moody, opinionated, & sometimes offensive

Maybe you’ve heard about Planet Fitness and their cancelling a woman’s membership because she complained about a man- woman, whatever- using the women’s locker room. Maybe you agree with them.

Me? It’s ridiculous.

Penis? Men’s bathroom/locker room. Vagina? Women’s bathroom/locker room. Simple as that. I get it- he identifies as a woman. But if he has man parts, the men’s restroom is where you go.

Any man can say he identifies as a woman and go into a woman’s locker room and see all the boobies his heart desires. I mean, who are you to question if he’s sincere? You don’t know him.

It’s not about judgment and hating their lifestyle. I personally don’t care about your sexual orientation, and what you identify as. I do care about men using women’s restrooms, regardless if they claim to be a woman.

When I was little, I was at the library and I went into the woman’s bathroom, and there was a man in there. I turned right round and found my dad. I told him about the man in there, and he just told me not to go back in there.

Was it a transgender? I don’t know. It was clearly a man.

Did he have ill intentions? I don’t know. But I just knew men didn’t belong in a woman’s restroom.

Any man can claim to identify as a woman, and be in there when a little girl goes in there.

Some people say that’s stupid to even say. No, it’s not. This world is an evil place, and that is a very real possibility.

I don’t care if you call yourself a woman. I’ll try to respect it and use the proper pronouns. But I will not share a woman’s bathroom or locker room with a woman who has a penis. Sorry.

Going Crazy

I try to remain a positive person.

I try not to use the popular phrase fuck my life.

I mean, the people I hear using it are usually just having a bad day, and are quick to bitch and moan. Suck it up, buttercup, not every day will be sunshine and roses.

But seriously…I reached the point I could not get it- fuck my life- out of my head the other day. I felt horrible, because I know others have it worse than me, that my life could actually get worse. Maybe I just wanted the pity party.

My car broke down almost, what, three weeks ago. No biggie…It cost me two hundred bucks and I’ve had it almost two years. I won’t be getting it fixed, because it has a lot of other problems, this newest problem just killed her.

So I borrowed my parents mini van for a week. Then I picked up my baby- my Camaro. I’ve had her for nearly five years, and she’s a brat, but I love her. Usually.

Friday, the day after bringing her back to my apartment, I’m going to run to Perkins for lunch before work. Only my Camaro won’t start. Um. What the fuck. I try again and again. Absolutely nothing.

I get a ride to work from my sister, and the boyfriend picks me up. Work was long and just overall very trying. My back was also killing me. I was hoping maybe I could avoid back pain, but the last few days my back has been killing me. Pregnancy is painful!

Anyways. The boyfriend got a new job at a different restaurant and he asked me to help him study the menu for his test he had tonight.

I was depressed over both of my cars being dead, his drinking (he’s cutting back, but even when he wasn’t working for like a month he kept buying alcohol which means the utilities, rent, and the doctor bill all falls on me and yeah, it’s stressing me out), and I was in physical pain.

By then, he’s on the computer and I’m laying on the couch. I get up and head slowly to the bedroom. He asks what’s wrong and I said I’m in pain. He just says oh, and goes back to the computer.

Oh? OH? I would have liked to hear “would you like a back rub?”

I asked him for one once recently. He bitched and complained. Finally did it, and complained whilst doing it. I won’t ask again.

I pretty much cried myself to sleep.

Today I’m not focusing on my problems so I’m not as depressed. But my back is killing me, and I’m cursing myself for agreeing to work Monday. Eight days in a row…I remind myself the over time will be nice.


I wholeheartedly agree with that. Unfortunately, the person who posted this on her Facebook, doesn’t truly believe in this.

How can I say this? Because she is constantly bashing people who struggle with the decision to vaccinate their kids, people who decide not to.

I myself am unsure how I feel about vaccines. I do feel that six shots for a two month old is a bit much on their small immune system.

I know- the measles outbreak! Vaccinated people can go overseas, and bring it back with them. It is NOT just unvaccinated kids who can carry diseases. It just means the unvaccinated are more prone to the measles, etc.

But this isn’t the post about that.

She posted this in support of the homosexual lifestyle, I’m sure of it.

It just irks me how people pretend to be so tolerating, but in actuality, are some of the most judgmental.

“Oh, you’re against abortion? You are anti-women!”

“Oh, you don’t support gay marriage? You are anti-equality! You are a homophobe!” (Not that it matters many people have no problem with gays in general, they just don’t support “gay marriage”.)

“Oh, you believe in the Bible? You’re a close-minded bigot.”

The majority of people I know, and the people I’ve seen bickering on Facebook posts, posts photos/quotes like this, but don’t actually believe it across the board. It has limits.

I have no problem with being different. If people believe differently. Who cares. I don’t attack people for it. But I’ve been attacked because I believe differently than them.

Funny world.

Over and Over Again

I’ve been absent awhile- besides the silent reading of new blog posts by my favorite bloggers. I just haven’t felt like writing. No, that’s not true. I haven’t had anything of interest to share.

I’m over my morning sickness, thank heavens, and I am almost 18 weeks along. I have an ultrasound scheduled for the 24th, and I cannot wait to find out the sex!

I still haven’t felt the baby move, other than a twitch or two. Which was a new sensation, so I’m assuming it was baby. I cannot wait until I can feel him/her move, and know without a doubt, it’s my baby. I’ve gained maybe a pound or two, have a small baby bump, but my hip bones are still super visible. Eventually I’ll gain some pounds. I eat enough.

I feel like the most paranoid pregnant mom ever. I know it’s normal to be worried, but I really feel like I’m more worried than others. It’s not just the health of my baby I’m worried about, it’s everything.

I think a huge part of this comes from the fact the boyfriend started drinking again after five months of being sober. At first it was half a bottle like every other day. I was so upset. I was so hurt, disappointed, frustrated.

And I started getting bad headaches. I know headaches can be a side effect of pregnancy. But I realized I only get them when he’s drinking. So.

But yeah, that every other day shit, turned into a bottle a night. I was so fed up. Just so done. He already lost custody of his daughter due to his drinking. I told him (when he was still sober) that if he goes back to drinking, he won’t see our kid. Because I’d rather he be absent from our kid’s life, than be an alcoholic father. My baby deserves better. All kids deserve better.

I was ready to spend the weekend at my parents to get away from his drunk self. But last Friday he asked me to stay with him over the weekend and help him stay sober. I did, spending my entire weekend off taking care of him. Things were going good. We were finally talking, cuddling, getting along- it was great.

Then Wednesday night I came home from work and he had bought a bottle. Oh I was angry! So before bed, I found the bottle, dumped it, and refilled it with water.

I was off Thursday, and he wanted to take me to an early Valentine’s Day dinner. I was excited. He could finally legally drive since he got his license back. He could take me on a date and drive!! I always drive, so yeah, I was thrilled.

Well morning dawned, and he went for a drink. Was surprised by a shot of water, which I find hilarious. I had lunch with my sister, and he bought more vodka.

I didn’t know until I got up for my date (I took a nap). I asked if he needed to warm up the car. He says I’m driving, and I said no, deal was you drive. That’s when he says he bought a pint.

He hasn’t drank since, but does it matter? I don’t want to trust him anymore. But I can’t be with someone and not trust them. I’m so frustrated. I’m so tired of always supporting him, being understanding. Of feeling like I’m partly to blame.

Stereotyping: A Bad Thing?

Sometimes people annoy me with the whole “don’t stereotype”.

Yes, I fully understand we shouldn’t make up our mind about someone off a stereotype without getting to know them.

But stereotypes exist for a reason. They exist because a group of people have made it, and to a large extent, they fit it.

Over the summer/fall my sisters were on a volleyball team. There were some problems between the girls, and while the coach didn’t call out names (she did tell my mom my two sisters weren’t involved), I immediately knew which two girls were the problem.

Omg, call the cops. I stereotyped those little bitches. After the season, I ended up asking my mom if she ever found out what girls were the problem. Yes, she had, and she told me which two.

Lo and behold, the two I assumed.

I was never rude to them, not that my interactions with them were many. I never trash talked them to my sisters. I just quietly stereotyped them.

Why did I chose those two? Because they fit the stereotype of snobby girls.

Could I have been wrong? Absolutely.

Do I believe stereotyping is wrong? No, actually I don’t.

Do I believe that judging someone off a stereotype, and shunning them is wrong? Yes, I do.

I give someone a chance, regardless. But I would say that I judge character pretty good. And if I’m wrong, I’ll admit it, and if I voiced it, I’ll apologize.

Pens, Pencils, Keyboards

When was the last time you wrote something substantive a letter, a story, a journal entry, etc. by hand? Could you ever imagine returning to a pre-keyboard era?


So this Daily Prompt is a few days old, but somehow I just read it. And because I really want to chime in, I am.

I actually wrote my friend/pen-pal a letter the other night. Well, I finished it. I wrote the majority of it two nights ago, and came back to finish it last night. She and I have been writing for eleven years this month. Eleven years! We live states apart, and have never even met, yet she is one of my closest friends.

We’ve spoken on the phone throughout the years; we mail birthday packages to each other. Exchange pictures, excitement, heartbreak- she knows more about me than my friends here in person.

I keep a personal journal. I might be pretty open in my blog sometimes-usually-but I do keep a journal. Actually, in the past eleven years I’ve filled twenty-three journals. All hand-written in my messy, sometimes unreadable writing (I use my neat writing for letters).

I love journalling. I love taking pen to paper and watching the words fill blank sheets of paper.

But when it comes to my story writing- that’s always been on the computer. I have scenes written in notebooks, sure, but for some reason I prefer my laptop for “novel” writing.

In the end, yes, I could imagine returning to the pre-keyboard era. Not that I actually ever lived in that era…But I could survive. I love handwritten letters.

I’ve had pen-pals regularly since I was twelve, and we almost always handwrote our letters. Sure, sometimes we typed them. But there’s just something special about handwritten letters.

I try to push all thoughts of John Doe from my mind. I wish I could burn his memory as quickly I could the pages his name enters the pages of my personal journals. Not that I’m going to rip up and burn my journals- I’d die if anyone read them, but I like being able to go back and read what was in my head.

I haven’t checked his Facebook page in over a year. I even spent a few months not even getting on Facebook just to avoid anything his girlfriend tagged him in. He isn’t really a poster, and when he does post it’s like once every five months. But she tags him a lot-ish. And sometimes it cuts right through me, seeing a picture of them together, a picture of their son they got pregnant with within 6 months of his ditching me, her exclaiming her feelings of love, tagging him in a picture of her/their 6-now-7-year-old- yeah, you get it.

So, I basically quit Facebook. It didn’t help push out the random almost daily thoughts of him. I don’t dwell on them. I don’t sit there and daydream about him. It’s been two fucking years since we last talked via text, even longer since I last saw him. Why do I still think of him all the fucking time?

People say if you really love someone, try to get them back. I can’t do that. Even if I truly love him. I can’t try to get him back. I don’t even know how. I’m okay with accepting I may always love him. But can I please stop thinking of him??

Today was his birthday. I almost posted “happy birthday” on his Facebook wall…thought of it, thought of sending it as a message. But I couldn’t bring myself to it. Because the idea of him not liking my silly birthday wish on his wall would hurt (he was liking everyone’s comment), and the idea of seeing he read my message, and didn’t respond with a stupid “thanks” would also hurt.

So I said nothing. Just fucking thought of him all damn day. And that’s probably best. I know my friends would say that.

His girlfriend wrote this fucking cheesy message on his wall. Something about “happy birthday future gorgeous husband! I am so happy for today and being able to grow older with you” blah blah, ending with a bunch of hearts and an “I love you.”

Yes, he is gorgeous. But future husband? Damn it, bitch. Or maybe you’re not a bitch. But damn it. Why her?

I feel like such a selfish person. She deserves to be happy and have what she wants. I mean, she was single mom for a long time, and that’s not easy.

But why did she have to find her happiness with him?

Why couldn’t he find his happiness with me?

And why does it still fucking bother me? Is it pregnancy making me more emotional?

Why do I still care? And where do I go from here?

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