Boo-boo cow

Whining ahead. Run for daylight while you can!

My mom hates whiners. With a passion. So if you see fit to bellyache, even for a moment, you are called “Boo-Boo Cow.” Her theory on life is to do something, even if it’s wrong. Although she’s watched me for years do exactly that, and she’s kind of learned that you’re screwed no matter what you do and that doing nothing can be fun too.

My survival of late has been more of a “living life in the missionary position” line of thinking. Well, more like getting screwed with your gutchies still on, but whatever.

Anyway, Boo-Boo Cow is not to be confused with Bo-Bo, who is the bear she bought to sleep in my new bed at her house while I’m not there. Bo-Bo is to be placed into my “Hopeless Chest.” You know, some women come to a marriage with a hope chest of things they’ve been saving all their lives for that special event. Mom has been joking about making us hopeless chests because, well, things are looking pretty hopeless in that direction.

My friend Shan is like that too. She’s been talking about planning my wedding for a long time now. No groom candidates and not even a burning desire to find one anytime soon, mind you, on my part, but no matter. She just wants me to have someone who drives me as batshit crazy as her husband makes HER. 😉 Her view is that it just isn’t fair that only she is that miserable. Hahahaaaaaa.

I just had one of those miserably chilling revelations that, great, another birthday is coming up that I’ll have to spend alone. Wondrous. Joyous. Of course, I’m at an age where it’s best to not remind people that I’m getting older. But I was just sort of boo-boo-cowing my life, how nothing feels like it’s going right and I really don’t know when it’s going to start and I’d love to pull the covers over my head and sleep through the next six months if I weren’t an insomniac.

I still haven’t heard from that stupid apartment complex. I’ll call today — it’s been five full days. I know my credit sucks but I meet their income requirements, so yes I can afford (albeit barely) their hoity-toity little complex, if that’s what they’re worried about. Of course, given the state of my luck, I’m sure I was accepted and they forgot to tell me.

Lachlan brought up an interesting thought yesterday, that maybe I need to explore other options. And not just maybe, but definitely. And I agree. But in comparing other real estate in my targeted area, I’d end up paying similar prices, just in different ways. Like, the place that includes utilities wants a $600 cat deposit; the place where I’d pay gas wants a $200 cat deposit. I’m sure it’d be more to my benefit to just pay the big fat cat deposit up front, but there’s something soothing to my fragile nerves to not have to come up with even more money up front to finance this odyssey.

Plus, they have my deposit in-hand. Wrestling it back is an issue, too, but I’ll do it if I must.

I hate being suspended in midair. I can’t give notice to my current complex (yes, I have to give notice even if I’m being evicted. Go figure) yet, nor can I get moving estimates and dates because I JUST DON’T KNOW and let’s face it, I don’t want to jinx anything by getting some preliminary quotes. I’m superstitious to the nth degree like that.

The smarter among you (well, those of you who know what a neurotic mess I am) know that it ain’t just this. There are other things I keep offline that are making me nuts. But it’s easier to project all my worries into One Big Problem to Solve, as though conquering it will ooze over into the rest of my life and make me go kick ass where I have been needing to.

I’m going to go window-shopping for my fictional apartment today. I’m sure not wanting to buy anything that would be PERFECT in that place will make me feel oh-so-much better.

If not for Bon Jovi’s “These Days” CD (and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee), I don’t know how I’d survive.

One Lonely Response to Boo-boo cow

  1. Caterwauling :

    […] I have a doll for Alex that’s as big as she is. I wasn’t sure what to get for Jordan, so I settled on a sleeper that says “I’m crawling and I can’t get up.” Stupid, yes, but he’s outgrown the very cute sleeper I bought him six months ago that’s still wrapped in Sesame Street paper and sitting in my desk drawer. Mom says that can go in my hopeless chest, although she’s worried that with me being around a toddler and an infant, her dreams of grandmotherhood will be shot in half an hour. And she’s probably right. […]