A Musing Life

So, I have a new life.
I'm just recently divorced.
And now I'm on my own.
And it's  A W E S O M E.
In fact, the level of Awesomosity seems to increase with time, as shown in this graph below.
The peaks represent the most awesome things that have happened, like therapy early in the year, my boyfriend (about whom I will tell you very little - but if he's reading this: I wuuuv youuuuu huunny!), and getting my own place in May.

As you can see, the projected level of Awesomosity looks pretty good.

But now I have my own place, I have to do all this shit I never had to do before!
I have to fucking do MAN STUFF now!
What is MAN STUFF, you ask?
Well, it's simple.
MAN STUFF is anything that doesn't have to do with having a vagina.
That's MAN STUFF.

So, I just moved in to my own place, and MAN STUFF had to be done in there.
You know, to make it habitable.
I have to go to MAN STUFF stores and buys things there.
I have bought MAN STUFF stuff that had never previously existed in my world!
And MAN STUFF stuff often costs more than a new pair of shoes!
That pissed me off.

I seriously had to weight the pros and cons: 

"Hmm. Washing machine… new heels… 

Hmm. 

Gonna have to mull that over some more."











 So now, I find myself drilling holes in the walls.
I never drilled holes before!
There was always someone around (hint: it was a MAN) who was like:
"I am the hole driller in this environment."
And I'd be like: "That is so ok with me."
But, I always thought to myself: Why drill when we have super glue and duct tape?!
I mean, duh.

Now I believe in giving credit where credit is due.
I made sure I had a couple of men to help me do the MAN STUFF.
Because otherwise, it would be like tossing me into Athens and expecting me to speak fluent Greek.
Which I do not.
It was a safety measurement more than anything else.
Because I am a Mom.
I can't afford to drill a hole into myself that shouldn't be there.

So life till now was pretty easy for me.
Someone, usually a MAN, always did the MAN STUFF properly.
Things stayed up and didn't fall apart or anything.
But now, I have to do it!

Damn.

So the other day, I wanted to hang up a painting.
So I drill this hole.
And it's hard! The wall is really hard!

And thing is, the hole just keeps getting bigger.
It is now a huge hole.
The wall could now act as a make-shift sex toy for a really tall guy right now.
That's how huge it was.

But I'm still in denial at this point, while this hole is becoming even bigger.
But I decide it's good.
I stop drilling.
I'm seconds away from hanging my painting and completing my first official act of MAN STUFF.
I put the plug in.
And the plug disappears into like an abyss of wall nothingness.
And then, it dawns on me, that I might have done something slightly wrong here.

But no one is there, bitching me out: "You totally did that wrong! You are so retarded! Look what you did!"
No one.
Only me.
So I had to bitch myself out.
"Oh, me! You fucked up! But I still love you."
I have a slightly different version of the bitching out, you see.


So back to the hole.
Now have to make up a cool story about the hole for when people come over, to cover up what a retard I am.
They'll go: "Hmm, what's up with that hole, Lizanne?"
And I'll have to go: "Yeah, that hole - omg, this huge rat had been living in my wall! And last night, it chewed its way out! And now there's that hole! 
Can you believe it? 
Yeah, It's gone now."

So, I wanted my house to be pretty.
And I wanted to utilize the space.
So I spent a lot of time designing the rooms in my house, without taking any kind of measurements whatsoever.
'Cuz I find that kind of thing unimportant.

I was drawing pictures of my living room, full of lovely furniture.
Lots and lots of furniture.

And my oh my, what a spacious and lovely room it was in my drawing.
And when I wanted to actually put the furniture in there, I discovered something.

The furniture was way bigger in real life than how I drew it!
How could that be?

But, everything fit on my fictional drawing!



 

My living room is actually way smaller than in my imagination.

I don't get it.

I guess a piano and a chair are not actually the same size.












So yeah, being a woman alone can be tough.

Like when you have to install digital television.
No one's there to go: "Just give me the goddamn remote. I'LL do it."
And then it'd be done in 5 minutes.
I had to do it myself, because I really want three hundred channels of crap.

So I sat down, and after like a week, I finally found the setup button on the remote.
And then, lo and behold, I actually found where to enter the codes and shit.
And then, I pushed some buttons and it actually worked!
Stuff happened that was supposed to happen!
I couldn't believe it!
That usually never happens to me!

So then I had to call the TV place and like register my digital TV Smart Card Thingamajiggy (which incidentally is the official name).
And when I registered it, I could get like another five hundred channels of shit that I would never watch for a limited time.

So I called the TV place, and got this guy on the phone.
I was still in the I ROCK zone, which unfortunately tends to make my voice go up a few octaves.
So the TV guy picks up and our conversation went like this:
TV guy: "Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?"
Me: "I did it! I got the channels!"
TV guy: "Ma'am, you'll need to speak in a different frequency so I can understand you."
Me: "I can't! I can't!!"

And now it's turning into like a 911 emergency call.

TV guy: "Ma'am, you need to calm down. I can't understa-"
Me: "I can't calm down!! I'm too proud of myself! I worked the remote! The channels are all -"
TV guy: "Listen, ma'am, I'd like to help you. But you reeeeally need to calm down."

Well, we got there in the end.
Now I can sit there and be disgusted with the filth that's on TV like everybody else.
Finally.

I get funny, when I get all emancipated.
Like the other day, I decided to mow my lawn.
I decided to mow my lawn, after procrastinating about mowing it for a month.
I have this miniature strip of grass in front of my house, which was quickly turning into like a whole new eco system.
If Darwin had seen it, he would've gone:
"Fuck the Galapagos, man, look at this lawn! It has flora and fauna which is yet unknown to mankind!"
It was getting a little out of hand.
My neighbors were probably thinking: "That new neighbor woman is seriously lowering the property value of our rentals."

So I bought a hand mower.
'Cuz I'm an idiot, basically.

And I was finally all ready to go out and mow that lawn.
It took me a while to get ready to start mowing, you see.
Because the thing is, I have this condition, where I have to dress accordingly.
So I had a little 'lawn mowing' outfit on.
Or, an outfit that I considered would be appropriate to mow a lawn
for a fucking 
photo shoot 
in the 50's.
I had the little halter top and stretch capri pants and wedged sandals.
I had my hair all up in a bandana with a cute little bow.
Lipstick and lashes for fun.

I know you're shaking your head right now.
I know.

So there I am, cursing my ass off while looking cute as a button, trying to get this mower like one millimeter into the grass, which is so high, I'm ready for someone to pop out of it at any moment and go: "Dr. Livingston I presume?"

And this is my FRONT lawn.
So like, people are walking by and shit.
They can SEE me.
In my mind, I'm all awesome and fashionable and like: "I'm so strong. I'm a woman. I am mowing."
When in reality, I was all sweaty and cursing audibly and my mascara is melting.
Me pushing this mower probably looks like someone trying to push an elephant into a shredder.
And, it really doesn't wanna go.
How many elephants would want to go willingly into a shredder?
Not many, I can tell you.

And at this point, some guys walk by.
And I'm thinking: "They are so gonna offer to help."
'Cuz I know men.
They've got one thing on their fucking minds.
One thing.
That is: that they are WAY better at mowing lawns than women.
And they want women to KNOW that.

So there I am, trying to look like this is totally effortless and I can make my mower cut through that grass like butter.
And, of course, just as I predicted, one of the guys like comes right up to me and offers to help.
Unfortunately for him, I was in a state of utter emancipation.
This was our brief conversation:
The Guy: "Hey, need a hand?"
Me: "YOU FUCKING MEN ARE ALL ALIKE! This is MY lawn! I'm gonna mow it all by myself! 
FFFUUUUUUCK  OFFFFFF!"
The Guy: "Woah ok ok! Take it easy! Just looked like you were havin' some trouble there."

No no no. I'm on to you.
I showed him.
Took me another two hours, but I showed him.
In my mind.
'Cuz he was nowhere when I finished.
Nowhere.
Gloating.
You know he was.