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.)  

Day 21: A Song You Listen to When You're Happy

I have gained a lot of experience in finding and maintaining the happy place over the past few years. For one thing, my job is sort of depressing. And secondly, I work with Spliffany. Happy songs help prevent me from committing homicide. I had a hard time picking a specific song for this because, typically, as long as there IS music, I am happy. But as I was sitting at my depressing little desk in my depressing little office this morning, listening to the iPod and trying to drown out Spliffany’s annoyingly loud voice from her morning ritual where she talks for a straight hour to everyone in the office, one at a time, about things that no one cares about, (You can see why a happy place is important, no?) a song that makes me do a little desk-dancing came on. Instantly, I felt a little less punchy! Voila!

I chose, “Everybody’s Got Their Something” by Nikka Costa. Ironically, Spliffany introduced me to Nikka Costa in the first place. But that’s not Nikka’s fault. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have serious desk-dancing to do.

Day Seventeen: A Song that You Dance To

I am just going to say right now that I am not a big dancer. I need a couple of cocktails and some pretty significant motivation before you will catch me on a dance floor. Motivation usually equals a really good song and a cute boy. For dancing though, a really good song, almost always has to be reggae. Reggae is the only music I can dance to with confidence that I don’t look like a I have some sort of disorder that causes uncontrollable twitching. So, for today, I chose, Beres Hammond’s  “Rock Away”.

It reminds me a lot of the days when I liked hanging out with Spliffany. (You know, before I knew she was actually the anti-christ). A lot of good times were had, drinking and dancing to reggae on Sunday afternoons at our favorite bar overlooking the ocean.

Day Twelve: A Song by a Band That You Hate

Oh, man, internet. I think I have mentioned before how much I loathe (and yes, I mean LOATHE) Bedouin Soundclash. There was no question that I would have to use this band for my “band that you hate”. (I hate you, Whiny Bedouin Soundclash guy!)

I picked, “When the Night Feels My Song” because I might hate it the absolute most. I didn’t mind it for a long time, but then it seeped its way through my bedroom walls 35 times a day and became Spliff’s ringtone and seemed to be everywhere (even at work, because she keeps her phone on “annoyingly loud ring” all day) and I couldn’t escape. And this has not changed. (I dare you. Check it out. If I ever meet this guy, I will flick him in the forehead like in that episode of “Friends”.)

Curses, Bedouin Soundclash!

Day Five: A Song that Reminds You of Someone

I am little behind, internet, due to a crazy busy weekend wherein I did not even turn on my computer. Except when, at the direction of Spliff (and a week of constant nagging), I watched a Youtube video called “Guilty Dog”. Which was sort of a waste of the few minutes that it took. But I digress….

So, the thing about music for me (and I am sure it is similar for all of you as well) is that almost EVERY song reminds me of something, whether it be an event or a person or whatever, so these next couple of posts shouldn’t be too hard for me.

Forgive me for getting all country on your asses though, because I can’t help it. These are the rules and these are my songs…

So, for Day 5, I picked, “She Don’t Tell Me To” by Montgomery Gentry. Now, I am not a fan of Montgomery Gentry (nor would I know another of their songs if it jumped up and bit me on the arse), but this song reminds me of ZH.  He played it for me when he picked me up from the airport when I flew into Seattle and I, at first, thought he had lost his mind for making me listen to such ridiculousness. But then, over the course of the couple of weeks I was there, I started to love it. And it has nothing to do with the song. But it has everything to do with ZH being adorable and sensitive and awesome. I get a little sentimental, internet, I can’t lie.

On Being In Love (Alternately Titled: On Being So Effing Happy and Smiling So Much That Your Face Shatters into Tiny Pieces and Then You Hate Your Faceless Self for Being Such a Girl)

(Disclaimer: This could get mushy.)

I am not the kind of girl, internet, who falls in love fast and hard for every guy she dates. But I have been around the block a few times and I have experienced some earth shattering love (and some that was more like saying, “I will pretend to love this guy until something much better comes along, at which time, I will crush his little heart and move on.” I know, it is cruel, but I don’t do it consciously. It isn’t until after it is over that I realize what I have been doing. You know you are guilty of it too, internet, stop frontin’.) My previous relationships have all been significant in some way but they haven’t all been exactly…right. And there are a couple that I won’t even mention because I am still, to this day, trying to figure out what I was thinking…And that’s okay, I think we all know which one is at the top of that list, so…no surprises here!

I’ve always maintained that I am independent and kind of a hard-ass skeptic when it comes to relationships. I want my space and I want to run the show. (Duh.) And usually, that is exactly how it goes. (Coincidence? I think not.) The guys I date normally fall into the same kind of category. Soft-spoken, shy, kind, usually artistic, witty, smart and, most importantly, let me have my way (and it helps if they are tall…just sayin’.) Thing Two fits in here perfectly (not to mention that he is effing hilarious) and I never once noticed. I just never looked at him that way (nor him at me). Which, lets face it, could have been because I was busy making sure that Spliff didn’t do irreparable damage to his ego or it could have been because I was busy having a crush on Thing One. After Spliff ripped him to pieces, I couldn’t see him as anything as “another one of my friends that Spliff treated like shit”. So, I stayed friends with him for awhile and then we just stopped talking. But back then, I saw him like an annoying little brother and I didn’t really care if we were friends or not.

Then we got back into touch. And there was a pool party and a gay bar and then he tried to kiss me and I laughed at him. And now here we are. And I’ve never been happier. And he isn’t the same person he was back then. And neither am I. And there is no Spliff. And we have a really awesome apartment and we share everything. And yes, internet, I love him. Madly. Profoundly. Intensely. And I can’t imagine anything possibly being any better. (Except, you know, if I lost the ten pounds I have gained while being in the “I’m so effing happy” stage of this whole thing…yikes. Rant: Why can’t you LOSE weight when you are super happy? Why do you have to get super fat? Why does everything awesome make you fat? Like mozzarella sticks? Why? End rant.) And honestly, I am excited every day to get to go home to him and every day I am a little less surprised that he is so amazing. And now I just wonder why it took us so long, why I couldn’t have pushed Thing One and Spliffany out of our way and just gotten straight to the good stuff. I guess it had to happen this way for it to work. Because back then he was coming into my room wearing a bra in the morning saying, “Why don’t you take your shirt off and make some coffee?” and now…well, I might actually be doing just that. It pays to be patient. And to think, if he hadn’t had that one last beer after I laughed at him for trying to kiss me, he may not have tried again. And THEN where would we be?

New Directions (and Pie)

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.

On Sucking it Up

So, tomorrow is Rackamonie's birthday. Last year on his birthday, Spliff, Tony, Rack and I were on our way to good old New Orleans. We had a really good time, but I knew that my friendship with Spliffany was over months before that. This year, things are much different. I don't like Spliffany. I have realized that and I am okay with it and everyone is a better person for it. But then there's Rack. Who wants nothing more to spend his birthday with his two best friends and not have to worry that one of them (me) will stab the other one (her) in the neck with a fork. (I will not stab anyone in the neck with a fork unless they attack me first with a set of chopsticks or something. I swear.) I agreed to meet them for lunch, in a moment of weakness when Spliffany wasn't annoying the bejesus out of me. And then I immediately regretted ever doing so.


Yes. I do want to give my dear friend Rack whatever he wants for his birthday. And this is something that he wants because he has missed being able to hang out with both of us at the same time. And yes, I think I can handle a couple of hours and a meal with her (without any fork stabbing). But do I want to? Hecky naw. I want to tell Rack that I will take him on a hot air balloon ride or buy him a pony if he doesn't make me do it, but...then a part of me says, "Come on! Suck it up. How bad can it be? After all, you lived under the same roof for seven years!" And then the other part of me says, "But she is a horrible person and you can't stand the sound of her voice!" I don't know which part of me is going to win, but the internal battle is ugly.

I just need to think about Rack. And how good of a friend he has been. And how he deserves whatever he wants. And how I am a bigger person than this. And that I can look past everything for a few hours.

I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

Doppelganger?

So, as most of you know, Spliff and I lived together for about 7 years. We have known each other since we were 15 or 16 and when I decided to move to the beach, she packed up her stuff and headed north and that's where it all began. Naturally, living together for so long, we rubbed off on each other. We used the same slang, inflections, and often spoke in unison. This was all sort of expected when you are around someone so much. Coupled with the fact that we were both blondes with blue eyes and were rarely spotted independently from one another, people sometimes got us confused. In the grocery store people would ask if we were sisters, sometimes even if we were TWINS. Neither of us ever really understood that, because we are OBVIOUSLY very different. For instance, I am taller, and just generally bigger. My eyes are dark blue and my hair is a natural blonde where Spliff's eyes are the lightest blue and her hair has always been blonder because it is dyed. I have freckles and pale skin and Spliff is tan and unafraid of skin cancer. These might not seem like obvious things to just any regular Joe who just met us. But they are big differences to us. I am not saying I don't get it. People are dumb and the two of us have similarities.


When we started working together, we weren't shocked at all that our office-mates couldn't tell us apart. And even though I had been here six weeks before she started and thought that there was no way that this would be an issue, it was. And we thought it was pretty funny and could have easily taken advantage of it, but we didn't. We calmly and patiently accepted that nothing had changed and that we would be confused for a while until people learned our personalities and, you know, what we LOOKED like. And eventually, people started to figure it out. Gradually, people got to know us and could tell us apart.

We are rarely ever together outside of work anymore, but at work functions people we have to schmooze with still ask, "Are you sisters? You look alike!" And even though it is frustrating, it is still sort of funny that even now, with Spliff dying her hair brown, closer to her natural color and her bizarre obsession with skinny jeans and her glasses, people still get confused. But those are people who have never seen us before.

I have suspected for a long time that one woman in our office still hadn't figured it out. Up until about two weeks ago, Spliff's desk was directly next to mine, so when N needed us, she would walk over, say one of our names and wait to see who turned around. Every time it happened, I would point it out to whoever was around and say, "See? I still don't think she knows which one of us is which!" But I was never sure. Until today.

Today, after I have been with this company exactly 2 years, 7 months and 4 days, I asked Norma to locate something for me so that I could take care of it. She read the email I sent and didn't respond. I assumed this was because she was trying to locate said document and would get back with me if/when she found it. No. Twenty minutes later, Spliff placed the document I requested in my hands and said, "This was on my desk and I have no idea why." Yes. That's right, internet. She thought Spliffany was me. Still. After almost three years of seeing us on a daily basis, she still has no idea which one of us is which.

I find this offensive. From now on, I am calling her Judy.

Reasons to be Punchy

, thThis week has been a disaster, internet. It has taken everything I have not to kick people in the teeth, or like, hit them with my car. But I have reasons, internet. Oh yes, I have reasons.

1.The Office Nazi has started the Christmas music extravaganza wherein she blasts crappy choir music or Celine Dion's Christmas Disaster all day. Every day. Until Christmas (or someone straps her to her chair and rolls her down the two flights of stairs in the hallway).  The only Christmas music I like is Bing Crosby. (Or the RENT soundtrack, because it CAN be considered Christmas music because it takes place ON or AROUND Christmas. It counts.)

2. There have been several staff changes in my office over the last couple of weeks. What used to be a well-oiled machine has turned into a wild and crazy clusterfuck. This is due, mostly in part, to the lovely and charming Spliffany. It seems that, when she accepted a new position replacing Han (who is moving back home to Hotlanta), it was discovered that, not only is Spliff incapable of doing her new job, but she doesn't appear to have ever been capable of doing her OLD one. Han has been training the new girl and finding all sorts of ridiculous stuff that hasn't been done and having to put out all the fires. And then, of course, promptly every evening, calling me to bitch about Spliff's ineptitude. Thus, making me punchier.

3. Tuesday. Tuesday could possibly have been the worst work day I have had in, ohhhhh, about my entire adult life. Combined with Spliff's idiocy, the new girl's training (the jury is still out on whether she is a slow-learner, a victim of Spliff's inability to effectively train, or in fact she is an imbicile...perhaps a combo?) Han's frustration with the aforementioned and with the sheer VOLUME of work that passed over my desk, I felt that my head would pop off of my body as a red, firey ball of fury. I made it home. But, then...

4. The Flat Tire. Okay. Yes, I know that it is my responsibility as a car owner to make sure that my tires are not low and are functional and have...you know...rubber on them. But, I drive 4 miles per day. Period. When the tire is low, I fill it up with air and then I go on about my day. Or I don't fill it up with air, have the worst day ever, and then pull into my driveway only to discover that said tire has been demolished. Luckily, Thing Two knows how to take a tire off and replace it with the donut. Which then, of course, would also be flat.  SERIOUSLY luckily that the dude at the Tire Kingdom near my house let me have a used tire and mounted it for TEN BUCKS. Saving me the evergy of a homicidal rampage. Then I drank way too much wine and went to bed.

5. It is effing COLD outside. Fuuuuuuck.

That is all.

Abbrev. and Fishing

Alright. I am seriously ready for the weekend, people. I can't take it anymore. If Spliff adds an "s" to a word that doesn't need an "s" on it (i.e. yums or nopes) one more time, my head is going to explode. And I haven't even touched on the irritating and unneccessary abbreviating today (i.e. ridick = ridiculous, inapprope = inappropriate). It is like she has morphed into a second grade version of Paris Hilton. Vomit.



Thing Two and I (and various other people) have been spending our weekends in St. Augustine at my step-dad's place on the river which has been awesome...but it has this tendency to make the weeks seem ENDLESS and the weekends so effing short. It has been a lot of fun though. I mean, seriously, who doesn't like boozing it up while fishing for your own dinner (that you have no idea how to prepare because not only is it alive but it is slimey)?



What you must know about me is that I will do most anything if I am allowed a glass of wine while I am doing it. Grocery shopping would be much more enjoyable, work would be a lot more fun but wildly inappropriate in my line of work (read: ridick inapprope), Math might even be a little more bearable, you get the point. Anyway, in fishing, drinking is acceptable. And actually required, as it were. What you should know about TT is that he is a very tall, kind of clumsy thing who had never caught a fish before in his life and being the man in this scenario, it should have been understood that (since I would be drunk) he would be doing manly things. Like? Taking fish off of hooks and doing gross things with them later to prepare them for becoming his drunk girlfriend's delicious dinner. This SHOULD have been understood. It seems, however, that none of this had crossed his mind before it became necessary.




(To be continued...)

Spring has Sprung

Well, internet, more than halfway through the week and not only am I still exhausted but I am insanely bored. Work has been rather uneventful this week. You know, aside from the constant Spliff chatter and/or cackle which I have, about 90% of the time, been able to drown out with my iPod, "Shabuta Jenkins 2.0". The only plans I have for the entire week include a trip to check out a new gym and, you know, to drink a lot of flat beer at Springing in the Blues.

There is talk of Randular coming in to town to celebrate Spring or Blues or...you know...beer, but plans have not been finalized. Part of me is super excited to see him because it has been too long and another part of me is just hoping that he does not want to stay with me because I really need to take up the whole bed and sleep as late as I want. And while Randular is not a massive person, he takes up more of the bed than...none of the bed. And he gets up really early. And I, for the life of me, do not understand early-risers. (Why do you people DO this?! And don't say "internal alarm clock" because that doesn't even make sense. Nature would not have you wake up at ungodly hours like you do. New excuse.)

Randular or no Randular though, I plan to spend most of my weekend, relaxing in the grass, flat beer in hand, taking in some blues music and being glad that my toes aren't frozen. Welcome Springtime. I have missed you.

Some Thoughts on Disrespect

Alright, internet, I promise to drop the Spliff talk after this. (Maybe, it really is the most annoying thing going on in my life right now, and what would I do if I didn't share it with you? Explode? Possibly.)

The situation is this, evidently. On Monday, after speaking with a few people about a trip to North Carolina to visit some family and some friends there who all live in different places, I requested off some dates in August. Among those dates is Spliff's 30th Birthday. Okay, now maybe I should have thought about this before agreeing to the dates, but I really didn't think about it much because we can both be out of the office at the same time and have been before, so you know, it really doesn't make any difference at all. Right? No. Absolutely NOT right.

She tells me today that I was "disrespectful" by requesting her birthday off. Because you know, she MIGHT want to go out of town. "Or something." Really? So I offered to reschedule so as not to anger it. She did the passive-aggressive stupid BS that she always does and said, "No, don't cancel it, it doesn't matter." Clearly. When things don't matter, naturally, you have a temper tantrum and refuse to speak to people. I mean, isn't that the way everyone handles stuff?

Oh. Really? Only 12-year-olds do that?

Good to know.

So then I get to thinking, internet, about why requesting time off is ever disrespectful I mean, every day is someone's birthday. But usually other things are happening too. Like things that aren't about you. Right? I mean, I am correct here? Other things happen?

Well, that's what I thought.

So then I started thinking some more, internet, about some other things. Disrespect, in general.

I didn't share this little tidbit before because it is a little more personal than I care to get on the interweb, but I think it is an appropriate example of disrespect. Ahem...

A couple of months ago, actually, the day that Spliff and I had the talk about living UN-together, a few friends came over. Among them, internet, was a guy that I had been seeing very casually for the past few weeks. She was aware of this, proceded to get retarded drunk and throw herself at him. Now, he is a moron and I knew that I didn't want anything serious with him. But this is not a free pass to get drunk and practically attempt to swallow him in my very own living room. Is it? I mean, it isn't...right?

You must understand here, do I like this guy? No. Was I upset with him? No. Was that shit disrespectful? HELL YES. And he is an idiot dude and I have known him WAY long enough to know what to expect from him, but her? Really? Did I stop talking to her and throw a temper tantrum? No. Did I have a reason to? Yeah, I think I did. I should have probably just punched her in the throat right then and there, but I am an adult. Imagine that.

Now internet, I would like to to take what I have just told you into consideration and tell me which of these scenarios is more disrespectful. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Serenity and the Cosmos

Well, internet, I am finally settled into my new apartment. I have to say, it feels really good to be on my own again. Someone asked me the other day if I was lonely now that I don't have Spliffany around and my answer? Hells no. I mean, is it quiet without the blaring Bedouin Soundclash? Yes. But in the best possible way.

 

I am still in that stage in the game where I don't want to leave the house. I want to stay home and enjoy my solitude. I don't want to have anyone over. I don't want to go out. I just want to be there. With my cat.  I remember this stage from the last time that I lived alone. I wanted to eat up every second of the solitude.  The newness of the place itself combined with the strange sound of silence is sort of intoxicating. It feels like freedom. And I like it.

 

Of course, it doesn't help that work is driving me insane.  More and more, I feel like I am back at my last job. And my last job, internet, might as well have been in Hell. But we won't get into that, internet, not today. All I will tell you is that I believe in Karma, and I truly hope that someone gets bitch-slapped by it very soon. Actually, I have a list of people who need a good bitch-slap.

 

But I digress...

 

My point here is, internet, that I am uber-happy in the new apartment and am looking forward to witnessing some karmic bitch-slaps. That is all for now.

 

Crizzle, OUT.

 

The Move (and some other stuff...)

Guess what, internet! I am free! That's right, the move is complete. There are still a few items that have been left behind for the time being while I get things situated in the new place enough that I have some idea where the rest of everything will go, but for the most part? Move = over.

 

Some things of note:

 

1. I love, love, LOVE the color I chose for the place. Love. Come to think of it. It is sort of the same color as this blog. Hmmmm...

 

2. Spliffany was very helpful. In fact, while everyone carried boxes and boxes down the stairs and loaded them into the truck, she relaxed in the sun on the porch.  I half expected to see people fanning her and feeding her grapes. She is lovely. Or she is a huge bitch. I will leave that for you to decide, my friends. (In her defense, she honestly cannot be bothered with such things as helping a sista out, seeing as she has to spend 99.9% of her time obsessing over a boy and trying to get skin cancer. So, you can see where there would be no time for...you know...much else. But I digress.)

 

3. Tony and my uncle Paul rocked my face off with all their help. Unk even bought me some groceries and dinner at Carrabba's! Woot! I will never turn down some chicken parm, ya'll. I just can't do it.

 

4. I came in to work this morning to discover that half of the office has pneumonia. Fantastic!

 

5. I have woken up at 4am consistently for the last week. I am really not sure what is happening to me. This morning, I actually got to work an hour and 45 minutes before I was scheduled to be here. Something is terribly wrong.

 

Come to think of it, I should probably be working. Pictures of the new place to follow!

 

 

 

End of an Era

Well, internet, the decision has been made. Spliff and I are breaking up.  (I almost put an exclamation point here, but I don't think this is the correct way to start this. You know, I would like to get across the fact that this is a very somber [!!!] occasion. ) We spoke a couple of weeks ago and have decided to go our separate ways. (Which, of course, translates to: I get to look for an apartment and move out while she attempts to pay the full rent on her own.)  This, honestly, was a long time coming and we have both wanted to bring it up, but weren't really sure how. The truth is, as much as I love having her in my life, she is really in too much of my life. Most of the time I feel like I can't breathe. Now I know what you are thinking, Internet, and I assure you, it was like this before we started working together.  And although I can see her face every second of every single day, I rarely speak to her at work. (However, I am currently looking at her.) Either way, the decision was made and I am...a lot of things...

 

1. I feel great about being on my own again. Before Spliff came back to town, when I was living alone in my fantastic apartment in town, I was so happy. I loved being able to get up on Saturday morning and read. No noise. No people crashed out on the couch, unless I invited them to be crashed out there. No ridiculously loud Bedouin Soundclash (who I HATE...) always blaring all over the place. So, I am looking forward to going back to that happy place. And I am looking forward to getting back into writing here...and just in general and I feel like I am MUCH more likely to do that when my environment changes.

 

2. I am terrified about whether or not I am going to be able to get all of this money together in such a short amount of time and I am freaking out a little. You know...and I still have no idea where I am moving TO, just that I am, indeed, moving. As soon as humanly possible.

 

3. I am impatient as hell. Now that I know we are doing this, I want to do it yesterday. I hate going home now and as soon as I get there, I want to find somewhere else to be. It is getting a little out of control, I must say. I would have my shit out of that place in an hour if that were when the new place was ready.

 

Even with all the excitement (and elation) that I am feeling, it still is (a little) bittersweet. Spliff is family to me. Hell, in some states, I believe we would be considered married by now. It will be weird to see her at work every day but not at home. And it will be weird to watch the trash TV that we are both hooked on while I am at my place and she is at hers.  But I can get used to that. As much fun as it is to have a partner in crime, I think I'd actually prefer...not to. At least not all the time. I think I'd much prefer a part-time partner in crime.

 

So that's the state of affairs, Internet. (Casper. I blogged something. I hope it takes you a month to read this.)

 

 

A Very Merry...30th Birthday?

Yes, internet, it is true. My twenties have ended and I have ventured into the dreaded thirties...

This year, The Idiot, Spliffany, Tony and I decided to take a trip to New Orleans for the Christmas holiday in order to a) boycott the Christmas holiday and b) celebrate my thirtieth birthday.

We saw Jackson Square, we ate crazy good cajun food, we drank Hurricanes on Bourbon Street and, of course, we saw some pole dancing at the Hustler Club. Because, that's how we roll. And really, in a place where there is some sort of sex-related store every fifteen steps, you can't avoid a strip club. Especially with two boys.

Some memorable points:
1. Amanda from AZ. Our first night in NOLA, while sitting at a really strange bar, we met her. She was awesome and instantly became our friend. We danced, we did shots, we ran around like morons! Love her!

2. The Cafe du Monde. We became covered in powdered sugar and were serenaded by street performers. Delish. It is shameful that I only visit once every 7 years.

3. Jambalaya omelets. Holy effing goodness, batman! I am totally a fan.

4. Getting stuck in the rain in front of the Jackson Brewery. WOOHOO!

5. Felix's. Best. Oysters. EVER. I found a pearl! (And thought that either I had lost a tooth or was trying to eat the ball from the bottom of my tongue ring!)

6. Hurricanes. You think you can handle them. You are wrong. They are insane!

7. Hot dogs from street vendors. These rival the Orange Tree. Seriously.

8. Andres. Nuff said.

9. Beads! And all I had to do was say it was my birthday! Honest!

10. The band at Sing, Sing! OMG. The best time ever!

11. Christmas morning Mimosas! We came prepared with three bottles of bubbly!

12. Being drunk walking down Decatur Street at noon on Christmas Day, trying to locate an open FOOD ESTABLISHMENT.

13. Chili Cheese Dog Pizza! Woot!

14. Harrah's Casino. Except that the only Wheel of Fortune machine they have is a $25 one! WHAT?!

15. Meyer the Hatter. We spent most of our time RIGHT HERE.

16. African food! Yummmmm!

17. Hand Grenades!

18. Tony becoming a street perfomer in Jackson Square.

19. The Olde Absinthe House! Absinthe is gross, ya'll. But the place was completely awesome. We sat by the fire and listened to Michael Jackson! Christmas Eve NOLA style!

20. The Funky Pirate!

That sums up a lot of the trip. It was such an amazing Christmas without the drama. I can honestly say that this is the first time in a very, very long time that having a birthday on Christmas Day did not suck ass! NOLA next Christmas, anyone?!

A Shower with No Water.

So, I think that everyone on the planet knows how I feel about weddings, baby showers, bridal showers and anything that involves a bunch of giggling and/or mushy shit...so you might be surprised to know that I attended LBG's bridal shower over the weekend and did not puke. In fact, I didn't even WANT to puke. (This is HUGE for me!)

 

For starters, LBG and I have been friends since we were 12, so I obviously enjoy hanging out with her and we don't get much time to do that these days, so naturally, I couldn't NOT go.  Secondly, I got to see a bunch of people that I haven't seen in ages and carve a penis out of a cucumber! How can you not have fun while watching all of your friends create penis art? 

 

I wasn't sure what to expect when I was asked to bring 1) a broom, 2) a pair of underwear, and 3) nail polish remover. In fact, the only one of those items that was of any use, was my black lace thong...and that was only useful for a minute when LBG was guessing who belonged to which underwear and insisting that mine was belonged to Jess. 

 

Normally, any party involving that many chicks and no boys is not my cup of tea, but in all fairness, there were two boys there, they just happened to be gay boys. So...they counted. Sort of.  Either way, we got to wrap LBG up in a dress made up entirely of toilet paper (to which she says to me, "This probably isn't even the first time you have done this to me"...because, lets be honest...Just because I don't remember wrapping my best friend in toilet paper, doesn't mean it hasn't happened.) Jess and I took home a lot of prizes because of her penis carving skills along with her mastery of other bridal shower games.  (These games are strange, internet. At one point, I was standing in a front yard in the middle of the afternoon with pantyhose tied around my waist with limes in the foot part, swinging them around trying to knock stuff over...Yes. This was the object of the game. I was not just doing that because I felt like it.)

 

I am super glad, though, that I did not get pulled over on the way home because the array of weird shit I had on my person and in my car, would have surely caused questions.

 

Ahem...

1. The thong in my purse.

2. Queso dip.

3. A broom.

4. Two sandwiches.

5. Something called "Orgasmic Teardrop". (You will have to use your imagination for this because, well...I don't really want to get into it with you, internet, we are not that kind of friends.)*

6. A teapot. (and tea)

7. An air freshener.

8. A candle.

9. Nail polish remover and cotton balls.

10. Banana Now and Laters.

 

When I got home and emptied the contents of my purse and bag out onto the table, I thought Spliff was going to fall down. (Mostly because of the Orgasmic Teardrop...but...you know...) That is how you know that you have had a successful day. Right there.

 

*I don't carry it around in my purse, okay....it was a PRIZE, you perverts.

 

Lessons Learned (or not...)

Well, internet, I have managed this week to avoid sleeping almost completely.  I can't remember the last time I fell asleep before midnight. I think it was sometime in the mid-nineties. At least, that is what it feels like.

 

Between JGJ's visit, being abducted by Mak, Spliff's birthday and what are turning into really, really long conversations with my old high school crush (who I have decided to name V-Dub because he had a VW Beetle when we were in high school and I loved that car), I have been averaging 4-5 hours of sleep per night. If I am lucky. I've been having a lot of fun. I just wake up to find that there is literally not enough coffee in the entire state to wake me up.  (I have been considering mainlining.)

 

Yesterday was Spliff's 29th birthday so we got the gang together and headed out to dinner at Taco Lu.  (Margaritas, YAY!) I did the obligatory, buying of the birthday shot of Patron and Spliff did the obligatory, wincing routine after taking it like a champ.  And then there were vodka drinks. And then there were more vodka drinks. And then there was this shot that might have been Robitussin.  It was some sort of clear, grapey weirdness that nearly killed us. And then, you know, for good measure, we got beer and went home where Spliff devoured a bag of potato chips and left a trail all the way down the hallway and I, of course, stayed up until 3am drinking beer and talking to V-Dub.  (I think that name fits quite nicely.) Stupid, stupid, stupid.  I just don't learn.

 

So, this morning, I woke up to  the tragic realization that I had forgotten to set the timer on the coffee pot so it sat there. Empty and sad. But next to my empty coffee pot was a note from Spliff which read:  "Stal, I think I noshed on your orange chips last night. I hate myself."  This is funny for several reasons. First, the fact that she "thought" she noshed on the "orange chips" was funny but the funnier part was that the trail of chips in the hallway? A totally different kind from a totally different bag, which are now completely gone. That, my friends, is what we call the "drunchies".

 

Right now, Spliff, Han and I are sitting in the office hating ourselves. One of us from lack of sleep (me), one from the hangover from hell (Spliff) and one from the embarassment of a drunk dial (Han).  In fact, I just got an email with the subject "machine gun" and in the subject, just one word.  "Face".

 

We are having a lovely day, internet. I sort of want to die.

A couple of things...

Realizations:

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.

That is all.