This was not hard for me at all. There are bunches of songs that I have just gotten totally sick of over the years, but honestly, the first one that came to mind stuck.
I had to pick, “I Will Possess Your Heart” by Death Cab for Cutie. I am not going to go into my reasoning for my loathing for this song. I will just say the reason is a specific person (who lurks around here from time to time, against my polite request that he stop). This person is not a bad person. Not a serial killer (I hope) or anything like that. Just someone I am reminded of when I hear this song and someone I would rather not have to be reminded of at all. And it sort of ruins the whole thing for me. All 35 minutes of it.
(And no lie, iPod is on shuffle and guess what song just came on!)
Okay, okay...so I am not really sure that this post is about "new directions" at all. I really just thought of "Glee" when I almost titled this post "New Developments" and decided that I prefer to Gleek out. Although, now that I think about it, maybe it is about new directions. Either way, that's the name of the post, internet. Get over it. Gosh.
So, I made it through Rack's birthday and successfully avoided spending the day with Spliffany and instead, had him, Tony and Thing Two over for dinner. Dinner really wasn't anything special, but I would like to point out to you, internet, how wonderful a friend I am. I woke up Thursday morning and proceded to make a cherry pie. This was not just ANY cherry pie, though. This was my first EVER pie of any variety. Like...EVER. The problem, of course, that after making the crust myself, I didn't like the way said pie looked. So, naturally, being the crazy person that pie-baking evidently turns me into, I went to the store and bought stuff to make a second cherry pie. (And then stuff to make a blueberry pie for Thing Two. Why? I have no idea. Did I make a blueberry pie? Heck no.) So, by the time Rack arrived at my house to exchange gifts and eat dinner, he was hammered and I was exhausted. But there was an abundance of pie. And that can't be a bad thing....I mean, if you like pie. (Which I do not. But I did like the Warrant accompaniment that came with the acts of pie eating, so it all worked out.)
Christmas was a lot of the same. Running around like maniacs trying to make sure that we saw everyone and ate everything and drank lots of mimosas and tasted too many birthday cakes. But as I suspected, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. I managed to get a lot of time to just sit back and enjoy my day (and the presents...oh, the presents were glorious!) and even got to spend a few hours at the local dive bar and have entirely too many drinks in such a short period of time. But it was all in good fun...and no one puked.
New Year's Eve involved a bunch of my family and a lot of vodka. And, internet, if you are familiar with any one member of my family, then you know it wouldn't be a proper party unless someone was falling down. In this case, I would say about half of the people there were falling down. And there was moonshine. So there ya go. Happy drunken New Year.
So, that's really it for the holiday update 2010 but there is other news, internet. Of course there is.
Other news:
1. I have decided, for the 858th time, that I am going to quit smoking. I started the Chantix today (as did Thing Two) and hopefully will be smoke-free (and with a lot more money) within the next week or so...Keep your fingers crossed, internet. This should be interesting.
2. I am rewatching the entire series of LOST (Thanks to my new Wii and Netflix streaming...hooray!) because Thing Two never watched it. Ever. (I don't know how this happens to people! How can you not have watched LOST?! Seriously!)
3. Thing Two and I have decided to move in together. Yes, I know I have really enjoyed living alone. And yes, I am aware that I haven't lived with anyone (other than Spliff) in a really long time. And of COURSE I am aware that this is a big step and we haven't been together for that long. What do you take me for, internet? An idiot? The thing is, I know what I want. And for the first time since Jer, I really mean it. (This is not to say that I didn't love my previous boyfriends, I did...well...all except for that one that I tried to convince myself I loved so that I wasn't totally bored all the time. I think we all know which one I am talking about here...cough, cough, TK, cough...Duh.)
So, we are currently starting to look at places and are actually considering...gasp...BUYING. Yes, that's right, ya'll. I am getting old and ready to settle down. (I don't really know what that phrase MEANS...but if it means, like, own a home and make lots of noise and not disturb neighbors, then I am IN.) I am a grown up. Shut it.
Sidenote: I just realized that this post IS about new directions.
Well, internet, lots of things have changed since we last spoke!
I know, I know. You are all wondering if I have gone and killed Spliffany. And the answer, my friends, is no. I have not murdered my former best friend. Actually, things are going...smoothly. I wouldn't say that we are really "friends" at the moment, but we are cordial. And we are pretty nice to each other (despite the occasional urge I have to rip her throat out with my bare hands. An urge which is diminishing; slowly but surely). She tells me about things and I listen. I do the "smile and nod" when I don't care what she is saying but I try not to be rude. Sometimes we still have our giggling fits at work when something ridiculous occurs and we forget that we don't really like each other. And we chat. Which is much more than I can say for a few short months ago (after the temper tantrum she threw about an upcoming vacation I wanted to take) when she wouldn't speak to me at all. (You must remember that, internet. It was that time when I thought someone had replaced her with a whiney 12-year-old.) The one thing that is interesting about this "relationship" we have right now is that, while she insists on telling me details about her love life and funny things that happen over the weekend, she never inquires about anything that might be going on with me. This is totally not a bad thing for these reasons:
1. I don't ask her anything about her life either. Because I really couldn't care less at this point. And that is not meant to sound harsh or bitter, just truthful.
2. I actually really don't want her to ask.
a) I haven't really ever had a personal life that she wasn't super-involved in. She has known all of my friends, my boyfriends, my family members, since we were only kids. And when you live with someone for as long as we did, nothing is sacred. Up to this point, she knew everything about me. It feels pretty good to have a little effing privacy for once.
b) I've recently started dating someone. This "someone" has been in my life a long time. He has never been someone I could see myself dating...but at one time, he dated Spliff.
Okay, now I know what you're thinking, internet. You're thinking I am a scandalous, horrible meanie with no soul. Well, you are wrong. It isn't like I set out to find "someone" who would keep me busy while simultaneously sort of throwing stuff in Spliff's face. Really. I honestly never even thought of it. But I can see how it might be percieved that way. I'm no dummy.
The thing is, he's really amazing. And this isn't news to me. When he and Spliff were "dating" (this is in quotes because he won't admit that this is what actually happened), she treated him much like a lap dog. She took advantage of his kindness and his generosity and she was shameless and awful. I spoke with her about it before, during, and after the "relationship" and nothing seemed to matter besides how convenient he was for her. I am not going to go into detail here about the way she treats people, because I think you get the idea, but I will say that...well...it ain't good.
So, fast-forward about four years and here we are. And I am really happy. I can't remember the last time that I laughed so often or so hard and I'm not afraid of it. I'm honestly not. We haven't had the ideal start to a relationship (for reasons I won't get into), but we have made it work. And now that it is working, I can't imagine anything better.
So, it might be evident from this post that things are going pretty well over here. I am happy, healthy and free of Bedouin Soundclash. (Still a very, very big part of my happiness, mind you.)
I had a conversation with Pookie the other day that really hit home with me. She was saying how she has never been able to commit to anything (this is not entirely true, she was able at one time...but that time has long since passed...) and how she is sort of...content being that way. Pookie has always been the one of the two of us who has believed in love. She was ever the optimist. She always did whatever was in her power to make a relationship work. And I, on the other hand, bail the second that things get tough.
I have always been the ultimate cynic. I could attribute this to any number of factors in my life. You know, the fact that my parents hate each other, the fact that my mom is sort of lacking a backbone and I don't want to be like her (EVER), the fact that (duh) all of my past relationships have failed...I could go on but it wouldn't matter. The fact is, I am a pussy.
Yes, it is very true that I never want to become complacent and bored like my mom, but it is also true that I have had some very successful relationships and have ended them (or made someone miserable enough to do the deed for me) because I have been scared. I am "that guy". Seriously, I am the dude (because it is always a dude) who plays the non-committal jackass in all of the chick flicks. This is not a shock to me, nor was it a shock to Pookie, but then, this wasn't the revelation that came while I was sitting on the beach, soaking up the Summer sun.
While we were talking, I realized that I have been running for so long that I have sort of...forgotten what I am running from, if that makes sense. I started thinking about some of the events of the last few months and what they are trying to tell me. One, I realized that there was one reason that I was able to stay with The Kid for so long. The fact is, I knew from day one that it wasn't going to go anywhere. Therefore? Nothing to be scared of. Nothing to run away from.
Two, I realized that I am tired of running. In fact, I am so exhausted from it that I can't see straight. I want to stop being scared of being a person with feelings and I want to stop sabatoging my relationships. Mostly though, I want an equal. A partner. Someone who knows me. I don't think that this is unreasonable and I don't think that it is impossible but I have never actually considered that this was an option for me. I mean, don't get me wrong, internet, I have had some amazing boyfriends but you can ask any one of them if I was ever completely ready to "settle down". Because they will tell you, I almost always had one foot out the door.
So Pookie has become this cynical girl who has decided just to float about in the dating pool and not really ever get attached. And I can't help but think how depressing all of that sounds to me now. I don't want to float anymore. For once, I actually want to find someone to love and to trust and to just...BE with. I am so insanely BORED and unhappy with the state of affairs right now, I could literally scream. I am almost thirty, internet! I need to grow the fuck UP and stop dating the wrong guys because I know they can't hurt me and stop fucking up my relationships with the right ones because I am a moron. Also, I guess this means I have to stop making out with my "friend" now. He probably isn't helping my situation. Crap.
I guess I should finish the story I started. I am bad about that.
Anyway, the honest truth is, that after the pool things became an utter and complete clusterfuck. Yes, we went out. Where? I have no idea. I vaguely recall a bar with a bowling alley in it. And some sort of banana concoction. And Anthony doing a "stop light" (and, seriously kiddies, don't try this at home...it will not end well...). And some dancing to Guns N' Roses. And then possibly some more Jaeger. I don't know. But I DO know that we all got to make out with someone random and that, my friends is always fun.
Anthony, however, while Mak and I were passed out in the room, was having some poolside fun with my identical name twin. When he wanted to stay at the pool by himself at 4am, I was hesitant to let him, seeing as he never learned to swim. But after going to check on him and realizing that he was...well...indisposed...I extended his curfew to 8am. Which is when he came stumbling back to the room, girl in tow, both of them yelling about eggs and cheese (don't ask, I have no idea). I don't like being awake at 8am, especially involuntarily. MOST especially when some girl from New Jersey is trying to talk about Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers to me when I am clearly SNORING. "SHHHHH. Sleepy time is NOW." (Read: SHUTTHEFUCKUP!!!!)
That morning started out with a hustle to get ready to check out and then watching the girl do the "walk of shame" out to the car while we screamed out the window and ended in breakfast with the Fish Head and her fiance. (Which, by the way, included a "BLOODY MARY BAR"...Holy crap. Best idea EVER.) Anthony couldn't eat (this never happens) and ended up sleeping in the car while we ate and drank and made fun of him for being a wuss.
But all in all, it was a good trip. And I like boys. That is all.
Well, internet, I finally got that break from things that I have been so desperately needing. This weekend, however ridiculous, seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.
Friday night, Spliff and I headed out to the (gasp!) North Side for dinner and drinks for a friend. It was a surprise party and we met at a sushi restaurant which only sold wine and beer. This is very, very bad. I’ll tell you why. Last Wednesday, I started the South Beach Diet (I have lost 10 lbs already, thankyouverymuch!) so could not have anything with carbs. Meaning, no sushi, no wine, no beer. I had thirteen diet cokes. MISERABLE. We then moved on to a dive bar in the middle of nowhere and danced like morons and gave each other temporary tattoos in the bathroom (and God help me, I can’t get this thing off!) and then I slept on a friend’s floor with a giant Labrador and even more giant stuffed tiger in my face.Oh, good times.
Saturday, I woke up too damn early, drove home from the North Side, took a shower, ate breakfast and headed for Orlando to spend the day with the JGJ. I have to say, internet, there is nothing better than running away from stress. We spent the day playing darts, pool, shopping, and then playing poker until the wee hours. It is so good to get away, but it is even better to have someone rad to spend time with. So, it was a good day. (Thanks, JGJ, for a great day!)
I came home yesterday , showered and went straight to dinner with Rack, Spliff and Anthony.I stepped outside to smoke and realized that the homeless guy sitting on the bench was quietly calling my name. Hmmm…after a closer look, I realized that about eleven years ago, he wasn’t homeless and his name was Brandon. We made out a couple times the summer after I graduated high school until he stole a shit ton of ecstasy from my friend, ate it all at once, and I believe, after we packed the car with all of his belongings and dropped them off in someone’s front yard, he was admitted into a mental hospital. I have no idea where he has been all this time. There have been a few sightings, but not for several years.
Needless to say, I, one, have awesome taste in guys and, two, pretended I didn’t speak English until we went back inside in hopes that he would think that he was mistaken.In the end, I didn’t have to speak to him, but he did sit out on the bench outside of the restaurant the entire time we were there. WOOHOO!
All in all, it was a nice (albeit short) weekend. I got to dance to Michael Jackson, sleep on a floor, actually beat someone at pool for once, take a nice long drive alone, listen to some new music, and play with the Pica…(JGJ’s dog…not the other meaning.)
Today, however, has just been weird. I got propositioned by a guy who used to read my blog.(I hope he doesn’t anymore, because…well, I am totally blogging about him right now). He wants me to meet him on Wednesday for a drink with him and his wife. Why does this happen to me? I don’t want any part of this. Obviously, I said that. But that is not the sort of email I like to receive.Especially during work hours.
THEN, I got to read that my ex is now “rage fucking” which is pretty rad. I shouldn’t have even read his blog, but I did because it is one of the normal stops while blog reading and I sort of do it out of habit. I am done doing that. It just made me want to vomit. Not jealous, not hurt, not anything but disgusted. Gross. Bleh.
Patterns are funny things. They sort of trick you into thinking that you are where you want to be because you are comfortable. Not because you really WANT to be there. I almost thought that spending the weekend with him would be sort of…regular. But I realized two hours in that yes, I was comfortable, and yes, holding his hand felt good. And normal. And so much better than NOT holding his hand. But that is as far as I could let myself venture into this pattern.
Years and years have gone by since we met. He comes around for just long enough to make me forget that he was ever gone. And then he leaves again. And I don’t miss him when he is gone, but I am glad when he is here. Comfort. I spent hours trying to figure out what my problem was with our situation. I came up with nothing. Well, nothing, really. The only thing wrong is that I can fall back into it any time. He does it too. He is easier than trying to find someone I actually love. And I assume he feels the same way. I have always been able to rest my head on his shoulder and feel at home. And I have enjoyed being the one that he comes to when he wants to escape.
But the question, I guess, is why do we do it? So, we didn’t. I left early and I came home alone and pretended he wasn’t here. In the end, I know what I want. I always have. And it isn’t him.
I know that I don't like it. But I know that I feel relieved. SO RELIEVED. Maybe because I wasn't the one who did it. I find that I like it better that way. Because then I can play wounded. And then I feel relieved because the elephant in the room has moved on. And I can sleep. But, I don't like being the cold-hearted one. Because, well, I don't believe I AM cold-hearted. I just believe that I am a pussy. And I can't say things when I know they will destroy people. So I wait for them to try and destroy me. And then I feel sweet relief.
I am honestly too old to go out with people under 30. I am. I can't hang. And not because I feel the need to outdrink them. Because I feel the need to babysit them. I hate babysitting.
There is nothing like skimming through someone's blog and realizing that the entire post you are reading is about you. And then you sort of want to kill yourself.
I have a lot to say but am terrible at articulating things lately. And the people I need to be able to "articulate at" are either really impatient or entirely too patient.
I am about to eat an entire bag of Combos for lunch. What?
There are a handful of songs that, in the last few months, have become songs that I cannot listen to without sobbing hysterically. I am probably losing my mind.
Randoms:
I have been having dreams about hanging out with rappers. Last night I had a dream that Spliff and I had set up a campsite on someone's lawn and I had somehow gotten roped into babysitting Kanye West's 17 children.
I recently came across someone whose last name was Crapanzano. And when I started to describe it as being like saying, "I crapped my pants, in Italian", someone walked by and heard me and I believe that she thinks that this was the truth. I mean, I don't know how she factored in the "in Italian" part...but who knows.
Hannah does not like to be called a llama.
Spliff and I just planned an entire funeral, including procession and readings, for someone's favorite pen.
I have become addicted to on-line poker. Don't judge me.
Well, internet, I've just had another infuriating converstation with "Boy to Avoid". I know, I know, his name speaks volumes about why I should...you know...avoid him. But he tends to email me every once in a while to say hi. And then, ultimately and inevitably, resorts to self-depreciating comments about how he is a "worthless bastard". I don't know about you, internet, but this is not the sort of conversation I care to take part in. If my sole purpose in your life is to tell you over and over again that you are only a mild idiot and that, though you are a tool, you are not completely worthless, then you should just go ahead and find yourself a hole to crawl into. I don't care if you have daddy issues and you think that every woman you ever loved victimized you. (One of which, of course, is me.)
Sidenote: I did not do anything to this fucktard except have a boyfriend who wasn't him. That is all. It isn't my fault that he was so "in love" with me that he couldn't take it and started fucking some tart who gave him chlamydia and ruined his life.The end.
It is a given that BTA has had some pretty serious self-esteem issues. In fact, we used to work very closely together and after our falling out, he eventually had to move to a different department and then take a leave of absence from work. A mental health leave. So, it is safe to sya he is a bit "unstable" but holy shit! I refuse to be his self-esteem coach. To be honest, I humor him by speaking to him because I am afraid he is too fragile to handle me saying, "honestly BTA, I think you are a nut-job and I don't think I ever want to speak to you again."
So, I am nice and cordial and when he says stuff like, "I am a worthless bastard", I usually just say that he shouldn't speak of himself that way. That obviously there has to be something good about him because he has a wonderful wife who loves him and takes care of him. To which he says, "Thanks. Thanks for straightening my unappreciative a$$ out and reminding me that I don’t deserve her."
ZH is now the third of my ex-boyfriends to marry unattractive women, start popping out a bunch of kids, and turn into rednecks and/or Jesus-Freaks.
Is there some sort of support group for this?
Also, how bad a person does one have to be to cause this? They start out as normal, attractive (in some cases, smoking hot) guys and then I get done with them and BAM! They are instantly transformed into married rednecks?!
I don’t know if I mentioned this, internet, but about a year ago, I got to speak to ZH for a few minutes while walking out to the car after a 311 concert. We hadn’t really spoken since I decided that, not only do I not want to have my own kids, I don’t really want to have to take care of someone else’s (not even his charming little hell-raising one) so it was rather shocking when he called me. Seeing as he had been quite bitter that I had ruined his plans to turn me into some sort of domestic anomaly and make me bland, and seemingly tried to forget that I had ever existed…I didn’t think that I would ever hear his voice again. Especially not after I’d had too many beers in the VIP area and had gotten teared up when the band played that song that he always loved so much. So there I was, stumbling to the car with a couple of friends, fighting off tears as he told me he was getting married. ALREADY.
Don’t get me wrong, this is the life that he desperately wanted and I had no desire for, so I wasn’t upset that he was getting what he desired. I was upset that we had grown so far apart that we hadn’t spoken in an amount of time that allowed him to meet someone, fall in love and get engaged. And I had no idea. That stung.
So, today, while reading a message from Tory on myspace, and discovering that her psychotic ex has an account, I got a little curious. After all, if that fucktard can figure out how to use a computer and stuff, then maybe ZH had figured it out and jumped on the myspace bandwagon. Well, internet, he has figured it out and he has jumped on board. And let me tell you something…his wife has turned him into a redneck jesus-freak. And it made me throw up in my mouth a little. His background is an American flag (which, okay, I am not opposed to America or flags but…COME ON) and he is all, talking about the bible and stuff. This is the kid that ate 27 hits of acid and swore he could see through the floor into the downstairs apartment. This is the kid who once chased a dude down the street on a skateboard waving a baseball bat. This is the kid who, just two short years ago, was the best thing in my world. And now? Now he is…I don’t even know who he is. I am grossed out.
A couple of positives on this:
1. His profile song is “Amber”, which was sort of “our song”. This isn’t completely positive, but it does show that he hasn’t COMPLETELY lost his mind and he still can recognize SOME good music. 2. His daughter is adorable as ever. She is going to be one gorgeous girl. 3. He still looks like ZH. He has gained some weight and stuff, but he looks good. And happy. 4. I am totally cuter than his wife. Let’s face it, I am a chick, and we need to be cuter than your wife if we have already dated you. We need it. All in all, I don’t know how I feel. I definitely am not stricken with heartache because I don’t even know that guy. And I am definitely not pining, so that is good. My view of the world has changed. I am at a loss.
I don't usually write about relationships here because when this blog was started, a lot of people read it that I wouldn't necessarily talk to about my personal life. It isn't really like that anymore. The people who read this blog know me very well and the ones who don't probably have never met me anyway so I have reevaluated the whole thing and I have decided that, fuck it, this is my blog. Dammit. I will write about what I want. And right now, I am going to write about The Kid.
Sometimes the age difference between The Kid and I is barely noticable. I can talk to him just like I would talk to any of my friends and he is capable of adult reaction and uses words that have more than 2 syllables and I enjoy that. Other times, though, I find myself wondering what I've gotten myself into. Don't get me wrong. It isn't like I have to hire someone to watch him if I want to go out or help him with his homework or anything, but there are definitely times when his age (read: maturity level and understanding of the world) gets in the way of things.
I am, by his admission, intimidating to him. I am used to being pretty dominant and I like a certain level of control over most situations. I can't help it. I don't sugar-coat and I don't fuck around when it comes to what I want. I can see how this would be hard for a stubborn young military guy and I don't blame him for being a little taken aback by me. It isn't the first time. He gets visibly annoyed when I won't let him touch my iPod and he doesn't understand that I don't let ANYONE touch my iPod. It has nothing to do with the fact that he is "The Kid", it is just...me. I am twenty-eight, stubborn and set in my ways and because of that, we bicker. It is sort of a battle over control. I don't really want to be in control all the time. I want to be in control when I want to be in control. The only problem is, that cocky sailor in him wants to be in control when I want to be in control too.
He is quick to become hurt and he is quick to become a little jealous and emotions show in his face so clearly that it reminds me how old he is. I tend to be thick-skinned and come off as a little cold (okay, maybe a lot cold) which, I think, tends to offend him. We have had countless conversations about the nature of our personalities and how different they are and how difficult it is to relate to each other sometimes.
This weekend was one of those times. TK and I were partying with Spliff and The Boys (Clifftopher and Anthony) one minute, and the next he was storming out the front door like I had stolen his crayons. The fact that he stormed off like that really didn't affect me all that much because we were very, very incapacitated at the time and I would have rathered him be away from me if he was going to act like a child, but I was angry as hell that, in a minute of unwarranted anger, he was willing to get in his car and drive away like an idiot. I was pissed that he would be so ridiculously irresponsible when I don't even think he was sure why he was picking a fight with me in the first place. But there he was, acting on a drunken impulse to flee an unfavorable situation where, if he had just stayed, he wouldn't have had to call me repeatedly and then throw rocks at the window two hours later so that someone would let him in. Aside from the fact that, as a result of his temper tantrum, he had to spend time on his return apologizing, in various forms, to everyone individually.
This whole incident was something I don't really feel I can hold against him, given the nature of the situation. I mean, he was really not in any shape to form any sort of cohesive thought. This, paired with his military stubbornness and his lack of...age, sort of explain the whole thing. I just don't know if, assuming this happens again, I can be so forgiving. I am not terribly certain that I have the patience for all of that. I mean, I like TK. I think that that is pretty obvious considering he has managed to stick around this long. For that, he deserves props. Being that I typically date guys who live a minimum of two hours away...sometimes a six hour flight...and TK lives just minutes from my apartment. So, you know I must like him a LITTLE.
I am not throwing in the towel just yet. I am going to be an adult because one of us has to be and I am going to hang in there and see if it goes anywhere. And if it doesn't, it won't be the end of the world and if it does, then I will have either regressed back to my youth so much that I am unrecognizable to my loved ones, or he has grown up enough that it doesn't bother him that I have a personality. I am hanging in there because, dammit, he is so cute.
*Don't get the wrong idea about TK, he is a great guy. A little bit wet behind the ears and a little bit insecure, but overall, he makes me laugh. And did I mention how cute he is?
We've accidentally become addicted to Uno. This happened once before with Scattergories when The Molester was stopping by a lot but it has been years since Uno has been such a big part of my life. Last week, during an impromptu visit from Clifftopher and an unexpected bottle of Captain, we rediscovered our love of the game and after the ridiculous 7 person game on Saturday, Spliff decided to officially dub Tuesday "Game Night".
Last night, "Game Night" involved my total ass-kicking of Clifftopher and Spliff and then the complete interruption of the game by The Kid and Anthony who showed up late. And then I kicked their asses too. I am an Uno shark. It's true. I draw 8 million cards and act like I am going to lose and then just when you aren't expecting it, BAM! I kick your ass. Because that's how I roll.
We had a pretty good time, actually. I suspect that, in the future, The Kid will not be invited due to his inability to stop talking long enough to keep track of what is happening in the game, but then again, after a few cocktails, neither can the rest of us and then before you know it, someone (Anthony) is dancing with a chair. I strongly recommend "Game Night" to anyone who likes a good level of madness in their lives. But, of course, you need a reasonable amount of booze or there might not be any chair dancing and that, my friends, would be a travesty.
I have to say, though, the highlight of the whole night was right about at bedtime. Spliff had long since not so subtly announced her migration to bed and stolen the music and taken it with her and TK and I were just about done with one of those conversations people have when they have just started seeing each other and aren't really sure what the heck is going on when "Karma Chameleon" came on my iPod. This is not unusual because I am a huge nerd and my iPod is completely jam-packed with music that most people would be ashamed to admit that they like (Hello?! Air Supply! WOOT!) but even in the dark, I could see TK's eyes light up.
"I love this song!"
"You aren't even old enough to KNOW this song!" (He really isn't as young as I try and make him feel, but it is fun...and the song did come out before he was born...Don't do any math, I will punch you.)
This is when he kissed me. And it was the kind of dreamy kiss that can only mean...
"I love you, Patrick Swayze."
"Did you just call me Patrick Swayze?!"
And that, my friends, is all she wrote. I kicked him out of my house and then hit him with my car.
(No, I totally laughed my ass off because that is the kind of sense of humor that I need at 2 in the morning.)
I don’t know where the weekend went, Internet. I know that there is sand in my ears and I look like a crack head (crackidad, if you’re nasty) but outside of that, I have no idea what happened this weekend. I can tell you that “Sex and the City” was worth every second and that Spliff and I smuggled a half pint of Captain Morgan into the theater with us and then we went home and exchanged boyfriend horror stories (which are always fun because we like to make fun of the morons that we’ve dated and then each other for dating them in the first place.) Turns out, we both dated guys who refused to take their shirts off during sex (WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! If you are going to do to me what you are doing, then you can take your fucking shirt off, you pansy.) After our girl-fest, we met up with Anthony and The Kid for some debauchery. Because, honestly, it wouldn’t be a Friday without getting hit on by 50-year-old men at the dive bar down the street from our apartment. Anthony ended up on our couch until I, in true Criz spirit, woke him up by screaming about breakfast and fishing.
By the time the four of us were done with our breakfast, it was time to head out. We traded Anthony in for Rackamonie and drove out to The Jetties for some fishing and it was a great idea until I saw how much climbing was involved. Then I thought I might die. It took Spliff and me each about ten minutes just to get close enough to the water where fishing was possible because we winced every time we took a step. Rack and The Kid went easy on us though, they barely even laughed at us while we were picturing our own bloody deaths. In fact, they held our hands and pulled us up onto the rocks where we could sit down. And I will be the first to tell you that I planted my happy ass down on a rock and I didn’t move until it was time to change locations. Of course I had the cooler with the beer in it within reach because, seriously, there was no way that I was going to risk falling and breaking my face in the name of beer.
Rack caught the ugliest fish known to man and it wasn’t even something edible so he threw it back after I took a bunch of pictures (which will be posted soon) but that was really the only success. Well, that isn’t entirely true. Spliff and I managed to get hammered, thrown into the ocean and thoroughly annoy Rack and The Kid by repeating “Fierce, fierce, hot mess, fierce” over and over again. (If you haven’t seen that Amy Poehler sketch where she is making fun of Christian from Project Runway, you really should, it is totally tranny fierce.”) Either way, we had a lot of fun. We swam in the ocean, drank a lot of beer (between me and Spliff, we managed to polish off an 18-pack) in the sun (probably not the best idea) and then had dinner on a deck overlooking the intracoastal (where we drank more beer). After dinner, we stumbled out to Rack’s new jeep and took the ferry back home where I spent 20 minutes trying to get rid of the giant dreadlock that was once my very straight, very long hair. (I tried to get Rack or The Kid to just cut it off, but they are bitches and they never do what I tell them.)
Yesterday we dragged our sunburned asses out for more booze and debauchery with D, Ad Rock, Clifftopher, and Anthony. I’d like to say that I don’t know how my house got into the state of disarray that it is in right now, but I would be a liar. I know exactly what happened. Booze for breakfast and too much testosterone. We spent a few hours playing Kings and everything after that is sort of a mystery. Spliff fell asleep before 6pm and I was left with the boys. Strangely enough, they kept multiplying. Before I knew it, Rack was gone and there were two guys named Larry in his place. The last of the beers ended up at the beach in plastic cups while I played drunken Frisbee with The Larrys and Clifftopher and The Kid went swimming. Then there was a lot of dancing to The Eagles (don’t ask. “I can’t tell you why”.) and guitar playing in my room and then, all of a sudden, it was morning and I had to come to work.
I learned a few things this weekend.
1. I suck at fishing and am way better at drinking beer and getting sunburned. 2. I have to start doing brunch on Saturday when it is more acceptable to stay up really late acting like an idiot with your friends. 3. I might be too old to do any of this in the first place because more and more, after a weekend like this, I feel like I was run over by a train.
That’s all I got. I just want to thank all of you who were involved in the debaucherous, sloppy mess that was my weekend. I couldn’t do it without you. (Well, I could, but I don’t think it would be nearly as much fun!)
Now that the holiday weekend is over and I have sufficiently destroyed several of my internal organs with bad food and massive amounts of booze, I have returned to work and am currently trying to wake up. I don't think that there is enough coffee in the world. Mornings around here seem to be pretty uneventful and paired with my rock star weekend behavior, I think I might be under my desk in the fetal position in a matter of minutes.
I have to say, though, that I had a pretty good weekend. Friday night I went to see the new Indiana Jones movie with a boy who isn’t old enough to remember the first ones. Which was a little weird for me considering that I watched “Temple of Doom” every day for about 2 years when I was a kid. I find it ironic that I would go, many, many moons later to see the NEW movie in the theater with a guy who is currently a kid. But whatever…I hadn’t been asked out on an actual date by a guy with money and a car in a long time. (I am starting to feel a little Sex and the City about this post). Evidently, the way to go is to snag them when they are fresh out of kindergarten because if you wait much longer, they develop too many bad habits and forget how to treat a lady. But I digress…I had a good time and I am not going to tell you how old he is anyway…because I have my pride. (He is old enough to drink and honestly, what more do I need?)
Since Spliff and Clifftopher had plans for a two-day fishing trip, I got custody of Anthony and The Hater (who I have named that because I am fairly certain that he would start a fight with an actual bar stool if he thought it would make him look cool) and when The Kid showed up on Saturday afternoon after the three of us had had a few margaritas at lunch, things were looking…a little testosteroney. So, naturally, we did what anyone would do, we called L and Jen. Because when all else fails, bring in lesbians. I don’t know how much this really helped but it did encourage swing dancing (I really wish I could explain how swing dancing happens in a smoky, crowded pool hall, but it did…) It also encouraged many, many shooters and more attitude from The Hater. I couldn’t tell if his issue was that I had a boy with me (because he has a bit of a crush on me and has been drunk dialing me in the middle of the night for weeks) or if he was just drunk and ready to rumble. Either way, when he and Anthony left to go and pick up a friend, I was relieved. Everyone could tell that The Hater was just waiting for someone to say the wrong thing, particularly The Kid, so that he could pounce. Luckily for all of us, The Kid was more mature than that and never let him egg him on. (Point 1 for the Kindergarten Team!)
Sunday, after dragging everyone out of their hangovers to have brunch with me, we played a little game of “Dude! Where’s My Car!?” in which the driver has left his or her vehicle in one parking lot or another the night before and decided not to drive home due to drunkenness and then cannot find said vehicle in the morning. Because it has most likely been towed. In this case, that was exactly the final outcome. I don’t know your thoughts on this, internet, but it is my experience that there is nothing better than getting a breakfast buzz and then going to a towing company in the ghetto (while blasting “You Remind Me of My Jeep”) on a Sunday afternoon. Of course, first we had to go by the police station, which is also really high up there on my list of things to do after mimosas. Maybe that’s just me. Anyway, we got the car back and we bought some champagne and orange juice and baked ourselves on Anthony’s deck before going to yet another pool hall, drinking beer, and singing terrible renditions of Gun’s N’ Roses songs at the top of our lungs. Because that’s how we roll.
I was really glad when Spliff came home yesterday because I was on testosterone overload and I thought since I was exhausted and she was exhausted it would be totally acceptable if we just sat around the house in random states of consciousness. Of course, then Rack called and asked about having lunch and being that at noon, I had already been up for 5 hours or so and hadn’t eaten anything, I was down. Rack wanted margaritas, I wanted a nap, but we were able to compromise and I took a nap and then went with Rack for Mexican food and margaritas. Just when I think the debauchery is over, Spliff shows up with ideas of more beer and drinking games. And because it was a holiday, I couldn’t refuse. Before long Rack was wearing two pairs of sunglasses, his baseball hat, a straw hat and a stuffed monkey on his head, prompting Mitch Hedberg refrences and dirty jokes. Eventually, half way through the Asshole extravaganza that was our Monday afternoon, Spliff got pantsed. And that, my friends, is when you know that things are out of control. One minute you are leaning into the fridge to get a beer and the next, you are naked from the waist down. Hooray beer!
Naturally, I feel like I was hit by a bus. Maybe several buses. And it is entirely possible that I should have just stayed my happy ass in bed yesterday rather than getting up and drinking massive margaritas and more beer than will fit in our refrigerator but, shit, it was Memorial Day! The perfect day to get so drunk that you don’t remember anything. Happy Hangover Day!
I am the worst blogger ever. And I can live with that.
First of all, I have been super sick. Like the kind of sick where stuff comes out of your face at a faster rate than you can dispose of it. At one point, I thought I might be losing brain matter by way of my right nostril. I am feeling better, aside from a nagging headache and the desire to sleep every day away. After almost an entire week in bed, I spent a good night watching They Might Be Giants at the Freebird. I drank beer and flirted with an inappropriate boy because it seemed like it would be amusing (oh, and it WAS, internet). Honestly, I was just so over being stuck in the house that I just wanted to get out of and feel like a human being. Something about They Might Be Giants makes me feel human. Super-human, even. Party Boy, Rack and I stood close enough to the stage to snap pictures with our phones and almost get spit on. Which was pretty rad. (This may not seem enjoyable, but something about being that close to the stage makes the spit part not really matter. Seriously, Billie Joe Armstrong spit on me once at a Green Day show and I was elated.) St. Patrick’s Day turned into the debaucherous event that it is supposed to be, complete with the Psycho Rasta, one of the Nude Dudes, and Spliff’s stalker. Fortunately for her, since she wasn’t there with us, her stalker bought me a bunch of shots and followed me around babbling about how he handled things all wrong with her. I narrowly escaped his clutches when he had to use the restroom and I went and hid behind a big banner until I was sure he wouldn’t find me. I was, however, prepared for the level of ridiculousness that was about to ensue and had the forethought to drop my car off at Party Boy’s job and hand over the keys after beer number 2. See? I am responsible! I ended up leaving the festivities after being gifted a new piece of jewelry from Anthony, paying for ONE drink, searching for a lost camera, and then watching one of the only black men at the bar attempt to do an Irish jig and then giving up and doing The Butterfly instead (Ahem…Anthony).
Also, for the second time in my drinking career, I have used the men’s bathroom at The Regal Beagle. First, let me simply say…Fucking. Ew, ya’ll. EW. But the fact of the matter is, I had to pee. I had been searching for a lost camera for well over an hour and the line to the ladies room had become unbearably long and full of bitches who were far girlier than I and would probably spend more time standing in front of the ONE sink so that no one can even get INSIDE, let alone into a stall. Anyway, the last time I had to use the men’s room there, I almost punched some fucker who started yelling at me because I had no other choice (the ladies’ room was broken), the argument ended when I told him to go fuck himself and skipped him in line. I really sort of did think he was going to hit me, so you can see why I was hesitant to try this again. But I did. And mostly, the guys thought it was hilarious. They didn’t attempt to hide their junk from view (which I kind of wish they had…because let’s face it, penises are ugly.) and no one yelled at me for being bold and not caring that I had different equipment. I actually gained a green hat and some swigs of Jamesons from a flask. Yeah. So, I was popular in the men’s room…but not like that, get your heads out of the gutter.
I did, however, end up leaving around 9. You know that you are having a successful holiday if you are drunk enough to have to leave the party before the sun is even completely gone. So, mission accomplished. Hope you all had a lot of green beer and Jamesons whiskey from a flask of a boy from Minnesota. (Thanks, Boy From Minnesota, you made my day a little bit brighter…or…drunker anyway.)
