Oh hai, blog….its been a few – err, FOUR – years…

July 15, 2012

Well, how the fuck did we end up here?

A lot of shit has happened these last four years. Truly.

Japan happened. Twice. But those are stories for another blog entry…

I’m now an assistant web designer instead of a Japanese translator. Never saw that coming…but I do enjoy it.

And, more recently…

My beautiful, sweet boyfriend of four years – whom I gushed about in previous posts (with shades of foreboding anxiousness) –  has left me.

The short version? He didn’t love me. Says he hasn’t “consistently” – whatever-the-fuck that is supposed to mean – for the last two years, give or take.

Also, my potty-mouth has worsened somewhat. And I’ve adopted a more chat-like writing style of short pithy statements and sarcastic  oneliners. Thank you, MMORG obsession!

So…just what the fuck happened between us over the last four years?

When did shit start to go so…sideways?

If I’m honest with myself – TRULY honest – I’ve always felt this wretched, nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach whispering negativity   and warnings. The same feeling that pinched like a tiny paper-cut whenever he blew me off, said something insensitive, or generally acted oblivious as men are wont to do. But it was different with him, you see – he was the child of a psychologist, now at long last a budding counselor himself after many years of stubborn refusal to accept what he could only be good at as a psych major with a psych father and a fucked-up childhood. In other words, he should have had the insight to know better. Long and circular were the discussions we had about the meaning of life, the meaning of love, our feelings and fears…and yet still he failed to understand the value of an apology, the importance of showing me his love for me over his “commitment to the relationship” (all of which we discussed – at length).

He should have KNOWN better. He should get it.

And I never thought I would have to explain this to him – but he fucking dragged it all out of me, in the end, didn’t he? Over and over and over again we talked about it. First, my anxiousness and despondency over his inability to be there for me and treat me like I was important…and then later, his simple ability to do it because I finally DID have to out right ask him to treat me like someone who adores me maybe just enough to go see that stupid movie I want to see even when he’s tired from all that terrible unemployment leisure time spent playing video games.

He should be able to talk to me like the “best friend” he keeps telling me I am. He can banter and joke around like the crass and crude little boy all men are when they get together, but he won’t shoot the shit with me without either taking offense or simply refusing to play at all.

But you know, goddammit, in spite of it all – I wasn’t unhappy. As our talks became arguments followed by weeks of tip-toeing around each others feelings followed by more arguments, I was still happy, in the in-between. There were periods of time where he wasn’t in some emotional crisis and I wasn’t being forced to relive my darkest fears about our relationship and then defend them to him  – times when things were good. And still, I was okay with that, you know? I loved him, and I accepted it all on the one condition that he loved me back. We would survive this ridiculous downward spiral of circular arguments and indefinable unease so long as we loved each other…is that not what love is?

Let me interject here briefly on another hugely asinine and inflammatory subject that was often the crux of our arguing: MY VIDEO GAME HABIT.

Are you fucking kidding me???

Yes, so, allow me to summarize. I started playing an MMORPG called World of Warcraft (one he has been playing obsessively for at least a year) just before my second trip to Japan in an effort to 1) take an interest in the things he likes (if you can’t make your boyfriend quit being a tard and pay attention to you, join him and play the damn video games yourself…) and 2) to give us a mutual activity to participate in while I’m in Japan (since we can play together in the same “world” no matter where we are physically).  After I came back, I really took to the game and actually became pretty good. Of course, we preferred completely different styles of game-play: I enjoyed combatting other players as a damage-dealing ninja cat, while he preferred playing a healing role with a group of players versus the game world content.

Anyway, that probably makes no sense unless you play a video game of some kind. But the point is that where, for a time, he thought it was totally boner-inducing awesome that his girlfriend played (and did not completely fail at) video games with him, he then decided he played too much and, treating it like a form of addiction on par with his alcoholism (oh, did I mention I stood by him through that as well? AA meetings and all) abruptly threw away the years of time and energy he’d invested into the game, cancelled his account and stop playing games of any kind. But this was not before he basically ditched me and did his own thing and refused to do anything that I liked at all because it “stressed him out” (because I’d become a better player than he had, you see…).

Not soon after I begin to get the “looks” of disdain and mild disgust that I’m continuing to “waste” my time on a computer game. As though I did nothing else – not going to work every day while he wallows in unemployment and makes plans to further increase his debts by going back to school, not going to school myself, and most certainly not trying to hang out with him or go outside in the REAL world and enduring his ever continuous brush-offs….more importantly, as though he had not done exactly the same thing since he was a child. Before this, I’d played one or two Nintendo games in middle school, but nothing else for damn near half my life.

And do you know? He asks me to quit. He has the fucking NERVE to ask me to quit something I enjoy as much as he did. After all the years I put up with him not only playing day in and day out but actually blowing me off in favor of it – during which I only ever asked him to spend more time with me, not quit the thing he enjoyed so much – and he dares act like “well, its just a game, why can’t you just quit because I’m asking you to?”

One day, as I’m driving him to work in MY CAR, he even goes so far as to tell me “I’m really turning into a loser.”

You can bet I dumped him out on the sidewalk and told him to walk his ass to work for that. That’s not to say it didn’t hurt like hell, to have the man you love describe you as a loser, even though I could hardly see straight for the injustice of it.

I think things reached a point of no-return the first time he suggested we go to couple’s counseling.

My reaction…was less than diplomatic.

I recall my exact words were: “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??”

He brewed and pouted over that all day long, as he’s wont to do, of course. And of course, I apologized for my choice words (which he was too much of a fucking pussy to just argue right back with…but I didn’t tell him that) and tried to explain to him that *duh* I don’t think counseling is a good idea *duh* because I have a pretty strong stance *duh* as I’ve told him many times before *duh* that counseling in relationships is only an expensive way to delay the inevitable*duh* and is insulting because it suggests we – two perfectly intelligent adults, one of whom *him* might as well BE a counselor – cannot talk to each other *DUH*.

And after we’d screamed and shouted at each other and I told him he had no right to talk to me like a child when he couldn’t even kick his coffee habit and depended on anti-depressants and wallowed around unemployed, after he stormed off (strained his finger throwing down his bicycle in anger like the child he is) and we finally sat down again, he told me he didn’t think it was going to work out and maybe we should just end it now, I caved like the stupid, lovesick little girl I am and we went to counseling.

For damn near a fucking YEAR and who-knows how many hundreds of dollars we went to counseling.

And then, after coming to terms with the gaming thing (told me it reminded him of his mother and how she was “unavailable”…kind of like I used to hate how he played because my father was a dry-drunk who ignored us while he played…of course, like the addict he is, he now plays a single-player game that I cannot participate in all the fucking time), telling me he was “more committed that ever” and that “things were really getting better”…after I was there for him through his panic-attacks and anxiety about school and temp jobs and his AA meetings…after spending the whole month preceding this little shit-fest coming to my family home to enjoy our summer BBQs and birthdays and holiday celebrations, just barely a WEEK before I graduate from college (for which I bought tickets for him and his dad months ago), and with five months left on our lease, we go to counseling, like usual, in MY CAR, and the first thing out of his mouth when we sit down in front of the counselor (this is verbatim):

“I have some bad news…I don’t want to be in this relationship anymore…”

BAD NEWS. Bad fucking news???

Oh, but this is the second time – we almost didn’t stay long enough to even see our four-year anniversary, don’t ya know. The first time, he sits me down alone in our apartment and at least has the decency to be contrite and act like it actually pains him to do this. And when he says, “I don’t think I’m in love with you anymore…” its the worst thing ever, like a knife in the gut, and I recoil from him like a wounded animal, and I cry so hard I think I’m going to choke myself, and he cries, too, and it hurts so much and I feel so lost I don’t hardly have the strength to resent it and push him away when holds me and he tells me “We”re going to get through this one day at a time” , as though a fucking tornado had hit the house and now we just have to deal with it, like it isn’t his choice.

The deepest irony of it is that I begged him to come back to counseling, to give it one more shot. I bought myself 5 more months of lies…

But this time? Well, he’s already broken my heart, I realize, and now all I have left is the full fury of my self-righteous rage.

I can’t even really express to him coherently how fucking angry I am – I’m just stuck somewhere between numb and seething and even then, with the bitterness of my anger and the knowledge that now there was no going back, even then I couldn’t bring myself to give him my full, unrestrained, uncensored opinion of his bullshit. Certainly not in front of the counselor, who doesn’t say a damn thing, in the 15 minutes before I walk out and leave my beautiful, stupid and insensitive boyfriend (again) like the dumbass he is without transportation and to pay the fucking bill like a real man ought to.

And he doesn’t even blink. He goes to his dad’s apartment and doesn’t even call me. I know he made it back, though, because when I come home – ha, “home”, as if it were ever really that – his bag is missing and some toiletries are gone.

He emails me the next day, and here is exactly what he writes:

“I’m coming over Sunday probably in the evening to pick up some things.

I know its really hard right now but I’d like to talk about logistics at some point.

Feel free to just email if you don’t want to talk…


*head explodes*

Four years. Four FUCKING years we’re together, and you decide to dispose of me like garbage, out of the blue in front of our counselor, in the midst of everything, and this is all you have to say? THROUGH EMAIL?? Like you’re talking to some business acquaintance?

“I know its really hard right now”

“Feel free to just email”

Speechless. Utterly speechless.

But you know, this is how he is. A real fucking professional shrink down to the bone. Notice the passive tone, the lack of acknowledgement of any suffering inflicted or fault, the utter lack of personal responsibility.

Like I said, you’d think we’d just had some kind of natural disaster. Like he played no part in this at all. Or even, that we’re both to blame and therefore no one is to blame…

/epic facepalm

When I respond I decide to tell him what a fucking shit he is and how he better fucking grow a pair and come talk to me like a real person, and he’s all, well I didn’t think you even wanted to talk, I’ll come over right now! Fucking oblivious.

And so he comes over, and the minute I let  my anger show (even though he “doesn’t blame me for being angry”) he hold up his hands in a huff and stands up and says he’s going to just leave right now if I’m going to be hostile.

So I take a breath, tell him to sit down and I ask him, “Do you really want it like this? Do you really think it’s okay to come and be with my family and act like everything is fine and then dump me in front of our goddamn counselor?”

He tells me, well, you know, he LIKES  my family and he thought the counselor was a good choice because then we’d have someone to MEDIATE while we talked it out…

LIKES my family? Completely beside the point. My family, not your family. You are a fucking guest, and you do not take advantage of their hospitality on false pretenses, you cocksucker…

And just what is there to talk about if you’re ending the relationship? Besides the fact that your timing is utter shit, what makes you think it will be good to go through it like this when you know how much I resent being counseled in the first place?

He’s completely dead-pan about this, eyes narrowed slightly in his now-usual facade of mild disgust and disappointment.

So I give up.

And I cry a bit more, after he leaves. But it’s hollow, mostly just a knee-jerk reaction to the pain from old memories. It feels empty and wrong, though – like someone is trying to force me to believe the sky is pink and not blue. But, like all those painful memories, that, too, is just me clinging to an old hope, the very same one that kept me believing he loved me and how could it be wrong?

Just another lie…

Living multiple lives

December 20, 2008

…well, not really; it just seems that way sometimes.

I’ve always had this odd sensation that I’m living several different lives. For instance, school and home. Mysocial life existed almost exclusively outside of my own home (with a few rare exceptions) until recently, and the two almost never overlapped. I’ve had friends over a handful of times during my childhood, not because my parents didn’t allow it or because I had something to hide, but it always felt like an invasion of my personal space to have people over. It was pretty unusual even for my parents to have people over; we were just a really close knit family, I suppose, and to have “other” people over was just not done very often. It was not for lack of friends, either – I just came to them instead of them coming to me. When people did come over, it felt very strange. To me, at least.

Likewise, because my love life arose as an offshoot of my social life which was a dependent of my school life, boyfriends came over next to never, or stayed no longer than it took to get in the car and go somewhere. It was like, depending on where and with whom I was, the other was sort of a non-tangential figment of my imagination. Sort of.

When I went to Japan, I was completely isolated physically from my boyfriend and my family. I was never especially homesick (boyfriend-sick, for sure), but its like I went into ‘survival’ mode and my subconscious just accepted where I was, then and there, as “reality”.Were it not for daily e-mails and regular phone calls from home, I almost feel like I would just re-established my identity there. As though my entire life at home just didn’t exist.

Of course, it was just a strange sort of feeling, but it struck me as soon as I became aware of it. I settled into a routine, got to know people, watched relationships and drama flare up and die around me, and went through a couple of my own. That was my new reality.

I wonder if that’s just another manifestations of what I’ve started calling my “selective, adaptive apathy”. Its not that I lack any kind of emotional attachment to my home and my family, but during the short time I was there, it was really my boyfriend who kept me from completely submerging into my new life. And that’s a strange thing in and of itself – no one person has ever had that much of an immediate, emotional hold on me. If I’m honest with myself, not having him there is what made me look forward to coming home. It didn’t make me miserable or keep me from enjoying myself, but the longing was tangible.

I’ve moved around a lot during the last year, too. Almost every school quarter, in fact, I stayed with someone new. The first summer, it was with a friend of my uncle; the next 3 quarters, a friend from community college and his family; this last quarter, a friend of my mother’s. Every time, not only a new schedule with new classes and teachers, but an entirely different “home” dynamic. I still go to my “real” home a couple times a week, but  that’ s also been split up into a few days at my boyfriend’s place (and even he changed residency last summer).

I’m a creature of habit, though – I insist on eating oatmeal and yogurt every morning, and I will fight storm conditions to get to my aerobics classes and Starbucks. But. I would almost say I live in a self-contained bubble, which contains all my little routines and thoughts and defenses that I just carry with me into each new situation and adapt them as needed.


December 15, 2008

The first time my boyfriend told me he loved me, he started the conversation with something to the effect of, “Have you ever been in love before?”, and then, “What do you think it means to be in love?”

He does this a lot. Asks me to explain my thoughts/thought process about something as opposed to just telling me. I both resent it and appreciate it: on the one hand, I feel like he never gives me “the benefit of the doubt”, or respects my opinion for its own sake, whether he belives it or not; on the other hand, he forces me to be articulate and put words to the mash of emotion and disjointed monologue that normally makes up my deep contemplation.

Anyway, I told him that, for starters, I had only maybe been in love once before. That relationship was with a much older man, and in hindsight it occurs to me that a lot of those feelings were probably based on some kind of delayed reaction to my grandfather’s passing, as he was the primary male role model in my life. While I think he was in love with me (he told me as much, and certainly treated me as though he cherished me), my moral unease with the whole situation prevented me from freely “loving” him back. But, it was the most I had ever felt for another person, and the first time I had become even remotely physical with a man (we did not have sex, however, but I doubt I would have been as comfortable with being touched by my current boyfriend were it not for the ‘foreplay’ I participated in with him).

What it did help me begin to recognize was the huge amount of emotion that it evoked in me. Normally, I’m pretty closed down and I rarely have any desire to spend time with other people – I’m not overly shy, and I do have a few friends, but I’m a loner, more or less. I have what I believe is a strong sense of decency and I try to be generous, but when it comes right down to it, I really can’t be bothered to put any energy into a ‘real’ relationship – I just don’t care. With my current boyfriend, perhaps in part because it was a ‘guilt-free’ relationship with prospects for the future, I fell hard.

He is the only person whose company I prefer over merely being alone – the only person whom I quite literally crave the presence of. He commands an enormous percentage of my attention and interest, easily being the sole subject occupying my thoughts at any given time. Being something of a germaphobe, I also tend to dislike being in close physical contact with virtually *all* people – except for him. No matter if he’s just stepped out of the shower or just spent an hour in the weight room, I find my attraction undeterred. He has the most wonderful smell about him – enhanced by a bit of Old Spice, but distinctly him, nonetheless, and it just makes my insides purr. He’s a big, powerful guy, and when we’re intimate he often ends up soaking wet in sweat, but still–often to the somewhat ironic amusement of my own subconscience — I cannot help but still want to lie close and rub my hands over his back as he rests. To me, he is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.


So, back to the “what is love to me” question. Well, whereas I tend not to care one way or the other about most people, the person I love has my complete attention. While I generally feel sympathy for other people’s problems, my attitude is always, “Aww, that’s a shame”, and I may not think about it with any real concern any further than that. On the other hand, this person whom I love – their happiness and well-being is of the utmost importance to me, and their mood or behavior towards me can leave me in tears at the drop of a hat, or bring me contentment as I have never known before. When he’s angry with me, even if I feel I am in the right or that he’s overreacting, its like I’m trying to inflate a punctured balloon – my anger will not hold a charge. I cannot just say “Fuck it” and walk away. The thought of something happening to him, of him dying, nearly kills me. You recall all that nonesense with the chiropractor – yes, part of that is my self-righteousness rearing its ugly head, but the reason I make such a stink about it with him personally is because I fear for his safety.

All in all, I want to be with him all the time, and I have eyes for no one else. My libido quite literally will not give anyone else the time of day.

That’s what love is to me.

Thinking about kids…

December 11, 2008

“I felt the same way when I was your age. Don’t rule it out completely – you’ll probably change your mind”

I don’t like kids. I don’t want kids. Its not that I have some kind of repulsion towards them or that I have this burning animosity – I just have no interest in having my own. None. Zip. Nadda. Its unfathomable to me that I would ever be able to play the role of ‘mom’. I wouldn’t say I lack any kind of maternal instinct – I love raising baby animals, and I can’t think of a single period of my childhood where we had less than 5 cats, a dog, and a bunch of livestock. But human children are different – I have no special affinity for them what-so-ever.

The only things children represent to me is a chain on my leg that will forcibly orient itself in the position of “center of my universe” and superceed the importance of all other things in my life. And that’s in the most ideal of situations.

Imagine if the child was autistic, or born with a degenerative condition? I have a great deal of respect for people who are in those situations and can handle them – they are extremely brave and commited parents, and I applaud their devotion – but I do not believe I am strong enough for that. I would be resentful, and unhappy, I just don’t think I would ever be able to reconcile those feelings in order to devote myself wholeheartedly to the child.

I tend to look at pregnancywith a very sterile, medical attitude as well. If it was a choice between my life and an unborn child’s, I would choose to abort. No hesitation. Its strikes me as foolish for a woman to do otherwise on the grounds that a fetus’s life has more value than her own. If I were the husband, I would much rather loose the fetus and have my wife – even if trying again was not possible, there are other options. A fetus is a potential person – its mother IS a person. Just my opinion…

You have to really want kids to have them and be happy. As a woman, you have to spend 9 months incubating them, suffer the agony of childbirth, and then they are completely dependent on you for at least the next 5 years. Then shortly after puberty hits the metaphorical fan and if my observation of my own peers in elementary through high school is any indication, that can be the most hellish thing to suffer through. I would no more become a parent than a gradeschool teacher.

I also don’t understand the way women come unglued around someone else’s baby. What an embarassing, stereotypical girly display – makes me ashamed of my gender. I don’t gush like that over puppies and kittens, which I find to be superiorly “cute”. Yeah, congradulations or whatever. No, thank you, I don’t care to hold the baby.

Like I said, I don’t ‘hate’ kids, but for some reason, I always feel a great swell of pity whenever I see a young mother dragging along her little snot-nosed brats, or a pretty girl bulging out of her clothes 7 months into the pregnancy. And all I can think is, “That will NEVER be me”. Sometimes it worries me that I have such an extreme attitude about it, but in truth, it downright horrifies me that I might find myself pregnant and stuck raising a kid.

My biggest problem has do with the trauma to my body. I’m extremely sensitive to weight change, and I think the condition of pregnancy would throw me into a paranoid depression from which I might never recover. It would make me feel fat and vulnerable. And I couldn’t stand it – I’ve spent my entire life trying to be as healthy and fit as I can (I’ve never had a drink in my life, never smoked, never done drugs, I eat well, and I work out 5 times a week) and I just don’t believe that I could bring myself to fuck that up, not when there are other ways.

Is that so wrong? Does no one else feel that way?

I worry about what’s going to happen in the next few years if my boyfriend and I are still together; this could well become a dealbraker. He’s already 30, while I’m only 22 and just reaching the end of my university schooling. While he’s far from being in any kind of position (economically, anyway – he barely makes enough to support himself and shares an apartment with hid dad), he’s at “that age” where he’s going to start wanting to settle down. Maybe he doesn’t realize what he’s saying, but I noticed the first time he said “when” instead of “if I have kids”. We’ve talked about it, hypothetically, and he knows I’m not keen on the whole “birthing” thing, but he’s “down” with adoption, too. I’ve expressed my negative desire for motherhood in a number of subtle ways (hell, I don’t even like the idea of marriage, which is practically step one to “starting a family”) to him, and I think he gets it, but I still worry its going to be a problem way sooner than I think. I love him, I really do, but under no circumstances will I be coerced into bearing children in order to stay with him.

I think I’d almost be relieved to find out I was infertile.

And the beats goes on…

July 10, 2008

I recently spoke with an old friend of mine over coffee the other day. While we mostly bullshitted about this and that, he mentioned to me that he was thinking about seeing a chiropractor for his back pain…but was hesitant because he didn’t have the best results a number of years ago when he briefly went to a chiropractor for similar problems.

Of course, I needed to divulge to my dear the friend all my newfound insights into the field of chiropracty.

Luckily, he was already skeptical, and acutally found my advice to be REASONABLE and WELL-THOUGHT OUT. I mentioned to him the “issue” I was having with my BF over his insistence on allowing his chiropractor to perform high-velocity cervical manipulations on him and how it carried a risk for stroke.

My friend mentioned that his chiropractor had also done the neck-snappy-thingy to him, and he found my concern about stroke of particular interest because within two days of having his neck manipulated, or sometimes on the same day, he would have starry vision and tingling in his arms. Also, on a number of occassions he recalled becoming numb from the waist down after lower back adjustments.


He may very well have suffered a small stroke, and the numbness is certainly cause for alarm.

He agreed that it would be better for him NOT to see a chiropractor again.

I feel a bit like a rabid dog over here, but I just keep coming up with more evidence that very clearly says, “SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE!!” and more reasons to worry.

…on a more humorous note, please read this post by Zoo: http://knudsensnews.blogspot.com/2007/12/chiropractic-researchers-find.html

And a pretty good site about back pain with an article on How Chiropractic Damages Your Spin: http://www.rebuildyourback.com/chiropractic/damage.php

…not that any of this is news, but…

An open letter to my boyfriend…

July 7, 2008


There are some things I’ve wanted to tell you, but I’m not brave enough to tell you face to face, so I’m going to start by saying it here…

Remember when you said to me, quietly, as we lay together in the darkness, back when we first started dating, “I really care about you”? That was a very long time ago, and I wish you’d say that to me more often.

You caught me off-guard when you asked me, half-asleep with your head in my lap as I ran my fingers through your hair, “Why are you always so nice to me?” and I just told you it was because I liked you, and because I had no reason not to be nice to you. But I wish I’d told you instead that it was because I loved you, and because it made me happy. Or maybe even just asked you if it was really so strange that someone would want to be nice to you…that’s what I really wanted to say.

I feel like the more I realize how much you mean to me, the more shut-down I become, and I think I’m pushing you away. I can’t bring myself to tell you, though, because it’s seems like such a cliché…and I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me.

Do you know that my entire body just hums contentment when you’re near me, when I touch you? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and I could spend hours tracing my fingertips over the lines of your handsome face, running my hands over that exquisite, deliciously swole body of yours. When you’re inside of me I can barely think through the haze of ecstasy that washes over me, and the way you look as you climax – so vulnerable and achingly gorgeous – takes my breath away.  I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my life.

Nothing makes me happier than just being with you.

You often write me sweet little poems where you tell me how you’re always waiting for me, and that you miss me…you even played your guitar and sang for me. But I wonder if you really mean it…because I can’t remember the last time you actually told me so…

It was like a slap in the face when you said, “I miss you a bit” and mentioned how it’d be good for us to “take a break” from each other, seeing as I’d spent “so much time” with you recently…all of 3 days in the course of 2 weeks before I left for another week on vacation with my family. And two weeks before I leave the country for over a month.

What exactly are you trying to tell me when you say, “I don’t want to build a relationship with you if you’re going to leave next year and go abroad”? Are you saying you don’t want to end up with your heart broken or that you don’t want to waste your time? Do I mean so little to you? Why does it have to be all or nothing? We might break up tomorrow for all you know – why do you insist on establishing conditions? I don’t even know for sure what I’m going to do in a year – why can’t we just enjoy each other for as long as we can? Who knows what will happen between now and this time next year…

Must you always remind me about how “poor” you are? I mean, really – when do I ever ask you to pay for me? When do I ever ask you for anything at all? I usually end up buying everything just so I don’t have to feel like I’m burdening you. I’m always the one who drives down there. I even bring my own towels when I stay the night. And we always take my car when we go out together. I understand that money’s tight, but it’d be nice if you’d acknowledge, with a little gratitude, that I don’t cost you a damn thing except a little time and energy when we fuck.

How do you think it makes me feel when you blow me off because you’re “tired” or “you just don’t feel like it”? Why do you even bother to tell me that you were “thinking of coming down” if you’ve already decided that, well, you have to work the next day and there’s just no way? How dare you ask me if I can give you an hour for something “you just have to do” [translation: play video games] right when I pick you up from work – that’s rude towards even mere acquaintances, least of all your girlfriend. Not many women would forgive such an affront – twice (don’t forget the first time you asked me out, you told me, “I was going to call you last weekend but I was playing video games”). I go out of my way for you at the drop of a hat; I’ve rearranged my entire schedule again and again so I’d have time to see you; I let you drive my parents’ car so you wouldn’t get motion sickness; I went out and bought all of your party supplies while you wene at the gym; I pay for dinner just so we don’t end up at some burger-joint every time we go out; but I do all of these things gladly, and I wouldn’t even hesitate if you would just…every once in a while…refuse, or even just put up a little more of a fight, instead of just saying, “Well, as long as you’re offering…”; or when I ask you to come with me somewhere, you come just to be with me and not on the condition that you give a shit about what we’re seeing or doing…I can’t “cost” you any less than I already do, and I’ll never insist on my own that you to pay for me, because that’s just not who I am, so is it so much to ask that you show a little chivalry and put me first sometimes, without making sure I understand that you “can’t be making a habit of it”?

When I needed to go to the doctor and you mentioned, if it was “okay with me”, that you’d like to take MY CAR, which we drove there in, and go out to the store if the wait was too long, I was silently furious with you, but you didn’t notice. Later on, when I cooled off, I forgave you because you stayed, but someday I’ll tell you that I might never have forgiven you if you had left me alone in the doctor’s office.

I wish you would listen to your doctors – your REAL doctors. You can’t keep putting off changing your diet and overcoming your coffee addiction. You may think that the only thing the doctors tell you is what you already know – that your joints need rest and your acid reflux will never get better unless you quit your bad habits – and that you can keep track of those things yourself, but you’re no more of an MD than me. And what makes it worse is that you know your family has a history of disease like cancer, diabetes, stroke, and heart attack. I just want you to take care of yourself…

I resent that you won’t do the one thing I’ve ever asked you to do: stop letting that fucking chiropractor adjust your neck. If you want to buy into the rest of his bullshit, fine – I don’t care. But is it so much to ask that you stop taking this one stupid risk with your life? That idiot is supposed to be correcting your posture and helping with your back pain – not snapping your neck like some kind of mystical “bonesetter” and calling it medicine.

Don’t you understand that I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt? It would break my heart if I ever saw you cry, and when you’re in pain it feels like something inside of me is dying.

It makes me angry when people dismiss you and let you down and are just plain careless with your feelings. It happens a lot, and I think its because you don’t protect yourself -you lay yourself on the line, no pretentions and no facades, and sometimes you put too much faith in people to do the right thing. I know you think you can laugh about it and just brush it off because you say “being a victim is a mindset”…and maybe that’s true, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t leave a mark. I can see it in your eyes, you know. And small things add up over time.

Don’t tell me its not a big deal when your friends don’t show up for your birthday party. Maybe they were all still hung over from their 4th of July celebrations the night before, or maybe they all just happened to flake out at the same time -just a mistake, just an oversight. I’m sure they didn’t mean any harm. But their thoughtlessness just stuns me. I think they just don’t see what I see – I didn’t either, at first – that you’re a better person than anyone gives you credit for, and you deserve their respect. You’ve already earned mine.

I know I keep a lot of things to myself, and I spend way too much time locked up in my own head. I know my silence leaves you with doubts, and it seems like I’m holding you at arm’s length…but sometimes I need you to hear what I’m not saying, too.

I’m here for you, baby…I love you more than anyone. Just show me that you need me, too.

More Chiro-crap

July 2, 2008

Yeah, at this point I’d say I’m being a bit obsessive. But that’s not unusual for me.


So, back to my boyfriend and his chiro-quack-tor: apparently, the doctor-wanna-be is also “treating” him for various issues related to his mild-scoliosis…and I will take a moment to mention that 1) my boy is 30 years old (i.e. an adult), and 2) his scoliosis is so mild that it is virtually invisible to the naked eye (which, based on my research, would put the degree of curvature somewhere in the very non-threatening area of 20 degrees or less).

Now, this is not, to my knowledge, the late-onset, degenerative kind of scoliosis. This is something that started when he was much younger, and I don’t believe he’s even had to wear a brace. He does seem to have some back pain from it…or, quite possibly, lifting 200 + lbs on his back on a regular basis @_@ So, from what I’ve read, this kind of scoliosis will likely become a major issue only if it has a curvature of greater than 20 degrees, and probably will not worsen after a person reaches adulthood ( http://www.chirobase.org/07Strategy/scoliosis.html ).

But, what is making me go, “Say what?”, is that his chiropractor is apparently x-raying his back and finding that, over time, his scoliosis fluxtuates in severity, periodically getting “better” and “worse”.


So, I sent a question to the National Scoliosis Foundation ( http://www.scoliosis.org ) and here is their response:

“…a portion of the curve that one sees on an x-ray is a function of gravity. Therefore, the magnitude of the curve may change even if you took an x-ray on the same day in the morning vs late afternoon. However, the true structural (bony) curve does not change, which may be noticed if you took an x-ray morning and late afternoon while the person is lying down without the additional force of gravity.”

Interesting. I think I’m gonna step out on a limb here and say that whole ‘fluxtuating scoliosis’ is thus a bunch o’ grade-A crap.

If by “worse” and “better”, we were talking about pain, then I could see that. Particularly given the weight lifting factor. But to say that the condition itself is worsening and improving is very dubious.

I could be wrong. Maybe there are other factors I didn’t consider when I sent in my question. But I’d be very surprised if the chiropractor is actually doing anything more than the usual bone-cracking.




Love and Marriage…

July 1, 2008

…don’t seem to go together quite like a horse and carriage, if you ask me.

I’ve never had a real positive outlook on marriage. My parents are not very happy – I remember it was back sometime around middle school that Mom began to openly complain to me about the insensitive, asinine things Dad was always doing. As I got older, we’d go out for coffee and our ‘heart-to-heart’ time was mostly Mom expressing her undying irritation with Dad. Its not that she was unvalidated in feeling like he not only wasn’t paying attention to her but was being unforgivably oblivious and irresponsible – he most certainly was – but what eventually bothered me was the fact that embedded in these complaints was a very stern message to me that “you should always assume men are going to be assholes” and “don’t ever get in a relationship with a man who doesn’t treat you ‘right’ “. And yet here she was, coming up on her 15th anniversary of putting up with just such bullshit.

I don’t deny that she has a point – I just wish that she would take her own advice.

I very much believe the most successful relationships are essentially “best friends w/ full benefits”. Two people, on equal terms with each other who prefer each other’s company to the company of others almost unconditionally. That’s not to say they’re ‘attached at the hip’, but the acutal act of being with each other is more important, more worthwhile, than the activity that you might be doing together.

Let me offer an example. My boyfriend is very involved in competitive weightlifting (and yes, off-topic, he is deliciously buff ^ ^) and I’m more of a casual group aerobics/TKB/ type person. I don’t really care a whole lot about weightlifting in and of itself, and would likely have never bothered to look into it in any depth if it wasn’t something he cared about. But nonetheless, its not a forced interest, or something I begrudgingly put up with for his sake. I’m interested in him, and by extention, I take an active interest in weightlifting. Its as simple as that. I want to know him, so I intend to learn as much about what he loves as I can. And even though I’m a twig by comparision and not much of a workout partner in the weight room, I am happy to be there with him, and I am sincere in wanting to workout together.

So really, why so much selfish rigidity, people? Why the insistance on one thing or another? Does it really matter what you’re doing so long as you can do it together? Is it so hard to care about what your partner likes instead of just your own?

Most couples seem to deem their partner as a weight chained to their leg or the steeel cuffs on their hands, holding them back and holding them down. They don’t see eye to eye, they don’t like being together for the simple sake of being together, and if there is any PDA, it always seems routine or forced.

I just hate that.

And I don’t understand it.

Maybe I just haven’t been in a relationship long enough to get bored, or tired, or so comfortable that I stop trying.

By if you don’t enjoy each other, what’s the point?

Pixar’s WALL・E

June 27, 2008

As my brother put it when we left the theatre for the 12:01 am showing of “WALL・E”:

“Pixar just totally shits all over every other animation studio…nobody else even comes close!”

Shits all over them indeed. The movie kicked serious ass. I am wildly impressed, yet again, at Pixar’s ability to be marvelously creative and still create a top-quality film accessible to all ages…as well as one which is filled with sometimes thinly veiled satire.

The sincere and touchingly humorous romance betwee WALL・E and EVE, the two robots, is perfectly portrayed with no more than three actual words spoken…almost brought tears to my eyes. On the flip side, the movie has a powerful message about our ever-growing dependency on technology, the price we will pay for our wasteful, polluting ways, and the subsequent costs of our insatiable consumerism. Its a bleak future, and a bold statement by Pixar embedded in a beautiful movie about A.I love =)

See the movie. You know you want to.

Penicillin, erradication of Polio, treatment for HIV/AIDS…and your problem with modern medicine is what exactly?

June 27, 2008

“I really hate doctors”

What the hell is that, really? Okay, okay – maybe you’ve had some “bad” doctors in your lifetime: some asshole who makes you buy this fancy prescription drug which you *know* only costs such an ungodly amount because your doc is in cahoots with BigPharma; or the MD who told you to not to compete in that race because your knee was fucked up and just would not prescribe you extra Vicodin so you could participate…or maybe s/he just had a real shitty bedside manner. Sure, I can understand developing a distaste for that smell of disinfectant and that ice-cold stethescope and the pushy way the doctor insists that you say “ahh”, but to say “I hate doctors”?

What would you prefer instead?

Something au-naturale, I imagine. How about some arsenic diluted in water (a.k.a “homeopathy)? How about getting that kink out of your neck with a side of stroke (a.k.a “chiropractic medicine”)? Maybe we should grind up some Tiger bones and throw it around the room and pray to a heathen god?

You know what? Fuck all that. Lets just smoke some weed and call it good.

No, seriously. I must have grown up living under a rock, because it just blows my mind that there are really people out there who pooh-pooh conventional medicine in favor of so-called “Complimentary and Alternative Medicine” (CAM). Its kind of like atheism and religion: one of them [dares] to say “We don’t have the exact answer to that, but here’s what we do know, and here’s what we think will work based on the evidence…” and the other says (holding out a tattered book written by any number of lunatics sometime around 1000 B.C.), “This. Is. It. BEHOLD! TRUTH!!”

I think you know which is which.

Alright, I admit: I’m on a tirade. I’m being biased and unfair. I’m being sarcastic and I’m using uncouth language.

And I am not an MD.

I’m not even a scientist.

But here’s what I do know: conventional medicine, based in science, has been keeping civilization from collapsing under its own ignorance since Hippocrates. Medicine that does not continue to update itself according to contemporary research and withstand the scrutiny of scientific testing is not medicine: its B.S. Conventional medicine is not perfect, and science is not perfect. But asking for perfection is asking for the impossible, so instead of miracles, what you should be asking for is the best that there is. And nothing in the course of human history has proven to be as consistently and enduringly effective in explaining and pradicting the behavior of the world as the scientific method, and it is upon this which modern medicine is based. It is in a constant state of evolution, changing and improving as more information becomes available and methods of testing and measuring become more sophisticated.
This process if not without failures and mistakes, because error is an inevitable part of the human condition. But the traditions of CAM are archaic and obsolete – they are based in ignorance and misunderstandings that can no longer be tolerated when knowledge and the techniques exist and are readily available which far surpass them.