2. go to yoga. hence, no post on tuesday for my 'regular weekly post about yoga'. instead, i played the new bar game craze taking the nation by storm, Sorry!, with the boys from work. and then made a series of bad decisions and ended up with a hypothetically broken rib. since there is nothing interesting you can do for a broken rib i have not sought treatment to confirm my diagnosis. but since the broken rib was the result of a knee belonging to a 200lb person slamming into my clavacle area, i am using the hypothesis to my advantage in elicting sympathy from said person. that person, btw, is Muscle Man. lets not talk about it. bad decisions, remember.
3. spend more than 30 minutes at my apt between monday and today (time spent sleeping not included, didn't do enough of that either though)
4. show self restraint with alcohol.
5. plan a quiet weekend at home. but i did plan a surprise trip to nyc under the guise of a work meeting, that could've been conducted just as easily via telephone. so i'll be spending the weekend in the city with one of my besties (jk, we don't say things like that about each other, hehe, lol, rofl, ttyl, boyb, dot com)
6. get excited about halloween. underwhelmed about my costume, and the idea of wearing it. especially considering the rapid weight gain this week. cool.
7. call my grandmother. sorry g-ma.
pretty much the only things i did do were work, and get drunk. perfectly normal. perfectly healthy.
since i will be jetsetting to nyc, probably will have a few more days of dead air while i am collecting content for your future enjoyment. all in the name of research, right?
thank you in advance for your patience in my absence.
p.s. i made a kanye west pumkin today for our official first annual last second impromptu pumkin carving contest. no one gets it. you get it, right?
many positive or, at worst, benign things occurred:
1. i committed myself to staying in on friday night, and was perfectly satisfied with the idea of entertaining myself for an entire evening that could have been spent getting hopped up on vodka and making bad decisions. it was rainy, afterall. i even blew off IBanker, choosing to romance an old pair of sweatpants instead. i was actually making excuses as to why i needed to stay in, rather than trying desperately to go out, as usual.
okay, so after a few hours in pjs, knitting and watching the starter wife, i did end up going out, when BFWI called from a bar down the street around 10pm and begged me to come be the one girl to their four boys. a ratio i can't really say no to. BFWI and i almost won at trivial pursuit, the 80's edition, against hardcore competitors at a very antiestablishmantarianist bar, who had just finished what appeared to be their weekly game. i knew the tie breaking answer was 'iraq and iran', and should've gone with my gut, just like they preach for the SATs, but i deferred to my partner. big mistake. the soviet union and pakistan where NOT the correct answers. at the end of the night, it was both flattering and annoying when BFWI made moves on me again, try #235. which i, as tactfully as possible, rejected. (no hard feelings of course, he called the next morning because his party of four from the night before wanted a post-game recap over breakfast).
biggest regret of the night: two taco supremes and half a mexican pizza
2. i accomplished many errands on my to-do list on saturday. including the aforementioned haircut and halloween costume shopping. i spent zero percent of the time checking my phone to see whether you-know-who (MM) had called. which is what i spent many similar-type days over the last six months doing, so that i could drop everything and run to meet him, at whatever end of the earth he was at. or to just sit at his house and stare at the wall.
i got home in just enough time to change and be picked up by BFWII for an impromptu drink and dinner. our conversation meandered much as it has last time (before the korean prostitue debacle). he shared stories from high school, and his time as a bartender at swingers party, and i read him mad libs from parties past where 'foupa' was the favored noun, plural noun, and proper noun, also adjective and adverb.
after a moment of sloppy silence, my sister whispers into my foupa, 'look what you did. now we're going to have a terrible vibrator'
classic.
i enjoyed his company thoroughly and platonically , and he admired my new hairdo, out loud a few times as well as in his head (at least that's how i am going to remember it). i was back at home by 1030PM, in bed by 11.
3. sunday, i ventured where i had never been before with a butternut squash. (also previously mentioned). and spent most of the day, save for breakfast with Caroline and her mother, alone. at home. i'll admit, i was a baseline level of anxious all day, but i was mostly happy to be in an environment that is 100% controlled by me. i caught up on old shows (the girls next door, sunset tan, embarrassing), and knit 8 more rows on the blanket i just started knitting, and am wholly determined to finish. even when i decide that i hate the pattern and color scheme, in a few days. i can always give it to a relative as a gift. they are genetically obligated to love it, and display it whenever there is a chance i might stop by. i read in my bed, in a silent apartment. silence being a state i have just recently begun to tolerate. dozed off for a bit (hence why i once again couldn't sleep on a sunday night). and ignored an international call from my sister.
my level of depression this sunday? i'd say it's at a 3, doc. maybe it started and ended at a 4, but 3 is accurate for the day. especially when you consider the new lipgloss i purchased, along with drano, for my bathtub.
all in all, i am baseline OK. bordering on good. most of the time believing in the good, rather than settling for the OK.
but i have suddenly realized that i am re-afraid to cry.
there were a few things i left out from the descriptions above that did threaten my pain levels, at times. and revealed that although i feel i am at, or near, equilibrium, the balance is delicate. very. this sense of peace is still something that i am, consciously and/or subconsciously, nurturing with a great deal of effort.
if i am being honest, i am still holding on to a lot of the baggage that i, most of the time, convince myself i have left out in the cold (or cut off, from my hair). its just that maybe now, thanks to that trusty old thing called time, i am better equipped, thanks to a brief history of being just fine, to let some of that baggage (self-doubt, jealousy, pain, anger, loss) wash over me, instead of getting stuck in it's quicksand.
there is still a loneliness, but it's deep cavern has grown shallow as i have settled myself into it. and allowed it to be a pleasure, rather than a pain.
there is a jealousy, that is new, and stings, deep. deep enough to steal my breath at times. and steal my dreams, often. with the wondering, if not me, who? and not being ready to face the answer to that question yet. but knowing that i will, likely sooner, rather than later. and not knowing how to go about best equipping myself for it. if there is such a thing as being equipped, at all.
i still have moments of weakness. like right now. where i just want to call. and cry. and be weak. and not be alone. and when i want to call him out on his promise to 'be there if i need anything'. but then i hear the words that would be said on the other end. and they are all the wrong words, and there is an inevitable 'BUT' that i am no longer willing to hear. and there is the fact that, when it comes down to it, i really am, just fine. and that's all he needs to know, for now. because i will regret calling as soon as the receiver on the other end clicks in, and regret it even worse when it clicks off.
and i am stubborn. and the ball is in his court. and by ball, i don't mean drunk a drunk phone call on a thursday night trying to seduce me into his bed. or a text message of him in his speedo. how he managed to turn his desire to wear absolutely nothing but a loin cloth in public into a legitimate costume, i will continue to be disgusted (read: jealous) about. add 8 gold medals and a swim cap and call it michael phelps. (p.s. phelpsy doesn't wear speedos. if we're being historically accurate here. nor does he look like a gorilla in manties, but thats besides the point - see, jealousy, rearing its ugly head).
by the way, i had many horribly jealous and agnsty dreams regarding the halloween costume, and the costume party he was attending in said costume, last night, that also happened to be spitting distance from the bed, where i was sleeping. i was also admittedly disappointed not to receive a drunk phone call (that is very difficult to admit). but it was certainly for the best.
the truth is, i still think about him more than i would like to admit. and it still hurts when i wake up in the morning only to realize that its not a dream, and i am still not the one. and i still have tendencies and motives that are directly tied, too closely, to my very secret desire to be the one ('in time, he'll realize', i say to myself tooo often....yeah, right.) but when it drives me outside to run. or away from the m&ms, i can't say its all bad. seeing as i do have a tight-fitting halloween costume of my own to don this coming friday (although i will be mostly covered, and not bearing my midriff/breasts/upper man thigh, unlike someone else we know, cough cough.)
but i am stubborn. and right now, that is exactly what i need to be.
and i am on the path. so i just need to stay on it.
and its really not that hard. when i realize that there are other people in my life that have said more kind and sincerely wonderful things about me in the past few weeks, completely unprompted and completely motive-free, than that one person said to me, ever.
in the meantime i am happy about my new healthy relationship with my cell phone and the sound of silence.
after being well below my shoulders for the past 3 years, i have cut my hair to shoulder length.
why is this notable, you may ask? it's not really, except that cutting 4 or more inches off of your hair is a great way to lose weight without exercise or diet. depending on the cut, you can actually look thinner too.
reviews for the new look are in:
A: omigosh i love it, you look beautiful, so sleek and professional (multiple exclamation marks)
BFWII: it looks really good (repeatedly, unprompted, also lots of staring)
Mom: very chic. i love it.
Sister I: thanks for the picture of your new do. it looks great. i love it. you look much older and more professional (that last part is intended as a compliment).
me: shit
my hair was getting pretty big, on account of all of the secrets i kept in there (reference: mean girls), so i feel quite light and airy without the 4 inches of baggage i was carrying around with me.
i'm not totally convinced that the bangs cover the necessary amount of my fivehead to con people into believing its just a forehead (like how ankle straps on sandals conceal my cankles). i may go back for some edits, or dare to edit myself, but other than that, i'm pretty pleased with the style, that was modeled after The Heidi Klum. pleased enough to spend $30 on product, in hopes of being able to re-create it in the comfort of my own home. i must have forgotten that the problem is never lack of product, it is chronic laziness on my part to blow-dry and straighten. hence why i wear a pony tail 95% of the time.
i always think that getting a style like this will force my hand, but really it just forces me to be more creative with bobby pins when i pull it back.
my expectations from a haircut like this are a little to high, as well. i pretty much expect getting 4 inches of hair lobbed off to turn me into a completely different person. people who wouldn't have noticed me before automatically fall in love with me, i get a promotion at work, win the lottery, and am engaged all in the span of 6 weeks when i have to go back in for a trim.
it has never happened in the past. but if i always let history dictate my future, i would still have a fem-mullet and married with 3 kids to my training boyfriend (the boyfriend everyone has in high school who you are convinced you will marry, but you never actually do, or you shouldn't, at least).
well, they fired, i'm sorry, let go of someone at work on friday, so maybe a promotion isn't far off. and i'm pretty sure BFWII fell in love with me all over again last night. so you never know, 256th time may be the charm.
....
i found The Perfect Halloween Costume yesterday, and am now totally stoked about halloween. i was lukewarm to indifferent about halloween until then. and am not pissed i bailed on a costume party last night on account of how stellar my costume is.
i am going as the anna kournikova.
really, i just have always wanted to own a tennis skirt and figured halloween was a great excuse. it's also a good time to show of my hot new bod thanks to my post-break-up diet.
unfortunately, my hot new bod lasted as long as my post-break-up depression (approx 3.5 weeks), and i have since gained all of the weight back. my thinking is, if you have found an equilibrium, why tip the scale. also, i can't afford to purchase a whole new wardrobe, so might as well just maintain, rather than eliminate.
i'll still starve (read: engorge) myself all week, just in case.
just so you have a frame of reference for previous costumes: age 5/6: strawberry, my mom made the costume, complete with stem (or hair wrapped in a green ribbon on the top of my head) age 7/8: raggedy anne age 10/11: snow bunny (left lipstick pink nose stain on neighbor's curtain, that remains to this day to mark my growth) age 12: member of the Spice Girls, can't remember which one age 13/14: pirate (not dirty pirate hooker like caroline, more wholesome pirate, with a hook) age 15: mom's renaissance fair costume (or, dowdy) age 18: skanky angel/fairy age 19: skanky french maid age 20: skanky french maid age 21: skanky french maid age 22: no costume - halloween boycott
so maybe anna kournikova isn't really the most exciting costume idea. but at least it got my halloween mojo back. i'm still taking recommendations, btw. and somewhere to wear my costume on halloween night (besides around my apt, because i've done that twice so far, today, an expect to try it on at least once per day till friday).
...
(and now, please hold for my first political rant of the season)
election season is the best time for:
a) saturday night live (and saturday night live: weekend update thursday) b) rolling stone magazine, which i recently and conveniently started receiving issues of, even though i have not requested, or paid for, a subscription
it has taken me until today to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why i started receiving this mystery subscription. i am a registered democrat in the southern state in which i currently live. something, by the way, that i am not very happy about, which happend only because i was forced to relinquish the driver's license of my home state of colorado in exchange for one of this state, in order to purchase my prius, and i said 'yes' when they asked me if i would like to register to vote at the same time. i am not very happy for a simple reason. this state is a pink state. colorado is a yellow state, that has been all but ignored during previous election seasons because it was traditionally pink, and it's measly 9 electoral votes weren't really game changers. mccain made an appearance last week, obama is holding a rally there pretty much as i write this. anyways, i wish my one measly vote was going to a state where that one measly vote could potentially tip the scales, rather than just slide it a little more to the left.
anyways, i have a sneaking suspicion that my official democrat status has led to this rolling stone subscription. as rolling stone is unabashedly not just left leaning, but left, period. and the first issue (and the most recent) both featured glowing articles about obama. the most recent issue also features an article about the great state of colorado. and how finally, after a rich tradition in being embarassingly republican, coloradian brains are beginning to acclimatize to the lack of oxygen and finally coming to their senses, or, voting democrat.
the subscription has also suspiciously learned my new address, as i just checked the label, and it no longer has that 'please inform maile of new address' sticker on it, but just my new address. creeeeepppyyyy.
although i am looking forward to election day, and flexing my democratic muscle like a good citizen, i am sad to see the end of all the hilarity that this election season has brought (really just the end to tina faye's cameos). really, its only hilarious if you forget the fact that it is scary as hell that the political process has failed us to the extent that it has. Such as, allowing a senile, near-death presidential candidate to nominate a bitchy hockey mom with too much lipstick and answers as enlightening and informed as one south carolina miss. teen usa candidate as v.p. on his ticket. after 30 minutes of face time. and i haven't mentioned the delicate state of our economy. such as.
if i'm being honest, i am scared to death of november 4th.
(the end, of my rant, for now)
...
i accidentally bought a butternut squash instead of a spaghetti squash at the grocery store today. turns out butternut squash is really good, when baked, with coconut sprinkled on top.
disclaimer: topics discussed in this post will mention those of korean descent. this purely for the purpose of relaying the story in factual detail, and not intended to pass or make judgment on individuals who are of korean descent. it just so happens that the individuals mentioned in this story would check that box on a demographic survey.
and now, with all the formalities out of the way (trying to be as p.c. as possible, don't want to alienate my korean following yet), i will recreate for you my friday.
on thursday, BFWII invited me to a 'karaoke birthday party' to take place the following night.
BFWII: 'you like kareoke, right?' me: 'oh, yeah, of course' me: 'although i do have a lifetime ban at a few establishments in the metro area' BFWII: 'don't worry, we're going outside city limits for this one' me: sigh of relief
(this is what literary folks call foreshadowing)
well, friday rolls around, and there is something just a bit off about the universe. first of all, i was completely sleep deprived from the shenanigans from the night before. then, at lunch with BFW's both I and II, the first restaurant we tried to go to was closed until 4, and the second didn't have steak for the steak sandwhich BFWII ordered, and then didn't have the first 2 types of beer we tried to order, since after the steak incident, we all needed a beer. throughout lunch, i am pretty sure each of us was having a different conversation with the other 2, but we all thought we were on the same page. we were not.
come to find out, it was a hunter's moon the night before. duhhh.
no wonder, a) i spent the whole night before crying on the ex-bf's driveway and b) there was no steak (or beer)
somehow we each survived the work day. well, to be fair, i dropped BFWI off at his house on the way back to the office, so his work day ended at noon, and BFWII bailed to 'go meet a friend' by 2, so i survied the work day. those wimps totally bailed.
BFWII and i made plans to grab dinner and pre-game drinks at 7ish. just enough time to wash off last night and grab a quick nap.
well that never happened. 7:00 came around in just enough time to clean myself up enough for my big karaoke performance. i did spend a significant amount of my free time brainstorming possible song options, mostly by googling 'most embarassing karaoke songs ever'. 'milkshake' by kalis wins, hand down.
so BFWII arrives and we head off for drinks and something to pad our stomachs for the heavy night of drinking and intentional humiliation ahead of us. we exchange some witty banter between 'getting to know you' type topics, such as parental marital statuses, hobbies, favorite songs, childhood vices (i sucked my thumb and had a blankie, btw).
once we got a good thing going with our buzzes, we headed over to the official pre-game at the b-day girls house. i quickly realized no amount of bangs would have made me arty enough for this crowd of graphic designers and urban outfitters employees.
commence even more serious binge drinking.
we pile into Arty Bat Researcher's station wagon and head off after a few beers. being the only girl in the car, so obviously in 'bitch' position, i hadn't really been paying attention to my surroundings, until all of the sudden i looked around and find myself in foreign territory, literally.
i don't remember stopping at border control, but we certainly weren't in the dirty south anymore.
hmm, i thought to myself, i don't remember seeing any waffle houses or sonny's bbqs in a while. the traffics not that bad either. oh, and why are all the signs in korean?
BFII had definitely forgotten to mention we were actually going to korealand for karaoke. how authentic. but i'm traditionally a good sport, which is probably why he invited me in the first place, so i just rolled with it. and walked into 'storefront with blue neon sign' in 'generic korean shopping mall' like it was the cheers bar, and i was one of the regulars (i never watched cheers much, but you get the ref)
having no basis for comparison, kareoke bar #1 seemed fairly classy, considering it's modest exterior. there were nicely dressed korean women re-applying make up at the lobby bar, expensive looking korean liquor bottles on the blue back-lit shelves of the bar, and halloween decorations on the doors to the karaoke rooms.
i should mention here, just to give you an idea of how extensive my cluelessness was, i was not aware that we would be doing karaoke in our own private room, lost in translation-style. i thought we would be doing kareoke like i had done in the past. in the middle of a crowded, smoky local bar, with a heckling crowd of strangers. turns out i'm actually more comfortable with that idea, than an intimate setting in a private room with a bunch of arty people i just met, who also happened to have very judging eyes under their bangs.
unfortunately, the well dressed host informed us that there were no rooms available at this time and our options were either to wait until 1130 (it was 930 at the time) or try the other bar, karaoke bar #2, conveniently located a few storefronts down in the same strip mall.
we sent an ambassador for the group ahead of us to report back on weather karaoke bar #2 had a) rooms available b) beer. once we received an affirmative on both a and b, we set out for bar #2. somehow, via selective hearing, we ignored that the bar was also advertising its 'girls'.
it took very few minutes upon entering (like .045) for BFWII and i to realize we were not actually in kareoke bar #2, we were in korean brothel #1.
regardless of the brothel situation, our group of 13 took a seat in the room the proprietor led us to, which happened to also be a sauna. i'm talking no less than 95 degress in that box. he began to show us how to use the remote, which was only in korean, as was the long list, and, oh yeah, the lyrics on the screen.
somehow, it wasn't until we started inquiring about liquor prices that we started to get suspicious about our surroundings. our very friendly host (read: angry pimp), informed us, as though it were a bargain, that a bottle of scotch would be $200, and with that, they would wave the room charges. so, $30/hour would be waived if we purchased a $200 bottle of scotch. thats a bargain even my grandmother couldn't pass up. we had to press him for beer prices. another bargain there, $6 for domestic and $8 for premium beers.
as the man went around taking our beer order, BFWII nudged me with a 'we need to get out of here, fast' look, i responded with a 'you got me into this mess, you gotta get me out of it, immediately.' look (which may have looked the exact same as my 'holy shit, we're in a korean brothel face', i'm not sure, the only shady thing this room lacked was mirrored ceilings).
BFWII took my cue and called a group meeting. during the meeting we weighed the pros and cons of staying.
pros: we had a room, and there was a kareoke machine in it, with a microphone, and they did serve beer
cons: we weren't fluent in korean, and none of us carried a black american express card, since that's the only card with a large enough credit limit to handle the check this guy was going to slam us with
a majority rules vote revealed that it was time to move on.
this point was reinforced when we opened the door to an open door across the hall that revealed more than 20 ladies in waiting, in addition to the two who were lounging on the couch in the lobby. yes, we all agreed, we definitely made the right call on this one.
so we headed back to kareoke bar #1. as soon as we walked in i suddenly found it's air conditioned interior comforting. to explain the difference between the two interiors, imagine the difference between a tanning salon and a spa. karoke bar #1 was the spa.
i was also much older, and wiser, at this point, and finally realized that this both kareoke bar #1 and korean brothel #2. remember those nicely dressed korean woman i commented on earlier? well, turns out, they too were prostitutes. but they didn't scare me quite as much as the ones i had just seen. probably on account of their freshly applied lipstick.
as soon as we arrived back at bar#1/brothel#2 to wait until 1130 when a room would be available, i immediately began taking tequila shots by myself at the bar (not really by myself, the ladies were there with me). one thing i did learn is that if i am not totally off my face drunk (brothels are very sobering places to a novice), i actually enjoy tequila shots.
BFWII and i reinstated our buzzes, chatted for a bit with a korean man who we discovered was actually a very famous korean comedian (he could've said he was a kroean prince and we would've bought it), and although it wasn't yet 1130, and we had yet to belt any phil collins lyrics into an unsanitary microphone, we decided it was time to plan our escape.
fortunately, my good friend caroline, who i had promised i'd text if the karaoke was fun and if i thought she should come join, hadn't made other arrangements, and was surprisingly willing to make the 10 mile drive to rescue us. i suggested she bring her passport, just in case of border control. i'll never know why that didn't immediately change her mind, but that's why i love this girl, always up for an adventure.
when she pulled up a very long 20 minutes later she was dying laughing. she could not figure out how the hell we had ended up in this place, and with no planned escape route. i reminded her she was still in the parking lot, and therefore, had no idea, but should she ever be looking for a good time, to definitely go to korean brothel #1, but bring $200 in cash for the scotch.
i have never been more relieved in my whole life to be back within city limits.
the three of us got beers and red-headed sluts at a bar very much at the epicenter of our comfort zone, were we continued to get blackout drunk, and laugh until our stomachs hurt about what we had just seen.
moral of the story: karaoke is best served in front of a crowd of heckling strangers, at a very local bar, where a bottle of scotch runs for $150, happy ending not included.
....
sidebar: saying 'i knew this or that would/wouldn't happen' is pretty much the same thing as saying 'i told you so'
first of all, i have so many things to say to you. but, i am going to go off on a tangent instead.
as you may have been able to tell, i started this blog in the midst of what be considered my black period. now to give you an idea of the exact shade of black, i am almost as against prescription mood enhancers as i am against genocide and popped collars and veal, but even i had a moment where i considered a prozac/zanex cocktail the only speck of light in a dark, dark sky. to be fair, it was a very fleeting moment. but still.
i was jack-in-the box of emotion. the tension would build and build and build behind my eyes, and then with little warning, i would burst out into tears. if i wasn't crying, i was holding my breath. avoiding deep breaths was the only way to get through the day.
my inner monologue was, lets just say, intense. i needed to give myself a voice.
i was introduced to the 'blogosphere' (i hate that term, sorry) at the exact same time. just when i was trying to figure out how to say the things that needed to be said: the good, the bad, and the hilarious.
that day, as it turns out, was a tuesday. tuesday is yoga day. (nearly) every tuesday, without fail, between the hours of eight and nine o'clock, my ass is in the yoga class at my gym ('the gay gym'). with dwayne. who pronounces 'mirror' like 'mirra', and that makes me a little crazy, but i got over it because his muscley, laser-hair-removaled self leads a mean series every week.
on this specific day i was anxious to start my blog. obviously, i had so many things to say, and i needed a place to put those things, immediately. but my blog needed a name. i couldn't even sign up for a url without a name. i tried to think of many clever things. but when you are in a dark place, clever is hard. while fortunately during all this time, i have never lost my impeccable sense of humor, the need for the blog was serious. and a more serious name seemed appropriate, at the time.
and then yoga began. this might be a good time to search deep for a blog name, i thought.
it was going well. warm up was good, i exhaled like i was 'fogging the mirra in the front of the room' just as dwayne instructed. the series was challenging, warrior I, II, and III, and my personal and all time favorite, downward facing dog, were involved. i considered 'downward facing dog' as the title of my blog, but thought people might get the wrong impression on the topic of the blog.
the session winded down as it always does, with some hamstring stretching and another good one, bow pose, that i like just because of the name, not because i have to balance on my tailbone with the rest of my limbs spread in the air.
then it was time for the one pose i was dreading all night. shavasana. or the corpose pose.
shavasana, has been deemed by some yogis, to be one of the most important, but also one of the most challenging poses, even though all you really appear to be doing is laying on the ground like a dead person and trying to not fall asleep.
well, if you're doing it right, that is partially true.
the true goal (as i understand it) is to reach complete and total relaxation and stillness of body, breath and mind.
body, fine, i can have a relaxed and still body. just let go of all the tension in every corner of my body. i am admittedly pretty good at that. although i do struggle with releasing the furrow between my brow, ever.
breath, not so hard either, seeing as you aren't moving, so there's nothing really to interfere with that. and by this time you have been practicing breathing slow and deep and making your ins equal to your outs for an hour, so it comes pretty naturally by now.
mind, however, is not quite so straightforward. on the happiest day of my life i don't think it would be easy to have a relaxed and still mind. and what that really means is to have no thought at all.
the way dwayne instructs us into this part of the pose is to free your mind of thought, and should any thought creep its way into your mind, simply watch it fly by without judgment or attachment, until it is gone.
we are supposed to do this for five minutes. for five complete minutes we are supposed to avoid thought at all, but also avoid falling asleep.
i, instead, was bombarded by thoughts. it was like i was laying on a dart board, and just letting self doubt, fear, hurt, and pain have a go at me. i would try and whisk that thought away, but it would just breed more. the backs of my eyes were filled with tear potential. i was not still in mind at all, in fact, i was the complete opposite.
when the five minutes were up, i was relieved to move into the fetal position, the next step back toward reality, where i was protected from the targets.
i was utterly defeated. i felt miserable. it was my worst shavasana ever.
it was then that i realized it. this should be the name of my blog.
shavasana or shava-asana, another yogi-approved spelling, and also the only available url, or the corpse pose
it was ideal. the goal of my blog was to give me that stillness of mind that i sought in corpse pose. to allow me to release the chatter in my head into something useful, and for the benefit and enjoyment of others, so that i no longer had to carry the burden, or the amusement, all on my own.
the blog would map my journey to the perfect shavasana.
and thats how the corpse pose was born.
the end.
....
now, with that, i think it might be fun to discuss, perhaps on a regularly scheduled tuesday blog post, my trials and tribulations with the practice of yoga. which, if you know anything about yoga, is an on-going, yet rewarding, personal battle to unite the body, mind and breath in order to unite ones self with the ultimate principle (i prefer 'ultimate principle' to Supreme Being, because when misspelled, it is the 'universal principal' and thats a cool way to think of who or what ever it is out there that people sometimes refer to as God).
now, it is all that. but for me, it really is, as my yogi, dwayne, says, a time that i give as a gift to myself to focus only on myself and my own personal and perfect yoga practice.
(sidebar on dwayne: he likes boys, and he has 0% body fat, only one of those things is the reason i will not fall in love with him)
and so i begin this regularly scheduled post with:
the crow pose (bakasana, also known as the crane pose)
today, the whole series, aptly named 'crane', was about balance. which i was looking forward to, because i am an above-par balancer. i don't even need to stare at a spot on the wall to hold myself on one foot in a variety of contorted positions.
but as soon as dwayne told us to crouch down and rest our knees on the backs of our arms, i was pretty much ready to call this session a defeat.
i had tried crow pose before. many times.
with such an ominous name, it doesn't lend itself to thoughts of positivity, or simplicity. and neither does the execution. one website even lists high blood pressure as a reason NOT to do crow pose, and suggests consulting a doctor before attempting if you have 'doubts or concerns regarding the stability of this pose for you'.
who is not going to have doubts about balancing all 100-odd pounds on the backs of your arms? talk about a time to immediately regret that t-bell mexican pizza you ate three months ago.
fear of cracking my skull open usually overrode my desire to balance my entire body on my hands, while holding my butt high in the air.
to be fair (to whom, i don't know), i actually never gave it a good college try. i would just rock forward onto my arms just enough to give the illusion to the instructor that i was trying, but failing. and this is exactly what i did the first go round.
but as in any of dwayne's series, you end up doing a pose about 6 times as you work your way through the series, pose by pose.
the second and third time around i got a big more daring. i lifted myself higher on my toes and rocked forward more, but with no real intention of lifting anything off the ground. certainly not one or more of my feet.
then the fourth time came around, and for some reason i thought maybe i should bring my hands further away from my feet, just so my legs might have something more to balance on. it just felt more right. and this time, rocking forward just naturally balanced my legs on my arms and lifted at least one foot completely off the ground.
woah, progress.
time five, i was holding my entire body with the back of my arms. perfect crow pose.
i couldn't believe it, i was flying. (i would use exclamation marks here, if they were in my punctuation vocabulary)
it lasted less than a second. certainly not for the three breaths we were instructed to hold it. but i did it. i actually did it. i was so pumped i got a little cocky and a little off balance through the rest of the poses on that round of the series.
by six, i was up on my arms for one full breath.
i was elated.
the amount of pride i had at that moment was something i rarely allow myself to feel, total selfish pride.
the feeling even seeped over into the shavasana. i didn't quite make it through completely thoughtless, but i was at least unattached to my thoughts, and mostly just giving myself silent congratulations on my big accomplishment. which i think is at the best case scenario, if the alternative was brooding.
at the end of the session i couldn't wait to tell someone, anyone, about my big accomplishment. the guy next to me was crowing before class even started, so he was not the right audience (show off). i needed to tell someone who would understand.
so i told dwayne. we had never really talked, even though i sit smack dab in the front of the room, and to the right of the instructor a bit, just enough to have an unobstructed view of myself in the mirror, to admire (i mean critique) my form, of course. i sit there because i like to pretend its just the instructor and me in the class, rather than judge everyone else on their form. (okay, i do a little bit of judging, but a lot less than i would if i were in the back) that, and i don't like other people's asses i my face, call me crazy.
so anyways, back to dwayne...
me: hey, that was a great series d: yeah, you did great today, your form looked really good me: that was my first successful crow d: really? i was so impressed. i almost pointed you out in front of the entire class. that was exactly the way to do it. me: blushing
i left the class flying. hell yeah he was going to point me out in front of the class, i'm the biz-omb. i was smiling in the same goofy way people smile after getting a test back with a big red 'A' on the top, or after a very successful romp in the bedroom, as i walked through the gym and to my car.
today was a good day.
good news is, we get to repeat the series next tuesday.
dear crow, see you next tuesday, suckaaaa! love always, hoppster
i don't know what this feeling is stuck in my gut and my heart and my throat and behind my eyes, but i think that after reading this, your only feeling is going to be disappointment
i went to the show with Muscle Man.
here's how that transpired:
i had decided that i wasn't going to go with him. 10 out of 10 friends agreed that it was a very bad idea.
by thursday my resolve had weakened. i had sorta convinced myself that i was making way too big of a deal out of it. afterall, it was just a show with a friend, no big deal. i mean he didn't think it was a big deal. to him, it was the same as going to a show with any other regular friend.
i broke down and called him to discuss. obviously the only reason i called him was because i wanted him to say the perfect thing, something along the lines of, 'i want you to go. i want to see you. i miss you. i love you. i would be miserable without you there'. obviously what he said none of those things. he did say that he wanted me to go, and that he had been looking forward to it.
i flip flopped all day. then, my other friend that was going, my only saving grace, Boy From Work II, bailed, deciding to sell his tickets on craigslist in order to pay his cell phone bill, rather than spend double that on a night out. reasonable. except that then my back-up plan was gone. BFWII convinced that if i was looking forward to it even less now that he wasn't going that i might as well not go, so i put my ticket on criagslist also. and then MM called, and he finally said what i needed him to hear:
'please come, i miss you, i miss hanging out with you, i miss seeing you'
totally unprompted.
'wow', i said, 'okay, i'll go.'
why was that so hard?
i had some hob-nobbing and elbow rubbing to do with some celebs at a work-related event before the show, so i headed off to that to drink champagne and become the beautiful, confident, hilarious person i needed to be to get through the night (now don't let this statement at all lead you to believe i lead a glamarous life, i don't, i just occasionally get to do cool things for work, this was one of them, and i spent the majority of the time in a corner, alone)
by the time i showed up at MM's house, i was glowing the perfect champagne bubble induced glow and looked particularly on point, since i had been dressing up for celebs, not seeing him of course. i strode into his house uber-confidently and the second thing he said after 'hi' was 'you look great', obviously i responded 'i know'. guess the biatch in me is also champagne induced.
this is what i do, when im trying to prove how over it i am, i be a flippant biatch. example #2:
him: i do miss you me: well, i don't miss you him: that's mean me: well do you want me to tell you the truth, or what you want to hear?
i don't know what i can't just say something normal like 'thanks' or 'i miss you too', but no, instead i go for ice cold. really good for positively reinforcing his sweet behavior.
i was being charming in other ways though, like telling him he looked dumb in his hat, and that he couldn't wear that shirt with those shorts. i was also drinking more beers and getting more drunk.
we met up with some of his friends at the show, and as soon as we got past the ticket taker, i was gone. he had mentioned that another one of his friends, who i loved, was on there way and was meeting us there, and i knew i didn't have the heart to see her, so instead, i parked myself in the middle of the dancing, jyrating and probably drug induced crowd and stayed there for the entirtiy of the show, booty dancing with a guy wearing a hood that was very handsy, and whose face i never actually saw. the perfect concert boyfriend, i'd say.
i randomly ran into MM and his friends once hoodie released me from his plevic region, which was very near the end of the show. i started dancing a safe distance away from, but certainly in front of MM. a little forbidden fruit action there - you can look how hot i look dancing in this ultra sexy way, but you certainly can't touch.
show ended, we headed back to his house.
things got a little crazy from there. we were both highly intoxicated. and i spent the ride back to his house talking to Boy From Work on the phone. its pretty transparent to anyone that i was just trying to make him jealous. trying to show him how many other men i had in my life that think i am totally flawless. i didn't really expect it to work.
the only person breezier than me, is MM. he pretty much adamantly refuses to let emotion override rationality, except, it seems, when drunk. after a few too many drinks his insecurities come out. the emotions he refuses to let me see any other time of the year.
when we got back to his house i refused to go in the house. i parked myself next to the tire of my car, and was determined to stay there, until i was sober enough to drive home. he pleaded and begged me to come into the house, which is the main reason why i was refusing. i have done this before. and would continue to do it for the rest of the night.
i sat there, trying to dial any friend that would answer, and at some point (11:49PM, to be exact) and a still unknown reason, i decided to call my mom. as soon as i heard her voice i immediately broke into tears. if i'm being honest, it was because of MM, but i blammed it on the fact that she was having surgery on monday and i was scared about that and upset that i wouldn't be home to be there with her. since i just teared up thinking about that, there must be some truth to it, but i dont think that was really the root of the problem (as my therapist would say). i was crying, and i mean really bawling on the phone.
as soon as MM realized this, he sat down next to me on the driveway and put his arm around me. i think this was also partially, or primarily, the response i was trying to get from him. sympathy. i ended the conversation with my mom, but continued to cry, hard, about my mom, and her (very minor) surgery, and all of the injustices of the world. he was very patient with me. and very very kind. he just sat there while i cried and didn't act disgusted at the amount of snot that was pouring out of my nose or the number of ultra-black mascara running down my face.
when quieted down, a bit. it was time for him to get honest. he told me about how much he cared about me. and how much it hurt him when i said mean things to him (ie. 'i do not miss you', in response to 'i miss you' or 'you are an asshole', repeatedly, possibly 100 times). and how he wanted the best for me. and missed our friendship. and how many things he respected about me and had learned from me. and at one point he used the word love. yes, he definitely said 'i love you'. certainly not in the romantic sense, but in the, i deeply care about you as a person and as a friend.
i probably said something cold and sarcastic in response.
after he got done saying all these wonderful things, i could hear the but looming.
i stopped him there. do not but me. do not end this diatribe by repeating to me for the 121.5th time why it didn't work. i know that part. i am very familiar with it. don't ruin this with a but.
but (ha.) i was also humbled. i had never, in all the time we were together, and all the time we have been apart, considered that he could have strong feelings about me, as a person. maybe they aren't romantic, i want to marry you, kinds of feelings, but i admire the crap out of you and my life is better when you are in it, kinds of feelings.
i hadn't considered, although, to be fair, with his nonchalant attitude, i really had no reason to consider, that he would have feelings about what happened with us. that he could be disappointed about the way things turned out. that it could hurt him when i tell him a million times that i don't want to be friends and don't want to see his face again.
i always thought when i walked away, it didn't matter to him. i honestly thought that he was completely indifferent.
he had gone on like nothing changed in his life and he was on to bigger, better things. like it was no big deal. whereas i went on like the world around me was crashing into a million pieces. i questioned everything, mostly myself, and was openly and visibly upset. every time i called, upset, he acted like i was a crazy person. his response is was always along the lines of 'it just didn't work, get over it'.
at least in his drunken stupor last night, he was very much not over it.
i am trying not to read too much into it, since he was, in fact, very drunk, but i also can't help but believe that there is some truth in what he was saying. and although it doesn't change anything, really at all. it does give me some peace. and a sense of security. i am still not sure whether i want to have a continued relationship with him. but at least i know that i'm not alone in missing what we did have that was great. and there were great bits. in between the not so great bits. which is, after all, why i kept on keeping on, even though there were not so great bits.
he eventually conned me into coming inside. and we shared a very extended hug. actually, we were sitting on his bed, and i was on his lap, and he was holding me pretty much like a baby. and we were saying nice things to each other (even i, the ice queen, was saying honest nice things). and it was nice. it was also dangerous. but for once, the cement wall that had been, and is now back, between us, disappeared.
he wanted to sleep with me. and he told me this.
one thing about our relationship was the stark lack of physical intimacy. we discussed this. he said that he was always worried about getting to physically intimate because he was worried that i would get too emotionally attached. i told him how much it hurt me because i thought that he wasn't attracted to me. and his constant rejection (ie. being too tired) made me incredibly insecure, something i have not yet recovered from. and also that the whole thing would've made sense if we had been more physically intimate, because i can understand being in a relationship way past the expiration date on the account of great sex. but our plutonic sleepovers just confused me more.
i think our lack of physically intimacy just contributed to the problems. there was always an invisible, impenetrable wall between us. like, we can touch, but not too close, and not for too long. and definitely don't relax. i normally love cuddling because i just totally relax and get that tingly feeling like just after a great massage. when we cuddled, i never got that, because would never allow myself to relax. i never wanted to enjoy it too much, or get too comfortable, because i knew at any instant, it would be gone. i was right. but that didn't really breed closeness between us. or that warm feeling in your heart.
we spent the majority of the time avoiding a warm heart, really.
the night went on until 3AM, alternating between him being sweet and me being sweet back, and him being sweet and me being sarcastic back. we did cuddle a bit. but it got too dangerous. and i definitely wasn't sleeping over, in his bed OR on the couch, alone OR with him. so i really was just waiting until the drunken fog cleared enough for him to tell me where he'd hidden my purse.
so in the aftermath, i am confused. but i am still at peace. and the sensations i was experiencing at the beginning of this post have subsided.
i dont want him back. i don't want him forward. i am just happy to not be so alone in missing us. i texted him today that i want to hang out soon, not drunk, just to try it out. balls in his court on that, but either way, i am at peace.
even though you and all my friends may be super disappointed in completely neglecting your sage advice (again) amd throwing myself into the gautlet.
...
in other news,
1. i am going to a kareoke party tonight with BFWII, i don't think its a date, and BFW might be coming along as well (Cocaine Anus reunion tour), but i'm excited to rock the mic with something from the britney archives, or journey
2. i did go on a date wednesday night with a co-worker of a friend, they work at an investment bank (awesome, this time in our economy), so lets call him IBanker. things of note about the date:
*he is too tall for his toyota mini-suv, which still has fingerprint dust on the side of it from when it got broken into, multiple months ago
*he is on a first name basis with the bartender at a bar i used to frequent in college a lot, but now only end up at on dates
*he is 31, but you would think by everything about him, that he is 25, i find this a turnoff. if i am going to date a 31 year old, i want one that acts like it. one that has it all figured out, not figuring it out.
*he can't dish it out, so i don't think he can take it
*i was very surprised to hear that he had a) been to bonaroo, b) been skiing in chili. i would not have fancied him a risk taker.
*there was no spark. i was disappointed, and came home and called BFW, and MM (but only because i was going to tell him i wasn't going to the show), and my dear friend Aurora.
*i was glad that he didn't try to kiss me at the end of the date. the walk to the door and two awkward hugs was enough for me.
3. my current favorite song is 'if i were a boy' by beyonce. i am a little embarassed about this fact, so i am bound and determined to listen to it so much that i get so sick of it that i hate it before it even makes it into general circulation on the radio, like i normally do to my favorite songs.
so i have a semi-major dilemma that i need help with real quick...
so obviously, if you have read any of my earlier posts, you've read about Muscle Man...the ex-bf of sorts.
well, the last remaining joint asset is tickets to a show tomorrow night.
i bought them reluctantly, back in july, knowing full well i would probably sitting in this exact position ('dumped'), even though it was during one of those times when things were going creepily well between us. i held on to them, and gave him his ticket for his birthday. i didn't give him both of the tickets, because by the time of his birthday, things were falling apart again (for the last time, i would soon find out, since he did 'dump' me the day after his birthday). i wasn't going to give him my ticket, since the concert had been my idea, and besides, i had introduced him to the performer, so the only reason he even wanted to go was because of me. also, i had another friend (the one who introduced me to the performer) who was going, so i figured i could just go with him instead.
well, now the show is tomorrow. and i have been stressed out about it/dreading that day, for the past month. i hadn't talked to him about it, so i called him last friday and figure out what we were going to do about custody of the tickets. he couldn't understand what the big deal was. a bunch of his friends randomly also ended up getting tickets, so he's not really worried about whether or not i go, he'll have someone to go with regardless.
well to me, its a big deal. because my options are:
a) don't go (and be depressed all night at my house, and pissed off that once again, he won) b) go, with him c) go, with the other friend thats going (and be worrying about running into MM all night)
when i brought it up to him he just said 'you can just give the ticket to me'. at this i nearly hung up the phone. 'no, no, i'm just kidding', he tried to reassure me. 'don't be an asshole', i snapped, 'all i want you to say is, "yeah, we should go together", afterall, we are supposed to be friends, and the only reason i bought the tickets for both of us is because you promised we'd go, even if we weren't talking by this point'. 'yeah,' he responsded, 'we should go, it will be awesome.'
reassuring.
i didn't talk to him all weekend, and got an e-mail from him yesterday, 'thursday's gunna be awesome, holler at you later.'
(and how dare you say you will call, when you know i need some peace of mind)
he called last night to discuss the plan for show day.
when i got off the phone with him, i began to have doubts again. it's not necessarily the seeing him part, its the small things, like, after the show, i would normally have slept at his house. i'm certainly planning on drinking, so assuming i'm in no shape to drive, i would have to sleep on the couch or take a cab home. either would break my heart (i just started tearing up thinking about it)
also, a lot of his guy friends that knew us when we were together, that i haven't seen since, will be there. i am already so mortified about what happened between us, that seeing them is only more mortifying. my only saving grace is that i could go, and just be wonderful and awesome and they realize independently of him how awesome i am. also, if we're going to be friends, i will have to face them eventually.
why am i putting myself through this? why am i going? can i go, and be okay? can i not go, and be okay?
well, the obvious answer is, if its stressing me out so much, just don't go. its one night, that can be filled with champagne and gray's anatmoy instead.
but there is the part of me that things, if i do go with him, and we have a great time, it could prove that we can be friends (since as of now, our 'friendship' has mostly consisted of me telling him all the things i think he's done wrong over the past six months, so obviously he's not too pumped about hanging out with me)
so, i'm torn, what should i do?
a) avoid the whole thing, make alternate plans to spend my evening with friends so i'm at least not alone - let him go with his friends b) go, and make my best effort to just be wonderful and friendly and unattached
please vote!
(these are just ghosts that broke my heart before i met you)
in an attempt to draw notoriety and fame to my very newborn blog, to legitimize my nowhere near over binge drinking days and to score some sweet plastic storage containers (and hopefully something wiener dog related), i formally accept ben from no ordinary rollercoaster's challenge for best hangover in a blog.
the beginning:
i began my binge drinking career at age 15.5. my first taste of alcohol was in my kitchen the afternoon before the first day of sophomore year, a mix between something dark colored that was on the alcohol cabinet side of our walk-in pantry (right next to the SmartStart, very sneaky padres) and v8 splash, with my then and current best friend jen. she had tried alcohol a few weeks prior, and urged me to try it, while the rest of my family was out of the house somewhere or the other. it didn't taste good. but then again, it wasn't horrible either. neither was the giggling. or the blurred vision. (i probably had the equivalent of two shots, but i definitely felt it)
15.5 was a great age to begin binge drinking for one major reason. drivers licenses. we didn't have any. therefore, we were not at risk for drunk driving. our parents still picked us up from pre-approved social gatherings in time for curfew.
15.5 was a bad age to begin binge drinking for many other major reasons - such as it being very difficult to obtain alcohol, sneaking around behind our parents backs, oh and it being illegal. somehow we normally managed to find alcohol from friends' older siblings, or we made awful alcohol suicides from our parents liquor cabinets so we could get just enough alcohol to saturate our bloodstreams while not lowering the liquid levels in any one bottle a noticeable amount.
on this particular occasion, it was winter break, so a few of us were 16 (my friend whitney at least, fortunately not me). with six months under our belt, we considered ourselves veteran drinkers. one of our friend's parents had gone out of town. somewhere tropical. she had an older sister, who had older friends, who were rumored to be able to hook the party up with a keg and other assorted liquor drinks. whitney drove. we may have borrowed a wine cooler or three from jen's parent's fridge. i don't remember, but would've been standard practice.
i guess we got there late, because by the time we arrived at the party to find a mostly empty keg. disappointing. and there was very little spare alcohol to be found. we were savoring what remnants we could scrounge, playing drinking games, and making the best of it (read: calling all our other friends to find an alternate plan)
at some point, one of my current casual crushes arrived, carrying a fresh plastic bottle of the world's cheapest vodka, mccormicks. when he walked in the door it was like a mirage. i am certain he was moving in slow motion, back-lit, and there must have been a wind machine. or at least that's how i decide to remember it.
he was not inclined to share. in this situation, who can blame him. a crowd full of thirsty, underage, binge drinkers and that bottle is donezo.
somehow, i use my whiley ways to con him into sharing the bottle with me. actually, i dared him to go shot for shot with me. a dare he was certain he could win. i'm pretty sure that meant that we just took turns taking swigs directly out of the bottle, no chaser. undoubtedly, the vodka was room temperature, so roughly the flavor of rubbing alcohol. at least a quarter of a handle later, i was, well, drunk. i don't know who really won the dare, but in a game like that, aren't we all winners?
not very much time went by and i had just gone upstairs, probably chasing after another crush, when jen ran frantically after me, pulling me downstairs, grabbing my coat, and shoving me out the door and into the back seat of whitney's toyota tercel.
at exactly the same time, the alcohol hit my brain, and i was on about a 10-second delay. i had no idea what was going on. until, just as we pulled away, the trusty hometown village police force pulled into our friend's driveway. lights blazing.
i realized then that we were narrowly escaping our first misdemeanor - consumption of alcohol by a minor.
i still don't know who tipped jen off, but i never again doubted her psychic powers.
that's the last clear memory i have of the evening.
from flashes of drunk memories and whitney's first hand accounts, the rest of the night has been rebuilt:
after narrowly escaping a court date and a very uncomfortable conversation with our parents where the word 'disappointed' would've come out of their mouths repeatedly, we dropped jen off at her house. but not before we stopped off at our neighborhood pool parking lot because i was apparently begging to pee. and this was a more private location than someone's front yard (another place i regularly peed, in high school). on this particular occasion, the spot i chose was in the grass directly in front of the car, headlights on. see, i've been carrying my classy card since way back
one friend lighter, we headed to meet whitney's boyfriend at a friend's house in the neighborhood. all i remember is a basement. all they remember is all of the ridiculous things i was saying. there was potentially some dancing as well. and odds are i fell over. ok, there was definitely dancing, and from the bruises the next day, i definitley fell over. more than once.
by the time whitney dropped me off, in time for curfew, the euphoria was wearing off, and the nausea was coming in.
my mother wasn't the type to wait up for me. she could barely stay up past 10:30 and i didn't turn into a pumpkin until midnight. instead, i was supposed to go up and give my mom a kiss goodnight when i got in. i quickly learned, however that by midnight my mom was the kind of asleep where she wouldn't remember whether or not i woke her up by the next morning. so when i came in smelling like an old mans liquor cabinet (and probably parliament lites because those were cool then too), i ordinarily skipped this step and went straight to bed. when she woke up in the morning and accused me of not giving her a kiss, i would just tell her i did, and because there were so many times when i actually had woken her up and she still didn't remember, she was never the wiser.
on this particular occasion, however, judgment obviously clouded, i decided to not only give my mom a kiss, but to wake her up, and insist that she get up and sleep in my bed with me. for some reason, instead of being mad that i was obviously more than a few sheets to the wind, she just agreed.
as soon as i laid down, the room started spinning. like teacups at disney spinning. except someone else was turning the wheel, and i was just stuck there, spinning. as soon as i mentioned this my mom went into 'child with the flu' mode and immediately there was water on my bedside table and a trashcan next to my bed.
meanwhile, i lay in bed rolling back and forth pleading with her to take me to the doctor because there was no way i wasn't dying. at this my mom just laughed, calmly, assuring me that i did not need to go to the doctor, after all, what would they do? i was just drunk. why, pump my stomach, of course? i was pleading (please mom, i swear, call the ambliance, please, i'm dying, no, seriously mom, dying) to have my stomach pumped. bad sign.
my mom, laying calmly next to me in bed was completely unconcerned. she, so i found out later, was also familiar with the phenomenon i was experiencing - the kind of drunk where the room is spinning to an extent that you can't close your eyes but you can't keep them open either, because regardless, you are probably going to puke. a few years later, i came home one night, sober, to find her laying in my sister's bed. when asked why she was in there, she crooned, "Dear (my step-dad) wouldn't stop the room from spinning. why wouldn't he stop the room from spinning? he's so mean." apparently she had a few too many glasses/bottles of wine, at a work party. ohh mom. (don't worry, i provided water and a trash can, always one to return the favor).
back to the scene: mom on my right, trash can on my left. this is where i casually roll over and cough into the trash can to my left. and then....
...i roll over to the right...and puke...in the bed...and...on my mom.
i am still way too wasted to be horrified by this. my mom, also, is still calm as ever. and she just goes to work. dragging me to the bathroom, where i continued to lose my breakfast/lunch/dinner/stomach lining, but in an appropriate receptacle, for the first time tonight, changing her clothes, changing my sheets, and eventually, when she was absolutely certain there was nothing left in my stomach, dragging me back to bed.
i woke up in the morning as the memories of the night flooded my brain (mostly just the puking on my mom part). i was terrified. she didn't scream. she didn't yell. she just laughed and took care of me. i was certainly going to get my earful the next morning. smart mom. i definitely wouldn't have remembered it if you had last night. very smart.
but when i heard her coming down the hall, she was on the phone with my sister, who was away at college at the time, and this was all that i heard:
'your sister did the funniest thing last night'.
she never said a thing to me. just provided hydration and crackers.
why she wasn't mad, i didn't learn until much later. she apparently thought that i had learned my lesson when i spent the whole day in bed with my shades drawn, choking down saltines and water and begging for silence, and anti-nausea medication.
sorry mom, 8 years later, and i still have yet to learn my lesson.
8 years later this is also still my mom's favorite story, over thanksgivings, jewish holidays, work meetings, doctor's visits. along with her favorite comment, 'i don't know how she did so well in school with the amount of alcohol she drank.' thanks mom. your faith in me is a never-ending reassurance.
on a side note: those who did not hide in the basement or crawl out a window, were cited for underage drinking. fortunately, my casual crush made it out the window. the girl whose house it was, was not quite as fortunate.
the end.
now that i think about it. send the tupperware to mom. she deserves it. (i'll still take the wiener dog related award)
so i think that 'and then i puked on my mom' beats 'i got myself locked out of my dorm room, naked, the first week of freshman year', but if we need a tie-breaker, i'll pull that one out, in the clutch.
this is potentially troublesome. odds are i am just finally catching up on the holy hangover* that i delayed via two pitchers of beer with Boy From Work (BFW, henceforth, he seems to be a reoccurring character). second option is the troublesome bit. i could be having night sickness from the baby that i am convinced has been immaculately conceived into my womb. for no other reason than the fact that my nails have been extra strong, my eyes are especially blue, and i have had morning sickness, for a while. (i am mostly kidding, but i did take a pregnancy test, just to be safe, is that weird?) regardless, yuck.
so friday night was spent entirely with BFW, having a major allergy attack in his basement apartment via his kitten that i am obsessed with (and also deadly allergic to, recently) folding and hole-punching 100+ conference programs for an 'interdisciplinary design discourse' taking place the next morning. there were also beers at our favorite park bar where the sunset is incredible behind the measly skyline of this city (he still laughs about the time he commented that our city needs more tall buildings and i responded 'yeah, so our skyline will look cooler', not, i guess, the point he was trying to make). and there was frozen pepperoni pizza. and beer. there were not, however, very many advances. which i was glad for, although there is nothing sexier than a snotty, puffy eyed allergy attack victim.
i escaped at midnight.
saturday, i painted.
i don't know what compelled me, but i decided i needed to create, something. i didn't know what that something was exactly. but as i always do when i get these urges to re-discover a hobby i have abandoned, i needed new supplies. i couldn't just look in my arsenal of acrylic paints, old sketch books, colored pencils, and computer paper. i needed to start fresh.
this is kind of like the times that i decide i am going to write a book, by hand, so i buy a new notebook for that sole purpose. and i write a few introductory pages. and then abandon it completely due to a lack in plot. i have a lot of notebooks with 95% blank pages for this reason. i also normally buy a new pen. i enjoy pens.
fortunately, i live in walking distance of a very nice art store. the kind that art students go to. the kind where you have to pretend you know what you are looking for, and what you are supposed to do with it, in order to look like you belong there. i was asked by many starving-artist employees if i needed any help - probably due to my wide-eyed look that said, 'i've never been here before and have no clue what i'm looking for but i don't want you to know that, i want you to see me as a seasoned art professional (or 'independent artist' as i was tagged in their database - i got a frequent buyer card, ambitious) who knows exactly what she is looking for, and exactly what combination of special papers, natural bristled brushes, and $10 tiny tubes of paint and solvents i need to create the masterpiece that i am certain is locked inside me.'
they also have a 15% neighborhood discount.
i left the art store with the following: an over sized sketch book a pad of watercolor paper a starters set of 24 liquid watercolor tubes a plastic paint tray a gummy eraser (more for playing than for erasing) a ruler (i buy a ruler pretty much every time i go to an art store, i don't know why, but i also can never seem find one when i need one) frequent buyer card 15% neighborhood discount 30-some dollars less in my bank account
so far i have one drawing and to show for the trip. both were traced from a drawing i had done previously, so not exactly new art, but i improved upon the original. so progress. i guess. enough to satisfy my itch to produce.
i have very few memories of saturday night. but i did learn that absolut los angeles (limited-edition blackberry & pomegranate vodka) is both deceptively delicious and memory-erasing .
(maybe its not classy to admit how inebriated i tend to get, every weekend, these days. but since i am only going to be 23 for six more months, and after that need behave as a serious adult might, but i still think its funny. maybe you agree. maybe not.)
sunday was spent almost entirely with BFW, as we both nursed holy hangovers from our separate but equal nights of over-consumption. we were determined that this sunday we would not be depressed. we would instead shower each other with compliments.
after retrieving my car from where i had dumped it the night before, i headed off with my hangover, mini-skirt, last night's make-up, an unfortunate greasy fro and no bra (i was braless all night, in retrospect, still can't figure out why that was a good idea) to pick up BFW for some very much needed, very unhealthy food.
it was decided that bread and cheese were probably the best cure for our ailments. so we parked it at a local pizza place where we shared a greek salad, pepperoni and mushroom pizza, two pitchers of beer, and compliments (him: you're awesome; me: you're awesome-er, him: you're eyes are very blue).
by the time we emerged, our BAC had stabilized to somewhere between sober and drunk that was a very happy place.
i wasn't really in any shape for driving, so instead i suggested we venture across the parking lot to the new variety store that had just opened. a variety store, as it turned out, is the perfect place for two inappropriately intoxicated individuals on a sunday afternoon.
we combed the aisles for nearly, or over, an hour (who can keep track of time in a place where you can purchase a silver plastic cone bra, salad tongs, an oriental rug, and an ant farm all in the same place?). BFW spent the majority of his stay at the variety store entertaining himself trying on mullet wigs that were too small for his not at all oversized head and riding around on a self-propelling scooter, of sorts, high-fiving children and blatantly ignoring the judging eyes of their parents.
i spent my time being entertained by BFW and chatting on the phone with the friend that recommended the variety store to me months ago, and who i now needed to properly thank.
it wasn't until BFW tried to professionally tune a child-sized toy guitar and broke one of the strings that i decided it was time to go (not before carefully packing up the guitar in its original container and putting it back on the shelf like nothing happened).
we are now proud co-owners of the following: a suction cup bow and arrow set a super-bouncy bouncy ball silly putty (my choice) a geode candy cigarettes (two varieties: gum and pure sugar) a orange lay (the kind that is made of the same plastic a grocery bags) a candy stick that was supposed to taste like cotton candy, but didn't an open invitation from all of the variety store employees to return as often as possible
the rest of the afternoon was spent resting off the pitchers at my apartment, watching back-episodes of entourage on-demand, mutually admiring each other, and dozing. there may or may not have also been some cuddling. ok there was some cuddling. but not a lot. oh, and there were dq blizzards (mine: mint oreo; his: reeses peanut butter cups).
i took him home at 8:30. after he woke up from a 3-hour nap on my couch to find that it was night time. i was sad to see my sunday friend-date end, but happy that it was officially sunday night and i had absolutely no desire to cry.
once he was gone, though, i did consider whether or not this friendship was really a good idea. it is already creepily beginning to feel a lot like my most recent past relationship - a friendship, plus benefits, minus open and honest communication, that never turned into a real relationship, and ended with me disappointed, down a friend, and questioning all that i am as a person (and starting a blog, so not all bad)
he is a self-proclaimed serial relationshipist (i can't honestly say monogomist, as i gather he has not been as fidelitous as that word would imply in past relationships). so i am pretty sure i really just fill the gap between his most recent relationship and his next relationship. and i have a car, so i meet the need of transportation.
am i, too, using him to fill that space that boyfriends normally fit into? proclaiming myself happily single, and content to be so for a while, while i 'spend time on me', when i am really happily single-ish because i do have a boy, in my life, that fulfils most of the needs a boyfriend would - ie. showering me with love and attention, hanging out with me on sundays, gchatting randomly during the day, buying me dinner, etc. or is that a space that a male friend can reasonably fill without being considered a surrogate boyfriend?
i can't really see myself getting emotionally attached. but that worries me too. just like it worries me that i stiffen, rather than relax when he touches me. not because i stiffen at his touch, persay, but can imagine stiffening at any touch. i have suddenly become petrified of physical intimacy at all. and the idea of that terrifies me. have i been in so many (read: 2) emotionally distant relationships that i am now hardened to intimacy at all?
all in all, though, it was a good weekend, spent primarily in variety stores and with him.
*a sunday hangover - or a hangover on the holy day (for christians, not me, mine is saturday)
let me revise that...i am a big fan of my birthday.
(i am actually chronically terrible at other people's birthdays, i normally forget until the last minute, and then under-deliver)
i begin making an inordinately sized deal about my birthday starting, at a minimum, a month prior to the day that marks my emergence from the womb. i start harassing my friends about what celebrations they are planning, my parents about what gifts they will shower me with, my current boyfriend about the romantic getaway they should be planning and casual acquaintances on why they should become better friends with me in the next 30 or so days so that they can be included in the festivities. i make sure everyone who knows me, or may know me in the future, is aware that april 10th is my day.
april 10th is also my good friend heather's day. when we became friends and i found this out, at first i thought it would royally suck. 'oh no!' i thought, 'she's going to steal my april 10th thunder!" i immediately resented her, decided i would sabotage her through slander and nip this one in the bud. unfortunately, i dig that girl's style and class and never brought myself to shun her as i originally intended. fortunately, she is not as big a fan of her birthday as she is of the fact that we share a birthday. so while i am too busy worrying about how impeccably executed the celebration will be, she thinks of things like illustrating personal birthday cards for me. turns out it is a very mutually beneficial relationship.
this is why i love heather:
heather: happy half birthday slore* me: happy half birthday to you hooks-delite** heather: i hope you do something in a fish RIP zone*** out of respect for 4/10
i had no idea that day had come. the big 2-3-.5.
it wasn't for her, october 10th would've flown by unassuming like any other friday in october. i would allow myself to get in to work late (at 9, instead of 8:34), read my latest google alerts, listen to my favorite radio morning show that, thank god, streams online, and carry on with my usual cycle of checking work gmail, personal gmail, work gchatting, personal gchatting, checking on my favorite blogs, doing a little bit of 'actual work' for a few seconds before starting the cycle over again for the rest of the day. maybe adding in a little face time with the boss, gossiping with the colleage across the hall, drinking tea, etc. (this is not just an 'any other friday' agenda, its actually an 'every day' agenda...blah)
instead, thanks to heather's friendly reminder, i get to make an inordinate deal about my half birthday. not just a big deal for it being a half birthday, but a bigger deal than necessary, even if it was a real birthday. which should make things much more interesting. especially since the colleage across the hall works from home on fridays, and my boss is golfing today.
so far i have:
convinced the guys that go out to $10 all-you-can-eat sushi every friday to invite me along
threatened the life of my best friend caroline if she doesn't plan a huge 23.5 celebration
guilt tripped Muscle Man into singing me a happy half birthday song (twice) since on my actual birthday he refused to say happy birthday at all
called my favorite, and most significant to-date, ex-bf (The Doctor) to inform him of the momentous occasion
conned Boy From Work into getting drinks with me after work
at my calculations thats a 200% improvement over 'any other friday'. and the day is nowhere near over.
now all of that is well and good, until we go back to the "big 2-3-.5" part of the story.
begin internal dialog:
excuse me, what??? i am 23 and a HALF. that is way too close to 24. TWENY. FOUR. thats like, the end of the age of innocence, the end of 'oh, you're only 23? wow, i thought you were much older than that, i would've guessed 24', it is the end of getting away with mishcif and scandal because i am only 23.
the beginning of 'your 24? any children?...are you married?....are you engaged?....are you in a serious committed relationship?....are you in an unserious, non-commited relationship?.....are you having relations with someone, only while intoxicated, and only once or twice?....have you had relations?....ever?....do you have friends, at least?'
i am doomed.
end internal dialog.
24 is serious. at 24 you can't eff around like you used to at 23. people are always so surprised when i tell them i am only 23, and i like that. no one is going to be surprised by 24. no one is going to say i am so mature for my age anymore. and i'm not going to be the youngest one at the party/wedding/funeral/old-age home.
i am already so over 24. and its still 6 long (short) months away.
so maybe i'm jumping the gun on this old-age anxiety train just a bit. but still, you aren't really expected to have goals or life ambitions or have it all figured out at 23. but at 24 you are. at 24 you are supposed to be on a path to success. and 6 months doesn't really give me a long time to find a path, let alone get on it.
i have a job. i rent an apartment. i own and make payments on a hybrid car. that's about it.
i think its time to make a list of things i would like to be doing before i am 24. here goes...
things i would like to be doing before i am 24
playing tennis on a regular basis - ideally as a member of a league, un-ideally, with the same 2 friends i had before
exercising on a regular basis
taking or have taken an art class
taking or have taken a creative writing class or joined a writers critique or group
have investigated and developed a better understanding of how to begin a side-career as an editorial writer (if that is the official name of that sort of career)
knitted something that is of use to myself or someone else (ie. an afghan, or a scarf, that i did not spend a lot of money for supplies on and then never finish, or realize when it was finished that it was henously ugly)
gained a loyal blog following
either not been in a relationship at all, or not been in a relationship that i new was bad for me from the beginning (its fine if i realized it later, not fine if i talked myself out of seeing it was bad the whole time)
gained new business for my company (i can have professional aspirations as well)
been promoted, or at least recognized for my outstanding achievements at work (or not fired for spending the majority of work hours on non-work-related activities)
have guy friends that i don't want to sleep with, and who don't want to sleep with me, or at least who want to sleep with me, but will still be friends with me if i don't
enjoy spending the majority of the weekend alone
etc.
okay, now its in print, lets see how much i can live up to it.
*slore: a combination of two words that are synonyms to 'promiscuous female' **hooks-delite: a delightful lady of the night **fish RIP zone: the area surrounding the fish tank in our former living room - where the rate of fish survival was 0 out of 12, and also where a few explicit moments of bad judgment took place on an april 10th of years past
its that time of year again. the time every jewess on the planet looks forward to. the day where all you have to do is starve yourself, maybe go to temple, listen to a few long winded stories from your local rabbi that are an artful mix of current events, ancient tales, and witty quips, and you are considered to have repented and are forgiven for your sins.
its yom kippur time.
this year i imagine the speech will include elements of the following: the presidential election (jews are historically prObama), the economic crisis, the war, israel and sarah silverman. the goal of the rabbi will be to palliate the congregations fears on all of the above through the archaic, yet timeless, wisdom of the Torah, Talmud, and other important books beginning with "t".
to quote an e-mail i sent to a friend to explain the significance of the holiday in my own words:
yom kippur is like a yearly check-up at the doctor. you and your doctor look at yourself and level-set. is your cholesterol higher or lower than last year? your weight? your blood pressure? then you take a look at what you have been doing wrong - have you been eating too many burritos? have you neglected to go to the gym? stopped taking your medicine? and then you take all those things and learn from them, and then allow yourself to be forgiven of those things so that you can take what you learned and move forward, without being held back by the past.
except that instead of you and your doctor looking at the lipids in your blood, you look at your relationship with yourself, others, and your religion and you look at them as God would see them, which is obviously more honest than people tend to look at themselves on a regular basis, which tends to be more ideallic.
its really pretty basic and non-secular (besides the whole hebrew part) and beautiful. if you ask me.
i have put my jewness on the back burner for the last many years. ok, 5 years, really since i was in high school. there were services at my college, but they were a mix of all the different levels of jewishness and i always get intimidated by that. they were also solely populated by the new york/long island rejects whose parents wouldn't fly them home for the holiday.
actually, i just really had no interest. i was convinced that religion and all of its rituals had no relevance in my life at the time. now, one day back in the fold of religion, i see why i turned my back on my spirituality. religion, at least judaism, asks you to look inward. it asks you to constantly question whether you are being the best version of yourself, 'me v.infinity', or if you are stuck in an ill equipped, 'me 2.02.01', version. odds are, if the prospect of identifying where you fall on the spectrum sounds daunting, you are closer to the former. it is also a constant reminder that you are not there yet. which is bearable, if, and only if, you know that you are at least on the path.
i am on the path. finally.
and this year, there is some repenting and absolving to be done.
i want to participate for the same reason that i go to yoga, save the fortune from cookies and read medicine cards (don't laugh, please). and that reason is openness. allowing myself to be open to the signs in the world, to the communications of the universe.
i want to set aside this time for myself in a symbolic way. i want to create a new year for myself. i want to stare at all the wrongs of this year (and probably some from the past 5 years) in the face, atone, and be absolved.
i want to forgive myself for neglecting myself. i want to forgive myself for resenting and avoiding my family. and forgive my mother for her selfishness. i want to forgive myself for laziness. for neglecting my friends. for not saying enough nice things. for not saying enough true things to myself and to others.
i want to forgive myself for not saying i love you when i mean it. and not saying goodbye when i should. for not
i want to forgive myself for things i can't even mention because i have forgotten to remember them.
and i want to continue to participate. so that i don't forget to stay on the path. to be aware. awake.
i have spent the past few years trying to keep my eyes closed. trying not to remember. trying not to be present.
i want to be present. and accounted for.
i will cose as the rabbi closed services tonight:
no matter what else you do this year, never forget to repeat these four phrases as often as possible: i love you thank you how are you? what do you need?
please excuse me while it has taken me two days to re-gain my sense of humor after another paralyzingly depressing sunday.
i hate sundays. if prozac worked this way, i would take it only on sundays. just to keep that heady, heavy, unbearable, tears behind my eyes, holding my breath, what am i doing with my life, ive never felt so alone, depression away. its normally not until tuesday afternoon that the haze clears.
at least this one started with two bloody marys at my favorite homosexual hot spot with one of my favorite friends where the waiters are totally hot and totally not interested in women (or good service). which makes it a perfectly appropriate place for a post-game re-cap with friends. this crowd certainly doesn't judge when you show up wearing last nights make-up, bedhead, and very large sunglasses, indoors. it is also rolling distance from my new place. which makes it so ideal.
the rest of the day was spent on the couch, calling as many friends as i could, trying to get someone to say they wanted to hang out with me - they didnt - and nursing a, now double, hangover. i think i only made that ugly trying not to cry but crying anyways face once. ok, maybe twice.
i went over to another friend's house for the ritual entourage viewing (even though i have hbo, i tried staying home the weekend before to save gas and was more depressed than ever). it was nice to see people, even if only for 26 minutes. back at my place i stayed up until 2am watching episodes of californication on my computer. i don't think i ever really fell asleep that night...
oh well...on to monday (the second most depressing day of the week)
i just found out that there will soon be video footage of my 'you oughta know' performance from friday's work party available on youtube (thank you alanis, and Rock Band 2). i hope to be sick the day that link goes company-wide. but don't worry, i'll post it here for everyone's personal enjoyment, and my absolute mortification. although i do think i got a good bit of boy-hating rage out during those 4 minutes and 9 seconds. but that is even more humiliating than i can even imagine.
i am a shockingly worse singer when i am under the influence than when i was sober. i thought it was supposed to be the other way around. maybe it has something to do with an inability to read the words on the screen due to blurred vision caused by alcohol.
nevertheless, every single one of us left that night convinced we were the ultimate rock star and holding auditions for band mates. i believe i agreed play bass for a band called 'cocaine anus'. shopping for my leather pants later today.
i also promised more on Boy from Work. and i won't fail to deliver.
everything was going well at the party on friday night. we were keeping it breezy (read: ignoring each other). now this was fine with me as i am trying to keep it as breezy as he is. that is, until a few hours and a few, or 8 beers, later he started calling me 'babe', repeatedly, in front of all of our coworkers. that's when i thought it was probably a good time to take my leave. so i left, with him. fortunately i think everyone else was too preoccupied with their own rock star fantasies to notice. at least i hope.
i drove him back to his place and this is when it gets a bit hazy (scary that i just said drove and hazy in the same sentence, but lets forget about all the potential duis i avoided this weekend for the sake of the story - i am very disappointed in myself about that, for the record). the general gist of the next sequence of events is we kissed, he told me i was a bad kisser, i am still mad about it, he tried to hump my leg, i told him that probably wasnt a good idea, and he asked me to kindly leave.
i woke up the next morning fearful that our budding friendship was demolished by the previous nights leg-humping rejection. but he called and we exchanged pleasantries, re-capped the highlights of the night, lamented about our hangovers and taunted each other for trying to make out with the other. totally normal - a 3 out of 5.
i didn't see him the rest of the weekend, but unfortunately i did drunk dial him the next night, twice, at 1 and 3am. example 26,500 why i should not have access to a cell phone and beer/vodka at the same time. however, the good (bad) news is, i lost one of my two phones that night (the embarassing pink motorola, not the work sponsored blackberry, fortunately). so maybe that will curb the habbit. probably not.
hopefully things will go back to the friend zone. not so sure an office romance is really a good idea at this time, or any time. and he only owns two pairs of jeans that he alternates throughout the week, which grosses me out in a variety of ways.
i do love his old man sweater though. and when he calls me babe. and his cat.
i have decided i cannot be friends with Muscle Man. hopefully that means he will not be appearing in future entries. not much to say about what triggered this decision, except that he is indifferent about me. and i don't want to spend any more time with indifferent. lets all say a cheerful goodbye to Muscle Man. goodbye.
in a moment of weakness/insanity/drug induced coma/all of the above, i accepted Muscle Man's offer for boot camp. in an effort to make up for breaking the bond of silence, i instead made my message short and to the point, the following exchange ensued:
me: that'd be awesome if you could him: you not work yesterday? (in reference to me not responding to his e-mails - no way i could've been blantantly ignoring him, i do have a blackberry, you know) him: i'll see what i can do! me: thanks him: your being so short me: yeah... him: your so short! me: i'm 5'8", and a half, on a good day, in flats him: later
now here's where it gets a little bit messy - in an even weaker moment of weakness
me: i'm mad.
see. messy.
him: why. dont be. me (internal monologue): oh ok, now i'm not mad, all i have been waiting for the past week and a half is for you to just say 'don't be mad' so that i can get over it. who cares that you have no idea why i'm mad and probably will never think you did anything wrong, ever.
an extended exchange continued from there to make a string of 30 email total back and forth which consisted of me telling him he can neither say 'dont be' or 'im sorry' when you have no idea why i am angry, and him ending the conversation with the folloing poignant and highly-revelvant statement:
him: p.s. halloween, me a speedo, 8 gold medals, flip flops, a swimming cap and goggles. its gunna be nutz.
thanks, sir, for letting me know. i have been super curious. and all.
i attempted a few drafts of responses, but none were quite sufficient to get across my thoughts on this, which are: 1. you and every other man between the ages of 16 and 56, 2. if you're going as michael phelps, i'm going as amanda beard (click here if you don't get the reference) 3. be more original 4. i don't care right now what you're going as for halloween, because, oh yeah, i'm mad and {shamefully} 5. oh no! so many girls are going to see how nice and muscley and totally open to anonymous thumb wrestling he is *jealousy pang*
so in a word, that whole dialog was: pointless.
i now realize that the whole point of me responding at all is because i did want to make contact. i did want to tell him i was mad. i just wanted him to know. i think its important that he know that what he did in regards to me was not that cool, and he shouldn't just be able to get off with an awesome new friend (me) and never know that what he did was super hurtful and not ok.
but shockingly, i feel much better. he called me while i was at work demanding to know why i was mad at him and i calmy said "now is not a really good time to discuss that, please call me at another time" and hung up.
i still don't really feel compelled to tell him why i am mad. i can still hear all of his come backs and am already bored, but him just knowing that i'm mad seems to be enough to make me feel like i got some power back over the situation. now he's gets to go around and around in his head wondering what he possibly could've done to make me angry (ummmm...everything). so i'm feeling good. glad to have the ball back in my court. for now.
through this situation i have certainly learned that his level of emotional awareness is mediocre to sub-par. which is a really unattractive quality in a mate. good thing i got out when i could (right?)
...
i also think a boy from work booty called me last night...more on that to come...most likely
just got back from my lunch date with...lets call him, Boy Band. First of all, Boy Band, since he a) does that spikey hair, well-dressed, thing that all boys that want to emulate the boy band style do, b) he looks a lot like my friend whose name is the same as one of the NKOTB members, and c) because we were talking about how i'm going to the Counting Crows concert tonight, and he asked if i like JT - which means that JT is obviously his favorite musician, and JT was formerly (and possible currently) a member of a boy band.
the whole way up there i was getting more and more annoyed because i had to drive 10 miles to an area by his office that is, aptly, outside the perimeter, which means i am automatically predisposed to be bitter, in order to eat at fuddruckers, possibly the worst fast foodish burger place ever, and pay, since apparently i agreed to that the night we met...as retribution for stealing his hat. so this kid really wasn't walking into an ideal situation, seeing as there was nothing about the situation that would make me want to be there, and i had only a few blurry vodka memories of him which were not really enough to know whether it would be a worthwhile venture or not.
conversation was casual. i was surprisingly friendly at the reunion, besides accidentally appearing way too involved in my blackberry when he walked up. i look like a dork when i just stand there waiting for someone, so that's what i do, but i also didn't want him to think that i was that girl, that can't put her blackberry down for a minute - because i'm not, i really only get like 2.5 e-mails a day these days.
according to him we have many things in common, i will list a few:
i wasn't really allowed to drink soda as a child, he wasn't allowed to have sugar until he was 1 year old
he wasn't allowed to chew sugar gum until he was 6, i wasn't allowed to chew gum in the house
i ski, he likes to ski in the woods and off jumps
we both live in atlanta
i use the word 'organic' when i mean 'natural', he thinks thats funny
i'd say we're s-mates, for sure. based on that.
i joke, but really it wasn't that bad. certainly not as bad as i expected (well the burgers were as bad as i expected. no, worse.). i brought my usual cynicism to the table, and he brought what seemed like an open mind, and a few lenghty stories that were intended to be funny. in the end, i think he was relieved that i was semi-normal, or at least amusing, but i think he was probably relieved for 1:00 to roll around so he could get back to his desk and gchat about me to all his friends (oh no wait, that was me). regardless.
not much else to say except, it wasn't as bad as i expected. there was absolutely no love match. i did my normal post-game routine of trying to talk myself into liking him, which is how at least 1 pointless romance got started in my past, but i have since turned that off. oh yeah, and he's younger than me. by at least a year. which is a total deal-breaker. as is facial hair. and driving a hyndai. and being skinnier than me. but if he calls me again, we could be friends. if he doesnt call again, i'll probably drunk text him this weekend (or tonight), and many weekends after that, but never actually hang out with him.
regardless...at least i'm back in the game. just in time to realize, i don't want to be back in the game, i want to be blissfully single (expecting the blissful part to come soon).
time to not remember another concert at lakewood. stay tuned...
woke up this morning and feeling totally ill about this lunch 'date'. i don't want to go. at all. is it too late to bail? emergency work meeting? gas crisis? odds are i'll probably start crying during the lunch.
also arrived to work to find 2 e-mails from Muscle Man. apparently he's going off the assumption that i was sleeping when he called...yeah, right, i was sleeping at 9:30PM. i mean i'm a little depressed (keep telling myself that) but i'm not such a loser that i go to sleep at 9:30. thanks. maybe he should try another assumption like...i can't take your call right now because i am locked away with my new italian lover?...or...i hate your guts and just the thought of the sound of your voice makes my skin crawl? nope, probably never considered either.
he is also trying to offer me a free month of bootcamp with his gym. which is actually very sweet. except that its with his gym. which means that when i have to go to the gym, there's even the slightest possibility that he will be there. seeing him on any sort of semi-regular basis also makes me want to vomit. don't get me wrong, i would love a free week of bootcamp. and now that i can actually run three miles in a row, i think i could actually get through it, but i don't want any favors from him. i don't even want to respond to his e-mails.
on the upside, all the better to be able to kick his ass with my new muscles.
i think i'm going to have to tell him i'm mad.
i am so nauseous.
in other news...going to the maroon 5/counting crows concert tonight. lets see if we can go for three at having no memory of the event.
