Au Revoir, Nouveau Shire

And so, this is my last night in Manch Vegas.

Therefore, this is the last entry in FuManchShoes...can hardly have a Manch blog while living elsewhere, can I?

But never fear, I'll post the link as soon as I get my new home up and running, and you can count on me to continue to provide remarkably sporadic updates on my miserable love life, and my ever-increasing frosting consumption.

Until then....

Supermarket Sweep

I am absolutely shallow enough to believe that the quality of man I attract says something about me. Everyone knows that eights end up with eights, and fours with fours. And so on.

I'm probably about a 5 at the moment, but the self esteem reading has been hovering closer to a 2 for the better part of a year, and I think a combination of those factors has allowed me to become quite a hot ticket with the "total loser" element. It is quite an alarming wake up call to realize that the guy who may or may not be mentally impaired keeps hitting on me at the supermarket.

I go to this market near the office a couple times a week to buy sushi for lunch when I'm feeling healthy and 3 or 4 boxes of Oreo Cakesters and a gallon of Hi-C when I'm not.

Regardless, a couple weeks ago this dude was stocking shelves and as I walked past turned to me and said "Wow you look really nice today."

I was tempted to point out that he must think that "nice" means "bloated and zitty," but chose to just say "uh, thanks?" and keep moving. I was wearing a dress and stuff. If he'd been scoping me out for a while he must have been thrown off that I wasn't wearing my usual work outfit of jeans, flip flops, a dumpy sweater, and pungent despair.

Then on Tuesday this week, I saw him again as I was pulling into a parking spot. He was collecting the shopping carts and waved at me enthusiastically, as though we were friends. Bemused, I threw a "WTF" smile and a little wave back at him--big mistake. This emboldened him enough to come up and say hello the second I got out of the car.

"Hi!"
"Hi..."
"..."
"Uh, see ya."

Look, I'm all for guys saying hello when they think a girl is pretty or something. Hey, you never know right? So I know I'm not coming off very well here, and it's not like I'm a frigging beauty queen. Like I said, I'm a 5 on a good day. But this guy? Me and my coworker debated for a few minutes straight about whether or not he was possibly "special." He looked a little like Ron Howard's creepy looking brother.



Which, really, no offense to Ron Howard's brother or anything, but I wouldn't date him either. Oh! Maybe it was closer to the molester guy from "Little Children" who also was Kelly Leak from "Bad News Bears" all grown up, which is wrong on a hundred levels, mostly because that movie ends with him cutting off his own horn and Moe from "Beautiful Girls" rushing him to the hospital.



So yeah, not the best ego boost, that one.

Then there's the Jesus Lover I dated earlier this year, who is now dating a young woman who may or may not be mentally impaired. She's obviously not, but she basically looks...off. Like maybe a little inbred or something. I generally think of my appearance these days as approximately 148 miles of bad road, and I still think I'm about 537 times better looking than this chick.

So does this mean that Jesus Lover Loves Ugly Women?

AND DOES THAT MEAN I'M UGLY?

Between this and the shopping cart guy, it's looking like my drought is going to extend far into 2009.

Probably for the best.

Dear ManchVegas - Eat a Bag of Dicks

Editor's Note: I need to update, so I am posting this, which I wrote in August but never published because I wanted to edit it. Then I never edited it.

So it's old, but still possibly entertaining...More later!

Yesterday (August 15th-ish) evening:

534pm: Fu leaves work, in a rush because she has to run a quick errand and go home to change before heading down to Boston for a dinner.

550pm: Fu gets off her usual exit, furrows brow at odd traffic backup.

601pm: Fu has moved 2 feet in 11 minutes, getting annoyed, starts to feel familiar signs of frustration building, which Fu does not deal with well (blood pumping harder, tight throat, mild rage)

609pm: Fu finally realizes that the traffic backup is because the bridge leading to her street has been shut down. An accident maybe? Odd.

615pm: After pulling a u-turn and going one exit down the highway to find an alternate route, Fu encounters still more traffic, still more road blocks. What the heck is going on here? She finally makes her way through towards a roundabout route to her street and encounters her third roadblock. This one is manned by a cop, and at 622pm, 32 minutes after she should have arrived home, she asks him:

Fu: What's all this road block action about?
Cop: It's the race.
Fu: The huh?
Cop: The 5k. It's been in the papers.
Fu: Well I need to get to Fu Road.
Cop: Sure, just try the bridge.
Fu: The bridge is shut down.
Cop: Hmm. Well you need to move along.
Fu: But I need to get HOME.
Cop: Well, where do you live?
FU: FU ROAD.
Cop: The bridge is closed.

OHMYFUCKINGGOD.

632pm: After driving around and trying three more ways to get home and encountering only roadblocks, a single tear of rage works its way down Fu's face. She encounters another cop:

Fu: (tears) I need to get home!
Cop: (no sympathy) WHere do you live?
Fu: Fu road.
Cop: Oh. Well you need to wait until the race is over. That road is blocked.
Fu: So I can't go HOME? I LIVE THERE.
Cop: Well, the road is blocked. But don't worry it's only a 5k and it just started!
Fu: What if I had medication I had to take at a SPECIFIC TIME?
Cop: DO you?
Fu: Yes. Yes I do. Its my rage-control meds. (In reality: "No. Hmph. But I COULD.")
Cop: Don't worry the race will be over soon.
Fu: Yeah. Like your MOM.
Cop: What?
Fu: Nothing.

651pm a full hour after she should have been home, Fu finds another cop.

Fu: WTF, dude.
Cop: Can I help you?
Fu: Yeah. I need to get to my HOUSE. ON FU ROAD.
Cop: Oh, it's closed.
Fu: Ok, yes. It's closed. Why did I not know this would be happening so I could plan accordingly and take my anti-homicidal rage medication with me? Because now youv'e just put everyone in my eyesight at risk. Seriously.
Cop: It's been in the papers for weeks.
Fu: You didn't think, oh, maybe a flyer for my apartment community might have helped? What if I didn't speak English well? What if I subscribed to the NY Times instead of the crap assed Union Leader?
Cop: The race will be over soon.
Fu: Yeah, and hopefully this squirrel over here instructing me to kill kill kill will hold off until then.

Also? Eat a bag of dicks. I was 90 minutes late to my dinner.

OMFGERRRRRMS!!!! Nooo!

Okay, I'm sorry, but what the fuck.

Why am I the only person (girl, in particular) in America who is not afraid of germs? Maybe it's because I don't really get sick all that often, so I'm not particularly paranoid about it, but it seems to me that far too much energy in America is devoted to rampant germ fear mongering.

I was at a concert last week, and my friend chose to desperately hold in her pee and avoid having any more beers in order to avoid the porto-johns. Look, porto-johns are gross. No one likes using them. The thought of the big trough of foulness just a couple feet below where I am peeing is hardly pleasant, but for goodness sake, stop being such a priss and hold your damn breath. You're not going to die.

What's most hilarious to me are all my girlfriends who are the biggest germophobes have shown zero qualms in the past about sticking their tongues down strangers' throats after one too many jager bombs--Newsflash ladies: You're going to catch way, way more diseases from that guy's tongue than you will from sitting down on the damn toilet seat in the bathroom:

SO QUIT PEEING ON IT.

This is my number one thing. You can tell me I'm disgusting, and who knows, maybe I am. But unless it's a truly questionable bathroom (such as, for example, those aforementioned porto-johns), I just freaking sit down. I don't know about you, but when I sit down to pee, I'm not rubbing my vadge all over the toilet seat. Instead, two small portions of the backs of my thighs nowhere near my orifices touch the seat.

I am also not pissing all over it like a disgusting dog in an effort to merely hover over it, protecting my pristine ass cheeks from exposure to...what exactly?

Studies have shown that there are about a thousand other surfaces in most public restrooms that are more vile and germ-covered than the toilet seat. Like the door handle, and the soap dispensers (irony!) and, oh yeah, the floor.

I just wish people would relax about germs. It seems so silly to me. We come into contact with a lot of disgusting shit every day if you think about it. Money, door handles, pets, keyboards (oh yes, your keyboard at work is probably full of more bacteria than the toilet seat), etc....

So chill out! Do what I do! Keep clean, wash your hands, use the Purell if that tickles your fancy, and just relax. For all you know you're going to get a piano dropped on your head tomorrow anyway, and I'll bet then you'll wish you'd drank an extra beer at that Journey concert.

All I know is that I have a couple big time germophobe friends and I get sick about 10 times less than they do. Probably because I allow myself to come into contact with more germs, and I build an immunity. We could all learn a thing or two from Westley, don't you know. You'll never build up a good immunity to iocaine powder if you avoid it altogether, you know what I mean?

The Rejection Scheme

You know what I figured out lately? I put up with an awful lot of bullcrap from men who aren't even necessarily worth it. Actually, shit, no man is worth putting up with bullcrap. I keep forgetting.

The basic formula is as follows (not to be confused with my dating formula, wherein I ignore all these things willingly and get SUPER DUPER EXCITED every time I meet a guy).

I meet a guy, convince myself he's not totally douchetastic (even though he usually is) and then basically allow him to act like a shit to me while making excuses about it. 9 times out of 10, the guy isn't even my boyfriend when he's being the douche, that's the extra pathetic twist.

So, how to break this pattern? Celibacy and lesbianism are no solutions. One, I mean really, I like dick. Two, right now I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't one, and I'm not really looking to change that. Who needs 100 problems, including a bitch, right?

I'm starting by rejecting someone. This guy I met last weekend really likes me, constantly sending flirty texts, telling me of my hotness (snort! riiight) etc.

But I am not really into him. He's nice, sure. But there's no pop or whathaveyou, and he lives a couple hours away. So he's out. I'm going to fully reject him. And, drunk on power, I'm also going to reject the next three guys that are interested.

Now, based on my current appearance and general poor attitude and recent tendency to dress like a hobo, it's highly possible I won't find three guys who are interested for like, three decades.

Which might solve the problem, really. But wait, I did say I wasn't into the celibacy angle. Hmm..Okay, three guys, including the guy I am currently rejecting.

So I figure, two more victims, and I might have enough gumption to finally find someone worth my fucking time.

And in the meantime, I have to return this text I got from that guy who dumped me on IM and then hit on other girls in front of me like a night after we totally had sex, BECAUSE I AM A PATHETIC LOSER.

The Pursuit of Misery

Ok, so I keep getting comments about how I'm a Debbie Downer, Negative Nelly, Sad Sack Sally, whathaveyou lately, and how all I do is complain about my life, and blah blah blah, do I need to worry about you, blah blah blah.

Yes. Yes, this is true. And I am sorry about it...I think I am just going through a phase.

I mean, I know it's not fun to be around someone who is constantly moaning about everything in their life that sucks. And I know I am whinging on a lot, and engaging in quite a bit of a self-indulgent pity party bonanza the last few weeks....I do feel bad if I am bumming anyone out and making you worry, there's really no need to, it's just a rough patch, so chillax!

(I hate the word "chillax," it sounds like they made a fro-yo version of the special yogurt that makes you shit.)

(Oooh, I should copyright that shit right there, that's a million dollar idea. "Feeling bound up? You need to Chillax!" (TM) )

What's the point in faking, right? I don't really subscribe to the whole "put on a happy face" thing. If I am miserable, I'm, well, miserable. It happens to most humans at times, and I think some nice venting and maybe, yes, a bit of self pity can be helpful.

If it drags on for weeks, ok, maybe it starts to get old (and I know I'm reaching that point). If it drags on for months, ok, maybe it'll be rubber room time for old Fu. Like, don't let this go on through the end of summer or anything. Are straightjackets slimming? Hmm...

But I really don't think it's going to get to that point.

I just am feeling adrift as of late. Writing out that top ten list was extremely cathartic for me, because it really did bring my murky issues into specific relief, most specifically number seven:

7) While generally content with current job, fully recognizing that will need to move on eventually, but having ZERO clue what to do next or where to do it.

I have no clue where I'm heading, and it's causing minor to serious panic. All that other stuff that's wrong (gut, pathetic dating life, lots of consumer debt related to tendency to shop for joy) is generally fixable.

And the career and direction stuff is fixable too....but the answer to that one isn't as obvious as "get on a treadmill, join eHarmony, cut up credit cards and stop using shoes as baby replacers, especially since you generally wear fucking flip flops when you leave the house these days."

So anyhow, to those who have expressed concern and annoyance at my emotional state, don't worry. And here's a list to make you feel better:

Top Ten Things That Are Not Miserable About Fu's Life at the Moment:

10) Currently in possession of dream car that I've been lusting over for about 4 years.

9) Terrific family, even if my sister is starting to resemble one of those Hollywood ladies that you complain about being too skinny when really you are just jealous and wish that you could slice cheese on your collarbones.

8) In these trying economic times, while I do have too much debt, I also am fairly comfortably middle class. I'm not struggling to make ends meet and if I could just stop drinking (ha!!!) I'd have loads of disposable income.

7) I have an outline and a couple rough pages of ideas for the book I am starting, which will likely take years and years and years to complete, knowing my penchant for procrastinating, but at least it's an idea.

6) Excellent friends, so excellent I am constantly being told I need to move across the country to be closer to them or told I need to stay put so as to not leave them. Also, they make awesome karaoke partners, as my friend Kelly and I have started to make a career out of our Wilson Phillips renditions (I play Carnie, natch).

5) Well, ok, despite my recent adoption of a dreadfully dour and pessimistic attitude, I'm still pretty much awesome, and potentially the coolest person you know.

4) I am running out of ideas here, so I'll say that hey, at least I live in America, where I will not be beaten to death for dishonoring my family by getting raped, and am still in full possession of my clitoris. While I have some serious issues with the way things are going here lately, I am still very, very, VERY grateful to have been born here. I need my clitoris people, it's all I've got going for me these days!

3) It's summer, which means I am tan, especially right now after spending full days at both the beach and the pool this weekend.

2) Oh yeah, my apartment complex has a pool! That's a reason for happiness right there.

1) My life, in general, is happy and fulfilled and I have been very lucky. I've experienced tragedy, but minimally in comparison to others. I've never lost a close family member, I've never been a victim of a crime worse than pickpocketing (though if I ever catch THAT bastard, he'd better watch out), I go on nice vacations (Nashville in 2 months, Mexico in 5, woot!), I have cute kitties, I am generally good looking despite recent resemblance to Jabba the Hut, I do have about 100 pair of adorable shoes and other cute clothes and accessories, and all and all my life has been good.

Which is why I don't mind wallowing a bit lately. Yes, I'm fairly miserable, but yes, I know that it's GOT to be temporary. And if it isn't, well, I guess my book will veer more towards Sylvia Plath than its current David Sedaris direction.

(Ha, as if I could write as well as either of them, but you get my point.)

Anyway, I must get back to work, but for god's sake quit worrying about me.

How Do I Stop Being a Psycho?

Ok, so naturally, as with all things where I'm a total psycho and can't help but be, I have this guy situation.

Over a month ago, I liked this boy. A lot. Because, as we know, I get way too excited when I meet boys and turn into Tommy Boy in a sales pitch, it ended up with me getting burned.

We went out a couple times, I knew he was seeing someone but he made it seem like more of a casual fling, "I barely see her...it's more of a casual hookup thing right now...we never talk", but then she went and became his girlfriend and our constant flirtation was suddenly all "ohhh well I thought we were just friends, yeah that time we fooled around was just drunkenness even though it happened sober as well along with lots of power-cuddling, what, friends don't do that?"

And even though my brain is capable of logic, and I know he actually treated me shitty, I haven't been able to stop being friends with him. The question is: can I get over this if I am still friends with him? Probably not. But why am I incapable of excising these cretins from my life? I did the same thing with Mr. Jesus, who came crawling back begging for friendship after DUMPING ME ON IM.

So ladies, how do you get over it? I try deleting him from my phone but he still texts on occasion and still IMs on occasion (though with nowhere near the all-day-every-day (no seriously, all.day.every.day) fervor of pre-girlfriend). We are still "online friends" on the social networking site we both frequent. He still messages me there too, and I feel like it would be petty and immature to "de-friend" him.

I'll grant him the "credit" that at least he talks to me 99% less than he did before. He probably realizes that at the very least, our "misunderstanding" was a result of the fact that we talked to each other approximately 300 times more than we talked to anyone else in our lives.

Sometimes, I really wish that mind-erasing thing people use to get over people from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind was real. It would make my life so much easier!