Scrambled Eggs and Bullshit
I can't really think of a better way to start my day than sleeping in till 2:30 pm, then making myself a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and strawberries (coincidentally, the same thing I had for dinner last night). Now, I'm going to track down something comfortable to wear and head out to run some errands. I need notebook paper, face masks, and an excuse to get the hell out of my house.
Before I go, however, I feel the need to show you the horoscope that I read between bites of egg and toast:
Why give into your usual mundane activities when you can inject some excitement into your life? Reject the norm and do something totally different you've always wanted to try. Be adventurous in dating, loving and living.
What. The. Hell. I should stop reading horoscopes.
Realization
What do you do when you realize that some part of you is broken? A natural, important, inherent part of what you consider to be essential to being a girl just isn't there?
I haven't had a real, honest-to-goodness crush on a boy since Iris died. That was two and a half years ago. I haven't allowed myself to get close enough to someone to know them well enough to be that truly attracted to them. I've been physically attracted to guys. I've preened for boys. I've even been known to say that I had a crush on one of them - think GFW - but the fact is, none of the people I've met or spent time around in the last couple of years has given me butterflies in my stomach.
Just like I miss kissing boys and sleeping with boys and playing with boys, I miss getting butterflies in my stomach when I see
that boy. I almost miss that tortured feeling with that boy doesn't seem to care that I exist (because really, do they ever care that I exist).
Maybe I need to look into ways to create artificial butterflies.
Labels: boys, everyday musings, flirting
The Cosmo Conspiracy
Let's consider the following while remembering that Nic is crazy and is also something of a conspiracy theorist.
Monday night, Bradshaw and I had what can only be described as a marathon of a phone call. We chatted about how I'm crazy and preoccupied and how she's crazy and how we're friends because we're both crazy - normal stuff. We also discussed the propaganda that is spread by Cosmo, the quintessential magazine for girls in their twenties and girls who are proponents of a healthy sex life. We decided a few things about the magazine. First, that it is the same magazine month after month. Second, that it is either derogatory toward or completely ignores career paths taken by enough women to matter. Third, Cosmo spreads sexual propaganda.
I have my own theory on the sexual propaganda. Since I work at a bookstore, I tend to read magazines at work rather than buying them, and this month's issue of Cosmo (with the Blake Lively cover) was no exception. There was an article that, I am sad to admit, intrigued me, at least until I started reading it. The claim was that they were going to tell me what guys are actually thinking when they're having sex with you. Cosmo tries really hard to make us believe that guys don't care about our bodies, but I think Cosmo is full of it. I have no doubt that I have slept with the most hypercritical guys in the world, each of whom has thought, "She looked a lot better with the clothes
on."
I try not to dwell on this. Feel free to discuss how I'm paranoid and insane. You were warned.
Labels: boys, my insanity
Lists: To Reveal the Real Me
I believe the following list of things I bought at the grocery store will show just how pathetic I really am, once you cut through all the drama that goes on around me.
three bottles orange-flavored Vitamin Water
one box of 94% fat-free mini-bags of popcorn
one 7 lb bag of Purina Cat Chow Indoor Formula
Thankfully, I left the cookies behind. Even though I really want some fucking cookies.
Labels: lists, my insanity
PhotoBlog: Puck Likes Books
Labels: kitties, photoblog
Why I Live Alone
After the drama that took place last night, I am reminded of two things. One, hanging out with girls is always more work than it is worth, and two, adding boys into the mix with those girls will only make things worse.
The night began with choosing our destination based on avoiding another girl. Legs, a new addition to my life, Gallagher, and I decided that we wanted to go out. Kitty wanted to spend time with us, but was also hanging out with a girl who has the hots for Legs' sort-of boyfriend. We found out where Kitty was going and went elsewhere. It was at this point that I remembered that girls are stupid.
As the night wound down at Piano Bar, we were all having fun. Legs and the sort-of boyfriend, Gallagher, Hershey, and I were all peacefully drinking when Kitty arrived with the other girl. Before I could realize what was happening, Legs and the boy left, Hershey had disappeared and bitten Gallagher's head off when she called him, and everyone was angry. Everyone, apparently, but me. I was just sitting there drinking my beer, confused by the entire situation.
I think it's time for me to invest some money in a couple of new books, a fun new scented bubble bath, and a bottle of wine. A few nights at home - and away from all this boy-girl drama - sounds like exactly what I need.
Labels: alcohol, boys, drama, updates
Indecision
I have always been a pretty decisive person as far as most things are concerned. I either carefully consider all options before being presented with the actual decision making occasion - large purchases and so forth - or I follow my immediate gut instinct without looking backwards.
Except when I don't.
I find myself consistently torn between the two sides of my personality. Do I want to be a classy girl or the girl who can hold her own with the boys? Do I want to be demure or foul-mouthed? Do I prefer a guy with whom I can chat about books or a guy who will take me out in the mud on a four-wheeler? Do I want to play hard to get or get what I want? Am I Carrie Bradshaw or Charlotte York? And, honestly, do I really want to be Samantha?
This, of course, assumes that all of these things are mutually exclusive, which of course they aren't. I can be classy and hold my own with the boys. I can be demure and break out the f-bombs at the appropriate time (though really, when isn't an f-bomb appropriate?*). There are boys out there who know about books and four-wheelers and will tolerate my multiple personalities. I can play hard to get and still go out and get what I want when I finally make up my mind.
Still, I find myself preoccupied with these sorts of questions lately. I think I may be going through some kind of identity crisis; a quarter-life crisis, if you will. It's a total crock, I know, a cop out, a way to avoid making a decision about anything: "I'm young, I'm supposed to be stupid and indecisive!" I can't help feeling certain that, at some point, I'm going to have to choose which way I want to live out most of my days. I'm going to have to go for a guy who likes to talk about books every day, but will only take me out in the mud when he's damn good and ready. And I think the fact of the matter is that I'm not ready to settle for having my cake and only eating it when someone else is damn good and ready.
*This is what's known as a rhetorical question.
100 Things
This is post number 100! As is required in the blogging world, here is a list of a hundred things that you may or may not already know about me.
1. I haven’t suffered from insomnia all summer. This is the longest I’ve gone since high school.
2. I have an unhealthy addiction to junk food.
3. I have an addiction to coffee that I consider perfectly healthy.
4. I no longer think of myself as unattractive.
5. I believe that I am merely cute; I am not beautiful or pretty.
6. I am not ready to be a real adult yet.
7. I can think of only two people that I would rather be around than my two cats.
8. I am twenty years early to being Crazy Cat Lady, and I am completely okay with that.
9. About every three years, I find some brand new makeup product/brand to become obsessed with. I am currently enjoying Bare Minerals.
10. I have at least two ideas for stories floating around in my head, neither of which I have managed to commit to paper beyond some vague character sketches.
11. I often wish I had the kind of life that was interesting enough to write a memoir about.
12. I know that if I ever did try to write a memoir, I would piss off my entire hometown.
13. I adore pink in all shades.
14. My ears are very sensitive and I do not like to have them touched.
15. Number fourteen is negated if you are male and know how to do that thing. If you do not know what I mean, you do not know how to do it.
16. I love showing people great things to read.
17. It hurts my heart to know that there are people who do not know the joy that can come from reading.
18. I know I need to stop drinking Dr. Pepper, I just can’t seem to do it.
19. Sometimes I wish I could just find someone to have meaningless sex with and get it over with.
20. Depending on what I read, I want to be a wizard, a princess, a socialite, or a vampire.
21. I know I need a new bookshelf, but I avoid buying one by keeping almost none of my books on shelves.
22. I can, so far, be taught to do nearly any job and will do it well.
23. I love teaching when I’m doing it; I dread teaching when I’m away from it.
24. If I had occasion to wear it, I would have a whole collection of lingerie, both sweet and with a bit of kink.
25. Sometimes I wish I could be as good as Rory Gilmore. I also wish I had her boyfriends.
26. I genuinely enjoy lazy days spent alone at home.
27. As I become more and more set in my ways living alone, I fear the day that I have to live with someone and change those ways.
28. As much as I fear that change, I am more afraid that I won’t find that person to share my space with.
29. I have never sent anything to Post Secret, despite my absolutely adoration for the project.
30. Traveling the world sounds like a fantastic way to spend my twenties, all except for that whole I-have-no-money thing.
31. I believe I look damn good in a sundress.
32. Tequila is my very dear friend.
33. Vodka is my very sincere enemy.
34. Snow makes me really happy. I always feel like a little kid when even the hint of it is in the air.
35. The eventuality of something taking my kitties away from me breaks my heart a little. I try not to think about it.
36. Somewhere along the way, I developed the sort of posture that lets me walk with books on my head.
37. I still find myself slouching from time to time, which infuriates me.
38. I miss the girl I was before 2006.
39. My eyes change colors a bit depending on makeup, clothing, and the light in the room.
40. Newspapers almost always bore me.
41. My cheekbones, while not fabulous, definitely don’t suck.
42. Graduating from college is my biggest accomplishment to date, but I know that I can do more. I just don’t know exactly what that will be yet.
43. Greek mythology fascinates me.
44. Only once have I had the kind of first kiss with a boy that made my heart feel like it was going to jump out of my chest.
45. I have a love-hate relationship with my hair.
46. If I ever do get married, I will not completely get rid of my current last name, though I would also take my husband’s name.
47. I am definitely a person guilty of hubris.
48. I do not believe in a traditional idea of hell.
49. I have near-perfect fingernails.
50. I am torn between wanting to live a “simple life” and wanting to live an “interesting life” – as if the two were mutually exclusive.
51. I do not swim well.
52. I lie constantly.
53. I tell the truth compulsively. This combination makes life interesting.
54. I haven’t updated my dry erase calendar since February.
55. I color-code my schedules.
56. If I died tomorrow and my parents had to clean up my apartment, I would be mortified.
57. The only person to ever make me feel great in my own skin did so when I felt the most unattractive.
58. I don’t think irony is as prevalent as everyone else seems to; I think most people don’t truly understand the concept.
59. I judge books by their covers.
60. I refuse to eat veal; I would feel bad eating lamb.
61. I definitely judge people who shop in the Christianity section.
62. I love the physical act of writing with pen and paper.
63. I look terrible in yellow.
64. Every few years, my musical tastes evolve and change, though I never leave anything behind completely. I love where I am now.
65. I have a passionate dislike for my orthodontist.
66. I’m terrified of having a finger – or my hand – shut in a car door.
67. I hate the sound of my own voice.
68. I overuse semi-colons and dashes. It is mostly because I often write the way that I think, and my train of thought is extremely disconnected.
69. My default font is Arial, not Times. I hate Times.
70. I love receiving compliments, even knowing that this is un-ladylike. I have trained myself to be gracious and simply say thank you.
71. I am consistently drawn to the same colors in clothing and shoes.
72. I love going to the home of someone I don’t know well when they have a pet. I totally bond with animals faster than with people.
73. I have read entire books in a single bath.
74. I love Christmas, commercialism and all.
75. I almost never read non-fiction.
76. I have a cruel streak that I don’t often voice.
77. While I am not embarrassed or disgusted by various bodily functions, I prefer to pretend that they don’t exist than to talk about them.
78. Medicine that makes me drowsy tends to make me an unimaginable bitch.
79. I think wearing underwear is overrated.
80. I love buying makeup, but I usually wear the same stuff every day.
81. Not only does being short not bother me, I like it.
82. I love attention.
83. I hate hammering nails. I’m always afraid I’m going to smash a finger.
84. I like my girly books and movies, dammit.
85. I love wearing tights.
86. I don’t try to figure out the ending of a book before I get there; I think that takes all the fun out of it, and I would rather be surprised.
87. I behave like a three-year-old when I get sick.
88. I have been in love and I have had my heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
89. I hate ironing.
90. My favorite feature is my eyes, particularly my eyelashes.
91. I am consistently attracted to men with blue eyes.
92. Children’s picture books delight me.
93. I have been known to gush.
94. Blogging is an exercise in both editing and catharsis.
95. I care more about what others think of me than I will ever admit out loud.
96. I refuse to settle for being content when I can be happy.
97. I hope that people think of me as much as I think of them.
98. I work very hard not to care what others are saying about me, but it’s a total act.
99. I spend way too much time wondering what might have been.
100. I love making lists.
Labels: lists, must-read
As She Over-Thinks the Over-Thinking
I am a girl who over-thinks nearly everything.
I plot. I plan. I come up with a dozen different scenarios, all of them ending with the exact result I had envisioned. Then, after it's all said and done - whatever it is this time around - I rehash it all. I redo conversations, change my facial expressions, my words, my reactions. Again, it always ends with the result I originally desired.
Heaven forbid I come up with a result that will do me more harm than good in the long run. Because, inevitably, I will run the entire situation into the ground until I either get that desired result, or I drive myself and everyone around me crazy trying.
The last time I wanted something, the picture was very clear in my mind, and it happened exactly the way that I envisioned it. At least, the way I envisioned it happening once I got around to doing something about it. Before that, I had a hundred failed scenarios flying around in my brain.
This time, things are equally muddled, perhaps more so. While the problems surrounding the situation are rather the same, I'm not entirely sure what I want out of it. This is problematic when coming up with my scheme.
Maybe I should do myself a favor and stop thinking, stop planning. I'm sure that whatever came out of it in the end would work more to my advantage than when I try to make things happen. Of course, we all know that Nic can't just step away and let nature take it's own course. I believe somewhat in Fate, but I am of the mind that Fate needs a little nudge once in a while.
I think it's time for me to shut up.
Big things are coming tomorrow. Be excited.
Labels: my insanity
Observations
An observation: If you wake up and feel bad before you go to work, you will feel like hell by the time you get home. It isn't worth it; just call in sick.
One day, I will figure out how to make that observation a rule for myself. I relearned it this Friday and have consequently spent the last two days lying on my couch, sipping Vitamin Water and taking NyQuil. The highlight of the weekend was getting to watch Michael Phelps win his
eighth gold medal on Saturday evening. Otherwise, I've done a whole lot of nothing this weekend but sleep.
Another observation:
Kissing someone makes you think about that someone a lot, whether you like him or not. If you think of nothing else, you will think of kissing him again.
Will I kiss him again? Probably not. The opportunity isn't likely to come around again unless I make some sort of effort, and I am not the sort of girl to make the effort in a situation like this. This is a self-preservation instinct, I assure you.
A final observation: Lingering NyQuil in the system leads to posts that are nearly incoherent.
Perhaps this is amusing to others. Perhaps it will be amusing to me. Fuck it, I'm going to soak in the tub.
Labels: boys, everyday musings, updates
Because I Am Not a Stupid Girl*
Lately, I've been letting events that are stupid make me feel like I am somehow a promiscuous person; I have been feeling slutty. So, to clear things up, more for myself than for the rest of you people out there, proof that I am not a slut.
I was seventeen the first time I kissed a boy. Four months later, I had sex with him. We were not "together." We weren't even dating. In fact, I spent the next two-and-a-half years in a really twisted, strange situation with him. It wasn't until Iris died that I realized just how awful the whole thing was for me and stopped it.
I have had two one-night stands, though one was with a person I didn't know from Adam and the other way someone that I knew reasonably well. These are the only two other people I have ever slept with. The first one I chalk up to inexperience and the necessity of making stupid mistakes. The second one I am, admittedly, a bit proud of. I knew what I wanted and I went for it.
If I felt like counting, I could remember and give you a number of the boys that I have ever kissed - not made out with,
kissed. This number remains in the single digits at my age of twenty-two.
I am kind of a tease. I am definitely a flirt. My feelings about my ears are well-documented, and I am a fan of having my hair pulled. I may look delicate, but I'm not, so don't you dare treat me like I am.
I have been in love, though I have never told someone that I loved them. I have no way of knowing if anyone has ever been in love with me, for I have not heard the words. I have been in lust; I have slept with someone at a time when I absolutely hated him. I still feel like I'm only about half of a real person.
I am not sorry that I kissed him. I am sorry that it bothers you. I would - and if the opportunity arises, probably will - do it again. You said it was okay and I am choosing to believe the words.
And, with this sentence, I will stop being a stupid fucking girl.
*Alternatively titled Because I Am Not a Slut. Alternatively titled A Running Tab on Nic's Sex Life. Labels: boys, my insanity
Work Appropriate
He glanced at me as I walked by, wheeling a cart full of books and being followed by the customer with whom I had spent thirty minutes shopping. "Do you need help with anything?"
"Actually, would you mind getting me some boxes for these?" I requested, my voice apologetic. I had been going to grab them myself when I had been accosted by another customer.
"Is there anything else you need?" he asked a few minutes later after he delivered the boxes.
"I think we're good. Thank you!" Fifteen minutes later, looking at the boxes that I knew weighed at least half as much as I do, I reconsidered. I called him from the phone next to the register. "Remember when I said I didn't need you any more?"
"Do you mean on the clock or off?" I could see him from where I stood, and there was an evil look on his face.
I laughed softly, biting my lip and wishing that I could fire back one of the inappropriate responses that was on the tip of my tongue. "On," I answered instead. "Would you be willing to do some heavy lifting for me?"
It was his turn to laugh. "Yeah, sure."
We carried the boxes and bags to the lady's car, wished her a good afternoon, and then walked back toward the building together. I was just two steps ahead of him when he tugged on my hair, causing my breath to catch in my throat. "What was that for?" I asked, trying, and I'm sure failing, to keep my voice even.
"I just figured it was appropriate."
Labels: boys, flirting, work
And I Liked It
When I woke this morning - afternoon - I was a mess of bruised lips, beer-scented skin, smudged eyeliner, and flushed cheeks. Allow me to explain.
Last night I went to Piano Bar with Gallagher and some others, including her roommate, Kitty, and her best male friend, Hershey. We didn't remain as a group for long, meeting up with others and going our separate directions. At one point, I was standing near the bar in a rather congested area, chatting with some girlfriends and sipping my beer. I lifted my bottle to take a drink, and suddenly, it was in my face. Someone had gesticulated a bit over zealously, threw his elbow into my bottle, and slammed it into my lips, bruising me and spilling beer all down my chest and into the top of my dress. He apologized profusely and, even being drunk, got me a handful of napkins to clean up with. I assured him I was fine, though the fact that I can feel my heartbeat in my lips this morning makes me wonder if I lied.
The rest of the evening in the bar was filled with flirting with bartenders, listening to girls whine, running up my tab, and listening to the regulars sing "Friends in Low Places" and "Godzilla." There was the setting up of two people who are just too cute together, hiding from annoying drunk girls, and eavesdropping on shouted conversations going on between stalls in the ladies' room.
After last call, the party moved to Hershey's house, where the conversation took an interesting turn: the length of guys' hair. I shared my honest opinion on the matter, which is that as long as the hair is long enough for me to run my fingers through and give it a good tug - oh yes, I'm a hair-puller - then it is long enough. Any shorter and I feel that I am being somehow ripped off. I demonstrated on the males present, learning that Hershey himself had the hair of the perfect length.
I also learned that he likes to have his hair tugged as much as I like doing it.
I'll spare you the sordid details. I will tell you that there was no removal of clothes, no "heavy petting*," and no weird emotional exchanges. I will tell you that Hershey is a fabulous kisser and I would be totally okay with a repeat performance. We were alone out on the deck, and when I realized just how long we'd been away from the others, I stood and told him that we should go inside. I paused re-fix my ponytail - the tugging really screws with it - and he stepped up behind me to that thing. The thing where he stands behind you, runs his hands up your sides and kisses your neck. He hands you the cell phone you left on the table, and when you thank him, he kisses your neck again, right next to your ear, and breathes, "you're welcome."
Somewhere between the hours of nine and eleven this morning, I had a rather racy dream about a man who didn't have a face. At least, I never saw a face. I'm okay with that, though the excitement my subconscious constructed had my chest all flushed and left me short of breath.
And the smudged eyeliner? That's what happens when you go to sleep without washing your face.
*What the hell does that even mean?Labels: alcohol, boys, flirting, piano bar
Never Have I Ever
On the last day of my student teaching, after the last bell had rung and all of the students were filing out of the classroom past where I stood at the door, one of the fifteen-year-old boys stopped in front of me. We'll call him Josh Smith.
"I'm sad that you're leaving, Ms. Nic."
"I'm a little bit sad, too," I answered honestly.
He leaned forward to wrap me in a hug that, being six inches shorter and at least fifty pounds lighter than he, I couldn't resist, despite all of the cautioning I had received about hugging students in my four years. The hallway was loud and crowded, so he made sure to speak at full volume. "Ms. Nic, you're a good English teacher. I also think that you would make a good Mrs. Smith."
With that, he released his grip on me, turned, and half-ran down the hallway away from me, the cheers and taunts of his classmates chasing him. Later, as I told Bradshaw the story, she had the proper perspective:
"Now you can't say you've never been proposed to."
Labels: everyday amusements, teaching
Confessional
I use you like a security blanket, but I don't need you often. It's unfair and while I should be sorry, I don't really intend to stop.
You are among the least competent people I have known in my entire life; it infuriates me.
I will never forget that you didn't care.
I'm sorry I threw it in your face; you didn't deserve that, but I was hurting.
I feel more like me when I'm with you. I owe you so much I cannot repay.
You will do great things, and while I'm not sure if you know it, you should.
Sometimes I use you as a verbal punching bag. I am sorry.
When you squeeze my hand, I have to make myself let go. It feels that natural.
I think you have a crush on me. It isn't reciprocal.
I would never trade what we had. Yes, it hurt. It helped to make me who I am.
At least once a week, I cry when I think of you. You turned me into a sap and that annoys me. The annoyance makes me feel guilty. The guilt reminds me that I am human.
I would have pursued what I wanted either way.
You make me feel beautiful.
Pretending that I'm ignorant to it is totally easier. I'm going to keep it up.
You mean more to me than almost anyone.
Labels: everyday musings, lists
Wearing Yesterday's Dress
When I woke up this morning, in a bed that wasn't my own, curled up next to someone that I also cannot call my own, my first thought was something along the lines of,
I should probably feel bad about this. Instead of entertaining that thought, I sat up and looked around for the black dress that had to be somewhere in the room.
Starving and feeling like being a nice girl, I pulled a teal cardigan over the black dress and tiptoed out of the apartment to get breakfast. I was in Panera for less than five minutes before turning back to the door, two blueberry bagels in hand.
"Nic!"
Fuck. I turned to find one of the managers from work, Bubbles, smiling at me. I was struck with the thought that I was wearing the exact same thing I had worked in - with her - the day before. I smiled politely as she introduced me to her sister- and father-in-law, hoping that she wasn't thinking about why I was wearing the same dress as the day before.
I escaped after a brief two minutes - during which I'm sure her in-laws found me to be awkward - using the excuse that someone was waiting. Back where I had come from, I ate the blueberry bagel in bed before returning to my own apartment.
Okay, so that is a story that is about half-fictitious. The part about waking up with someone else. Actually, I woke up when Marilyn decided that she wanted to curl up on my chest and yawn her cat food breath into my face. I did go to Panera, I did buy blueberry bagels, and I did see my boss. I was wearing the same dress as the day before, but not because there weren't any other options.
Because I'm lazy and it was hanging there so conveniently. But come on, it was a good story before you realized it was a lie.
Labels: everyday amusements, my insanity
A Warm Day in January
We had particularly odd weather this winter, the kind of weather that proved to me that global warming is indeed occurring and that living in Missouri guarantees climate confusion. The day I decided that it was time for tattoo number three, it was early January and was over seventy degrees. Tall Girl called and asked if I would accompany her to get her first tattoo, explaining that she knew that, already having tattoos, I wouldn't make a big deal out of it and would make sure that she didn't hyperventilate or burst into tears. I didn't bother telling her that I could guarantee neither of those things.
After I watched the gentleman tattoo the star on her wrist, I realized that it was time for the tattoo that I had been considering for two years. When Iris died, I knew immediately that I wanted to get a tattoo for him. I also knew that making a hasty decision wasn't a good idea; it isn't like me and I would hate to have another regret to add to the list I had only just begun. I instituted the five-year wait, but after only two, I knew it was what I wanted.
Tall Girl and I left the establishment, she pleased with her new mark and me contemplating the one that I wanted. It was a burning in the back of my throat as we ate lunch, a feeling that I just couldn't put into words. I asked her if she would be upset if I decided to get mine that day. I didn't want to steal her thunder - it was her first, after all - but I knew, somehow, that it was time. She assured me that she was fine with it, and while I didn't actually believe her, I chose to pretend that I did. Selfish though it may have been, it was time to do what I felt was right.
I knew I just wanted his initial. I knew the style I wanted it done in, and finding it in the book took only a few moments. I also knew that I wanted it behind my ear, both as a demonstration of what that area had meant to the two of us - together - and to show the level of discomfort that I would endure to show my love. Whether anyone else recognizes what that took, to allow someone to be that close to my ear without flinching away, I'm not sure.
As the needle moved over my skin, injecting the ink that would, in a certain way, permanently mark me as his, I found it difficult to breathe. Not because of the pain or the discomfort of having someone that close to my sensitive ears, but because I could feel him there with me. He might as well have been sitting on my chest. Both Tall Girl and the artist asked me if I was okay, and I lied. Of course I was fine. Physically, yes, I was fine. The pain, though I knew it was there, barely registered, and the discomfort from having someone near my ear was nominal. My heart, however, felt as though someone was squeezing it in both fists, trying to see how much I could endure before it shattered.
So far, I'm fine. Of course I'm fine.
Labels: boys, must-read
Tipsy Hooray
I am consistently surprised by the reactions that I get when I'm out in public.
Tuesday night, I left work with a very specific goal in mind: To get a bit drunk while eating a pizza. Since the only liquor that was in my apartment at the moment was half a fifth of Bailey's*, I made a quick trip to the liquor store.
Since I had been at work, I was dressed reasonably well. I had jerked off my sweater as soon as I exited the building, so the white-embroidered, spaghetti-strapped black dress was a wee bit suggestive, but considering that it was 100 degrees in August, I didn't think anything of it. Apparently I wasn't properly considering the fact that I was entering and establishment run by an all-male staff. I could feel their eyes on me as I crossed the store, going to the refrigerated case that held the oh-so-tasty hard cider.
"Is that all for you?" the (male) cashier asked when I placed my six-pack on the counter.
"Yes, sir," I replied. There was a moment of banter in which he said that being called sir made him feel old and I explained that it's really just me being polite. Come on, I was raised in the pseudo-South.
I paid with cash, and I was slipping the change into my wallet, I could feel his eyes travel to my cleavage. Not that there was much to see. "You have a safe night, ma'am."
My thoughts went immediately to
ew, though I simply thanked him and exited the store. The exchange left me wondering if dresses are really that compelling. Or is it a hint of cleavage, no matter how small, that makes men behave in such a way? Or have I absolutely unknowingly become more attractive than I realize? While I find it unlikely, I am willing to accept the theory.
In the end, it doesn't really matter. I got my pizza, made it home, and was tipsy after one bottle. This made me text co-workers and use the word "hooray" copiously.
*Which screams to be mixed with my coffee every single morning.
Seen and Heard: Gmail Chat
Bradshaw: i had a sex dream about [insert boy here] last night
me: oh man
dude, I'd kill for even a sex DREAM
Bradshaw: oh god would be better
Bradshaw: seriously
it was better than I remembered, and my memory recalls it being really damn good.
me: grumble
when will I learn to just go ahead and be a slut?
Bradshaw: ha
when I learn to accept Christ as my personal savior, cure cancer, and get back together with Jerk Ex-Boyfriend....aka half past impossible
me: I just almost gagged on my coffee
me: leading off with Christ, that's what did it for me
Bradshaw: mission accomplished.
Labels: Bradshaw, eavesdropping, everyday amusements
Tidbits
I just discovered a Sonic that is a mere ten minutes from my apartment that is open twenty-four hours a day. Twenty-four hours! The only thing that could be better than this is a twenty-four hour Starbucks. Which would also probably lead to me never sleeping again.
Friday's release party was a hit. Many books were sold, I was only mildly concerned about teenage girls pushing me off the chair I was standing on, and I got paid quite a lot to be there. There are hilarious photos all over Facebook.
I just read
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and fell in love. It's fabulous. After
Breaking Dawn and this, I'm completely bored by the book I've been reading (see the sidebar, kittens). I keep looking for things that are really compelling, and I keep striking out. I find it annoying.
I genuinely wish that I liked the flavor of tea, because I think it would be good for me to drink it before bed. As a kind of ritual. The only time I've managed to make myself drink tea, it was a vanilla-infused black tea that I sweetened with honey and drank only because I could feel myself getting sick and was willing to fight it any way I could. I also spent those four days
taking cold medicine and ibuprofen, sleeping as much as possible, and wearing flats.
I know that the previous paragraph is very poorly written. In fact, I bet the entire post is. But I am both too tired and too complacent to do anything about it.
Labels: books, everyday musings
Black Sparkles and Red Nails
Today, for lots of teenage girls, is close to a holiday. The final book in Stephenie Meyer's
Twilight Saga,
Breaking Dawn, is being released at midnight. I, working at a Giant Bookstore and having read the books myself, will be selling the book at midnight. We're having a release party (think Harry Potter) with a prom theme. There will be dresses and dancing and photos and, of course, a King and a Queen. Because of all the hard work that has gone into the planning of this party, I have found myself really getting into the spirit, against my natural instinct to shy away from such things.
It started a couple of weeks ago when I headed back to Small Town for the weekend. Anticipating the party - and the fact that we had all agreed to dress up - I dragged the dress I wore to my junior prom out of the closet. Black with a sparkly bodice and a swishy skirt, I realized that I'm still pretty fond of it. The fact that it laces up the back means that I can actually still wear it, despite the weight I've gained in the last two years.
After listening to one of the managers talking about the books as she read through them, I found myself going back and reading passages, starting sometime last week. It reminds me of being seventeen. I try not to think about the angst that being seventeen seemed to bring with it.
This morning, thinking about what I was going to wear to work and how the logistics of changing from work clothes into the prom dress was going to work, I found myself thinking on at theme. Everything I'm wearing today is black or gray, with bits of red thrown in for fun. I painted my nails, appropriately, blood red. The batteries for my digital camera are charging. I am, admittedly, rather excited, despite the fact that I'm already sleepy and will being going non-stop from 5 pm till 2 am. And likely beyond.
Just don't tell the cool police. I can't afford bail this week. I have a book to buy.
Labels: books, my insanity, work
