Sunday, March 29, 2009

Oops I Did It Again.

It's moving dayyyyyyy.

Yup, my life is the ever shifting thought process.It never has time to be more than that. It's like I have severe ADD or something, because for the last 7 years I have moved at least once a year. ( wait for that to settle in, seven effing moves at the very least)

Imagine, taking all of your shit. Putting it in boxes, trash bags and even random suitcases and then un loading it. And now do that over and over again.

Oh and all over again.

That's what it is like to be me. Fuck. I haven't even been anywhere really cool.
I lived in L.A. but that is where the moving once a year started. And I have ended up in VA. Again. And again. This is a new low. The last three moves have been within 10 miles of each other. (Holy shit I am never getting out of this place.)

Talks of San Diego still linger. But honestly I am scared to do the whole West Coast on a whim move again. I'd rather go to Costa Rica for a few months. It is seemingly just a place for me to rest my head. I've not cultivated anything more from each place I live. (except an emptier wallet and some good my roommates suck stories.)

If I am just staying at one place to get to another you think I would come up with some cooler ideas than effing Northern Virginia. I grew up here for shit's sake.

So this week brings me to probably the least raucus of moves. The least jolting. But the most irritating.
I've spoken of my basement dwelling. And my lucky ass living with a kick ass family for free.

So why the hell am I moving into a tiny ass townhouse where I feel like nothing will be mine? I guess turning 24 means you have to grow up or something. Not live in other peoples basements. Even if it is for free.

Which is the stupidest way of growing up I can think of. Because the more I grow up the more money I need and.. uhh.. hello.. free means I keep the money I would be giving to some landlord. Duh.

Oh and from what I hear. Growing up ain't all it's cracked up to be. Fancy pants is trying to find a way to successfully regress from 33 backwards. (I told him he is not allowed to go younger than 29 though. I will be 28 by the time he Bejamin Buttons it all the way back to 29. And lord knows I can't date younger guys! Ha!)

Oh the mere thought of packing my clothes alone has me on the verge of tears.
(I do own way too many clothes and local charities reap the benefits of my less than yearly moves)

Oh and to top it off my brother so sweetly loaded some of his own shit into my storage unit and just like any good big brother, ran off with my key to the unit. Took my dyson vacuum and put his heavy ass stuff right in the way of all my stuff.

Oh no worries, I'm sure I can pull it off...little miss social butterfly who has so many friends can never count on anyone else to help her with this kinda stuff.
To be fair, once a year is less a favor and more of a type of employment. That I do not pay them for.)

The one upside... and it's crazy that this is so exciting to me but I get to put my Kitchen Aid mixer on the counter and freaking bake the hell out of anything I can throw into that sucker. I am more excited for that then not being kicked off the couch by 13 year old boys when I am watching the NCAA tournament to find out the final match up of the Final Four. I am a little excited to feel a space that is my own.

Although I am also pretty excited to know that I can invite someone back to my place now. (Mom, I meant friends! Only friends.)

Oh sweet baby jesus. Tiny 6 month old jesus.
Someone come find me under my laundry pile and help me move!

...stay tuned.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Call Dr. Drew

I'm addicted.
Seriously, it's bad.

I wake up, wanting this drug. If I don't get some during the day, it's going to be a rough night. I am shaken from my sleep with extremely vivid dreams about my addiction. My personality is that of a constant user who knows how to get what she wants.

The highs are quick and fleeting. The lows can last for days.
I don't really drink.
I've never smoked anything in my life.

But when it comes to this, I am a freaking junkie.

I am addicted to... MEN.

It's the worst addiction out there. I ride the highs and lows of dating slash flirting each and every day.
I know I am a flirt. (I have known this for a very long time.)
I know I am a tease. (I mus've been born without a slutty bone in my body. Dangsies.)

So here I am, cooped up inside my own little world of addiction.
Round and round I go. Does he like me? Will he call? What does that mean? SHould I ask him out or wait for him to ask me out? Why hasn't he complimented anything about me except my boobs? Why won't he kiss me? blah blah blah....

Guys. You may not be able to relate to this. Or understand it at all. I don't expect you to. You are simple. And I have been told that I over think things.

Well, girls, you understand this right? How can I not constantly think about men? We all do. It's fun, most of the time. But sometimes...
Wait?! Was that a text message?God I hope it's from a boy. Oh but which one?

Doesn't really matter. I mean. I would like to get messages and calls from certain men in my life more than others. But when I going through withdrawal anything will do.

I recently joked with a girlfriend that I realized that men were my drug. I am not out whore-ing it up so I don't really think I need Dr. Drew. But when you walk into work one day, down and out and the only thing you can attribute to your grumpiness is the lack of men "oohing" and "aaahing" over you. Well then you know you've got a problem.
Or I have a problem I should say.

Or how about days when I bounce around and tell every other woman in my life about the current guy. Rarely oh so rarely a boyfriend. Truthfully most of them last just mere moments in my revolving door of men in my life.

It's sad when said women in my life recount a specific man and I cannot recall whom they are talking about.

I usually describe them in detail so they have only attributes to try and jog my memory. Sadly they don't have names.
The firefighter or
the geek soccer player or
the guy from Tech or
the 64 year old (which isn't actually an age of a person I've dated but my brothers have decided all the older guys I date(no older than 35 mind you) are no longer allowed a reasonable number for their ages, so it ranges from late 50's to early 80's.. it's awesome when they yell "wait you mean you're 75 year old?" , "Why yes brother, my 92 year old boyfriend and I are very happy together, thank you!"} (My family loves me)

So when I didn't get (and still haven't gotten)what I really wanted from the current guy, sure enough I turned around and there was a ripe 21 year old. He thinks we are gonna go out sometime. And I think he is just pretty to look at and I know he just wants to see me naked so I won't be pursuing anything with him. What I will do is use the attention I get from him to suffice while FP throws me for some more loops. Yeah I'm using one drug to hold me over until I get what I really want.

I've been called fun, and entertaining and the life of the party. But little does everyone know that my actions are equivalent to the itchy arms of a heroine user or the pacing back and forth outside of a dealers house.

So here I am, currently in a state of naught. Neither high nor low. I am trying to control the urges. I'm just gonna go to the gym. And make sure I wear a super tight super cute outfit so I get a glance or two. That should get me high enough today.

I'm a complete sociopath. Awesome.

...stay tuned.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

A Boy Made Me Do It

I woke up from a coma today.
Yeah, another life coma. Believe it.

Man I seriously need health insurance. Gotta get those things checked out.

I'm pretty sure it's like one life coma per year is healthy. I mean NOT healthy, but do able. (And no, that's not what she said, Will!! Jeez. She isn't nearly as slutty as people make her out to be. And she is pretty tired of being referenced all the time.Okay? So just drop it)

But honestly, I am 24 years old now. I swear it was yesterday that I was having the shittiest twenty first birthday ever.
And just a few weeks ago I was angst ridden and West Coast bound...

I never really listened to old people when they have told me about how fast life goes and you don't realize it, so enjoy it blah blah blah.

All I can think about with old people is how in nursing school I was told we weren't allowed to call them cute.....Under any circumstance!

Yet, still no memo on calling the short 24 year old cute. I still have to endure this shit. Just cuz I'm fun sized doesn't mean I...Holy crap I'm gonna be old one day! I just fucking figured that out! ( and I will be freaking cute then too, I'm sure of it.)
So maybe as long as I keep surrounding myself with older men. (NOT a problem for this girl) then I will never feel quite as old as them! Yay. Genius plan.

Back to birthdays. This year. Thank God for Florida. I mean we don't have to get all biblical here because it is just Florida I'm talking about. But someone may have been missing a toe or twelve if I didn't go to Cocoa Beach for 5 days before my birthday. (Thank you best friend.)

Quickly I will explain. (quickly, only because I am convinced anyone who is reading this has better things to do and is always waiting for me to get to the point. Where you can then exclaim immediate judgment upon me... "Hysterical!" or "Genius!" or "You're hot I want to date you!"... wait you couldn't possibly get all that from a blog post... unless. No never mind.)

I like birthdays. You wouldn't know about my annual birthday countdown because I have been effing lazy this year and felt no need to make you endure the 3 months of counting down until I was twenty..whatever the hell age I am.

But in my head and to the people around me, my birthday is the shit. This is when I go crazy. I make big plans and I intend to live on a grand scale for just a day. (I'm lying to you, I get a birthday week, or two. The one leading up to and the one following. Deal with it.) I invite anyone to come join in the festivities and this year.

My awesome idea was...

Atlantic City.

Seriously, I was excited. Many people tried to talk me out of my excitement. They would say.."it'll underwhelm you" "do you guys ALL really want to gamble?" "the strip club on 12th is the place you should..." Well whatever they said. There was many a person who apparently have clairvoyant abilities and tried to tell me.

I ignored them all. I had 7 other people drive up and stay in a horrendous pube filled hotel. (according to Sonny, they're nutritional, but don't take his word for it.Stay away kids)

7 of us have NEVER been there before. The one who has, was days away from getting married. So what he remembers is pretty much not valid. (Except that strip club he was telling us about.)

Let me fast forward and tell you how the night ended and my actual birth day began.
With me slamming the hotel door yelling " GO F*!% YOURSELF" and then I went back into my room and my best friend sang happy birthday and gave me my annual lemon cake.

The in between was all whining and complaining about losing 20 dollars in one WHOLE hour. And lots of drunken antics, and no real big winners to speak of...

So yeah icksnay on the ewNay erseyJay Forever. I never want to visit that state again.

Happppy Birthday to me.

So it's understandable that an impromptu trip to Florida for five days sitting with my best friend wooing multiple crowds of men by the beach was much more pleasant than a night in a dirty hotel where I tried to play matchmaker with my weekend plans and everyone else who came along.

The good thing about birthdays. They keep on comin'.

p.s. thanks Stephen for reminding me why I like to write, and why I should get back to posting regularly on here.
I have to share with you his texts this morning, that lead to the title of this post.
My thoughts in parentheses

"So I just read a few posts on your blog.

(I love this because now I know he stalks me, cuz I never mentioned my blog to him!
You are a f-ing hysterical writer. I was seriously laughing.

(I have NO clue which posts he read, sorry I can't vouch for the whole me being funny)
Who knew you could write?
( Um? I did. Thanks.)
I mean you sure as hell can't drive a kart."

(He took me go karting on Sunday. I wish I could say he was lying. But I sucked ass.)

To which I responded
"You just made my freaking day. I haven't been able to write since I share my computer is in storage right now.
(and i live in the stone age and don't have a laptop.)
AND I wasn't exactly sure anyone actually liked my blog. Writing is how I want to make my fortune in life, I'm currently working on a series of children's books."

And then this little gem...
"I'm impressed. And frightened at the same time... re: the kids books. Kinda like when I discovered George Carlin narrated Thomas the Tank Engine my son watches."

Did anyone just read that?! I like that comparison. Even if it is meant not in the way that I am like George Carlin in any way shape or form. Because I obviously know that. Much less my level of comedy being anywhere near able to reach that of the late great Mr. Carlin's. But to compare the shock and horror a hot Dad feels when realizing my mouth of a sailor is trying to write a series of successful children's books, well it's a great day.

...stay tuned.