Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday Nov. 27 10:32 p.m. EST: HOME. Thank god. That's it, I'm never drinking again. Or flying again. Maybe.
8:49 p.m.: Seriously, is there no barf bag in here?
8:47 p.m.: Turbulence. Tuuuuurbuleeeeeence.
5:14 p.m.: Advil not working.
12:32 p.m. CST: Why the FUCK am I in Houston? Seattle to New York via Texas, really? I shake my fist at you, Continental!
7:42 a.m. PST: "Bye, Jamie! Smooches! Thanks for everything! By the way, do you have any Advil?"
7:10 a.m.: Underwear, underwear...where is my underwear? "Hey, psssst. Wake up. Are you hiding my underwear? Well, I don't know why you would, but...oh wait, here it is. Well, anyway, that was fun. If you're ever in Mythaca...well, anyway. Bye."
3:57 a.m.: "So, are you a slut?"
"What?! I mean...what do you think?"
"No...I don't think you are. I didn't expect to get your clothes off so easy, though."
"You're kind of an asshole, aren't you?"
3:33 a.m.: "Yes, you have to wear it, and no, I don't care if you can't 'feel anything.'"
3:02 a.m.: Oh, hey...guys. Oh, you're...going to stop to chat, are you? Going to...sit down right next to us on the futon, eh? Oh my god. Please, please just go. Oh ho ho, you think this is just hilarious, don't you? I may be drunk but this is still completely mortifying. Yes, good, you go away now. God.
3:01 a.m.: Annnnnnnnd here they are.
2:47 a.m.: "I don't know, Jamie's roommates haven't come home yet. Oh, yes, a sheet, brilliant. Like a cloak of invisibility! Or...not."
2:32 a.m.: "You know, when I first met you I thought you were a lesbian."
What?! Oh my god, is it possible he's already found my blog? "What?! I mean, umm, why?"
"Well, I didn't know you don't live here, and you were always sleeping in the room with your friend."
"That's bullshit, I told you I didn't live here the first time I met you."
"Umm, yeah, I was really high when I first met you."
"It was nine in the morning."
2:21 a.m.: "You know how I knew? You let me tap your foot under the table all night."
"Wait, you knew that was my foot? And you just kept tapping it? I thought you thought it was the table."
"Yeah, and you let me. I was like, well, if this girl is going to let me tap her foot all night..."
"Well, I...but...that was my side of the table! I had nowhere else to go!"
"You liked it."
"What?! I...fine. I liked it."
2:15 a.m.: "You know, I've wanted to kiss you since I met you."
"No way, really? But you acted so...aloof."
"Oh, come on. If I had pursued you, you never would have been interested."
"That's not true."
"Well, anyway, I just know that I saw that face, and I was like, I want to kiss it. And those bangs..." (Seriously, the bangs again??? Note to self--hipsters love the bangs.)
1:53 a.m.: "So should we get out of here?"
"Yeah, let's go."
1:24 a.m.: Seriously, another pitcher of PBR?
1:12 a.m.: "I've just seen a face I can't forget the time or place when we first met she's just the girl for me and I want all the world to see we've met. Woooo woooo wooooo woo woo woooooooo!"
12:03 a.m.: Karaoke? God, I fucking hate karaoke!
Thursday Nov. 26 11:59 p.m.: "You know, I think I've drank more PBR tonight than I've ever drank in my whole life. Like, cumulatively. I think I may have had it, like, once or twice before, but usually I don't even touch it. But you know, it's actually not that bad right now."
Wednesday Nov. 25 10:14 a.m.: text from Jamie: awww. be aloof. that gets em every time. :)
10:03 a.m.: text to Jamie: He is cute. and I am super awkward. Oh well
9:58 a.m.: "Hey."
"Um, you don't live here, do you?"
"Oh. I don't either."
"Well, uh, bye."
8:31 a.m.: text from Jamie: Attractive shirtless man on my couch!
Annnnnnnnnd scene. I'm going to chalk this one up to a life lesson. Though from now on I'll probably think twice about hooking up with some black-glasses-and-tight-pants-wearing, curly-haired, PBR-swilling, pot-smoking, knows-exactly-how-cute-he-is hipster. Fucking hipsters, man. Trouble.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Internet- I am writing to you from Seattle right now! And I am thrilled to be here. It's my very first time visiting the Pacific Northwest, and I am being hosted by my dear friend Jamie. Last night she took me to see the most spectacularly beautiful view of a city by night that I have ever seen:
Um, yeah. I guess you had to be there.
Alright, well, my crappy camera and I are going to go get some coffee. (I hear that's what you do here.) Cheers, everyone, and if you don't hear from me before then, have a very, very happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
I am not sure why this is, why I feel so ill at ease with girls I don't know well. Perhaps it's that I automatically assume that they will hate me and thus react accordingly- like a nervously clucking chicken. But, I swear, sometimes girls do automatically hate me. I wish I were making this up, but it's happened more than once that upon meeting someone new, in a work situation or whatever, said girl will eye me up and down, say, "Wow, you're so skinny," whereupon I nod, or shrug, or make some vaguely apologetic gesture, and then she will add, dryly, "I hate you." Wow, I just met you, I'll think and scuttle away, nervously bobbing my chicken head. And then I'll tell myself I don't want to be friends with someone like that anyway. And plus, it definitely wasn't a boy who looked me straight in the eye while I was cutting a rug at my very first fourth grade sleepover and told me, with an air of utter disdain, "You. Look. So. Stupid," and thus ruined dancing for me forever. And so, yes, I am nervous around girls, desperately craving their acceptance while simultaneously ducking and covering in anticipation of their ultimate rejection.
[And, wow, re-reading this, it is fairly clear that I am one hot mess. How I've made it 29 years without ever going on meds I'll never know. (I do know- it's called being poor and in denial. Moving on!)]
At some point it started to seem safer to cultivate friendships with guys, but when one of those friends confessed that though he was married, he was in fact quite attracted to me, and another of those friends tried to make out with me, and yet another of those friends has gone MIA for no apparent reason, though ultimately it is probably related to the fact that he is a guy and I am a girl, and the potentially mixed signals and/or hurt feelings that this sort of situation might generate... well, it was at this point that I started thinking to myself, Damn, I need some girlfriends.
I should confess here, in a seeming non-sequitur (but don't worry, I'll bring it back around), that after a wonderfully refreshing and nearly half-year-long hiatus, I recently bit the bullet and put my profile back up on Okcupid. I've written before about my love/hate relationship with Okcupid (mostly hate, in recent history), but after yet another Friday night at home alone, I was lonely, desperate, and I didn't know what else to do. The problem being, that if I had trouble finding appropriate guys to date in Boston, I quickly realized that in a town the size of Mythaca, it would be nearly impossible. After performing a thorough search, I found maybe one guy I would even consider going out with. Two, tops. And so I found myself clicking over to the girls' side of things. Just to see... I told myself. And voilà! The very first match listed was a 28-year-old Cronell PhD student in romance studies, who speaks French fluently. Also, she's gay. But that shouldn't matter, I told myself. Go on, what do you have to lose? And so I sent her an e-mail, saying, "I hope this doesn't sound weird, because I'm not gay, but I am fairly new to town, and it sounds like we may have some things in common." And she wrote back! She was very warm and sweet and thanked me for my e-mail, and said she would love to meet up for a drink with me, and it sounded like we would have a lot to talk about. So! I have a date! A date with a lesbian! But, Internet, there is a problem. And the problem is: this girl is ridiculously hot. Like, smokin' hot. Like, holy-mother-of-A.J. Langer-from-My So-Called Life-meets-Mary Louise Parker-from-Weeds-with-a-head-of-model-hair hot. And this is not based on just one picture, either. This is based on, like, ten pictures, each one hotter than the last.
What if she hates me? What if she thinks I'm boring? What if I am passive aggressive and awkward and overly self-deprecatory? What if I sweat my way right through my shirt? Internet, I think it is safe to say that I am freaking out here. I only have two days to figure out what to wear!
Oh, and I also have a date tonight with a tall guy who confuses your/you're and has already texted me about a bajillion times, and suffice it to say that I am not really concerned at all about it. I'm feeling pretty cool, calm and collected about this one. I know what to say to guys, how to act, what to do.
But a girl! Heavens to Murgatroyd. I just hope I don't screw this up.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
The tire, it turns out, is unrepairable! Of course! One new tire, please! And do you why it was unrepairable? Do you know why this happened? (Other than the nail that I can only imagine was placed in the road specifically for my benefit, pointy-side up and cartoon-like by a cackling and mustache-twirling villain.) No, it happened because I am an idiot and the universe hates me. Ooh, look at me, universe! I am making a frivolous and fiscally irresponsible purchase! Screaming it out to the world like the idiot that I am. And what do you know- the very next day the universe is all, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200. Actually, you know what? Why don't you pay $200, just for kicks. Since it seems you have all this money floating around, mwa ha ha...
Universe? I hate you.
But, you know what I don't hate? That's right, it's my new...
iPod Touch! It's like an iPhone, only without, you know, the phone bits. And with 32 gigs of storage!
I love it so. I don't know if you can see this, but this is me reading my blog on my iPod Touch while typing a blog post on my computer and whoa. The possibilities boggle the mind.
This is my iPod Touch's
If I had to listen to one more person say, "What is that thing? Is that a Walkman?" I don't know what I would do. Although, honestly, this was a pretty great little mp3 player and I used it consistently for five years without a problem. I don't know anyone whose iPod has lasted anywhere near that long. In fact, that's why I waited so long to replace it, because the damn thing just would not break. In the end, I decided to switch when it became so outdated that the software it came with wasn't compatible with Windows Vista. So, though I had a pretty good library built up, I could no longer put anything new on or take anything off, and so essentially what I had was an mp3 player-shaped paperweight. That looked like a Walkman. And so I stopped using it. I would only take it on particularly long car rides, or on airplanes. And even then I would keep it tucked away in my purse in shame.
And now I have my lovely new iPod Touch, although I have to be honest and say that I haven't actually used it so much, yet. Or really at all, other than the initial puttering, hitting of the on/off button and saying Oh good, it works. And now I'll turn it off. Because to get use from it, I would probably need to leave the house. Which...I guess I haven't been doing so much of lately. But...outside is scary, guys. Outside is where the sharp, pointy nails are! In any case, I'm sure I'll get motivated to leave the house soon. And if not, I bet there's an app for that.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
All of which is to say, of course...
Oh how the mighty have fallen.
Because sometimes when your life sort of sucks, and you live in a small town in the middle of nowhere, and you have no savings account, no health insurance, and haven't worked full-time in going on four years now, the only thing to do is make a fiscally irresponsible purchase. Because, it's a quality of life issue, you will tell yourself.
Oh, I didn't enter into this lightly, believe me. At first I asked myself, Is this something I can reasonably ask my parents to get me for Christmas? What if I tell them that this is the only thing I want for Christmas and my birthday? For the next five years? Then I thought back to Christmases past and realized that, no, it was not at all something I could reasonably ask for and with any degree of certainty expect to receive. And so I took matters into my own
But what form has my new found elitist snobbery taken? Care to take a guess? Is it...
(in order of least to most fiscally irresponsible)
an iPod Shuffle?
an iPod Nano?
an iPod Touch?
What about you, Internet? Are you an Apple person or a PC person? Have you gone or would you ever consider going to the dark side? Inquiring minds want to know.
Monday, November 9, 2009
So I'm standing around at this hot-as-balls party, and there's about a million people, most of whom I am towering over in my platform clomp-squeaker boots. So I am feeling a tad circus freakish (Yes, nothing to see here folks, just a six foot tall woman, let's move it along), but not altogether bad about myself. At least my makeup looks good, I think, and so I am feeling relatively fresh and sassy and ready for whatever. So when some guy says to me, "Has anyone ever told you..." I get all revved up. Ooooh, a compliment! I think.
"Yeeeeeeeeessssss," I smile. "Go ooooonnnnnnnnnn..."
"...that you look like..."
"Yeeeessss?" I purr.
Across the room a record scratched and a roomful of dancers collectively stopped and let their mouths fall open, and then slowly buried their heads in their hands. Or maybe that was just me. "No, no no no," I murmured into my palms, shaking my head slowly back and forth. "No no no no no!" I brushed away tears and finally removed my hands to face my assailant. He looked fairly stunned.
"What?" he said. "I...I like Kathy Griffin."
"Never..." I said.
"She...she's really funny," he stuttered.
"First of all," I said, "she's not funny. Second of all, you never, ever, EVER tell a girl that she looks like Kathy Griffin."
"I...I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not from this country." And he shrugged his shoulders with a helpless, "look at me, I'm a foreigner in a strange land" smile.
Puh-leese, Pradeep. I have played that game before, the "oh woe, what is an American girl ignorant of your customs to do?" charade. But unless Indian tastes in humor and asthetics tend toward the bizarre and macabre, then I have the distinct feeling that I'm being punked right now.
In retrospect, it was probably my fault for trying to do cat eyes eyeliner.
But really, Internet, I have to interject to insist here that I look nothing, and I mean nothing at all like Kathy Griffin.
Yeah? Who's funny now, Kathy Griffin? Look at these jazz hands! Who's funny now???
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
...number one? Yeah, totally happened. And was just as quickly retracted and blamed on excessive alcohol consumption. (Four! whole! beers! Consumed steadily over the course of four! whole! hours! Methinks someone doth exaggerate his drunkenness when it is convenient for him, is what I'm saying.) The whole thing has long blown over by now, and we are both pretending it didn't happen, while continuing a friendly flirtation from a safely removed distance.
And on to number two, which is also, of course, true. Without going into too much detail, I will say that it was a) fun while it lasted and b) ultimately doomed. Because as it turns out, contrary to my previous hypothesis, there is one cute, single guy my age left in the world, and he happens to live in North Carolina. Oh, right. That. And I knew that, but I still managed to somehow conveniently ignore the fact that he would be leaving after the weekend. So that when he left, rolled out of my bed in the morning with barely a goodbye, it still felt like a rejection of sorts, even though, my god, Rachel, get a grip, he doesn't live here, let it go. And though "We'll be in touch" probably means different things to different people, in his case I'm guessing it means either "I'll send you a text the next time I'm in town" or "You'll never see me or hear from me again." Only time will tell.
Though there is something to be said for developing a massive, heart-pounding crush on someone who's hot, smart, and bitingly funny, and then finding out that, really? The hottest, smartest, most bitingly funny guy I've met in a long time wants to sleep with me? And, this may reek of low self-esteem issues, but yes, given those circumstances I will take my clothes off every time. Which, thankfully, is not that often, as hot, smart, funny guys are increasingly rare these days.
As far as number three- what, go on an actual date with someone when I can just fall into bed with him the first chance I get? Ha! You guys give me waaaaaaay too much credit. But, for everyone who voted true on this one- thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt and assuming I'm not a slut. Or maybe you just figured the chances of me humiliating myself on a date were much higher than the likelihood of me getting any play. In which case, meh, you're probably right. This was clearly a fluke, and I'm sure I will soon be back to my usual bumbling, celibate self.
In other news, happy birthday today to my best friend, Talia! If you get a chance, pop over to her blog and wish her the very best.