"F.I.N.E. fine..."

Things about today that sucked:

1. We have a highly contagious disease going around at work. Since we work with kids, this is to be expected. However, this highly contagious disease manifests in symptoms that make you look like you have an STD, only on your face (and no, it's not herpes. We wish). Guess who the lucky girl was who got to "contain" the disease by being the only therapist to work with one of the germ-carriers before we figured out what it was and sent that client home? I don't mind taking one for the team. I do, however, mind taking one for the team in the face.

2. This morning, after getting up extra early for a meeting and trying to figure a way to brighten my mood, I decided to wear a new shirt I had just bought this weekend. This afternoon one of my clients apparently got really upset that I had the nerve to ask them to walk down the stairs. To retaliate, they decided to bite a hole through that new shirt. Sometimes I wonder why I don't dress up more for work. Today was not one of those days.

3. Due to the fact that I'm trying to finish a writing assignment, I've taken to bringing my laptop with me so I can work during my breaks. Sometimes I don't always mind questions about what I'm working on. However, if I give you a vague answer and pointedly turn my attention back to what I'm working on, it means that you should stop asking. When I say, "None of your business", I may sound like I'm joking, but I'm actually trying to give you a gentle hint that it is, in fact, none of your business. Next time you bring in a book or magazine, I'm going to stand over your shoulder while eating a bag of chips and ask you constant questions about what you're reading and if it's good or not while I spit chip bits and saliva all over you and your reading material. Just for, you know, fun.

4. My Caribou crush is leaving. Apparently making coffee at Caribou and being my crush wasn't good enough for him. Nope...he had to finish grad school and move to Germany to work for an international branch of this amazing finance company. Just once, I wish someone would pick me over an amazing job working for a Fortune 500 company in a foreign country with all expenses paid...

5. It's raining. I'm so freaking tired of the rain.

Things about my day that did not suck:

1. It's raining instead of snowing.

2. Today one of my clients asked me to sing him a song ("Swing me a wittle swong, Amba") before I put him down for his afternoon nap. So I sang him "What It Takes" by Aerosmith. He sang along and repeated the words, making it sound like a round. It was so. completely. awesome.

3. I got some great work accomplished today.

4. I am not currently making out with anyone at the moment, so even if I do end up looking like I have an STD on my face, it will not impede any weekend action. Thank god for that, huh...

5. Tonight is Blogging Mafia night.



Th-th-that's all, folks.

Mind. Blown.

Oh my god.

So yesterday I imported the "Singles" soundtrack into my iTunes library. I used to have this tape (seriously...the tape) back when the movie came out, but obviously neglected to convert that particular album to CD when I got rid of all my tapes.

And "Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns" by Mother Love Bone just started playing, and I'm going absolutely crazy. This song...oh my god, this song.

8th grade, laying on my bed in my room, staring at the ceiling. The year of deep angst, I used to imagine that this song had been written about me (esp. since I had recently taken to wishing my name was 'Chloe', after deciding that my old childhood wish, 'Cordelia' was too juvenile). So I would listen to this song, and I could just relate, man. I needed a love that could move on, you know? And I could imagine no better "falling in love" scenario than slow-dancing to this song at the next 8th grade dance. Of course they never played it, though, fuckers, because they just didn't know real music and all the preps kept requesting Boyz II Men (omg, remember when we called people 'preps'?! And we were 'stoners', even though none of us actually did any drugs and would've probably freaked if we ever even saw some?!).

Seriously. I wanna crawl back into my old flannel shirt, shave the right side of my head (that's right, dudes...I was hardcore), and write crappy poetry based on Alice In Chain lyrics.

But I won't, mainly because I'm in a public place right now and that would just be awkward.

Safe.

Sometimes I miss who I used to be. Who I was when he was here. We used to lay on the futon mattress in the back room of my apartment, quietly listening to the church bells as they clanged out hymns late at night. We were in love.

He was simple, and I loved that about him. The way his face and voice softened when his head was on the pillow, the way he would watch me as he stroked my face and brushed my hair back. All he wanted, he told me, was to spend the weekend with me, just the two of us, doing anything that crossed my mind. I felt a smile slowly cross my face and I closed my eyes, telling myself to remember everything about this.

We took off for the weekend, leaving everything for the north. The sky cast clouds on Lake Superior, but still we decided to take the ferry out to the islands. Both of us shivering from the wind, his hand holding mine in the front pocket of his orange hooded sweatshirt, we sat on the white metal bench and made eyes at each other over the annoying couple who wouldn't shut up about the cold.

Because he didn't think I would do it, I climbed the ladder leading up to the watchtower of the lighthouse. High above the green grass, I let one arm dangle by my side as I leaned back and smirked down at him, to tease him over his dare. He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring up at me with those serious eyes that always melted my knees, and asked me to please come down, that I was too high up. "He loves me," I thought to myself and silently began to climb down.

He kissed me on the rocks by the water, turning me away from the others who were gathering by the dock to wait for the ferry. "I want to marry you one day," he told me, his voice steady and his face solemn. "If I could spend the rest of my life like this..." He let his sentence trail off as he gently kissed my forehead and then pulled me close to him.

I find myself thinking of that day...not very often, but just enough. I miss that girl on the tower. The one who was constantly delighted, even in her silence. I lost her along the way. She's not coming back.

I am grateful for my hard-won happiness. The seven stages of grief, all wrapped up in a bag in the back of my closet. The only thing, though, is that I still find myself trying to reconcile the two halves of the whole I used to be...who I was then with who I am now. I either try too hard or I don't want to try at all. When does that stop. I wish someone could tell me.

It'd be the shiznit.

Does anyone else wish that someone had made a Hollywood movie about you? That you were that renegade girl who just happened to come across a soccer ball one day, got psyched on the sport, and was all, "Fuck you guys, I'm playin'!" Then, even though everyone knows that guys don't dig athletic chicks, there just happened to be a guy on the team who started to gain mad respect for your shit, but then everything just got so complicated, because do you concentrate on winning respect from the team, or do you concentrate on making babies with the hot soccer homeboy? But in the end, all the cool points flew out the window, because this isn't just about you anymore, it's about girls everywhere, which means that you're not just a soccer player anymore, yo...you're a hero.

The weekends are for fiestas that you never forgetstas.

Listening To: Somebody More Like You by Nickel Creek

So last night we had a little par-tay in our backyard. A kegger, a campfire, and lots of people. It was super fun, but like I always feel when I host a party, I woke up thinking with guilt that I neglected this guest or that one. I hate that about hosting. However, I had a fabulous time, so that should just be enough for everyone and they can get over everything else.

It really was a grand night. We were excited about everyone who showed up, with the exception of one person who will forever be known as "That guy in the orange t-shirt". He was a friend of a friend. They even called ahead and asked if they could bring him. I said of course. I wish my friends had better judgment in who (who? whom? who gives shit) they pick as friends. Correction: I wish my friends had better judgment in who they marry because of who they pick in friends. Anyways, this guy was just a weirdo. Like, not even coherent in speech before he started making love to our keg. The most embarrassing thing about it was that he just would not leave two of our guests alone. I think the fact that he cocked his hat to the side made him think that they were long-lost relatives or something. The other two party-goers took it well and I give them mad snaps for even trying to be polite, but cheese and rice: I was around him for about five minutes and even I was like, "Someone get this guy the fuck outta here."

The funnest thing about the party was finding out what a small world it is. Hedy and another party-goer, Tanya (hope I spelled your name right!) graduated from high school together, Rich invited a former coworker of Jeremy's, and I found out that the Bausch-y clan are well-acquainted with a mutual friend.

This day has not gone the way I expected. I envisioned Memorial Day to be a day where I did everything I like to do on a day off - go the gym early, hit up Starbucks, troll around a bookstore...nope. I woke up around noon, then helped clean our backyard, made a delicious breakfast out of left-over S'mores and coffee, and have spent the past couple hours not doing a damn thing. The rest of the days' plans include taking a nap, maybe attempting to drink a little bit more from of the still half-full keg (seriously, kids, I'm disappointed. Still half-full?! I thought you guys were my friends.) that's still hanging out in the backyard, and then I'm going to spend the rest of the night sitting outside writing, mainly because my life is going to suck until I finish this book.

So happy Memorial Day, from someone who loves you.

To see pics from the party, you can go here.

Low Alcohol Content.

One of my favorite co-workers, Nicole, is leaving us - her last day is Friday, and so tonight we had a little farewell party at our favorite bar down the street. I'm kind of upset about it - she's one of the highlights of my work day, and I don't know what I'm going to do without her when she's gone. The point is, however, is that we drank tonight. A lot. Okay, I had maybe five tap glasses of beer. I'm not drunk - far from it - but I'm such a baby even when I get buzzed.

So now I'm home, licking handfuls of Grape-Nuts out of my hand while I sit in bed and alternately troll the internet while watching "South Park".

It's one of those moments when I'm kind of glad I don't have a live-in boyfriend so I can eat Grape-Nuts in bed, but also kind of sad because - let's face it - there's really only one thing you want when you're buzzed, and Grape-Nuts ain't it.

Didn't I just write a post about this last weekend? Yeah. The mind changes for a reason.

It's like...it's like they looked into my mind and saw what I've always wanted to do when confronted with male hotness.

Help me choose which one will be sent with my Christmas cards.

No, seriously...this sucks.

Listening To: Last Night by Diddy featuring Kelis

So apparently this is the Year of The Ex-Boyfriends.

As most of you know, last summer I ran into an ex-boyfriend from senior year, and we had a somewhat disturbing interaction (let's just say that I'm not a homewrecker). Then, over Thanksgiving weekend at my parent’s house with Katy, we happened to walk into a bar to find my ex-boyfriend Tommy shooting pool with his new wife. About a month ago at my friend Sayge’s wedding, my very first boyfriend (and first kiss) Darren was there, also with his wife (whom he originally went out with two weeks after I broke up with him. Yeah...there’s a reason why I call myself the training bra of girlfriends).

This morning I woke up somewhat later than my usual wake-up call. Eager to make something of the day, I quickly packed a gym bag, gathered my laptop and some writing files, threw on jeans and a t-shirt, and headed out to Maplewood. It’s a little ridiculous for me to spend so much time in Maplewood when I actually live in Minneapolis, but I work near there and so I’ve become accustomed to my favorite gym and Caribou. Whatever, I don’t need to justify this to you so let’s just get on with the story, mmkay?

So. I walk into my Caribou, nab a table to work on, and go to stand in the ordering line. While I’m waiting to place my order I casually glance around the place, only to have my gaze stop on a young gentleman who happens to be looking at me with a strange expression.

“Oh, sweet,” I think to myself, quickly turning my head to stare at the chalkboard above the cashier counter. “Birkie Boy’s best friend is here, and I look like crap.”

Okay, so I didn’t look totally like crap. I’ve looked worse. However, this is not the scene that plays out in your mind when you think about running into your ex-boyfriend (or his friends). You picture yourself on the rooftop of Solera, standing against the rail, the sunset illuminating you as you converse with a group of adoring friends. You do not picture yourself shuffling into Caribou early on a Sunday morning, alone and with a messenger bag weighing you down. You picture yourself in a hot red halter top, your arms toned and tan as you swivel a glass of wine, your hair shiny and flowing, your eyes smoky and dangerous. You do not picture yourself with just an incidental tan on your face and hair still smoky from the bonfire party you were at last night.

I know he recognized me. I wondered, as I watched him walk out of the shop with his friend and head towards his car, if I should have gone up to him and said hello. I really enjoyed his company when Birkie Boy and I were together. However, that’s always an exercise in danger. You'll make small talk for a bit, the whole time wanting to ask about the person in question. Being smart, you don't, but then you wonder the rest of the day if the person in question now knows that you do, in fact, still exist and that you happen to patronize the Maplewood Caribou on occasion. So I didn’t go up to him. Instead, we merely glanced at each other a couple more times as I waited for my drink, then I purposefully turned my laptop in the direction opposite of him so I could concentrate on my work and not be tempted to stare him down.

I’m not going to win this. With all the other ex-boyfriends I’ve run into this year, I walked away thinking, “Wow, I lucked out by getting out when I did.” But I wanted to get out anyway. Birkie Boy is one of the big ones. He’s one of those where I either don’t want to ever see him again or I want the universe to finally give me back something and set up a situation where I run into him purely by chance and come out in the lead. Isn’t that at least a little bit fair for getting your heart completely broken? Let's face it - this girl is not living a charmed life, and I've resigned myself to just be cool with that. But really? Really? You’re not even going to give me this, either?

Sometimes I wonder if I was Judas in a past life.

Saturday night aftermath.

Listening To: Your House by Jimmy Eat World

There's nothing better than coming home from a party and still being lucid enough to throw on your pajamas and climb into bed, knowing you have all night and the next day to kick it. Okay...so there might be a couple of things better than that, but I'm not really going to concentrate on those things right now because I'm happy with my life and I don't really feel like I'm missing out on anything.

Plus, if I had those things right now, I couldn't sit in my bed and randomly troll the internet while I watch MTV. I also couldn't wear my favorite pajama pants and tube socks, which I think are super sweet but don't really fit the bill in the "lingerie" dept. I also couldn't get up every five minutes to check out texts from my friend Dave, because that would just be rude. So...all things considered, there is nothing better.

I have spoken.

I've got a black belt in keepin' it real. Some people are impressed by that.

Listening To: That's All by Genesis

The other night I was out with some friends at this place that has a really hot waiter. I've kind of had a crush on him for a while. Since we're somewhat regulars, he'll either offer to wait our table or stop by for small talk.

"So ladies, I've come to say goodbye." He told us towards the middle of the night.
"What, you're leaving?! But a waiter's work is never done!" I teased.
"Yeah, well, in a few minutes, it will be done, and I'm so fucking glad about that I can hardly stand it."
"So what are you going to do for the rest of the night?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Well, first I'm going to stand over there," he replied, pointing to a corner by the jukebox. "And eat a Snickers. Then after that, I don't know." He proceeded to stare expectantly at me, and then my friends, noticing his stare, starting staring at me also.
"I wish I had a Snickers." I stated, as I stared down at the table out of nervousness and took a sip from my beer.
And with that he gave me a weird look, waved his hand, and walked away.

I never said I was smooth, people. Honest, yes...but never smooth.

Annnnd...gross gross gross GROOOSSS!

Listening To: Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones

Right now I'm watching "The Bachelor: An Officer & A Gentleman". Yeah, there's really nothing else on TV right now, and I need it for background noise. Blow me.

So I'm watching it while waiting for my laptop to download a track, and apparently the show is at the stage where there's three girls left and the last dates are the "Romantic Getaway Dates in Tropical Paradise That Would Never Actually Take Place In Real Life". One couple is at the end of dinner, and they - surprise! - get the "If you decide to forgo your own individual rooms to continue the 'togetherness' (ah, ew...can't they just write "If you guys want to do it tonight, here's a room so we don't have to see it")? here's a key to a suite packed with condoms, blah blah blah" note sent over by the host.

So they go to the room, and they're talking about babies and shit, and the guy does that thing where you can tell he's not even listening to what she's saying, he's just waiting for the moment he can go in for the kiss. She's talking about how many kids she wants to pop out, then he leans towards her, says some shit like, "I'm really glad you feel that way because I do tooooooooo" and he locks in.

And all I can do is wiggle my hands, scrunch up my face, and made squealing noises due to the lameness. This is the shit you do in 11th grade, you know? The thing that boys do when they think they're being all romantic and smooth by punctuating a sentence with a tongue down your throat. The fact of the matter is, it's just rude. I'm talking here, buddy. I might be really interested in this topic of conversation. Now I'm wondering if, during all the conversations we previously had that night, you were just thinking about popping off my bra while you were nodding your head instead of actually concurring to the brilliant point I just made.

This also reminds me of a conversation I had a few days ago between a male friend and a couple of gal-pals. The guy...he knows what he's doing in terms of approaching girls and sealing the deal. At least I thought he did, until he shared with me that he had been seeing a girl for two weeks (as in, they go on a date practically every other day) and still hadn't kissed her. "But she hasn't shown me any signs that she wants me to kiss her!" he said, exasperated after I gave him my "WTF, yo?" face.
"Does she say yes every time you ask her if she wants to get together?"
"Yes."
"And you've asked her out more than twice?"
"Yes."
"Then she wants you to kiss her, and I will bet money that she is probably going out of her mind, calling her friends after every date, asking them why the hell you won't kiss her."
"No, she isn't."
"Um, yes, she is." Then the whole table of girls nodded their heads in agreement, and the West Was Won.

I don't take anything away from guys. I can imagine how hard it is to make that move. The general rule, however, is that the more smooth or "gentlemanly" you try to be, the more it's going to suck. Don't ask her if you can kiss her. She's going to wonder if someday you'll also be asking if you can "slip inside of her now" (true story). Telling her "I would really like to kiss you right now" is tricky. It has to be right out of the blue, completely unexpected...NOT while you're standing outside of her door at the end of the date, because then it comes off as if you are asking her, and we've already discussed this. Tried and true, just grab her and lay one on her. Whether it's soft, passionate, hot, or goddamn awful, it will still impress upon her that you do, in fact, have a set of balls.

And that's usually a good thing, unless you're a forceful fanatic about tea-bagging. Then we kind of wish they weren't there.

The Berries & Cream Guy was there!!!!

I'll have more to say about this weekend and Geek Prom a lil' latas, but right now I gots to get to bed. I's tired, baby!



(Disclaimer: all pictures I post from Geek Prom will be stolen from other people who actually had a camera with them that night. This one's from my platono-date, Jeremy.)

Hippo, this one's for you.

(thanks, Aliecat, for letting me steal this picture of me from your blog. You're awe-sum)

I'm still a karaoke virgin in my heart, though.

So I feel bad that I haven't shared this with all of you yet...

I'm no longer a karaoke virgin.

Last Friday, while out with my work friends, I worked up the courage to belt out "All Out of Love" by Air Supply, and then perform a duet with Regina, singing "Bump N Grind" by R. Kelly.

Then, the next night, while on a Metro Transit Pub Crawl with Katy, Heidi, and a crew of Heidi's old college friends, karaoke was performed once more. Heidi sang "Copacabana" by Barry Manilow while Katy and I performed back-up dancer duties. As some of you know, it has been a dream of mine to be a back-up dancer since the tender age of 3. This photograph is proof.

And that's all that life has been lately...I'm just livin' the dream.

Because I can.

Listening To: Young Folks by Peter Bjorn & John

So for the past two weeks I've been working - painstakingly, I should say - on "Losing You". I have tons of notes and rough drafts from the installments, but like I've said before, I needed to flesh out the beginning a bit. However, I would make some progress, feel like I was done with a chapter, then think of something I either needed to add or cut. To put it in basic terms, I kept hitting roadblocks.

So today, either from a stroke of brilliance or insanity, I scrapped it all and set about rewriting it.

This is going to be a long process.

Sick makes me snarky.

I hate when people try to swipe friends and stuff. Or blogs. It annoys me when I've been reading a blog for months, then all of a sudden the coolies decide to jump on the bandwagon. I purposefully pick things that are not cool for this very reason. I don't want you and your jerk-off posse crowding up my favorite parking lot hang-out. Take your dumb alt. rock t-shirts, and get the fuck outta here.

I don't worry about credit card fraud too much. I know that if someone actually makes an effort to steal my money, the joke will be on them.

I'm sick today. And not "sick of working", either...I actually had this amazing, super fun day at work yesterday. When I woke up this morning, feeling the capital C in crappy, I was kind of sad I had to call into work today.

I'll probably get over it, though.

Promenade, which means a formal dance; prom.

Listening To: Give It To Me by Timbaland featuring Nelly Furtado

Tonight my little brother Dan is going to his first prom. He was also voted into Prom Court, which is kinda awesome. We were talking about it two weekends ago while we were at a cousins' wedding. I asked him about his date, and he told me he had asked a girl from his track team. "Yeah," he said, "She's the only black girl in our school, and it's pretty cool since our prom theme is 'A Black & White Affair'."

God, I love that kid.

There are some who call me...that one girl over there.

So I'm going to Geek Prom with my friend Jeremy (and other assorteds from the Blogging Mafia). We've agreed that he's going to comp my ticket, but that I won't be putting out for it (please...I only put out for tickets that are at least $100 or more).

Now that I've got the issue of an escort out of the way, I need to figure out what I'm going to wear. This thread got me thinking about it, and a little worried...what does one wear when they were both the vice president of the Knowledge Bowl and captain of their cheerleading squad? I thought about maybe being that one chick from Lord Of The Rings - you know, the elf chick that Liv Tyler played - but as you might have already assumed, I know little about the Lord of The Rings, and so would feel like a poseur.

So help a girl out. There's enough geeks out there who read this on a regular basis (takes one to know one), that I will severely disappointed if no one comes up with a good idea. And when I'm severely disappointed, I don't feel like doing anything but posting pictures of Jessica Simpson and critiquing her hair, outfit choices, and style of handbag.

Don't make me do it, America. You don't want what this girl can bring.

Because why can't someone else think of fun things for me to do on my blog?

I wanna play a game.

A fun game. A blog game. I kinda wanna do "Screw, Marry, or Shove Off A Cliff" again, but I also kind of want to find something new. Something like "I've Never" or some sort.

Someone come up with a game for me. We'll play it...I'll even stay up late tonight and play. Not too late, though...this ass needs a kickin' in the morning, and Annoying Old Man Who Thinks I'm His Gym Bitch has gotten back on his workout kick and thus, has been stealing my Treadmaster for hours on end. So I gotta beat him to the punch tomorrow and then get the hell done with the rest of my workout so he can't ask me to move the fan for him, change the TV channel, or turn up the music while I pretend to not to hear him because I've got my iPod turned up too loud.

And that's the news with that.