When you live next door to BOYS

Last winter I came home one night and wondered, “Why is there a pair of men’s underwear on my front porch?”  They stayed there for the longest, too, since I didn’t want to touch them.

This morning I opened the door to this:

Boys are weird.

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Must Love Pets

I understand blurring other faces on your dating profile, but this looks so creepy and stupid!  Why didn’t he crop it?

His next picture.. just WHY.

Then there’s THIS guy…

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View from my cube

It’s always sad to see a coworker get fired and sometimes exciting, if they make it a little dramatic.  I thought it would be both of those things when my buddy Robert got let go due to poor work performance and a bad attitude.. but then I saw what he left behind.  He made a frowny face out of thumb tacks.

..which was unintentionally hilarious!!

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I win!

Hands down I drew the worst/best white elephant gift of the party.

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How come every time I drive through Independence, I wind up wanting Gates for dinner?

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It’s a boy

Don’t judge my family because we determined the sex of my niece’s unborn baby by the old ring-on-the-string science..

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Pretty Kitty

I love my new kitty.  The place I adopted  her from said she was 6 years old, but the vet said she’s at least 11.  Well, she’s affectionate and beautiful no matter what her age.

But.  With the coming of spring I could not keep up with the mats in her hair and the shedding.  The vet said we should shave her and start all over.  So she went from this:

To this:

I try so hard not to laugh every time she walks into the room, but she looks like a school mascot with just the head on.

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I don’t remember the 80’s being this beige…

Thanks for asking about me!  I’m around.  I just put up some old college pictures on facebook and the contrast with pictures of Andrea at college are embarrassing.  Our room was U-G-L-Y!

The hell?

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Morning Glory

Poor Andrea…she’s resorted to hanging dark clothes from her blinds.  Summer sunlight is disruptive to sleeping until noon.

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Now Come On

How weird (…crazy?) is it that the last post I wrote before flying into the cuckoo’s nest was about the Psych Museum?  It was over a month before and, no, it wasn’t planned.  If someone had told me in March that I’d be in inpatient treatment end of April, I would’ve been taken aback but I can’t say surprised.

It’s been a rough couple of years.

I love how the euphemisms for mental health treatment have changed.  Depending on what era I pick, I like to say either “I went to the country for some rest,” or “I went mad,” or “I was locked away in a sanitarium,” or “I had a nervous breakdown,” or “I went to rehab.”

One counselor, alluding to the fact that active addicts end up incarcerated, institutionalized, or dead, periodically would say to us:  “Welcome to the institution!”

My favorite is what I heard my ex-boss said about me:  “She’s delicate.”  I just think it sounds cute, but frankly, it was accurate.

Remember the schizophrenic’s embroidery project from the museum?  Little Miss “Love Me I Am Crazy?”

There was also “Wait for me I am lonely.”  And “Hair on fire.”  And “Because you mine and I saw you in the purse house.”

Then this:

I can relate to that.  Really all of them.  And I rather liked being “the sick girl” – delicate… helpless… needy.  It was what I knew.

Doesn’t matter what I’m comfortable with anymore, though, because the pain from that type of comfort became greater than the pain of change.  Whoo boy do I plan to keep changing.  Then one day I’ll embroider a phrase for myself:  The Strong Girl.  Fool.

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