Wednesday, July 14, 2010

I want to be cooler than I am, but I think admitting that makes me even less cool. I really like watching those people who are tragically hip. People who write blogs that are actually worth reading, or web comics, or slam poetry. People who work in art galleries and wear vintage clothes and have wine and cheese parties. You've got to do it like it comes naturally though; people can tell if you're only pretending to be that hip. I guess that's why I don't even bother. I know it wouldn't be believable.

I'm going to have to be the same kind of blogger as I am a person, I guess, and hope people like it. Silly, goofy, way immature. Mean. Insecure. Kinda crazy.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

This is what I do on my day off

In a stroke of pure fate The Boy and I both had Thursday off this last week. Since we never ever leave our house until work most days we decided to take advantage of the daylight and head downtown.

We took the Max into Portland proper with several goal in mind. Our first objective was feeding ourselves, and since it's been a while, we wanted sushi. I knew SushiLand was somewhere near Powell's aka the best place on earth so we got off the Max ans started walking.

In the two or three blocks between our stop and Powell's there were about six hobos asking for change, which seemed a little extreme for that part of town during the week. The Boy never carries change (we have a bucket for that shit; it's called a beer fund) and I was mysteriously out, but even if we would have had some we would have run out after a block. There were several more people begging around Powell's, including a juggler and a man with a violin but we averted our eyes and hurried past, intent on sushi.

SushiLand ended up being one of those places where the little plates go past you on a conveyor belt. The Boy loves these restaurants because he can get a little* of everything, but I always have to order things to be brought to me because I'm allergic to half the things in there. No shrimp, no crab, mussel, clam, oyster, lobster, squid, octopi...

The hostess was a little scared to serve me at all because there may have been contact between one of those things and my food, but I assured her I wouldn't die. No, this is not going where you think it is. I did not die.

After sushi we went to Powell's and bought entirely too many books, and then we swung by Spartacus because... well, why not? Something you may not have known about me: I enjoy going to porn stores just to laugh at how awkward half the things in there are.

We Maxed back home and hit the mall, where I bought myself a used copy of Guitar Hero 2! I've been looking for a cheapish copy ever since October when I came home from a weekend visiting The Boy to find that my selfish inconsiderate roommate had played it in my xBox and then left it on all weekend, burning a ring into the disc and rendering it unplayable. And then she refused to replace it.

Bitch owes me twenty dollars.

Then we had friends over for beer, including one of The Boy's best friends who was in town from Seattle for a job interview. He had to leave early to get some sleep before said interview, and the rest of us decided to watch Pirates 2.

And I don't mean Pirates of the Carribean.

It was odd, but very amusing.

*Actually a lot. The Boy puts away enough sushi for three people. It's both disgusting and fascinating.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Death by Cheese

Although it's a little late for breakfast, The Boy is currently frying bacon and cooking a frozen pizza in the oven; one for breakfast, one for lunch, although it seems as if we might have them simultaneously.

Wait, did I say cooking a frozen pizza? I'm sorry, that's incorrect. He was cooking a frozen pizza.

He had made another one two nights ago, but when he oh-so-cavalierly tossed it into the oven cheese fell every which way, including on the bottom of the oven. Do you see where this is going yet?

That pizza came out fine and without incident, which is good because we were a couple beers in at that point. This time though, the scattered cheese that he must have forgotten about caught fire. From my spot on the couch I looked up to see The Boy pulling open the oven where there was one foot-tall column of flame and toss a glass full of water on it.

I went to put clothes on so I could look cute for when the firemen get here to put out our house, because I obviously need a man who is a little better with the oven.

I had no idea how The Boy remained so calm about the whole affair, so I asked him. His response? "I just didn't want you to find out the oven was on fire."

And then he scraped the cooled down oven free of cheese with an ice scraper made for car windows. I love this man.


Oh lord, he's about to try again. Wish us luck!

Adventure Three or Giant Robots Take Over the World

The Boy and I have been meaning to go see Transformers 2 ever since it came out in theaters, but with both of our work schedules to juggle plus last week's visit from his parents we hadn't had a chance. But then we managed to find a time that worked.

Oh my goodness, that movie is beyond description. Well, not really, but I'm a writer, I have skillz. If you're a girl, skip the next paragraph.

Boys, there were giant robots who wrestled and punched and tore each other's limbs off, HUGE explosions, and cool cars. Which transformed into robots. Also Megan Fox. The next paragraph is for the girls; don't read it!

Girls, there was a poignant story of young love and a boy who got the girl of his dreams. He loved her but he couldn't tell her for fear of losing her because she was sooo out of his league. Eventually he told her and then went off and did brave things or whatever. Also this girl kicked ass and wore cute shoes while doing it.

I enjoyed the movie for all these reasons and because I'm a giant nerd. I think the best part was when The Boy whispered that Optimus Prime must have been watching Jet Li movies because he was kicking Megatron's ass and I whispered back, nah, he's just rusty.


Because he's been under water for two years. Get it?

Adventure Two or Cole's Parents Come to Town

The Boy's parents came from out of state for their birthdays and camped near us at Champoeg. The Boy took that half of the week off to stay with them, but because of Adventure One I had to drive him down after I got off work on the first day that they camped, and we didn't get there until 1:30 AM. Even though I had to work the next day I stayed: it would have been insane not to. The Boy set up our tent while I held my mini flashlight (re: shined it in his eyes) and then we went over near the bathrooms (I love state parks) to blow up our air mattress so as not to wake up his parents and their friends with the noisy pump.

As The Boy held the nozzle to the spigot or whatever I stood there uselessly. A cricket jumped at me and I shrieked (just a little. Okay, that's a lie). Then I looked closer and realized that it was a tiny green frog. And there were a bunch of them! They were so cute, hopping around and bumping into the wall of the bathroom/shower building.

I wandered around the corner, following a fat frog until I got distracted and went back to The Boy. Next to him was this dirt clod kind of shaped like a frog so I crouched down to look at it. It was a squashed frog! The Boy had killed the cute little thing! And then it moved. I made him put it out of its misery but I cried the whole time. I told the adult-type people in the morning and no one let him live it down for the rest of the trip.

the most amazing thing you will ever eatWe all came back into town the next morning and The Boy and I took everyone to lunch at Cheesecake Factory, mainly to share the most amazing food in the world: their avocado egg rolls.

Oh my god. I can't even believe I've gone almost 23 years without tasting these. Seriously, I don't care if you hate egg rolls AND avocado, get up right now and go get some. No really; I'll wait.


Oh hey, you're back. Weren't those amazing?! Here, someone else has provided the recipe for you.

Where was I? Oh yeah, lunch. We had lunch and then I had to head to work. The Boy went back to the camp site with his family and I drove down after work again. Thankfully I had the next three (!) days off and got to hang out the whole next day in the wilderwild.

Actually we went to the local museum and leaned a lot about the local Indians and Oregon becoming a state. There was this old fashioned kitchen garden there, and we wandered around looking at the little hand-labeled signs and figuring out what spices and stuff look like when they're growing. It was pretty damn cool. So was the ice cream we had afterward. That day was a hot one.

The Boy and I even found something to buy in the museum gift shop: a fundana. As far as I can tell, they're these bandanas printed with games that all have to do with nature: trees, bugs, birds. The one we bought was a constellation map, and when we took it out into the middle of a field that night we discovered two things: 1)the stars and text on our fundana glows in the dark, which is sweet! and 2)it worked a lot better than we expected.

We found a lot of constellations whose location and/or existence we didn't know, including draco and the summer triangle. It was one of the coolest things I've done in a long time, and damn romantic* to boot.

The next day we came home and showed The Boy's parents our house (re: apartment) and his mom borrowed a spare bikini (he may have been just a tad bit horrified) and we went swimming because it was effing hot. I can't remember if it was before or after the pool, but she and I definitely discussed shaving of the bikini area and our experiences with it. I literally saw The Boy's skin crawl a little.

We watched movies and had ice cream and The Boy's parents went to bed in our library. We then went and did quiet naughty things and fell asleep early. Not at all a bad visit.

*Not so much the stars themselves as the level of nerdery involved.

Adventure One or The Time Cole's Truck Got Stolen

The Boy's truck got stolen.

And no, we haven't found it. I was at work when it happened, and he showed up to bring me lunch because it was his day off and because he's the sweetest man alive. I had gotten a text from him that I would never guess what had happened, so when he showed up I was ready with some guesses:

The Boy: Hi honey!
Me: Our neighbors got a Great Dane? The Iranian* women who live downstairs invited us to dinner tomorrow? You met a girl who wants to come home with us?**
TB: Nope. None of those.
Me: What then?
TB: Do you see my truck?
Me: Um... *looks around* no... Where is it?
TB: It got stolen.
Me: What?!

Apparently there's this tow truck that is stealing cars. It's rather ingenious really: the truck tows cars, never from the same place twice, and no one ever questions it because it's a tow truck. But, according to the cops, it's not a legit operation and it's been stealing cars around our area for the last few weeks. And they took my baby's truck. Boo!

So now we're a one-car household and I drive him to his store before going in to work, which is fine, but now our hypothetical wedding fund has become a hypothetical new car fund, and that's just not fun. *Pout*

*Or Pakistani, or Palestinian, or something. I am woefully inept at determining these things.
**What? Shut up.

I'm really bad at this whole regular posting business

Sorry Italian readers and The Boy and maybe one or two other people that stumble upon this blog: I haven't posted in forever. I have a few adventures to share from the last two point something weeks.

When last we left our heroes (that would be me and The Boy, because honestly, I don't do anything if it's not with him) they had just done the stripper-inspired nasty. Since then, most of their waking hours have been spent at work (yeah, we sleep a lot...) but there have been some notable adventures worth telling, both dirty and non.

So, without further ado...

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Swinging Pillow Dicks and Other Adventures

One of The Boy's work friends is getting married on Wednesday and she very sweetly invited me to her bachelorette party last week. I thought that bachelor parties were all booze, cigars and hookers pretending to be strippers who only accepted you money for a hummer because they "thought you were cute" while bachelorette parties were more like baby showers but with lingerie.

Well not this one. When the bride-to-be first invited me to Darcelle's I thought it was a bar. I expected fruity drinks (which I had), tequila shots (which I had), and not-so-subtle comments about the bride- and groom-to-be's sex life (which were made, mostly by the "ladies" of the establishment).

Yeah,... Darcelle's is a drag show. I wasn't completely taken by surprise (thank you google) but it was definitely more than I was expecting. I think my favorite part was when the two "ladies" on stage flipped up their bright orange tiger print wrap dresses to reveal underpants with stuffed junk attached. That's right: someone sewed two sets of oversized men's dangly bits, stuffed them like a pillow, and attached them to underwear for drag queens. My sincerest hope is that it was their mothers or grandmothers. Such support.

After the show, which surprisingly did not include and Cher, we headed out without having really decided on a destination which I can tell you is always a mistake when you're in a group of drunk (or sober, really), fickle women.

Finally I took charge and, picking up on a rather revealing comment from the bride-to-be earlier in the evening, led the group to Cabaret, my favorite strip club that just happened to be a few blocks away. It was her first time at such a place but she liked it; the dancers were very attentive (as they tend to be when a group of women come in) and the bride found a dancer she really liked and who really REALLY liked her. Let's just say that many of the club's rules were broken that night, despite the fact that the owner was on site and wandering around the club's tiny premises.

Aside from a brief interlude where we attempted to go to the nearby gay club where we had heard there were male strippers*, we stayed at Cabaret for the rest of the night. When The Boy got off work he came downtown to pick me up (I had to work in the morning and was fading fast) and one of his other work friends insisted on buying him a dance from the bride's favorite girl. She invited me to watch and it quickly turned into a couple's dance. Like I said: there was definitely a lot of rule breaking going on, I'll spare you the sexy details.

After the dance we left and although I professed my stripper-kindled desire for The Boy on the whole ride home, when we arrived I found myself unfit for the task at hand and slowly, gracefully crashed face-first into my pillow, dead to the world.

But I made sure to make up for it when I got home from work the next day.

*They didn't let us in! We wanted to see those sexy gay men strutting their stuff in technicolor banana hammocks, but they claimed that one of the girls in the party was visibly intoxicated (which she was) and they couldn't let her in (which is crap). Oh well. Maybe next time.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Jena's First Party

Last night The Boy and I threw our first party in our apartment. It wasn't big, just a few new work friends and one long time friend from The Boy's old job. I'm going to call him Titan, a moniker that is as incongruous as it is amusing (especially to those of us who know the reason). Everyone arrived and we settled in for a long night of drinking games.

We started off the night right with a game of Moose, and I'm happy to say I didn't have to drink the Moose Cup, an unholy conglomeration of whatever everyone happened to be drinking at the time, all rolled into one tasty refreshment. My new friends seemed to pass the cup back and forth for most of the game, but they learned their lesson: always pay attention and have the reflexes of a puma (no, not a moose. that would be bad).

My new awesome lesbian friend, who I'm going to call CD for reasons that shall remain unexplained then taught us the dice game she and all her lesbian friends (I swear they flock together or something) play when they drink. Basically someone rolls the dice at any point in the evening, saying "If I roll a *insert number not seven here*, so-and-so has to *insert dare*." This made for some pretty interesting situations, including rules everyone had to abide by for the rest of the night.

We played dirty Jenga and I had to serenade Titan's roommate, give my underwear to the someone (I picked The Boy because I'm lame like that), and describe my worst sexual experience. *shudder*

Next CD taught us another game called Queens (also invented by lesbians, although I would have guessed gay men) which is a variation on Kings, only with more making out and nudity. I had to trade pants with Titan and shirts with my other new work friend, Strip Club, and I kissed my second lesbian*.

The dice game was going on through all of this, and there were shots being taken and dares being fulfilled by everyone present. The Boy had to hit on Titan who was out of the room at the time of the roll and had no idea what was going on.

The last two games of the night (I know, we're ridiculous) were asshole and sevens, the former taught by CD and the latter taught by me. Sevens was kind of half-assed because most of us were drinking water by then, but I still say the night was a resounding success. We sent the boys safely home and gave the girls pillows and spots on the floor and passed the fuck out in bed, without even a perfunctory attempt at getting it on.

This morning we sent our new friends on their way and collapsed back in bed until one. I woke up still drunk, but I'm better now, and since The Boy is at work on this the day of America's independence, I'm meeting my new friends downtown for dinner, drinks, and some big noisy sky flowers.

Happy 4th everyone!

*I've kissed a lot of girls, most of them straight, some of them bi, but only one other lesbian. Oh college.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Let's give her something to talk about; god knows she needs it

I feel like such a new adult.

I got my first overdraft charge today. Actually I got two. Because of course the check I sent off to pay my power bill would go through on the same day they ran my charge from the bar. Eff! Yeah, yeah, I know I'm four years old. Fuck woman, just say fuck already! I mean, shit, don't be such a pussy ass bitch!

Hehe, I hope that gets me some fun google hits, or, you know, any at all. No, just kidding. I know you're out there Italian readers. Hi! Or, ciao, rather. Ciao!

Yeah, that's right, betcha didn't know I speak Italian. And by speak Italian I mean went to Italy for a month and can ask how much something costs but can't understand the answer. Numbers baffle me in every language.

What was the point of this post? Oh yeah, overdrafting. Actually (watch me tie this all together now) I originally got overdraft protection with my bank just in case I pulled too much out of the Italian ATMs. There's no way of telling the exchange rate when you remove cash and I didn't have a whole lot of access to the internet.

Umm... I'm going to talk more about Italy later. Meaning probably never unless someone reminds me. I think I'll chalk this post up to a fail due to watching stupid movies on the internet. This one's on you, House Bunny.

God that's a funny movie. Oh hey, God. That's something to talk about.

Um, believe in God children, for he will give you cake. Right? That's how it goes, right? Aw fuck, I'm going to Hell. I hear they have good cake!


I have overdraft protection now. There, everything's resolved.

Monday, June 29, 2009

There's Bacon-Wrapped Pork in Paradise

Aha! I finally have a non-work post!

So I was at work today, and...

No, just kidding. Anyway. I got home from work today (my first day of dealing with customers, yay! Sorry, had to sneak that in there) and I opened my apartment door only to walk into not my apartment.

While I was at work today The Boy, That Fabulous Fiance of Mine worked on our apartment. A lot. We're talking furniture that didn't exist before and some previously existing furniture in new places and/or rooms AND (I can't believe there's an and) dishes AND (again!) laundry! Holy crapmonkeys*!

Oh, and he cooked dinner for me. How amazing is that? Ladies, if you're reading, stop looking for the perfect man, because I've found him and there's no way I'm sharing.

My goal is to sort and fold all the laundry and eat the dinner he so lovingly prepared so that I'm pulling my own weight in this house. Eating counts as a chore, right? Mmm bacon-wrapped pork. :)

*These are the monkeys who throw crap. According to me. Right now.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

I promise that not all my posts will be about work

I really wish I could say I was rocking this job so far, but the truth is I have no idea. So far we've been given a truckload of information and I've taken a bunch of notes, but that's not how I best learn. I also haven't gotten to do any role playing yet, so maybe when I do I'll get a better idea of how much info I've retained. But I can't wait until next week, when we actually get to take a (supervised) crack at talking to customers!

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Sleeping with a She-Bear

My first day of work left me completely exhausted; I fell into bed at about ten. According to The Boy, he woke me up when he got home to start up some sexy time (as requested) and was met with an angry sleepy bear. We had the following conversation (or something like it):

TB: *kiss kiss kiss*
J: *puts hand over Boy's face*
TB: *kiss kiss kiss*
J: *puts hand back on boy's face and pushes even less than half-heartedly*
TB: Honey? You said you wanted to have The Sex.
J: shhnarggle mmmph
TB: Do you not want to have The Sex?
J: mmmph mrrg
TB: Okay, well I'm going to leave you alone then.
J: nnnoh
TB: What was that?
J: ehhhh shhhed nnnoh

Ten Minutes Later (after many more questions and garbled responses*)

I sat up and swung my feet to the floor, needing (apparently) to pee. I sat there for a minute then slowly tipped sideways until I was laying down again, only now my head was at the wrong end. I then proceeded to snuggle his leg through the covers.**

J: ahhm cohwde
TB: What?
J: cohwde. winnoh opennn.
TB: The window is already open.
J: ahh knnnohh. iss cohwde.
TB: So come back up here and get under the covers.
J: kayyy. haf to pee.

I got up and peed with the door open*** and came back to bed, this time laying the right way. Here's where I start to remember things, although they're a bit fuzzy. I also became more coherent. I believe The Boy had shut the window.

J: It's cold.
TB: I know. Get under the covers.
J: Ugh; hot. Open the window.
TB: But I thought you were cold.
J: Covers hot. Window?

He rolled over to reach for the window.

J: Don't go!
TB: I'm just opening the window.
J: Ohhh kay.

He opened the window (or just opened it more; I'm still not clear on this). He slid down into the covers again and I snuggled up to him.

J: Sexy time? *snore*

It has to be said that I never once opened my eyes during any of this. I remember the later stuff (kind of) and am basing the rest off of what he told me this morning at the butt crack of dawn, which most likely means none of it is accurate (come on, did you see how tired I was last night? can you even imagine me this morning?).

Today I'm not so tired, but Tuesday is his hard (read: impossible) day at work, so I doubt there will be sexy time tonight. My prediction is coming tragically closer and closer to fulfillment. Pity me.

*I think The Boy may have been amusing himself at my expense.
**Allegedly. I don't remember any of this.
***I NEVER do this. I can't even pee in public restrooms if there's someone else in the room. Yes, I know I'm a freak.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

No Time for Nookie

Tomorrow is my first day of work. Technically it's my first day of a two-week training period, but I get paid for it, so it counts. Unfortunately, the hours for training (and possibly my shift; we'll see) kind of suck. And by kind of suck I mean they're completely normal, but don't mesh well at all with The Boy's hours. In fact, I get off half an hour before he has to start work. Also, I have to be there early, which means I'm going to go to bed early, before The Boy even gets home.

I knew that we wouldn't be seeing much of each other the next couple of weeks, but I hadn't really thought about it until today. I mean, I knew we wouldn't get to hang out or eat together or anything, but I just realized what this scheduling conflict really means: when are we going to have time for sex?!

I am a sad, sad girl.

Daddy's Nerdy Girl

It's Father's Day and this year I managed to remember to call my dad. That sounds bad, but I'm actually super close with my him. My parents divorced before I was old enough to remember them being together, and I went to live with my dad.

It was just the two of us for awhile, and step-mom number one was merely a brief interlude, although she did bring my dog home from the pound for which she gets bonus points, not that it matters. Step-mom number two didn't come on the scene until late in high school, so she doesn't really count, except at holidays.

Anyway, my dad was my best friend; he talked to me like an adult and basically shaped who I am. There was no way I wasn't going to become a daddy's girl, although in this case it was more like daddy's nerdy girl who rides ATVs and reads comic books.

Which is why I called him back later with some useless trivia from our favorite sci-fi show like a good daughter.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Another Lazy Day

Tomorrow is my last day before becoming a working girl, and I don't mean a hooker. Sadly. Wait, what?

I spent most of today reading and laying about the house reveling in my last hours of freedom. 341 pages later, I am out of book. It's really sad; the one I just finished was eighth in a series that I've been reading these last two weeks, and now I won't visit those characters again for a long time.

Reading is like that, particularly when the author is good at their job. You fall in love with a character or characters but the book must come to an end. When it does you feel like you've lost a good friend, or at least that they have moved away to a place with no internet or cell reception (because honestly, who uses snail mail anymore?).

Maybe that's why I'm a writer. As of yet I am unpublished, so I have always known the freedom to revisit my characters whenever I chose, adding more to the chronicle of their lives and fiddling with the minutiae of their selves. But I also feel more fulfilled when I come to know a character written by someone else; it's almost as if I'm meeting a real person. I can't predict what they will do or change aspects of their past to suit myself, and thus the relationship is more two-sided.

Or maybe I'm just crazy.

Bad Dreams

Do you ever have those dreams where to wake up still feeling the same emotions you felt in your dream?

Last night Dream The Boy conspired with Dream Mom to send me back to high school, with my nicotine addicted degenerate of a Dream Sister. (My real sister is actually a goody-goody, and I love her for it. Means I don't have to threaten the boys that want in her pants, because she can do it herself.)

But yeah, they were in cahoots. And I woke up feeling bitter and betrayed. Ick.

Friday, June 19, 2009

My Day with The Boy

The Boy had today -yesterday now, I guess- off so I actually put on real clothes and left the house.

We took the Max downtown and went to our two favorite downtown places: Powell's and the place near Powell's with all the awesome ethnic food stands. After some delicious fish tacos we went around the back of Powell's to go in the super secret entrance that only VIPs know about (aka the Orange Room entrance) and directly to the sell back books counter. Yes that's what it's called. Shush.

See, we're both big readers and last week we unpacked our six (six! joy!) boxes of books. And then we alphabetized them. It does my nerdy anal retentive heart good. Anyway, we had a few double copies, thus the back door.

Of Powell's, you dirty minded people! (Again with the believing someone reads this; ha!)

Did you know that you get an extra 20% when you take store credit instead of cash? Yeah... we spent it all and then some. Whoops! :)

We came home and The Boy tried one of his culinary experiments: salmon, avocado, and cream cheese filled pasta shells. It was okay, but could have been better. Meh; that's what experimentation is for.

And then we saw Star Trek. For a nerd I know astonishingly little about Star Trek, but I had heard that movie Kirk and movie Spock were sexy. They were okay, but why did no one tell me about Scotty??? Man I'm a sucker for accents.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

My Anchor

I don't think I've mentioned this yet, so I will now. I'm not from around here.

Oh, I'm an Oregonian alright, but my hometown is about as far as you can get from Portland without stranding yourself in the desert.

Since I was old enough to understand that my town had very little to offer in the way of entertainment (other than the production of meth, which I've heard is jolly good times!*) I've wanted out. College was a start, but I had no idea what to do after that; what excuse could I use post-graduation to stay out?

Not only is my town boring as all get out (and the meth capitol of Oregon, whoopee!**) but it's also a great sucking whirlpool, a veritable Charybdis pulling in its victims like helpless ships on the tides of... whatever. Metaphor fail. (literature reference win!) The point is, once you're out you're still not free. If you turn your back on the eddying maelstrom even for a minute it can suck you back in. The only way to escape this is to find something to anchor you to the outside world, so that no matter how hard the current pulls, your anchor will keep you safe.

Enter The Boy.

Disclaimer: for all of you reading at home (ha! I think people might eventually read this. Aren't I cute?) with weak stomach or just more than your share of bitterness and cynicism, you might not want to go any further. I tend to get kind of mushy when I talk about the Love of My Life. :)


Enter The Boy (as he will herein be referred to based on my anticipation that I will one day want to whinge about him or reveal his innermost secrets or something). Typical story: we were friends, I got drunk and molested him on the back porch, we fell in love, yada yada. Actually the story is a lot sexier than that. Maybe I'll tell it some time.

So it's my senior year of college, and here I've got this wonderful boyfriend who, let's face it, I just kind of stumbled upon. Unexpected, unsolicited, completely unlivewithoutable. One day we're hanging out and I casually say something like, "Hey, maybe we should like, live together or something. Whatever," because, you know, I'm a valley girl. His response was calm, collected; my man played it cool like always. "Hell yes!"

Or something like that.

Wow, this has gotten way off topic. Um, The Boy is the anchor I need to keep from getting sucked back into the black hole (yes, I switched metaphors) that is my hometown. There.

*Actually I've never heard this. I can't imagine it's true.
**Not something to be proud of, but still. We have the most awful commercials basically confirming this fact. "The first time can kill you." No, but really: meth is bad.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

On Trying

I've been out of school for seventeen days now (yes, I'm the kind of girl to count) and I feel like I've done nothing productive. After some half-assed job hunting I actually managed to discover a job I really really wanted.

Typical me, I was afraid to really try for it, thinking that if I tried my hardest and failed that meant I was a failure. I did... ok on the phone interview (my first) and was... average at the in-person group interview (so weird) and then the recruiter asked me to write an email about why we thought the job was "a good fit for me". I wrote the shit out of that email.

Honestly, I think that's the only thing that saved me, because she called me back and offered me the position. I start Monday.

The moral of the story? I don't know. How about: a last ditch effort can save the day?

New to This

I've been creeping on the blogosphere for awhile now, and I think it's about time to jump on this wagon. Just... excuse me... let me move... can I get some help here?... this trombone case. There. Nice and comfy. Hey! Don't you poke me with that piccolo.

There. Officially on the band wagon.