Tuesday, May 29, 2012

"You really are in trouble now! You were safe in here!" (Dream)

I had (what felt like) a very long dream last night of dying in a hospital.

My symptoms: Not being able to swallow, shallow breathing, unexplained rash on my arms and legs.

There were three to a room. The room strangely looked like the back spare room from my Grandmother's house but I would later discover in the dream the "hospital" was in her carpenter's shed. (It's a dream, remember?)

Normally my not-so-pleasent dreams consist of zombies in numerous ways of attack. This dream had mention of zombies but I don't recall ever seeing one in the dream.

Well, anyway... in the dream I remember being allowed five minutes in the ER before Health Insurance wouldn't cover anything else. They tucked me away in one of those ER rooms just long enough for me to hear over the loud speakers, "Your five minutes are up!"
I grumbled, "Figures," just moments before a doctor pushed his way into the cubical like medical room. He took what seemed like a gallon of blood and let me know that they had a room available to me until the tests came back.

"I don't have money for that. Five minutes are up. Health Insurance isn' t covering anything now." I plead with him to just call me with the results but the doctor laughs at me and leaves the room, I overhear him telling a nurse to 'stick her with the other ones.'

Fast forward >>>>
I'm in the room they stick me in, the one I previously mention. My bed is in the middle. There is a large grassy plant hanging over me and making my hives worse. I remember trying to make small talk with the woman to my left before I realized she was deceased.
"She died five hours ago." The middle-aged woman to my right clarified.
"What? Why haven't they moved her?" My voice unsteady.
"No Health Insurance. They will move her last on a garbage day... if they get around to it." The woman scoffed.
"Been here long?" I ask, thinking about how large the bill will be.
"Two years next month. Waiting on blood tests, my symptoms went away after a day or so of waiting but its clean here and no one seems to bother me much. I figure they can't send a bill if they're still charging me." The lady chuckled. I found her annoying. She was a bit overweight, had wild curly short hair that bore gray roots to crudely dyed brown hair. She looked mousy and un-kept. Her clothes were street clothes and she never looked at me directly, her gaze never left the soap opera on the small television mounted on the wall.

The dead woman separated me from the large window to my left. I choked down tears. Somehow I knew that I had been kidnapped by the Hospital and I was doomed to die or watch soap operas for the rest of my life: Both outcomes scared me equally. I fell asleep to the sound of Mousyhair speaking along the words to the television, like she had seen the program hundreds of times before. I awoke much later to the dead woman making popping noises with her body. The dead woman's head twisted in my direction, mouth slightly agape and her eyes vacant. My fear turned to annoyance when I realized it was the not-so-dead woman making the popping noise with her legs. "These hospital beds are killer." She spoke mainly to herself, throwing her head back in a mighty triumphant fit of laughter. I rolled my eyes and got up to look out the windows. I felt like the room was a couple floors up (couldn't recall an elevator ride, but then again... how did I get there, anyway?) But I saw the familiar backyard of my Grandmother's house, it also appeared that we were on the ground level.

"I can get us out of here." I say aloud to myself as my fingers quickly start to open the window. It took moments that felt like ages but the window gave, crackling and creaking. As I pushed it open a cool breeze of fresh air rushed in and I took my first full breath in days. I felt much better. Fuck the blood test. I hoisted my leg up to crawl out of the window when Mousyhair seemed to hover on the opposite side of her bed. I couldn't see her feet to be sure. "I wouldn't do that." Her voice was demonic.

I gave a weak smile, "But it's nice out here. All sunshiny and perfect." I tried to sound convincing, as one would to entice a friend into a cold pool on a summer day. I didn't stick around to see if Mousyhair was actually floating or not because I fell from the window, three stories down, landing on my back. I stood up to dust myself off and look at the bleak dried grass visage around me. My eyes canvasing the horizon. It felt like I was seeing shadows run at the edge of the woods but surely my mind was playing tricks on me. "You really are in trouble now! You were safe in here!" Mousyhair called down to me in her demonic voice. I didn't turn to look at her, my eyes still trying to focus on the familiar landscape.

Then I heard a man's voice behind me, "She's right, you know." I turned around to face the ER doctor who had put me there. "Its not safe out here." He had something in his right hand and was tapping his left palm with it. A scalpel or syringe? I never got a good look because I heard a howl in the distance, a very human howl, a zombie howl. I remember sucking in a lot of air and running with a camera scene all jiggly like in Cloverfield or Blair Witch Project; a flew glimpses of the doctor and the figures running in the distance. I wasn't sure if they were memories or what I was seeing because my eyes opened and Hubby's soft snoring and his hand gently resting on my shoulder grounded me back into reality.

It was just a dream.
It was just a dream.
It was just a dream.

Sunday, May 27, 2012


I just want to be outside.

All day. 

Inside is the enemy today. I don't want to be bothered by video games or AC... I want to feel the sun on my shoulders and get wasted by the pool. Yes, getting wasted by the pool sounds most delightful.

I made a table for outside using only Dos Equis beer boxes and packing tape. Its quite classy... in a redneck kind of way. I guess if it was PBR or Bud Light I'd be more hipster... but its whatever. I'm very proud of my creation.

I am 98% sure I got a job working with Hubby's company. It seems very promising and veryvery well monetarily for us. I'm nervous, of course.... Hubby has the utmost confidence in me which makes me even more nervous. I also have to cover my tattoos. I dressed like a Sunday school teacher to go to the interview.... bleh. School marm, Beth... that's me.

I'm not married yet but I did manage to purchase a "wedding" dress. It's soooo cute. I'm also working out like crazy so I can look good in it whenever we manage to scrape $300 together to have the stupid ceremony. Our money is going towards a trip to NC this weekend so I can be in my BFFs wedding. I'm happy that Hubby arranged to go with me. That 17hr drive was making me have nightmares. I don't think he realizes how much it means to me that he's going with me. I'm sad that I will be missing the bachlorette party though.

This is going to be such a busy end of the month/start of June. I have a lot of good feelings for June. I expect great things.

And a name change.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Middle Finger Thrown.

The problem with being a free thinker and someone who doesn't want to conform to the universal idea of how to get money... I find myself broke, extra picky about finding a job... and constantly turned down because of my tattoos.

Okay, so technically I haven't been turned down directly about my tattoos but I've applied to a job, got the interview and everything seems koshery-good until she brought up covering my tattoos. Okay, I get it, socially a lot of "suits" don't like their peons covered in ink. I got it but I don't understand it and I find it offensive. I, of course, didn't let the interviewee know all that. I smiled and promised to cover my tattoos as needed. None of my tattoos are out-rightly offensive (Unless you don't like Disney movies, non-expletive poetry or find flowers and stars the bane of your existence.) I also have my lip pierced but haven't had a lip ring in just because I'm lazy. I often forget I have tattoos. Not because I feel they are unnoticeable... just because I don't feel like they define me. My tattoos are equivalent to make up to me, I just can't wipe them off and they don't smear when I cry. It's like your favorite necklace you don't take off, mine is just poked deep into my skin tissue. So... how would you feel if you went for a job interview and they liked everything you  had to say and finished up with a squinted expression, "Everything seems great... except that necklace. Can you tuck it in or cover it up while you're on our time? That'd be great, thanks. We just don't want others influenced by your ideas of beauty, that's all." I feel like they're asking me to put a bag over my head.... Who says a white girl never gets judged by her skin?

I get asked, "Would you have tattoos if you had realized it would cause people to prejudge you, especially in a job setting?"
My answer: "Yes."

That's my short answer, anyway. Yes. Yes, I would cover my skin in beautiful markings. No, I don't give a fuck if that means certain jobs won't take me. I don't want them, back! Yeah, take that! Middle finger thrown. Yeeeeaaaahh, I'm mature and stuff.

Sigh. Okay, so it does bug me. I really think I didn't get the job I got an interview for because of the manager's disgust with tattoos. So now I'm trying to find non-mainstream-esk jobs. So far I'm finding non-degree counselor for disgruntled and/or mentally-disturbed kids, middle man for placing exchange students and nanny for hire. I don't really want to work in a kitchen although working in Louisiana and working my way to Sous Chef in a creole kitchen sounds like a life-goal. I am also thinking of applying to Daiquiri bars.

But anyway. I am feeling this intense need to flex my music muscle. I want to get back into a music theory class. I want to learn the scales and be able to just pick them up from nowhere. I want to do something with that knowledge somehow. It may be all the coffee talking-- but I want to get a headache over sheet music and correct the wrong scale in a piece of music. I want to be able to visualize in my head the correct flow of tunes no matter what instrument is being played. I'm getting rusty and I don't like it. I feel like a has-been of what never was.

Also, all of my "dream job" ideas tend to return with little to no money.


Sunday, May 6, 2012

"I don't want to be ANYTHING like any of your exes!!!"

Augh, okay...

So, I'm a girl. Duh. But I must state that for very obvious reasons-- Girls have irrational ideas sometimes. (CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!)

Not wanting to be anything like your current's previous significant others is quite the irrational idea. It's also one that I am quietly struggling with. I'm struggling because I can see the rational side of it.

I'm getting married soon. Also, duh. One thing about marrying one of your close friends is you can recall how ever many years worth of previous significant others they dated freely in front of you. It was shameless because there was only a platonic relationship between you and whoever they brought around. (Well, at least in our case) I knew these girlscoughwomen that he dated before me. I spoke with them, they sought my approval and sized me up accordingly. I have never been intimidated by them and apparently that's intimidating. I, in some cases, got more into their brain than Hubby did. (It's a girl thing) I became their frienemy and got to know them. I remember picking them apart, quite often finding similarities between them and I. Sometimes it was unsettling how my likes were their likes and my hobbies were their hobbies. But then again, a lot of Hubby's likes were my likes and a lot of his hobbies were my hobbies.

Obviously things would stack with who he chose to date as well. Again with the duh

Now that I am romantically involved with him my angsty twelve year old hormonal self can't help but peck at my brain with all the usual paranoid ideas. If you are even slightly aware and female (Or male, I guess?) you know what I'm talking about. Those paranoid ideas just bubble up from within and you have to mull over them and shoot them down or address them aloud if they feel justified enough. Also, getting married isn't child's play. Marriage is not taken lightly by me and my relationship with Hubby is very much adult. I've known him long enough I was more than aware of who I was getting myself involved with. (Translation: My qualms in this post have nothing to do with him directly, I also know he religiously reads my blog, so I have to put that out as clear as possible. This is me just being a vagina.)

But anyway, I know a lot of girls feel this way. Correct? The whole: "I'm nothing like his exes, I don't even see what he saw in them!" Yeah, that. Well, ladies, I'm sorry to break it to you but that is quite irrational. Although I do want to say that all cases are different and you very well may be in one of those glorious "I'm completely unique to those of their past" things. Let me break it down.

People tend to stick with what they know:
If they grew up around intellectual types they will tend to date college graduates or someone with a prestigious career. If someone grew up primarily around a specific race or creed they will tend to date someone of that religion or skin color. If they reallyreally loved their mother or father they will tend to date someone resembling them. Or if they really hated their mother or father they will tend to date those that resemble nothing of them. That's the same with those that have a passion for something and they tend to surround themselves and date others with that common passion.

People tend to date what they like:
If they like poets, they will primarily date poets. If they would prefer red headed gym fanatics, they will stick as close to that as possible... Let's say Person A dates 10 people in their life time. Person A is a guitarist that prefers blondes that are also artistic in some way and loves dogs. It's safe to say Person A had 7 out of 10 that have lighter colored hair; likes dogs and either plays an instrument or does some sort of artwork either as a job or a hobby. Sounds logical to me.

If you've dated "it" before and loved/hated "it", then you will/won't date "it" again:
"It" being something: a trait, a hobby, a defining character of someone. Think: "I dated that guy Jake and he loved to go to the gym. I think it mellowed him out otherwise, so now I dig guys that go to the gym." So then you tend to date athletic people. Athletic people appeal to you. No shame, right? In that same way: "I dated this red headed chick Sarah and she was such a bitch and made all my friends don't want to be around me anymore if she was around. I refuse to date a girl named Sarah or red heads. She was a teacher too, no more teachers for me!" Same idea but on the negative instead of positive. Either way you are getting specific about the type of person you want to get romantic with. Also, no shame.

To the core I seem to reflect Hubby's taste in women. Visual appearances aside, I share a lot of their likes and hobbies as well as some of their personal/political views on things. Which makes sense. Being a vagina about it is letting that leave a nasty taste in my mouth and make me feel like a blow up doll with a common filling.

Since I am being a positive thinker and adult: I like to think of me being all the best qualities he found in previous girls all wrapped up in his favorite shaped box.... with my unique quarks and neurotic habits thrown in!

This theory works in both directions too, ya'know.