Am a blogging has-been.
No, really. It's true.
Ever since severing ties with J several months ago, have been losing public appeal (not unlike Bugle Boy when they started selling their wares at JC Penney. But, I digress.) No longer have to/get to write about weepy breakdowns where am certain am going to stop breathing simply from overwhelming misery. Do not threaten folks with bodily harm in violent Miss Piggy-esque temper tantrums (hiiii-yah!). Do not go days without eating (in fact, find that do not go several fifteen minute periods without eating, but again, not the point). And no longer have brutal internal arguments with the Inner Goddess, because, I fear, even she has lost interest in yours truly.
Have become quite dull. Even Passionless, perhaps.
No, really. It's true.
And that's just fine.
Am feeling sane and well-adjusted and busy. Most story lines are like that, though, right? It's that part of the book where Jane is living with her cousin clergyman and those descriptions of the countryside take pages and pages and you think, My GOD, Bronte, get ON with it. It's that part in the movie where you can get up, get that free popcorn refill AND go to the bathroom and not miss much. Seven Years in Tibet? Is this in real time? You could get up and leave now, if you like, and will send the usher for you when the good stuff starts up again. But then, you’re apt to might miss minor adventures (white water rafting accidents) and steamy, sweaty summer affairs (Though, have left that out as it involves nothing more than sex and makes yours truly look cheap and tawdry. Besides, have been informed that going on and on about a five-minute orgasm is in poor taste). Your choice.
At any rate, do apologize for not keeping your attention. Am not too worried, though, as all plots seem to follow the same pattern -- rising action, falling action, resolution, climax. And denouement is in there somewhere, right? Yes, indeed, right after the climax, am fairly sure. Am simply going to have to sit here and wait for that. Denouement. It’s French. Even just saying it is slightly amusing. De-noue-ment. Thrilling. Though, it’s nothing like a good climax, is it?
But then again, what is?
Got fed up with Gimpy Shoe and have come to work without it. Silly Fish. Am already feeling effects of separation anxiety from well-padded support. In own defense, must say that Gimpy Shoe was rather cumbersome and did nothing to alleviate pain from bruising. But injured toes are indeed missing the big blue shoe.
T minus 2 days until The Great Move of 2003. Have packed v. little, but am certain that will be able to get enough ready for guy pals to schlep heavier boxes to new residence. In meantime, Reluctant Kitten seems rather fond of pouncing at yours truly from cardboard box obstacle course. But am fairly certain will not be fond of actual moving day and am wondering just how am going to get claw-bearing creature into cat carrier on said day. Will not be pretty.
Much like intense Cheeto craving that am having right now. What gives with all the cravings? This must be what pregnancy is like. KitKats and Cheetos. And swollen feet. *Gasp* That's it! Must be pregnant!
Indeed not.
Am ravenously hungry. Must have a KitKat.
That is all.
***update***
KitKat secured. All is well.
Spent weekend with pals in pursuit of death in the form of extreme sporting.
Yours truly didn't make it past the white water portion of the event though. And after a short stint in a backwoods hospital, am sporting stylish, blue post-op walking cast (affectionately known by camping pals as The Gimpy Shoe).
Have spent entire weekend joking with friends about the whole near-death experience, but if am being honest, will admit that the relatively short time that this gal was pinned between the rocks and raft, taking rapids on bare skin, was more terrified than have ever been.
Was tossed from fully-loaded raft at the top of the Class Five (that's a big ass rapid, kiddies) called the Crib, and then trapped beneath same raft and sucked down a waterfall. No light. No air. Just darkness and rocks pounding and scraping the right side of my body. When emerged from under the raft, took in a breath before being shot through second portion of the rapid. Had the presence of mind to get feet-first for second bit, but felt shoes getting literally sucked off my feet. Don't really remember much after that until swimming (with a great deal of pain) to waiting rescue boat. Fellow rafters were v. kind, assisting in holding ice packs on various wounds until could get shipped off to local ER.
Am bruised and beaten up and wicked tired of the Gimpy Shoe, but all in all, pretty lucky. And tired. V. tired. Remainder of weekend was jam packed with vitamin THC, Aleve and s'mores. Ah, the healing.
Am sitting in monkey office, sporting soaked pants and shoes, wringing out purse and wondering what kind of cruel joke God is playing. Am in lucky possession of corner office and from all eight windows in said office can see that not a single drop of rain is still falling. Perfect.
Am quite ecstatic about this evening's lease signing. Not that am giddy to be locked into year-long lease, but am simply happy to have somewhere to live. Somewhere, must add, with great ammenities such as great neighbors and massage-giving roommate. Yee!
Must admit that am nervous about how the Great Move of 2003 is going to affect Reluctant Kitten. RK seems to be conforming to ways of normal kitten as of late and would hate for her to revert to hiding under bed behavior as a result of being uprooted. Am fairly certain that will end up sending RK to expensive kitten psychologist once she hits those rebellious teen years and starts experimenting heavily with tuna and catnip.
Am finding it v. difficult to get anything accomplished. Instead of working, am obsessively checking over and over for the one thing that am needing to make the day complete. And it's nowhere to be found.
What has happened to Shevaun Pennington and the Marine?!
Simply can NOT continue on with the work week until am rightly informed as to the outcome of this scandal. CNN has been something of a let down in this regard. Five days, CNN. It's been FIVE days since that unfortunate-looking child has returned home and spilled the beans. Am waiting for the beans!
Heard from J yesterday. Is funny how abstract he seems now. Like getting an email from a phantom or annoying spammer.
J: I have wanted to chat with you, but I wasn't sure how to. You seemed happy to see me that night at {insert name of bar here} but I could sense something was, off. Also when I mentioned that I was moving on to your street, your email response was less than welcoming. I understand why, but it makes me feel like a real piece of crap. I know what happened between us and I know that it wasn't how either of us wanted us to end up. I also know things can never be the same between us, but I feel like I have hurt, or even wronged you.
H: Honestly, I don't know how else you expected me to react to the news that you were moving to my street! I mean, of all the places in this city to live, and you pick the one place I'd most certainly have to run into you and New Girlfriend on a regular basis?! You didn't think that would be at all strange or difficult for me? If I seemed unwelcoming it's because it was rather selfish of you to do that on purpose.
Captain of the USS Clueless, that one. Even with all hands on deck, is interminably out to sea.
Indeed.
Had great superb birthday weekend!
Interrupted house party/ going away event Friday night at 1:40 AM to announce anniversary of exact time at which yours truly entered the world. Received twenty-five birthday spankings and downed another rum and coke concoction.
Spent Saturday lounging about with friends and then getting dolled up for night on the town. Several hours of club music, lasers and a snug corset later, crawled into bed to sleep off chemical haze. Strangely enough, am STILL in bit of a haze.
Got wonderful birthday present in the form of phone call from prospective new landlord. Yay! Am moving at first of the month in to new apartment with guypal. Quelle excitement!
Attended work-related function last night at wharf-side locale. Drank, danced, broke ever-so-strict diet by indulging in loads of chocolate covered strawberries and even smoked v. first cigar.
H: Oh God. How lady-like do I look right about now? Mini skirt and a cigar. Lovely.
Coworker E: What? Are you kidding me? It's so sexy!
H: Sexy? A cigar?!
CE: Do you know how many guys are looking at you?
H: Just you, buddy. The rest of them are probably thinking, 'her mother would be so proud.'
Have to say that highlight of evening (aside from enormous, chocolate covered strawberries) had to be getting picture taken with man in a lobster suit. Yes, indeed. Nothing more exciting than photogenic giant crustaceans.
Have meeting with prospective landlord this evening and am crossing fingers (to the point of being unable to use them for any other purpose) that will get desired apartment. Washer/dryer, dishwasher, the loveliest new kitchen ever, and brand new floors. Oh, fate, now is really not the time to be a bitch to yours truly.
Am armed with references, credit report and checkbook, hoping that this will be settled v. soon. Am quite excited to be moving in with GuyPal, Athletic Trainer/ Roommate-to-be. Is v. nice, mellow guy who happens to give one hell of a massage. Honey, I'm home!
Desired apartment also happens to be directly across the street from house full of gal and guy pals. How can a gal live with so many distractions? Or rather, how has she gone this long without them?
Spent gorgeous Saturday on beach with coworkers at summer outing. Some coworkers, surprisingly, are hiding v. nicely cut bodies beneath their Monkey Firm apparel. Did not mind watching the sand volleyball games one bit! Others, though, should have kept certain unflattering elements under wraps. Have now seen enough varicose veins, beer bellies and cracks (blech!) to last this gal a lifetime.
Came away from summer outing with new appreciation for yellow fin tuna, a few new tan lines and without part of my big toe. Was horrible. Have been saying that injury resulted from shark attack, but really, was just yours truly being quite clumsy among the rocks on her way from ice cold sea water to warm sandy towel. Dear god, the pain! That is indeed one way to get one on one attention from the nice looking life guard, but clearly not the best. 48 hours later and the mortal wound is still bleeding. Gross.
Am going to be celebrating another year of life on Saturday. Can't believe how the years have crept up! Twenty five? TWENTY FIVE? Was supposed to be famous and successful and happy by twenty five. Oh, the shame. Oh well. Shall be one big party to celebrate the shame, and am looking forward to night of blatant debauchery!
In late night telephone conversation with galpal were discussing random bits when the subject of her brother came up.
E: You know, whenever I mention your name or {insert name of other friend here}, he asks, "Is that the pretty one, or the short one?"
H: HA! Really? Awww, that's very cool. I mean, since I'm clearly not short.
E: Yes, I thought it was v. sweet and made a note to pass along the compliment.
Am not sure how yours truly got to be the pretty one, especially considering that the other gal referenced is quite attractive. But is v. nice to know that somewhere out there, when some boy hears my name, he thinks, "Ah, yes. The pretty one."
Indeed.
A v. many thanks to Jennifer for pointing out that today is the first anniversary of the fish blog!
Who knew it'd live this long?
Oh, god damn it!
Have been hoping it would not come to this... in fact, have doing everything possible to avoid it. And yet, stupid bitch that fate is, am in quite the pickle.
I really like Indie Rock Boy.
There. Said it. Now there's no taking it back. Sure, have always liked IRB... in am-v.-fond-of-spending-time-with-him sort of way, but
Was out for an after-lunch walk yesterday and spotted IRB on sidewalk just ahead. Went to call out, but then noticed his Attractively Shaped Female Companion. Months of flippant 'we're-just-buddies-that-sometimes-make-out' thoughts flew right out the window and wretched jealous thoughts set in.
Who was this Attractively Shaped Female Companion?
And where did she get those really great plaid pants? Focus, Fish! Sorry.
Is this the girl he mentioned having a couple dates with?
Why do I care?
DO I care?
Oh god... I DO.
FUCK.
Had to investigate.
H: Hey! I saw you right after I sent you that email... on the sidewalk outside of CVS, but you were with a chick, so I decided not to interrupt.
IRB: That wasn't a chick. That was {insert name of coworker here}. Interrupt away.
Felt somewhat relieved that ASF wasn't romantic interest, but do NOT feel relieved that yours truly went through good hour of panicky, fiendish jealousy. This is not good. No more making out in cabs. No, indeed.
Though, last week's Cab Capades were so v. butterflies-in-stomach good. *sigh*
To: H
From: Dad@dademail.com
RE: no subject
H,
I miss you, kid. I miss a lot of things and wish I had done better by you guys.
Love you,
Dad
To: Dad@dademail.com
From: H
RE: WHAT?
Dad,
Done better by us? Are you kidding me??
I don't think I know anyone whose father was more involved in their childhood. Now, I know things are really hard on you right now, but you can't seriously think you were a let-down as a father. Who put their socks in the dryer so we could put them on after sledding, when our toes were the color of raspberries? Who took us all the way down to 7-11 in that little red wagon, with us making obnoxious noises over the gravel all the way... and didn't strangle us? Who taught me that boys are for carrying heavy things and paying for my movie? Yeah, you made us weed the garden and that sucked. Yeah, you ruined some stuff in the wash. And sometimes you yelled... But I yelled back. You think things would have been BETTER if you were the typical bread-winning father -- always in the office and never home? I hardly think so. I don't think you could have done better by us. So there.
Love,
H
H: You there?
Inner Goddess: Of course. I'm always here.
H: You've been awfully quiet. No nagging, no comments about my weight, no snide comments about men... I was beginning to worry.
IG: And so you should.
H: What do you mean?
IG: You know exactly what I mean. How's the deep end, sister? Cause that's exactly where you've landed yourself.
H: I... uh... What?! But I did exactly what you wanted me to -- I got rid of J! I stopped pining! I got on with my life.
IG: If by getting on with your life you mean making a total lush of yourself and acting like an ass in public then yes, honey, you have. Congratulations. Instead of being one man's fool, you're the world's fool. That's quite an accomplishment.
H: You're so wrong.
IG: Just like C was so wrong when he called you on your tarty behavior on Saturday night?
H: Exactly.
IG: Right then. If he was so wrong, why'd you get so upset? You hardly recognize yourself these days. Admit it.
H: Well, sure, I've put on some weight. I have been a bit careless about things, but...
IG: I'm not talking about the extra 15 lbs. Let's get metaphorical here, shall we?
H: Actually, no, let's not. I don't think I want to have this conversation right now.
IG: You don't want my help then? You see, this is why I haven't spoken up sooner. You seem hell-bent on making some sort of statement with your Post-J Bimbo Routine. Why should I stop you?
H: I, uh...
IG: You know where to find me when you decide to be realistic about this. Okay? So, talk to you later. Oh, and really, please clean your room.
Highlight of weekend: Making out with IRB in backseat of cab. Again.
*sigh*
Remember that book?
read it
You know, the one I really liked?
read it
Well, not really liked so much as loved and worshipped?
read it
Well, it's out on shelves now and time for you to drag yourself down to Borders or Barnes and Noble or click onto Amazon.com and pick it up.
read it
I mean it. Don't come back here until you've read this book. And don't think I won't know if you haven't.
THERE WILL BE A QUIZ.