I Think Something’s Wrong With Me

I Think Something’s Wrong With Me

Okay, so here’s the deal: Yesterday afternoon, I popped the big question and my Hipster love, of course, said yes…and I should be ecstatically excited and giddily happy, but I’m not.  And it’s making me feel like there’s something wrong with me.  In the interest of full disclosure, there are certain details that need to be mentioned:

1. He’s still technically married to someone else.  I’ve known this since very early into our relationship.  They’ve been separated for almost 4 years (she cheated on him with one of his best friends; she and the other guy are still together…still living in the house she shared with the Hipster, in fact).  The divorce process has been started – he’s asking for a full no-fault, uncontested divorce.  All she has to do is sign the papers.  The question is will she?  It could be MONTHS before it’s finalized, and he’s asked me to keep the news off social media until then because he doesn’t want to give her anything she could try to use to cause trouble.  He just wants it done and over with (as do I).  Anyway, the short of it is: I can’t make it “Facebook official” yet and it’s making me feel like I’m some sort of dirty, little secret… and that bothers me.  A lot.

2. I have a paralyzing fear of commitment.  I’ve been proposed to by multiple suitors in my time.  Each time, I declined and ended the relationship.  It’s like I didn’t realize until the moment they stood before me offering tokens of their esteem that they were completely NOT what I wanted for the rest of my life.  The Hipster is different.  I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is exactly what I want.  And I found the balls to ask him myself, which was awesome, but now my head is heavy with chatter.

We wants it, we needs it. Must have the happiness. They stole it from us. Sneaky little psychoses. Wicked, tricksy, false!
No. Not happiness!
Yes, precious, false! They will cheat you, hurt you, LIE.
Happiness is our friend!
You don’t have any friends; nobody likes you!
I’m not listening… I’m not listening…
You’re a liar and a thief.
No!  Go away!  I hate you, I hate you.
Where would you be without me, fat ass, fat ass?  I saved us!  It was me!  We survived because of me!
Not anymore.
What did you say?
We can looks after us now.  We don’t need you anymore.
Leave now, and never come back!
Leave now, and never come back!  LEAVE! NOW! AND NEVER COME BACK!

3. It’s been less than 24 hours and I’m sick to death of hearing “Where’s your ring?  If you’re engaged, where’s your ring?”  Engagement rings are a useless waste of money.  The diamond engagement ring was created as a marketing ploy by a jewelery company during the Great Depression.  They had a surplus of shiny rocks and no one to buy them, so they created an imaginary “tradition” and people bought it – hook, line, and sinker.  I don’t wear jewelery, I don’t like jewelery, and I don’t WANT a sparkly bauble that was pried from the earth by slave laborers in Africa.  There is nothing about the entire concept that I find to be remotely appealing, let alone symbolic of love and romance.

4.  I’m also sick of hearing, “So when’s the big day??”  Dude, it took me 37 years to get to this point, let’s not go counting the chickens before they hatch, m’kay?  I’m in no hurry to get married.  It’ll happen when we’re ready for it to happen.  In the meantime, leave me the fuck alone.

That’s kind of how I feel about the whole thing right now, really… just leave me the fuck alone… friends, family, the Hipster himself… just leave me the fuck alone until I come to terms with whatever kind of weird bullshit my head is trying to convince me is true.  Give me time to sort out the weird feelings and the brain gollums.  Give me space to come to grips with what I’ve done.

Irrational Fear and Self-Loathing in Las Vegas

Irrational Fear and Self-Loathing in Las Vegas

(SPOILER ALERT: This post has absolutely nothing to do with Las Vegas at all whatsoever.)

The Hipster and I have been going strong for a year and a half and I can honestly say I have never been happier than I am when I’m with him.  He is a ray of sunshine in a sea of soul-sucking grayness.  He is an episode of Sesame Street in a dingy, seedy motel.  He is a splash of tie-dye on an otherwise bleak, dreary canvas.  He’s the light of my life.  Had I been handed a magic wand and told to create the perfect man, I couldn’t have dreamed up anyone better.  He’s awesome.  He’s amazing.  He’s perfect.  He’s rocked my world, day in and day out, from the moment I first laid eyes on him.  Life as it existed before him feels so distant, the memories are faded and eons away.  Life without him in the future is absolutely inconceivable, unthinkable, and unimaginable.

It is because of all this rainbow-glitter, lovey-dovey, saccharine wonderfulness that I reached a decision last week: I want to marry this man.  I want to pop the question.  I want to ask him to become my husband, my partner in crime, my legally-bound better half for life.

The problem is that I’m terrified of marriage.  The entire prospect makes me cringe in terror.  I’ve tried to drop the big bomb on several occasions, but the knot in the pit of my stomach refuses to let the words out of my throat.  Instead, I just sit there with my mouth hanging open, gathering flies, my mind screaming, “FUCKING SAY IT, DUMBASS!”  But my mouth refuses to cooperate.  Instead, I grunt and hang my head, and pretend I was just clearing my throat.  Because I’m an idiot.

Sitting in my office, right here, right now, the idea of marrying this man simultaneously thrills and mortifies me.  I’m floating on cloud nine, but my guts are made of lead.

What if he says “no”?
What if I screw it up?
What if I get so nervous I vomit?
What if he’s not the same person after we’re married?
What if I finally ask it and immediately regret it?
Have I thought this through enough?
How positive am I that I want this?
How much more positive would make me super duper ultra positive?

Then again, what if he says “yes”?
What if I nail it?
What if I find a way to be calm and confident?
What if he’s just as wonderful afterward as he is now?
What if I finally ask and it’s more beautiful than I ever dreamed?
What if I overthink it?
I couldn’t be more positive that I want this.
I’m super duper ultra positive that I want this.

I’ve never been so sure about something ever in my life.  So why the fuck am I scared shitless?  Where are my balls when I need them?

Party Poop and the Disco Gallbladder

Party Poop and the Disco Gallbladder

Text conversations with my BFF…


me_sm_icon My body is revolting. In more ways than one. Blargh.
ang_icon What have you done

Please nothing over the top funny I’m in a lunch meeting with drug reps

me_sm_icon I can only think to blame it on two bowls of Fruity Pebbles for dinner last night, because that’s the only thing I’ve had in eons that contained food coloring.

I never know what’s going to be over the top funny. I’m just telling the stories of my life here!

Regardless, it involves poop and bright colors and hours of my life wasted while my legs atrophy and my ass grafts itself to the seat.

Enjoy your lunch, dear!

ang_icon Well I just didn’t want to burst out right in the middle of discussing valproic level

I’m sorry about your ass

me_sm_icon It’s multi-colored.
ang_icon Wtf?!?
me_sm_icon A little green… a little yellow… a little orange… a little red… seriously. It’s like party shit.
ang_icon ParTAY
me_sm_icon I started work at 10 this morning. I’ve been to the bathroom 4 times already.

I’m thinking maybe I just shouldn’t eat Fruity Pebbles anymore…

ang_icon OMG yes I wod go with that or that your gallbladder is having a disco session
me_sm_icon Ooh… disco gallbladder… all the little stones are wearing their best John Travolta wigs with painted-on buttcrack chins, dressed in sequined bellbottoms with bling accentuating their chest hair….
ang_icon See this this is the reason why I can’t be reading this while at a rep luncheon then all I’m going to be thinking about with be disco gall bladder

Thankfully I’m out now

me_sm_icon The disco gallbladder hadn’t even occurred to me. It was your brainchild. I just elaborated on it.
ang_icon I know but that’s the problem I have to reign the brain in from la la land to be serious
me_sm_icon But it’s so much more fun in our little la la land.
ang_icon I know and I’ve been so serious all day


There is this saying that goes where ever you head goes when you are off in your own world you should do that for a living. I’m not so sure we can make money being in our own little la la land

Cartooning maybe

me_sm_icon It’s called “Heart and Brain.”  Awkward Yeti already took that one.
ang_icon Fuck

Welp we’ll have to do something else

me_sm_icon Giant canvases. Roll around in paint. Throw ourselves dramatically at the canvas. It’s both art-art and performance art.

Then we use Sharpies to draw faces on the little paint splotches.

ang_icon YES!!!

Letterman will love us

This is why she’s my bestie. She gets me. <3