I'm Back. (I Hope!)

I have spent the past 4 months trying to buy a home. A little condominium on the border of Reno & Sparks, close to a lot of different things, and the perfect size for little 'ole me.

First, I tried looking for an apartment to rent. It was just too expensive for the dumps we saw. In one apartment there was a giant stain on the carpet, and I swear it looked like there had been a dead body!! It was at that point that Dad said that he would give me a hundred dollars a month just so I could live in a better place.

Then my grandpa made the suggestion that I should think about buying a condo or a small place myself. And I thought, well, why not? I can qualify; that's for sure!

So I started the process in the beginning of August. And here I am, getting ready to close on my condo on THURSDAY!!!

Here are some pictures to help you get an idea of how great it is! It isn't much, but it is MINE!!

The Kitchen.

I will have more pictures to come, since I will be starting the moving process next weekend!! Yippie! I hope to keep you all updated on this process, too!

Wow, Miracles Really DO Happen

As some of you may know from my posts on Facebook, I am currently dating a man. I know, I know. As Em says on Facebook all the time: I am a dating machine. I can't help it. I refuse to give up. I feel like so many others have already given up on me, that I refuse to do it to myself.

Anyway, this guy (I have no nifty nickname for him yet) is great. There for a second I thought this other guy might have been interested in me, and I thought I made it known I was interested in him, but either he didn't get the hint or he was interested in me. Either way, he never made his move, and the new guy did, so c'est la vie.

New guy. Mr. No Nickname. He is not perfect. But he is super interesting. And most importantly, he accepts me (and others!) for who they are. He appreciates the fact that I do not immediately judge people at first glance and only dislike others once they have wronged me, and even then I forgive most of my friends for previous wrongdoings. (You know who you are.)

Doin' Good

For the first time in a very long time, I am doing well after a breakup. I know I made the right decision, and I am really happy with it. Sure, I get a little sad sometimes when something reminds me of him, but then I just remind myself (sometimes not so gently) that I do not miss him, I just miss what I thought he could have been.

And I think that has been a lot of my problem in my life. I miss a variety of things, but did they ever actually exist? Or is it all a figment of my imagination? Did I imagine that one boyfriend in college really liking me as much as I thought he did? Did I convince myself of that at the time because it was more interesting and (a lot) more fun? Of course, I am willing to admit that there is always a bit of exaggeration in all memories. (That was my focus of my master's comp exams, so of course I know it better than most.) But I have finally came to the conclusion that my biggest disappointments are my own fantasies.

I have blamed Hollywood for quite some time, despite my fascination with everything movie-land. From the time I realized that not ALL girls get the guy, I was in for a world of disappointment. It has only taken me 32 years to realize that world doesn't exist. Except for in my head.

Alas, It Is True

Odd, seeing this post is right after a picture of us together, but as of today, the dude in the picture below and I are no longer.

I know. It came as a shock to me too when I realized I was happier thinking about us breaking up than staying together. Here's the skinny.

One day last week, yours truly was not feeling so well. I had a headache; I was tired. I was on the phone with Mr. Smarty Pants and he made fun of me one too many times. I requested that he stop making fun of me. He persisted. I explained how I didn't feel well and could he please stop making fun of me. He persisted. I explained that I WAS P.M.S.ING and he needed to stop or I was going to hang up. He replied, "You need to stop being so sensitive. I'm not making fun of you to be mean. I making fun of you to make myself laugh."

Now, this "man" has been married before and had a child with a different woman. He knows the workings of a menstrual cycle. And perhaps the reason he is not with the other two women any longer IS BECAUSE HE IS A MORON WHEN IT COMES TO WOMEN.

So, I was angry. I didn't say anything, nor did I hang up. I let him have his little "funny" attack on me. I politely said good bye and hung up. I calmed down the next day, and I called him to explain why I was upset the day before. I calmly (mind you: this is ALL NEW to Micaela. Micaela doesn't do calm angry. She does Angry angry) told him that it bothered me that he didn't respect my wishes when I asked him to stop making fun of me, and that it made me feel like he didn't like me at all. He laughed and said I had anger issues and that I needed to talk to my therapist about it. Can we say Master Deflector?

Oh, anger issues, huh? He hadn't even SEEN anger issues yet! Had he talked to some of my exes? Some of my friends? Someone who had actually SEEN me angry? No. He just didn't want to talk about it. When I said that we could talk about it later, he said, "No, I don't want to. I only want to talk about fun things."

I, trying my hardest not to scream profusely at him at the top of my lungs, decided I would try to use my new anger-management skills. I thought about it. And I thought about it. And I thought about it some more.

I came to the conclusion that if this person is 40 years old, he will never change. He will always push my buttons when I am "sensitive" even when I request him not to. I also realized I am a communicator and he is not, and that I could not live with someone like that for the rest of my life. I decided that rather than suffer through a grueling three months to see if "we can work it out" I would just break it off now.

The immense sense of satisfaction I got from that realization was profound. I knew I had made the right decision when all of a sudden I felt at ease with everything. Nothing was bothering me. Everything seemed right with the world again. And now I am off to update my online dating profile.

You Asked For It!

Here is proof that he exists.

Hey, Kids!

Well, after a very nice and relaxing weekend in Idaho (thanks Mom & Dad!) I am back in Reno. Getting ready to move at the end of July. Where to? Who knows? I am trying not to stress out about finding a place, but thanks (again!) to Mom & Dad, I am now stressed about it. But I am feeling good: I got a couple of boxes from work today and started packing my books. Man! I have a lot of books. But the conclusion I came to is that I always feel better after some cleaning.

When I was in college and living in a giant house right on 4th St. in Pocatello, I used to clean all the time. One time I gassed myself and my roommate out of the bathroom because I used too many different cleaners at the same time and the window wouldn't open! Another time, the same roommate came home to find me frantically cleaning out the spice cabinet (which in our house, was not a pretty sight). Immediately, she asked, "What's wrong? What happened?" My response: Oh, nothing, just broke up with my boyfriend and the only thing that makes me feel any better is cleaning the shit outta something.

This weekend, Mom and I watched many, many hours of a show called Clean House, which I usually cannot watch because it is on the Style Network, and alas, Dish does not provide that with the basic service. So, I got my fill of the show while I could. I realized while watching this amazing show (which is about a team that goes to people's houses and cleans the clutter out) that other people do not get that same satisfaction that I do of cleaning that I do.

So now I am going through all of my magazines and keeping what I need and recycling the rest. Things I need: pictures of Bono. Pretty much all I have found so far. But even doing that brings such a sense of calm to my mind, that I sometimes wonder why I don't clean all the time? Why don't I do this for a living? I would be really good at sorting through other people's stuff!

Dear Anonymous

You are exactly the reason I don't like to write about my happiness. People who complain about my complaints I have no beef with. But people who call me an idiot and not cool on my own blog I do have a beef with. If you say nasty things about me when I am complaining, then I can only imagine what you will say about my happiness, and that, my dear, I simply cannot abide.

Hi There! Long Time, No See!

I have heard it all before.

"You don't blog anymore."

"You aren't writing anymore."

But I have a good excuse. I'm happy!

I know it seems odd, but when I am happy, I can't write about it. I just can't do it. Everything I have to say seems so lame and cute and trite, that writing, well, makes me hate how happy I am.

For some reason, I feel I can express myself better with words only when I am angry. But when I am happy, all I feel like saying is stupid driveling shit that makes me want to puke on any other given day.

For instance, "I like him." Oh, God, I am making myself sick. Who cares? Who honestly cares if I like this guy or not? No one wants to hear me go on and on about how fantastic he is, and what other funny thing he said the other day. No one. And I don't blame you! Not at all! And my friends have to put up with it when I am talking because I adore talking. And I want to make myself puke then, too.

When I am happy and I sound like a teenage girl with a crush, I feel so dumb. I just simply don't know what to do with myself. So, rather than write, I wallow in the cheesy, boring to everyone else but me, lovey-dovey world that I am in right now. Suffice to say, I am happy! And having a good time.

And I won't bother you with it.

For Everyone Else (i.e. THE NON COMPLAINERS)

To everyone else who reads my blog (which I can hardly count myself in that category anymore!):

I heart you all for the following reasons:

1) You read my blog and think enough (or not enough) of me to comment. How lovely! I complain about something, and you get to respond! What a fantastic world we live in! (And although that sounds VERY sarcastic, it is not meant to be in the slightest.)

2) I have been trying not to be so down & out on the blog lately, and as I was discussing with The Doc last night, I have a very hard time writing when I am happy. I only have something to say when I am sad. When I am happy, I am usually out doing something that does not involve writing anything, such as going to Portland with friends or missing an awesome three day music festival.

3) Your comments make me want to be a better person.

(Who am I kidding? They don't. And they certainly don't make me want to read any children's vampire books any more, either.)

For Heather

If I prick you (hee hee, I said prick) then you do bleed, as I have seen you do many times BECAUSE WE LIVE TOGETHER, FOO!

I also heart you for the following reasons:

1) IN SPITE OF FORGETTING ABOUT BONO, you saw U2 with me. It is like going to Spain with me. Oh, wait, we did that too.

2) You put up with my blubbering when I need it (which seems like on a daily basis).

3) You put up with pretty much everything I do, from blowing my nose obnoxiously loud to not drinking milk as avidly as you & Mr. Heather do.

4) You have killer puppies.

For Amanda

I heart you; let me count the ways.

1) You always call me on my shit.
2) You complain about not being mentioned in my blog.
3) You could care less that I could have gotten some from (possibly) my future husband.
4) You are Miss Amanda, soon to be Mrs. Amanda.

And I didn't get very many good pictures from the weekend. Honestly, you saw them on my facebook. Seriously lame.

Seriously Funny Stuff

This weekend I had a gorgeous, beautiful, fantastic, wonderful time with my friends in Portland. But I missed out something huge. A FREE ticket to Coachella.

Now, some of you may be wondering, what is this Coachella she speaks of? Well, it is a three day music festival (we all know how much I ADORE music festivals!) in the middle of the Southern Californian desert.

Did I mention FREE?

The Doc won tickets on the radio and offered to take me. How great is THAT I ask? Great, I say. And because The Doc knows how upset I am about missing out, he keeps texting me and informing me about how awful it is and how the bands suck. (Paul McCartney? The Cure? Not sucking, I'm sure.)

I just received a text that read: "WTF? This isn't The Cult?" And I seriously laugh out loud. Hard. I love "She Sells Sanctuary" but The Cult is no Cure, but it is awesome that he thinsk of me enough to text me and make me laugh.

Oh, and my friends made me laugh this weekend, too. In particular, Amanda slipping and falling into the pool. Good times.

When it Rains It Pours, Part Deux

So, my apologies for not writing more lately. I got a new laptop (yeah!) and I have been moving files back and forth. And then I realized just how much music I have on my computer & decided that maybe it was time to just get an external hard drive.

And the other reason I haven't been writing lately is because I have been going on lots of dates. Lots and lots. And second and third dates. With more than one man in particular. Some of you may be wondering, "What if they see this blog and get mad?" In my defense, none of these men have said A WORD about dating exclusively, and honestly, I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop with every single one of them, so I figure I am not going to pin all my hopes and dreams on one single guy just yet. Look at what happened with the last guy.

Let me tell you about Mr. Policeman.

After I balanced my checkbook and realized that I was paying for 90% of all of our dates, I thought to myself, "Is opening doors and having a stable job ALL I am looking for?" The answer to that questions, friends, is a resounding NO!

He walks like a police officer. Maybe that is because the concealed weapon he carries at all times disrupts his swagger. Maybe. At first I thought this was cute, then I realized he has little-man complex.

Let me tell you about Dr. Waterborne Particles. He is smart, witty, also a writer, and loves the same kind of music I do. He also has a stable job and opens doors for me.

Let me tell you about Mr. Masseuse. He is smart, funny, honest, and possesses a very kind and calming personality. He also has a stable job and opens doors for me.

In hindsight, I was blinded by the light (read: a second date with a decent looking man). But I have moved on past that. I decided that the time is right to have a good time. And if I happen to meet someone along the way, then great.

Holy Shit! When It Rains, It POURS!

I have HUGE news. Big news. Big, big, big.

I went on a second date. And a third. And most likely, a fourth!

Yesp, that's right. I met someone NICE. It's pretty much a miracle. But let me tell you why I think he is so great. (I haven't thought of a clever nickname for him yet, so for now, I will call him...well, I've got nothing.)

1) He opens doors for me. After all the years of opening my own doors, it is super nice to have someone else open my doors.

2) He is semi-normal.
a) He has a job.
b) He doesn't have horns tatooed on his head.
c) We have been out three times, and never once has he asked me to pee on him!
d) He owns a car.
e) He does not live with his parents.

3) We like the same things: Hastings Music Store, Star Wars, sushi, people watching, movies, and BBQ.

4) He calls me when he says he is going to call me. And he calls me even when he says he won't call me. He texts me. He pays attention to what I say.

I realize that is only four things so far, but honestly, that does it for me!

My Smunched Car

In a few days, I will post pictures of my smunched car. Yes, my car car was hit. By an insured. In my own parking lot.



And it is totalled.



Any suggestions on a new car?

Dating is Interesting

Well, good date never got back to me. In fact, he flat out snubbed me. I was upset for about a day, and then I decided to move on. I also decided that this was God's way of telling me that I shouldn't date a man with horns tattooed on his head. (Probably a bad sign, but hey, he LOOKED interesting.)

So, after a day of feeling sorry for myself, which I am getting REALLY good at, I decided I am done with dating. I've said it before, and I'll probably say it again, but this time I'm serious.

Or at least I would be if people would stop calling me and asking me out on dates.

I have one on Saturday, one early next week (sushi!) and one to be rescheduled from yesterday. And one of these dates is kinda a second date. A SECOND DATE! Something I haven't had FOR OVER A YEAR!!!! Needless to say, I am very, very excited.

OK, Finally, A Good Date

Is it true? Is it possible? Could it be? Or is it some elusive Batman/Superman figment of my imagination?

I had a good date. Or was it a dream?

As you may know, I have not been feeling up to my normal chipper self this past week, but I had a date last night. I didn't want to go, as it was at 9:00 pm, and since I had been feeling under the weather, I was trying to decide what to do. But I figured, why not go and get it over with?

But I was trying to stay positive. Look on the bright side. Try not to put this date down before I even meet him just because I had a slew of bad dates before. You know, be the opposite of how I actually feel. I don't know if it worked, or if I had some residual Vicodin-cough syrup in me, but I went on the date with a clear mind.

And he is great. Funny, crass, awesome, well-travelled. Like a man version of ME. (Except he is super laid back.)

Alive and Kickin'

Well, I made it. After the worst bout of the flu I have ever had to endure, I am alive and kickin'. But barely.

I was in bed for about three days, and Heather took care of me. Well, she tried to take care of me as she also tried to stay healthy herself. I watched many a DVD. And slept. Some blessed soul invented a cough syrup with VICODIN in it. Heaven. I never slept so well in my entire life. So, there IS a bright side to being sick. But gasping for air is never a good time. No wonder I am claustrophobic.

And tonight, in actually a few minutes, I am off for another date. I think I am a sadist.

Never, EVER Listen to a Crazy Lady on a Plane

On my way home from Idaho at Christmas, I sat next to a nice-looking couple. They might have been around my mom & dad's age, maybe a little younger. I was reading Perfume, and the back cover looked a lot like the back of the book she was reading. She asked me what I was reading; I told her, and she told me what she was reading. Twilight.

This woman (a very nice and enthusiastic woman, indeed) went on and ON about Twilight for oh, probably 20 minutes. I politely listened, and by the end of our conversation, I was convinced I should go out and buy this book immediately. No waiting for my turn on paperbackswap.com!!

She was wrong. Oh, so very, VERY wrong.

I have never, ever read a more trite, boring, uneventful pile of garbage in my entire life, AND I AM AN ENGLISH MAJOR. I have been forced to read all sorts of garbage, and this tops my list.

I know what you are going to say. "But Micaela, these books are meant for young teen and pre-teen girls." Baloney, I say! When I was that old, I was reading Jane Eyre! Don't give me that crap that girls want this kind of romance. What happened to good old fashioned romance? Mr. Darcy or Mr. Rochester, anyone? I would take those two over this Edward fella any day. (Although, I must admit, Edward WAS my favorite character.)

But honestly. Bella? Never has there been a more pathetic, unlovable, ignorant, gullible heroine in the history of fiction. She is so moronic. I just would not be able to give this book to a young girl and hope that she dreams of being Alice Cullen rather than Bella, because Bella is just so easy to BE. She doesn't DO anything except whatever her boyfriend tells her to do. Except when she might get killed. Then she decides to throw caution to the wind, and damn the consequences. Ugh.

Why would we ever want our young girls to read this? To aspire to be like this? Oh, don't get me wrong. Virginity is a great thing. Abstinence is a wonderful moral to tout. But she doesn't keep her virginity because she wants to. She wants to climb on that sexy-ass vampire faster than you can say "lame vampire book." She can't have sex with him because of ... wait for it .. his rock hard vampire dick.

Seriously.

Did Someone Say Oompa Loompa?

During a lull in our workday, my coworkers and I engaged in a discussion about bridesmaids dresses. Then we sidetracked on how I am a wedding dress consultant extraordinaire. Then we started talking about dress lengths and short people.

I am talking people 5'3" and under. People like myself.

So, to set the scene: My boss is a huge admirer of the broomstick skirt. She pulls them off very nicely. They flatter her. Me, on the other hand, not so much. I was demonstrating this to my coworkers today.

"I look like a freaking Oompa Loompa in a skirt like that!"

"What, you have green hair and huge, bushy eyebrows?"

"No! I'm short!! And look funny when I dance."

Then I proceeded to strut around on the floor, squatting like a Russian dancer, in order to demonstrate just exactly how short I look in long dresses.

Look at My New Haircut

I decided I need to do something to start the new year off right. I decided to cut my hair off.



Funny thing is, over Christmas break, Mom and I were lying in her awesome waterbed, watching What Not To Wear, when Mom suggested I cut my hair.



"No, Mom. I have grown this out for a year now. I like being able to pull it back into a pony tail. I know you don't like it, but tough."



Sometimes Mom is right. But shhhh....please don't tell her I said that.



I all of a sudden decided to get my hair cut like Victoria Beckham. OK, it didn't turn out quite like hers, but well, check it out for yourself:



Well, maybe you can't really tell in this picture, but it is super cute. Just take my word for it.

Yes, Yes I Know. (Actually, I Don't)

I got on my facebook page today (LOVE IT!) and lovely Amanda had posted the following:

Amanda June Costello wrote at 9:51pm
Let me recreate a moment from Amanda and Curtis's house. Amanda is brushing her teeth getting ready for bed when she comes into the bedroom to find Curtis laughing- hard. Amanda asks, "Babe, what's so funny?" Curtis turns slightly to reveal his iPhone and Amanda notices that he is reading a blog she herself had been pursuing only moments before. "Is that Ky's blog?" Amanda asks. Curtis replies, "Why have I not read this before? She is so funny!" Amanda laughs and agrees with him as she gets into bed. Curtis, still standing, is laughing harder now, and says "Okay, one more and then I will go to bed." Fast forward a few minutes. Curtis is now in bed and is laughing quietly. Amanda asks, already knowing the answer, " What's so funny?" Curtis replies "Her... Sometimes she just says and writes things that are pee your pants funny." End scene. Lights out. Good night. We think you rock.

Well, I think you two rock. Let me tell you, sometimes I write on this blog, and I think, "I'm am honestly writing for myself." And well, that's OK! But honestly, I don't how funny it really is until someone tells me, which I LOOOOOOVE! (Imagine me saying that in a really awesome Oprah voice.) But God, this little post on facebook made me SMILE. Thanks, lovelies.

And the cupcakes are coming along swimingly.

Happy New Year!

One of New Year's resolutions is to actually keep up with this blog. I swear, people, it's not you, it's me. (Haven't heard THAT one in a while, huh?) But honestly, I am going to try to get into the swing of things.

Not much happened here today. Last night was a supremely disappointing New Year's Eve on my end. For the first time in 31 years, I had a real, bona-fide date for New Year's. And it didn't snow. And he didn't bail. And I didn't bail. And we were bored with the lack of fireworks, both literally and figuratively. (But before my date, I had a totally awesome gift exachange with friends, and I think everyone should exchange gifts AFTER Christmas, because then it makes it that more fun!)

All in all, I have found that he (I am purposefully failing to mention his name) and I, alas, will be much better friends than partners, and although I am more than a little sad about it, I will live.

So, onward, friends, into the great unknown! Resistance is futile.