Brain Dump

I have a profile over on Facebook and I've been getting back into touch with all these people I hung out with in college. We're talking 12 to 16 years ago. Christ.


I ran with an insane crowd of people back then. I still hang out with some of them, but our insanity has settled into more of a simmering weirdness.


A lot of these old friends have been posting pictures from "back in the day". Some of them make me laugh my ass off and some of them make me have to catch my breath. I lived a lot of life in those few short years.


By looking at all those old pictures, mostly what I am reminded of is how much of a total dipshit I was.


I tried to explain this on the phone to an old friend the other day. He just laughed and told me that "we were ALL dipshits". I don't know though. That's not exactly how I remember it.


It doesn't help that I still live in the same town that I went to college in. Maybe if I didn't have to drive past the houses and apartments I partied in (or the spaces where the houses and apartments used to be) it wouldn't still be so fresh in my mind.


You'd think with all the mind-altering substances I put into my body during that time I wouldn't be able to remember much, but it's still there.


Don't get me wrong. I had A LOT of fun--probably too much fun. But somewhere in between all that "fun" were some not so pleasant memories. Part of getting older and having to become a "grownup" must be the lingering guilt of the past.



Or is that just me?


I don't think I was a mean person, just thoughtless. Selfish. Self-centered.


If I could go back in time and talk to my 20 year old self, I would tell that person to quit being such a dumb ass. I would tell her to try and think her decisions through to the end instead of demanding instant gratification.

"See that guy? You will come home from a party and find him bleeding in your bed."

"And that guy? He will dump you "to be alone", but introduce you to his new girlfriend about 12 hours later."

"That one? You'll catch him ogling another girl's tits at a party and he'll break up with you when you call him on it. (But he'll make a spectacular fool of himself trying to sleep with her, so it all evens out in the end. And then he'll ask you to take him back by biting the heads off roses and spitting them at your feet at a bar.)

Obviously what's done is done. And things turned out pretty peachy in the end.


I just can't help but think of how much time got wasted getting here.

Besides, I'm pretty sure my 20 year old self wouldn't have listened anyway.

Answer: Can you peel them?

Question: What did my 4 year old daughter ask me tonight at dinner, when I told her to eat her peas?

Hell to the Yes!

Six weeks later my adventure to Insurance Land is almost over.

It took their agent an entire MONTH to get back to me. Once she finally called (while I was at Mina's class Halloween party no less), she told me to go get a second estimate. I should note that I think the only reason she did call me was because my agent left her a nasty voicemail about going over her head and basically dropping the proverbial hammer on her ass.

So I got the second estimate, and it was within 30 bucks of the other one. I sent copies to her and another full week went by with no word.

I left a voicemail yesterday and she called me this morning. I don't know if she was planning on blowing me off forever, but I was determined to hunt her down until this got resolved.

Yes, they are going to pay for it. Which place would I like to go? I didn't really care, but asked if I should schedule now or wait to hear from her.

She told me that I could go now if I wanted to, but I might want to wait until I got the check.

Uh...what now?

I assumed that they would send a check to the place or at most, a reimbursment check to me once they had proof I got it fixed.

Nope.

I get a big fat check.

Fuck the car. I'm paying off another credit card.

An open letter...

I'd like to take the opportunity to thank some very special people in the world: Bitchy Wives.


Your unyielding cuntiness has made my life a little easier, and you have my utmost gratitude. Let me explain:


It all starts when you meet your future husband. He's smart, cute in a dorky way and never seems to look at other women (well, not 3-dimensional women anyway). He treats you well, has a good work ethic and seems to want to settle down. He's pretty great in every way... except that pesky comic book/action figure/anime/video game/cult DVD collection that seems to take up his garage/room in his apartment/section of his parents' basement.


You ignore the collection(s) because hey, you're only dating. It's not like you guys live together and you have to look at that vintage Millenium Falcon every day, right?


But then, things get more serious. Maybe a couple years goes by and you decide you guys should move in together. You can only afford a one bedroom apartment, but you have to get two. One room for your sweet, sweet lovemaking and another for the boxes upon boxes of collectibles the Mister has.


"OK", you think, "It's not like we're MARRIED. I can overlook all this stuff."


But then you do get married.


And the hammer drops.


"It's me or the stuff."


Naturally, you win.


The poor schlub brings his collection(s) in to my husband. Tears in his eyes, he tells Jim the oh-so-familiar story of woe before walking out with a fraction of the cash he shelled out over the years to collect all that stuff. Unfortunately, Overstreet doesn't factor sentimental value into the going rate of that run of Spawn the Mister meticulously bagged and boarded 18 years ago.


A few years go by and things don't work out so well. If you ask me, the writing was on the wall the second you asked him to get rid of his stuff, but that's neither here nor there.


After you split up, after you've stripped the poor knucklehead of his toys for entrance into your favor, Jim gets another visit. This visit ends on a much much happier note--for him AND for Jim.


And, most importantly, for me.


Thanks to you, Bitch Wife, I've got a whole mess o' bills paid off.


You didn't think that Spiderman obsession vacated his brain the minute the vows were spoken, did you?


My eternal gratitude to all the Bitch Wives, the "grownups", the "ultimatum givers" and the Suburban Upwardly Mobile Haters Club.

I thank you. My husband thanks you. My bank account thanks you.

Sincerely,
Bacon Lady

And another question.

Please see poll on sidebar.

Now that the election is over I have one very important question

Does Bristol still have to get married?