arguing with that heffa.
Anyway, for the time I’ve worked in my office, when I’ve got the BG’s (bubble guts), I can always take care of my business quietly and with skill so no one knows that dimensionthe5th is having a craptastic day. But all things fall apart, and of course I had the most traumatic experience on a day where I shouldn’t have had dairy (lactose intolerant), shouldn’t have taken my fiber pills, and just should have held it in or something. But none of those things happened, and as I walked in, one of the nicest most well-known janitors was coming in to put up supplies. I said frack it because I think she’s going to be right in and out. But then, the senior enlisted servicemember, the boss of bosses walks in. I know because she greets the janitor. And they are talking happily… Until I can hold it back no more! I swear its like a sewage trumpet orchestra. It sounds like one of those situations where you’re not sure if someone had just pooped out their intestines, their soul, and maybe their brain too. Oh god. All I could do was sit there. No way in Hello was I leaving out that stall to see them looking at me like “You nasty mofo!”
So I waited until they left. And ninja-ed back to my office, hoping that somehow if I wasn’t seen for a few days the loud pooper in the bathroom would seep from their minds and be flushed. I’ve also made sure to start searching for a new “perfect” bathroom.
Of course, maybe it’s just all in my mind and no other woman goes through ninja pooping.
Or in my case poetry. I have a short little poem about a crush. I cannot write this on my actual FB page because my paranoid personality is sure said crush will somehow read my mind, know it’s about them, and then things would be weird.
I swear I’m not shy, and pretty forward when I’m interested in someone, but my confidence in myself has been totally blown lately. I’m sucking at this whole online dating thing. I mean sucking big honkin blue balls. It seems what I like looks wise doesn’t like me, and what likes me look wise I have no interest in. We could argue over looks not being everything, but I do try to evaluate everyone by just the basics. You know, would I be okay walking down the street with a dude that has a huge unibrow and teeth that looked like they were in an MMA fight all on their own? No.
I’m superficial. Sue me. So are you. You just don’t want to admit it. You don’t want a unibrow man with teeth that could give you a hysterectomy either.
Anyway… So, while the interwebs dating thing is at an almost standstill, I crush on random guys that I shouldn’t. You know, the kind that probably have a whole closet full of issues bursting at the seams, but looks make me say “Me gusta”.
So here, I give my scribbles to the random internets!:
“Lucid Dreaming”
By dimensionthe5th
I can’t have what I want…
Or yet, no confidence in even planning the chase for your lips, your heart
And so, clandestine affairs reverberate throughout my night-time musings
Not dreams, as I control the level of love and lust lucidness that permeates the atmosphere of my mind
Not true to real life, I think, though I’ve never been in such a situation with you
So I just imagine
Arms wrapped around and warmth seeping like a kiss against the goose-pimpled skin of my body
I’m giving myself away, or is it not obvious that I burn like a small sun in your presence?
I must keep the secret, so I’m not hurt by your disinterest.
So I let a rain of lies my mind has made up wash over me, so that you don’t shine so bright in my emotional senses.
And the pretense is that I’m just a no one, a figment on the wind.
dimensionthe5th 