Funny thing is, really am not. Blue, that is. Thought would be inconsolable for several weeks, weeping and wailing and gnashing teeth in classic biblical mourning style. However, aside from horribly difficult exchange with J on Wednesday, and few, sparse pangs of regret, worry, and what-ifs since, have felt remarkably balanced.
Now, if only, complexion would follow suit.
Am certain that melancholy will catch up eventually. But for now, am taking current mood as sign to get up, get out and get proverbial groove on. Perhaps even test-drive a new bicycle or two.
Have been spontaneously gifted by fate!
Missing-in-Action galpal surfaced with offers of transportation to and from BigCity for weekend of fun, sitting-around-pining alternative. Weee!
Have already made joy-inspiring plans with Miss Goes Down and Feisty Feminine Bob for evening of drinking, dancing and flirting with wild abandon. Shall do said shameless flirting with any and every attractive man within flirting radius.
Will put stiletto heeled, knee-high boots on feet, look-at-me-glow bronzer on cleavage and divine smelling scents on all strategic body parts. But will not shave my legs. Why? Because do not have to. Indeed, do not. Will say it again: Weee!
Am uncontrollably giddy to see my Gal, Miss Goes Down, for weekend of pj's and pints (ice cream, of course).
Cloud, meet your silver lining.
H: (blah blah blah) I don't think we should see each other anymore (blah)
J: (blah blah) I don't want to lose you (blah)
H: You know how I feel. You also have to realize how hard it is to watch things change. I can't do it.
J: Lets give this some time before we make any final decisions, okay?
Did not reply.
First of all... We??? Do not remember putting out ballots for democratic vote. Is not a decision to be made by anyone other than yours truly at this point.
Secondly, more time??? Time for what, dear J? Time for things to maybe not work out with New Girl in which case you will have inordinate amount of free time on your hands once again? Or, perhaps, time so that will have change of mind and suddenly be able to handle non-relationship again?
Incidentally, met New Girl at the same time J did. In the hot tub where sat explaining the complexity of the non-relationship. On Valentine's Weekend Ski trip. Trip that yours truly paid for because of under-funded J and roommate squabble. Ah, sweet, glorious irony.
Am not sure whether to attribute horrible puffy feeling surrounding eyes to wine/Tylenol Pm hangover, or yesterday's intermittent crying spells. Have told self that am done crying, but then again, horrible images of J with New Girl seem to counteract any sort of resolve on my part. Bother.
H: I know as much as you think you mean that (that no one can replace what I mean to you), it's just not true. As much as we mean to each other and as good as it all is, it's not permanent.
J: Gee, thanks.
H: What do you mean?
J: It's disturbing to think that you hold our friendship in such delicate regard.
H: I can't even explain what I'm thinking, so we might as well drop this for now.
J: Hey, you okay?
H: Not really.
Wandered home from work sometime around three yesterday with ultra-depressing music on headphones and made bee-line for hot bath. (Fortunately, boss is out until Wednesday, so actually had free time to go into Don't-Speak-to-Me mode. Is not often that am allowed the necessary time it takes to have a complete breakdown.)
While fingers started to resemble dried fruit, soaked in v. hot water, waiting to hear the voice. The one that, usually accompanied by strange sense of calm, ultimately comes to say, "It's gonna be okay, Kiddo." Heard no such voice and finally got tired of waiting. Fuck you, Inner Goddess. Took a Xanax and crawled under the covers.
Fourteen hours later, crawled back out and started all over again. Am still waiting. Have heard from neither J nor Inner Goddess in over twenty-four hours.
J is in training and IG? Missing in action.
Listen, you can come pester me now. I'm asking you to.
You can tell me you were right! I'll believe you! You can tell me I'm a fucking idiot! You can tell me anything! Just tell me... something.
No, no, no!
See, this was not how it was supposed to work. Clearly, did not get applications reviewed in time (having been impaired by current illness), but the plan was for J to be replaced before he did the replacing!
By means of J-Intuition knew that he had a date on Saturday night, and even with whom he was going. So when he fessed up via email, was not shocked. Not in the least. Stung within inch of life by some horrid torture device? Sure. But not shocked.
Told J that was unhappy with idea of being replaced.
J: H, no one on the face of the earth could replace what you mean to me.
H: If only that were true.
Feel as though am watching pageant winner being fitted with sparkly tiara, while yours truly fidgets with stiff, glitter-encrusted sash bearing horrible words, First Runner Up hearing cheeseball announcer handing out slimy condolences, "If for any reason tonight's winner should be unable to fulfill her duties..." Perhaps if fidget enough, will not have to hear crowned winner pledging to do her best, etc.
Am used-up, empty, First Runner Up. Winner of lifetime supply of nothing special.
Oh, and this sash.
Am absolutely certain did not purchase one-ply bathroom tissue on purpose. Could not, especially if had any inkling of perpetual runny nose that am suffering from at the moment. Am not looking forward to going to place of employment on Monday morning with nose resembling that of most famous reindeer of all, not to mention not cherishing feeling as though have just vigorously rubbed most tender parts of face across street pavement. Two-ply or nothing, God damn it.
Tonight's party was uneventful. Spent most of evening getting trashed on strawberry margaritas and angering Passive Agressive Girl by flirting with object of her affection. Yes, am evil. But was fair in the end as yours truly left with galpal and Passive Agressive Girl took flirting boy up to her bed.
Have decided must become involved in stable relationship, if for no other reason than steady source of sex. Current supply is simply not adequate; something of a sex shortage. Think that have stumbled upon situation in which supply and demand theory proves to be bunch of nonsense.
Am not certain whether have the old addage correct. Starve a cold, feed a fever? Or feed a fever, starve a cold? Either way, one thing am sure of, steady intake of orange juice and Hershey bars is nowhere near close to curing this gal's current cold crisis.
Fortunately, have been able to see through misery to bright spot in afternoon. Have shaved my legs so as not to freak out kindly massage giver, and taken double dose of Dayquil so as not to appear complete mucousy mess.
Am quite the vision today, must say. Just lovely. If am lucky, will, while attending party this evening (to which do not plan on wearing neither make up nor uncomoftable/attractive clothing), meet new, gorgeous possible J-replacement. And upon meeting said fellow, frighten poor thing with new grunge-inspired look, or if the Gods are really kind, ooze some form of mucous on him.
Am giddy with anticipation.
Dear Natalie Portman,
While your pajamas are v. cute (especially tucked into those big black boots as they were), and you're a v. adorable person, must tell you that it appears you've got a rat at the other end of the that leash. That, or you have one fucking ugly dog. Am going to assume that you have a v. kind heart and have adopted said ratdog as an act of charity. Is the only explanation. No one buys an animal that mangy, right? Anyhow, as am aware of your celebrity status and thus v. busy schedule, will let you go. But first, must say again that did indeed like your flannel pjs and am greatly impressed by your kindness toward v. ugly animals.
Need quite desperately to do laundry again. Damn vicious cycle. Perhaps will resort to nudity and render the entire process unnecessary. Or perhaps not. Don't really have the figure for prancing about in the buff, nor have any interesting tattoos to take focus away from less-than-perfect body parts. Besides, would have to shave my legs just way too often. Guess will be doing laundry this weekend.
Will also be getting full body massage. J, noting crazy stress that have been under, suggested that yours truly clear her calendar for Saturday afternoon. Said time is now booked for this fish to get a massage, courtesy of J. Good boy. V. good boy.
Started off the day brilliantly with unexpected call from UMF. Must get caller ID at work. Simply must.
Seems Smart Assed Sibling is in midst of rather serious teen-angst episode and UMF, with all of her Mother of the Year parenting skills seem insufficient to deal with said episode (shocker!). Thus, yours truly was being recruited to fix things. Phoned tired-sounding sibling, but was not feeling inclined to badger or pry. Thus, made no headway. Have stopped answering phone.
Have nearly thrown several temper tantrums at place of employment as well. In venting with GalPal, came to conclusion that will skip unnecessary and annoying conversation altogether and start delivering well-timed (and well-deserved) Piggy Chops. Hiiii-yah!
A: What's going down?
H: You mean who.
A: Ok, who's going down?
H: You, if you're holding another conference report for me to edit.
A: I'm leaving now.
And worst of all predicaments: Am certain to miss out on, So-the-Millionaire-Picked-You-But-You-Still-Lose-'Cause-He-Cheated reality television special as have such poor reception that network television is simply not watchable. Is there no justice?? If cannot escape stress of monkey job, should at least be able to seek solace in watching Helene cry her anorexic little body into a snotty heap on the ABC studio floor. Right?
Evil. Pure evil.
Dear Former Cellular-Phone Provider,
Die a long, horrible death, preferably engulfed in your own flaming ignorance. Oh, and stop fucking with my credit, please. I'd like to be a respectable member of society one day.
Am on line with aforementioned company trying to explain, in v. simple terms, why should not have to pay for service that cancelled over three months ago. Not that cannot pay outstanding balance of $132.47, but is a matter of principle at this point. If faceless voice at other end of line would go that extra special mile and check to see that no activity has been posted to said account since November, then argument would be pointless. Fuckwits.
It's very big of you to take out all your frustrations on that poor customer service girl.
Well, she's retarded.
You're having what amounts to a nervous breakdown, and it's the cell phone company's fault?
Exactly. My god, you're astute.
Yes, I am. And that's how I know this has nothing to do with $132.47, and everything to do with what J said in the hot tub.
Come on. I always knew that's how he felt.
But now he actually said it. To a handful of strangers.
It was inevitable, really. Sad, though. That as close as we are, and as good as it can be, it's not...
*Ahem* as your Inner Goddess, I'd just like to point out that when we chose roles, MINE was the cynic. Where did this pessimism come from? Besides, it's not true.
Yeah? Name one thing, besides these extra 10 pounds, that's going to be with me forever.
Oh God. Kill me now.
B: Knock, knock
H: Who's there?
H: Ugh. Dwayne da baftub, you're dwowning?
B: Dwayne da hot tub so I can see da rack.
H: How wrapped up in each other's lives can two people be? We're an anomaly. We should be studied. Like lab rats.
J: Yeah, but only if they give us the cool psychological drugs to play with.
H: And if they make us run mazes, there can't be some crazed guy with an axe chasing us. That just wouldn't be right. (Reference to The Shining)
J: How messed up was that movie?
H: Good stuff. But not nearly as compelling as Bum Fights. That Rufus is the next big reality TV star.
J: "Who Wants to Marry Rufus?"
H: We're going to hell.
J: You and I? Yeah, I know
One food fight (consisting mainly of melting, semi-sweet chocolate chips), two v. lazy days (consisting mainly of THC-enhanced board games and MTV marathons), three v. drunken nights (consisting mainly of alternating white wine and Smirnoff Ice) and four-hour drive home in blizzardy conditions add up to v. interesting weekend away.
Of the seventy-something hours spent in the v. cold New Hampshire mountains, the most memorable sixty minutes or so were spent trying to put into semi-succinct terms, the oddity that is the H&J relationship to virtual strangers. Was personally a v. difficult thing, sitting among the six un-clothed hot-tubbers, knowing that yours truly was being emotionally disrobed as well. At times, wanted to leap from foamy water and shout, "Yeah, yeah, so we're really messed up. Look at me, I'm naked!" and put an end to the whole extravaganza.
Though was v. nice to hear J tell sauna strangers that am wonderful, and loves me ever-so-much, was caught off guard by how disturbing it was to hear reference made to this twisted best-friendship existing in five years and impact that will have on future, and separate dating relationships. Was honest enough (and drunk enough) to admit that was going to be v. difficult when either one starts actively dating again. After being badgered by Out-Spoken Stranger, J confessed to having not thought through possibility that yours truly would find someone before he did. Indeed.
OSS: Seriously, you haven't talked about what it's going to be like?
J: (turning towards me) Have you actually thought about this?
H: Is it hot in here? I think I need to go back in the house.
Results of said hot-tub expose ranged from dry, irritated skin (due to ridiculous amount of chemicals present in water), to frantic, mid-night bathroom sex (due to ridiculous amount of people present in small mountain cabin), and finally, to realization by yours truly that it is time to move on (due to ridiculous amount of time spent not doing so).
Now accepting applications.
Lasagna baked, for-the-road sandwiches made and house tidied up. Have indeed been possessed by the less-financially astute spirit of Martha Stewart. Or Jodi Foster, as hair is looking so v. Breck Girl-ish today. *flip!* Cannot stop flipping hair as though were either Breck Girl herself, or fifteen year old mall rat, clutching bag of new Steve Maddens, sipping faux-healthy, but ever-so-trendy smoothie and eyeing clerk at the Sun Glass Hut. *flip!*
Those were the days.
Happy love day to all. Am off on non-skiing ski trip. And am wearing simply fabulous new bra, so better get some nookie. Or there will be hell to pay.
There simply must be some reasonable explanation for why am currently having songs from Disney's Pete's Dragon replay over and over in an otherwise empty head, and why had dreams featuring J and Paris Hilton last night. And no, have never done acid. Though, after a few more hours of "A dragon, a dragon..." acid (and other substances) will certainly be a consideration.
Tomorrow being mushy, romance-driven day in which yours truly celebrates having never been recipient of flowers or any other romantic gesture, will be passing the day in preparations for long weekend ski trip. Perhaps by pouring love and attention into one giant lasagna, will not feel as though entire existence is a complete waste. Okay, so am not really bitter. But am aware that is much more fashionable in feminist world to despise the holiday. Still, cannot help but love the love day. So what if have never gotten flowers or ultra-cheesy bear-like toy brandishing slimy looking silk heart with "i love you" in scripty white font?
Feather boa be donned and feminism be damned.
This fish needs a bicycle and she likes Valentine's Day.
Sadly, was in the middle of grocery shopping when realized was missing second-favorite reality program. So-You-Want-To-Be-Humiliated-by-a-British-Prick was on and there was nothing to be done about it.
H: J! We're missing American Idol!
J: I think I'll survive. How about you?
H: *gasp* You're dead to me. (Ignoring strange looks from cashier) I need to get Tivo.
J: That's expensive. Besides, you don't even have cable.
H: So?? Fine. Cable first, then Tivo.
J: You're a nut.
En route to raid local grocery store of entire selection of snack foods (in preparation for ski weekend), was recipient of yet another moment of clarity and sincerity. Was told by J, that as a female, in regards to all-around stability and goodness, yours truly ranks at v. top of the list. Right after his mother. Which, knowing how much this man truly loves his mother, was quite the compliment. Did not know quite what to say, so quietly thanked him.
J: You know I'd do just about anything for you. You know that, right?
H: Yes, I do.
J: Did you get your mail?
H: Um, no, I guess not, since I have no idea what you're talking about.
J: In your mailbox! You didn't see something from [insert name of Large Telecom Company here]?
H: I did, but I thought it was a mailer.
Upon re-examining large, white envelope from Large Telecom Company, realized that was A) not postmarked and B) not addressed to anyone. With J on the line, opened large white envelope to find color print of new, favorite random celebrity, Terry Tate, Office Linebacker. Print features Mr. Tate reclining in pool floatation device, wearing leopard print swimwear and sipping a fruity cocktail.
Somewhere between volunteering to lug enormous amounts of my laundry to the center-o-fun that is the laundromat, and offering a massage for this weary and v. whiney gal, J threatened that he had a present for yours truly.
H: (in fit of giggles) Is this my present?!
J: Yes. Do you like it?
H: Like it?! I love it. My v. own Terry. He's going right next to my computer so I can see him while I work.
Spent v. funny evening doing laundry, eating bad-for-self greasy, fast food and watching taunting So-You-Want-to-Marry-A-Guy-Who's-Not-Really-A-Millionaire. J even did his best to avoid touching any unmentionables and helped to fold...a towel. Yes, just one. But the effort was noted. As was the fact that never did get that massage. Ah well. Are going grocery shopping tonight in preparation for long weekend get-away. Will claim it then.
Have just spent the last 15 minutes in discussion with receptionist on the following theme: While really v. incredibly silly, xXx is indeed worthwhile film and Mr. Vin Diesel v. extremely attractive in a don't-speak-unless-it's-scripted kinda way. Just sit there and look v. dangerous, please. Many thanks.
Am having fabulous hair day. Must repeat, fabulous. Even after smooshing it under wooly winter hat, is looking quite amazing. Is a shame to waste such hair being at monkey job all day. Will have to go shopping at lunch so as to expose as much of the general public as possible to these ever-so-luxurious locks.
Countdown begins to long ski weekend away in v. cold mountains. Am not, as have said in past, a skier. So shall be spending entire weekend in front of cozy fireplace not skiing. And am perfectly happy to do so. Will be taking plenty of reading materials and hot chocolate, as well as items of contraband for weekend well-spent.
Ahem. I'm waiting.
Um... thank you.
Yes, indeed. You're welcome. You don't even need your Big Book of Whatever the Hell You Were Talking About to see that I was right. That foot of snow outside your front door should be sufficient.
I said thank you. Isn't that enough?
Well, fine. Thank you that I'm not stuck in stand-still traffic on the freeway in a gross bus. Thank you that I'm not in some gruesome accident. And thank you, that I now get to sit home eating chips and onion dip while my friends are all at that fantastic party and I've got no one to play innuendo games with!
So v. cold.
Woke up several times last night to find that nose, or arm or other unclothed body part had strayed from warm, down comforter zone and into frigid apartment air. Wanted so v. much to call J and demand a warm bed for the evening. But, as was nearly three in the oh-so-very-cold A.M, refrained from placing such demands. Eyes are v. puffy from lack of sleep. Is not a pretty sight.
Have decided not to go to the BigCity after all, and said decision has silenced Inner Goddess and her nagging (at least on this issue) to satisfaction. Am v. disappointed, but relieved. Wish that there was some Big Book of Answers to Stuff that Nobody Really Knows, in which could look up what would have happened if had indeed gone to BigCity. But, if such book exists, was not available at local bookstores or Amazon.com. Am out of resources.
Am spending this evening doing J's taxes. As will not be getting heating oil in apartment until morning, plan to wrangle warm bed at his place. Payment for services rendered.
Am in something of a quandary.
Have had plans for some time to venture down to the BigCity for weekend of fun with GalPal and assorted city friends. But as yet, have not bought bus tickets. That, in itself is not so much an issue. Unusual issue at hand happens to be strange, Inner-Goddess-type nagging centered at back of the brain which seems to say, "Don't do it, woman."
Now, am not one to listen when given such commands -- especially when laden with irritating misogynistic undertones. Have even gone so far as to purchase new, v. adorable dress for BigCity excursion (even more reason to ignore voice). But am also not one to ignore intuition when am unsure of impending consequences. Bother. Am hoping Zen, and Karma, Inner Goddess and other assorted forces of the universe will reconcile this mess so yours truly will know whether or not to purchase stinky bus ticket.
Made dinner last night for J and Concerned Roommate. Am becoming quite the Donna Reid. Though, do suppose that Mrs. Reid would never have left broccoli in the microwave and forgotten about its existence until it was quite cold and somewhat rubbery. Ah, well. Baby steps toward being domestic goddess. At least did not burn anything.
J took self and Concerned Roommate by surprise when jumped to defend his non-girlfriend in a very boyfriendy way. Roommate remarked on lack of grace and coordination possessed by yours truly and how remarkable it is that am indeed, getting on v. well with yoga. J acted as though were an absurd idea.
J: What do you mean? You don't have any balance?
CR: Do you even know her?!
J: I have never noticed anything like that.
Must not be paying v. close attention. Not unlike yours truly when walking into living room furniture. God damned coffee table.
Did many v. exciting things yesterday evening. Like, changing bed linens and cringing through yet another episode of horrid So-You-Want-to-Marry-a-Guy-Who's-Not-Really-a-Millionaire reality program. Had to keep leaving the room on invented errands as cannot make self sit still through Ridiculous-Tramp-Number-One "making it easy" for the non-millionaire to get some. And what did that buy the poor fool? Elimination. Take that, Ridiculous-Tramp-Number-One!
As testament to inability to perform basic home maintenance, am once again out of heating oil. Can legitimately blame said lack of warmth on horrid cold spell. Because, really, did not expect to use 150 gallons in sixteen days. At least cold spell has eased and need only resort to wooly socks and sweaters until can afford to refill the tank.
Had email from J first thing, asking to hang out, perhaps just watch some television. Had to inform him that as is Tuesday night, will be required to watch So-You-Want-Simon-to-Make-You-Cry-While-the-World-Watches trashy reality program. Surprisingly, suggested programming was acceptable (though am certain will have to throw in at least two hours of violent/potty humor related entertainment.)
J: I just like spending time with you.
H: (Pinching self) What? Ruby slipper check. Nope. Am in reality. Awwww...
In last few days, have been struck several times by sudden bursts of J sincerity. Have been flattered, amused and baffled. Have even been shocked into silence as result.
J: I really don't know what in the world I would ever do without you. You have become the closest friend I have ever had.
H: (Shocked silence)
Perhaps J is feeling somewhat panicked that yours truly will follow through with notion (threat?) that if do indeed lose monkey job, will follow aspirations to BigCity. After discussion along those lines, J went into premature withdrawals. Perhaps has not recovered.
J: It makes me sad just thinking that you might leave. I'll miss the hell out of you if you go.
H: So step it up, you big fuckwit! I hold every possible title in your life except the most important one. Accountant, friend, lover, person who tells you when your clothes don't go. Does it take leaving to get you to have some big epiphany? I'd miss you, too.
Am having v. difficult time concentrating on anything other than the fact that Slim Fast granola bar that am eating is neither satisfying and delicious (as advertised) nor in any way keeping self from running across busy street to feast on v. satisfying Italian sub. But, as am model of will-power and tower of strength, will continue on with nasty granola bar and ponder concept of the eternal diet. If only could teach self to detach all emotion and affection from food. Ah, if only.
Weekend passed in rather unexciting and uneventful blur of hours spent lounging in front of television or napping with kitten on comfy bed. Had all sorts of plans to accomplish things like cleaning and shopping, but really, some things simply aren't meant to be. Like Slim Fast granola bars. Ick.
And much like these torturous ten pounds, Valentine's ski weekend with J is back on. Am actually looking forward to getting away, even though said mini-vacation requires spending long car ride and three solid days with B's girlfriend who, well, in nicest terms, wishes yours truly dead. Will not matter, am hoping, when chalet fills up and have eight other folks with whom to chat and use as personal hatred-ray deflectors. Have purchased lovely lacey item for possible Valentine's nookie, the use of which will be contingent on securing one of three private bedrooms at crowded chalet. Early arrival a must. As do not own ski apparel, will probably spend entire vacation indoors participating in such activities as over-eating. And binge drinking. And full-contact Trivial Pursuit.
A girl can hope.