Today's been an interesting day for me.
I went to see my friend perform in a modern opera version of Tartuffe, and it was cool, and all that, but the production kinda sucked ass. And, as is often the case with the collegiate level of performances, the acting of these classically trained vocalists also kinda sucked ass.
I largely blame the director, tho'. Clearly, she was really unsure of how to fill the time in between lyrics in such a cramped performance space, and most of these kids didn't seem to have any sort of method or Eisner training, which led to a lot of cartoonish filling time shenannigans. It was a nice little studio production, but not worth more than the $10 I paid.
Anyway, that wasn't really my point.
My point is that, even tho' my friend had his mom and his aunt and his best friend with her boyfriend -- both of whom used to be his roommates -- and then another friend with his girlfriend all there to cheer him on, my friend really seemed happiest to see me. I mean, really, truly weird! He just hugged me and didn't let go. It was so beautiful and wonderful, to be that appreciated. I mean, sure, I'd given him a really gorgeous card before the performance began and I wrote some pretty moving shit that apparently put him in exactly the right place for his closing performance, but still!
So. That's that. Me tootin' my own horn. [Hey, everybody, I'm someone to be appreciated!]
Blecch. Now I feel like an asshole. Huh. Oh, well! Too bad!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Monday, September 3, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
My best friend's getting married. She wants to have a ceremony on the beach, followed by live music by our dj friends and, once it starts to get dark, a bonfire. And so I've begun researching bonfires around here.
Yeah. It's not gonna be easy.
Plus, the electronic music? Apparently we're not supposed to have any amplified sound. But I'm thinking that if we include all of that stuff in our use permit application, we should be covered. At least, that's what I'm hoping.
Anyway, just wanted to let all y'all know. Not that it really matters, but it's a fuckin' cool thing when two people find each other and make that decision to build a life together. Amen.
I'm off to bed now. I thought I had enough energy to actually write something, but it turns out I way over-estimated myself. G'night. Sweet dreams. Or, as my mother used to say to me when I was a kid, suena con los angelitos.
(And now you say, y tu, tambien. Well done!)
Peace.
Yeah. It's not gonna be easy.
Plus, the electronic music? Apparently we're not supposed to have any amplified sound. But I'm thinking that if we include all of that stuff in our use permit application, we should be covered. At least, that's what I'm hoping.
Anyway, just wanted to let all y'all know. Not that it really matters, but it's a fuckin' cool thing when two people find each other and make that decision to build a life together. Amen.
I'm off to bed now. I thought I had enough energy to actually write something, but it turns out I way over-estimated myself. G'night. Sweet dreams. Or, as my mother used to say to me when I was a kid, suena con los angelitos.
(And now you say, y tu, tambien. Well done!)
Peace.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
So, I survived the night...more or less. The whole thing was really all right for me, in that there was no real awkwardness or ickyness or hostility or anything like that. I laughed a lot, I met some cool people, had yummy drinks, got to celebrate my friend's b-day, and was feeling good about myself in general.
Ladies, you know about this, right? Some days are just Ugly Days, where it doesn't matter in reality whether or not you're looking good; you just feel ugly. And then some days are Hot Days, where you know your mojo is workin' and all the boys flock to you. Right? Right! And yesterday was a Hot Day for me -- thank the gods!
Anyway, the only tough thing about last night is that I did see Ex-Friend. He actually came over to me and hugged me, which I have to admit kinda took me by surprise. I sort of half-rose from my bar booth seat and half-assedly hugged him back, but greeted him with a dazzling smile, trying to convey a sense of, hey, no harm, no foul here! I think it worked.
The hard part, tho', is twofold:
(1) I got a really strong feeling that he wanted to talk to me, that he wanted to be funny with me, to make me laugh, to connect somehow. He kept trying to bring up subjects and debates that, given the others sitting in my bar booth, only really the two of us could engage in (regarding very specific types of music and artists, etc.). But he was so hammered that I think he himself found his efforts to be lacking, and I didn't help matters by allowing myself to be pulled away from his commentary all too easily. It made me feel sort of rude, and in the past I would've tried to find him and give him an opportunity to complete his thought, but I kept reminding myself that this person makes me feel like shit most of the time, so let it go.
(2) Seeing EF made me really, really, really, really miss having him in my life. Last night after I left, and all day today, I've had this ache where I keep trying to devise excuses to text him or e-mail him or even call him, just to try to cling to some small thread of what we once were. He was my best friend. And now, seeing him again, well...I just wish we were good for each other. But, if there's one thing I've learned in my long-but-still-young years, it's that loving someone, be it family, friend, or lover, does not automatically mean you're good for each other. In fact, it's the very people you love the most that can deal you the highest amount of damage. (Just ask any videogame fanatic; they'll tell ya.)
So, I survived, but now I'm sad again, not 'cause I had a bad time, but because I had a good time, and wish I could have it again.
Askin' a lot, eh?
*sigh*
I don't know anymore. When is it the right thing to stick to your guns, and when should you just let go of your Word and give someone another chance? I don't know anymore. (Wait, I already said that. Nevermind.)
Ladies, you know about this, right? Some days are just Ugly Days, where it doesn't matter in reality whether or not you're looking good; you just feel ugly. And then some days are Hot Days, where you know your mojo is workin' and all the boys flock to you. Right? Right! And yesterday was a Hot Day for me -- thank the gods!
Anyway, the only tough thing about last night is that I did see Ex-Friend. He actually came over to me and hugged me, which I have to admit kinda took me by surprise. I sort of half-rose from my bar booth seat and half-assedly hugged him back, but greeted him with a dazzling smile, trying to convey a sense of, hey, no harm, no foul here! I think it worked.
The hard part, tho', is twofold:
(1) I got a really strong feeling that he wanted to talk to me, that he wanted to be funny with me, to make me laugh, to connect somehow. He kept trying to bring up subjects and debates that, given the others sitting in my bar booth, only really the two of us could engage in (regarding very specific types of music and artists, etc.). But he was so hammered that I think he himself found his efforts to be lacking, and I didn't help matters by allowing myself to be pulled away from his commentary all too easily. It made me feel sort of rude, and in the past I would've tried to find him and give him an opportunity to complete his thought, but I kept reminding myself that this person makes me feel like shit most of the time, so let it go.
(2) Seeing EF made me really, really, really, really miss having him in my life. Last night after I left, and all day today, I've had this ache where I keep trying to devise excuses to text him or e-mail him or even call him, just to try to cling to some small thread of what we once were. He was my best friend. And now, seeing him again, well...I just wish we were good for each other. But, if there's one thing I've learned in my long-but-still-young years, it's that loving someone, be it family, friend, or lover, does not automatically mean you're good for each other. In fact, it's the very people you love the most that can deal you the highest amount of damage. (Just ask any videogame fanatic; they'll tell ya.)
So, I survived, but now I'm sad again, not 'cause I had a bad time, but because I had a good time, and wish I could have it again.
Askin' a lot, eh?
*sigh*
I don't know anymore. When is it the right thing to stick to your guns, and when should you just let go of your Word and give someone another chance? I don't know anymore. (Wait, I already said that. Nevermind.)
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Well, today's the day. It's funny, 'cause I'm not really nervous anymore. I'm going to have a good time in the park this afternoon with a bunch of people that I really like, then I'm gonna go and meet up with a lot of people that I don't know anymore, including Ex-Friend, but it's gonna be O.K. Everything else in this life is so good that an hour or two of discomfort cannot keep me from being happy. What a thing, eh?
Sunday, July 22, 2007
I've been freaking out lately. My friend is having a birthday party in three weeks, and Ex-Friend (EF) is going to be there. I don't care so much about seeing EF; it's mostly that I wish I were looking better, that I hadn't gained so much weight over the last two years, and that I wish I had a hot boyfriend to drag along to this party as a sort of status symbol -- y'know, so that all of the people that used to comprise my Circle of Friends but that essentially dropped me when EF and I ceased communication will know that I don't need them ANYWAY!
*sigh*
I wish I were more grown-up, or at the very least more mature. Turns out I'm neither.
I also wish I didn't have to go to this party, but it's kind of required, from a personal ethics kind of place. Y'see, my friend who's throwing the party recently almost died while in the hospital, and she's got this renewed sense of living and celebrating life. How could I possibly turn away from her? Being an insecure idiot is not a good enough reason.
*sigh*
I wish I were more grown-up, or at the very least more mature. Turns out I'm neither.
I also wish I didn't have to go to this party, but it's kind of required, from a personal ethics kind of place. Y'see, my friend who's throwing the party recently almost died while in the hospital, and she's got this renewed sense of living and celebrating life. How could I possibly turn away from her? Being an insecure idiot is not a good enough reason.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Yesterday was a Day -- capital "D"! It was one of those days when every single customer was just a little too whiny and implacable, where every copy you try to make gets a paper jam, where every step you take in your cute platform loafers feels like you're about to fall on your ass.
Yeah. One of those Days.
So, when I went to Target after work to buy toothpaste and window cleaner, and some guy tried to steal my parking space, I turned into one of those confrontational, insistent types.
Here's how it happened:
I pulled into the South Marketplace Shopping Center. I drove to the row right in front of the Target, and while I was coming around the corner, I noticed a guy loading stuff into the back seat of his car. Perfect, I tho't, finally a break on this hellacious day! The spot was only, like, five spaces away from the front door, and since my feet were not cooperating that day, I figured it'd be best to not have to walk very far.
Plus, I was tired and already cranky from my Day.
So, I stopped and turned on my blinker, indicating that I was waiting for this guy to leave so I could take his spot. And, as is the natural way of things, he left, and just as I began to move forward to turn into the space, this car zooms out from behind me, swings around my car, and pulls into the space.
WHAT????
I began to honk like a mad woman, as though I was having a diabetic fit and the horn was a needle full of insulin.
The guy decided to ignore me, probably figuring that, in such a polite little country town, the Crazy Lady will be too embarrassed to press the issue.
He had no idea.
I put my car in "Park," removed my key from the ignition, and jumped -- yes, literally jumped! -- out of my car, yelling, "Excuse me! Ex-cuse me! That's my space!"
The man stared at me in dumb silence.
"I had my blinker on. I was waiting for that guy to leave. That's my space."
More stunned silence.
Then, finally he said:
"Look, you were only there a minute. I've been looking for a spot for a lot longer than that."
To which I replied, "Well, I'm sorry you left to try to find a better spot, but that one's mine. Thank you! That's my space."
One more round of stunned silence.
So I said, in a slightly higher-pitched and more desperate tone, "I'm gonna have to insist. Thank you. That's my spot. I don't care. Thank you."
Yeah.
He got in his car and left...to park in the spot that, in the course of our little encounter, had opened up two spots down. Now, I know some of you may be thinking that I probably should have let it go and taken the other spot. To this I answer:
HELL NO!
The whole point is that I had my blinker on, and I had been waiting for that particular spot. He needed to be taught some manners, and I was just the Crazy Lady to oblige.
ROAR!!!!
Yeah. One of those Days.
So, when I went to Target after work to buy toothpaste and window cleaner, and some guy tried to steal my parking space, I turned into one of those confrontational, insistent types.
Here's how it happened:
I pulled into the South Marketplace Shopping Center. I drove to the row right in front of the Target, and while I was coming around the corner, I noticed a guy loading stuff into the back seat of his car. Perfect, I tho't, finally a break on this hellacious day! The spot was only, like, five spaces away from the front door, and since my feet were not cooperating that day, I figured it'd be best to not have to walk very far.
Plus, I was tired and already cranky from my Day.
So, I stopped and turned on my blinker, indicating that I was waiting for this guy to leave so I could take his spot. And, as is the natural way of things, he left, and just as I began to move forward to turn into the space, this car zooms out from behind me, swings around my car, and pulls into the space.
WHAT????
I began to honk like a mad woman, as though I was having a diabetic fit and the horn was a needle full of insulin.
The guy decided to ignore me, probably figuring that, in such a polite little country town, the Crazy Lady will be too embarrassed to press the issue.
He had no idea.
I put my car in "Park," removed my key from the ignition, and jumped -- yes, literally jumped! -- out of my car, yelling, "Excuse me! Ex-cuse me! That's my space!"
The man stared at me in dumb silence.
"I had my blinker on. I was waiting for that guy to leave. That's my space."
More stunned silence.
Then, finally he said:
"Look, you were only there a minute. I've been looking for a spot for a lot longer than that."
To which I replied, "Well, I'm sorry you left to try to find a better spot, but that one's mine. Thank you! That's my space."
One more round of stunned silence.
So I said, in a slightly higher-pitched and more desperate tone, "I'm gonna have to insist. Thank you. That's my spot. I don't care. Thank you."
Yeah.
He got in his car and left...to park in the spot that, in the course of our little encounter, had opened up two spots down. Now, I know some of you may be thinking that I probably should have let it go and taken the other spot. To this I answer:
HELL NO!
The whole point is that I had my blinker on, and I had been waiting for that particular spot. He needed to be taught some manners, and I was just the Crazy Lady to oblige.
ROAR!!!!
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Y'wanna know why Friendster sucks? Because they don't have a customer service e-mail address. Oh, no, that'd be too much work for them! Instead you have to sift through their 13 pages of FAQs and hope that one of them addresses your issue -- which, by the way, has never been the case for me!
I hate Friendster!
So, here's the scoop:
When I used to have a Friendster account, I also had a blog, and since I wanted to be able to format my blog and do some reasonably cool stuff, I had a blog for which I paid $8.95/mo. When I followed the online process to cancel my account, I tho't that would also cancel my blog.
I tho't wrongly.
Turns out the blog aspect of the whole Friendster thing is actually run by a company called Six Apart Ltd. (SAL). For some reason, you have to contact them separately to cancel your blog.
I wrote to Friendster's suggestions e-mail address ('cause, as I already said, they don't have a customer service one) saying they should probably let customers know this at some point during the whole canceling-the-account process. Friendster's suggestions team wrote back saying, yeah, y'know what, you're right! We probably should! Weird that we don't. Huh. Head-scratcher, that!
So I went to SAL's site to ask them to stop charging me for my Friendster blog, as the account had been canceled.
A couple of months went by, and I saw that I was still being charged $8.95 every month by SAL. I finally had enough and contacted my bank to dispute the most current charge and any future charges. As a result, my debit card has been canceled and my bank is issuing me a new one, which means that, for the time being, I HAVE to either write checks or carry cash; otherwise I can't buy anything.
Convenient, no?
HELL NO!
And to top it all off, SAL is insisting that the account still exists, and therefore the blog still exists. I went around and around with them, saying, look, if you Google my site, it comes up with a, "No, it ain't there!" screen. IT DOES NOT EXIST!
SAL responded, well, sure, the blog itself doesn't exist, but the corresponding photo pages still exist, so we therefore get to keep charging you. If you want us to stop, you have to go back and cancel your Friendster account using their online process.
Anyone else beating their head against the wall yet? Damn!
So I went back and contacted Friendster -- which, if you'll recall, does not have a customer service e-mail address; I keep having to contact them through their suggestions e-mail address -- and explained the issue. I got a formulaic response saying that the suggestions department doesn't handle these kinds of questions, and I needed to go back and contact customer service.
And, yes, say it with me now, there is no customer service e-mail address to contact!!!
*sigh*
I seriously could cry.
I hate Friendster!
So, here's the scoop:
When I used to have a Friendster account, I also had a blog, and since I wanted to be able to format my blog and do some reasonably cool stuff, I had a blog for which I paid $8.95/mo. When I followed the online process to cancel my account, I tho't that would also cancel my blog.
I tho't wrongly.
Turns out the blog aspect of the whole Friendster thing is actually run by a company called Six Apart Ltd. (SAL). For some reason, you have to contact them separately to cancel your blog.
I wrote to Friendster's suggestions e-mail address ('cause, as I already said, they don't have a customer service one) saying they should probably let customers know this at some point during the whole canceling-the-account process. Friendster's suggestions team wrote back saying, yeah, y'know what, you're right! We probably should! Weird that we don't. Huh. Head-scratcher, that!
So I went to SAL's site to ask them to stop charging me for my Friendster blog, as the account had been canceled.
A couple of months went by, and I saw that I was still being charged $8.95 every month by SAL. I finally had enough and contacted my bank to dispute the most current charge and any future charges. As a result, my debit card has been canceled and my bank is issuing me a new one, which means that, for the time being, I HAVE to either write checks or carry cash; otherwise I can't buy anything.
Convenient, no?
HELL NO!
And to top it all off, SAL is insisting that the account still exists, and therefore the blog still exists. I went around and around with them, saying, look, if you Google my site, it comes up with a, "No, it ain't there!" screen. IT DOES NOT EXIST!
SAL responded, well, sure, the blog itself doesn't exist, but the corresponding photo pages still exist, so we therefore get to keep charging you. If you want us to stop, you have to go back and cancel your Friendster account using their online process.
Anyone else beating their head against the wall yet? Damn!
So I went back and contacted Friendster -- which, if you'll recall, does not have a customer service e-mail address; I keep having to contact them through their suggestions e-mail address -- and explained the issue. I got a formulaic response saying that the suggestions department doesn't handle these kinds of questions, and I needed to go back and contact customer service.
And, yes, say it with me now, there is no customer service e-mail address to contact!!!
*sigh*
I seriously could cry.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Ex-Friend texted me last night.
...
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
...
I'm having a little freak-out over it.
So, here's what happened.
About two or three or four months ago -- I don't remember how long; I'm horrible with sensing the passage of time -- I got a friend request on MySpace from Danny Kaye. Of course, it wasn't the actual Danny Kaye, but still, I LOVE Danny Kaye! And so I went to check out the profile for this Danny Kaye.
On the MySpace profile, there was a video of Danny Kaye and Harry Belafonte doing a little ditty on The Danny Kaye Show. It made me laugh out loud, it was so campy and playful! It just made me happy to watch it, and I had an undeniable urge to share the joy with someone.
Enter EF.
Danny Kaye is EF's favorite, from childhood. EF LOVES Danny Kaye, and introduced me to a lot of Danny Kaye stuff that I never even knew existed. It was one of the many things that the two of us shared between just us. It was loving and special, like we were part of some secret club that no one else really got.
So, it was completely natural, if a little unfortunate, that the person with whom I wanted to share the Danny Kaye video most in the world was EF.
And then, I thought about it some more, and realized, hey, what's the big deal? So you send EF a video! That doesn't mean that you have to be friends with EF! It's totally safe; there's no way EF will ever try to talk to you again, anyway. And if you use your new e-mail address, who knows? Maybe the video link will get put in EF's junk mail box instead of the inbox, and EF will never, ever, ever know you sent the dadgum thing in the first place! This is totally fine!
I sent the video to EF.
I believe my e-mail said something to the effect of, "I saw this and it made me laugh, and I just had to share it with someone. Naturally, you came to mind, and I figured, eh, what the hell."
Months passed. And then I got this text last night:
"thanks for the danny kaye video. i hope you've been well you have been in my thoughts."
My immediate reaction:
RUN FOR THE HILLS!
My actual, carefully crafted response:
"Glad u enjoyed it kid. Hope ur good too."
Calm and cool, right? Right! In my text message. I'm calm and cool. Right.
God help me.
...
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
...
I'm having a little freak-out over it.
So, here's what happened.
About two or three or four months ago -- I don't remember how long; I'm horrible with sensing the passage of time -- I got a friend request on MySpace from Danny Kaye. Of course, it wasn't the actual Danny Kaye, but still, I LOVE Danny Kaye! And so I went to check out the profile for this Danny Kaye.
On the MySpace profile, there was a video of Danny Kaye and Harry Belafonte doing a little ditty on The Danny Kaye Show. It made me laugh out loud, it was so campy and playful! It just made me happy to watch it, and I had an undeniable urge to share the joy with someone.
Enter EF.
Danny Kaye is EF's favorite, from childhood. EF LOVES Danny Kaye, and introduced me to a lot of Danny Kaye stuff that I never even knew existed. It was one of the many things that the two of us shared between just us. It was loving and special, like we were part of some secret club that no one else really got.
So, it was completely natural, if a little unfortunate, that the person with whom I wanted to share the Danny Kaye video most in the world was EF.
And then, I thought about it some more, and realized, hey, what's the big deal? So you send EF a video! That doesn't mean that you have to be friends with EF! It's totally safe; there's no way EF will ever try to talk to you again, anyway. And if you use your new e-mail address, who knows? Maybe the video link will get put in EF's junk mail box instead of the inbox, and EF will never, ever, ever know you sent the dadgum thing in the first place! This is totally fine!
I sent the video to EF.
I believe my e-mail said something to the effect of, "I saw this and it made me laugh, and I just had to share it with someone. Naturally, you came to mind, and I figured, eh, what the hell."
Months passed. And then I got this text last night:
"thanks for the danny kaye video. i hope you've been well you have been in my thoughts."
My immediate reaction:
RUN FOR THE HILLS!
My actual, carefully crafted response:
"Glad u enjoyed it kid. Hope ur good too."
Calm and cool, right? Right! In my text message. I'm calm and cool. Right.
God help me.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
This morning I had a dream about Ex-Friend. We were in some sort of cafeteria-style restaurant/open market place getting lunch together and we were in line for the cash register.
Throughout the dream EF had been standing behind me, and every once in a while he'd accidentally -- and I really mean accidentally, not one of those oops! did I do that? kind of accidentallys -- brush the back of my knee as we were walking around. But somehow, when we got in line to pay for our food, he'd gotten in front of me, and it was me who accidentally brushed the back of his knee with my bag (or something; I don't remember exactly what).
The worst part? I could smell him. When he was standing in front of me, I could breathe him in. The scent was so real and so familiar. And although I was nowhere near ready to wake up (as far as how many hours of sleep a girl of a certain age may require on any given night), in my dream I was aware enough of how dangerous it could be to become comfortable and familiar again with EF that I literally dragged myself out of my dream to wakefulness -- almost an hour before my alarm was set to go off!
O.K., so, damn for that! And double-damn for the fact that I had this dream in the first place! And triple damn that I couldn't shake the dream afterwards and so lay in bed panicked for the next forty two minutes!
I blame this week's episode of Gilmore girls. It set me up to have this dream. (If you watch the show, you'll know what I'm talking about. And just in case you taped the show and haven't watched it yet, I'm not gonna explain further here.)
Throughout the dream EF had been standing behind me, and every once in a while he'd accidentally -- and I really mean accidentally, not one of those oops! did I do that? kind of accidentallys -- brush the back of my knee as we were walking around. But somehow, when we got in line to pay for our food, he'd gotten in front of me, and it was me who accidentally brushed the back of his knee with my bag (or something; I don't remember exactly what).
The worst part? I could smell him. When he was standing in front of me, I could breathe him in. The scent was so real and so familiar. And although I was nowhere near ready to wake up (as far as how many hours of sleep a girl of a certain age may require on any given night), in my dream I was aware enough of how dangerous it could be to become comfortable and familiar again with EF that I literally dragged myself out of my dream to wakefulness -- almost an hour before my alarm was set to go off!
O.K., so, damn for that! And double-damn for the fact that I had this dream in the first place! And triple damn that I couldn't shake the dream afterwards and so lay in bed panicked for the next forty two minutes!
I blame this week's episode of Gilmore girls. It set me up to have this dream. (If you watch the show, you'll know what I'm talking about. And just in case you taped the show and haven't watched it yet, I'm not gonna explain further here.)
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I've been smoking lately...a lot...DAMN.
See, here's the thing: My current roommate has a boyfriend who lives in this lovely little coastal town in California. My roommate is a smoker. Her boyfriend is a smoker. And while I'm in total denial as to whether I'm a smoker or not, generally I only smoke when I'm hanging out with them, which is about once a week.
For instance, this past week I didn't have a single, solitary puff of anything remotely cigarette-esque. I'm sure I was exposed to myriad other carcinogens 'cause, well, hey, let's face it, everything causes cancer these days. Even so, I go down on Saturday night to Roommate's Boyfriend's house, and on my way feel obligated to buy two packs of cigarettes. Two! Two, I tell ya!
Why two, you may ask? Because, silly rabbit! For those of us who are "social smokers," half the fun is trying out different kinds of flavored cigarettes, even though they're generally stronger, and the next morning you feel like you've been living in a coal mine for the past twenty years. (Not that I would have any idea what that would actually feel like, but I have a fairly vivid imagination.) So I had to buy the cherry flavored pack -- which, by the way, are totally YUM! -- and then I had to get the Export A Extra Lights for my cool, unflavored pack.
And guess what? Between the three of us, we managed to polish off the entire pack of cherry cigarettes, and I smoked half a pack of my Extra Lights on top of that! DAMN!
And, yes, this morning I woke up feeling like I'd spent the last twenty years living in a coal mine. I even noticed that I was wheezing a bit all day today. There's this little whistle thing that's really fucking annoying and makes me feel like I'm the sad, sick character on a bad reality TV show that everyone's supposed to start out making fun of but later rediscovers their own humanity through witnessing my own personal, tortured journey.
And did I mention DAMN? I mean, seriously, DAMN! That's a lot of fucking smoking in about a seven and a half hour period!
*sigh*
I have to quit giving into peer pressure.
See, here's the thing: My current roommate has a boyfriend who lives in this lovely little coastal town in California. My roommate is a smoker. Her boyfriend is a smoker. And while I'm in total denial as to whether I'm a smoker or not, generally I only smoke when I'm hanging out with them, which is about once a week.
For instance, this past week I didn't have a single, solitary puff of anything remotely cigarette-esque. I'm sure I was exposed to myriad other carcinogens 'cause, well, hey, let's face it, everything causes cancer these days. Even so, I go down on Saturday night to Roommate's Boyfriend's house, and on my way feel obligated to buy two packs of cigarettes. Two! Two, I tell ya!
Why two, you may ask? Because, silly rabbit! For those of us who are "social smokers," half the fun is trying out different kinds of flavored cigarettes, even though they're generally stronger, and the next morning you feel like you've been living in a coal mine for the past twenty years. (Not that I would have any idea what that would actually feel like, but I have a fairly vivid imagination.) So I had to buy the cherry flavored pack -- which, by the way, are totally YUM! -- and then I had to get the Export A Extra Lights for my cool, unflavored pack.
And guess what? Between the three of us, we managed to polish off the entire pack of cherry cigarettes, and I smoked half a pack of my Extra Lights on top of that! DAMN!
And, yes, this morning I woke up feeling like I'd spent the last twenty years living in a coal mine. I even noticed that I was wheezing a bit all day today. There's this little whistle thing that's really fucking annoying and makes me feel like I'm the sad, sick character on a bad reality TV show that everyone's supposed to start out making fun of but later rediscovers their own humanity through witnessing my own personal, tortured journey.
And did I mention DAMN? I mean, seriously, DAMN! That's a lot of fucking smoking in about a seven and a half hour period!
*sigh*
I have to quit giving into peer pressure.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
I had the most delicious dream this morning about a friend of mine that I never, ever, EVER, in a million years would consider hooking up with. But, I gotta tell ya, this dream was just what the proverbial doctor ordered!
Let me be very clear, here: It was not dirty, or sleazy, or even particularly suggestive. So, then, what was it, you might ask?
Well, let me tell ya.
It was comforting and loving and endearing -- all of those things that a single girl misses when she has nary a semblance of a relationship in the works, and all of the things that a sorta single girl hunts and digs for in her existing relationship but can't seem to find, not to mention all of the things that a definitely not single girl means when she says something is missing from her relationship (unless, of course, she unwittingly is dating a gay man; then that something missing might just simply be sex).
The best part of the dream wasn't that we made out or anything, 'cause we didn't. It was simply this:
I walked up to him to put my hand through his arm and rest my head on his shoulder while we were waiting for these movers (don't ask; would require a much more detailed explanation of the dream, and isn't really the point here) to finish what they were doing. And when I'd been standing that way for a while and started to pull away to go pick out a DVD to watch (again, not explaining the DVD side story at this stage), he ever-so-slightly tightened his arm, keeping me with him, making me feel safe and embraced and loved.
Fellas, truly, it's the simplest things...
Let me be very clear, here: It was not dirty, or sleazy, or even particularly suggestive. So, then, what was it, you might ask?
Well, let me tell ya.
It was comforting and loving and endearing -- all of those things that a single girl misses when she has nary a semblance of a relationship in the works, and all of the things that a sorta single girl hunts and digs for in her existing relationship but can't seem to find, not to mention all of the things that a definitely not single girl means when she says something is missing from her relationship (unless, of course, she unwittingly is dating a gay man; then that something missing might just simply be sex).
The best part of the dream wasn't that we made out or anything, 'cause we didn't. It was simply this:
I walked up to him to put my hand through his arm and rest my head on his shoulder while we were waiting for these movers (don't ask; would require a much more detailed explanation of the dream, and isn't really the point here) to finish what they were doing. And when I'd been standing that way for a while and started to pull away to go pick out a DVD to watch (again, not explaining the DVD side story at this stage), he ever-so-slightly tightened his arm, keeping me with him, making me feel safe and embraced and loved.
Fellas, truly, it's the simplest things...
Saturday, March 24, 2007
you're leaving
i know you are
you don’t even have to say it
you could even not know it yet
but you’re leaving, i swear
you can lay along the couch
speaking nonsense about nothing
i'll sit across from you
gently smiling
genuinely interested
but constantly distracted
waiting for you to leave
you’re going
you’re already out the door
i have the feeling
i'll not be seeing you anymore
you may not realize it yet
but you’re going, i swear
you can speak reassuring words
talk on and on about importance
i'll listen and wish to believe you
all the while resigned
to an empty night
i don’t know how to be
i've gotten so used to you
foolish me, letting my fingers
reach out to dip into our smile
what was i thinking
i should have remembered
that, eventually, you’d away
you’re done
though i can see you
you’re no longer here
you still don’t know it
i cannot be for you
dearest
you don’t see or hear me
never thought i'd be weak like this
never thought i'd hold on so tight
while pushing into that cold room where i stay locked away
i know you are
you don’t even have to say it
you could even not know it yet
but you’re leaving, i swear
you can lay along the couch
speaking nonsense about nothing
i'll sit across from you
gently smiling
genuinely interested
but constantly distracted
waiting for you to leave
you’re going
you’re already out the door
i have the feeling
i'll not be seeing you anymore
you may not realize it yet
but you’re going, i swear
you can speak reassuring words
talk on and on about importance
i'll listen and wish to believe you
all the while resigned
to an empty night
i don’t know how to be
i've gotten so used to you
foolish me, letting my fingers
reach out to dip into our smile
what was i thinking
i should have remembered
that, eventually, you’d away
you’re done
though i can see you
you’re no longer here
you still don’t know it
i cannot be for you
dearest
you don’t see or hear me
never thought i'd be weak like this
never thought i'd hold on so tight
while pushing into that cold room where i stay locked away
Sunday, March 11, 2007
I've been thwarted!
I'll admit it: I love chick lit. Bridget Jones's multiple diaries were like a balm to me. So when I found the blog "The Company Bitch," I was in girl-drama heaven! The writing was funny and witty, and after having read her for so long, I felt like I knew the characters/people that she wrote about.
Today, tho', I went to catch up with the CB, and she has apparently set her blog so that only invited readers can read her blog.
What????
Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of writing a blog? I mean, don't most of us do this 'cause we want to share our thoughts with other people?
I gotta say, I know I need to get a grip, but I'm feeling kinda betrayed, here! Damn!
O.K., kiddies, it's bed time for Gonzo. Sweet dreams!
I'll admit it: I love chick lit. Bridget Jones's multiple diaries were like a balm to me. So when I found the blog "The Company Bitch," I was in girl-drama heaven! The writing was funny and witty, and after having read her for so long, I felt like I knew the characters/people that she wrote about.
Today, tho', I went to catch up with the CB, and she has apparently set her blog so that only invited readers can read her blog.
What????
Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of writing a blog? I mean, don't most of us do this 'cause we want to share our thoughts with other people?
I gotta say, I know I need to get a grip, but I'm feeling kinda betrayed, here! Damn!
O.K., kiddies, it's bed time for Gonzo. Sweet dreams!
Saturday, March 3, 2007
I'm so tired.
I was watching a 1996 George Carlin special on HBO with a couple of friends, kickin' back in this not-so-comfortable recliner, and I couldn't help but start to fall asleep. I fought it and fought it, trying to be especially conscientious of any potential snoring-esque emittances, but at long last I succumbed to the reality of the situation. I rather abruptly stood up and announced, "I'm leaving."
I think I surprised my friends.
Of course, now, having driven home, I'm ever-so-slightly more alert, but still completely exhausted, yet too awake now to actually sleep. Damn.
Y'know what? I'm gonna try anyway -- damn the consequences!
I was watching a 1996 George Carlin special on HBO with a couple of friends, kickin' back in this not-so-comfortable recliner, and I couldn't help but start to fall asleep. I fought it and fought it, trying to be especially conscientious of any potential snoring-esque emittances, but at long last I succumbed to the reality of the situation. I rather abruptly stood up and announced, "I'm leaving."
I think I surprised my friends.
Of course, now, having driven home, I'm ever-so-slightly more alert, but still completely exhausted, yet too awake now to actually sleep. Damn.
Y'know what? I'm gonna try anyway -- damn the consequences!
Monday, February 19, 2007
My family's a bit fucked up, to tell you the truth. Both of my parents (legal parents; my mom is not my birth mother; another story for another night) are in their fourth marriages, and there are six of us kids, ranging in age from 4 to 36, and none of us have the same two parents. Plus, I've not been speaking to my mom for about five years now, so I haven't even met my youngest sibling yet.
As I was saying, my family's a bit fucked up.
But the worst of us is undoubtedly the oldest boy, S. He was an angel of a child, so sweet and loving, but when he hit puberty (this is my personal theory, anyway) his genetically inherited psychoses from his mother began to kick in.
Long story short, he got involved in gangs and drugs, spent ages 16 through 21 in the California Youth Authority -- which, anyone who's societally aware will tell you, is enough to permanently damage any human being and turn them into a bit of a sociopath -- and is now a father with a girl that he doesn't love and has no intention of marrying.
Oh, and by the way, he's a "recovering" heroin addict and an alcoholic, as well as a two-pack-a-day smoker. He's a mess.
Anyway, I just have come to the point where I don't know how to help him survive. He's been diagnosed recently as both bipolar and paranoid schizophrenic, but he refuses to take any kind of meds for either condition because he says they make him feel like he isn't real.
In the meantime, he goes into fits of rage where he destroys furniture and smashes out storefront windows and punches holes in walls. He got arrested again recently, but is such a charismatic guy -- despite his purposefully outlaw look -- that the judge let him out on bail without bond (from what I understand).
Oh, and in case you hadn't guessed already, he can't hold a job. Actually, it's not that he's incapable of holding a job. He just stops going after the first week or two.
As I said, my family's a bit fucked up.
As I was saying, my family's a bit fucked up.
But the worst of us is undoubtedly the oldest boy, S. He was an angel of a child, so sweet and loving, but when he hit puberty (this is my personal theory, anyway) his genetically inherited psychoses from his mother began to kick in.
Long story short, he got involved in gangs and drugs, spent ages 16 through 21 in the California Youth Authority -- which, anyone who's societally aware will tell you, is enough to permanently damage any human being and turn them into a bit of a sociopath -- and is now a father with a girl that he doesn't love and has no intention of marrying.
Oh, and by the way, he's a "recovering" heroin addict and an alcoholic, as well as a two-pack-a-day smoker. He's a mess.
Anyway, I just have come to the point where I don't know how to help him survive. He's been diagnosed recently as both bipolar and paranoid schizophrenic, but he refuses to take any kind of meds for either condition because he says they make him feel like he isn't real.
In the meantime, he goes into fits of rage where he destroys furniture and smashes out storefront windows and punches holes in walls. He got arrested again recently, but is such a charismatic guy -- despite his purposefully outlaw look -- that the judge let him out on bail without bond (from what I understand).
Oh, and in case you hadn't guessed already, he can't hold a job. Actually, it's not that he's incapable of holding a job. He just stops going after the first week or two.
As I said, my family's a bit fucked up.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Today is EF's birthday. I think EF's 27 years old now. I really miss them.
I actually began text messaging EF to wish them happy birthday, but fortunately kept myself from doing so. What's that rather famous adage? Something like, "Principles only mean something if you stick by them when it's hard."
God, but I miss EF. I wonder what they're doing right now... I wonder if their day was a good one... I wonder if EF took the day off and did things that makes them joyful.
I hope so.
I actually began text messaging EF to wish them happy birthday, but fortunately kept myself from doing so. What's that rather famous adage? Something like, "Principles only mean something if you stick by them when it's hard."
God, but I miss EF. I wonder what they're doing right now... I wonder if their day was a good one... I wonder if EF took the day off and did things that makes them joyful.
I hope so.
Monday, February 12, 2007
I had this thought just now, as I was trolling through all of these new blogs, trying in my quiet desperation to find one that will be entertaining to me, that will read like a chick-lit novel so that I can take a break from my self-imposed daily torture test of reading a gazillion progressive and green blogs:
Doesn't anyone have any frivolous thoughts anymore?
I know I do. I just think they're too frivolous to put down on paper -- or, rather, to type into my laptop and post to my blog.
That being said, I want to talk for a moment about "Lost."
Please, please, please, can we get back to Jack a bit? Or what about that hot British/Aussie/whatever-the-hell-he-is guy who appears to be some sort of pre-cog? Oh, man, he's pretty fuckin' yummy, if you ask me.
And why can't a romantic comedy get an Oscar? Huh? What's the deal there? Are only sweeping epics or tortured tales of loss and grief worthy of an award? Why don't we have an awards show like the Billboard Music Awards which rewards the biggest box office makers? Isn't the amount of ticket sales indicative of what The People, in their almighty wisdom, want?
So, my brother was in jail again recently. He's got this nasty history, going back to when he was just a teenage kid (I think he was arrested for the first time when he was fourteen years old; can you imagine?). I didn't visit him. I thought about visiting him, and then decided not to. I just didn't want to try to be encouraging, I guess, although that's not entirely true, either. I just didn't have the energy to be encouraging just then. I thought I'd give it a couple of days and see how I felt.
And then today I found out that my little sister didn't know that our mom had been married before she was married to my dad, or that my dad and I lived in our house (where our mom now lives with her new husband, my sister, and my brother that I've never met 'cause my mom and I haven't spoken to each other in -- dang, five years? can that be right?) before our mom was even married to our dad.
And what's more, my dad doesn't think that my sister knows that our mom was actually married two times before my dad. Yep, that's right, my mom's on husband number four, but my dad's on wife number four, and I haven't been in a relationship since 1995, so who are any of us to throw stones in these glass houses of ours?
Oh, and by the way, my stepfather's sister -- so, that'd make her my aunt, I guess -- apparently told my sister that she thinks she's anorexic.
Really? This is my family? Wow.
And, just for the record, my sister eats PLENTY! And as far as I can tell, she doesn't throw it all up later -- or, if she tries to, it's way too late after eating, and it's all been digested already.
Who are these people that call themselves our family? Seriously.
Doesn't anyone have any frivolous thoughts anymore?
I know I do. I just think they're too frivolous to put down on paper -- or, rather, to type into my laptop and post to my blog.
That being said, I want to talk for a moment about "Lost."
Please, please, please, can we get back to Jack a bit? Or what about that hot British/Aussie/whatever-the-hell-he-is guy who appears to be some sort of pre-cog? Oh, man, he's pretty fuckin' yummy, if you ask me.
And why can't a romantic comedy get an Oscar? Huh? What's the deal there? Are only sweeping epics or tortured tales of loss and grief worthy of an award? Why don't we have an awards show like the Billboard Music Awards which rewards the biggest box office makers? Isn't the amount of ticket sales indicative of what The People, in their almighty wisdom, want?
So, my brother was in jail again recently. He's got this nasty history, going back to when he was just a teenage kid (I think he was arrested for the first time when he was fourteen years old; can you imagine?). I didn't visit him. I thought about visiting him, and then decided not to. I just didn't want to try to be encouraging, I guess, although that's not entirely true, either. I just didn't have the energy to be encouraging just then. I thought I'd give it a couple of days and see how I felt.
And then today I found out that my little sister didn't know that our mom had been married before she was married to my dad, or that my dad and I lived in our house (where our mom now lives with her new husband, my sister, and my brother that I've never met 'cause my mom and I haven't spoken to each other in -- dang, five years? can that be right?) before our mom was even married to our dad.
And what's more, my dad doesn't think that my sister knows that our mom was actually married two times before my dad. Yep, that's right, my mom's on husband number four, but my dad's on wife number four, and I haven't been in a relationship since 1995, so who are any of us to throw stones in these glass houses of ours?
Oh, and by the way, my stepfather's sister -- so, that'd make her my aunt, I guess -- apparently told my sister that she thinks she's anorexic.
Really? This is my family? Wow.
And, just for the record, my sister eats PLENTY! And as far as I can tell, she doesn't throw it all up later -- or, if she tries to, it's way too late after eating, and it's all been digested already.
Who are these people that call themselves our family? Seriously.
I had to delete my old blog, 'cause my anonymity had been compromised. I feel much better now, beginning from scratch. So let me start with this pathetic story:
I'm an addict. I'm addicted to checking up on people who won't talk to me anymore that used to be my close friends. Fortunately for me, MySpace makes this relatively easy, as my most recent obsession (I call them Ex-Friend, or EF for short) is a member, albeit not a very active one.
EF and I used to be inseparable. (Is that how you spell that word? I have no idea.) And then EF moved to a new town, found a new friend who was similar to me in a lot of ways, and basically began treating me like an unwanted stray dog. So I cut EF out of my life (in a very kind way, if you want my and my best friend, G's, opinion).
Having said that, I still miss the little shit, and so every once in a while will go onto EF's MySpace profile page to see if there's anything new. Now, keep in mind, EF doesn't actually write anything on their profile page; most of my info comes from comments other members have posted to EF's profile, or by going to EF's band's site, which often has info on their upcoming performances, and their friends will sometimes post pics of their gigs, so I can "see" EF, too.
I've officially gone off the Sanity Pier.
Anyway, apparently EF has moved, altho' I don't know when or to where or with whom. And EF looks good -- really good. Damn.
And while it's what I promised myself I needed, it's hard to realize that this friend is actually gone for good. Sucks ass, if the truth be told. Damn...again...
Anyway, that's that. Done for now. And welcome to my new blog!
I'm an addict. I'm addicted to checking up on people who won't talk to me anymore that used to be my close friends. Fortunately for me, MySpace makes this relatively easy, as my most recent obsession (I call them Ex-Friend, or EF for short) is a member, albeit not a very active one.
EF and I used to be inseparable. (Is that how you spell that word? I have no idea.) And then EF moved to a new town, found a new friend who was similar to me in a lot of ways, and basically began treating me like an unwanted stray dog. So I cut EF out of my life (in a very kind way, if you want my and my best friend, G's, opinion).
Having said that, I still miss the little shit, and so every once in a while will go onto EF's MySpace profile page to see if there's anything new. Now, keep in mind, EF doesn't actually write anything on their profile page; most of my info comes from comments other members have posted to EF's profile, or by going to EF's band's site, which often has info on their upcoming performances, and their friends will sometimes post pics of their gigs, so I can "see" EF, too.
I've officially gone off the Sanity Pier.
Anyway, apparently EF has moved, altho' I don't know when or to where or with whom. And EF looks good -- really good. Damn.
And while it's what I promised myself I needed, it's hard to realize that this friend is actually gone for good. Sucks ass, if the truth be told. Damn...again...
Anyway, that's that. Done for now. And welcome to my new blog!
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