I gave a guest lecture in my coworker’s web class about being a web content writer and strategist, and I think it went pretty well. I was preparing for over a week. I mean, I know they were just undergrads and probably only care about passing the class, but it was an honor and I hope they felt like I brought something of value.

The best part is that while I was preparing, I found that I got reinvigorated by my job. As I started researching and forming my thoughts, I found that I was excited to feel like an “expert,” even if that’s a stretch. I actually felt like I was in the right career, not just collecting a paycheck.

I want to learn more, I want to put my ideas into practice. I’m jazzed about creating a new strategy at work.

I’m reinvigorated by my own job. Fuckin-A

Rough day for the ol’ self esteem. After fighting with the BF about him freaking out on me for walking into the hotel lobby while his work group was there, and then feeling a sudden head cold descend upon me, I decided to explore downtown Napa. I figured with all the tourists, there had to be cute boutiques and such. Not that I could buy anything.

What happened was, I spent all my money on yesterday’s wine tour. First on the tour itself ($99), and then on the wine I kept buying at every stop. Pretty soon, I was about $350 down. Whoa! How did that happen? I’m a value wine drinker. And not much of a drinker at that. What? How? Oh yeah, I think it was the 39 tastings.

So today I found myself without transportation, broke and with a sore throat. I have also broken out in hormone zits on my chin. WTF is that all about? My skin has been miraculously clear for ages and now 3 big cysts? I hate breaking out. It brings up feelings of teenage mortification that just doesn’t go away with time or age. So yeah, I wasn’t feeling like I looked too cute, or feeling so great and I was a bit down about how BF and I sometimes just can’t relate. But at least walking to town would kill some time and might be fun.

Walking to town only takes about 15 minutes. I wondered how it was possible that my pants felt tighter than yesterday, but tried not to think about it. Not much you can do on vacation anyway. But it was 97 degrees and that was not helping anything. I was hot. Like sweat dripping down between the boobs hot. I know, gross. But it’s necessary to illustrate the hotness.

Seeking a distraction from the heat and something fun to look at, I walked into a cute little boutique with designers I recognized and would never own due to the price point being about 3 times above what is normal and rational. Like Orla Kiely and Leif’s Dottir. Cute, handmade, Scandanavian-style things. Even though I wouldn’t be buying, it’s still interesting to see their designs. And the place was very cute and quirky and unique. And there was air conditioning. The very helpful clerk let me know that they kept more sizes in the back if I wanted to try anything on. Ok, sure.

WAIT A MINUTE. It took a beat for that to sink in. What she was saying is, they kept the cute sizes out for their [rich, thin] customers to buy and the expanded fattie sizes in back [for the rich/not thin ones] to keep the display looking cute. She really was being helpful, not rude, by letting me know that there were sizes FOR ME in the back. Not rude, realistic. The facts. Oh. My. God.

I’ve never been that girl who couldn’t wear what was in the cute sizes. The smalls, the mediums, yes, those are the ones for me. But now? Sure, I’m heavier than I’ve ever been. Literally every day it surprises me. I just can’t wrap my head around being 30 lbs overweight. Never, not even in college have I been this fat. Except I don’t think I AM all that fat, but I know my clothes (three sizes up from what I used to be) tug and feel uncomfortable, and I do a shocked double-take in every mirror I pass.

I mean, no overweight woman needs reminding that she’s not thin anymore. But 30 lbs isn’t 100. I kinda assumed I still look ok-ish. I mean, I’m still mostly thin, right? Just a fuller size of thin. I still look like me, right? Still look like I could fit into mediums?  I assume so, generally. I actually try not to think about being more “thick” than “thin.” Until the teeny little clerk had to bring it up. In that moment, feeling fatter and sweatier than ever, I experienced the humiliation that is being the woman who requires the sizes they don’t put out on the rack.

Gasp. Wow. Ok. Breathe. Time to go.

So I left the helpful girl and walked on. I was trying to walk with my head up. Ok, I was chubby and sweaty. I couldn’t do anything about it in that moment so I might as well accept it and own it. Right? And slumping to the ground wouldn’t help because it was actually hotter down on the pavement. So I walked the 3 blocks the concierge had told me was the shopping area. There are about 10 restaurants and 4 shops. Not much. And I was melting. And thirsty.

And I found myself standing in front of a Mexican restaurant. I hadn’t had any lunch and it was about 3:00. I figured I could get a cold coke and some chips for under $10.

I guessed wrong on the price but I wanted to get out of the heat so I went in and ordered the $8.95 chips and guac and then decided I ‘d fight my head cold with tequila. What the hell, I thought. I’m already fat. I already don’t feel that great. How can a slight buzz make it any worse? And at least a margarita will be tangy and juicy and have ice in it. And it will justify me sitting here at the bar for a while.

Which brings me to the bartender. We were making typical bartender-customer chit chat. He was sorta cute. Late 20s. “How many people live in Napa?” “Where are you from?” “SLC? Are you Mormon?” “Blah blah blah” When I mentioned that my boyfriend was here on business and I was broke and car-less and thus, not at that moment getting the massage I had planned for today.

“Aren’t you a little old to have a boyfriend?” he asked.

“Aren’t you a little careless with the term ‘old’ when you are working for tips?” I answered.

I was kinda proud of myself for that quick retort, but stung nonetheless. I mean really, the heat, the head cold, the zits, my expanding ass, and now this? My ego was taking a serious hit today. He went on to say he meant I should have a ‘fiance’ or a ‘husband,’ rather than a ‘boyfriend’ and that he had actually been planning on hitting on me before I said the BF thing. What-ever. Pity flirting! It’s almost as bad as having your size removed from display because it’s too large and misshapen to be appealing on the hanger.

I was going to need another.

I have effectively moved out of the upstairs of my house and into the basement so he could have all the room my tiny 2-bedroom cottage bungalow will allow. I vowed never to live in the basement again. I am. But everything I do? Not enough. Not enough space, not enough closets, not enough storage. I have taken 5 full-to-the-brim car loads of stuff to charity, had a massive yard sale for my craft and scrapbook hobby (made $900 on .50 cent items!!!) I combed through my clothes, I shredded all my old financial records. I filled my recycle bin and my trash bin, and several of my neighbors’ every single week for a month. I had to wait with multiple garbage bags loitering around my overflowing cans until it was pick-up day so I could go load up the neighbors’ bins. My house is down to what I consider the essentials, and I’m way past burned out on this whole thing.

I have done something herculean here, and somehow, it’s still not enough??

There are a lot of things I’m frustrated and angry about, but it comes down to this: we are simply incompatible. He values being taken care of, I value connecting and relating with someone. We can’t even fight with any resolution or even a point. He diverts away from the point by accusing me of something, which quite effectively puts me on the defensive. Our arguments never go anywhere. They last for hours, and we get NOWHERE.

I know there’s a chance this isn’t the final-final official breakup. It should be, I mean, it’s really just not working out, but I’m kind of weak. He wants a girlfriend (me, her, someone else, does it really matter?), so I’m sure he’ll keep trying. But I want it all: a lover AND a life partner AND a best friend. I don’t just want “a boyfriend” or “a husband.” And I don’t just want to be someone’s girlfriend. But I wanted him to be the one, and I believed he was for so long. I was so in love; it all seemed so promising, like it was finally going to work out. I even bought scrapbook supplies to create albums of all the fun things we did together. Right, all the fun we had right up until we decided to move in together and he started voicing all the ways he disapproved of me and how I do things.

I have been feeling like I just need a break, a vacation—from him, and his criticisms and judgements, his tense personality, and his self-involvement. I just need a break from constantly having to take care of him.

But since I said “Let’s be clear, you can move in, but we have to go to couples therapy and the moving in, it’s only temporary” and he responded with “Let’s be clear, I’ll find somewhere else to live” it doesn’t feel like the relief I imagined. It’s really sad.

I am struck with this realization that, essentially, he’s just not that interested. In me. What I believe, is that he is interested in the role I fulfill in his life, as his constant companion (if he’s not working or on his bike, then he doesn’t care), as his date for weekend nights, as the person he shares dinner with, the person who rubs his head while he watches tv.

But me, Chick? My thoughts, my interests, my perspective? Not so much.

It seemed like the next day, he stopped making much of an effort. Maybe it was just the overall 1-year newness wearing off. Whatever it was, since then (technically March 2009) things been up and down and full of disullusionment ever since. So why are we going to live together? Because he sold his place and doesn’t have a house to move into yet. And it’s temporary. And after 1.5 years, we either need to try to make it work for real or break up and move on, so I figured a temporary living together would be a good test.  And I can’t imagine how this is going to work.