Tuesday, September 29, 2009

This Moment of Pointless Fiction Brought to You by Colorblind on my iPod

He sat down beside her - staring, perplexed. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, bending her head down for her hair to shield the welling tears in her eyes.

“Okay,” he said, still staring.

Silence permeated the room. She felt hopeless and sad. He felt confused and concerned.

He breaks the silence, “I love you,” he says quietly to her shield of hair. She pauses.

“You say that now?” she bats back as she turns to look at him.

Taken aback by her unexpectedly curt response, he stops to think, then says confidently, “Yes. Yes I do. I have wanted to say it for years. Years. And your vulnerability is my opportunity”.

She sniffles and stops to wonder if this should offend her; if he is taking advantage in her moment of weakness – or if he has been the third wheel waiting for her for years; waiting for this small window of opportunity. She wipes the tears from her eyes and tucks her short strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. She speaks softly to him, “Really?”

“Yes,” he says, as he puts his hand on her damp cheek and moves his thumb just so to caress her pale, soft skin. “You are so intense, so closed, yet, in the moment, so exposed. I have been furtively in love with you for years. But your sadness exposed is my suppressed feelings realized. I love you. I always have. And in this rawest of moments, I love you more.”

“Thank you,” she replies, as she gets up to clean the palette of melted colors from her face. “Would you like a sandwich?”

["colorblind", counting crows]

Monday, September 28, 2009

Being Set Up to Fail

I just checked my bank account. I’m freaking out. I’m writing to cope. And seek commiseration.

I am going to 26 next week. I have a master’s degree. I have had the same job for two years. And after my rent, I will have $145 in my bank account. And $96,000 of debt: including approximately $84,000 in school loans. (And if one more person calls that "good debt" - they're walking away with a black eye.)

I have nothing lavish. I don’t spend money freely. I shop at Marshall’s, Gabes, TJ Maxx, Ross and outlets. I am a size 4 now and my clothes are all 6 or 8. I look like a schmuck. I have a dock for my refurbished iPod that no longer works properly with it. I know, a silly example – but I think it demonstrates my frugality. I buy things I know I will use, but I find a cheaper way to do it; and despite wanting something that will so obviously work better, I stick with what I have. Because I know I can't afford anything else. (And yes, I know, some people can't even afford these things, but I work hard and I'm talking about me and not them, damnit.)

I live life on the cheap. But it never seems cheap enough. And it’s all sans reward. More like punishment.

I feel like a hamster on a wheel; set up to fail. I’m not going anywhere. I’m running and running (with no break, no vacation) and I just get more broke. More broken.

This furlough
killed me. And I’m straining to recover. I know I thought that October would be my God sent, but alas, it is not the case. It is a pinhole light at the end of an ever-growing tunnel.


A Polish coworker and I had a discussion a few months ago; he cannot understand why Americans are so in debt and so eager to be in debt. Well, obviously, when I was a little girl I decided that when I was 26 I wanted to be 100k in the hole with a good education, $145 in the bank and nothing else. I had to explain that while European countries pay for students' universities, The States does no such thing. He looked perplexed and asked why people don’t just wait to go until they can afford it. “My undergrad was $16,000 a year – so by the time I could have saved that, I would have been into my 40s.”


Oh. Yes. Oh. And if that wasn’t enough (even though my parents helped with undergrad), I decided I needed a masters degree because, let’s be honest, a bachelor’s mean less and less these days. And I needed to make the big bucks to send my kids to school. Talk about a plan fail. Perhaps I should have weighed my 60+k Grad school debt?


The other day I saw an ad for a documentary about “America’s addiction to debt” and I think that statement is such fucking bullshit. I hate debt. I want to burn my credit card. But when you have school loans and you’re still making shit (relative to cost of living; my rent is $900) and working and you have a $500 insurance deductible, and then your (ex)boyfriend you’re living with loses his job, and you need to put stuff on the card to make sure you can make it and rack of more bills after JUST finishing paying off an $8,000 card accrued from school things, it’s hard to understand how we can’t get into debt.

Debt is cast upon us by our government and big business. Cash for Clunkers? More like: Oh, you own your car outright; how about you trade that in for $15,000 worth of debt you can pay off with interest for the next 4 years? And education; if that’s not the biggest of big business.

But here’s what: You can’t make anything as to not accrue debt UNLESS YOU GO TO SCHOOL FIRST AND ACCRUE DEBT. Hi. What the fuck? And the government’s “federal loans"? I’m still paying twice as much in interest right now as I am to the actual principle. And after what little choice (see below) I had in consolidation, it’s still $600 a month - and that’s after the interest decrease since the economy tanked. (So when inflation comes back as a badass – I’m totally fucked. Oh, and I can’t defer it because after a Federal ruling the only way to consolidate was through the government and the only way to defer is if you have proof of unemployment - so Federal debt wins again.)

Except you know who doesn’t have to go into debt in order to go to school in order to not accrue debt? The rich. And who’s rich? The government and big business. See how that works? Poor middle class – help, we’re sinking!! When my kids grow up and other kids ask about their heritage, I’m just going to have them say: Middle Class. My family used to be Middle Class - and damn proud of it.


Now pardon me while I take my good education and two years worth of hard work resulting in $145 in the bank and a $4,500 credit card bill and crouch in the corner and cry. I hate money. I really, really – I just hate it. I don’t need nice things; just to live. Just to make it. Is that so hard, Obama, et al.? Stop helping current college students and help the recent fucking grads.

WE STRUGGLE. (Or is it just me?)

Friday, September 25, 2009


Any mildly to wildly attractive female gets catcalled, right? Actually, I suppose I really don’t understand the requirements of a catcall. All I really know is that it happens to me...a lot.

Once I was walking down the street during undergrad and got yelled at out of a car window: “NICE TITS”. What do you do with that? What is that accomplishing? It’s like a drive-by ass slap I can’t do anything about. (Kinda like the time someone actually slapped my ass, then RAN INTO THE MEN'S BATHROOM TO HIDE.)

In fact, about 70% of catcalls I get are from a car: Be it beeping, whistling, or some other form of stupid male expression – YOU ARE IN A CAR. What if I stopped and responded? Are you gonna stop and park the car? And then there's the other 30% in the form of sidewalk passerby’s: "Ohh damn girl", or a whistle, or the "Hey Sexy". Or the eye-fuck. Ugh, the eye-fuck. Let’s not, okay? Obviously, nothing comes of either - in fact, I'd have to say both forms are a deterrent. I just can't understand the point.

Although, however much of an obnoxious deterrent I have found catcalls for the past decade, I question them now. As in: Wow, that was fucking annoying and pointless and I’m a feminist and you just objectified the shit out of me, but I must look halfway decent. What happens when the catcalls stop? Am I old? Ugly? Undesirable?

Perhaps a man’s catcall is a woman’s baby talk. Women inherently talk to babies a certain way as it helps with their development; maybe men catcall women to --- actually, there’s nowhere for this to go. I’m still lost in the world of beeps, damn girl’s, whistles and drive-by eye-fucks.

But at least I know I look cute in that dress…

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


Recently it has been brought to my attention that a few entries in here make me look less like a responsible 25 year old with a stable (*kow*) job and a Masters degrees from a good, expensive private university, and more like a fumbling idiot blonde. This is not the case.

But really though – don’t all the good stories worth sharing usually involve drinking? I mean, I can tell you about how I spent the day fussing with Photoshop and Illustrator because people seem to forget what my degree is ACTUALLY in, and just task me for everything. “Oh, I thought you were the graphics guru”. Um, sure – compared to you, but have I ever needed an .ico file? I think not. But who wants to hear about that?

So let’s just set this straight: In high school I was a good student - I drank then too. (Ahh, so ILLEGAL. Shut up!) I even took 2 math classes my sophomore year so I could take honors physics my junior year. And my toothpick bridge? It was 300% efficient – the best out all of the classes. So suck it you Ivy Leaguers!

I graduated a good university Magna Cum Laude. I even took out extra loans to take COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY summer classes so that I could earn a certificate in American Sign Language before I graduated in a year – a feat I was warned against doing; and no one had ever done before. But I did…just because I wanted to. A year later I got my Masters. I even got a 3.5 GPA. I started my job I have now two weeks later.

I'm a good employee. I work 40-50 hours a week. So I work hard…and I play hard moderately. But damnit, I am responsible enough for a single 25 year old; I'm just sharing the funny parts with you. And yup, drunk stories provide the best material. So don't judge, just enjoy the fruits of my drunken labor. :)

We now return to your regular programming…

Monday, September 21, 2009

And When I Woke Up My Mouth Tasted Like Stupid Decisions

In yet another round of stupid drunk decisions, I ended up back at the bartender's couch place. And left very shortly after for expressing that there would be no relations happening. Then why would you go back there, you ask? Because, as I discovered in a discussion about the on-goings of yet another messy Saturday night, my general indecision in life leads to awkward situations in Drunkland. Evidently, in not making any decision on my own, it takes me to wherever whoever I’m with is going. I know, it sounds bad – but I suppose it depends on the company you keep. Historically, mine has been good. Here and there it’s has totally hic-cupped. But I have a plan.

From now on, before I get drunk, I will have a plan of action in mind. Perhaps I’ll set an alarm. But I think that if maybe I make choices before I go to decision-less drunk, I might just make it home without a 3 to 4 hours walk around the District. And how did you end up on a 4 hour trek through the District, you ask? Well, friends, after the no relations comment, it was suggested it was time for me to leave. I agreed whole-heartedly, called him an “asshole” as a shut the door behind me and started on my walk to – well, I suppose I was walking to my car. My plan was to eat some of the food I have in my trunk from the grocery store a few weeks ago (don’t ask) and sleep there till the morning. (Cause, damnit, I’m broke and a cab is like 15-20 bucks!)

I started at 40th and something, far from anything – really. My car was at 21st and L. Normally I would use my phone's GPS, but my phone was conveniently dead as of 12:19am. So, on my own, I made it up to Wisconsin and 34th. I walked back and forth a lot and thanks to time traveling, do not remember the bulk of it. For miles. Proof: My calves are still sore – and rather unforgiving. Chances are I started walking at about 4am (since we went to an after-hours bar before I walked in and out of his door). I decided it was time give up the search and catch a cab when I noticed the sun was rising. (Thankfully, on account of an unplanned, though very social day involving a haircut, a winery, a bbq and then the bar - for all of which I was sober for up until 1:30am, I was wearing a shirt and a hoodie with flip-flops, so I looked like maybe walking around alone at 4am and 5am and 6am and 7am wasn’t so weird.) So I flagged down one of like two cabs out at that time.

While in the cab, reading the meter tick my money away, I looked in my wallet only to discover that ALL OF MY MONEY AND CREDIT CARDS WERE GONE! Fuck! Freaking out commences. “Excuse me, cabbie. Someone stole all my money and cards, I need to go home instead because I have money there.” So we turn around from where we just came from. I watch the meter tick my backtracking.

Five minutes later I’m still frantically searching for my money because why would someone steal my license too, right?! I check my bra – where I often tuck things like cash and cards - and viola! EVERYTHING WAS THERE. Thank you, Left Breast. In the moments of pulling my life back out from Victoria's Secret, I remember that I had earlier taken everything out of my wallet and put it in my bra, just in case I got mugged. Although, seriously, I remember seeing one other person the whole time. But, you know me: Safety first. Obviously.

So $14.75 later, I’m home. I think I downloaded a song. Then I realize my iPod is gone. FUCK! I tweet. Then I roll into bed and pass out at about 8am. The sun is out. At 12 noon I wake up suddenly for no reason, still slightly drunk (I would have been sleeping in my car for a while) and something dawns on me! So I check my other bra cup. MY iPOD! Rock on. Thank you, Right Breast. I fall back asleep till 3:12pm. My roommate takes me to get my car later that day. I drive around contemplating my life when I decide that pre-drinking plan-of-actioning is the new way to go. Oh, and I can no longer go to that bar.

Way to go, dumbass.

Friday, September 18, 2009

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

I started watching IASIP in first season, catching an episode here and there. The second season I was addicted. I have been promoting this show entirely since I developed my love for it - and that's how it's grown so much by now: word of mouth. Because it's that AWESOME.

And if you have no idea what I'm talking about, buy this, this and this immediately and then get back to me. Because if you don't watch - and love - the show, then we can't be friends.

A few weeks ago a feed from the IASIP Facebook group said that there was a live musical of "The Nightman Cometh" from a season 4 episode and tickets were on sale the next day. I grabbed up two tickets before they sold out in under 3 minutes for the Philly showing. (There were only 5 showings nationwide.) Happy (early) Birthday to me!

So my friend and I drove up yesterday and the show was fucking hilarious! Hopefully these vids last, but here are a few from the clips I got yesterday. (Video was my SD1000 so it's a little blurry.) Enjoy (I know I did!!!):

Boy & Troll

Troll Toll


Charlie Proposes/End

And I can check cheese steak off my bucket list. And, honestly, it tasted like a Hot Pocket. Primantis > Cheesesteaks. Now go watch some more Always Sunny!

PS. There's an Always Sunny Christmas DVD we got to preview at the show: Looks ridiculous, per usual. Sweet.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Bucket List

Last summer I created a Bucket List while blogging on humzoo.com. The strike-thrus are what have been. Anything after 65 is new. (If someone can tell me how to get this list as a permanent gadget, that would be awesome.)

Wednesday, June 25th, 2008
Before I die/in life...

I’m sure I’ll make additions, but, here goes.

My list of things I want to do before I die, or rather in life, I want to:

1. Go to California
2. Tour Alcatraz
3. Take a Diner Road Trip
4. Eat Authentic Southern Fried Green Tomatoes
5. Try Gumbo
6. Gamble in Vegas
7. Snorkel in Hawaii
8. Find my great-grandparents corner store in London and take a picture in front of it (or where it used to stand)
9. Vacation/honeymoon in the Virgin Islands
10. Be someone’s Mentor
11. Be someone’s boss
12. Have a baby…or 4
13. Get married
14. Find my TRUE passion
15. Document my pregnant belly as it grows (God willing)
16. Live in a house with a pool
17. Swim with dolphins
18. Attend a Charity event & donate
19. Find a job I LOVE
20. Invent/co-Invent something
21. Go camping (again)
22. Own a house
23. Plant Lily-of-the-Valleys along an entire side(s) of my house
24. Go white water rafting
25. Canoe/kayak on the Potomac
26. Take a paddle boat ride on the Title Basin
27. Tango (well) to Por una Cabeza
28. Go salmon fishing in Alaska
29. Plan a nice wedding for under 5k
30. See the Grand Canyon
31. Horseback ride on the beach
32. Get a professional, head to toe, massage
33. Have a “spa day” with family
34. Make a difference
35. Paint on the National Mall (area) - don’t be afraid if people watch
36. Do one selfless task a week for a year
37. Eliminate my debt
38. Get a Nursing degree
39. Have a Free Yard Sale
40. Finish a marathon
41. Try (indoor) rock climbing
42. Go wine tasting
43. Eat a pomegranate
44. Eat a real Philly cheesesteak
45. Visit the San Diego Zoo
46. Go to Baltimore Aquarium
47. Drink a $25+ drink
48. Go to Hershey Park
49. Eat a meal that’s $100+/plate
50. Feed an elephant
51. Ride in a helicopter
52. Wear my senior prom dress to an event
53. Have my picture in the newspaper/magazine
54. Be a movie extra
55. Learn to play guitar (for real)
56. Re-learn the violin, figure out fiddlin’
57. Start/co-found an organization/business
58. Type 100 WPM
59. Spend a day giving money and/or food to panhandlers
60. Create/find heirlooms to pass down to my children
61. Cook a Holiday meal for my family, by myself
62. Own land and use it
63. Hug a stranger
64. Make a quilt like my mom's
65. Live near family (and have weekly get-togethers)
66. See Les Misérables (in London)
67. See a show on Broadway in NYC
68. Take a ride on the Savannah Slow Ride
69. See the Beatles "Love" Cirque (in Las Vegas)

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Blonde Moment

...and with the COO standing over my shoulder I abbreviated Manufacturer Parts to Man. Parts.

Think he noticed?

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Dear Value City Asshat...

Last week I saw an ad for a $39 dresser - or chest of drawers rather - at Value City Furniture. So I go there and see it; it's small, but will work for the crap that won't fit in my main dresser since I threw out the dresser I picked up by a dumpster before moving to DC. (Not the first time I hauled away trash as a treasure...and probably not the last.) I evaluated it for a moment and asked if it came in pieces (like Ikea); the guy said "No, just the knobs". I take an extra 10 seconds to examine it before I decide it can fit in my Mazda3 (4-door), and buy one.

I go to pick it up today and a foreign man dollies out my dresser in it's little cardboard packing (not even a box, just a piece of cardboard on top, bottom and wrapping around the front). He looks at me, looks at my car and says "This is not going to fit" in that tone and expression of you stupid little woman.

I HATE THAT FACE. Fucking sexism. Fucking cultural differences.

So I simply say, "Can we take off the packaging?"

"Yes. But it won't fit."

"Do you have box cutters?"

"Yes. But this is not going to fit in your car."

OH. MY. GOD. I stay calm: "Yes it will. Just take it out of the box."

The stupid little woman face overtakes his entire body as he drops his head and shoulders while he starts to take off the packaging. I get in the car to pull up the passenger seat so it fits behind easily. He picks it up and starts to push it in with no problem, and as I start to pull from the bottom as I'm in the car, he starts the sentence "Pull it from the--" and halts when he notices I have a brain big enough to have started helping already and just finishes the sentence with: "Yea". 30 seconds into this wholly intense (*sarcasm alert!*) struggle since OMG THIS WAS NEVER GOING TO FIT CAUSE MY BRAIN IS TOO SMALL TO CALCULATE DIMENSIONS OF MY CAR! the dresser was in my back seat (not even the trunk) without incident. And then I hear him say lightly "You got lucky." Sigh. So:

Dear Value City Furniture Doubter,

That's not called "luck", it's called "intelligence". Twat.

A Female Who is Generally Always Right

P.S. Suck it. And welcome to America.

P.P.S. Also, please note that I carried the dresser out of my car and into my apartment by myself. Whoa! Beauty, brains and the strength to kick your ass carry a dresser.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Never Forget (but continues to wonder)

Can we cure the world with laughter? Certainly not, but it sure does help. I wonder if the Swiss are funny. How do you make it so you just slip on by without anyone bothering you in the world? I feel as though they must have some good jokes.

“No, Germany, don’t bomb us!”

“Why not?”

“Well, have you heard the one about the horse and the condom…”

I know today is a very significant day. But I guess I am missing how staying angry over something is getting us anywhere; that spewing hate is contributing the US’s “fight on terrorism”. Violence breeds violence. And anger will eat at your soul.

I cannot begin to express my gratitude toward the servicemen and servicewomen of the United States. Nor will ever understand how truly devastating it must have been to lose someone on that day – or because of that day. I have been fortunate. And I am thankful.

9/11 is our parent’s JFK assassination. We all remember exactly where we were that day; in each moment that mattered. And we will never forget.

Ironically, the guy I was dating at that time in 2001 (who was in the reserves), had a status on Facebook today. It read: Today let us remember that they brought the fight to us. COWARDS MURDERED almost 3000 INNOCENT Americans before we even mobilized. You fucking bastards wanted in, well now you are here...and so are we. We won't quit, we won't lose......, WE WILL CONTINUE TO FUCK YOU UP, ANYWHERE, ANYTIME. We won't rest until EVERY lost soul is avenged with your blood...

My response: I'm not sure the Taliban check facebook.

I don’t know what reaction I was expecting from an ultra-conservative group (nothing, really - I guess I don't think sometimes), but, you are speaking to the terrorists first person, via Facebook. This doesn’t seem a touch silly? Granted, I agree with what he says – not so much how or the medium - but my comment was neutral enough...I thought. A moment to lighten the mood should not translate to a moment of disrespect.

Eight years ago today was an awful day in American history, but at some point we have to move forward. Strangely placed anger and strong reactions to silly quips is not the answer. My response wasn’t a slam or a slight – it was a silly observation that the terrorists are not reading Facebook. Come'on, that’s a funny mental imagine. We can laugh about slapping a bitch, or Chris Brown beating Rhianna, or rape or racism or sexism - but a terriorist checking Facebook? YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR!

Laughter is a medicine, not a sin. I’m not making small of the issue. But am I the only one that uses laughter in times sadness? If I die tomorrow, can someone please tell a joke in my eulogy?

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Know Me, Then Hate Me

Here is what needs to happen: I need people to stop assuming they know me. Why is it that today's society thinks that meeting someone or hanging out a few times is to know them? Hello, McFly?!

In my life, rarely am I being serious and my dry humor is often lost. I'm not really gonna punch you in the face. It’s a joke. A joke.

In contrast, I will tell you the truth. If your shirt is ugly, I will not hesitate to say so; and if it’s nice, I will say it's nice. I appreciate when this honesty is appreciated: "I come to you because I know you will tell me the truth: How do I look?"

"Good. And thank you for noticing."

A friend boyfriend ex-boyfriend friend once said: “How you were described to me prior to ever meeting you: ‘She's a bitch when you first meet her, but if you can deal with her at first, she's great.’” Fair (to know me is to love me *ping*); but at least at that time (and place) in my life people took the time to actually learn to know one another. Now, I’m left wondering if this is a lost art. Are we no longer interested in actually taking the time to truly know another person? The complexities of their life, their personality and - dare I say it - their soul?

I feel as though I’m spending my twenties sadly forgetting my past connections, as the river of life pushes us into different estuaries, and missing any new ones. Now, at 25, I find myself frustrated that the public is so quick to judge. The ignorance of some people, particularly educated people, is palpable. And it is quickly becoming apparent that those who are less educated are far more welcoming, patient and accepting than those with a college education. Has schooling deluded graduates into thinking they know more than anybody ever could without inquisition? Or are they just too lazy to take the time to inquire?

It is my understanding hope that we have something to learn from everyone we encounter: Born-Agains, drug addicts, homeless, young, old, rich, poor. No one person is better than another person. Just different. And until we take the time to truly understand someone, we cannot pass judgment...or appreciate their worth. Each life has a path; and each path, regardless of outcome, has a history of lessons - and fall backs, and triumphs - and listening to them is a lost art.

I want to bring that back. I want to understand. I want to be understood. I want that wholesome, innocent, childhood curiosity of human nature to permeate the air of my twenties.

But alas, I feel outcast in a city so loveless. So "educated", yet too quick to judge. And I'm getting more frustrated by the minute...

At least get to know me before you hate me. (Thanks Samantha Jones)

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Speaking of: Exhibit A

So the last blog I said that the stories in my life are ridiculous. Well. Yes.

Exhibit A: I went out on Sunday, thinking it was Saturday, on account of my lazy Saturday (see, I tried to be good; even got shit for it) and day off Monday. I realized an hour after the Metro closed at 12, that the Metro, in fact, closed at 12 because it was, in fact, Sunday and not Saturday. (Evidently, I didn't learn anything from that, as yesterday I tweeted that it was Sunday.)

Right, so, Saturday Sunday, I went out in Dupont with some friends who were down from Pittsburgh. Hi Guys. They decided at about 1am, against my warning that the bar would be closed when they got there (and it was), to go to VA to meet up with someone else who'd come from a wedding. VA being further away from my humble abode - and it being late and I had to take a cab home and all - I decided to stay where I was.

This being the same bar that I blame for my stolen paintings, I apparently had made friends with the bartenders. Who knew? (Not me.) So, I'm a fun drunk? (Well, that's good at least.) So I stayed. The bartender had xBox set up "for [his] friends". He invited me to play, even though I have never played an xBox before. (I know, welcome to the 21st Century.) We played Tiger Woods Golf as he kindly made sure my glass was never more than half empty. And how is it that taste aversions to all kinds of beverages have developed for me over the years, but never vodka tonics? Or Jager. Both of which were happily consumed. Not that I particularly remember it all. But they were. Deliciously.

Drinks consumed, xBox played, game over; I was only 2 points under him (go me!), then memory fades. Yes, that's fucking right, my memory fades when I drink. And, Sidebar: Thank you all for your concern in reply to my Time Traveling post. But I am not an alcoholic because my memory hiccups when I drink. Some people slur. Some drunk dial. Some are unbalanced. Some fall. Some cry. Some text. Some pee the bed. I do none of these things; I simply forget. Completely (seemingly) coherent, just forgetful.(Okay, well, usually seemingly coherent, auto-pilot, whatever you want to call it, but when alcohol is freely flowing, that's just an unfair advantage: Like a tiger vs. a kitten.)

Oh my, so many tangents today. Back to the story: Self-refilling drinks. xBox. Memory fade.

(Mom, earmuffs!)

I wake up the next day thinking "Ahh, my bed is comfortable". I open my eyes and my beige walls are suddenly peach. Well, that's not right. I search my brain for some snippet of information as to how I ended up on a plaid couch under 2 comforters. Slowly, I sit up on the couch, feeling less than good and remembering that I may have lost a touch of dignity the night before (not the slutty kind, I'm not like that. thankyouverymuch. I threw up in his kitchen sink. Much better, right?!) and I needed a good teeth brushing (and not for that either. Geez, you guys. I'm a lady. It was just the sink.).

So I try to gather my thoughts and I remember that I was with someone. Somewhere. I look around the room. No photos. Boxes of Jager stuff; that's odd. But no information to help me know exactly whose couch I woke up on at noon on Labor Day. So, I get up, go pee. Still, nothing. I sit back down on a chair and notice some mail to my left. I pick it up. A name! Ah-ha! I realize I'm at the bartender's apartment. I'll give that a minute to sink in...

I take a moment to tweet: *this* is where I woke up? really?? really?? ...damn. I get up to look outside; trying to figure out exactly where I am. Trees and an oddly familiar feeling. Oh! I remember he told me where he lived. Ah-ha! so now I have a name and location. So sleuth. But I can't go outside looking like I got dragged behind a slightly slutty pick-up truck, so I grab some touch-up make-up I have tucked in my (obviously) going-out purse. I wipe off the dark eyeshadow. I touch up my face a bit and dab the sleep away with some powder.

Still, no one is up. No noises. (I think he was waiting for me to leave. Who knows? I would.) I poke around the kitchen looking for a gumband - my hair is atrocious. I find one in a drawer along with some more Jager paraphernalia. I put my hair up, I gather my things (dignity aside) and head outside. I sit on a curb under a tree.

Yes, that's right, I'm in a short dress that's sexy, yet tasteful, I've got my little clutch purse and 5 inch cork heels (kinda like this) sitting on the curb beside me. A bus passes - I turn my head to the side. I text around a minute; assess the situation. This is not a cab friendly street and it's Labor Day and Monday. The chance of me getting a cab without walking my sorry ass 8 embarrassing blocks is more than unlikely. I call my friend. He laughs at me as I say "I'm in ***** Park and I need not to be". 40 minutes, 3 more buses and turned heads and a couple of This is my life?'s later, I'm in his car. (Thank you. Thank you. A million thank yous!)

I facebook message said bartender later that day. (Knowing his full name from his mail; though I wonder if he wonders how I know his last name.) I apologize for my general ridiculousness and thank him for the use of his couch then signed, hungover and slightly embarrassed. He messaged back no problem or something like that. Good guy. (And to be fair we had met a few times prior so he wasn't a complete stranger.) So you know what that means, right? I can go back to that bar now. As a friend put it "that bar will either ruin you, or make you a legend". Next time, I'll be sure to have some cab fare.

Friday, September 4, 2009

We'll See Where It Goes

(that's what she said)

As is applicable to my professional life, I have decided to try to promote my blog. Not so much that I think people want to hear what I have to say – although being a newly single professional 20-something in DC may be prove to be quite interesting – but more that I’m curious how much traffic I can actually get (you know, since I'm writing all this anyway). My goal: Reach 5,000 readers in a year.

I have registered my domain and reviewed a number of tracking sites starting this week, e.g. Alexa, Viralogy, Site Meter. Aside from keeping my mother and (eventually) new potential employers from my blog, I’m pretty much open to the world. I’m currently checking out and registering other social media networking sites. It becomes quite interesting to discover what is out there once you start looking: e.g. 20sb. We’ll see how that one pans out.

Internet activity is key to building a readership. To get people to return to your blog, you have to have good content: My life is chalk full of ridiculous situations and less-than-believable-yet-true stories, so as long as people are interested in the rest of the TFLN, I think I’m good. I just have to get them here first: So inter-web activities require increase. Phase one suggests minimal activity. Phase two increases activity. Phase three…well, let’s see where two gets us. This is an on-going experiment project.

Social media is being overly stimulated, but I give it a year for that to die down. However, despite the overuse of new media at the moment, the value of properly used social and viral media is astounding. Really, though. I could call this practice, a research project, or an experiment; but for the moment, I’ll call it a hobby plus lexical therapy and documented memories (since my memory is so good).

I'll keep the Internets updated. Until then, enjoy that shot of Ginkgo in your smoothie.

Thursday, September 3, 2009


Echo Delta fluffs Oprah Arms. No one wants to see that. Hypothetically.

It’s remarkable how some men boys people will take what is available over what is amazing. We go to the grocery store now to buy our eggs rather than caring for the chickens ourselves. We buy scarves instead of taking the time to knit them ourselves. Have we, as a society, become so lazy that we prefer things that just throw themselves at us, rather than what is better and better for us; regardless of cost to our person, our health or our egos?

If an Ugly Betty wants to throw herself all over a Decent Looking Dude, and said Decent goes for it, then lies about it; perhaps it proves, then, that those two belong together - while he lies to her face that she’s pretty and tells a Good Girl that no one else exists. It’s too bad that quality people, in their infinite beauty and wisdom, are well aware of such lies. And will use that. And possibly fuck with liars. Possibly. Oops. Next time practice your lie tell the truth. If you want to diddle the maid, okay, just own it, my friend. Own it.

I heard of a study in Grad school that suggested that in the future, the distant future, there will be two groups of people left in the world: The Attractive & Smart and The Stupid & Ugly. Kind of like this. Only an actual study (though I couldn’t even begin to think of how to Google that, but kudos if you can find it) and not everyone’s stupid and ugly.

No lie, I’m nominating myself for the Attractive & Smart group. (And I'm very picky both with attractiveness and brains in the opposite sex when it comes to commitment, so I think I'm good.) It seems appropriate that this group would be more willing to work towards a quality partnership rather than just laying there waiting for someone to fondle their genitals. (Too soon?) So, in the meantime, I think I’ll sit back and laugh at the boys and girls who make out in a crowded bar, IN A BAR, and applaud those who are actually willing to put time into something and not settle for anything less than perfect. I’d rather be alone, than be with sub par. Others, apparently not - perhaps it's self nomination for the Ugly & Stupid group? Maybe their mothers didn’t raise them right. Maybe they seek attention and not affection. Or maybe they just haven’t grown up yet. Idiocracy suggests we wait and see.

In the meantime, I’ll need to make some Attractive & Smart friends so my hypothetical children will have some kids to play with someday. Gotta counter the growing idiocracy.

I kid. I kid.


Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Just Keep Swimming

I can feel myself slipping unsure of how to stop. It's like standing on the outside looking in but the windows and doors are locked. Then the house fills up with water like a cocktail in a car.

It's one of those moments I just want to curl up in a ball and stop trying. Always in the fall. Not autumn. Fall.

Sometimes you just feel like you're fighting a losing battle. And then they send in reinforcements...

I need a door to open.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Hey Money, F*ck You

Alright, lets get real here for a second. Furloughs - that sexy forced unpaid time off - they suck. They suck hard. (Damn you, economy.) Granted, the 12 Monday's off this summer were nice, but the slash in paychecks was harsher than expected. And what's funny about them is that they totally creep up on you; like those 8 spiders you will eat in your sleep in your lifetime. (Okay, so maybe not.)

I was on my 3rd day of recovery when I chatted with my boss (because speaking was painful) and he told me that we would have 12 days of furloughs for the next 3 months. Holy shit. So, you mean to tell me that I just spent money I don't have on a surgery I had a plan to pay back and now my plan is not only spoiled, but completely raped? Recovery is fun.

So I cried some. And that hurt. So I stopped crying. I coped. And I checked my finances religiously. And you know what, I was doing okay there for a while. But, in reality I did okay for a month into the actual deduction taking place (since work's paychecks are delayed by 4 weeks - so even though my furlough ended last week, my checks won't return to normal until October. Come'on October!) And then I moved.

And hello moving costs! and welcome to my incredible shrinking bank account. Ta-dah! So you have the security deposit, and the car registration (but we're not even going to go there), including new brake pads to pass inspection, and so on and so sexy forth. Also, in this time, I had a spree of "Woo! I'm young and I'm broke anyway. Let's live!" So you know what I did? Do you know?! I got sushi. That's right. Half price sushi. And then not half price sushi. And then you know what I did? I got half price sushi again. And then lunch price sushi. Sprinkle a bar tab or two in there and a drunken night with a WTF happened?! and, oh, a pair of shoes and maybe a new dress from Ross Dress for Less (what up foreign people?!), not to mention those 2 parking tickets and a photo trap in June and I'm fiscally screwed. That's hot, right?

And the thing about it is, I was really doing okay. I was checking my finances. But the sushi and the moving and the WTF happened and it all compounded to go to broke-ass-chick. And you know what Fergie's daddy said? So perhaps I should take my broke ass home, cause I ain't got no money. But damn, yo-be. Summer's almost gone. Warm weather is turning to cool and soon I'll be a winter hobbit choosing to stay in and keep warm with my vodka rather than dragging my tipsy ass out in the cold. (I could barely walk through some parts of summer. Hey sexy shoes, meet uneven brick sidewalks.)

Well, regardless, I may not have a choice but to stay in. I don't do well in the crowded bar scene without a bit of lubrication (which I can now no longer afford). Some sort of claustrophobic social anxiety. I need my 2 feet of personal space...unless I know you...and like you. But the weather, the weather. But I digress the bar scene anxiety, because now I have some additional anxiety brought on my financial woes. (Oh, did I forget to tell you I need to pay off my credit card by Dec. or I get charged 23% interest? Because that's a wholly important detail. Or main chapter.) My ever-depleting bank statement has sent me into a tizzy both last week and this. And by "tizzy" I mean mini panic attacks.

I used to just think I felt "nervous". It took me about 10 years to realize this was anxiety. Lately, I've been gasping for air, which evidently sounds like a yawn, and having my heart feel like it was going to beat out of my chest or come up through my throat, and clocked the pulse in at about 80 BPM. This has happened before, but very recently has been increasing in both frequency and severity. So I message my personal nurse (read: mom); the women in my family have the genetic abnormality called: Mitral Valve Prolapse that she said I may have. So I researched it, in hopes of proving it just to be anxiety and not anything actually wrong with me, only to find that "Anxiety, panic attacks, and depression may be associated with mitral valve prolapse. Like fatigue, these symptoms are believed to be related to imbalances of the autonomic nervous system".

Damn. They're not mutually exclusive. In fact, they're linked. Well, that plan backfired. Thanks Internets.

So now I have to make an appoint with a cardiologist, says my RN mother. And guess what happens there? That's right, I need to give someone else more money. And I still have a few folks after me for nose-related items. HSA's stink.

So now I'm stuck wondering if I should sell my It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia "The Nightman Cometh" tickets that I excitedly bought (before they sold out in 3 minutes) as an early birthday present for myself when I still thought I had a financial cushion (4 weeks ago). Or say "fuck it" and just live my life. Money is for spending and saving is just delayed spending and I'm young once and there are only five showings nationwide, but that credit card, that haunting credit card...