Foward, March!

Birthday Reconciliation: He came. And he was wonderful.

And everything on my birthday was wonderful. I got to see my bee after my family had left. I have to say it was one of my best birthdays in quite some years.

And now I am off to pretty myself to prepare for tonight. To celebrate the eve of the new year. With Beau, but J's beforehand. I still feel like I am losing a little piece of my life by deciding to spend the night with him versus my friends. I am told that this thought is irrational, and that I am somewhat obligated to spend the night with him. I don't feel this way at all; I don't feel that I should HAVE to spend the night with him; that I HAVE to kiss my boy at midnight. Wrong? Maybe, but I don't care. I'm choosing to spend the night with him, and choosing to give up a night with my friends, whether it's J or Jay or Bee or Law or C. Choosing to be there at midnight to look into his eyes and smile. And I like my choice. I like it alot.

........... I still feel there is so much to reconcile before I can accept the new year. Before I can start over fresh. 2008 was so.... hectic. So all over the place. My thoughts bounced and my ideas and theories conflicted. I am glad that it is over... I am glad that I can positively move forward. That I have the chance to.

That I am right where I want to be....
snuggling under the covers, having drinks with friends, dancing the night away, hearing the snap of beer cans, cozying up into the crook of his arm, becoming embedded in a soft kiss, the embrace of my most favorite girls, the sound of hearty laughter...

Have a safe night. Happy New Year.

Rumblings

I hope your Christmas was wonderful. Mine was well spent with family.

Yet, my elevated mood has plummeted in the past twelve hours, as today marks the day of my birth. I am, every year, THOROUGHLY disappointed. I cry almost every year on my birthday because things never go the way that I had envisioned or attempted to plan.

Law NEVER sees me on my birthday. And I make the trek down to south nowheres-ville jersey to celebrate with her every year for her birthday. I'm fed up with it. I'm fed up with rearranging my plans and taking off or whatever for her birthday...

But back to my plans, Beau is ill. I have transferred my illness to him but it's hitting him much worse, J' sister and nephew are in town, Jay is in a severe state of desperation, Bee has a bachelorette party for a pregnant bachelorette, and I'm sure that C will be somewhere on the island. My parents are going to have dinner and cake at the house with my cousins which is nice... but will Beau come? I mean he was invited and all and everything but he can barely talk and he has a fever and hours ago I was just sitting on his bed tonight trying to force feed him cough drops, trying to make him feel better. I just kept staring into his eyes trying to silently beg him to come the next day. Please please please, come tomorrow, even if you're sweaty and can't talk or swallow without wincing. Just come.

I wonder if he felt the desperation in my 23 year old eyes. I do not handle change very well, and when I set up a plan I expect it to be executed. It is so disappointing when it is forfeited, when everything I was hoping on comes crashing down as I realize that I have no control over the individual or the environment or the way the universe operates. I can only go to bed now and not shed a tear and not imagine tomorrow as a very sad, depressing day.

Speaking of illness, I've been battling some kind of ear/sinus/throat thing all week (with the aid of vicodin and antibiotics). To make matters worse, Tuesday night resulted in some kind of episode. I thought I was dying. I woke up in the middle of the night with cramps, but cramps like I have never experienced. I literally laid there sobbing loudly into the dark night for 15 minutes until I fell back asleep.

I went to the emergency room the next day. Yea, I ruptured an ovarian cyst. And apparently that ovarian cyst was hanging out on my ovaries with other ovarian cysts. And pretty much there's nothing that they can do about them, the doctors. So I'm stuck here waiting for the next one to explode, and I'll feel like death, and look pregnant for the following four days after that and periodically want to vomit until downing some pain medicines like oxycodone.

And when I say pregnant, I mean like, it's painful to wear jeans. Painful. Do you understand what my psyche is enduring this week? It's being fucked royally. It's being tortured and beaten. If I had any body image disturbances before, this week has really intensified any disparages I had about my body. 2009 might be a year of no eating.

Christmas, yay!!!

SAMANTHA! A piece of my childhood demolished.

I'm fucking flipping out. They're discontinuing American Girls "Samantha" which is by far, the best character... (Sorry to all the Kirsten, Felicity, and Molly fans)

I used to get the catalogue every few months and drool over her accessories that I never got from Santa. Never got the plush white bed with pink ribbons, or the winter coat with white furry hat and muff, or her very delicious christmas outfit.

I am so tempted to order her again, or dig her out of the attic. Or maybe just buy some accessories to solve some unfinished business from my childhood.

I can remember when there were four original American girls, all with a tragic story set in a different historical time. Every outfit had a story, and went along with a book. I can still remember the smell of the shiny, smooth pages of each paperback. Shortly thereafter, the American Girl Company came out with "Bitty baby" which was really just a stupid looking doll that could be matched to your skin tone. Then they came out with that "create your own doll" bullshit. It was all downhill from there. Now there's a store in midtown by Rockefeller Center where you can have your doll's hair and your hair done for a million bucks. My cousins have all taken their girls there.

To think, that they had a day of pampering in the city with their DOLL, where their mother PAID money to have a DOLL's HAIR DONE...all I ever wanted was a fucking muff for my Samantha doll. I thought that was so cool. Boy, my issues were clear even at 7, huh?

You better believe Mama is gettin' an e-mail about this ish.

My Precious

I forgot to post about my beloved, my car. My car turned one year old! Happy birthday Snowbunny!

It snowed on Friday very much like the day that I picked you up. True, it was not the day of your birth, but it was your first day as my car, as my brand new first-time ever bought car from a dealership. The first day I got to take you home it was as if I was walking on a pogo stick. I was elated.

You have always known the appropriate time to break down...mainly the night that I had purposely tried to leave sho's without staying over and ended up staying over as I sat defeated in my car that was totally dead...or the time I parked you by St. Marks and decided to sleep in as opposed to moving you, only to discover the next EVENING that someone had taken a chunk out of your nose...Two signs I suppose. Stay and GO.

Snowbunny has changed so much, squeaking a little every now and then and having a few scratches which for me, is one too many.

I'll try to take better care of you, and park you in safer spots where you do not run the fear of being touched by another automobile.

Happy Birthday my precious!

[To those of you who don't "get it" : So many bloggers post every little anecdote of each of their offsprings lives, including birthdays. Since I have no miniature versions of myself, I only have my car.]

Delicious Man Wednesday: Travis McCoy

Travis McCoy of Gym Class Heroes. He sports many, many, many tattoos, (almost every inch of his exposed body is covered except his face) which should define him as a rebel. But oh no, not nice guy "Travie." He has a clean image (by my standards - he did hit someone after they called him a racial slur) and manages to keep his peen in his pants.

It's pretty safe to say I would havehisbabies/cleanhishouse/never cheatonhim if he asked nicely, paid me extra special attention and fucked me on the regz.

The bad news is that he is unfortunately fucking that katy perry girl. When is her 15 minutes of fame up? Is it soon? (Keep in mind I'm being SO nice to this cheapshotwhoreb..., I mean sweetheart. Only because she has purple heels on). Back to bad news: He seems to like her. And it doesn't seem like he's cheating on her, or playing her.

KATY: Big, round blue eyes, white skin, big boobs, clever, smart, witty, sarcastic, doesn't give a shit, dark hair

K: Big, round blue eyes, white skin, big boobs, clever, smart, witty, sarcastic, doesn't give a shit, blonde hair

So he likes dark hair, eh? Makes a girl think.

That concludes this delicious man Wednesday. Travis McCoy.

Get at me.

December Update

I cut my hair, and Fabulousness did it. It's a solid 2 inches, perhaps more. I have to say I loved it at first, and then the next day realized how short it was. But the ends had to come off. So much healthier and soft now.

Beau has been studying ridiculous amounts of hours for his law school finals while also keeping ridiculous hours, like waking at 5 a.m. and retiring to bed before midnight. Which means, that if I choose to see him, I have to adapt to his hours...albeit briefly, because I choose to not see him as often as we both would like because well, I have a sleeping disorder that requires that I have hours upon hours of sequential sleep.

To make matters worse, he has a cold, so that means limited time in close proximity (read: no kissing). I cannot afford timewise to be sick. I HAVE FINALS. Two tests down, one presentation today, and two papers left. (I suppose this is me proving to myself that my life is my life is my life is my life is more important to me, more important to me, than some title or some relationship or another person. Self-sacrifice out the door!)

This week marks the end of school until mid-January for both of us. I'm scared shitless. What, WHAT will we both do? I mean, I adore having no set schedule - and we could sleep late, or watch television all day, or get drunk at 3:00 in the afternoon, or ACTUALLY have time to eat a nutritious meal in a human-like like manner together...but....

We're bound to get closer. And I'm fucking freaking out.

We Didn't Start the Fire

I stayed at Beau's last night, and he made me get up early so he could go study for his law finals. I begrudgingly got dressed and jumped on the train back home, with every intention of falling back asleep. Today was my only day to sleep in, and I usually require 2 mandatory weekdays to sleep past 12:00 p.m.

I arrived home, and chose to heat up a slice of veggie pizza. I decided against the oven, as it seemed to be too much work to turn the dial to the appropriate temperature and open the heavy oven door. I got a piece of tinfoil, and looked at the very manageable toaster oven. I turned the temp. up to 400 degrees and threw the slice in.

I then plopped myself on the couch and watched the prerecorded Monday's taping of the Hills.

15 minutes later, I started to smell something cooking, so I rose to check on my slice. There was a fire blazing in the toaster oven. I opened it, and smoke billowed out. I thought, 'oh, a veggie must have fallen onto the hot lamp.' I grabbed the edges of the tinfoil to free my slice from the smoke to breathe. I then noticed that no... no! There was a wall of huge flames leaping out of the little mighty toaster oven from the back. I began to panic as I saw imaginary flames catching onto the cabinets and rising up the walls. I blew on it, and blew and blew again, as a knee-jerk reaction. It only got worse and the flames laughed their cruel howl and sprung up even stronger than before my gust of wind. I shut the glass door on the toaster oven as I could feel my adrenaline pumping.. how would I ever explain...

My hands were shaking...
I turned the faucet on in the sink, and grappled for something in the sink. It felt like I picked up everything except a cup...
I finally got a cup in my hand, held it under the faucet, filled it up with kitchen-saving water, and thrust it inside the toaster oven. Again, and again, and again.

It was out.

There was smoke everywhere, and I had to open up the sliders, and the front door, and the back door, and most of the windows. I had to light seven candles and lysol the countertops and spray oust EVERYWHERE. My hair still REEKS of smoke.

It was out, though. And my slice went in the oven to be heated up.

Residual Hangover

I am not at full speed today. Starbucks is mandatory after required working hours.

I spent 3-4 hours today looking at the PeaceCorps website (I am really still thinking about it - but this is a girl without a passport.. I know, it's pathetic), reading stories, researching countries and projects. I get this bug every 6 months or so, the desire to take off and do something perspective changing...do something to make someone's life better. I suppose I could do that in my current situation, but I wouldn't have the added benefit of expanding my language skills, or the chance for new experiences that would inspire exciting new writing material. Like when something blows my mind and it explodes with words and emotions and ideas. Concepts. And I write and it flows and it all connects without any effort. It hasn't happened in awhile. Maybe it's because I'm thinking about the dishes in the sink too much, or smoking too many cigarettes or having another drink when I should probably just go to sleep. I don't know...

The less responsible I am, usually the better I write. When I have to write about something for a class is when I usually produce my best writing work... and it is ALWAYS totally unrelated to the thing I SHOULD be writing.

And I look back and read the wonderful thoughtful masterpiece I have spat onto the page, and I edit it, and scrutinize and overly criticize it... And then when I'm done and rereading it for the 5,036th time - I smile and think, 'What the fuck, k? You have a 15 page paper to write. Stop wasting writing brain power.'

But this isn't nonsense. Nothing is nonsense. Everything means something. Everything is relevant and for a reason. And I don't feel like writing my paper due tomorrow. And I don't think I will.

I'll just face the consequences of it all.

I've never been so happy to go to a Catholic school.

Drinking wine like it's water will prevent you from getting anything done. Today would never have been so unproductive if I did not have the free will and independence to decide to get shitfaced last night. I'm swearing off Pinot Grigio, I'm stickin' to Chardonnay. Chardonnay's headache pain level is much lower than Pinot.

Things I did today in order:
Woke up at 3:30
Ordered a veggie pizza
Took a shower
Ate 3 slices of veggie pizza (apparently I needed bread and cheese)
Took a nap
Washed dishes
Laid back on the couch and watched my roommate move out while eating Joe joe's
Fell back asleep
Painted my nails

And guess where I am right now. On the couch...and I'm yawning.

Monday. My hangover was in control today. Hopefully I'll be in control tomorrow.

I'm retiring to bed any minute. Happy Immaculate Conception.

Good-bye, my beloved.

Good-bye bread, good-bye pasta, good-bye cheese. It has been fun. We had many good times spent together. Many, many late nights.

Bread: I may return to you in a few weeks, or a few months. But you will be consumed sparingly even then and only of the whole wheat, low-calorie variety. Your cousin, beer, is on his way out too. You and him seem to walk hand in hand, so the separation will be rough but absolutely necessary. Have faith knowing that I'm keeping my distance from him as well. Don't feel bad. My family, (I'm sure), will make up for my lack of bread eating.

Pasta: I never even really liked you. I only ate you in accompaniment with meatballs, and now since I'm marking one year meat-less, I have no reason to enjoy you. You require meat or cheese to be delicious, and neither one are included in my new eating regimen.

Cheese: What can I say? You had me at cheddar.

Most of all, good-bye to the scrumptious foods I loved that contained one or more of the new banned food products:
White Cheddar Cheez-Its
Mozzarella String Cheese
Mozzarella Sticks
Stuffed Shells
Honey-Wheat Bread
Vanilla Almond Clusters
Any and all types of pizza
Naan
Any and all kinds of rare breads
Pancakes

and so many others I forgot to mention. I will always think of you all fondly.

Convoluted, Twisted, Tortured Girl Gone Awry.

Slow down. Relax. This is what I need. Some quiet hibernation. But then I'm alone with my thoughts...hmmm.

And my brain processes are in a million different places. Yes, I'm concerned about my current relationship because I don't know how much more I can give him without giving up and/or hurting him. Yes, I question my past... EVERYDAY. Yes, I am so preoccupied with my future that I make up scenario's to try them on to see how they fit, and then I shudder, and then I smile, because is that what I really want? Is the thing that I fight against the thing I want the most? Yes, I don't spend enough time worrying about MY future. About MY career. About MY choices.

Because I'm a girl, a woman, because of the way I was raised, I'm not focusing on myself. And I can't. I can't focus on my career. I wish I could crawl into a ball and shoot through life without a man around. It is so frustrating to rail against the very thing that you NEED. I'm making myself disgusted with myself. I'm going to stop.

And y'know what - this isn't about Beau, or Sho, or my parents, or my best friends.


Me. I'm alone. I'm only me. I'm me, alone, forever.