Pukeworthy.

This is me and my Redheaded Boy. Well, it's not really us, but we are as pukeworthy as a couple walking down a beach around the time of sunset. We'd probably even hold hands.


Don't worry, I'll wait while you run to the bathroom to evacuate your lunch, it's cool.


I was lamenting yesterday about how I don't have time to blog anymore, then decided that I really needed to make a post about last night because it was all so disgustingly cute. Also, I had 69 posts and couldn't help myself from giggling.


So you know I work 10am (9am, starting tomorrow) to 10pm four out of five weekdays, and until 6:30 on the other, plus I'm supposed to put in a full eight hours on one of the weekend days (probably won't this weekend). I took my early day last night and had the boy come over so I could cook him dinner. I decided on chicken and pesto spaghetti, bought the supplies the night before, and had him meet me at my house for 6:45.


He called me while I was on my way home at 6:35. I thought he was going to say he'd be late, but instead got, "Uhhh, I think I'm early." So I drove really fast continued along, following all the laws of the road, until I arrived home a few minutes later. We each admitted to missing each other, and then agreed that this was ridiculous, as we'd just seen each other on Sunday! Pukefest.


Anyway, I was terrified to cook chicken (I usually stick to pastas if I'm going to make dinner), but Boy talked me through it. I wasn't so much cooking for him as it was a team effort, in the end. We had chicken breast coated with a flour/basil/garlic/oregano mix, and angel hair pasta with some excellent creamy pesto sauce. Boy had extra chicken (I was excited about that), and my both my grandfather and drunken uncle voiced compliments -- a rarity in my family. Boy and I sat alone at the kitchen table, and I scurried off halfway through the meal only to return with a candle in a jar type deal because I'm corny.


After dinner, we watched a bit of Spaced but got tired of that and decided to go for a walk. I brought him to a grassy spot, and we just laid around. If it hadn't been cloudy? Movie scene cute. Ugh. We're so gross.


On top of all that, we also have trouble saying goodbye -- most of the time, it takes a good twenty minutes, and that's if we're quick about it. I hate us, but I think it's fantastic at the same time. We don't do it in front of other people, I can at least promise you that! But hell, this is my blog, so here's a picture of him because he's handsome :)

So,

I'm workin' two jobs now. Four days a week, my schedule is 10am to 10 or 11pm, then the other weekday ends at 6:30pm, and I'll be working (probably) at least 6 hours on one weekend day. What free time I do have will very likely be spent with Redheaded Boy (and hopefully our pals on the weekend).

Basically, what I'm saying is don't expect as many updates as there have been lately. Or comments -- I'm already super behind on my Google Reader list :-\

My very first meme (kind of).

Super sweet Tootsie of Vintage Thirty tagged me with my first official meme! It doesn't appear to have a title so I'll just jump in:





What is your favorite quotable line from a Movie?
I tend to quote whatever I've seen most recently. Of course, when I saw The Dark Knight, I was falling asleep on Redheaded Boy's shoulder, so I can't remember any lines other than, "Why so serious?" My favorite movie to quote is Run, Fatboy, Run (which got horrible reviews but was actually so, so good - plus I'm in love with Simon Pegg), especially the lines, "Wow! You look... great!" and "D'ya think it'd be weird if I took a bath? .... Yeah, that would be weird."



Who is the most famous person you have spoken to?
Unfortunately, I am a bit sheltered. My Redheaded Boy was pretty famous on campus when he was going to Westfield State, if that counts? Or I dated/am super good friends with the guys that own and run Solvo Media? My boss is Matthew Corbett, a pretty well-known guy in the wireless world? S'all I got.



How many bags/boxes of Potato Chips are consumed at your place in a month?
You know, I don't really eat them, so I'm not positive, but I think the guys go through... maybe two or four bags a month, if I had to guess. Which I did. Clearly.



Who is your all time favorite Cartoon Character?
Wile E. Coyote, hands down.



What foreign food dish do you prepare from scratch and serve?
Hi, have we met? I don't make anything from scratch. I am not a cook. Unless you count strawberry-banana smoothies, but I totally buy the orange juice and don't grow my own fruit. Oh, and it's not foreign.



What is your favorite section of the Supermarket?
Probably the pasta aisle. That's were I buy the most stuff, anyway.



What was your high school teams mascot and what were the school's colors?
Oh man. I moved to Auburn right after middle school (that was fun), and was grouped in with the Auburn Rockets. Yes, our mascot is an effing rocket (Robert Goddard and all that jazz). School colors were, I think, supposed to be blue and gray/silver? Most of the apparel in the school store was blue and white.



The rules:
1. Answer the above questions in a blog posting.
2. Identify the people who you are going to tag, and
3. Acknowledge who tagged you.





Alright, well, I have a limited list so I'll tagggg:

Jill - From the Land of Jill
Miss - Rura and Miss
Summer - Random Reflection and Passing Thoughts



Because they are the only ones that occasionally read my posts :)

My story, let me show you it.

A boy leaned against a lone tree that grew at the top of a gentle slope, overlooking an expanse of wide summer field. Birds tumbled and swooped gracefully on the warm air currents, enjoying the cloudless day. Small mammals chased one another through the unkempt grass below. They kept one eye out for predators, but paid little heed to the child, who they deemed non-dangerous.

The boy pulled his knees to his chest, folded his arms on top of them, and rested his chin in the middle. His eyes were the only part of his face still visible, and they stared unseeingly into the distance. They were red-rimmed and faintly bloodshot, the only remnants of his violent and terrified tears from the night before. He continued to gaze blankly off toward the horizon, wondering when the thunderheads would begin rolling in. Or, maybe he should look for a tornado. Snow in the middle of summer. A tsunami hundreds of miles inland.

Why hadn't the world stopped yet? He couldn't understand how people just continued about their lives as if nothing had happened. Cars still drove, phones still rang, businesses still operated. It didn't seem right - someone had died.

He guessed he still didn't really understand what it meant to pass on - his mum told him to say passed on because it was more polite. All he really did know was that when someone passed on, it was like they left, but forgot their body. He wondered if there were new bodies up in Heaven. Mum had also said Heaven was way up in the sky, in the clouds. She said angels lived there, and they would take care of Dad. He wondered if Heaven got cold at night after the sun went down, and if Dad remembered to bring a coat.

The boy spent a long time upon the hill, wondering. He knew his mother would be worried, but even the thought of losing his television privileges -- or if she was really mad, a spanking -- could not draw him down. He didn't care about watching television if Dad wasn't going to watch The Discovery Channel with him before bed. He didn't even care if he got a spanking - they didn't really hurt at all anymore, he only cried because it meant Mum was really upset with him.

He thought about how Dad was always bringing home old cars and fixing them. He would slide out from under them on that rolling board and grab a rag to wipe his hands on while he explained what he had just done. He always tried to include the boy in his car projects. The boy wondered if cars in Heaven ever broke. He didn't think they would, because Heaven was supposed to be a perfect place. A little distressed, creases lined his forehead. What would Dad do for fun if there were no cars to fix? What if there was no Discovery Channel in Heaven, either?

Tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes again, so the boy put his forehead down on his knees and allowed the sobs to come as they would. The sound of his pain put the few remaining animals into cautious stances as the day turned to dusk. The sky grew orange, then pink, then darkened to purple. Still, the boy remained.

The light faded away, and everything turned to black. He could not see.

1

He opened his eyes wide, but there was still only blackness. Darkness and silence embraced him like a cocoon. He feared he had lost both his sight and his vision, but then, as he opened his mouth wide to scream for his mother, he noticed a green light across the room. Blinking, he remembered that they were numbers denoting the time. The alarm clock was on his desk, a respectable distance from the bed so as to force him to his feet in order to turn it off. No snooze button for him.

He flopped back on his mattress, grimacing a bit at the damp feeling of the fabric. It was a humid night in the city. He swiped a forearm across his face, removing some of the sweat that had formed there.

What a dream. It had been so vivid. He hadn't thought about his old man in... well, he couldn't remember. He'd only been six when the guy died. He didn't remember much. He wondered if the part in the dream about fixing up old cars was true, or if it was just mind fodder drawn from his own hobby.

Turning onto his right side, away from the window and the background noise of a nighttime city, he

I don't know what happens next -- rest assured that it is probably something. Or maybe nothing?

Forn... for... fornica... sex.

So I was just reading a post by Insane Mama in which she repeatedly references, alludes to, or flat out says sex. Along with making me jealous greatly amusing me, it made me think.

Is it terribly unusual for a woman to want sex all the time?

Everyone's heard stories about girlfriends that never want it (I went out with a friend just the other night that suffers through such a thing), and we all know the stereotype that married women are not at all interested. I guess I never really put any belief in the tales of woe.

Of course, that might be because I always want it. All the time. Every minute that I am not having it. I wish I was lying, because sometimes, it gets really frustrating. Like, of, for example, at work. Do you have any idea how long eight hours is when all you can think about is sex? Ohmygah it's awful. I have been suffering through today in just this way.

I like sex for a lot of reasons. I guess the most obvious one is eet feelz gooooooooood, ya? Nothing I have ever experienced has been preferable over sex with another human being, no toys, no self stimulation, nothing. On top of the physical side, it's a great way to know that your partner wants you/finds you attractive, and a good way to feel closer to them. Plus, it's hard to be bored when there's someone else inside of you, you know?\

Side note: A Google Image Search for the word 'sex' (with moderate safe search on) somehow brought up this horrifying thing. On the first page even. Someone please explain?

Side side note: Redheaded Boy surprised me with 'just because' flowers yesterday. I was way more impressed than I let on. Don't tell him ;)

Go press a cancer machine to your head.

I almost thought I didn't have a topic to write about today, but then a little voice (Redheaded Boy - he actually has a very large voice) in my head (by means of a cellular device) transmitted an idea to me that will ultimately go off-topic on a tangent only I will see the logic of.

See, Boy usually text messages me while on his break at work. I find this adorable. So when my phone vibrates obnoxiously on the desk beside me around noon time, I squeal with joy and snatch it up drooling voraciously.

Today, he asked when my break was so he could call me, and I was all AWWWW, Boy, you are the cutest! My boss is so incredibly laid back that I can just walk out of the office without saying anything to take a call, so Boy called, and we had a lovely chat for twenty minutes about Albanian opera singers and my fabulous ass in these gray pants and how he's going to take me out to dinner because he's sweet like that.

Okay, now that I'm done gushing, on to the real topic. Telephone conversations. I hates them. So much.

I know, I know! You're thinking, "What? But you're such a fun and popular and exciting girl with a life and friends - how could you not like talking on the phone?!" You probably weren't thinking that, but you'd better GET to thinking it, or else *shakes fist*. So yeah, no. I hate being on the phone. I hate calling people, I hate people calling me, and I hate any phone conversation that lasts more than four (exactly, not approximately) minutes. I use my phone to say, "Hey, I'm here" or to answer a call from someone saying, "Hey, I'm here" or on occasion, we have a, "Hey, want to come here and do this with us?" That's really the extent of what I use the phone for.

Or at least, that's how I used to be. I mean, I still go batshit insane (but am far too polite to say anything) when a conversation is full of empty lulls, or oh man, I hate it when someone is on the phone dictating what they're physically doing. I. Don't. Care. If you have to do something, just get off the god damned phone and do it.

I know it's easy to say, "Just hang up," but I just don't have it in me. I did the same thing yesterday at the mall. You know those kiosks in the middle, and the annoying sales people that try to make you buy crap you don't need? Well, I had a lady try it, and I actually managed to do a polite "No, thank you," and continue walking (I just learned to force this little maneuver), but then she tricked me by asking me something I didn't quite hear, so I stopped and listened to her go on and on about some nail kit that I actually already own (which I tried to tell her several times). I was there with Loo, and he was super annoyed, but I am just not that kind of person who can blow someone off, even though good lord I know I should.

A good image that sums up me, and then the rest of the world in response to me:

Ah, c'est la vie, no?

Anyway, what I'm getting at here is... what? I don't know. Um. Don't call me, I guess (except you, Boy - I totally dig phonin' with you).

Other random points (this may become a regular thing):

• It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia is the best show I have seen in a while. I have been recommended many shows since them (such as Curb Your Enthusiasm and The Office), but I haven't gotten around to watching many. IASiP is really hilarious, though, and I wish the characters were real and lived in Massachusetts. Unfortunately, it is not always sunny here.
• I am alone in the office right now, and I have no idea where everyone else has gone to. I'm happy with it - I've unmuted the volume on this awful machine and am listening to Explosions in the Sky :)
• Redheaded Boy is getting an apartment, woo! The one he's looking at is only 4 miles from my house, too, which'll save us both a ridiculous amount of gas (he currently lives 20 miles away).
• I really want to move to Virginia. Random? Nah, my grammy used to live there when I was little. I visited Richmond in April and remembered how much I love it. I want to live in/near Carytown.
• It drives me insane that I want to do so many different things.
• I just realized that I didn't explain the post title -- I'm talking about how cellphones may or may not cause cancer. Summer talks about it in her new post here.
• Also, the picture was a result of a Google (heart Goog) image search for "talking on the phone." Weird, right?

Fin

Wednesday, Typing Day, Idea Day!

Today is, apparently, the day of great ideas! I've gotten more specific on the mini vacation in September, made awesome picnic-pagoda-books-lunch-and-wine plans for early next month, and am slowly cultivating my dream to live in a Buddhist Monastery (yeah, I already know what you're going to say, so zip it). Maybe the awful rain is inspiring me with its awful... wet... water? Um. Right. Moving on.

#1
So I mentioned two posts ago that Redheaded Boy and I discussed having a weekend at these little cabins my mom used to bring me to each summer, called the Pemi Motor Court cabins, seen ici:


I like to act on spontaneous ideas immediately, so I wanted to go next month, but Boy suggested we go in the fall, when the leaves start to change.

Genius!

So the new plan is for late September or early October, before it gets too cold. I recently mentioned this to the gracious hosts of the dinner party, and Lady found the cabins to be CHARMING (yes, she did use caps). They may rent one of their own :)

Anyway, we will probably be staying in one of the little log cabbies, as pictured ici:

I realize they don't look gorgeous on the outside, but the inside looks like this:

On top of that, the grounds are beautiful, and there's a really cool river behind the cabins! They all have fireplaces and such, too. I'm so in love with that place.

#2
The same Lady and I also discussed her and her Chef moving out to scenic western Massachusetts for her new job. I am sad that they are going (it's about an hour and a half away as opposed to fifteen minutes), but it's a great place to live.

During discussions about the area, she insisted that we go to something she called the Peace Pagoda. Dude. Hell. Yes. I am a total sucker for anything even remotely related to Buddhism or monks or cool eastern religions. There's a pagoda in Massachusetts?! I am there, Lady.

They're moving in a week, and will probably need another week to settle in. After that, though, we are making a day of this. Early (not too early) trip to the PP, a small picnic there, then we are going to the Montague Book Mill, (which, speaking as a total nerd, excites me to no end), lunch/dinner at their fancy restaurant, and ending the night with some wine and relaxed conversation.

I dig this plan. So. Hard.

#3
Okay, now, this one is going to sound weird. I mentioned my dream of spending some serious time in a monastery (I wasn't kidding, not even a little). Somehow, earlier today, I stumbled upon a website called Intentional Communities. IT'S NOT THAT WEIRD, SHUT YOUR FACE. So IC has links to ecovillages and communes and even just co-housing. I don't think it's weird to live close to a bunch of people and hanging out or eating together or whatever; I really like the idea of having a close-knit group to rely on.

Anyway, the website has a search function where you can find a certain type of community and find them in your area (or whatever area you want to go to). I want this. I just need to either find one that exchanges room and board for your labor, or somehow hit the lottery. I'm currently doing a search for ones with the word 'Buddhist' in the New England area.

Think about it, though! I could be one of those 'worldly' people they make movies about. A few years in a commune, working for food and shelter. A few years in a monastery, learning meditation and not speaking a word. Maybe taking one of those backpacking trips across Europe, staying in hostels (that movie was just terrible) and moving from place to place.

I can't even imagine how awesome that would all be.

I'm pretty sure I'm actually a hippie. The only difference is that I like to shower and shave my legs and armpits. Oh, and I'm completely uninterested in drugs. Or beads. Or pacifism.

Dinner party pictures because I like to show off my friends without telling them about it (warning, gratuitous pictures).

The chef (best ever) and his assistant, hard at work.

How cute is this kid?

They are my most favorite couple ever.

He's trying to get me drunk! Jay Kay, that was my wine.

My date, Redheaded Boy, showing his... skills? O_o

The guest of honor and a friend hiding behind him.

Our gracious (and super awesome) hosts.

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Aaaaaand because I'm totally vain, my new favorite picture ever:

Mr. and Mrs. Davis?!

So. Marriage. Let me talk about it.

I should probably start by saying that I am not completely against the idea of marriage -- in fact, I imagine I will probably even one day end up on that crazy train to Coupledom.

Thing is, if I ever do get married, I am going to be damn well sure that it will work and we're actually going to be content together. I know that doesn't sound like much, but it is. Think of all the stupid kids that get pregnant and then marry, or tell themselves how in love they are and wind up living in a broken down trailer in their family's backyard.

I didn't make the latter one up.

See, I used to visit my grandma and her husband (not my grandpa) every summer when they lived in Virginia Beach, and then continued to do so after they moved to Tennessee. They moved out to the stix to be closer to the husband's family, so it shouldn't be a surprise to know that, while visiting often, I befriended Grammy's husband's great nephew, Jeremy.

Jeremy was my first 'puppy love.' I adored him. We used to play video games, he'd take me through excursions into the woods and surrounding areas (which we got in a lot of trouble for), went fishing, to the movies, late night runs to Sonic... a summer 'romance' at its finest. It wasn't until the last time I saw him, when I was sixteen, that we kissed for the first time. I only remember being incredibly nervous and wondering if my hair was messy.

So now, I haven't seen this boy in roughly six years. Chatting with my Grammy the other day, I learned that, last August, Jeremy got married! What!

Naturally, in my surprise, I asked a lot of questions, which set Grammy off into a bit of a rant about his wife (oh god, he's only 21, he can't have a wife). Apparently, this girl is a horrible beast monster. From what I am told, she is super controlling, demanding, and pushy. She won't let him have any friends, won't let him visit my grandma (she doesn't like some of the people that live around her), and she pushed him to marry her. I know how that sounds, but Jeremy is a bit of a pushover, and this girl clearly saw this and dug her claws in deep.

I can't really feel bad for him, because if he really didn't like it, he is fully capable of leaving her, so whatever -- he's digging his own grave.

My problem is that I want to go visit Grammy, and if I am down there, I am most certainly going to want to see Jeremy and his brother, Josh. BUT, I don't want to meet the wife-beast. I'm pretty good at holding my tongue normally, but I have a feeling I would cause a huge scene if she bitched at him in front of me. I'm not sure why; I just think I would flip my lid.

I'd do it anyway, except that hey, it's their marriage, and I don't want to show up after six years of no contact (Jeremy doesn't use computer much and he's very bad at answering letters) and cause a bunch of issues between them. I don't want to be that girl. S'none of my business. Plus, if I piss her off, she definitely won't let me see him next time I'm around.

I'm so much more troubled by this than I expected.

/rant



Other things I want to mention today:

• Humidity is a sticky, sticky bitch, and I hates it (and my hair hates it more).
• I got almost 8 full hours last night, and I am falling asleep at my desk.
• We are out of sugar, so I cannot make coffee.
• I've been waking up really miserable lately, and I think it's because Redheaded Boy makes me laugh so much when I am with him that it just drains the happy reserves and afterwards I am dead inside.
• I think we are planning a mini weekend vacation in the early fall to these little cabins that my mom used to bring me to each summer. That is super exciting to me.
• Friday is my 'last day' at this job, though I plan to stay here on nights and weekends for the extra cash and to get these stupid files done.

Apologies: better late than never?

This here is my best friend, Mike. Mike is also my ex-boyfriend; my high school sweetheart, to be more specific (plus, I just like the phrase).

I have called him Mikee for as long as I've known him. No, not Mikey, but Mikee. I wanted it to be different. Typically, when I talk to him nowadays, I refer to him as Moo or Loo, but that's kind of a long story.

Anyway, I was discussing this relationship with Redheaded Boy the other night, and I got to feeling guilty all over again. Y'see, I was an awful bitch to poor, sweet Mikee. Take the opposite of everything I am now (laid back, trusting, thoughtful, agreeable) and that's what I'm talking about. He put up with that for three years, probably because I was his first real girlfriend and he may not have realized that OH HEY he didn't actually have to deal with a crazy woman.

Around 3 months is when the crazy sets in. I was cool with everything until then. All of a sudden, I was all quit smoking and don't smoke pot and no drinking (for the first year, at least) and oh my god if you even look at another girl I'll cut your eyes out. Oh man, that was the worst. We had so many, many arguments over me accusing him of "staring" at other women. I don't know why I was so insecure - he was super sweet and always tried to reassure and compliment me. Ah, the insanity that is estrogen.

And not only did I put him through hell for three years, but when I broke up with him (that's right, I somehow decided that I was unhappy in the relationship), I started dating someone else almost immediately afterward. Because I am a terrible bitch.

Somehow, we still ended up friends after all this (that was at least four years ago), and I'm really thankful that he doesn't appear to hold any of it against me. I suspect that he will remain one of my lifelong friends, even if we maybe move away from each other, thanks to the power of the interwubs.




Dear Loo,

I am sorry I was the worst girlfriend ever. Your next one will be awesome (as long as you don't pick up another crazy Athol girl). If she is not awesome, you will know better than to stay with her, because you do not want another insane uterus. If you do not know better, then I will tell you, because you let me get away with it presumably trust in my opinions, or are willing to listen, at least.

Don't rush into anything, don't lower your standards, and don't settle. You are a nice, handsome, smart boy, and there is no reason for you not to have exactly what you want. I recommend dating around a bit rather than jumping into another relationship. I know it's been a long time, but relationships are like traps sometimes.

You'll do well in life; there's no reason to think you won't do well in relationships.

It would be the most boring movie ever.

Man, I wanna go to Thailand someday (the picture there). Then again, I also want to go to Greece, Ireland, the UK, France, rural Japan, Germany, Switzerland, Russia, Italy, Brazil, Egypt... well, you get the idea.

Anyway.

Last evening, Redheaded Boy and I were sitting outside his house in my car, as we typically do before I head home. This is the only time I actively support his smoking, because it gives a good excuse to remain in the car to chat.

I want to paint a couple of pictures for you here.

It has been ridiculously humid this summer, and the weather has been all kinds of wonky. While we were sitting in the car, it began to rain something fierce. Figuring we had some time to kill, we reclined each of our seats and played 'Tell Me Something I Don't Know about You' as the rain beat down on the car. Us being thermoregulatory creatures, the windows decided to fog up. Throw in the quiet classical music I had thrown on and the mild glow from the radio dial, and you have a pretty cheesy scene going on.

Before I could blurt, "Holy shit, this is fucking romantic," he waited for a quiet moment, then commented on how much it felt like we were in a movie. I agreed, we made vomiting sounds, there was laughter.

After a while, the car got much too hot, so I suggested we stand in the stupid rain. He had a better idea and we went to stand in the doorway to the barn. The barn that houses a Corvette. On a warm, rainy night. Yes, we even did the whole girl-leans-on-boy-who-leans-against-door-frame-with-arms-around-each-other-while-he-smokes-a-cigarette thing. Seriously. It was disgustingly cute. In a comfortable lull, I actually entertained the idea of what the world would look like in black and white.

He remarked about how this was also like a movie scene. There was more pretend vomiting.

"Skip to the end..."

All I'm saying is I'm glad my life is not a movie -- SO. BORING. Honestly. It would probably turn into a cult film and be hailed as so terrible that it's good (something like Snakes on a Plane), and I'd be famous.

I don't want to be famous. I like blending in.

This is a terrible idea all around, s'all I'm saying. Please, no one approach me with a script. Unless it has dinosaurs. I'm down for that.

And so it has begun.

I have a cup of coffee sitting next to me again. It cooled to a drinkable temperature, and then somehow, 3/4 of it disappeared down my throat in two minutes. And this time, it actually tastes... dare I say it.... good (though, really, that might be the seventeen teaspoons of sugar in it).

This is terrible. I am already trying to plan out my next cup, and I am quite horrified by the fact that we appear to be just about out of sugar here at the office. I will later try to talk the redheaded boy into a trip to Dunkin Donuts when I see him later -- he is going to laugh maniacally, because coffee is one of his things. Also, he finds amusement in corruption. Either way, my response will be mock anger, which will probably change to ill-contained joy when he agrees to go with me.

The Devil's Cup. I know absolutely nothing about this book other than the title is quite apt for this awful stuff. Good work, Mr. Allen.

Stay tuned for updates on my energy level, inevitable crash, and slow leveling out. Yesterday, I had about three full hours of hyperactivity, followed by an hour of yawning and dropping eyelids, and then I came back to normal for the rest of the evening. We'll see how it goes on a full night's sleep.


Edit (10:12 AM): About an hour after I wrote this, I was lamenting the lack of sugar here when a little voice in my head piped up with, "Hey, hey, yo, hi, hey! Woman, there is a Dunkin Donuts right down the damn street." And I was all OH YEAH, I'M RETARDED! I'm so going there for lunch. And for lunch, I mean my very first store-bought coffee ever. Oh muh gah I'm excited about that, and that makes me cry a little. On the inside.


Edit #2 (11:35AM): I'm starting to calm down now, but it seems really gradual this time. I'm perfectly okay with that. I'm a bit concerned, though, because now I just keep glancing at the clock, waiting for an acceptable hour to make the DD run. Like a crack addict. If they sold crack at Dunkin's. Hmm.


Edit #3 (12:51PM): I just returned from Dunkin Donuts with a medium cup of coffee. Yes, seriously. This is a bad sign. Did you know they make coconut coffee? Yeah, it doesn't really taste like coconut, but it is hella tasty. Also, please slap me for my use of "hella."

It's the Devil's juice...

Let me tell you a story about a little girl. Said little girl lived with her mother, but used to spend every other weekend over her grandfather's house. Grandfather was a slave to several vices, including gambling, smoking, and a funny little thing called coffee.

Little Girl was a curious little creature. She and Grandfather would watch television in the evenings, and when Grandfather would leave to make them some awesome buttery popcorn, Little Girl would steal a sip from his unsupervised coffee mug. Grandfather would pretend not to notice, despite Little Girl's shit-eating mischievous grin when he returned to the room.

Over time, Little Girl sneaked bigger and bigger sips, finally getting to the point where a half full coffee cup would become mysteriously empty. This may explain why she only grew to be 5'2", but that is another tale. Eventually, Grandfather took his mug with him, because he believed caffeine was unhealthy for sweet Little Girl.

I was, at most, five years old when this occurred. Since then, I have never had another drop of coffee... until today. Today, I decided that since I'd had only 3 hours of sleep and quite a few glasses of wine last night, I would choke down a cup of awful, awful coffee. And I grudgingly admit that I feel pretty good after having it.

But now I want another.

Look at it. Just sitting there, trying to be cute, trying to lure you in. Don't let it fool you. It's the Devil's juice, that stuff! It's all, "Yeah, you wanna drink me. Yeah, I'll make you feel good. Yeah, I taste pretty awful, but you get used to it. Yeah, do it. Have another. Dooooooooooooo it."

Well, you shut up, you monster! I don't have to listen! I can cover my ears and sit on the floor, rocking back and forth and singing under my breath to drown you out. Don't think I won't -- you don't know what I'm capable of!

To all non coffee drinkers: don't be tricked by the tricky coffee's tricky trickery. It's all a clever ruse for a conspiracy that I don't dare pretend to know what it is. Also, beware of tea -- I began drinking tea only a few months ago; it is a gateway beverage. It opens you up to other beverages. Consider this your warning.

Trust no drink.

Edit: It is now 12:06PM, and I am SUPER hyper. Like, bouncing my leg 75 times a minute hyper. This is awesome Beware the side effects!

Now I have to pee again.

"You put your tongues in each other's mouths?! Gross!"

The title of this post is a sentiment that I related to one of my friends back when I was fifteen or sixteen and in high school. My friend loves to embarrass me tell that story to new boyfriends. What can I say? It seemed pretty gross to me at the time.

I didn't actually have my first kiss until I was almost seventeen, probably because my middle school and early high school years were full of fashion mistakes and bad haircuts my super shy years. It just so happens, I'm still not big on the whole use of tongue.

I've had a fair amount of different boyfriends since that first kiss, and I've noticed that they all have one thing in common -- each one of them kisses differently.

Have you ever experienced that person that seems really intent on licking your tonsils? I've had him, and it's the most awful thing ever. I think the sailor in that picture was going for the esophagus. I mean, who ever taught them that choking your date to death is a good idea?

I find that the only way to handle this is to pull your head back. I absolutely do not recommend kissing them while laying on your back -- then you're trapped! Beware accidental suffocation!

How about the type of kisser that just kind of puts their slug tongue in your mouth and it just lays there, like it's dead? I have never actually kissed anyone who does this, but I've heard stories. And been grossed out by all of them. I don't understand the reasoning behind it, myself; how could that possibly be a pleasant sensation?

Then there's the non-participating kind of kisser. You know the type: they don't really open their mouth much, don't turn their head when you do, don't put their hands on you, and do not react at all if you do manage to get your tongue involved. They're always tense, too, like they're scared of what you're doing to them. It's super creepy because it feels like you're making out with someone very inexperienced (i.e. a child).

Or, there's the kind that opens their mouth far too wide and eats your face. THAT is also very unpleasant.

Of course, on the other hand, there is my favorite type of kisser, the relaxed type that just sits back and enjoys the inappropriate groping making out. That would be the one that sticks mostly to lips-only kisses with a half-open mouth, changes head positions (right? left?), gets hands involved with the neck, hair, and... et cetera, varies speed and pressure, and makes it generally clear that they are enjoying it and having fun, which is really the whole point.

I don't really have a point to make here. I've just been fantasizing about the boy's lips bored at work and thinking about the subject.

NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

We're having a little goodbye dinner for my friend tonight. He is moving all the way to Chicago to go to grad school for public administration. Apparently, the appropriate goodbye is a plateful of fajitas (Fah Jee Tas) with a small group of your close friends.

I am very proud of him and think the path he has chosen is a great one, but it really blows that he's leaving. We have all come to a consensus on this. So to him, I say good luck, and also, if you don't come back I'll break your legs be upset.

A boy I know.

There is a boy I know who is sweet and helpful and funny and smart. He loves his family very much and does his best to take care of them and be there for them when they need him. This boy is artistic and polite, creative and caring, hilarious and thoughtful, all at the same time.

As you may have ascertained, I think very highly of him.

Unfortunately, this boy has an awful lot on his shoulders at the moment. From my perspective, it almost seems as though he is the adult of his household, and things are sometimes expected of him that shouldn't really be his responsibility. He appears to be expected to take care of things that he shouldn't be, or blamed for things that are not his fault. His family is working through some issues now, and I really feel like he is getting a lot of flak and unnecessary stress from everything going on around him.

Of course, I know very little about the situation, as I am not involved. I could easily be wrong -- and I am most certainly biased -- because I don't know the situation other than what I have seen recently with my own eyes. I want this to sound like a disclaimer, because it is.

All I am trying to accomplish here is to let this boy know that I am one hundred percent there for him if he needs someone to talk to, or just lend moral support. I will not ask questions that don't need asking, I will never judge, and I will always lend an ear, arm, or shoulder without hesitation. He has many other wonderful friends, as well, and I'm sure they would all do the same.

I just want him to know that I will be right here if he needs me, and there is absolutely no need to apologize.

Fuses and breakfast and cloudy days.

I set my alarm for 6:30am, as I always do. But when it went off at 6:22am (I set my clock to be 6-8 minutes fast for some reason), I did not get up. No, I reset it for 7am and went back to sleep for a useless half hour.

I realize for most people, that's not a big deal, but I, while not being a morning person, am one of those people that's on their feet the moment the alarm sounds. So for me to reset it to a later time was very unusual, and only means I was very, very tired because I was out being irresponsible until 2:30am.

Anyway, this development has, thus far, thrown my entire day off. Whenever I don't sleep enough, I wake up famished, so my first thought after some angry, I-hate-life-right-now cursing was FOOD. I stumbled downstairs, filled a mug with water, threw in a teabag, and popped it into the microwave. Before I could even push the 2 button, the electromagnetic static jumped from my finger to the machine and the power suddenly decided it wanted to fuck with me, too. Everything in the kitchen turned off.

I've only had a frown to rival this morning's once or twice ever.

I lean to my left and reach around the corner to flick the bathroom lights. Nothing. Is it the whole house? No, definitely not, I can hear the fan in the living room still on. The 'fridge is still running so I went to go catch it. I go back upstairs and find that EVERYTHING in my room is off. Everything, even my computer (a surge protector won't save you from power outages).

At this point, I am pissed. No microwave for tea, no computer for entertainment while I drink it, and no power for the flatiron so I don't look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket (the humidity does it to me). Everything I start my morning with is out of service.

I have realized by this point that I have blown the fuse that controls the northern side of my house. Problem is, I'm a super chick when it comes to matters like this -- I have no idea how to change a fuse.

..... *Continues being pissed and eats cold cereal*

As it turns out, in our house, you don't even have to change the fuses, or something. There's a switch that you flick once, then flick back on, and magically the lights return. That's it. I almost missed my morning tea, left the house late, arrived at work less early than usual, and now cannot focus on anything (it's seriously taken me forty minutes to write this little post). And all I had to do was go into the basement and flick a stupid switch.

Seriously. I'll never be able to live alone.




Note: I realize that I changed tenses at least once or twice. Here's the thing: I don't care I'm tired and cranky. Leave me alone.

Just a brief note...

See this? This place houses a company called Athena Diagnostics. This, my friends, is the place where, in two weeks, I will be WORKING FULL TIME AND FOR GOOD MONIES (and how cool is that building?!)! I went in for an interview at 9am this morning, left at 10am, and got a phone call about coming on board literally a half hour later. The lady was all, "Yeah, [the interviewers] just loved you, and they told me to call you right away, and our benefits are AMAZING and there's even a signing bonus and we'll pay you an absurd hourly wage will you please work for us?"

Of course, I was all, "FUCK YEAH, LADYThat would be wonderful, thank you very much!"

I may elaborate more later. Or not. Who cares, I'm wicked (yes, wicked - I'm from Massachusetts) excited!!

Here's why Stephen King is amazing.

So yes, I'm actually going to post a quote from a book. Trust me, though, it's a good one. This man is a genious - hell, the title of this blog is something I stole from his Bag of Bones (really good, by the way).


Anyway, if you have the same copy of Lisey's Story, this is from page 17 to 18. I don't think I even have to say anything about it. It's just so... perfect.


"She lay there for a long time, remembering a hot August day in Nashville and thinking--not for the first time--that being single after being double so long was strange shite, indeed. She would have thought two years was enough time for the strangeness to rub off, but it wasn't; time apparently did nothing but blunt grief's sharpest edge so that it hacked rather than sliced. Because everything was not the same. Not outside, not inside, not for her. Lying in the bed that once held two, Lisey thought alone never felt more lonely than when you woke up and discovered you still had the house to yourself. That you and the mice in the walls were the only ones still breathing."

Interviews, interviews.

I've been busy this week. Well, busy for me, which means just slightly more obligations than work alone. As a matter of fact, at 7:30am today, I had one interview (Job #1). Tomorrow, I will be calling my high school to get transcripts for the nursing program at Quinsigamond (WHY ON EARTH they want high school transcripts when they have my final college transcripts, I do not know) in the morning before work and also plan to scout out the place of my Friday morning interview (Job #2) if I don't today. Plus, I have to attend a 'Health Session' for Quinsig on Tuesday morning, even though they're not accepting people to the nursing program until Fall 2011. (Yeah, three years. Seriously. How much does that suck?)

I also have a friend's I-finally-quit-my-job celebration cookout and another friend's birthday party this weekend, but those are good opportunities to get drunk fun things, so they don't count. I'm also hoping to get some make out chill out time with a certain redheaded boy (I need to come up with a good nickname for him) and possibly get some semblance of a tan at my friend's lakehouse while I'm at it.

Poor, busy me.

Anyway, the interview this morning went quite well, and I am relatively positive that I will be offered a position fairly soon. It pays more than my current one and I get to interact with people instead of the horrorshow that is the Internet. They even have some part time positions, which would be awesome, because then I could talk my current boss into letting me turn this job into part time as well, so I could have both and make money and not be guilty!

YAY HOORAY WOOT so what's the problem, lady? Weeeeell. Let me just tell you.

I don't want it.

Yeah, that's right. Good job, probably not too hard, pay isn't bad (I get a $1.25 raise after 3 months, too), MUCH closer to home (goodbye 45 minute commute) very good experience opportunity. Why wouldn't I want it?

Because I want Job #2! I haven't interviewed for it (Friday at 8:45am), I don't really know what I'd be doing, I'm not even exactly sure where it is. So why would I want this mess? Oh, because it's a big company and they have AMAZING benefits! Health, dental, vision - I haven't had that kind of insurance since... forever! There's vacation time, sick leave, and even personal days. On top of that, they do 100% tuition reimbursement including money for lab costs and textbooks as long as you're going for something related to the job - hellz yeah I'll go back to school for them! I want to have, like, 4 different degrees. Show 'em what else they've won, JohnnyAND, as the cherry on top, they put 4% (based on your earnings) into an automatic 401k plan... even if you don't put any money into it! I might be the only person really, honestly impressed by this.

Also, I suspect that they have cubicles. I've never worked in a cubicle. I am also the only person on earth excited by the idea of 'personalizing' my cubicle. I have issues. I, apparently, am some kind of corporate whore (but I swear, only for money and power). Perhaps it is the kind of job with promotions. I've never had a promotion before.

...... Promotionnnnnnnnnnsssssssss.

Self realization?

I've been learning things about myself lately that I didn't realize before. For example, it turns out I have a thing for redheaded boys. This preference did not actually occur to me until I discovered how much I love [boy's name]'s hair. Obviously, he is a redhead. Following this discovery, I put the pieces together and realized that I have adored reds since meeting ex-boyfriend's redheaded brother. I don't know if that triggered my sudden magnetic pull toward redheads, but I can't remember having a preference before him. Either way, I can confidently admit that I dig redheads (mainly male, but there are many hot redheaded females, as well) without throwing in an "I think" after saying so.


Somewhat in relation to that, it has occurred to me just today that I am an incredibly stubborn person. See this?:

Yeah, that's me. I'm not so much talking about little things -- I can admit when I am wrong, usually, and even apologize for it. But I am most certainly the kind of person that, if pushed, will refuse to budge. Push harder, I'm going to fight harder. Pull on my face... well, I hope no one pulls on my face like that.

I don't care what it is, I just hate to be pushed on anything, even something I'm interested in. If you said, "Jamie, you have to go play in that pit of plastic balls and then come have a seven scoop ice cream cone," I'll claim that ball pits are retarded and I'm not hungry. The former statement is a bald-faced lie, and the latter is illogical -- you can NEVER be too full for ice cream.

"Jamie, you have to go to college." Fuck college. "Jamie, apply to grad school." Screw that. "Jamie, write a fucking story." Stories are for assholes. "Jamie, take this free money and go buy a Ferris wheel to keep in your yard." ... Okay, no one actually said that one.

The good news is that I almost always come around if it is something I want to do or think will be good for me to do. Obviously, I did go to college, and I did apply to grad schools. I still write when I want to (the only reason I don't love school is that I hate being pushed into doing homework and papers), but at least I'm writing.

And who wouldn't want their own, personal Ferris wheel?

I do the same thing in relationships. I dated a guy for a short period (a month or two) who was always accusing me of not putting enough effort into things. He tried to push me into contacting him more and spending more time with him and being generally more aggressive. Needless to say, when I rebelled and did the opposite, we didn't stay together much longer. You just can't do that to me.

You know, I think this could be related to how pissed I get if a guy pushes on the back of my head during a blowjob - not that anyone likes it, but most women settle down after a bit. Not me. I get angry and defiant and that's that.

I guess, in conclusion, I'm just saying: don't tell me what to do and don't choke me with your penis. I am fully capable of making my own decisions (and deep throating), but I will do so on my own terms.

Sweet, cute, innocent... death metal?

I am at work right now (there is a reason I don't deserve a raise). I'm sitting at my desk, in the office that I have all to myself, with torture devices files to my left, tea in my hand, and my iPod in my ear. I can almost imagine my brother's picture smiling with me when some heavy Shai Hulud comes on. It occurs to me that any coworkers who happen to notice the iPod will likely assume I'm listening to some Paris Hilton girly pop songs. Those of you who know Shai Hulud will see how ridiculous this mental picture is. Those of you that don't, well, picture this:

You work in a very small office (5 people total). You and the other three people have been there for years, but in February, you decided to hire someone to enter all the files into the database. This girl is quiet and shy. She generally only responds to conversation, never initiates. Today, she is wearing a fluffy skirt and her hair down. When you bid her a good morning, she turns and, with a sweet little smile, squeaks out the same to you. You happen to notice she's listening to her iPod.

Now, think about Shai Hulud. If you don't know them, think of heavy guitar, fast bass, and the singer screaming, "I'm prepared to fight humanity every day FOR THE REST OF MY LIIIIIIFE!"

I had Shai Hulud on during my morning commute, and was happily singing along to A Profound Hatred of Man. Cheerful, upbeat, childlike me was singing/screaming at the top of my lungs, "If these hands could only kill, I'd cleanse the world with IT'S OWN BLOOOOOD!" Good morning, Massachusetts.

I just think it's a funny that people think I'm so boring innocent and naive. People, I am not.

Possibly the best conversation ever (slightly abridged).

Friend: What are those round candies?

Me: ... What, like Lifesavers?

Friend: No, no... they're all round and in a stack in the packaging

Me: ...... Gummi Lifesavers?

Friend: No, hard candies.

Me: Creamsavers?

Friend: Smaller than those. Different colors.

Me: ......... I don't fuckin' know.

Friend: Oh right, they're Smarties!

Me: ..........

Friend: This kid has a belt that holds about 20 or 30 packets of them.

Me: .......................... That is awesome.

The speed of light society.

There's no doubt that the one recurring theme in today's America is obesity speed. Everything has to be fast: fast cars, fast service, fast sex food. People are always in a rush, even when they have nowhere to be (I've admittely been guilty of such). We exceed the speed limit, tailgate, get angry when our waitress forgot something small and has to run back to the kitchen to get it, complain loudly when our meal takes more than ten minutes, and make those annoyed sighing sounds when someone takes too long to pay for their groceries and holds up the line all of four seconds. Look, lady, I don't care if you're seventy and have a broken leg but still have to take care of your ailing husband and your granddaughter's year old love child -- I GOT SHIT TO DO!

Okay, so I might be exaggerating. A little. Maybe.... or maybe not at all. Either way, food and driving and such are not the only things that are moving too fast for my tastes. There are also the big Rs.

RELATIONSHIPS.

Remember back in the sixties? Women used to wear those stupid poodle skirts and short-sleeved sweaters (who ever invented those ridiculous things?), and guys used to slick back their hair and dress nice:


(This picture is not actually from the sixties, and I didn't get him to sign a release, so let's hope he doesn't deny the verbal agreement and sue me. Handsome, though, ain't he? :-D )

Back then, people used to do this thing called dating. I know that may sound kind of foreign to some of you, but listen here: it exists! No, no, it's not the same as "going out" -- going out suggests an exclusive relationship. See, dating is just what it sounds like - going on dates! You go on dates, get to know each other, and then decide if you want to begin an actual relationship.

Yes, yes, I realize that sounds old fashioned and boring. But let me tell you -- it's a lot easier to stop seeing someone you're not interested in if you're just dating, as opposed to having to go through the break-up process. Easier and less emotionally messy.

All I'm saying is slow the hell down, people. There's absolutely no reason to leap headfirst into a relationship with someone you hardly know just because you "kinda had fun together that one time." I'm just saying it's a little quick to go out once, then talk about moving in together and all the children you'll have and where you'll live and what the wedding will be like.

Puke sequence activated: *gag*

What ever happened to taking the time to get to know someone? To enjoy their company for a while before putting all the pressure of a relationship on the two of you? I happen to find that taking things slow makes me like a person so much more than if we jump right into it (in all honesty, if things move that fast, I often lose interest). A little mystery adds an element of excitement to everything! Not knowing when you'll see each other next adds a bit of sweet longing for that next meeting!

Does anyone follow me? At all?

Eh, screw you guys. You're all dirty whores.