Superfluous Baloney

I wish I could compose a few somewhat intelligent thoughts, but unfortunately, I am currently suffering from complete and total mush brain. I haven't eaten since around 2 and can't eat until tomorrow evening. I have to have a very small little "procedure" tomorrow which should really be no big deal in all actuality, but the prep for it is utterly despicable. I know this because several family members have confirmed its extreme level of nastiness.

This is the second little procedure I have had done since I left home and moved halfway across the land from all people that share my DNA. I remember feeling this way the evening before that procedure as well. It's fear. Not crazy, OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO DIE fear. Just a wee little baby fear tucked way back in the corner of my brain. I'm not afraid so much of the procedure. Honestly, I've been through worst. It's more a fear of the unknown and more so focused on that damn prep then the procedure itself.

It's a lot easier to be afraid/nervous/anxious without folks you can lean on near by. To tell you the truth I would feel better if my Pop was going to be there with me. He was always the one that took care of me when I was ill as a child. I had a pretty sensitive stomach when I was younger, combine that with a tendency to get a great deal of nose bleeds (oh yeah, and my overly active imagination that provided many a nightmare filled evening) and you could say Pop and I spent more than a few nights bonding over the toilet bowl and Kleenex box. So, even at the grand ole age of 29 I still want my Daddy when I feel like poo. Alas, Pop is 2000 miles away unfortunately, in good ole CalifornI-A.

Since I am so far removed from family and the general bulk of my friends here in TN, I panic slightly when the physician tells me someone will need to take me home afterward since I will be put under during the procedure. You mean I have to ask someone to do something for me? I have to ask someone for a favor? I have to depend on someone? You have got to be kidding me. Besides, who the hell will I ask??? Both times (this one and the last) I have asked a friend and I still felt horrible about having to ask even though they did not hesitate in agreeing to help me out. It just makes me feel so vulnerable and needy, two things I totally suck at and make me squeamish. It makes me uncomfortable just to type it out...

Bud asked me tonight if I was nervous about tomorrow and I immediately (a little quickly really) responded with, "No, not at all." Oh yeah, never let 'em see ya sweat you tough girl you. Yeah right, I want my Daddy!

Yes, I know it's okay to be needy and to feel vulnerable and my logical side comprehends that completely. BUT, the other half of me says, nuh uh no way not gonna happen...you're a badass, you don't need nuttin' from nobody. Then there is the other half that sits shuddering in the corner while the first half laughs and points tauntingly while yelling insults like, "Chicken Shit! You big damn baby!" What's that you say? Yes, I know they have medication for that. But if the voices went away, who would I talk to?

I once watched a documentary that stated humans have a natural inclination for deciphering faces in things, i.e. clouds, water on a windshield, ceramic tiles, rock masses on Mars, etc. There is a man (his name escapes me, but he was featured in the documentary on A&E) who has dedicated the bulk of his adult life to proving intelligent life, at some point anyway, lived on Mars. The basis of his claim stems from pictures that revealed a rock formation which resembled a very rough (and extremely questionable if you ask me) face of some sorts. He had completely convinced himself that the formation, because of its shape, had to have been placed there on purpose by some higher functioning being perhaps for a religious purpose, kind of like Stone Hedge or the Pyramids. I know I personally have an amazingly creepy compulsion for looking for faces in anything and everything and have since I was a young child. I used to spend a good hour in the bath tub staring at the linoleum which I had convinced myself held several odd faces such as an angry donkey and a cartoonish bear head. As I was contemplating this notion the other day, I began to ponder other potential ways our minds trick us into making something out of nothing. I was on the phone with my crazy, needy friend the other day, who has now found herself involved with a married man who, naturally, claims he is going to leave his wife and devote himself completely to her. And of course in doing so, will give her all the financial, emotional and physical support she has always hoped for. (GAG.) As she is relaying the details of some of their intimate conversations, she is continually pointing out what she perceives as parallels between his own life/experiences and hers. For example, he states he told his wife last week that he is filing for a divorce, but her father passed away a few days later so he spent the weekend traveling with her to Michigan to see her family. Also, he plans on still living in the same house as his wife until the divorce is complete. My friend states her ex’s father passed away during their divorce as well, and she also lived in the house until the divorce was final. And she takes these minor coincidences as signs that they are just destined to be together. Personally, being removed from the situation I believe, although that is interesting and all, it doesn’t mean squat. She claims he says all the right things and continually tells her about all the ways he plans on caring for once the divorce is final and he is moved out and on. Personally, I believe she is seeing faces. I think she is currently so deprived of affection and attention that her brain is making her see something that really is nothing much. I think she is so desperate for someone to really be all of those things that she may be taking a simple rock formation and turning it into a sign of intelligent life on another planet…I mean taking just a regular ole BSing, still married man and making him into Prince Charming. It has always amazed me how we humans can get so lost in our own perceptions to the point that they become tangled with reality and we can no longer tell one from the other. At moments of weakness (whether physical, emotional or mental) we can actually skew real life so dramatically that we no longer see it for what it is, but rather what we want it to be. I think the saying our “minds play tricks on us” is a gross understatement. Our minds can seriously fuck with us when they want to.

First off, I apologize if this comes out somewhat muddled, but I am under the influence of some serious, serious cold medicine while I try to battle and very nasty head cold. I was going to dump on you all my somewhat bitter resentful opinions regarding Valentine’s Day, or as some refer to it Singles Awareness Day = SAD. Although I am currently coupled up, I still think the entire holiday is a crock of shit designed to play into women’s already over romanticized notions about gift giving, basically setting up all men to fail miserably, leaving the general female population completely disenchanted and jaded. So yeah, but Mr. Adam has already posted a cynical enough testament to this little charade over at his site, so I will let it rest at that. Valentine’s Day has not been the only contributor to my personnel sentiments toward all things romanticized. A few key members of the male species have also made significant contributions through their pathetic attempts at proposals. So, now dear readers, let us embark upon the tale of how Angel started down the path of unfanciful, non-romantics. Picture this: I was a young pup, only six months out of high school. I had dated only one person seriously in high school and since graduation, had truly started to cultivate my talent as a Class A Flirt. Thus, I basically became a serial dater, seeing one boy after another (and occasionally overlapping a few), never fully committing to anyone. At the ripe ole age of 19 I met him. (Yes, him. The one who would later trample my heart and leave it bleeding and unrecognizable on some deserted highway in Virginia just three short years later.) I instantly fell head over heals for him and in my naiveté, decided that since I fell so hard, it must but of course be love. About two months into this delirium we were having a conversation over the phone that must have somewhat surrounded the idea of marriage. He lived 80 miles away at a military base (yes, yes, I know how cliché this all was…) and struggled to afford the expense of traveling back and forth regularly to see me. He just happened to mention, in a somewhat casual manner, that the enlisted receive a pretty significant pay increase when they gain a spouse. We each pondered this notion for a bit (the exact details of the conversation escape me) until he finally said, “So, you just wanna get married?” And there you have it dear readers, the first of Angel’s pathetically unromantic marriage proposals. (Sadly, in my wide eyed innocence, I still accepted despite his complete disregard for traditional proposal techniques.) About 6 years and one divorce later, I bring you to Pathetic Proposal Attempt numero dos: I had been seeing a guy for about two years and we had been receiving a steadily increasing amount of pressure from family to get engaged. Truth be told we did own a home together and had been dating for quite awhile, so the pressure was not surprising. We mulled the idea over on a few different occasions, and on a Sunday that found us particularly bored, decided to head to a jewelry store to “just look” at rings. I’m in the jewelry store and have already fallen victim to the preying eyes of the sales team in the store, when one of them hands me a gorgeous platinum number with a princess cut center stone and begets not only on the top of the band, but also on the sides. It was beautiful. Like a predator sensing a weakness in it’s prey, the sales lady honing in on me, suggests we go out to the mall to look at it under the brighter lights. The diamonds mesmerize me as they dance and sparkle under the fluorescent lighting. Again, sensing my weakening defenses the sales lady goes in for the kill. She starts pressuring my boyfriend about the ring and being an overly accommodating individual, he just looks at me and says, “You wanna just get it now?” Meaning he gets to forgo the task of sneaking back to the store , purchasing the ring, formulating some romantic plan, and then actually springing the question in a thoughtful and sweet format. And what was my response? “Okay.” I blame the diamonds. They’re like crack to a girl like me. One hit and you’re hooked for life. There you have it, my fine friends. The story of how Angel came to lower her standards to such depths even sewer rats don’t dare venture. However, over the last few years (it has been about 4 years since the last proposal) as my self-esteem has gained momentum and I have come into the realization I deserve more, I have come to a staunch conclusion that I intend to hold to firmly: I am worthy of some effort. So, they next clown that tries to get away with some half-baked attempt at taking my hand in marriage has got another thing comin’. I don’t care how insanely in love I am with him, it better be well thought out and damn romantic. Because if its not, I will simply reply with, “Nope. Do over!!!” And will continue to do so until he gets it right, dammit. :)