Am something of a renaissance woman, and don't mind saying so.
In past few days have baked a tasty lasagna, finished taxes, re-worked Js budget (and subsequently confiscated his ATM and credit cards), given a haircut, updated resume and pulled a double yoga session. Oh, and spent a fortune on whole new set of comfy, lounging-around-but-still-looking-hot clothes at the Gap. Must say, am becoming quite the fan of new boy-cut underwear. Not that they will, in any way, take away my love and devotion for the thong, but nice just the same.
Weekend is looking rather dismal. Plans for girls-night-out dancing have fallen through and am facing empty Saturday night. Am also battling disappointment that ski weekend with J is simply not going to happen. Hopefully, as have no solid plans for tonight, and J's boys-night-out-getting-sloppy-drunk has been cancelled, may be able to finagle some together time. But, then again, maybe not. Is a tricky creature, that J.
Also, headache has lifted, officemate has taken down manilla folder safety barriers, and yours truly has learned the correct spelling of Mr. Vader's last name. Been a v. productive morning
Day four of sinus headache hell.
Was aware that had become somewhat persnickety as result of never-ending, torturous pain, but clearly had not noticed the extent of my lashings-out until witnessed officemate constructing safety barricade out of manilla folders. Perhaps has reason to fear, as had just finished explaining plan to develop some serious Darth Vader skills and start crushing windpipes from fifty feet.
You should really learn to control your frustration. And take an Advil. Or five.
I did. Not working. And I don't think you understand, she-who-is-not-real.
That's a valid point. But really, how wise was it to unleash your wrath on J yesterday?
Like he didn't have that coming. And more.
He was joking. You nearly tore out his trachea.
So? It was a mean joke. And honestly, how often do I go completely irrational on him? I figure, history considered, he's been lucky. Same with these office schmucks. I'm sure they're just blaming it on PMS anyway.
If they saw you scarfing down that lasagna, they'd have no doubts...
Can I put you on hold?
Hold. Don't speak anymore. I'm going to go get some ice cream. And when I come back, I want you to have gotten frustrated and gone away. Capiche?
Have spent morning suffering from most astounding headache. Worst part is (except for blinding pain behind eyes), that did nothing fun and/or destructive to have warranted such torture. No excessive drinking. No reading in dim lighting. No ridiculous arguments with J. Nada. Am beginning to think is simply day three of sinus torture and am beginning to understand why one would seek doctorly assistance for such maladies. Good God, kill me now.
Received memo regarding status of hostile takeover -- a bulleted memo which, after careful reading, should only have contained ONE sentence. "We still don't know." Indeed. Lousy indecision. Is worse than sinus headache hell. But only by small margin.
Went to J's place last night, freshly showered and, if may be so bold, smelling quite nearly edible. Wasted effort. As evening progressed and v. funny friends and roommates turned living room into smokey haze, came out smelling like fun, leafy green substance. And only thing catching attention was skateboarding video game, and only thing being tasted, wonderful pile of salsa-flavored chips and Mrs. Field's cookies. Wasted effort, indeed. Suffered through three conversations with Inner Goddess regarding other wasted efforts of shaving legs, extra tush-tightening lunges, and thorough moisturizing. Have subsequently sent away for television-advertised Universal Remote Control. Said remote has v. attractive MUTE button feature, and am hoping, if is 'universal' as promised, that indeed applies to Inner Goddesses as well as standard Samsung, Sony and Panasonic models.
And if not, was promised that can return purchase for full refund if not fully satisfied.
Only wish that certain evenings came with aforementioned guarantee.
Due to complete engrossment in her glamorous life as a soon-to-be divorcee, have been spared excessive contact with the UMF. That is, until was enjoying peaceful lunch break from eerily quiet, and still indecisive, workplace. Seems UMF is obsessed with being thin and making certain the world knows of her current size-six status.
UMF: I'm going to wear that black dress I bought in Europe. I wore it to a funeral yesterday. It was a nice funeral and I looked great.
H: And that's what's important.
UMF: (clearly not sensing sarcasm) Yes, it is. The dress is really loose on me now.
H: Get it tailored. Am not playing your game.
UMF: Or, I could do it, but it fits nice. It was too tight when I bought it.
H: You just said it's really loose. (In other words, am sensing you patting yourself on the back. And, in passive-aggressive style learned at your knee, refuse to entertain such behavior.) Really, loose is almost as bad as tight, in the flattering department.
UMF: Yeah, but not too loose. Just not form-fitting. Can't see my panty line any more!
H: Oh dear GOD, the visual.
UMF: I also bought a nice black wool sweater to wear with it. So I wore those with a pearl choker. I was elegant.
H: mmmmm. Am certain the dead guy appreciated your attention to detail.
Almost feels like am watching small child in her Sunday-Best spin in front of mirror, pleading, "Tell me I'm pretty. Tell me I'm a princess!"
Tell me now that I'm divorced, all the men will want me! Sure, I have visible panty line... but I'm hip! I do yoga! Tell me I'm elegant!
Mmm hmm. Elegant and Mother of the Year. How do you do it?
Feel puffy-eyed, head achey and completely exhausted. Must be a sex-hangover.
Am staring through bleary retinal fog wondering where, oh were weekend has gone and just how have ended up at place of employment once again. Oh, yes, and eating York Peppermint Patties for breakfast. In self defense, was a compromise between the Quaker oats and the Hershey's miniatures. At least are fat free.
Hmmm...as it turns out, is not previously-presumed sex-hangover. Indeed not. Rather, is beastly sinus headache. Have taken medicine and am hoping that improves at least one of two most prevalent symptoms: horrid feeling surrounding eye sockets and uncharacteristically bitchy mood. Perhaps second symptom is not at all sinus related and is partly due to impending hostile takeover decision to be reached by v. stressed-out board members. Or result of realizing that ski weekend extravaganza next month might be no-go, for varied financial and melodramatic reasons. Will not argue with fate if this is her way of saying that am just not meant to strap wooden planks to feet and and hurtle to certain death on snowy mountainside. But still, would like to spend long weekend shacked up in snowy cabin, spending cold days drinking hot chocolate and cold nights...shacking up. Ahem.
Ugh. I am NOT playing this with you.
Oh, come on. Humor me. It'll be fun.
Fine. Diet who?
Mmm hmm. That's precisely what I was wondering. What diet calls for chocolate chip cookies at 7 AM?
I put the blame entirely on you. And incidentally, which part of this was supposed to be fun?
Me?! I'm your Inner Goddess, not your Inner Glutton.
Who can tell the difference? It's a very fine line. Besides, it wasn't gluttonous. Two (or three if you were actually paying attention) cookies have the same amount of calories as my standard bowl of oatmeal AND I did two hours of power yoga yesterday. So, cut me some slack.
Cut your jeans some slack.
I tremble in fear. Listen, can't we come to some kind of arrangement? It's not like I enjoy being bitchy. Let's say you stop over-eating, get us back to, well, at least 10 pounds within our ideal weight range, do something about that hair and I'll stop harassing you.
Oh, and clean your room.
Don't push it.
Am aware that should learn to focus within when am feeling stressed, but is much more fun to reach out and touch someone. Spent afternoon engaged in Innuendo Therapy with B, while sending silent hexes to J, though accepting plans with him on Saturday night. Am a glutton for punishment. Am well aware.
H: Right. I'M a tease.
B: You are!
H: I am not! I'm just playing by the rules.
H: Yes. Life comes with rules.
B: What rules are you referring to?
H: The rule that states, "You may participate in sexual innuendo, but not the actual act, with members of the opposite sex who A) live with someone you've already participated in said activity with and/or B) have girlfriends." It's like #7 in the book, I think.
B: Oh... that must be in the Pink Rule Book. The Blue Rule Book just has a bunch of blank pages.
H: (Fit of laughter) How convenient!
Did newly-acquired yoga workout this morning and am feeling quite twisty as well as a bit wobbly. Am determined to whittle down to pre-holiday size, as will be required to wear bikini in hot tub activities during ski weekend extravaganza next month. If do not reach bikini-acceptable weight, will fake sudden allergic reaction to hot water. One thing is fairly certain. Am not exposing current squishy, skim-milk colored flesh at any amount of masculine coaxing.
Unless, of course, can find feather boa which covers problematic thigh area.
Today happens to be glorious Two Year Anniversary at place of employment. Bravo! If fifty-year celebrations are Gold anniversaries, and twenty-five year celebrations are Silver, then am supposing two years to be the Ironic Anniversary. Lovely how such puns can be ever so pathetic, yet somehow still satisfying to the weary mind.
And so horribly frustrating, yet not at all surprising, was J's this-is-working-too-well 180 degree turn of the day. While discussing some of his not-so-easy-to-take personality quirks and behavioral patterns, J, in true fuck-wit style announces his intentions to straighten out such quirks in his next relationship.
Begging your pardon?
J: Don't you hate the feeling that you may never find someone who will make you happy? Every girlfriend I have had, has had SOMETHING that made me feel we weren't compatible. Am I being to judgmental and stubborn? I'm starting to think it's me.
H: Actually no. I worry more about getting you out of my system, but my bad... we're talking about you. But, you seem too harder to please than most people.
J: I know I will do things differently with the next person I date.
H: You been tested for Multiple Personality Disorder recently?
J: Hello? You there?
Fuckwit Hall of Fame. And this is no Honorable Mention.
Perhaps incorrectly filled out cosmic survey in which was asked whether would like to participate in study about human stress levels. Or, perhaps simply did not use correct number two pencil. In either case, am fairly certain that would like to retake said survey and be more clear when selecting "None of the above" for areas of life in which would like to be tested.
Without breaking any confidentiality laws, am able to say that place of employment is suffering from sudden malady of hostile takeover and barring any unforeseen charitable act of God, yours truly may likely be out of work in the v. near future. Seems in response to news, have developed (in addition to regular stress responses such as nausea) strange tic in left shoulder. Can see strange pulsing through Gap turtleneck. How v. repulsive.
New stress? Ooooh... thought you said new shoes. Silly me. Would much rather have new pair of shoes than new tic. Wonder if somehow could work that out with the universe for next cosmic survey. Will have plenty of time for surveys, cosmic or otherwise, when lose silly monkey job.
Am going to simply have to borrow sharp, number two pencil as, really, am much more of an ink gal.
Seemingly nonchalant conversation at theater concession counter:
J: I have all these fantasies about what would happen if the band got somewhere. It's hard not to entertain them, but I try not to.
J: I don't know. I just don't want to get my hopes up. You don't think it's stupid?
H: God, no! It's good to keep your hopes up. Gives you something to get out of bed in the morning. If people didn't have dreams like that, there wouldn't be much of a reason to try anything. Right?
J: Yeah, that's true.
H: You have to entertain those fantasies. If you didn't... I mean, what would be your reason for living?
If less is indeed more, then should feel like have had quite sufficient amount of sleep. But as have never agreed with said ideology (except where it pertains to own breast size), am v. conscience of the fact that slept less than 10 hours over last three days.
Friday night, was escorted on legitimate open-my-doors-buy-my-movie-ticket date by J. Shocker. Saw v. strange yet appealing flick and then went back to get silly on green leafy substance with roommate, B to watch yet another movie. For whatever reason (and am going under delightful assumption that J understood yours truly had to get up in wee hours of morning to catch ride to BigCity), was delivered home to sleep in own comfy bed.
BigCity excursion (to celebrate GalPal's birthday) was whirlwind of fun, as usual. Miraculously, did not drink too much nor participate in any shameful physical contact with undesirable bicycles. Was, as usual dancing fool -- and in stilettos such activity is quite a feat. Was also raging flirt (again, shocker). Am certain that danced too close for too long with cute fireman, but am such a sucker for a man in a tight white t-shirt. Had v. hilarious and lovely time with gregarious Wise and Lovely E-pal, as well.
Jaw fell agape when, on drive home from city, received call from J. Wanted to hang out, watch a movie. Happy to oblige. Was, however, angry at cruel, cruel world for having to work this holiday morning, as when became wee hours of morning, was again delivered home to own bed. Is terrible thing to have to leave warm, cozy, entwined situation on couch (after watching frightening flick) with J to face bitter cold with thought that will NOT be participating in Big-Spoon-Little-Spoon activities.
What a waste of newly shaved legs.
Am convinced email was created for sole purpose of giving yours truly something naughty to do at work. Lately, if am having conversation with B, and an item of food is involved, is a pretty sure bet that said food item is merely a sexual metaphor.
Cereal: Sex. Or, more specifically, morning sex. Though, like cereal, can really be had at any time of day.
Coffee: Also morning sex. The best part of wakin' up... or, Good to the last drop.
Soup: Sex. Of the Campbell's variety, it's Mmmm Mmmm Good. Or Progresso, It's in there. (personal favorite)
Pizza: Really great sex. Hot, steamy, with all the toppings.
Current Inappropriate-for-Work email centered around cereal:
B: Want some? I think I know where to find it.
H: The cereal aisle at Stop n Shop?
B: Nope. Your house. Direct, ain't I?
H: (laughing) Yes, you are!
Indeed. Current taunting email from J:
J: Sorry, sweetie. It was a joke.
H: Ok, I get it now. I'm a little slow today. Don't tell anyone about my retardedness. Please.
J: No need, honey. They all know....
H: As my dad would say, 'You're cruisin for a bruisin.'
J: My mom says that, too.
H: That and "You're going to get it." I always hoped "it" was something good.
J: Yeah. If "it" was a new video game or ice cream, I would have acted up more....if that's possible.
H: I bet you were a handful. Ok, so I declare, from now on, "it" will mean something good.
J: Ooohhh. You're going to get it!!!
J: Okay, going to a meeting for the rest of the day. See ya tonight.
Am now using all mental faculties concentrating on what exactly "it" means and if am going to be on receiving end this evening. Do hope so.
Have accomplished nothing more than several not-appropriate-for-work email conversations. Which, for this gal, makes the day a raging success.
H: (Quoting Crank Yankers call) We could take our clothes off and just write.
H: (laughing) Or, we could skip the writing!
J: Yeah, good thinking.
H: Probably no reading either, huh?
J: Unless its reading the curves of your back, no.
H: (feeling tad bit dizzy) Rarrr. Don't need Hooked-on-Phonics for that kind of reading.
J: Nope, just hooked on sex.
H: I bet there's a 12-step program for that.
J: I can think of more than 12 steps to take....
Mmm hmmm. Big tease.
Over filet mignon and chardonnay, J got v. strange look on freshly-shaved face.
J: I have a hard time being serious around you.
H: Probably because we rarely are.
Thought about it for a while and realized that while over email can talk about v. serious and important issues, do not spend in-person time doing so. Pass most together time laughing and playing, which is perhaps why tend to feel J is so invaluable. With J, there is no need for ridiculous small talk or silly formalities. Realized, over two-hour dinner, that in comparison with many friendships/relationships that have had, current situation, though tricky and perhaps not entirely healthy, is v. real.
What was not real, however, was comfort level of knee-high, pointy-toed stiletto boots that was wearing. Kept losing feeling in big toe and thinking to self that had better be worth it. Was indeed.
J: Nice dress. And I like those (tapping toe of boot with remote control).
J: (Squeezing pointy toe) Aren't they uncomfortable, though?
H: (Lie) Not really. Just hard to walk in when I'm tipsy. It took a lot of concentration to get down those sloped wood floors in the restaurant.
In truth, felt like was going to take nasty spill and expose control-top panty hose to entire restaurant. Luckily, was temporarily blessed with small amount of grace and took no such spill. Also, from leers of old men (sporting bad hair pieces and much younger wives) at v. nice restaurant, was fairly certain that the dress was wearing showcased curves v. nicely.
On not-so-light note: After two full weeks of responsible eating and maniacal yogaing, am not one single pound closer to ass-fabulous-pants wearing goal. Am horribly disappointed. Will not, however, drown sorrows in bag of M&Ms. No indeed. Am in heated battle with detestable bathroom scale and am determined to come out the victor. If grow v. weary of salad, so be it. 8 pounds to go.
Have had most unbearably busy day at place of employment. Am, in fact, still at work, pleading with powers-that-be to be released. Only want to go home, sit in hot bath, and then off to sleep in v. soft, warm bed. Eyes feeling heavy just thinking about it. Perhaps will save self from expending any more energy and take a cab home. Indeed. Will do exactly that.
And will catch the world up on J dinner date later.
Even though am dressed something quite like Sporty Spice (complete with zip-up fleece vest -- wonderfully inappropriate workplace attire), am neither warm nor as comfortable as one would assume a Sporty Spice look-a-like ought to be. Ordinarily, would simply assume was supposed to scrap monkey job, go home and crawl into v. comfy bed and read latest make-me-feel-bad-about-being-ordinary fashion mag. But, as apartment is still heatless, will suffer in relative silence at icky place of employment. Have already put in requisition for Madonna-inspired fingerless gloves. How can a gal be expected to be productive when in advanced stages of frostbite? Simply isn't humane.
Am noticing that 5 AM yoga sessions inspire not only tight tush, but smart mouth. Am hoping will not get fired for extra misplaced energy.
On Friday, received, "Yeah, that's true. I still want to get together and talk with you. Just to hug and make up. Want to have dinner next week? And hug?" Told J that weekend was full, but was available on a weekday, as long as did not have yoga. Funny how playing a bit hard to get drives him absolutely buggers. Finally settled on Tuesday.
Am torn between allowing J satisfaction of warm making-up, or playing cool and aloof as have been for last week. The Cool-and-Aloof game is rather fun. Even more so than Chutes and Ladders. And with more satisfying rewards for the winner. Whatever the game, however, am determined to look even more mouth-watering than v. expensive restaurant menu.
On brighter note: Happy Day! Fishblog as turned 20K this weekend. Quite a six-month marker! In celebration, as always, will make list of some sort.
1. Email from J this morning saying, "Hey, I miss you!!! It's been 13 days since I last saw you. That's too long." Uh, whose fault would that be, Don Juan?
2. Unsolicited calls received from J this weekend. (To which was able to say, "Sorry, already have plans.")
3. Hours that spent on couch napping on Sunday to recover from Saturday Night Dancing Fever.
4. Phone calls from UMF, deftly avoided.
5. New Gal Pals met and fell v. deeply (and platonically) in love with on crowded dance floor. Have made future weekend clubbing plans.
6. Alcoholic beverages consumed within too short of time, resulting in lovely pounding in cranium and greasy-food-craving.
7. Pounds left to go before am allowed to have M&Ms again. Oh, the agony.
8. Degrees below zero currently in apartment as am out of heating oil. Gauge says have 1/4 tank. Filthy liar.
9. Instances had to remove unwanted hands from ass on above mentioned dance floor. No touchy.
10. Times today have stopped self from lunging for M&Ms at convenience store counter.
Has been v. busy and incredibly productive Saturday. Woke early to Reluctant Kitten demanding to be let in previously-tranquil bedroom in order that might take spot at favorite window to watch neighborhood squirrels do squirrely things on powerlines. Insistent kitten and feed-me-please feeling in v. empty stomach were enough to drag self out of bed by nine thirty. Had unreasonably horrendous pile of dishes done before 11. An hour of yoga in before 12. Lunched and then found enough energy to dismantle v. crispy Christmas tree and drag it (minus at least seventy thousand pine needles) to street for pickup. Swept up seventy thousand pine needles, cleaned remainder of house, ironed and hung finally clean laundry.
Took lovely smelling bath and even shaved legs. Though, don't know why, as am seeing no action this evening. At any rate, is only 7 pm and am sitting in v. clean bedroom readying to go get trashed with galpals. Have just now glanced down at hands and wondered why did not force self to find time for v. much needed manicure. Ah, well. Bar will be attending is generally populated by eternal-frat-daddy types who have no appreciation for such detail anyway. Only need to show cleavage. Will suffice.
Will not deny that have a great (perhaps too great) love for clothes. Shopping in general, really... but most often manifested in form of blue and white Gap bags or shoe boxes. Was, however, horrified when finally got 'round to doing laundry yesterday evening and found that even after filling FOUR triple-loaders, was still not done.
Random Laundromat Woman: That's a lot of laundry.
H: Yeah, can't bring myself to do laundry more than once every couple of months.
RLW: You must have a lot of clothes!
H: Yeah, I kind of have a shopping problem.
With piles of warm laundry wrinkling on dingy laundromat counter, had to think about when exactly had last laundry encounter. And shock, horror of horrors... was day before leaving for infamous rob-me-blind NYC excursion. On Halloween. Yes. And the world will be glad to know that yours truly owns enough underwear to go from October 31st to January 9th without doing her wash. Quite amazing. Or disgusting. Really depends on your outlook.
Will go with amazing. Is a better color for this gal.
Side note: If were making a mix CD today, instead of doing silly monkey job, would probably add following songs to play list:
You're So Vain - Carly Simon
Respect - Aretha Franklin
Poem to a Horse - Shakira
Take Another Little Piece of My Heart - Janis Joplin
Bye Bye - Jo Dee Messina
Time and Time Again - Papa Roach
But instead, have put in soundtrack to Zoolander. Because, really, who needs all that negativity?
Last email received from J this afternoon:
J: I have been super busy over here. Let me call you tonight.
Is after 11 pm, and need it even be said that J hasn't called?
Oh God, oh God, Oh God.
Am back to Fish's Freak-Out diet. How can once-lose and lovely pants fit this tight?! How? Hmmm...could be addiction to certain Vermont-produced ice cream. Or complete winter-weather-inspired immobility. But do not want explanations. Want colossal derriere to disappear and this... tummy to take off. When, oh when did yours truly get a tummy?
Can't find your belly-button ring, can ya?
Oh, fuck off! I already know I'm in a really bad state of affairs.
How are those low-rise pants workin' for ya today?
Not so well.
I see you've added a new sticky note to your monitor there.
Yes. "NO CHOCOLATE."
I can read, thank you very much. I'm just wondering why you haven't expanded it to all food items in general.
You're such a bitch.
Well, this Inner Goddess can always fit into her jeans. You own yoga tapes. Use them.
Sure you do. But for holding up Seasons 1-3 of Sex and the City. I can see they're really working out for you.
You know what?
Yes. I'm your interior monologue. I know all.
Then you know what's coming.
Yes. And go on, if you must.
Don't forget the hair toss and the smirk of satisfaction.
Done and done.
At least the feather boa still fits.
Do so love going out on a school night. Must be some sort of throw-back to days of UMF and the "live-under-my-roof-obey-my-rules" days. Now, do know that am not the only teen to have suffered from such ill logic in the growing up years, but UMF's reign of control was particularly heinous. Fortunately, though, perfected art of sneaking out (and in) with great stealth. And for friends with equally difficult parents, perfected art of buttering up authority figures. Was quite good at it, if may say so. And not in Eddie Haskell sort of way. Could have taught that boy a thing or two about sincerity. Is huge difference between 'buttering up' and 'laying on the cheese.'
Met galpal for dinner and cocktails at new neighborhood swank spot. Had giggly conversations centered around the usual galpal items of business, as well as serious talks about life, liberty and pursuit of J. Was v. good therapy.
Trudged home in snow and climbed into requisite hot bath just as phone rang. Was not J requesting time for much needed and important chat. Indeed not. Was UMF wanting to hear her daughter's "cheerful voice." Good thing was actually feeling cheerful. Was impossible not to. Was a few gin and tonics under, and in middle of v. warm, scented bath thinking happy thoughts about bedtime. Not even UMF and tragic stories of poison ivy and what "your sister did this time" could deflate. Luckily, was v. brief conversation.
This morning, however, woke to not-so-elated feeling after having horrid dream. Showed up at J's place, knocked on door and horror or horrors, was opened by Whoring Co-worker, sporting sex hair and J's pajamas. Calmly went in, retrieved favorite DVD from shelf and left. Needless to say, when woke, had handful of Hershey's Kisses for breakfast. But only because am out of ice cream.
Most shocking thing has happened.
Have been upset with J over past quarrels and still somehow felt enormous attraction to him. Yet somehow, in the middle of current situation, find self not liking J. Not one little bit. A first. A breakthrough? Perhaps.
J: Less infuriated with me today?
H: Yes. Less infuriated. You know I'm no good at being mad.
J: Good. I hate having people mad at me.
H: YOU don't like having people mad at YOU? Yeah, that's rough. What about, I'm sorry I MADE you mad? Mmm hmm.
H: You know, for the first time, I don't like J very much right now.
B: I'm not going to bash him, because I love him like a brother. But, I will say what's going on right now is really fucked up.
H: Ugh. Yeah. Let's talk about something else.
B: Ok... You know, I still think you'd get more readers if you started having an affair.
H: Yeah? With whom?
B: J's roommate.
H: You or W?
B: How about both?! I think W would be down with it.
Ah, B. Makin' the workplace environment inappropriate for yet another afternoon.
J: I still want to talk to you about this. I hate email tiffs and I think this is important enough that we need to talk about it.
Spent evening at home, watching v. burly-construction-worker-pretending-to-have-millions and digging peanut butter cups out of Ben and Jerry's carton. Phone never rang. Assumed band practice ran late and would have v. important talk another day.
B: Did you talk to J last night?
H: No, I didn't.
B: Boys are stupid.
H: This is why I can't sleep with you, B. You'll turn stupid. (opening email from J) Ugh! So, instead of calling me so we could work this out, J went to play cards and watch at movie with LeadSinger and his girlfriend. Good. Very good. Judo CHOP!
B: No, no. Go with the Vulcan neck pinch. Much more suitable for this situation.
H: But, wouldn't karate chopping him in the throat be pretty cool? Did he mention our argument to you at all?
B: I saw him for about 4 minutes, long enough to say hi and that was about all.
H: Right. He was very busy playing cards.
Head is swimming in visions of Miss Piggy-like hiiiiiyah, delivered with painful accuracy. J would double over (a la Kermit, Gonzo or other Piggy victim), yours truly would straighten designer dress, smooth hair, and saunter off in pair of fabulous shoes.
Feather boa optional.
Am really no good at being angry. Is bad for sleep patterns, skin and overall general well-being.
Fully expected to be met with weak email apology first thing this morning. Got nothing of the sort.
Launched angry email sometime around noon.
H: I've never been anything but good to you and I deserve to be treated better. And if this is your way of letting me know you don't care about me or our friendship, then you've made yourself quite clear.
J: Maybe I don't know how to treat friends. I am very selfish and don't deserve a friend like you if I choose to act the way I do.
H: So, that's that, huh? And you know what? I REFUSE to believe it. Are you trying to push me away from you? If you don't want me as part of your life, you need to be a man and SAY it.
J: No that's not IT. Don't be ridiculous. The absolute LAST thing I want to do in this world is upset you. Sometimes I don't know how to handle a situation. I'd really like to talk about this face-to-face.
Of course you would. Then you don't have to look up all the big words!
Oh, the anger!
Would this be an appropriate time to mention that in middle of J debacle, received a delayed email from this morning -- containing one apology from J? Sent by him not three minutes before receiving scathing, "I hope you die" email from yours truly?
Dear God, this couldn't be any better if it were scripted for the WB network. Look for it next season right after Charmed.
The truth: Sat on couch with roommate pouting, watching gawky-teenager-turned-princess-of-false-European-Nation flick. In bed shortly after 11.
Story that J will never hear: Oh, you didn't call? I didn't think you would and I was looking WAY too good to sit home and wait for a call that wouldn't come. So, put on dancing shoes and headed out with gal pals to uppity downtown spot. Usually do hate those ex Harvard Business School sycophants, but so long as said men just sit there and look pretty (as well as dance), then are not so bad. Hmmm...could swear was wearing earrings at some point last night... Anyway, had the best time. Probably should not have had so much to drink, because don't remember getting there, but somehow ended up at amazing south end loft. Personally, have not seen a hot tub that big since spring break in Fort Lauderdale. But boy, was certainly no problem filling it last night. Must have gotten over-heated, because next thing that can remember is waking up on v. soft, black leather couch wearing man robe and one spikey-heeled shoe, thinking, "Where is my roommate?" Don't worry -- found clothes v. easily and was taken home by nice smelling financial genius in BMW before the cocaine really got out of hand. V. thoughtful of him, right? Glad he handed over his card, too... will be v. helpful when comes to doing taxes.
One hour and forty-eight minutes ago, rang J who was "not sure about tonight" and would ring me back as soon as had settled on some plans. Yours truly had suggested going to see mutually agreed upon movie if no bigger plans were in the works. J said he'd call when he knew. Now am wondering, if do exist some bigger plans, am I to be included? Ah, the mysteries of life. Have watched just one too many episodes of Sex in the City to let such things go by without over-examining and making complete neurotic mess of self.
Does one bother to get all dolled up when phone call might be along lines of, "Yeah, so, I'm hanging out with the boys tonight." Translation? "You're not invited because we are going to go get smashed at a swanky bar and hit on girls with fake breasts." Fair enough.
Yet, have already blow-dryed hair and sought out appropriate outfits. Plural. One movie-acceptable and one competing-with-fake-breasts-acceptable. Am now reaching for velcro rollers.
One hour and fifty-four minutes.
Am sick *cough, cough*
Am also, unfortunately, out of sick days at wonderful place of employment. Suppose should be learning lesson that one must not use sick days for such activities as travel, errands and staying-at-home-in-bed-reading-Cosmo. But, would have to take time off for learning such lessons, and well, as have just said, that is an impossibility.
As was late, due to inability to pry self from warm bed, missed normal bus and ended up on same one as Beautiful Bus Boy. Oh dear god. Yours truly was sans makeup, puffy-eyed and wet-haired. BBB was as ridiculously good-looking as had remembered.
Why didn't you call him?
Not now. Please don't make me kick myself before 9 AM. I don't have the energy.
You want me to wait a half hour? I can come back?
Nah. Why postpone the inevitable?
So, let me get this straight. This gorgeous boy in front of you -- don't make eye contact! you look hideous--
No prob. He asks if he can call you. You say no. He gives you his number and you do what with it?
Right. And why?
I don't know.
Well, shock me, shock me, shock me. For an Inner Goddess, you're really not all that insightful.
Thank you, Captain Obvious. You saved the day... again.
What? Is that like 'fuck off', only in Inner Goddess talk?
No. This is your stop, dummy. Get off the bus.
Nancy Reagan would not be proud of lack of Say No To Drugs willpower on night of seasonal extravaganza, though am thinking that should have paid more attention to her, as result of said lack of abstinence resulted in chemical mishap and v. long, sleepless night.
J Bought little white pills under information that they were of the mood-elevating sort. But were not. Were instead, of the methamphetamine family. For a gal who does not drink coffee as it causes the jitters, was a somewhat irritating experience. Of course, had marvelous time dancing to endless techno at crowded downtown club, but when dancing was done, could not quite convince body that was time to sleep. In fact, have still not slept more than 2 hours since Tuesday.
At least got decent midnight-hour J kiss. Night was as predicted, nookie-free. But did get some quality spooning time.
On pain of sounding tragically sentimental, am huge fan of watching J sleep. And since night was completely sleep-free for this gal, had plenty of time to do so. Would, however, have to be discreet and close eyes v. quickly as J would wake from time to time and check to see if yours truly was okay (body cramping, chills and night sweats being part of chemical mishap fun). Am certain J would develop some sort of phobic reaction if thought that yours truly had developed any overly goofy behavior of the above sort. But cannot help it. Have always thought him to be quite gorgeous.