Tomorrow Is Another Day...

The Girls Next Door

Never more than today have I wished that I’d decided to write anonymously… I’ll admit it: For some indeterminate reason I’ve become fascinated with the E! show about Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends. I ran across it late one Sunday night when I couldn’t sleep and was hooked from the get go. I’m not completely sure if I watch it because I enjoy it or because it’s like watching a trainwreck… either way I find myself completely unable to change the channel if it’s on. Which is completely astonishing considering I’m typically among the first to mock the “Playboy” type.

Here’s the thing though, in my defense I actually find myself thinking about some somewhat deeper issues when I’m watching than whether or not the Boobs are real. (We’ve already determined that the lashes are not, so I’ve moved on to the next unbelievable asset.) For example, these 3 girls who live in the mansion as Hef’s “girlfriends”… not only are they gorgeous, big breasted, perky blondes, but they do have a rather unexpected level of intelligence. One of the girls, Bridgette, is actually more educated than me with a Masters in…well… something… Kendra is a gifted athlete, and Holly is…

Well, she’s cute anyway.

The truly fascinating thing to me is that they all claim to truly love Hef. Particularly the “cute” one who’s been with him for something like 5 years. The other girls are adorably protective of Holly and Hef’s relationship in a sisterly way, and seem to be fine with the fact that they all have a 9 o’clock curfew. Yep, that’s right, these gals live in the frickin' Playboy Mansion with the oldest ladies man known to the civilized universe and they have a curfew. Of 9 o’clock. I think I was allowed out of the house later than that when I was 13… but I guess it helps avoid any embarrassing situations the young ladies could get into with other charming young men closer to their age.

This does raise interesting questions about what exactly one defines as “love”. These girls have it all. Hef gives them all the clothes they could ask for, fame, fortune, friendship, a damn fine roof over their heads—and the Grotto, let’s not forget the Grotto! And in exchange they provide companionship, and as unbelievable as it may seem to the vast majority of the universe, they really do seem happy together in their bizarre little family unit (aside from the curfew—I don’t think all the Louis Vuitton in the world would make up for a 9 o’clock curfew).

When one thinks of love, most people think of butterflies and sparks and fireworks, romance and passion—but could that be the lust talking? After 10 years of marriage are the sparks still there in every relationship? I think not. There are those couples that you see standing in line at Target with 30+ years of marriage under their belts that still stare at each other with the googly eyes over their groceries, and they should count themselves among the lucky. For most relationships that I’ve seen, the marriages/partnerships that have lasted for decades, that initial spark has become an ember. It’s eternally glowing, and can still be sparked, and it’s far more consistent than a flash-burn of desire and passion. Anyone can be attracted to another person, just walk into any bar in Tigerland and you’ll get a detailed lesson in that, but it takes effort and stick-to-itiveness in a relationship to make it past that first glow of infatuation.

So, maybe the girls aren’t actually “in love” with Hugh Hefner, but can we really fault them for that? They’re content, they have a sincere affection for him, they show signs of jealousy when his exes are around, he takes care of them, provides them with all that a little Bunny could dream of, and seems to really care for them. It may not be your conventional relationship, but it’s what works for them, and maybe on some level we can take a lesson from them in what makes a relationship last… until they turn 25 anyway.

Or maybe it’s just weird… and that 9 o’clock curfew really sucks.

When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Go Shopping

So, I decided to drown my sorrows in my Mastercard, and it’s funny how much a pair of adorable shoes and a cute top with a discount thrown in can perk ya right up!

There was another blip on the depression radar yesterday, but hey, you’ve gotta learn to roll with the punches… or have a good cry and then go vent your aggression on a good workout or shoe shopping! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of these crazy workout-aholics, but in all honesty, it is a great way to release tension. I’ve gotten away from running in the past couple of months and have been doing the elliptical machine since it doesn’t seem to give me shin splints like running does. Unfortunately, it’s been almost a year since my last fit test, so I’ve got to get my body back into the running habit, and really? Running once a week isn’t going to cut it. So, I found a running program online a few weeks ago that’s supposed to ease you back into it, and should cut down on the occurrence of the shin splints, and as Martha would say—that’s a good thing.

I’ve also been reconsidering getting a pup at some point here… It doesn’t seem as though I’ll be making any big moves here any time soon, and as much as I love my leetle gerbils, it does get a bit lonely. I’ve been talking to some of the people I work with, and quite a few of them have dogs at home that don’t seem too traumatized by the time spent alone. I figure if I just take it out for a walk/run during my PT time in the morning and then again in the afternoon when I get home it should get enough exercise and I can just pen it up in the kitchen while I’m gone.

I’ve been looking at the animal shelter website lately and they seem to consistently have a wide range of small dogs to choose from. I’m not making any quick decisions, especially since I need to decide if I can deal with the fact that it will more than likely crap all over my entire apartment and destroy every stick of furniture I own—but it’ll also have a little warm, fuzzy body to cuddle with and take care of…

In other news, New Orleans is about to get the you-know-what kicked out of them by Katrina, so please keep everyone there in your thoughts. There’s been a mandatory evacuation of the area, so hopefully no lives will be lost, but folks will probably be returning home to a very different place than they left.

I Feel Like I'm Taking Crazy Pills

Bleh.

That’s the word of the day. Because seriously? I’ve not got much else. It’s been one heck of a 24 hours, and honestly, the thing that I would most like to do is crawl into my comfy bed and go to sleep. But then I’d wake up at 3 in the morning and ew, who wants that?

Yeah, so this is what I should have been doing today, lots of cooking out, hiking, fresh outdoors (even though it is damn hot… so maybe this is for the best? Nope, that’s not it…) and other such fun activities with the boy. Instead I’m home watching Oprah, and going in to work tomorrow. Oh, the joy that is my life! I mean, my boss is great and all, but still, just not quite the same as a romantic weekend in the mountains with Colby. Ah well…

And this morning, I was a collector at a urinalysis, which means I get to sit behind a nasty table and accept people’s little bottles of pee. They do not tell you about this when you sign up for the military. *sigh* Anyway, it’s not generally that bad, but this morning, one fine gentleman… dropped his bottle. In. The. Toilet. Yeah. Ask me if we wear gloves when we accept these blessed gifts of urine, go ahead ask. No, no we do not, because apparently that makes the whole process more difficult. So, this morning involved waking up at 4 o’clock in the morning AND handling a bottle of pee that had gone skinny dipping in MORE pee.

Then like the little cherry on top--I’ve just been feeling a bit on edge lately, pretty much anything sets me off, and unfortunately I tend to take these things out on the people I love most. I’m not sure why I can’t just be a nice person. Other people don’t seem to have a problem with it, but no, me, I must bring the drama and the insanity and drive people away. That’s really great.

So, that’s pretty much the update for the today. To recap: tired, no visit, pee, bitch, crazy. I rock.

I Always Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me

You know… that terrible Rockwell song from the 80s… going along with the soundtrack theme from yesterday…

~ANYWAY~

So, before I started this whole deal, I spent a lot of time thinking about if I would write anonymously or not. Each side of the equation had it’s ups and downs. If I journalled anonymously then I could gossip mercilessly, trash talk, kvetch about my job—in short, be myself. Because y’all, seriously? BIG BROTHER LIVES!!! You remember how you read that book 1984 that one year for summer reading, and when you went back to class you had deep meaningful conversations about how horrible it would be to live in a world where nothing was sacred, someone always knew what you were doing, what you were saying, who you were doing…yeah, WE LIVE IN THAT WORLD!! No kidding, people have lost their jobs for what they write on their site—I DO NOT LIE!! (I do however greatly abuse the use of the Caps Lock and exclamation point)

With that being said, why in the name of sweet baby Jesus would I choose not to write anonymously? Why would I splash about my name, email address, messenger names, etcetera, etcetera, and so forth (to borrow a phrase) so vulgarly?? Because, my friends, in all truth and honesty, I like the attention—I am an attention-whore. I have been since the day I was born, and I’m sure that my parents would attest to that (although they would probably shirk from the use of the word “whore”, because they? Have class). I sort of like the fact that if I talk about myself enough, and am loud enough, people will KNOW WHO I AM (again, with the Caps Lock—I’ll stop now, I promise). People who are desperately searching for the next great thing will come upon my site by pure serendipity and they will find ME (last time, really) and they will fall to their knees, tears glistening in their eyes and beg, yes, beg for me to write them a book that will subsequently change the lives of nations and they will give me lots and lots of money with which I will purchase obnoxiously expensive shoes and purses. 

And people, let’s get real, that would *never* happen if I were to write anonymously. So, I am willing to forgo the snarkiness (with quite possibly some lapses), the kvetching about jobs (well mostly), the verbal abuse of friends, enemies, family, and boyfriend alike—all because, by God, I want you all to know that I have a website, and you shall all read and comment and glory in my internet presence! And you shall spread the tidings of my wonderous presence in this magnificent world and I will one day be DISCOVERED!!!And I will now get down off of my high horse and return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Like Sands Through The Hourglass...

So, for my entire life, I've labored under this delusion that I live in a soap opera that revolves entirely around me.  Just about every terrible thing that has happened to me has been bestowed with a dramatic tinge in my memory.  When a boy would make me cry, my parents would ground me, I had too much homework--you know, whatever--I would actually be that girl that leans against the wall, slides down it as her cries rise in crescendo, and land in a graceful heap on the floor with head in hands sobbing movingly, and imagining in my head what soundtrack would be playing were this in a movie.  I have clearly watched far too many Lifetime movies.  This has also led to a tendency to make situations worse than they probably needed to be all for the sake of drama.  It's not a conscious decision I make at the time, but certainly, looking back on many experiences I can see ways in which I could have handled the situation far more aplomb.  I'll leave those situations to your imagination.  Most of them.  For now.

Recent events have brought back a wave of memories that had been swept under the rug, and completely changed my perspective.  At the age of 17 I decided I was going to fall in love.  It seemed like the thing to do.  I was getting ready to graduate from high school, it seemed as though everyone had had a high school sweetheart, and by God, I would have one too!  I'd had my fair share of crushes and dates, in fact it may have been safe to say I was a bit boy crazy. 

So, I picked my poison--we'll call him John, shall we?  He was a grade below me, a bit of a "bad boy" in that he wore baggy jeans with these strange cartoonish creatures on them, you know the ones, yes, quite the rebel.  Anyway, we had been doing the flirting thing for a few months when I decided that the way to go was to write a long letter confessing my feelings, because weren't all of the truly important events in highschool prefaced by a really long letter written in a boring science class? 

Skip forward a couple of months, we were going on double dates with my best friend and a guy that she claimed to not actually be dating (you know who you are!!).  Well, I was quite smitten, and he gave me presents and chocolate, so I was even more impressed (I seem to still work that way).  We talked about me going off to college and how it could still work, bleh... So, graduation rolls around, and he ditched me.  Never heard from the guy at all--my poor little heart was crushed, and on graduation of all nights!  Everyone asking when my "beau" was going to arrive--it was mostly mortifying, but I decided upon heartbroken as it seemed much more romantic.  I wrote long emails to my best friend mourning the demise of myself and John, I would call his house and his mother and sister would claim that he wasn't there, but they would certainly give me a message.  Ack.  Then the next week I started flirting with a guy at work, and so recovered from my heartbreak, but dang, the soundtrack had been good--lots of Bryan Adams and Whitney Houston.

In the years that passed, I decided it must be karma--I had done practically the same thing to a guy I had dated at 16 who claimed to be in love with me, we'll call him "Tom"--you know, the whole "don't call me, I'll call you when I'm ready"...  never called of course.  So, a few weeks ago, I got an email from John, wanted to know how I was doing blah blah blah.  I wrote back tentatively and really from there we've had a fairly regular correspondence, and it sort of feels good to let go of that self imposed drama.  He's made a couple of references to being an idiot, but I mean, come on, who isn't an idiot when they're 16??  I've never been friends with an ex before, didn't really see the point, and I still think that when you've truly got history and pain between you, it's not a good idea.  But really, when you dated for a while at the age of 17 where's the harm in a little email correspondence? 

But then, here's where my dramatic streak returns to the story... I've been thinking of dropping Tom a line, but I'm not sure.  I have this whole ridiculous scenario playing out in my head in which he would receive my email and all of the pain and betrayal he felt at my loss would reemerge and all of the progress he's made in the subsequent 6 years will boil over and he'll be very mean to me.  And I cannot handle people being mean to me.  I would absolutely deserve it, but I still could not handle it!  In all likelihood, this would not happen, just as it did not happen with me and John.  It's the mature thing to do--he's acknowledged my continuing presence in the world, I've acknowledged his, it would be the right thing to do to make amends for my mistakes.  But you know the soundtrack that keeps playing in my head whenever I think of it is that Eamon song... need I say more?

My first official post

So, I'm home sick for the day... some punk ass 5 year old left their germs trailing around a museum this weekend and I was bestowed with yet another pukey day.  (Is it bad to call a 5 year old a punk ass, because it might not have been a 5 year old, it might have been a 25 year old, and that's okay, right?)  Anyway, so I decided to forge full steam ahead with this whole blog thing since I have a day of sitting around the house, and it's turned out to be a bit more addictive than I expected.

Why start a blog, you may ask.  I don't know, it seems as though everyone else is doing it--and I too want to be a part of current pop culture so that in 60 years time I can reflect back on this day with my grandchildren who will surely ask, "and grandma, did you too become involved in this "blogging" phenomenon at the turn of the century?"  To which I will respond, why yes, indeed I did, and subsequently give them fuel for a groundbreaking thesis on the impact of blogging on past generations for which they will become world renowned... or else no one will care, one or the other.  And yes mom, if everyone else jumped off a bridge, I probably would too, except 5 years later, when no one cares because everyone has already jumped off of the bridge, and alright already would you stupid people stop jumping off bridges, because really it has no impact anymore.

And I will use run on sentences ad nauseum.  That's just the way it is.

So, here begins my blog, only, I think I'll call it journal because I think blog is a stupid word.  I would preface any further submissions by saying that I'm going to use this as not only a source of entertainment for you, but also as a way to get my thoughts out there.  I'm enough of an egomaniac to think that y'all may actually care, and therefore continue reading, but just be forewarned that I may not always feel funny, upbeat, light hearted, etc.  I hope that this will be a way to keep in touch with friends who are spreading out around the world, online friends, and family, but mainly, this is my place, so please if you ever take offense at anything that is said, or think I'm boring, just remember this disclaimer, and try back in a week, the programming here will be everchanging...  Thanks for tuning in!

Here Goes Nothing...

My first "blog" post ever, consider this a test, and tune in tomorrow, same time, same channel!