Beltane reflections

Last year at Beltane I was feeling a bit lost and most lonely. Things with Brisket had just fizzled out and I was left contemplating why. I have a habit of turning things around on myself and it wasn't because he was emotionally immature or using me (both things which are very true), rather it was because I am wretched, fat, dorky, and not worth his time.

Going into Beltane I was trying to change that perception of myself – repeating mantras that I may be flawed, but I am also beautiful, like a Persian rug with a mislaid thread. Telling myself that I am kind, clever, giving and fun, having much to offer in friendship and love. For whatever reason, the nice things are harder to believe about yourself, especially when you've just been spectacularly rebuffed by a 28-year old knob who lives in his mother's basement and works at a movie theater. Still, I practiced saying these things to myself, over and over.

When I arrived at Beltane, I sat for awhile in a corner, weaving myself a crown of flowers and repeating my mantras. And then he walked in.

I noticed him immediately and as cliché as it sounds, my heart palpitated a bit. I had never seen him at an Open before. He was dressed in all black, with a simple pentacle hanging around his neck. He looked muscular and fit, and he had deep dimples when he smiled. I was smitten.

Trouble was, I had no idea who he was and I was seriously lacking confidence to just go over and talk to some stunningly hot guy who randomly shows up to Sabbats. And yet, a little voice in my head argued with me, remember your mantras. Remember that you are worth his time and consideration. So I compromised. I would flirt with him from afar and make him come talk to me.

All through the ritual I gave him come-hither eyes. As we danced around the maypole, I would smile and wink at him when we came face to face while weaving our ribbons. When the drumming and dancing began, I made sure to wiggle my hips a bit more when I was near him. During the feasting I sat close-ish to him and hoped that he would overhear parts of my group's conversations and join in.

It didn't work. Even though we locked eyes several times and even though he always returned my smiles, he never spoke to me. I left Beltane feeling rejected again. I tried to comfort myself, acknowledging that I knew nothing about this person – he could be married, or have a non-pagan girlfriend, or be gay, or turn out to be a jerk. It was cold comfort, to say the least, and if you read my entry from last year, you can sort of tell how sad I was feeling.

I'm not going to draw the suspense out any longer: That hot guy turned out to be the Scotsman. I didn't see him again for another 5 months. In the interim, I learned that he had "asked" about me, but that he was going through a divorce -- making him off limits in my book. I promised myself I wouldn't flirt with him because he was emotionally scarred and probably not ready for a relationship. I would be nothing more than a rebound girl. I would behave and be only a friend to him. But when we met for the second time, it was like we were magnets. We couldn't keep away from each other.

I just woke up in his arms this morning, and I couldn't be happier.

===

This year the Scotsman and I were asked to be the May King and Queen for Beltane. I was ecstatic, to say the least. But the Scotsman was unsure – his personal coven had their Beltane the same day. "We can do both," I told him. "We can fit both in, the times don't overlap that much." I encouraged him to tell his high priestess that he had been asked to do this, sure that she would be pleased and proud and insist that he be the May King. His coven is so tiny (only 4 people) and they never start on time. If he just asked, maybe they would push their Beltane back an hour.

But the Scotsman was unsure and wanted to be loyal to his coven. As someone who is well-versed at scheduling lots of things into her life, this was frustrating to me. I so wanted to do this with him – it felt like a perfect circle to last year's Beltane.

But I held my tongue. I let him decide where he wanted to be for Beltane and make the call. We declined to be May King and Queen. And he planned on being with his coven and I planned on being with both the IP and his coven. I swallowed my disappointment.

Then yesterday, two hours before the IP Beltane began, the Scotsman called me and asked if he could come with me. I was simultaneously thrilled and frustrated. See, I thought. We will have time to do both.

Since we declined on being May King and Queen, the IP hadn't found another couple to take on the roles. So the May King and Queen would be decided by fate. During the ritual the single ladies lined up and drew stones from a pouch.

I drew the odd-colored stone.

Some things are meant to be. I obviously chose the Scotsman as my May King (how could I not?) and led him on a merry chase for my crown.

Happy Beltane, everyone.

Happy Valentines, A Day Late

Happy Valentine's Day, you guys. Being minus a computer at home means you get this a day late, but trust that I was thinking of you all. Because as you can read from years previous, it's not about being with some body per se, but it's about appreciating the love you have in your lives, in whatever forms it comes: Friends and family.

As for me, I had contented myself on not seeing the Scotsman, since he had his daughter this weekend. But Saturday morning I got a phone call asking me if I'd like to attend a Scottish and Irish Mid-Winter festival with them on Sunday, and hell yes was my answer. And the Scotsman, making all my dreams come true, WORE A KILT. When I saw him walk in the door of the convention center, I literally froze and was breathless for a moment. KILT. GUH.

"You're wearing a kilt," I said, stating the obvious.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said.

Of course, since his daughter was there and, you know, we were in public and all, I couldn't really take advantage of the situation properly. Still...s'nice. We had a lovely day together, enjoying the music and dancing. There was a ceili session and the Scotsman and his daughter both Irish danced* with me, which was across the board AWESOME. And also possibly the way to my heart.

Evidence of the kilt (and believe me, I was kicking myself for not bringing my actual camera):



What can I say? Kilts give me a lady-boner.

So my Valentine's day was cozy, perfect, filled with kilt-wearing men, dancing, happiness and some roses. I hope yours was equally as satisfactory.

*He was pretty good at the ceili dancing, actually. He also Scottish Highland danced a bit for me. ALSO AWESOME. Swoons, people. Swoons.

My boyfriend can totally beat up your boyfriend*

So, The Scotsman? Just got his third degree black belt. Bear with me a bit, because I'm going to brag.

It was kind of a big deal this test, because he'd been waiting to take it for close to 9 years. He should have actually taken it about 4 years ago but between his own students and Tae Kwon Do club, not to mention his full-time job and family responsibilities, it kept getting pushed back and pushed back. So the fact that he was finally able to take it was pretty damn special and I was honored that he asked me to come and take photos**.

The test took over 4 hours, which I sort of can't wrap my head around. Don't ask me how he made it through the ordeal, because I would have given up after the first couple of forms and sat myself down with some girl-scout cookies or something and just been satisfied with my two degrees. But he kept going and going and was generally awesome the entire time.

The final portion of the test was the breaking. The Scotsman was the last to go and he was the one breaking the most boards. Prior to The Scotsman's turn, the other students (who were mostly testing for their first degrees) kept not breaking. And they were only trying to break one board. As each of them hit difficulties and had to re-try over and over, I got more and more nervous. Because The Scotsman was breaking 4 boards with his elbow, immediately followed by 3 with a kick, followed by 2 with a different kick (technical term). Grand total of 9 boards for those of you not adding along.

By the time The Scotsman got up there to do his thing, I was pretty edgy. A hush fell over the entire room as he set up the boards, and I overheard a little girl say with awe, "Mom, you HAVE to get a picture of this. He's going to break 4 BOARDS!"

The Scotsman's mom was biting her nails at this point, and I was holding my breath.

But of course, I had nothing to be worried about:



If you look in the mirror, you can see that it takes the strength of 3 burly men to handle the impact. Those boards? Completely broken.

The two kicks went perfectly too:



And let me just tell you, the cheer that went up afterward? Epic. After my heart started beating again, I realized that I had been silly. The Scotsman has been known to break up to 6 boards with his elbow, so those 4? Were like butter.







I might be just a bit proud, you guys.

And then, the next day, The Scotsman cooked me breakfast:



Wearing the belt, obviously. Because you kind of have to.

<3

*He wouldn't, of course, because that goes against the tenants of Tae Kwon Do. But he could, is my point.

** I'm fairly disappointed with how the pictures came out, actually. Too bad his girlfriend is an amateur. Ugh.

Freedom, Malaise, and Freedom from Malaise

First of all, fuck this fuckery of being on lockdown because I am sick of it and frankly it's boring and I'm not doing much writing anyway, so really what's the point. Furthermore, things have essentially calmed down (knock on wood), and putting this thing on private was just me being ridiculously cautious.

So, yes. Hello.

And now I begin the most random, semi-whiny entry in existence to catch you all up.

It's mid-January so thus I begin my regular bout with depression. Everything is technically fine, but I find myself feeling so down. Everything feels like it requires such a huge effort to accomplish. Just getting out of bed can feel like a trial, and I have to have a serious Come-to-Jesus with myself to get up some mornings. And again, let me assure that things are really and truly OK, it's just the way I get this time of year. Everything is so dark and cold, I should really just hibernate the fuck away.

A large part of this depression is frankly due to something I can't really talk about in a public forum. But it's a BIG part of my everyday life and I can't seem to escape it. I've been trying to escape it for the better part of a year, but I am not having any luck and it is hitting me now how much I need to fucking move on already, because it's truly making me miserable. (Is this vague enough for you? I think it's quite obvious what I'm talking about without saying directly.)

Money is troubling me because I seem to have none (uh, see above) although photo jobs are starting to swing my way again and help out with some temporary cash re-flow, but my car payments (sigh) and student loans (sweet Jesus) are taking their toll on me. I'm debating getting a second job, but fuck me, I do not want to have to do that. Plus, my sense of entitlement is telling me that I shouldn't have to do that. I'm eventually just going to have to get off of my high horse, because it's a recession bitches.

Speaking of photography, after Wedding Palooza '09 I hit a wall. I was sick to death of my camera and didn't want to even touch it for two months. So I didn't. Now that I'm being forced over the hump, due to jobs and such, I need to reconsider some things. Such as, while I think I take nice portraits and such, I'm not particularly challenging myself. My photography, ironically, is missing a point of view. I don't think my pictures say anything other than I hang about with some gorgeous people and have a knack for capturing them. I'm trying to decide what to do about this. A friend from Rosemont tipped me that Narrative Magazine is always looking for submissions, giving me a serious wink and a nudge. But a quick tour through my archives quickly pointed out that I am lacking in the artistic quality needed for such a submission. Additionally, Pictory Magazine has left me both breathless and intimated. When I say I want to be a good photographer, these are the types photos I am talking about. It is also why I think I am not a good photographer – I don't have photos like this, not even close. Rather than be bummed about it, I'm going to fix it. Resolutions, for all to see:

1. I will take a serious photography class of some sort this year.
   
2. I am going to buy my own external flash and learn how to use it properly and get over my aversion to flash.
   
3. By May I will have completed on photo essay suitable for submission and publication.

Along the same lines, I signed up for a FlavorsMe site, with the hopes of self-promotion and am thinking of getting a RedBubble profile so I can sell some of this bullshit in the form of prints and canvases.

Don't ask me about writing, because I've done fuck all in that area.

I've hit an all-time low as far as artistic slumps go. See vague paragraph 5, which has hindered my design aesthetic in a way I hadn't thought possible. Reason #4724 why I need to move on already.

My computer buggered out on me. I have no money to replace it, not that it was a particularly good computer in the first place. I desperately need to replace it, too. Anyone want to lend me $2400 for a new MacBook Pro? Because as I try to save money, it inevitably keeps getting funneled to bills.

Despite the all the payments, I am head over heels in love with my new car. In case you weren't following on Facebook, I opted for a 2010 Toyota Corolla in electric blue. I've named it the TARDIS, because it's a Toyota and Relative Dimension in Space, see. I love the TARDIS and how zippy and shiny it is and how corners like it's on rails. Also, after years of second-hand cars, I can't tell you how nice it is to drive something that I chose and that is mine mine mine and exactly what I wanted. It's not a boat! It's a fun color! It feels like my car. And it's under warranty and actually, like, reliable and whatnot. I can drive long distances and not worry about it. The steering wheel doesn't shake when I go above 65mph. Amazing.

Things with The Scotsman are great, more than great actually, and now that I'm sacked down in my January dumps I am quite thankful to have him, because he is one thing that is making me quite happy. The one struggle is the distance between us and our schedules – we don't see each other nearly as much as we would like. We're averaging every other weekend and trying to take turns in each other's state. We've crossed major hurdles – he met my family and a good portion of the 141 crew, I've (briefly) met his daughter – so I feel like things are on a good track. I know a lot of you are still anxious to meet him and scope him out, but be patient. I have a lot of friends and I'm trying not to overwhelm him too much. In the meantime, enjoy this picture of the two of us taken at the Witch Parade. Ignore that it's not the best picture of us ever. We seem to have glassy eyes (thank you, flash, and multiple beers we had imbibed) and ignore that I have flowers in my hair like the pagan dork I am:



I like him. I'm so glad that he likes me too.

I got my hair cut short. I loved it for 2 days and now I'm dying for it to grow out.

I gained so much weight over the holidays, I feel like a porker. I know things will be better once I get back in the habit of going to the gym, but file that under "things that are seemingly impossible for me to do right now."

Spiritually, I'm looking forward to a good year. Silver Stars have taken me under their wing and I'm working on ritual writing and taking a more active role in the IP. Additionally, my dreams have been out of control these past weeks.

Just writing out a lot of my complaints and unleashing a bit about my depression is helping me feel better. Additionally, it is sunny and 48° out today, unlike the disgusting cold rainy mess it was yesterday when I began this entry. I promise you I'm OK. Some fun entries are coming up (including Luke and Leslie's wedding post!), so stay tuned!

Diseased

The Illness: I'veGotAHotGuyInMyBed-itis

Symptoms: Warm cozy feeling, strong desire to engage in behavior best described as "snuggling," inability to keep hands to self, excessive giggling, blanket stealing, complete lack of will to get out of bed.

Course of treatment: In most cases, one of two options are available.

Cure 1 - Forcing subject out of bed, using brute strength if necessary. Cold showers followed by medicinal consumption of hot coffee and focusing subject's attention on "grownup responsibilities." Side effects include grumbling, pouting, heavy sighs, feet stomping, and sluggish behavior for the remainder of the day.

Cure 2 - Allowing the illness to "run its course." Subject should remain in bed for as long as possible. Good friends and understanding coworkers are essential to this remedy. Side effects include healthy glow, excessive smiling, daydreaming, happy sighs, facial muscles taking on a "sappy" expression, emotional behavior described as "obnoxiously happy."

GUESS WHICH REMEDY I CHOOSE, YOU GUYS.

In other news, sorry for being...well, sappy and obnoxiously happy around these parts. I should be keeping an even head about me, given all the complications, but instead I'm all singing with bluebirds on my shoulder and shit. Whatever. ISN'T IT A REFRESHING CHANGE FROM ALL WHINE ALL THE TIME ABOUT HOW I HATE MYSELF? Yeah, I think so too. We're going to go with it.

True Story

Cross-posted everywhere, because I can't sit still and this is the longest morning ever.

Fuck yeah, Horoscopes

Now that Saturn is out of your true love sector for the first time since September 2007, you truly have a sensational outlook for finding the emotional closeness that you've been seeking for a long time.

With Venus, your ruler, in perfect angle to Neptune, you may also be swept away with sentimental thoughts. If you are dating (or even if you are not), a romantic moment that happens in November could thrill you. You are ready to chart a new direction, so there's no more reason to hang back.

With Venus gliding through your relationship house November 7-30, creating a tender "full moon" effect, your relationship should feel especially sweet this month. One outstanding, four-star day for love to mix perfectly with friendship will be November 14 - plan a party or a big dinner with many friends.


WORD UP, UNIVERSE. I am ready.

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.

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.

Monday Morning: True Facts Edition

(via PostSecret)

Yep, pretty much. And not the good things, either.

Hitting home

I've been reading and rereading many zines of late (THESIS OMG), and last night I came across a quote that took my breath away:

For years I loved with heartbreaking intensity. Desperation. I opened up fast as possible. Quick, quick, see me before it is too late. — Doris 23

Well, yeah. I can relate to that, just a bit.

Things with Brisket, as you may have gathered, are weird. A few weeks ago we had The Talk. I hadn't intended on having The Talk, but a conversation about respecting me and my time morphed into that and let me just tell you, if I owned a TARDIS I would go back in time and prevent it from ever happening, just so I could continue being blissfully ignorant. We're on different pages. Possibly in different books altogether.

And yet...I can't bring myself to completely let go. I don't think he can either. There's too much I like about him. I can list his faults over and over and over: his immaturity, his selfish behavior, his unwillingness to grow up. But all I can remember is how well we connected, how attractive and special I feel with him, our stimulating conversations, our passion, how for months we couldn't get enough of each other.

I would give anything to get back there. Even if it was false.

We took a break for about two weeks, and I get the impression that since The Talk he's been purposefully holding back so as to avoid and prevent me from getting hurt. I also have a (completely unfounded and irrational) suspicion that he might have someone else he's messing around with — which is 100% allowed per our agreement from back in the day to "keep things casual."

Since The Talk, the ball has been in my court. He left it to me to decide if I wanted to Just Be Friends or continue Doing Whatever It Is We're Doing. I am in control. I've opted to try to continue Doing Whatever It Is We're Doing, because I am deranged. I know I shouldn't settle or compromise.

But I know other things.

I know that I am too emotional, and a serial monogamist. I've never casually dated anyone. I've only been in serious relationships. I know I take things too seriously, too deeply. I feel it all. I know that I need to learn to relax and not hold so tight. I think, on some level, all this bullshit is supposed to help me, to teach me how to be casual and simple when it comes to men. Get back to basics.

I also know I am unwilling to go back to where I was before Brisket: Lonely, alienated, the odd girl out. Celibate. Pathetic. I know how hard it is for me to find someone I like. I know my past follies and crushes and how disastrous they all turned out to be. I am unwilling to give up on someone I find to be intellectually stimulating, attractive, funny, and who (miracles of fucking miracles) actually finds me attractive as well. I haven't had that for FIVE FUCKING YEARS. Why should I give up on that so easily? I refuse to be that girl again, standing alone while everyone else is paired up around me, all happy in their love. Fuck that noise.

I'll take what I can get. I should be damned GRATEFUL.

I can hear you. I hear you ALL, shouting at me through cyberspace. Telling me that I'm a beautiful flower, that I'm awesome, that he sucks. Telling me that you love me, telling me that I'm wonderful. Telling me he doesn't deserve me.

You're right. He doesn't deserve me.

But I want him.

I should have him. If I'm so much better than him, I should be able to have him, right? He was supposed to be my reward. My reward for Prince Fucking Charming and for having to deal with lecherous men, for having to listen to men make careless and hurtful remarks, for all the nights spent alone, for all my doubts. I want him to want me. Why can't I have this thing, this one thing?

I know he's ultimately wrong for me. I know I don't want him to be my boyfriend.

I want it to be the way it used to be. Intense, giddy, saucy. Fun. I'm trying to let go, relax, to retrace my steps.

Whatever.

Here I am. Things are fine. I fall too hard, I'm setting myself up for disaster, I give too much, and I'm being stupid.

Deep breath.

Tomorrow I begin again.

I am...

...overly sentimental.

...unwilling to give it up.

...too forgiving.

...craving attention.

...needy for affection.

...fooling myself.

...comforted in the knowledge that he is also fooling himself.

...stupid.

...going to get my heart broken.

...doing it anyway.

Said and unsaid

I came to the realization that I haven't really been blogging much. And when I have blogged, it's been mostly photos. Which, is cool and all, but as Mare said to me on Saturday, "I like your writing."

Partly, I've been just busy and boring, not having anything too exciting or earth-shattering to write about. The regular holiday bustle, running to and fro getting ready for my last semester in school (!), helping my brother out, and your general winter blahs.

On the other hand, I've been censoring myself. Because there is something going on in my life, but I'm unsure about how to share it or if I should. I've made coy hints, which most of my friends in real life were able to decipher and guess at, despite how subtle I thought I was being. For the first time, I've become hyper-aware of certain readers and possible readers and I'm trying my best to balance it all and figure out what I want to divulge to who.

It's stupid, because the whole reason I started this thing was to write and share and be uninhibited and I sort of hate that I now dread coming here to write things because I have to leave huge chunks out or I'm left with very little to write about and then I feel like I'm cheating all of you readers and doing cop-out posts, but on the other hand it's my damn blog and I can write or not write about whatever the fuck I want to and when I damn well please, and clearly I am a woman with Issues Already so leave me alone.

So. Deep Breath.

There is a Boy. I shall henceforth refer to him as Brisket, for no good reason other than I like the sound of it, and also I think it's funny that I'm referring to him as a piece of meat. OK, it's not that funny. WHATEVER, PEOPLE. My blog, my nicknames. Shut up.

Brisket is not my boyfriend. This is an important fact, and I want to be very clear about it. I have not the time nor the emotional space for a serious boyfriend. I get annoyed whenever Gary refers to Brisket as my boyfriend or "beau." Beau especially, because seriously What The Fuck? It's not 1909, nor are we sipping mint juleps on the veranda, and I've always hated that word. It's stupid.

I've come to the conclusion that Brisket and I are more than just dicking around, though. Originally, I thought that it was going to be a quick fling, a couple of weeks of fun and then we'd part ways. Or he'd get sick of me or meet someone hotter or whatever. But it's been some months now, so obviously we get along and like each other and it's fun. There's no good term for what we're doing. I don't have a definition. I'm OK with not having one. For simplicity, when he's come up in conversation, I've referred to him as This Guy I've Been Seeing, which might well be his Indian name.

Brisket, a.k.a. This Guy I've Been Seeing, is cute, practically too cute for me. Brisket is also a huge dork, which may explain why we get along so well. I chatted him up with some sexy sci-fi talk. He bought me a Battlestar Galactica DVD for Christmas, and he starts sentences out by saying things like, "In this dimension..." Make outs and swoons, people.

I feel good, we laugh a lot, and I'm having a lot of fun. Those are the things you need to know. And as long-time readers of this blog can attest, IT WAS ABOUT FREAKIN TIME, because I was well on my way to Homely Spinsterville and now I feel like I've made a nice detour to GettinItOn Datestown or wherever.

I feel so much better having cleared the air. Let's never keep secrets again, Internet.

Coin-Operated Boy

Yep, pretty much.

Conversations about a Cheesegimp

FRY: Oh. He gets -1 point for smoking.

ME: Yeah. But he gets +10 million points for being generally awesome.

FRY: Totally.

---

MAZZ: Would you look at them?

ME: I know. They are completely destroying my cynical outlook on romance and love.

MAZZ: Tell me about it.

---

LUKE: Well, we have to haze him.

ME: Actually, we don't. We're not the fraternity of Di Kappa Retarded.

LUKE: We can't just let him come in date Renee without seeing what he's made of.

ME: (hesitant to admit that he's got a small point) Just....go easy on him, OK?

LUKE: Fuck that. We're going in all Boondock Saints, "And Shepherds we shall be for thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri Et Fili Spiritus Sancti."

ME: Oh my fucking god.

HAVEN: No, we can't do that -- Renee doesn't know Boondock Saints.

ME: Really?

HAVEN: Nope, she fell asleep in the middle of it.

ME: Even with Willem Dafoe gaying it up and generally ROCKING OUT throughout the film?

HAVEN: She fell asleep.

ME: How is that possible?

LUKE: Well, whatever. We'll go in like Pulp Fiction then. "All right, everybody be cool, this is a robbery!...Any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every motherfucking last one of ya!"

ME: Oh my fucking god. This is exactly what Renee was afraid of.

---

HAVEN: (jumping out from behind the door jam and brandishing a water gun) YOUR CROTCH LOOKS HOT AND LIKE IT COULD USE SOME COOLING OFF!!! (begins firing water gun)

CHEESEGIMP: GAH! (laughter)

MIKE: (Yells something incomprehensible and begins firing his water gun)

CHEESEGIMP: (excessive laughter and screeching, the way one does when confronted by a sneak attack of water guns upon opening the door while completely unarmed)

ME: Heeeeee! Sorry. Our friends are twelve.

CHEESEGIMP: That was awesome! It made me feel like one of the gang.

ME: Aw.

LUKE: See? I told you we should haze him.

ME: Shut up.

---

ME, TO ANYONE WHO WOULD LISTEN: Oh, I adore him. He's perfect for her. Pardon me while my pancreas flops out from overload about sweet they are together.

---

Cheesegimp, you have whole-heartedly won our seal of approval. For cradling a tipsy Renee, for handling all of Haven's bizarre questions with general aplomb, for taking Amy's embarrassing questionnaire in stride, for declaring Yuengling "tasty", for being a good sport about our water attack, for rocking out on the Wii, for your fabulous loud laugh that mingled in perfectly with all of ours. But most of all for making Renee very very happy, just like she deserves to be.

P.S. — Happy 26th birthday, Renee. Every year that goes by makes me even more thankful that we're friends.

Crap Dudes

In an effort to not stress the fuck out so much — which, seriously, I'd love some heroin right about now. Anyone? — I've retreated into that wonderful abyss known as the internet. I spent an obscene amount of time on trashy celebrity gossip sites the past two days, because life may be slightly sucky right now, but at least I'm not running around town with greasy hair, no pants, and ill-fitting pirate boots while my loser skeeze of an ex-husband is making a better impression on the powers that be for child custody. You know. Unlike other people. Always look at the bright side of life.

Anyway. This morning I was surfing around Jezebel when lo, I came to their feature Crap Email From A Dude. The Redhead introduced me to this feature, and God do I love it. Mainly because it serves as a reminder that I am truly better off single since there are so many damn knobs out there.

Post-reading the Crap Emails From A Dude I thought it would be hysterical to see some of the responses from the females they are sent to, really cutting, sharp, witty responses that put these tools in their place.

And then I remembered. I may not have had a crap email from a dude, but I did have a crap phone call from a dude about a year and a half ago. And while I was polite and incredulous on the phone, I fired back via the internet in the passive-aggressive form of my blog. My blog then promptly broke. So no one saw it. Luckily, I managed to salvage it because I was cross posting to Xanga at the time.

The letter is from the Prince Fucking Charming debacle, a mere 24 hours prior to me discovering that he was using me to cheat on his girlfriend. The story of how I discovered this (for the three or four of you who still don't know the sordid tale) is for another time.


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Dear Guy Who I Have a Date With on Friday,

You and I spoke for about 45 minutes last night. Allow me to give you a critique of our conversation:

1) When discussing our age differences (me being six years your junior), it is not proper to talk down to me, as if I am in junior high. I get it: I'm younger than you. But I also have a college education and have been living independently for 2 years*. I'm a grown up too.

2) While on the subject of our age differences, I asked if you were OK with dating someone who was younger. You replied with, "Being 24 means that you just haven't hit your prime yet." GWIHDWF, allow me to say to you now what I did not say when you said this to me: ew. You make me sound like un-ripened fruit or something. Not the way to my heart. Also: Asshole.

3) Still on the subject of me not being in my sexual "prime," you said about how you can "instruct me." Oh, okay, suuuuure. Allow me to give you some instruction: When you kiss someone, it is not an invitation to SUCK THEIR FACE, which is what you did to me last week when we hooked up. Ok, like the slow sexy lip suck can be very sensual, but dude, for real: Not every single time, and not with the power of a hoover. Gentle exploring with the tongue, please. And fuck off.

4) At some point in the conversation, completely un-ironically and not particularly joking like, you mentioned that you'd "put [me] in [my] place and show [me] who was boss." A note to you and to all other guys trying to woo a girl: DON'T EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT. Man, you know, I already felt how big your wang is through your pants on the dance floor. You don't need to continue to "prove" your "manhood" to me. Also, I am the biggest, most stubborn, brattiest, bitch. I fucking dare you to try to "put me in my place."

5) Yes, I hooked up with you on a dance floor in a bar while tipsy. Not my classiest moment. But, nor was it yours. Please, let's move beyond thunderdome and stop with the lame innuendos. All of your innuendos were predictable and kind of creepy. Innuendos should be sly, unexpected, and should make me smile and maybe blush slightly. Not roll my eyes, sigh, and cringe, which is what I did 80% of the time when you made them.

6) It is creepy, not to mention bad manners, to invite yourself over to my house. We were talking while you were driving home from work and you asked about where I lived, borderline asking for directions. When I continued to be purposely vague about it since you were so fucking transparent and I could tell what you were trying to do, you told me, "Well I guess I can't come over and surprise you right now." Damn straight. You know why? Because I didn't invite you over! Because I barely know you. And a alcohol infused fumble at a singles mixer does not a trusting relationship make.

7) Yeah, I'm bitchy, picky, and I have fucking high standards. I know what I want. Last Thursday I wanted a hook up. I got one. Today, I want to go back in time to Sunday and un-call you.

8) The more we talk, the less I am attracted to you.

9) I am only having dinner with you on Friday in the hopes that you'll redeem yourself.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Passive-aggressively,

EightK

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*Hysterical Footnote: I discovered after the fact that he was 30 and still living with his parents. Lord, what a douche.

Prep Work

I currently have in my possession the following:

• An assortment of chick-flicky movies, including this one which involves Hugh Laurie DANCING THE SAMBA throughout. Need I tell you that this is going to be the best movie EVER?
  
  
• Half a dozen trashy magazines including, Cosmo, US Weekly, People, Lucky, And some prom dress mag that Renee I will no doubt spend an hour going through and critizing the ass-ugly gowns.
  
  
• 3 bottles of discontinued nail polish that I bought on sale
  
  
• Face masks
  
  
• Chocolate

Still to procure: Box of wine and any other booze we want, Chinese Food. Renee is bringing darling Rhett with her, so that is taken care of. Are you a single woman with nothing exciting to do this evening? Well, come on down. It's going to be a good night.

What time is it? VALENTIMES!

Regardless of whether I have someone to spend the day with, all romantical and lovey or not, I love Valentine's day. Yes, I know it's a holiday that's been degraded and exploited by Hallmark and jewelry stores. But I still love the idea of having that one day where you throw all caution to the wind and express what's truly in your heart -- be it to someone you're in love with, someone you've been admiring from afar, or even just your dear friends. I received a Valentine from QK yesterday that said, "You are the sweetest friend. I love you. I simply needed you to know it." And that, people, is what it is all about. The past two single years of my life I've made it a point to tell the people I'm surrounded by that I love them. I usually bring a dozen roses to work and pass them out to my coworkers. I hand make Valentines for my friends. I bunker down with my girlies in the DEATH SHELTER. Last year I gave Kelly and Mike a goody bag filled with chocolates, sweetheart candies and ring pops. Because when it comes down to it, whether or not I have Mr. Right or even Mr. Right Now in my life, considering all the wonderful people I've been blessed to be surrounded by, I am very very lucky in love.

This year, however, I've been a bit distracted. I'm not going to lie -- part of that is because I am feeling a bit lonely. But more than that, I've just been busy -- I have a 15 page writing piece due tomorrow that is in desperate need of attention, I've been working on the monstrosity for over a week. And I'm more than a little stressed about work/money issues. Last night at about 9:30 I had an I-coulda-hada-V8 moment when I remembered that today is Valentine's day. Like, I knew it was this week and all, but it really snuck up on me. I forgot to buy roses. I didn't have a chance to make Valentines. And now that we're stranded in an Arctic storm, it hardly seems to matter. But I wanted to take a moment to wish you all a Happy Valentine's day. I hope you are all fortunate to have loving caring people in your lives the same as I do.

First loves and other sorrows

Taurus
Happy Valentine Daze, Taurus! During this lover's holiday, I encourage you to devote yourself full-time to acting like a person who's in love. Even if you're not currently in the throes of passion for a special someone, pretend you are. Everywhere you go, exude that charismatic blend of shell-shocked contentment and blissful turmoil that comes over you when you're infatuated. Let everyone you meet soak up the delicious wisdom you exude. Dispense free blessings and extra slack like a rich saint high on natural endorphins. (I assure you that this assignment is in perfect accord with the astrological omens.)

Astrological omens of what, exactly? Give it up -- what's in store? I've become quite the little psychic junkie lately. I'm about two steps away from throwing my Tarot cards at my own reflection in the bathroom mirror and then sliding down the wall sobbing, a la Lifetime television movies. It's proving that the present is just too boring to deal with right now (or blog about) and I'm ready for shit to happen already.

I was thinking about all this in relation to some interesting news I've received: My first love and high school sweetheart is expecting his first child. Which, you know, awesome! But also: weird.

He and I were quite dumb when we were together, in that retardedly naive way 17-year-olds are. We were convinced we were made for each other, sure that we would be together forever, and were quite needy of each other. Again, we were sort of dumb. But we believed it. We talked about living together, about being married, and having children. When we broke up, right after graduation, it devastated me. I got over it, of course, the way you get over your first love —— by stomping around the house in a funk listening to nonstop soggy romance tunes and bursting into tears whenever I saw mundane household items such as the sugar bowl because it reminded me of the one time we made cookies together. It was all very dramatic and high school. But obviously it was the right thing because it spun me off to college a single woman and eventually into a new relationship. A relationship that was better for me. A relationship that let me grow and change and not have it be about Forever but instead be more about Right Now.

And look at us now: polar opposites. He's married and expecting his first child and working as an organist and music director and I'm single and living here with roommates and a cat working in publishing. We are completely different people, both from who we were then and from each other. All's well that ends well.

Last night, however, I started to feel the bitterness creep in a bit. Everyone is mojo-ing along quite nicely and I'm feeling stalled once again. And as much as I know this hiatus is apart of the bigger picture and teaching me a lesson of, like, self appreciation and patience or something, it gets frustrating. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do next. Or if I'm supposed to do anything at all, even. All I do know is that I am tired of this chapter and ready for the next.