Victimology

I think that one of the weirdest parts of not really being friends with Spliff anymore is the connection we both have with other people. I have a hard time going to places I know she likes to go because I don't want to see her outside of the office. I don't want to be forced to talk to her in public and I don't want to have to pretend for more than 40 hours per week that I have any desire to be in her life. But that is kind of a weird feeling, even though it has been that way for well over a year now.

In the office, I don't have to make small talk. We talk about work. And honestly, I don't have an issue most days having to spend at least 8 hours with her. We still laugh about stuff and we are "work friends" and I am totally fine with that.

I recently got back into touch with a friend of mine from high school who stopped hanging out with me shortly after (his best friend) J and I split up. I always thought that the reason that we stopped talking so much was the fact that J was his best friend and, even though we had all been friends for over 5 years at that point, I was not. I could see where that would be weird for him. And J. And even me at that point. But, that's the thing with break-ups. You don't always get custody of all the friends in the divorce. And I have been around the block a few times, and I am okay with that. 

Needless to say, last night when BB and I hung out for the first time in over 6 years and he told me that the reason he stopped hanging out with me wasn't because of J, but (like so many others of my friends) because of Spliff, I was pretty…well…I don't really know. I was definitely a little pissed that her selfishness had cost me so much time away from someone that I cared so much for and I was obviously hurt that he didn't make an effort to tell me this before falling off the planet for six years. But mostly, I felt an overwhelming sense of "DUH".

Spliff always had a way about her that made everyone really comfortable. My guy friends (not all, but many) always had crushes on her and, at least with the ones that she wanted to remain friends with (which was only really two of them) she was pretty clear that she wanted nothing romantically to do with them. And those two, followed her around like puppies for years and just pined and pined. But the ones that she didn't care about? Chewed up and spit out. The thing was? I DID care about them. I was the reason they met her. I felt responsible. And I was the one who had to hold their hands through the whole crushing mess. And eventually, because I lived with her for 8 years, I lost a LOT of friends over it.

Last night, sitting with TT (who was a victim, but is now the best thing that ever happened to me) and BB (former great friend and also a victim), I giggled. Because yeah, it sucks that they both got burned by my former BFF, but they both made it. And now have girls who won't treat them like shit. So? Everybody wins. And everybody hates her. (Which also makes me giggle, cause I got the good friends in the divorce.)  There was not really much thought of her at all until BB waved me over to point out the bartender. A guy I used to talk about a bit here, on this blog. Spliff's unicorn. The one guy she could never really have. He broke up with her at least twice, both times crushing her into tiny blonde pieces and both times she was begging for more. (And the last time we spoke of him, she would still take him back.) He did to her what she did to everyone else. And there he was.  

The Molester, having been a friend of mine, also since high school, was the one of my guy friends that all of my girl friends wanted to date and that all of my other guy friends wanted to be. To me, he was just "The Molester". But to Spliff, he was a god. And last night, standing there with two boys that she crushed and the boy who crushed her and knowing that I had lost touch with all three at one point or another because of her, I realized it. There was no doubt in my mind that not being friends with her is the right thing to do. In the end, I just wanted to hug them all (and then maybe slap TM for good measure) and thank them for reaffirming JUST how much I have because I don't have her.

Moral of the story?

Connection or no connection: Removing her from my life has brought me my boys back. And I wouldn't trade that for 20 Spliffs. (Unless they looked like Taye Diggs. Then I would consider it.)  

How Things Change...Originally written 7/17/08

I found this post today while trying to clear out the crap from my email Inbox. (Let me tell you, internet, I have been laughing for the last hour and I am not even a fourth of the way finished with this little gem of a project.) I found this post that I wrote when I was dating TK. You remember TK, right, internet? The 4 ½ year old I dated a few years back? Yeah. That guy.

Anyway, I guess I have been a little jaded for a long time, but it is funny how much has changed…Enjoy!

Drumroll, please….

"I hate how jaded you can be sometimes."

When TK said this it made me think. Not because it had never occurred to me that I might be a bit jaded, because I am well aware of that fact, but because I have a hard time remembering what it was like not being jaded. And I can't help it, really. This is sort of just the way that I am. I am under the assumption that most chicks have that thing in the back of their brains that (even if they refuse to admit it to themselves) makes them dream up that mushy fairy tale relationship where the guy is all charming and perfectly handsome and she is all having 30 orgasms every day and wearing nothing but fancy and raising little perfectly behaved children. That irritates me. Because it will never happen to you, ladies. You will marry a man with mediocre looks and an even more mediocre bank account and you will have mediocre children and a (probably less than) mediocre sex life. You will probably argue about why you can't buy a stupid Prada bag and his inability to fathom the use for a coaster. It's true. Because that's real life, ya'll, and I am not so sure that there is much difference between being jaded and being completely realistic. 

I mean, if refusing to have unrealistic expectations of a person or a relationship means that I am jaded, then sue me.  But my fairy tale is very different than those "other chicks".  For one, the whole marriage and kids thing? Not really at the top of my list. I mean, yeah, I want to meet someone that I love enough to want to do those things with, but I don't really consider them necessary (don't even get me started on weddings, I think we all know where I stand on those from previous posts).  I get the whole idea behind getting married. I do. I just don't know why it is important. Unless, like, one of you needs insurance. Or, like, you are in Vegas and you are at a drive thru wedding chappel and Elvis wants his forty bucks. Because then, at least, there is a good degree of novelty involved.

Secondly, I don't hold on to the ridiculous idea that I am going to find, like, the identical, rich, brilliant, twin brother of Taye Diggs.  (I wouldn't argue if I did, but let's face it, internet, if there was one of those out there, he would be gay and he would be my best friend and I would stick my head in the oven.) Honestly, wouldn't that get boring?

An Open Letter to Grey's Anatomy

Dear “Grey’s Anatomy”,

I really like your show. Seriously, there have only been maybe two episodes that failed to make me cry. And I don’t cry very often. Kudos to you. Also, (and I don’t know if this was your doing, but) thank you SO much for putting Taye Diggs in your spin-off show. I will watch it religiously even if it means no late night happy hours with the hot martini boys. Taye Diggs is worth it. I mean that.

I do have one complaint. I would really like it if you stopped showing the Seattle skyline every five seconds. I know that the show is based in Seattle and everything but the name of the hospital is Seattle Grace. We get it. Personally, the Seattle skyline hurts my feelings and may be the reason that I begin to cry immediately as the show starts. I don’t really like to cry about things as silly as skylines. I like to cry when someone doesn’t love someone or when someone is a huge asshole and hurts someone’s feelings and they break up…which is probably the reason I don’t like to see the skyline.

You see, Grey’s Anatomy people, I broke a guy’s heart once and he lives in Seattle. And we did all that tourist stuff like go to the Space Needle and ride the ferry and all that shit. So, you can see where this would be painful for me. I would really appreciate it if you could just…You know…STOP it.

Thanks!

Spaceface

P.S. For future reference, you could make a show about Taye Diggs brushing his teeth for an hour and I would watch it.

P.P.S. Get rid of Meredith. She needs to eat a sandwich and she is bland.

P.P.P.S. Ooooh! Replace her with Taye Diggs brushing his teeth!

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Now playing: Ryan Adams - My Winding Wheel
via FoxyTunes

Ankles and Basketball

Spliff likes basketball. And I really don’t like any sports. Not unless I am watching them in person. I really feel that you can’t get the true feel of the sport unless you are watching it from the court itself. Tonight, because there wasn’t anything else on, Spliff wanted to watch the NBA playoffs. I was not interested. So, knowing that TRN likes basketball, (because last week, we had to interrupt a game so that he could come upstairs and kill a bug), Spliff decided to go down and watch the playoffs with him. I started writing and drinking wine and by the time she came back up for the third time, I thought Mr. James was hot enough to watch. (I actually always think he is super hot, but I thought that I would join TRN and tell him how fat his ankles are.) And, as it turns out, TRN does NOT remember trying to take his pants off in my living room but does remember coming up to offer me champagne. So…ummm…I don’t really know what that means other than, he was really effing drunk. He doesn’t remember when I tucked him into his bed. He doesn’t remember that his knee was bleeding and he wouldn’t let me put a bandaid on it so as not to destroy his down comforter…but he does remember Sunday when I came over to ask him to come out with us to restart the beer challenge. He was…well…hungover and uninterested, but when Spliff informed him that he had interrogated me about his ankles, he just laughed. By the time I came down, he was ready to know what else he had done. And I was also ready to know what else he had done. I have never seen someone that drunk before. Not even me, which is a stretch. Why, just the other day, I cussed out the owner of a restaurant because he tried to make me do a shot of Rumplemintz…(and I don’t know how to spell it because it is disgusting and I only learn to spell things that I like to drink.)

Anyway, TRN doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t remember that this is the second time that I have had to put him to bed and he doesn’t remember trying to trap me in his room. And my theory about it is, when he is drunk, I am hot and he wants to steal me away and keep me in his room. I wish Taye Diggs felt the same way. Dammit. Now, if you will excuse me, “Brown Sugar” is on VH1.

Omnium-Gatherum

I don’t want to pack my stuff. I want to wiggle my nose or something and make it all magically put itself into boxes. And while it is packing itself, I will wiggle my nose again and make Taye Diggs appear to massage my back. You know, because I will need to relax after all that hard work. And when Taye Diggs is done giving me a back massage, he will then give me 50 million dollars and then he will finally realize that Idina is kind of frightening looking (albeit amazing, but he will forget about that, because he will be blinded by love and adoration for me) and he will propose to me instead. Yep.

Also, Pete Yorn is coming to Freebird on November 4th. If this whole damn move weren’t bleeding me dry, I would totally be going. Feel free to donate to the “Criz hearts Pete Yorn” Fund. (I prefer large bills, but if you can produce Taye Diggs, all will be forgiven.)

I actually did speak with D for about two and a half hours last night. It went very, very well. As much as I like hearing the news about her family (seriously, it is like a soap opera!) and everything, I think my favorite part of the conversation was this:

D: And I think you’ll be happy to know that I am no longer a Rebulican.
Me: OH! You can tip strippers now?! That’s awesome!
D: Yeah!

Because everyone knows that tipping is essential.

So, for the second night in a row, I have gotten about four hours of sleep and I am starting to feel delirious. Not to mention that the coffee that I got from the café this morning tastes like they have been using the same coffee filter for a week and this is the last bit that they could get out of it (and still get away with calling it coffee) before changing it. That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna drink it. That just means, I will bitch about it until someone goes to Starbucks and comes back with something acceptable for me. (I won’t hold my breath on that one.)

“Boy to Avoid circa 2001-2005” has been emailing me for the last few days too. Which is not only a bit irritating, but also disturbing. He insists on talking to me about the new Red Hot Chili Peppers album. I keep telling him that, although Anthony Kiedis holds a special place in my heart for that whole “Under the Bridge” hotness, I haven’t been able to get into the Peppers since Blood Sugar Sex Magik. Dave Navarro killed the band. He did. His runny eyeliner and lack of talent sucked the soul out of the band. I mean really, remember “Rollercoaster”? What the hell WAS that?

Okay...that's really all I got.

A Hangover and Some Turkey

Thanksgiving turned out to be pretty painless. Actually, that isn’t completely true.

Today, I woke up with the most tremendous hangover that seriously almost killed me. I don’t get hangovers often, but holy free shots, batman, did we get toasted last night.

My sister and I have gone out together only a few times since she turned twenty-one. And every time, it’s the same thing. We start out having a normal night, just the two of us, (and in this case, Pookie as well) and then, before we know it, we have more free shots than we ever could have asked for. And by that I mean, I almost actually turned them down. Yes, me. Almost turning down free shots. (I know, I know, it seems farfetched but…just go with it.)

Anyway, the night ended with FH getting locked in my bathroom, while I slept on my floor. I can’t explain the reason for the floor sleeping nor can I recall it, but FH has no reason to lie.

So today was spent, half on my mom’s couch trying to decide whether or not being hit by a truck would have been a faster and cheaper way of feeling the way that I did, and half stuffing my face with turkey and lumpia. Good times. After I peeled my ass off of the couch and over to my uncle’s house, I felt a lot better. Oxygen rocks.

FH and I cut out early and went to see RENT. And holy crap. I love that movie. I will see it again. I will see it daily. I will stand in line to buy the DVD (although, living in this redneck town that I live in, I doubt there will be one.) It was definitely NOT like seeing it performed live, but it was pretty awesome anyway. Pretty awesome and pretty…pretty. (I will kidnap Taye Diggs and keep him chained to my bed for eternity. Mmmm.) I was a little (okay, a lot) worried that it wouldn’t do the play justice, but they did a damn fine job.

It seems like the thing to do, so it is list time. (Being Thanksgiving and all.)

Things to be thankful for:

1. My effing fantastic friends.
2. My effing fantastic (yet slightly deranged) family.
3. Ernge. (Because he may well be the love of my life.)
4. Pinot Grigio
5. The fact that I did not kill the stupid bitch next to me at the movies who winced and hid her face every time two girls kissed.
6. Taye Diggs and Jesse L. Martin.
7. My awesome apartment.
8. Lucy (a.k.a. my new car).
9. Lumpia.
10. Good memories and the prospect of making new ones.

Happy Thanksgiving!