Thursday, March 30, 2006

Motley Thursday

Tonight’s Midge’s going away party… it’s going to be at Cheers. The jokes are already starting to roll in, “Be sure you don’t start crying in front of Obsession!” I must admit, it is a slight worry of mine. And please, let it be known, I do NOT cry in public… nor do I cry in front of most of my long-term friends… just a lucky few.

I also, asked LaSassy to be at my side for the evening… telling her I’d be completely bummin’ and needed some support… she mentioned that she hasn’t seen me be needy before… and I’ve known LaSassy for 7 years. Although she meant to tell me it’s okay to be needy sometimes, I was just happy that she thought I never acted needy.

NEXT:

Midge admitted that he’d miss my wedding (like I’ll even get married) for a good concert. I was always kind of hurt by that… you know, hurt before the thing even happened. But anyway, last night I was perusing my music venues as always, and I noticed that Elefant was playing at a SUPER SMALL venue here in SF… however… yes however, they’re playing while I’m in Vegas with friends who’ve traveled far and wide to be together… and for a split second… maybe a split 10 minutes, I actually considered forgoing the trip… I already bought my plane ticket… my good friend already bought her plane ticket from London… and here I was so selfishly thinking I just HAD to be here for the concert.

But anyway, I finally understood what he felt. I understood how important going to those shows is. It’s a drug. The Perfect Drug. And he’s told me that music will always be there… friends will come and go… but he’ll forever have those sounds and feelings attached to music and even more so, with live music. I always thought it was such a sad thing for him to say. But to an extent, he’s right. To an extent, with him leaving, he’s shown how right he is. (no hate mail from my friends please, hahaha)

NEXT:

When I’m infatuated with men I’ll never have, I look for something to hate about them. For instance, I hate short socks. If a guy I can’t have is wearing short socks, it’s much easier for me to get over him. The picture of Trent Reznor below has given me something to hold on to… I HATE MEN IN CAPRIS. NO TRENT NO!!! THE CAPRIS HAVE GOT TO GO!!! (but still, thank god for those 6th row tickets I scored yesterday)

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Wednesday, March 29, 2006

It Runs Deeper Than You Dare To Dream It Could Be

Oh God Trent, I want you so badly...
















I got Nine Inch Nails tickets today with 5 of my friends... and i'm on some fucking huge HIGH because I got good seats... it's like this crazed rush... and naturally I feel like it's somehow a special night because it's the day after my birthday... but really that means nothing... and why the fuck do I even think it might mean something? Hope. Perhaps. That there is some master plan. That there is no such thing as coincidence. But then. I'm a cynic. Right?

As for Trent... yes, I'm obssessed, but i had the Rockstar conversation with a friend last night... I've dated musicians in the past... they're soooo fucking self-centered, and there can only be one of us the relationship... and that's ME!!! But anyway, they have these grandiose ideas of who they are... they put music before everything... like they're a man of the cloth... God has given them some divine purpose, and us girlfriends just have to accept second to God. Fuck God. It's all about MY ASS!!!

I go through these phases of things I'm really into... lately, concerts have been my crack.

Here's the list:


1. CONCERTS... and apparently, going by myself.
2. TEA... I'm really into tea right now... Green Tea, Peppermint, anything you have to offer... I had 5 cups of tea so far today.
3. LATEST MUSICIANS / SONGS... Elefant, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Arcade Fire, a live version of Rhiannon (Fleetwood Mac), and a cover of Total Eclipse of the Heart by Tori Amos are on REPEAT. I mean, psychotic REPEAT.
4. BADASS... I've been sooo into that word lately. I don't even know where I got it. Everything's suddenly BADASS.

Some Nine Inch Nails quotes to leave you with...

ringfinger.
sever flesh and bone
and offer it to me.


She comes along
She gets inside
She makes you better than anything you've tried
It's in her kiss
The blackest sea
And it runs deeper than you
Dare to dream it could be...
You finally found
The place where you belong

Um, so an FYI to all you relationship folk -- don't settle for any less than the place where you belong... someone who makes you feel like your best self.... Uhhhhhhhhh, oh GOD... wow, to meet someone that you're so excited to talk to because you've waited your whole life to meet him and you have so much to catch up on... to know everything about him... and love knowing how deep that connection runs... in your veins. Posted by Picasa

Monday, March 27, 2006

And You're So Bad...

When the dust settles, I suddenly realize that I’m alone. Nazi’s, moving, Christians, dating disasters, health crises, and best friends leaving, all keep the mind pretty fucking occupied. Now, as this month is coming to an end, and I’ve moved and my best friend is moved, I’m left somewhat saddened… somewhat unsure of what to do now, for I always need to be doing something… it’s that addictive personality in me… where I need constant dust.

Yesterday I hung out with The Brother (the most recent ex – broke up in October, but are still friends)… and like I say to all my friends, we always want the last person we were with when we haven’t another to occupy our minds.

Our conversation went like this:

The Brother, “I feel like I’m cheating on my girlfriend by hanging out with you. She knows we still talk. I haven’t told her we’re hanging out today, but I certainly will.”

Miss Curious, half jokingly, “that’s odd. We are just friends. The only reason you’d probably feel like you were cheating is if you still had feelings for me…. So it’s not really that we’re hanging out – it’s just that hanging out reminds you of your unrequited love for me.”

The Brother replies, “no comment.” Smirk.

I laugh half uncomfortable - half nostalgic… wishing we were back in that comfort of being together… of knowing I was with a sweet, intelligent man, who would only be good to me… of knowing that I didn’t have to be in the game anymore. And I forget, why I didn’t want to be with him anymore.

I reached out, hugged him, and whispered, “I know.”

But he has a girlfriend now. And we’d probably end up the way we are now. Broken-up. When I closed the car door and watched him drive away, it was such a sad reminder of something that had so much potential and fell so short… and I know I’m trapped… I’m so trapped… I know that everything will fall short.

And the whole weekend was this sudden hex of loneliness. Friday night was filled with friends and break-dancing and dancing like nobody was watching and too much alcohol and at 2 am when I closed down the bar, I got into a cab by myself. And the alcohol couldn’t comfort me this time…no, not this time… and my room was so quiet. I hate quiet.

Saturday morning, hung over, I walked to my best friend’s house. And we packed up the U-haul… I’d spent so many nights in that room. Now it was empty. And people leave. They always leave.

On a lighter note, here’s a pic of my new casa:



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And You're So Bad...

When the dust settles, I suddenly realize that I’m alone. Nazi’s, moving, Christians, dating disasters, health crises, and best friends leaving, all keep the mind pretty fucking occupied. Now, as this month is coming to an end, and I’ve moved and my best friend is moved, I’m left somewhat saddened… somewhat unsure of what to do now, for I always need to be doing something… it’s that addictive personality in me… where I need constant dust.

Yesterday I hung out with The Brother (the most recent ex – broke up in October, but are still friends)… and like I say to all my friends, we always want the last person we were with when we haven’t another to occupy our minds.

Our conversation went like this:

The Brother, “I feel like I’m cheating on my girlfriend by hanging out with you. She knows we still talk. I haven’t told her we’re hanging out today, but I certainly will.”

Miss Curious, half jokingly, “that’s odd. We are just friends. The only reason you’d probably feel like you were cheating is if you still had feelings for me…. So it’s not really that we’re hanging out – it’s just that hanging out reminds you of your unrequited love for me.”

The Brother replies, “no comment.” Smirk.

I laugh half uncomfortable - half nostalgic… wishing we were back in that comfort of being together… of knowing I was with a sweet, intelligent man, who would only be good to me… of knowing that I didn’t have to be in the game anymore. And I forget, why I didn’t want to be with him anymore.

I reached out, hugged him, and whispered, “I know.”

But he has a girlfriend now. And we’d probably end up the way we are now. Broken-up. When I closed the car door and watched him drive away, it was such a sad reminder of something that had so much potential and fell so short… and I know I’m trapped… I’m so trapped… I know that everything will fall short.

And the whole weekend was this sudden hex of loneliness. Friday night was filled with friends and break-dancing and dancing like nobody was watching and too much alcohol and at 2 am when I closed down the bar, I got into a cab by myself. And the alcohol couldn’t comfort me this time…no, not this time… and my room was so quiet. I hate quiet.

Saturday morning, hung over, I walked to my best friend’s house. And we packed up the U-haul… I’d spent so many nights in that room. Now it was empty. And people leave. They always leave.

On a lighter note, here’s a pic of my new casa:




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Friday, March 24, 2006

Sucks My Ass

Perusing MySpace today, I checked out KriKri's bulletin about Google images... I then realized I hadn't Googled my name in like, oh, just a month... and what oh what do I find?!?!?!

My fucking Blog!!!!

I'm like theeeee only person with my first and last name... so, i'm a short 2 pages. But anyway, nowhere in my blog have I written my first and last name... never my last name.... when my uncle caught me, that was under the maternal side, so not my last name... I even removed it from my private user-profile just to be on the safe side... I only did that about 3 weeks ago... but again, that was hidden... so why?!?! why then!??! why is my fucking blog showing the fuck up? shit.

what can i do? i mean, what if i start dating some guy and he decides to Google my first and last name? i mean, i always Google guys i like... that's common right? hahaha.

fuck.

i'm fucked.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

No Such Thing As Sold Out

Drug addiction and alcoholism are much too alluring. On Monday, still riding the high from last week’s Elefant and Black Rebel Motorcycle show, I realized I hadn’t done my music venue perusal in a while… I needed another live show and needed it now. Hitting SF’s Great American Music Hall, I couldn’t believe my eyes… Snow Patrol, one of my Scottish guilty pleasures, was playing that night at a sold out show… luckily I work close to the venue and figured I might be able to squeeze one ticket out. Sure enough, I did.

This was yet another love shared by me and my ex-wife… who again couldn’t make an appearance due to biz-ay-ness with his NYC move next week.

So, Miss Curious is doing her ALONE thing… 2 shows 2 weeks 1 girl.

But really, I didn’t feel alone. I had drugs and alcohol. And fuck me, there isn’t anything in this world better than being high as fuck, drunk as fuck, and live music so fucking loud you can’t hear yourself scream.

Not even fucking.

And I’m not asking for those obligatory clichés here… but fucking god, I wish I could be drunk and high all the time. Why oh why, can’t I be high by the bye?!?!

Uh. Just standing there… fixated upon a stage… and music… such loud music… and there are people there, but this show is just for you… and the music is a part of your blood stream just as much as the alcohol… just as much as the weed…. All the feelings converge… to crystallize that feeling… to put that feeling in a bottle forever… the cure… to never feel alone… to never miss love… because that bottle holds all the love in the world.

But then to know what it feels like to be without it… to be how I feel right now… and to know that those moments are too few…. And don’t tell me I have to know now to know then… because that answer will never be good enough.

For those of you who read A Day in the Life of MiSS CuriouS… below is a photo of Diego Garcia, the lead singer of Elefant, who just happened to touch my cheek with his lips.



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Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Move-On

It is what it is. That’s all one can really say about anything. I have no fucking clue why things happen the way they do. I have no fucking clue if things have meaning… if things “happen for a reason.” No idea.

Like they said in I Heart Huckabees,

“I'm doing the best that I can. I know that's all I can ask of myself. Is that good enough?”

I try to be the best person I can. I try to treat people with respect, but to also recognize injustice and stand up for myself in such cases. Why do I have to learn again and again, that relationships are difficult or neighbors can sometimes suck ass… I mean, who the fuck cares. Move on.

So why then… to top off death threats and aggravating landlords, did my move have to go the way it did?

Friday morning my ex-wife Midge arrives ready to help me and the movers move. My last move, I hired 2 guys at U-Haul to help, and they finished the job in less than 2 hours. I paid and fed them well for their hard work.

I decided this time to check Craigslist for movers that had a truck, who would just arrive at my door… The company I found on Craigslist, Bell Movers, charge by the hour. I figured it wouldn’t take longer than 2 hours because this time, I didn’t have flights of stairs to go up… only 3 flights to go down…. And I had LESS stuff. A lot less.

The minimum for the move was 2 hours, and I figured that’d be fine… gave me some breathing room.

Back to Friday morning. The movers show up almost an hour late. I tried calling a couple of times to find out where they were. My messages were left unreturned. Finally, they show up. However, these were NO movers.

The first guy, about 60 years of age, could barely hop down from the truck. The other guy was stoned off his ass. Needless to say, I was livid. Paying by the hour, these were the last people on earth that I’d want moving me.

I mean, who moves slower than a stoner and a 60-year old man with back problems?

The story gets better…

As we walk up the stairs to my apartment, the 60 year old, FARTS IN MY FACE. Not a quiet little air-poof, but a loud “no mistaking that as anything but a fart” fart… I mean, he went for it.

He did the, “oh oops, sorry about that.”

What does the Stoner do? He laughs. That’s what stoners do. Move slow and laugh. I laughed too and then looked around for the hidden cameras because this was fucking UNREAL.

As soon as I showed them where it was, I ran downstairs to once again call the moving company and tell them what a joke this was and that I’m happy to have their movers leave, so I can get real movers from uHaul… or that I’m simply not paying the full amount.

No one answered, and I was stuck. They had my credit card information. I didn’t know what to do. So, Stoner and 60 moved me very slowly. 60 was weezing on his way DOWN the stairs in the first 15 minutes. I asked him if he was okay… he mentioned he had bronchitis… oh fucking great. Midge later heard him tell the other guy he thought he was going to die. Awesome.

My ex-wife and I decided to help because we needed to high-tail it to Sonoma for our company trip.

We finished an hour and a half job in 3 hours.

I told the mover I was sorry, he seemed very nice, but I was only going to pay for the minimum of 2 hours because not only were they late, but they were not movers. I asked him if he could honestly tell me that the other man was in shape to move. He said he couldn’t answer that question. I said that he’d be able to answer it if the guy were in moving shape. He smirked.

This experience was an injustice. Sometimes I have push-over tendencies, but not this time… I didn’t want Mr. Boys Club to take advantage of me and to exploit unfit laborers… so this was / is a battle I was going to fight.

Naturally, Stoner was now able to get someone on the phone. My ex-wife excused himself because he knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

They not only charge by the hour, but they also charge driving… they said they’d comp me the driving… I fired back with an, “okay, that will make-up for the 45 minutes they were late, but not for the people they sent.”

They said they weren’t budging. I said the same. They said the job was already done. I said I would’ve stopped the job as soon as they arrived, but I couldn’t get anyone on the phone… and if I had just sent the movers back, I knew they’d charge my credit card, and argue what they’re arguing right now… that a Stoner and a 60 year old man are adequate movers.

I told them, I hired 2 movers to be paid by the hour, and I got a half of a mover. I said, I’m paying for what I got.

There was more back and forth and back and forth… until one guy tells me he’ll take me to small claims court for the $70 I’m not paying. I told him to go right ahead and that I won’t pay a dime in that case. I told him he can collect all the money in court. Another guy gets on the phone and tells me to just pay the 2 hours and that there’s no way they’re going to take me to small claims… that the other guy is just trying to strong-arm me.

I said whatever and paid the 2 hours.

There I was left with all my junk in my new room… pissed beyond belief. Speaking of piss, I looked in my new walk-in closet… and the cat had just pissed in it.

Man-oh-Man.

Now I’m just waiting for that notice in the mail to take me to small claims… hahaha… who the fuck knows. They say they won’t, but you never know. My older sister Naughty-Nadia tells me I’ll just have to counter them with a suit for lost wages, mental and physical stress, and false advertisement… not to mention having a mover on drugs. (by the way – he was talking to my ex-wife all about the fat blunts he smokes)

Oh please Mr. Boys Club… please take me to small claims court, so I can show you how it feels to get fucked up the ass with my nine-inch heels. Sweet – sweet boys.

Needless to say, my ex-wife has never seen me so pissed… he wasn’t there to see me tell Nazi-neighbor to go fuck himself… now that was pissed.

So I ask… why do these things have to happen? There’s no point. So I moved. Again. And I got pissed. A lot. And learning to hire different movers isn’t some huge life lesson. Who the fuck cares. Having a Nazi-neighbor taught me nothing. I already knew there were crack addicts and assholes. I already know how to stand-up for myself. I know these things.

In the end… all I can say is… IT IS WHAT IT IS.

Friday, March 17, 2006

A Day In The Life of MiSS CuriouS

Woke-up in a sheet-less bed.
Waded through the boxes to the bathroom.
Showered.
Need to shave.
Badly.
Dropped off my dry cleaning.
Sue tailors my clothes for free.
She tells me funny jokes that I never expect.
Hopped on the bus.
It was my favorite bus driver.
He stops mid-street and waits for me to cross.
I wanted to tell him I’m moving, but I didn’t.
Got to work.
Asked bosses if I could leave early to run errands before my concert.
One said that I’m my own boss.
Why didn’t he tell me that 3 years ago?
The other boss said, you better take a cab home, here’s some money.
They can stay.
Left work.
Got Ben and Jerry’s for dinner.
Got my eyebrows waxed.
Was stoked that I didn’t have to wait for the bus very long.
Put on my concert black tights, black skirt, black shirt, red polk-a-dot collar sticking out.
Got stoned.
Wished I had more Ben and Jerry’s.
Tried to hail a cab.
Frustrated I couldn’t get one.
Then thankful I didn’t get one.
I didn’t have my tickets.
Ran 2 blocks home and got them.
My ex-wife was the only person into this music.
He couldn’t go.
I went alone.
Drank a vodka tonic.
The bartender was a dick.
I went mainly for the opening band, Elefant.
“The sunlight’s making me feel paranoid”
The lead singer is a rockstar.
You either are or you aren’t.
They didn’t play very long.
I felt like Kirsten Dunst in Interview With a Vampire.
Blood dripping from her mouth, “I want more.”
Slightly unsatisfied.
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club headlined.
The lead singer is a musician.
He’s that guy who emails all his friends to his show at some whole-in-the-wall bar.
I will never miss a BRMC show again.
They were an experience.
Live experience.
I had another vodka tonic.
The bartender was still a dick.
I got more stoned.
Started thinking everyone was someone I knew.
I thought I saw Mr. Lost His Mind Christian.
Instead I saw Jesus.
Really.
MySpace Jesus.
Really.
I thought he didn’t like live music.
He’s an idiot.
He didn’t see me.
Thank God.
During BRMC, the lead singer of Elefant came out the side entrance.
He went to the bar.
I waited another song.
And went to the bar.
I told him I liked his music.
I asked if he wrote all his lyrics.
I knew he did.
He told me he did.
I said they were beautiful.
He said thank you.
I pretended to hear what else he was saying.
The music was too loud.
I smiled and nodded.
A lot.
He said it was nice to meet me.
He kissed me on the cheek and went back stage.
I was satisfied.
More than.
The show ended.
I went home.
Fell asleep with my headphones on.

OTHER NEWS: I MOVE TOMORROW MORNING... YES, TONIGHT IS MY LAST NIGHT IN CRACKVILLE... THEN I'M OFF TO SONOMA FOR THE WEEKEND!!!

okay okay okay... i'm in sonoma totally moved - had trouble posting the above, so it's late... anyway, i have one hell of a moving story... something to look forward to -- one of the movers, over 50, maybe 60 farted in my face.

but anyway, i'll be in touch on monday!

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Guess I Need To Grow The Fuck Up!!!

“What am I doing? I don't know what I'm doing. I'm doing the best that I can. I know that's all I can ask of myself. Is that good enough? Is my work doing any good? Is anybody paying attention? Is it hopeless to try and change things? The African guy is a sign, right? Because if he isn't, than nothing in this world makes any sense to me. I'm fucked! Maybe I should quit. Don't quit! Maybe I should just fucking quit. Don't fucking quit! I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to fucking do anymore! Fucker! Fuck shit!”

-- I Heart Huckabees

I wonder how many blog posts of mine have started with “So there’s this guy…”

But anyway, So there’s this guy… I met him at a bar a while ago, and we hooked up… yes, classy, I know. Since we hooked up, I’ve bumped into him once on the street, seen him at 2 concerts, rubbed shoulders at the same bar a couple of months later, and then last night, he and I took turns using the same mirror at a thrift store. Of course we didn’t acknowledge each other last night (we spoke on all the other 4 occasions - please note: i live 2 blocks from an old pal and 4 blocks from another - i haven't bumped into them ever)… I should have said, “oh hey remember when I had your dick in my mouth?”

How does all of this tie in with I Heart Huckabees? People always say that things happen for a reason… that perhaps we bump into people again and again because there’s something unresolved… that it’s some sort of sign… like this other guy that lived in SF when I lived in LA… I bumped into him on his 3-day trip to LA at a restaurant… and then he had an “assigned” seat right in front of my “assigned” seat in the 50 Thousand person Staples arena for the Pac 10 Tourney… and then, I bumped into him again, at the 50 Thousand person Oakland Coliseum.

What does bumping into Bar Hook-Up mean? Maybe just to let me know that people in my neighborhood do Methamphetamines to lose weight and in my new neighborhood people exercise. What does bumping into Coliseum Boy mean? Nothing. I’m not his type nor is he my type. He tried to kiss me 9 years ago, but now we’ve grown into opposites.

So, “The African guy is a sign, right? Because if he isn't, than nothing in this world makes any sense to me.”

As y’all know, moving is slightly secondary to my psychotic emotional reactions to losing my ex-wife to New York City… see my last email to him:

so basically, i'm psycho -- here's what i continue to discover about myself...

i'm apparently NOT:
patient
understanding

I apparently AM:
selfish
confrontational
emotional
psychotic

and i hate how i'm being with you. and i hate that you'll worry about cancelling on me because i'm soooo not understanding. and i hate that i know you need money and are stressed for time, and yet i'm still psychotic and want your time... selfishness... it's all me.

and i'm just going miss you sooooooooo much.
and i just can't stand it.
and i've paused like 10 times writing this email so the tears will pass.
and you've meant so much to me.
and i hate to think that you've meant more to me than i have to you.
and i'm so sorry for ALL MY WRONGS.
and i wish i could go back and say or do things differently.
and like i said before -- i'd give you the world if you asked for it.
you're as close as close gets.

Monday, March 13, 2006

Bad Boys

I love these kinds of compliments... and it's coming from an expert in the field... see his photo below.

Miss Curious:

remember when you shot cum in my eye? that was funny. ;)

Bad Boy:

wanna try again? ;-)

Miss Curious:

don't you still have that girlfriend? haven't shot in her eye yet?

Bad Boy:

yeah, i do...but i miss YOUR mouth...lets have a lunch thing soon...down?
(of course he misses my mouth)

Miss Curious:

okay

Bad Boy:

don't chicken out on me.

Miss Curious:

it's just lunch.

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Thursday, March 09, 2006

Cheese'ZAY

Okay, I know it was a cheesey romantic comedy, but I'm completely cheesey at times... sure I'm a hardened bitch too, but I have my soft spots ;-) ........ anyway, I watched The Wedding Date last night, and there were two quotes I thought were very sweet...

"I think I'd miss you even if we'd never met." - Nick Mercer

"I'd rather fight with you than make love with anyone else." - Nick Mercer

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Step Down Bitch?

There’s this woman who’s completely fabulous. She and I are often attracted to the same men, and it’s proven to be slightly awkward at times.

My question: what is the etiquette for hitting on or moving forward with the subject of our mutual affection?

Here are a few things to consider:

- The woman who admits having a crush on the guy first lays claim to him?
It’d be awkward to follow her comment with a, “oh I have a crush on him too.” And if I did say that, then is the competition on? I know I’d feel guilty (that fucking guilt complex of mine) if I got him, and she was completely bummed.
- Are there lines, like if she only has a mere crush on him it’s okay? Or if she’s just kissed him once it’s okay? What’s okay?

My younger sister, Snot, ran into this issue over the summer. Her friend shared an apartment with this guy (a friend of a friend kinda’ thing)… Snot met the guy through her… the three of them hung out all summer… her friend confided in her about her crush on the guy… at that time my sister had developed a crush on him too… Snot didn’t mention it because she didn’t think her crush would amount to anything, and she didn’t want her friend to feel competitive… but one night, Snot and the guy made-out… the guy wasn’t into her friend… After that happened, my sister thought it appropriate to discuss this to her friend… the friend was pissed.

What would have been the right thing to do? Two people shouldn’t try out a relationship because they want to spare the friend’s feelings?

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

But Still.

Finding a significant other is truly like winning the lottery. It’s largely a matter of luck. You can buy more tickets to try and increase your odds, but even still, someone who just buys one, can win.

If you really think about it, and as you know, I really think about most things… it’s a miracle that people find true love. All the stars must align:

Should you see someone at a bar or a party, you have to have the courage to actually talk to him… and then when you do, he could be a total dumbass or taken. But say like, you actually do talk and you actually do get a number at the end of the night, then someone has to take the initiative… then you have to “get to know each other.” And you can only hope that you actually like each other. And both people have to be in the right “headspace” on top of everything.

I mean… I can go on and on.

But some people… yes, just some people get seated next to an intelligent, witty, relatively attractive, stylin’, and single young man on an 8-hour plane ride. Some people move-in next door to the man of their dreams… or have class with him and are made partners by the professor… or seated next to him for an hour at the DMV, and he just happens to be the person for her.

I mean… c’mon… that’s luck. Most stories are luck.

Even online dating is luck. Online we prescreen guys… we know they’re single, spiritual not religious, smoke or don’t smoke, etc… but still, when you meet in person, the chemistry is often not there… or another star is out of place.

Aw. It’s just a wonder.

I feel so lucky in life…lucky with the things I didn’t have a choice about… like being born into my family… with the siblings that I have… or having all my fingers and toes… and being relatively intelligent, etc.

Why should I have love too? How can I not feel guilty about having so much luck in my life? Instead, I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders… I think of things on the grand scale… of people in so many other countries with no food or water or love or legs… and how dare I ever want love too?

So, I try not to.

The Brother:

We haven’t discussed The Brother in some time… on occasion, we MySpace message one another, and I just happened to notice that his relationship status has changed to: In a Relationship.

I know I initiated the break-up, and I know I’d never want to be back together, but still --- it still stings just a bit knowing that he’s moved on completely… it stings knowing that he lucked out so quickly… it stings, just a tad. And I know who she is. She works next door with him. And I say mean things under my breath about her. And I know how completely ridiculous and insecure that is. But still.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Trials and Tribulations of Moving

Now that I’m moving, I’ve been picturing my shit in my new space. Suddenly I realized that unlike my new roommate, I have ZERO adult furniture. I have my $12 Target bookshelves that I use as nightstands, a $24 Ikea console for my dated TV, an Urban Outfitters blue folding chair, and a small “vintage” table I found on the street that looks like a dog spent some serious time gnawing on… but anyway, I feel sorta' silly… like I should be all grown up with grown up furniture and paintings that are professionally framed instead of my Target framed Frankenstein picture. Lindsay Lohan seems like more of an adult than I do… I never see her in sneakers… and I bet she has houses full of adult furniture.

But anyway.

I’ve started purging a bunch of my shit. Every time I move I realize how much I have, and frankly, it’s way too fucking much.

And I want to get rid of half much shit, but half my shit consists of “Guilt Items”… you know – those gifts your grandma made or your Ukrainian Peace Corps contact was so excited to give you… but what are you really going to do with that crocheted toilet paper cover? and I’m never going to wear those heart shaped gold earrings…and the one time a year I would think of wearing them, I almost always forget to… And I feel so bad even considering getting rid of these things or even thinking that they’re useless… uh… and out of pure guilt I’ve been moving these “Guilt Gifts” from place to place.

Please, someone tell me it’s okay to leave them behind?

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

I'm Moving!!!

I found a new place. I’m moving in with a woman my same age… she’s totally chill… has her thing going on, and I have mine. It’s a corner apartment with plenty of windows, so my 6 plants will love me… walk-in closet, so my clothes might decide to look good on me since they’ll be comfy in their new casa. It’s carpeted. Unlike most San Franciscans, I like carpet. Hardwood floors are for dust… carpets are for strong vacuums and shed hair, which I prefer.

It’s going to have some traffic noise, but not honking and yelling and car alarms, but a steady rhythmic flow of sound… no rap, no “I hate you’s” “I wanna shoot you’s”… just a nice 5th floor apartment with views of City Hall and romantic moments with the rain. Close to transportation… close to Chicajato and LaSassy… close to where GreenEyes hopes to move. Close to whole foods, so salads can replace burritos and little Debbie snacks for dessert.

I move the 17th of this month. Yeay!

Yesterday was Midge’s last official day at work. So sad. The owner of our company made a Madonna collage this morning and stuck it on his desk behind me, it reads, “Madonna Always Midge.” Yes, so sad. He will be missed. A lot. A whole lot.