Four Days

Window tint and short term health insurance and packing - oh my!

Had Dorothy chatted about more than three things, I probably would have added eating and garages and work. Everyone wants to take me out for meals this past week and say goodbye. It's nice, but I'm fairly certain I've gained about 10 pounds - although that will come in handy when I'm living off of eggs and quinoa - and avoided cutting more onions than a sous chef. (You know, tears? So far, I'm tear free.) On the frustrating side of things taking up time I don't have, the garage fucking up my car on repeat has been an infuriating journey. After trips and one to the dealership for diagnosis, I learned the idiots put my directional tires on the wrong sides of my car. Pisshats. It's still not fixed but I'm going to have the rear shocks changed in PA before I leave and my friend is going to pop in some new spark plugs so hopefully that makes my car/home a happier Betty. Because, as I have to continue to explain to them: This car is not just my car, it is going to be my house.

The past two weeks have truly been a fucking whirlwind. Trying to get everything done - including trying to wrap up and prep to leave work without leaving behind an un-fillable dent - has been insane. In fact, tomorrow is my last day. Coincidentally, it is the same exact date as when I began my job 8 years ago. Kind of crazy to think about. And as much as I thought I had been properly prepared both at work and at home, I don't think anything can really lend enough time to this kind of event.

It has been in this time that I have been called courageous more than I can count. And that I have realized the only difference between stupidity and courage is failure or success. I would be entirely full of self doubt if it weren't for the amazing people encouraging me along the way. I started this headstrong with an idea I thought was both brilliant and incredibly stupid and as the time to give up all senses of security neared and I began to question my decision, it was outside influences that pushed me into enough comfort to commit; to remind me why I thought to do this ridiculous thing in the first place.

Anywho, other items filling my shrinking time have been a dentist appointment: my cavity conveniently fell out two weeks before I lose insurance. Signing up for a short term health care plan:
Hopefully I never use it. Still going to yoga three times a week: Namaste, bitches. A dermatologist appointment: I don't want skin cancer, yo. Upgrading my AAA: I need those 100 miles of free towing. Tinting my car windows: We don't need people peeking into my house when I"m tryin to sleep n'shit (my mom's makin me Velco curtains too...sweet). I  began to pack: My room now looks like a disaster area:

And I think I may actually be done buying shit. THANK THE LBJ. I never thought I'd say I didn't want to buy stuff, but I'm tired of researching and buying things for this trip. It's a lot of damn things too. Look!

I also practice packed my car and posted a photo. From this I learned that people were even more shocked than I was that things fit where they fit in my head - and even better than how they fit in my head. However, the real test comes in just 4 days, when I load it all in and say goodbye to DC.

12 Days & A Marked 20 Hours

Last week, a lot happened. For starters, I cut off all of my hair and donated it to Pantene Beautiful
Lengths. Five damn years in the making! (I really meant to have more updates than that, but I did it and that's all that really matters, right?) Anyway, that's unrelated aside from it being my last big calendar goal before vagabonding and the fact that I'll save money on shampoo and maybe I can wash my hair in Wal-Mart sinks now (until someone calls security on me, haha).

That same night Vanilla called me, after I hadn't seen him in a week, in part thanks to the butthole comment. I had been avoiding him and upset by my haircut (the photo is after the second cut to repair the tragedy it was at first; the guy got hella scissor happy), decided to pick up the phone and finally rip off the band-aid. At first I tried to ease into it with a "I just don't think we're compatible."

About 30 minutes worth of him saying he hasn't been himself, blaming work and stress and "I thought we were over the whole butthole thing already" and "I can be better, let me prove myself to you" I was getting warn.

"You are who you are and there's nothing wrong with that. You don't need to change yourself, you just need to find someone who is compatible with who you are." A valid point, I thought. He didn't think so and went on to tell me again he just worked to much and begged me to give him one more date to prove himself; that we just needed to do more fun things together like before. I prefaced my response by saying that you should be able to do nothing and still be happy to be with that person, but I would think about one more date. But let's be real: After the butthole comment, it was already done.

He ignored everything I was saying rambled on about how he just wants to make me happy. How I bring him out of his shell and he wants more of that from me. I told him I don't want to do that for anybody; I don't want to hold someone else's workload and if there's something he feels he needs to change about himself, he needs to figure out how to do that alone. He told me how interesting I am. I replied, "You're not."

I'm not sorry I said this but I'm sorry I had to say it. He wasn't listening and this came after he made the absurd request for me to name the thing I like about him least. After I scoffed, he said "Okay fine. Name the top three things you dislike about me most," as if my scoff was over the fact that I could just choose one, not that he has asked in the first place. What a weird fucking request. I finally got him off the phone by asking about this last relationship. When he told me it ended because he wanted it to and she didn't let him go easy, I asked him how he felt about that. He said "I wish she just would have respected what I wanted because it was really annoying." I simply replied with an emphatic OH.

"Why did you say 'oh' like that?"

"You told someone you dated that you didn't think you were compatible and you were upset because she didn't just respect your feelings and let you go?"

"Oh," he said, deflated "I hear what you're saying." Shortly after, we got off the phone, but it certainly wasn't the last of him. Following the phone call and into the next day, he continued to text me, first with a random selfie and then about the date he wanted to have. Eventually I responded, "I told you I would *think* about it. And you're not giving me room to think." What I really needed him to do in this time was lay low and realize I wasn't any special and that perhaps I was right and it is time for him to move on and not beg for another chance without someone who already explained their lack of interest. We'll see how that goes, as he's currently taken direction and given me the break I had requested for over an hour - and again via text.

On a better note, last week I was also gifted a DSLR to document my travels, which meant the world to me. I had been debating the cost since a lot of unexpected costs have arisen, with vaga preparation and car repairs (which, unfortunately means I am unable to meet my savings goal for the month - in fact, I end up in the negative). However, like magic, the camera I've been dreaming of for years appeared. (I have so many incoming pictures for you all now!!)

Most notably, the day after my hair and Vanilla, I quit my job! HUGE. A lot of shit in 20 hours. And I can't explain the anxiety that rushed through me as I made that no-turning-back conversation go from practice in my head to 100% real. There is NO turning back now. And my workplace has been extremely supportive; curious and excited, even. So that was nice; both a stress and relief at once, as I come to terms with losing all sense of security.

And this past weekend I entertained my 'farewell' party, prior to which, an *incredibly* generous gift was bestowed upon me. I was gifted an amazing amount from a dear friend. I was blown away; shaking, literally. In addition to other gifted cash, this brings my total up to: $2301.77 (as GoFundMe takes 7.9% plus 30 cents per each transaction). This money is so fucking important; without it I can do none of this. But, what continues to remain so surprising by setting up this account is that each gift feels like a nudge in the right direction: 100 people behind me cheering me on, wishing me the best and 'living through me'; "make me proud" said one fellow Imgurian (unrelated to GoFund) and I will try.

The Surest Way to Kill a Lady Boner

Part of – the majority of – the curious case of Vanilla Robbins is that for the past four months, half the time I want to throw him out of a window and half the time I mostly enjoy is company – as banal as it may be. I was hanging out with my best Asian and Ginger last weekend when Ginger exclaimed, “I read your post and I’m so happy for you!”

"What?" I responded, fairly confused. I had no idea what she was talking about until she informed me about reading my latest blog. I tried to paint a fair and even portrait of Vanilla Bean, but what she seemed to read was that I was falling for him. Not the case. Although, to be fair, she may have just been hopeful he would be another man to keep me here like the Turk, because when we went to the basement a bit later to check out my camping supplies, she broke down realizing I was actually leaving this time. Sorry Ging, Vanilla Robbins will not be keeping me here because he mostly still drives me nuts. 

Case and point: Friday. After a fairly obnoxious back and forth about dinner and the fact that all I had to eat that day was grapes and that he picks the same fucking three places to ask me out to dinner to, he suggests I pick somewhere. I said mussels and gave three options (because I’m not paying, I don’t like to have final say). After texting me, “You seem mad” and “I’ll eat dinner with you but only if you’re pleasant,” we can say my hunger irritation hit a tip, but I keep my cool and he says he's on his way.

He comes over with a bottle of wine. Points for him! Only, nope, no points. He refuses to open the wine before we go out. With all the public transportation options, he wants to drive. I know what this means: this means we’re going to dinner and coming straight back.

Hi. Hello? (Semi)Reformed party girl here. DO NOT send me out on a weekend and not expect me to stay all night with vodka and dancing. 

When we returned from dinner – over which he complained for an hour about losing the password to his external hard drive – he took off his shoes and plopped down on my bed. “It’s 10:30p! Don’t you want to go shoot pool or something?” I asked.

“No, I’m old,” he responded, shifting his hands under his head, which was now laying on my pillows.

“Well, I’m not,” I shot back, irritated at the drag down. “And I don’t want to waste my life going to bed at 11pm on weekends!”

“Well,” he said in a baiting little huff, “I’m sorry that you think spending time with me is a waste of your life.”

“WHOA THERE, LADY BITS,” I exclaimed, agitated and wondering how men can accuse women of such melodramatics when this shit exists, “Don’t put words in my mouth!”

I should also point out that he has begun to leave things at my house. First, a contact case – because that doesn’t fit in his pocket? And now, a travel bottle of saline – because I wear contacts and have plenty of solution? Do people really do this: Leave a trail of their things to try to establish – I don’t know, a territory? Don’t do this, people.

After taking a shower and going out for an hour for a boring dinner and directly returning home, I relented the fight and laid in bed. I put on a movie I’d already seen and poked around on my phone a bit. That is, until he told me how rude it was. We weren’t talking. Or snogging. We weren’t even touching. And yet, he had decided that the movie needed my undivided attention. (Fast forward to Sunday and he’s on his computer while I’m at his house, to which I point out it is the same thing he told me was “rude” two days before.)

Now, let’s wake up on Saturday, shall we? Okay. 8am, which if you know anything about me is a ridiculous hour for me to be awake at, but considering I went to bed at fucking 11:30p, totally reasonable. Due to the fact that he bitched about my TV being on when he was trying to sleep before, I got up and left the room to watch TV while he was still in bed. I relocated to the living room with a cup of tea and early morning television. An hour later he texts: “Where are you?"

“The living room.” So, naturally, he gets up and comes out to the living room to say hello. Haha! I’m just kidding, no no, he texted me:

“Why?”

“Because I was done being in bed.” About 20 minutes later he ambles out grumpy and grumbling. He asks (for the 9^th) time if I wanted to drive three hours to Busch Gardens that day, somehow expecting a different answer. When I said no, he begrudgingly informs me he would be going and meeting up with his brother and his brother’s kids there. Suddenly, it occurred to me that he had been asking to go to Busch Gardens for weeks as a way to hoodwink me into meeting his family. NOOOO THANKS, TRICKY BITS! A few minutes after that I get ready for yoga; put on my shoes.

“Are you leaving?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“WELL THANKS FOR TELLING ME! I NEED TO GET MY STUFF TOGETHER!”

“You know I go to yoga every Saturday at 10a. And you know where the damn door is!”

“That’s not the point,” he said, as the lady bits fell back out of his boxers.

“Oh my god,” I responded to myself, but loud enough for him to hear. “This is fucking ridiculous” I said as I slammed the door shut behind me.

Ginger was there when these came though;
she thought it hilarious enough to screenshot

While in yoga, he texted me to ask if I wanted to do something, because the traffic was too bad for Busch Gardens. This ‘relationship’ was getting seriously bi-polar, even for me. As a break from Vanilla, I met up with the Turk on Saturday night after he texted me for the third Saturday in a row (and I had spent the day drinking with Ginger and the Asian so maybe it seemed like a good idea). Out of curiosity and fodder, a friend and I went to meet up with him. I don’t know what I expected, but it was incredibly blah – and his hair looked terrible.  His friend was a dick and they left in the two seater they had, while the Turk, mildly torn at my solidarity (since my friend had stayed behind because she also disliked the Turk’s friend) gave me 38 dollars for a cab. 

For the record, I came back with 10 more dollars than I left with that night. Go me!

On my way home, Vanilla texted that he was at my favorite bar, and not to waste and outfit (see: recovering party girl above), I went there, demanding a bourbon ice be waiting. I ended up back at Vanilla’s house, but needed to get back in the morning. After a quick hook and sporting some free shades, a black mini skirt, a large man's shirt turned inside out, and heels in hand, I walked back into my house at Sunday AM, greeting my friend from the night before who was in my bed.

Later in the day, with nothing better to do, I headed back to his place. Laying on the couch, I was feeling a certain kind of way; asked if he wanted to make out. (Hello. Dudes. ALWAYS SAY YES.) He said no. So I took a nap. We woke up and went to dinner. Just after dinner was finished, he said, “I have to go to the bathroom again.”

“Stop announcing it!” I pleaded. Then I sat there for 15 minutes while he pooped and I stared, embarrassed at a paid check, contemplating leaving. This damn kid was seriously ALWAYS pooping and has absolutely no poop etiquette: any single will tell you, you wait to poop; hide it. It’s common damn courtesy. No romantic interest finds poop appealing, mk. So, I was going to head home after that, but he offered a back massage, which I’m never against (or so I thought). We went up to his place and I sat on the couch. Moments later he said the most unattractive thing a man has ever said to me:

“My butthole hurts,” he announced without prompt.

"Why would you tell me that?!" I questioned in mild horror. I'm usually all about overshare but this crossed a line I didn't even know I had. 

“It hurts because I pooped four times today.” And then he opened his legs and patted the couch before him like this was a good introduction to back massages and foreplay.

“No, I don’t want you to touch me now! Why would you tell me that?!” I replied as I pulled a blanket tight around me.

“Because I pooped four times today,” he said as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

“STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP.” I protested.

An hour later I left, still horrified, and as he tried to kiss me goodbye, I couldn't.“I can’t kiss you; all I can think about is your butthole now.” I opened the door as he tried to figure out if I was serious and continued with, “Just so you know, the surest way to kill a lady boner is to talk about your asshole. Byyyyeee.” As I walked out and down the hall, hoping desperately now to not go back.