I'm feeling a little melancholy tonight. This weekend marks the end of my eight year stint in good ole' JoCo Kansas. Or what I like to refer to as the "not-so-salad-years."
While I'm ready to move, it's always hard for me to say good bye. I moved to Kansas in 2003 when my ex-husband and I decided to buy a house. I've always been a Missouri girl and reluctantly agreed to move to JoCo. Truth be told, it was what he wanted and I wanted to make him happy, so I agreed.
When we got divorced a mere three-ish years later, I was too worn out to fight the battle of changing states: new drivers license, new tags, blah, blah, blah. So I didn't fight the battle; I just stayed in Kansas.
I moved to my current location in 2007 and told myself I wasn't going to move again until I "met the man of my dreams and decided to build a life with him." (Oh Spiffy...you're such a sappy, hopeless, romantic...bleh.)
Obviously, that never happened, so I thought, "What the hell. Move back to Missouri, Spiffy!" So off I went, in search of the perfect place for me to build my OWN salad years and I found and instantly fell in love with my new apartment. (Of course I fell in love with an apartment...because it can't love me back, crush my heart and leave me. But that's another blog...).
Here's the kicker - I have had a nervous feeling, like a hole in my stomach, ever since I decided to move into this apartment. Confession time - I'm afraid that something will happen, I'll finally get canned and I won't have the money to pay my rent. I'll get kicked out on the street, have to give away my dogs, sell my stuff, and feed myself on cans of Spaghetti Ohs and Ramen Noodles. Classic dramatic, over-analytic, worry-wort Spiffy.
Now here's where strong-willed, independent, even-keeled Spiffy retorts with, "You'll be fine! You've always bounced back from anything that life has thrown at you. You are smart, driven, ambitious, and every other positive adjective you can think of, Spiff. Put on your big-girl panties and suck it up! Plus, Spaghetti Ohs and Ramen Noodles are nothing but carbs and sodium. You'll be a homeless, fat cow!"
Alright, no more second guessing my choices! I'm packed and the movers will be here at 8am on Sunday. I'll feel better once I get unpacked and organized. Anal retentive Spiffy hates the clutter of boxes!
So, I bid you adieu, Kansas. The good times have outweighed the bad times, but it's time for this Missouri girl to head back home.
"And you know you're never sure. But you're sure you could be right, if you held yourself up to the light..." That Billy Corgan sure knows how to write lyrics, huh?
Believe...believe in me...
Friday, July 29, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Rollin' in the Deep
This shitty month has finally come to an end...well almost. Tomorrow I will kick two finals in their imaginary junk, sign a lease on an overpriced, yet very cool apartment, and end the eve with a frosty adult beverage - maybe.
With said frosty beverage in my hand, I may sit out on my deck and enjoy the view of the trees, the sounds of the jerks from surrounding neighborhoods who squat in my pool and make a ton of noise, and wait for Hot Dad to cruise by on his hog.
I may decide to finally muster up the cojones to hand my digits to Hot Dad and tell him I'm still waiting for that ride...either on the hog or his face. Preferrably both. I mean seriously, what do I have to lose? I'm moving from this hellish suburbia on Sunday. The worst thing that could happen would be that he looks at me like I've got a turd growing out of my head and tells me to kick rocks. But let's be honest...that's not gonna happen. :)
To be perfectly honest, I've already decided what I'm going to do. (Insert horn fanfare or psycho music. Whichever you see fit...).
I'm going to write him a note on my personalized note paper (so he has my last name and doesn't get me confused with all of the other Spiffys in JoCo). I'm going to draw a picture of him and me on his Harley with the wind flowing through my hair (he's bald). I'm going to draw a little thought bubble coming from my head that says something like "Wheeeeee!" or "Wow. My hands are really close to his penis," or something equally as hot and enticing.
I'll tell him that peeking through my blinds at him has been the best part of living in this overpriced box and that he should call me so I don't go into withdrawals. I'm going to stick the note under his garage door so he'll get it when he heads out on his next ride and VOILA! I'll surely receive a restraining order in the mail the following week. Or maybe I won't. :)
Hopefully there will be another Hot Dad or, even better, Hot Single Musician living at my new place so I can continue honing my stalking skills. One day someone will appreciate my admiration and I won't even have to boil a rabbit.
With said frosty beverage in my hand, I may sit out on my deck and enjoy the view of the trees, the sounds of the jerks from surrounding neighborhoods who squat in my pool and make a ton of noise, and wait for Hot Dad to cruise by on his hog.
I may decide to finally muster up the cojones to hand my digits to Hot Dad and tell him I'm still waiting for that ride...either on the hog or his face. Preferrably both. I mean seriously, what do I have to lose? I'm moving from this hellish suburbia on Sunday. The worst thing that could happen would be that he looks at me like I've got a turd growing out of my head and tells me to kick rocks. But let's be honest...that's not gonna happen. :)
To be perfectly honest, I've already decided what I'm going to do. (Insert horn fanfare or psycho music. Whichever you see fit...).
I'm going to write him a note on my personalized note paper (so he has my last name and doesn't get me confused with all of the other Spiffys in JoCo). I'm going to draw a picture of him and me on his Harley with the wind flowing through my hair (he's bald). I'm going to draw a little thought bubble coming from my head that says something like "Wheeeeee!" or "Wow. My hands are really close to his penis," or something equally as hot and enticing.
I'll tell him that peeking through my blinds at him has been the best part of living in this overpriced box and that he should call me so I don't go into withdrawals. I'm going to stick the note under his garage door so he'll get it when he heads out on his next ride and VOILA! I'll surely receive a restraining order in the mail the following week. Or maybe I won't. :)
Hopefully there will be another Hot Dad or, even better, Hot Single Musician living at my new place so I can continue honing my stalking skills. One day someone will appreciate my admiration and I won't even have to boil a rabbit.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you're kicked there...
I had an interesting weekend. What's that? You want me to TELL you about my interesting weekend? OK, let's see how I can tip toe around this one...
Regardless of what you may believe, I don't enjoy a lot of unnecessary drama. I have zero time for bullshit mind-games or pettiness. Now, I have plenty of time for online games and heavy petting, but that's another blog...
There's a relationship in my life that seems to be a constant victim of poor timing. Our signals get crossed, he's interested and I'm not, I'm interested and he's not, blah, blah, blah. For whatever reason, we can't seem to get it together. Sadly, I think the ship finally sailed this weekend.
I'm going to leave it at that (I said I was going to tip toe...you just got a lot of toe and no tip...insert inappropriate joke...). I will say this - I'm sorry about the series of unfortunate events that lead you to "unfriend" me on Facebook and push me away (again). Everything happens for a reason, so this time I'm accepting it and moving on.
I'm just going to lay this out there because I can't seem to form a proper sentence without erasing and starting over. I'm having a bad month. Actually, the past few months have been pretty shitty. I've been working hard on holding it all together, but I'll be honest; the threads are kind of thin. I am feeling stretched and pulled and beaten down. All of which would be fine if I were pizza dough or a penis, but I'm neither. OK, that's all I'm going to say about that, too. I'm trying not to be a Debbie Downer, so I'll just put this out there into the universe and hope the universe sends me a message back, "I'm ready for the next chapter of my life to begin!"
On a lighter note, I'm going to end this blog with "Spiffy's Crazy Act of the Week." I've mentioned before that I'm coo coo for Hot Dad who lives in the building across the way from me. Hot Dad is your typical bald, buff, construction working, beer drinking, tattoo'd, Harley-riding bad ass. He makes me fumble over my words and think nasty thoughts...(meeeeowww). Now I do realize it's highly unlikely we could have a conversation about politics, the last book he read or his thoughts on new Alternative music, but I'm pretty sure I could make him forget his name for a few minutes and vice versa. >:)
Moving on. Last week while I was outside picking up dog poop in the sweltering heat, he pulled up in his car. I thought about hanging out for a minute to talk to him, when all of a sudden, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a skinny biker bimbo with big, fake boobs and a small derriere...DAMNIT!
I immediatly decided that staying outside was a bad idea. It was a much better idea to run to my window and spy on them (insert psycho music). In case you were wondering, they left on his bike, returned about an hour later, he threw her the keys so she could go inside before she sweated off her multiple layers of ho-makeup and he talked to the fellow-Harley-riding-neighbors.
Like I said...some things are just not meant to be, but I haven't let that fantasy go quite yet. (Universe...are you listening??) :)
Regardless of what you may believe, I don't enjoy a lot of unnecessary drama. I have zero time for bullshit mind-games or pettiness. Now, I have plenty of time for online games and heavy petting, but that's another blog...
There's a relationship in my life that seems to be a constant victim of poor timing. Our signals get crossed, he's interested and I'm not, I'm interested and he's not, blah, blah, blah. For whatever reason, we can't seem to get it together. Sadly, I think the ship finally sailed this weekend.
I'm going to leave it at that (I said I was going to tip toe...you just got a lot of toe and no tip...insert inappropriate joke...). I will say this - I'm sorry about the series of unfortunate events that lead you to "unfriend" me on Facebook and push me away (again). Everything happens for a reason, so this time I'm accepting it and moving on.
I'm just going to lay this out there because I can't seem to form a proper sentence without erasing and starting over. I'm having a bad month. Actually, the past few months have been pretty shitty. I've been working hard on holding it all together, but I'll be honest; the threads are kind of thin. I am feeling stretched and pulled and beaten down. All of which would be fine if I were pizza dough or a penis, but I'm neither. OK, that's all I'm going to say about that, too. I'm trying not to be a Debbie Downer, so I'll just put this out there into the universe and hope the universe sends me a message back, "I'm ready for the next chapter of my life to begin!"
On a lighter note, I'm going to end this blog with "Spiffy's Crazy Act of the Week." I've mentioned before that I'm coo coo for Hot Dad who lives in the building across the way from me. Hot Dad is your typical bald, buff, construction working, beer drinking, tattoo'd, Harley-riding bad ass. He makes me fumble over my words and think nasty thoughts...(meeeeowww). Now I do realize it's highly unlikely we could have a conversation about politics, the last book he read or his thoughts on new Alternative music, but I'm pretty sure I could make him forget his name for a few minutes and vice versa. >:)
Moving on. Last week while I was outside picking up dog poop in the sweltering heat, he pulled up in his car. I thought about hanging out for a minute to talk to him, when all of a sudden, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a skinny biker bimbo with big, fake boobs and a small derriere...DAMNIT!
I immediatly decided that staying outside was a bad idea. It was a much better idea to run to my window and spy on them (insert psycho music). In case you were wondering, they left on his bike, returned about an hour later, he threw her the keys so she could go inside before she sweated off her multiple layers of ho-makeup and he talked to the fellow-Harley-riding-neighbors.
Like I said...some things are just not meant to be, but I haven't let that fantasy go quite yet. (Universe...are you listening??) :)
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Something Prolific
I downloaded TweetDeck on my computers over the weekend. I don't know what took me so long (yes I do...I'm always last to adopt any technology), but I'm glad I finally took the leap.
Anyway, as soon as I logged in and arranged my columns, I was overwhelmed by the amount of information being fed to me second after second. Do I really need Tweets from Snoop Dog about #puffpuffpasstuesday, or ReTweets from some random stranger who thought something Demi Lovato said was interesting, followed quickly by a friends Facebook status update, not to be outdone by a friend checking in on FourSquare? (deep breath...) The answer is "no," I don't NEED it, but I've become drunk with TweetDeck power!!! (insert evil laugh muuuaaaahhahahahah!!)
What did we (and by we, I only me "I" at this moment because I'm a narcissistic Tweet-whore) do before social media took over our (my) lives (fe)?
I remember when I thought it was ridiculous to text when you could pick up the phone, call, and get your answer quicker than you could "T9" it into your flip phone. Yeah, I know. So 2003...
I remember when I enjoyed having actual conversations with people. Slowly, I'm finding myself more and more anti-social.. It seems I'm more comfortable expressing my "inner-Spiffy" through my blog, Tweets, Facebook and texts. Its almost as if I'm becoming more entertaining in writing than I am in person, which is sad, because I used to be pretty fucking entertaining! :)
Case in point, I had another pointless first date with a guy over the weekend. He looked great on paper and we should have gotten along, but I had no interest in getting to know him once I met him in person.
I'm a funny, interesting, smart person and I couldn't come up with anything to speak to this man about other than child stalking pornographers (I have no idea how that conversation came up...) and the overwhelming amount of homework I have to wade through. Yeah, I can't believe he didn't want to fuck me right there on the table, "chicken sandwich, be damned!"
I'm considering taking a hiatus from technology, but t I haven't yet worked up the courage. I think I may get the DT's if I don't check my Facebook and Twitter feeds on my Blackberry every two minutes.
I just re-read this sentence and imagined that I was my grandma reading it and what she'd say. Cute, sweet, little Grandma Louise would probably think I had either joined a cult or was using some sort of obscene language. My grandma knew me well... :)
Anyway, what do you think? Could you spend an entire day away from technology? ALL technology. TV, phone, computer, Kindle, vibrator? (Threw that one in to see if you were paying attention.)
Maybe I should pitch the idea to VH1 - Social Media Rehab. I can ask Adam Levine to host it, shirtless at all times of course, and I'll be his trusty co-host/pants. Yes...I said I'd be his pants. Deal.
Now I'm rambling.
Anyway, as soon as I logged in and arranged my columns, I was overwhelmed by the amount of information being fed to me second after second. Do I really need Tweets from Snoop Dog about #puffpuffpasstuesday, or ReTweets from some random stranger who thought something Demi Lovato said was interesting, followed quickly by a friends Facebook status update, not to be outdone by a friend checking in on FourSquare? (deep breath...) The answer is "no," I don't NEED it, but I've become drunk with TweetDeck power!!! (insert evil laugh muuuaaaahhahahahah!!)
What did we (and by we, I only me "I" at this moment because I'm a narcissistic Tweet-whore) do before social media took over our (my) lives (fe)?
I remember when I thought it was ridiculous to text when you could pick up the phone, call, and get your answer quicker than you could "T9" it into your flip phone. Yeah, I know. So 2003...
I remember when I enjoyed having actual conversations with people. Slowly, I'm finding myself more and more anti-social.. It seems I'm more comfortable expressing my "inner-Spiffy" through my blog, Tweets, Facebook and texts. Its almost as if I'm becoming more entertaining in writing than I am in person, which is sad, because I used to be pretty fucking entertaining! :)
Case in point, I had another pointless first date with a guy over the weekend. He looked great on paper and we should have gotten along, but I had no interest in getting to know him once I met him in person.
I'm a funny, interesting, smart person and I couldn't come up with anything to speak to this man about other than child stalking pornographers (I have no idea how that conversation came up...) and the overwhelming amount of homework I have to wade through. Yeah, I can't believe he didn't want to fuck me right there on the table, "chicken sandwich, be damned!"
I'm considering taking a hiatus from technology, but t I haven't yet worked up the courage. I think I may get the DT's if I don't check my Facebook and Twitter feeds on my Blackberry every two minutes.
I just re-read this sentence and imagined that I was my grandma reading it and what she'd say. Cute, sweet, little Grandma Louise would probably think I had either joined a cult or was using some sort of obscene language. My grandma knew me well... :)
Anyway, what do you think? Could you spend an entire day away from technology? ALL technology. TV, phone, computer, Kindle, vibrator? (Threw that one in to see if you were paying attention.)
Maybe I should pitch the idea to VH1 - Social Media Rehab. I can ask Adam Levine to host it, shirtless at all times of course, and I'll be his trusty co-host/pants. Yes...I said I'd be his pants. Deal.
Now I'm rambling.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
And the beat goes on...
I like it when songs pop into my head. I believe that my subconscious speaks to me in song lyrics. It tells me something that I need to know or that I'm feeling but don't realize. Good ole' Sonny and Cher spoke to me tonight after another not so promising first "date."
First of all, I want you all to know that I'm not a feminist, nor am I Betty Francis, but I do believe that on the first "date," there should be some sort of chivalry on the man's behalf.
For example, if I order one beer; buy my beer. It's $4.00. I'm not an expensive date. It's not like you're spending $115 and leave feeling like I'm a "wasted investment" (thanks for the one, Angry Beer Gut Dude).
Again, I make my own money and I can buy my own beer, but it's the flippin' principle! If I pull out my debit card and offer to pay for my beer, say, "No, I got this. You get the next one," and I absolutely will. That $4.00 could be the best investment you ever made. Who knows...
Another suggestion, if it's raining like cats and dogs and I tell you that storms and driving in storms freak me out, don't just leave me at the bar and take off. Ride the storm out with me. Again...10 minutes could lead to something more...who knows?
The common denominator in all of my "not so productive" dates is me, so maybe it's me?! Am I too picky? Expecations too high? Who knows.
I do know that I'll continue to share the trials and tribulations of my dating life, but only the bad ones. I'll keep the good ones to myself...a girl has to have some secrets, right??
First of all, I want you all to know that I'm not a feminist, nor am I Betty Francis, but I do believe that on the first "date," there should be some sort of chivalry on the man's behalf.
For example, if I order one beer; buy my beer. It's $4.00. I'm not an expensive date. It's not like you're spending $115 and leave feeling like I'm a "wasted investment" (thanks for the one, Angry Beer Gut Dude).
Again, I make my own money and I can buy my own beer, but it's the flippin' principle! If I pull out my debit card and offer to pay for my beer, say, "No, I got this. You get the next one," and I absolutely will. That $4.00 could be the best investment you ever made. Who knows...
Another suggestion, if it's raining like cats and dogs and I tell you that storms and driving in storms freak me out, don't just leave me at the bar and take off. Ride the storm out with me. Again...10 minutes could lead to something more...who knows?
The common denominator in all of my "not so productive" dates is me, so maybe it's me?! Am I too picky? Expecations too high? Who knows.
I do know that I'll continue to share the trials and tribulations of my dating life, but only the bad ones. I'll keep the good ones to myself...a girl has to have some secrets, right??
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Through the years....
No, I'm not singing along to Kenny Rogers or eating his chicken. Today is my 41st birthday and I'm reminiscing about how I've celebrated my birthday over the years.
Well known fact about Spiffy - I love my birthday. I've had a party or some sort of celebration for my birthday for as long as I can remember. This is the one day of the year that I believe is all about me. And Tom Cruise since it's his birthday, too, but really more about me.
Jump in the Spiffy Time Machine with me and let's take a journey back in time, shall we? I promise, it will be more excellent than Bill & Ted's adventure.
Our first stop, 1991, the year of my 21st birthday. I was dating and living with an abusive piece of shit named Louis. He liked to control me and made sure to say whatever he could to keep my ego and self-esteem shattered. It goes without saying, he had to ruin my 21st birthday.
Anyway, we were celebrating and Donovan's bar, which at the time, was the "hot spot" north of the river. I don't remember all of the details, but I believe some guy bought me a shot which pissed him off so he left me at the bar. Alone. On my 21st birthday. Looking back, what I should have done was hooked up with some random hottie and had some kick ass "wham bam" 21st birthday sex, but I didn't. I'm sure I moped about how mean he was during my cab ride home. I left the douche bag soon thereafter, but not soon enough.
Next stop, 2001 for my 31st birthday. Now that was a fun night!
I was living in the Union Hill area with my good friend Kris in a really kick-ass apartment. I was happy, healthy, and loved my life. My boyfriend who was also my karate instructor had recently broken up with me, so my heart was a little bruised, but nothing I couldn't handle. I had just started dating someone new, Brian. Poor guy didn't realize he was a rebound, but he quickly found out. (Sorry Brian, you didn't deserve what I did to you.)
Our apartment was filled with friends. Everyone was drinking and eating and jamming on music piped from my killer boom box in the back yard. Yes, I had a boom box. Deal.
I wanted to give everyone a Polaroid party pic to remember the evening, which quickly turned into people taking naked pictures of themselves. Good times.
Now, I don't know about you, but at my parties (or most of the time when there is alcohol involved), I like to make out. So, I decided that since it was my birthday and I was half-way to shit-faced, I needed to kiss as many people as possible. Anyone who was willing was given the opportunity to make out with yours truly. Needless to say, that didn't sit well with Brian, so at the end of the night, I broke up with him and humiliated him in front of everyone.
My ex-boyfriend/friend/karate instructor was also at the party, which made Brian feel even more uncomfortable. The end of the evening was and still is quite blurry, but I believe my lawn turned into a scene from the Karate Kid. A lot of smack talk and maybe some karate chops or 'fist of death' punches. Luckily no one was hurt. I do remember waking up the next morning with a killer hangover wondering what in the hell happened and laughing my ass off at all of the Polaroid pics laying around.
Our final stop is today, July 3, 2011. My 41st birthday. Things are so completely different this year. I had no desire to throw a party, or even drink let alone get drunk.
Yesterday I went to the Nelson-Atkins Museum to see the Monet Waterlilies exhibit with a few of my girlfriends and then out to dinner. Ten years really classed up this girl, huh??
Today I had brunch with an old friend today and spent the afternoon making memories with a new friend. This evening I was invited to a party in G-Town, but I decided I'd rather chill out and relax on my couch. Apparently 41 is the year I turn lame. (Note to self...fix that pronto!)
I am a little bummed that I haven't gotten a birthday cake. I'll be sure to go and buy myself one (or six) of my favorite cupcakes sometime this week. Afterall, everyone deserves to make a wish and blow out a candle for their birthday, right?
Well, everyone but Tom Cruise.
Well known fact about Spiffy - I love my birthday. I've had a party or some sort of celebration for my birthday for as long as I can remember. This is the one day of the year that I believe is all about me. And Tom Cruise since it's his birthday, too, but really more about me.
Jump in the Spiffy Time Machine with me and let's take a journey back in time, shall we? I promise, it will be more excellent than Bill & Ted's adventure.
Our first stop, 1991, the year of my 21st birthday. I was dating and living with an abusive piece of shit named Louis. He liked to control me and made sure to say whatever he could to keep my ego and self-esteem shattered. It goes without saying, he had to ruin my 21st birthday.
Anyway, we were celebrating and Donovan's bar, which at the time, was the "hot spot" north of the river. I don't remember all of the details, but I believe some guy bought me a shot which pissed him off so he left me at the bar. Alone. On my 21st birthday. Looking back, what I should have done was hooked up with some random hottie and had some kick ass "wham bam" 21st birthday sex, but I didn't. I'm sure I moped about how mean he was during my cab ride home. I left the douche bag soon thereafter, but not soon enough.
Next stop, 2001 for my 31st birthday. Now that was a fun night!
I was living in the Union Hill area with my good friend Kris in a really kick-ass apartment. I was happy, healthy, and loved my life. My boyfriend who was also my karate instructor had recently broken up with me, so my heart was a little bruised, but nothing I couldn't handle. I had just started dating someone new, Brian. Poor guy didn't realize he was a rebound, but he quickly found out. (Sorry Brian, you didn't deserve what I did to you.)
Our apartment was filled with friends. Everyone was drinking and eating and jamming on music piped from my killer boom box in the back yard. Yes, I had a boom box. Deal.
I wanted to give everyone a Polaroid party pic to remember the evening, which quickly turned into people taking naked pictures of themselves. Good times.
Now, I don't know about you, but at my parties (or most of the time when there is alcohol involved), I like to make out. So, I decided that since it was my birthday and I was half-way to shit-faced, I needed to kiss as many people as possible. Anyone who was willing was given the opportunity to make out with yours truly. Needless to say, that didn't sit well with Brian, so at the end of the night, I broke up with him and humiliated him in front of everyone.
My ex-boyfriend/friend/karate instructor was also at the party, which made Brian feel even more uncomfortable. The end of the evening was and still is quite blurry, but I believe my lawn turned into a scene from the Karate Kid. A lot of smack talk and maybe some karate chops or 'fist of death' punches. Luckily no one was hurt. I do remember waking up the next morning with a killer hangover wondering what in the hell happened and laughing my ass off at all of the Polaroid pics laying around.
Our final stop is today, July 3, 2011. My 41st birthday. Things are so completely different this year. I had no desire to throw a party, or even drink let alone get drunk.
Yesterday I went to the Nelson-Atkins Museum to see the Monet Waterlilies exhibit with a few of my girlfriends and then out to dinner. Ten years really classed up this girl, huh??
Today I had brunch with an old friend today and spent the afternoon making memories with a new friend. This evening I was invited to a party in G-Town, but I decided I'd rather chill out and relax on my couch. Apparently 41 is the year I turn lame. (Note to self...fix that pronto!)
I am a little bummed that I haven't gotten a birthday cake. I'll be sure to go and buy myself one (or six) of my favorite cupcakes sometime this week. Afterall, everyone deserves to make a wish and blow out a candle for their birthday, right?
Well, everyone but Tom Cruise.
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