The "D" Word

Almost two weeks ago I went to visit the doctor.  I hadn't been in a while and I needed to set up with a steady doctor who wasn't a pediatrician, so I thought I'd go ahead with it while I was on Christmas break.  Physically I'm totally fine, I hardly ever get sick, and I don't think I have any life threatening illnesses.
However, I'm slightly OCD and anxious.  I've had a few panic attacks, heart palpitations and add that into my new mood swings, and constant crying...I knew something was up.  I just hate admitting things like that.  I always want to be in complete control of myself, I don't want any help, much less any medication.
They had me fill out a form about my "feelings."  Like, "I feel this often," or, "I never feel this" and while looking at it I busted into tears - a complete fit really.  It was totally fucking embarrassing.
So you're looking at a newly diagnosed depressed young woman.  It's awesome.  However, I've been on medicine and I feel so much better.  I've only cried twice!  And once was because of a movie! haha.  We'll see how things go when school starts back up and I pile more things onto my plate.  With 18 credit hours, a part time job, and a boyfriend I just hope I can juggle as well as become a magician.  Turning chainsaws into doves can't be that hard, right?  Maybe I'll up my dose...
(kidding, haha)



Besides that I have SO MUCH to catch up on.  I signed for an apartment recently, my family gave my boyfriend 600 dollars, my new years resolutions, my (very decent if I must say) grades, and my recent Christmas adventures in North Carolina.  I'll probably have new years stuff too.  Man, I'm behind.
I'll at least post a few pictures on here to I don't feel so lame, haha.

The Five Stages of Grief & How I Handle Love

If I had a whole list of things about the reasons I'm a fucked up person, "love makes me sad" would probably be number 7 or 8.  And "Being Naggy" would be 13, but that's a different story.

When it comes to love in real life, I basically go through the five stages of grieving.

1) Denial.  I don't love this guy, I haven't been with him long enough to love him.  I still think other guys are cute sometimes.  What is love anyway?  Maybe I love him, but I'm not in love with him, there's a difference right?

2) Anger.  How dare I love someone?  It's not like this is going to amount to anything!  How dare he be so nice that I fall in love?  This is stupid!  I'm stupid!  

3) Bargaining.  Maybe if distance myself from him I won't love him anymore.  I won't text back as fast, we won't hang out as often, I won't wear the bracelet he got me and I won't love him this much and it'll all be fine.  Maybe by doing all of these things he'll think I'm crazy and distance himself from me!  Then I really won't love him this much, genius!

4) Depression.  If I tell him I love him things will be too serious, and then they won't work out.  He's going to break my heart, and worse, I deserve it for being such a dumbass and falling for him.  I don't deserve love, there's no way he'll love me back, this is going to end badly. [insert countless versions of a break up scene.]

5) Acceptance.  I've been told it's nice at this stage, I wouldn't know. [insert more of stage 4 depression.]

Since I was 15 I've always thought I was too weird, too ugly, and too overlooked to ever make someone happy.  For the past 5 years that line of thought has proven to be true.  It's what I've told myself after every breakup or version of "heartbreak" that I've come across in my life.  When someone leaves me, it's always because I'm lacking in some way.  I've talked about this a lot in my blog, I know I have, and hopefully I'm not beating people over the head with it.  It's just such a destructive line of thought and I know that it affects me in every relationship I have.

In my current relationship my boyfriend puts in effort to better himself for me (haircut, cutting back a bit on cigarettes, etc), he gets jealous of other guys, and laughs at my jokes.  He'll even stay up for over 24 hours to spend time with me (he works night shift, makes for weird hangout and sleeping hours). He tells me I'm beautiful every day, he says how lucky he is to have me every chance he gets, and I literally catch him gazing at me.

When he does or says these things, I get very quiet and reserved and he always asks me what's wrong.  I don't know how to tell him that I'm scared sick of how breaking up or him not putting in as much effort will affect me.  That I don't feel like I deserve these things.  I'm not good enough for this.  I feel like a fraud, accepting gifts that belong to some other girl.  Some other girl that he will eventually find and leave me for.  I really don't know how to say it without sounding pathetic or ungrateful or without making him mad at how much I dislike myself.  I mean, if I don't like "me," how can anyone else?

Stupid Things I Do When I'm Drunk

I have a love-hate relationship with drunk me.  She's fun, she's free, she doesn't give a shit.  It's all the parts of me that I suppress during the day.  But I guess I keep those parts too cooped up because when I let loose I really let loose.  So in order to purge myself as well to serve as a reminder, here's a list of stupid things I did last night.
1. Yelled a lot during pong.  I hate those girls that can't shut up, but I was one of them last night.
2. Didn't make a single pong cup.  Although sometimes I do that when I'm sober too, haha.
3. Smoked a cigar.
4. Talked about my sex life.
5. Repeated myself.
6. Dropped my laptop.
7. Grabbed a guy's dick (He was in his boxers and he's so tall it was almost eye level - this is the second time drunk me has grabbed a dick. Sober me does not take part in this, ever.)
8. Tried very hard to run a naked lap after I got skunked in pong.  I wouldn't do it without my partner, but the level at which I was trying to convince him to go with the flow so I could run down the street in my underwear is beyond embarrassing.  He'll never let me live it down, I'm sure.
9. Said way too much, and said it loud.  Drunk me is always airing out her fucking business.
10. Became determined to be flexible.  I put my leg on my friend's shoulder, or tried to... (my ass went on the floor)  Don't know what I was trying to prove there.

However, there are a few smart things I did!
1. No drunk facebooking.
2. No drunk tweeting.
3. No drunk pictures! They always turn out so awful and some asshole has to post them later.
4. I gave my phone to my sober friend at the end of the night so I couldn't drunk text a guy at the party who I wanted to give a piece of my mind to (the fact that I begged for it back is irrelevant).
5. Ate something when I got back to my room.
6. Didn't slap the shit out of a friend who was trying way to hard to get with me.  I like him as a friend, but apparently he can only handle that when he's sober.

Oops, I Had Sex (and it didn't go well) - A Cautionary Tale

I post enough embarrassing stuff on here that I figured I should just go ahead and share this one too.  I'm honestly disgusted at how much sex/boy talk I've been doing lately.  I swear I have other interests in my life, but I just suppose they just aren't as noteworthy.  And honestly, my sex life is so much funnier than anything else I do.  In fact, it's even a bit of a warning...  Are you ready for my not-sexy sex story?

It would be just my luck to pick out a guy who has a thing for pain in the bedroom.  Bite, scratch, beat, whatever it is, he's into it.  You know what he's not into?  Foreplay.  Or Condoms.

Concerning the first one I just have to say, it's fucking necessary to turn on the sprinklers before you start running around in the front yard hoping for something to happen!  And I haven't had sex in almost 5 months, it should be soooooooo easy for you to do.  No excuses.
By the way, do you know what condoms have on them? lube.
And I'll just go ahead and do a little no-condom rant.  I KNOW. I've been taught since the 6th grade that condoms are great, super important little things that are a necessity.  Especially when having casual sex with someone. I KNOW.  But we didn't and in my defense I asked for one a few times and he just claimed he didn't have one.  You know what he didn't ask?  If he come cum inside of me.  Yeah, that happened.  No permission given, he just went for it.  I was dumbfounded.  Saying "yeah I'm on birth control" was not "woman speak" for disregard condoms and, oh while your at it, put your sperm in me!

So, there was that nonsense.  And I was in pain the whole time, both times.  Strait up pain.  The first time I even asked him to stop, don't finish, just stop.  It's a little my fault, I'm not directive at all.  I don't come with an instructions manual, I just hope that I have a good builder.  One lesson learned from the sexcapade was speak up!  Being quiet will get you nothing!
Or wait, it will get you something...
In my case it was a swollen v a g i n a.  It happens during sex, it's honestly pretty natural (I looked it up).  However, I got home and put an ice pack on my vagina.  For about an hour.  I wish I was kidding.  Thankfully I'm a good sport, because it makes me laugh just to think about it.  I mean, an ice pack shaped like an oreo was in my pants for a good part of my Friday while I was skipping classes because it hurt to walk or wear underwear.  You can't make that shit up, you just have to live it.

Also when I got to my room I realized I'd walk of shamed with a hickey the size of Massachusetts on my shoulder and neck.  Gigantic.  A guy actually asked me if I got hit by/fell on something.  That happened to be the weekend I went home and my amazing dad had the grace to ignore it while I did my best to apply make-up and wear clothes from my small selection of t-shirts (they make me feel like I'm choking so I don't own many).

I waited five months to have sex, and this is what happened to me.  I just...it really does make me smile.  I'm so ridiculous sometimes.

By the way (my little disclaimer), in the guy's defense, it wasn't all bad and he's actually a nice person.  The good stuff just isn't as interesting or funny as the bad, so I won't bore you with it, haha.

Slut Talk

I'd like to address the issue of sluts.  I'm a "young woman" (19) and from the time I was in 7th grade to now, that word has gotten thrown a lot.  Sometimes it gets applied to someone who is not a slut, they just make other girls jealous.  And it is almost always applied to girls.  Never a guy.
So one of my questions is why do girls feel the need to judge other girls so harshly?  Why are we so competitive?  We feel the need to break other girls down by their actions or "wrong doing," but why?  There is ALWAYS going to be someone prettier than you, more fashionable, more everything.  Just accept that now and find some peace in it.
I also feel like everyone has a different definition of "slut," and that is another aspect of the frequent misuse of this word.  What's slutty to one person, might not be slutty to another.  To the Amish, shorts on girls (no matter the length) are probably thought of as whatever the Amish word for slut is.  Most american girls obviously don't feel that way.  Some girls embrace the word, on twitter they hashtag #teamslut and will openly admit it to anyone.  Yet this doesn't take away the fact that when called that in a fight or behind their back, it's hurtful and it usually pisses them off.
I honestly can't give my definition of a slut.  I guess it would be something like: a girl who openly degrades herself in public or elsewhere with a guy (ex: sex in public, not wearing pants, flashing people on purpose--not for beads).  But even that definition is more "slutty" than "slut."  I feel that one night you might drunkenly make a fool out of yourself, but that doesn't brand you a slut for life.  Does being a stripper make you a slut for life?  I don't feel that it does.
Would you call someone svelte?  No, because you don't know what it means (or probably how to say it), so WHY are we using the world slut?
So lets all put the word slut in our back pocket and use it sparingly or save it for jokes, instead of serious name calling.  At least until we have all agreed on a true meaning to the word.
Thank you.

Life in the tip jar

I've been struggling with this very common writers block called "laziness." It effects my ability to string together anything coherent enough to write. For your information, yes, it's still in effect, so you'll just have to muddle through this with me:) Also, I just finished watching a Harry Potter movie so as I'm typing it's in a British accent, I do believe that will not help things along quite nicely at all.

I'd like to start by saying that I hate the last few posts I put up, they're all me being whiny bitch crazy girl. I've made the conscious decision to not have any guys in my life for a while as it's apparent they make me bat shit insane. The fact that I don't know what I want proves that I really shouldn't be wanting anything at all. Of course, that doesn't mean that sometimes late at night I don't feel the need for a nice, tall, handsome stranger to come and sweep me off my hopeless size 8 feet
That, however, will not happen unless I'm literally dreaming.
Or if I've been sucked into an alternate universe.
Or if I get a genie in a bottle (but not Christina Aguilera, someone less pretty).

ANYWAYS

the point that I'm really going to hit on for this post is my job as a waitress. I know I talk about it a lot and my friends probably hate me for it, but it does take up a pretty big presence in my life. Sometimes it's truly great, I get to laugh with my "co-workers" and meet some really wacky people, and then sometimes I get bitched at by my boss just because he's cranky, and occasionally people make high demands and then leave a shitty tip.
I don't make much, but I'd say I've gotten a lot of experience. I'm ashamed to say I didn't know how to make tea before I started working. I didn't know that you couldn't mix old ketchup with new ketchup (whoops). I didn't know that when you get your straw paper all over the damn place some poor girl has to pick it up because it's the herpes of trash. It seems to never go away.
I never thought about how when you pick up two people's drinks you better be damn sure whose drink is whose when you bring them back. I never wondered who had to meticulously make those little dressing cups that you so easily pour over your salads.

Yeah, I'm only making 3 something an hour, and I do a lot of work. So when you make me bring your obnoxious child three different drinks until one suits, or you ask a million questions I have to pretend to have the answer to, or when I have to clean up the unbelievable mess you left behind you, a tip would be appreciated.
I know it's a pain and you feel like you're throwing hard earned money away, but I'm working hard too. Just a tip on tipping. It's polite and it will greatly improve my view upon your character.

Also, I know when you call in a pick up or a delivery order you want a time to go by, but I'm not a fucking psychic. I have about as much of a clue as you do. When you make me give you a time, I'm not lying, but I'm sure as heck guessing. I know it won't stop you from doing so, but be sure to take the time lightly because it's not a sure thing. Unlike my smile ;D

I feel the need to end this post with a few confessions since it's been a while since I've had to do any of these:

1) tomorrow is my mom's birthday and I haven't even gotten her a card (awful, I know! But it's so hard when she buys herself stuff all the time, what's left to get her???)
2) I gave a guy my phone number just for shits and giggles and I'll admit to being a little hurt that I never got a response.
3) I have 44 or so school days left of my high school career
4) I killed my fourth fish the other day. He lived to be a little over a year old, but still. I'm a bad fish mommy... RIP Mr. Richards.
5) I'm procrastinating my homework by writing this post right now.