Monday, July 28, 2008

A Hippie Enigma

He was the first time I ever walked in somewhere and felt the hate from all the other girls in the room. I was that bitch that was with him. The gorgeous hippie.

He was anti-hippie and hippie in ever sense of the word. Looking at him it would be hard to peg him for anything but a surfer. Beach bum.

Beach bum he was. But it was hippie pulsing through his veins, not salt water.

Wavy blonde hair reaching just beyond his chin. Sometimes accompanied by chin hair, dark in contrast to his main. A svelte body that back that I thought might even make the gods envious. Tanned to perfection, with his pants always slung low, just at the point of that elusive v that every girl drools over.

Even the hemp necklace was of the surfer stereotype. Little did the girls know it was worn more for the hemp then the surfer mandate.

He was all about peace and love. And the drug that went along with it all.

Not that the drugs ever bothered me. Quite the contrary, it was a part of him. But it never changed him. Maybe that's why I didn't mind back then.

He was the newest in my long line of anti-relationships. We'd date for months, and then eventually stop calling or devolve into friendships. Except he was way more up-front about it than the rest. I knew within two weeks of meeting him exactly what it was. And I was ok with it.

It was the perfect friends with benefits. Minus a few hiccups.

Lazy summer days lying in bed watching movies. Perfect summer nights on the beach with good friends, guitar, and good times.

Yet everywhere we went, I could feel the hatred pulsing in my direction. Maybe it was more jealousy than anything else, but it sure felt like hate. It was a strange feeling. I had never felt that before, and that surprised me.

It's not like I never dated a gorgeous guy before. That I never walked into a room with his arm draped around my waist and saw all the eyes on me. But with him I felt it.

I could never explain that knot that formed in my stomach because of that. Mainly because it was fleeting. A minute later he'd be chasing me around the room, or giving me a kiss, or sliding his hand in my back pocket as he guided me towards the door. It was easy to dismiss it with him around.

He returned, fleetingly, with a short on-line conversation. Our tryst long over. No longer friends or benefits, having not been either for over two years. His heart was breaking from his latest love. Even at years younger, not even legal in the voting sense, she had his heart on a string and was seemingly pulling it up for one last heart-stopping show.

When he signed off, and I was drifting off to bed, it hit me.

I felt the hate because he was never even slightly mine. With other guys I at least had the pretense. The knowledge that just maybe they wanted me for more than just today.

Him, I had the distinct knowledge that he could just walk out that room with another girl. We were just friends.

It's not that I was in love with him. Farthest from it.

It was, that as a friend, I would have hated to not be chosen over a girl that could offer what I never could.

It's always been my fear. Still is.

When 21 Probably Means 12

The day started out good. Happy hour and dinner with a few of my coworkers. Nevermind that they all had kids my age - it was still a good time. I've always gotten along well with those older than me, near my parents age. Not that I've ever been best friends, but being one of the youngest in my extended families lent me to be one of the last ones still living at home while everyone else had "grown up". Enter many weekends where I was the only one around under the age of 45 (minus the pets).

Night plans were set. I hadn't been downtown in so long. The surgery had damn near squashed my social life, and damn near my social energy.

Antigua is never my club of choice. To stereotype, it closely fits the mold that is clubs downtown that allow those under 21 to enter. But the website said free entry and free drinks, and since I was going with Stocking I was relegated to the likes of Antigua.

After a search for a free parking spot, because really - free entry and free drinks means nothing if you have to pay for parking, and walking the blocks to the club we are turned away. Well, not so much turned away as told it would cost $15 for both of us to enter.

Screw that. I'd rather get drunk at home. THAT'S free.

On the way to Antigua we got peppered with flyers for a thing Dragon Room was having. After the notorious night that they were charging girls over 21 $10 to get in, I had some evil feelings towards the establishment, but figured it was worth the effort before scratching the night.

Oh what a well placed afterthought can do for a girl.

I asked one of the bouncers what the cover was. He looked at me with a confused look on his face. Seriously, I thought bouncers were supposed to know that stuff. [I guess he's never in charge of the money.] He turns around to a co-worker, and before he can utter the question that guy steps up.

"Dude, anytime hot girls ask you how much cover is tell them it's free." As he shows us into the line to get carded and enter, free of charge.

[In hindsight of the day after, there's a good chance we got in free because the club was rather empty. But I prefer to stick with the thought that we really were looking that good, and well, the rest of the night tends to agree with me.]

The first guys that approached us were, well lacking in pick up skills to say the least. I mean, the worst way to warm up a girl is to point out the obvious. It was entertaining to see how much abuse they put up with. It was a lot. At least it made me smile.

The next was British fellow. He was here on vacation, but had knowledge of a pick-up artist convention going on at his hotel. Strange for him to have that knowledge. I honestly had this feeling that he was trying out those techniques on us (though he insisted that he was not part of said convention), but harmless fun is indeed just that.

After that, and some clever times between Stocking and myself, two Argentinean guys came up to us. We obliged more for the opening offer of drinks more than anything else. [I'll fully admit that I do this sometimes - but only with guys I'm not interested it. No girl ever turns down free drinks, well, if she's drinking.]

We ran off to the dance floor, as I managed to get Stocking pretty drunk. [She's such a light weight.] I spotted a cute guy, and put to the test the theory that guys really can be easy to lure in.

All you need is a hot girl friend, a good song (say Katie Perry's "I Kissed a Girl"), and a good sense of humor. Enough guys will be looking soon enough even without the requisite "lets make out" mentality of other females.

I pulled the cute guy over to dance, and his friend grabbed Stocking, and we dance. Much to my chagrin he was an awful dancer. Compounded by the fact that he just couldn't even take a guiding hip on how to follow the beat.

But he was cute. And they had a bottle in VIP. I was just out for a fun time that night. To recapture that bit of me.

I can't say I feel bad about going out and getting free drinks from guys I'm not totally interested in. I don't make any pretenses. When I'm out for a fun time, I have it - and make sure the people I'm with are too.

And man was it fun.

I think part of it was seeing Stocking in that element. In some ways she reminds me of myself when I was younger [wow, I'm really old enough to say that now]. Though she wasn't in as much of the party scene as I was freshman year, so I still have a bit I can teach her.

The night ended with an invite back to their "after party" and a lively political discussion on the ride back to the "party".

There really wasn't a party. Just the group we were dancing with back at their house. One still drinking, the other back with his ex, and the guy I was dancing with off in a dark room talking to someone in a room.

At that moment I remembered why I usually turned down the after party. No party starts at 3 am, only the parties that are still going at 3 am are worth heading to.

We left. Stocking just wanting to sleep, and me missing Abz like I probably shouldn't right now.

The next night I was getting sent insulting texts from a number I didn't know. The guy from the night before was the only one I have given my number to in the last month.

The insults stopped with my last response.

What are you? 12??

Sometimes the night really should just end as a fun, anonymous night in the lights.


Thursday, July 17, 2008

Is It Ever REALLY Circumstance?

I wouldn't say I've been a funk as of late, I've actually been rather content, but at the same time I seem to be rather aware of my unproductiveness.

I can't think of the last time I picked up a camera and took some photos. I got a tablet pen for my birthday five months ago and have yet to use it to edit any photos. While I maybe I haven't been in a position to take photos of myself because of my surgery, after the first week or so I was fully capable of going out and taking other photos. Yet I sat around and did nothing. I love photography.

Am I forgetting my love?

I need to get out and take some photos, but this lack of energy that has accompanied my restrictions from the surgery is seriously hampering that. Or, at least, that's the excuse I'm giving myself.

Now wakeboarding, that I can truly pass off that it's not my fault I'm not doing it. [But that excuse doesn't work for the month before my surgery that I didn't ride.] I want to just go out and hang out on the boat. Just to be near it all. But I can't decide whether that would do more harm than good. Maybe I should get out and take some pictures of people wakeboarding. Though, then I would have to call around and find people that are wakeboarding - and not being able to wakeboard myself, the motivation really isn't there.

For the last month, I've pushed aside things I love because of this surgery. It's an excuse I cling onto like nothing else. But is it really an excuse? Three weeks later - is it really hampering me that much anymore?

Probably not, but the few limitations it imposes really takes a hit on my psyche.

It all leads me to wonder - how many of the obstacles we face are really just put there by ourselves???

I can't wakeboard, but nothing's stopping me from watching others wakeboard - as long as I stay out of the water.

I have no excuse for the photography, and honestly that makes me the saddest of all.

If this is what it's like to have a full time job. I don't want it. Though, I would never take a full time job with this long of a commute. Even cutting that commute in half would give me a lot of time to things I want. [Yes, it's that long of a commute - an hour each way.]

I can't wait for class to start again. I may still have to get up as early, but I get done with stuff so much earlier. I can actually get on a schedule - and make myself stick to it.

I'm making my to-do list now. Wakeboard, exercise, write, play basketball, photography, read non-text books, and whatever else I want to do.

I swear, I'm going to stick to it FINALLY.

Well, at least in September I will.


Thursday, July 10, 2008

Maybe Being a Little Bit Bitchy Isn't That Bad

Ok, so maybe I'm not entirely being bitchy. I rarely have it in me to keep it up that long - at least with most people. [*ahem* V and other jerk-wads not included.]

But it always irked me. I had bitch moments, I was not a bitch, yet it was the bitches that had the boyfriends. The bitches that some how roped the guy that I wanted. The bitches getting married and the bitches being adored.

Basically, the bitches got everything I wanted and I just got to sit around perplexed that guys actually wanted that.

So the easy conclusion was that if I became a bitch, then I would get that.

But I could never do that.

I'm a bitch only when provoked. Sometimes the provocation isn't worth a bitchy reaction, but I was still provoked.

In reality, it boiled down to the fact that I couldn't swallow being something I'm not just to get a boyfriend. I like my clothes, and the vast majority of the time I enjoy the skin I am. No need for me to change scenes.

Besides, I honestly can't respect someone that would allow themselves to be treated that badly.

The few times I've been yelled at in public by a guy trust that we were very close to a break-up. Without well needed graveling and a serious attempt at never doing that again, I would not have stayed. It's just not right to treat someone that bad in public. Fights in private might get bad, but at least no one sees it.

And I hate being bossed around myself, why would it be acceptable for me to do it to someone else? Any guy that's trying to be in a relationship with me knows pretty soon off to not cross me when I want to hang out with my friends or tell me to stop seeing my guy friends. I just won't stand for it.

Yet, I did find that sometimes being bitchy gets you what you want. Luckily, since I don't act that way often, I'd like to think that I didn't come off that bitchy. Or maybe he just wanted to do what I was demanding and was happy to oblige.

I hadn't seen Abz in over a week and was quite frustrated with him. While I wouldn't blame him if he was sincerely busy (I later learned a friend from out of town was visiting all weekend) not hearing from him was not cool. I don't care if he's not a phone person.

Seeing as almost every other guy I've dated has decided to give me the brush off by just randomly picking a day to stop returning my calls, I was caught in the grip that maybe that was what was happening. Not that I had tried to contact him, but he blew me off of sorts and we always hung out on the weekends. So this was cause of concern.

I finally got over that awful, regurgitated feeling, and decided to at least contact him before condemning him to blowing me off.

He wasn't, but was going out the night I contacted him (with said friend from out of town).

So I employed my bitchy side the next day.

Hey - just so you know you're coming over tonight.

Lol. Ok.

Call me after work or when you're heading over so I know when you're coming.


And, miraculously [as a part of me was thinking he'd be a no-show], he showed up and was his same old self. Taking me in his arms and giving me a kiss.

Now that that's settled, I guess I have more important notions to entertain when it comes to him.


Saturday, July 5, 2008

Creating Holes

What's with relationships? It seems we almost instantly forget any "lessons" we have learned the instant we meet someone new. It's like the ADD kid who see something shinny...completely forgetting about the scars from the last shine.

After every heartbreak we swear not to get attached again. To fill those holes ourselves to avoid feeling that empty void again. All in order to avoid the lost feeling.

Sometimes I believe that I actually have the strength to do that. If I'm on my own long enough, the sting of being alone rarely shows it's head. I make myself happy, and find my fun in my friends. I rely on myself and I can take care of myself.

It's funny how that can instantly change. Imperceptively so.

You don't see it happening - it creeps up on you. At first you're still on your own. It's a fun encounter, but you're still on your own and you know it.

Then little changes happen and the phone call starts making you smile. You become accustom to the kiss on your forehead goodnight. And soon you feel most comfortable wrapped up in their arms.

And then it's gone. It wasn't even around for much more than a month, but it's left so many holes it's aching.

The smile takes ten times more energy to appear than before. The silent night keeps you up instead of putting you to sleep. It feels like learning to walk all over again, even though you swore you never wanted to be here again.

Here is where you find yourself.

Some place you always hated when you were there, and never wanted to return.

Can you ever do anything to keep those holes from disappearing? Or are the imperceptible changes always going to happen??


Tuesday, July 1, 2008

A Rare Occasion for Me

Since I am in no way thinking of or anywhere near prepared for this....

But I get bored as hell at work and have taken to reading other people's blogs and I came across this one of a mom and she was trying to decide what to name her kid. They already had the last name (of course) and settled on the first name, but the middle name was up in the air. There was one name in particular that they had taking a liking too, but weren't sure if they liked the initials.


And my first thought was Andrew fucking W. K. that's the coolest initials ever!!

Well, one of.

And to top it off the first name of the kid actually is Andrew. It's like the perfect initials.

At least for a fan of Andrew W. K.

And a though crossed my mind...Wouldn't that be the coolest thing to give your kid that initials. Maybe by then no one else would remember him, but you'd know and smile from it. Plus you'd have a reason to introduce your kid to that music, and, well, who doesn't like to party hard?

I mean, I love Andrew W. K., but it's not like naming your kid after Britney Spears. They majority of people my age maybe don't even know his name. And it's not an exact copy. So it would be a perfect way to make *me* happy and not place my kid up for ridicule for the rest of his life.

See, I'm compromising for my maybe-but-possibly-never-who-knows kid already. I'm all mature like.

[I'm forgetting the part where I'd have to marry someone who's last name starts with K for this whole thing to be played out.]

Mark this as one of the few occasions that my 22 year old self even allows herself to think about one day having kids.


Monday, June 30, 2008

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

So I had my surgery this past Thursday, and had grand plans for the downtime.

Of course, this all started with the idea of having a clean room. Which I did not have, and could not bother me much as I was incapable of cleaning up.

I was given vicodine for the pain. While it did great wonders for the pain, I didn't really feel any other effects that are touted. Well, except for getting incredibly nauseous at me second dose. [Thankfully after I ate I was fine. I think I would have cried if I couldn't take the pills.]

Abz stayed with me all day Thursday until I had to leave (actually, I left him half asleep in my bed). I called him to tell him things went well (after I called the 'rents and B - hey, B was the one most concerned about this whole thing and I didn't want to forget calling him. I knew I'd remember to call Abz) and he was getting to play soccer.

I texted him to come over if he wasn't working (or after work) if he wanted and almost five minutes later the nausea hit like a train and I texted him to come over because I felt like shit. He asked if he could eat first, and I obliged - seeing as there wasn't much he could do for me feeling like crap other than comfort me.

That was pretty much the most exciting part of the weekend. Not realizing how sore my back would be (or that, while the vicodine knocks out of the pain it just doesn't quite work if you put a good portion of your weight against it) I couldn't type or read as those activities would require me to lean against my back.

No, I was confined to laying on my stomach or on my side (which even that had its limitations) and it was not conducive to my master plan. It seems someone doesn't want me to catch up on my writing - as I just refuse to do it through that much pain.

I had my bandages removed for the first time last night. I almost got as sick as when they were closing me up.

I sincerely hope that does not happen tonight. I fear that if I continue to get that close, I will eventually throw up.