Happy VD

What a cluster this weekend turned out to be.

It started with me finding things to do for both kids and taking Sunday off so that I could have a nice evening like I was hoping for that was canceled by text message.  That's right.  Way to keep it classy.  Point made.  I'm not stupid.  If you tell someone twice that you want to see them and then don't even have the decency to call then that person means nothing to you.  Point.  Taken.  Noted.  I don't have the cheat codes to the games that everyone claims they don't want to play.

Which leads me to the following rant:   I swear I am the last person on the planet that doesn't see dating as a sport.  In no way did I care about the fact that this was Valentine's day weekend.  It has never mean anything more to me than the fact that it's my mother's birthday.  That, and I henceforth dub it "Single's Awareness Day".  Nothing reminds you just how alone you are in the world when everyone around you is confessing their undying love for the asshole they can't stand 364 other days of the year.  I don't think that people should need to use it as an excuse to treat each other any differently than they should already be treating the person that they're in a relationship with any other day.  If I go out of my way to show any sort of kindness to you it's because I have an appreciation for who you are as a whole person in general, not because I want something from you other than your time and mutual respect.  I am not in a relationship and in no way am I delusional enough to believe that after 3 months that I am.  However, I should mean something by now.  And yes, I will admit that I had the slightest moment of homicidal rage when I saw the Facebook post of my thrice married best male friend newly engaged yet again less then a month after the ink on the divorce papers was dry to a woman that he has known for an even less amount of time.  I don't ask for a whole hell of a lot:  call when it's appropriate to do so (like when you're canceling plans or when you said that you will!!!), give me snuggles, touch my butt like it's the best thing in the whole wide world and act like I still exist when I'm not naked in front of you.  End rant.  For now anyways.

I can barely eat because I take two bites and I'm stuffed, three bites and I'm ready to explode.  None of my pants that were tight a month ago fit me so I went shopping at Old Navy and to my surprise I bought a pair of jeans in the next size down from the ones that I was wearing and were loose without trying them on and they fit perfectly.  I've heard of the "divorce diet", but this isn't that.  It's more like the "my body has figured out that over eating to emotionally cope doesn't snap her out of it or work so let's do the opposite as a human experiment on how little food a fat girl can survive on before she loses her shit entirely".  Because you know that dealing with my recent stress by binge drinking and verbal outbursts where I spew a bunch of emotional honesty isn't nearly humiliating enough.

Then Saturday night after work I had a half of a beer with dinner and thought it would be OK to start my new medication that said in several places "Do not drink alcohol in any amount with this".  Usually it just means that it would intensify the effects or make you nauseous, I figured it couldn't hurt anything.  Sure enough, within 30 minutes of taking it I was itching from head to toe and broken out in weird hive-like rash in several places and my tongue swelled up.  I called the on call provider for my practice who told me to take enough benedryl to knock out a horse (aka the adult dose which causes me to fall asleep standing up minutes after ingesting).  She also instructed me not to consume any alcohol in the next 48 hours or this kind of reaction could happen again and I could die this time.  Here I am, home alone in a snow storm, terrified and having one of those "Well, this is it.  This is how I'm going to go" moments.  I spent most of the evening curled up in bed wishing for death.

Got a 2:30am wake up from my sister asking me to rescue my mother from herself again.  To which I promptly refused because there's only so many times one can do that before you're just following them around with a safety net without taking their scissors away.

Woke up feeling like I had consumed an entire keg while jazzercizing.  Thought it was a good idea to go to the slots with my Nana and aunts.  It was fun, but I couldn't drink and in my family it's customary to be drunk before noon on any given family outing.  The food at the buffet was acceptable but not worth the money I spent on it.  I did get some pretty good quotes though:

"Your father couldn't have been the milk man, he was my brother!"  Said by Nana after aunt #3 said that she never fit in and that her father was the milk man.

"You can't ram them no matter how stupid they're driving.  It'll be considered a hate crime because their car is black!"  Again, said by aunt #3 to aunt #1 while following an extremly ignorant driver who clearly didn't know how to drive in Maine in the winter.  Which then opened up the can of worms about how everyone is butthurt about everything nowadays and how unfortunate people are who don't have a family like mine who considers sarcasm to be the language of love.

By the time I got home I needed a nap, which of course I didn't get.  So there I was, itchy, tired from fighting off death, emotional from being blown off and feeling like a human being and it pissed me off me off because I don't like feeling like I'm a human being.

Word to the wise:  when I tell you how I really feel about something, don't ask me if I've been drinking.  It's just not smart.  Especially if you did something epically stupid and I'm calling you on it.

Cupid was clearly not beaten nearly enough as a child.