My Ex Boyfriend Is Getting Married

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Oh dear Internet Blog, how are you? I’m doing well. I had an interesting discovery about 3 1/2 weeks ago that I’m hesitating to share, because I really don’t want to disrespect my boyfriend. He’s amazing. So this was very, very hard to write. This blog, though, is made for me to vent my feelings, and since I’ve ignored you so, I feel it’s time to open up. That’s what this blog is all about, right? Right. So here we go.

One of my ex boyfriends is engaged. Engaged to be married, not for battle. Just thought I’d clarify.

Let me make this clear: I am not upset that I am not engaged to him. I have an amazingly wonderful boyfriend whom I wouldn’t exchange for anyone else. Except for maybe Paul McCartney, but he knows that, and he’s okay with that. So this isn’t about that.

What it’s about, is realizing that I have now reached an age where ex boyfriends are getting engaged, and that’s scary as hell. I’m not ready for this. Note: this is the same ex I wrote about here and here (oh, and wrote about him in my book, which you can get here. Did you think I was above self-promotion, even in deepest honesty?). It seems like so long ago, and I guess it is, and I should be okay with that. Except for I resist the march of time. I can’t help but resist it.

This ex is even younger than I am (by three years, which can be a lot when you’re in your twenties. On our first date, he couldn’t legally order an alcoholic drink. That’s how much.) He’s younger, and yet, by getting engaged, he makes it appears as though he has his shit together. Having your shit together is something we all strive to do. Getting married appears to be a sign of having your shit together. No mind if your shit is as unassembled as an Ikea dining room table; it’s appearances that matter.

Because I know and realize that getting married does not automatically = having your shit together. Anyone can get married. It’s not like it’s hard to get married. What’s hard is having a good, solid marriage. That’s the real thing. And I know that, I do.

But, I can’t help but hear this news and reflect on my own life. Cue The Beatles ~~**”In My Life”**~~

No, but seriously, what in the everloving fuck am I doing with my life? Yeah, some things are good. I’ve got my health, a house, a great roommate (I’ve moved since I last updated, I had to move twice in 1 year, but I figured that shit out I did), and lots of freelance work. And, a fabulous boyfriend.

But what I don’t have, is a solid career. I want to get into TV writing, and I’m working on it, but holy shit, it’s a long and daunting road. That’s like “The Long And Winding Road”, but with more honesty. “The long and daunting road/that leads me/to your floor/because I am so drunk/wait where am I/don’t leave me lying here/barfing on your flooooooooor.” And I’m trying to get there — “I’m trying to be the shepherd, Ringo” — but goddamn, it’s hard. And I realize it’s hard; it’s supposed to be hard.

Getting older is hard for some people. Hard and weird. (That’s what she said? Sorry.) And apparently, it doesn’t get any easier. My friend told me, “Things get even weirder in your mid thirties. Two of my best friends just got married for the second time. Also, I’m still not over my ex having a baby, which could be why I’ve spent the past month sleeping with a sleazy investment banker dude who more or less is a decent person but still pretty sleazy.”

So what’s the point of it all? Well, that’s a little too deep for this blog. I’ve always said, the meaning of life is to live. So, like Mr. McCartney, I’m going to live and let die. And I wish the absolute best to my ex.

Have you reached the life milestone where an ex gets engaged? How did you feel?

 

Photo by Nina Leen for LIFE Photo Archives For Google.

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New Year, New Shit

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So my boyfriend and I met up with some friends of mine, a married couple by the names of David and Anna. And David mentioned that I hadn’t updated my blog in a while.

And he’s damn correct.

Why is that? Why does my blog get the least attention? Well, I can answer that, Sherlock. Sir Benedict Cumberbatch. It’s because I write for so many other different blogs and outlets, that the blog gets pushed to the bottom of my list.

And that’s something I want to change.

Yes, that is a NEW YEARS RESOLUTION!!! (Or is it New Year’s, with an apostrophe? I could easily Google this, but I won’t, so someone tell me) post. And in classic Uncle Almie fashion, it’s late.

And thus, here are my New Year(‘?)s Resolutions. Certain ones, like “lose weight” and “get a flat tummy” are GONE, because they’re harmful. So is, “eat a taco with Kanye West”, because that’s also harmful.

My resolutions are:

  • blog more, on this very blog.
  • be less late.
  • be healthier.
  • be less lazy.
  • become a television writer (this is a big one.)
  • be more patient.
  • keep drinking wine (this is an easy one.)
  • overcome my fear of driving that I’ve developed, that I may blog about.
  • blog about my fear of driving.

Okay, so there we are. Easy enough when typed out, right? But the execution is harder, that’s the thing.

Every year I make an “end of the year video”, a video compiled of footage I took over the year. I think my favorite year is 2013, but here’s 2014:

 

2014 from almie rose on Vimeo.

If you want to see the others, click here. I’ve been doing them since 2011. You can have a mini film festival!

ANYWAY, those are my resolutions. How can I complete them? AND WHAT ARE YOURS? Let’s help each other!!

Oh PS HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAVID BOWIE!! IS THERE LIFE ON BARS??? (J/K I know it’s Mars, but I also know that there’s life on bars, too.)

Photo by LIFE Photo Archives for Google.

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Last Minute Gifts For Bloggers

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Word up: this post was inspired by Tipsy Elves, whose delightful Hanukkah sweater I am wearing above. Tipsy Elves make fantastic, comfy, and quintessential ugly/tacky (their words!) Holiday Sweaters. If you really want to make a blogger’s holiday a happy one, get thee to Tipsy Elves.

So anyway, the holidays are here. I am typing this from an airplane. The future is here! And so is Hanukkah, and soon, Christmas. If you’re reading this blog, then you likely have someone in your life who is a blogger or writer of sorts. And you may be stumped as to what to get them. I have some ideas. Most of these gifts are free to give. Just keep an open mind. Here are last minute gifts for bloggers.

Offer to do their social media for a week.

Sometimes, doing our own social media can be fun as all getout, but other times, it can be tedious. If you’re a good, trustworthy friend to this blogger, offer to do their social media for a week. Post their articles on their social media on their behalf. Run their media the way you would as if they were a legit company. The idea of someone doing my social media for me makes me want to swoon. They’ll love it. Cost: just your patience and wit.

Buy them a premium subscription to Spotify.

A lot of writers and bloggers listen to music while they work. Spotify is free and great, but with that freedom comes ads. And with those ads, you can break out of your writing groove. So get them a premium subscription to Spotify. Ad free, plus they can listen on their phone as well. Cost: 3 months for only $0.99, then $9.99 per month.

Introduce them to your connections – agents, managers, etc.

No one really just wants to blog forever — there’s usually some kind of end goal here. Maybe they want to write for television. Mybe they want to write novels. Maybe they want to be a staff writer for their favorite site. Do you have connections to make this happen? Do you know any talent agents, lit agents, or editors at major sites? Hook them up. It’s up to them to provide they glory; all you have to do is provide the contact. Cost: one quick email to your contact introducing everyone and that’s it.

Offer to be their mentor or set them up with one.

Now that I have an awesome mentor, I couldn’t imagine not having one. Are you in a place of wisdom? Do you have some idea of your path in life, and do you see your path and yourself in your blogging budy? Offer to be their mentor. Sure, it may sound awkward as hel (“Hello, Dave, it’s your older friend, Jack, and I would like to mentor you, child”) but it’s really rewarding for both parties. The mentee gets someone they can look to for advice and leadership; the mentor gets someone who delivers instant and loving ego boosts. No but really, it’s a great team to have. If you or your uncle or aunt or someone is a writer and can share and guide another writer, do it. It’s free, but it’s going to cost as much or as little of your time as youre willing to provide. Cost: your time, your patience, and your open mind and heart.

Offer them a work space.

Sometimes, writers have to write in the worst conditions; a cramped apartment, a house full of barking dogs, Jack White’s basement (hey, I don’t know your life) and it would be really nice if someone could offer their luxurious home for a work space for about a week. Oh, is that someone you? Groovy! Lay out the parameters with the writer/blogger; tell them what’s off-limits and what isn’t, and then, invite them in with open arms. Sometimes the hardest thing about writing is just sitting down and actually doing it. A clean, bright, quiet space can do wonders. Cost: nothing. Just your liquor, because upon finding it, the writer will lap it up.

 

Writers and bloggers: what gift would you most like to receive?

 

Photo: Instagram via @Apocalypstick.

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10 Reasons Why Ghosts Are Fucking Dicks

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Has this ever happened to you? You’re lying in bed, trying to drift off on the ole Slumbertrain, when suddenly, out of freakin’ nowhere, a ghost pops in, rattling his chains, moaning, scaring the everloving shit out of you, ruining your evening? It has, right? Of course it has, because ghosts are fucking jerks. They’re like toddlers — immature and full of spite. Which means they’re also like drunk adults. (My dad always said that kids are like small drunk adults, and I believe it’s the same for ghosts. Don’t ghosts do everything drunk adults do, aside from vomit? They’re loud, obnoxious, and unwanted — just like drunk people. I rest my pants.) Don’t even get me started on ghosts. If I start on ghosts, I may never stop. Because, like Miley, I can’t stop. I won’t stop. Don’t get the ghost industry tell you otherwise. Don’t listen to Jacob Marley or those Haunted Mansion bitches — they’re full of propaganda from the ghost industry. Just freakin’ full of it. Oh, what’s that? You want me to get started on ghosts? Okay. Here we go. Here are ten reasons why ghosts are fucking dicks. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, because I totally did. I could go on about ghosts forever, those dicks.

10. They show up year round.

Ghosts should be decent and disappear after Halloween. Do they? No. Why? BECAUSE THEY’RE DICKS. Could you imagine if Santa just showed up all year round? Yeah, at first we would think, “Fucking sweet, Santa’s here!” And then it would be, “Oh, sweet, Santa’s here — again.” And then it would be, “Great, Santa’s breaking into my house again, get a fucking job, hippie!” When you’ve got a good thing going, you don’t keep pushing the good thing, because it ruins the good thing. Everyone likes a good scare on/or around Halloween, but after and/or before that? That’s ridiculous and/or annoying.

9. They’re unemployed and live rent-free.

Can you imagine if anyone else tried to do this? If your friend just randomly showed up and was like, “Hey, I’m gonna live in your house and not pay rent or have a job and scare the shit out of you, eternally”? Would you be like, “Oh okay, cool, bro, thanks!” No you would NOT. Why do we let ghosts get away with it?? Because they’re fucking DICKS. They don’t adhere to our rules, because they think they’re fucking awesome. It’s bullshit and it needs to stop.

8. They can’t/won’t let go and move on.

Ghosts are like a bad ex — they can’t (or won’t) just let go and move the fuck on. Like, HELLO, YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD. MOVE ON TO THE NEXT STATION, BUDDY. YOU CAN’T PARK YOUR CAR HERE. You know? But they just don’t get it!!! They stick around like post-it notes. And you’re just like, “What are you not understanding?” But instead of telling you why they can’t move on, they just point at shit and moan. Which brings me to this next point:

7. They’re bad communicators.

Have you ever heard of a ghost who explained, in plain English, why he’s haunting you? NO YOU HAVEN’T, BECAUSE GHOSTS ARE DICKS. They NEVER explain why they’re haunting you. Sometimes they’ll drop clues, like they’ll point to something all ghostlike and moan and you’re supposed to figure out what the hell that means. I would love to meet a ghost who told me straight-up why they were haunting me. “Hey, I’m here haunting the shit out of you because this is where I died and I’m unable to move on” is what I’d like to hear. At least that’s a FOUNDATION we can BUILD ON. Jesus.

6. They never apologize for being dicks.

Speaking of poor communication, not only are ghosts bad at explaining why they’re haunting you, but they never even fucking apologize, even if you help them move on to the next world. Have you ever busted out a Ouija board and asked a ghost what’s up and ever gotten an apology? Has the planchette ever spelled out “I-M-S-O-R-R-Y”? No, of course not, because they’re dicks. Sure, we’ve got “Casper the Friendly Ghost” but aside from him, has anyone actually ever had a friendly ghost? Nice try, Ghost Industry!

5. They’re elitist.

Why is it that ghosts only haunt rich people? It’s called Disney’s Haunted Mansion, not Disney’s Haunted 700ft² Studio Apartment. Why is that? Ghosts have the time to terrorize Nicole Kidman and her kids in a freakin’ English manor but not the time to terrorize us normal folk? I see what you’re doing, Ghost Industry. You’re saying you don’t have the time to deal with us unless we’ve got rooms and rooms to haunt, and that is beyond elitist. Some of us can’t afford sprawling estates for you to roam and moan in. It’s like we don’t even matter to you. And frankly, I’m offended.

4. They break shit and don’t pay for it.

Ghosts just love to break shit. Lamps, dishes, creepy porcelain dolls — doesn’t matter, if it’s breakable, they’ll break it. And they never offer to pay for the stuff they wreck either. I mean, they’re already taking up rent-free space and now they’re breaking shit? What’s up with that?? Not cool.

3. They’re insomniacs.

Why don’t ghosts ever haunt during the day? Why is it always when we’re trying to sleep? Why can’t a ghost realize that it’s a beautiful day and do a little haunting then? Why do they wait until it’s dark and creepy and past midnight? Why? You guessed it, because they’re dicks. I guess they’re jealous that we can sleep and they can’t, for whatever reason, which I think is bullshit. If they can break shit and make noise, why can’t they sleep? It’s just another lie perpetuated by the Ghost Industry.

2. They’re stupid.

Yeah, I’m being real here — REAL CONTROVERSIAL — but I don’t care, I’m just gonna say it: ghosts are stupid. They’re not a very evolved species. In this technology fueled times of email and texting and everything else, have you ever had a ghost try to communicate properly, via one of those channels? Nope, they always go the old fashioned way — by moaning in chains, or breaking shit (see above). Is it because they’re dicks? YES. Is it also because they’re stupid? YES. Name one intelligent ghost. Name one ghost who wowed you with their intellectual prowess. You can’t, can you?

1. They’re just not that scary anymore.

If you’re going to do something, you should do it right and be the best at it, and I think at this point, ghosts just aren’t scary enough. You know what the scariest thing is that I can think of? HBOGo not working. That‘s fucking chilling. And because no ghost is as scary as my Internet not working, I’m calling them dicks because of it. You have ONE JOB, ghosts, ONE JOB! And you’re still not as scary as an “Internet timed out” notice. For SHAME.

 

Anyway, it’s all these reasons and probably more that  are total dicks, and if you’re not brainwashed by the fucking Ghost Industry, you’ll go right along with me, because if there’s one thing no one likes, it’s a goddamn ghost. And I feel no regret or remorse saying that.

 

 

Photo by Nina Leen via LIFE archive photos for Google.

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Facebook Sucks, Part 2

Facebook sucks

I’ve said before and I’ll say it again: Facebook sucks. Once again, I have embarrassed myself on Facebook, and I only had the best of intentions.

I got back together with my ex boyfriend. Not because I hate being single but because it feels right. At this point, our not being together only seems like a pause in the relationship; we’ve been together longer than we haven’t.

So I wanted to make it official, by changing my status on Facebook to “in a relationship”, which is something I’ve never done before, ever. I thought it would be a simple process. I thought it would go over with little fanfare.

How very wrong I was.

You see, Facebook took it upon itself to EMAIL MY FRIENDS PERSONALLY, to let them know I’m in a relationship. If I had known it was going to do that, I wouldn’t have changed my status. Here’s how it went down. I blurred the last names and faces of those involved:

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Facebook

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~~Fashion Post~~ Necessary Clothing Edition

almie rose necessary clothing

It’s been a long time since I did a fashion post, so here we go! This post is brought to you by Necessary Clothing. I picked one of their dresses (the leather fringe dress) and made two looks out of it. I want to thank Bradley Meinz for his photography skills and Eddie Funkhouser for the makeup!

I’m not a fashion blogger, and I don’t have a typical fashion blogger figure, which is why I’m excited and nervous to share this with you. But I think it’s important that we see bodies of all shapes and sizes in sexy little black dresses, AM I RITE??

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The Weighing Is The Hardest Part

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So I went to the doctor today, and I was dreading it for so many reasons. The first is, everyone knows doctors are scary. They’re like society’s acceptable bogeymen. They take your blood and judge your lifestyle. And this was my first time seeing this new doctor (thanks, Obamacare, for screwing with my insurance), and I was especially nervous. Thankfully, she was a doll.

But another secret reason that I was apprehensive about going to the doctor is that I know I’ve gained some weight, and I was afraid of being weighed. Yup, that’s something I’m ashamed to admit, but there you go. I told the nurse I didn’t want to know my weight, and she complied.

BUT THEN, I found out anyway, by mistake. I saw the number. And my heart sunk into my fat chest. This is the most I’ve ever weighed. It’s the highest that number has ever been. If it was a Donkey Kong score, I could be proud of that number. But it wasn’t. It was my weight.

How many times am I going to write about my body before I’m over it? I mean, really?

I don’t see men do this. In my entire life I have only once heard a dude say that he had to lose weight (and he totally didn’t, he looked great, honestly. I don’t mean “great” as in, “I don’t want to hurt this person’s feelings, so I’m going to use the word ‘great'” — I mean actually great.) Why am I so bothered by my weight?

I think a big reason is because I don’t understand why I gained weight. I exercise and I barely eat, because I take adderall, and it suppresses my appetite. (I want to go off the adderall, I hate it. I’m talking to my psychiatrist about how to do that, safely.) But it’s like, how is it just my luck to be the only person who GAINS weight while taking adderall?

I’m getting old, you guys. I think that’s the only thing that can explain it. When you get old, the weight is harder to come off than when you were a goddamn teenager. And it’s crazy, because when I was a teenager, I was also complaining about my weight. I was trying to remember when I first started to hate my body. It started in elementary school. I hated my body because I thought I wasn’t tall enough. Then in middle school, I hated my body because I thought my breasts weren’t big enough. Then in high school I hated my body because I didn’t think my stomach was flat enough.

Am I ever going to be done hating myself? How much more can I put myself through before I’m really, truly, done?

So I don’t know where to proceed from here. I can continue to hate my body or I can try loving it. I’m really good at helping others love themselves; I just can’t get myself to give in. I just did a photo shoot and I’m trying not to judge every single photo of me with unhelpful thoughts like, “Double chin here”, “Fat stomach here”, “Large thighs here.” I should instead be looking at the photos and thinking, “How cool that I did this photo shoot, I look awesome.” But it’s like Tom Petty said, “The weighing is the hardest part.” (Okay, fine, he actually says “waiting.” But I needed a pun, I need puns so badly.)

Has anyone on the planet successfully given up their body hate and welcomed the body love? I want you to tell me how you did it. Let’s just talk from our hearts.

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