Derby and String

Houston, we have lift-off.

I've been down in the dumps lately, as most of you have seen.

But the Rabbitch, she does deliver.

In a comment in yesterday's post, she gave a couple of really great ideas on how to return the can opener.

And one of them really stuck with me.  So we're kidnapping the can opener.  Go here and check it out.  Spread the word, tell your friends, and HAVE FUN!

I'm overly excited about this. :)

ETA: Please post the link to The Kidnapped Can Opener on your blogs!  Tell everyone you know!  Let's send this "stolen" can opener EVERYWHERE!

Also, this is not to get "revenge" on Mr. Man.  I really don't care enough to try and get revenge.  This is to entertain me, you, and everyone you know.  And possibly show Mr. Man that this is not that big of a deal, but if he wants to accuse me of stealing something, I might as well make it fun :)

I iz in ur puter, bringin u blogz

Your Score: Lion Warning Cat

74% Affectionate, 62% Excitable, 44% Hungry

You are the good Samaritan of the lolcat world. Protecting others from danger by shouting observations and guidance in cases of imminent threat, you believe in the well-being of everyone.

To see all possible results, checka dis.

Link: The Which Lolcat Are You? Test written by GumOtaku on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test

I got nothin.

It's been a busy couple of days.  I took Thursday and Friday off to move the rest of my stuff out of Mr. XMan's house, and went to Stitch & Pitch and generally hung out with MHP (who has been behaving beautifully, seeing as how he just lost 2 of his best friends.)

Saturday night, went to the Torchlight Parade.  Apparently, this is when Mr. XMan decided to text me about "stealing" a can opener.

Then he launched into a text assault on the fact that I did nothing but take advantage of him and he just wanted me out of his life.

Um...I think that kicking me out of your house pretty much told me you didn't want me in your life.  Sorry I assumed we could try and be friends - apparently that's not gonna happen.  Fine by me.

So I'm alone (with MHP, of course) again, and it feels weird.  Not bad, just different.  It's been so long since I've had a second or two to myself where someone isn't in my face or I have to finish 19 loads of laundry or something just broke and I have to fix it or get Mr. XMan to fix it...

It's nice to be free.

Ants in my Pants

I'm very jittery today.

Can't sit still, can't keep my mind from going to 18 different places all at once, my leg keeps bouncing up and down, like a kid who has to go to the bathroom.  I feel like something big is about to happen, and it either scares the hell out of me or thrills me to think of what it is.

I've been very good with my anger managment stuff lately.  I'm working from a book right now, but hope that I might be able to take a class as well.  It's hard to take such a critical look at yourself, knowing that something is wrong; it's easy when you have a tool that fits the problem.

I've come to the conclusion (with my journaling and exercises the book prescribes) that my anger, and consquently, my selfish problem and my inability to be friends with anyone for an extended period of time (with few exceptions) stems from the fact that I want everyone to behave in a certain manner and when they don't (and inevitably, everyone doesn't) I stop talking to them.

I am not the world's policeman.  Everyone is here to be who they choose to be, and everyone has that God-given right to do so.  I do not get to be the boss and force everyone to obey.

Thank God.  That's a rough damned job, and stressed me out to no end.

So now that I don't feel like I have to tell everyone how to behave (just MHP, because that IS my job), I can enjoy things.  Like going to a single parent's event at the church I used to attend and making jam out of blueberries that MHP and I picked.

So there, universe.  Figure your own sh*t out, I got better things to do.

Someone hit me.

Please.  Seriously.  Someone needs to come over to my house, snatch my red hot cell phone right out of my hand and beat me about the head with it.

For some reason, I cannot stop texting him.  I want him to know how I feel.  I want him to see that I'm changing, and I'm not necessarily doing it for him, but I am making changes and that maybe he'll say "Oh!  You are so wonderful and I forgot how foxy and fabulous you are and please date me!"

And there's only a tee-tiny (very quiet) part of me that would say no to that. 

So someone steal my cell phone.  Or at the very least, please slap me.

All of this is starting to be a bit much for the ol' LibbyLoo ticker to take.  I can't find any of my knitting, because most of my fiber is sitting in boxes in a storage unit that very unnervingly has little packets of rat poison in it, and no lightbulb.  And I can't find any of my clothes, because they are in the same makeshift closet.  Along with 2 tons LESS of paper than I had before, because I have thrown or given away half of my worldly belongings, including Harold and Kumar the cats.  (My mom took them.  Don't worry.)

So, I'm moving by myself.  It's fine, I have no problems with it, but I'm alone.  All alone.  And I hate it.  Which is funny, because while Mr. Man and I were dating, all I wanted some days was to be left alone.

And now I feel like there's nobody around to talk to.  (I know, you you and you, the emails are helping a lot, but I need hugs.  Lots of hugs.)  My parents are constantly on my case because moving and being unhappy in someone else's house and sleeping on a cot is HARD, y'all.  I cry myself to sleep most nights, and hardly eat anything and basically I'm a total train wreck.  I need someone to hold me and tell me everything is going to be fine.  Because I think it will be, eventually.

And my very best friend? Where is this person through all of this?

He's in his now-very-quiet house, with his new promotion and no children and no girlfriend and 3 less televisions and no DVD player and nobody to cook for or to cook for him, sleeping in that big comfy bed by himself, and he's not thinking of me at all. Even if he is, I need to think that he's not. 

Because he's not.  And I need to not think of him any more either.

What I Did This Weekend

Click Here....Not for the faint of heart.  (But I "removed" mine...get it?  Broken heart...take it out..?  No?)

I love stage makeup.  But the one on my face didn't turn out as well - I've got to stop putting my makeup on in the car. :)

No Day But Today

I have no idea how to start off this post.  I meant to say something witty about how I spent a bit of time with Mr. Man this weekend, packing up my kitchen items and talking about what went wrong, but I just can't come up with anything spunky or really anything at all.  No clue why.

Anyhoo - before I start off, I know how awful it is to talk to your ex and how I've made Mr. Man out to be a total villain and how I've been crying for the last week, but hear me out.  And no, we did NOT get back together. 

ALSO!  This is a very personal post.  I'm airing a big fat chunk of my dirty laundry here for all the innernets to see.  If you don't like what I'm reading, that's fine.  Everyone is entitled to their opinion.  Just please do not flame me for saying what's on my mind.

I am a raging bitch.

No, really.  I am a raging bitch, and the c-word (and I HATE that word) and I get REALLY angry.  A lot.  I've never hit anyone in anger, but I clench my fists and my jaw and every muscle in my body, and I get raging pissed. I say things I don't mean and yell and scream and punish people for really stupid things.

Mostly I get angry with the people closest to me, and with people that cannot hear me (like people in other cars and stupid people in the mall).  I am rude, I am crass and I make fun of people wearing fanny packs. And Hammer pants.

Mr. Man tried to help me.  A lot.  He hinted at me taking an anger management class, he told me he wouldn't marry me until I took an anger management class, he begged me to take an anger management class.  He said "I love you, but we really need to do something about your anger problem."

Finally, he had had enough.  Enough of me and pouting when I don't get my way, enough of me wanting everything to revolve around me, enough of me bitching about just about everything I can think of.  Enough of me yelling.  All the time. 

So he kicked me out.

And I cried and wailed and said "no, please, no" and screamed at him.  I promised to do whatever, I swore I would do anything, and he was calm and cool.  I threw up for an hour and thought about where I could find spray paint to paint "ASSHOLE" on his walls.  I called all of my friends and talked to the neighbors and whined and cried that I was being done wrong.

(God only knows what I would have done had he been strong enough to tell me to my face.  I don't want to know.)

And, I'm still a bitch.  (This is really hard for me to write, and I'm bawling at my desk and my boss thinks I'm insane.)

So, I dug through the moving boxes and found my Anger Management books I bought a couple of weeks ago, and started going through them.

I didn't realize how much of a problem my anger was, but sitting down and working through workbooks and writing all my triggers down....I'm amazed I can even function and that I have any friends at all.  I have passive-aggressive tendencies, I have outwardly hostile tendencies, and I have tendencies to punish myself when I'm angry; my anger manifests itself in my weight problem, my REALLY BIG shopping problem (and consequently, my problem with money) and myriad other things (like ulcers and health stuff).

So little by little, I need to work out my life.  I don't know if I'll ever get back together with Mr. Man, but this was the reason we broke up.  We'll always be friends, and I hope that we can stay in touch even if we never touch each other like that ever again.  I can't help that I miss him, and I can't help that he was the first man I ever truly loved, and it took him breaking my heart into a thousand little pieces to get me to see how horrid I am.

But that's not why I'm doing all of this.

I'm doing it because MHP and I deserve to be happy.  And I don't know if I've ever been really truly happy, but I need to be.  I really need to be.

As soon as I get my computer back from the pawn shop (long story, but my brother needs to die) I will post pictures from my excursion to Harry Potter land. :)

Hope y'all had a great weekend!

Babes in Dreamland

Last night I had the first dream I can remember in a very very long time.  Can someone please tell me what the hell this means?

I was in a school very similar to my middle school.  I was walking down a hill, through some "breezeways" (open, covered walkways) and I walk into a courtyard area, where there are a bunch of picnic tables.  Sitting at these picnic tables (grouped together) are some very rough looking guys of different nationalities.  (The only specific nationality I can recall is Mexican, for the following reason.)

I walk up to one particular dude of Mexican descent (wearing full homey regalia, replete with navy bandana, wife beater and open plaid button-down shirt), who gives me a couple of wadded up dollars and tells me to go buy myself a soda because I don't want any trouble.

Then the guys from all the different tables get up and start beating on each other, and I look at the money-giving guy and say "This is all very West Side Story, yes?"

And he nods and proceeds to beat the snot out of some dude with a pipe.

So I start running (along with a whole lot of girls and kids who come from nowhere), and up drives Mr. Man in a dark grey Ford pickup (newer model...big body) and gets out and comes over and holds me and says "Are you all right?" and takes me to some weird party in a building with one side missing, and then I woke up.

Oh, and Mr. Man was wearing hemmed tight denim shorts (like the guy I dated before him used to rock with his mullet) and a white loose tank top with big open armholes. And white socks with tennis shoes.  (The entire ensemble is something he wouldn't be caught dead in. Ever.)

WTF does this mean?  I don't know anyone who drives a pickup like that, I don't think....

(side note: I used to have dreams of a man with no face trying to kill me every night right as I first fell asleep.  This was a recurring nightmare and I would wake up gasping for air or on the floor or wedged in some weird position, for about a year or so.  I stopped remembering my dreams when he went away.)

ETA: Harry Potter comes out tonight.  I have not finished my Dark Mark Scarf.  I am a little depressed about this, but it seriously could not have been helped.  I was moving.

Question of the day: (BREAKING THE NO-MR.-MAN-TALK RULE AGAIN. Forgive me.) Found a stuffed dog in the back of the closet that Mr. Man won me on our first "real" date. I asked him if he wanted it, and he told me to hang onto it "just in case".  (In case of what?  There's a shortage of stuffed fucking dogs??) Why should I hang onto this? He sprayed it with his cologne so I would have something to sleep with that smelled like him when he couldn't be around.  (We were large dorks.  I know, but give me a break.  I was retarded in love.)  So it basically reminds me of him, and smells like him...I kind of want to burn it, but it's a county fair prize, and is probably plastic and toxic.

God help me....

...I want to be a ranch wife.

Jesus.

(I'm doing fine today.  Haven't cried but once when the cot I sleep on at my parents' collapsed and the entire weight of my body crunched my foot.  Yes, I may be completely uncoordinated.  And I'm not marrying or even DATING anyone, so don't worry. I'm fine.)

ETA: I know I'm feeling better, cuz I'm STARVING.

H'okay.

Updates to life in general (all of which scare the bejeesus out of me):

• I have decided to open an etsy shop.  Don't get all excited, I haven't put anything there.  But I will let you know when I do.  This I have done to supplement my tiny income from my job, which I took because Mr. ExMan told me to.  (I didn't want to work here.)
• I bought a bunch of dyeing supplies with money I didn't have so I can supplement my tiny income.
• I shut off my cell phone.  I actually turned it off.  Just the power, not the actual cell phone.  I have not done that in...well, I don't think I've ever shut off my cell phone on purpose.
• I might go to Burning Man this year.  ACK!