Dear Rligious Whackjobs, I Don't Fucking Think So! Love, Velma

Ok, I am officially losing my shit over this one:

http://www.latimes.com/features/health/la-na-health-religion3-2009nov03,0,2239900.story?page=1

The same lousy motherfuckers who want to ban abortion and are raising such a fucking stink to make sure that no insurance company that ever sees one penny of government money ever covers an abortion because “GAWD” doesn’t like it…these same lousy fuckers want my tax dollars to cover them getting prayed over when they get sick.

Yeah, that link is not from The Onion.

Let that sink in for a second and you’ll understand why I’m pretty much incapable of writing a coherent rant on this one.

They don’t want their tax dollars paying for an abortion (and you know they’ll eventually try to keep from having to pay for birth control as well). But then they turn around and want me to pay for someone to pray over them.

I am sick to fucking death of religious whackjobs and the disproportionate amount of power they seem to throw around. The vast majority of people disagree with them on pretty much EVERY issue. So why are we catering to their ridiculous whims? Especially considering that no matter what the Democrats do, these lunatics aren’t going to be happy and they aren’t going to support them anyway. It’s stupidity on a level that beggars belief.

Dear Religious Whackjobs,

I don’t believe in your god. Cope. And I do not give you permission to try to run my life in his name. Here’s the deal…stop trying to tell me what to do and I’ll consider not making fun of you anymore. Until you get your nose out of my private parts, consider yourselves fair fucking game.

Love,
Velma

Seriously. Paying for prayer. The mind fucking boggles.

Dear Thing 1, Get Bent, Love, Velma

Sigh…well, I finally got back most of my stuff from Thing 1. Not all…but most.

I know I haven’t ranted in a while. I’ve just been too happy. The new guy is fantastic, and it’s hard to work up a good rant when you’re being treated well.

However, I figured an update on the ongoing saga with Thing 1 is in order, since he acted like a complete idiot on Monday.

I got sick and fucking tired of waiting for him to get his shit together and contact me back about exchanging our stuff (I had been waiting for a couple of weeks since the last time we had talked on the phone). So, I called on Monday around lunch. He was home sick, but not too contagious, so we set things up for the exchange at his place on Monday night. Fine. Whatever.

So I get home from work, I eat a little something, and I head over.

And I pull into his driveway.

Where there is a huge honking SUV parked behind his truck.

I’m surprised and totally not surprised at the same time.

He is such a chicken shit that he had to invite over the new woman he’s dating to be there when I got there.

He knows I don’t like strangers.

He knows I really don’t like strangers in my shit.

So he invited someone I don’t know to be there while we dealt with the aftermath of 6 years.

What. A. Tool.

Not a surprise, though, since I met most of his other girlfriends that exact same way…no warning whatsoever.

Anyway, I get there and he hands me a pile of my stuff that isn’t even close to everything. Which I told him. And, of course, with the other person there, I can’t just start going through his house looking for my shit. He agreed to call me when he finds things that are mine, but I’m not holding my breath.

And of course I had to say goodbye to the dog in front of a complete fucking stranger who did not have the common decency to leave the room so I could cry and say what I needed to say to the puppers.

Leaving Thing 1 – no tears. But I loved that dog and it hurt like hell to have to say goodbye. He missed me. He was all over me from the second I got in the house.

I just keep telling myself, as do most of my friends, that I’m lucky to have gotten out. What kind of man would ask his current girlfriend to be there for that kind of situation? What kind of man would think it was appropriate to ask her? What kind of man would put someone he once called his best friend into that kind of situation?

Oh, I already answered that…he’s a complete tool.

Dear Thing 1,

I want my shit back. You are not off the hook until everything you have that belongs to me is back in my possession. Being a slob who can’t find his own shit in his own house does not absolve you of this responsibility.

And yes, Thing 1, I know exactly why you did it. You invited her over so that you wouldn’t have to have an actual conversation with me. Because if we actually talked, you might have to own up to what you did…you might actually have to face it and feel bad about it. And you invited her over so that once I left you could have someone to tell you what a horrible psycho bitch I am and pet you and love on you and tell you it isn’t your fault. Well, newsflash, it is your fault. And you’re pitiful.

Get Bent,
Velma

I’m glad to have this mostly over. I doubt he’ll ever call me that he’s “found” any of my remaining stuff, but it’s not anything I can’t live without, so no biggie. He “forgot” to return my apartment key on Monday, but I forgot about it too because I just wanted to get in, get my stuff, and get out, so we’re doing that exchange tonight on my way to the fabulous guy’s place. And then we’ll be done. Closure…it is a good thing.

Why I don't trust men

Everyone on earth needs to read this:

http://shakespearessister.blogspot.com/2009/08/terrible-bargain-we-have-regretfully.html

I have stopped being a commenter at Shakesville for reasons that I'm not going into here. But I can't abandon the site completely because every so often, Liss just nails one.

Dear Thing 1, I quit. Love, Velma

What do you do when someone says and acts like they don’t want you in their life anymore…but they refuse to contact you to set up a time to get your stuff out of their house?

I cannot for the life of me figure out why Thing 1 is refusing to answer my calls and emails on this topic. Currently there are two theories duking it out in my head. Both may be partly true…or neither.

Anyway, theory one – he’s a controlling bastard. As long as he has my stuff, he still has control of the situation (and of me) to some extent. Not to mention, and thank you Daphne for bringing this to my attention, as long as he has my stuff I will continue to contact him periodically to try to get it back. And he can use that as proof somehow that I’m “stalking” him or needy or not letting go or whatthehellever. He can pretend to be the poor, put upon martyr having to put up with this psycho woman who won’t leave him alone.

Theory two – he doesn’t really want me to walk out of his life, but he’s incapable of doing what is necessary to get me to stay voluntarily. He’s incapable of apologizing and changing his behavior. So this is all he has to keep me tied to him. God, that’s really pathetic. I’m the one who worked to keep us together, he never really made an effort (because he never had to). And now, at the end, he’s the one who won’t do what is necessary to let me walk away.

In either event, I’m not interested in playing. My gut tells me to just walk away…let go of the stuff, deal with my guilt over abandoning the dog, just never contact him again. But part of me doesn’t want to let him keep my things. He has some clothes of mine that I really like and can’t replace easily. And he has the cake carrier that my mom gave me and I really want that back. Not to mention if I don’t return the few things I have of his, I’m sure he’ll whine about that and use it to try to make me the bad guy.

I really don’t want to have to turn this into a confrontation, but that may end up being the only choice I can live with. I’ve done it before. I drove seven hours to Lubbock to get my stuff back from the evil ex. It was ugly. But I can’t help seeing a lot of parallels between the two situations. The longer this goes on, the more I see him behaving just like my ex…and there’s a reason he’s an ex. There’s a reason he’s one of the few exes I don’t speak to. I really did not need to be subjected to this behavior again.

Dear Thing 1,

You’re a selfish, self-centered bastard. I would hope you spend the rest of your life miserable, but I don’t have to. You’ll do it whether I hope for it or not. You like being miserable and you like pulling others down with you. You can do it without me. I quit.

Love,
Velma

The good news, I have a dinner date tonight.

Surprisingly enough, not a rant. It does happen from time to time.

I don’t have the slightest idea what to rant about today. Too much stuff bouncing around in my brain. Thing 1 had a “wonderful” time this weekend “hugging trees”…which I suppose is better than hearing him say he had a wonderful weekend fucking like a rabid weasel. But not by much. I just keep telling myself…he’ll fuck it up. He always does. I’m too tired of the whole thing to even rant about it at this point. Though I’m sure he’ll say or do something stupid soon and I’ll be furious all over again.

Anyway, this is not a rant. It’ll happen from time to time. You can spot the non-rants ‘cause they won’t have a “Dear So And So” in them.

I’m thinking about implementing some serious changes to a) my life, and b) my relationships with both boys. If Thing 1 can’t figure out a way to make our relationship more egalitarian, then we may not have a relationship at all any more. I need more control. I’m tired of feeling like our relationship is at his whim. If it doesn’t change, I may just have to walk away.

And as for Thing 2, well, he has to step up and start making an effort. When he is hurting, I’m always there. No matter what else is going on in my life. If he can’t find a way to do the same for me, then our relationship may end up dying of atrophy.

I can’t do it any more. I can’t be the one doing all the work. And I’m not willing to have less than I deserve any more. And what Thing 1 doesn’t understand is that I mean that in a much broader sense than just sex or being considered a primary partner or having him give me more of his heart or whatever it is he tells himself I’m all about. I mean it in a holistic sense. I’m not willing to be treated as less than I am. Full stop.

I guess I’m a little disappointed in myself because I have such a hard time implementing my feminist ideals in my private/sex life. I let men I sleep with/love get away with shit that I wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else. Stuff that if they were doing it to a woman I know, I would yell at her to leave them.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t get involved with the hard-core woman haters. But you scratch pretty much any guy and you find all sorts of imbedded sexism. They don’t really respect women. They don’t treat us very well. They don’t treat us like equal partners. They don’t take our feelings into account.

One of the last things Thing 1 said to me that really touched me was that when we were having sex it was all about me for him. About getting me off. I believed it at the time. But looking back, not so much. There are a lot of things I asked him to do that he didn’t…that he wouldn’t do for me. Simple things – nothing complicated or degrading. Certainly not as out there as some things we actually did. Given the things I was willing to do to and for him, it makes him look pretty selfish. He is pretty selfish. And it isn’t just about sex. There are a lot of little things I’ve asked him to do and he says no just to say no most of the time. Even when it’s something he likes to do. If I ask, the answer is almost always no.

Or maybe it just never dawned on him that when I say I want something, I actually mean it. He has this real problem with believing the version of me he has in his head over the real me. Sometimes I think that’s a result of spending so many of the formative years of our relationship living 1200 miles apart. I wasn’t a real physical presence so of course I mostly lived in his head. He could imbue that version of me with whatever thoughts and opinions and desires he liked. Yes we talked a lot, online, on the phone, in person on the rare occasions when I could come and visit. But those visits weren’t the real world. We had to stuff everything into 4 or 5 days a year – you just don’t get a realistic idea of who a person is like that. I’m sure I’m guilty of this to some extent as well, though I’ve made a real effort to be open-minded and figure out who he is on a daily basis since I got here 2 years ago.

And maybe it’s just that way with men…they don’t see us as real human beings. The image is so much easier to deal with than the real person who has wants and needs and opinions that contradict his. Which leads back to the feminist interpretation – of course I’ve spent more time trying to figure out who he is, that’s what people in subordinate positions do. People with power don’t have to care what people beneath them think or feel.

It really does feel like starting over from the very beginning. There’s this guy and I have to decide if he’s worth it (multiply times 2). I have to decide if their behavior is such that I want to allow either of them into my life. Thing 1 has to prove to me that he’s really seeing the real me. That he’s listening to the real me. That he believes what I say and respects me and what I have to say. Thing 2 has to prove he’s someone who can actually be there emotionally for another person. That he has the ability to give. That he can listen instead of running over what I say.

I have to find a way to look at them both objectively and not through the eyes of someone who loves them. If they are causing me more pain and stress than can be counter-balanced by the joy they bring me…then I have to tell them that then and they either have to change that balance or I have to cut them loose. They’re both, in different ways, bringing me down. I fight so hard to not be depressed. I just can’t decide if I’d be more depressed with or without them.

I know, this rambles and makes no sense. I’m not apologizing.

Dear Thing 1, You are not forgiven. Love, Velma

This is a short one, because I'm too wrung out to type much. And it's still too personal, but if I don't scream about it somehwere...I'll explode or something.

Dear Thing 1,

Do not apologize for the things you did that I consider cherished memories. It makes it almost impossible for me to forgive you for the shit you did that actually hurt.

Just. Stop.

Love,
Velma

The boy is making me crazy. I can't figure out how to even begin to forgive him and that's not normal for me. He's making me a worse human being. *sigh*

Dear Grocery Store Bagger, Pay attention to your job. Love, Velma

Just a quick mini-rant. I had to do my normal Saturday morning errands earlier. The most important being picking up groceries at the Food Lion just up the street from my apartment.

I got the world's most annoying bagger. He wasn't paying any attention to what he was doing. Some of my bags were stuffed to bursting. Some had almost nothing in them. And I had to tell him three times to put the 6-pack of Mike's in a bag.

Seriously, the first time he was putting them in the cart, and I said, "I need those in a bag."

Nothing.

The second time, he was staring out the big windows in the front of the store. I said, "I need those in a bag."

He at least turned to look at me, but still didn't actually do what I asked.

The third time, I actually picked them up myself and said, "I need these in a bag."

Finally, the light dawns for this dimbulb. He thows my Mike's into a bag, dumps them in the cart, and instead of bagging the rest of my groceries, he goes running out into the parking lot to talk to someone in a car.

I bagged the rest of my groceries myself. The checker even felt the need to apologize to me for the whole thing.

Sheesh.

Dear Grocery Store Bagger,

You'll have plenty of time to talk to you friends when they fire your ass.

Love,
Velma

Dear Thing 2, You are more self-centered than a gyroscope. Love, Velma

I am about tired of Thing 2 and his fucking attitude problem. He's driving long distance today. He calls me about an hour and a half ago...while I'm driving home from work...in the rain...and says, "I'm bored. Entertain me." I laugh. 'Cause I'm not a psycho.

However, I just called him to see how his drive is going. He answers the phone yelling at me that he's driving in the rain. Like I'm supposed to be psychic or something. And then hangs up on me before I can get through saying sorry.

Dear Thing 2,

You really are a selfish sonofabitch.

Love,
Velma

Some days I'm not sure why I don't dump them both and just start over again.

Dear Velma, You're being a psycho. Love, Velma

Ok, I’m a bad person. Thing 1 is taking some woman he met less than 3 months ago away for the weekend to some cabin in the woods. I’m a bad person because I’m glad it’s supposed to piss down rain all weekend. I hope the fucking roof leaks. I hope there’s mild flooding. I hope small, furry animals try to invade the cabin for shelter. I hope they spend the weekend wet and miserable and after 72 hours cooped up together she would chew her own leg off to get away from him.

It’s not that I don’t like her. I don’t know her. It’s not that I mind him going out with other people. I do it myself. It’s just that he’s being an asshole right now and doing things that seem designed specifically to hurt me and I want him to feel as bad as he makes me feel sometimes.

Dear Velma,

You’re being a psycho. Get over it.

Love,
Velma

Or not. I’m always a “nice” person. There’s something that feels so good about allowing myself to feel vindictive and petty and just plain evil.

Dear Thing 2, the world does not revolve around you. Love, Velma

Henceforth, the two most prominent “men” in my life will be referred to as Thing 1 (the local guy) and Thing 2 (the long-distance guy). I thought about going with Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber, but got stuck trying to decide which one didn’t deserve the “dumber” part. So Thing 1 and Thing 2 it is. I’m sure there will be plenty of rants about Thing 1 – he’s been breaking my heart on a daily basis for a while now. But today I am highly irritated at Thing 2.

Thing 2 lives about 520 miles away from me. It could be worse, but it’s still a long way.

Anyway, Thing 2 is currently unemployed and had to move back in with his parents a couple of months ago. Very stressful. I get that.

Thing 2 and his dad and some partners are trying to start a business. Also very stressful. I get that too. Thing 2 is spending a lot of time driving all over hell’s half acre looking at vans his dad is considering buying off ebay to use for the business. And Thing 2 – he has road rage. He shouldn’t be allowed to drive at all, much less drive several hours a day.

Thing 2 is also doing a lot of physical work around his parents’ place to “earn his keep”. Physically exhausting labor. Mostly chopping down trees and pulling stumps. Leaves him worn out all the time. I get that.

And Thing 2 is allergic to where he’s living. Constant sinus problems and migraines. Which he knew before he moved there…and went anyway. Because he’s an idiot.

Anyway, there’s your background. He’s being worked like a dog, his head hurts, and he’s one cranky motherfucker. Oh, and his love life down there sucks. So he’s extra special super cranky.

So, I mentioned the whole “Velma’s heart is getting broken over and over by Thing 1” thing. The last time Thing 2 got his heart shredded…I paid for plane tickets and brought him here as soon as we could manage it to provide him with some TLC and to make him feel wanted and loved and special. ‘Cause I’m a wonderful person. And I’m good to the people I care about.

Now it’s my turn. I’m hurting. Bad. I feel utterly unwanted and if my self-esteem was any higher you might trip over it. I need him to come up here and return the favor. Am I getting that?

Well…this is a rant, so I’m sure you can figure out the answer to that question without looking at the answer key in the back of the book.

No…he is not coming to see me. Because he’s “too busy”.

TOO FUCKING BUSY

Too fucking busy to spend 3 or 4 days with someone you say you love who really needs you. Some fucking friend.

Those trees…they aren’t going anywhere. The ebay vans…also, not really going anywhere. And even if one sells, there’s always another. Not to mention his dad is perfectly capable of driving to go see them without him. And it’s not like the new business can actually start doing work in the next few days. There's government bureaucracy involved – which is a long, drawn-out process that won’t be happening today, tomorrow, or next Tuesday.

Dear Thing 2,

Stop wallowing in your own misery for five fucking minutes.

Love,
Velma

I’m tired of feeling like almost everyone takes advantage of the fact that I’m a good friend. People suck.

Dear Cow-irkers, Buy Headphones! Love, Velma

What the fuck is wrong with people? Seriously? Does anyone understand the concept of professionalism any more?

It is an uncomplicated concept. When you are working in a cubicle environment and you want to listen to the radio or music on your computer or watch shit on YouTube or (and this still stuns me) watch your mini-TV at work…WEAR FUCKING HEADPHONES!

I work in the worst cubicle environment EVAH. The room has weird acoustics so you sometimes can’t hear your neighbor but you can hear conversations from across the room. There are no acoustical tiles. Just bare concrete walls that amplify the noise and bounce it all over the place in weird ways. (And we are the only section in the whole agency stuck in cubicles. That’s a rant for another day. Suffice it to say at this point that we are all quite bitter.)

And I will admit that I have ridiculously attuned hearing, especially when it comes to music. I blame it on all those years of music training.

But the simple fact of the matter is that grown-up human beings should have the good sense to wear a pair of freaking headphones so that they don’t bother other people.

Shit. I listen to the loudest, most obnoxious heavy metal you can imagine. But I wear headphones. Even when I’m at home, because I know my apartment has thin walls. I don’t roll down the car windows and share my music with the whole freakin’ world either. I certainly don’t torment my cow-irkers with it. But people just cannot bring themselves to do me that same courtesy.

Dear Annoying Cow-irkers,

Buy Headphones! (I know your paygrade, I know you make more than me, so I know you can afford $15 for cheapy headphones.)

Love,
Velma

And yes, one of my cow-irkers actually has a miniature television in their cubicle. What. The. Fuck!?!?

Dear dental insurance companies, You suck. Love, Velma.

It’s hard to know what to rant about first. Despite that fact that the “men” in my life are driving me spare, my job is hell, I’m stressed out waiting to hear from a better paying job (that I really don’t want but will take for the right money), and the world is in a wholesale state of higgledy-piggledy, my brain is currently occupied by my impending oral surgery. I am having all four wisdom teeth removed in one fell swoop next week. So looking forward to that…not. It’s a damn good thing I like soup, pudding, and mashed potatoes. ‘Cause apparently that’s all I’m eating for a while afterwards.

It’s not so much the pain I’m worried about. Though I really do appreciate every-fucking-body on earth telling me their wisdom-tooth-removal horror stories. And it’s not really going under anesthesia for the first time – though I am a little wary of that whole process. You hear about what dentists and doctors have gotten up to with unconscious patients. Not to mention the potential negative reactions some people have to anesthesia. I don’t want the last thing I see in this life to be a big, hairy hand coming at my face with a drill. But I know that’s unlikely.

No, I’m stressed out over how much the damn procedure is going to cost. I have dental insurance. Hell, most people would consider it pretty good dental insurance. (It even covers adult orthodontia, which my dentist is all over my ass about. No, I do not want braces at age 38.)

And yet I’m still going to be out several hundred dollars that I don’t have when this is all over. Better yet, the surgery will have used up every single dollar of dental coverage I have for the year. So anything else that happens between now and January 1, 2010 – it’s all out of my pocket. Bastards.

Dear dental insurance companies,

You are a total fucking scam.

Love,
Velma

Seriously, I need someone to explain to me why dental insurance is handled so differently from medical insurance. Why are they even separate in the first place? And why am I not hearing a word about dental coverage in the great health care debate?

Just the facts, ma'am

Ok, this would be post the first. I suppose a bit of introduction and explanation is in order. Blame Daphne. Seriously. I hate everyone and everything. But she’s under the delusion that I’m funny about it. Actually told me I should quit my job and make money writing poison pen letters for other people. Somehow I’m not seeing this as the HUGE money making venture that she’s envisioning. (Then again I thought the same thing about the gay porn and she was right about that one.) Whatever.

Anyway, this blog will mainly focus on two things – politics/sociology/human behavior, often focusing on feminism and the stupid sexist shit that pisses me off; and all the other stupid shit that pisses me off, with probably WAY too much info on my personal life and the way the “men” in it are driving me absolutely spare. This list is not exhaustive, so be prepared for the occasional rant on how the new scoring system has utterly destroyed figure skating or about why the BCS is crap or how television makes brain cells commit suicide.

Oh, and regarding comments. I have opinions other people don’t like and a lot of the time I don’t give a shit. If you decide to argue in my comments, I will moderate the hell out of trolls, but intend to give plenty of leeway to people who just want to duke it out. Just remember, there’s no crying in baseball. Be prepared. Wear protection. And if you want a “safe space”…this ain’t it.