winner.

In this troubling time of starting over, trying new things is important.  That was my reasoning behind deciding to hang out with a new group of people.  Going out of your comfort zone is essential for a newly single girl.
It was supposed to be a night with decent looking guy and his incredibly hot friends.  The decent one offered to pick me up on his way downtown.  Unbeknownst to me, we were not going to make it downtown.  
As it turns out, his parents house is close to my apartment.  We had a drink in his parents basement as he picked out a movie on demand.  Yes, I was trying to be bold and adventurous, but I still don't enjoying bringing up a subject to make myself even more awkward, like, "aren't we supposed to be meeting up with some sexy bicyclists in the Old Market?"  Instead, I sat there, in this man's parent's basement, and 'watched' one of those terrible spoof movies. 
When the movie was finally over, we left to go to the bar.  We didn't make it to the interstate.  We went a block north to what might be the strangest bar I've even entered.  The owners either couldn't decide on a theme, or thought it would be fun to try everything all at once.  It was called Bogies and it was a sports/karaoke/danceclub bar owned by a middle-aged Chinese woman.  The menu also had an identity crisis.  She couldn't decide whether to serve homemade chinese food or bar food, so she combined them.  The other customers were just as diverse.  There was the country bumpkin group in their cowboy boots and hats with flannel shirts in one corner.  Gathered around the pool/beer pong tables were the bros with their chains and sunglasses.  It even had the skinny girls in ugs and pajama shorts on the dance floor trying to shake their asses like Shakira.  Of course, I couldn't forget the table of very large women, each drinking pop straight from their own personal pitcher with a straw, waiting for their turn to sing Adele and get booed off the stage. 

I had finally worked up the courage to break the uncomfortable silence and ask if anyone was meeting us.  He had an excuse for why each one of them couldn't make it.  Que more awkward silence.  I continued to people watch as I felt him stare at me.  I could tell he was trying to find something to say, but as I had nothing to say, I couldn't help him.  Besides, I was busy watching a cowboy dance to lil Wayne.
Our silence was broken by his ringtone.  His mother was on the other end and even in the karaoke filled bar, I could make out yelling.  I gathered that someone at the bar had seen us and called her.  I also overheard the words "trashy," "little girl,"  and "take her home."  
On the way home, he asked my age.  I figured that was coming.  The bartender didn't I.D. us and his mother must have thought I was under 21 if she ordered him to take me home.  This sort of thing happened to me a lot, but usually in reverse.  People tend to assume I'm older, not younger.  This was not a night I wished to repeat, so I gave a coy, "you can't ask a lady that question" response when he asked my age on the drive home.  I hoped that by not offering my age, it would confirm that I was underage.  
When we pulled up to my apartment I realized that might have been a bad idea.  He awkwardly swooped in for the goodnight kiss while still in the car.  I pretended not to notice and 'fumbled' with my seat belt.  He cleared his throat and mumbled something about calling me some time. I quickly said sure and good night and almost sprinted to my door.  My heart didn't stop racing until I slammed the door shut behind me.  I immediately sunk to the ground in a fit of the giggles. 
I laughed until tears streamed down my face.  I am an awkward person, but I don't think I have ever experienced anything so ridiculous.  My fit stopped as soon as my phone went off.  He texted me.   
"love u hope to see you again soon"
I think I'm going to stay in my comfort zone for a while.  Trying new things is overrated.

Girl] interrupted

I feel like I'm in a scene from girl, interrupted every time I'm in the psychiatrist's waiting room.

"Hello," she says to break the silence. 

The wafer with sopping wet curls and bug-eye sunglasses gets up and walks out side. She stands right in front of the door, turns around, lights a cigar, and stares at us. 

As she turns to make conversation a similar looking girl, who at that very moment buries herself in her phone, the PA behind the counter tells us it'll just be a minute. Then miss dry, but unnecessarily hair gelled, curls has something to say. 

"What time is your appointment?"

"2:30," she answers. 

"What doctor are you seeing, because my appointment was at 2:30 and if your next then I just don't understand." Her words were thrown out so fast that I almost didn't understand. 

"She's not seeing the doctor today," I tell her, hoping that's what she was looking for. She appeared happy with that answer and, unfortunately for me, open for conversation.
"I'm getting my shot today, do you get shots?"
"I used to, but I don't need them anymore." Skinny girl put her phone down and leaned forward in her chair.  "I only come in once a month now."
"Oh, I still get shots. I like your shoes.  Where'd you get 'em?"
"I've had them for so long I can't remember.  Oh, wait, I got them at footlocker."
My client turns to me and asks, "Can we go there when you take me shopping?"
"Yeah, probably," I answer as I glance up at Nick, the PA, again.  He holds up five fingers with an apologetic smile in response.
She turns back to hair gel and the questioning starts.  
"Are you married?" She asks as she starts absentmindedly peeling lose hairs off my shirt.
"Nope."
"But that's a pretty ring you got on.  Did your boyfriend give it to you?'
"I don't have a boyfriend.  I got this when I was visiting family in Texas.  See, it's not even on the right hand for marriage."
"Do you like to go fishing?"
"No, anything with sharp and slimy objects isn't for me. What agency do you work for?"  Before I realized that last part was directed at me, she adds, "I used to have Lasting Hope, but no one helps me anymore..." Her voice trailed off as she stared out the window.
How do I respond to that? I can tell you need it, but unless you have a developmental disability, I can't help you.  This is the only field I know, I can name all the agencies like mine in Omaha, but I have no idea what else is out there.  As I scrambled to think of something to say, bug glasses walks back inside. 
'I like your glasses," my girl tells her.  Without so much as a breath, bug glasses walks back out the door.
"I'm ready for you two now, Laura." Nick saves the day.  We awkwardly exchange pleasantries with the unmarried, curly haired woman in the cute tennis shoes and walk back to the exam room.
At least I can say I don't have a boring desk job.

Homaha.

All my life I dreamed of leaving Omaha and moving to a 'real' city. I hated that my high school, located well inside city limits, was surrounded by cornfields. I hated that my dad ran into someone he knew literally everywhere we went. I'm not using literally like Chris Traeger. My dad knows everyone. 

The only thing to do as a child was play football in the street with the olda' boys and get scraped up to all hell. I'm sure I have more than one scar on my body that I don't know about.  I suppose there was the zoo, but that got old fast as it was every adult-in-my-life's trick to tire all of us out.  Every night, I fell asleep dreaming of a place with more excitement.  
In high school, there was a surprising amount of kids that moved to Nebraska from places like Detroit and California and various places in the middle-east and India.  I always felt bad for them, and they were often getting into trouble, as teenagers in a place with little to keep them occupied usually do.  They all moved to Omaha with the notion that everyone in the city owned a tractor and the majority of the roads were gravel.  I was asked once if many family owned any pigs and if they were cute like Babe.
I wanted more than spending my Saturday's in Panera and drinking coffee on a swing in the park.  Hide and seek in cars was a highlight, though.  It had just the right amount of suspense, speed, and trickery to make me happy.  Which I'm now realizing must mean I was dead inside if it took near-death experiences in traffic, on purpose, to make me happy.  It makes sense, considering it took five more years to realize that Nebraska is actually a pretty great place.
I love that Omaha is a big enough city where I can run to Walgreen's to pick up shampoo and not worry about someone I know seeing me all sweaty and smelly (I am not my father and do not understand how he knows so many people), but small enough to be able to get from Downtown to West O in less than half an hour (depending on the time...not so lucky during rush hour, but still).  The number of douches is upsetting, but it's balanced by a large amount of people with actual taste in music.  Which is nice.  I have never been on a tractor that actually runs, but the one at Vala's Pumpkin Patch is still fun to climb on.  I have been on a farm once, and have no desire to return fearing my obituary would read, "death by two ton spotted beast."  My high school might be surrounded by cornfields, but it's Boys Town land.  I don't really have an excuse for the rest of the random cornfields, but I like them now.  Character, right?  I've still been to the zoo way too many times, but it's the best zoo in the world.  Fact, and opinion. There are gravel roads everywhere, but there is also Dodge Street; the bane of every Omaha teenager with a learners permit's existence.  Dodge scares visitors much bigger cities with it's four lanes and five exits in one mile of space.    
It took a lot of bumps and a lot of awkwardness, which is still there and I like it that way, to stop looking past what I have for something 'better'.  This is what's better.  I can't say that with complete certainty since I haven't actually lived anywhere else, but I'm happy here.   
The best part, it takes 10 minutes from anywhere in the city to find a road like this to clear your head. 

Oh, if people actually read the crap that spills out of my head, please tell me you got the teen girl squad reference. 

subtle masochism

Another day, another bad cup of coffee in a waiting room. 

Why do I do this to myself? I know it's going to be horrible, and I know I'm going to be mad at myself afterward, but I reach for the styrofoam cup anyway. 

I take sip after sip, cringing each time the thick, molten substance someone mislabeled as coffee passes my lips. It's so mundane, and yet it has such power over me. Power that I couldn't begin to explain or understand. 

I've tried to resist...I've sat on the opposite end of the room as far away as possible. I've even faced the other direction when possible. The scent of the beans brewing always fills the room. It overpowers even the strongest 'old lady smell.'

Then it taunts me. How many hours of sleep did you get last night? It asks. Come on, I wouldn't hurt you. I thought we were friends, why are you ignoring me? Don't leave me...I love you and I know you love me. 

And I'm once again out of my chair on my way to the coffee. I'd like to think of myself as a strong, independent woman, but I have my weaknesses. I just can't resist. 

Oh it's easy, just don't listen! I want to listen, though. I want to see if, this time, it's decent. It never is, but I'm apparently a masochist. I can't say no. Sometimes, I don't even want to try. I know my stomach will churn and ache all day, but I reach out and take that styrofoam cup, anyway. 

mindy.

It's been a long time since I've been pulled into a comedy show. I never got into 30 Rock or Community and it took quite a bit of pressure from my friends to watch Parks and Rec. I was betrayed by television when Arrested Development was cancelled. 

My poor, fragile, 16 year old heart was stomped on by network executives with no idea of the damage they caused. 

I became absorbed in shows like Grey's Anatomy; shows that understood my heartbreak and helped me cry it out. Oh the problems of a white, middle class, redheaded girl in Nebraska. I still had The Office, and I did let Big Bang Theory in a few years later, but I had never let my wall down. 

Mindy changed my life. Mindy changed my life because my life is Mindy. No, I'm not a successful, sexy doctor with a disposable income and horrible dates with wonderful men. I work with people with disabilities and make a decent amount of money for a crazy cat lady to live comfortably. I can be hot (it takes some time). My dates are few and far between and are horrible not only because of my awkwardness, but because of the horrible men they include. I once went on a date that I didn't know was a date until he went in for the kiss.  That would have been an adorable romantic comedy moment had it been a guy I was actually interested in.

Oh and as far as dates with men I'm actually interested in go...let's just say that those make up the minority. I'm the girl that gets friend-zoned with the good guys, and gets chased by the hot bad boys or just plain stalked. Seriously, creepily, stalked. Side note: Why do the good guys always tell me I'm too good for the guy I'm seeing, but don't want to risk losing our friendship by seeing if it could be something more? Does not just happen to guys. 

Back on track: I am a hopeless swooner. I can romanticize a fax. I blame this on my unhealthy addiction to television.  I am a walking, talking IMDb, but I couldn't tell you everything I did today. Mindy restores my hope in life. Mindy restores my hope in me. Now all I have to do is move to New York, because that is clearly the place where a weird girl like me is appreciated. I just have to conquer my fear of leaving Nebraska. 

There is also a problem with following through on a highly romanticized move to a place like New York: nothing ever works out how I plan it. Although I'm definitely mean enough to fit in. 

Now, before I follow my train of thought down another scenic route, I need sleep and if you haven't watched Mindy, do it. It's the best thing those ridiculous executives have okay'd in a long time. For now, my heart is healed. 💜

creepy cat lady

This morning, my cat helped me pick out my lunch. I didn't get a chance to eat it, but it's the thought that counts. 

I don't understand why something like this is "creepy cat lady-like," but if Dinah were a dog it wouldn't be weird. Double standard!

Why can't cats have play dates at the park? That would be adorable. Why does it make me seem like a weirdo when I tell people my cat licks my nose every morning when my alarm goes off?

The thing is, I may be a creepy cat lady, but I'm happier than I've been in a long time. I love having all this time to myself and my best friend. 

If that makes me a cat lady, so be it. 

:]

surprise, surprise.

Another waiting room. Another doctor running behind. 

I am literally surviving on doctor's office coffee at this point. No time for lunch, not today, not surprised. I had paused for a moment with my fridge open this morning, wondering, should I bother today? I decided to be optimistic and pack a lunch. Maybe, I'll get to eat it tomorrow. That hope flees as I take a sip of the coffee no amount of creamer can make less bitter and I think of my calendar. 

It is now 3:13pm. Our appointment was at 2:30. 

I can say one good thing about waiting rooms: the people watching is fantastic. There's an elderly couple in the corner; quietly bickering. The woman threatened to hit her husband over the head with her cane, and that ended the conversation. 

There's the cliché emo girl in the corner, hugging her knees with her headphones in. She's staring at me like she knows I'm writing about her. 

A man who barely speaks English walks in and I wonder if he can even communicate well enough to tell the doctor how he's feeling.  He looks paranoid, too, never making eye contact, but always looking from body to body. 

As I watch, I longingly think of my yogurt sitting in the fridge in the conference room. That thought makes time go even slower. Another hour and a half drags on before I'm finally ready to go home. 

Tomorrow I only have one waiting room on my schedule. I can't wait for an easy day, but I don't think that'll happen any time soon. At least I can entertain myself somehow along the way.