Sometimes, I Have Deep Thoughts.

And not of the Jack Handey variety, although I would like to share my personal favorite with you all as an opener: “If you ever drop your keys into a river of molten lava, let ’em go because man, they’re gone.”
[Cue soothing outro music]

One of my friend’s (I have three friends!) boyfriend posted a very sweet sentiment to her wall yesterday, basically saying how he wishes he could turn back time (not Cher, but you’re welcome for that ear worm) and met her sooner so he could love her longer. See? So sweet. I actually said “aww…” out loud when I read it. Just adorable and romantic and we all know I’m a sucker for that shit.

But then I got to thinking, as I’m often wont to do, and this is where the deep thoughts come into play. I realize a lot of people feel this way about their significant others; I felt it myself. You meet someone so wonderfully fantastic that you wish upon wishes that you had met them much sooner in your life as to avoid the bullshit brought on by past relationships. I felt the same way when I met my former spouse. Granted, dude was My First Very Serious Boyfriend, but I wish we had met years earlier than we did. Which now, I feel is a little silly because we were both 19 at the time and if we had met a few years before, he’d have caught me in my super awkward teenaged phase and this is why I didn’t have My First Very Serious Boyfriend until I was 19. I digress.

Anyway, wishing you met someone earlier blah blah blah…and cut to my thought. My thought is this: people need to realize that while they may think that about their significant other, and please excuse the hokey cliché here, but people come into your life at the exact right time, even the people to whom caused us nothing but grief or didn’t stick around long. Again, hokey, but true.

I take my own situation into account here. I met a man on a dating site that rhymes with HokayStupid and while we hit it off and whatnot, I felt he wasn’t interested in me, so kept my options open, I guess. A few months later, I ended up meeting and moving away to Texas for another person, which we all know I deeply, deeply regret because what the fuck. What the fucking fuck.

So, like, a month after I moved for this chump, we broke up. No big loss there. Pro tip: make sure a guy you move halfway across country for isn’t a verbally abusive manic depressive alcoholic douchesucker BEFORE you move halfway across country. You’ll save yourself a boatload of grief. But…I met him at the right time, which is bizarre for me to say because I have no love for this fuck at all, but I really did meet him at the right time. Allow me to elaborate.

As I said, I was on a dating site and met and briefly dated three men prior to the one I mentioned earlier. At that time, I wasn’t feeling it. I stopped dating these men for various reasons, but mainly, there was no connection. I didn’t feel anything. I got told by two of these men I was a cold bitch. Whatever. Anyway, enter 4th guy and it was great, but again, I didn’t sense interest on his end, no biggie, so when I met this last guy and he wooed and wowed me, told me wonderful things about myself, I instantly fell for that charm and flattery. It had been since my former spouse that any man told me I was beautiful and gross shit like that. Of course I loved it! It boosted my poor self-esteem! Hey now! We all need a boost now and then. So that’s why I deem him worthy of coming into my life at the right time. I was feeling pretty low. Plus, I got to move away for a bit, something I had begged my former spouse for years to do. I experienced things. I met some truly great people in Austin. I lived a little. All in all, it was a good thing.

Then, one night after going out with my girlfriends, they were all on HokayStupid making fun of matches they’d received. Not being one to be left out, I dusted off my profile and started browsing. Much to my surprise, I was getting Nebraska matches even though I was in Texas and my information reflected such. The kicker? The 4th Guy from a few paragraphs ago was a match. Huh. I sent him a message. We began corresponding again. I told him he owed me a date. He agreed. I ended up moving back to Nebraska. We had that date. That was over a year ago. We are still in it. It is complicated, but what isn’t?

My point in all this is again, people come to you at the right time. Fourth Guy made a brief appearance and then came back. What if I hadn’t moved to Texas? I’d have gone along thinking he had no interest still and would have gone on. Even though our relationship is confusing, he’s in my life and I’d rather he be in it than not. The first time we met wasn’t the right time. This time is.

So, there’s my wisdom for you today. Look at the people in your life and thank them for being there. It’s their right time.

As always, thanks for reading.

June 27, 2014

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

What an exuberant greeting! Hello. Yes, it is Sunday. A day of rest. A day of brunch and coffee in bed while reading the funnies in the newspaper. Sunday means one of the local Indian restaurants offers an all-you-can-eat buffet of curry and masala and naan and gosht. I like Sunday.

Sunday also means that sometimes, I take to my trusty mechanical steed and drive off into whatever direction I feel like going. I don’t know what it is about driving, but I love it. One positive of moving to Texas was the drive down there, and later, the drive back up. While getting out of the state of Texas takes roughly a year, and Oklahoma is the asshole of America, the drive is lovely. Long, clocking in at 14 hours from Austin to Lincoln, Nebraska, but fun nevertheless. I enjoy sitting in my car, the seat perfectly adjusted to me. I enjoy driving with the windows down, the wind whipping my hair around my head, which is actually sorta dangerous if you think about it, but so far, so good. I enjoy loading the CD player in my car with discs and singing along–badly–to the music. Sometimes, I car dance. I’m very good at car dancing. All in all, it’s just a terrific feeling.

I hadn’t really intended to go driving today. It has been since March since I took to the road and I had gone to Wal-Mart to pick up my !!!!FREE BIRTH CONTROL!!!! and just decided, ah, what the heck. And off I went to the east, which is my usual direction. People not from Nebraska assume it’s flat. Nebraska is not all flat. The eastern side of the state is actually rather hilly, especially getting to the river. It’s also more lush with trees and generally a very scenic drive.

Anyway, no intention of driving. It just happened. I’m glad it did. I haven’t driven since March when I started my new job. I think I was so tired that I couldn’t bring myself to get in the ol’ Jetta and well, jet. I was a bit nervous since having my surgery in mid-June. The few times my mom would have to drive me from her place to Lincoln for appointments, which is a three-hour drive, I would need her to stop several times along the way to get up and stretch. Here’s some free advice: don’t get your abdominal muscles cut. It isn’t a fun time. I did well with the drive today, though. I did get out a stretch a few times, and I did walk like an 80-year-old man with severe arthritis in all his joints, but dang it, I drove. All is well a-gain. 

Speaking of surgery (I’ll wait while everyone clears the room because OH EM GEE, SHE’S TALKING ABOUT HER HYSTERECTOMY AGAIN. ISN’T THAT NEW AND DIFFERENT?), I finally went back to work this week. I have been having…issues with hormones/mood swings that were pretty wild and unpredictable. For example, one morning, I made myself scrambled eggs for breakfast. I sat down at the kitchen table and promptly began crying. Did I overcook the eggs? Did I not season them properly? Were there bits of shell in them? No, none of that. I just wanted to cry over my eggs, I guess. My poor mother should be nominated for sainthood after having dealt with me the last 5 weeks. But things seem to be getting better, mood-wise. I’m on medications, which I really am not terribly fond of, but if it means not crying over scrambled eggs, then I guess it’s okay. Plus, one of the medications is supposed to help me quit smoking.

Please note I said “supposed to help.” Sigh. I have quit and started two times on this shit so far. I went almost 4 days without smoking the first time, then I felt stressed out, so I smoked. Then I got mad at myself because I really didn’t need the g.d. things, I just thought I did. See, from what I’ve read, all nicotine is out of your body on day 3, so maybe subconsciously I was all “oh shoot, I need to poison my brain and lungs with nicotine and harsh chemicals!” Then, I quit for another four days, and same g.d. thing, although this stress was legitimate. Good excuse, huh? So, I’m working on time #3 to quit and sonuvabitch, I will stay quit this time. I will. I’m thinking of asking the doctor if I can get back on an anti-anxiety medication again because that’s when I feel like I lose all willpower and break down and smoke. We’ll see how that goes. I see her again Friday for what I hope is the last time for a long time.

And I hope I quit smoking. A friend reminded me of a Mark Twain quote, which is so perfectly fitting: “Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I’ve done it thousands of times.” Hahahaha…oh.

Well, that’s all from me for now. I was hoping to write a short story tonight since another friend (I have TWO FRIENDS!) totally blew smoke up my rear end and was all, “you’re going to be on the New York Times Best-Seller List!” Yeah. Okay. But I’ll be buggered if she didn’t get that fiction fire burning again, but I just haven’t thought of anything good to write about. Le sigh. Oh well. It’ll come to me eventually.

Here’s to driving again, quitting smoking again, and writing again.

As always, thanks for reading.



July 14, 2014

It’s that time of year again where I blast my “I’m going to quit smoking!” trumpet. Doo doo-doo doooooo!

It’s funny to me–funny strange, not funny ha ha–that it was around this time last year I tooted that same trumpet. I quit smoking July 27th, 2013 and did fairly well with not smoking cigarettes, but did use a vaporizer, until roughly six months later.

It was an unseasonably warm day in January. I was on my way to go stay with my father for a then undetermined amount of time. I was stressed out. Unemployed since my return to Nebraska at the end of May ’13, I went crawling to my dad’s house, tail tucked between my legs…and a cigarette hanging out of my mouth.

I stopped to get gas before I left Lincoln and as I was at the counter waiting to pay for my fuel, the rows of boxes called to me again. Just this one pack, Erin. Smoke one or two and throw the rest of us away. Okay, cigarettes. Okay.

Obviously, that didn’t end well. Six months later, still smoking. Erin, you ignorant slut.
In the middle of May, when I got my health insurance back after dagnab near 18 months without, I went to the doctor because yay, health insurance! I was, of course, told to quit smoking because that is a doctor’s job. Then all this whirlwind of abnormal tests and massive, Japanese city destroying fibroids and one hysterectomy later, my doctor is still drilling into my head I should quit.

And I agreed.

I’ve been having some hormonal imbalances since my surgery and I visited with my doctor last week for that and another issue I was having. That’s when her lightbulb turned on. To help with both mood swings and to help me quit smoking, she prescribed Wellbutrin, which I’ve been on for a week.

And then, someone that I didn’t really think gave a hoot about me smoking expressed concern and that caught me off guard. It’s funny–strange again, not ha ha–that I have been told countless times from my parents and some friends that I need to quit, and my reply is always “yeah, I know. Where’s my lighter?” I guess this person was the final voice that needed to chime in to help me realize that I need to quit and please stick to it this time.

As mentioned a paragraph ago, I’ve been on the medication for a week, which is basically the building it up in my system week, and I have noticed a decrease in the need to smoke. And a very low tolerance for alcohol. I had one beer Saturday and not only did it taste terrible, but I thought I was going to be ill, as well. Neat!

I’m supposed to set a quit date within this next week and go from there. I hate this part. It sounds terribly overdramatic, but setting a quit date is like waiting for your own funeral, which is probably the worst analogy I’ve ever made, but hopefully you get the idea. How about this: pick a day where you can’t do this thing anymore. It’s a thing you kind of like to do, and you do a lot of it, but after this day, no more. And don’t be cranky about not being able to do this thing anymore.

And that’s another ridiculous thing–I don’t really like smoking. It hurts. I stink afterwards. No fooling, the fingernail on my index finger is stained from nicotine, as well as my already awful teeth. I just stopped and read what I just wrote and I’m laying here thinking, “what the shit, woman? Seriously? All that is horrible but yet you keep doing it?” I know, self! I don’t get it either!

I smoke because of two things: boredom and because I erroneously think it helps my stress. I am an idiot.

Of all the things a person can do to combat boredom and I choose something that is killing me. Great. Good idea, you dumb cunt. Here’s a dirty syringe; why don’t you just poke your finger with it. I’m sure nothing’ll happen to you. And the stress thing is bunkum, too.

Have I mentioned I’m an idiot yet?

I really want this time around to stick. I need it to. I started smoking regularly 5 years ago for a stupid reason and I have to let that go once and for all.

Thursday, July 17th is my day. Let’s see how it goes, shall we?

As always, thanks for reading.

An Open Letter To The Five Supreme Court Justices


Hello, sirs. My name is Erin and the above picture you’re looking at is my uterus and ovaries.

I had a subtotal hysterectomy nineteen days ago as I was diagnosed with an enlarged uterus, thanks to an extremely large fibroid that was growing in the muscle wall. This fibroid was so large, it choked off its own blood supply, causing the fibroid to start decomposing from the inside. See that lumpy, silver mass next to my uterus? That’s my left ovary grossly deformed by cysts due to polycystic ovary syndrome. I also had endometriosis. As you can see, a trifecta of some pretty serious issues.

I’m writing today because even though I no longer have a uterus, an organ that seems to repulse, disgust, and baffle men like you, I take birth control pills.


Because I’m one of the millions of women who use birth control for reasons other than contraception. The hormones in The Pill are those that my body fails to produce on its own. By taking birth control, I’m receiving those essential hormones and hopefully preventing further cysts from forming on my ovaries. My gynecologist is pessimistic that I’ll be able to keep my left ovary, however, and told me it will most likely be removed sometime in the near future. If this happens, the need for birth control will be even more beneficial to my health.

Justices, your ruling on the Hobby Lobby case June 30, 2014 was a poor one. You have a fundamental misunderstanding of the alternative uses for oral contraception. This decision was made out of ignorance and because of it, my future health will be compromised, as well as the health of all women who rely on The Pill, no matter what they take it for–hormone regulation or otherwise. How can you sleep at night knowing this? How can you deny women their right to medication? Surely, some of you have wives, daughters, nieces, or your sons married nice women. Would you care to explain to these women why you voted the way you did? Could you look these women to whom you love in the eye and basically tell them that their health doesn’t mean anything to you?

I’m starting to consider having a gun implanted in the area where my uterus once was in hopes that this will help people like you view me as a human being who deserves treatment as such.

I’m embarrassed and ashamed by this ruling, Justices. I guess “we the people” only refers to those with penises between their legs.

I apologize for sounding like a man-hater. On the contrary…I am fortunate enough to have men in my life who view me as an equal and who care about me and my health and rights. These men get it. Pity you can’t.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m due to take my birth control pill now. Good afternoon.