I fucking hate my job.

So I was reading the post I made back in September 2013 about how thankful I was to get out of Windsor Federal Savings and into the Hartford.

You know that saying- you don't know what you got 'til it's gone?

I hate my job. Because of this, I hate my life. Right now it's ten minutes past eight and all I can think of is how much I dread having to go back to work tomorrow (twelve hours and counting), and I WORK FROM HOME.

When I worked at the bank- I felt like every day I was going to see and work with my friends. I made ends meet, not with much left over but enough. I hated the way the company was handled but now I see that this may be a normal, overlook-able aspect of any job.

This job, the one with the Hartford? It's taken my soul, my humanity, and my happiness. After just a month of doing this I knew it wasn't for me...and now it's coming up on two years.

I used to drive home over the Bissell Bridge and wonder- what would happen if I jerked the wheel really hard to the right, went over the side wall of the highway, and under the tides of the Connecticut river to just...disappear? So I could just stop doing this job. THAT is what this fucking piece of shit career has brought me to. I told this to my supervisor once and - rightfully so - she freaked out. She told me that I should really start thinking of a backup plan. I REALLY wish I had listened to her sooner on this.

I'm screamed at on a daily basis. For the first time in two years, I yelled back at an insured on Friday. And while he 100% deserved it because he was being an old fucking dick-wad, I still feel a bit bad. WHY? I have these hopes and dreams now that I just get fired or laid off so that I can be happy again.

I think it finally sunk in last week with Jim. I've been applying to jobs nonstop for the last month and the only job that I'd heard from was a true temporary position lasting 60-90 days with no intention to hire after this time. I told him that I'm broke until payday (Wednesday - I cannot get used to this 1st and 15th of the month BS that comes with a salaried position).

"What are you going to do if you leave this job for a lower paying job? How are you going to make ends meet?" he asked incredulously.

I told him: when I worked at Windsor Federal- I was making $15,000 less per year than I am making now. Take home probably less. I NEVER had the money issues that I have now.

The reason? I'm alone most of the week and miserable because I just despise my work, and although I can always pick up the phone and talk to Jim it's not the same as having him here. It was something that although I may not have ever really loved one of my jobs (save for maybe L'Occitane), I do take pride in the work that I do. And taking pride in something that kills your soul makes you miserable. So when I go online after work- when I used to craft but don't have the heart for it anymore- I buy, buy, buy. Because for a moment, it makes me feel good.

He said to me the next day that he never really understood what I was trying to say when I said I hated my job. But I guess that put it in a different perspective.

Jim told me to quit. He told me that I would find work and that he would take care of me until then.

I wish I could do it. If I were a worse person, I would. But I know I have no excuse. I can work. I haven't committed suicide yet or tried to. The job market isn't where it was before I graduated college and doesn't appear to be changing anytime soon. I could quit. And it sates me. But I just cannot bring myself to do it.

I imagine the uncertainty of it all. Would I be infinitely less marketable if I voluntarily resigned from a job because... I didn't want it? It made me miserable? HOW would I explain that to potential employers in an interview? "Have you ever had a job that made you want to kill yourself multiple times a week?"

And you're probably reading this thinking- Oh, poor baby girl. She's so pathetic. And maybe I am. But to me, unless you have been a claims adjuster...this feeling so awful I just can't even tell you how promising this job was in the beginning, and how much I wish I could have just said "no" when they offered me the job- how different a person I would be.

So I came up with a plan that makes me at least FEEL hopeful.

I am still applying to jobs like a maniac, and still will for the foreseeable future.

I calculated my monthly expenses and anticipate that if I could save around $6K that would last me with minimal help from Jim for approximately four months. I believe in this timeframe, that I can find another job that would not suck the soul right out of my body. The only thing I haven't figured out would be the health insurance but I think that is just something I'll have to do without for a while and cross my fingers. Or say that if I get hit by a bus that it kills me because I'll never pay off that medical bill.

I also have been thinking that I need to go back to school for something- ANYTHING - that provides me with a lucrative AND tolerable existence until I reach the age of 65, or thereabouts. Right now I have approximately $40K saved for retirement (I'm 28), and Jim's retirement is....well, amazing and extends to me.

So I've looked at vet assisting, medical assisting, massage therapy- the one that I keep coming back to is court reporting. On average they make $67K a year, which is more than I'm making now. The drawback is that very few schools offer it (although as a bonus the ones that do offer it online), and that it will take approximately 3 years and $30K through those reputable institutions. I don't know if I can dip into the Grandma bank account for that much- or at least I wouldn't feel right about it. But in three years I'll be 31 and no closer to anything good so I think this may be the best option. I've thought of it before and I think that maybe it might just be easier. Also could just go into teaching but with Jim and I thinking of moving to New York in the next few years I really can't justify getting licensed in CT (which is harder than other states) and then get licensed in NY, which would have been easier (I think?) in the first place. Ugh.

My Review of "The People Who Eat Darkness"

So recently, I bought this book from Half.com (which is where I always buy my pleasure reading books. I started using it in college bc the textbooks were so cheap, but now I can buy about ten books for thirty bucks, and it's usually more to ship than the actual books). Anyways, here is the cover so you can beware:

I bought this book thinking...I've read Ryu Murakami, and he nearly made me puke with his detailed, fucked up descriptions of killing. If that is Japanese fiction, I can't wait to see what comes of Japanese reality. 

DO NOT WASTE YOUR TIME. 

If you're going into this thinking it will be an enthralling read, that will capture you and hold your attention, you are DEAD (no pun intended) wrong. 

Now to say that this book did not grip me from the beginning would be a lie. It starts out with this girl  who reminds me a lot of myself, or reminds me of the life I would have liked to pursue: she lives outside of London, England, she is a stewardess for British Airways, and she decides with her friend Louise that she wants to relocate to Japan in order to make a bit of money to pay back her debts. I mean, the debt part I wouldn't equate with myself or a life I would want for myself, but...traveling the world? Deciding on a whim to travel to Japan and live there for a few months? That's the life. Well, except for what ends up happening to her. 

Anyways, one day about a month into her time in Japan, she goes out on a "date" (I'll explain more about that quotation mark later) where she is to get a cell phone from a wealthy client from the club where she works. She calls Louise a few times throughout the day and then...disappears. 

A couple days later, Louise gets a phone call from a well-speaking Japanese man who states that Lucie (the main character of this story) has decided to join a cult that will take care of all her debts, and that she doesn't want to be seen or heard from by her friends and family. The man then asks for Louise's address to send Lucie's belongings back. Louise, feeling uneasy, states that if he wants the address that Lucie has it, and then ends the call. 

At this point, I'm excited. I'm thinking...oh God, this sick fuck has done something and he wants another victim. The hairs on my arms are literally standing on end. 

ANNNND that's where it dies on the page. 

I think the biggest problem is that the author, an expatriate English journalist living in Japan, goes into TOO MUCH DETAIL about every little thing. 

Example: What is a hostess? 

A hostess is, typically, an international woman (to the Japanese people) that works in a club in which Japanese men (usually businessmen) come, pay a fee to the club, to sit a talk to these women, buy themselves and the women drinks, and sing karaoke, if the mood strikes. The hostess is expected to make dates outside of the club where they work with these businessmen in order to maintain their job in the club. 

There. Is that a hard concept to understand? They're not prostitutes, they are more escorts/companions. Do you really need an entire chapter- maybe ten or more pages- explaining what a hostess is? 

It's exhaustive in its entirety. We learn EVERYTHING about this girl, pretty much from her conception to her disappearance which yes, it's good to know about the victim but I would say half of this 454 page book is spent on it- her medical history, her parent's relationship and divorce, their tumultuous relationship after the divorce, her relationships with her parents and siblings, her romantic/sexual relationships (and I mean, documenting every relationship prior to Japan), her friendships, her insecurities. GOOD GOD. Do we need THIS MUCH information? 

I kept with it. I thought, there has to be something here. This HAS to get good at some point. 

I was wrong. 

Finally, about 2/3 of the way through the book, we find out that there are hostesses that have been the victim of date rape with one of the Japanese businessmen that frequents the clubs. 

It's banal, really. I mean, to get this far and have it just be a case of a drug-enduced date rape gone bad? How disappointing. 

I mean, I don't mean to sound insensitive. A girl lost her life, and I understand that. But I also hate things that get sensationalized. It's a large part of why I put down "Fifty Shades of Grey" after 30 pages. In that case, I hate that a writer, not even a good writer in the case of FSoG, feels they have to cater to the lowest common denominator (sex) in order to sell, sell, sell. In this case, I think it's kind of bogus, with all the terrible things that happen to people, women, men, children, etc, with all the serial killers and murderers sitting in jail, that a book about a tall, pretty, young, blonde English girl that dies in the midst of a date rape is one of the highest regarded books of 2012. 

Richard Lloyd Parry is a good writer, don't get me wrong. But he's a journalist. He's not out to create a story. He's out to write the longest newspaper article of his life. And for some people, that's something they enjoy. I don't. I like a story to be spun. There wasn't. 

He spends the last third of the book talking about the case against Joji Obara, the killer, and the subsequent trial. It is interesting, I should note, how the Japanese court functions and how the interrogation process for them works. The Japanese courts have a 99% conviction rate, which to me is insane in comparison to US courts with a 73% conviction rate. He gives a bit of history about Obara, not enough to really quench your thirst for knowledge in the case, but Parry notes often in this section about how much Obara sweats. I'm reading this thinking: WHY DOES HE SWEAT SO MUCH? Well, don't let it bother you because you never really find out. 

I should also do a riff about this girl's parents. They are a nightmare. They divorced after the mother, Jane, discovered that her husband, Tim, was cheating on her, and from what I could glean she's never gotten over it, even after getting remarried. The father, Tim, kind of disappeared from his children's lives and didn't make the necessary or expected show in Lucie's life until after she disappeared. 

The father, Tim, went straightaway to Japan once he was told about her disappearance with his daughter and Lucie's sister, Sophie, to search for her. They did this on-and-off for a year. It's somewhat surprising to me that the mother, Jane, never made an attempt to go out to Japan and work to find her as Tim and Sophie were, but I digress. 

Now, in Japan the defendant can pay "restitution" to the victim in order to obtain a shorter sentence before the end of a trial, which is what Obara approached the family about midway through the trial. Jane declined. Tim accepted the $850K from Obara. Obara was later acquitted of the murder of Lucie Blackman. However, since there was another previous victim he went to jail anyways. 

Tim, nice guy that he is and because he cares SO MUCH about his daughter, is so broken up about it, kept all the money so that the Lucie Blackman Trust could get the right step off. Meaning, so he could buy a yacht. Jane, along with her new husband, is suing her ex-husband for the acceptance of this money, believing (probably rightly so) that Obara was acquitted because Tim accepted, basically, "payment" for his daughter's life. 

Lucie's body was found a cave near to Obara's home hacked into pieces. Sophie, I like her. She seems to be the only one in the family old enough and well enough to understand the loss of her sister, Lucie. While the others are fighting each other, Sophie writes a letter about how she isn't ready to give Lucie to the ground- she's been cremated, she wants a small piece of her to carry with her. 

Jane, I'm sorry but the bitch that she is, couldn't care less about her last living daughter. Put her in the ground, I'm not having her cut up in pieces again. 

Death really brings out the worst in people. What do you think LUCIE would have wanted? Do you think that she would have wanted her sister, whom she loved to have her ashes or for you to just bypass it because YOU don't want her split up. Because yes, her life is all about you. 

Ugh. I think my take-away from this is not that she was murdered in this super unique and horrific way (I mean, it's horrific, but nothing you don't see nightly on Law & Order: SVU, Criminal Minds, or any episode of CSI), but that she had the parents that she had. There is a reason why Parry didn't focus on Carita Ridgeway, the murdered girl that Obara did go to jail for...it's because her family mourned Ridgeway's loss. Not the Blackman family- whom, besides the two children, could only care about their own bullshit and not the daughter they lost, not the remaining children they have, but would rather focus on how much they hate each other and let that rule over everything. 

If you like reading newspapers, then you'll probably enjoy this book. I'm too used to reading for pleasure. I want to read something with a storyline, exciting twists and turns. The only thing that made me *gasp* was that her father accepted the $850K and bought a yacht with it. I wanted something like "In the Miso Soup." I was sorely disappointed. 

Grudges

Once upon a time, Miss Mused was a awkward high schooler.

She was single up until her senior year of high school, and could not get a date if she tried before.  

But when she was a freshman, she had a crush. A big crush. On Fireman. 

Of course this was not his real name. It's not like I was into some superhero in a comic book by the name of Fireman. He was in my grade and he was a volunteer firefighter. And I was in LOVE with him. 

I asked him out once. I think it was my freshman or sophomore year. He turned me down, gently. It wasn't like I was out of my league or anything, he was a geek too. Sort of. But I dunno, I guess I didn't fit the bill at that time. 

He went to our junior prom with my best friend at the time, Amanda. I was green with envy. Literally, my dress was green, and I had, by far, the worst Jersey Shore knockoff date in the world. 

We graduated and to be honest, he faded into the background for me. I didn't really think about him, I had other douchebags to date so I forgot about him. 

Two years ago, I ran into him at the grocery store. 

He had joined the armed forces and still lived in town with his family. I was living in the next town over at the time and buying groceries for my parents. 

We stopped. And talked. And I smiled and flirted. And we went our separate ways. Because I knew that he wasn't that into me so I figured, what's the point in getting my knickers in a bunch over it, it's not like it's going to pay off.

WRONG. 

He emailed me a couple days later saying that he was sorry that he hadn't been home on leave longer, he would have liked to hang out, that he would be back for the holidays and was wondering if we could get together then. 

HELL YES WE CAN. I nearly said. But I played it cool. Asked him about his deployment, what he planned on doing when he was back. 

Then he asked me if I was seeing anyone. Like a boyfriend, he said. 

And I smiled. I couldn't believe that after all these years, this guy was FINALLY into me. Typing that makes me sound incredibly pathetic, but the truth of the matter is that I still kind of held a candle for him. 

So I waited a few months. We emailed and texted a couple times a week. When he got home he texted me to say that he was back. We sent a few text messages back and forth that night and then I asked him what night he wanted to get together. 

HE NEVER RESPONDED. 

At the end of the week, when I knew he was going back and my window had closed, I deleted his number, email, and de-freinded him on Facebook. I figured, I don't have patience for someone that does something like that. I mean, how hard would it have been? To say to me: Hey, I've overbooked, I'm sorry, next time I'm home you're my first priority. I definitely would have been disappointed, maybe a little upset, but not half as pissed as I was at the end of that week without a text message. 

When he realized all I had done, he was mad. He said that he was "sorry" that he had to spend time with his family and friends, that they were the most important and he ran out of time. Very unapologetic, very argumentative. I just told him that I don't have patience or time to waste on people that don't have common courtesy. And even then he wasn't all that sorry. So I just stopped responding. 

The thing is, he just won't let up. 

Every few months, he sends me a friend request. I never respond, I never ignore it, I just let it lapse and he sends another one. It's become an irritant. 

I don't really feel like I'm holding a grudge, necessarily. I just don't have room or time or anything for people who are disrespectful and discourteous to me. Is that so wrong? Why can't he understand that? And if he is sorry, why doesn't he just...say so, you know? An apology is never too late (except for Lord Milquetoast...no way he could apologize and I would accept it). 

"And yes."

Ok, so a new gripe:

AND YES.

This guy I've been talking to through eHarmony uses it ALL THE TIME.

Like, "and yes, I do play the guitar" or "and yes, I do own my own house." None of this shit impresses me, crackerjack, so shut the fuck up. Stop saying "and yes," because it makes you sound really pompous.

Thank for the info, dude, but I didn't ASK if you played SO THANKS for the information.

And he texts me and if I don't answer for an hour, he's like "well, I guess you've fallen asleep" or "I guess you're not talkative tonight." Ugh. GAG ME. I think I'm going to stop altogether. AND YES I'm going to see other people. Jerkoff.

Why does this have to be so difficult?!

It's getting pretty lonely out here.

So, I met this guy. His name is Bill.

At first, I will admit that my motives may have been less than stellar. He kind of looks like Sir Riddle, and I thought that it might make it easier for me to open up to someone if they reminded me of someone I felt close to at one point.

Ok, ok. Maybe this was not the right thing to do. But at the time it seemed like a good way to handle the situation since it seemed like I might never meet someone I felt comfortable with, I was getting very all in all disillusioned.

His answers to my emails were like I was reading my own thoughts and hopes and dreams. And I thought, maybe this is it.

I'm going to stop saying that altogether. I don't think people have those types of moments anymore. It's not like I'm going to meet someone and know. I feel like I know all the time. I don't. Every time I hesitate to say...could this be it? And I'm right to. Because it NEVER is the case. It's never "it".

When he started asking about how many kids I wanted and stuff like that, I was leery. Because we hadn't met yet and I didn't want to get my hopes up, like I had so many times before. I mean, what if he didn't really look like his pictures, or what if he had this really high girl voice? These are the things I'm thinking as I pull up to our first date. He's standing across the street from me as I walk over on the crosswalk, I see that not only are his pictures accurate but he might just be even more attractive in person. And he says hi and his voice is thankfully low and manlike. And he's tall, very tall. And broad. And hairy like a man. He's perfect.

We sit in the bar and we talk for four hours. And it's so natural and fun and...oh. I couldn't remember the last time I felt that meeting someone. He walks me to my car and he kisses me. It feels so nice, warm, and...I hate to be repetitious, but natural.

The first couple days, it was great. We couldn't wait to see each other, or talk to each other, or text to each other. There was one night, he stayed home to work on his new startup, he called and instead of working talked to me for three hours.

He came over last weekend and spent the night.

There must be one of two things going on here. One is that I am a terrible lay. The other is that I continuously meet men (off of eHarmony, since this is the first man I've had sex with on the site) who view women as a conquest that, once conquered, quickly lose interest.

Not sure which, but Bill falls into one of these categories.

Sunday night, he started to gather his things to go home. I asked, playfully, "When do I get to see you again?" to which he replied: "I dunno, next weekend is kind of busy."

Next weekend?! I had seen him four times in the span of a week! Next weekend?! WTF is that?

Monday, there is a noticeable change in our conversation. Bill obviously is either over communication in general or over communicating with me, because he's just not. And I can't figure it out. Furthermore, I don't want to ask about what's wrong again and again because first, I hate repeating myself and second, I hate badgering people when they have already told me "nothing" even when I know it's something.

Finally, I call bullshit on this whole mess. I say, basically: Dude, you told me to be honest with you when something is bothering me, so here it is. I don't understand how last week you were all into me and now it seems like you're not and maybe it is because you're busy with work and your business, but it seems like it's something with me, and if it is I hope you tell me and don't just leave me high and dry.

He says, in response to this, that it is because of work and his business and that he's really stressed out and pissed off and when he gets this way he finds it best to be completely and utterly alone, that he has been alone most of his life (which I don't think is true, I've been alone more time than him, but whatever), and that most of his best friends don't know his deepest darkest secrets. That he's a bull in a china shop when he's like this and to stay out of his way.

Bells and whistles are going off right now, let me tell you. In case you didn't get bells and whistles from that yourself.

I don't want someone that just folds into themselves whenever they get pissed or stressed out. What happens when that person has kids? They need this "alone time" until the kids graduate from high school? I had days this week that were bad, and I couldn't count on him. Maybe that was premature, but I think if it's only been a week and someone needs "alone time" from you, it's a pretty good indication that first, they aren't all that into you and second, they can't be counted on for when things get difficult.

So, when he asked me out for this past Friday, I accepted. But I knew this conversation was going to happen.

Here's how I started it: So...this week...

And here's what I found out:
-When I asked him if eventually I was going to be someone he could share these "deep dark secrets" with, he stated that he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep. Strike one.
-Not that I mind about "moodiness," but he stated that he unapologetically was moody and he couldn't help it, like that was some sort of excuse for being a douche. Strike two.
-I really can't remember how this came about but I remember him saying that he wasn't sure what he wanted. When I asked why he had joined a dating site he said that he thought he was ready but now he wasn't so sure. Strike three.

Why does this have to be so hard? Why is it so hard for me to find someone to love? Why can everyone else seem to find someone but me? I just don't understand. I think I'm pretty decent, a good catch. Bad people find others to be with. Why can't I?

Riffing on Online Dating.

Once, about three years ago, I tried online dating.

As I've said before, there aren't many people that work at the Inferno, we're about a fifty-person strong group. And only two out of those fifty are single men, one of which is in his fifties and is one of those stereotypically awkward IT guys, and the other is a guy I started on the same day with five and a half years ago. He's always had a soft spot in my heart because we've grown within the company together, but I've never had the guts to ask him on a date for fear of rejection; not that I would normally give a hoot about this with a guy on the street, but when you spend five days a week, eight hours a day in the same general vicinity as someone, you don't want things to suddenly become uncomfortable. I never met customers, at least not face to face. There was ONE TIME that I tried to set up a date with a customer because he thought I sounded sexy, then come to find out that he had a steady out-of-state girlfriend and she didn't need to know. So, that was the first, and last time that I ever set up a date with a customer.

And although things just ended with Sir Riddle, I'll be starting at a large company soon so there should be more people to meet, and I should be alone for a bit, I've been considering trying the online dating scene again.

Yes, this may be because of my ex's wedding, and that now I'm watching the progression of his happy Vegas honeymoon on Facebook. But I think sometimes it's good to take stock of your priorities. And I just want to love someone. I've decided that I want to spend my life with someone, and I don't want to wait to start anymore. I just have all this love inside of me, and I want to share it with someone, I want to be able to trust someone and be honest with someone and be best friends and lovers with someone. Is that so much to ask?

The problem that I had with online dating was that people never were as they seemed. There was one guy, he was really cute in his pictures. When it came time to meet him, though, at first I didn't recognize him, he was larger and looked nothing like his pictures. But therein lies the problem, doesn't it? People are always going to put the pictures that they look best in.

What I think people should be required to put at least ONE picture where they don't look great on their profile. There should be a one ugly picture requirement. Where you say, this is the worst I look, and if this is too much for you, I understand. And people should have to date their pictures. I mean, if you're in your thirties, and your pictures on your profile are from when you were in high school and college, they should be disqualified, even if you think you do look the same. You should be required to have a picture that is from the last three months as your profile picture. I mean, I'm not saying that looks are everything, but they do count for something. I mean, I'm not aware of many happy marriages where one half of the couple believes the other is unattractive. Yes, personality is huge. And I think that when you're physically attracted to someone, it means that the part of their personality that shines through is what makes you attracted to someone else.

The other thing is that I wish with online dating is that after the first meeting you can just say "I'm sorry, but it's not right." There is only so much you can tell through emails- yes, you might be attracted to their pictures (of course, they are the best pictures of them, so if you're not attracted to them at their best you're sure as hell not going to be attracted to them at their worst), and they might seem awesome in emails, but eventually you have to meet them. There is something to be said in those first few minutes, meeting someone face-to-face for the first time. Either it's awkward, or it's like you're meeting up with an old friend. If it's awkward, I'm sorry, but I really don't want to see that person again. I feel awkward all the time. Like this:

So I don't, ideally, want to feel this way with my significant other. Which is why I think that should be an online dating rule. I feel horrible about never wanting to see someone again, even if they are the most atrocious person alive, I feel bad. So I think I should have the right to say to this person: I'm sorry, dude, obviously you have a great personality because I wanted to go out on a date with you, but I'm just not feeling it. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? Is saying that going to make the bitch of the online dating world? 

So, here is what I intend on doing. First, I need to take some recent pictures of myself. Because I'm not one for pictures; the entire time that Lord Milquetoast and I were together, seven years, we maybe had ten pictures. Maybe. I had none with Signor Nookie. I'm not a big picture person; my biological father used to take pictures of me ALL THE TIME. And it just got annoying. So I'm not a big picture person. Not that I think I'm horribly, grotesquely ugly, but, you know, I'm one of those people that need an occasion to take a picture. 

Anyways, pictures. So of course there will be pictures where I look good, but there will be either dates or the length of time that has passed since the picture was taken. I will take one picture of me without makeup, so they know what, if things go well, I look like in the morning or at night. And, if this is not the picture where I look worst, then another picture where I think I look terrible. 

In addition, I plan on giving a pros and cons list about myself. 

Pros: 

• I think I'm a pretty decent, kind person. 
• I'm honest to a fault. 
• I got great tits and a fantastic ass. 
• I consider myself hilarious. 
• I'm creative: I sew, I crochet, I write. 
• I'll try anything once.
• I'm becoming an expert crock pot cook. 
• I'm very open and I trust easily. 

Cons: 

• I'm honest to a fault (because yes, that's both a pro and a con) 
• I have a bit of a temper. Mostly if I'm lost. I HATE being lost. 
• My biggest pet peeve is repeating myself more than once or asking people to repeat themselves more than once. 
• I talk to myself, which some find irritating. 
• I'm very open and I trust easily, but if you give me a reason not to it's hard for me to regain trust in the person. 
• I'm more of a homebody than a go-out adventurous type, which seems like I'm lazy (and sometimes I am) but I am doing things around the house. 

Something like that. I think it's important to be able to point out your faults, and to let the person know what they're in for, so they have an idea of what they're in for. 

How my ex's wedding brought about the end of Sir Riddle.

I haven't written in a while, and for that my loyal readers I apologize. But I have news, big news, and because I found out just after my last post, I knew I couldn't write until I had made it public.

I AM LEAVING THE INFERNO.

I got a new job with a conglomerate insurance company. Out of hundreds of applicants, they picked me, little ol' Miss Mused, to be their new Associate Claims Specialist. They have a cafeteria. They have a gym. They are about three miles away from where I currently work. They are paying me $6,000 more a year. They have better insurance. And the best part? The job outlook. In my interview, they told me that after a year in the department that I'm going to be in, about 90% of the people move to other departments within the company, and they have a whole computer program dedicated to showing you how to get to the position you want. Whoever is up there, thank you for leading me to this job.

So, today I finally got the go-ahead from the conglomerate insurance company, let's call them Car Bang Smash from here on out because conglomerate insurance company is a type-full, to give my notice at work. And Lady Craft and myself as well, we were pretty excited for this moment. Because about a month and a half ago, I had this little meeting with my higher-ups where they told me that, although NO ONE ELSE at the Inferno has had to wait this long for a promotion, I would have to wait another year and a half (which would put me at the seven year mark) until I could look at maybe getting a promotion. And I decided, no, I'm not going to do that. I have waited long enough. Do I need more money now, or in a year and a half? Um, now thank you. And I went out there and got it. So there.

But the thing that REALLY pisses me off is that all my bosses and their bosses are like "Are you sure?" AM I SURE? Let's see, in case you need a little bit of a recap:
-More money.
-Better insurance coverage.
-Job outlook that kicks current job's ass.
-A gym right in the building.
-A cafeteria.
-More single guys than the 50-year-old awkward IT guy and the cute IT guy that's my age that I've never been able to ask out (in theory).
To those people, I make this face:

Or some variation of it.

Like seriously, that is like asking, "Hey, Dante, would you like to get out of hell and go to be with your beloved in heaven?"

UM, YES PLEASE.

The CFO cornered me at lunch and said how sorry she was to be hearing my news, asked if I was sure, and when I brought up the job outlook argument she just wrote it off as that the Inferno is a small community company, and can't give me the promotions I crave.

Really now? Because EVERYONE I can think of who does not just get hired at a super high position in the company has been promoted. And earlier than seven years. So there, biotch.

So, I'm excited is the short and skinny of that story.

Anyways, this weekend, I went to my ex's wedding.

WHAT A FUCKING FIASCO.

You know, I had this super delirious pipe dream where it all went well, and there had been nothing to worry about.

The next time I feel this way, I plan on sticking my head in an oven. Although my oven is electric, I need to find a way where this will get me to come to my senses.

First, the wedding was in the next town over from where I work, and I thought to myself, nothing to worry about. I do the courier run to other locations for the Inferno, one of which is in this town, and I know it fairly well, and I figured, how hard can it be?

I could cut my goddamn tongue out, the section of brain, that said or thought that.

The first problem was that the invitation did not give a specific address. It just said "Hope Plains Road ext." And I thought to myself, I didn't know there was an extension on that road...

That's because there isn't a fucking extension on that road.

So, I take off at 12:45 PM, which is a completely respectable time to get to a place that only takes 20 minutes to get to, for a 1:30 PM exchange of the nuptials.

IT TOOK ME AN HOUR AND A HALF.

I kid you not, I'm driving around this godforsaken town, trying to find this motherfucking Fish and Game Preserve where the ceremony is being held, and I am about to lose my fucking mind looking for it. I am trying, with my GPS, to come at this Hope Plains Road in every direction to possible. I'm beginning to think that it's like platform 12 3/4 in the Harry Potter books. Or that you have to enter the road a certain way, the sun being in a certain position in the sky, in order to be able to see this magic road extension to enter the preserve, except that it is POURING, of course it's pouring. Or maybe there's some guy that has one of those flaps that looks exactly like just trees, that when you give him the secret password, he lifts the flap and there is the extension, the Narnia-like extension to this goddamn road.

So, I call the police station. The non-emergency line, of course, and I start crying I'm so frustrated, and the woman is so nice, and she tells me it's 400 Hope Plains Road. And I type it into my GPS and my GPS alerts me that this is an unpaved road, ok to continue?

And that's when I realize. I PASSED THIS FUCKING ROAD FORTY-FIVE MINUTES AGO. I got to the "end" of Terry Plains Road, and there is this gravel road, with two mailboxes on the end of it, and I think, well that's gotta be a residential driveway.

Big ol' NOPE on that. It's the entrance to the game preserve! So, up I drive. And I almost hit a couple deer jumping across the road driving the mile and half this gravel road is. I KID YOU NOT. I mean, seriously, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

I park right by the front door. I see all these cars parked haphazardly all over the fucking place, and I think, no way. Not after all I've been through today. I may highjack the limo to get home. But wait, there is no limo, because this is one big ol' redneck wedding if I ever did see one. And I park that fucking car of mine and I get out, and I realize they are taking pictures. Like, the wedding pictures, and here I am running in the background of them. And I'm mouthing to my ex how sorry I am, and his friends, the people I was friends with seven years ago, are just gaping at me like a bunch of apes.

So I get inside and it's sticky hot in there. And I'm desperately looking for my seat placement card so I can just sit the fuck down, and this shit is all messed up, I put my measly card and $50 check in with their presents (which I now see was above and beyond what my seat must have cost) and ask the DJ where the placement cards are.

He tells me, oh, they're outside, with your wedding favor, but they're taking pictures out there and then we're introducing the wedding party, so you'll have to wait until after that.

KILL ME FUCKING NOW. Please, get me a gun, the same one that you used to kill all these taxidermied animals that litter your wall, and just shoot me.

So I wait around. And some people come up to me. Some of them know who I am and try to act like they didn't abandon me seven years ago, that we're the best of friends. Others have no idea who I am, which I find incredible since I haven't gained or lost an exorbitant amount of weight, the major differences being my hair (it was blonde when they last saw me, and now it's my natural dark brown/black, and I have bangs), and I have glasses now. They ask me how I know the couple. I say, well I used to date the groom, and we went to school for four years together. And then there is the head tilt, the flicker of recognition, and the gasp. Either way, their reactions are the same:

What are you doing here? (That's right, inflection on the you)

I mean, I still don't know how to respond to that. Here is what I went with:

I was invited? So I came? (Why else would I be here? I'm holding some candle for the groom and missed my opportunity?)

I'm standing by the bar, trying to get a goddamn drink A DRINK goddammit, I'm about to lap up the spilled ones on the bar, when the introductions are made. Which, I had no idea this was a thing as I have not too many weddings I attend or am invited to, leads into the first dance. And their first song is a country song, of course it is, with lyrics that could give you cancer if you paid attention to them, they're so sickening. I'm trying not to laugh, because I had no idea my ex liked country. In fact, I hated it, and I think he may have pretended to hate it too.

Oh, I haven't mentioned the best part. The bar is right in line with the dance floor. And they're taking pictures. Which means, that's right, I'm in the pictures. Because if it's not enough the people think I'm late because I just couldn't bear to see my ex get married, I gotta ruin all his pictures too.

FUCK MY LIFE.

Finally, I run outside and get my placement card which is attached to a mason jar with a hole in the top which is how you get your alcoholic beverages, which I immediately fill with the apple pie moonshine (redneck, I really was not joking) and go inside to find my table.

Oh, c'mon now, I should have known this by now. NONE OF THE GODDAMN, MOTHERFUCKING TABLES ARE NUMBERED.

I'm beginning to think, at this point, that the bride has a deep-seeded prejudiced against numbers. Their child, who is a toddler, will probably never have a birthday party where they disclose his age, since that's a number. People will be like: "How old is he?" and she'll be like "Numbers aren't important. We're not a number family. What the fuck did numbers ever do for us? Pft, numbers. Idiot." No phone numbers. They're rednecks so maybe they'll live so far out in the boonies that they won't have a house number so that people won't be able to find that place either. Age, time, weight, height, all these things will be rendered unimportant in this family.

So I'm reduced to asking complete strangers (because I will be DAMNED if I'm going to ask my former friends for direction, fuck them) what table they are sitting at. I finally find my table. Table five.

Table five is the misfit table. The singles table. Although it's not singles table because they didn't have the choice. I was not granted the special permission. These people were all given the option at least. I would have brought ANYONE. I would have brought Madam Sage and acted like a lesbian if it had gotten me a date.

Oh, and this table. All former friends.

I sit down, and this girl that used to date a guy, let's call him Jack, who I'm still cordial with, is sitting across from me. And she first pretends like she doesn't know me. And then I ask her how things with Jack are.

And her friend next to her snaps "Don't ask her about that, they aren't together anymore."

Ok, bitch, you listen here. It has taken me an hour and a half to find this fucking place, another twenty minutes to find this table, I haven't seen these people in seven years and I have nothing, literally NOTHING else to talk to them about except for this very aged information I knew from seven years ago. You should congratulate me for remembering this, it's so trivial and non-important in my life. So I give up on making conversation. I text Sir Riddle, who true to form, does not respond until I am home crying about my pathetic life, an approximate six hours later. More about him later.

I make a comment about how difficult it was to find the locale we currently have the pleasure of experiencing, and the same girl says "Oh, the bride posted the directions on Facebook."

I'm sorry, Facebook? Who would have thought to look there? I mean, what are we, going to a sixteenth birthday party? This is your fucking wedding, put the fucking directions in your fucking invitations. Oh, and maybe put the ADDRESS to the fucking place on your FUCKING invitations. Goddamn.

I mean, these people don't know what to do with me either. And I don't blame them. I would just rather not make conversation is all. It's just hard not to. This girl that I was friends with through my ex, who is also sitting at my table (for obvious reasons to me, because I don't know who the hell could put up with her) says to me that when she met the bride she just knew she was the one for my ex.

I'm not sure if this is a dig. I'm pretty sure it is. But I just smile, take a long drink of moonshine, and say that they make a beautiful couple, and I'm sure she's a wonderful person.

Anyways, the only one, legitimately the only one who makes a point to talk to me, is this guy Diego (true name withheld). Now, to give you some background, back in the day I was a bit of a matchmaker. And I was pretty good at it. Because both couples that I set up are now married. Too bad they were douches and dropped me like a brain-damaged baby when my ex and I broke up. Diego spends a good hour talking to me and it's a natural conversation, he makes me feel like I belong, and it's so nice to feel like you have a friend when you so clearly don't.

I'm looking around for Jack. He is in the wedding party, he's the only one that when I see him out I say hi and we talk. And he is nowhere to be found.

Well, technically speaking, this isn't true. He is under the deck drinking, because he is broken up about his ex (the girl I was sitting across from at the table) being at the wedding, they haven't seen each other in a year and he didn't know she was going to be here until this morning.

And, I can't help it, I laugh. I tell him if anyone should feel completely disjointed and out of place, it's me, and I don't care. I mean, it sucks not having someone to pair up with at the wedding and share private laughs and tag along with, but hey, it's a couple hours out of my life that I can give up to show my ex that I love (not in that way) him and support him.

Finally, time to go home. I get my mason jar, now filled and emptied about half a dozen times by this cutie of a bartender with tattoos and pin-up makeup on her, my s'mores and I say goodbye to the bride, tell her she looks beautiful, hug my ex, who has almost gone out of his way not to talk to me or acknowledge my presence since I arrived, because how could you NOT acknowledge some girl running in the back of your pictures and hour after you exchanged your vows. I tell him I love him, I tell him that I'm happy for him (and legitimately I am, and I NEVER say that if I don't mean it). He says I know, I know, I get in my car and blow this redneck-dead-animals-on-a-stick-stand. And I almost clobber another two deers, probably the same two that I almost hit coming in, they're just fucking with me now.

Anyways, I start crying on the way home. And it's not that I'm jealous in a way that I want to be with him, but I think of where I saw my life when I was sixteen, how I wanted to have this great job and be married to someone who loves me and have a son, and he's got (as far as I'm aware) two out of the three (they're dead broke, so I can't imagine the job he has is anything that great). I just want to be someone's someone. And that makes me cry. I sit there and I think about it. What am I doing wrong? Where did I go astray? Why can't I make it work, with anyone? And I think about how it felt seven years ago, when I woke up one morning and every single friend I had was no longer there for me. And that makes me cry even more. I just keep asking, what's wrong with me?

And I'm mad. I'm mad that I'm crying and that I have no one to comfort me. That I can't just call Sir Riddle whenever I want comforting, whenever I need him. And it's not fair, and I know that it's all my fault for getting into this situation again (again, again).

Last week, Sir Riddle made this comment. He's going on a cruise with Mrs. Riddle in November and he says: "Maybe by the time we get back she'll be ready to ask me for a divorce."

That's the comment I'm thinking about on the way home, with all this other shit swirling around my head. That's the comment I'm thinking about when I climb into bed and when I wake up the next morning. Because, if he's waiting for her to ask him for a divorce, he's going to be waiting for a while. And I'm not waiting for someone who's waiting because they don't have a spine to do it themselves.

And, I realize the next day, as I'm getting ready to drive to Lady Craft's house, that I've known this the whole time. I have known that he was not strong enough to ask her himself.

So I text him and tell him that I need to ask him a question. I ask him if he is waiting for Mrs. Riddle to ask for a divorce.

And he gives me this really smoke-in-mirrors answer (which I call talking in mirrors), that he knows he'll probably have to ask for one eventually, but "things" have to happen first.

I am unsure, and still am unsure after all of this, what these "things" are. Could be the end to all war. Could be the equality of homosexual marriage. Could be the second coming of Christ. Could be him getting a surgical steel spine. Not sure.

Anyways, I tell him that I'm not sure that this answer is good enough for me anymore. And it almost seems to me, then and now, that he has been waiting for this opportunity. Because he responds a bit too quickly that he's not sure how to respond and what else to tell me anymore. So I just decide, this is for the best, and I give him exactly what he seems to be asking for.

I say those fateful words: Well, I guess there is nothing left to say.

And he says: You'll always have a place in my heart, Miss Mused.

This, these words, they INFURIATE me. Yeah, sure thing, that's why you're so EAGER to get this whole shebang over with, you wasted my goddamn time because you knew full fucking well you weren't going to ask your fucking wife for a divorce, you spineless coward. After a couple texts of him not responding, which I cannot fucking stand and which he knows full well I can't stand, I tell him: We never spend time together. We never can talk. You say "things" but I don't know what these illustrious "things" are, and furthermore I don't know if they are bullshit, but since you won't talk to me you obviously don't care so I'm deleting you from my life. Have a good divorce and life after that.

Two good things that came from Sir Riddle: I got rid of my live-in boyfriend thinking we would be together, and I will never again be sleeping or giving the time of day to a married man.

The thing is, I have so much hope. That's gotta count for something, right? I have so much love, I just want to find someone that I can give it to and can trust, because I am HORRIBLE at setting myself up with someone, obviously.

Well, there it is. How my ex's wedding brought about the end of Sir Riddle.

And the thing is, I'm ok. I think because I always knew it would never be. Maybe it hasn't hit me yet...I'm just going to pretend I'm ok and hope my heart catches on...