Inverse Candlelight

Chariot of Crap

Check Engine Light: HI! HI! LOOK AT ME! I'M ON! Orange! Orange! Orange!
Me: Shh.
CEL: Pay attention to meeeeeeeeee!!!!!
Me: Hush. Go away.
CEL: Still here! Better check that engine, cause I'm the check engine light, and I am ON, BABY!
Me: La la la la la.
CEL: Okay, maybe I'll go away.
Me: Oh good.
CEL: PSYCH! Still on! Check me, check me, check me OUT HERE I AM, WOOT!!!!!
Me: Wah.

So yeah, my check engine light is on. Frabjulous. This probably means nothing, right? RIGHT??? I mean, it's a loose wire, it's a glitch in the Matrix, it's just teasing me, it's a KIA, and that's barely a real car, anyway, and the engine is made of lollypops and unicorn glitter, and it just wants to be recognized for all the hard work it does, right??? I recognize you, engine! I love you! Please don't be broken, my little KIA of joy and traveling. Please, I can't handle that right now.

Check Engine Light: Listen, I know you've had a RILLY bad week, and that you're still terribly sad and incredibly angry, and everything absolutely BLOWS right now, and you need me to take you to get more Kleenex and ice cream, but I...am on. You should do something about that. Sorry to be an attention hog, but...Pay attention to me. For realsies.
Me: SOB.

You see, not only can I not afford to have anything wrong with my car, but I simply cannot bring it in to be repaired because my car is The Place Where All Crap Goes To Die. Seriously, my car is jam packed with so much CRAP that really should not be in a car, or anywhere except a dumpster, but I just...don't clean it. I don't clean my car! THAT'S what the light probably means, it means "Check the engine, the only place that isn't covered in books and cds and empty cigarette packs and Red Bull cans, because it simply will not tote you around anymore until you clean up that STY that you call the "back seat."

Check Engine Light: PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE pay attention to me!
Me: I'll tell my daddy.
CEL: Your dad's a mechanic now?
Me: Well, not technically, but that's what girls do when their check engine lights go on, right?
CEL: Did you hear that?
Me: What?
CEL: That was the sound of a million feminists groaning.
Me: I'm calling my daddy. He'll get rid of you.
CEL: I'm here! I'm orange! I'm shining on like a crazy diamond!!!!
Me: Wibble. This is all a plot to make me clean the car, isn't it.
CEL: May? Be? Or maybe I'm fixin' to EXPLODE!!!!!
Me: Well at least I wouldn't have to clean you then.
CEL: You're hopeless.

Common Sense Steps In

*BAM! BAM BAM BAM!!!*
Me: What in the holy fu-
*BAM!*
Me: What are you doing?
Common Sense: Who, me? *BAM!!!*
Me: Yes, you. What in the name of Merlin's boxer briefs are you DOING?
Common Sense: I'm kicking your ass. *BAM*
Me: YES, I can SEE that you're kicking my ass. May I be so bold as to ask WHY you are kicking my ass?
CS: Cause you need to go. *BAM!*
Me: OW! Okay, what? Where do I need to go? Will you STOPPIT?
CS: No. I simply cannot. *BLAMMO!!*
Me: GodDAMMIT, where the hell do I need to go so damn bad?
CS: On. With. Your. Life. GO THERE. *BLAM!*
Me: On...with my life. Yeah, I was trying to avoid that.
CS: I KNOW. That's why *I* am here. To kick your ass back into your life. C'mon.
Me: I don't want to talk about it.
CS: I know. And I know you're sad. Sad as hell. And ANGRY. Furious! Congrats on not smashing all the dishes last night.
Me: Heh. Yeah, I really wanted to do that.
CS: Well, as the one who would have cleaned it up, I'm muy glad you didn't.
Me: Would have been spectacular.
CS: Would have been sharp. You don't do well with sharp. No emergency rooms for you, missy.
Me: Yeah, yeah, the dishes are safe.
CS: Look. You have amazing friends. You have people, dude. People who love you, people who are gonna get you through this. But you have to want it. And if that means I have to kick *BAM!* your white tattooed ass *BLAM!!!* all the way there, so be it. But you're GOING to get through this, and I won't *BAM* hear anything more in the matter.
Me: FINE! Fine. Just...stop KICKING.
CS: Get back to being funny, the internet has had it, Miss Gloom and Doom.
Me: I'm still gonna be sad. AND angry.
CS: That's fine. But you're also gonna get moving. Even if I have to kick you the whole way.
Me: Duly noted.

so many thanks to everyone who left such lovely comments. I love y'all, I really do.

Wordless.

The Pieces

Doing what I'm supposed to do. Moving. Doing. Writing. Cleaning up, throwing away things that are too emotionally charged to keep around, re-claiming other things as "mine" not "ours." Tag-teaming a snark-fest with Amber about reality tv. Things I used to do before the rug was pulled out. Yes. This is normal, this is what I'm supposed to be doing. Very good.

The tears still come at random moments, not weeping and gnashing teeth, but two trails down my face that take their sweet time stopping. They'll stop, eventually, I know. But I'm not waiting for that to happen today.

Friends make me laugh, share in my pain, are just THERE, which is more than I could ever ask for. I am so grateful for friends that words to describe just can't suffice.

But under it all is an angry cacophony of self-loathing, of confusion, of the eternal "why" that can't be answered.

"How are you?" I am asked.

I feel like an asshole, an idiot, a chump, a fool.

That will pass too, I'm sure. But not today.

Shock.

Breakups happen all the time. People find out they've been cheated on all the time. Finding yourself single and on your own again happens all the time. Broken hearts happen all the time.

Today, it's my time.

I'm not going to pull down the blog entries with him in them. That would make the whole thing disappear, and I need to have it right here to learn from it. To remind myself it's not my fault he cheated, that somehow, this was meant to happen this way, even though I can't for the life of me figure out why.

One chapter ends, another begins. Alone? Very well then. Alone.

Invasion!!!!!!!

Fruit Fly: Bzz.
Me: Ahh! What are you doing here?
Fruit Fly: Remember those peaches you were totally gonna eat?
Me: Oh god.
FF: The ones on top of the refrigerator?
Me: Oh no.
FF: The ones that liquified?
Me: OH SHIT.
FF: I'd like to introduce myself and my extended family.
Me: No. NO NO NO NO NO.
FF: Oh yes. We're here, missy, and we're here to stay.
Me: I'll be good goddamned if that's what's going to happen.
FF: Your pathetic warnings do nothing. Bzz.
Me: *runs to kitchen, flings bag of liquified peaches in garbage, swats eleventy million fruit flies, swears blue streak, sprays everything with Febreze, Clorox Wipes counters, swears some more.
FF: That's adorable. You really think we're going anywhere? Here, let cousin George say hello.
Me: AHHHHH! It's on my EYELASHES!!!!!
FF: We're just saying hello, damn, woman.
Me: OUT! Out of my home! OUT, YOU BASTARDS!!!!!
FF: But we just moved in!
Me: Everyone out! It's moving day! *grabs garbage bag, cloud of fruitflies swarm out*
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!
FF: Aw, you found the family reunion! Hey, Dale, what's good in the garbage?
Me: This is disgusting. This is all due to the goddamn humidity. That's it, I'm getting the big guns out.
FF: You're never getting rid of us.
Me: Oh yeah? *flourishes can of RAID*
FF: Um, whatcha got there?
Me: Say goodbye to the family reunion. *SPRAY!*
FF: Nooooooo! Granny!!!!!!
Me: Goodbye, Mr. Fly. Take your pestilence with you. TO HELL. *SPRAY!!!!!*
FF: ACK! COUGH! Granny! I'm coming, granny!!! *thud*
Me: *crouches behind table, Raid at the ready, giving garbage can the hairy eyeball*
Fruit Fly #2: Bzz.
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
FF#2: My name is Inigo Monflya. You kill my family. Prepare to die.
Me: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALP!!!!!!
FF#2: Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

STEWIE HERE, PEEPLES!!!

Peeples! Persons! Peepers! Peepee!!!! It's ME STEWIE, and I am BACK writing BLOG THING! Did you miss Stewie? Did you cry so many tears of grief and woe? Stewie understand. It's hard not having Stewie around to tell you what's what and who's who and GUESS WHAT I DID ON THE BATHMAT!!!!

(If you guessed pewped, you RIGHT and you get gold star.)

Hooman beans. Stewie has been SO bad lately. So bad! Badder than a big bad thing. Stewie's delicate tummy has caused MUCHO PROBLEMO lately, and that's all I have to say about THAT, cause Mama yelling for Stewie not to be uncouth.

So Stewie here cause you know what yesterday was? It was MAMA BIRTHDAY! She old. Beans, she SO OLD NOW. 32! Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirty twooooooooooooo. DAT'S OLD! Lulasmell and I get her a walker and some Metamucil and subscription to AARP NEWSLETTER HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHHA. Anyway, Mama have birthday and innernet peeples SO NICE to Mama, send her all sorts of nice messages. SO NICE! Mama get tear in eye, she love innernet peeples so much.

So what else happen lately? Not much, dat for sure! Oh! So Stewie was doing his big trick where he go rolling rolling rolling when Mama sing the rolling song, and it was sooooooooo fun and Mama was laughing cause Stewie too FAT to roll all the way over! Dat not so funny, Stewie think. Grr! Stewie GROWL at Mama! So anyway, Stewie was roooooooooooooooolling and then something terribly tragical happen. Stewie FALL OFF BED! WHOOPS!!!!! Rolling was too VIGOROUS and then KERPLUNK. Stewie think "Why Stewie on floor? Stewie was on SLEEP PLACE not WALKING PLACE! Then Stewie give himself little bath and then stroll off. Probably to break something or yakk. One of those.

OKAY BLOG OVER! Go out and play, my hooman beans, and Stewie talk to you soon! And Stewie apoloo- apaaalojize- oooppoopoolize- STEWIE SORRY, MR. PROFESSOR MAN! Mr Professor Man doesn't like when Stewie blog about thinks like poooooooopies. He think that gross. OH WELL, Stewie gotta be me, AM I RIGHT!!!?!?!

KISSES AND BITES!
STEWIE!!!!!!!

Actual Conversation: Miss Banshee and The Ghost of Billy Mays

Me: Oh, hi, Ghost of Billy Mays! Sorry about that whole, uh, death thing.
Ghost of Billy Mays: BILLY MAYS HERE FROM THE AFTERLIFE!!!!!
Me: Yeah! How IS that afterlife thing treating you, Billy? I mean, it sucks how you just up and DIED, you know? You weren't even on anyone's death pool list!
GoBM: BILLY MAYS WASN'T ON A DEATH POOL LIST?!?!!
Me: Not that I know of. You seemed so full of life, Billy. It's a damn shame. No one has benefited from your demise, Billy boy. Is that a comfort?
GoBM: BILLY MAYS ISN'T SURE.
Me: Aw, c'mon Billy. The afterlife has to be cool, right? Oh, did you and Farrah and Jacko and Ed McMahon need to share a cab or something? Because THAT would be awesome.
GoBM: BILLY MAYS TOOK THE BUS.
Me: The bus??!?!? Billy my boy, you deserve much better than the bus. Oooooooh, I get it. Ol' MJ had to have the motorcade, right? Always the showman, Mikey was. And Farrah probably took a hot air balloon or a flying unicorn or something, aw, she deserves it, poor thing. So you were stuck on the crosstown bus to the Pearly Gates? Couldn't you have carpooled with Ed?
Ghost of Ed McMahon: HIYO!!!! ED MCMAHON FLEW ON A GIANT PUBLISHERS CLEARINGHOUSE CHECK!
Me: Whoa. Like a...
GoEMcM: LIKE A MAGIC CARPET! HIYO!!!!
Me: Is everyone this loud in the afterlife?
Ghost of Billy Mays: BILLY MAYS ISN'T LOUD.
Me: Uh, yeah. Billy Mays has a hearing problem that didn't get fixed with death, methinks.
GoBM: BILLY MAYS WASN'T READY TO DIE YET.
Me: You know, Bill, that's the tragedy of it all. Ed was old, like, OLD old; Farrah was sick for WAY too long, bless her, and MJ...well...I honestly have no idea what to say about Michael Jackson, and I'm not going to try, because when I think about him, my brain shivers. It's COLD. In my BRAIN. And that can't be healthy. But YOU, Billy Mays! You had so much living to do! So many more products to introduce the world to! So many beards to sport! The world is a more empty place without you, Bill. Seriously.
GoBM: BILLY MAYS APPRECIATES YOUR SENSITIVITY TO BILLY MAYS' UNFORTUNATE SITUATION.
Me: Aw, no problem, Billy. What would make you feel better? C'mon, how can I cheer you up? No one wants to see Billy Mays sad. Hell, you're already dead, it would be a real tragedy if you were dead AND bummed out. Go on, tell me. What'll turn that bearded frown upside down?
GoBM: BILLY MAYS IS GONNA HAUNT THE SHIT OUT OF THE SLAP CHOP ASSHOLE.
Me: That's the spirit!!! I'm so proud of you, Billy!
GoBM: BILLY MAYS FEELS BETTER NOW.
Me: I'll pour out some OxyClean for you, my man. Rest in peace, yo.

Into The Woods

Scene: My apartment. Miss Banshee is on the couch, The Prof is in the kitchen.

INSTANT MESSAGE FROM THE PROF! DING!

The Prof: What should we do, Miss?
Me: Are you IMing me from the kitchen?
The Prof: :)
Me: You silly.
(laugh from kitchen)
The Prof: Let's go for a walk!
Me: It's 394980% humidity. Are you daft?
The Prof: It's great outside! I need to stretch my legs, I need to walk, I NEED TO GO GO GO!
Me: Fine. Let's go to the park. *sigh*

In the park:

The Prof: This is paved. This is not nature.
Me: This is JERSEY nature. Look! A deer!
The Prof: In my country, we don't pave nature.
Me: Your country. Being Syracuse?
The Prof: Yes.
Me: Very well.

Further on the path:

Me: Uh oh. My feet are hurting. I'm getting blisters.
The Prof: there are these things called SOCKS. You should look into them.
Me: I know what socks are. I have several pairs.
The Prof: Several pairs, none of which you are wearing.
Me: Harumph.
The Prof: Are your feet really hurting?
Me: *takes off shoe to reveal raw blisters*
The Prof: You really are a delicate flower, aren't you.
Me: I'M DELICATE!!!
The Prof: Well, we're a mile out. What are you going to do?
Me: Um, walk anyway? Unless you want to tote me.
The Prof: Not going to happen.
Me: Well, on we go then. Even though my shoes are filling with blood, I will persist.
The Prof: A mile. And your feet are ground beef. You need boot camp.
Me: I need you to tote me!
The Prof: No.

Going back to the car, The Prof picks up a large rock:

The Prof: I'm going to throw this at that tree.
Me: You're...What?
The Prof: That big tree all the way over there. I'm gonna hit it with this rock.
Me: Um...WHY?
The Prof: I can do it!
Me: I don't doubt that, I just can't help but ponder WHY.
The Prof: *increasingly frustrated* I'm gonna hit it!
Me: FOR THE LOVE OF BABY JEEBUS IN THE HIGHCHAIR, WHY?
The Prof: *bellowing* BECAUSE I'M A BOY!!!!!!!!!!
Me: Oh. Well. That makes perfect sense. Carry on.
The Prof: *lobs rock at tree*
*KERPOW!!!!*
The Prof: *proudly* I hit it.
Me: Good job, baby! I'll arrange the parade.

At the car:

Me: I need a beverage. And a movie. And a food. And new feet. And my house. And my couch. And my television. And another beverage. I would slaughter millions for a Diet Coke.
The Prof: I need earplugs.
Me: Hunt and gather!
The Prof: So glad we went on this walk, babe.
Me: DIET COKE.
The Prof: *sighs the sigh of the utterly defeated*

Stupid Stewie Tricks!!!!