God only knows what I’d be without you
I was talking to Lilo today (that’s not the important part) and she was talking about sending something to someone that is important to her. She said that she liked having the people she loved know that they are appreciated.
Which got me to thinking because HELLO, NOTHING BUT FREE TIME OVER HERE.
I’ve had a rough couple of months in my life. I’ve been a needy, demanding, whining, bitching, complaining, crying mess. Like, a lot. I have relied on people more than I should have, done things I didn’t mean to do and lashed out at those that just wanted to help.
But did I ever tell anyone how much I appreciated what they were doing for me?
It’s easy to tell someone that they mean something to you in the heat of the moment. Or maybe it’s their birthday. Otherwise, how often do you look at your friends and just thank them for being them, for being friends with you, for being supportive and lovely and just not leaving you when times are tough.
Of course, if they left you in tough times, that doesn’t make them a friend. It makes them a shithead. That’s neither here nor there.
I think that I mostly make it clear to the people that have been my main support system that I can’t ever thank them enough for being here. They’ve listened and cried and shouted right along with me. I couldn’t have survived all of this without my friends. I need them to know how much I appreciate them – not just for the past few months, but for the past years that I’ve known them. I need to thank newer friends for stepping up to the plate and accepting everything I’m throwing their way. And so I will.
I also started thinking about all the people I’ve been supportive of. Some of those people don’t ask for a lot from me. Some of my friends I didn’t even realize that I was being supportive when I was because whatever I was doing was so slight or so easy. I helped them out – that is what’s important. Yet I have other friends that have just assumed that I’m going to be there to pick everything up, patch it back together and unconditionally love them.
That’s not to say that I’m not guilty of the same thing. I know I am. I would like to right that.
It makes you wonder. If these people just think that I’m going to be the one to help them – what if I don’t? Does that make me a bad friend for wanting someone to say “hey, thanks for all you do”? Probably. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to do that. It doesn’t stop me from wishing that I could make friends of mine, from the past and present, realize that I’m important.
Again, that’s kind of selfish.
And yet, I can’t stop myself from helping.
Everyone likes being needed. Everyone wants to be wanted. Sometimes that little extra mile to thank someone for merely existing in your life is all it takes.
A choice to be made
Lilo and I were talking today (as we do. All day. Every day. I need more friends, srsly. LUBS LILO) and we got into a discussion about cupcakes and muffins.
I don’t mean what cupcakes and muffins actually are, but metaphorically speaking – cupcakes vs. muffins. It seems so stupid, but it’s not. The question is: do you want to be a cupcake
or do you want to be a muffin?
Muffins and cupcakes, while very much the same, are not. They use mostly the same ingredients, you make them in the same pans, you cook them for about the same amount of time – but they are different. You can’t be making some cupcakes and decide halfway through that you are going to make them muffins instead. Cupcakes are cupcakes and muffins are muffins.
Muffins you eat for breakfast. They are a little bit drier. They have weirdo things like bran in them. Muffins stand alone. You don’t ever have a super excellent muffin that you feel the need to tell everyone about. Or maybe you do. But I don’t.
Cupcakes are treats. People lust after cupcakes. They are sweet and delicious and filled with happiness and joy and kittens. People WANT cupcakes. Everyone LOVES cupcakes. What do you have for your birthday when you’re a kid? Cupcakes. What do a lot of people serve at their weddings? MOTHERFUCKING CUPCAKES.
But being a muffin or a cupcake isn’t about your taste buds. It’s about who you are and what you want. It’s about relationships. No, really.
If you’re a muffin, you don’t want a relationship. You’re fine on your own. You go with the flow, you can find whatever you want wherever you need it. You stand alone as a muffin. Sometimes you have a delightful flavor, but mostly you’re just weird. But you’re okay being a muffin. There isn’t anything wrong with muffins…as long as you know that’s what you want. If you can commit to being a muffin, then you’re okay. You don’t lie about your muffin ways and you don’t pretend like you’re secretly a cupcake.
Cupcakes, on the other hand, are relationships. Cupcakes are two people that compliment each other well combined into a tasty treat. Cupcakes are complex and fun and interesting and when you have a really really really good one, you don’t forget about it. That cupcake sticks with you.
Everyone I know is a cupcake. Sort of. I’m probably more of a super tasty vanilla cupcake. And the guys that I have dated are the frosting to my cupcakes ways (TWSS). So I’ve dated guys that mixed well with my vanilla cupcake self. Lee was wonderful strawberry frosting – sweet and uncomplicated. The worst boyfriend ever was BBQ sauce. That doesn’t go with a vanilla cupcake at all, but if you want to smash them together and pretend like it works, no one is going to stop you. So I’m looking for a boy that’s the frosting that I need to complete my cupcake self. You can date many boys. They all are different flavors. But until you find the frosting you need, you’re just a cupcake without anything.
I’m not a muffin. I’m a cupcake. You can’t change a cupcake into a muffin by just scraping off the frosting and lying through your teeth. The frosting might be gone, but the remnants of it are still there. You can’t erase them by just making them go away. And you can’t decide when you’re in the middle of a cupcake relationship that what you really want is a muffin non-relationship.
You need to know what it is you want when you get started. You need to know what you want to accomplish.
You need to make the choice to be a muffin or a cupcake.
I’m a cupcake – what are you?
So much love in Cupcake Land
From Lilo - Good lord indeed. I am all psyched to eat my pasta and broccoli for lunch.
It’s now a proven fact
I’ve said often that I live in the zoo. Or that I live with crazy people. Or everyone in my house should be locked away.
Or the most logical explanation, which is that I’m on a secret reality TV show – a show so secret that no one even knows we’re on it. I figure that’s the most logical because there’s no way that I can ever really explain what the hell goes on at my house.
Anyway.
We have 3 dogs and a cat at my house. It’s a zoo to begin with. The cat (Ollie) is a stone cold killer. He spends his days eating and eating and eating and taunting birds and then eating birds. Or mice. This past week he killed a mole and brought it home. He then continued to smack the dead mole as if to prove that yes, it’s really dead. We get it Ollie. YOU KILL THINGS FOR FUN. He spends most mornings lying beneath the crab apple tree, swatting at the barn swallows just to piss them off.
He also waits in the bushes at my neighbor’s house so he can jump out and scare their kids. Lilo believes that Ollie is a servant of the devil. I agree. Stupid cat.
Last night, one of the dogs (that would be Jake) was wandering around outside, looking for other animals to destroy. He’s kind of like Ollie in that sense. Jake found a baby bunny and it was in his mouth. I guess W got it away from Jake before he could kill it. Now the baby bunny is in a cage in the basement and my parents are feeding it. According to W, it’s about the size of a baseball and they don’t want to let it go because the dogs will just try to eat it again.
My mom has figured out the opportunity to have a new pet. She’s always wanted rabbits and chickens and now ONE OF HER DREAMS CAN COME TRUE. I’m not going to try to talk any sense into her about this because her brain should tell her that if the dogs tried to eat the bunny once, they are going to try again. I don’t know if my dad will be okay with it, but I suppose I’ll find out soon.
I bet that she will say that my dad doesn’t allow her to have chickens so she should be allowed to keep the bunny. Who cares if it was a wild bunny?! Who cares if bunnies do NOTHING?! Who cares where it lives?! It’s a pet! HUZZAH.
This is what I’m coming home to, after 2 weeks at Lilo’s to mind the ratbabies. This insanity. There’s no way that this entire thing is real. It’s just not possible for all this stuff to happen to one person. Except it clearly is because I live it every day. Thank God I’m moving out soon.
I’ve decided to name the bunny Bunnicula. Why? Because I’m a book nerd, okay? THAT’S WHY.
With this much burning, I should see a doctor
Did I ever mention how much my computer at work sucks? Because it really sucks a whole lot. It lags so much and then I type everything wrong and you know, basic functions really mess its shit up. FAIL COMPUTER.
And don’t even get me started on the IT guy. Grrrrr.
Last night was my first real session with Lisa the Trainer. I ate a greek yogurt before I left work and an apple on my way there. And on the way there, I was behind every slow moving car ever. So I was kind of late to my session, even though I left work on time. Rt 7, you can lick my butt. I hate you so much.
Anyway. I started out with 10 minutes on the bike just to get me all warmed up. Then Lisa the Trainer showed me a punching bag and told me to have at it, basically. I was doing jabs at first, then hooks, then I was kicking it. And every time I hit the bag, she told me I could hit it harder. So I did. And I kept on hitting it, harder and harder. I had wanted to murder bossy coworker before I left work but I didn’t (damn!). Punching that bag helped to make it better. My knuckles got all red though, so I had to put on some gloves. Guess what kind of gloves they were? CHUCK NORRIS GLOVES, THAT’S WHAT. Of course, I totally hit harder and better once they were on.
Next time I have other people to imagine when I hit the punching bag. I’m sure my left shoulder will really love that so much. Right now it feels like it’s on fire. But it’s actually not. HAHA SELF.
I then did like, 50 squats. I’m not kidding. It was up and down and up and down and Lisa the Trainer kept on telling me to give her 5 more and so on. So I did. Now my thighs are on fire today. But I feel pretty great. I also did some ab stuff as well but my abs aren’t bothering me nearly as much as my thighs.
I also mentioned that I felt like throwing up at one point. And Lisa the Trainer, bless her heart, brought me over a bucket and told me it was cool to puke. In the bucket. That’s about as sexy as I can get. I got over my puking period and gave it my all, I think.
And Friday I get to do it all again!
As I was leaving, Lisa the Trainer suggested that I go home and eat a banana. Here’s something I don’t think I’ve ever posted about. I. HATE. BANANAS.
I do. I hate their existence. I refuse to eat them or touch them or eat anything that has banana parts in it. I don’t know why I hate them so much. I ate them as a child and then I guess I just decided not to like them. A feels it was a traumatic banana accident that I am repressing. No. I just hate them. When I got outside, I texted Lilo to tell her what Lisa the Trainer said and Lilo asked if I let her live.
So I told her that NO I WOULD NOT BE EATING A BANANA, WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER. She suggested I drink some milk instead. It apparently helps with the soreness. So I drank some milk and today…well, I feel like I’ve been thrown down a flight of stairs. My arms feel like dead weight. My thighs burn. But at least I did it. And tomorrow I’ll be doing it again.
Just in case you wanted to know what I’m really like
This is Sarah. She is 24 years old.
