Archives. (No, it's an actual post.) (Well, kind of.)

For most of you, it's already May 1st. For me, I've got another 47 minutes.

I got to thinking a little bit ago (where a little bit ago = 23 minutes) (I counted) about how here I had let another month go by without posting. And maybe, if I really tried hard enough, I could hurry and squeeze a post in so that at least April wouldn't be forever missing from my archives.

This then got me thinking about archive lists. If you've been paying attention, you know that the appearance of my blog changes, well, once in a while. (Where "once in a while" = EVERY FUCKING DAY.) My own archive list has moved from sidebar... to it's very own page... and back to my sidebar. Because I can never made a decision about the importance of such a list.

(42 minutes)

Let's be honest. No one ever clicks on the archives. For most, the sidebar archive list is a badge of honor. See that? See how long I've been bloggin?g! Add in a few "neeners" just for kicks. (And apparently I think most people are snobs.)

Except in my case. (Naturally.) (Dude, I'm not a snob.)

(38 minutes)

No, I've decided to display the archives in my sidebar solely for appearances. Because without it? My blog would be sorely lopsided. No, I'm not kidding. This is me at my most freakish. (You thought you'd seen the worst, hadn't you? Trust me peeps, you ain't seen nothin' yet.)

(33 minutes)

(30 minutes) (We had  a bug incident, but it's been taken care of.)

(And I know what you're thinking, since when do I take care of bugs in 3 minutes time? I don't. I'm with a friend who is manly enough to take care of the monstrous and disgusting creatures in a way that I'll never be able to. His 3-minute matter-of-fact bug expediting would have taken me a day and a half. Plus recovery time.)

(28 minutes)

It's a rare thing for me to click on someone's archive list. This has happened only once or twice when I became so infatuated that I thought I just have to go to the beginning and thus the archive list came into play. I can't remember any of the blogs with which this happened, so obviously the infatuation never lasted long. (This also happened a couple of times when I'd stumble across a blogger with so much effing drama in their life that I wondered what they wrote about before the shit storm.)

(17 minutes) (I was distracted by a youtube video.) (My life is full of inconsequential distractions these days.)

So, I was torn. Do I hurry and post so that April 2012 isn't lost forever? Or do I let it pass and be comfortable in the fact that at least no one will click on April 2012 just to be confronted with one sad, lonely post that was only written to make a deadline?

This is the shit I worry about. And I still don't have an answer. All I can do is click the "publish" button (which mocks me every time I leave a post unfinished) (you'd be surprised just how many of these there are) and give you something, anything, to read.

And I'll tell myself that May will be different. May will be full of clever, interesting blog posts. May will be the month it all comes together.

(13 minutes)

(550 words in 34 minutes? Not bad. You'd think I'd be able to do this more than once a fucking month.)

Or I'll see you again on May 31st. One can never tell.

The end.

(6 minutes)

Itchy just talkin' about it. Part 1.

There is one big problem with my mansion. (Other than the fact that I can hear my neighbor breathing, that is.) Spiders. Of the Daddy Long Leg variety. Oh, sure, you can go ahead and tell me how harmless they are, how "helpful." You can tell me the sky is green and the grass is blue. SPIDERS ARE SCARY.

(As are ALL insects. No species is spared in my absolute hatred of all things creepy and crawly.)

When I first moved into my mansion, I told Neighbor John, "I'm so happy we're neighbors! YOU CAN KILL THE BUGS!" Not that I was expecting much; just the normal amount of critters that one might expect. And you know what John said? "Bugs? (Then indecipherable muttering and general sound-making as if I was an idiot for even suggesting such a thing.) We rarely see any bugs." Then his nose grew three feet long.

The first daddy long leg (DLL from the point forward) was chillin' by one of my electrical outlets. I kept an eye on him for a little while and when he was suddenly just... gone... I shrugged and went about my day. You see, I can't kill them. Even that terrifies me. I've seen my mom spray insects. The bug freaks out, my mom freaks out, I freak out. Everyone is shrieking and flailing about. It's not pretty.

People, I know it's not rational. I get that. Truly, I do. I realize the absolute stupidity in my way of thinking. But fear? Real, true fear? It's absurd and foolish and there's absolutely no reasoning with it.

That first DLL reappeared the next day, next to the same outlet. Chillin.' A couple hours later, gone again. Then there was the one in the corner below my window. And, later, one that was crawling across the door to my closet.

All of them (or maybe they are one in the same?) moseyed on within an hour or two. I'm fine with that! Again, COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL, but I'd rather I go on my merry way and they go on theirs. No harm, no foul. Just go. Please, please, just go.

A coupla days ago, I came home and discovered one loungin' in a corner of the room. He wasn't doing anything so I went about my business. I was even starting to think this whole let-them-live-in-peace attitude I'd recently adapted was a sign that the fear didn't have quite the stronghold on me it'd had in the past. I'm an adult. A (relatively) mature one. And I've survived a divorce. What's an itty bitty critter gonna do?

Then something happened and I realized I might not have come as far as I'd hoped.

I stopped by the mansion to change before heading out again. I sat down to pee (and quickly as I was in a hurry). From my perch I could see into the shower and, for crying out loud, another spider. I finished my business and stood, just watching.

I couldn't let it stay. This is my shower we're talking about. I REFUSE TO SHOWER WITH SPIDERS.

I'm embarrassed to admit what happened next.

I didn't know what to do. It was on the move. I had to act fast. Shockingly, I don't own bug spray. (WHY DON'T I OWN BUG SPRAY?!) I thought to grab a bottle of whatever bathroom cleaner was closest, but that would mean leaving the room and in my irrational fear-filled mind, that would have given the spider too good a chance to escape. The closest thing to me was a small bottle of water I keep handy for ironing.

I should have realized what sort of minimal impact this would have.

I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed until I was nearly out of water. That fucker, crippled though he may have been, fought the good fight. I realized I was probably torturing the poor thing, which was so not my intention. (Did you not read the paragraphs above in which I LIVE AND LET LIVE?)

I had to grab something stronger than water, something that would clue said spider in on the fact that he wasn't just CAUGHT IN A RAIN STORM, something that would finally put us both out of our misery. While he was down, temporarily, for the count, I dashed into the closet and grabbed... windex.

Effing glass cleaner.

I don't know why. I guess I just figured it'd have toxic chemicals that SURELY would kill an itsy bitsy spider. But, no. I just kept torturing the poor bastard.

At this point, a solid ten minutes have passed. Doesn't sound like much, I know, but in real spider-killing time? An. E. Ternity.

Finally, finally, it was down. If it wasn't dead at this point, it was only a matter of moments. My skin was crawling. My scalp was tingling. I felt itchy all over. I was certain his whole extended arachnid family was going to come crawling through the walls in a scene straight from Arachnophobia to attack me. I probably wouldn't have blamed them.

I turned the shower on and let the water run for several minutes. I was so tense. My shoulders were aching; I was on the verge on tears.

I wanted, more than anything, to feel some sort of accomplishment. I had, after all, killed a spider. For what may have been the first time ever in my life. I should have felt proud. No, it hadn't been at all graceful and I was sure that when the time came I'd be taken to task for my inhumane treatment of another of His creatures. But I had done it. I had killed a bug. The very thing that haunts my nightmares and sometimes even prevents me from living my life. But I didn't feel proud. I felt horrible. Awful.

I didn't know whom I felt worse for: the spider or me. Because at that moment I felt certain I would have to move. The spiders and I would not coexist. If they wouldn't leave, then I would have to.

To be continued...

And I hope you never need them.

You didn't think I was kidding, did you? I bought the tattoos once. I had to see what "his and hers" tattoos looked like. The package only contained one tattoo (assholes) and it was of a green vine that I think was meant to circle an upper arm. Or maybe it was supposed to circle something else entirely. Anyway, it certainly didn't heighten any of my sensations. And I'll never get that fifty cents back.

Here to stay. Question mark.

I was crazy about The Sims when it first came out. I think I played, really played, for all of two weeks. Then I found the cheat for unlimited amounts of money and spent the rest of my time building and decorating houses. (Months and months later, I'd play For Real, but then it was all about getting my sim to "woohoo" with everyone she came into contact with. She was a total slut. Even after she got married and had kids, she was still humping everything in sight.) (Not sure what that says about me.) Now I wonder if blogging has become my present day Sims game. Because I've spent the whole of February (minus too many nights going out and holy shit, peeps, I am broke) playing with the appearance of this place. (And, as you can see, it looks worse than ever.) I spent one night writing a real, live post, but then I got all crazy about not publishing the damn thing until the ole blog was dressed in its Sunday best (I haven't been to church in too long to remember; I don't think that has anything to do with anything, but.) which is why it has not yet seen the light of day. My mom told me a couple weeks ago that if I had a life I'd stop focusing so much on inconsequential minutia. Then I thought, maybe I'm just done blogging. Maybe I've run my course. Maybe I don't have anything worth saying. (Did I ever?) Maybe no one wants to hear about the bars and late nights and "peewee" condom dispensers (for the little things in life) in the ladies room of said bars. (And I use the term "ladies" loosely.) But after much soul searching and enough Bud light to sink the Costa Concordia (not funny yet?), I've decided that I'm not done. I think I'm gonna stay a while. Also? I'm not a big fan of Bud light.

Five. Not a party you'd want to attend.

1. I'm feeling sorry for myself tonight. Couple weeks ago I went and did something, well... pretty fucking stupid. It was what prompted my "no more mistakes" resolution. Miraculously, I emerged practically unscathed! I was feeling all mature and grown up having come out with nary a scratch to show for my stumble and decided, what the hell! Let's take a risk and do it all over again! Let's make life REALLY INTERESTING! Turns out, you only get away with making some mistakes once. The second time? You get to pay for them. Life's funny that way.

2. Speaking of which... I was officially divorced as of December 30th. Oddly enough, there are no tangible differences that come with finally being divorced. However, you know that sensation you get when a common word suddenly loses all meaning? Yeah. That. Divorced. How strange. Ironically (or not), my new status has nothing at all to do with this evening's pity party. No, despite past fears and indecisiveness, I feel more strongly than ever that I made the right decision.

3. FYI, this divorce took nearly TWO YEARS. My attorney said if I had wanted things expedited, I should have thought about paying her. My mom can be a real smartass sometimes.

4. I read some books last year. 157 to be exact. BECAUSE I HAVE NO LIFE. I thought to display said books like I've done in years past, then I realized that doing so would probably require me to add some sort of "content warning" because just about EVERY SINGLE BOOK I READ was intended for a mature audience. Anyway, my point is this: reading 157 books was incredibly detrimental to my finances (because I purchased 98% of them) and I must be stopped. I need a good, swift kick in the ass. (For more reasons than one, apparently.)

5. Have you ever spent the better part of an hour writing something just to accidentally delete it? It's a horrible feeling. I should know because it happened to me just thirty minutes ago. And since I spent the last thirty- no, twenty-five minutes (I spent five minutes denying it had really happened) trying to remember all of the nonsense I had previously spewed (minus one first paragraph which I still had saved to my virtual clipboard) I now don't have the energy or interest in trying to remember what my #5 would have been. Let's all just pretend it was something totally clever and insightful and call it a night.

I bet they're horse people.

Weird, right?

(I found this little treat on my memory card and it was like Christmas morning all over again.)

I’m learning the lessons… only much later than everyone else.

I had an epiphany while at dinner with my best girlfriend last night. (Actually, it was two nights ago now. My slacking has reached an all time high.) Are you ready for this?

When you’re married and you drink too much, IT’S OKAY. You can get sloppy with your spouse. Your spouse will take care of you. Your spouse is (usually) someone you can trust. So, drink up!

IT IS MUCH, MUCH DIFFERENT WHEN YOU’RE SINGLE.

I’ve been going out a lot. There’s usually alcohol involved. Not always, but... usually. (Sometimes there are board games involved. I can't tell if this means we're progressing or not.) (FYI, I suck at Clue.)

I enjoy having cocktails. The other Stephanie, the one usually chained and padlocked to my neurosis, gets to come out and have some fun. And she is one cool chick. She's funny and carefree, totally self assured and confident. She knows exactly what she wants to say and how to say it and doesn't let any pesky insecurities get in her way. It's a beautiful thing. But.

In the last year? Fun Stephanie has done some things un-fun Stephanie is not proud of. (That didn't come out quite right.) I've crossed a line with one friend, led another on... I'll let you contemplate the many sins I may have committed because I'm not going to share the nitty gritty details. But it was all done with the very lame excuse of "I was drunk." Like that somehow makes it okay. Like I shouldn't be held accountable.

I'm finally figuring it out. I do stupid things when I'm drunk. I thought as long as no one was bleeding or getting arrested, NO BIG DEAL. It's all fun and games, right? Wrong.

I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to wake up and think OH. MY. GOD. WHAT DID I DO?! And, worse, not be able to remember. And I certainly don't want to have any regrets that make my face burn to think of them.

So, in an effort to aid my No More Mistakes in 2012 campaign, we're gonna lighten up on the boozin'. (I'm pretty sure that apostrophe is in the wrong place.) And by "we" I mean me. Although, I may have to convince a friend or two of the merits of less drinking and more control over one's behavior.

Five. Before my hand falls off.

1. My left hand is swollen and painful. I have many theories, but no concrete explanations. With the way my luck is going lately, I thought it best to post something before the damn thing falls off.

2. If you've seen my (horribly infrequent) tweets, you heard the heartbreaking news. On Sunday, after moving out of my mother's house, I went to grab a few items from storage. Namely my books and space heaters ('cause I swear I froze my nipples off that first night in the new place.) I got there only to discover that 98% of my stuff had been stolen. Sad fucking day. And it's like the most horrible gift that keeps on giving, 'cause each day since then I remember another item that I'll never see again. (All my books. Just poof! Gone. Fucking assholes.)

3. In happier news: I moved into my new room this past weekend. I say "room" 'cause that's exactly what it is. A room. With a bathroom and a walk-in closet. No kitchen. (Yeah. I know. But since all of my kitchen appliances were also stolen...) However, my room is apart from the main house. I have my own entrance. And when I bounce up the steps, past my very own mailbox and use my very own key to open my very own door and walk into my very own room to the sound of ABSOLUTELY NO ONE, it's like the very best room on the whole freaking planet that ever existed, amen.

4. What's more? The house and property belong to wonderful people. People I know. People who hug me when they see me and tell me how happy they are to have me living there. Technically, they're Jon's people. I'd never have met them had we not been married. (Jon is best friends with Ben. Ben is married to Kristina. Kristina is Charley's sister. Charley owns the house. There'll be a quiz on this later.)

5. Despite the fact that I have a lot less to unpack than I originally anticipated, this whole moving and settling in thing has taken up, like, all of my time. Well, that and work. Which is why this place looks like shit. Forgive my appearance. Forgive my absence. Things'll be back to normal soon. (Of course, normal for me means clusterfuck.) Let's all just go out for a cocktail, okay?