spinster

"You're too old to have kids now, Laura. You're 23 and you're not even married!" 

"I'm only three years older than you!"

"Yeah, but I'm cute."

I know she's being funny, but I also know her well enough to know when she truly believes what she's saying. 

"Zip that cute face before I leave it on the side of the road." 

She laughs and makes the motion of a zipper across her lips. 

I love my job. I do. Even when they tease me. Even when a police officer ruins my favorite shoes trying to get me out of harms way. Although, I actually would have traded my ruined shoes for getting ran into (her hands were cuffed behind her back, there's not a lot she could have done!) that day.  Even when they embarrass me in front of the cute nurse, on purpose, and laugh about it as soon as we leave.  They're the reason I get up in the morning.

"Oh I really like that house!" I pointed to one with a wrap around, enclosed, porch.  "But maybe I should just stop looking since I'm never going to need any more space than a studio apartment because I'm going to be alone and childless my whole life."
"Yep."
An exaggerated frown crossed my face and she immediately took to groveling.  
"Okay, no, being serious now.  You will be a great mom.  You'll be old, but you'll be great.  You have to bring them to our house so I can play with them.  They'll call me 'Auntie.'  They'll all have beautiful hair, like you, too."
"I feel better now.  Thanks, girl."  I wasn't really feeling bad in the first place.  You can't do this job if you take everything they say to heart.  If I got upset every time I get called a 'fucking bitch,' I'd go crazy, myself.  Not to mention, 9 times out of 10, half an hour after 'fucking bitch,' comes 'I love you, honey.'  1 out of 10 times it's still 'fucking bitch.'
"You're welcome.  Now, just because you're going to have all these beautiful babies and live in a big house, that does not mean you can leave us.  I'll let you have the babies, but you have to stay our supervisor."
"I can't make any promises...what if the man I marry has to move for his job?  What if he makes sooo much money that I don't need a job?"
"Leave him.  We'll need you more."
I love my job.

subtle masochism, part dos

Today, I was prepared. I knew I'd be sitting in a waiting room for at least an hour and, in my attempt to help myself out, I brought my own coffee. 24 fluid ounces of actual, semi-decent, gas station coffee. Today I would not be fooled by the waiting room excuse coffee. I could ignore the voice in my head, because I had something better. Granted, not by much, but it was something.  

As I walked into the office, my triumphant smile fell from my face. This office has a Keurig. 

I shouldn't be surprised. This is my life. I keep going for the bad over and over and when I finally settle for semi-decent, there's something incredible right in front of my face. 

I can't have them both. I can't just toss a full 24 oz cup of coffee in the trash can. I have a commitment to see this cup through, though it tastes worse with each sip and each stolen glance at the Keurig.  My stomach is churning as I get up to walk out the door. I had tried to finish the cup I had so I could grab a cup of the good stuff, but each drink seemed to be replaced. It wasn't going to go away and it didn't matter what I did to try to get rid of it. I steal once last glance, and regretfully walk out the door. 

I just can't win, so why not let the masochist take over?

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. 💜