Is Wednesday really Friday?

For me, every Wednesday night is a Friday night.  My work week comes to an end around 4:30 on Wednesday afternoon and doesn't pick up again until Sunday night.  It's not like most schedules, but then again, I'm not like most people.  During my weekend, I'm out there pounding the pavement (read: beers), practicing songs (read: hanging with my band), and engaging in vigorous aerobic activity (read: flirting with cuties).  This lifestyle is not for the faint of heart.  As you know if you've been following the saga, I have nearly died trying to make my dreams of bohemia come true.  I believe not in the virtue of hard work, but rather, the virtue of hard play.  All things I do are part of the game of my life, and I don't take this task lightly. 
Some have misinterpreted my whimsy for flightiness.  Quite the contrary. I know exactly what I'm capable of accomplishing, and I don't intend to look back on my life and wonder "why not?".  I only give you the impression that I'm out of control, because you've never seen anyone so comfortable with her own fuck-ups.  And yeah, maybe sometimes I am a little too carefree (read: drunk) but I'd rather be honest than safe.  I mean really, what is the point of living if you have to be careful all the time?  Sorry folks, but it's just not for me.  So, perhaps against society's better judgement, I will continue to carry the torch of my bohemian vision.  I don't care what the people at Kaiser say.
And tonight, because it is Taylor's birthday, and because the weather is fine, and because he would have carried me on his back to the hospital if I'd needed it last Tuesday, I'm going out to Madrone to drink and dance and celebrate one of the best people I know, in the best city on earth.  When I'm no longer fun, and I need a walker just to stand up, then maybe I'll give up the sex, drugs, and rock n roll.  But even then... ;)

Wipeout

Oh holy shitballs! Wipeout!
Last night was one of those weird I-don't-know-how-I-didn't-see-this-one-coming kind of nights.  I started the afternoon with a couple of beers at lunch... and next thing I know I'm looking up at the night sky from the pavement. 
If you know me at all, you know that at any given moment something is troubling me.  Last night, there were at least three things troubling me, all of them male.  Not that it is an excuse for bad biking, but my brain likes to trick me into ordering another drink when I get overwhelmed.  And seeing the guy I'm trying to get over walk in as soon as I'm about to leave the club, well that's overwhelming.
I want to be friends with this person, but unfortunately I also shared a toothbrush with him not that long ago.  Incredibly enough, the mopey female side of me only kicks in when I want someone I can't have... The rest of the time, you know I'm a total dude. 
So I tried to play it cool, but as I'm was biking away, I just had to take a hand off the bike and wave goodbye to Eugene. Mind you, I turned my body fully around to do this wave, and as I was yelling his name, I felt a tilt like no other. I'd only heard about these kinds of crashes, but the feeling is really something to be savored.  A wiggle, a wobble, a wave of confusion, and a sudden patter of footfall.  As I'm being lifted up, I find myself fully hysterical with laughter.  It was one of the more ridiculous displays of drunken behavior I've ever executed, and I can only imagine how 3-stooges I must have looked.  As Eugene put it, I "definitely lost a few cool points." 
I'm lucky because Taylor is a medic and he was right there to remind me that I had, unfortunately, survived the crash.  Just a couple of scrapes and bruises.
The real damage is to my ego because I'm pretty sure that guy I can't get over was driving away as it happened, and well, I have a pretty strong feeling that was the icing on that cake. 

I'm determined not to have another crush until I'm out of high school.

Well... it's my birthday.  And I'm really into that. 
Here's what I'm not into: people saying they will do something and not doing it. 
I don't care what the hell it is, but I get especially frustrated when I'm lied to.
Listen people, I'm a 12 year old with a learning disability OK? If you tell me you'll give me a cookie, I'm going to be waiting all day for the goddamn cookie.  And like a poor kid with OCD, I'm going to be so focused on you and your stupid cookie that I forget all about how much fun I was having before you came around with your false claims.  And the thing I don't get is... if you can't/won't/don't want to give me a cookie, why did you offer in the first place?  When I was little, my dad would say, "want to go get some ice cream?" Me: "ahduh yesssss" Dad: "that's nice, I was just wondering."  Thanks a lot, Dad.  That game wasn't fun when I was 6 and it still sucks at 28.
I believe I so badly tarnished my dating karma when I went out with Bryan, that now everything is one big cosmic joke.  I have been asked FOUR times since Jan. 1, 2010 to be in a threesome with four different established couples.  REALLY YOU ASK?  Fucking really.  I guess it's a compliment, but it has a way of ruining the moment, if you get my drift.  The point is... I have feelings too people!!  When did I become the girl you bring home to your girlfriend/boyfriend for an anniversary present?  Maybe I could get propositioned by someone single?  Does that seem fair? 
Instead, when I call someone I really like to confirm plans, I not only don't see the guy, but I sit out front of a club gushing tears and being comforted by a homeless dude!  (part of this gushing was due to the sake bombs, part of it due to my own lameness, part of it because that was a really nice homeless dude). 

So... apologies to my roommate for being a lame-o on her birthday, which is also st. patrick's day, which is also the eve of my birthday.  I wanted to grow a sac and enjoy the band, but when I realized that I once dated the bartender (john) who was working last night, I felt that I positively do not have the luck of the irish.  So, I ran away from my friends and cried in the privacy of a doorstep on Polk street.  But not being really hidden, a lot of spectators were mystified by my sadness and tried to help.  One guy even circled the block 3 or 4 times in his creepy white van asking me repeatedly if I needed a ride!  I was tempted but thought... WHY?  even creepo will find a way to get inside of my head and then spring it on me that he's only interested in having me over to please his bi-curious lady. 

All I wanted was to wake up next to someone special on my birthday. 

But so much for that romantic bullshit... let's go find your girlfriend!!

Is truth beauty and beauty truth?

Truth can mean whatever you want it to mean.  It is a concept of relativity, meaning you can percieve any situation how you please, and create your own truth for that moment or situation.  It is up to the individual to use facts to make a rational truth assessment, however it is sooooo tempting to take opinions and speculations and make them truth.  If you have a really fanciful imagination like I do, you are likely to be living out several truth scenarios at the same time.  For example, sometimes I dream about things that seem like reality (ie conversations with people I know, in dream places that look like the real places I hang out), and even upon waking, I am still tempted to believe that these dreams are part of reality.  Like if I'm on bad terms with someone (like that ever happens, pshh), and I dream a good dream about them, I can suddenly feel as if we are not on such bad footing.  I might even be tempted to kiss and make up.  My toolbox is full of all kinds of mental tricks for altering the truth to fit my needs of the moment.  Today I might be confident, tomorrow depressed, the next day happy, the next night doubtful... all these changes in mood and faith seem to be related to my idea of what is true. 
So, I'm giving up on finding truth, and have decided to search for the only thing with meaning in this life: beauty. Some say they are the same thing, but I see it like this. Truth is a fluid state, subject to change based on feelings of the moment. Beauty IS those feelings of the moment.  When we see reality, the only part of it that can be trusted is the beauty.  The chaotic, disorganized, mysterious, relentless beauty that we call life.

The 6 Week Phenomenon

I'm not a complainer (cough cough yes I am) but there's something I have to get off my chest.  Why is it that I'm always falling for some older, charming guy that starts acting all batty after 6 weeks together? What are these people looking for and why the hell isn't it me?  Dammit. I can screw all the 25 year olds I want and walk away completely unscathed emotionally, but get me near somebody over 30 and I'm a complete basketcase. SERIOUSLY. Its like some kind of voodoo magic spell that these supposed "successful" "men" put on me. Maybe my focus on the guy's accolades blinds me to his relative disinterest in my needs and wants.  Or maybe I'm dating out of my league. I don't know, but let me just say that having sex for fun is really up my alley so don't even think about asking me for a date. Unless you're older than me. But then be prepared that I'll most likely fall in love with you and you'll be forced to either a) drop me cold turkey or b) let me down easy by saying how much you like me and then never calling again, or c) tell me that you're just crazy, as if that would make me go away.  Apparently, as long as you do it about 6 weeks after you meet me, it's perfectly acceptable to break my heart.

My mom advises me to become celebate for the next year.

Roommates

To those of you who daily celebrate NOT having roommates...I am here to tell you that roommates are the perfect thing. 
What is better than coming home from a hot overnighter with one of your love interests, only to discover that your roommate has an even better idea... the party that is still going from last night.  I thought I'd be coming home to my room, my computer, perhaps a pot of coffee made by my more melllow roommate Emily.  But no... Steve and several of his friends are snorting ecstacy and getting ready for their second or third wind of the evening, or should I say morning?  When I'm already wearing an olive green jumpsuit just for kicks, you better believe I cannot resist jumping into the party at least for an hour or two.  Doesn't it make sense that we ended up on the roof cuddled up in blankets drinking mimosas? 
Wisely, however, I opted not to join the caravan for a mid-day costumed pub crawl, although I generously loaned all the hats and shades I could find in my halloween box.  Luckily, one of the entourage had the decency to offer a tasty bit to keep me going for the rest of the day, since rolling is not the best way to show up to work.  God bless roommates who quite often take the monotony out of an otherwise average Monday. 
And it doesn't hurt that I spent my Sunday evening with someone special and his roommate drinking a fantastic cab and watching Zombieland.  My life has never been more charmed.

As I sit here absorbing whitening gel into my coffee-tea-nicotine-spunk-weed-juice-chocolate-wine stained teeth I am thinking on why I stopped writing my blog.  A few key reasons come to mind...
1. Very few people (albeit important and sexy people) actually read this thing.
2. Of those reading, one sexy person (my ex), was finding my sexual dishing (tame as it was) quite obnoxious.
3. Said ex then quoted me directly from my blog during an argument...hardly fair considering that he has no quotables that I could use against him as a comeback.
4. The month of January included so many shenanighans that I really didn't know where to start...

BUT THEN, my friend Emmanuelle told me that my life is his favorite reality show.  As far as I can remember, no higher complement was ever paid me in all my life.

So, you see, I was selfishly hiding myself away from you dear readers.  But I realized, that's not fair to you!!  If entertainment is what the world needs, then that is what I will give.  If I can make people happy just by telling you what I did last night, then why not? 
In closing, if having a hot threesome, kissing beautiful strangers, or maintaining a relationship entirely through phone sex is not what makes life worth living, then I must have died and gone to heaven!   

I'm not bored, yes I am

Do you ever feel like you do things, you do things, you do things, and you're still the most boring person you know? I just spent 2 good hours on facebook looking at how exciting every one else's lives are. I mean, there's not even ONE photo of me doing any kind of water sport.  The only picture taken of me outside was at a wine tasting.  And we were forced to sit outside.  Thank god I like running or I'd be indoors all of my life.  I'd be dead of a vitamin D deficiency by now. I'm very thirsty by the way...

Two Thousand and Ten Sensations

"It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me... And I'm feeling good."

-Muse, "Feeling Good" from Origin of Symmetry, best rock album EVER

Yesterday at work, I was overcome by one of the stranger sensations of my lifetime.  Seriously, this beat the first time I was eaten out, which was so foreign and amazing that I shed tears of shock...

While walking through the dining room at my restaurant, I realized with much amazement that I'm truly happy.  And not just the "it's-almost-9pm-and-I-can-go-home-now" happy, but a deep feeling of content that was so foreign and amazing I wasn't sure how to receive the message.  At first, I felt a sense of loss for the melancholy I had held so close to my heart for the past 27 years.  Then I felt a quiver as that feeling of melancholy was replaced by a split second of nothingness, whereby I felt absolutely neutral.  (All this, imagine, as I'm walking from table 13 back to the kitchen...)  As I processed the neutral sensation running through my body, a question arose... How am I supposed to feel if I am not upset, pissed off, sad, manic, overjoyed, or just plain cheated?  Really, what IS this feeling?  That's exactly the moment when it struck me like Shawn Slater's nimble tongue: I have everything I want. 

Now, I know what you're thinking. One moment of clarity is not going to erase 27 years of shit splatters from riding the pity-party wagon.  Not at all.  And if all I really want is to work in a restaurant and share a flat with a couple of roommates and some mice, then I guess my idea of happiness might seem a little less than the American dream come true.  To each his own, however.

It took me 4 years, but in that time here's what I've accomplished that can't be put on a job application or used to buy a house:

I learned to play the piano.

I wrote a hundred songs, and I love each one of them.

I joined a band that I rock out with twice a week.

I got over my ex-boyfriend, no easy task considering that our 6 year stint spanned from ages 18-24, and that without his influence I would not have found music.

I became a vegan.

I freed myself from the bondage of co-dependence, and entered a hot relationship with myself.

I became a runner.

I accepted my life for what it is... MINE

So, interpret this how you will.  I think we are encouraged to practice false modesty because it is somehow against the social mores to admit that life truly is good.  Being a human is an intensely painful and unique experience, but that is why it's so amazing.  Every moment of the journey is worth celebrating, from the best orgasm of your life, to the moment you decide to come down from the ledge. 

Pain, pleasure, hunger, darkness, lust, joy, evil, wonder, puzzlement... the stuff of life IS life.  We can spend our time however we want.  I made the executive decision to practice happiness, and suddenly that's what I've got.  It's not luck that got me here but perseverance.

In closing, don't assume my new found contentment means the blog won't still be a sounding board for daily resentment and ranting.  Quite the oppposite in fact.  My baggage still holds a hot mess, but the suitcase is brand new, and it's got my name written all over it.

  

For a little extra joy, please watch:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nh7D2g5v-Sg