tattoo unveiling (finally!)

“I prithee send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?”
~John Suckling

*sigh* yeah, still there.

anyway… i’d be a dull person indeed if all i talked about was sad, mopey shit.  moving on!  so, i got this tattoo (my first and only) in april and never posted it because i could not for the life of me get my camera to connect to my laptop.  it’s been bugging me and tonight i decided to eff around with it some more.  i tried putting the memory card into a little drive and, voila!  what’s weird is that i know i tried that before and nothing happened, so i don’t know why it suddenly worked.  so, yeah, here it is, a bit anti-climactic… oh well.  thoughts?

cute, right?

mes etoiles dans noir et blanc…

juste comme ma vie.

if that makes any sense to anybody but me…

well, look at that– i can do poetry (er, sort of), too.

it happens… over and over

so, you may have noticed that my last entry was a bit… glum.  and not really an entry at all, just a song that i listen to when shit hits the fan in my relationship.  i don’t even really know what to say though.  we broke up… i guess.  i mean it feels like a break-up although technically it’s a break, a term that i hate because it’s one stop away from singleville (it’s the same reason i hate when people say that they’re bi-sexual; dude, you’re gay, accept it and move on!).  anyway, so i’m in this relationship limbo at the moment and i am feeling… like i’m sick of talking about feelings.  i’m sick of talking or even thinking about how i feel and what i want and what he wants and all this fucking shit you have to wade through when your boyfriend and you are “taking a break.”

i just don’t get it.  why am i attracted to guys i can’t have?  for example, my first boyfriend (aka the douchebag) who was emotionally retarded and didn’t care about whether i was happy at all, just as long as i was doing exactly what he wanted and nothing else.  then, six years later, while still fragile after very not amicable break-up with the douchbag, i meet a guy at a bar (aka mexican douchebag) who seems really nice and generous and fun, but turns out to be some nortena-criminal-baby daddy who still sees his psycho ex-girlfriend slash baby mama who calls you on your cell when you’re trying to go pick up your nephews from school to confront you about what you’re doing with her man and, oh, did you really think he left me, you poor stupid white girl? a guy who convinces you while you’re blinded by “love” to sign for a motorcycle for him which he swears he’ll pay for but doesn’t (natch) and your poor mother ends up paying for it because you were too stupid to know better than to trust a guy you met in a bar.  then you leave that mess and fly to paris to live for a couple months, at which time you immediately meet your dream guy and he is totally perfect in every way (gorgeous, sweet, friendly, generous, french, nice to mother, attentive, etc.) except for the fact he lives 9,000 miles away in a freakin foreign country and even though you daydream that on the day you’re to fly home he’s going to tell you that he can’t stand to see you go because he’s in love with you so he moves to america to be with you, that doesn’t happen and instead of said dream scenario you fly home heartbroken and alone.  then like 10 minutes after you land back in america, you run into current love of life who has had a crush on you for months and thinks you’re so cool for having just spent all that time in france and you end up falling for him and abandoning your french movie love story for this guy who four years later tells you he isn’t sure he sees this going any further, that he’s not sure he wants to get more serious, and that he doesn’t know if he ever wants to get married let alone in the next couple of years.

so, here you are “on a break” waiting to see if the boyfriend will remain the boyfriend or if he will join the ranks of ex-boyfriends.  i get to sit and wonder if he will have a change of heart, decide he can’t live without me and does want to get married someday afterall.  or not.  yea me.  if my track record says anything, i’m pretty sure i know how this is going to end because i’m sorry, but i can’t make that compromise: i want to get married.  i do.  i want that security and closeness and devotion that comes with a marriage.  i don’t want to be goldie hawn and kurt russell or susan sarandon and the tall dude from shawshank redemption whose name i can’t think of.  i want to know that i have someone for my whole life and for them to know that they have me; i want the promise of a life together without having to worry that he’ll leave me for some blonde cliche because “it’s not like we’re married!”  and i don’t think i should have to give that up.  but it’s hard because when i’m looking into his eyes i think that i’d give up anything to have him in my life, that i’d make any sacrifice to make him happy.

but then i realize that i should wait until someone feels that way about me.

i just don’t know how many more times my heart can break before it can’t be put back together.

handle with care

an ending is an ending

just a thought…

ok, this is embarrassing, but…

i totally like this miley cyrus song.  don’t tell anybody!!

p.s. she only dances with that pole for, like, 10 seconds. who the hell cares?

the kindness of strangers

ok, i know it’s been a while, but i have good reason for this particular hiatus: nothing happened.  i still don’t have a job, school hasn’t started yet, and charlie is still a loud-mouth pug.  the only things i’ve accomplished are washing clothes (but, as i’ve explained before, is futile since there’s no where to put the clean clothes besides back next to the dirty ones) and taking my PTCB exam. if you’re wondering if i passed, well, duh, of course i did. but all that means is i get a certificate in the mail any day now and i can sign my name with cpht at the end. woohoo. it also means i have to start looking for a new job.  awesome.  oh well, c’est la vie.

so, here’s a story that happened a few months ago that i’ve been meaning to blog about since it struck me profoundly, and that very rarely happens…

a few months ago i was leaving the boyfriend’s apartment in berkeley.  we had just spent a weekend of almost non-stop bickering and i allowed

oh, how i hate you...

myself a quick cry in my car before i left.  i can’t remember whatall we’d been bitching at each other about now, but at the time it was enough to frustrate me and make me need to release that frustration through my eyeballs.  anyway, a few minutes later i wiped my eyes, put my glasses back on, and turned on the engine and pulled away.  i realized with that irritation that only comes after you’ve just recovered from something really shitty happening that my gas light was on.  i knew i couldn’t drive very far without getting gas and for some reason that always pisses me off, especially if i’m already kinda pissed off and/or in a hurry.  to add to my bad mood was the knowledge that i would have fill-up at the chevron up in the berkeley hills in this little neighborhood called kensington where the gas is typically at least ten cents more than the same frickin gas a mile away.  anyway, i bitched and moaned to myself and reluctantly pulled into the station.  when i get stressed out i usually need two things: diet coke and cigarettes.  so, i put the nozzle in the hole-thing (ha, that sounded dirty) and walked into the “foodmart” while i my bank account got raped, $3/gallon.  my spirits lifted infinitesimally when i found these guys had cold diet coke in the can!  woohoo!  my luck was already starting to change.  i love diet coke from the can.  i can’t explain why, but it just tastes better than when it comes from a soda fountain or those plastic bottles.

next, sorry mom and dad, came the cigarettes.  the happiness i got from the coke can discovery waned when i found that the indian dude didn’t have the exact kind of cigarettes i like (camel no. 9 in the pink and black box), even though really, no one ever has them except 7-11 or those cigarette discount places.  i settled for camel lights.  as i spoke my order to the station attendant, he was very polite and smiley, but not in a creepy way.  he was just so nice.  he asked me if i lived in the neighborhood and i explained that no, i didn’t and why i was there.  he checked my license for the cigarettes and asked if i liked san jose and about if i went to school and just small talk like that.  but for some reason it made me feel so much better.  i left feeling happy and like the world wasn’t such a shitty place and that there really are genuinely kind people out there.  i think he could tell that i had been crying and he drew me out in conversation to be nice.  on the drive home, as i sipped the coke and smoked a couple cigarettes, i thought about that nice indian man who had managed to change my mood with such a simple gesture: kindness.  isn’t it sad when you become so jaded that you’re surprised when someone treats you like a human being and not just what you are at that moment, like a customer or a sad girl.  i don’t know if that makes as much sense to anyone else as it does in my head.

anyway, thanks indian guy at the kensington chevron station.  you made my day brighter and resurrected my belief in the kindness of strangers.

parents, poseurs, and priuses– oh my!

some people just love san francisco and berkeley.

bay bridge-- connects bezerkley to sf... did i mention that i'm also kinda scared of bridges?

i do not count myself among them.

i tolerate sf.  (i mean i’ll venture there to catch a show at the warfield or at, my favorite, the fillmore.  the fillmore hands out these kick-ass art

some guy described these as "purple jellyfish." good description, guy.

posters of the band you just saw as you’re leaving and the interior is wallpapered with history.  it’s worth the hassle.)

and i’m even more tolerable if someone else is driving… unless it’s my dad driving and my mom in the passenger seat.  my whole life my parents have rarely fought, like a real fight with yelling and cursing, etc.  but put them inside a moving vehicle and wait 30 minutes and )))kaboom!(((  you will, without fail,  witness a fight ranging anywhere from mild to mederate, unless the subject of following directions or the “right” parking spot is involved, then it escalates to severe, as in multiple f-bombs (always from mom– it’s inherited) and palpable tension, while those dudes from npr’s “car talk” try to lighten the mood (unsuccessfully) as i squirm uncomfortably asking god and jesus to please, lord, just get us [insert destination here] before i go for the ol’ tuck-n-roll.  i do admit, though, that i admire their ability to move one once desired destination has been reached.  i mean they’re not saints, first they have to each plead his or her case to me while the other isn’t within earshot.  once they’ve vented to their daughter, all can return to normal… until it’s time to go home.  but, to their credit, trips home are less dramatic because our house is always on the same street and there is always parking right in front.  but i digress.

see?

my point is that while i am able to tolerate negotiating the city of san francisco if the proverbial pot at the end of the rainbow (not a gay joke) is awesome enough, downtown berkeley is tolerable only by car and completely intolerable on foot.  berkeley, the one you see in documentaries about the 60’s, is today teeming with with bums and hippies, and ex-hippies driving their priuses and then, during the school year, droves of kids with ridiculous dreadlocks or shaved heads armed with their white bread, mainstream socialist/marxist/anarchist ideologies, topped off with a che guevera t-shirt and an ipod loaded with bob marley.  the rest are asian.  at least the asian kids aren’t confused about

the boyfriend's berkeley-- the nice one

which “subversive” niche they want to endorse.  the asian kids mainly hang around smoking cigarettes that hang precariously from their lips as speak to each other in rapid-fire [insert language here].  now you may be thinking that since i, too, am in college that i shouldn’t be calling these cal students kids.  but, you see, these d-bags are mostly18-22.  now that i’m coming up on 25, i have (in my mind) earned the right to refer to these poseurs as kids, even toddlers or infants if i so choose.  i am aware that part of my distaste for those children stems from jealousy that a0 they’re much richer and/or smarter than me and b) that they will already have graduated by the time they’re my age (at which time they will remove the nose rings, throw out the bumper stickers, break the bongs, and cut their hair for their new jobs at fortune 500 companies where they will inevitably rake in six-figure salaries (plus bonuses!) with nice benefit packages (with dental!) and a 401-k plan.) instead of trolling the internet looking for a job that will pay at least 18 bucks an hour.  then i will hate them for a whole new set of reasons.  don’t worry, boyfriend, you’re so not one of those losers.  you’re one of those weirdos who’s, like, nice to people.  c’est etrange.

i, on the other hand, live here, on the island where the mean folk are.  it’s a little crowded, but the weather’s good.

you are not alone, i am here with you…

i love this song.  thanks jen for reminding me.

and i don’t care what anybody says, this songs is awesome:

and i think about this one when i’m doubting myself… you know…

and then you gotta love this one (adam on idol did a really good job on this one– and that’s saying a lot.)

we didn’t care if you were black or white, mj.  later, michael.

5 signs that you’re watching too much daytime tv while unemployed

this could also be titled “5 reasons i love tivo” or “5 reasons why i’m a loser” or “5 reasons i need to get out more,” etc.

i've also been watching a lot of those court shows where bitter d-bags sue each other for, like, $100... ooo, and car chase shows. all time well spent.

1)    you find yourself watching the home shopping network (hsn)– and you keep watching.

2)    you find yourself amazed by a demonstration of [insert useless product here] and wondering how you’ve lived your entire life up until that moment without said product.

3)    you find yourself dialing the 1-800 number on the screen with one hand and clutching your visa card in the other.

4)    you find yourself ending the call and realizing, with horror, that you actually just ordered this off the home shopping network.

5)    you find yourself seriously considering enrolling at western career college to begin training for an exciting new career as a medical assistant!  and for the rest of the day you find yourself repeatedly singing that retarded jingle: “western career college– you can do it!”

two more signs and we might have an apocolypse on our hands.

of course, if there is, i won’t notice since i’ll be glued to hsn, draining my ever-shrinking checking account as i purchase jewelry from the tori spelling collection in between deciding whether to become a massage therapist at the national holistic institute or to call bryman to find out how to get started toward earning a degree in criminal justice…

oooo, maybe i need a personal injury lawyer, too…

desperate house…girlfriend

ok, so i don’t have a job anymore.

pills, pills, pills

after just over 8 years working as a pharmacy technician at longs (now cvs/pharmacy), i quit.  i don’t really want to get into the details (because they make me look bad and because i might make some other people look bad and i don’t want to do either.) behind the decision to quit my job, but suffice it to say that my time had come to make that change.  for someone who typically avoids change in any form, leaving a job where i had lots of friends, numerous customers who liked me and asked for me by name, and just that general feeling of competence that comes with holding a job for so many years, it was a super difficult position in which to find myself.   that familiar feeling of usefulness and knowing that i was the person that newbies and established employees alike could come to to solve problems (i used to call myself “the wolf” from “pulp fiction” because of that kick-ass line harvey keitel delivers: “i’m winston wolfe. i solve problems.”) with anything from insurance issues to remembering brand-generic to deciphering a doctor’s chicken scratch on a prescription.  but that confidence in my own abilities dissolved once longs converted to cvs/pharmacy.  despite the hours spent training, all of us found that “going live” was proving to be waaaaaay more stressful and crazy and just plain different than we had anticipated, especially me because i had convinced myself that the stores that converted before us that were struggling were only struggling because those staffs were probably retarded.  about 10 minutes into conversion day i realized that i was so very wrong… or that we were retarded, too.  obviously, i takes time to get used to a complete transformation– conversion meant a new computer system, new workflow procedures, new rules, new registers, new everything!  the most annoying part was when customers would ask me (with all kinds of rude-ass attitude)  if i was new– i’d be like, “no, i’ve been here for 8 years, everything else is new, not me.”  then i would usually add a “stupid, fucking bitch”- type comment under my breath.  i mean i would try to explain to people that the reason the refill they called in three days ago still wasn’t ready was because we were literally 240-something scripts behind so, yeah, yours isn’t done yet, but neither is anybody else’s so don’t trip.  they tripped anyway.  a lot.  it got old.  very fast.  after putting in my two weeks, guilt and sadness and relief battled in my heart.  i felt lucky to be escaping from that fluorscent prison, but i also hated that i was essentially cutting out on my troops in the battlefield, like the captain who abandons the sinking ship.  it was an internal struggle.

but after almost 3 weeks of not working, i don’t regret leaving.  i’m studying to take the ptce (pharmacy technician certification exam) so that i can not only be licensed, but certified as well.  that’ll help me make more money at my next job and (this is what i’m most excited about–i’m sooo vain!) i get to put CPhT (oh my lord, please excuse my capital letters!!  i wanted to show you the accurate title!) after my

oh, yeah! think i should wear that to an interview?

signature!!  it’s like being a doctor…. only not even close, but it’s still really cool.  i can’t wait to finish my resume after i pass the exam and change my name to caitlin evans, cpht.  isn’t that like so sweet?  i was never encouraged to get certified because in 2002 when i got my license it was not a requirement to be certified, although techs today must get certified in order to work as a bonafide rx tech.  hopefully, i will not run out of money before the exam because ideally i’d like to wait to apply for new tech jobs until i get certified so i can be more competitive and also get paid what i think i deserve right off the bat.  that may not be the way things work out, but i’m trying to be more frugal until july 19th– the day of my exam.  but i’m not sweatin it– i know i’ll pass.

so, i’m just enjoying this extended “vacation” while it lasts.  i mean, it is the first time in 8 years that i’ve gone this long without working, except for the 2 months i spent in paris in 2005.  so i don’t feel guilty spending all this time at home.  i know charlie appreciates all this extra mommy and me time.  and the boyfriend pointed out last night that we’ve spent more time together the past few weeks than we had the last six months combined!  couldn’t tell if he was happy about that or not, but whatever.  i’m more than happy to kick back in berkeley and semi-pretend to live together.  i get to spend more days here than i ever could before, we go grocery shopping, we fight over the remote, i avoid washing the dishes until the boyfriend nags me and i give in, i make the bed, i’m here to greet him when he comes home from work and we eat dinner together every night.

"hi, honey! i baked you some cookies! where'd i put my prozac??"

it’s very 50’s housewife meets… well, me.  haha.  so i’m not exactly wearing an apron and baking cookies, but i try not to be completely lazy.  i study for the exam (thanx kristin for the study manual!!), monitor my bank accounts/credit cards, updated my resume, collecting applications, blog, and keep the fridge full.  eh, he knows i’m no june cleaver.

but back to the whole unemployment thing… that job had become part of my identity, a huge part of my ego.  and i hadn’t even realized that until i knew i was leaving and that realization became increasingly difficult to cope with as my last day approached.  i also felt like my parents, particularly my dad, were very proud that i had such a good job at my age, so i worried endlessly that when i finally told them that i had quit that they would be disappointed in me.  i am so one of those kids that would rather get screamed at by my parents than to know they’re disappointed in me.  when i did eventually confess to my mom and dad that i had quit my job and why, my mom surprised me by being visably upset while my dad barely batted an eyelash.  haha, the funny thing is that the reason my dad didn’t seem to even care is because the way i set up the conversation (“dad, i have something important i need to tell you and you might get mad…”) made my dad think i was going to tell him i was pregnant!! hahaha.  still funny.  probably almost gave my poor dad a third heart attack!!  sorry dad, but, hey, at least i’m not knocked up! hooray!!

so, that’s why i didn’t blog for a while– i just wasn’t in the mood.  i’m feeling better now though and i see that i have options and i’m being optimistic about my future.  well, today anyway.  shit happens and you can’t always see it coming or prevent it from hitting the fan.  so just be grateful to be alive, that dad is alive, and that the boyfriend is there for me.

so quit your bitchin, caitlin.

***next up:  new tattoo unveiled!!

secret stash

guilty as charged.  i want to get married.  i want a beautiful wedding that costs more than most people might spend on a car.  and even though i have a boyfriend, i am becoming less and less confident that he will ever become “the fiance.”  but that hasn’t put a damper on my wedding preparations.  in my underwear drawer where most girls hide condoms or birth control pills or pot, i am hiding a manila folder full of wedding stuff.

i am not ashamed.

and if you know any good dance songs for a wedding that will consist mostly of white people with no culture to speak of, hit me up!  at my brother’s wedding it seemed like everybody stood around in a circle like it was a middle school dance and everybody was too embarrassed to be the first to start dancing, despite the abundance of alcoholic libations available.  even though i don’t really care for dancing myself, i want my guests to leave my wedding talking about how that was one of the funnest parties ever.  it’s all in the folder.

my mbf (mormon best friend) shelbs has apparently also started to plan my future nuptuals, probably because her and all her sisters (except one who shelbs has most likely given up on) and brother have all made that trip down the aisle.  it’s cute that she is already taking her future matron of honor duties seriously.  nothing is worse than a deadbeat bridesmaid!  so thanks for thinking of me buddy   we’ll have to combine our efforts (soon i hope!!) to make that wedding a real gem.

it may cause my poor dad to have another heart attack, but considering all the bells and whistles i simply must have for my big day, the cost is looking considerably pricey.  now i am more than willing to take out, oh, say, a $10k loan to supplement the $13k my dad has pledged (according to my understanding) in order to make all my dreams come true.  i honestly have no compunctions about spending that much money on one day because the memories and the marriage to follow will be worth every penny… unless i’m one of the 50% who gets a divorce.  tell you what dad, if i get a divorce during your lifetime, i will pay you back any money you spent on the extravagent wedding i just had to have.

i’m guessing, after researching online and in bridal magazines (my fav is northern california bride because all the vendors and locales are in, duh, norcal and therefore much easier for me to plan realistically.), i think the single most costly part of the wedding will be the alcohol at the reception.  i may come from a mormon family, but i doubt my future husband will have a sober family and i know my friends will be totally bummed if there’s no liquor available.  my friends’ reception had a “cash” bar, so even though there was a full bar, all the guests had to pay for their own drinks.  i don’t want my guests to have to bring cash to my reception, but i also don’t want to shell out like $10k on liquor so all my friends and in-laws can get shit-faced.  no puking!!  so my brilliant compromise is to have an open bar, but only serve pink champagne, pinot noir, sauvignon blanc, and a few beers on tap.  no hard alcohol, no mixed drinks.  i think that is totally reasonable, will save me some expense, and hopefully prevent too many drunk-ass bridesmaids from passing out on the bathroom floor.

after the bar tab, it looks like photography may cost a pretty penny, but i’m hoping to enlist a photographer friend who will give me a discount.  plus i only want black and white pics (so classy) and that’s gotta cost less than color, right?  also i am so skipping a videographer.  i’ve seen wedding videos and they are always 2 hours too long and super boring, sort of like kevin costner movies (waterworld, anyone?  wyatt earp?).

and then there’s the most important part of all: my dress.  i would kill for a monique lhullier gown, but i know that’s just out of the question.

it's especially gorgeous from the front, but you get the drift... to.die.for!

however, i do want a custom dress and i understand that they run around $3k.  that i can handle.  my gown will be a replica of the one pink wore when she married corey hart, although i do plan on wearing shoes.  but not high heels.  my feet just can’t hang and i don’t want to be uncomfortable, so i’m gonna wear ballet slippers.  the dress will be long enough to cover them so it’s no big deal.  and, hey, that’s like another $400 saved because if i were to wear heels i would be very tempted to splurge on manolos or christian louboutins.  i do have some restraint.  i used to want to wear a dress just like the john galliano masterpiece gwen stefani wore when she married that gavin rossdale, but i showed a pic to my mom and she wasn’t as impressed as i was and pretty much vetoed that one.  but that’s ok, think ivory and black number will go perfectly with the rest of the theme and color scheme… not to mention how freakin

soooo me... maybe too me, if there is such a thing.

awesome i will look in that baby.  it’s so beeyooteeful that i will probably lounge around in it on weekends, eating ice cream out of the carton until it gets too tight, then i’ll put it away until i lose the ice cream pounds… then repeat   looking forward to it already.

i haven’t decided on a location yet, although i have ruled out a few places:  no beaches, no forests, and no restaurants.  beaches are so done, my sister got married in a forest already, and my friend had her reception at a restaurant and it just wasn’t the ambience i’m going for.  ideally, i would kill to have my ceremony at a winery– bonus points because the reception would be at the same place so the guests wouldn’t have to drive to the reception.

one of the parts of planning a wedding i’m looking forward to most is choosing flowers.  i really love flowers and never have enough around, so my wedding will be the ultimate bloom fest.  my color scheme is ivory, champagne, pink, and black so the flowers (orchids, please!!!) should be in various matching shades to coordinate.  i also want ivory candles, tea lights, not tapers, even if tea lights are kinda cliche.  the other part of the theme is pearls and stones, so on the table tops i envision smooth black stones in glass bowls and pearls strewn about.  ahhh, i just drool imagining the beauty of it all.

now, because i’m not a traditional gal, i think the groom and groomsmen should wear black vests with pink ties or some combo like that and for a little punk twist they should all wear black chuck taylors.  instead of boutinieres i’m thinking pearl studs or something… shelbs will have to help me with that part.  as for my bridesmaids, i don’t like the whole matchy-matchy thing with awful dyed shoes, so i’m just gonna tell my ladies to buy any black dress they like (ahem, with my prior approval, natch), wear pearl jewelry, any black shoes, and then each will get a nice, heavy pink sash to wear around the waist.  that’ll tie them all together and also with me since my dress will have a black sash.  ah, to die.

now for food and music and all that, i really don’t know yet.  i think i want to walk down the aisle to “black bird” and dance with my dad to “annie’s song,” but i’m still really torn on like the song for my first dance with the husband.  i really like songs that i feel a personal connection to, but it seems like most songs i have a personal connection to are, like, total bummers.  most of them are about death or drugs or lost love.  so we’ll see about that.  and i think i want a live band, but maybe not for the whole party?  it’s just i feel like dj’s cheapen a nice party.

i know this is all sounding super narcissistic and kinda psycho, but i figure the more decisions i make now, the less stressed i will be in the future.  you’re in for a rollercoaster ride shelbster!!

one hitch… gotta get this first (these are both french antiques, the first from 1920’s and the other from 1950’s):

j'adore...

j'adore aussi!

ahh, peut etre quelque jour…