Happy Halloween...

..from Miss Piggy.





And just because it's the best crossover ever:

Meanwhile, Sarah Rose drops some knowledge

So as you can see by my previous entry, things are clicking away nicely for me and The Scotsman, as I've decided to call him here.

I'm one part giddy excited blushing school girl one part trying too hard to be practical. The situation is complicated, to say the least, and I'm trying to keep an even head on my shoulders...mostly for his sake.

Just when I was having an "Oh my god! Are we getting too attached too soon? Am I taking advantage of him?" moment, Sarah Rose dropped this truth bomb on me:

I guess what I'm saying is – if the shoe were on the other foot, I'd say you knew what was best for you because you're a grown woman. He seems to have his wits about him – so just ride the sweetest rollercoaster, which is called love and is made of cotton candy, sweet phone calls and weekly Wednesday dates :D

Maybe what we didn't understand when you first met him is that the universe might owe you for Brisket being such an a-hole. So maybe he was just the cover-band before the real show.

Well, if that's not salient advice, than I don't know what is.

Blush-worthy conversation

The Scotsman: [looking at my Facebook profile] Oh, this is a nice picture. I like this picture of you a lot.

Me: ...Thanks! That was taken at Seth's wedding. It was a fun day.

The Scotsman: You look very pretty.

Me: [forcing myself to take a compliment] Thank you.

The Scotsman: So you mean to tell me there's no one else interested in dating you? How is that possible?

Me: I...Well, frankly, I'm still reeling from the fact that you want to date me. So, no, I guess. Or if they do, I don't know about it.

The Scotsman: Good. So I get to have you. I mean, you know. If you want.


Me: I know.

===

People. It is like I'm in high school again. I can't stop grinning all goofy-like. Don't know what's wrong with me.

Leslie's Bachelorette Party

As you can imagine, I've got a plethora of pictures to go through these days, and very little time to actually edit and upload them.

So even though I'm posting these photos from Leslie's bachelorette party, I still haven't had time to go through the entire group I actually took. I probably have about 120 more or so to look at and edit.

But time is ticking away, so I thought I'd give you at least a little preview.




Bitches for life!







I had my brand new fake fish-eye lens, and I was anxious to test it out. (Hence the blurry factor)



Um, we drank a lot of wine at the Hibachi place. A LOT.



And then we headed to Ice Nightclub.









Leslie became very sad when the vodka ran out. But Kelly purchased a fishbowl drink and we kept the party going and got the dancing started:









More photos here. Hopefully in a few weeks even more pictures will appear in that set.

Back in the saddle

At lunch today, while waiting for my dining companion to arrive, I finally deleted all the text messages inexplicably still in my phone from Brisket.

Progress? Or sublimation? Not really sure if I care. In any event, it feels sort of liberating.

The Weekend (abridged)

6 hour drive, rain, cold, Cat calls: "Heeey Girls, lalalalalala!", Salt marshes, tiny hotel rooms overlooking the water, Kittastic and Timmy 2 Tall, rehearsal, little black dress, Chicago kids, pumpkin cake, B Fry, wine, happiness, ghost tours, high-fives, early to rise, gray skies and drizzle, nervous energy, camera checks, lens checks, beautiful bride, silly groom, thumb-wrestling, infinite joy, sneaky kisses, laughter, pig roast, shutter bug, polariod, holga, "I get a kick out of you", friends, dancing, sore feet, muddy toes, horse and carriage, after party, flip cup, potent wine, fire pit, roasting marshmallows, tipsy phone calls to a handsome gentleman, sweet drunken texts, "You are my grasshopper", warm heart, glow, drunk bus, bed, 7am, wobbly legs, 6 hour drive, Where the Wild Things Are, 2-hour phone call, more glow, collapse, pleasant dreams.


Photos to come.

Open and honest

Sarah wants me to delete my entry from Saturday morning/Sunday night, but I am not going to. Because at that moment, that is exactly how I was feeling. Awful, dejected, and sad. Come Sunday I had had time to process everything and, you know, it's fine.

Curious as to what was going on? Fine, let me fill you in.

It was Leslie's Bachelorette party (oh my goodness, pictures are on the way. Stay tuned for that). We were in Ice Nightclub, which is appropriately trashy for such an occasion. Bride-to-Be was shaking her groove thing on the dance floor. Justine, being an awesome friend, was finding men for her to dance with. Justine would go up to a gentleman, lean in close to him and say, "Hi my name is Justine. Do you dance?" They would smile and nod and she would lead them blithely to the dance floor to get down with Leslie for a few minutes. I had consumed enough liquor by this point in the evening that I decided to be Justine's helper. So I went off with her, in search of reasonably attractive men to dance with our bachelorette.

Justine and I spotted them at the same time. Two guys opposite ends of the bar. I went to the one, she went to the other.

"Hi," I said to the guy, whose tie was loosened around his neck in that sort of roguish, attractive way. "My name is Katie. Do you dance?"

"Not with you," was his immediate reply, before turning his back on me.

WHAT I SHOULD HAVE DONE

1. Tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Congratulations, you're an asshole."
   
   
2. Took off my heel and started beating some manners into him with it.
   
   
3. Let it go.

WHAT I DID INSTEAD

1. Turned it around on myself and felt like shit.

I stood there stunned for a minute before heading into the bathroom. I looked over my shoulder and could see Justine leading her guy to the dance floor. I could feel my face growing hot and my throat getting tighter. I walked into the bathroom and came face to face with a bunch of girls from the group and tried to play it all off all, I'm fine! What, my eyes are a little wet? Must be all the vodka! before blubbering into the A boy was mean to me and I'm so sad I might as well go back to the bell tower with all the other Quasimodos! confession.

It ended up being fine. Vodka and girlfriends can cure anything. Special hat tip to Krista, for counseling my drunken ass outside (where we witnessed an epic, Jerry Springer-worthy girl fight).

Bullshit like this is the reason I have self-esteem issues. One dickish comment by that guy and BAM, I was back in junior high.

This is a bad pattern for me. If we look back at key incidents, some chronicled in this blog like Skirtgate, My conversation with B, and recent events with Brisket, it's not about them being the bad guy, or being tactless, or not having their shit together. I mean, it is, obviously, and I am aware it on some level because I admit it in those entries. But I ultimately make it about me -- something must be wrong with me to make them behave this way. I must be ugly, or "asking for it," or not worthy of their time and consideration.

Let me just tell you, this is a fucked up way to think and behave. It's not healthy and it's certainly not productive.

I'm learning, though. I'm trying. And these entries are part of that. This place has always been about me expressing myself in a candid manner, and I hate to edit that moment out, just because some sobriety and personal reflection has made me wiser a few days later. It stays here as a reminder of how I felt in that moment. And I should I feel that way again, I'll read a few entries ahead and remember I have wonderful friends who love and care about me. I'll remind myself that I am complete within myself. And just like Scarlett O'Hara would say, "Tommorrow is another day."

Getting over my damn self

All right, all right, all right, ALL RIGHT.

Ugly

Facts on Facts: I have never, in my life, felt pretty.

Ever.

Tonight, Krista and I played true confessions. I admitted:

1) I would change everything about me if I could.

2) Anytime a guy has liked me, anytime, ever, I have always considered it a momentary lapse; a temporary insanity.

3) I hate how seemingly easy it is for other people. I admitted to a lot of envy and jealousy for girls in our group. Girls that I love. Girls that I would trade places with in a heartbeat. Girls who I have analyzed, studied, and copied in an effort to be that careless and light when it comes to attention from members of the opposite sex. Girls who don't realize how lucky and easy they have it. How fucking nice it must be to be thin, and pretty.

4) How fucking douchey men can be.

5) How despite all my accomplishments and talents, I will always be less. Second best because I don't fit into a nice package.

6) How all it takes – after fooling myself and building myself up for months – is one asshole comment from a guy to tear it all down again.

I hate being this way.

Edit: Realize now that I was being a self-loathing wanker and need to MOVE ON ALREADY, because this kind of thinking, behavior, and attitude is frankly getting old and boring. See two entries above for why it's not deleted completely.