Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Guess where the fuck I was that night? In downtown Raleigh, NC, just miles away from Chap Hill. I was taking a group of 36 people out to a stand-up comedy show.
Do you know how much I hate stand-up comedy?
Do you know how much I love Ben Folds?
The answer to both? A whole fucking lot.
Granted, I couldn't go to the show because I was working. And for that, I got paid sweet sweet overtime. But still. I probs would have snuck out after we got back to the conference center and hung around their venue. Just to breathe that air, I tells ya.
But thankfully, as the BWE blogger pointed out, the concert was streamed live to myspace.com, and now I'm watching it and getting all sobby.
Seriously? You don't even have to watch it, but at least put it on in the background and give it a listen. It's beautiful. I want to make babies with it...and so should you.
At least check out my favorite song beginning around the 13 minute mark.
And "Magic" at 18:45 mark. I'll stop now.
So there's that,
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Basically, I feel like Kylie Minogue in the Spinning Around video:
I've decided to take my vacation in Chicago this November, seeing as how I blew so much money in San Francisco. I made an appointment for a facial and body treatment at a local spa. While I'm excited, I also feel like I need to train for this treatment. Like I need to go in looking like I know how to live.
I'm going to spend the week alternately relaxing and excercising, making some good food, basically having a spa week. I'mma clean out my apartment top to bottom, slough away the old and reorganize the rest. I'm ready for a life makeover.
So there's that,
Sunday, October 19, 2008
The last few days have been pretty effing awesome. I think I'll go into it more when I've had a few hours to decompress and reflect. Until then, here are some highlights and lowlights:
- This city is so hilly that my quads got beefed up. I've been waking up sore in all the right places.
- The public transit is pretty reliable.
- This crazy homeless guy came up to me and Christie yesterday, saying "watch out for the rapist! That guy's a rapist - he just tried to rape me!" So I said, "Then I don't have to worry because if he wants to rape you, I'm probably not his type anyway. He's your team's problem."
- C and I went to see a stand-up show Friday night after missing out on theater tickets. I gotta look him up, but the opener was HOT. When he came onstage, I asked C if he was in Dead Poet's Society. That's how hot he was.
- Seriously. We wanted to have his babies. We talked all night about getting his seed in our bellies.
- There was a homeless guy on the Wharf who held tree branches in front of himself, then shoved them out at you if you got too close. Pitko got too close. He was an asshole.
- The Haight smells like Nag Champa, and that's not a good thing.
- The homeless. Jeez. There was one guy who had a dog that had a cat on its back, and the cat had a mouse on its back. The animals walked and sat like that all the time! It was messed up. Food chain in harmony.
- Chinatown: good for looking, not for eating. We were had. Went to Dick Lee Pastry for a dim sum buffet...bowed out after 5 bites. Worst. Meal. Ever.
- I saw sea lions! Or or or! *claps*
- C and I had the best meal of all time last night. It made me reflect on my life. Seriously - all other food has to go through an application process before entering my mouth.
I'll go into further detail once the pics come down the wire. You really have to see it to believe it. I wish you were here!
So there's that,
Laura R. Meyer
Saturday, October 11, 2008
And I'm totally in love with the a/v guy.
He's got the goods: average height, not skinny, not fat, short short hair on a balding pate - basically all the good looks of an out-of-work improv actor. Oh I think I love him. But then again, I'm always in love.
He was reading The Onion, and we talked about how awesome it is. Squee! He told me he thinks the course is interesting. Sigh! As far as I'm concerned, he's all but put his dick in me.
But I'll worship him from afar. I don't want to come on too strong...who knows? He prob has a girlfriend, then I say, "Hey, wanna make out in my hotel room?" And he'll say, "I've got a girlfriend," or "I'm totally gay." And then I'll run into him later in the week, and I'll blush and scurry away, giggling like a schoolgirl.
This is all hypothetical, mind you. I'm a professional, and I won't mess around while on a business trip. I'll save that for Thursday 10/16 when I'm officially on vacation in San Fran. Until then, I'll do as I always do: Dream.
Lots of panhandlers and buskers in San Fran. Just an observation, but many of them are white hippies with dreadlocks, patched pants and many scarves.
If you know anything about me, you know that if there's one thing I will not abide it is white people with dreadlocks. On black people it's natural, it's soulful; but on white people? They just look dirty, look like they're trying too hard. Which is funny because they don't have to "try too hard" to get dreadlocks, they just have to stop washing their hair. White dreadlocks are the trademark of a people against trademarks. And because white people with dreadlocks run in the same social circles, I'll venture to say that they are also conformists. Conformist nonconformists. Not unlike the goths, the hipsters, and the Mormons.
If you know me, you will also know my general discourse on the homeless: Fuck 'em. Except for the mentally/physically disabled ones because that sucks. But otherwise, fuck 'em. If you're not born rich, you still have the opportunities presented to you in public school. You compete, you pour your sad little heart into your education, your work, and you keep climbing. I know it's broadly idealistic, but if you live your whole life thinking "why me?" instead of "why not?" you're gonna be fucked. This is probably one of the only topics I'm strictly conservative about, but I can't think any other way. It took only a few minutes of cleaning up people's shit and puke for me to want more. Learn to trade up, motherfuckers!
*steps down from soapbox*
So after all this, WHY did I give two of my hard-earned Fiber One bars to the homeless dreadlocked white guy outside of Walgreens a few minutes ago?
He asked for change, and I really didn't have any, so I did the grimace/I'm-sorry/nod to him and walked away. Then I freaked out because I couldn't find the twenty I slipped into my pocket earlier. Then I walked back into Walgreens while feeling my other pocket, finding the twenty. Then I walked past him again, knowing I was going to get some Chinese food next door. I didn't want to look like a complete a-hole, so I walked back to him and said,
"Hey guy - you want one of these bars?"
I tore open the freshly-purchased box, and offered him two...apologetically explaining that I had 10.
Why the eff does that matter? I have 10-bars because I will eat ten bars this week, because I have a job and can afford 10 bars - why should I apologize for having a lot of food bars? Why should I apologize for eating? Why should I feel bad for this guy?
I did it because I didn't want to look like a fat asshole. Hell, I did just buy a big box of bars and I was gonna get some greasy Chinese right in front of him. I shouldn't have given him anything and instead walked out of the restaurant with lo mein noods hanging off my chin like a beard, saying "Nuts to you, guy!"
But I didn't. Because given enough exposure to food and homeless people in a 5 minute window of time, I will cave in. I will "do the right thing."
So there's that,
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Which is strange, because I haven't had food sex in some time. I haven't really been overeating or having anything out of the ordinary. I just feel like someone's washing dishes in my stomach and intestines - they're roiling so with gas bubbles. In the past few hours, I've taken to standing, arching my back and rubbing my stomach like I'm expecting. But it doesn't make me feel better. My farts still sound like I'm opening a fresh can of tennis balls.
I do leave for San Francisco in a few days, but I'm not really nervous. At least, I'm not nervous enough to have it manifested gastrointestinally. I always seem to go through funky stomach things right before, and the first few days of, traveling. Whatever's happening hurts, though, and if I didn't have 45 minutes of work left, I'd totes leave, which I never do. It's that bad.
Gah! A big bubble just popped in my stomach. Argggh...
Anyway, onward and upward. This weekend I got a cut and color job that's so hip it makes me feel like I'm trying too hard. Like I'm middle-aged trying to be 26 instead of 26 trying to be 26. Here's the instant message bit that Justin and I had earlier on the subject:
Justin: so did you get your hair did? how'd it turn out? less mousey?
Me: it's interesting...there are 3 different colors in it - dark brown, a lighter dark brown, and a deep red
it's gonna take some getting used to
i feel like when i do something new to my hair or get flashy clothes, i'm not unlike a middle aged woman trying to stay relevant.
will I ever feel like I'm my age?
no, i never do
i feel too old to be doing the things i'm doing, and yet to young to be wearing any loafer style shoe with fringy bows on the fronts
or wear anything with a pleat
me: no one should wear any of the above, ever
me: but i feel like if i were old, this cut/color would say, "Yeah I'm 50 and single and I shop at Chico's, what of it?"
Justin: but, because you aren't 50, it's okay and because you've seen it ill-worn on older women, that's what the issue is?
you notice on someone whom it doesn't belong on
i know a woman who's fighting it. wears dark spiky hair, dark makeup
looks like a stout witch,
and picked on me for talking about bringing healthy food to Thanksgiving, gave me all that "life's-too-short" hullaballoo.
Justin: aww...yeah, and it's like those that fight it look worse than those who just let it happen
me: she's one of those people I see and think, "you're nice and all, but I never want to turn into you."
i think the main reason i colored my hair was because i saw a mid-aged woman on the bus who was saggy-plump, had long mousy hair that was frazzled and grey
me: i thought "no no no no no, this won't be me in 20 years"
how sad is it that I'm 26 and am already worried about looking like a 45 year old?
or feel like i'm well on the path...
Justin: yeah, just be spritely now
me: spritely? please...
Justin: wear ridiculous clothing and be obnoxious in your choices
that's how i feel
me: i want to be sophisticated, not obnoxyin other words, i want to drink the red wine of sophistication without getting the purple teeth
Does this make sense? I feel too old for my age and fear of looking too old for my age. I think it's because, in spite of all the fun, imaginative pallin' around I did as a kid (and still do), I have always been taught to think like a Cathy cartoon. Watch my calories, fear the swimsuit, more shoulder pads! Panty girdles! Ever since I was eight. Seriously. I can honestly say I've never been a young girl, a wild teenager, or a partying college girl. Even when I was in a sorority I didn't feel like a sorority girl. I felt, again, like I was trying too hard to live the life of a "normal" young woman I could never be.
Is it weird that I feel robbed because I was semi-responsible during my irresponsible years? That because I couldn't get by on my looks I had to have loads of personality? That I didn't date 4 guys at a time, to use one for the money, one for the car, one for the sex, and one for the affection? Yeah, I walked away disease-free with all this personality, but people still only judge books by the covers; I'm still passed over all the time. Do I really want those kind of people in my life? Probably not. But It'd be nice to have the chance...if only to shoot 'em down.
So there's that,
Friday, October 3, 2008
On last night's episode, Dee had to ride the bus after Mac and Charlie blew up her car in order to fake their deaths. That bus scene? Said everything about city buses that I would ever want to say. First off, the bus was packed so that people were forced to stand in the aisles. Second, there was no room for personal space, so Dee had to ask a hulking man if he could possibly avoid breathing directly into her mouth. She got so frustrated that she wedged through the mass of people to get to the bus driver, crawling under a man who refused to move his arms or acknowledge her. She complained to the driver, who told her to get behind the line. Then Dee finally crawled back to her original spot in front of the big breathing guy who kept staring at her.
Then he threw up.
My reasons for recounting this scene are threefold:
- I love this show.
- This is what my commutes are like...only the bus is generally crowded with businesspeople, but crowded and impersonal nonetheless!
- While the guy vomiting totally grossed me out, I felt like him this morning.
Strong perfume/cologne. It's unbearable! I don't know what it is anymore, but I can't handle the stuff. I get dizzy, nauseous...I feel like my body rejects strong perfume. But I also think, hey. How long have you been wearing fragrance in your life? Have you learned in the past 15-20 years that you have been overdoing it? Seriously, you're not 13 anymore.
And I think the worst part was that the smell was coming from 2 different people - one in front of me and one to the side of me. And I couldn't go anywhere, couldn't crack a window. I was trapped in perfume.
Last night at the gym, I was having a grand ole time on the cross-trainer until an obscenely-perfumed woman got on the machine next to me. I had about 13 minutes left on my workout, and I didn't know if I could make it. I couldn't breathe! As soon as the countdown was over, I hurled myself off the machine to do some deep breathing elsewhere.
I think if I had to choose, I could handle 20 minutes of straight body odor before I could handle 20 minutes of perfume.
I know I'm not alone out there. There are people like me who can barely make it past the perfume counters at department stores without burning my lungs. People who minimize their time in the detergent aisle.
I think my sense of smell has changed. As a teenager this didn't affect me. But now? It just tears me up. Does this make me a bad person?
FYI: I was dancing in the office today, when I remembered David Brent's desperate dance routine from The Office. Mine is not unlike this:
So there's that,
Thursday, October 2, 2008
- Rage: I shouldn't have to shop online for a basic pair of black shoes! These stores need to realize that people with big feet need stylish shoes, too! We are a force to be reckoned with! I will not settle for plastic Payless shoes that start to stink after two days! I deserve leather! DRY LAND IS OUR RIGHT!
- Despair: I didn't ask to be this way...when will life hand me lemonade instead of all these lemons? Will I ever find a pair of shoes in this town?
- Disbelief: I can't believe the only shoes they got in a size 12 are Peggy Hill loafers and ghetto-fabulous bejeweled atrocities. There is a time and place to spend $100 on shoes, and I am not going to spend it on flashy streetwear that will just end up embarrassing me.
- Pain: Mah feet hurt...when will this evening end?!
- Bittersweet Joy: These shoes fit...but they're hot pink satin...but they FIT! ...But they're not practical...but they fit...I can find a way.
God I'm so bitter. What was I saying about that earlier?
No. You can't.