Side Effects

My task of not thinking was not as easy as anticipated. Actually, it was really difficult. And I know difficult – I am currently 2 ½ months into P90X with that sadistic little twirp Tony Horton with his catch phrase :“I hate it, but I love it!” NO TONY! I JUST STRAIGHT OUT HATE IT! His theory for fitness is ‘muscle confusion’ whatever the hell that is. Basically, it is screwing with people because as soon as you think you have the hang of it, the twirp CHANGES it! I can tell you one thing my muscles are not confused about – that is the amount of constant pain they are in!  Bah!  P90X is what I consider difficult and I have been doing it for 73 days, so who would have thought not thinking for only a week would be harder? I hate to report – it was!

It is even sadder to report that the stress of not thinking was so bad, I began to break out. And not just those pop’ em and 30 minutes later the pimple is but a memory. I mean those nasty, under the skin,stubborn Slavic chin hair must have an ingrown type of pimples that you cannot pop.  The ones where you want to use acid to burn a hole into the heart of it because it is just that irritating.  All this got me thinking about how unfair the world is.  I am 31 years old and I am still getting pimples? Should buying Clearasil not have ended in high school? I am now in the wrinkle stage, buying $50 eye cream so I don’t start looking like Cameron Diaz’s roommate from Something About Mary. Yet I am still getting pimples! It is should be one or the other – not both!.

But I am happy to report that the arduous task of not thinking was eventually completed on Thursday when I discovered the solution. Alcohol. Specifically, copious amounts of alcohol. It worked like a charm! I didn’t think at all for the rest of the week, mind you I also did not get off the couch. It began innocently enough. Eva and I met for drinks after work at a local restaurant that is crawling with those seen-to-be-seen types. After a few free shots from random men with fake & bake tans who were old enough to be my father, the night was on its way. One of Eva’s clients arrived.  Her client looks at me and says ‘I know you.” Ominous!  “My Dad knows your Dad.” Oh joy!  I still have not gotten a handle on how to deal with social circles associated with a man I am estranged from.  Then he gives me his name. Not only he know my dad, but his is dad is my fricken GOD FATHER! Which would make him my god brother?! Is that how that works? Who the hell knows! If I remember correctly, he is maybe 5 years older than I and the last time he saw me I was maybe 7 years old.  How the hell did he recognize me? It’s not like I advertised my last name. 

I should mention the reason we have not seen each other in 23 years is my father quit speaking to his father for some unknown reason. But now in the last few years they have started chatting and hanging out again. Does that not seem strange to you?  Stop talking for 20 years and pick up as though nothing had happened? Seriously, am I just being a woman about this?  Something would have to go terribly wrong for me to stop talking to someone for TWENTY YEARS. Not sure I would just become buddies with him again. Anyways, my new found god brother reveals all this when I am drunk.  Actually, I’m HAMMERED! Not sure how I actually got that wasted.  I was only drinking white wine… well a couple bottles,. Oh and then there were shots. Maybe that was it!  Anyways, I was suddenly in a situation where I had to bite my tongue as my seemingly nice god brother (who if I remember correctly was buying the shots), began talking about meeting my dad in Croatia and how cool it would be.  Even sober, I have no inner monologue and this situation was becoming a lot more difficult than my vow to not think this week.  I’m aware that screaming and combusting into sobs in the middle of a nice restaurant with an innocent by stander because he spoke nicely of my father is not acceptable behaviour. I looked to Eva for help, but at this moment she was drinking with fake & bake and starting a dance party in the middle of the restaurant.  I was alone to control my unbalanced emotional anger, which though I perspired through the entire event, I was successful (I think).

It could have been worse! I could have been Eva who doesn’t remember leaving the restaurant. Or the limo ride to the next bar.  Or who covered off our $200 bill that she told me that night she had settled. She woke up at 6am, half naked with me passed out beside her.  She was supposed to be at work and clearly had forgotten the entire your client is my long lost god brother story.

And then it came, yet again, at 6am. Another walk of shame. This time, WITHOUT GETTING LAID! Seriously, this is starting to become a habit and if it continues this way I might as well get into a religious habit and call it quits. Yet, the goal was reached.  By the end of the week, I was no longer thinking due to my helpful remedy. Unfortunately the side effects of my remedy stuck with me all weekend. Seriously I am getting to old for this sh*t!

BEETLEJUICE! BEETLEJUICE! BEETLEJUICE!

I must apologize for not posting last week.  It is not that I did not write a blog, but my ever clever editor – my ROCK – also know as Hookah (Oh YES, I am obsessed with TRUE BLOOD) advised me not to post because it was a little … well … angry! Not sure how she got that impression since it was simply entitled I want to Stab my Roommate through the Heart with an Ice Pick.  For the record, I do not own an ice pick.  Seriously, who owns an ice-pick? I am normal, I have an ice cube tray, which fortunately for Betty I cannot stab her with.  But I was quite prepared to drive to Home Depot and buy one. I guess with that premeditated thinking I could not claim insanity on the murder charge? Anger management problems … me? …NEVER!

Do you ever get those weeks where you depend on those wise clichés to get you through the day?  “Only through failure can you really learn”, “anything worth having is worth fighting for”, “sometimes you have to move backwards in order to move forward”, “life will never throw more at you than you can handle.” I have created a mantra this week involving these clichés. I suspect none of them have any real truth or validity to them. I feel they were created for the simple task of deluding us to make it through the day and keep us from jumping off a bridge on our way home from work. Which obviously since I alive to write this, worked for me this week, despite all the tempting bridges so conveniently placed on my drive home!

This week was not disastrous, well except on top of my law suit a project at work was cancelled on me, and I was told the company wanted me to start repaying the $8000 hole I am in with them by taking 20% of my sales.  Well the joke is on them – 20% times zero is …wait for it …. ZERO!!!  So glad I paid attention in grade 3 math! And then to top it all off, my lucky to be alive puppy, Stanley, decided to not only pee on my roommate’s bed, but also shat on her pillows.  Seriously!  And all this triggered me thinking – and thinking is not good for me because I can lose weeks stuck in my head – it is like Beetlejuice in there!  I have been going in circles trying to figure out if this slump is a necessary evil or if I should just throw in the towel? Am I fulfilled in my career and is this what I want to do for the rest of my life? Am I feeling this way because it is not what I am meant to do? If I got another job, what would it be? Am I in a moment of the ‘grass is greener on the other side’ and it will pass? Have I given too much to quit now? Am I strong enough to overcome it and come out on top? Every successful person failed before they succeeded – is this my failure? Or is this the push I need to prove my potential, not to give up. Nothing is easy in life.

I know you want to scream “BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE” after reading that – imagine being me! As I go into this downward spiral, I start to think: your life is not that bad, you could be hooked on crack, be homeless or even worse: think that white pants with a black g-string is an acceptable fashion choice. Screw that!  So I should compare my life to drug addicts and the fashionably unfortunate to make myself feel better about life? F*CK THAT!  I am a good person (well, besides the premeditated murder – some might find that wrong).  Why should I not get to be happy?! I forgot to mention above one of my favourite clichés, not by some epic writer, or guru, but from the very intelligent Hookah: “Enough already, I’ve learnt my f*cken lesson. It is time for the world to DELIVER!”

Getting trapped in your head sucks!  I find at times I actually think about one topic for so long that I convince myself not to do it because I thought of every single consequence to my action.  It is irritating. It is like I create baggage that was not even there (because my real baggage was not enough?!). It is stagnating. And to be honest with you, I have spent so much time in there lately that I have gotten zero done. Which in turn puts me in my head regretting my non-action and it becomes this vicious circle.

My only consolation is that I am not alone.  All women do this.  Or maybe just the ones I hang out with, which makes sense because misery loves company.  Have you ever noticed how a friend goes on a date, you call and ask how it went and you start getting the objections.  Well, he lives here and I’m not sure that would work, and then something about his family, and his eating habits and he dated a girl 4 months ago – not sure he is over it.  Seriously, we over analyze everything until it is almost dead. It was one date, hardly even know the guy and either we have decided they are not going to be a good father, or they are perfect and the wedding dress is picked. Whereas, the guy left the date and the only comment he makes to his friends about it is: she had a nice ass – and that is it.

I start to wonder if that is it. Is this over thinking – over analyzing – what actually holds you back from happiness?  Think about it (oh, I know this statement is going to be ironic soon): If you just did what you wanted to do without thinking about the consequences, you have two outcomes: good or bad.  If good – great no more thought. If bad, well you put little hope and thought into it, so it is not a crushing blow. I think that is how we screw ourselves with jobs, with relationships. Over thinking! The placing hopes and spending hours analyzing something you never had in the first place as opposed to just doing. I realize that there is hazard in walking through life with a reactive mentality; however it works for men. They never think, what if she does not call me back, what if she does not plan the date and calls me the last minute. Nope, they just call the last minute knowing we have probably thought of four different alternatives depending on when he called and have suggestions on hand.  Ah! Being proactive sucks!

I need to get out of my head because those bridges on the way home from work are becoming more and more tempting despite my cliché mantra. Therefore, I am going to try something new. I am going to live next week reactively.  Screw responsibility and consequences! Not that I am going to pull a Stanley and shit on someone’s bed, but I am sure whatever I do, with my great karma, will land me in some small cell somewhere in the South Pacific. But what this means for you my readers is next week you will not have a soul searching blog post but a guaranteed good story.