But I still don't have anything to say here!

Wow, I didn't realize how long it'd been since I'd written anything here. I guess I just haven't felt like I could express the stuff spinning around in my head. There's plenty of it, personal and family drama and work and life decisions, but trying to sum it all up is an exhausting prospect.

I used to be cripplingly shy, and have absolutely terrible self-confidence. Like the non-existent kind. In the last few years I've gotten a lot better. Especially in the shy department. In fact, I love telling recent acquaintances that I used to be quiet and didn't talk. They're speechless!

And in the self-confidence department, I'm pretty damn good too. I don't think I'm capable of everything, but I don't think I'm incapable of everything. I think I've struck a pretty good balance between realism and optimism in terms of what I'm capable of.

There's one area, though, where I have absolutely zero confidence, and that's when it comes to men. There are a lot of reasons for it. My weight, for one: I know there are men who dig the fatties, but I think there are more who don't. Then there's my relationship history: totally dysfunctional. And my families' relationship histories: not a successful marriage on either side. There's my quirks: I have three cats, I don't want kids, I don't want to get married. There's my feelings on sex: not going to happen until a long time in to a relationship. There's my enjoyment of being alone: I love living alone, I love having space to myself, and I love not having to tell anyone where I'm going to be every minute of the day.

I'm sure that somewhere, maybe even close by, there's a man I'd be attracted to who likes fat girls, doesn't want marriage or crotchspawn, loves cats, is willing to be celibate, can respect my privacy, and is patient enough to deal with me working through my unhealthy relationship issues. But I wouldn't even know where to start to look for him. And I certainly don't know if the cute regular customer at work who inspired this post fits. Or how to flirt with him to try to find out. Or if I'm even really ready to try.

Got my W2 and my 1098T. Now I just need my 1099. I put in the basic info from my 1099 just to see what happened .... if I get even half of what my overall estimated return, I'll be happy.

I've been really struggling lately. I'm sick of my job; I'm sick of never knowing how much I'll make, and having my ability to pay my rent depend on if the jackass at table 30 wants to tip tonight or not. But at the same time I feel so trapped. Because the thing is ..... I'm really not good at anything. At least not anything that makes money. It's pretty depressing. And it seems pointless to stop serving just to work at another job I'll be mediocre at and will probably hate as well.

I'm just feeling sorry for myself.

There's a certain word that, any time I say it, everyone in my vicinity cringes and looks away as if I had just admitted I like to bathe in the blood of aborted babies. It really mystifies me, because it's a very simple word, and it's an entirely accurate descriptor for me. Fat. Fat. That's all. Just fat.

This has happened twice lately, both in conversations regarding jeans. I had to buy new jeans for work before Christmas, because my old ones ripped and my newer pair was really uncomfortable. I didn't want to shell out the cash for Lane Bryant jeans, so I tried Target, Kohl's, and Wal-Mart first. And that reminded me of what for the part six years I've gone straight to LB.

I was telling a good friend of mine this, and she suggested I go to Old Navy. "Can't," I said. "I'm too fat." She started, looking away, and started insisting I couldn't be too large to shop at Old Navy. I just laughed and told her their jeans in-store stop at size 20, which is four sizes too small for me. She continued looking very uncomfortable.

Yesterday, someone was talking about Kohl's and how "wonderful" it is. I mentioned that I tried to get jeans there before going to LB, and the bartender (who's about a size 14), asked me "Why do you shop at Lane Bryant?!" From her tone I'm guessing she went in once and was horrified by the prices, since she has cheaper options.

I kind of blinked at her. "Because I'm fat a girl."

She immediately stopped making eye contact and started making disagreeing sounds, clucking her tongue, pulling that "you're not fat" crap. I laughed. "It's true," I said, "these are size 24 jeans." Everyone around me continued looking horrified that I would say that about myself. They're seriously less horrified when I make jokes about bondage and sex toy sodomy.

And even though I know that society has added all sorts of connotations to the word "fat", peoples' reactions still amuse me. "You're not fat" -- really? What part of me isn't fat? My hair?

Not all of my holidays were back, but my dad's horrid girlfriend making me cry on Christmas was  not a high point. Of course, I also finally told my dad I don't want to be around her, and he said he doesn't blame me and he understood. Which is a far cry from his statement a year ago that if I didn't want to see her, I wouldn't see him! So hopefully things will be better from now on.

I also got sick on either side of Christmas, which was awesome.

I've been in such a weird, sad mood since I got home from my trip. I feel all abstracted, out of sorts, like there's something big processing in my sub-consciousness. No idea what it is, though.

My trip was incredible, for so many reasons. I met a lot of great people, saw a lot of great things -- not touristy things, generally, but just everyday things I loved -- and I saw my Norwegians four times, from the second or first rows. But now I'm home, and depressed. Sigh.

I got over the cold from my last post -- in record time for me, in fact! -- and then on my way to work I stopped at my dad's work. I was still angry with him, and I stormed out of his office and directly into a steel beam. My first concussion!

I knew that working two jobs, especially the kind of hours and the kind of conditions in a haunted house, was going to wear me down. So I started drinking extra water, eating more produce, getting as much sleep as I could. I really tried to take care of myself.

And I got sick anyway. Godfreakingdammit.

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of NMEDA. All opinions are 100% mine.

I hope this doesn't come across as insensitive, but I've always wondered where people with disabilities get cars they drive with hand pedals, etc. I've never seen a dealership for them, or advertisements for them. And I didn't know about NMEDA, a non-profit organization that promotes safer transportation for the disabled. They don't sell anything themselves; instead they certify dealers to offer safe vehicles that meet National Highway Traffic Safety Administration Guidelines. Additionally, their Quality Assurance program is THE nationally recognized accreditation program for the Adaptive Mobility Equipment Industry.

I've never been a caregiver for someone with a disability, but my mom works as a CNA, so I've heard her talk about some of the difficulties, especially regarding transportation. I know she's cared for a lot of elderly people who had lost their independence because they had no transportation; it's nice to know there's an organization like NMEDA who can help people in those situations. It's especially nice because I know there are plenty of unscrupulous people who would sell vehicles personally or over the Internet, and those vehicles may not be 100% safe. It's difficult enough to judge if an average vehicle is safe, or if you're being ripped off; I can only image how difficult it would be to try to discern if an adapted vehicle is safe or not.

I'm getting more and more angry with him. Not about the fact that he won't help me with my trip -- I told him I could do it without financial help, and I can. But I'm pissed off that he's trying to control me! He started out by asking if I was sure I wanted to do this with the "terrorist activity" in Europe; when I said yes he interrogated me about why, and said I shouldn't go alone and that I would be a target. Because apparently anyone walking down the street in London would know and/or care I'm American?

And then when I told him it was what I wanted to do, he said "Then you are as stupid as I thought. Goodbye." Then the next time he started berating me about being irresponsible, and asking why I didn't save the money and be ahead for once.

So basically, he tried to logic me out of it, then he tried to scare me; then to undermine me and convince me I'm too stupid to handle it; and then he moved on to trying to use money as leverage. Wonder what he'll try next.

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Geile Leon. All opinions are 100% mine.

When my father was berating me about my trip to England, he started listing all sorts of places closer by that I haven't been to, and asked why I didn't go there instead. He doesn't know the trip is centered around a certain band -- he'd be even more pissed! I just shrugged and said I'd never really been interested in anywhere near home.

Although I do have to admit it's slightly tempting to take a more luxurious vacation somewhere close by. I could go a couple of states away and for around $300 spend two nights at the Hilton Promenade at Branson Landing or Hilton Branson Convention Center Hotel. They have this "Fall In The City" package that includes show tickets, dinner, attractions, etc. Or there's a shopping package, and they do have the Tanger Outlet Mall there, and god knows I love to shop. I could run away to Missouri for a few days and spend all my spare cash, not worrying about pinching pennies or train fares or how to pay rent when I got back. I could go to lakes and theaters and museums and still be in my little American comfort zone.

Too bad I already have a plane ticket. And a couple of concert tickets. And an obsession. Oh, who am I kidding, I wouldn't take Branson over England. But it does look like a fun place if you don't have an obsession with Morten Harket.

One of our managers at the restaurant was killed in a car wreck last week. I didn't know him well; he was new, and I'd only worked with him a handful of times. Once the initial shock passed, I wasn't very upset, until I read in the newspaper that the cops suspected alcohol was involved.

My father is getting married.

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Boost Mobile. All opinions are 100% mine.

I never understood what people were talking about when they said Facebook was an addictive timesuck. And then I got a Facebook account, and now I check it incessantly, from home and from my phone. Even though mobile Internet is expensive. I can't help myself! I love it! And Boost Mobile has a monthly fee for all the Facebooking your face can handle--so I can send pictures of every stupid road sign I see to my wall to annoy, I mean amuse, all my friends. And I can Twitter every random thought I have, because I know thrilling my deliberations on life are. Or, if I'm being responsible, I can do updates for the company I'm doing social media work for. Yes, I get paid to Twitter. *cyber high-five*

And then, when I inevitably forget to pay my bill because I'm a blonde, I can use their Re-Boost options to pay online, or in person, or even with a text from my phone. They have automatic payments too, although I personally forget those are coming out of my account and end up with ridiculous bank fees.

I realize that at some point, in the far distant past, I didn't have a cell phone. And then I had a phone but not text messaging. And then text messaging, but not internet. Then I got internet on my Blackberry and that was it for me. Oh, I tried a couple of times to turn off my mobile internet service, but eventually the craving for Facebook or my e-mail got me. Hello, my name is [redacted], and I am a mobile internet addict.

I'm never having a 401k again! At least not until I have a Real Proper Job. Having one now is just so much torture. I can't get my money unless I quit, but of course if I quit I'll have to spend a chunk of said money on bills because I quit! Gah! My life would be so much easier if I didn't have this overwhelming obsession with a-ha.