It's crazy how things change. How you take a step down a path and somehow end up sucked into a whirlwind of life and chaos and laughter and tears and before you know it everything's different. Not always better, but different.
Like how one morning you wake up and you are living in Michigan and you've met this great guy who stimulates you in every EVERY way and things are awesome and you can somehow let yourself believe that you won't be found half eaten by your cat alone in a studio apartment in the shitty part of town, surrounded by cat food tins.
And then you wake up and the guy is telling you he's not sure what he wants anymore and he doesn't know what he's doing with his life so he doesn't want to do this anymore. And then you realize you are stuck in Michigan and it's freezing cold and you don't have any friends and you kind of hate it here.
Give me five reasons to get on that plane tomorrow, I said. Give me five reasons and the job and my cat don't count. The artist played funny. "Come back or this apple gets it" he said, & sent me a photo of a half-eaten red delicious. Then, "I haven't seen Fubar yet".
The Couchsurfer put in some effort. "We still need to make furniture together". "Berro (my girl) will be sad".
Only one person, though, had the one answer that I wanted, no, needed to hear. "You have to come back. You would be missed". Somehow, Mace always *always* knows.
"So anyway, blah blah blah. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I know I'm just some random chick you met on the internet, but I hope you think of me as a friend, and know that I'm here for you."
"I do think of you as my friend. That is a fact. I feel like I can trust you, and am totally comfortable talking to you, which is clear because of the nonsense that's come out of my mouth during this conversation".
Vero says I'm just trying to deny my feelings. I don't want to like him, but I do. I know he's hooking up with other people. He's told me. I keep trying to do the same but I just don't want to. I can't help it. I'm distracted, fascinated, overwhelmed by the fact that my face hurts from laughing so much after we spend time together. I hate this. Why can't I just let it be?
It's six am. I'm awake. I drank 2+ bottles of wine last night and I'm awake. Plus my facebook account is temporarily unavailable. Maybe the rapture did happen, despite the fact that the BBC is still there? And only Mark Zuckerberg was raptured?
MY FACEBOOK ACCOUNT IS UNAVAILABLE, YOU GUYS.
I'm actually supposed to be going hiking with the artist today. Yup, it's a day-date. I mean, we did that other day-date once before where we were supposed to go do fun things in the park and ended up doing a bike pub crawl all over town, but this is kind of the first non-alcohol related thing we've planned. Even though I might take sangria in my water bottle instead of water, 'cause that's kinda how I roll. I'm not actually sure when we are going, though, 'cause he went all radio silent last night which I guess means he was exercising his right to eff other people, and then sent a cryptic garbled message which kind of made me think that "other people" is actually code for "lots of hallucinogenic drugs". So I'm not sure how to approach it and more importantly I'm not sure whether or not I'm going to get laid.
What I am sure of is that if *he's* effing other people (and when I say "other people" I do mean "other people") then I need to do it too, so I re-activated my OKC account last night and laid a little groundwork for some whoring around. Shit - what if the rapture is yet to come and I just totally blew my chances? God, if you are listening, I didn't mean "whoring around" I meant "meet someone wholesome and saintly and just hold hands across a very wide table until we are united in holy matrimony". Or something.
Ug I'm having trouble with the whole 'sleep through the night' thing again... I've been waking up at my usual time (2.30 - 3) and lying here obsessing about my state of eyes open 'til five am or so.
Not a big deal right now, but shit it sucks during the week. "Madness fills my heart and soul as if the great divide could swallow me whole.. oh how I'm breaking down"
So last night I had a girly date with my work bff - we went for cheep ass old school italian then hit up the adult superstore right next door. We ended up waiting for our table forEVER and amused ourselves by conducting a catty text message conversation about life, love, and mostly the other diners. As we were seated she said that I should text the artist and tell him she insisted he join us, so I did. She's never met him, you see, and jokes that I am actually making him up. He was out in the burbs but said he'd call when he got to his ultimate destination so that we could meet up with him... so when we moved on to *our* next spot I sent him a note. No response. Then when we were leaving to head home sent him another to find out what was up. Still no response. Of course I get pissed off. I've never dated a guy so NOT INTERESTED in seeing me. Like even the couchsurfer (unless he's balls deep in another female) texts me back within a couple of minutes. I don't get it.
Anyway, when I woke up 45min or so ago I noticed that he'd replied - lay down on his bed for a few min and passed out. Woke up after midnight in all his clothes. Acceptable, I suppose, but shit I hate the way it made me feel.
Quite possibly the best text message I've ever sent: "OK look, if it's really that important to you, we can use herring in the Viking games. It's gotta be external application only, though, and I'm standing firm on the no-Oakenfold".
There's a whole preamble to that, of course, but, seriously, why bother? Everything you need to know about the conversation can be summed up in those couple of sentences.
So last night I started a part time job. 'Cause, let's not kid, I'm chronically underpaid and am having a *LOT* of trouble adjusting to my newfound (you know, since October or so) limited means. It's just gonna be a couple of nights a week, but it'll put some shoe money in my pocket and cut back on the nights when I'm sitting at home watching Top Chef re-runs drinking $3 Malbec.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. *ahem*
Tonight was the first night of a class I'm taking for work. It's a pain b/c it's 3hrs right after work every Tuesday for 12 weeks, which I'm sure will get old quick, but at the same time I'm excited to be back in a classroom (even if it is work stuff, not interesting stuff). Anyhoo, between the class and the new job and the old job I'm setting myself up to be pretty busy. I like that. I don't want to be available anymore.
So there's a bit of a tradition here in the sundae sanatorium that we like to refer to as 'pants-off / dance-off', which is to say that I like to spend a lot of pants-free time in my apartment, usually half cut on cheap red wine, dancing around in the semi-dark whilst my cat looks on with scorn.
I've got a pretty good list of songs that make the PO/DO cut, but the most recent is a remix of a Two Door Cinema Club track that I really heart, so I'll leave it with you: Two Door Cinema Club - Something Good Can Work (RAC Mix) by RAC
---------
The artist is in vegas for work this weekend. And when I say 'work' I mean he spent Friday taking pictures of models and yesterday by the pool drinking. How do *I* catch that particular employment train, is what I want to know? Anyhoo, we seem to be spending a lot of weekends in different cities, lately, so at some point or another I started sending him semi-naked pictures of myself as punishment. When I was in TDot last weekend for the lil' brother's wedding, he sent me some back, though he's not as comfortable with the genre as me. Thank you, bloggity, for removing all sense of shame regarding internet nudity. Anyhoo, the first two pics he sent me this weekend were of the cheesy porn 'stache he grew for Vegas. I promptly photoshopped his head onto Inigo Montoya and Ron Jeremy and sent them back. I then began lobbying for pictures of him naked *and* vomitting (it's Vegas after all) but no love - just a kind of hot 1am mirror shot of him dressed and ready for bottle service at a strip club. Fingers crossed that lap dance shots are forthcoming.
---------------
On a separate but not-unrelated note, a couple of days ago I get a text from someone in my phone named M, asking if I want to get together on the weekend for a drink. Now, for some reason, in my head I thought it was the M who's a friend of my friend the sushi chef. He gave me a ride from the airport the other day, which was super nice of him. Anyhoo, I was kind of freaking out a bit because I wasn't sure if it was just 'hanging out' or if he wanted to 'hang out', you know? And, well, there's the artist and I'm all buh-jiggity about him etc. Anyway I thought to myself, goshfukkit, self, just go have fun. So I agreed.
Anyway when my doorbell rang at 6.30 last night it wasn't that M at the door but an entirely different M that I went out with a few times before Christmas. Colour me surprised. And vaguely irritated with myself because I scheduled a dinner excursion for the middle of the hockey game. Anyway - awkward, totally confirmed my buh-jiggityness over the artist, Canucks lost, home by 9pm and got drunk on cheep red wine. Yay Saturday!
Also - just as a point of interest, I've *already* written more blog posts this year than I did in all of 2010 combined. Told you I was trying to get back on the train... Maybe one of these days I'll remember where I put my balls and start posting the good pics.
I don't know why I can't just relax and take things at face value, but I have to over-analyze absolutely every inaction and obsess about words said or not said. I wonder if it's because I spent umpteen million years in university searching for hidden meanings in texts - subterfuge in the way that words lie on the page one after the other. Why would anyone actually say what they are thinking when there are so many voices messages thoughts to convey?
"You never ask me to do anything."
"I don't?"
"Nope."
"Well we'll have to fix that won't we?"
Something as simple as that - totally a him thing to just sit back and let the world wash over him, to go with the flow and let things be planned - but it festers in my brain and I don't know how to just let it be. Breathe. Just believe.
Things I have to do this morning:
1) carefully examine contents of suitcase to figure out what I packed whilst hammered on cheap (yet entirely drinkable) red wine.
Yeah that's mostly it. Oh I should prob eat something, too, because last night's dinner consisted of triscuits, hummus, and lousiana hot sauce and my belly is now yelling at me. Yay bachelorette me. (Why does blogger recognize bachelorhood but not bachelorette? Sexist.)
Told the artist via text last night that I might miss him a little while I was away but he didn't here it from me. What? I told you I was drunk.
Then I proceeded to send him seminaked (and not so semi) photos so that he'd miss me too. He said he missed me already.
So tomorrow I head to Canadia-eh for the little brother's wedding. Which is crazy. I mean, it was one thing when the sister got married, but in my head my little brother is still wearing short pants and staging elaborate WWF battles (the wrestlers, not the animals - it used to be WWF, y'all) in our family room. Probably whilst making machine gun noises.
He did that.
------
Just talked on the phone to The artist (he of Monday night's sleepover). I have such mixed feelings about this guy - like I think I really like him but at the same time he scares the living crap out of me b/c I can't figure out if he's actually into me.
Which is, of course, kind of ridiculous b/c sometimes he is so very *clearly* into me.
I know it's just my brain caught up in the crashbangboom chemistry of lust and excitement of liking someone new. Or at least part of me knows.
Part of me just wants him to throw me down and fuck me 'til I can't think anymore.
OK lots of parts of me want that.
I guess we'll see what's up after the weekend, anyway. He's promised to send me semi-naked pictures while I'm away. *fingers crossed*
OMG I'm watching game 7 of the 'hawks / 'nucks series and I may die from the stomach ache. Seriously - if it weren't for Crawford the game would have been over 20 (hockey) minutes ago.
----
"You are wearing *way* to many clothes," he says. "So take them off me," I reply. "OK, let's start here."
----
I woke up wrapped in his arms over and over again all night long. I might like this one a little.
Man what a weird night last night ended up being. I don't even know how to begin to describe it really, but it did end with a (former) friend punching the couchsurfer in the face with a pint glass.
No real way for a friendship to come back after that. I mean, the couchsurfer has his flaws, but he is my friend and I love him, and he's held me while I was deep in the jungle of my own head and all I could think of was throwing myself off an overpass. Don't care what he said to piss her off - you don't hit your friend's friend in the face with a glass just 'cause they aren't your cup of tea. Fucked up, dude.
It's actually been an all-around weird day. I barely got out of bed, arising for dinner and the hockey game, and that was basically it. Don't talk about the game, please, I can't take it right now.
For some reason I decided it'd be a good idea to go through my archives reading and ended up watching my relationship with the architect unfold. I kinda relived all the good times and the excitement and now I'm feeling super blue. His new girlfriend is visiting this weekend, so he's not around. Plus, you know, his new girlfriend.
That combined with the clusterfuck of yesterday evening just leaves me feeling a bit anti-social. I'm not sure how to cope. Well you know, other than throwing myself off the aforementioned overpass.
I wish I could remember how to write. I need to practice more.
So date four turned into 28 hours, countless bars, a crazy bicycle ride through the 'hoods, and at least 76% of his friends walking in on us having sex just to say hi.
I shudder to think how many near strangers have now seen my ass.
You know, more than before. It's not as though half the world hasn't seen my ass, it's just usually it's through the comfort of a computer screen.
Sidenote - possible indication that I might be maturing.. I have this kinda sexy shot of the line of my spine, my ass is in the air, black thong. I keep uploading it and thinking about posting it and then deleting it. A few years ago I would have posted it and taken three more by now.
Postive step or am I losing my nerve? You be the judge.
Some Saturdays you wake up curled up with a fuzzy lunchbox of a cat instead of a cute boy and that's ok, except you look at your bloggity and wonder wtf happened to the rest of the week? How did we rocketship from last Saturday morning to this Saturday morning and what did we do inbetween besides eat sleep drink work go through the motions? Is there anything that happened that could be considered an anecdote worthy of your obituary?
(I mean, besides eating your weight in meat at Korean BBQ on Thursday & dying from beef-clogged arteries.)
I'm reviewing the week in facebook and I've got friends who are doing more or less than I, but what kind of standard for judgement is that? Shouldn't this be the only measure? If I can wake up on Saturday morning, either with or without a cat, either with or without a cute boy, and say to myself- "what did I do this week that makes me glad to be alive?"
So I woke up yesterday morning luxuriating in the thought of having a Sunday off. A Sunday that came after a Saturday off. A Saturday that started off with a cute boy bringing me coffee in bed. Coffee that he made, even. There are worse ways to start a Sundae. Or a Sunday, even.
Of course, it was at this point that I looked over at my laundry pile and realized that it was now taller than me - no mean feat, my friends, as I am a towering 5'3". Towering, I say. I spent a solid 5.3 minutes pondering my choices - go buy new undiepants or actually do the laundry.
Weighing on my decision, of course, was the fact that I'm kinda broke. Also, I'm pretty sure I heard the laundry trying to lure the cat into the pile in the middle of the night. She's kinda plump, you see, and I'm sure would make a tasty tidbit when doused with buffalo sauce and blue cheese. Since I do honestly like my cat, I piled little Pearl (my trusty l'automobile) full with dirty delicates and set off to take care of bidness.
Now, I live in a fairly... eclectic neighbourhood. It's got cafes and restaurants and whatnot, but it borders on a fairly rough, lower class part of town. I wouldn't give it up for anything that didn't include an ocean view, a pool, and a cabana boy. Rawr.
Anyhoo, so I'm busy commandeering washing machines when this fellow walks in sporting a Magnum PI worthy porn 'stache, satiny shortyshorts, a bomber jacket, and a vintage ball cap. Tube socks pulled up, kicks. I ask myself - hipster, caught in an era I'd rather forget, or needs to do the washing worse than I do?
I kept catching myself staring at this fellow and he did bust me more than once. He may have been hoping for a love connection but manohman it was more like a horrific car accident with bodies strewn all over the highway - detached limbs and blood and gore and awful yet FASCINATING at the same time.
I tried to take a few surreptitious photos but couldn't quite do it. Seriously I'm pretty sure there's gonna be a Craigslist Missed Connections any day now, given the quality of creepster staring I was doing.
So on Friday I was supposed to go to a work party thing at a club in the Gaslamp but when my work-bestie bailed the perils of navigating the San Diego equivalent of every irritating club district on the planet became too great and the smiley internet guy and I decided to stick a little closer to home.
Date three, y'all. Just sayin'.
Anyway, as longtime readers of the blog may know, I'm not the most graceful girl on the planet. I tend to drop things, bump into walls and/or doors, and fall down with a fair amount of regularity. Friday I had 2/3 of a bottle of pinot for dinner and was wearing 3 1/2" heels on some rough sidewalks. Hilarity ensued.
You know, if you define hilarity as watching me fall flat on my ass then be unable to get up because I was laughing so hard. Internet guy promptly laid down on top of me, told me it was too soon to be flat on my back, and hauled me to my feet. He is pretty sweet.
My hands are all scraped & bruised, though. So. Much. Class.
It's funny. I find myself more irritated than anything by the attentions paid to me by the internet boys. Well, that's not true - there's one that I kinda keep my eye on. He's not really my type, but he's got this big goofy grin and for some reason it really makes me smile.
I'm getting used to living by myself. I've never done it before, after all - one of the side effects of having a kid at 17. I've just always had someone around.. someone in the house making noise making a mess making me happy sad angry joyful frustrated comfortable. It's not like that right now. Right now it's me & the cat. Some mornings I wake up and the silence is deafening (though, let's not kid, those are the mornings that the couchsurfer's been by and shut off the NPR). Some mornings, though, the sun is shining and I take my coffee outside and look at the boat and the trees and I feel pretty good about life.
Today's not really one of those days. I woke up and it was vancouver weather, so I miss my family. Tomorrow's my wedding anniversary (if you can call it such a thing anymore) and the architect has already told me that he took it out of his calendar won't mark it's passing even with a glass tipped to the stars.
I'm probably gonna have to get drunk with my girls.
