Pink Sheets

Thursday, September 30, 2004

My Boyfriend

Alright, here's one of my older posts. It was originally posted on August 19th.

I hate saying and using this term, "my boyfriend". Brian is my boyfriend. My boyfriend Brian. I'm not exactly sure why I'm not fond of the phrase but I believe it has something to do with the possessive tone. He's my boyfriend. He's actually not mine. If he were he would have to do everything that I said and to my dismay he does not. In fact, the other day he tried to coach me on how to order someone to do something and still be polite. He said that I didn't correctly tell him close the car window. And there's more to the conversation, but I won't go into it. The point is he isn't my possession. He is actually his own person.

Maybe I don't like saying "my boyfriend" because it sounds so juvenile. Like we're in high school or something. My boyfriend is soooo cute, he's to die for. High school girls are always talking about their boyfriends. My boyfriend this, my boyfriend that. I just can't stand to call him that in a conversation with people at work.

For awhile, when I met new people I wouldn't say "my boyfriend Brian", I would simply refer to him as Brian. That caused mass confusion. People then assumed he was my husband. I hate using the term "my boyfriend", but not as much as I hate having to correct people by telling them that, "no Brian is not my husband, he's my boyfriend".

Side note: I once had to use this exact sentence while speaking with my father. Now that is infuriating. He knows we're not married. My God! It makes me enraged to think of this incident even now.Okay, my rant is over.

I don't hate to correct people because I want him as something more than a boyfriend and I don't refuse to call him my boyfriend because I want something less than a boyfriend, I just wish there was something else to say. I suppose there's a few other terms of endearment but I don't prefer any of those either. I'm stuck with my boyfriend. Life could be worse.

About Nothing

The other day I was thinking about posting some of my old posts from my other blog that has been closed down. I like some of the things I wrote on Still A Pretty Girl. It was an okay blog. I received a lot of flack for the name, but it was mostly from ugly girls with self-esteem issues. Regardless, I deleted the blog posts and replaced them with a cool pic. Now I don’t write there anymore and have since moved to a way cooler place. Here.

Anyway, the whole point of my other blog was to irritate. The point of this blog is to write about anything. Or nothing, whatever the case may be. I had a few posts that weren’t to irritate on Pretty Girl, so I think I may re-use them. While I was thinking about this I was also thinking about how annoying it was that I had to make such a drastic change because of bunch of (insert bad name here). I am actually thinking of a specific name, but I don't really want to write it down. It's just stupid. And kind of bad. Anyway, after I thought the unkind thought I remembered the movie I where I came across the phrase. Bring It On.

I love this movie. I’m not sure why. I know I’m almost thirty and this movie is mainly for teenage girls and dirty old men. But, I really like it. So I decided to update my profile and put my favorite movies and music. I was going to do this sometime ago, but I decided I didn’t want certain people knowing so much about me. Now I it’s updated. I also didn’t realize that your favorites link to other people whom also have the same favorites. That’s actually pretty cool.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

I Knew It

You are Lucy!

Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by

Artistic? Whatever!

You are naturally born with a gift, whether it be
poetry, writing or song. You love beauty and
creativity, and usually are highly intelligent.
Others view you as mysterious and dreamy, yet
also bold since you hold firm in your beliefs.

What Type of Soul Do You Have ?
brought to you by Quizilla

Friday, September 24, 2004

Love Notes

Wednesday, I packed up Riley and Darby’s lunch for school and decided it would be nice if I left Riley a little note in his bag telling him to have a good day. I found a purple post-it note and wrote, “Riley, I hope your having a good day. Love, Mom.” I put a little sticker on it for an added touch and placed it on top of his mandarin oranges.

When I picked them up for school I noticed Riley had the purple post-it note in his hand. When we reached the car he exclaims, “why did you leave me a love note?!”

I answered, “because I thought you would like it. Didn’t you like it?”

He tells me that I should have left Darby a note too. Why hadn’t I left Darby a note?

I explained that she can’t read, so I only left him a note this time.

He told me, “she could have taken it to her teacher. I showed my teacher mine.”

“What did your teacher say.”

“She said, ‘ooh, how sweet!’”

It’s always surprising to me the way kids react to things you do for them. Especially when it’s out of the ordinary. Most of the time they hate change to their routine, but every once in awhile you find that one gesture that can brighten their day.

Thursday, September 23, 2004

Working Late

I hate working late. Yes, I realize that I arrived an hour later than I anticipated but I don't understand why I have to stay late. I think I should be able to come in late and still leave at the same time without retribution. I wish that I only worked 6 hour days. That would be perfect. Who came up with 8 hours anyway? Who's idea with this? I'm not sure I was really meant to work this long. Okay, I have a pretty easy job, but I still hate working late. It sucks.

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Man or Wimp?

I read an article awhile back called Meet the Wimpster by Rachel Elder. In the article is a quiz you can take to find out if your man is in fact a “whimpster”. I decided to take the quiz. Some of the questions are pretty ambiguous and it was difficult to chose from the options provided. I did my best to pick the most relevant answer in regards to Brian and to my relief I found he is not a wimpster.

His results are as follows:

8-to-13 points: Regular Guy Mandude. In the land of stereotypes, Guy Mandude is the blueprint for all hetero males, unable to wash a toilet if the Super Bowl depended on it, immune to displays of emotion and right there on the dull edge of what's hip or cool.

I don’t believe this description is entirely accurate, but I’m glad to know he isn’t a wimpy guy. I didn’t think he was very wimpy, but I’ve never really tried to categorize him either. Regular Guy Mandude. I can live with. It is true he would never clean the toilet. I think that has more to do with the fact that he thinks it’s completely disgusting and maybe even a little beneath him to perform such a task than anything to do with it being unmanly.

Does that make him sound prissy? Nah, just snobby. He is a tad bit snobby at times. Snobbish doesn’t sound very manly. What is wrong with him? Why can’t he just be a stereotypical male, like his description from the quiz. What the heck. I thought these quizzes were suppose to be completely accurate and precise. Oh well, I suppose he can just be Brian. I like that best anyway.

Monday, September 20, 2004

I Hate Stories Involving Toilets

Brian told me the most disgusting story this weekend. I’m haunted by the image every time I walk into a bathroom stall.

He was at school last week taking care of business, if you know what I mean. He noticed someone walked past his stall and entered the one next to his. Didn’t think much of it. Then he heard his neighbor unbuckle his belt. Still, not too much thought was put into the activities next door. That’s when, immediately following, he heard a horrible noise. A noise he described as this person’s butt exploding. He thought this was pretty gross, but whatever. A person’s got to do what a person’s got to do.

He then noticed the horrific smell and looked down to see shit splatters around his toilet. Brian’s toilet, not the other guy’s toilet. He was paranoid that some may have splattered on him. How horrible would it be to go into class with someone else’s crap all over you? Even after he sat down in his seat he was not completely confident that none had landed on him. He made it through the class, luckily, without discovering anything that would embarrass him.

After class he went to the bathroom to wash his hands. (Why he went to the same bathroom, I don’t know. I think I personally would have steered clear of that place the rest of the day.) Anyway, he went to wash his hands and said the smell still lingered in the air. He just couldn’t let go of the entire incident and, in fact, was curious as to the damage caused by the explosion. So he walked back to the stall and opened the door. He said he had never seen anything like it before. He didn’t know that could happen. There was shit everywhere. On the wall, the back of the toilet, the floor. Everywhere. The thought makes me want to vomit.

He said eventually the bathroom was cleaned. He knew this because he went back yet again before he left for the day, but he claims to be somewhat scarred by the entire debacle.

I'm sure that he isn't going to like that I've written about this, but I'm somewhat scarred by the details. I was going to write something about the book I'm in the process of reading, but exploding asses seems like a much better topic.

Friday, September 10, 2004

Just Venting

I started a new position recently. Same company, different department. The person whom I am replacing moved to a new position in a department that works very closely with mine. It’s been a blessing, actually, to have him so close. It’s been really easy to go around the corner to ask him about certain tasks and have him look at obscure situations that I deal with daily.

When I first began the position, I told Brian that this person is somewhat of a weirdo. He was always looking at my breasts. I don’t even have large breasts and it’s actually a rare occurrence for someone to be fixated on this part of my body. He told me that I shouldn’t think anything of it. That some people look elsewhere on a person to avoid eye contact. Maybe he was looking at my necklace. This made sense to me so I ignored the staring at my breasts.

Soon I began to realize that it wasn’t just the breasts he was looking at. He would do a once over every time I walked into a room or into his office. I thought I was just imaging the whole thing. Why would he look at me like that? People don’t do that. I was fine with playing dumb and ignoring the situation.

One day, a co-worker Tammy, came up and asked if I felt like he, whom shall remain nameless, was always checking me out or staring at me. I told her I did feel like that sometimes and she concurred. She has been receiving the exact same looks of lust. Just kidding. The looks are of creepiness. Anyway, we started to discuss this topic often and I started to think that we both were imaging the intensity of the situation by talking about it all the time. So we laid off and went back to ignoring it. One of the things that really helped me was to just look away when I noticed the staring. Then I could still talk to him with out feeling uncomfortable. (Plus, everyone else says he’s harmless, which I still believe to be true.)

Then one day he said something that made me want to jump out of my skin. I have this short, purple skirt I wear every once in awhile. It’s not terribly short but slightly above the knee. He stuck his head over my office wall and exclaimed, “oh! Your wearing a skirt!” Now this normally wouldn’t be bothersome except for the fact that I wear a skirt everyday. Why did he say that? It was too disturbing to even describe. Ooooh, your wearing a skirt.

This is when I began avoiding him. I started to utilize other co-workers as resources to my questions. This has helped a little, except for the fact he is always sticking his head over my office-cube wall to talk with me and stare at me. I hate it.

One day he even told me that I was cute when I was bossy. Brian teases me about this and I find the whole thing disturbing. Another incident recently occurred that made me want to disappear. This situation was mainly my fault. I was messing around on the internet and clicking on the blog links that take you to the next blog. I hit the link, minimized my screen and started doing something else. That’s when I heard a gasp from over the wall and he was there exclaiming, “what is that?!” To my horror it was a picture of a naked woman just sitting there taking up my entire screen.

Why? Why did that happen? It’s possibly the most humiliating thing I have ever experienced. He acts as if it’s an invitation from me to be a pervert now. I can’t stand this.

I’m a little worked up right now and occasionally it’s not this bad. Usually when I dismiss his comments and act irritated by him things begin to die down. Of course, once I begin to act normal they start up again. That’s okay,I just wish he would quit with the creepiness already. When he’s not being a total jerk he’s a really nice and funny person. He’s actually fun to be around, when he isn’t staring.

Brian doesn’t seem to take the perversity of the situation seriously. He just says that he must not be able to hide it as well as other people. I know I’m probably overreacting and I’m sure I’ll get over it. I just needed to vent a little.

Friday, September 03, 2004


I was listening to the radio this morning and one of the local shows has people email in their problems or an issue they are having in regards to everyday life. The DJ’s then give advice about the problems in question as well as have people call in to offer opinions. This morning the discussion was about how a woman found other women’s phone numbers on her boyfriend’s phone. She actually called the other women and told them to never contact her boyfriend again. The question she was asking is whether she should come clean to her boyfriend about what she had done. This made me think about mine and Brian’s relationship and jealousy.

Jealousy is a characteristic that I hate to admit that I have, but I have it nonetheless. I would never brag or boast about the fact that I am a jealous person, it’s an ugly word. This word is synonymous with possessive, envious, and suspicious. I don’t want to be associated with these words. Recently I have felt jealous. Particularly when I heard of some girl emailing Brian to “hang out” sometime and telling him that she “really wants to see him”.
Side note: I found out about the email because he told me, not because I was snooping.

Upon first hearing of the email I wasn’t upset at all. He said that a girl in his class whom he had been talking to, emailed him and asked him to go to lunch. He said he didn’t want to upset me so he told me about the email and never responded to her. Okay, that sounds innocent enough. I’m not upset about a harmless email asking Brian to lunch. There isn’t anything wrong with that.

Besides, he didn’t go and he told me about it. There’s nothing to be upset about.
That’s when I started to get curious and I did snoop, a little. I went in his email account and read the email. The wording was not exactly how he portrayed it to be. I was expecting something like, “hey, haven’t seen you in awhile. Just wondering if you want to get a bite to eat sometime.” That would be completely harmless. Of course, that’s not what it said. What it said was something like wanting to see him again soon, and hoping they could hang out sometime. She also apologized for not writing sooner, blah, blah, blah. I was irritated, jealous if you will. Jealous in the possessive sense. Hello!!! Brian is my boyfriend. She supposedly has her own boyfriend. She should “hang out” with him. What the hell?

Of course, I’m completely annoyed by the email and I had to complain to Brian about why I’m upset. The whole incident is ridiculous, I know. I’m bitching about this email he didn’t even respond to. I know how insane it all seems, but I can’t help it.

This has happened before. My getting mad over something that didn’t even happen. Brian’s ex has this insipid blog that I can’t seem to quit reading. Anyway, she once wrote about a time when she called Brian or emailed him (I can’t remember) and asked him to go over to her apartment to “pretend” like everything was okay, like they weren’t broken up. She also wrote that he never actually came over and then some other nonsense about how she was glad he didn’t. *Eyes rolling* I just sat there and thought how stupid and desperate she sounded. And then I was wondering “why didn’t he go over there?” I thought of all of these reasons he wouldn’t have gone, such as her changing her mind and telling him not to and I became enraged. I then demanded that he tell me exactly what happened. Which he did. He explained that he told her that didn’t sound like a good idea to him and that he wouldn’t go over there. He said that he didn’t want anything to mess up what we had. He never told me because nothing came of it, which I understand. For some reason reading about the incident in her blog incensed me.

I’m not sure why I can’t stop these feelings from consuming me. I don’t believe that Brian is cheating on me. That’s not to say that I believe he would never cheat on me. I just am confident he isn’t now. Maybe I get jealous because of the possibility that he might. I know that doesn’t make sense and is probably unhealthy. Brian talks about a trust box. I don’t know what exactly it entails, I would have to have him draw it for me again. Basically, you can trust someone who is trustworthy, not trust someone who is trustworthy, trust someone who is untrustworthy or not trust someone who is untrustworthy. (I think.) So the only good relationship comes from the first option. The other ones are bad.

So am I destroying our relationship by not trusting someone who is trustworthy? I don't believe that's the situation. Brian is trustworthy. I think that my little moments of anger are just that. Little moments. I don't distrust Brian. I have no reason to. I just get angry when a girl takes an exorbitant amount of interest in him. So girls should just learn to lay off. Duh! Anyway, there's my rant on being jealous when it comes to Brian. I'm actually not a possesive person. I just don't like to share.