My, What a Meaningless Post.

I'm feeling lazy today. For some reason, I woke up with the most annoying song in my head this morning. I don't think I was dreaming about it, because I know what I was dreaming about. I was dreaming about my arch nemesis and my upcoming hockey game.

Anyway. I hate this song. Here it is, in all of its suckdom.



Want to know what else? NO ONE will EVER need to call that number. Ever. What's with that crazy water dragon guy? And does anyone else find him really sexy?

Here's something worth listening to. I love this shit:

This is Not the x365 Project.

I read about this thing called the x365 project. Yes, it was created in '06, but I'm sort of slow on the uptake on this kind of thing. Basically, what you're supposed to do is write fifty words or less, every day, about various people in your life.

I'm not going to do that.

It's really limiting, and I have enough trouble keeping up with this blog without having rules. Also, I'm not always comfortable putting people's names, even just their first names, on this thing. What I will do, however, is do a few of these whenever I damn feel like it, with whatever names I want.

So here's three.

#1 You were an ex of mine. You were two exes ago, so I'll call you Double Ex. This name fits for you for many reasons. You were verbally abusive. Let's not mince around on tippy-toes about that, either. You were. I'm glad I am able to let it go a little bit now, and that I no longer feel I have to hit ignore on my phone when you call. And I won't lie, I sort of relish the fact that you are so sorry you "let me go;" I'm not proud of it, but I sort of like that you feel shitty about how you treated me. I'm sorry you don't know what to do about that girl you just got pregnant. I hope you find a way to be happy, but I'm pretty sure you never will. I'm sure at some point we'll see each other again; NOLA is not that big of a city, and your armada of trucks swarms around the place like roaches.

#2 Nutty ex boss! Granted, I've had many nutty ex bosses, and you were not even the nuttiest. Your weird relationship with your dog bothered me, though. You were a crazy rich dude and you tried to make your dog into a crazy rich lady. You said she would only eat if there were no coats on the chairs, and if the dishwasher wasn't running. When she pooped blood once, you said she was developing an ulcer because I watched her when she ate. It was strange that you canceled an interview you were supposed to do because of the blood-pooping incident, by the way. You told me she did yoga. She did not do yoga. She was lanky, so I'll admit, sometimes it looked like it. But she wasn't. Want to know how I know that? Because she was a dog. Know the only thing she was passionate about? Chasing cats. You bought her perfume once. That was crazy.

#3 I will call you Lucian. You and I were on the same trip in the summer of 1993. We were fifteen. You lived across the country. I was attracted to you, despite your weirdness (not because of it. I was too young for that at that time). Once, on a bus trip in Germany, we almost held hands. We did not, because you thought I had a boyfriend back home. The reason you thought this was because I told everyone I did. Needless to say, I did not. After you and I did not hold hands, you got up and sat with another girl. By the end of that bus trip, you and she were a couple. After returning home, you wrote me a few very strange erotic letters. I never wrote back. After a few weeks, you "broke up" with me. You said it was because of religion.

And there you go.

Missing NOLA (Shocking), Missing Adolescence (Shocking in the Non-Sarcastic Way).

It takes so little for me to get nostalgic, especially about New Orleans. I miss the fetid shadiness and the three dimensional heat. I miss the drinking and drugging without consequence and the myriad crushes I got while down there--on men, women, and little things about the city itself (like the Vespa club). I even miss evacuating. Mainly, I miss how young I felt (and was) when I was there. Just about the only thing I don't miss are the dive-bombing cockroaches. I adore my life now, but every once in a while this creeps up on me. This time, it was brought upon by someone I knew very briefly and not very well, asking to be my "friend" on Myface or Spacebook or whatever. I met him through this other person I used to know (let's call him Lex). Lex was one of the very few people in my life who I am quite certain I will never see again, and who I am quite certain I will miss forever, every day. Well, almost. Just the sight of Lex's old roommate in the teeny box contaning his picture and "friend request" was enough to choke me up before I even knew what was causing it. None of this is really shocking.

What was shocking, however, was the nostalgia I felt this weekend while cleaning out my old room in my mom's house. I only actually lived in that house for five years, from age 13 until I left for college. Sure, there were several-week intervals here and there, times of trouble and financial strife and whatnot, but mostly, I was out of the nest at 18. For this reason, I was not really that upset when my mom told me she was going to sell her house. I had the best time cleaning out my old desk, though! It was also really great to show Boy the photos and letters I had saved from high school. I incorrectly remember high school a lot of the time...I remember having a lot less friends than was really the case. Some of the best things I found were letters and mix tapes from one person in particular. We had a bizzare relationship then, and that lasted a long time. But I want to thank this person now. Thanks. I think it was because of you that I learned exactly what I want in any friend or more-than-friend I have had or will ever have in my entire life. "On your chest there are flowers, you possess unearthly powers." Boo-yah.

Stuff in the Head...

I feel a mess. I need an everything-makeover. You know what I would love? To go on What Not To Wear, but to have it not be televised. I had a boyfriend once that I tried to get on Queer Eye just so we could have the apartment makeover.

It's all a part of this taking control thing.

I told you I'd have a story today...I lied. More to come.

Thera-post. I'm back.

So there's no real reason that I stopped blogging over a year ago, other than that I lost momentum, and no real reason that I haven't started up again when I wanted to. Well, I suppose that I figured the first post "back" should be at least a little meaningful...but...meh. None of the rest of these ever were, so here we are.

I have a few projects that I'd like to be working on right now. The idea is to clear away the rest of the crap, both mental crap and actual clutter, and hopefully this is the time I'll really start. I made a crazy little list, the subject of which was that I need to be the person in charge of my own life. This seems simple enough, and like my therapist said, it's kind of like a trite life-coaching mantra, but whatever works, right? The list just had on it a few things I want to change. Nothing giant...nothing that's a huge process. Just little things, the biggest one being that I am going to start the process of re-getting my drivers license on Friday. Boy is going to do it with me, too, being that his foreign-ass has never had a US drivers license. I have to take the permit test on Friday, and then I have to take a five-hour driving test. The lesson: don't let your license expire for more than two years.

I'll be back. I'll have a story or something. Thanks for indulging.

What an abysmal blogger am I!
I've been trying to write "for real," as of late, leaving not much time for this blogshit. Today, however, I feel like being naked in public, I suppose.

Lately I've been questioning the wisdom of living in NYC. I have had frequent jaunts to New Orleans this past year, and with every trip back, I miss it more. I know something has to push into gear this year. I don't know what, but I am taking next weekend to re-asses my life. Or maybe I'll just drink alone. This remains to be seen.

Just a minor crisis, nothing to be alarmed at.

I may be doing a reading next Saturday...y'know, if you're in the NYC area...

I'll come back later.

Waning...

I don't want to lose momentum on this...so I'm just going to spit out some written nonsense.

My body's been a bit of a wreck lately. What with hockey and "quitting" smoking, I've felt a bit haggard. But haggard in a good way, I suppose. Sort of a low-level form of masochism. I'd never have the guts to do the real thing, so I'm content, seemingly, to remain mildly sore at all times.

Since February 28th, the last blog day for me, I've turned 30 years old. This milestone hit with something closer to a whimper than a bang, and I wonder if it's because I've maturely and at the envy of everyone I know, been able to transcend worry about my age; that I've learned to properly prioritize. Or...(and let's be honest, this is more likely it), I'm resigned to the fact that one crap year is the same as the next. GOOD TIMES, yo.

In all honesty, however, I've had rare bouts of uncharacteristic optimism as of late, and I'm hoping to turn into one of those people for which their "elder" years turn out better then their younger...30 is the new 20, blah blah blah.

Anyway, this was just to get back into the habit. More to come.

I'd also like to give a special hello to the very very special folks at the Black Sheep Pub, helping to make 30 (and 29, at that), a happyhappy funtimes kind of year.

Word.