everything but nip

Conversation with someone in the office.

"I love it when you do that." He says with his eyes focused directly on my cleavage. I look down at my chest and discover I am showing everything but nip.

I immediately sit up straight in my office chair and laugh as I pull up my baby doll tank top. "I honestly had no idea I was doing that."

"You do that about three or four times a day. It's like they get to be too much for you and you just need to rest them on the desk."

"I'm not resting them on the desk. I'm thinking deep thoughts...and just being lazy all hunched over in my chair ."

"I never said I mind."

Today, same person, different conversation.

"I would just like to say how disappointed I am with your selection of tops today."

T-shirt, no cleve.

"I was going to wear a similar top as yesterday, and do the everything but nip bit again, but I decided I need to mix it up and keep it surprising."

"You just want to keep your adoring fans around you."

"Pretty much."

deep like a puddle

Saturday night I went out to dinner with a co-worker. It was a very nice dinner in an up-scale establishment. However, the night ended too early for me and I decided to hit a few bars on my way home for a few more cocktails.

Bar number one I've been to a few times, but apparently on Saturday night it turns into a dance club. A country dance club. A place where they take their yee-haws and line dancing seriously. I could not take it seriously. I could only sit at the bar and be embarrassed for those who were taking it seriously. One cocktail down and I was out the door.

Bar number two is a small (blue-collar, neighborhood) establishment. I walk in and find an empty spot at the bar and order a drink. In the course of sipping my beverage I take a gander around the place. I am one out of four females in the place. Two of the other females are the bartenders and the third woman is married and not on the slim or attractive side. I suddenly feel very watched. But, I can deal with this. Just let me drink my beverage and enjoy the night.

...

..

(Sigh)

The man to my left moves a bar stool away from me as soon as I sit down (I must have cooties.) I turn and smile at him and I go back to my beverage. Several minutes later I still feel his eyes on me (creepy.) I again, turn and smile at him and go back to my beverage.
Several minutes later he turns to me and says, "I need to tell you that you are a very attractive woman and you have amazing eyebrows. But I have a girlfriend" Only he says it like this, "IneedtotellyouthatyouareaveryattractivewomanandyouhaveamazingeyebrowsbutIhaveagirlfriend." and then like Flash Gordon, he is gone (zoom!)

Um. Thanks.

Then I have a man to my right who is trying to make conversation with me. I am trying to ignore him. Why? Because the conversation is very one-sided (his) and he is drunk (very.)

New man to my left is also talking to me. Conversation is better, but still one-sided (his) and he is not drunk (yet.)

I now have my back to the drunk man, but he isn't getting my subtly as he keeps pinching my elbow and poking my arm (that's the way to make friends and influence people) to get me to turn back to him. I (politely) answer his questions then (subtly) turn my back on him.
New man is engaging me in conversation (his) and buying me drinks (yah!) Drunk man pinches my elbow one last time (it's like a bad tennis match) and asks if he can take me to dinner this week. I (politely) tell him no. He (drunkenly, complete with slurred and pronounced speech) asks why. I tell him because he is very (sloppy) drunk and chances are he won't remember who I am or that we even had this conversation in the morning, so thank you, but I am going to have to say no. He (slurriedly) refutes my claim that he won't remember this conversation in the morning, but doesn't refute the claim that he is drunk. He then continues to talk to me while my back is turned and I have stopped trying to be subtle. (Mean? Perhaps. But do you blame me?)

New guy is at least not drunk, but keeps pointing out how talkative he is and how he is ruling the conversation. Yet he doesn't let me get a word in nor does he offer any questions to me. In fact he didn't even ask me my name until we were hopping off our bar stools and walking out the door. After the bar closes I thank him for the drink and I shake his hand good-bye in the parking lot. (Polite.)

On my way home I stop at the local Gas and Sip for a greasy hot dog (Never, ever a good idea.) I notice one of the men outside the doors, as one of the gentleman I spoke to briefly in the bar (I would have liked to actually speak with him, but drunk man and talky man made that impossible.) As I get out of my car he asks if I am following him. I tell him I thought he was waiting for me. A few more flirts as I walk inside. I buy the (never, ever a good idea hot dog) and leave. A few more flirts later and I get in my car and I leave him with a wink and a smile as a good-bye.

That was the highlight of my evening.

God damn I miss Greece.

unsecure security

I'm sure most of you have heard the big news story about the guy who apparently didn't know he had a prescription resistant strain of TB and went on his scheduled marriage and honeymoon in Europe thus perhaps putting hundreds of lives at risk. He is now under a guard lock-down quarantine. I know, I know. He hadn't gotten the test results back and he swears he felt fine and best of all he wasn't even coughing while on his trip.
Whatever.
The new news coverage is about airport security and how a person in his (apparent) state of health could have even gotten on the plane in the first place.
Let me tell you how: security is none-existent and I'm pretty sure the security personal are under-paid, over-staffed, poorly fed, disgruntled, and simply following some sort of government protocol that no one really understands or even cares about.
I was going to do a write-up on the many airports I visited and list the best and worst in terms of security, friendliness, cleanliness, bathrooms, and what they have to offer fellow travelers in terms of food and entertainment and such. Well, why wait. I'll do it now.

Home state was the friendliest, cleanliest, and most willing to help a confused and nervous traveler. Then again I was at home state's airport at 4:30 a.m. so perhaps they were just fresh and clean from a good night sleep and hadn't been through the hell of a day yet.

Detroit: Definitely the coolest in terms of neon lights and distractions to keep a stressed person in a stoned and awe struck zone.
Friendliness: The Starbuck girl was lovely. The ticket counter person, not so much.
Security: Not sure as it was a transfer.
Bathrooms: Disgusting and small. Barely room for a person let alone for a person with luggage. I'm also guessing the last time they were cleaned, and don't let the trash can, bucket, and mop fool you, was around 1986. Ew.

JFK (I was there four times): What a joke. By far the most lax security I encountered and I was there four times both for domestic and international travel. Detroit-JFK, JFK-Frankfurt, Frankfurt-JFK, JFK-Boston. The thing they seemed most upset about on the international flight was that I had stepped over the yellow line while waiting in line. My bad.
When I stepped over the yellow line (when it was safe to do so) and showed the man my boarding pass and passport I kindly asked him how he was. His response: "I hate my job and I'm having a horrible day, but I'm glad you're having a good day." (Smell the sarcasm on the last sentence. It's pungent.)
Safely past him I then went to the carry-on security. I put my bag on the floor to get all of my oh-so-dangerous liquids that were safely under 3oz. We were chatting with each other and I then start to go through security when she asks if she has seen my boarding pass. I tell her she had and she gives me the okay to go through. Now, I had shown her my boarding pass, but really, should she take my word for it?

Customs: He didn't even look at me. He opened my passport, stamped it, and sent me on my way. It was so fast I asked if that was all. He assured me it was. Apparently I am not a threat nor do I look threatening. This is a good thing.

Domestically: I was pretty much breezed through security.
Shopping: A lot of high-end stores.
Food: Not a lot of variety and of course, expensive.
As I was 5.5 hours delayed in Frankfurt I missed my hotel and "slept" in JFK. However, I had (or wanted to) get to the terminal for my connecting flight. Luckily I had met two men who missed their flight to London so we trekked to the terminal together. The terminal was shut down due to construction and we were locked outside. That would be outside of the airport at 2 a.m. The helpful maintenance workers said we needed to walk around.
Walk around we did. I made the comment to one of the displaced travelers that I felt like I was Steve Martin in "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles."
Bathrooms: Not clean. I didn't really want to touch anything. However, after spending the night at JFK I most certainly had to. I took a "shower" in the sink and there was apparently only one stall that anyone was willing to use and it was behind me and my sink bath.

Also, on all my domestic flights there were announcements that the security alert had been raised to orange, but there wasn't any indication as to why or when. Personally I feel the whole alert system is a joke and nothing more than the government pretending to do something and to constantly remind us of 9/11, but that's just me.

Frankfurt (I was there twice): Good god whatever you do, don't mess around or smile in Frankfurt. I had 45 minutes to get from gate 12 to gate 42. There were only 44 gates in the airport and go through security. Oy.
All metal items need to be placed in the tray. Walk through the metal detector and each person is also gone over with a wand. The pat down and metal detecting wand was so thorough I needed a cigarette afterwards. I accidentally left a bottle of water in my purse. I realized my mistake as soon as I put the purse in the tray and it was going down the conveyor. I was pulled to the side. My bags were searched and when the devious and dangerous water bottle was found I was told to drink it. When I declined, I was again told to drink it. I took the bottle, but didn't drink from it. I was then, very forcibly, told to drink it. I obeyed. As I was drinking the hot and gross plane water it was ripped from my hand and thrown away. I really believe Mr. Frankfurt security guard was sad I didn't die from the hot and disgusting plane water.
Friendliness: Return flight was better than going, but don't expect smiles.
Bathrooms: Um, Yeah. There was a thorough hand washing afterwards.
Flight/plane: going, it was awesome. The flight crew was exceptional, then again it wasn't a full flight and perhaps they were able to give extra attention and care to everyone. Coming back it was horrible. The flight was nice, but there was a 5.5 hour delay and everyone pretty much had to fend for themselves in terms of water and such. Also, the delay was because the air conditioning was broken and it took several hours before they opened the doors to let some air in and then for whatever reason they were closed again. I was so parched and thirsty by the time I arrived in JFK I would have committed sins for some tasteless clear liquid.
Ease of getting to and fro: Bad. Moving sidewalks that last for only about 50 feet and too many people simply standing in the narrow walkway to try and pass one another.

Athens (I was there four times): No big deal. Check-in, check-out, put bags and liquids in a tray, walk through the metal detector.
Bathrooms: clean.
Friendliness: Eh, not overly so, not underly so.
Shops: A decent selection of places to shop and to eat.

Mykonos: I was only dropped off...the airport was pretty much empty except for my flight that had just arrived.

Santorini: For a smaller airport the security was pretty good.
Bathrooms: Funny moment: Hands are lathered up I go to wash off the soap and....where's the water? Where's the faucet? Why isn't the water coming out of the faucet? I'm moving my hands under the faucet because I think it must be a laser sensor. I'm looking all over the place. This is going on for a few minutes and a few people have walked in to the bathroom and I've asked them for help. They either don't understand me or they simply are mean, because no one helped me. I'm truly starting to panic at this point. I can't get on the plane with white foamy soapy hands. SOMEBODY HELP ME! A lady then points to the floor. Oh. There is a button on the floor that I need to step on to activate the water. Clever!
Shops: There are a variety of shops and places to eat.

Boston (I was there twice): Security was standard. Basically if a person either doesn't have any dangerous liquids 3oz or under they are pretty much safe and secure to board the plane.
Friendliness: Information desk was most helpful.
Cleanliness: Spotless and I was there both in the a.m. and the p.m.
Shops and such: A wide range and variety.
Ease of getting to and fro: No problem. Drop off and pick-up is a bit congested, but that is to be expected.

Minnesota: Security: Don't know as it was a transfer.
Friendliness: The staff was a bit stressed because of delays and such.
Cleanliness: Spotless.
Shops and such: Whether a person would want a meal, or face soap, stamps, or a hunting license, a stuffed animal, or a beer just go to the airport. The place had everything to the point of ridiculousness...everything.
Ease of getting to and fro: I had to go from Gate C to Gate G in terms of the alphabet that doesn't seem far. In terms of an airport, it's a long ass way to go. However, there wasn't a problem. Many moving sidewalks to help with luggage and tired travelers. Many massage chairs to ease tired and sore muscles.

I realize I haven't been everywhere. However, in terms of recently traveled planes, flights, persons, and airports I think this is a pretty good range of what to expect which is that unless it's Frankfurt, security isn't secure.

(some) pictures from (part) of my trip

I am (slowly) (very slowly) getting all of my pictures downloaded onto flickr. If flickr would let a person download more than six pictures at a time it would go much faster. Just a guess. (Or if I didn't have four hundred pictures to download I would already be finished.

Anyway.

Here are some of the pictures. I will try to get the rest of them on here shortly as well as some of the stories I do have to tell.

I already miss it.

(sigh.)

Fenway Park
Boston: North End
Athens: Lunch in the Palka
Athens: Archaeological Museum
Athens: The Streets of the Palka I was told by GirlGoyle that Athens is: big, expensive, and dirty. I completely agree with that statement. Take New York, times it by 10 add more dirt and pollution and that was my impression of Athens.
Athens: Zeus' Temple
Santorini: Volcano hike and boat cruise
Santorini: Fira
Mykonos
Delos

I will try to get the rest of my trip and pictures and stories up in the next week. (I am going in reverse. Boston was at the end of my trip and Delos was my last day in Mykonos.)

I still can't believe I went and I really can't believe I came back. (Seriously.) However, every time the wind blows I feel like I am back on the islands. Lovely.

oh yeah. I gradumatated

On May 19th to be exact.

I didn't attend the ceremony because of the hellish college experience at Small Private Expensive College and also because I was still sleeping when the ceremony was taking place. Ah, jet-lag.

Anyway. Yep. My head is officially over-edumacated and full of tons, of what I am sure will some day become useful kanowledge that has cost way too much money. However, my GPA was pretty decent, (3.481) not my goal, but all things considered (130 credits in two years, full-time job, two part-time jobs, a knack for going out.) (My goal was no less than 3.6, and I had maintained a 3.8 up until this last fall.) I should stop my bellyaching and just be glad it's over.

Ta Dah!

world traveler of airports

After two glorious weeks, I am back. Sadly. I can't believe I actually packed my bags and came home. Seriously.
I had an amazing, amazing time.
The first words after, "Welcome home, World Traveler" from my brothers and sister-in-law was, "...did you get laid?" I don't know whether to find those words, disturbing or telling. Either way, I didn't answer it. To which they all noticed. I will say that a single gal in Greece doesn't stay single for very long. The men are interesting to say the least, and I sadly discovered that Greek moves are the same as American moves. I'm pretty sure the first English words they learn are: "You are very beautiful, come back to my apartment, and I can drive you home." (Just a guess.) I received one marriage proposal, more hilarious than romantic, and learned to say, "I need to ask my husband." to the local male perveyors of shops who wanted to bargain and sell me their wears.

New York was fun. The weather wasn't the greatest when I was there, but I had a blast nonetheless. The Yankee game was cold, but a good time. I actually hurt my foot the first day of my trip. Something about walking from my hotel on E 51st all the way to 42nd street, all through Time Square and Broadway, back again and onto some side streets. However, I didn't let it stop me or slow me down during my trip. I walked everywhere and anywhere in all places and enjoyed every glorious and delicious second of it.

Mykonos was amazing and breathtakingly beautiful and my hotel was literally right on the beach. Man, that was tough. By far my favorite place on the trip.

Santorini was marvelous and I climbed to the top of a volcano and dove into the cold, cold sea without a second thought of the temperature or of what might be swimming underneath me.

Athens was big and bustling. Frustrating moment: the metro was on strike my second day there so I hoofed it from one end to the other...literally.

Boston is my kind of town and I need to go back this summer when the weather is nicer. (Very cold and rainy.) Fenway Park and Red Sox fans, what to say, but I loved every freezing second of it.
I found the town to be very laid back, very welcoming, and I drank a few pints in the hopes that it would warm me up. You know the theory: cold beer, warm thoughts.

After seventeen airports, nineteen planes (two planes were broken. If it is between a delay or flying in a broken plane, I will take the delay every time.)(That figure it no exaggeration. Seriously, it was that many. I was SO very sick of my luggage and security.) A odd moment with security in Frankfurt, in which I think the guard was sad I didn't die. Four hundred and seventy-two pictures I am still uploading onto my flickr account, and many misadventures, and many stories to tell, I am already dreaming of my next trip abroad. However, Greece and the islands are still very much in my heart and in my mind. Truly, truly wonderful. Absolutely my solace.

I will post more and tell some of the stories and post the pictures in the very near future.
My summer is already proving interesting and it will only become more so as it passes through the heat and humidity of the next several warm and breezy days and nights.

for everything else, there's visa

Tonight is my last class of my undergrad career. Tomorrow I pack. Saturday I leave on a early morning plane for destinations out of my home state. Color me glowing with anticipation.

One round-trip ticket from home state, to Detroit Rock-City, to NYC to Boston, back to home state =$327.00.

A steal of a deal for a hotel for the weekend in the heart of Midtown Manhattan = $400.00.

Seats on the first base line at a Sunday afternoon Yankee game =$66.00.

Eight nights in Greece. Including three nights in Mykonos, three nights in Santorini, two nights in Athens, including airfare, hotel accommodations, and day-trip excursions= $2,414.64.

One night in a two-star hotel in Jamaica Queens, NY for nothing more than a bed and a shower= $172.00.

One night hotel accommodations in Boston, but finagling it so I will be there for two days and only four miles from Fenway Park= $99.00.

Seats on the first base line at a Red Sox game= $95.00.

Looking forward to taking a two-week break from life and forgetting about everything, priceless.

My life has been hectic, chaotic, emotional, and stressful.

I've finally graduated from college and this is my reward to myself.

I've worked one full-time and at least two-part-time jobs, donated plasma, recycled pop cans, and sold a lot of my material goods on half.com. Sometimes you just have to say, what the hell, and go for it. Plus, I'm really tired of putting my life on hold. For everything that red blood cells, recycled aluminum, Internet selling, and working for the man in the city- can't buy, there's visa.

I'll see you all in two-weeks.
Don't worry, the stories will be plentiful, the flirting will be abundant, the tan will be deep and dark, and the memory card on the camera, my heart, and my mind will be full.

inner dork: New York, Greece, and Boston

(oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I'm so excited!) (Why? Well, it is Inner Dork Thursday.)

Did you know…

New York:
There are 6,374 miles of streets in New York and 578 miles of waterfront? (I plan to walk (almost) every mile of it.)
John Hertz, who founded the Yellow Cab Company in 1907, chose the color yellow because of a study by the University of Chicago stating that yellow was the most recognizable color.
Bronx was named after Jonas Bronck who was one of the first to settle here in 1636, the Bronx officially became a borough in 1898.
Brooklyn: The Dutch were the first to settle there in 1640. Today Brooklyn is the largest of the boroughs.
Staten Island: Was originally discovered by Florentine explorer G. Da Verrazano.

Greece: Ah, I’m going to make you go to the link: It’s all Greek! I mean, it’s Greece, the factoids are long, varied, and numerous. Its been around awhile.

Boston:
Boston Common was the first public park in the US (1634.)
Revere Beach was the first public beach in the US (1896.)
Boston is referred as the “Cradle of Liberty.”
Boston Public Library was established in 1848 and was the first publicly funded municipal library in the US. It was the first to lend a book and to have a branch library.

No, concentration. No, attention span. No, concentration. No, attention span. No...

...what was I sayin'?

Last final and class of my undergrad career: Thursday night.

Days to finalize my independent study project: Two. Today and tomorrow. Of course, the web won't let me make any changes to the said project.

Last day of work: Thursday.

Leaving for the trip of a lifetime: Saturday. Early (very early) a.m.

Number of days to get ready for trip of a lifetime: One. Friday.

Yeah. I am so ADHD right now.

Ball, huge ball, of nervous and stressed energy.

Huge. Ball. Of. A.D.H.D. Energy.

Now. What was I sayin'?

the delicious warm humid air

There are many things I love about the start of warm weather:
Bare legs.
Fun summer shoes.
The first beginnings of sun-kissed skin.
Bare feet.
Raising my face up to the sun to catch a few extra rays.
Driving with the windows rolled down and my hair blowing this way and that.
Blinking and suddenly realizing everything is clean, crisp, green, and the brightest shade of blue.
The smell of freshly mowed grass.
Leaving my car behind and walking to and fro.
Working out in my summer solace and getting my hands dirty planting this summer's crop of flowers and vegetables.
Putting on last year's swimsuit and realizing I look better this year than last.
The smell of sweat and sex in the air.

but...
Last night I realized there is something else I love about summer.

Leaving Small Private College in my Mustang with the windows rolled down and old school Beastie Boys spinning in the CD player I am making my way home when a car of four young college boys meet up with me on the four lane highway. They pass me with ease and I can tell they feel victorious.
I can't let that feeling last for them.
I then pass them with ease.
They call sweet names to me out their window.
I stare straight ahead on the night road, the full moon guiding my way, as a sly smile crosses my lips.
We then play a fun game of, who can pass who.
They try to pass me on the hill.
I push down on the gas ever so slightly.
They try to pass me on the curves.
I accelerate.
The stay behind me for several miles.
They think they have an opening.
But to no avail, I again, accelerate slightly.
I let them pass me when I have to switch to another highway.
Cat-calls and whops and hollers travel from their open windows and into the lovely night air.
With a smile on my face, the beautiful moon in front of me and the Beastie Boys telling me there will be no sleep 'till Brooklyn I make my way home and realize summer is indeed in the air.

Karma, she's a bitch

Karma, she's a cold one. She can be a cold, cold bitch. So, remember this: about my "friend" Yeah. Her ass was 86'd yesterday. Interesting. It's pretty hard to get fired from where I work. It's also pretty hard to get on the bad side of my boss. She not only managed to do one of those, but both and many more. I've gotten the flip side of all the stories she told me from the people at work. I've also found out why and how she managed to basically 86 her own ass. Wow. I really need to pay attention to my gut and my intuition. She is a woman with issues. Several subscriptions worth.

On a happy note: the students gave me a surprise graduation party yesterday! Color me feeling loved. You know, when I am able to see the trees for the forest, life is good. Life is really pretty sweet.

inner dork: pure randomness

It's a purely random dorking today. It's madness! Madness, I tell ya!

So, without further ado. (I love how that sounds.)

Did you know...

In the 1940's, the Bich pen was changed to Bic for fear that Americans would pronounce it "bitch." (Stupid Americans.)

People didn't always say "hello" when they answered the phone. When the first regular phone service was established in 1878, people said, "ahoy." (Followed by a quick, "matey.")

The phrase "the boogeyman will get you" refers to the Boogey people who still inhabit an area of Indonesia. The natives still act as pirates today and attack passing ships. (Hmm, my Boogey man lived in my closet. Or in my nose. I can't remember which. It's definitely one or the other.)

The term honeymoon is derived from the Babylonians, who declared mead, a honey-flavored wine, the official wedding drink, stipulating that a bride's parents be required to keep the groom supplied with the drink for the month following the wedding. (Just a month? Really? I would think it would be/should be required for a much longer period. That whole "married" thing and all.)

The word constipation come from a Latin word that means, "to crowd together." (As in, my poop is all crowded together and it won't come out.) (Too, far? Did I go too far?)

In French, essay means "to try, attempt." (As in, I tried to attempt to meet the standards of my "mentor" when it came to my thesis, but I clearly failed that attempt.) (Not bitter.) (Not at all.)

The expression "What in tarnation?" comes from the original phrase "What in eternal damnation?" (Did anyone else have Yosemite Sam pop into their head?) (Anyone?) (Anyone?) (Bueller?)

Crack gets its name because it crackles when you smoke it. (So, where's the snap and pop? I guess Kellogg's was already all over that one.)

The word curfew originated from an old french word that means "cover fire." (As in, if my ass didn't make it home by curfew it was going to be covered in fire.)

That's all folks!

you can take the girl out of the party, but you can't take the party out of the girl

Last night was the do-over birthday. All I have to say is, god damn. God damn, but if only we could have do-overs on more things. Wouldn't that be awesome? I mean, remember as a kid when you did something wrong, or didn't hit the ball...anywhere, or when you went to kick the ball and your foot simply went over the ball? Man, you got a do-over. After last night I think I'm going to have more do-overs in my life. Even if something doesn't really need or deserve one, I'm totally going for it.

The night started out awesome. Which, considering I wasn't crying, being yelled at for something I didn't even do, or driving home in tears and falling asleep in tears, really how bad could the night have been? Anyway. The peeps from work took me to one of my favorite places. The bought me dinner and drinks and we had a lovely time. There was and is a torrential rain storm happening so I didn't drink all that much as I have enough trouble seeing at night in a torrential rainstorm without adding drunk to list. Oh, no. Waited until I was closer to home before I added drunk to the list.

I stopped at a new little bar close to home. There was a band...or rather a singer, doing cheesy covers and essentially making fun of himself (good times) and the bartender decided I was going to be his main source of conversation and entertainment for the night, thus he liquored me up quite nicely. Ah, lovely.

Very shortly into the night he asked if I would do a shot with him. Yeah. Twiiiiisssst the arm. Ow. Sure. "Jager, please." I knew I was in from that point on. Men are so easy. Or perhaps saying, "Jager" simply means, "...this girl can party and drink and I'm going to have fun with her..." Or perhaps it means, "Sweet! I'm not going to have to spend that much money after all getting her drunk..." silly. Simply, silly. Anywho. So we chatted and then a gay came up and told me I needed to join him and his friends. I passed. I mean, I was getting free drinks and more importantly, free shots. My ass wasn't going anywhere.

One shot was called: sex with (whatever the bartender's name was) when he asked if I wanted to know why, he said: "because it's more than a mouth full and it takes your breath away.."......aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand game on. More shots. More beer. The gays came after me and pretty much kidnap me to their table. Oh.MY.God. so much fun. Enough laughter to the point that I don't think I will need to do a sit-up for months my stomach hurt so bad. And they also plied me with free alcohol all night. We decided I will be joining them every Tuesday night from now on. They leave, I'm back to the bar. More shots, more beer. He made four shots, but only three people drank any, therefore I got two of them (was it my night or what?) Apparently this one was called: fuck me harder. Since I did two of them, of course my response was: "so I guess I get to fuck you harder, twice." Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd she's back ladies and gents. So yes, all-in-all the night was a good success. Home at 1:00, up at 6:19, to work 15 minutes late. Feeling awesome. See, all I needed was a night of laughter, flirting that leads to nowhere, and lots, and lots of free drinks. It's that simple. All a party girl needs is a good time party.

There was one slight Debbie Downer moment: one of the gays asked something about getting laid and if I was seeing someone. I replied, he is leaving for London tomorrow (meaning today)..to which they asked, "so how long is he there?" "Oh, that'd be, forever. Yeah. He's gone, forever." I'm not going to lie. They got a little forklempt. I, did not. For that, I am thankful. Yes, PG, life does go on. Even if I don't want it to, it does.

freaks and geeks

After watching disc one of the brilliant, but canceled show, Freaks and Geeks this past rainy Sunday afternoon I got to thinking about high school and all of the glorious humiliation it brought forth. Truly, the show breaks it down quite nicely. If you weren’t part of the popular crowd, well then you were either a freak of a geek, for no other reason than the popular kids said so.
Nice.
When asked about my glory days of high school, I tend to ask people what they thought I was. The over-whelming answer is: cheerleader.
(Shudder)
So wrong.
I’m guessing it has something to do with my ability to cheer people on and my perpetually perky attitude. But, the truth is I was closer to the freak category. I was the artsy chick. The one who dressed in my own fashion statement, I was punk rock before it was cool to be. I was in all the school plays, and tended to have a, rather worn notebook and a pen in my hand at all times. My hair has been just about every shade of the rainbow and some not found in nature.
Thinking back to the fashion statement I was, my favorite item of clothing was one of my dad’s old work shirts. Now, my dad is over 6ft tall and around 300 lbs. Needless to say, I am neither of those. So a rather large and long, fitting old work shirt that I had painted the word, “What?” on...
Actually, it read like this
Wh
at
?
Complete with splatter paint and hand prints over the boobs. Yep, that shirt, a pair of black leggings and nicely worn pair of Chuck Taylor’s. Black, of course. I was drinking, smoking cigarettes and pot before it was the cool thing to be doing; therefore getting a reputation for something that everyone else was doing by graduation- I was simply making the bell curve for everyone else.
I was called a slut long before I even lost my virginity.
I was into spirituality, tarot cards, Ouija boards therefore, I was also called a witch and a Satanist. (Just made me roll my eyes and smirk. I mean, god. How lame.)(The kids in high school. Not me. I was cool. Have you not been paying attention?) I questioned just about everything that could be asked in the form of a question to the point that I am sure I would have made Alex proud and many questions that I made up myself. I was definitely one of the more popular kids, but looking back I still fell into the freak category.
Even today as I look at what I am wearing, as a grown-up I’ve been told by several people today that what I have on looks really cool: Long black silk peasant skirt, bright red Grateful Dead retro-t, black cardigan, black flip-flops with beaded flowers on the straps, hair down and tucked behind my ears, lots of funky jewelry: big, chunky rings (retro, of course) big chandelier earrings, bracelets that I made along with my standard minimal make-up. I can assure you if I was to step into a high school I would still be the freak that I was then. As a grown-up I am cool, hip, open-minded and non-judgmental- someone people can come to when they need a friend, an ear, a shoulder, a hug, a cheerleader to tell them everything will be alright. As a 17 year old I was a freak.
So, even though we can leave high school behind us, does high school ever really leave us? There are many times within any given week when a situation, a comment, a look, a word, can take me right back and leaves me thinking, “My god. This is so high school…sometimes even junior high.” The attitudes and the mentality, maybe even how we dress, it doesn’t seem to leave us.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly more fashionable, more confidant, and I would hope more intelligent than I was fifteen years ago. But somehow after watching four hours of a high school TV show that seemed to be more reality than drama, I realized I will not be attending my fifteen year reunion this summer because I am sure, to them, I would still be a freak.

How about you?

just sayin': internet and porn

Non-Disscript Male: You know, I'm surprised, considering how the Internet has taken off in the porn industry, that magazines like Playboy, Hustler, Penthouse and the like are still around.

PG: Well, people still have to poop.

NDM: True.

...and now it's time to hear about my birthday. Or why my life really does need to be a reality tv show

Monday night London left me. Tuesday was my big thirty-three. It was time to get my groove on and be fabulous.

At work all the peeps went above and beyond for me. Truly. They brought in lunch, unbeknown to me. They bought me presents, they gave me money for my trip, and they all wished me well. Color me feeling loved and special. Then some of my students who I am also friends-like with, and who when their eyes are bulging out of their heads and their bodies are all contorted with stress, I give back-rubs, back pats, and back scratches to all in an attempt to lower their pulse and heart-rate. Typically my comment during these de-stress sessions is: you know, you can reciprocate anytime, really. To one male student, I said when he was bent over a table moaning and groaning "...this isn't sexual harassment as you asked for it." and he replied, "If this is sexual harassment may it never stop..." Anyway, they bought me a 2.5 hour massage. Complete head, toe, face, scalp, body massage package. Two and half hours of pure bliss will be coming my way. When I thanked the, "...may it never end..." male he said, "...we really appreciate all you do for us and you really make a difference in our lives and all the help you give us everyday; It was the least we could for you...." Ah, what a warm-fuzzy heart-felt moment (don't cry.) So, the day was fab-u-lous.

There is a key-word in there. Day. The day was fabulous.

Oh, look. More foreshadowing.

That night Nick was taking me out to a five-star super expensive restaurant for my birthday. He was late and I sat at the bar and ordered a drink. A vodka cranberry with barely any cranberry. Ah, dee-lish. Nick shows up and is stressed. His new job is killing him. I ask him some questions about what he expected to what the reality has been. I thought they were harmless questions and I was truly just asking. He (we are now seated) told me "... we needed to change the subject because he felt I was attacking him and that I was throwing darts at him because how many ways can he say, no." At this point my eyes start to water and the tears are coming. I hate crying. I hate crying in public. I hate crying in front of people. I hate crying in a darkened movie theater, let alone in a five-star uber priced establishment. I hate how much crying I've been doing. I am trying my damnedest to stop.

To no avail. But the important thing is that I am trying.

He notices, asks why I'm crying, I tell him I'm not and to change the subject.

There is a table of four women sitting right (literally, right) next to us. They are talking about poopy diapers, vomiting children, piles of laundry and the like. Not pleasant, but I can ignore it. Apparently Nick, cannot. He leans over to the table, and rather politely, asks if they can keep it down as it is not a pleasant dinner time topic to listen to. I get a small (small) grin on my face, but don't really acknowledge it.

First there is stunned silence at the four-top all female table.

Then it turns to a murmur.

Then a grumble

Then a small boil.

Then a rolling boil.

Then the steam blows off the kettle.

They start with, "I feel sorry for your children." "May you never have any children." to "That is so rude and I'm tired of having to defend myself in public against people like that." All I'm thinking is, Nick is a 52 year-old gay man who has had the mumps, there is no hope of children in his future, but I keep it to myself. I'm also thinking, "..and I'm tired as a single woman having to defend myself against people like you." But again, I keep it to myself.
The rumble escalates to the point that they call their waiter over and tell him about us and ask us to be moved. The waiter says he will see what he can do. The grumble is now a full on rumble and I, being the person that I am and trying to save the night, a.k.a. my birthday dinner, turn to the table and say very politely, "Look, we're just...." thaaat's as far as I got because next thing I know I have a wild brunette Wilda Beast (I am naming her Wilda and she was a beast) with a manicured Barbra Streisand-esqu nail being pointed in my face screaming...no, really, literally screaming at me, "Shut the hell up! Shut the hell up! I don't want to hear anything you have to say, shut the hell up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"...at which point, I'm still trying to get out what I am trying to say, but it is squashed by the wild looking angry mom with the pointy fingernail, "What part of, shut the hell up, are you not understanding? Shut.the.hell.up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (I think, I don't know. Maybe if you spell it out for me I would understand it better. But I don't.) Just keep repeating, "shut the hell up!!!!!!!" over, and over, and over again as many times as you can in the next few seconds that feels like a prolonged nightmare...oh, and have tunnel-vision so as not to see anyone else in the five-star extremely expensive restaurant but, I'm pretty sure everyone was looking, or at the very least, was able to hear what was going on...just a guess. Wilda Beast was loud. And angry. She was a loud and angry mom on the edge. Talk about, poor kids.

So, the hostess comes over and tells us we are going to be moved. She has my drink and our menus....you take my drink and I will move wherever you tell me to move. Nick and I decide we are just going to leave. The hostess tells us she is going to move us to some place without anyone else around "...so we will feel more comfortable..." at which point Nick says, "So we are being punished." "Oh, no. Just making you more comfortable." I interject with, "You had to hear how she was screaming at me, yet we are the ones being moved." She ignores me. I take my drink from her hands. It cost me $10, which I didn't have, I'm drinking my drink whether we leave or not.

We are apparently not leaving. We are now seated literally, in the corner of the uber expensive restaurant. Oh, did I mention I was crying earlier? Yeah, so that stopped during the whole, shut the hell up finger pointing escapade, only to re-start once Nick and I were seated across from one another. I try to explain, or ask, about the whole, "attacking him" thing. To which he says, I was throwing darts at him...and it just goes from there. Tears start again. I go into the restroom to try and compose myself and to become the cliche' I hate. I'm now composed. Well, I thought I was. I sit back down at the table...only to start crying again. (I so hate being a female sometimes.) I try to talk to Nick, again, to see what is going on. I tell him I think he is stressed and angry and somehow it is coming back at me. To which he responds with, he thinks all my emotions are very close to the surface and I'm overreacting.

K.

I ask if there is a back way out of the uber expensive restaurant....oh, forgot to mention this: four-top table of women spot us from across the restaurant and point and laugh at us....that was my cue to leave out the back door and get in my car. Cry all the way home. Cry when I get home. Cry myself to sleep hours later.

My birthday night out consisted of: one vodka cranberry, sans cranberry that I drank in three gulps, one sip of ice water, and moving of the bread basket, twice.

I've had some pretty bad birthdays, but I think the night of my thirty-three just became number one on that list.

Just to recap why my, "...emotions are close to the surface..."

Nightmare that is known as school and everything that has gone on with school this past year.

Not getting the job which was promised to me and having to create a new life plan.

Working one full-time and two part-time jobs, yet still not having any money. (all still while attending school)

Friend stabbing me in the back yet still working with her.

Having another friend tell me he felt I was attacking him when I was only trying to understand why he was stressed out.

Saying good-bye to Mr. London less than 24 hours before.

My dream vacation starts in 14 days. Fourteen wonderful days I can forget about all of this and everything else and leave my life for two-weeks....more on this in a later post.

(After telling this story a few times at this point I am now laughing about the whole thing. Let's face it, if you can't laugh at crazy ass people then your ass is just going to become crazy.)

inner dork: some factoids about me

These questions come by way of the most lovely and fabulous, Bre.
Here are the rules, there is a five question meme going around and I asked her to ask me five questions for today's dorking. I had to answer the questions she asked me and post them.
If you would like me to ask you five questions, send me an email and then post the Q/A on your blog and then pass it on.
So, without further ado:

1. Would you rather be a superhero or a super villain? Why?

A superhero. They get to save the world and usually end up with the guy/girl in the end. Super villains may have more fun, but it's only until the superhero kicks their ass. Thus, the super villain goes away, a.k.a. dies, and the superhero lives on in infamy. I'm an infamy kinda gal.


2. What is the one product you would be lost without?

Hmm, hair gel? Burt's Bees chap-stick? Eyelash curler? Body lotion? Toothpaste? Soap? Bottled water? Birth control? Condoms? KY?...this is a tough one. Although the last three are very important to me as a single gal, without the hair gel, chap-stick, eyelash curler, mascara, body lotion, toothpaste, soap, or fresh water none of those three would matter. I think I will have to say, chap-stick. This could change by the time I'm finished typing. Damn. I forgot about contacts/glasses. Damn. Without either of those I'm done for. Unless as a superhero I would have super vision. Yep. I'm guessing I would. Okay, scratch the glasses...well, not literally, cause them I'm back to the, done for part of this post. Although, I always said if I were to do "Survivor" I would want chap-stick and a toothbrush. If I had a toothbrush I could go over my lips keeping them soft and supple. Toothbrush. Final answer. (maybe)


3. If you could live in a different era, what era would you choose?

This is a tough one, too. I can see reasons why I would be fabulous in so many different eras, but I think I am going to go with the 1920's. Although I would love to live in a different century, I also like clean water and personal hygiene too much to really be devoted to say, 1762 New England, for instance.

Why the 1920's? So much change was happening for women in general with person freedoms and voice in terms of household, education, personal and sexual freedoms, and government; I really think I would have been a pretty forceful and powerful voice during this time. I also think my forceful and powerful voice would have had eggs and various other sundry goods thrown at me, as well as have done some jail time. But it would have been all in the name of empowerment, so it's all good. Did I mention my minor is Women's Studies?

4. What's the best pick-up line you have ever heard?

Ugh. Isn't this an oxymoron? Here's a list of memorable ones: (Not saying they're good, just sayin' they were memorable.)

"That dress is very becoming. Of course if I was on you, I'd be cumming, too." (drink spit out and back turned on the person.)

"Did you wash your pants in Windex, cause I can see myself in them." (eye-roll and are you 19?)

"I like my spaghetti like I like my women, hot, naked, and buttered." (Smile and a laugh)

"I'm no fruity pebble, but I sure could make your bed rock." (Okay, that's pretty cute and clever. He got conversation.)

"The word for today is, legs. Let's go spread the word." (Eye roll and a an attitude.)

"So do I have to spend money buying you drinks all night, or can we stop wasting time and just go get the strawberries and whipped cream, now?" (What do you think?)

....and my all time favorite pick-up line is: "Can I buy you drink?" (Yes, yes you can. Is it going to lead anywhere? Probably not, but by all means, spend endless amounts of cash on me if you feel you must.)

...but truly the best pick-up line ever is simply....."Hello." Hello will get you further with me than any of the others, always. The others may get me to spit out my drink, or laugh, or make my eyes bulge, but "hello" will get you conversation, which is the best pick-up line, always.

5. Would you rather find a sweet, sensitive, stable man or a wild, passionate one to grow old with?
(Sigh) Can I have both? Not two men, but all of these attributes rolled into one man? I like sweet and sensitive and stable, but wild and passionate are fun, too and can keep the embers burning. Yet so can sweet, sensitive, and stable because I won't be worrying about him and what he is doing after-hours. How about a sweet, sensitive, stable man who has a wild and passionate side that only I am privy to and it makes me fall more in love with him each day. Each time he comes up behind me when I am cooking dinner and he catches a glimpse of my neck and the casual need to lay a kiss upon the arch of my skin is just the beginning in the long list of casual and thoughtful gestures he does on any given day.

This leads me to something: I love the simple gestures. Nice grandiose gestures are wonderful, but they are grandiose. I love the simple, unexpected gestures. For example, I'm in the kitchen cooking dinner and my hair is swept up thus exposing my neck. Without cause or reason the man in my life comes up behind me and gently kisses the arch of my neck. It's so sweet and lovely and I think it can speak volumes in terms of the relationship. Or same scenario, but instead of a kiss, grabs me around the waist and gives my body a squeeze against his and I gently lean back into his arms. Or when we are laying on the big, ugly, comfy couch and I don't even realize I have my legs draped across his lap and he is running his fingers up and down my calf. His head is in my lap and I am running my fingers through his hair or vice verse. It's those little everyday things that are effortless and come without thought that I long for, that make a relationship a relationship for me. (Sigh. Ah, memories.)

But I digress. If I could have all of the above with all of those attributes with a man whose interests are wild and varied, yet somehow we still have the important things in common so as to have endless days and nights of conversation and passion, I will be happy to grow old with that person in my life. And if he can also be a dork, then the rest is just gravy. Cause I do love a man who has some dork and some geek in him. I do. I really do.

I liked this. It was an easy way to tell you all some things about me that I would never think of. If you would like to ask me something or if you would like me to ask you five questions email me: partygirl99 at gmail dot com.

so anyway...

So, Mr. London is gone. Left very early this morning for his parent's house and then he will be in the land of princes, warm beer, and drizzly streets this day next week.

I am very glad I told him good-bye. Obviously. I needed the kick in the head (or ass, depending on which end you want) that ptg gave to me (she really is a therapy genius. Just sayin'.) I immediately called and left an, oh, so eloquent phone mail message for him. Then after a wonderful game of phone tag we made a date for Monday night. After a lovely dinner together and some much needed cuddle time on the big, ugly, comfy couch it was time for me to see him to my door one last time. Each time he left my apartment I always wondered when the next time would be that he would appear on the other side; Monday night was the last time for his entrance and exit from my apartment.

With his arm around me and my head on his chest I told him I will miss him. To which he replied, "I'm going to miss you, too, but it's not like I'm dying." Kind of put it into perspective for me, but to myself I thought, No, just going to London.

After we said our good-byes I walked him to my door, took his arm and told him I had something I needed to say to him. In my, oh, so un-eloquent way I told him what I had been keeping inside for four months. Well, almost everything. His head didn't technically explode, but I could clearly register panic on his face. Although he and I are very affectionate, cuddly, loving people, mushy sentimentality, we aren't good with. Our actions spoke volumes, but not always our words, what little sentimentality we did say, usually boomed with affection. I'll get better at expressing my emotions. (I'm almost sure of it.) (Pretty positive.) (I'm going to try really hard.) I took one last picture of us together, seeing as how he hates getting his picture taken, I had one chance, literally one shot, to capture our last moment together. He looks adorable. My mouth is open. He thought that was appropriate. Hmmmm. Apparently I'm gabby.

Anyway, the big break through moment came for me on Sunday. Once again crying without cause or warning; (been my typically Sunday since December) the reason I couldn't, didn't want to, wasn't able to find the words to express to him how I felt and what I wanted was because I was afraid that I would freak him out and then ruin what little time we had together, essentially I was afraid of losing him. The ironic part and what I hit myself upside the head with on Sunday was, I'm losing him regardless. No matter what I do or say, or didn't do or say, he is leaving. No matter what. London is not going to stop calling. Duh. Sadly or wonderfully, I didn't realize this until Sunday.

So, of course we promised each other we will keep in touch. Of course. I truly hope we do and I truly hope he shows up on the other side of my door someday, someday not too far into the future. I also truly hope I didn't miss a chance or an opportunity for happiness and for someone wonderful to be in my life. I don't think I did, but I guess the truth is I may not ever now. Learn it from me kids, fear is a bitch.

What I do know for sure is that I met, fell in love with, and had an amazing time with a man who was truly worthy. Worthy of me, truly. This is a huge thing for me. Sad that it took until I was 32 to find someone, but at least I did. I also know that I am going to be taking a break from dating. The next person who wants to date me is going to have some very big shoes to fill and will need to prove his worthiness to me in many ways. However, I know next time, when I'm in love again, that I won't be so afraid to say how I feel. I won't be so afraid to say, I'll go with you, or they can go with me. Wherever that is, I'll go with you.

So, you say it's your birthday...

Well, what do you know, it's my birthday, too!

I'm a whopping 33! Big, big things, and good, good, great fabulous things are going to be coming my way this year. I just know it!

the hardest thing to be in the world

...seems to be a friend. Not in terms of me being a friend to someone, but in terms of someone being a friend to me. Trust is the hardest thing for me to do, yet I seem to continue to trust the wrong people. Over and over again I find this to be true.
Sad.
I was recently betrayed by a girlfriend who I was very close with. She had become my “go to” person when I needed a shoulder, but easily so because we work together. I misjudge my trust.
Literally weeks ago I had confided in her why I have the issues I have with people and in terms of my relationships and why Mr. London has meant so much to me. Literally days later she betrayed that confidence and my feelings towards Mr. London.
As all things seem to be lately it is a very convoluted story, but the short of it is that she “found” all of his belongings on craigslist and then went to his apartment to buy some things.
She went over to his apartment that I know of, more than five times…to buy stuff.
She met his parents.
Something I hadn’t even had the chance to do. I was upset by this for obvious reasons, but specifically because I had told myself that if I ever met his parents I would thank them for raising such a good man. Obviously, I won’t, nor did I, have the chance to do that.
When I found all of this out, from him in a very excited way, because Gosh! What a small world and how random that a friend of mine would find and buy all of his material goods! I confronted her and told her in a very ballistic and then in a very calm and rational way how I felt about the whole situation. I wasn’t comfortable with it. I didn’t like it. I felt as if she was lying and hiding things from me, which only makes me believe more is going on. I firmly, plainly, told her to: not to email him, not to call him, not to buy anything else, not to contact him in any way. I told her this several times within the context of one phone call and then several times within the next several days.

Oh look. Foreshadowing.

Not only did she do all of the above, she also kept it from me again.
Hello. He is going to tell me.

Essentially she has become the other woman.
As a result I feel no differently toward Mr. London at this point than I do toward any other man I’ve been involved with. She has turned what I felt toward him into nothing. And I hate her for that.
I cannot believe the betrayal.
I would never treat someone who is supposed to be my friend in this way.
I would never treat anyone this way.
I feel it was all deliberate and I feel she did exactly what I told her not to do simply because I told her not to.
What kind of friend does that?
One that is no longer mine.
The sad thing is we work together.
The good thing is I think she will be quitting soon due to a reprimand she received last week.
The sad thing is Chris leaves this weekend….and I don’t care.
That…that is heartbreaking.

word origin: pussy

I know the dorking is a day late, but is it a dollar short? I was busy not working at work yesterday. I did however book my dream vacation. More on that later.


According to the Oxford English Disctionary, puss was used as a "call-name" for cats in both German and English, but pussy was used in English more as a synonym for "cat": compare "pussycat". In addition to cats, the word was also used for rabbits and hares as well as a humorous name for tigers. In the 19 century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, the meaning was extended "in childish speech, applied to anything soft and furry", as in pussy willow. In thieves' slang, it meant "fur coat".
(So what would a shaved one be called in slang?)

To pussyfoot around the question or point means to be evasive, cautious, or conceal one's opinions. The reference is to the careful soft tread of the cat and has no vulgar implications, other than obvious ties to weakness, which "pussy" sometimes connotes.
(Hey, my pussy isn't weak)

it's called a vagina

...or a pussy. Whichever you prefer. But please, no va-jay-jays, cooters, crotches, beavers, down-theres, who-whos, yum-yums, or ho-hos.

There are two things that make me wonder about a person: someone who can't be honest about their age and someone who can't say vagina (or pussy. Whichever you prefer.) Now, this can go for men just as much as it can for women. Well, actually come to think of it I don't know of any men who don't call their penis something other than a cock or a dick..there might be a few wieners out there, but I'm thinking by a certain point men, boys, stop calling their penis a willy and it suddenly matures into a dick and then suddenly it becomes a cock. (Somewhere around 21-23 years of age. Just a guess.) Yet, women never seem to out-grow the cute little nicknames for their vagina, why? I can see the va-jay-jays, and who-ha's, but the "down there" which is usually accompanied by a finger point and a whisper? C'mon. How insecure are you about your sexuality? Well, at least that's my thinking. It's called a vagina. (or a pussy) Do women call it their who-ha during their yearly? Do they whisper, "down there" to their lover? As in, "Honey, I really want you to eat me out "down there" tonight..." Down where? Australia? Seriously.

People who aren't honest about their age: Why? Whatchya trying to hide? What are they afraid of, ashamed about? That's my perception anyway. On a lot of the blogs I read or just in general people I encounter on a daily basis and age isn't mentioned, but it is referred to in a post, as "a critical moment in my years"..."or I'm approaching a milestone age-wise..." but then a number isn't given, well why not? I guess I think we should all be proud of our accomplishments and failures and any milestones we reach and achieve age-wise or otherwise, but that's just me. On the blogs I read that don't have very much info in way of profiles the thing I am most curious about isn't location, but age. Age tells a lot in way of commonalities and also when referencing something. If a person is talking about high school and the cool band of the day, well was it Loverboy, Winger, Journey, Nirvana, or New Kids on the Block? Kinda makes a difference in the perception of the conversation.

Same with vagina's and cocks. If someone calls their cock a willie or their vagina a cooter... where's the sexiness in that? I'm going to beat that willie into a cock and I'm going to shave that cooter into a pussy. But that's just me.

Imagine London

That's what my Travel magazine asks me to do, to imagine London. When I arrive in my apartment and riffle through my mail only to discover yet another reference to a land across the pond, I am irritated and I tell the magazine that lay upon my counter-top staring back at me as much. Actually, I yell in a very defeated voice, "I get it!" I am tired of all of the signs and references to some place that I am not going, but the man who I am in love with is leaving me for. I know I won't going with him, I know it is pointless to ask or even dream about, therefore all references to the land of fairies, goblins, castles, princes, warm beer, and misty streets can cease once and for all.

I throw the magazine on my catch-all known as my kitchen table and go about my days of fuzzy memories, all consuming thoughts about life and how it isn't working out, and the life plans that are all convoluted are left swirling in my head. But, that magazine cover won't leave me alone. Every time I go into my kitchen it stares at me. It's cover screaming at me telling me to Imagine London. Imagine London in all of her glory with the backdrop of Parliament in the warm glow of a sunrise, Imagine London. Grrrrrr.

I know what you're thinking, why don't I just throw it away? Cause I can't. I need to Imagine London, after all she is beckoning me, so why not entertain the thought, the visions, the chippy accents, strange money, cocky educations, smoky pubs, and damp days, why not torture myself a little bit longer? Plus, I still need to read the $3.95 magazine and see what the glory of London would behold for me. In short, I don't want to. I like the misery.

Finally after reading the article and flipping through the pages that I had dog-eared I throw it back on the catch-all. Then I throw it into the book bin catch-all, still visible, yet seemingly out of sight.

Then I start to do my own things. I apply for jobs at Harvard and Cornell. I start to look into grad school programs that are nowhere near here. I book and paid for my trip to Greece. I start to daydream again. I start to think and imagine a life outside of here, outside of myself, outside of my current life. I start to imagine London. I start to think about London for myself, by myself. I start to dream and think about the possibility of the impossible. Me, in grad school. Me, on my own somewhere else. Me, in a different job. Me, as an artist. Me, in Greece by myself. Me, in London. Imagine. And that's what I've started to do. I've started to believe in me again. To believe in my possibilities. To believe in the impossible.

I've always been my own best cheerleader, but I've also always been my own worst critic. I'm now becoming my own best cheerleader again. Mr. London was a positive force in my life in many respects. I fell in love for the first time. I fell for a really good man and not an ass like I normally do. I met a wonderful new friend who I've had a lovely time with over the past several months. But most importantly, without him even knowing or being aware of it, he made me believe in myself and he made me imagine things bigger and better than myself and outside of my world. I started to imagine huge things and changes, I started to imagine London for myself, in my own way and in my own dream, not piggy-backing someone else's dreams and goals.

I've been asked by everyone who knows the situation, "Why aren't you going with him?" Well, for one I wasn't asked, but I also don't think I'm supposed to, not yet. I think I'm supposed to go when it's right for me, when they are my own dreams, goals, possibilities that I am imagining, not someone else's. I look forward to that day and I also think it's a lot closer than even I know or could possibly realize.

where my ass will be in May

Greece.

Specifically my ass will be in Mykonos, Santorini, and Athens.

Even more specifically it will be there from May 7-17.

I paid for it last week.

Of course there is a convoluted story to go with the booking and finalizing of it, but I'm tired of the convolutedness. I'll just say, I didn't mean to actually book and pay for it when I did (there has been a definite mind, body, brain, awareness that has been lacking with me) and I proceeded to freak-out immediately following the point, click, paid process. See, I hadn't finalized with my prof if I could go. I had purchased the, "cancel for any reason" insurance. And yes, that is literally what it is called. But, believe it or not, I cannot, in fact, cancel for any reason. I just kept telling Abby, that was the girl on the phone who I was trying to be calm and rational with, that it really needed to be renamed cause something called, cancel for any reason leads me to believe that I can, in fact, cancel for any reason.

Anywho...

I'm going. Barring hell or high water, which the way my life has been going for the past several months wouldn't be a stretch, my ass will be on a beach, in the ocean, meandering through ancient ruins in May. I also really want to make a weekend in New York the weekend before I leave, but I need another $500.00 to make that happen. Any takers? Or I guess it would really be, any givers. Anyone?

Hello?

So yeah. As of right now and for the past couple of days I've gotten over myself and I am picking myself up. Of course there is a convoluted story to go with that as well, but I'll save it for another day.
Thanks all, for listening to me over the past months. Really, thanks.

an update to the update of an update, or I just want to graduate before I die

The one credit thingy: My professor couldn't be nicer. Well, he could, but...Anyway, he is going to teach me code and I am going to develop a website for my art work. I've had enough interest generated that I need to have a site to direct people to. So, the one credit thingy might actually turn out to be a good hassle to go through.

Last night: I am literally running to get all the signatures to have the independent study approved before I have to drive the hour to BPU. My advisor asks about the trip dates to Greece. I tell him. I then tell him Computer Science Prof is willing to give me an incomplete if I don't finish before my trip and I will finish the class upon my return.
He tells me, if the class isn't finished before May 19th (graduation day) I won't be a May grad, I will be a August grad.
...

...

Seriously?!?!?!?

I wasn't told that.

Obviously not an option. This whole getting a degree and simply trying to better oneself and oh, I don't know, graduate- seriously. Go through the steps, get the paper, get the debt, start paying. Ta dah! How difficult should that be?

I spent most of yesterday, before hearing this news, thinking maybe I shouldn't go. Pay off my car, pay off some debt, move.
In the one hour drive after hearing the new news from my advisor I decide this is what I will do.

I get to class and talk to my prof. He says, he didn't know about the deadline and I should go on my trip and we will get it finished in time.

Okay.

So confused. Things shouldn't be this difficult.

Needless to say I listened to Rage Against the Machine for two hours last night, both on my way to and from class. RATM is my, I've had a shit day, music.

Today, not so shitty. Good mood. Applied for two positions at High Faluton Universities out east. Nothing improves a mood like aiming and going for the possibility of the impossible.

I promise the mood and tone of the postings will improve soon. Promise. Swear. Cause, I'm even sick of me.

being comfortable is a bitch

So, this is where my head has been: nowhere attached to my body.

With everything that has happened since December 14th, ( my love moving, no new job, not graduating in December, thesis nightmare, income nightmare, living situation...)my mind has not been in the present-tense. Nope. It's been all in the future-tense. As in: Where am I going? What am I going to be doing? What the hell? What the fuck? And alrighty then. I realize some of those are not in the future-tense, but play along, will ya? Thanks.

Have you ever met someone, had a conversation with someone, met someone who just makes you re-think and reevaluate everything, and also manages to do it in the very best way? Well, that's kind of been what Mr. London has done to and for me and yet, he has no clue about this role he has played. He got a job, he moves in four months to another country and he's not taking anything other than his clothes and his computer with him. Nothing else. A professorship at King's College in Chemical Engineering. How awesome is that? Frustrating, sure, but I can't deny that's it is also pretty awesome.

I've been thinking about moving for over a year now. Finish school and move. Move where? Not sure. I had some ideas in mind: Madison, New York, LA, Europe, somewhere, anywhere that wasn't here. Just. Not. Here. I'm tired of here. I need a change, a fresh start. Then Mr. London tells me he is moving to London. You all already know about that, no need to repeat it. Okay, so I could move. I could move to London. I could and I would. I still haven't had the talk with him because I haven't seen him. Spoken on the phone and pretty much laid enough hints out that the only one missing was the anvil hitting his head labeled "hint." But, it's a conversation I want to have in person, you know, so I can actually see his head explode. However, regardless of if it's London, or the next college town, I want out of here. I need a change. I am far too comfortable here. Comfort can be a good thing, but it can also be a killer. I mean, why do we hit the snooze button three times in the morning? Because our bed is comfortable. The recliner? Same thing. And the same can be said for jobs, apartments, friends, relationships, and cities in which we reside. I am far too comfortable in my job, apartment, city, and relationships. Comfort means I don't get up and I don't do what needs to be done. I'm comfortable. A person needs to be uncomfortable for anything to be accomplished, for change to come.

So. I am so friggin ready to move. To get on with the rest of my life. To move. To move on, to start the next chapter. I want to move by August so desperately bad. So incredibly desperately bad. What's stopping me? Money. That damn 'ol Washington and lack thereof that aren't staring back at me. I have far too much debt to take with me anywhere. If it wasn't for the debt (as in credit cards) (and student loans, but I am on the twenty year plan on those, so I'm good.) I would be gone. Adios, see ya, I won't be back.

I'm actually thinking about not taking my trip to Greece and paying off my car with the funds and then applying the now defunct car payment to the plastic, but I also think several people would kill me if I did that, including myself come May.
I have pretty much all of my books, CD's, and DVD's on half.com and craigslist trying to hock those onto others. But then I was looking around the old apartment yesterday it occurred to me: other than my bookshelves, a hand carved cedar chest, my artwork and art supplies, a few mementos, and the contents of my bedroom and my laptop, I don't really need anything else. Everything else can and could be replaced. I want all of the material items to be gone. (I just knocked on something. Cause as much as I want them gone, I don't want them to be *poof* gone, as in a fire, flood, robbery. More of a garage sell, gone.)

If my ass isn't in London come August, then I am really thinking about my ass moving to Austin. Why Austin? Why not? It's warm, artsy, eclectic, and there is a great school and a graduate program I am interested in. I'm tempted at this point to simply move, have a few months in the bank, and not have a plan. Rent a hotel room and well, I'm pretty sure I can get a job as a waitress or a bartender. Just guessing on that one, but pretty sure. I find not having a plan to be almost comforting. I mean, how often do plans ever workout? Um.....never. So, why have one?

I don't know. I think the universe sends us messages and signals if we are aware and listening to them and frankly, between Mr. London, the job offer falling through, (which I actually think is for the best) all of the trouble with school, debt, the art going somewhere and the writing going nowhere, and all of the other things I can't think of in 70 WPM, I have pretty much felt like the universe has been screaming at me. It's time to stop ignoring it.

Future post: ways in which I am whoring myself out that doesn't require having my legs in the air...or around my head...or..

why people don't do the right thing

You wanna know why people don't live by the Spike Lee credo? Cause it takes too much time and effort.
Case in point (C'mon did you really believe I didn't have an example?)

At work this afternoon I was handed a checkbook. A full and complete hundreds of blank checks banking account numbers, the works was found on the floor. The person who found it handed it to me and said, "...yeah it was just laying there.." turned and walked away.

Alrighty. Pretty sure this isn't a sign from god to alleviate all of my current financial woes. Just a guess. But I'm pretty sure.
So being the Super Girl PG that I am (cue super hero music) I look in the checkbook to locate the person's phone number and I will give them a ringy-ding-ding and ta dah! (rev the super hero music) the world is safe and sound from criminals and the common thief once more!

Oh, dear foolish readers. Do you not know me well enough to know nothing is ever that simple?

No phone number listed on the checks.
It's one of those monolithic branches, so no contact information either.
Google search for the closest locations.
Call the first branch.
No live person.
Call the second branch.
No live person.
Branch number three.
I immediately reach a live person.
....but she's no help.
Transfer the call.
Nope. He doesn't have anything.
He transfers me to the personal all things lost and found security branch.
After listening to the recorded message of, "Thank you for holding. All representative are busy. We will get to your call as ........quickly as possible." (No kidding on the pause there either. There was a hiccup between call and quickly. How appropriate.)
At 18:42 I got a live person. I'm on the wrong number.
Well, of course I am.
At 19:43 I am transferred.
Finally after 27:40 I'm told there is no way to contact the customer and I should destroy the checks.
Seriously? After all of that I'm just supposed to throw the checks away?
Yep.
I start laughing. Jesus fuck. Seriously. No wonder there's a riot at the end of the movie.

inner dork: shit for brains and shut your cake-hole

I'm mixing it up a bit today and combinding the inner dork and word origins together. Why? Because it's my blog and I can, so there.

So without further ado, did you know....

The phrase, "Shit for brains" means, extremely stupid. (No, shit. You shit for brains.) the phrase first appeared in David Maccuish's novel, "Do Not go Gentle" which was first published in 1960. The phrase can be found in this passage, "Larko's got shit for brains."

(ah, fun)

Another popular phrase, "shut your pie-hole" actually originated as, "shut your cake-hole" and means, be quiet. (again, duh.) The phrase first origniated in the UK and is slang dating back to the early 20th Century.
It was widely used in the UK until about 1970s and, although somewhat archaic now, it is still used occasionally. Hunt and Pringle record it in their 1943 reference book Service Slang:

"Cake hole, the airman's name for his or anyone else's mouth."

The later equivalent term 'shut your pie-hole' became popular in the US in the 1980s. It isn't clear if that derives from the 'cake-hole' version or was coined independently.
(Ah, us Yanks, we always have to steal something, change it ever so slightly, and then call it ours.)

...No, no your welcome.

Crap-a-doodle-do

Yesterday I received a voice mail from my adviser at Big Ridiculously Expensive Private College. I could tell by the tone of his voice that I would not be happy upon returning his call, which I did immediately.

Boy. Am I psychic.

Turns out I'm one credit short to graduate in May.

Yep.

One credit. (Boy. It was hard for me not say, fuck, in between "one and credit".)

Anyway.

Now, I'm a very pro-active kinda gal. I don't trust or rely on anyone to finish up my loose ends. To quadruple check the stats. To process the paperwork on their own. We're all busy. We bring our daily lives into the work place whether we mean to or not; therefore accidents, mistakes, glitches, cluster fucks, mishaps if you will, they are unavoidable. I get that. I understand. I'm a cool cat. But. I have checked, I have called, I have spoke with and to: my adviser, the department secretary, the registrar, I've look at my degree audit umpteen times they've all said the same thing: credits met, I'm good to get the hell out of Big Ridiculously Expensive Private College.

Then yesterday happened. It's an easy mistake that was made and I can completely see why it happened, but it still doesn't make it right. That computer class from the fall, the one I had no business being in and it took eight weeks to get me out of; yeah it was a 4 credit class. The correct class, the one I'm in now, the last one I was supposed to ever need? Well, do the math, it's a 3 credit class.

My adviser told me I could take a class during the summer. You know. A three credit class for another $1000.

Now. I realize you all don't know what my voice sounds like, but it's a very pleasant nice voice. It has a smooth friendly quality to it. I don't like to raise my voice and I really hate yelling at all and any costs. But, a sure sign that I'm pissed, upset, livid, I wouldn't recommend messing with me, is when that friendly voice lowers into a very calm, paced, and low voice. Yeah. That ain't a good sign. One thing I also try really hard to do is choose my battles. I don't get my panties in a bunch about too many things. But, this was a battle I was going to come out the victor in.

When it was suggested I take a class in the summer I said, "...that's not an option. I cannot put into words the ripple effect and ramifications I have experienced both career, financial, and personally in regards to not graduating in December. I cannot articulate what not graduating in May will do to me in terms of my career, financially, and personally. Not graduating in May is not an option. Now. What are you going to do to fix this?"

Of course there is more to the conversation. Any option I threw out wasn't an option and he threw some out that I wasn't willing to do. I told him about my trip to Greece and how the payment is due this Friday, therefore this needed to be rectified immediately. He got right on the rectification horn.

So, in addition to the computer class that I actually make it to twice a week and drive 80 miles round trip each time to attend. Even though it is my last class, it's a requirement and I have to achieve a certain grade or I won't graduate. Now, I also have to complete an independent study to complete the one credit hour. Basically, it looks like I will be writing a research paper on the history and development of computers and meeting before and after my class with my professor to get this over and done with as soon as possible.

I don't know if all of this sounds like a big deal or not. But, since this is my life, of course there is more to it than that. Of course there is a ripple effect. I have an interview on Friday for a part-time night gig, and I've also found a short gig doing transcription for a PhD candidate....not to mention all the other ways and things I am doing to try and keep the lights on and something in my stomach...but that's a post for another day. This is simply a glitch that needs to be incorporated into all of the other schtuff now.....once again. But something tells me this too shall pass, it's water under the bridge, I'll be a stronger and better person for and because of it, life is a roller coaster, and all those other pearls of wisdom. I know. But damn. I could really use a break right about now. Crap-a-doodle-do.

NASCAR and one of life's many lessons

A couple of Sunday's ago Mr. London came over to watch NASCAR and to eat a wonderfully prepared dinner I had so loving crafted. Now, I don't know which part of that is more surprising, the fact that I can cook or the NASCAR part. It should be, and I would hope, that it is the part that starts with NAS and ends with CAR, which has found you on the floor and with your mouths agape; because (blows on knuckles) I am quite the little chef.

We hadn't seen each other in a few weeks due to the crappy ass weather and also due to work and such, so at my door mere minutes upon his departure from the plane he greets me with a bouquet of very lovely (and my favorite) flowers and two six-packs of tallboys. I gush over the flowers and I laugh at the tallboys. Wow. Today is gonna be redneck central in my humble abode. However, the entire point of the day's events was 1) to spend some quality time together hanging out on the big ugly comfy couch and 2) for me to spend the next four or so hours making fun of a ridiculous "sport." Mission was accomplish on both one and two. We spent the entire day kissing, cuddling, and just generally entwined within each other (ah, lovely) and I spent the next four+ hours laughing and making fun of a ridiculous "sport."

Upon my closing of the door behind him after sitting in the dark for several hours, bodies still entwined around one another, it became very apparent that I need to tell him how I feel. How I would move. How much I care about him. Unfortunately, this didn't become clear to me until after I had closed the door behind him. I had periodically throughout the day conducted an internal gut check. "How'm I doing? No, I'm okay. This is okay. He leaves in five weeks. I'm okay. This is fine. Nothing to it. I'm not detached from the situation, but I'm just being realistic. He leaves in five weeks. For London. Just enjoy the day. Five weeks. London." Upon closing the door and taking a few seconds to lock all the locks, I concluded, "Yeah. I need to talk to him. Couldn't be more apparent." ...and off to bed with tears in my eyes I went.

So, after thinking about it last week and giving the situation some ponderance, yep. I would and could spend the rest of my life with him. Or at the very least a year or two. Naw. I'm going with the rest of my life. I'm ready to tell him this. We have some very, very tentative plans for Saturday. I will tell him then. (As in, last Saturday.) I call Thursday. No return call. I call Saturday. No return call. Not surprised. Not angry in the least little bit. Again, that whole picking up an entire life and moving half way around the world in five weeks, thing. But, boy howdy does it sure suck to be on the verge of wanting to tell someone I'm ready to get on with the rest of my life, that I'm ready for the rest of my life to start oh, say a week ago, and.............................................................. (yeah, just keep holding that.)

So, boys and girls today's lesson is: never put off telling someone how you feel, because you never know when you may have another chance to do so. You're welcome. Again, in addition to the inner dorkings every Thursday I try to pass all of my little life lessons onto all of you so you can learn with and through me. Again, you're welcome.

On a much lighter note:
Nick: So, what'd you do over the weekend?

PG: Um. (laughing) Well, I watched NASCAR and I drank tallboys all day.

Nick: I want your Hag card and your toaster oven back immediately.

(This past weekend)Billy: So, whatchya doing?

PG: (Hesitantly) Um, watching NASCAR.

Billy: Oh, is your cable broken?

PG: Sadly, no.

inner dork: all things St. Patrick

Yeah! A national reason to get really drunk and stupid! Whoo-hoo! Color me drunk!

Did you know:

St Patrick was born in Scotland or Wales around 370 A.D.

St Patrick's first name was: Maewyn. (I had no idea. I thought his first name was, Saint or Patrick, go figure.)

So, Maewyn was kidnapped (bummer) and sold into slavery in Ireland (bastards!) where he worked as a shepherd (baaaaah.) It was during this time he started to have his religious visions and dreams (I see dead people, I mean angels.) In one dream, he was shown a way to escape Ireland, (Hallelujah!) which was by going to the coast and getting on a ship (cause it's a coastal place that means it's surrounded by water.) After a perilous journey (do heroes and saints every have a non-perilous journey?) of hundreds of miles, he arrived at the coast and discovered a ship bound to Britain (hot damn! what are the chances?)

Back in Britain, Maewyn's dreams continued (well of course they did.) In one dream a man named Victoricus, came with letters from Ireland. In the dream Maewyn was asked to, "...come and walk among us once more." (I never hear things like that in my dreams. It's usually, something like, Hey, how you doin'?)

Although moved by the visions, he didn't feel so moved as to relocate to Ireland (the cost to benefit ratio wasn't really all that great.) So, Maewyn packed up his meager belongings and moved to France. There he entered the monastery and began studying under the priesthood. He changed his name to Patrick, which means, "Father of the people" in Latin. (I really think he changed his name because he finally realized how unfortunate it was to be named, Maewyn.)

Around 432 A.D. Patrick felt ready to move back to Ireland and spread the holy word of God and build churches and such places of worship. Because of Patrick's humility, winning personality, and knowledge of Ireland's social structure his mission was huge success. As a result of his success he made his headquarters in Armagh, which is present day Northern Ireland. By the time of his death on March 17 somewhere between 461 and 490 A.D. (wow, how vague. Not sure of the year, but we know the day? Hmmm, suspicious.) Ireland was almost entirely Christian thus making St. Patrick the patron saint of Ireland. Ta dah!

(And here I thought it has something to do with driving the snakes out of Ireland. See, I learn with all of you. It's a give and take relationship the Thursday inner dorkings.)

a fun waste of time

Courtesy of Girl Goyle. This is a fun little personality test of sorts.

To check mine me out: inside my head

It's oddly accurate.

from sexcapades to my world, what the hell?

Okay, so I've been meaning, wanting, and trying to write this post for some time now. Spurred on by OMC's comment on yesterday's post I feel I can finally write it.

Awhile ago I changed the blog from being called, "Sexcapades" to "Party Girl's World" for a few reasons: to make it more work friendly for all visitors and also for myself, but mainly because the blog had become so much more than just about sex and about my sex life, dating life, love life, and all things sexual in nature. In short, I wanted to and I felt it needed to be changed and broadened. I felt that would give the blog a chance to be more open in content for both myself and for those who read the blog and also no one would leave disappointed when they stopped by to read about sex and well, there wasn't any to be found.

Nope, still not solving the problem.

I'm changing, as people do, but I don't know quite how to articulate the changes that I am experiencing. However, I will give it my best PG try.

It started back in the summer with the posting of my rapes. It was the first time I really allowed myself to talk about them and it was also the first time I was really allowed to speak about them. I was uninterrupted and it was completely, totally, and nothing but- honest. In the past I was always interrupted or someone would interject or I felt the need to protect myself from the person who I was relaying the events to. For the first time, for the first time in over 15 years I was able to be open, honest, and trust those who I was telling about something that happened to me when I was 17 and again when I was 23.

As a result of this honesty and also confronting the past, I was angry. Good and angry. Furious. I had rage. I had rage and fury and I didn't know why. It took awhile for me to figure it all out, but I think I have. I was furious at what was taken from me when I was 17 and 23, but I was also furious about all the years in between. Not at who I was or who I had become, but furious that I didn't have a say or a choice in who that person was or had become. That choice was raped from me in a stranger's apartment on an August night in 1991 and again in my apartment on a summer night in 1997. I pretty much spent the summer of 2006 furious, but I didn't know why and I couldn't afford to take the time off from work or school to try and figure out why. So, it took a little longer than it needed to.

Thus, the transformation begins.

Not to limit it to just one thing; I am sure there are many, many external factors going on with me as well. In fact, I am absolutely positive about it.

School: Let's be honest, it's been a huge part of my life over the past 2.5 years. Anyone who goes to school for any length of time it is going to be a big part of their world. However, I was taking approximately 18 credits every 10 weeks and in the summer it was 18 credits every five weeks....fuckin' A that's a lot of time spent in school and not having any real free time.

Work: The job that was promised to me in the fall: it doesn't look like it is going to be approved after all. Hence, come the fall I am going to have to either quit or drop down to less than 20 hours a week and find another full-time job in the afternoon/evening. So, any kind of life plan has essentially been eliminated and a new one needs to be figured out. I'm not a 22 year-old who has just graduated with a degree and the whole world is in front of me. I am an (almost) 33 year-old and the whole world has been in front of me for sometime now. What I had planned and figured out in terms of a life and job has changed. I understand that's just how life goes. No, shit. Thanks for the update. Got any other words of wisdom? However, I am simply readjusting my plan and life goal. Unfortunately I don't have the slightest friggin' clue what that is or what that should be let alone what it will be.

Rediscovering who I am or various things that have been said to me over the past month by co-workers: Yeah, so I used to paint, sew, cook, make jewelery, bags, purses, and did quite a bit of photography; over the past 2.5 years and also over the past decade or so that was all lost. I am currently rediscovering all of the abandoned art projects, quilts, paint supplies, and various beads and I'm actually selling some of it.

Love life, dating life, the current victim known as the men I am dating and/or fucking: Yeah. Who the fuck would have thought I could ever fall in love, would know what that felt like and that I could actually fall for a decent man. Needless to say the simple fact that I even let myself...without hesitation or question...let myself fall for someone well, it came as quite the shocker. I was, would, am, thinking about picking up what little life I have left here and moving half-way across the world simply to be closer to another person. If someone else told me they were thinking about doing that I would smack them upside the head and ask them if they were fucking crazy, to snap out of it, and what the fuck, are they an idiot? It's another person. Get a fucking clue, it's only a man. Oh look, there's a bus, I bet there's a man on it. The fact that he will be leaving me and moving to London? Well, that's simply my life and poetic.

Final grades, thesis, the end of school, and my life as a writer: The thesis, well, notice there hasn't been a "Whoo-hoo! I'm a Rock Star!" post. Yeah. I have been left to question everything and also any and all ability I thought I had. The love of writing and the love for the written word has been beaten out of me and not in the good fun dirty way either. Future endeavors, projects, and life dreams in that area are currently on hold and I don't know when, or if, they will resume. Grad school: also currently on hold. At this point it may be indefinitely.

Where the fuck am I going with this long-ass post? Basically I've changed from the person who went out to get laid, getting drunker than George the bum who has passed out in his own vomitage, and the girl who is giving her current date a blow-job in the back alley and wondering when it will end up on the Internet. I'm not saying I don't still have those tendencies, I'm not saying I'm going to stop that behavior. I am saying that behavior has been curbed over the past several months. I am saying I no longer find that behavior necessary. I am not saying I have any problem with that kind of behavior nor will I ever, ever condemn it. I'm simply saying I no longer need it. In short, I've changed from the Party Girl I was over a year ago when I first started this blog. I will continue to change. Right now, I feel I am going through something much bigger than even I am aware of. I am rediscovering and figuring out who the hell I am. I've become quiet and even more introspective than I was before. According to my Tai Chi instructor I "...ponder a lot." Yes, yes I do. This is simply another pondering that I am pondering though.

The walls that I had been so careful to build, craft, reinforce, and stay so well hidden in the deep depths of, have and are becoming knocked down. I have, am, and will continue to open myself up to those around me, to myself. I have become a much more open person to those in my life. I am no longer simply peaking over the edge of the wall. I am no longer feeling as if I won something because I didn't let, or allow someone the chance to know me. I am fully open. If someone rejects me, doesn't accept or like me for something I have to say or share with them, fuck it. Their loss. Not mine.

Basically, the rapes effected me more and in ways that I didn't fully realize, that I didn't understand, that I thought I had understood, and in ways that I refused to believe that they had. That's pretty huge.

I love and adore all of you and I thank you all for your various words, comments, posts, shout-outs, friendships, emails, phone calls, and text messages over the past year and a half. If you'll bear with me I hope and wish to continue the love and adoration in the years to come.

Wow. That was under-whelming

To my fiend/co-worker

PG: K, I'm going to go eat my lunch.

Co-worker: What are you having?

PG: A biscuit, a piece of cheese, and some carrots.

Pause.

PG: Wow. Could that sound more pathetic? And sadly, I'm not kidding.

CW starts laughing.

PG: Yep. A-biscuit. A-piece of cheese. Seriously, it's just a piece, one slice of cheese. Carrots. Wow. That should fill me right up. Breakfast was yogurt with some cereal thrown in.
I turn to show her my profile. But look how slim I am.

CW: You are looking hot, but god.
Well, my grandpa used to say, "Eating is just a habit."

PG: Yep. And it's a habit I am getting over pretty quickly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat my biscuit now. Eh- that sounds dirty.



So, what was in your lunch?

Oh, and it took me all of about 8.5 seconds to eat my entire lunch...and that was chewing each bite at least 3.2 times.