"Erections, Ejaculation, Exhibitions, and General Tales of Ordinary Madness" -Charles Bukowski
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Hi. Long time no talk.
Ummm. Hi. ::tapping mike:: Is this thing on?
It's been a while since I have written anything. I realized it was a problem to have a "private" blog, then accidentally send the link to my boyfriends best friend. But I have been missing my blog buddies of the past. Do they still exist? I hope so.
So I shall perhaps begin to blog again, reestablish bonds with those I miss. We'll see.
A lot is happening, and I am uber excited about it. Among other things I am heading to Africa in 13 days, so life doesn't suck.
The Boy and I were talking last week about how we change when we get drunk. We talked about the fact that he can get really aggressive or just pass out, whereas I turn into a wild child, and will be found dancing upon the bar… running down the road in my skivvies, or making out with any willing guy or girl… which isn’t difficult to find. I managed to prove all of these a few days ago.
The Boy and I headed to the Oregon Coast or a little day trip on Tuesday. After spending a few hours there we decided that we actually wanted to stay the night. After nearly every person we asked laughed at us when inquiring where one might be able to find a last-minute room available, we found an ocean front room (screw you naysayers!), complete with fireplace and almost any needed amenity… though we didn’t use one.
We headed to town and drank, had fun, drank, played some games at the arcade, drank… (you may see where I am going with this). Time melts over some blurry hours… but I remember skinny dipping in the ocean with this girl we met, as The Boy and her boyfriend watched from the shore. Then I kissed the girl. She is the first black girl I have ever kissed.
We then all headed back to their hotel (which was closer) where we spent a couple of hours swimming in the pool and hot tub. Mind you I didn’t bring a bikini… so I allowed my lace boy shorts and bra do the job. I fooled no one, but no one complained.
The Boy and I returned back to our hotel where I am sure we disturbed our neighbors… but gotta love a trip to the beach.
I spent the last few days at the cabin with The Boy. We arrived Monday night, after my last final to get away and celebrate. At the local market we purchased food for dinner as well as some beer. We were both ID’d… The checker then looked at The Boy and said, “I see you’re into older women.” I was floored with nothing witty to say back. He then followed it with, “That’s ok, I hear they know how to treat you right.” I wanted to spank that pimple-skinned prick’s face. What am I doing with The Boy? I suppose we shall find out.
But seriously... who says these things?
* Can't stop listening to this song by The Shins lately...
I need to start blogging more than once a week as I have too much to say when I get around to it, and I worry it ends up being a cluster-fuck of info. Yet here I go…
Da Bod called me yesterday. It seems as though he and Lalo are hitting it off superbly. I was told to expect a “set the date” wedding invite in the mail within a few months time.
I am fine (ish) with this… I know I definitely don’t want him, and if he makes her happy, then grand. It’s still really fucking weird to me though.
I have talked with EB a few times in the last week, which has been wonderful to me. I was however asked by one friend “Do you love him enough to let him go?” and reminded by a male friend of mine, that when I call or email him to tell him that he is on my mind and that I love him, I am actually hurting him more than helping him as I don’t want to get back together.
This is tough. I do love him. I do think of him all of the time. Do I love him enough to let him go? I don’t know. I am too selfish. I can’t imagine my life without him. Time will have to tell. I just don’t want to be without him.
I was out with The Boy last night. He introduced me to a friend of his that we ran into as his “girlfriend, OCG”. I nearly shat myself. Twenty-two-year-old-boy summer fling? Shore. Boyfriend/ Girlfriend relationship? Slow the fuck down. I need to figure out how to handle this delicately.
I was teasing The Boy the other night after we had been drinking “You loooove me.” He just smiled and changed the subject. Last night just after we… you know… I mentioned “I love… [insert some sexual reference here]” He responded “I love you too… I mean that too.” Have I already gotten in over my head on this one?
Just about a year ago I was dating The Man, the vice-president of an international corporation. I lived in a penthouse in Laguna Beach and looked out on to the ocean all day long. Now I am dating (I guess that’s what I should call it?) a twenty-two year old bartender, with no aspirations in life of being more than that. I live at my mom’s house and go to school.
My blog is set to my homepage, and seeing it unchanged nearly every time I look at it is depressing me. So here I am writing something to change it a bit.
A couple of things have changed in these last weeks. EB and I are not really an item anymore. This is my fault, as the distance has grown to be too much of an obstacle for me to deal with. Of course instead of sacking up and telling him this, I kissed a boy from work and then shared that with him.
I haven’t shared that information mostly because several of EB’s friends now read this, and I felt it wasn’t their business to know. I almost started another blog, but I do not have the time or effort… so I guess we will all just have to deal.
I changed my major at school, and am hoping that is will allow me to graduate sooner, as well as spend some much needed time abroad in Africa, so I am very stoked about that. Of course, the flip side is that I will be staying at my mothers house for who-knows-how-long… I am grateful for her and her husband welcoming me… but I will be oh-so-happy when I can once again get my own place. Nothing is hotter than waiting for my mom and step dad to go out of town, so I may invite someone over without my parents being home.
I guess that’s mostly it right now…other than family camping trips, summer parties and a possible new fling, nothing much is going on over here… I’ll let you know when I heat it up.
One of my very best friends sent me this email today after a hard night at work. I found it amusing... so might you.
weird crowd, weird people tonight. steady busy i guess made some great money but it was one of those nights where the money didnt even make the night worth while. i just stood back at one point and thought to myself, what am i doing here? this job is making me hate people... its making me so numb to the public. i mean it gives me insight on what people are really like but i dont know if i want to know that. between getting called a bitch too my face and being so weirded out by this one guy i was ready to throw my towel in the well and just walk out. and not walk out of anger or anything like that just walk out and not look back and i guess in a way be okay with that. never look back and i guess disappear. every night i work i learn whos involved with what or who and everything in between just because when the drunks get drunker the guard gets let down. i dont want to see the guard at all ever. its like im a huge book pf secrets on everyone in this stupid incestual town, ya know? i dont want to know whos doing who or what with who and and when and how etc.
so now u date a bartender. yeah get mad cause im irritable cause i havent slept in 2 days. i fucking drink more redbull that water and i havent eaten a normal, home cooked meal in months. i eat bacon buns at 3 am and take sleeping pills to fall asleep so i can wake up and drink coffee and more redbull to get through my next shift. so yeah im cranky. and yes i get hit on. but its not a fucking compliment nor does it appeal to me. im with you and i want to be with you. ur who i come home to and thats all that matters. yes, its sunday night and im going out for drinks. my job isnt like ur job. i start at 8pm and get off at 3am.. i work weekends so weekdays are "my weekends". layoff. no i dont get drunk at work and if i did, thats my deal not urs. im not driving and god knows im alot safer with my coworkers than the general public. i take shots. alot of them. and i dont like to say no. so like it. im going home with you. yes i know other guys at other bars. they party at my work. im social. i meet people. i dont hear u complaining when ur bill is six bucks for a a round of shots.... yeah thats what i thought. we all work in the same industry and we have that in common. no i didnt date them and no i didnt fuck them. yes they probably want to fuck me but so does ur best friend, so get over it i want you and only you. me at work and me at home are two different people. its game time and im ready to play. and yes i get hit on alot. no its not a compliment when the person hitting on u is drooling and so drunk he just pissed his pants. yes thats really flattering. no i dont want to give u my number cause if i did, i would. and all of the sudden i might "have a boyfriend" and as far as ur concerned we are about to "get engaged" so get out of my face and let me serve u ur cocktail so i can move on with my life. oh and yes i am sure i am "the most beautiful girl you've ever seen". fuck, as far as ur concerned im ur dream girl. ie: plaid skirt, knee highs, fake boobs and serve you beer, get u drunk and send u off with all ur buddies to have "the best night ever". yeah, i bet im ur fucking dream girl. ass. but lets remember what bartending is. ITS A FUCKING JOB. and i do it to make money. so if humoring u for a few extra minutes is going to get me a great fucking tip, u might get lucky cause theres times where i really want a new pair of jeans and ur wallets got the money to make that happen. but remember asshole, there's a fucking bar between you and me and thats what makes my job that much easier. we've got a big cement barrier and thank god for that.
dont ask me for a free drink. if i want to buy you one, believe me I WILL... and if u dont have the money to tip, then u dont have the money to drink. so go back to ur cubicle and see if one of ur loans went through... then come back and talk to me.
and no i dont have the calorie content in the vodka u just ordered. sure i have sugarfree redbull... but that cactus cooler shots uve been taking all night arent low cal low carb... but who counts shots anyway right?
and ya know what boys, order a fucking beer! if i have to hear from one more orange county dipshit that "beer makes you fat" im gonna scream. be a man, have a beer, infact have 10, mow the lawn, be able to hang a picture for ur girlfriend, and stop wearing the same jeans i have, i dont care how good ur ass looks, ur a guy... u shouldnt even care .... live a littlle... EAT CARBS *gasp* i know and lay off the tanning bed, u have less tan lines than i do... i dont want to date me, i want to date you... a man... fuck burp if u have too. i remember walking towards the server well and just thinking "my god, i cant believe the world im in right now"..." and all i want is to go into the privacy of my room, shut my door and stay there.... letting only the people i want in my life, in my life".... and at times i feel like my life is on display... people know me just because of where i work and they know what is going on in my life and whether or not i have a boyfriend and stuff like that people who dont even know my last name should never know...
and then this one guy just wouldnt quit tonight. and normally i brush off stupid dudes but this one followed me from one end of the bar to the other and wouldnt tell me what he wanted and wouldnt take the "i slept two hrs, im not getting creative " excuse and when he asked me about "how my boyfriend handles me, am i satisfied?" i turned to the other bartender and told him to help me.... so he served the asshole who then called me a bitch for ignoring him.... well thats fucking great cause when theres 50 other people who actually know what they want and who are going to tip, i might get to them a bit quicker u fucking idiot pervert. ive never felt so digusted by someone in my life and i have met some pretty big jerks. fuck.
and then its like when im busy and im "not smiling" people get on my case about being tired, bitchy, pissed off, sad, angry... u name it.... fuck do u smile everyday at ur job? NO! It's 12:30 am, i havent slept and im serving a bunch of drunks at work on a monday night... please tell me why i need to be smiling? is it going to make ur drink come out faster? no. is it going to make it taste better? no. is it going to make ur night that much better? no. will me smiling help you sleep at night? fuck no. and is it going to make u tip better? no. because i could smile all god damn day and the tips are pretty much gonna be the same.... im busy, im sweaty, im tired, im hungry, im soaking wet, i smell, my feet are wet, my hands are cut up, ill probably get bar rot and i have lemon in my hair.... FUCK YOU for telling me to smile. you go effing smile cause all i want is to make ur drinks and get ur money! now if its a nice sunday afternoon and im not slammed, sure ill fucking smile for you if it makes u feel THAT much better... hey i might even laugh at ur retarded jokes and maybe even humor ur bad pick up lines but when its busy and my sock are soacked to my knees, this bitch aint smilin' and u can like it... ill pass on ur 50 cent tip if i can move u along and get to the poor smuck behind you....
and when i do get to you, know what the fuck u want. this isnt ur last drink and if it is, ill buy it for u if it makes u decide quicker. and i promise u that if i pour u a coors light and tell u its bud light ull never know the damn differenceand no EVEN YOU cant tell. fuck. i dont want to make u a damn lemon drop when im busy and i wont make u a mojito. ever. so if thats what u fancy, walk ur fat ass over to the fucking cannery and have them muddle some damn mint. and no i dont have a blender and yes i am happy about that because at one point in my life i had nightmares that we were getting one. fucking nightmares about a blender. jesus.
"i want one red headed slut, one jager bomb, one washington apple, one wet pussy and one chocolate cake. oh and one bud light bottle, one bud light draft and a vodka grapfruit. oh and a mind eraser. " "and can u put each one on a seperate card and close us all out?now?"
sure u fucking dumbass. and while im at it, ill drop ur lemon wedge on the floor, give u a dirty glass and and underpour all ur stupid fucking drinks and shots because if ur going to be selfish idiot than so am i. the difference is i know im being a douchebag, u on the otherhand think its okay to make my life a living hell. last time i checked, this wasnt fucking the four season and no u cant have it ur way everytime. and by the way a "tall" means more juice, not more alcohol u fucking shithead.... u think a bar would just "not charge you" for an extra ounce of vodka. dumbass. so when u "cant taste the alcohol" that because u got more juice nitwit! and if u want a strong or "stiff" cocktail, order a double and tip me well... ill remember either way and i will remember.. plus tell all the other bartenders what a jackass u are so a.we can laugh at you b. not serve u unless ur the last person standing at the bar and all the dishes are done and the bar is stocked and ive taken a long ass break, checked my phone and done my makeup... kids, a good tip goes a LOOONNGGG way. as does not being a complete social reject but hey no ones perfect right?
no i dont care about ur problems. i dont care that ur such a drunk ur wife divorced u and moved to idaho with ur 3 kids. i dont care that u havent slept cause u were on a 4 day coke binge in mexico with 20 of ur closest buddies who all where button down white collared shirts, seven jeans, square toed shoes, a watch theyy saved 10 years for, a bmw they lease but live out of cause the payments are so high theycant afford rent and there commission check hasnt come in from Lending Tree....i.dont.care. and u shouldnt care what i do, WHAT CAR MY BOYFRIEND DRIVES (a pinto) and why i am not smiling today. oh and u arent doing me a favor by tipping me huge (read: $3 on $20 ... wow big spender jack ass!) because i guarantee ive been around more money than coke has been up ur nose and i dont care. ur "big tip" isnt fucking saving me. im not bartending cause im some broke chick with 20 kids from 20 guys waiting around to meet "the one" when he stumbles in friday night for his 10th drink that night. i bartend because when all the douche bags are too hung over to see the outside of their bedroom, its acutally quite fun.... i have met some pretty rad people and the people i work with are fucking amazing. u can meet some hardworking and down to earth people in the restaurant business and those are the people that come in and act like human beings.... industry people are the best. easygoing and they scratch our back and we scratch theirs. its a fucking family. alright, im over this night.... but wow i feel so much better... kind of went of on a tangent, but i definitly feel better... i may do this more often! GOOD NIGHT... errr Good Morning!
At the end of last summer I began partying pretty hard. You read of much of it here, but it went beyond that. In addition to the drinking I was doing nearly daily, I was also popping a lot of pills… diet pills, anxiety pills, pain pills, sleeping pills… the list goes on and on. Mind you I needed none of these, yet I continued to take them in excess… “for fun”.
Last September I was spending a lazy day nursing a hangover with a beer on my terrace and thought a few pain pills thrown in would make the day complete. I went down to my friend’s who handed me a couple three pills. Like a kid with candy, without thinking, I threw them all down my throat. My friend looked at me wide-eyed and said, “I didn’t mean for you to take those all at once. That was two Oxycontin and a Vicodin… I can’t wait to see you in fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes later I was just fine… five hours later I was not. I nearly OD’d. My body did not like the drug cocktail I took, and it did not respond well. I sat on my living room chair, dozing in and out of consciousness. I woke up gasping a couple of times because my body was forgetting to remind itself to inhale. It was scary. My roommate and friend both continued to check on me throughout the night. The next morning my roommate was still coming into my room every thirty minutes to ensure I was ok.
This situation was completely unintentional. In no way was I trying to harm myself, I was just trying to have fun. It all too often begins as just that. I slowly stopped popping a plethora of pills, and after Thanksgiving I decided I was done. I still may take a sleeping pill or pain pill when needed, but I don’t look at my tin of multi-colored pills as hours of fun.
I completely forgot about this incident last year, until today.
Fox is my little sister’s age. They went to school together growing up. It was after high school I became friends with him. We worked together at a couple of the same places. Fox and I began to hang in the same group of people. He became like my naughty little brother and I adored him for it. Fox OD’d two nights ago on Oxycontin while out to have a good night with some of his friends just before he moved to Hawaii to begin his new life.
I was so incredibly frustrated because it is so incredibly unnecessary. Then a friend reminded me how easy it was for me to do. I had forgotten. I won’t again.
I have wanted to write several times during this last week, however every time, I don’t. Krazy came into town last weekend and I hung out with her and JP for almost the entire weekend, until Sunday when I needed to head home and start doing some homework. I had copious amounts of reading to accomplish for my Business Ethics class, so much so that I have been neglectful in my other classes.
Getting home Sunday I made the dire mistake of turning on the television. “Sell This House” was having a marathon. Although I had never seen the program previously, nor do I own any property, I was glued. I once again lost about five hours of not only my life, but of valuable study time that I will never get back. However I did learn that “less is more” when staging your home for an open house... I also learned that one uses phrases such as “staging” to speak of their home when attempting to sell it.
On Monday I thought since I don’t have time anymore to write, I should try audio-blogging. Deciding that driving in my car on the way to school would be the perfect time, I called to do my first entry. I recorded my entry for a solid 7 seconds, deleted it and came to the decision maybe I shouldn’t.
Several inherent things are wrong with this idea. Aofall, I know I am not the only one to get fairly agitated when driving, especially in Oregon.* I would hate for you all to think that this entire time of blogging I was hiding a horrible case of Tourette’s Syndrome as you heard me randomly yell “stupid cunt”.
This brings us to problem two. I curse, at times a lot. I know many of you read my blog while at work, so if you actually had the time and the speakers to listen to me, your boss doesn’t need to hear “cunt” pouring through your office.
Another is the fact that I cannot edit nor downsize an audio-blog. I often go off on great random tangents. Doing so in my blog I am able to go back and delete clumps of paragraphs that really serve no purpose in my post. If I record these tangents, I will just waste too much of your time, as well as come across as a rambling idiot.
Lastly, I can write things I could never imagine myself recording. Any of the sexinoc stories that I have written would be… just wrong if I was reading them… though I believe I could possibly make some money doing that…**
All of these reasons and more, I have procrastinated even speaking a post to you.
Anyway back to school (speaking of tangents) I decided I am changing my major. I have to meet with an advisor, but I think that I will not only be much happier heading in this different direction, but I also might be able to get through school sooner than originally anticipated… but we’ll see.
I have reading and sleep calling my name. Happy Day.
* I was actually thinking of devoting an entire post as to the abundance of things wrong with Oregon drivers, but again that would require ‘posting’. ** I hadn’t thought about that until just now. As I am broke this actually doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea. Paypal link anyone?
I fully realize that I have become more boring to read lately, that my blog “has changed”. My blog is merely mirroring my life. As I sat all day yesterday getting through the two-hundred pages that I had to get done for class this morning, I thought back to last year. I was living it up in SoCal, with some guy I found amazing, barbequing with him and his friends… and later hiking to the cliffs overlooking Laguna where I drunkenly made-out with one of his girlfriends. Later he and I had sex all over his house, only to wearily rise the following morning and head off to an office where I could blog about it.
Yesterday I canceled all of my plans with friends, hung out at home reading, took a nap and read some more. Last night I went to my sister’s for a barbeque and read some more, allowing her friends to think me some bland nerd that couldn’t tear herself away from a book. I finished in time to watch some fireworks, and headed home to bed. (I hope your heart isn’t racing with the excitement of my life.)
I am not complaining. I am having a good time, but then don’t find the time to write about it. Last week I went to “Thirsty Thursday” with my stepbrother (who, btw, told me, “You have a great rack”), his girlfriend, stepsister, and some other guys. We consumed cheap beer and watched a baseball game, until they did last call in the seventh inning and we decided it was time to head elsewhere.
After bar hopping we went to a club, where, when one guy didn’t understand that by continually moving away from him I was trying to get his cock off from rubbing up against me, I elbowed him in the face (not hard, but enough to let him know that he was too close). He moved away while telling me how uncool that was to do. Gentlemen Boys, if I am not dancing back with you and your little hard on is pushing up against me as I move away from you on the dance floor, you are lucky you got away with an elbow-to-the-face-tap.
Saturday I joined my mom and step-dad down at the Portland Waterfront for the Blues Festival. They had decided it would be easier to rent a room in the hotel across the street for the weekend (and use nice bathroom vs. port-a-potties) then to drive home each day. I joined them there, ran into a few friends whom I spent a good portion of the afternoon with, and proceeded to get wasted on (again) the consumption of far too much beer.
I also proceeded to pass out (while wearing a little skirt and tank top) on the blanket near my parents (after my friends had left), thankful that my mother was gracious enough to cover me up, so my flower wasn’t exposed to the world. I made it as far home as their hotel room. Sunday morning I woke up a little fuzzy as to where I was, and upon the realization, I was mortified that the newly-wed couple (my mom and step-dad) can’t even get free time away in a hotel without me crashing it. Joyful.
But none of this is the fun and games of my frivolity of last year, my weekends filled with Topless on the Terrace parties, hanging with wild and crazy friends, partying, and coming home with naughty sex stories to share with you.
You know when you get to that point in your life you have much to say, but can’t seem to get it all out? Yep, that’s me right about now.
I started school Monday, in the midst of a hot spell… I loved the 100+ degree weather… it was soothing to my soul and reminded me of better days cruising through Palm Springs. But, alas, I was instead sitting unfocused in various Business Ethics [insert oxymoron joke here] and Black Studies classes.
As much reading as I have to accomplish, and the fact that my Business class already had an exam (yes, in the second class of the term, gorgeous I tell you), really school isn’t the biggest concern on my mind this last week.
I received a phone call at 3am Sunday morning while I was writing my “woe is me” post. I didn’t initially hear the phone ring, but when seeing it was Da Bod I decided to call him back.
I hadn’t spoken with Da Bod since I left Laguna Beach. At my “going away” he went down to have a smoke with Lalo and didn’t return to my apartment for the remainder of the night. One of my last nights in town, he didn’t say good-bye to me and slept with my “best friend”.
The guy that 18 months ago I was convinced I was going to have a future with… and my “best friend” fucked him. I was pissed. It’s not like this was a surprising reaction either. The last two male friends of mine I had brought around her, she ended up hooking up with. I would normally not mind, but she did this without even discussing any of it with me. I told her (both times) I just needed communication about these things, and to not be surprised about them.
Regardless of how personal you like to keep your life, if you begin talking, emailing, corresponding, dating, sleeping or just sucking the cock of anyone that you might have met through me, you better fucking give me a heads up about it, prior to it happening.
I require loyalty from my friends. I will be true-blue loyal to you until the end if you pay me that courtesy in return. I will lie by your hospital bed side for weeks. I sat with Lalo for weeks that became months through tears and anger while she got over her ex. That is what a friend does.
Da Bod has made several comments over the last year about how I needed to introduce him to one of my girlfriends after he followed me to SoCal. I never would, and I told him that I wouldn’t. I explained to him that none of my friends would hook-up with him anyway, no friend of mine would. That’s what friends do. Exes are completely off-limits.
So I called Da Bod back in the wee hours of Sunday morning. He was laughing and said that he was just hanging out at Lalo’s (“Yep, we’re hanging out, surprise!”). I told him I had to go and immediately got off the phone. I was sick to my stomach. I have no desire to be with Da Bod ever again, however I don’t want my friends fucking him. I don’t think that is too much to ask.
Monday I [*gasp*] left my phone over at JP’s. It was too late to return and get it, and as I had school near her Tuesday morning I figured I would just go and pick it up then. JP called me that night and said that Da Bod had called. She was pissed about the situation between him and Lalo and said that she wanted to text him back “lose my phone number”. I thought it funny and told her to go ahead.
She didn’t answer my phone for the remainder of the night, even though he called countless times before she turned it off. I had seven voicemail messages and a couple text messages when I retrieved my phone the following afternoon. Lying out by the pool JP and I listened to the messages that rapidly downward spiraled from “What the fuck was that about, I am going to call you until you answer” and “We don’t understand why you are acting this way” [they are a “we” already?] to “If you are in bed and that’s why you are not answering your phone, then fine… but if you know I am calling and you are ignoring me, then you are being fucking stupid and fuck you.” The joys of prescription pill popping and drinking… the insanity that I don’t miss, at all.
One of the last messages he left me was left late Tuesday morning. “I woke up on the toilet after passing out there for three hours, and Lalo was passed out sitting upright on her couch. Isn’t that funny?” Nothing reminds me more that I am over him than hearing that he, while 30, is still blowing up his Monday nights trying to relive the college days he never finished. (I can talk down about not finishing college since I have been in school for a solid three days now.)
Last night around midnight he sent a text to me, while I was trying to prepare for my morning exam, “I have talked to my family and they are very disappointed in you, as am I”.
I finally called him for the first time this morning. I was shaking as I left a message telling him that he needed mental help with his drug induced state, but I never even had my phone the other evening as he left the abundance of crazy messages.
He called me back and said that he should have assumed that I didn’t have my phone as I would have wanted to get this misunderstanding resolved immediately. I called him back and left a lengthy message about how pissed I actually was about him and Lalo hanging out, but they actually deserve one another if this is going to be their behavior. I added that I had no desire to rekindle this friendship and that it was over. Good-bye. I know I added some extraordinarily mature “fuck yous” and the like in the message, but I decided I could no longer have people that treated my heart so flippantly in my life.
So today I said good bye to Da Bod, who has been in my life for the last six years, and Lalo who had been a fun friend this last year. It’s just not worth it. I am loyal, but I am also not willing to be lenient with things important to me… such as basic respect. Is it really that difficult to comprehend?
After looking at the last few entries I depressed myself… please do not get me wrong, I love my life. I have been having a really great time lately.
Last Tuesday I took my niece and nephews on the same route I had taken just a few weeks before to Hood River. They loved it. My youngest nephew (age 3) was so excited that he had the opportunity to go on his first hike ever. I was delighted to be able to share those moments with him.
Last Thursday I took my niece and nephews to the zoo. I had a blast.
Life is good… school begins tomorrow and as hesitant as I may be to return I am excited about finally shutting this last chapter on this portion of my life and have the opportunity to move onto the next.
Weather here has been hot and gorgeous, and I can not wait to spend countless hours basking in the cool river of my cabin (the front porch shown below with my dog Parker).
I have friends who tease me that I have more friends than anyone they know. They have delved into hyperbole, but I have a good network of people in my life. Yet I feel lonely. I found this today. I guess I'm not the only one alone.
When you're so lonely lying in bed Night's closed its eyes but you can't rest your head Everyone's sleeping all through the house You wish you could dream but forgot to somehow Sing this lullaby to yourself Sing this lullaby to yourself
I called my mom on my way home from work tonight. I was heading home a couple of hours earlier than I thought I would be, and (though I knew it to be late for her) called to see if she was up. She said she was, and I told her I would be home soon. I was excited to get home (and even if only for a brief moment) hang out with her and my new step-dad. I got home and the lights of the house were out, less the dim illumination escaping through the curtains of her bedroom. I was bummed.
And if you are waiting, waiting for me Know I'll be home soon darling I guarantee I'll be home Sunday just in one week Dry up your tears if you start to weep And sing this lullaby to yourself Sing this lullaby to yourself
I went to my bedroom and saw that Beach Chic was online. I chatted with her for a bit. During that time we both lamented over the loneliness that we were feeling. Although the both of us could go out, we were stuck in the between place of desiring to do something, yet not desiring to go out. Just a basic feeling of lonely.
Beach Chic told me (referring to our friend, Natasha, whose boyfriend decided that Texas was too far away from Newport Beach and he could stand the distance no longer and moved to be with her), “Natasha has Dan… and all I have is peanut butter and jelly”.
I think we all like the place where we can do nothing with someone and it becomes something.
Lullaby, I'm not nearby Sing this lullaby to yourself Don't you cry, no don't you cry Sing this lullaby to yourself
I am in the state that I am not feeling social, yet want someone to hang out with… just doing nothing… I am excited even to hang out with my mom and step-dad. When I realized they were in bed for the night I seriously considered calling my sister to see if my niece and nephews were still up. I know they are always down to hang out.
Cause when I arrive dear it won't be that long No it won't seem like anytime that I've been gone It ain't the first time it won't be the last Won't you remember these words to help the time pass?
SometimesAll of the time the distance in a long distance relationship can get wearing. Sometimes I don’t know if I have the patience for it. But then he calls and just the sound of his voice reminds me that I can be patient (if this LDR has taught me anything, its patience). Regardless if one year sounds longer than anything I could possibly bear, he reminds me we will be fine, and I know everything will be.
So when you're so lonely lying in bed Night's closed it's eyes but you can't rest your head Everyone's sleeping all through the house You wish you could dream but forgot to somehow Sing this lullaby, sing this lullaby Sing this lullaby to yourself
Beach Chic grabbed her peanut butter and jelly sandwich… I grabbed a Black Butte Porter... crawling into bed I sang this lullaby to myself. * Jack Johnson featuring Matt Costa, "Lullaby"
Having had a “real” job for years, I haven’t had as much free time available during the day as I have had since I left Laguna. Most Some people might fill up their time with important activities, such as housework or going to the gym. I am not one of those people. I have, however, found things important to me to do to consume my time.
I am not one of those people who sleep the day away. I am generally awake between eight and nine in the morning, even when working late the night before. Sure, part of this has to do with Beach Chic calling me nearly every morning bright and early, but mostly I hate sleeping my day away.
I have found TV is a fabulous way to waste the day away. Sometimes for the worst. I refuse to watch any “talk shows”. I didn’t even know that Jerry Springer or Maury Provich were still on TV until last week. It’s comforting to know that poor parenting will ensure a television slot for that style of show for years to come. As far as I am concerned they are much too stressful for me to even watch a moment of.
I have instead become addicted to The History Channel. My days have been filled with historical information from everything about the history of nails (did you know that settlers moving west would burn down their houses so they could they could salvage the nails, as they were such a precious commodity?), to distilled spirits and beer, to the Mongols and Vikings, to now watching “Opus Dei, Unveiled”.
Here TLC and The History Channel are next to one another. During most of the programs I watch “A Baby Story” is being featured on repeat on the neighboring station. I will occasionally flip the station over. This has led to a slow evolution (ok, it only took about a week) into being too horrified into never having children.
It started off seeing a small moment when a woman was in the throes of giving birth. Later talking to EB, I made it clear that I will be having a c-section (keeps the flower tight anyway, so he had no arguments). Then today a woman was describing in detail exactly how a contraction felt… I think adoption is a beautiful idea.
This afternoon I grabbed the hula hoop I bought last week and decided to give it a whirl. I used to be able to spend hours hula hooping. I warmed up by moving my waist and hips in an alternating circular motion, stepped into the center of the hoop, and gave it a spin … only to watch the hula hoop wind its way down to the floor. With a few more practice spins, I actually got it to stay up for a bit. And by “a bit” I mean maybe ten seconds. I will get it down (or, rather, get it to stay up), I swear. And someone told me I would hurt myself. Pishaw.
As you can see, I am being very productive with all of this free time I have during my days… I don’t know how I will possibly fit school into my daily schedule beginning next week. Perhaps I should rethink my priorities. After all, The History Channel is quite educational.
I was talking the other day about how much my blog has suffered with my new job. No longer having nine hours a day at work to spend on the computer and my evenings spent working, I don’t have the time to write much anymore, let alone read blogs. When I have posted, I no longer write, but merely post pictures… but it’s what I can do as of late.
This weekend was a typical Father’s Day, working in a restaurant, weekend. My time scheduled in for work on Sunday changed four times in a twenty-four hour period. This created problems as I also wanted to have the opportunity to celebrate the day with Poppy (my dad).
Originally, I was scheduled to come in at noon. It was planned that I would have Father’s Day breakfast with my step-dad and all of his kids and my sisters at 8am, go to work at noon, and then have a barbeque with my father for dinner.
I was then told that I was going to have to work a double, so I called my father and told him I would be getting off work later that evening, but would probably still be able to come over around eight or nine Sunday night. Then my manager told me Saturday night around ten o’clock that my time in was changed to five the following evening. This ruined my plans with my dad.
As people started arriving for brunch Sunday morning, my youngest sister had the audacity to have my father drop her off* for my stepfather’s breakfast, which was being held at my mother’s house. I went outside to say hello to him. He had brought my dog, Parker. I played with Parker and chatted with my dad for about fifteen minutes.
We planned for lunch later this week due to my shitty work schedule and I headed inside. As I was walking in, my father said that he had seen signs for Father’s Day brunches around and thought he would take himself out to breakfast.
Father’s Day morning and Poppy was going to have to resort to spending the morning by himself, while his children celebrated with his ex-wife’s new husband. He would sit alone in the corner of some restaurant while children adorned their father with the love deserved of a hard job, well done. I went into the house, lost trying to hold back the waterworks, and burst into tears.
I immediately called my father to see if he would go to breakfast with me. He didn’t answer. As always I delved into hyperbole. Roaming through my mind were pictures of my father crying as he drove away from my mom’s house, unable and unwilling to answer the phone so I wouldn’t know how upset he was.
Instead, apparently he had left his mobile at home and had stopped off at the store on the way there. So no tears were being shed, but instead dog biscuits were being purchased. Upon getting home he returned my numerous calls and we were able to go have breakfast together. It was wonderful to be able to spend time with him in on Father’s Day. It was the most I have seen him since I have returned home, and the longest conversation I have had with him in years.
While sitting there listening to my father discuss work and different things going on in his life, I looked at him for the first time as an aging man, not my dad. I was so incredibly glad to have these moments to spend with him. I pray I never take time with my Poppy for granted again. Sitting here today, I am sure had I not gone to breakfast it would have been one of the biggest regrets of my life.
I don’t know how long I plan on staying in Portland, but I do know that I will try and savor the time I have here with my family as much as I can.
* My youngest sister is a long story… perhaps I shall share the drama some day.
With a day off yesterday I headed to the Oregon Coast with my niece and nephews. It was an awesome day. At Cannon Beach* they had fun flying kites and playing in the water. (Why is it regardless of the temperature children will frolic in the ocean, when every adult near by has multiple layers on?) The day began a little rainy and cold, in the afternoon was nice enough for me to get a bit burnt, and then ended again rainy and cold.
We headed in the late afternoon to the Tillamook Cheese Factory in Tillamook, Oregon. On the way there my 8 year old nephew drew a picture of me. A stick figure with crazy hair and a squiggly body, seemingly “broken” at the knees was supposed to be me. When I asked him about it he said that I had crazy hair from being at the beach all day… the squiggly body was because I was so skinny and I had broken off at the knees. This is why I love them so… childhood blindness and humor…
A day with my family is a wonderful reason to be home.
* Haystack Rock is what Cannon Beach is known for. When I was a child and Goonies came out, I was so excited to know that it was filmed here in Oregon. It was before I understood about movie sets and all, and I begged my mother to take us through the same path the Goonies went on in the movie.
I have been working like crazy lately, which is good because I need the money after not working for so long. It is completely different being in a strict restaurant environment (you aren’t even allowed to drink any soda without paying for it… I mean really, it’s a friggin Diet Coke, and I cold go to the store and purchase a two liter for the price they charge… but at least I am drinking more water) rather than the (laid back, chat on line all day, email in when sick, wear whatever you want, pays you at least twice what you’re making now) office I just left.
The hours take some getting used to as well, although it is probably for the best that on weekend nights I get out late, as I (less the night of my moms wedding) haven’t been out since I returned to Portland, and feel that is for the best as I need to not be in any partying frame of mind with school two weeks away.
Friday night JP called me while I was at work, asking me to stay the night (obviously her boyfriend was out of town). It was fun as I hadn’t seen her in three weeks (I really have been anti-social lately). We went shopping on Saturday and at Sephora I bought some face powder and such. I headed straight to work from her house Saturday afternoonWhen I returned home around 1am I looked in the bathroom mirror and almost screamed.
My face was orange! I looked as though I had a horrible case of jaundice. I took a shower, scrubbing my face trying to get all of the powder off. I couldn’t believe I had been at work all night with an orange face, and nobody told me. Thankfully the restaurant itself is a little darker, but all the employees in the well-lit kitchen saw and probably wondered why the new girl has Hepatitis B.
Mortified I went to bed. I arose Sunday and decided to hike to the top of Multnomah Falls. I needed to do something fun before heading into work. It only took me about twenty minutes to get to the top. It was a glorious day to do so. (The picture is looking down from over the top of the Falls, the bridge looks so small from the top.)
I returned home a got ready for work… upon looking into mirror, prior to putting any make-up on, I realized my face was still orange. Having the overactive imagination I do, I immediately thought there had to be something wrong with my liver… perhaps I was very ill and I didn’t even know it. Then I noticed it was only my face that was orange. I was baffled.
I called JP and told her what my problem was. She laughed. She informed me the face moisturizer I had used the previous day at her house was a self-tanning lotion. This dark lotion works well for her olive complexion, but on my pale (thank you Oregon) face it turned orange. Ahh, the joy.
I must be off… work is calling… and I need extra time to scour my face to try and get the last remnants exfoliated off before my shift today… and I need to make time to start going to a booth, I should be tan this time of year… not orange-faced.
My mom’s wedding pictures came in today… or rather the link to see them was emailed out, so we could all check them out virtually. After the Christmas party Beach Chic asked me if I paid the guy to take horrible pictures of me… you would think after seeing the pictures today that he had the same motive.
I wanted a different photographer, but my mother really wanted to use this guy again (he photographed her Christmas party this last year, and there we realized that he had also been the photographer for my sisters [short-lived] wedding). As it was my mom's wedding, who am I to argue…
The photographer really likes my family, so much so that as they gave the toasts just before cutting the cake, the photographer decided to give a toast as well… I knew that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man had these responsibilities…but the photographer? News to me. And news to my mother who stood there a little shocked as her photographer toasted to how much he loved this family… I mean really… but what's not to love?!?
Granted this is the same man that last Christmas took a liking to my (already married) aunt so much so, that towards the end of the evening he handed off his camera to a guest of the party so the guest could take a picture of the photographer and my aunt together. He feels very comfortable with us.
Today I had a little incident with the police. I know that I have blogged previously about getting pulled over in Laguna, and the kind officers letting me go on my way… well today almost made up for anytime that I got of the hook easily.
I was on a side street driving on my way to work this evening when I saw a motorcycle officer in the bushes ahead… unfortunately too late. I slowed a smidge, but he pulled out behind me and I pulled over. When he approached the car, I gave him my California license and explained to him that I didn’t have my registration or proof of insurance in the car.
Now you think that I would know by now where these items are (although I actually should be receiving my new Oregon insurance proof shortly), but to be honest I have no idea where the registration for my car is… I could have packed it in a box with my “important papers”… or I could have thrown it away, your guess is as good as mine… but without all the paper mess in my glove compartment I have room for my pedi kit... and we all have our priorities.
However I told the officer that I had left them both at my mother’s house, as I needed them to get information for registering my car in Oregon. To be honest with you, and you alone, I don’t plan on registering my car for a long time. My tags are good for another year, and I don’t feel like spending the money on registering it in Oregon, when I don’t even know how much longer I will live here.
Mr. Officer told me that I needed to have these items in my car and he could write fines for much more, but he wouldn’t this time, “just get those papers back in your car!” I agreed, “Yes, Sir!” and watched him walk behind my car to write the speeding ticket.
While he was back there I thought it a good opportunity to pick up my car, I had a few scattered papers and water bottles that had been bugging me so I started to pick up and get all of the garbage together. When I sat back up, I saw another police car behind me and two more officers “on the scene”. I assumed they were curious and had stopped.
I called my mom while still waiting and told her what was happening, fearing that she would be driving by on her way home. While I spoke with her two additional police cars arrived and four more policemen gathered around. At this point I freaked. I told my mom I thought I was getting arrested. I began shaking and stressing completely as over half a dozen police officers gathered behind me and several police vehicles (motorcycle, suburban and two cars) with flashing lights was all I could see in my rear view mirror.
After Mr. Officer had been behind my car for ten or fifteen minutes on his radio and assembling this congregation of officers, he began to walk towards my window, with each side of my car being flanked by two more officers. He got to my window, checked my VIN then said, “It is really important that you have your registration on you at all times. When I ran your plates they came up a stolen motorcycle from California. Make sure you go home and get that registration back in this car. Here’s your speeding ticket blah blah blah.”
I nearly shat myself. I seriously thought there was a serious fucking issue… as did every rubber-necker on the small (yet busy) two lane road I was pulled over on. I pulled away, still shaking… and hoping they didn’t notice my burnt out tail light as I left…
I worked all night and still didn’t make enough to cover the cost of the ticket… at least it’s cheaper than jail.
After a horribly rough start to my morning yesterday (thank you Rusty for your help), I had had it. I will pull out my soapbox on another day to bitch, but today I will instead share how great my evening turned out to be.
My only hope prior to yesterday morning, was to take a day trip up the Gorge to Hood River. Hood River (the Wind Surfing capitol of the World) is a small town on the Columbia River that I heard is similar to Laguna in many ways. After wasting the entire day in the depths of my despair, a day trip was not obviously not possible… but decided to leave the house anyway.
At 5:30 I grabbed Amos Lee, headed for my car, and let him sing my blues away as I got on the Historic Columbia River Highway. I drove through Corbett, carefully avoiding the kids riding horseback down the highway, and came to the first vista lookout point. It was an amazing reminder as to why I moved back to this amazing part of the world.
I moved towards Multnomah Falls, briefly stopping at two of the four falls on the way. I stopped a Multnomah Falls and decided that it was too late to hike to the top, as the sun would be setting shortly, and I had only worn flip flops, not the most appropriate hiking gear.
Instead I decided to continue on to Hood River. I made it in time to see a few scattered windsurfers and kitesurfers gliding along the water. It was truly awesome. I drove through the quaint town and decided to grab a bite and a beer at the local brew pub. Afterwards I headed home…
I am so very glad that I live here, at this moment, when “getting away from it all” takes less than an hour, and a new fun community is located only an hour away. God bless the Pacific Northwest.
I choose to apply to the particular restaurant in town I am working at specifically because, among other reasons, I have worked there before and knew they would rehire me. It was my first real job, working there from when I was sixteen to twenty. Actually I truly believe that this establishment (or rather the coworkers within) was the number one reason that I went from a non-drinking good girl, to the PG-13 version you know now of me. ::wink::wink::
Having had not only a month off from all things work, but also having been a year since I last waited on tables, I was exhausted on Thursday evening, my first night training. I actually had to sit down a couple times throughout the few hours that I worked because I felt as though I was going to pass out. This is completely unlike me, and concerned me that I wasn’t going to be able to once again wait on tables. This fear subsided when I got home and realized I had a fever of nearly 101 degrees.
I then had the joy of calling in sick my second shift at work, I couldn’t even stand up without feeling as though the inside of my head was bigger than the outside, and I was going to tip over right there. Luckily they know me and I wasn’t too concerned about a first impression being ruined.
When I returned on Saturday, my scheduled seven hour shift turned into an eleven hour shift. They were short staffed, and as I know the ropes better than many of the employees they currently have there, I ended up covering someone's shift (bussing, but at least I made some cash). After ten years away the biggest obstacle I had was learning new places that they now put things.
Oddly, two girls (I guess I should now call them women?) that I used to hang out with all of the time, had also returned in the last year. Although I worked my ass off Saturday night, I would almost hardly consider it so, as it allowed for ample time to catch up with the girls that I hadn’t spoken to in about five and eight years.
One of the girls, Misty, always reminded me of a “Precious Moments” doll. With naturally light blond hair that hung nearly to her waist, beautiful porcelain white skin and big blue eyes (nothing has changed in ten years) any guy was putty in her hands… and with her soft demeanor she worked them all over. Misty was a blast to hang out with.
I was reminded of one year we went to a Halloween party at this apartment complex. Misty’s very cute, very shy male cousin allowed us to dress him up as a girl. He had gone to the Goodwill and got a retro dress and we curled his longer hair and added make-up. After he was all done, we all admired what a beautiful girl he made.
The party was held within an apartment building complex. All six floors of apartments opened up their front doors so guests to the building could easily case the joint find an apartment that best suited each person's taste. Misty and our group went in and had a great night. Unfortunately as fun as the multi-leveled party was, we gathered the most joy in watching her shy cousin poorly attempt to fend off guys.
Shy cousin was hit on by guys all night long. It was fucking hilarious. Though you or I might say something subtle like, "Dumbass, I'm a dude, the dress is only for Halloween", he was too shy to have any idea what to say and these guys each thought they would be the one to bring this shy, yet beautiful, girl out of her shell. Sadly, Misty and I couldn’t wouldn’t help him.We instead found ourselves very busy sitting back and watching.It was priceless.
I think that returning to work here wasn’t a bad choice at all… the only downfall is that I have to retrain, including taking several food tests… which I have yet to study for, yet assured the manager I would have them all completed today… studying shall be accomplished this morning, I hope.
Random 1: Yesterday I had two different guys, at two different times, stop me and ask what perfume I was wearing, because I smelled great. It was one of the few days I actually didn’t wear any. Maybe God is trying to tell me that I should no longer wear it, that he created a perfectly fine smelling OCG… right?
Random 2: If you want a chill CD with beats for your summer soundtrack, check out Wax Tailor. If you have good taste in music you shouldn’t be disappointed. (Loaded statement, eh?)
I begin my new job tomorrow. After swearing it off for good, I am going to bite the bullet and once again wait on tables. The joy of my life…
This is all for a means to an end. After meeting with college counselors it has been determined that one year from now I can finally be holding my college degree in hand. I just need to keep my eye on the prize to get through one more year of serving tables.
In order to ensure I graduate as soon as possible, and the school doesn’t throw me any last minute curve balls, I will begin classes this summer. Less than a month’s time and I will be once again battling parking at the University.
I will also be stashing away cash in hopes of moving out of my mother’s house as soon as possible. Although I am very grateful that she and her new hubby have opened up their home to me, I will be equally as appreciative to get the heck out. I don’t imagine living with a newly-wed couple is good for anyone, when it’s your mother it’s even worse.
My mother was telling me the other day that her neighbor was selling her house… my mother then went on to add the reason that she probably was selling it was because the walls were paper thin and she was tired of hearing the bedrooms on both sides of hers. I looked at my mother and said, “I really don’t need to hear anymore.”
She continued, saying the previous neighbor had said that he had heard my mom’s husband when they were dating. I cried out, “Mom, no more!” She looked at me and to drive the nail in just that much further she said that he had told her to think of it as a compliment to her. I left the room.
I have created a monster. My mother was never open about sex, until the last few years I became more open about it. My mother never even explained to my sisters or me about what sex was, or what periods were for that matter. All information was given to us by friends, because my mom was too uncomfortable to discuss it. Now she’s a regular Sue Johanson. Brilliant.
It’s not just the thought that potential love making might be going on two floors above me (thank God for three story townhouses), I am just ready to get out of here. They need their space and I need mine.
Yesterday I was doing laundry and while transporting my step-dad’s clothes from the washer into the dryer, I realized that a pair of my panties had gotten in with his wash. I was a little grossed out, but remembered that through the course of the wedding weekend many people in the family (including myself and he) used the office (a.k.a. my uber temporary bedroom) to change clothes (at different times) for various functions we had to attend. I assumed they had gotten in the mix there.
I told my mom later in the day that a pair of my panties had gotten into a load of his clothes, and when she asked me how that had happened, I explained the situation to her. She thought that was weird. I agreed, adding, “Unless you have the same black lacy pair of panties from Victoria’s Secret.” She looked at me and said, “Those are mine.” Completely grossed out I told her I had her panties hanging on the knob of my bedroom door.
So… yeah… I am going to start my new job tomorrow and I am going to be moving out of my mom’s house ASAP, before I find a french maid costume that isn't mine. Tip your waitress well, my friends, it may be me.
My mom’s wedding was wonderful on Saturday… excess amounts of family that I haven’t seen in years were greeted… my nephew topped us all my looking the best and almost stealing the show (he asked is mom for a faux-hawk for the wedding)… although my mother was a truly a gorgeous sight to behold. God I am glad to be back at home with my family. I missed them.
As I was re-visiting relatives for the duration of the day, I hardly drank anything, nor ate either. Once the wedding dwindled to a few family members left, my new sister, Winnie, her boyfriend, Miles, one of my oldest friends Michael (previously known as M&M), and I headed to the store. Somehow in my slightly buzzed state I thought five bottles of champagne seemed appropriate for us, after the dozens that had already been consumed throughout the day.
Our parents decided they didn’t care for any champagne. So the four of us sat at my mother’s our parents’ house and drank the remainder, while gifts were admired (I am still baffled that her neighbors bought her wind chimes, I find that’s comparable to my sister buying her own kids a drums set, but whatev…)
That’s pretty much all I remember for the night. I awoke Sunday morning in a strange bed, wearing my $12.99 Ross find (the dress that I received compliments on all day throughout the wedding). I had a large bruise just above my right knee and a bruise on my right palm (I have never bruised the palm of my hand before).
Realizing I was in Winnie’s apartment and had slept in her rarely-seen roommate’s bed, I wearily found the bathroom. While there I found a large “X” on the back side of each of my hands, obviously drawn on by a Sharpie. Confused, and trying to piece together the previous evening I looked into the mirror while washing my hands and saw my reflection, complete with a large black “X” on the side of my face. I had “fallen asleep” while resting my head upon my hand. Who’s gorgeous?
I went into Winnie’s room where she moaned herself awake as Miles (who didn't go out with us after the wedding festivities) hurriedly got ready for the family breakfast we were all supposed to attend. Needless to say, we didn’t attend. Instead Winnie pieced together an evening of me getting kicked out of the same bar three times (at that point I blame it on them).
The first time I was asked not to return was after losing my balance and grabbing onto her arm, as she sat on some guys lap. I pulled her onto the ground with me. She scrambled up, ensuring that her flower wasn’t shown to the drunken masses (as she wasn’t able to wear… undergarments… with her dress she chose for the wedding). Nothing says welcome home like my new 20 year old (with fake ID) sister pleading my 30 year old case to get back into the club… brilliant.
I paid her back though… oh yes… in true Drunk OCG form at the next club I got a guy to buy us bottle of champagne (because we needed more, I assure you). We left shortly thereafter and returned home (disclaimer: neither of us were driving) after the necessary drunk stop at Del Taco.
In between Winnie’s mad dashes to the bathroom Sunday (oh so ill) she looked at me and said, “The best thing that ever happened to you last night was you getting cut off. Be thankful.”
Miles later talked with her and said, “So is OCG moving back for good?” When she replied, “Yes.” his only response was, “Oh there’s trouble.”
How has that nickname followed me for so long? I don’t get it…