I started this as a way to bitch. I think I enjoy it, the bitching. It makes me feel good to just get it all out. Much better than saying things out loud. That’s what I’ve learned over time – to bite my tongue. And as fake and hypocritical as it might seem to those who know me (because I always say what I mean and mean what I say), if I ever really let out everything that comes to mind I probably wouldn’t have any friends. In a town like this, knowing when to be silent is more important than knowing when to speak up. I love you, DC.
My jealousy December 20, 2010
It’s like a combination of anger and sadness tinged with just a touch of guilt, b/c I know I should be happy for them but I’m not. I’m not because it should be me. I should be the one being proposed to. I should be the one getting married. I’ve been a relationship longer. I’ve done everything right (minus a few things). I try. Every single day. I go the distance and put in the effort and so why the hell has he not asked me yet? What the hell is wrong with him? Because I really don’t think it’s me. I at least have to tell myself that because if it’s me and I’m just repeating the same mistakes as before, then it means I should have left long ago.
I am so jealous.
Sexytimes foiled again November 23, 2010
Last night was a first. Well, not really, but let’s just pretend it was.
Let’s set the scene. It was night. Not late – around 9ish. We had just gone upstairs and hopped into bed. I wasn’t particularly tired, but in the mood for something other than sleep. I tried to initiate a little somethin’ somethin’ and was promptly turned down. The excuse – “I’m tired.” I argued that it wasn’t a good excuse at all and that I had left him alone last night, per his request, with the expectation that tonight would be different. He rolled over and ignored me. I went on… My exact words were, ” I have needs… Most guys would be happy to have a girlfriend who wanted to have sex with them on a regular basis… and Fine, I will just get out my vibrator and take care of myself right here next to you while you sleep.” Amidst all this, I was pawing at his junk and dry humping him from behind. Sexy, right? Yeah, not so much I guess.
So I did it. I’m terrible at poker – I never bluff. I turned on the light, pulled out my vibrator, found the batteries (turned the light back off, of course), and went to town. A turn on, right? Some guys might even join in. My guy? Uh uh. A few minutes later… he’s snoring. Completely killed the mood. It took me forever to finally get off. FAIL
I pooped myself October 21, 2010
I thought it was just a little gas. So I let it out. But I immediately realized I had made a mistake. Perhaps the waitress had slipped a laxative into my food at lunch, remembering the less-than-nice tip I had left for her crappy service last time we were there. Maybe it was the workout this morning that stepped my digestive tract into high gear. Either way, it was bad. What made it worse was that I was driving when it happened. I had to sit there for a full 5 minutes before I could pull into the parking lot and carefully extricate myself (and my underwear) from the situation. Yes, I am that creepy person in the garage who was undressing in the car. Horrible? Yes. Hilarious? Hmmm… not so much right now, but maybe once I get home and put some fresh underwear on it will be.
Jetta drivers don’t dress well June 17, 2007
I’m a rockstar… without the bad hair and questionable outfits. I go out, a lot. Last night was no exception. This particular evening I was invited to a little soiree by a good friend. It was a lovely time. There was no pants-dropping or craziness, like last weekend’s shenanigans, and it was a nice change from the usual ridiculosity that I seem to find myself privy to on a regular basis. I left my friend’s place at a decent time, slightly before midnight, and was less than a mile from my house when this Jetta-driving, ugly pants-wearing (they do seem to go hand-in-hand) douchbag pulled out in front of me to make a left turn. I slammed on the brakes, but still ended up clipping the back end of his car.
Stop. Rewind. Here’s what should have happened. I should have stayed at my friend’s place and had some wine. As one of my good friends always says, “when in doubt, drink more.” I should have chatted up the guy she was trying to set me up with. Despite my lack of interest, I can still play a good game every now and then; I just wasn’t feeling it that night. I should have called up my crew to see what everybody was up to that night. No one likes a party pooper. I could have even used my superhero powers and somehow, some way, made it not happen. But, as they say, karma’s a bitch. I think this makes up for all of the speeding tickets I’ve gotten myself out of, all of the times I’ve inadvertently driven on 66 during HOV, and for preferring to drive to work instead of Metro for the past month or so. At least there were no paparazzi around…
Instead of doing the preferable and not having an accident, I went ahead and said, “what the hell,” and had one. Bravo. The dude who made the unfortunate mistake of being a complete dumbass when it comes to driving was actually quite pleasant. After the police report was taken care of and all of the information was exchanged, I managed to leave without feeling like I still needed to smack the little bastard. I am the queen of self-restraint… sometimes.
There’s nothing funny about a car accident, especially when it happens to you. There’ no hurt in trying though. You’ve all heard it from someone or experienced it first hand. Now, I have too. Instead of bitching about this and how much of a pain in the ass the insurance companies will be, I’m trying to refrain. My harrowing experience is not unique in the least bit, but life isn’t about the mundane occurences; it’s about how you react to them. I’m shooting for a thumbs up on this one.
The devil is a republican June 16, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
An exerpt from the party conversation this Friday, which for some reason centered around illegal stimulants:
Will: “That’s a class two narcotic.”
Oscar: “Huh? How do you know? What do you do, man?”
Will: “I’m a meat inspector.”
Oscar whips down his pants to reveal the perfectly-positioned ass-tattoo that looks like a stamp and says “USDA Prime.” Classic.
For those of you who made it out to Summer Bash v. 1.0, thanks for coming and I hope you had an awesome time. For those of you who missed it, you not only missed out on seeing my roomie’s ass-tattoo, but you also missed out many other hilarious moments, some damn good sangria, and a bunch of cool people. Never fear, though. There will most definitely be a repeat performance – we have a ton of liquor left over. Next time I say we break out the kiddie pool in the driveway – either that or slip ‘n slide.
On a totally unrelated matter, I went to the dentist on Monday. That dentist is a pill-popping, crack-smoking Republican bastard. The majority of the time there was spent sitting in the chair while he’s digging into my gums with his little pokey-metal devilstick, making me wish I had dentures just so I wouldn’t ever have to go to the dentist again. But that’s not all. While my mouth is open wider than Miss Hilton’s as she makes a new porn entitled, “Paris: In the Hole,” I am forced to endure his political take on everything from the peak oil crisis to the upcoming presidential elections. Of course, I can’t say anything. Even if I could though, is it really a good idea to argue with someone who has a tool that I refer to as a “devilstick?” I think not.
Monday, May 21, 2007
I’m a big fan of the demotivational posters; they’re a cynical spoof of the motivational posters which you’ll see around many offices in the DC area. My office has Demotivations. One of my favorites is a larger than life picture of french fries. The headliner reads, “Potential,” and the caption underneath says, “Not everyone gets to be an astronaut when they grow up.” After years of cyclic overachievement, subsequent burnout , and then re-focusing, many of the people I went to high school with have gone on to do impressive things and hold job titles that require a professional linguist to decipher. Some people are less impressive, yet know how to spin well enough to seem so. I’m one of those. I love my job and I’m passionate about what I do, but even though I own a t-shirt that proclaims, “I’m kind of a big deal,” in the grand scheme of things I’m really not. That said, I find it enlightening when I have the opportunity to speak with someone who is completely down-to-earth and honest about their lack of achievement. I had such an opportunity while I was back in the homeland last week thanks, in part, to the blog.
Allow me to set the scene… I’ve mentioned my blog to a few people, and I have links to it on a couple of other sites. I like the attention and I aim to entertain. A few months ago someone who I had a vague association with in high school contacted me to give me props for my writing. “I wanted you to know that I have gotten the occasional kick from reading your notes/blog entries, specifically the ones about dating. You’re very jaded. It’s quite amusing. Just thought I’d let you know.” Never one to pass up a compliment, I responded. “I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m jaded, just realistic. I tell it like it is and make no apologies. Bet you’re glad that we never went out now, huh?” Well, now we have, and now I get to write the requisite blog. Oddly enough, I told him I wouldn’t, but he requested it. Finally, someone who’s more of an attention-whore than I am.
So… it’s difficult to blog about something when you care. One of the novelties about my blog, one of the reasons that I’m able to be so bluntly honest, is that I only write about things that don’t really matter to me. When it matters, when it’s personal, it’s off-limits. That being said, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. Even as I chick, there’s only so much you can read into this particular situation – ie: not much. And, so, since I don’t want you to think I’m making it too personal, and since the circumstances and the resulting impression left deem it bloggable, I’ll honor the request. (I hope you have some money on whether I would do this or not).
I was stuck in Illinois for a little over a week, a chance to get away from the 24/7 rush of DC and to get some much-needed face time in with the fam. I was bored after the first day. While there, due to the wonders of Facebook and its amazing stalking capabilities (which, I will admit, I’ve taken advantage of over the years), I ended up meeting up with this guy from back in the day. The last time I saw him was at reunion last year. I didn’t recognize him then because he looked quite a bit different – ie: better – than he did in high school. (Amazing what puberty and a little weight-loss will do – I would know.) So, six years and several drinks later…
No. That’s not what went down.* We talked. We talked more during a lunch we had together one day than we talked during the three years we went to school together. He’s not an astronaut. After graduating from an impressive university with an impressive degree, he’s living back home with his folks. In other times, in other circumstances, there would be a lot of condescension to be read into that. None now – it happens to the best of us. All bets aside, there’s potential, and that’s what counts. That being said, though, sanding decks and playing online poker is not what you want to put on your resume to reflect the past year’s efforts. As attention-grabbing as a business card reading “Professional Player” would be, it doesn’t quite send the right message.
While hanging out with him, I had the opportunity to visit some of the fine drinking establishments in Springfield. You know you’re back in the Midwest when the beverage of choice can be sipped out of a bucket. Classy. Very rarely have I visited the area bars and I certainly haven’t missed much. That being said, it’s better than sitting at home and I’m glad I had the opportunity. I know that some people love the small town atmosphere. For them, there’s nothing better than drinking out of a bucket or being proud of the fact that they can name all of the past 4 seasons’ American Idol top ten contestants. One of my good friends who also happens to be living at home right now just emailed me and said how great it’s been. Yes, it can be good – don’t get me wrong – but my opinion is that it’s too easy to get sucked into staying within a zone of comfort. The Midwest is like a smelly wet dog. It’s friendly and fun sometimes, but if you get too close it’ll take you by surprise, jump on you and start humping your leg, and before you know it you’re left with a lingering scent and you need to put on new pants. Okay, maybe that analogy doesn’t quite work. My point is that people like the Midwest and the small-town feel, but as comfortable as it might be at times it’s difficult to leave and get rid of the permeating scent of monotony and apathy if you stay too long. That’s why I love DC. The only thing that you can count on here is that nothing stays the same. There’s always something different to do and something new to see. But this isn’t about me or my life in DC (for once).
Back to the point. I feel there’s an inverse correlation between the length of my posts and their entertainment value. I need to wrap this up in a thoughtful, yet hilarious, way… (Note: This is totally only going to make sense to people who went to IMSA)
So… I had a wonderful time back at home this past week, in part due to this particular person from back in the day. I’m sure you’re wondering if I’m going to name names. As tempting as I am to lie and make you piss your pants by telling you it was someone like Yogesh, I can’t bring myself to do it. Just the thought of anyone having anything happen with that guy is enough to make me cringe. Ew. As with most things, I like to tease. I’ll leave you to guess.
*There’s more that happened, but that my friends, is personal.