A friend of mine told me not to claim one of my jobs on my taxes. That’s how she’s getting money back, she told me. And she claimed summer classes that she took (and claimed) last year for an extra education credit (for having to pay tuition). She says you have up to three years to claim income from your job. That would bite me in the butt even more, seeing as though I would then be claiming double what I made last year, plus the .30/hr more I make this year. So eventually it would bite me in the butt anyway, only harder, and take a chunk away with it. Whatever.
I am done venting my spleen about the federal government and how they stopped giving people trying to move up in the world a fighting chance. I don’t care about the economy, health care, immigration, trials for terrorist, Haiti, Afghanistan, Iraq, government spending, or John Edward’s sexual liasons. I don’t want to see Obama on my TV defending another policy, or know what him and Michelle are doing for Valentine’s Day. I am unplugging from all things political until after the Superbowl…probably longer. I never mention politics and government for a reason–either I don’t understand it, don’t care, it doesn’t affect me at this point in my life, everyone else has talked it to death, or it doesn’t make a good blog. That is all.
I went to the gym today, more out of a need to burn off some steam and mental energy than to actually work out. I went up a level on the stairstepper/elliptical type machine and maintained my new time of 30 minutes, even though it almost killed me. My butt burned like candle wax and my thighs burned and shook like jello, but I did it. I was bathed in sweat by the time I got off, and I don’t usually sweat anywhere but my forehead and lower back. I did most of the things I normally do. There were so few people in there, I could get on whatever I wanted without wait. I like that. I may go more Friday nights and Saturdays.
I went on runnersworld or some other website to see what they had for beginners. I’m thinking of adding some short runs in my gym time. Why not? They have all those treadmills. I prefer the stairstepper/elliptical thingy, the hamstring machine, hip abductor machine, and yoga because they keep my booty big and round and firm, but a little running shouldn’t take my booty (but it can have my stomach!) .
My loopy friend, she of the changes boyfriends like I change socks and maybe more frequently, has, apparently, finally nabbed her man. She told me she had been interested in dating him for over five years, but timing was off, he didn’t want to date long distance, blah blah blah, and they finally got together a little while ago. They went ring shopping this weekend. If she gets married I’ll be highly surprised. I’ve known her 5 months longer than Mr. P & I have been dating, so let’s say 2 1/2 years. In that time, there have been nearly ten guys she’s dated, 3 seriously enough to live with. They all go the same way: she’s in love, she gets bored, she stops sleeping with him and waits him out until he cheats, then she feels justified in breaking up, “I’m gonna do me and get myself together,” two weeks later—new man. I don’t know; maybe all the rest were just ways to bide her time until this guy became available. Maybe he’s the one. If he is, I’m happy for her. But I woudn’t be saying I do just yet. Let the relationship get a little older, see how it goes. Have a disagreement and see how y’all deal with it. But who am I to stand in the way of true love?
My birthday is fast approaching, and I have no great hopes for it. I’ve had one really great birthday in 13 years, when Mr. Perfect first came to visit me in Florida. I hadn’t had a birthday party before that in 11 years, unless you count the aborted attempt at my 21st birthday. My girl bought me a cake, which was nice, but I was going through some things at the time..ahem…Before that, there was the year I played pool with the white frat boys, one with a black eye from a fight at another school, one who got drunk and spoke Russian, and one who was cool. Before that, I spent my sweet sixteen, listening to a drunk woman cry at my grandmother’s house about her life and my grandma gave me $20 she wanted back for her birthday in August. One year I was alone in the dorms. One year, a snow storm snowed everyone in and no one came to my party. One year, my little brother had his party with me, and none of my friends showed up because they didn’t want to go to a kiddie party. One year, my little cousin, celebrating his birthday with me, put his face in my cake and his brother (or one of the other three kids that had it) gave me chickenpox. I was sick for nearly two weeks. I don’t usually get birthday cards, let alone gifts. A bunch of people I don’t know will write happy birthday on my facebook wall, same as every year since 2004. My mom and Aunt Pink Susie will call. My mother is doing physical therapy and grieving the loss of my stepfather, struggling to raise a hardheaded teenage boy while doctors try and diagnose some of her ailments and get her disability confirmed so she can get her disability. She’s not used to not being able to work and has too much time to worry. Being Mom, she will be worrying and sad she can’t do much for my birthday, but I completely understand why she can’t. My dad will call and do that lame thing where he says he can’t remember what’s so special about today, which would have been cute had he been around to do that when I was five, but I’m turning 25. Sometimes my dad forgets to call at all. Sometimes he comes to Florida and never even bothers to call, let alone come by.
Having Mr. Perfect in my life definitely helps around my birthday, because they usually aren’t great otherwise. He seems happy that I was born and goes out of his way to do something–cook for me, take me out, something small but sincere. We’ve talked about going to a play, The Clean Up Woman, but we haven’t bought tickets yet. I hope we get to go, though.
The Superbowl is this weekend. I don’t really have a team to root for per se, but Mr. Perfect is rooting for the Colts. I just want to see a good game…I get so tired of dumb blowouts. I hope the commercials are good this year. I wanted to have a Superbowl get together, but I have a small TV for that kind of thing, and I don’t have many people to invite outside of church folks (who will probably be in evening service).
Don’t mind me; I’m just not in a good mood at the moment. I’ve tried everything I can try to improve said mood, but nothing is helping. Maybe Mr. P will call and lift my spirits. Or my mama. I’m not answering anyone else tonight. No need to spread my bad attitude.