home is where the useless crap finds its way on to the walls

i was happy to leave. i wasn't happy to be gone. i am even less happy to be back.

there are memories here. everywhere. memories that kick me in the stomach and right behind the eyes. that bite my lip and take my breath away.

a stop on the train. the wine glass in the sink. the corner of a bar. a corner of the city.

nooks and crannies that hold nothing i want to hold on to. but something i just can't let go.

i am suffocated by the expanse of this city. and starving for some place that isn't filled with reminders.

...

my name has been on this lease for nearly exactly 6 months, and i just finally moved in.

hammer finally hit nail. boxes finally found their way to more inconspicuous corners. carpets were vacuumed. clothes were folded or hung.

it's about damn time.

no, i am not nesting. i'm not trying to make this place my own.

i am having house guests.

and as much as the best friend that will be taking up residence in my 'new' apartment for the next few days loves me unconditionally, i still feel compelled to put up a front that i have made my first solo residence my own.

the last investment i made in this place was the living room suite i purchased on credit from one of the many super-cheesy big box furniture stores plaguing this universe. it was even from a too embarrassing to name super model's 'collection'. it, like the beige box that i live in, has no character.

accessorizing with my most prized doodles, craft projects, family photos, balls of yarn, bottles of lotion, channukah decorations as many months after the holiday as possible, etc. is the least i can do to make it look like i live here. versus every other elderly gay man or twenty-something biatch that lives in around me.

i will never love this place. but while i am here, i might as well make a go of it - or at least put on airs.

i made a tough snap-decision when i decided to rent this place. it had many of the amenities i was looking for:

• safely above prowler level on the 3rd (sometimes 2nd) story
• an oasis behind an 8 foot fence in the heart of the most city-ish part of this city
  
• dishwasher, new carpet, washer/dryer, 9 foot ceilings, central air, reserved parking space, pool, tanning bed, 'fitness center'

it had enough security features to make me feel 'all grown up' without worrying that a stranger was peeking through my windows at night (something that did happen in my first college apartment), or that vagabonds were sleeping on my doorstep, or that i wouldn't have a place to tan in the summer. it also had many other interested potential tenants. and should i waiver in my decision, what could have been my 'perfect' place, would've gone to the couple the leasing agent thought i was a part of for the first 6 or more e-mail exchanges.

but it had no charm. no inspiration.

it is comfortable. but reminds me of my old apartment in too many ways (laiminate counters and floors, metal blinds, that horrible mesh shelving). and it reminds me that i took the safe road all too often.

so i can't get my mind off of the 1.5th floor registered historic apartment with the refinished hardwoods, updated kitchen, wrought iron framed balcony, and brightly lit dining area that would've served beautifully as an art studio? what of it? yes, i chose new carpet and an in-unit washer/dryer combo over a charming inspiring space across from a quaint park and inside of a neighborhood association. i am still learning.

sometimes, oftentimes, i don't give myself enough credit for being only 23 years old. i have never felt my age, and now i'm finally learning to tell myself that the mistakes that i am making, the snap decisions, the taking the easy way out, the jump at every impulse whether it will break my heart or worse, are okay. i am learning. i am, gasp, acting my age.

which isn't really so bad for someone who totes around her blackberry like a badge of honor, thinks being a work-a-holic who travels internationally on business is special and passes for 28 in bars.

it is unfortunate that i had to learn the lessons i am still learning this year. that i had to end one dead-end relationship, just to enter another, only a month later. that it is okay to just close the door. and not open it again. that walking away is sometimes the high road.

that 5 vodka drinks at altitude will give you a mean hangover, even if the same amount won't at sea level. that it's not that much fun to not remember the events of the night before, although it is funny, sometimes. anecdotally.

that sometimes a kiss is just a kiss. and sleeping on the couch is sometimes just a really good idea.

that there i no good reason i don't walk the mile and half to work, ever. even though i drive a hybrid. and no good reason i don't go to yoga/the gym/burn any additional calories, at all.

that my mother deserves to be forgiven. and so do i.

that friendships mean more than anything. ever. especially ones with people who don't stop answering your phone calls, regardless of how many times you beg for, and then ignore, their advice. that when you finally do listen, and it still breaks your heart, they will continue to answer your calls. or maybe even visit. and not judge you, even if you haven't hung a single thing on the wall in 6 months.

that a 9 year old will love you endlessly, regardless of how much of their life you spent across the continent. that a father knows the the depth and severity of a broken spirit, no matter how much a daughter refuses to give name to it.

i am 23, and i am still learning. but i for once my eyes are open to the process. i am participating.

there are many things i will (ugh, dreaded word coming up) resolve to accomplish/avoid in the coming year. i will make a list (to come) and i will fail to accomplish/avoid many, or all, of the bullet points.

regardless, i will learn. and start the cycle all over again next year.

as long as i am moving in the general direction towards the shape of the person i would like to consider myself in 2, 5, 10, years from now. i'm fine.

first stop: table for one.

...to be continued...duh duh dunnnnn

(p.s. i just realized i'm showing every resident of the building across the parking lot my britney, you're welcome building 4...wait...why are all of your blinds closed so tightly? wishing i chose housing option b? me too)

just your every day average company christmas party all-nighter

answer: yes, the gift exchange with MM was a disaster. no, i do not want to talk about it.

answer: yes, everything would've gone fine had i not insisted on drinking a whole bottle of wine by myself and crying on the street corner.

answer: no, as of 1236AM EST monday, i do not regret my decision to e-mail him at 630AM and instruct him to kindly cease and desist any and all communications with me, including but not limited to, deleting my phone number.

answer: yes, i do feel much better. and my relationship with my blackberry is much healthier now that i don't secretly hope that the 'random' number flashing on the screen is is. (as healthy as a relationship with a blackberry can be, which borderlines obesity on the 'healthiness' scale, in the best case scenario)

to celebrate, i got myself all dolled up in something casual i had laying around the house (read: bought one month prior and had laying out on the floor just so i could look at it admiringly) and took myself to the company christmas party.

i hope what you imagine when i say 'company christmas party' is something equivalent to episode 5011 of the office. because it was just like that. minus the morrocan theme. and instead of the intervention at the end, there was a group hannukah dance (led by yours truly. your welcome, company). there was also lobster dip, risotto balls, and seared tuna, so just a little bit classier in the hors dourve department. we did, however, run out of vodka before 10PM (and right when i had decided to switch from white wine to the hard stuff), which i'd say is pretty office-like.

major highlighs include:

• me, forgetting my hand-made ornament for the christmas tree - a time honored company tradition - and harrassing the founder of our company all night about it, talking it up to be much much more than a paper cut-out version of kanye glasses (way to stay on a theme no one but me thinks is funny, huh?). i brought the wrong one of two identical envelopes and since the one that i brought had the new britney spears cd in it, i put that on the tree instead, as a placeholder.
  

• me, surprising everyone during the 'white elephant except presents people may actually want' (insert cheesy proper name here) gift exchange, by donning 'dreidel ears' - yes, this was the first time anyone brought hannukah to the party in a variety of ways. not the least important being my hot jewish ass, my drunk face, and the forementioned dancing. dreidel ears, for the very few of you that won't know, are like alien antennae, except with upsidedown dreidels at the ends. i also wore them to the after-party. so did the bartender. i won a set of martini glasses in the gift exchange, btw. not bad. not bad at all.

• my boss's wife getting 'shitfaced' (her words) and walking around petting people and saying either 'you're soft' or, 'you're not soft'. and then when given that 'i think you're wasted look' she would hold up her empty martini glass and say 'only one and three quarters!!!' luckily, some of her drunken debauchery was captuerd on my work voicemail when for some reason she accidently dialed my desk number from her purse. not that i would ever want to use that against her. but my boss....
  

• small talk in painful excess with BFWII's on again/off again/will not admit to being on...again friend, that is a girl. tension here is obvious since a) he and i made out b) she sucks and i don't. and she knows that he knows that i don't suck, and later in the night will proceed to flirt shamelessly with me, in front of her. in a battle of wit, and charm, and attractiveness, i win. hands down. (ifidosaysomyself. and i do). he will later complained to me about her not being able to hold her liquor, which i interpreted to mean, 'she isn't nearly as wonderful in every way, as you'.
  

• the after party. (continued below)

not only did i only knock over one beer with my high-waisted full satin skirt, but i also didn't make enough of an ass of myself to leave a permanent mark in the anals of company christmas parties past. i did, however, make myself a personality of consequence in the eyes of the company founder, which i'd say is a major accomplishment, since he only has eyes for those in our company with the title 'designer' after their name. with particular emphasis on 'incredibly talented designer' or 'undiscovered artist turned designer' or 'BFWI'. at least if my boss is too busy making me feel like an unskilled laborer to appreciate my charms, others at the party found themselves dazzled.

and now...the after party.

first of all, Caroline may never forgive me for not heading straight to her tacky christmas sweater/birthday party from the company christmas party, but i did try. i begged her friend, The Accountant, to come pick me up. and then i made my best case for why the taxi carrying myself, Hanna, and two guys from work (not either of the BFWs, new guys, well, new to this story), should take us to caroline's party. but alas, we instead, somehow, we ended up at the Sports Palace (real name), a bar that i spent many a classless night in during my college career. i went there so often, in fact, my senior year, that no one was surprised when i showed up wearing baggy sweatpants after a long night of studying.

it wasn't my idea. it was one of the guys we were with. for some reason i was not disturbed at all that he was familiar with the Sports Palace at the time. in retrospect, i am very worried that he and i may have met there in my past life as a co-ed. (i say that like i'm not too sophisticated to wear sweats to a bar. i am not.)

the decor was the same, as was the smell, but the crowd was lacking a certain something. that look of college-boy hook-up desperation, perhaps? yes, that must've been it. my costume had also changed quite a bit, seeing as i was still wearing the backless white short-sleeved angora sweater, black satin skirt, high-heeled mary janes, and dreidel ears. actually, the dreidel ears may have been the only thing that hadn't changed.

they checked our id's at the door. not that there was much fear of under-agers this time of year. Hannah thought it would be fun to play 'guess how old we are' with the bouncer first.

Hannah - guessed age: 24, real age: 27
Hoppster - guessed age: 28, real age: 23

i'm still mad.

do i really look 5 years older than i really am? if so, i need to reverse this trend immediately. or else imagine how busted i'll look at 30. damn. step 1: pretend its my 28th birthday for the rest of the night to get free shots from the bartender.

check.

by the time we got to the bar it was oh....2AM. the four of us had just enough time to drink 1 irish car bomb, 1 yager shot and 2 beers each (plus one that i spilled across the enitre table, including all over my new martini glass set, that i was making one of the boys carry after me all night) before last call at 3:30.

in the meantime there was good conversation, while i reminissced after the beep on every one of my college friends voice mails. i am told my messages went something like this 'you hear that? in the background? it's the smooth sounds of the Sports Palace. miss you, hooker'. typical.

my flight home to colorado for christmas was at 7:10 (or so i thought). which meant that i had just enough time for the cab to drop everyone off at their respective abodes, then keep the engine running while i packed the last of my necessities, throw my bag in the back and head to the airport.

to say that i played straight through would be putting it mildly. as i have no memory of a) checking in, b) purchasing a bagel in the terminal and c) going through security.

i woke up, quite confused, drooling on a army soldier's shoulder in the seat next to me. i also apparently bought some sort of egg sandwhich at the quiznos. the remnants of which were stuck in my sweater and the wrapper crumpled in my lap.

at least i had chewed and swallowed this time. last time i did something similar i woke up with large bits of carrot in my mouth. the mestication process clearly interrupted by alcohol induced unconsciousness.

it also turned out that my flight was not at 7:10 as i originally thought, but at 6:25am. i am told i arrived at the gate just as it was boarding. good thing i didn't dawdle any more to purchase food i wouldn't remember eating.

shockingly, i felt fine. i had also managed to buy myself a large bottle of water (post-security check) and drink the majority of it. so i was hydrated enough to at least get me to colorado, onto a shuttle, and up to meet my family at our condo in the mountains without being blindsided by a hangover. upon arrival at my final destination, yes i was happy to see my family, but the tears of joy were actually intended for the queen sized bed i saw calling my name. i sent everyone out to the slopes in positive 8 degree ferenheit weather, and proceeded to comatose for the next 3 hours.

all 3 of my drinking companions texted me throughout the next day to see if i a) was alive b) made it to colorado and c) enjoyed my 28th birthday celebration.

my response: barely, barely, and emmensely.

(sorry, no photos, at the airport on my way back to the dirty south and only have 27 minutes left on my battery...or before i board, whichever comes first)

action items

i have spent the majority of my evening making a 'goodbye' mixed tape for MM.

i had been doing so well. i exercises the 'ignore' feature on my blackberry no less than 6 times between the hours of 1 and 2 am sunday morning. i didn't really feel like catching up on current affairs at that hour. thats why he was calling, right? to discuss the latest headlines? gas prices maybe?

right?

of course i had resolved once again to put an end to this madness, starting with refusing to hit the green button saturday night, continuing with resisting ever urge i had to text him 'thanks for the booty call last night, consider me out of business for the rest of eternity', and ending with ignoring one last call tonight at approximately 703pm. that's an estimate.

so ignored it. great.

then i gave in. to be fair i had a long walk from my office down the block to the shell station where i had abandoned my car at lunchtime in hopes that they could disengage the 'maintenance required' light since they had performed said maintenance as required the week prior and none of my other friends were answering.

and he had left a message.

the first time, possibly ever.

(see, maybe if he had left a message saturday night, he would've been more successful with the penetration...i mean...)

so anyways, i called him, and whatever.

and we talked, i guess.

unfortunately, it was actually a very cordial conversation. and to say that he listened well may be a stretch, but he at least asked a few probing questions, which was a big change from interjecting with an unrelated story about how so and so is doing such and such that you don't really give a shit about, but will pretend to anyways, because you, hoppster, are a good friend. to a fault.

so i must have been so caught off guard by the fact that he was being sorta reasonably decent on the phone, and the fact that the shell station could not figure out how to turn my maintenance required light off and suggested that i take it to the dealer, that i agreed to meet him tomorrow night for a pre-holiday celebration. since i will be joining my family in a state far away from him starting saturday at 7am. and we don't hang out fridays, as a rule. also, i have my company christmas party. and the tacky christmas sweater turned caroline's birthday party.

moral of the story: if it was at all convenient, or within less than 30 miles from anywhere, i would've taken my car to the dealership in the first place. i'll just google it and get it turned off in three minutes or less myself. thanksbutnothanks.

moral of the other story: dinner tomorrow. me, staying up late to make a 'self titled' mixed tape full of songs he will never have heard of and will enjoy muchly, to prove how musically tasty i am. and how sweet and giving i am. regardless of how much of a d-bag you are to me.

just another low-point folks.

but, afterall, it isn't the new year yet, and after tomorrow i will have no more opportunities to break my resolution numero uno - really not talking to him, seriously.

so tomorrow, i will prove how charming and wonderful i still am. without being the total crass biatch i have been being. and then he will go his way, and i will go mine. me: emptyhanded. him: with an awesome new mix tape. playlist to follow.

i also turned the 'happy birthday' card i designed myself and had printed just for him and is so specific to him that i can't give it to anyone else into a 'happy christmas, and channukah, and new years' card. just trying to get rid of the little things around the house that remind me of him. a worthy exercise, i'd say.

...

the mix tape:
1. the re-arranger_mates of state
2. ur so gay_katy perry (ok, he won't enjoy this one, but i will enjoy thinking about his reaction when it comes on)
3. yea yeah_matt and kim
4. white winter hymnal_fleet foxes
5. you found me_the fray (a little wine with your cheese?)
6. circus_britney spears (it wouldn't be a mix tape without britney, no? no.)
7. inni mer syngur vitleysingur_sigur ros (that was a mouthful. thatswhatshesaid.)
8. the most beautiful girl (in the room)_flight of the conchords
9. paper planes_m.i.a.
10. pop lie_okkervil river
11. lights out_santogold
12. your new twin sized bed_death cab for cutie
13. kids_mgmt
14. the devil's tricks_lightspeed champion
15. skinny love_bon iver
16. if there's a rocket tie me to it_snow patorl
17. whatever you like_t.i. (yes.)

p.s. if anyone else would like a copy of this mix tape of all mix tapes, it could be arranged, if you ask nicely. or, if you be a dick to me for at a minimum 6 months, 9 max.

(most, though not all, songs were compiled from all songs considered year in music & listener's picks. support public radio.)
...

this week we have been celebrating the 'six nights of caroline's birthday'.

so far she has received from me the following:

night 1: a special insulated cup i stole from her apartment a month ago to fill with water and hydrate me while i drunk drove home from her house one morning.

night 2 (delivered on night 3): a box of candy cane joe joes i took the liberty of opening and eating half of in advance (to save her the added calories, of course)

night 3: a deck of 'maverick' playing cards featuring john mccain and his cronies purchased from the half off bin at borders

night 3.5: trogan ultra-thin condom that has been in my purse for no less than 6 months, and that i may have stuck a pin through for good measure. (all i want for christmas is a caroline baby)

if i could predict the future, and i can, here is what she will be getting on upcoming nights...

night 4: totally legitimately purchased copy of latest britney spears platinum album 'circus'

night 5 (her actual birthday): brand new copy of are you there vodka, it's me chelsea, by chelsea handler-the great (i added that last part, has a good ring to it, i think)

night 6 (the day after her birthday, because i can't count): advil, and plenty of it. also some tums, and maybe pepto. definitely a large bottle of gatorage or similar. if she is not deadly hungover all of saturday, i have not been doing my job as chief friend in charge.

...

i just started listening to the new snow patrol album. and i think i'm going to like this one, boys.

...

to answer the question on the top of all of your minds...

no. i was not sold into sex slavery last week. from which i escaped using only my cunning, wit, and girlish good looks. and a bobby pin and 3 inch piece of string.

i was just on a business trip. and although i really want to tell you a lot of boring details, i have been struggling with how to explain it all to you. mostly, i have been struggling with how to tell you where i was, without telling you where i was. because, if i just type it out, just like that, this blog post will inevitably end up in my bosses google alerts first thing tomorrow, and thusly, i will die/be fired/die.

but, i think i have found the solution:

pig latin.

p.s. did you know that just like google italy, google botswana, there is also a google pig latin? don't worry, it doesn't display your searches in pig latin. although it would be cooler if it did.

so, as it turns out, i was in:

inidadtay and obagotay

yes. the small, dual island nation. the one that's spitting distance from south america.

cool, huh?

yeah, sorta.

except, you know all those visions you are having right now of me holding 'meetings' with an umbrella drink in my right hand, my blackberry in my left, wearing nothing but a sundress and a large hat? well, delete them.

instead, envision me in interrogation room-like conference rooms that would be lucky to have air conditioning, not to mention a window.

so maybe i cried real tears when i returned home to 40 degree weather, what of it?

and yes, i did put my uggs on, just to go to bed. no big deal.

i am back now. but with the workload that was just dumped on us with a 16 week deadline, there is a slight to moderate possibility that they will just relocate me there for convenience.

in which case. i will be a) hiring a personal bodyguard b) never to be heard from again.

i'll keep you posted.

...

ok, snow patrol, you had me at hello...now what?

really good intentions turned into i don't know what

here's the deal.

i am going to step away from the office.

i am going home. its 6:40pm. i was here no later than 7:40am (with a dozen bagels for my co-workers to remind me why they missed me while i was 'away on business' last week, no less).

i accomplished less than 16.5% of the work i needed to today. which means i will be back at it again, same time tomorrow? yessir.

i intended to stay here late, now that i have this awesome new widescreen monitor that ideally will have been cheaper than the botox i would've needed for the crows feet that were growing around my eyes from squinting at the tiny screen on my ultra-portable work provided laptop. yes, it has a battery life of 5.75 hours (in use). yes, it fits in my handbag. no, it is not ergonomically sound or recommended by any optomotrist on the planet. (i just wrote opthamologist, now im confused which is correct, too lazy to google it, sorry).

anyways, point is, i was going to stay here late, and write one of my notoriously verbose posts about my wonderful advertures in the carribean isles (does that make it sound sexier? no? okayfine).

but instead, i spent the last 45 minutes trying to retrieve audio files off of my handheld voice recorder doodad so that i can re-live last weeks ultra-compelling meetings over and over again, and possible once more after they are transcribed in print.

lucky? youbetchya.

jealous? youshouldbe.

apparently, you have to have something called a 'cd' from which you must 'download' some 'software' and then 'do a back flip' and 'say the magic word' and 'jump through a variety of different colored and shaped hoops' in order to access your files. otherwise, no matter how many of your collegues machines into which you plug the damn thing, that is no larger than my middle finger (convenient, since thats the one i am aiming at it right now), or how many billable hours you waste, you will not be able to turn hours of titlating discussion on topics such as 'information technology' and 'should we use queens or amerian english spelling of centre in the brochures' into nice little mp3 files that you can share with your adoring blog fans later. (just kidding, i would never, i value our friendship too much).

so i'm going to dismiss myself right now, and leave you with this boring post where i complain endlessly about nothing in particular but mostly the job i should feel very lucky to have given the current economic climate and the fact that i have already been laid off once this year, and let you mull this over for a while instead.

enjoy, and maybe tomorrow good things will come to those who wait?

or, maybe not.

ttyl. byob. dot com. backslash. password saved.

molested

i meant to write a post before i left on this wild week-long business trip adventure, informing you that i will be fleeing the country for the week...

...but i didn't have time.

lame, i know.

so anyways, i dont have much time to write. but pretty much, i am miserable.

i am on a romantic business trip for two on an 'exotic' caribbean island. just me and my boss.

and since he doesn't have a whole agency to pick on throughout the day, he is picking on me, nonstop. lets just say all of the criticism is losing its constructiveness. even our driver for the week asked me 'hoppster, why does he molest you so much'

obviously he means 'harass', but seriously, i feel like i am being molested. and there is no way away from it, because its just he and i. twenty four hours a day.

i may lay myself off at the end of this.

or, i may have to move here for the next 3 months of my life.

i just needed to talk to someone other than my boss that doesn't cost $3/min, thanks blog, for having unlimited nights and weekends.

if your ego is not your amigo, you know it stinks

i want to post something, just because i have done such a good job posting more than never this week (up 300% from last week) and i love checking my google analytics to see that more than no one viewed my blog yesterday. but i just got done catching up on all the new posts from my favorite blogs that i usually read during business hours. i somehow turned into the most important person in my office today (by that i mean, minion) and was at my new 'extreme office makeover: hoppster edition' desk exactly never today. until 5:00 when i finally got to sit down and get the real work done (or, search online for non-engagement engagement rings for my sister's boyfriend to buy my sister and g-video-chat laura about trader joe joe's for 25 minutes). i was there until 7:36PM.


at least i can now pick out the face of the ipod headphone thief in a line up.

'yes officer, i am sure that's the one, that's the cleaning lady. just look at her, she doesn't look like the type that would replace the trashcan in its designated spot underneath my desk after she empties it, does she? nor does she look like the type to vacuum up the cheerio i dropped underneath my desk 26 weeks ago. yes, i am certain that is her, she's the one that purloined my ipod headphones'

in other news, please add 'thief' and 'purloined' to the words hoppster cannot spell without googling list. guess there is no mystery novel in my future.

sorry mom, i know that was your big dream for me.

anyways. i wanted to tell you some things. but now i am exhausted. it is tiring selflessly putting you guys first all the time first, even before my own blog (you=blogmates...sorta like cellmates, but people i chill with in the blogiverse*, and exatly like prison, i hang out with them, but they don't necessarily hang out with me back).

don't expect a lot out of me tomorrow, either. i expect a big promotion tomorrow (from minion to slave).

*yes, i am still doing that thing where i try to make new words that use 'blog' happen...i'll be writing a blogtionary soon

pay no attention to the blonde behind the blog

to all one of you has been waiting on pins and needles for my big surprise, prepare to be incredibly disappointed.

i have absolutely no idea what kind of controlled substances i ingested last night (read: red wine) but there is no logical explanation as to why i thought this big idea was so big, or even an idea at all.

controlled substances would also be the only reason as to why i used up far to many multi-syllabic words ranting about something i would wake up in the morning to realize i didn't care about at all.

so anyways, here goes...and i'm sorry in advance. no, it is not cake. although if i had been thinking clearly, it may have been candy cane joe-joe's, because those, well, win (rounding the bend to box #2 of the week, and the elastic waist pants aisle at kmart).


le grande idee...

the internal monoblogger.

...

underwhelmed?

me too. even a french introduction doesn't help.

anyways, the general idea of this non-idea is for google to invent a contraption...lets call it 'googles', that you wear around all day, and it dictates your internal monoblog. so all you have to do later is just edit out the erroneous bits (like the parts were you are actually thinking about work, or talking to your grandmother about her bunions, or standing in aisle 9 of the grocery store debating between generic or brand name milk).

how did you not think of it first?

i have no idea.

this is like the trillion attempts my childhood friend and i made at inventing a candy bar dispenser for the rear view seating in her mom's volvo - crafted only out of old electronics boxes we found in her basement, and scotch tape. shockingly, we were never successful. but became very skilled at cutting through cardboard with safety scissors.

back in those days we truly believed anything we needed to accomplish could be satisfied via scotch tape. including the time when we broke her antique bed when we were jumping on it, and instead of informing an adult, we put the footstool that helped us reach the sink in the bathroom under the frame, and wrapped three rolls of scotch tape around the two pieces of the broken leg. 'yes, that should do it'.

come to think of it, maybe if we had used name brand instead of generic, it would've worked. and saved a lot of tounge lashings, together, and then again in the comfort of our own homes.

anyways. i do have a trickle of a source for my (not so) brilliant idea.

essentially, i was laying in bed, doing everything in my power not to think about Muscle Man, and had a lot of other interesting thoughts that i may have wanted to blog about. but i was bound and determined to fall asleep. so i just mentally dog-eared them for later, and squeezed my eyes shut as hard as possible and rolled over.

i do the same thing in the shower

and while i am driving in the car

all of the brilliant trains of blogs that you could've been enjoying, rather than the dribble that comes out when i actually take the time to sit down at my computer and dictate.

topics like:

• why i can't look pedestrians in the face after i almost run them over in crosswalks, and other ways i narrowly avoid killing blind people with my silent machine of death (formally known as prius)
  
• getting a widescreen monitor improved my productivity at work by 12.5%: office feng shui, myth or miracle?
  
• meatball sandwhich or trader joes frozen pizza round XXIVIIQ.3.5.01
• how the rapid decrease in marketing budgets due to the great depression II has had a negative effect on my consumption, from a marketers perspective (white paper, coming soon to a blog near you)
  
• 101 ways to use the word blog out of context
• juicy couture: neither juicy, nor couture, discuss.
• etc.

compelling and rich.

i know.

not surprisingly, the same alcohol induced amnesia that i have for names and correct spellings of words attacks my memory for good blog ideas.

when i have a good idea and i am near an electronic apparatus, i do what any other normal person would do, and write it down. just kidding, i don't write. i type a blackberry note to myself about it. holding a pencil is for the weak.

and i don't know if this is listed as a symptom on webmd under writer's block, but when i hit the 'new post' button in blogger, every good idea i had up to that point vanishes completely. and i'm sorry brain, but it is way too soon in the life of this blog to be throwing the 'writer's block' card. i'm just not buying it.

so the only logical cure (besides just manning up and dragging my ass out of bed to hammer out the thought in print) is a completely impossible contraption, is of course brought to you by google, because only google can make the completely impossible possible.

exhibit a: google texting. only google could single-handedly make the yellow pages, weathermen, calculators and dictionaries obsolete by dialing 6 numbers into any mobile phone. (standard text messaging rates do apply).

i am still waiting for the breaking headline: 'december 26, 20xx: google santa delivers christmas gifts to christian childen worldwide'

if you are ever in a bind, screw mcgyver, or that other guy with the j name that i can't recall right now. just ask yourself, 'WWGD'

so there you have it.

blog it or not, here i come...

the one in which i contradict myself and don't know what i am trying to say

so, i've got it.

the next big thing to come out of everyone's favorite verb....

masticate.

no, wait, that's only my favorite verb.

right.

everyone's favorite verb: google.

i've come up with the next big thing to come out of google.

it came to me as i was laying in bed just now trying to get my mind off the telephone conversation i had only moments before with Muscle Man (yes, we're still talking. no, i don't want to talk about it, okay, i d0).

i didn't want to spend the next few hours tossing and turning in bed scheming my way back into his life and potentially heart (assuming there's one in there, big if on that one), not at all because i think that he's at all a decent person or even someone i would care to share an armrest with one a plane, let alone date/love/etc. but mostly because i want to prove that he was completely wrong about me. realize all of the value add i bring to his life. and then reject his attempts at winning me back. totally normal, totally healthy.

i come up with some very interesting ideas between visions of my grand overture (where i demand that he 'go all in or cold turkey' and he says 'fine, all in' and then i say, 'really? because i'm just gunna go cold turkey on this one' and walk away, never to be heard of again) and then flogging myself for:

a) continuing to answer the phone when his number appears (to be fair, last time i honestly didn't recognize his number, and answered 'this is hoppster' in my most professional business voice)

b) actually caring about what is going on in his life and then thinking long and hard for way past acceptable after we hang up about whether he should set up his office in the front room or spare bedroom of his new house (the front room, much better lighting, view, and what else would he do with that room? formal salon? yeah, right.)

and c) failing once again to honor my promise to myself and every one of my friends, family memebers, casual acquaintances, strangers, etc. to completely delete him from my life.

the problem is, that it is not my nature not to care. it is my m.o. in relationships with men (boys). and now i am where i am with MM, like it, or not. he calls, verbally blogs to me about his life, and then i post comments full of witty remarks, challenges his conventions, recommendations on how to proceed, reassurance, active listening noises.

i provide a service, free of charge. and he still manages to rob me blind.

it is soul killing. mostly because MM truly thinks that he holds up his end of the contract in conversations. i know this because we have argued about it, constantly. i normally give up because he actually believes that the apporpriate response to 'i had a really bad day at work today' is 'oh really? well then you wouldn't believe the day i've had...blog...blog....blog' rather than what i would consider the obvious follow-up: 'oh really? what happened?' insert active listening here.

i have tried in many different ways to just hit delete. end call. ignore.

i have made progress. there have been more than two times when i have been compelled to call him and tell him something particularly relevant to him that i think he would find interesting, or beneficial, and i have remained silent. told myself that he no longer gets those perks out of me. i have also been compelled to e-mail him. send him random funny thoughts that pop into my head during the day like i used to (always receiving disappointing responses). but i have restrained myself. physically, at times.

but i still answer.

and express concern at the cough that has lingered for over a month. and are you getting enough fluids?

it was glorious last week when he was out of the country and i knew with 100% certainty he would not call. i was not sad about that idea at all. and truly hoped that he would never call again. so why can't i just put my foot down?

i drafted an e-mail in my blackberry when my plane landed late sunday night, and it is still in my drafts folder, itching to be sent:

every time there is turbulance i think of the person in my life that i never said i love you to enough. that person was you, for a while.

please do not respond. please do not call me anymore. that person never existed in real life the way it did in my head. and it breaks my heart every time i hear your voice and am reminded.

in my head it is so beautiful and so romantic. just hit send and that be it. my last words. perfect. exactly what i want him to know, and exactly what i want to say. the end. no backwash.

but am i ready for the consequences? can i close the book on this epic waste of valuable brain space? not to mention, my heart.

and afterall, all this avoiding thinking about him does spurn some very clever ideas.

oh right, thats what we're supposed to be discussing, instead of Muscle Man. (guess my thought process in print is exactly the same as it is in my head)

my grand idea. (insert trumpet noises here)

...to be continued*...

*or, i wasted so much of your time lamenting, once again, about MM, that i am now going to test your patience by making you wait until tomorrow (on pins and needles) for the big reveal.