I’m going to slowly re-post some of my most popular posts from my old blog (around 2003) so that I don’t lose everything before I delete it.  That blog is on pMachine and there’s no way to import all of the posts automatically or I’d do that.

My old blog was called Rant-O-Rama and I certainly did just that… it truly was rant after rant.  I still think I’m a pretty angry person, but I’m not as angry as I was back then.

The last post, Judgment from “the marrieds”, was written in 2003 and it angrily calls out the “smug marrieds” but doesn’t clarify that  I believe “smug marrieds” to be the vast minority of marrieds.

Let’s talk about the majority of married people that I talk to.  The “lonely marrieds”.  I’d say for every 10 people I meet who are in a marriage or long-term live-in relationship, probably only one of those people are happy.

As a single person,  loneliness comes with the territory.  But at least being single, I have hope that things could change in the future for me.

Married people who are lonely, who no longer have that connection with their spouse… they’re just trapped.  They have no hope.

We’re so conditioned by what we see on TV and in advertising, even by the stories we’re read as a child, that marriage is the solution to a “happily ever after”.  Even though logically I know better, I still assume that people who are married have this 24/7 love story going on in their homes.  I make assumptions that really cause me to put my foot in my mouth when talking to my married acquaintances.  You never know what goes on behind closed doors, and it’s never as magical and fairy-tale-esque as one would assume.

I guess I was lucky in that my marriage was so horrible, I had to leave (it was leave via divorce or leave via bodybag, so that’s kind of a no-brainer).  But what about the ones who are in miserable relationships, but relationships that aren’t QUITE bad enough to leave?

Year after year of loneliness in your own home, the gulf between you and your spouse getting larger and larger, with no hope of things turning around because you’ve already tried everything and nothing helps, and the spouse doesn’t even value the relationship enough to go to counseling or put any effort into it on their part… now living with THAT has to be a very, very bad feeling.  Especially if you have kids and you know your kids are watching this, growing up to think that a normal marriage is supposed to be like this…

My heart goes out to some of the married people I know.   We live in a society where people are selfish, don’t take blame, and think that the world owes them not only someone to love them (with no return effort on their part), but someone to wait on them hand and foot as well.  If you find yourself married to someone like that, it’s a sad, desolate dead end.

Says the happily-married-with-children coworker:

“It is SOOOO unprofessional for people who work together to date. Can you believe that some people who work here actually met here and got MARRIED? How unprofessional!”

Easy for you to say, Ms. “I-Got-Mine-So-To-Hell-With-The-Rest-Of-The-World”!

I’m almost 35. I’m not in college any more. I avoid the brainwashing of organized religion. If I went to a BAR to pick up guys, I’d be looked down upon (and that’s not me anyway). So what am I supposed to do, just wait for divine intervention? Sorry, that only happens in movies.

Flaunting a dating relationship at work is unprofessional. Using a relationship to get ahead in the workplace is unprofessional. Using your position to coerce people into going out with you is unprofessional. But two coworkers who genuinely like each other, getting together after hours to enjoy each other’s company? What the fuck is wrong with that? It’s all in the way it is handled.

If you’re a shithead that lies to and cheats on the opposite sex, ya might not want to date a coworker. If you’re a perv who is only out for one thing, keep it out of the workplace. If you’re a “big-wig” and you plan on retaliating against your date if she dumps you, by demoting her or getting her fired, then you shouldn’t date ANYONE, you prick. But if you are seeking a real connection with someone, and you meet that someone at work, why not pursue it tactfully and discreetly?

Don’t you love how people who already “got theirs” judge the singles? Basically, we should just know our place and sit at home alone for the rest of our lives. We didn’t meet and marry in college, so we missed our chance. Now it’s time for us to shut up. Because dating in the workplace is wrong, online dating or speed-dating is pathetic and we should be ashamed of ourselves, church is packed with other married people so that’s not an option.

Oh, and if we are set up on a blind date and it’s not a “love connection”, then we’re “too picky”. Because if I am single, and the OTHER guy is single, well isn’t that all we have to have in common? Shouldn’t we force a relationship? Beggars can’t be choosers.

Hey, Molly McMarried, YOU didn’t marry every guy you ever dated. Why should we? Are we so “beneath you” that we should just take what we can get, never mind the fact there is no common interests, no personality match, no chemistry?

And just an aside: Do you think we are so stupid that we don’t notice that we don’t get invited to your parties because we’re not part of a “couple” and it would make uneven teams during Pictionary?

Mary’s Thought of the Day
Married people: cram it up your ass, you elitist bastards.

(Note: This rant written in 2003.  I’m not nearly as bitter now ;)  )

Life Truths according to me:

1. Moving is ALWAYS more work than I thought it would be. I should know better by now. I have lived in four states, and have moved at least 21 times.
2. Mean people never die.
3. If there are children or members of the clergy within earshot, I will always manage to say the word “fuck” accidentally, and loudly.
4. If I talk bad about someone, there is a 60% chance that, unbeknownst to me, they are standing directly behind me.
5. When I want a cup of coffee at work, there will only be 3 DROPS of coffee left in the pot, and the last asshole will not have started a new pot.
6. When I work an hour extra, my boss won’t notice. The next day when I try to leave 10 minutes early, she will.
   COROLLARY: If I come in extra on the weekends, no one will be here to see me do it.
7. I can never have enough beer in the fridge if my mother is visiting.
8. I can keep my house clean for months at a time (theoretically; this has never been attempted), but no one will stop by unexpectedly until I’ve let it go.
9. Seeing me wearing anything black, suede, or that requires dry cleaning, is an immediate trigger for Moose to begin to copiously drool, then brush up against me repeatedly.
   COROLLARY: If I’m wearing sweats, my dog will ignore me.
10. Even the simplest request to Qwest phone company will take no less than eight (8) separate phone calls to get the request completed, and they’ll still find a way to do it wrong.
11. I never run into the good looking guys in the office. But the one woman who never smiles, and scowls at you when you say “Good morning” or “Excuse me”… well, HER I’ll see 18 times a day.
12. In any court case, divorce case, or custody case, the side that shouldn’t win ALWAYS will. Thus proving that most judges and juries HAVE THEIR HEADS UP THEIR FUCKING ASSES. I love to be proved wrong on this point by the way, so any judge or jury member out there, USE SOME FUCKING COMMON SENSE during your rulings, and I’ll gladly eat crow.
13. Criminals have more rights than victims. Abusers have more rights and protection under the law than abused children and spouses.
14. I find it frightening that our society is becoming increasingly more accepting of the “nothing is my fault” way of thinking. (Example: “Oh, I ran over a blind guy in the crosswalk when I was drunk? Must have been because I played a violent video game when I was 12! Not my fault that I killed a guy, AND I’ll sue the video game company and become a millionaire because of my mental anguish!”)
15. The less of a conscience you have, the more successful you’ll be. That is why I’ll be happy to be a peon forever.
16. Any guy I like will find me repulsive, will be dishonest, or will use me for my (perceived, not actual) money. Any guy who likes me, I won’t like. Can someone please explain this? GRR.
17. Any guy I do like will waste years of my life, then immediately marry someone else when we break up.
18. If I order pizza, I will regret it after 2 slices and throw the rest away. Every time.
19. If there is one microscopic thing that I can do or say that will make an unfavorable impression with someone I just met, I will do it or say it.

I got in the car and buckled my seatbelt. The bright yellow “Student Driver” billboard perched atop the automobile could not cause enough humiliation to temper the joy of a 15 year old heart in possession of car keys; albeit temporarily.

My driver’s ed teacher Mr. Moore (not his real name), was a coach at the high school. I remember that my Driver’s Ed textbook was the only textbook where I actually read at least half of my assignments. That includes every class I ever took, through graduate school.

I also remember Mr. Moore had a penchant for showing every conceivable “Blood on the Highway” film made between 1955 and 1976. It was because of those films that I feared all “classic” cars with fins, because I had seen a film clip of a body skewered on the fin. I also feared the metal guardrails on rural roads that didn’t curve away from the road or toward the ground. I had seen bodies skewered as the metal guardrail pierced a windshield like a finely-sharpened sword.

Looking back, the seed was planted that a decade later would blossom. I grew into an adult that would see doom around every corner. Not so much for myself (for I fear nothing but spiders and an undetected run in my pantyhose) but for others. Those films, viewed at the age of 15, coupled with my EMT training, then Paramedic school, then endless clinicals in intensive care units and onboard ambulances, and finally nursing school, all culminated into a picture of a world that was a trauma alert waiting to happen. Now, I see something as simple as a teeter-totter as a potential implement of death.

But I digress.

My budding nervousness about driving was unaided by two inalienable truths of my 15 year old reality:

1. My father, who had gone to great pains to teach my brothers how to drive from ages 12 and 11 respectively, could not be persuaded to help me develop the skill.
2. My driver’s ed teacher had a bizarre nervous habit that was very distracting. What was this bizarre habit that Mr. Moore possessed? He said everything three times, three times, three times! The more upset he was, the more prone he was to give in to his subconscious compulsion.
3. My driver’s ed teacher took deep delight in using the “panic brake” that was installed on the passenger’s side of the Driver’s Ed car. Apparently the intent of the panic brake was to avert certain disaster. Mr. Moore thought it was to scare his students shitless. He’d jam on it on the dry pavement occasionally, but his Coach-ness must have detected the lack of sport in that. His main joy was to jam suddenly on the panic brake when you were driving on ice, sending you into a skid. “You have to practice pulling out of a skid! A skid! A skid!” he’d choke out between gails of laughter. We’d tell him not to do that, but apparently the siren call of the panic brake was too tempting. Just when you thought he’d given it up, it would call to him. “Jam on me! JAAAMMMMM on MEEEEEE!” And another 15 or 16 year old pimple-faced kid would have instilled in him or her a long-lasting fear of driving on slick roads.

Apparently, Mr. Moore thought I was a remedial student. He had me drive in reverse around the “island” (circle drive) in front of the school endlessly. “Miss Drunkbunny! Back it up, back it up back it up! Keep it straight, keep it straight, keep it straight! Turn the wheel, turn the wheel, turn the wheel! Not that much! NOT THAT MUCH! NOT THAT MUCH!” After hours of backing up, my neck aching from looking behind me, my classmates snickering from the back seat, I finally learned to back up with skill.

Of COURSE I’m not done! »

Then, it was time to learn to drive forward. I became a bit more at ease behind the wheel, and as a result, more easily distracted. We tackled side streets first, then major thoroughfares. It was hard for me to stay focused. After all, there was the radio to adjust. “Miss Drunkbunny, if you don’t pay attention and leave the radio alone, I’ll let someone else drive! Someone else! Drive!” Ugh, FINE. This is a good song anyway. Everybody, sing! “I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can… watch you blah blah blah…” (who can understand that exotic Canadian accent?)

I also couldn’t help but stare in the rearview mirror. Because, the gorgeous hunk of manhood Shaun McGorgeous (not his real name, but close) was always smiling and cute in the back seat. If I happened to make eye contact with him, I was enchanted.

“Miss Drunkbunny! Watch the curb! WATCH THE CURB! WATCH THE–” THUNK! Oops. Shaun laughed, and his mischevous eyes sparkled, and I was embarassed and enamored at the same time.

Driver’s ed saved my life.

One weekend when I was 15, I went out with my friend Misty. She was 16, and had a 1968 Chevy Camaro that her rich dad had customized for her. New engine, new paint job, those little padlocks on the hood, and even her name painted on the side. We’d “drag Douglas” and get tons of attention.

One Saturday night, her car was in the shop so we took her mom’s brand-new Firebird out dragging. We kissed some 21 year olds and got them to get some Everclear for us. We then went to the KwikShop and bought a gallon of fruit punch, and poured out 1/4th of it, and filled the rest with Everclear. By the time we were headed back to the country to Misty’s house, I was plastered.

Even in my drunken state, I could vividly remember the latest “Death on the Highway” flick that we viewed in driver’s ed class the Friday before. For the first time EVER, on the way home I put on my seatbelt. I then passed out took a lil’ nap. Misty was driving.

The force of being thrown against the shoulder harness is what woke me. We had been tooling along on the highway (at about 60 miles per hour) when a carload of girls drunker than ME had run into us. No one was hurt in the accident; however, I knew that if I had fallen asleep without the seat belt on, I’d have woken up to the sensation of my head hitting the windshield instead of my body being thrown against the seatbelt.

So, say what you want about coaches being teachers, and how they rely on films to do their teaching. Mr. Moore’s vintage gore films saved me from certain injury. Certain injury. Certain injury!

(Originally written and published by me on Rant-O-Rama, 2003)

The bitter single girl hating Valentines Day is so done, I won’t even go there. I don’t hate V-day either, in fact I like all holidays. But everyone has to admit, V-day can kind of rub some salt in some wounds. Even if you’re in a relationship, for your boyfriend or husband to not even say something nice to you on V-day can be wounding.

The job I work at now, I don’t feel like a freak for being single because many of the women who work there are single. But I had a job in the past where I was only one of two single people on the entire floor. This is my recreation of Valentines Day working there:

So if you are part of (what seems like) 99% of the world’s population that is in a relationship, all I’m saying is be nice to your single friends on Valentines Day.  Don’t make us hate you more than we already do. 

Once again, it’s Random Crap From My Hard Drive Monday! If you decide to participate on your blog, please leave a post and a link in the comments!

Coolest mom ever! I love the fact she still has to be all “mom-y” and nag the kid about where he left the scotch tape last.

This was from a series of awesome shots posted on a message board. IIRC, some dude was always stealing his little sister’s Prince Charming doll and making it take on different, progressively elaborate poses in the fridge.

Steve Martin doesn’t age. He just stays sexy throughout time and space.

If you have a lot of friends and family who are just IMPOSSIBLE to buy for, why not make something home-made, from the heart?

JESUS CHRIST, DON’T DO IT! Mistaaaaaake!

A friend at work, promoted, and now they think they’re better than me and talk down to me.

Another friend, bragging they don’t have time to talk to me any more because of the fabulous new relationship they’re in.

Someone else, who just wants to talk about how much money they have and what a great life they have because of it, despite knowing I’m broke and struggling.

How quickly you’ve forgotten, my friends!

To the first person: When I met you, my job was “above” yours, yet I never treated you like you were inferior.  How dare you be patronizing to me.

To the second person:  Just a few months ago, you were a lonely fuck that no one gave the time of day to, except for me and your other friends.  How dare you act like you’re suddenly better than us, or that we are disposable.

To the third person:  If I had another person providing an income to my household, I’d be sitting pretty financially too.  If you didn’t have that guy making money for you, you’d be in the same boat I am.  Stop rubbing my nose in it, and stop implying that you suddenly have better money management powers than I do.  If my income doubled overnight, I’d be doing better too.

I’m happy when my friends do well.  But their acting superior makes my happiness for them evaporate real quick.  How quickly they forget that they were once in the same boat as I am.

Maybe treating me like I’m second-class helps them forget that they are one failed relationship (with their significant other, or with their boss) away from being right back in the boat I’m in, or worse.

(And I’m not even going to BEGIN to talk about the women I know who act like they achieved more greatness than me, just because they shat out crotchfruit, like they’re the only people in the history of time to have ever reproduced.  No, I can’t talk about that.  I… I don’t have the strength!)