tick tick

This day has been torture. E came over last night after we both finished hellish days, and I'm pretty much we both just wanted to jump on a plane ASAP. We settled for a local sushi joint and some japanese beer. But it just felt mediocre. And today---every minute has been amplified seriously pushing the boundaries on how long a minute should really last. But I can see the bright sunshine at the end of the tunnel. 15 MINUTES. That's right. Only one quarter of an hour until I leave this joint, get in my car and get home to start my vaycay. And I can assure you. At exactly 3:15--when I anticipate getting home-- I will be cracking a Red Stripe. I can just hear it now. That satisfying hiss and the cold white steam that emanates directly after you pop the lid on an ice cold beer. OOOP. Now only 12 MINUTES. I'm not even giddy. Just fucking thirsty. It feels like the sahara desert in here. Or Salt Lake City. Both venues, where I'm pretty sure you can't satisfy the kind of thirst I've got going on here. Either way, in the interest of making time go by faster, I decided to blog. The results appear to be a rant that ends in a quite alcoholic sounding whine. Apologies. I'm off to L.A.

don't we all...

http://www.eyeweekly.com/article/55882

...feel this way lately. Way to get out of the rut? To each their own.

so slowly yet so fast

Time is so subjective. One minute life is running, swirling, buzzing past--I can't stop the moments, enjoy what I should, savor the deliciousness of the new and wonderful that I continue to be blessed with. The next minute--I can hear every whirr of the fan above my desk, I check the time, and it's not even noon, the slow march of expectations and appearances weighs me down. Like running underwater.

Three weeks ago, when E and I decided to go to L.A., it seemed like it would be soon enough. But, I swear it hasn't. My perception of time has been so schizophrenic that I can't believe it's already the week of our departure and at the same time, think Thursday is still four days away, and that seems like forever.

men in uniform. and not.

No longer is my 'problem' a problem. I knew we'd work it out. Because I'm sure there are bigger fish to fry in life.

My world is evolving and a main component is my 'new' job. They have transferred me to work for and at EMS. Quick rundown of what that means? Men in uniform. More men than women. Less bullshit. More conservative (for the time being) dress. And last, but most notably--work to do!! Being busy is definitley better than being the 'lady of leisure' I've been for the past couple of months. My credit card is gonna love it.

Other flourishing landscapes? E and I had to have 'the talk'. A very terrifying prospect for a tried and true committment phobe. I actually had a two year 'relationship' sans talk. Plus, it's only been a month. But---when you know, you know. And seriously. We're going to L.A. together. Which, in fact, was probably the impetus of this talk. 'Cause Daddy's getting a little crazy about the prospect of his little girl travelling to a different country with some guy. He threatened to kidnap me. My Dad, that is.

"You know. There have been known cases of fathers kidnapping their 24-year-old daughters because they're not happy with the situation." Seriously.

So, I treaded softly and explained the girl child clause to E. The girl clause means: It doesn't matter how old you are. Your dad will be inherently overprotective and overbearing until he trusts the guy. And quite simply, Daddy's only met E once. So now I have to set up another awkward meeting. This time Daddy promises to get down to the dirt and not spend 20 minutes talking about a kinetic sculpture.

and the 'not' referral in the title? Let's just say, I am wondering if E and I will even leave our hotel room in L.A.

how could this be a problem?

Anatomically, I did not realize that you could have a problem getting it on if your guy was too large. I've never heard a woman complain about this issue, and why would they. I'll tell you why. It's when you can't walk the next day. That's when you feel it might be an issue. And then he tells you he has to really be careful about what kind of pants he buys to make sure all of his stuff fits inside. Seriously?

P.S.- When researching this 'problem' I came across a large penis support group. Awesome.

sunscreen

Stress at work is palpable. Cold sores are popping up on colleages and, notably, a nice big one on my mug too. I feel tired from conversations that revolve around uncertaintly like the one I had this morning and shut down quite quickly; "Where are you going? Do you know? I don't know."

Jesus christ.

"No, I don't know and I don't want to talk about it, it stresses me out". They probed a bit futher, but I shut it down a little more forcefully. People understand repetition, apparently.

Yesterday, after the emotional rollercoaster that was my day, E (the new guy) described a scene from our upcoming vacation to LA. Bascially it involved shopping, being on the beach, some nudity and a bottle of wine. Fabulous. Just imagining the pink sky, warm toasty skin, comfy arms to cuddle in, soft sand, and fresh denim was like an instant spa treatment. I can smell the sunscreen already.

test?

So, last night, who knows why or what I was thinking, I got shit cranked. In front of the new guy. Apparently there was yelling and demanding and then an epic pass out right when he tried to come over as per my demands. According to my cousin, it was laughable. Exactly. Let's all laugh it off and move on. I hope. So we shall see. Two apology texts. 1. When I realized I was passed out when he tried to come over and; 2. After my cousin told me I was yelling. Fingers crossed he can deal with crazy sauce. It's not like I do this everyday. So, perhaps a test. And here's hoping he passes. 'Cause I really want him to.

little sis turns 23

Today is the day, when I was a mere 15 months old, my lovely little sister was born. Two sisters could not look so different, and my paternity began to be questioned and has been ever since that day.

Our love/hate relationship began early, documented faithfully on video. I thought she was my little dolly and loved to undress and dress her and force her to be my sidekick in our cardboard box 'car'. Of course, she had to sit in the back. I'm the driver! She still has a piece of lead in her collarbone from the time I stabbed her with a lead pencil in anger.

She was also always my faithful playmate. We pretended to be indians in our backyard and make face paint by grinding up grass and water. We would go on family ski trips and we'd be in and out of the trees together, me trying to catch up to her death defying speeds. Nickname: 'Lil Tonka. We went to summer camp together--she always the popular one, chasing off the boys.

In High School, she had a reputation to live up to, and poor girl, I wasn't always the best example. We shared clothes, rides to school, burnt CD's, joints and rarely; boys.

Now, 23 years later, I consider us best friends. It took a while. I think it was when we both left home to go to University on opposite sides of the country. We made our own lives, separatley, but missed being together. We needed the distance to realize how much we really liked just hanging out and being there for each other.

I definitley have grown to admire my sister in so many ways. She's been through a lot, and made it through, becoming confident and self-assured-- even if she may not always be feeling that way, she projects that aura and it's very powerful. She forgives herself more than I sometimes do, and is generous with others--sometimes to a fault. She knows her boundaries and is not afraid to tell others when they are infringing on them. She enjoys life, and lives fully in the present--still looking to navigate her future, to become the sucessful young lady (**sniff, I sound like a mom!) she is fully evolving to become. As many of my friends have observed, I'm a better person when she's around. So from the shitty half person I am currently, her being halfway across the world, I am sending my love out to my boobie, wishing her a Happy 23rd Birthday. Things only get better from here babe!

xoxoxo
Your Sis

sober (ish) sex

....is better. Wow. As my momma would say, "You're growing up!" Because finally I realize why getting drunk to get it on is not an ideal situation: You can't remember getting off! I could see the advantage if you were with someone who really sucked in the sack, but when it's good - why block it out? It is however, kind of nice to have a buzz on. You know, a couple of glasses of champagne type buzz - but definitley not a lawnmower (ie. vodka bottle) buzz/roar.

This month has been a constant source of these maturity revelations, and I'm not sure if I should thank the retrograde, or just accept that I'm moving into a different realm. You know when you used to go to the amusement park and see all of the couples together and wish- 'If only I could have someone to hold my hand'. Only you don't realize it's so much more, and will, at that young age, pick almost any guy who's willing to just (and not much more) hold your hand. I finally picked a guy who wants to do way more than hold my hand and I'm seriously surprised, but very happy so far. Who says old habits die hard? I think you just discover new ones, but ones that are much healthier, productive and all the good bullshit you never thought you wanted.

I tried to work my old m.o. for one night with the new guy. And? And, he didn't catch bait and run away screaming, and I didn't feel like it was something I should do anymore. 'Cause I wake up so much happier remembering how great the night before was. So now, I've found a new m.o. and variety is the spice of life-- so here's to hoping I can stick to the change-- and most importantly, enjoy it!