1.31.2005
Sporadic Blogging Alert!
So I might not be blogging for a few days since my computer monitor hasn't arrived yet and I've been using the EH's for the past three weeks. He's moving his stuff out tomorrow (or so he says) and I'll be seriously compromised when it comes to using the computer until further notice. I know there are literally one or two (or maybe just one) broken-hearted people out there reading this, and you'll be sad to have to wait to hear my tales of the Puppy And Me, so just hold on to your bike shorts, will ya?
Alisa Out...
Alisa Out...
1.30.2005
Punk Rock Girl
Saw a great show last night - my first punk show in about 12 years. Lots of tattooed people smoking cigarettes and bumping into each other, lots of good, anthemy music. Avail was tremendous and I highly recommend donning your old Ramones t-shirt and seeing them live if they come to your town.
Our little group was comprised of me, the Puppy, his friend R the Hippie (a grad student in psychology who wore a t-shirt with a VW bus on it and a fleece jacket - this in a crowd where we counted three "Fuck Hippies" shirts - nice, that) and his friend X whom he has known since high school and has been battling cancer for a few years, and two of the Puppy's cousins, who were totally adorable and goofy as all get out. I had the best time in my lace-up boots, and of course the only other person outside of our motley crew that I talked to all night was some bespectacled married guy from outside LA who came with his wife to see the band. He reminded me of NYC D. Seriously, I have issues.
Afterward we hit a dive bar to play shuffleboard and infiltrate the rap-muddied jukebox with Billy Squier and Clash songs. Good times. Today I slept in, did some laundry, and watched "Night of the Comet" and "The World According to Garp" with the Pup. The former flick is a long-time favorite of mine. I can't even tell you how many times I've seen it, how horrible it is, and how much I love it. And Garp, well...it's another one of those twisted John Irving heartbreakers that leaves you at the end feeling like you don't even want to talk anymore that day. At least, that's what it does to me.
In other news, the Portland job people said they'd be in touch this week to set up an interview with the vice president of the company. I've made it since Tuesday without shitting myself too much about it. I have a lot riding on it, which kind of stinks b/c if I got it I'd be set up for a smooth transition and the ability to move almost immediately. If I don't get it, I have to start over...or consider asking my current employers how they feel about me telecommuting every day...from 1,500 miles away. Yikes.
Once again, if there's anyone out there paying attention, I ask for you to wish me luck.
I could use it, ya know?
ps: So the EH went snowboarding this weekend...and he went with one of the lesbians. Did I mention this already? I get to work Wednesday morning and there's this email from her saying "I don't want to lie to you...the EH heard me and my friends talking about Telluride and how we were trying to split costs and blah blah blah...I'm in a bad place right now...won't win the Nobel Prize for friendship..." On and on. Huh. I told the Pup and he was like "oh, they're definitely fucking," and despite the fact that I hadn't considered that possibility, that had no effect on me at all. A strange but good thing. Even stranger, I set the EH and the lesbian up years ago - before the marriage, and obviously, before she dabbled in Sapphic lurv, and I still think they'd make a pretty decent couple. They're both awfully tall, enjoy smoking weed, and not only tolerate, but enjoy The Indigo Girls. I mean, come on! (Let's not ponder what I was doing with him, but I will give you this: at the beginning, he followed me around a lot. And how i LURV being in charge...)
Bottom line: at least somebody (might be) getting laid, because it most certainly is not me!!! Margaret Cho (who is only remotely funny) used to do this bit about how hard-up she was...she was so hard up that she was considering digging a hole in the ground, covering herself up with leaves, and waiting for someone to fall in... I'm not quite there yet, but I'm damn close, kids. Damn close. I think my woman-parts might turn to dust and blow away if I don't give them a spin around the block now and again. My main problem, however, is that I have no takers.
Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Help me.
Our little group was comprised of me, the Puppy, his friend R the Hippie (a grad student in psychology who wore a t-shirt with a VW bus on it and a fleece jacket - this in a crowd where we counted three "Fuck Hippies" shirts - nice, that) and his friend X whom he has known since high school and has been battling cancer for a few years, and two of the Puppy's cousins, who were totally adorable and goofy as all get out. I had the best time in my lace-up boots, and of course the only other person outside of our motley crew that I talked to all night was some bespectacled married guy from outside LA who came with his wife to see the band. He reminded me of NYC D. Seriously, I have issues.
Afterward we hit a dive bar to play shuffleboard and infiltrate the rap-muddied jukebox with Billy Squier and Clash songs. Good times. Today I slept in, did some laundry, and watched "Night of the Comet" and "The World According to Garp" with the Pup. The former flick is a long-time favorite of mine. I can't even tell you how many times I've seen it, how horrible it is, and how much I love it. And Garp, well...it's another one of those twisted John Irving heartbreakers that leaves you at the end feeling like you don't even want to talk anymore that day. At least, that's what it does to me.
In other news, the Portland job people said they'd be in touch this week to set up an interview with the vice president of the company. I've made it since Tuesday without shitting myself too much about it. I have a lot riding on it, which kind of stinks b/c if I got it I'd be set up for a smooth transition and the ability to move almost immediately. If I don't get it, I have to start over...or consider asking my current employers how they feel about me telecommuting every day...from 1,500 miles away. Yikes.
Once again, if there's anyone out there paying attention, I ask for you to wish me luck.
I could use it, ya know?
ps: So the EH went snowboarding this weekend...and he went with one of the lesbians. Did I mention this already? I get to work Wednesday morning and there's this email from her saying "I don't want to lie to you...the EH heard me and my friends talking about Telluride and how we were trying to split costs and blah blah blah...I'm in a bad place right now...won't win the Nobel Prize for friendship..." On and on. Huh. I told the Pup and he was like "oh, they're definitely fucking," and despite the fact that I hadn't considered that possibility, that had no effect on me at all. A strange but good thing. Even stranger, I set the EH and the lesbian up years ago - before the marriage, and obviously, before she dabbled in Sapphic lurv, and I still think they'd make a pretty decent couple. They're both awfully tall, enjoy smoking weed, and not only tolerate, but enjoy The Indigo Girls. I mean, come on! (Let's not ponder what I was doing with him, but I will give you this: at the beginning, he followed me around a lot. And how i LURV being in charge...)
Bottom line: at least somebody (might be) getting laid, because it most certainly is not me!!! Margaret Cho (who is only remotely funny) used to do this bit about how hard-up she was...she was so hard up that she was considering digging a hole in the ground, covering herself up with leaves, and waiting for someone to fall in... I'm not quite there yet, but I'm damn close, kids. Damn close. I think my woman-parts might turn to dust and blow away if I don't give them a spin around the block now and again. My main problem, however, is that I have no takers.
Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Help me.
1.29.2005
Can't Buy Me Love
But I can buy me two pairs of shoes, two pairs of boots, a cashmere scarf and a pair of jeans. Ahhh...that's better.
So Thursday night I ventured out - sans Puppy, K or Just Joe - to a couple of media parties with my friend M who is in PR. The first event was at some ridiculous Scottsdale gallery with the world's most bland art. But the salmon petit-fours were amazing and they poured a decent glass of wine. M of course looked adorable as she is petite and 27 years old. She can't help it. I looked English Mum-like (I kept thinking of Shaun's mom from Shaun of the Dead - yes, I have issues) in my pinstripe button-down, suede jacket, dark brown work trousers and black patent mary janes. Ooh, I am a Man Magnet, don't you know.
Anyhoo, we shmoozed and mocked and I met the editor of this new, painful "hotel" magazine that the party was launching. It's like all these advertorials about local boutiques and spas and then "features" on cacti and salsa. I shite you not. The editor, however, was a pretty cool chick. A little loopy. Tall. Sandra Bernhard-ish. But also a fan of downtown Phoenix's ratty old Bikini Lounge - the only remaining tiki bar in the state. So of course I adored her.
Then it was on to the next shindig, in THE MALL. In a jewelry store. The kind of place that does all that suspension stuff where diamonds are smashed in between the platinum with just enough force that they don't require a setting and they won't roll off your hand into a gutter somewhere. Or whatever. They served pink champagne, and though we were packed into a very small space with a fairly large number of people, the bubbles took the edge off quite nicely.
And my little Editor Crush from (I can't tell you) Magazine was there. Looking adorable. And with his girlfriend. ARG! She was so plain jane-ish, I was so much cuter. I am so much cuter. He saw me and was like "Hey! Dive-bar girl!" That part, not so much, but at least I was remembered. Sigh. I wound up talking to him for about 40% of the time we were there, but of course there was that girlfriend thing milling about, being very serious, so he couldn't laugh with me as much as I think he should have - ha ha. Found out he's a vegetarian - right after I told him how delicious my steak was last Saturday night. Hm. But he's generous, too, as he bought the primster girlie a lovely ring. Hum. And M and this other girl were like "he is adorable" - so since I have the Stamp of Girl-proval I am officially setting this guy as my Bar for Dating. Rowr.
The party-goers...man, I have to give them their due. There were a few Cougars mixed in with the "Everybody Wear Black" crowd, and the people who own the store are these oddly Sprockets-like Germans with accents and rimless glasses. Two of them pounced on this poor Coug in a horrible red sweater - made her try on this angular and avant-garde steel necklace that was basically wires with balls on the ends bent into a square. The poor Cougstress kept trying to make it land comfortably on her collarbones, and asking her friends, "Is this me? I don't think it's me," and basically crying for help, but the Germans insisted it was pefect. Senor Sprockets told her, in his thick Germanic accent, "Look at huhhh...she iz wearing ze necklace and it looks faaaabulous," and from behind him apparated this petite black-clad woman out of the crowd, who then very dramatically pulled back the extraordinarily large lapels on her (black, natch) shirt and exposed another version of the bizarro necklace, her pointy face and rimless glasses showing no sign of emotion. Or life. What a saleswoman! Totally creepshow.
Anyhoo, afterward M and I headed down to this righteous dive bar down the street that still had its cracktacular xmas lights blazing, and had yet another drink, talked about sex and feminine hygiene (no, I'm not kidding, but they weren't on the same theme, so that made it okay) and fended off lame advances from the intoxicated dudes at the next table. Ah, life.
Last night I stayed home and watched a horrible movie - "Silver City" - and finished it, though usually when a flick is that bad I veto it asap. I was compelled. I don't know why. Tonight I am either going to a gay bar with Just Joe and K or to what the Puppy promises to be an "epic" punk show - this band called Avail. Sounds fishy to me. Sounds skinheady. If the Germans from the jewelry store are there I'm going to lose my lunch.
Alisa Out!
So Thursday night I ventured out - sans Puppy, K or Just Joe - to a couple of media parties with my friend M who is in PR. The first event was at some ridiculous Scottsdale gallery with the world's most bland art. But the salmon petit-fours were amazing and they poured a decent glass of wine. M of course looked adorable as she is petite and 27 years old. She can't help it. I looked English Mum-like (I kept thinking of Shaun's mom from Shaun of the Dead - yes, I have issues) in my pinstripe button-down, suede jacket, dark brown work trousers and black patent mary janes. Ooh, I am a Man Magnet, don't you know.
Anyhoo, we shmoozed and mocked and I met the editor of this new, painful "hotel" magazine that the party was launching. It's like all these advertorials about local boutiques and spas and then "features" on cacti and salsa. I shite you not. The editor, however, was a pretty cool chick. A little loopy. Tall. Sandra Bernhard-ish. But also a fan of downtown Phoenix's ratty old Bikini Lounge - the only remaining tiki bar in the state. So of course I adored her.
Then it was on to the next shindig, in THE MALL. In a jewelry store. The kind of place that does all that suspension stuff where diamonds are smashed in between the platinum with just enough force that they don't require a setting and they won't roll off your hand into a gutter somewhere. Or whatever. They served pink champagne, and though we were packed into a very small space with a fairly large number of people, the bubbles took the edge off quite nicely.
And my little Editor Crush from (I can't tell you) Magazine was there. Looking adorable. And with his girlfriend. ARG! She was so plain jane-ish, I was so much cuter. I am so much cuter. He saw me and was like "Hey! Dive-bar girl!" That part, not so much, but at least I was remembered. Sigh. I wound up talking to him for about 40% of the time we were there, but of course there was that girlfriend thing milling about, being very serious, so he couldn't laugh with me as much as I think he should have - ha ha. Found out he's a vegetarian - right after I told him how delicious my steak was last Saturday night. Hm. But he's generous, too, as he bought the primster girlie a lovely ring. Hum. And M and this other girl were like "he is adorable" - so since I have the Stamp of Girl-proval I am officially setting this guy as my Bar for Dating. Rowr.
The party-goers...man, I have to give them their due. There were a few Cougars mixed in with the "Everybody Wear Black" crowd, and the people who own the store are these oddly Sprockets-like Germans with accents and rimless glasses. Two of them pounced on this poor Coug in a horrible red sweater - made her try on this angular and avant-garde steel necklace that was basically wires with balls on the ends bent into a square. The poor Cougstress kept trying to make it land comfortably on her collarbones, and asking her friends, "Is this me? I don't think it's me," and basically crying for help, but the Germans insisted it was pefect. Senor Sprockets told her, in his thick Germanic accent, "Look at huhhh...she iz wearing ze necklace and it looks faaaabulous," and from behind him apparated this petite black-clad woman out of the crowd, who then very dramatically pulled back the extraordinarily large lapels on her (black, natch) shirt and exposed another version of the bizarro necklace, her pointy face and rimless glasses showing no sign of emotion. Or life. What a saleswoman! Totally creepshow.
Anyhoo, afterward M and I headed down to this righteous dive bar down the street that still had its cracktacular xmas lights blazing, and had yet another drink, talked about sex and feminine hygiene (no, I'm not kidding, but they weren't on the same theme, so that made it okay) and fended off lame advances from the intoxicated dudes at the next table. Ah, life.
Last night I stayed home and watched a horrible movie - "Silver City" - and finished it, though usually when a flick is that bad I veto it asap. I was compelled. I don't know why. Tonight I am either going to a gay bar with Just Joe and K or to what the Puppy promises to be an "epic" punk show - this band called Avail. Sounds fishy to me. Sounds skinheady. If the Germans from the jewelry store are there I'm going to lose my lunch.
Alisa Out!
1.25.2005
Suzanne is Oh So Clever
Freakishly, I found out today that my boss has a copy of Suzanne Somers' book "The Sexy Years" - the one where she talks about menopause and bio-identical hormones. Oh yeah, good times. I pulled the copy off his shelf and collated a lovely selection of some of the quotes that precede each chapter. They are gems. (btw: I almost wrote "germs" - hmmm...)
Enjoy:
“Perks of being over forty: You enjoy hearing about other people’s operations.”
“’Old’ is when a sexy babe catches your man’s fancy and his pacemaker opens the garage door.”
“’Old’ is when … getting a little action means you don’t have to take any fiber today.”
“Signs of menopause: You sell your home heating system at a garage sale.”
And my personal favorite…
“I’m out of estrogen and I have a gun.”
Be afraid…be very afraid…
In other horrifying news, today they announced - just after I took a shower, washed my face and brushed my teeth - that the Phoenix water supply has a high particulate level due to recent heavy rains, and until noon tomorrow, it is unsafe to ingest. They said "don't drink it, don't brush your teeth with it, don't water your lawn, don't wash your clothes, and take a very brief shower." Natchurally, I had done none of the above. And of course there was a run on bottled water across the city, as people freaked the fuck out and bought up every bottle within sniffing distance.
I even went on a run myself, as our filtered office water was deemed "unsafe." Possibly. Or whatever. A coworker begged me to go to - gag - Starbucks and get him the largest black coffee they would sell me, and he was barely in luck - they weren't brewing their own, but they had trucked in a supply of coffee from one of the stores in Mesa.
Unreal.
Also from Arizona: news that there is now a citizen militia empowered to patrol the border with Mexico. Every mullet-sporting redneck between here and Salt Lake City is verily champing at the bit to get down there with a 12-pack and a 12-gauge and keep our country safe...from landscapers.
My friend in Japan said, "Sounds like Somalia." Neato, huh? My god I hate this bloodsucking state.
In better news, I had my second interview with that big job in Portland and it went amazingly well. I am going to interview with the vice president of the company next week (there are 6,500 employees, so that's pretty big-time) and if all goes well, will fly out to P-land to meet the team. I am so excited. Pooping myself, practically!
And it's great timing, since they want to have someone in place by mid-February, and the Puppy has sold his house and will be camping here with me - and my one soon-to-be-abused bathroom - come Feb. 10. Oh, and my mom is A-OK! I don't want to jinx anything, but...
Again, wish me luck.
I just made red Thai curry and the EH showed up on my doorstep to look for some lost snowboarding gear. Hm. Life. Hm.
Enjoy:
“Perks of being over forty: You enjoy hearing about other people’s operations.”
“’Old’ is when a sexy babe catches your man’s fancy and his pacemaker opens the garage door.”
“’Old’ is when … getting a little action means you don’t have to take any fiber today.”
“Signs of menopause: You sell your home heating system at a garage sale.”
And my personal favorite…
“I’m out of estrogen and I have a gun.”
Be afraid…be very afraid…
In other horrifying news, today they announced - just after I took a shower, washed my face and brushed my teeth - that the Phoenix water supply has a high particulate level due to recent heavy rains, and until noon tomorrow, it is unsafe to ingest. They said "don't drink it, don't brush your teeth with it, don't water your lawn, don't wash your clothes, and take a very brief shower." Natchurally, I had done none of the above. And of course there was a run on bottled water across the city, as people freaked the fuck out and bought up every bottle within sniffing distance.
I even went on a run myself, as our filtered office water was deemed "unsafe." Possibly. Or whatever. A coworker begged me to go to - gag - Starbucks and get him the largest black coffee they would sell me, and he was barely in luck - they weren't brewing their own, but they had trucked in a supply of coffee from one of the stores in Mesa.
Unreal.
Also from Arizona: news that there is now a citizen militia empowered to patrol the border with Mexico. Every mullet-sporting redneck between here and Salt Lake City is verily champing at the bit to get down there with a 12-pack and a 12-gauge and keep our country safe...from landscapers.
My friend in Japan said, "Sounds like Somalia." Neato, huh? My god I hate this bloodsucking state.
In better news, I had my second interview with that big job in Portland and it went amazingly well. I am going to interview with the vice president of the company next week (there are 6,500 employees, so that's pretty big-time) and if all goes well, will fly out to P-land to meet the team. I am so excited. Pooping myself, practically!
And it's great timing, since they want to have someone in place by mid-February, and the Puppy has sold his house and will be camping here with me - and my one soon-to-be-abused bathroom - come Feb. 10. Oh, and my mom is A-OK! I don't want to jinx anything, but...
Again, wish me luck.
I just made red Thai curry and the EH showed up on my doorstep to look for some lost snowboarding gear. Hm. Life. Hm.
1.24.2005
This Property is Condemned!
I surely should not blog when I'm feeling this melancholy. Urf. This is what I got today in an email from a girlfriend, as we were discussing how we're getting old (33) and are finding ourselves no closer to a satisfying relationship than we were in our 20s.
She opined: "I just need a MANLY man...a man's man...not some wimpy fool that I can walk all over...I want a guy who can change a tire....who will look at me with the stink eye when I am acting an ass & i just pipe down with no words necessary....is that so much to want? "
No, Girly Girl, it's not too much. Factor that in with a guy who brings you OJ when you're sick and pays for drinks when you're feeling your Cheerios, and you might have the perfect man. Dudes: take heed! (I almost wrote "take head" - Freudian slip?)
She opined: "I just need a MANLY man...a man's man...not some wimpy fool that I can walk all over...I want a guy who can change a tire....who will look at me with the stink eye when I am acting an ass & i just pipe down with no words necessary....is that so much to want? "
No, Girly Girl, it's not too much. Factor that in with a guy who brings you OJ when you're sick and pays for drinks when you're feeling your Cheerios, and you might have the perfect man. Dudes: take heed! (I almost wrote "take head" - Freudian slip?)
1.23.2005
I'm A Mess!
Just had the best day ever. After waking up early and being generally productive around the house, the EH called and we went to breakfast at the New York-style deli across the street. Had a delish breakfast, and during said breakfast the Puppy called and invited me over...to watch football. Wha? The EH and I came back to my house, had a bloody mary and made progressively more awkward small talk as my phone rang and rang - the Puppy was like "are you done yet?" Ah, his sensitive side. Anyhoo, so the EH leaves, I grab a six-pack and head to the Pup's, and when I get there Just Joe calls. He's actually going to venture forth from his North Scottsdale Siberia and visit me in the hood!
So it's up off the sofa for me and the Pup and back to my house, where we have another beer, hang out in the Arizona room for a while and then head out for Mexican food. This is 3 in the afternoon. Long story short, we then hit Durant's for a vodka martini, then a gay sports bar for a Captain and Coke, then hit this unbelievably kitschy and decadent ice-cream shop for a drive-thru Suicide sundae, which we bring back to my house. it was inside jokes and flirting with bartenders and general foolishness for 6 straight hours. And then, they left. I was punch-drunk from day drinking and laughing all day long, and then...THE MOMENT...Bridget Jones' Diary was on tv. Now, I've seen this movie dozens of times and have liked it an awful lot, but tonight it made me cry.
Yes, I cried at the end when Mark Darcy came back from New York for Bridget Jones, and my pathetic heart pounded when he kissed her for the very first time. My eyes produced big, fat, silent, run-down-the-cheeks, "I'll be alone forever," divorce-imminent, single-imminent, sitting-on-the-couch-with-no-companion-but-a-pug tears. Oh, it was something. I haven't felt that kind of sorry for myself since the fifth grade when some girl told me I looked fat in my Calvin Klein corduroys. And they were brand new. Didn't even make it through the day. My pants had been knocked - my thighs, mocked, and therefore, the dream was sullied.
Yep, I definitely feel like that tonight.
LET'S NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN.
So it's up off the sofa for me and the Pup and back to my house, where we have another beer, hang out in the Arizona room for a while and then head out for Mexican food. This is 3 in the afternoon. Long story short, we then hit Durant's for a vodka martini, then a gay sports bar for a Captain and Coke, then hit this unbelievably kitschy and decadent ice-cream shop for a drive-thru Suicide sundae, which we bring back to my house. it was inside jokes and flirting with bartenders and general foolishness for 6 straight hours. And then, they left. I was punch-drunk from day drinking and laughing all day long, and then...THE MOMENT...Bridget Jones' Diary was on tv. Now, I've seen this movie dozens of times and have liked it an awful lot, but tonight it made me cry.
Yes, I cried at the end when Mark Darcy came back from New York for Bridget Jones, and my pathetic heart pounded when he kissed her for the very first time. My eyes produced big, fat, silent, run-down-the-cheeks, "I'll be alone forever," divorce-imminent, single-imminent, sitting-on-the-couch-with-no-companion-but-a-pug tears. Oh, it was something. I haven't felt that kind of sorry for myself since the fifth grade when some girl told me I looked fat in my Calvin Klein corduroys. And they were brand new. Didn't even make it through the day. My pants had been knocked - my thighs, mocked, and therefore, the dream was sullied.
Yep, I definitely feel like that tonight.
LET'S NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN.
Mmm, The Wine Does Go Well With The Chicken.
Now playing...Gomez, "Split the Difference," and Athlete, "Vehicles and Animals." I Heart Ear-Candy.
So last night I went to Donovan's with my parents for a 58th-birthday steak dinner for me mum. If anyone is from San Diego they'll know how otherwordly this restaurant can be. Aside from the spectacularly good food (I can't believe I was a vegetarian for 8 years...or rather, I'm so happy to have discovered beef), Donovan's attracts a rarefied clientele. A clientele that is close to death. Apparently, the goal is to have one fantabulous meal (and a huge martini, rocks) before you knock on heaven's door. I haven't seen so many white-haired people in one place since I visited the hospital in Sun City. All these old men wander around, too, wearing sport coats, holding drinks in their wizened little hands. And their wives pile on the sweater sets and pearls and flirt with the waitstaff. Oh, and there are Cougars, too!
In fact, the Proto-Coug sat directly behind my mother, and I had the pleasure (I think) of enjoying her getup for the better part of an hour. She had white spiked hair with a dark brown undertone - it was very short - very Brigitte Nielsen when she wakes up. Her skin was just as leathery, too, and possibly spray-tanned. Her ensemble consisted of a tight black tank top and (I shite you not) acid-washed jeans. Here are all these people in their conservative clothes and there was this woman... When she got up her shirt tugged halfway up her back, exposing the oldest flesh I've seen in months... Haven't seen anyone with that kind of loose skin since they closed my Ghetto Gym. (That place was rife with saggy old women cavorting nude in the locker room. You haven't lived until you've seen Grandma Moses - butt nekkid - blow-drying her hair. Arms akimbo. OY.)
Anyhoo, so that was that. But for this week, Happiness Is...getting loaded on filthy Grey Goose martoonis while enjoying a steak dinner with Mom and Dad.
So I have spent the last 5 nights alone, since I've been spending so much time with my other friends. The Puppy is on hiatus - I was overwhelmed and neglecting myself, let alone K, N and Just Joe. And my family. As much as I adore Pup Time, I have to say that even more, I like having my house to myself. He suggested moving in here before we depart for the Promised Land...I don't think I like that idea so much. I only have one bathroom...it could be deadly...
And my mom has been having some strange digestive problems (stomach clenching, passing out) and finally went to the doctor - her iron is low, her hemoglobin is low, her thyroid is low. They say it could be bone cancer, internal bleeding or menopause. Jeezus. If something is amiss with her health there's no way I can leave this blood-sucking town. I'll never forgive myself if she's sick and I'm off cavorting around the Pacific Northwest and then something happens to her. Oh, Arizona, don't let anything happen to her. And let go your prickly grip from this poor girl's legs...she wants to fly, be freeeeee!
1.22.2005
Back in the Saddle Again
Mmm, these would make me happy.
So on top of everything else bizarre that is going on in my life, two of my girlfriends are trying to convince me to sign up for internet dating. They're adamant that there's no stigma and the people are totally normal. Each one knows of a girlfriend who "does it all the time." Um. Is this cool? Yeesh, but in the spirit of doing things that stretch my boundaries (and in the interest of a free sushi dinner...or blog fodder, at the very least) I suppose I should do it. I mean, this whole Portland thing is totally a leap and a half. btw: I have a second interview set up for Tuesday with that lovely job in Portland, so wish me luck.
Anyhoo, back to online dating... I told NYC D about it and he had a total conniption fit."You have no idea who those people are" - that sort of thing. I think it’s kind of sweet how he tries to steer me in the right direction, always, and does his part to look out for me – even from so far away. He is so fully involved in my life. Talk about demented! And it's even more twisted b/c he's a bit jealous of the Pup, just for time spent and all that, and keep in mind that NYC D is married, so it’s not like we have some super-healthy platonic thing going on, ya know? …which leads me to this…why do I find it so much more fun to have totally abnormal relationships with guys than to give all my cookies to Just One Dude??? Maybe there is one guy out there who can handle me, but for right now I'm tangled up in a web of my own weaving that provides a comfortable emotional safety net.
It came in handy Wednesday night - the EH and I had dinner and then filled out the divorce paperwork. So bittersweet. And the Puppy called right at the moment the EH left. We discussed how the EH is a genuinely lovely person, and that he is going to make some girl very happy. Just...not...me. I asked, “Puppy, am I the devil?” And he said, very warmly, “No, Alisa, you’re just you.”
So here's my two cents on the Essence of Puppyness, just so errbody will calm down and stop telling me to hump the kid. I was talking to friend L about a possible new pup in her life, and I explained that a Puppy fills the boyfriend void - phone calls, hanging out, a bit of debauchery, cooking dinner for each other and generally just caring about each other - without the benefits. Why no benefits? It's like this: Sometimes I look at the Puppy and think, “Why aren’t we making out?” But then I remember how he humps skeezes and I’m immediately bounced from my reverie.
The key with a pup is feeling like you’re always on the verge of falling for him deeply, but then like I said, instantly realizing that it’s totally inappropriate, no matter how much you have in common. Ooh, it’s so much fun. Anyhoo, that's all for now. I just spent the morning pulling weeds out of my front yard, I mailed my divorce paperwork to Lisa in Japan (she does family law) to make sure the EH and I do it right the first time (no irony there, right?), and soon I'll make lunch and then go buy my mom a birthday gift. What are you up to? xxoo
Um...just registered - and then immediately UNregistered - for Match.com. Ack! The dudes "available" to me would make my mom cry...me, too, for that matter. Better for me to stick to the old-fashioned way of meeting guys: bonking them on the head and dragging them back to my cave! Alley-oop!
1.18.2005
I've Turned Into a Bad Blogger
But I have a good excuse: my life is getting way too hectic - and I rarely have a moment alone, thanks to the Puppy. It's absurd. As NYC D expressed to me today, it's Just Not Right for two healthy, horny, hetero individuals - male and female - to be this close without doing the deed. He is concerned that the Pup is just using me to fill the girlfriend role - without giving me any of the benefits. But I'm sure I'm doing the same thing.
But there is hope: today I had lunch with the big local lifestyle magazine - the publisher, the circulation director and some huge gay guy whose role I'm not yet sure of. Anyhoo, it started out awkward, as these things do without the presence of alcohol (my GOD I miss trade shows) but we got past the business bit and started talking local ethnic restaurants and it was chummy from that point on. And I kind of thought the publisher was cute. A bit WASPy for my taste, but he fit the profile - late 30s, dark hair, good teeth, funny, and he got my sense of humor. When we left the circ girl was like "you should do an article on dive bars" (for which I would be eminently qualified). But I didn't give the publisher my card. DUH. Major, superduper duh!
So tonight I'm home alone - at least so far. Haven't heard from the Pup - he spent the night last night - we're both sleeping in my bed now, which is what makes NYC D so nuts. He left when I went to work. I hate myself for thinking that's adorable. SHITE!
And tomorrow night should be epically strange: having dinner with my dad, brother and the EH at the Japanese place down the street, then the EH and I are coming back here to fill out the divorce paperwork online.
Double shite.
But there is hope: today I had lunch with the big local lifestyle magazine - the publisher, the circulation director and some huge gay guy whose role I'm not yet sure of. Anyhoo, it started out awkward, as these things do without the presence of alcohol (my GOD I miss trade shows) but we got past the business bit and started talking local ethnic restaurants and it was chummy from that point on. And I kind of thought the publisher was cute. A bit WASPy for my taste, but he fit the profile - late 30s, dark hair, good teeth, funny, and he got my sense of humor. When we left the circ girl was like "you should do an article on dive bars" (for which I would be eminently qualified). But I didn't give the publisher my card. DUH. Major, superduper duh!
So tonight I'm home alone - at least so far. Haven't heard from the Pup - he spent the night last night - we're both sleeping in my bed now, which is what makes NYC D so nuts. He left when I went to work. I hate myself for thinking that's adorable. SHITE!
And tomorrow night should be epically strange: having dinner with my dad, brother and the EH at the Japanese place down the street, then the EH and I are coming back here to fill out the divorce paperwork online.
Double shite.
1.16.2005
He Said What?
This came in the mail yesterday. Under CSI : PHX it reads "Christian Sayings Investigated" and then "He Said What?!?" I can't tell if it's supposed to make Jesus seem cool, or if it's supposed to be like "Here's what you cynical, urban professional, multi-culti 28-somethings have been missing out on...and it's Good News!"
Either way, I'm so appalled by this train wreck of a direct-mail prayer campaign that I really have no words to describe how uncomfortable it makes me feel. Dirty, even.
Yeesh.
1.15.2005
In Search Of...
a life, a cure for hangovers and a good mechanic. STAT. Going to haul my grumbling bones to Denny's for a Moons Over My Hammy - do they still make those? - and then I'll come back and spill the juice about last night's heshtacular fiascoliciousness.
But first, I want to share this strange Logan’s Run moment from work yesterday: I saw some "news" in a business journal about P.F. Chang’s – the oddly lauded faux-Chinese emporium that's likely coming to your town – while wasting time at this girl's desk who always has a fat stack of magazines. I said, “That place is so awful” and waited for the usual gasp, followed by the hand to the heart and the "I love that place!" typically elicited by said comment. But miraculously, my coworker said, “Oh my god…I thought I was the only one.” "No," I assured her, "there are others…"
IT WAS SO THAT MOMENT IN LOGAN'S RUN WHEN LOGAN LEARNS ABOUT SANCTUARY. She looked at me with the light of hope in her eyes. We don't have to eat at Chang's, my comrade. We’ll live a life of freedom from sugary versions of General Tso's chicken...we'll form a colony on the west side of town…
But first, I want to share this strange Logan’s Run moment from work yesterday: I saw some "news" in a business journal about P.F. Chang’s – the oddly lauded faux-Chinese emporium that's likely coming to your town – while wasting time at this girl's desk who always has a fat stack of magazines. I said, “That place is so awful” and waited for the usual gasp, followed by the hand to the heart and the "I love that place!" typically elicited by said comment. But miraculously, my coworker said, “Oh my god…I thought I was the only one.” "No," I assured her, "there are others…"
IT WAS SO THAT MOMENT IN LOGAN'S RUN WHEN LOGAN LEARNS ABOUT SANCTUARY. She looked at me with the light of hope in her eyes. We don't have to eat at Chang's, my comrade. We’ll live a life of freedom from sugary versions of General Tso's chicken...we'll form a colony on the west side of town…
1.13.2005
This is Why I'm Leaving Phoenix
1.11.2005
Fly Around My Pretty Little Miss
I have high hopes for 2005 - did not have those hopes for 2004, and was richly rewarded. But so far (knock wood) things are swell in the New Year. I'm only 11 days in and I have the house in my name, a decent relationship with the EH, a job prospect in Portland and a roommate (hopefully) waiting for me upon my arrival in the Promised Land.
Good times!
So my beloved Lisa in Japan and I exchanged some emails today about the blog ("does the EH know you blog about him - and that you're mean?") ... and I was at the Puppy's house last night when his ex-girlfriend called. "The One Who Got Away" - she drunk-dialed him while we were watching SLC Punk and he was wrecked. Sigh. All the emotion of the last week or so, coupled with the recent tales of Love Gone Awry, made me realize that in my own life I've made some poor decisions. Among them - skipping a parent-sponsored trip to Budapest, Prague and Vienna back in 1998, and in 2001, getting hitched. I mean, I wasn't thinking straight when I got married. I know this because the whole time I didn't want to do it, but I went through with it anyway. It felt somewhat like an arranged marriage - my parents loved the EH, and he loved them. I felt like I was giving him something, delivering him. Sick, huh? The EH was just so tender and sweet...he seemed like a lost soul. And then I shit on him. ...I've heard that arranged marriages usually work out pretty well for people, btw. Ha.
Now he's trying to find himself, and even though technically he's not too old for anything (except maybe dating 17-year-olds, eating Otter Pops and calling his shorts "short pants"), I feel like - just for the sake of mental well-being - he should know by now what he wants out of life. I feel sad for him sometimes. It's like as the marriage fell apart, so did the EH. He hinged a big part of his sense of self on me, and meanwhile, I felt like he was dragging me down. Sigh.
Right now I'm burning CDs for some pals, trying to get over the angst. Having a Pugapalooza here Saturday night - K is bringing her pug (the voluptuous and righteous Jade), Just Joe is bringing his famous Italian pasta with chickpeas, N is bringing homemade salsa. It will be lovely and mellow. And in exchange for hauling their cookies all the way (ha ha) to Central Phoenix, I'm sending them home with some good music.
Seems like the right thing to do. And you know I'm all about that.
Good times!
So my beloved Lisa in Japan and I exchanged some emails today about the blog ("does the EH know you blog about him - and that you're mean?") ... and I was at the Puppy's house last night when his ex-girlfriend called. "The One Who Got Away" - she drunk-dialed him while we were watching SLC Punk and he was wrecked. Sigh. All the emotion of the last week or so, coupled with the recent tales of Love Gone Awry, made me realize that in my own life I've made some poor decisions. Among them - skipping a parent-sponsored trip to Budapest, Prague and Vienna back in 1998, and in 2001, getting hitched. I mean, I wasn't thinking straight when I got married. I know this because the whole time I didn't want to do it, but I went through with it anyway. It felt somewhat like an arranged marriage - my parents loved the EH, and he loved them. I felt like I was giving him something, delivering him. Sick, huh? The EH was just so tender and sweet...he seemed like a lost soul. And then I shit on him. ...I've heard that arranged marriages usually work out pretty well for people, btw. Ha.
Now he's trying to find himself, and even though technically he's not too old for anything (except maybe dating 17-year-olds, eating Otter Pops and calling his shorts "short pants"), I feel like - just for the sake of mental well-being - he should know by now what he wants out of life. I feel sad for him sometimes. It's like as the marriage fell apart, so did the EH. He hinged a big part of his sense of self on me, and meanwhile, I felt like he was dragging me down. Sigh.
Right now I'm burning CDs for some pals, trying to get over the angst. Having a Pugapalooza here Saturday night - K is bringing her pug (the voluptuous and righteous Jade), Just Joe is bringing his famous Italian pasta with chickpeas, N is bringing homemade salsa. It will be lovely and mellow. And in exchange for hauling their cookies all the way (ha ha) to Central Phoenix, I'm sending them home with some good music.
Seems like the right thing to do. And you know I'm all about that.
1.10.2005
She's Been Waiting for You...
Oh, Suzanne, my god you are so misinformed. Snagged this photo off www.fuggingitup.blogspot.com. It's nice to see the old girl back in action - off the HSN sofa and into our hearts and minds, courtesy of the internet.
So I spent some time this weekend applying for jobs in Portland...and today at work I got a call! From a huge healthcare company - the job is based in the city - and the job is almost exactly what I'm doing now & have done before. The recruiter said she'd email the job description tonight...but it sounds like something I'm perfect for. I was cool as a cuke on the phone with her, but after I ended the call I rang the Puppy and I got so excited - you hope for things, and then you hope some more...it was just a call. Just one bite, but perhaps I'm more marketable than I thought.
Oh, please, if there is someone up there listening...save me from the Inferno that is Summer in Phoenix. Let my hot little asphalt-scarred tootsies take a cool, damp walk on tender Oregon soil...by my birthday...
ps: did I mention that I had lunch with EH on Saturday? I can't remember. We had Vietnamese. I had #29. Always a good bet. The outing was nice, but as usual, I had to initiate most of the conversation. Story of our marriage. He told me that he is thinking of ... get this ... joining the Peace Corps. Who does that??? It’s hard for me to comprehend what goes on in that huge noggin of his… the Peace Corps… wha? Again, yet another reason why our marriage was destined for failure. He’s thinking “where can I live in a shack with people I don’t know, in a country where I don’t speak the language, and then dig ditches all day for latrines?” and I’m thinking, “when’s my next steak dinner?”
1.08.2005
Anyone? Anyone?
Is anyone reading this tripe lately? It's so unsatisfying to blog if I don't get a comment or two from the peanut gallery.
Speaking of peanuts, there is now another name floating around for the pug. "Milton." As in Office Space Milton. He can't find his red stapler. The beauty of Milton is that it also segues nicely into "Uncle Milty" - and he does have a bit of the Old Jewish Man thing going on. Trust me, I know.
Haven't really talked too much about my family since I'd rather blog about myself, but we're a bunch of crazy mixed-up kids who don't take religion too seriously, so the family tree is a Christmakkuh Bush. It's a lovely thing as the holidays near and we have to ask each other: "Now, what is Aunt Kathy again?" It's all about the gift wrap, my friends. I usually skirt the problem by going with something graphic and vibrant - just avoiding the holiday wrap altogether.
So it's 9:45 p.m. on Saturday. I've already had a visit from the Puppy - he stopped by in the late afternoon with two of his younger cousins to eat Mexican food on my sofa and watch football. Slightly bizarre because my quiet girlish afternoon - windows open to the breeze, The Shins on the stereo, legs covered with an afghan as I darn my socks - well, that last thing, not so much - was interrupted by three dudes, a Seahawks game and the smell of burritos. But overall the visit was warming for the cockles and all that. Then my friend K called about 6 and invited me to dinner...as I sat parked in front of "About Schmidt" with a bowl of pasta in front of me. She and her friend are going out tonight after their late dinner. Right about now, in fact. I can't hang. Still barely alive after last night's Early Times adventure. Oof.
Why do so many of my recent ideas fall into this category: "It seemed like a good idea at the time"? Again, I can't take that train of thought too far down the track...if I do I'll wind up losing my nerve and finding myself in this exact spot a year from now. With no new adventures under my belt, no chances having been taken, and no choice but to endure the soul-squashing heat that pounds this town from April through October. I won't hear it - whether it's the Voice of Reason or the Angel on My Shoulder - perhaps it's even that little red devil - no matter. I can't give in this time. I just...can't.
Speaking of peanuts, there is now another name floating around for the pug. "Milton." As in Office Space Milton. He can't find his red stapler. The beauty of Milton is that it also segues nicely into "Uncle Milty" - and he does have a bit of the Old Jewish Man thing going on. Trust me, I know.
Haven't really talked too much about my family since I'd rather blog about myself, but we're a bunch of crazy mixed-up kids who don't take religion too seriously, so the family tree is a Christmakkuh Bush. It's a lovely thing as the holidays near and we have to ask each other: "Now, what is Aunt Kathy again?" It's all about the gift wrap, my friends. I usually skirt the problem by going with something graphic and vibrant - just avoiding the holiday wrap altogether.
So it's 9:45 p.m. on Saturday. I've already had a visit from the Puppy - he stopped by in the late afternoon with two of his younger cousins to eat Mexican food on my sofa and watch football. Slightly bizarre because my quiet girlish afternoon - windows open to the breeze, The Shins on the stereo, legs covered with an afghan as I darn my socks - well, that last thing, not so much - was interrupted by three dudes, a Seahawks game and the smell of burritos. But overall the visit was warming for the cockles and all that. Then my friend K called about 6 and invited me to dinner...as I sat parked in front of "About Schmidt" with a bowl of pasta in front of me. She and her friend are going out tonight after their late dinner. Right about now, in fact. I can't hang. Still barely alive after last night's Early Times adventure. Oof.
Why do so many of my recent ideas fall into this category: "It seemed like a good idea at the time"? Again, I can't take that train of thought too far down the track...if I do I'll wind up losing my nerve and finding myself in this exact spot a year from now. With no new adventures under my belt, no chances having been taken, and no choice but to endure the soul-squashing heat that pounds this town from April through October. I won't hear it - whether it's the Voice of Reason or the Angel on My Shoulder - perhaps it's even that little red devil - no matter. I can't give in this time. I just...can't.
Say Goodbye to Early Times
Or, as the Puppy calls the stuff: "End of Times." Yep, so last night I was drunk and happy that we drank Early Times - a whisky that isn't even sold in bars. It's a drink for has-beens, those on the verge of suicide through booze, and men who drink liquor out of paper bags in the park. So why do I get such a kick out of A) drinking it with the Puppy and B) pulling up to a drive-thru liquor store looking all cute in my BMW and asking for Early Times??? I blame Walker Percy.
He wrote this book called "Love in the Ruins" where the main character drank Early Times and 7-Up - mostly because he thought it would be the end of times...I bought a bottle with the EH as a joke - just b/c of the book - and it lingered in my cabinet until the Puppy charmed his way back into my life. Or as he might put it, "Let me hang out with him again." Ha.
Anyhoo, here's a tip: only drink Early Times with good friends, as it brings out those kind of moments where you want to philosophize...but then you can't think of the words. So it's a lot of "hold on, I need to tell you something" and then you have nothing to impart.
And obviously, along with cigarettes (which I did not give up...yet) I have to put a kibosh on my drinking. I just did like 5 grafs on Early Times...if that isn't a red flag I don't know what else would be. I'll start tomorrow. Go dry next week. Tonight I'm supposed to go out with K and her friend from Chicago, and damn if I don't need to do it. (Of course, I feel worked and it's only 11 a.m.) But I need to find a guy and make out with him. ...um, does that happen, btw? I mean, I haven't set a goal for schmeckin and vowed to achieve it since I was in college.
Omg...am I totally going to be screwed in the "real" world? When I'm on my own and single - and I have to mingle? It's fairly obvious that I'm - at the very least - out of practice.
Hey - do me a favor would you? Wish me luck.
1.07.2005
If You Know How to Run...
Just got back from signing my refi papers - the house is mine. Ahhh. Feels extra delish. Going to start the divorce paperwork as soon as I get the check. (Apparently it's best to wait - make sure nothing can muck it up.)
Anyhoo, so last night friend L (she of the Hessian habit) stopped by to meet the dog. (His name is either Jimmy, Monkey or Nooch, depending on my mood. I don't think he's intelligent enough to know the difference.) So we talked a bit about my possible Portland deployment and her - unfaltering - lust for the Hesh. Seems his "other" band - a (wait for it) COUNTRY BAND is playing some dive bar in Tempe on Monday night. She asked if I wanted to go. Do I want to go??? Oh my yes! I do love a train wreck.
She's been spending time with her EH, too. She's still in that transition zone between the manic need to escape ("Get me the fuck outta the house") and the realization that you resent him for being so obtuse ("You're a moron.") It's good times. She heard me and the EH have a "discussion" on the phone as she tried to hide behind a magazine on my sofa. I was like, "Silly rabbit, your time will come."
And today at the office we kind of inaugurated a new Girly Tradition. Just as I was ranting about how inappropriate I am for those big Girl Groupings, I find myself one of the members of a Friday Lunch Bunch. We did spend a nice hour and a half gossiping about work and our Significant and/or Estranged Others, though, so it was kind of genius.
Another highlight from the office: we had a design meeting with the president of a really forward-thinking local firm to discuss branding. I love branding - i truly do - it fits right in with all my work-related OCDs. Anyhoo, this firm has done all kinds of big-time logos – sports teams, the zoo, etc. And the guy who came in to talk with us was pretty cute. Salt & pepper hair, blue eyes, smiled a lot, wore a funky watch (and a wedding ring). I can’t believe the jones I’ve developed for older men…I blame NYC D. he's 41 and makes me saucier than guys half his age. Meanwhile, my single girlfriends are dating 23-year-olds and I’m like, “ooh, DADDY.”
ps: Happiness Is... watching the Flaming Lips and the Shins on Austin City Limits with the Puppy...drunk on Early Times.. oh yes, we drink Early Times. It's genius.
Anyhoo, so last night friend L (she of the Hessian habit) stopped by to meet the dog. (His name is either Jimmy, Monkey or Nooch, depending on my mood. I don't think he's intelligent enough to know the difference.) So we talked a bit about my possible Portland deployment and her - unfaltering - lust for the Hesh. Seems his "other" band - a (wait for it) COUNTRY BAND is playing some dive bar in Tempe on Monday night. She asked if I wanted to go. Do I want to go??? Oh my yes! I do love a train wreck.
She's been spending time with her EH, too. She's still in that transition zone between the manic need to escape ("Get me the fuck outta the house") and the realization that you resent him for being so obtuse ("You're a moron.") It's good times. She heard me and the EH have a "discussion" on the phone as she tried to hide behind a magazine on my sofa. I was like, "Silly rabbit, your time will come."
And today at the office we kind of inaugurated a new Girly Tradition. Just as I was ranting about how inappropriate I am for those big Girl Groupings, I find myself one of the members of a Friday Lunch Bunch. We did spend a nice hour and a half gossiping about work and our Significant and/or Estranged Others, though, so it was kind of genius.
Another highlight from the office: we had a design meeting with the president of a really forward-thinking local firm to discuss branding. I love branding - i truly do - it fits right in with all my work-related OCDs. Anyhoo, this firm has done all kinds of big-time logos – sports teams, the zoo, etc. And the guy who came in to talk with us was pretty cute. Salt & pepper hair, blue eyes, smiled a lot, wore a funky watch (and a wedding ring). I can’t believe the jones I’ve developed for older men…I blame NYC D. he's 41 and makes me saucier than guys half his age. Meanwhile, my single girlfriends are dating 23-year-olds and I’m like, “ooh, DADDY.”
ps: Happiness Is... watching the Flaming Lips and the Shins on Austin City Limits with the Puppy...drunk on Early Times.. oh yes, we drink Early Times. It's genius.
1.06.2005
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...
I can’t get this out of my head: a sweet little song from Brownie Camp (I lasted about a month – between the troop leader’s alcoholism and the time they took us camping and made us fry eggs on coffee cans, I had enough of Brownies) that went like this: “I’ve got something in my pocket that belongs across my face, and I keep it very close at hand in a most convenient place.” Um. Can you see me singing that?
Even as an 8-year-old I was not cut out for Group Girl Activities. I didn’t want to earn patches or hike or make macramé plant-holders – I just wanted to wear the sash and play B-52s albums while the troop leader passed out on the sofa with the curtains drawn. Ah, the Brownie Smile…why does it sound so perverted to me? I am a sick individual.
(I so had phone sex with my naughty friend yesterday, btw, and today he called me at work and talked dirty to me. All I could say were things like, “That sounds like a fabulous idea!” and “Yes, I’d really like that.” It was so lame, but so good.)
Also had a fight with the EH around 4:45. At work. (Big day at work…) He sent a nice, passive-aggressive email about how he’s “out of the loop” for the refi and he’s afraid he’ll be taken advantage of because “nobody is looking out for his best interests.” Then he said, “Don’t get angry.”
Now, that’s just basic psychology – you tell someone “don’t get angry” and what’s the first thing they do? Right – get angry. So I called him up since I was incensed and didn’t want to pound it out over email. I expressed to him the novelty of the situation – it is my loan, after all, and nobody is out to get him, plus he’s getting a nice fat check from it. “Just trust me,” I told him, “don’t make yourself out to be a victim.” Then he threw me something that really pissed me off, and I finally had to be like “I’m at work right now, and I can’t have this conversation.” So I hung up the phone and announced, “Hate you!” which was met by gales of laughter. Evidently, I was not at all quiet, and the “hate you” put everyone within earshot right over the edge. My face was burning – it was deep purple – I didn’t even have to see it to know it, and I was laughing, too, out of sheer embarrassment. When I finally left the office this woman said to me, “We hate him, too.”
Oh, good times.
So I haven’t been blogging for a number of days b/c I’ve been on Puppy Overload. He hasn’t left my side since New Year’s Day. We are having the best time. I didn’t know that a man and a woman could have this kind of close, intimate friendship without getting busy! Honestly – I had two unexpected, long-term relationships start out this way, and I’ve been wondering, “Why doesn’t the Puppy want to fuck me?”
But I don’t want to fuck him, either. I like our intimacy just the way it is. Plus, as I’ve mentioned, he comes with a great deal of baggage and he just turned 29 – on the same day as my wedding anniversary. I’ll turn – gulp – 34 in April.
Anyhoo, we’ve done a lot of talking lately about who we are, what we want from life, and where we hope to get it. And I’ll spare the details but it comes down to this: Portland is back on my radar. He’s going first – his mom lives up there and he’ll stay with her until I find a job. Then I’ll head up there and we’ll get an apartment together downtown.
All his idea.
I have been wanting to move to Portland for the last 13 months, and now it seems like a window has opened to me and a major obstacle - total aloneness - has been eliminated. Not only will I have a friend up there, but it will be someone who's looking out for me – making sure I come home at night and that I have rice milk in the fridge and booze in the pantry.
One of the things we had to clear up, though, was what happened back in September. A person doesn’t tell you “I never want to see you again” and then 3 months later say “leave the state with me and be my roommate” without something major happening in his mind. So last night he invited me over and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. Made a lot of things really clear to both of us, and – hopefully – cemented our friendship to the point where I can put my trust in him.
Wish me luck. The next couple of months are crucial. I need to find a job in Portland – the sooner I’m employed, the sooner I can move…I’ll rent the house in Phoenix. I’ve been looking to make a change for years – marriage or not. In fact, one of the reasons I liked the EH in the first place was because he wanted to leave Phoenix as much as I did (or so I thought). Our plan – as friends – was to get out of town and start over someplace where they had seasons and culture and people who weren’t interested in being as cookie-cutter creepy as they are here.
I can barely grasp that I’m seriously going to attempt such a bold move. With the Pup. My God, life is strange, isn’t it…
Even as an 8-year-old I was not cut out for Group Girl Activities. I didn’t want to earn patches or hike or make macramé plant-holders – I just wanted to wear the sash and play B-52s albums while the troop leader passed out on the sofa with the curtains drawn. Ah, the Brownie Smile…why does it sound so perverted to me? I am a sick individual.
(I so had phone sex with my naughty friend yesterday, btw, and today he called me at work and talked dirty to me. All I could say were things like, “That sounds like a fabulous idea!” and “Yes, I’d really like that.” It was so lame, but so good.)
Also had a fight with the EH around 4:45. At work. (Big day at work…) He sent a nice, passive-aggressive email about how he’s “out of the loop” for the refi and he’s afraid he’ll be taken advantage of because “nobody is looking out for his best interests.” Then he said, “Don’t get angry.”
Now, that’s just basic psychology – you tell someone “don’t get angry” and what’s the first thing they do? Right – get angry. So I called him up since I was incensed and didn’t want to pound it out over email. I expressed to him the novelty of the situation – it is my loan, after all, and nobody is out to get him, plus he’s getting a nice fat check from it. “Just trust me,” I told him, “don’t make yourself out to be a victim.” Then he threw me something that really pissed me off, and I finally had to be like “I’m at work right now, and I can’t have this conversation.” So I hung up the phone and announced, “Hate you!” which was met by gales of laughter. Evidently, I was not at all quiet, and the “hate you” put everyone within earshot right over the edge. My face was burning – it was deep purple – I didn’t even have to see it to know it, and I was laughing, too, out of sheer embarrassment. When I finally left the office this woman said to me, “We hate him, too.”
Oh, good times.
So I haven’t been blogging for a number of days b/c I’ve been on Puppy Overload. He hasn’t left my side since New Year’s Day. We are having the best time. I didn’t know that a man and a woman could have this kind of close, intimate friendship without getting busy! Honestly – I had two unexpected, long-term relationships start out this way, and I’ve been wondering, “Why doesn’t the Puppy want to fuck me?”
But I don’t want to fuck him, either. I like our intimacy just the way it is. Plus, as I’ve mentioned, he comes with a great deal of baggage and he just turned 29 – on the same day as my wedding anniversary. I’ll turn – gulp – 34 in April.
Anyhoo, we’ve done a lot of talking lately about who we are, what we want from life, and where we hope to get it. And I’ll spare the details but it comes down to this: Portland is back on my radar. He’s going first – his mom lives up there and he’ll stay with her until I find a job. Then I’ll head up there and we’ll get an apartment together downtown.
All his idea.
I have been wanting to move to Portland for the last 13 months, and now it seems like a window has opened to me and a major obstacle - total aloneness - has been eliminated. Not only will I have a friend up there, but it will be someone who's looking out for me – making sure I come home at night and that I have rice milk in the fridge and booze in the pantry.
One of the things we had to clear up, though, was what happened back in September. A person doesn’t tell you “I never want to see you again” and then 3 months later say “leave the state with me and be my roommate” without something major happening in his mind. So last night he invited me over and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. Made a lot of things really clear to both of us, and – hopefully – cemented our friendship to the point where I can put my trust in him.
Wish me luck. The next couple of months are crucial. I need to find a job in Portland – the sooner I’m employed, the sooner I can move…I’ll rent the house in Phoenix. I’ve been looking to make a change for years – marriage or not. In fact, one of the reasons I liked the EH in the first place was because he wanted to leave Phoenix as much as I did (or so I thought). Our plan – as friends – was to get out of town and start over someplace where they had seasons and culture and people who weren’t interested in being as cookie-cutter creepy as they are here.
I can barely grasp that I’m seriously going to attempt such a bold move. With the Pup. My God, life is strange, isn’t it…
1.03.2005
I Was Happy Last Night
And I noticed it - which means that, what? - I haven't been happy? I feel pretty good considering all the stress I'm under - divorce, refi, newish job, lots of money going out, moving back into the house and assessing the damage. Major life changes, all of them. But last night I was blissful. And here's how it went down:
Around 8:30 my friend N called - she of the AA who now has decided that AA is not for her. (Who am I to say anything? It's her life.) Anyhoo, she was seeing this crunchy rockabilly band with a girlfriend of hers who was there to set up N with the bass player. So already we're guaranteed some excitement, right, b/c there might be a love connection.
Turns out...there was. It had to be the sweetest thing I've ever seen. The bass player (we'll call him BP) is a bit shy, but he made it to our table and did the small-talk thing with N. He was very funny, very bright. Told a story from a Christmas party he played where the boss got up and made a speech that gave new meaning to the words "long-winded." Described the partygoers as having "lost their will to live" because the pontificating went on so long. So of course, I immediately approved of him. Ah wit, it's such an aphrodisiac. (Which explains why I find Dave Attell slightly hot. Help me.)
Anyhoo, so the rest of the night N and BP kept looking at each other from across the crowded bar. It was just adorable. Her only problem with him is that he's about 5'5. She's like 5'3, but still, a girl needs heels! I suggested that she strap on the platforms and carry him around in a backpack, wherever she wants to go. Plus, I offered, short men probably have big thick willies. Am I wrong? No matter - she liked him, he liked her, and a double-date is impending. Other good news about BP - he gave up drinking a year ago, so N might have some support for sticking with her sobriety.
Back to the happiness. The band was terrific. Really, really good. Half the bartenders from the local faux-punk bar that I previously mocked were there, all smug b/c the musicians called out to them from the stage. A little shout-out to so-and-so from the XXX. (I can't name said bar b/c I really do like it, and if anyone is a local I don't need the grief!) There were two guys who didn't leave our table for like an hour. Serious dork-patrol but initially showed at least some conversational potential. One guy N described as "really cute until he opened his mouth." He kept hitting on me, which was a little odd at first...I didn't get it... He told me I was beautiful, and then "really good-looking for 33" - what's that??? And then he started in with "so what's your story?" and finally, "are you single?" I wasn't playing along. I don't need some swollen Jay Mohr broadcasting the "fuck me" eyes right after he tells me how much he likes watching "Wings" at 4 in the morning. Yes, "Wings." He had been saying how much he liked David Cross and Mr. Show and Tenacious D, and then - whammo! - WINGS. Yeah, not so much.
The crowd was, um, diverse, to say the least. Lots of rockabilly dudes with cowboy hats and vintage button-downs, and lots of punk chicks with strappy dresses in cheap fabrics, black hair and tattoed calves. Huh? There was also a strange metal-type crowd. About 3 guys with shaved heads and pointy beards with surprisingly bland girlfriends. Fat girls in flannel. Seriously. And of course, there was a smattering of more conservative types who looked like they would hang out watching the band, and enjoy themselves, but then hide it from their friends. "Oh, yeah, Sunday night I went to Chili's and closed down the bar! You should have seen it - Rick did three kamikazes in a row and then ordered potato skins for everyone!"
Ooh, friend L just called and asked if I want to fly to Vegas to see the Hives on the 15th. Hate Vegas, don't like the Hives, but L's got a local boy toy (no, not the Hessian) who likes to spoil her and said if we come up he'll foot the bill! My favorite - Vegas for free!
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I was happy. Supremely content. N was all tingly and glowly, watching her Pocket Boyfriend across the bar, N's friend was incredibly sweet - a really nice girl, I had been complimented by some dudes and I wasn't parked on my sofa feeling sorry for myself.
As I have said before, sometimes, life is grand.
OH! OH! OH! There was this couple in front of us who, um, forgot that they weren't alone in the bar...the girl was wearing - get this - a feather boa, a short skirt and black thigh-high stockings and the three of us girls were treated to their sex show as he slid his hand up her leg, over her knee, slowly, slowly up the thigh and then she leaned back and...oh my gawd. We were like "HEY - WE CAN SEE YOU!" It was such a train wreck. First of all, her outfit had to be a dare, or a special treat for her boyfriend. I hope that wasn't her idea of acceptable Sunday-night attire. Second, we watched as he rubbed his fingers on his lips afterward! Auuugh! It was such porn! Third, I've never seen anything like that in real life. Especially not 10 feet in front of me. It's one thing to fool around like that, it's another to WITNESS IT. We felt sullied.
And before that, there was another couple seated directly in front of us who were shamelessly canoodling. I felt a bit jealous, I guess. It was obvious that the guy was into this girl and he was playing with her hair and kissing her neck and I remembered my own serious lack of romance - both presently and in past relationships. I am such a straightforward chick that I either A) don't attract the kind of guys who canoodle with girls, or B) don't inspire that in them. I was watching this documentary with the Puppy about how Kevin Smith made Clerks and they mentioned how Kennedy from MTV was at the screening and they were so excited. The Puppy said, "I never got her - she wasn't that clever. She was just a wanna-be Alisa."
A comment like that really sums it up, doesn't it? Paints me as the kind of chick who inspires romance in a guy... Yeah, date THAT.
Around 8:30 my friend N called - she of the AA who now has decided that AA is not for her. (Who am I to say anything? It's her life.) Anyhoo, she was seeing this crunchy rockabilly band with a girlfriend of hers who was there to set up N with the bass player. So already we're guaranteed some excitement, right, b/c there might be a love connection.
Turns out...there was. It had to be the sweetest thing I've ever seen. The bass player (we'll call him BP) is a bit shy, but he made it to our table and did the small-talk thing with N. He was very funny, very bright. Told a story from a Christmas party he played where the boss got up and made a speech that gave new meaning to the words "long-winded." Described the partygoers as having "lost their will to live" because the pontificating went on so long. So of course, I immediately approved of him. Ah wit, it's such an aphrodisiac. (Which explains why I find Dave Attell slightly hot. Help me.)
Anyhoo, so the rest of the night N and BP kept looking at each other from across the crowded bar. It was just adorable. Her only problem with him is that he's about 5'5. She's like 5'3, but still, a girl needs heels! I suggested that she strap on the platforms and carry him around in a backpack, wherever she wants to go. Plus, I offered, short men probably have big thick willies. Am I wrong? No matter - she liked him, he liked her, and a double-date is impending. Other good news about BP - he gave up drinking a year ago, so N might have some support for sticking with her sobriety.
Back to the happiness. The band was terrific. Really, really good. Half the bartenders from the local faux-punk bar that I previously mocked were there, all smug b/c the musicians called out to them from the stage. A little shout-out to so-and-so from the XXX. (I can't name said bar b/c I really do like it, and if anyone is a local I don't need the grief!) There were two guys who didn't leave our table for like an hour. Serious dork-patrol but initially showed at least some conversational potential. One guy N described as "really cute until he opened his mouth." He kept hitting on me, which was a little odd at first...I didn't get it... He told me I was beautiful, and then "really good-looking for 33" - what's that??? And then he started in with "so what's your story?" and finally, "are you single?" I wasn't playing along. I don't need some swollen Jay Mohr broadcasting the "fuck me" eyes right after he tells me how much he likes watching "Wings" at 4 in the morning. Yes, "Wings." He had been saying how much he liked David Cross and Mr. Show and Tenacious D, and then - whammo! - WINGS. Yeah, not so much.
The crowd was, um, diverse, to say the least. Lots of rockabilly dudes with cowboy hats and vintage button-downs, and lots of punk chicks with strappy dresses in cheap fabrics, black hair and tattoed calves. Huh? There was also a strange metal-type crowd. About 3 guys with shaved heads and pointy beards with surprisingly bland girlfriends. Fat girls in flannel. Seriously. And of course, there was a smattering of more conservative types who looked like they would hang out watching the band, and enjoy themselves, but then hide it from their friends. "Oh, yeah, Sunday night I went to Chili's and closed down the bar! You should have seen it - Rick did three kamikazes in a row and then ordered potato skins for everyone!"
Ooh, friend L just called and asked if I want to fly to Vegas to see the Hives on the 15th. Hate Vegas, don't like the Hives, but L's got a local boy toy (no, not the Hessian) who likes to spoil her and said if we come up he'll foot the bill! My favorite - Vegas for free!
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I was happy. Supremely content. N was all tingly and glowly, watching her Pocket Boyfriend across the bar, N's friend was incredibly sweet - a really nice girl, I had been complimented by some dudes and I wasn't parked on my sofa feeling sorry for myself.
As I have said before, sometimes, life is grand.
OH! OH! OH! There was this couple in front of us who, um, forgot that they weren't alone in the bar...the girl was wearing - get this - a feather boa, a short skirt and black thigh-high stockings and the three of us girls were treated to their sex show as he slid his hand up her leg, over her knee, slowly, slowly up the thigh and then she leaned back and...oh my gawd. We were like "HEY - WE CAN SEE YOU!" It was such a train wreck. First of all, her outfit had to be a dare, or a special treat for her boyfriend. I hope that wasn't her idea of acceptable Sunday-night attire. Second, we watched as he rubbed his fingers on his lips afterward! Auuugh! It was such porn! Third, I've never seen anything like that in real life. Especially not 10 feet in front of me. It's one thing to fool around like that, it's another to WITNESS IT. We felt sullied.
And before that, there was another couple seated directly in front of us who were shamelessly canoodling. I felt a bit jealous, I guess. It was obvious that the guy was into this girl and he was playing with her hair and kissing her neck and I remembered my own serious lack of romance - both presently and in past relationships. I am such a straightforward chick that I either A) don't attract the kind of guys who canoodle with girls, or B) don't inspire that in them. I was watching this documentary with the Puppy about how Kevin Smith made Clerks and they mentioned how Kennedy from MTV was at the screening and they were so excited. The Puppy said, "I never got her - she wasn't that clever. She was just a wanna-be Alisa."
A comment like that really sums it up, doesn't it? Paints me as the kind of chick who inspires romance in a guy... Yeah, date THAT.
1.02.2005
Genius, Genius
There is a genius line from the Strangers with Candy episode "Dreams on the Rocks" where someone starts an Ala-alanon meeting with these words" "Dear God, please give me the strength to blame the people who did this to me." Genius, genius.
So today I spent some $$ at Macy's - bought a saucy skirt, some sensible black pants and a pair of silver-pinstriped cougar pants that I could not resist. They made my ass look, well, genius, and they were on superduper sale: $125 off. I could not resist.
Came home, pooped the pug, watched something on one of those random high-numbered MTV channels that was possibly the world's worst interview: some pointless dolt having a Q&A with a bloated and anachronistic Motley Crue about their impending new tour. Um, Mick Mars was quiet and corpse-like until the interviewer asked him a question...about his HIP REPLACEMENT. This dude is ooooooooooold. And broke-down. And he has - magically - recovered in only one month and no longer needs a cane. He pointed out that Paul Stanley of KISS also had a hip replacement and is still cane-bound, three months later. OY VEY.
That's pretty much it for today. Not much to report. Feeling good in the house but a bit lonely. The other night - for the first time - I slept in the middle of my bed, instead of on the side, as if someone else was going to climb in next to me later. Sad, that. But at least I'm cooking again. I subsisted on cottage cheese and soup in the apartment for six months since I could not bring myself to fire up the stove except to feed the Puppy now and then. But tonight I made myself some curry...and it's really not that good. Should not have added the chicken broth. Should have trusted in the curry. Sigh.
And though I vowed to quit smoking Parliaments on Jan. 1, I bought a fresh, stinky pack on the way home from Macy's. Had three already. And two vodka & OJs. I really need a life!
So today I spent some $$ at Macy's - bought a saucy skirt, some sensible black pants and a pair of silver-pinstriped cougar pants that I could not resist. They made my ass look, well, genius, and they were on superduper sale: $125 off. I could not resist.
Came home, pooped the pug, watched something on one of those random high-numbered MTV channels that was possibly the world's worst interview: some pointless dolt having a Q&A with a bloated and anachronistic Motley Crue about their impending new tour. Um, Mick Mars was quiet and corpse-like until the interviewer asked him a question...about his HIP REPLACEMENT. This dude is ooooooooooold. And broke-down. And he has - magically - recovered in only one month and no longer needs a cane. He pointed out that Paul Stanley of KISS also had a hip replacement and is still cane-bound, three months later. OY VEY.
That's pretty much it for today. Not much to report. Feeling good in the house but a bit lonely. The other night - for the first time - I slept in the middle of my bed, instead of on the side, as if someone else was going to climb in next to me later. Sad, that. But at least I'm cooking again. I subsisted on cottage cheese and soup in the apartment for six months since I could not bring myself to fire up the stove except to feed the Puppy now and then. But tonight I made myself some curry...and it's really not that good. Should not have added the chicken broth. Should have trusted in the curry. Sigh.
And though I vowed to quit smoking Parliaments on Jan. 1, I bought a fresh, stinky pack on the way home from Macy's. Had three already. And two vodka & OJs. I really need a life!
1.01.2005
I Love Quicktime Harch
So today in my (non hungover) travels I went to meet these guys who have a house in downtown Phoenix where they sell vintage teak furniture to local stores and ebay customers. They were so the Ambiguously Gay Duo. One of them seemed like the gay one...the other guy, not so much. I had the best time. Turns out the tables they had in mind for me were too big (my house was built in 1952 and has this small space for a dining table. Small. Did I say small? It's small.) Plus they wanted $349 for the tables (but were willing to bring it down to $299, since a mutual friend referred me.) Anyhoo, it got me to thinkin.
And you know how I hate to do that.
Anyhoo, it got me thinking that I live in this town like it's completely closed off. As if the things I like (and like to do) are not shared by anyone else within the city limits. And that's completely untrue. I met two ambiguously gay guys today who share my tastes in furniture. That's HUGE for me. Like big-time, lightbulb-over-the-head huge. I realized as I drove away that there are - gasp! - likely others in this godforsaken burg who might have things in common with me. Or I with them.
As I get farther and farther from my goal of leaving Shitsville (Phoenix) and moving to the Promised Land (Portland) - due to a new job - a new mortgage - a new dog - my dad's ever-forward progression with Parkinson's - my brother's impending wedding - I realize that I have to make my time here count. I have to take 2005 by the ying-yang and figure out who I am and what I'm going to do about it.
Scary stuff.
Here's more scary - just realized that though my (monitor-less) glorious new computer has a DVD writer, the DVDs I'm trying to burn (Strangers with Candy, season 1) are rights-protected. Bastards! If anyone knows of a way around this I would truly appreciate the help.
And if anyone knows someone around 35 years old, intellectual, hysterically funny, likes Built to Spill, CLEANS HIS ROOM, doesn't mind a little divorce karma and has dark hair and good teeth, let me know about him, too. Mama needs a Man-fusion. STAT.
xoxo
And you know how I hate to do that.
Anyhoo, it got me thinking that I live in this town like it's completely closed off. As if the things I like (and like to do) are not shared by anyone else within the city limits. And that's completely untrue. I met two ambiguously gay guys today who share my tastes in furniture. That's HUGE for me. Like big-time, lightbulb-over-the-head huge. I realized as I drove away that there are - gasp! - likely others in this godforsaken burg who might have things in common with me. Or I with them.
As I get farther and farther from my goal of leaving Shitsville (Phoenix) and moving to the Promised Land (Portland) - due to a new job - a new mortgage - a new dog - my dad's ever-forward progression with Parkinson's - my brother's impending wedding - I realize that I have to make my time here count. I have to take 2005 by the ying-yang and figure out who I am and what I'm going to do about it.
Scary stuff.
Here's more scary - just realized that though my (monitor-less) glorious new computer has a DVD writer, the DVDs I'm trying to burn (Strangers with Candy, season 1) are rights-protected. Bastards! If anyone knows of a way around this I would truly appreciate the help.
And if anyone knows someone around 35 years old, intellectual, hysterically funny, likes Built to Spill, CLEANS HIS ROOM, doesn't mind a little divorce karma and has dark hair and good teeth, let me know about him, too. Mama needs a Man-fusion. STAT.
xoxo
