fuzzy edges

The feeling when you've been napping too much. You wake, and look around; spots and fuzzy edges. My brain has been napping for so long, the world has taken on this look, and I'm scared it's permanent. Moments that may be exciting or joyful are tempered by this lens and I start to feel numb. Out of body. Looking at myself and others and life as if an observer, calmy noting the markers of the day.

7:00 am - Get up, excited for coffee, blast some music and dance around to get myself 'pumped' for the day.
7:30 am- Get dressed. Wear new shoes today. Yay.
8:00 am- Decide wheather it will be a Starbucks day today or not.
8:30 am- Get to work, check Facebook, Google blogger, and various other sites for a couple of hours.
10:30 am- Coffee break, a chance for my new shoes to go for a walk.
12:00pm- Lunch time- read my magazine and decide wheather I should ditch work for the afternoon or not.
12:00 - 4:00 pm- Either work from home (ie. watch a movie and keep email open) or go shopping/errands and hope that I don't get any emails- usually I don't.

And they pay me a ridiculous amount to do this. I just asked my boss for more work, and she kind of laughed. What kind of alternative universe is this? Fuzzy edges and all.

Also had a FML moment last night. Blind date, arrived early - where a very hot, very my type bartender served me a drink. We probably would have struck up a conversation, had my yucky, eventually obnoxious date not shown up.

Three things since my last post that have, surprisingly, made me happy:
1. Army & Navy Annual Shoe sale. THE premier sports event for shoe aficionados like myself. Momma got herself 6 new pairs of shoes. Yay!
2. Reuniting with friend I hooked up with who made it awkward for three months after. We had beers, talked philosophy, Ayn Rand- it was lovely.
3. Rediscovering how sticky green gets me motivated to clean house, and feel really good about it.

a lesson in contradictions

inspired by Walt Whitman

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes).

A lesson in self acceptance for me. I always beat myself up about my jekyll and hyde nature. But really, being one thing is boring. My 'other' sides create textures, interest, something that I need to learn to love and not loathe.

Being with my sister always reminds me of this, she is herself, no apologies, no questions. I admire her in so many ways because her confidence seems unshakeable. Of course this can't be true- we all have our vulnerabilities- but she forgives herself and 0thers, because she accepts how they are, not how she wishes them to be.

I'm learning lessons everyday. And this is the one I want to learn today.

Three things I'm grateful for since my last post:

1. Time with my sister. I swear it makes me a better person.

2. The sun is finally out, and I'm enjoying it.

3. Some time to relax at home and soak in the silence.

jolt me to life

I keep having fantasies about crashing my car. I'll be driving down the street, someone will turn in front of me, and I'll accelerate slightly. I tailgate on purpose, imagining that solid impact. The feeling of metal against metal and the reassurance that I won't be here forever. That things can be changed. That, with enough force, you can permanently change the shape of a seemingly indestructable piece of metal.

I have this fantasy for several reasons. I'm hoping the force might jolt me out of apathy, make me awake and alive- available for living my life. I'm just wandering through right now, sometimes I can't distinguish dreams and reality. The less I do, the less I want to do - it's a vicious cycle. I would hope that being in peril of losing my life, or my life as I know it, would force an intense re-evaluation of the status quo. Or what I accept to be status quo.

So right now, the only light through the fog, is those headlights, my unwavering optimism; and I pray they are real and that I have the courage to approach them head on. To crash into them and jolt me into life.

I haven't done three things in a long while. So here it goes:
1. The sunshine is finally out, and hopefully the scourge of this long winter is over.
2. The support of good friends at my graduate school rejection :(
3. That I will see my sister in two days.

free from the closet monster

I'm attempting a renewed effort to write here. I feel like it's good practice, if I want to develop a 'style'. Unfortunatley (or fortunatley, depending on your view), as a pisces, style is fluid. I notice it most in the way I dress- biker-ish chick one day, professional and polished the next. I feel I can assimilate into any environment, and differentiate when I want to. Would it be vapid and vain to discuss style for a quiet moment? The rhetorical question begs an evaluation of your view of style as an intellectual entity. The girl who cleaned my closet last week (I got rid of FOUR large garbage bags full of clothing- some I haven't worn since Junior High), has a definite position on style. She says that "how you present yourself is a reflection of how you're feeling inside". I have to say that minimializing the clutter in an area I consider important (my closet- the doorway to how I'm feeling), has almost lifted a weight off of me. I can focus on other things now. Shopping (one of my favorite activities) has been revitalized for me. I know what I have, what I need, and what I want. I'm more efficient at it, therefore I don't have to do it as much, I don't feel obligated to buy, and when I do, I know it's really something I need/want.

Basically, I've been blessed with some clarity in that area of my life. It leaves me time to focus on other things, and leaves me less frustrated in the morning.

So, for this week, I want to focus on writing- and make an effort to veer away from the vain and vapid. I want to experiment with style.

Three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. The closet clean. AMAZING.
2. Finishing my article-judgement/discussion comes Thursday.
3. A quiet weekend. Bless!

Below are photos, of my organized, color coded closet:

lost in words

I know I haven't written for a while. Why, you might ask. Well, I've been busy writing. My first attempt at slight infamy, I've slotted myself into the next issue of a local magazine. So last friday, I wrangled my photographer/bestie and headed to Saskatchewan to see what kind of trouble we could get into. I was ready for lame sauce, but instead, I got awesome. I was ready to protect my neck (as the Wu would say) but I would say we were greeted like long lost family. We met most of the people our age at the bar attached to our motel - yes, that's not a typo- there was a bar AND an off-sale (liquor store if you're not aware of the slang) attached to the Heartland Inn. Booming bass greeted our arrival, and as my travelmate informed me (she is a small town veteran), Friday nights are THE night in small towns. It definitley was. And of course, we had to get drunk enough to sleep in the dirty motel we had chosen.

Anyways, more on the trip later....gotta get back to writing!

Three things I'm grateful for since last post:
1. An AMA membership. They say curiosity killed the cat, and I'm curious. So driving through a snowy field to get a photo of an abandoned chruch didn't faze me. Until we got stuck. The tow truck driver was quite perplexed by our choices to say the least.
2. My bed. Never felt so good after the motel.
3. My bestie for being such a good travel buddy and fabulous photographer.

i got a promotion. then i cried.

The piscean roller coaster never fails to amaze me. After six months of hard fought lobbying for a promotion to match what I was already doing, I got it. Then I cried. Out of happiness, you might think. But no. Sadness. Of how anti-climatic it was. How I had no one really to share it with. How more money doesn't equal more happiness for me. How I still really hate my job. How everyone acts like I do so much, but the brainpower needed to do it is in the low percentages. And so on.

So, I went out and bought a ridiculous pair of shoes. Then I heard my neighbours above me having sex. But I didn't care. 'Cause the shoes are hot. Really really hot, and they were steaming up my front hall with their hotness.

Three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. Recognition (and compensation) that I don't need babysitting at work anymore and haven't for a long long time.
2. A good friend to help me shop, and therefore, spend some of the new moola.
3. A beautiful sunny day yesterday and a nice walk home from downtown (and that my house didn't flood like half of the others in my neighbourhood).

one day older

I'm one day older than yesterday, but legally, I'm also one year older. What have I learned since yesterday, if age purports to engender wisdom? Well, I've learned that when you start drinking at 1 pm, you have to continue on a steady but moderate pace. If and when you stop, you will be down for the count. I've also learned that I might have a chance with Karma, because I woke up to birthday weather that was out of this world. Sunshine and fresh powder all day. Like the dreams you have where every track is fresh, and the sun is glinting through the trees in the glade, waxing golden on your ride as you float along. Except this dream was real. I've learned that a drive through liquor store is probably one of the best innovations that I've discovered recently. We drove up after dinner and the birthday girl simply rolled down her window, ordered three tall boy Pilsner singles and some shooters. No getting out of the car, going into the cold cooler, showing ID or anything. AWESOME. And lastly, I've learned that unlike my first birthday away from home when I cried like a baby in my dorm room- age has mellowed me out and I was cool with the chill day that I had yesterday.

Three things I'm grateful for as a 24 year old, so far:
1. Powder, sun & beer
2. An awesome father, who as described in the words of dude at the hill; "It's pretty cool that your dad is willing to get crunked to celebrate your birthday". Well said.
3. That the rest of my family, maxing, relaxing and chilling by the pool in the Canary Islands, put down their drinks to give me a call and tell me they were thinking of me on my birthday.

yes, you can run away from a birthday!

So I'm off to Vernon this weekend for some poudre sauvage, or as a friend coined it; "More powder than Kate Moss has ever seen". For once, at least I'm anticipating the lonely feel on my birthday, and perhaps even feeling like a contributor. So not a powerless feeling at least. I've absenced myself from the expectations that my friends will rally around me on that day, and am aware that the other half of my family is halfway around the world. So there. You can run away from a Birthday. I can be 23 for at least one more year!

My parting three things I'm grateful for as a 23 (version A) year-old girl:
1. The presence of hilarious and inspiring company on Tuesday night.
2. The anticipation of a short but needed vacation from my life.
3. The friendship of a brillant artist in my life who makes images that can make daddies cry.

PS-My letter got published in the post yesterday. Boo ya Barbara Kay!

newspaper nonsense

My morning ritual is not to be messed with. Beans are ground. The coffee goes on. Into the shower and make uped and blown dry and dressed preferrably before I sit down for my first meal of the day. I like my coffee strong, unadultered. I prefer quiet, but don't mind the radio from my alarm. It repeatedly tells me the time and the weather, keeping me on track both satorically and time wise. I go get my newspaper, and sit down and enjoy that time, getting ready for the day- some calm before the storm.

This morning, pursuing my usual peruse of the newspaper, an opinion article caught my eye and made me mad. 'Fictional drivel'. My response to this appropriately titled article could only be remedied in writing, so I got to work, and got to work:

Letter to the Editor

Re: Fictional drivel- Barbara Kay, Opinions, Wednesday February 25, 2009

Ms. Kay's opinion that Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale is "merely a tale told by a feminist" takes an important and well-written piece of Canadian literature and reduces it to "signify nothing" in her one-sided interpretation of the oeuvre. Kay posits that dystopian fiction only deserves critical respect when its premises are grounded in psychological or historical reality. But Kay seems to miss the point that Atwood's tale is fictional and therefore should not need to be grounded in any reality, and must not parallel any guidelines that Kay's perspective demands.

Kay takes her own interpretation of the work as an ideologically, self indulgent nightmare and magnifies it, using examples of the Nazis and Lebensborn to give her perspective credence. Fair enough. Everyone has their own interpretation of the work, and that's the point: To incite discussion and to create a forum for competing perspectives. But publishing such a one-sided un-balanced perspective on the work seems more than irresponsible, rendering Kay's column an overblown piece of propaganda designed to influence the reading of this work and its use in public schools. The Handmaid's tale is a text that may or may not have a feminist angle, depending on your reading of it. Atwood's work deserves more from the Post than the hysterical fear mongering that Kay's article incites.

Pleased and intellectually satiated, I continued my day.

Three things I'm grateful for since the last time I did three things I'm grateful for:
1. Major restraint shown on my shopping excursion/walk around the mall with 3 inch heels excercise last week.
2. Confirmation that we're going to Saskatchewan to write an article for a magazine!
3. A good workout/crying on the tredmill/getting frustrations out at the gym with my Dad on monday.

clothes whore

It's a well known fact that I am a MAJOR clothing whore. Everytime I open my closet, something falls on me. Sometimes, it's something I've haven't seen in a while, and it gives me the opportunity to rediscover it's greatness, or wonder why the hell I would wear something like that it the first place. Oftentimes, it's more of an ambigous feeling. Like, maybe I'll wear it again, most likely not, but I probably need someone to come pry it out of my hands.

Today, I rediscovered a skirt I hadn't worn in about 9 months. It's like getting back together with an ex boyfriend. At first, it's shiny and sweet and why the hell haven't I worn this/done this in so long. Then you wake up with his hairy snoring fat beer belly in the morning, try to mitigate the regret with a nice breakfast and then he, the lazy ass that he is, sticks around till 2 pm playing wii and grunting. I still haven't passed such harsh judgement on the skirt, so it might get another chance in the much nearer future than he ever will.

So if clothing can be equated with sex, the fact that I am not getting any will soon be remedied by a binge of clothing whoreness that my credit card can't handle- or to that end- a spree of window shopping that will surely disappoint (hummmm, crappy one night stands anyone?).

There's only one way to damage control. Keep the tags on for the first couple wears. Don't you wish you could return him after the first couple times?

Three things I am grateful for since my last post:
1. Online shoe shopping.
2. A lack of a sense of guilt for really anything currently.
3. whowhatwear.com

vacation from hedonism

'We are weighed down, every moment, by the conception and the sensation of Time. And there are but two means of escaping and forgetting this nightmare: pleasure and work. Pleasure consumes us. Work strengthens us. Let us choose.' ~ Charles Baudelaire

Today I chose work. Seriously, it felt like a long day, but I least I got a lot done. The last two days I've been hibernating. Sometimes it's sorely needed. Movies and tea and couch and fireplace and my own cozy space, being as slobby as I want to be. I've been choosing pleasure for the past couple of days, and my hedonistic bent has caused me to need some rest. So I feel refreshed and ready to finish of my week in style.

Three things I've thankful for since my last post.
1. The editor of the magazine me and my friend are trying to pitch an article to finally got back to us. He sounds stoked on the idea and wants to talk this weekend.
2. I left my charger at work all weekend and finally just charged my personal phone today. Added to the vacation feel.
3. Got a crapload of money back from my health insurance for more yoga yay!

powder gods

Spiritual experiences don't just happen every day. I believe certain contributing factors lead to circumstances where you feel like you have just been transported into the clouds and felt the ropes to earthly pittances go slack. Basically your mind fucked when you realize real life will hit you in the face eventually. So what factors are needed to experience awesomeness? I believe it's about mind state- so anything that affects your mind state, wheather it be euphoria, sticky green or just plain old beer. So, you think- does getting high and watching a movie count. Maybe. If you're laughing so hard you lose all the blood from your brain and start thinking you're in the film. But the more likely venue? That would be travelling to a new spot, and seeing something from a new perspective, influenced by a picturesque or even horrifying vista.

This weekend, I kneeled at the altar of the powder gods and was rewarded with the ability to float across the earth, feeling weightless, free and perfectly in control. Completed by the backdrop of some amazing vistas, and inhuman heights- emphasizing how small we are in the big picture and making me feel just a little luckier to have this great feeling. And later? We were a drunk and rowdy crew, feeling invincible, just out for a good time in some amazing snow, playing games and having fun. Only one thing could have made the picture complete- a missing piece, but we'll anticipate her presence for next time. So, after a long day of board meetings, does any President call it a day? No, we continued on into the night, getting our work done and thanking the powder gods for blessing us with the spiritual experience.

Signing out as El Presidente, I will get on with the three things that have made me happy since my last post.
1. Powder.
2. Beer.
3. Good friends and family to party with. (Still missing you boo!)

a mess of melted molten heat

It was warm in the club, but not hot, not sweltering like we both felt. The ability to make a man feel uncomfortable is not unfamiliar to me (I've been labeled intimidating), but the ability to make a man feel physically uncomfortable is a new one. There were sparks coming out of our eyes. Even brushing up against him seemed to emit a force field that was incomprehensable for both of us. How much conversation we had is something I can't even recollect, it was just those eyes.

So how much does Karma love me?

Enough to love to give it to me from behind and poke my eyes out at the same time. Because chemistry means nothing when someone has a significant other. Despite what J says, homewrecking is not an option. Especially when I found out his girlfriend is moving from Vancouver in with him. Wow. So he left. Because terribly, I couldn't stop flirting and neither could he.

So now. Nothing. Except the memory of sparkle flashes and heat.

O yeah, and L rubbing in how perfect we would be together.

I will still take time to give thanks for three things, because what else do you do when all you want to do is lay in your bed and smoke opium and have dreams about your unattainable dream guy.
1. I spoke with two of my Van friends on Sunday, and that always makes me feel good. Besties are the best.
2. I might, maybe, shouldn't type it here, but finally get my long hard fought promotion. Mama needs a new pair of shoes (not really, but a vacation would be nice).
3. My lost camera could be replaced thanks to my Mom's Visa insurance.

ignorance intolerance

I have a low tolerance for stupidity. I understand it can be construed as difficult to muddle through our modern world, but I have a feeling that it's the modern world that's producing and environment where it's easy to be ignorant. Information doesn't have to be learned, it can be found. With one key word in google, we have information on pet psychatrists at our fingertips. We don't have to learn where things are, we can just gps them or google map them. So if information is so easy to get at, why the prevalence of stupidity? I think it's exactly that. Information is so easy to get, we don't have to retain it, we have the security of knowing we can find whatever we want whenever we want. More and more common sense is becoming a scarce commodity because we don't need it- we just need google.

Why the rant regarding my ignorance intolerance? I've been victim to it several times today and it's still early. The starbucks girl- a long winded debacle that I will confine to my complaint letter. The email from some employee assuming I am the contact for parking concerns because I am listed as the webauthor for the whole hospital website. And to those, who, because email seems so much more modern than a letter, have lost all sense of any type of polite, business-like letter which is clear and concise but contains all of the information needed to reply or act with efficiency.

Our modern tools have most certainly contributed to the downfall of common sense and the diminshed valuation of the traditional learned individual. Back in the day, men and women were trained with a broad but deep knowledge of all subjects and even languages. They didn't have modern conveniences to enable a lazy passivity in honing their common sense and only viewing knowlege for it's usefulness rather than its intellecutal stimulus. Woe to the modern man, who most often loses a sense of poetry in a world filled with need-to-know.

To cap it off on a positive note, here are three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. Went to one of my favorite cocktail bars for a girlfriends birthday, and the third member of our childhood trio was there! It was great catching up with an old friend, and the three of us have plans for this weekend.
2. I finally vaccumed my house. Yay for no more super sized dust bunnies!
3. Today is Thursday, and I have a date......as to wheather I'm looking forward to it or not is still in the ambiguous stage.

reveling in eccentricity

It doesn't just take laziness and procrastination to become a hermit. It takes skill. You have to conciously be so conspicuous with your weirdness and anti-social tendancies that people eventually wonder why you would leave your house...aka....enclave of eccentricity. I think this weekend really exemplified my prelediction towards hiding out in my enclave of eccentricity, and in an act of rare generosity, I'm prepared to explain what it takes to feel completely and totally like you don't belong in the company of normal society.

1. Hang out with your parents execessively. Use them as an excuse for any social events you really don't want to attend. People will think that either a) your parents are sickly and that you are simply a dedicated slave daughter or b) you are some wierdo daddy's/momma's girl.

2. Skip going into the office for a full day and spend your time not uttering one word to anyone. You may have trouble speaking and especially socializing after this type of fast, to the point where you're telling the starbucks barista about your broken vaccum and your exploding egg burrito.

3. When you finally decide to socialize, go to a party, make the cursory wierd comments in lieu of small talk and then fall asleep on the couch. When you finally revive from your much more interesting dreams, observe the party from your self exiled spot a good distance away and secretly laugh (or for more oomph, laugh out loud to yourself) at the inane conversation that seems to be entertaining the lot.

Basically, that was my weekend. There was also, some wierd children's theatre thrown in there and sarcastic conversations with seven year olds. Identifying with the gibberish language of a five year old really seals the deal. All in all, the complete package down the road to insanity.

Now to conclude, there are still three things I must be grateful for over the past three days.
1. Seeing my really good friend L dance around in a bee costume. Priceless. And I have video proof for her fortieth birthday.
2. Erratic shopping trip with A. Seriously had major buyers regret, wondering if the purchases would go with my bursting at the seams closet, but of course they do.
3. Not going into work all day Friday and working from home. Does wonders for the soul. Not so much for the social skills.

procrastination fascination

I've found Procrastination isn't just relegated to work. It starts seeping into areas that affect your quality of life. Procrastinating on telling that guy you just really want to be friends until he actually thinks you're an item. Procrastinating on figuring out who fucked up your vacation until you have to cancel a trip. Procrastinating on changing your vaccum bag so then you begin to co-habitate with some very large, very scary dust bunnies. Procrastinating on buying fresh fruit and vegetables until tasteless canned pineapple becomes your only source of vitamins. Procrastinating on calling your friends and sister long distance until you're not even sure if they would call you back any more.

Anyways, you get the gist. Procrastination is taking over my life, and I'm taking it back. It probably means some major spring cleaning while chatting on the phone. Seems so simple written out, but so much more complicated when you're thinking about it.

Writing here is my first step in telling procrastination to step off (it's been a while). So here are three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. One of my office mates provided me with illegal files of the oscar up and comers. Great activity for a sunday afternoon with some wine and popcorn.
2. I finally finally finally got my letter of reference from my prof and was able to send off my application for Ryerson. My fingers are crossed so tight, they're purple.
3. I spoke to our admin assistant today re: vacation and phone. Hopefully my non- procrastination streak leads to some positive results.

dear lauren?

I think that's your name, and I think that's how you'd spell it. It should be burned into my memory, but I was so entranced with your eyes when you spoke to me, that I'm not really sure anymore. But even with only that one brief encounter several months ago, I still have a major crush. I don't think I've had a crush since High School.

It was a hot August day, and my bestie and I had just left market collective in search of a sunny patio and a cold beer. Settling ourselves into a sunny spot on the rooftop patio, a woman in a bright blue parrot dress caught my eye. The dress was several sizes too small and looked a little like a shrunken sausage casing. It was the female version of a hawaiian shirt, and her rooted, crimped bleach blond hair and blue eyeshadow exemplified a female mulleted '80's Rod Stewart look-alike. She was sitting with three young men, easily decades younger than her. The look of amusement on their face was tinged with fear as she went back to the bar to retrieve another round of shots. Using a tray was obviously foreign to her, and she resembled a whale walking a tightrope while trying to bring the shots back to the, now obviously terrified, group of guys.

We observed in amusement, on the edge of our seats to see which patron she might spill the tray on. Looking over at the guys, one of them returned our inquiring looks with a wide eyed look and mouthed 'help me'. Laughing at the spectacle before us, I noticed Lauren in the corner, looking not terrified, but simply amused by what had befallen him that day.

When the tipsy cougar took a bathroom break, HE came over to talk to us. I was distracted by his laid back demeanor, not to mention the fact that he looked like a homeless Jake Gyllenhaal. Just when I thought we were making progress, parrot lady came back, my bestie's husband showed up and the boys decided that they needed a nap before round two that evening. Why didn't I man up and tell him to text me later, giving him my number? My mouth was glued together. I swear. Now I regret it.

There have since been sightings. Outside of the Yardhouse one friday around 4 pm, but I didn't approach him- didn't feel I was looking 'hot' enough. I followed him down the street after seeing him walk by the Ship with some girlfriends one night, but then chickened out. My bestie saw him by her work at a gas station. I just hope this city is small enough that I see him again soon. Because then, I hope. I won't chicken out, and I'll just bite the bullet.....

To conclude, three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. The surpise coffee date with a friend on Monday. That 3 pm slump was easily avoided.
2. The assurance from the department head that I might still get into Ryerson after sending a desperate email.
3. It's only one day until the weekend. Thank God.

let's skip the small talk

I don't think I'm built for dating. Maybe there are people who just don't date. Maybe I'm more the short fling/long-suffering relationship type. I mean, my last two relationships/flings were with guys I met at bars and then proceeded to fall head over something for them.

It must be the small talk factor. I mean I like to know that you like cream in your coffee and that you love love love half french vanilla, half coffee at Timmy's, but not usually until I actually care about you at all. And when we first meet, to be honest, I want to know who last broke your heart. How it injured your psyche, permanently. How you view life out of clear, instead of rose colored colored glasses now, making you slightly cynical, meaning you will understand my brand of humour- a little off-centre. Maybe later down the road, when we've just woken up and had some snuggles and decide to hit up a Timmy's for some bagels and coffee (but preferably a cute little café) will I really take notice of how you like your coffee, because by then, I might acutally care.

So maybe I do skip the dating thing. Straight into the intense with the details later, seems to be more my style. So if you're wondering about the blind date this weekend, consider the above some type of rationale for the sad show that ended up with us considering why our friends thought us so pathetic to need some 'help' in the love area. If ever I need some 'help' in the love area, it's staying away from the broke, artistic, unstable types. This corresponds perfectly with my non-dating dating style. So, if you're out there, and you hate small talk as much as I do, perhaps we'll meet some day and head straight into the rollercoaster ride that avoids small talk and heads straight into the life-altering/psyche-scarring stuff.

Three things that I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. Red wine
2. Sunshine and great weather while riding Sunshine this weekend
3. Red wine, my fireplace and Hunter S. = enough down time to assuage/enhance my slight depression over my failure as a dater/small talker.

pink cadillac

So shiny on the lot. You can see yourself riding down the highway with the sartorially correct long hair so it can blow through the wind. The envious looks all the guys give you when you pull up in front of the corner store to pick up (again sartorially correct) a pack of smokes. But do they know that you have to stick your hand out of the window to signal left? Or that you have to let your passenger in first so they can let you in, or crawl across the passenger side to get to the drivers seat?

Do you really know what you're getting into?

It could be criminal to compare humans to cars, some type of cruel guy-speak cliché, but I'm going on a blind date on Saturday, and I'm worried. He just seems, well, so nice. I'm worried if he really knows what he's getting into. I mean my shock seemed to be accurately concealed when he told me he'd never really passed out drunk. And he's not boring-nice (from what I gathered in our lengthy conversation last night), which is good.

Because boring-nice is the worst of the worst- usually ending up as the other half of a suburban couple, who's big thrill of the month is going out to a movie (probably a Will Smith tearjerker) and maybe a drink after, but most likely before, so they can lightly pet each other during the show and pretend they're still teenagers and that was, of course, one of the most rebellious things they've done. They still live in the same town they grew up in and have no intention of leaving. "A vacation to Mexico? That's dangerous. We might get killed or, even worse, contract Hepatitis C from an ice cube."

I digress. Already, i'm foreshadowing way too far into what might be exactly like my last blind date: A 40 minute snooze fest, where not even booze could distract me from the 'Jaws'- like soundtrack racing through my mind, and the sense of impending doom that if I stuck around any longer I might be inadvertantly lead down the path to suburban hell.

So, I shall tune up the pink caddie for Saturday and be on my best behavior.
And now, three things I'm grateful for in the last 24 hours:
1. "Blame it on the scotch?" "Yeah that nectar d'or sure leads you astray." Aaaaand closure.
2. Coconut Records is making me happy today. Thanks tips.
3. That 'family friend' is such a broad and ambiguous word.

thanks for the memory

"So, what happened with you and that guy after I left?"
"What guy?"
"The guy you were making out with."
"Making out with? Where?"
"At the Drum, after I left."
"With who?"
"That guy of those two guys we met at the Hop 'n Brew."
And so on.

Seriously, not sure about you, but this happens to me every so often. Okay....alot. Sometimes it's; 'remember that guy you threw a beer at'. Or; 'remember that bar we got kicked out of because you decided to dance on a table'. Or; ' remember how i bought you a shot of tequila and then you fell on the floor?'.

Those nights blur in to a manic slide show of live bands, lucky beer, dirty shoes and end when I wake up magically in my own bed, by myself. Either I have a horseshoe up my ass, or I have one of the most amazing autopilots known to woman kind. I believe it's the latter, I've seriously ditched out on a group when i know I'm too drunk to be in public. I mean, you would think I would be too drunk to know, but amazingly, I know when I'm on the verge of making a regrettably forgetful mistake.

Unfortunatley, as many of my girlfriends have commented, I go from 'no' to 'yo' in about half a pint. One minute I'm as sober as your local mechanic, who was forced into rehab 3 years ago and hates every minute that he has to sit around with his buddies sipping on a coke; and the next I'm that girl who you wonder how she got so drunk at 9pm and who's swaying, not dancing or standing, and speaking what is not even disernable english anymore. I'm convinced it's some kind of blood disorder.

But, you think. Who, in their right mind would write as if they're proud of this behavior and flippant about the consequences? I would say, I've learned to learn. Perhaps it hasn't surfaced yet, but I'm sure eventually I will be sick of the guilt spiral and learning nothing new anymore. But for the time being, I'm trying to learn. I've learned lots so far. For example, If I drink the same drink option all night- ie. Gin- I can make it through. So, my education continues.

Thanks for the memory from Saturday night. Here are three things I'm grateful for in the last 24 hours:
1. My middle finger is still attached and fully functional. It serves me well when several ass holes don't know how to use a signal light. (And the 'several' characterization just serves to exemplify the state of affairs of drivers in this city).
2. My sister gave me major kudos on the thing I like to do the most. Thanks boobie!
3. My boss was totally cool when I basically told her I want to get the fuck out and have applied for school. Very supportive.