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Knocked Over By A Feather

But It Didn't Keep Me Down…

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general

The Short Version

In my post yesterday, I hinted about something that happened to me back in July.

Then I admitted the truth in my comments section and told another blog friend on her own site. I suppose you could say that I was ready to just come out with the truth instead of holding it in.

This is where I would normally add a fart joke or something for an easy laugh, but because this topic isn’t funny, I’ll refrain.

shh


Before I go on any further, I promise that I am mostly alright. The initial shock of it is now over with, so I can put the bandage on and off at my leisure.

I prefer when it’s on.

I don’t want to share details, so I’m going to write the short version.

My husband placed an ad looking for a hook up because I wasn’t frosting his flakes.

The woman he was pursuing somehow found out about me and left me a message on my KOBAF Facebook page.

I hope you forgive me, but I just can’t disclose any more of the lurid parts.

I’ve told some close friends, my immediate family is aware of it and just last weekend I finally told my therapist. So, I’m not dealing with this bullshit alone.

And as for my marriage, only time will tell, I suppose. I have no answers right now or any kind of annoying platitudes.

Those old chestnuts can take a flying leap off of Fuck You mountain.

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Clumpy or Stringy?

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Prepare yourself…get ready to have your mind blown.

I was standing at a bus stop in my hometown when I noticed for the first time what most people call “floaters” in my field of vision when I looked up at the semi cloudy sky.

My first thought was, what in the holy clusterfuck are these things?

This was back in 1993, long before the internet, so I had no other choice but to ask my mother.

Nothing to worry about, she told me. Many people experienced this strange phenomenon, so I could stop my worrying. (I was am a hypochondriac.)

Eye floaters can be clumpy or stringy; light or dark. They are caused by clumps or specks of undissolved vitreous gel material floating in the dissolved gel-like fluid (vitreous) in the back of the eye, which cast shadows on the retina when light enters the eye.   -Via http://www.allaboutvision.com

Mine are always stringy and white, although occasionally darker. (Just in case you were curious.)

I’ve always been a bit paranoid about my eyesight. I got my first pair of glasses in the 4th grade and my subpar vision has progressed to the point that at the age of almost 43 (I drop little seedlings of my upcoming birthday in August, so that you guys have plenty of time to buy me stuff) I am literally blind as a bat without my spectacles.

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You’re cray, bitch. My vision is 20/20.

I have a restriction on my driver’s license, the one that stipulates that I cannot, under any circumstances, drive without my corrective lenses on.

This means, if we were together and both of us got attacked by a bear, knocking you unconscious and making me lose my glasses, I legally wouldn’t be able to drive anywhere to get us help.

slapped
Come on, wake up! It’s just a fucking concussion, man!! Walk it off.

A place near me is offering lasik for $250 per eyeball. I don’t even know if I’d qualify. I have a lazy eye that was never fixed as a child (one of the main reasons why I hate making eye contact with someone) and have no clue what a astigmatism is, let alone if I have one or not.

I am so used to the eye floaters by now. I’ve grown accustomed to their floating, you could say. They have become a part of me, my own little undissolved vitreous gel.

Here’s a clip of Family Guy, one of my favorite shows. Stewie asks Brian to take some notes for his memoir, then Stewie talks about his “squiggly lines in his eye fluid.”


The Bar

There’s something about seeing a bar, whether in a darkened or brightly lit room, with high stools and the odor of not quite yet stale beer, that has always intrigued me.

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I wanted to go into restaurant bars as a child, but the sign clearly said 21 or over and my parents said no.

I researched and delivered an oral report to my sophomore class about an occupation that interested me, being a bartender.

I’m not even close to being an alcoholic. I’ve done my fair share of drinking, trust me, with outcomes that ranged from passing out for a minute on a toilet to whipping off my bra at a Halloween party.

I don’t like it enough.

No, it’s not the alcohol housed behind the bar that calls to me so much as the bar itself.

Maybe it’s the light that catches on the colored liquor bottles and the sound of people talking.

It could be the sense of comradary among the patrons and the lure of rebelliousness, the music from the jukebox flowing like vodka into a Screwdriver.

I find it strange the things that people find pleasure in.

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