Update: This Weekend
Just a brief update from the weekend, as most of the details aren't really worth writing down: Ms. O got to meet Hershey and give me her opinion of him. The verdict: "
Very cute, very flirtatious, and definitely has a thing for you." I've decided that this is a positive assessment.
The next morning we were sitting at Gallagher's parents' together, drinking coffee and chatting. Somehow the subject of grandparents and cemeteries came up, and this somehow led to my brief mention of Iris. He said he didn't know who that was, to which I replied, "That's a good thing. Talking about him just brings all of my neuroses to the surface." He found this amusing. I wonder if he would be amused if he knew the whole story.
When I was leaving, he gave me a back-cracking hug and told me to be careful, then asked when I was going to be back in College Town. I answered and was asked to, "give him a call so we can hang out." I'm never sure if Hershey means the things that he says or if he's saying them because he feels obligated. Somehow I don't think I'm going to be calling him.
Labels: boys, my insanity, updates
What the Hell is the Cat Doing?
Tomorrow, I will be driving from Small Town to attend the grand opening of Gallagher's father's new restaurant. I'm going to continue to keep my personal feelings about that whole ordeal to myself. If I'm going to be completely honest, there are two reasons that I am going. First, Hershey may or may not be there. I'm trying to pretend like that isn't part of the reason, but I'm such a lying bitch. Second, I have invited Ms. O, my roommate from sophomore year who lives near Gallagher's hometown, to attend the opening with me. We haven't seen each other in at least a year and I miss her like crazy, so this is fabulous. Other than seeing her though, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the whole thing. I'll update you when I get back.
So, today, I am giving you some options for a soon-t0-come post, because lately I feel uninspired.*
Option One: Nic chooses a random moment from high school to talk about.
Option Two: Nic writes some sort of list(s).
Option Three: You ask Nic a question (or two or three) that you want me to answer. I answer them honestly. Really. (This is Nic's favorite option.)
Vote and/or throw some questions at me. Please.
*This is kind of a lie. I'm simply not allowed to blog about what's on my mind lately. You're all getting sick of it, I'm sure.Labels: updates, you vote
Superiority Complex
I'm spending the next week on a vacation from my "real job"* at the Giant Bookstore to go home to Small Town and house-sit for my parents, who are on an actual vacation. I got back this morning, discovered that my normally thoughtful mother left the kitchen sadly empty, and in turn went to the grocery store.
After spending half-an-hour wandering through the shelves, tossing random things into the cart - so much worse than the very deliberate shopping I always try to do for my own apartment - I went to the checkout. When I got there, I saw none other than my elementary school arch nemesis. She was possibly the only person that I was ever unkind to before I reached the age of thirteen, the victim of my tauntings of "Mushroom Head," earned because her mother had given her an extremely unflattering bowl haircut that did, in fact, leave her with a head that seemed to be shaped like a mushroom. And as I watched her scanning cartons of yogurt, frozen pizzas, and an impulsive bottle of high school wine**, I wasn't worried about what she was thinking of my purchases, a typical Nic reaction. Oh no, I found myself thinking far more cruel things than that. "I may be a bum," I said to myself, "but at least I'm a bum with a college degree who got the hell out of Small Town."
Things like this are proof that I am far more judgmental than is fair. I'm not yet sure if I'm going to try to change it or learn to live with it.
* I say real job, but we all know that this is my way of being a bum for another year. I'm coming to accept it.**Read: Boone's Farm. If you've ever been to a high school house party, you have seen - and probably consumed - Boone's Farm wine. It comes in fruity flavors and shouldn't be allowed to be called wine at all.Labels: everyday musings, Small Town
A Declaration
Today at work, I got my yearly review, a rather glowing review. I got a raise and I was told that the new role that I've been filling really gave me the opportunity to show my strengths. This put me in a fantastic mood, an untouchable mood really.
And so, tonight, as I line my eyes and spritz perfume and let the black dress slide over my hips, I am going to remind myself that having expectations tends to lead to disappointment, and in this mood, I am not in a place to be disappointed. I am going to sip my drinks like a lady, I am going to chat with people whose company I enjoy, and I am going to remember that I don't
need anyone.
I am also not going to let myself think about the fact that if I let myself, I just might like him.
Labels: boys, piano bar, work
Plan of Action
Lately, I have been getting chubby. Not fat, mind you, but chubbier than I've been since I was little and being chubby was still considered cute. I was one of the rare girls who actually lost weight her freshman year of college, but since about the midpoint of my sophomore year, I've been slowly gaining weight, and it's finally reached a point that has me doing something about it.
First, I stopped drinking Dr. Pepper. Well, mostly. I slipped last night because it just sounded so damn good, and really, a can or two isn't going to kill me. I just need to stop drinking it every day. In any case, that was step one.
Next, I cleaned up my kitchen and started using it for the actual cooking of food rather than the tossing of frozen stuffs in the microwave for the first time in about six months. Student teaching really didn't make me want to cook when I got home, so I started living on Smart Ones, frozen pizza, and fast food. This does not lead to the slimming of the waistline, kittens. Part of this cooking for myself stuff also includes buying myself food that doesn't suck. It would probably help if I didn't bake brownies and cupcakes, but in my defense I only kept about six of those cupcakes and there's still one left.
Wednesday afternoon, I sat on my couch nursing a horrible hangover (the kind of hangover that had me throwing up water at 2 o' clock the next afternoon*) and wishing that this brand-new heartburn experience would end quickly. I also noticed that my stomach was disgustingly squishy, even when it was completely empty. This is unacceptable. I've never been a part of the
Perfectly Flat Tummy club, but I have been a card-carrying member of the Cute Little Tummy club, for which you must have the kind of tummy that is muscle covered by an acceptably thin layer of skin and...stuff. The fact that my card is gone and I hadn't yet done anything about it...well. Let's just say that I made a decision right then.
The next step in my Be Less Fat plan was to buy some sort of workout DVD. I hate running and lifting weights has never really been for me - even when I was doing it - so the trick was to find something fun that I'll actually do for a while. Enter
Carmen Electra's Fit to Strip. I can hear you: "But Nic, do you want to be a stripper?" No, of course I don't. "Then do you want to look like Carmen Electra?" Fuck yes I want to look like Carmen Electra! Sans the fake boobs, she's one hot piece of ass. I'm not so naive as to believe that I actually
will look like her, but a girl can dream, right?
I've done the workout twice, and as I sit here typing, the my arms, abs, and ass are all sore, and if I move just right, my thighs aren't super-thrilled with me either. I love it.
Oh, Gallagher asked Hershey if he was mad at me last night. He said no. I call bullshit.
*Of course, I'm know I won't stop drinking, even though alcohol is full of empty calories. I will, however, stop getting wasted. It has so many negative ramifications.Labels: alcohol, everyday musings, girl stuff
Such a Great Big Liar
An observation: I need to start being more consistent with this posting stuff. I would be annoyed if I was reading my blog, what with the sporadic posts and insane nature of them. With that said, I'm going to be even more insane.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided that I wasn't going to write about
Hershey any more. The problem is just how difficult it is to stop thinking about him, and since I tend to write what I'm thinking, there's a bit of a disconnect. Maybe that's why I got so random with the posting. In any case, I feel like we've crashed and burned - as much as something ten feet off the ground can crash and burn - and it is entirely my own fault. And not only is it my fault, I just
keep going.
First was the night that I told him that he needed to
get off his ass and be there for his supposed best friend, Gallagher, on a day that he knew was hard for her. I interfered in their friendship, something that I learned not to do back in high school but did anyhow. I know it was the right thing on some level, but on another, I feel really bad about it.
Then, there are the text messages. I seem to have a problem with texting when I drink, and since I'm not going to stop drinking, I think it's time to make a no-drunk-texts rule. Hershey played drums for a little bit at Piano Bar on Tuesday night.* The transcript of wasted-Nic texts went as follows:
Nic: Nice rhythm, drummer.
Hershey: Why thank you
Nic: You're welcome, doll.
Let's pause to point out that yes, I should have stopped right here. But I totally didn't. Nic: I'm definitely drunk, but do you think you and I have a chance to start over drama-free?
Hershey: Drama?
Nic: You seem...thrilled with me since last Sunday.
And this is where the texting stopped, which leads me to believe one of two things. One, he was smart enough to realize that I was wasted and to end communication, regardless of his feeling about the conversation. Two, he really is still pissed about it and refuses to talk about it. I'm pretty sure I'm not happy with things either way.
Now, unless there are developments that don't make me want to pull my own hair out, I will refrain from posting about him again, lest I drive you all crazy. Also, I propose that I institute a no drunk texts rule! We shall consider this carefully over the next few days.
In unrelated news, I'm thinking of coloring my hair a bit for the first time and going slightly more red than my natural color. Thoughts?
*We are not even going to go to the place where I talk about drummers right now. You know how some girls feel about the guitarist? Or the lead singer? I'm all about the guy in the back.Labels: alcohol, boys, my insanity
Power of Persuasion
I've always been a big proponent of the "fake it till you make it" philosophy, to a certain extent. I believe that I can make a bad day suck less, or that I can come across looking completely confident when I'm scared senseless, all due to my personal power of persuasion. The question becomes if the persuasion works or if it merely an illusion that I have convinced myself is real. Is the day really better just because I want it to be, or has my outlook on the still-crappy day changed? Do I really look as confident as I think, or is it simply a big fat act that I've put on for others?
I'm trying to stop drinking Dr. Pepper again. Back in high school, I went six years without drinking any pop - particularly Dr. Pepper, since it is my favorite - and it wasn't a struggle at all. I didn't start drinking it again until after Iris died; it was something of an emotional catharsis, drinking something that he was so fond of. Twisted, but understandable, I know. In an effort to stay away from the carbonated beverage, I keep telling myself that I don't want it. "Nic, you do
not want to drink a Dr. Pepper. It is nothing but sugar and bubbles and empty calories. You do not want Dr. Pepper." Of course, I'm pretty sure I still want it.
Thinking about the Dr. Pepper makes me wonder about other things. For example, for the last two and a half years, I've been saying that I don't want a boyfriend. For at least the last two years and three months, I believe I meant that. Now, I'm not so sure. Am I actually pleased with being alone and with having no romantic prospects, or have I simply said it so many times that I've built an illusion for myself in which the statement is true. And, of course, bringing this up to myself opens a whole can of worms. The biggest, fattest worm wriggling around is the idea that I might actually
want someone else - when there is no one around. I think this is too much for Monday afternoon.
Labels: my insanity
Ugly
The way that women go through their lives intrigues me. When we're young, we're constantly told how cute or pretty we are. And, because we are egocentric and gullible and beautifully innocent, we believe. Little girls believe that they could be princesses, beauty queens, cheerleaders, presidents - and that they are the most beautiful little girl in the world.
Adolescence brings the insecurity, the scrutiny, the self-loathing. We are constantly judging ourselves and others and are conditioned to believe what we're told about our looks; at this point, however, we're being told all of the negative things. Too chubby, too skinny, too tall, too short, too awkward. Of course, there's always the dreaded simplicity of the word "ugly." We're all snarky and bitchy and cruel to one another, unfairly and stupidly. We're so conscious of the standard of beauty that we cannot look past that and see ourselves clearly.
At twenty-two, I have certainly been through it. I have felt like I was beautiful and perfect; I have felt like I was heinous and would never be good enough. I've grown as a person, and, to a certain extent, I feel that I've grown into my looks. I can see my reflection and manage to look past the negative things - and believe me, there are negative things out the wazoo - to see the things about me that are beautiful. I love my eyelashes, the shade of blue my eyes are when I wear black, my cheekbones, the way my bangs fall across my forehead, my collarbones, the tattoo behind my ear, my earlobes, my wrists, the tops of my feet. Odd things, but things that are particular to me and the things that I've found to focus on instead of the flaws. While there are certainly things that I would change - things that I plan to change - I'm relatively comfortable in my own pale, imperfect skin.
And still, despite all of the personal strides that I've made and my opinions on the relationship between self-image and growing up female, there are a few things that sting. That word: ugly. "She's ugly," he said, and I knew that he was a drunken son-of-a-bitch who was trying to hurt my feelings and whose opinion didn't matter. It still doesn't matter, because I'm not so fragile as to let one person destroy the self-esteem that I've worked so hard to build. And while I'm fine with it intellectually, there's still the visceral reaction and the capability to accept and internalize the words.
Forget that. I am not hot, I am not beautiful, I am not anything special, and I am not ugly. I'll be damned if I'm going to let some worthless, random boy make me feel like anything less than I am.
Labels: everyday musings, girl stuff
Things I Learned
There are times when traditional worries have to be thrown out the window. Money, propriety, your own personal comfort; things like these become moot when someone is really counting on you.
Friday night, I spent an hour standing outside talking to Gallagher because she needed it.
Saturday night, I spent two hours cleaning my living room just so that Bradshaw would have a safe place to be when she got here. That's right, Bradshaw made an appearance in College Town. As much as the entire thing was for her, there's no way that she can recognize what she did for my spirit as well. I love that girl. She has been there for me and done so much for me that nothing I could ever give her - time, money, objects - could ever begin to scratch the surface of what I owe. She is amazing.
Tonight, I did something that took me out of my own comfort zone and was socially inappropriate. When Gallagher was hurting, I made a point of contacting the person who could help her, the person that she really wanted to be there, even as I tried to fill in. I contacted him, I guilt-tripped him, and I threw any chance he and I have of being comfortable acquaintances out the window. I did this because it was what she needed, and having been in the place that she's in now, I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if I hadn't made every effort to make this day better for her. It worked, and I don't feel even a little bit bad about it.
For the first time in a long time, I truly feel good about myself as a person. It feels good to be able to say that, and despite the fact that I have an apologetic and explanatory phone call to make tomorrow, I don't regret it even a little bit.
Labels: Bradshaw, everyday musings, girl stuff
Is This What Britney Feels Like in the Morning?
In my experience, electronic communication when one is drunk is almost always a bad idea. Texting, calling, IMing - unless the person is sitting in the same room, you should probably just leave them alone. There are, of course, exceptions. Shooting a tipsy text to a best friend early in the night when you're missing her. I can even get behind sending a slightly inappropriate text message to someone that you'd like to get frisky with. Under no circumstances, however, should you repeatedly text your one-night stand. You will wake up in a tequila haze, re-read these messages, and deliberately roll over and go back to sleep. When you wake up the second time, you'll realize that you owe the kid an apology.
It's also a bad idea to go out with preconceived notions of how your night will end. This leads to disappointment, which leads to moping, which leads to staying away from people at all costs.
Labels: alcohol, boys
My Comments on Last Night
Fuck boys. Fuck girls.
I should have stayed home and slept from 6 pm until noon today.
Labels: alcohol
Seen and Heard: Text Message
Nic: Naps are god.
Gallagher: Good! Dinner will be ready in fifteen!
Nic: I'm making coffee, then I'll head over. Coffee is also god. I am polytheistic.
Labels: eavesdropping, everyday amusements
