Open Letters: Cranky on a Rainy Wednesday Edition February 13, 2008

Dear People Who Think My Life is Perfect/I Only Write About the Good Stuff:

Ha.

Hahahaha.

Go back and read a little. This place is chock full of shit about my life that I haven’t even told some of my closest friends. There’s good, there’s bad, and there’s ugly.

There just happens to be a lot of good at the moment. I’ve worked hard to get to this place, this place where the Crazy doesn’t consume me and I’m okay with my body and I have a job that pays my bills and then some and I’m planning a wedding that is going to be one fucking awesome party.

If I want to write about all that good, I think I’ve earned it.

Just don’t think you’re getting everything. That’s just…foolish.

Love,

Bitchy McBloggerson

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Dear Wedding Planning:

Sometimes you really fucking suck.

I’m sorry. I know that you are window dressed in icing and tulle and all things romance but underneath, you are a minefield.

And occasionally, shit - like, say, who is paying for the rehearsal dinner and whether or not they think the place we chose is too expensive and fuck it, I swear to god, I will whore myself out in the Bronx and pay for it myself if it means I don’t have to deal with a whole lot of passive-aggressiveness - blows up.

Luckily, you’re worth it.

Excuse me, I have to go tip-toe around some more issues now.

Yours in jacked up prices and family tension,

The Bride

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Dear New Job,

Four projects. FOUR FUCKING PROJECTS.

I know. I know I asked for this. I asked to come back “home” but I didn’t realize that “home” had gone and gotten all kinds of huge and important since I left.

I’m working consistently from 9am until well into Daily Show time. And the thing I am most pissed about? You are infringing on my work outs.

Huh. I never thought I’d say that.

Love,

Grateful, but overwhelmed in NY

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Dear Miami,

12 girls. 3 days, 2 nights. Loews Hotel. My bachelorette.

Consider this your official warning.

Love,

Clink

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Dear Comments,

You are off indefinitely.

I don’t know. It’s just what I’m feeling lately.

Love,

The Proprietress

New year, new layout? January 3, 2008

I clicked on my site today and noticed that the colors are those most closely associated with vomit.

I don’t know why it never occurred to me before but today I’m all “gah! Ack! Can’t look! What made me choose THAT?”

Which means it might be time for a design change? Maybe? If I don’t get bored and move onto another idea by tomorrow?

It’s just…how does one go about that? Suggestions? Recommendations? Requests to do it yourselves for minimal fees?

Spoiled brat. December 28, 2007

I just kicked M out of our bedroom.

We  just spent seven very long, very traffic-filled hours in the car together on the way home from Boston after having spent almost every waking hour since last Friday together and while I love him - lots - I finally reached my breaking point.

He began to talk to me as I started to write and I totally snapped. Something along the lines of “I can’t do this with you right there over my shoulder. I think I need some alone time.”

Never, in the history of our relationship, have I told him I needed alone time. Never, in the history of our relationship, have I ever felt such a desperate need for alone time.

There’s a first for everything.

He’s in the living room right now, reading. And I feel just awful. And yet, I haven’t put down the laptop to go in there and make amends because the truth is, I need this. I need to just be in a quiet room with my thoughts. The holidays - and family members, and obligations, and driving all over the damn eastern seaboard - don’t leave much room for thoughts.

Don’t get me wrong, this past week has been quite lovely, though not perfect.

You see, sometimes, I can be incredibly self-absorbed.

Not so much in a “oh I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you were saying because I was too busy staring at my reflection in the window of the dry cleaners” sort of way. I guess it’s more like, if I’m happy, I assume everyone else is happy too. If I think something is a good idea, I tend to assume that everyone else assumes it’s a good idea too. I live in a little Clink bubble and that’s all well and good, until I stop taking others into consideration.

The holidays, they are a touchy subject for M and I. It comes down to this: I am a spoiled brat and I love my family and I can’t imagine not being around them for the holidays. Not just my immediate family - they don’t live that far and I see them often - but my large, loud, extended family. Holidays are a great excuse for all of us to get together in the same place at the same time and eat spanikopita until we feel like vomiting and drink whatever alcoholic concoction my aunts have thought up until we feel like vomiting even more.

M isn’t as close with his family. His sister doesn’t bother to come home from the midwest, where she lives with her husband and son, so it’s just M’s parents and his uncle having a quiet, all-American dinner (pork chops, applesauce, and other non-ethnic things) and then making small talk while sitting in the formal living room, sipping tea or coffee. Which is very nice, of course, but I’m used to a raucaus holiday with lots of people and lots of food and lots of yelling and lots of different conversations all going on at once.

Our families are very different and the ways in which they celebrate can be considered almost direct opposites and you know what? If I’m being honest? I like my family’s way better.

But, this is a relationship. And there should be compromise, I know that. I’m just…not ready yet. In fact, I told M that since this was our last Christmas before being married, that I felt okay with us spending it apart. He refused because, again, if I’m being honest? I think he likes my family’s way better, too.

That didn’t keep him from being a bit quiet on Christmas, however. He kept saying he was fine until I cornered him in the basement, where my aunt sent us to fetch more vodka, and nearly begged him to tell me what was wrong.

He shrugged and said “I just miss my parents. That’s all.”

And it damn near broke my heart because there I was, fully enjoying a Christmas with my family, laughing with my family, telling stories with my family and because I was having such a good time, I just assumed M was too.

He was, of course. Part of him was, but part of him was feeling lonely for his parents, up in a suburb of Boston, having their quiet Christmas without either of their children.

We went up to Boston for a few days following Christmas but obviously, when the actual holiday is over and people are back at work and everything at the stores is drastically marked down, it loses some of its magic.

So next year, we will have to compromise. I made that decision on the spot when he told me he was missing them because I love him and I don’t want him to feel any pain - especially not because of me.

There will most likely be Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with one family and then a four-t0-seven hour drive to spend Christmas afternoon and evening with the other. Since I still can’t bear the thought of missing an entire holiday with my family, that’s just what we’ll have to do. It’s not perfect, but neither are we, you know?

I mean, I certainly am not perfect. And before the guilt of kicking him out of his own bedroom eats me alive, I’m going to go curl up next to him on the living room couch and apologize and also try to articulate how I feel right now.

And then I’ll change the topic to how excited I am to be going to the Giants v. Patriots game tomorrow (where I will possibly meet Mike!)  because talking about football always puts boys in a good mood.

I hope you had lovely holidays full of magic.

And compromise.

Happy Thanksgiving. November 21, 2007

It’s 11:09pm on Tuesday. I have another hour of work ahead of me tonight, and fifteen straight days of work behind me (including working until 10pm both Saturday and Sunday).

I’m not complaining. I’m really not. Because, for the first time ever, I love my job. I love my boss. I love everything about what I do.

I was recently recruited by another company. A guy with a sexy British accent called and lured me into a meeting. He pulled out the big guns: a bigger paycheck, a staff position, a sexy title. Sensing my reluctance, he then whipped out a freelancer’s kryptonite: health insurance.

And yet, I didn’t buckle.

Granted, the offer is still on the table - at least until after Thanksgiving - but I don’t know if I’m going to take it. (That sound you hear is my parents sobbing over the fact that their daughter is refusing a job with health insurance, omigod, where did we go wrong?)

I love what I’m doing. I’m happy. I feel appreciated. I feel valuable.

This is a first (sadly).

I’m relishing it.

***

So, Thanksgiving. I haven’t even had time to be excited about it because, well, see above, but it is so my favorite holiday. I mean, I know there were Pilgrims and Indians and something about thanks but when it gets down to it, the damn holiday pretty much just celebrates food.

By around 7pm on Thursday evening, my thighs will be crying out for mercy but I will still probably have another slice of pumpkin pie because that’s just how I roll (plus: there are always Spanx to hide any extra pudge! Woo!)

For the first time ever, I am actually staying in the city to watch the parade. Usually I half-watch it from the comfort of my home but this time M and I are going to brave the elements.

Luckily, the parade literally goes right by our building so, um, if those elements get too harsh we can always just run upstairs and drink hot cocoa and watch from the window.

My aunt is a balloon handler in this year’s parade. I wish I could say that she’s my zany, blue-haired, never-married eccentric aunt who is always doing crazy things but, really, she’s my young, hot, looks-better-than-me-but-has-had-two-kids aunt who is not really prone to doing crazy things but hey. Everyone is allowed some crazy every now and then.

Afterwards, we’re heading to beloved New Jersey. I really can’t wait to see my family because seeing my family means a) awesome food and b) free reign to talk about the wedding. No, seriously, they can’t get enough. To the point that sometimes even I think it’s a bit much.

M is coming home with me and this little mini-break is so, so needed. We haven’t been fighting, but we’ve been pretty disconnected. He’s been busy and I’ve been busy and thus the affection and sex and communication has been pretty nonexistent. I hate feeling like we’re roommates. I miss being us.

I’m hoping some time away from things like jobs and school and stress will bridge the small gap that’s developed between us.

Anyway, I hope you all have an awesome holiday. My food coma and I will be back on Monday, if not sooner.

Live and learn. November 12, 2007

I knew he meant it. I knew it wasn’t like every other time when “I just don’t think I can be in a relationship right now” actually meant a few months apart, a few other girls - usually hipsters or art scene chicks or some other opposite of me, and then a few phone calls.

“I miss you. Come down here.”

And I would. Partially because I was naive and partially because of boredom. There was no one else who gave me that surge in my tummy. I yawned my way through many a date when we weren’t together.

“You around this weekend?”

“No, I’m going to see [him] actually. Friday, after work.”

“Oh.” One small word, one large load of disdain from friends.

It’s not that they didn’t get it - one look at him, a few moments in his company and that was all you needed to understand why. But still.

We did the back and forth for a while. This will all eventually be worth it, I wrote in my journal during one of our “let’s be friends” periods.

It wasn’t, ultimately.

We were having brunch. I was wearing his sweatshirt; it was November and I hadn’t packed properly.

“This is how it should be,”I thought to myself, basking in the glow of boyfriend sweatshirt smell and boyfriend brunch.

“So, I don’t know if I’ll be coming up to the city in a few weeks, Clinkmeister.” And it was all downhill from there. It was the usual. I had heard it all before. Except, I hadn’t. Except, I knew. Except, it was over. Except, I cried all the way back to New York and the only silver lining to that was that no one wanted to sit next to me on the train.

When I reference the Crazy, when I reference some of my issues, when I act batshit insane, it pretty much all goes back to him. Our entire relationship was in such a constant state of flux and I was always on edge, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was like sitting through a nail-biting thriller. For five years straight.

The irony of it all is, we make better friends than lovers. We’re friends now. And I don’t mean that in a “I keep him around in case things don’t work out with M and I need a rebound fuck” way. We’re truly friends, born out of the fact that we have tons of friends in common but sustained through a mutual adoration for each other.

I’ll be in his city by the time you read this and I’ll probably be thinking about him. I might even be seeing him at this exact moment, in the mixed company of some of those mutual friends I mentioned. I’ll probably flirt, a bit. I’ll definitely spend some time picking out my most flattering outfit. We may be friends, but we’re still exes.

Ultimately, he revealed what I want in a boyfriend, what I want in a friend, and how to tell the difference.

Doesn’t necessarily make all the tears, vulnerability and embarrassing attempts at seduction via lingerie in hopes that he would finally realize I was the one worth it. But hey. Live and learn, right?

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, so please excuse the rambling post. Coming down here awakened something in me, to the point that I needed to get a few things out of my mind and onto the screen. I feel better now.

Also, is it bad that I kind of hope he got fat?

Ode to Mike. Also, Clink has had some really bad bosses. October 11, 2007

I’m guest blogging over at Mike’s place while he’s on vacation. My first guest-blogging gig ever.

Come visit.

Stuff. October 10, 2007

Really? Only Wednesday? Le sigh.
 
I don’t think I told y’all but this past weekend, my parents met M’s parents for the very first time. In retrospect, I kind of wish that it hadn’t gone as swimmingly and delightfully as it did so that at least I would have something to blog about.
 
Other than, you know, how hard it was to find the perfect gold shoes to match Dress #5 (purchased! Decision made! Thank you Internets!) and how Dress # Lots of Controversy About It Being Too White is also purchased and will probably be worn to my rehearsal dinner, if I can wait that long.
 
But yeah, the meeting of the parents was fine. More than fine. I spent way too much time beforehand worrying about it. I even told my parents that they were not allowed to talk about politics (opposite ends of the political spectrum) or baseball (Yankees fans, Red Sox fans, could get messy) with M’s parents.
 
“It’s okay Clink, we’ll just talk about The Hills,” was my father’s response. But even he ultimately followed the rules and everyone genuinely got along. No awkwardness. I know, right? What the fuck? Don’t they know I need at least some drama in my life at all times?
 
Anyway. Here is the final wedding outfit, complete with the accessories I have so far:
 

Why hello there, Dress #5.
 

Gold shoes with 1″ heels, for both comfort and so that I’m not an Amazon woman because at 5′7 and 3/4″, that is of some concern.
 
 

Gold bangle bracelet.

Half of this post was written while I was smashed. September 5, 2007

Sunday, 1:35am. Drunk. 

It’s 1:35am and I’m drunk and I’m watching Big Brother After Dark on Showtime and because I’m drunk I’m not hesitant to admit that because really? Big Brother After Dark? (And no, there are no orgies, even though the words “after dark” seem to imply orgies. At least, they do to me. But no, only the late-night conversations of bored hamsters and did you know that they call the Big Brother cast hamsters? Well they do. I think it’s funny.) 

Moving on – since I’m clearly the only person in the universe who watches Big Brother and CBS should be sending me a thank-you card any day now – let’s talk about the move.  

Ladies and gentlemen, I have seen hell. AND HELL IS FULL OF BOXES.  

Seriously, I spend my time at home between the bedroom (cute), the bathroom (cute) and the kitchen (cute) because the living room? The living room is full of boxes. BOXES OF DOOM. The Living Room of Doom (ha, see how I did that? How that rhymed? Room/doom? I am apparently a mighty poet after four Magners and a shot with my best friend from college who is a HE and, no, we’ve never done it and yes, I think it’s possible for women and men to be friends and just friends.) 

What was I saying? Oh right. Living room. Doom. It should come as no surprise that the Patriots garbage can resides there (the “garbage can of victory” as M calls it as the Patriots beat the Giants in a PRE-SEASON GAME and I feel the need to capitalize PRE-SEASON GAME to further emphasize the point that PRE-SEASON GAMES are essentially worthless. I’m just sayin’.) 

You see, we took the apartment “as is.” Which means no cleaning by professionals, no fresh coat of paint by the super. Just M and me and $62.08 worth of cleaning supplies. 

Since the former tenant (the “hair whore” as I have taken to calling her because the hair? It is everywhere. The “whore” part is just an educated guess) moved out on Friday, August 31^st and M had to also move out of his old place on Friday, August 31^st, so we had to move in on Friday, August 31^st and there was subsequently no time for sprucing up. And the place? It needed to be spruced, people. Spruced UP. 

I mean, you haven’t truly felt disgust unless you’ve scraped other people’s caked-on food off of the tray in the microwave. WITH YOUR FINGERNAILS. 

But I just love this place, even if my fingers still smell like Soft Scrub. It’s ours. OURS! 

OH! Oh!  Except it was almost just mine, because M almost got killed. 

Ok, ok, he almost got mugged. But still. Same thing.  

Monday,3pm. Sober. 

The above was, clearly, written while I was drunkity drunk drunk and I’m kind of proud of the lack of typos and somewhat coherent-ness, not gonna lie. Just so you know, after typing “same thing”, I crawled into bed with M to hug him tight because he almost got killed/mugged and then I pretty much passed out. 

Continuing, I have always had a bad feeling about M’s (former!) neighborhood. I felt the quietness was deceptive and that something bad could happen at any moment. I’m not being prejudiced towards Queens, I’m just saying. I never felt comfortable there. I was always a little on guard. Well, it turns out that I had reason to be. 

As M unloaded boxes from his apartment and carried them to his car, he was approached by a few drunk thugs. They called him choice names, spit in his general direction and threatened him. They pushed him a bit, knocking a box of silverware out of his hands. They rubbed their money in his face, claiming they didn’t need any of his. 

Needless to say, when he told me what happened, I almost puked. 

But we’re not – LA LA LA – thinking about the fact that he could’ve gotten hurt or worse because he didn’t and now we have no reason to go back there, ever. 

So, it has been an adventure. A very expensive, very taxing, very box-filled, muscle-aching adventure.  

I’m not going to lie, between M and I we’ve had about twenty-three breakdowns. In fact, just the other night M attempted to hook up the living room TV (is it sick that we have two TVs and 2 DVRs in an apartment with only a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room? I sort of think it’s sick but it’s also unavoidable) and it WASN’T WORKING, just like our phone isn’t working, just like our internet isn’t working, just like four Diet Coke cans exploded in our fridge. The poor thing stood up, kicked a couple of (empty) boxes and then announced “NOTHING IN MY LIFE WORKS. Except for you.”

Dramatic, yes. But also sweet. And that’s the whole point. We can sustain a TV-, internet-, phone-less existence as long as we have each other. And we do have each other. Each other and boxes. Lots of boxes.  

Wednesday, 10:30am. Sober. 

I took pictures for you all! But my work computer won’t recognize my damn camera! DAMN IT. There is even a photo of M HOLDING the Patriots garbage can. Grr. GRR.

If any of you are computer-savvy um, please help. Because me turning the camera on and off and then on again and then off again in a futile attempt to get the computer to NOTICE THE DAMN CAMERA DAMN YOU isn’t working. 

Oh, and the new job rocks. I am busier than EVER and loving it, even if it means less blog-reading during the day (I’ll catch up at night! When, um, we have internet!) and more doing what I am paid to do.

Oh! I got it to work! Pictures!

First of all, the Patriots garbage can (puke, vomit, blehhhh):

And now, M holding his beloved Patriots Garbage Can of Victory:

Half of our bedroom:

And the other half:

More to come.

Labor Day Weekend. Literally. September 1, 2007

The next time I mention the word moving or any words associated with the word moving, I would like each and every one of you to come through the internet and kick me. Hard.

Kthanxbye.

I got it. August 22, 2007

I feel like I could kiss everyone. Seriously, everyone. Even you. Pucker up.  

This is the first time I will be working with a team under me. Like, a real team. Not just PA’s and interns but like, people who will call me their boss. I’ll be working on a show I love, I’ll be setting my own hours, I’ll be working for someone I adore at a great rate.

Life is good right now. I can’t even deal.