Yeah, Great Blog…

Or, to be more specific, SLEEP.

I’ve been having these weird insomniac issues lately. Like, last night I wasn’t able to fall asleep until after 5AM. I went into my room at about midnight, hopeful for an early night… and ended up reading almost the entire new DOUBLE issue of Entertainment Weekly, watched an episode of Gossip Girl on my computer, surfed the internet for about an hour, and then proceeded to play about two hours’ worth of Bejeweled 2. I finally turned the lights off after 5, it was already starting to get light outside, and just laid there for God only knows how long until I fell asleep.

I just graduated college and am waiting to move back home. In the meantime, I don’t have anything to do and am stuck in this sort of limbo because I can’t get a JOB to occupy my time, and I’m supposed to be saving my money, so I can’t really DO anything. So, I end up staying in my little apartment, going slightly mad I should say, and just waiting for a time when I actually have something to do.  Because of this, my sleep schedule has gotten all fucked up.  I can’t fall asleep until, as I’ve pointed out, really late at night, and I end up sleeping in way too late.  Today I woke up around 12:45PM.  And tonight, I’m sure it’ll happen ALL OVER AGAIN.

There have also been weird dreams going through my head at night. Has anyone else ever had test dreams? Like, you’re late for a test, or you missed a test, or you’re taking an important test that you don’t know any of the answers to? I’ve been having one of those dreams ALMOST EVERY NIGHT. I’m not in school anymore, I have to remind myself when I wake up in a cold sweat, it was just a dream.

These dreams usually happen whenever I haven’t written in a while. I’m a writer, and I think this is my brain telling me to get going again!

Maybe I should do that now. Probably not, but it’s nice to dream.  Dream of writing, I mean, not of missing tests.  I fucking hate that.

This is an IM conversation between me and Yeah, Great Blog… contributor Fran:

Fran: i don’t know how i end up being people’s therapist sometimes

Me: you’re too nice…

Fran: probably

Me: probably?

Fran: definitely?

Me: probably…

Be the bitch, you know you want to!

I’m on my way home from a group meeting at about 10:30PM tonight.  My Charlie Card only had $1.15 left on it, and it costs $1.75 to ride the train and $1.25 to ride the bus, so I’m out on two counts.  I grab $20 from the ATM with plans of loading it onto my card so I don’t have to, you know, walk home.

I get on the train, and am about to go through the motions of putting the money onto my card when the driver informs me that that particular function is not working and that I’m going to have to pay the $2 (it’s more when you pay in cash instead of using your Charlie Card in an attempt to limit congestion and promote speed and efficiency).

This is the conversation that followed.  I’m a nice person (stop laughing), but keep in mind that I’m a business person and don’t react well when business transactions go awry, and I have a habit of getting, well, quite bitchy.

Me: ”But I only have a twenty.”

Him: “Well, you gotta pay the $2.”

Me: “It’s not my fault the machine isn’t working.”

Him: “I know it’s not, but you still have to pay the $2.”

Me: “I only have $1.15 on here [waves wallet in annoyed fashion] and a twenty.  I don’t have $2.  And I’m not getting off this train before my stop.”

Him: “Hey, I didn’t say anything about you getting off.  I just said you gotta pay the $2.”

My brain is hurting at this point.

Me: “I don’t have $2.  And I’m not getting off.  I don’t understand what you’re saying to me.”

Him: “I’m saying you’ll just have to pay it next time.”

HE WAS TRYING TO HELP ME OUT.  I wanted to say to the guy, I’m not wearing a wire, you didn’t have to be so candid.  You could have said don’t worry about it.  It would have saved a bitchfest, pal.  And he’s probably calling me a prick because I was copping an attitude.  Dude, I don’t play those games, okay?  He’s lucky I didn’t cut him.

i.e. Go Away.

Now, this might seem weird to you, but one of my biggest pet peeves is when someone blows their nose in front of me.  I don’t know what it is about this natural bodily function, but it is one of the grossest things in the world to me.  If you’re ever around to see it, you’ll notice that my entire body clenches up and a deep shiver runs down my spine.  It’s pretty awful.

I have a friend who used to blow her nose AT THE TABLE in restaurants!  (You know who you are!)  And she would always look at me with these guilty puppy-dog eyes when she did it, like she knew she was doing something bad but just HAD to do it and COULDN’T HELP HERSELF.  And all I wanted to do was mash food into my own ears so I couldn’t hear the noise coming out of her nose.  I just threw up thinking about it.

Please, do us all a favor and excuse yourself!  You don’t fart in public, do you?  The day you fart in front of me is the day you can start blowing your nose in front of me.  Actually, I think I’d prefer the fart.

So, I was sitting at the front desk at work yesterday when suddenly, an elderly man with a walker walks (wheels?  whatever) over to me.  

“I wonder if I have bad breath,” he says to me.  I shrug.

“When I was in the service, we used to brush our teeth with soap.  I like it better than toothpaste,” he continues.  I step into this one… I have to.

“Doesn’t that taste bad?” I ask him.

“Dial is about the best,” he tells me.  “I like the taste.”

Apparently, this response is just not enough for me to nod politely and go on my way.  After a brief chat about dental care (and my suggestion that if he does not enjoy toothpaste, maybe he should try nature’s toothbrush: the apple), he asks if I am married, or have a boyfriend, and then follows said questions with:

“You should come and chat with me sometime.” (insert thoughtful pause) “Oh wait, you can’t, you have a boyfriend.”

Yes folks, I have just been hit on by a man old enough to be my grandfather.  Now, beauty is only a light switch away for some, but I don’t think there is enough tequila in the world that can make that the case.  Even if his gums are moisturized by the gentle formula of Dial soap.

I just threw up in my mouth a little.  Again.

Last night was one of the best nights of my life…  Author Michael Cunningham came to my campus, and I got the chance to talk with him personally and interview him on stage.

Now, as amazing as all of that was, the turnout was… not so good.  I’d say there were about 40 people in a 1,000 SEAT THEATRE.  Yeah.

So, I’m on the side of the street, waiting for Michael to pull up in his cab so I can escort him into the building, when a friend of mine walks by.  Here’s the conversation:

Him: Hey man!

Me: Hey, what’s going on?

Him: Nothing.  Just heading over to Campus Movie Fest.

Me: Oh, that’s cool.

Him: You going?

Me: Nah, I can’t.

Him: Dude, it’s going to be so cool.  You should definitely go.

Me: Yeah, probably.

Why there were a bajillion other events going on the same night we had ours, I do not know. 

Bastards.

Last night the boy and I went to see the Boston Massacres vs. New York Gridlock in roller derby at the Shriners Auditorium in Willmington, MA.  It was a kick ass event, girls getting smashed into each other and touching each others’ butts– What’s not to love?  And of course, any time Boston beats NY with a 2 to 1 margin I’m happy. 

So then, you might ask, why does my head ache the morning after and my jaw remain clenched tighter than fresh meat’s ass first day on the prison yard? 

Yesterday was the day of my big surprise.  The boy has been making sure that I had last afternoon/night free for awhile, so I knew it must’ve been something really fun.  But my ignorance at our destination made me powerless to create a plan for our transportation to and from.  The problem was simple:  The Shriners Auditorium is not easily accessible by public transportation and (as poor simple college students/alumni) the boy and I do not own a car.  We took the commuter rail out to the Wilmington train station and then began a never ending treck through suburbia. 

This would not have been so bad if it had not been downpouring and freezing outside.  We walked almost 3 miles.  By the time we reached the auditorium we were soaking wet everywhere that our jackets did not cover.  I was shivering and my muscles ached from climbing muddy embankments where there was no shoulder or sidewalk on which to walk.  But I did not complain.  I accepted that this was our situation and soldiered on.  The boy thought that there would be cabs waiting at the train station and when there wasn’t and he called the company they said it would take an exorbitant amount of time to arrive. 

But given this experience and newfound knowledge at just how out of the way the auditorium was, I assumed that the boy would think of something better to get us back to Boston.  I tried to make my preferences clear, that I would rather take a cab than walk all the way back to the train station at 10:30 at night.  He had other ideas.

I couldn’t adequately explain to him why asking a bunch of strangers for a ride back was not okay with me.  Yes, in theory it would be the fastest and cheapest solution, but all I could think about were all the stories of people you hear about on the news who have been robbed, raped and worse by people they accepted rides from.  I think he sees himself as impervious to danger and unfortunately I know that’s just not true.  His suggestion made me feel unsafe and upset. 

I think I was justified in my opinion.  I begged him to call a cab at least back to the train station.  I tried to explain why we should call a cab early so it would arrive in plenty of time for us to make the last train, but he didn’t want to leave too soon even though the game(s) had already ended and nothing was really happening.  Time ticked by.  He found two others going back to the train station that could split a cab with us.  To catch a 10:50 train, they called a cab at 10:15.  So I was freaking out as we were waiting that we would miss the train and then have to spend additional $ for a cab all the way back to Boston.  If we were going to do that I would rather just have that be the plan in the first place.  I was extremely frustrated because I felt like there was nothing I could do to take control of the situation. 

We waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Finally, one of the other kids called back and the cab company seemed to have lost our request or some stupid shit.  I nearly collapsed to the wet, muddy pavement.  I knew what this would mean.  I bit my lip and begged whatever God might exist for forgiveness.

Obviously nothing terrible happened as a result of my first hitchhiking experience.  He stopped a car leaving the auditorium parking lot, encountered two recent BU alumni heading back to Jamaica Plain and they agreed to give us a ride back into Boston no questions asked.  I tried not to think about how intoxicated the driver might’ve been (one of the first things he said when we got in the car was how awesome the Shriners Auditorium is for having $5 beers) as we bobbed and weaved all the way home.  Eyebrow raising conversations about local politics and favorite bars were had.  It wasn’t so bad.  I was happy to be going home and finally getting out of my wet clothes and falling asleep, but inside I was still angry.  The boy felt completely justified in his decision to ask for a ride because nothing bad had happened– this time. 

So what do I do?  I look like an idiot for being aprehensive, but I have to stand by my gut feeling.  Bad things happen when one ignores that little voice inside that says something isn’t right.  I’m angry that I was put in a position that compromised my safety, but because nothing happened I feel like I’m being a bitch by holding a grudge.

 As usual, I cannot win.

I’ve been in London for four days now, and I came to the realization that it is almost a mirror image of Boston. If there weren’t some very distinct British things around here—like the weird cars, the whole driving on the wrong side of the road thing, and select buildings and things, like Big Ben, Parliament, the Tower Bridge (not to be confused with London Bridge!), etc…—I would think I was still home. I love Boston, and I think that’s why I like London so much (my God, the names even look the same… I just realized!). I feel very much at home and at ease here, and could picture myself living here in the future.

So, last night I went to see the Lord of the Rings musical. The theatre was this big building on Drury Lane (I shit you not), and I kept looking around for the Muffin Man (I didn’t see him). The day started out kind of bad, because I had an awful night’s sleep and didn’t end up leaving my hotel room until about 1pm. I go down to the shopping megaplex Harrods, where I have lunch at a nice little Italian restaurant before heading into the store for window shopping. Now, I hate clothes shopping, because I’m fat and can’t fit into anything I want (not to mention that this place only carries high end fashion, meaning mega bucks that I DON’T HAVE), and I was only able to distract myself with furniture, antiques and books for about an hour before the anxiety in my chest forced me to leave (erm, I get panicky when I get bored like that, I couldn’t tell you why). This place is so big and massive, that I end up getting lost and can’t find my way out. I’m almost hyperventilating by the time I find an exit.

Needless to say, there’s about two hours before I need to head to my dinner reservation before the show, so I decide to find a cafe to sit in and read. Well, there aren’t any on this street. When I find one, it’s a little shithole. Then, what do I see before me but a Starbucks. Now, I hate coffee, and generally dislike everything about Starbucks, but my feet hurt and I just want to sit the fuck down for God sakes, is that SO much to ask? I end up ordering this mango passion fruit thing (which was disgusting, by the way… I only had two sips and threw it out), WHICH, I would come to find out, costs MORE if you intend to consume the product IN THE STORE! It was about 50p more expensive (about $1) then it would be for “take away” food. I couldn’t believe it! And this isn’t even a Starbucks thing, but a London thing, apparently. INSANE.

After a while I finally head over to the restaurant, and I’m looking for James Street. I don’t see any signs as I exit the Tube station, so I ask one of those guys you pay to bike your ass around in a little basket for directions (because he should know where he’s going, surely!), and he tells me that I need to go to the end of this cross street and turn right. Already something doesn’t seem right, because the map I looked at earlier said that the restaurant should be right down the street from the Tube station. So, thanks to my ever failing faith in my fellow man, I follow his directions. I go about a quarter of a mile down the street, reach a huge intersection, and realize I’m lost. So, I turn around and go back in a slightly different direction. Ten minutes later and I’m back at the Tube entrance. And guess what: there’s the restaurant. I was on James Street originally, and that fucker sent me off in a completely wild direction! If only I had turned around and seen the BIG FUCKING SIGN that said where the restaurant was, I would have saved some time. Thanks, bastard.

The show was interesting. I was upgraded from my cheap balcony seat (the uppermost tier of the theatre, about three balconies up), to four rows back from the front on the ground level. Nice. And the whole place was done up with vines and just looked cool.

I have to say that it was very good, but every once in a while I would see something on stage that had me retracing my steps throughout the day to see when I could have possibly ingested some cocaine. Maybe at lunch? That mango passion fucker from Starbucks? Dinner? That line of powder I snorted off the hooker’s ass? Seriously, I couldn’t believe some of the stuff they were doing. And it was just weird for other reasons, too… I’m so used to the actors who play the characters in the movies that I thought they all looked strange. And the fact that they were all singing and dancing, you know, didn’t help. Even Gollum sang. And Gimli. And Treebeard was just a guy suspended from the ceiling with big fucking stilts. Yeeeah.

It did have some really good and powerful moments, though… including the scene with the Balrog, and Shelob the spider (made the woman across the aisle from me scream, what a fuckin’ riot!), as well as the final scene with Sam and Frodo climbing Mt. Doom.

All around a good musical, just weird. Fucking weird, guys.

*A note to the people behind the musical: Please don’t let Gollum sing. It was just creepy. And not in a good way. Love and kisses, Kyle.

It occurred to me last night that there’s no reason why I should be fat. When you think about it, there are about 6 billion people on the planet. Now, you could take all of my excess body weight and disburse it equally amongst every person across the globe, and there wouldn’t even be a calculable difference in their weight, but I’d be able to be skinny. Or, how about this: why can’t I donate my fat to children in Africa? I mean, they’re needy, right? Can’t they use some extra weight? We’ve all seen the pictures of them with their ribs sticking out, stomachs sunk in, and absolutely no meat between their skin and bones. Wouldn’t they benefit a lot from something I could do without?

What would I do with my newfound bod? First, I’d buy an entire wardrobe of Armani. Second, I’d have sex. Lots and lots of sex. Like, slut sex… you know? Just 24/7, revolving door, fuck ‘em and leave ‘em kind of sex. And I’d enjoy every minute of it. Third, expand my wardrobe to include Prada… and maybe Gucci. Maybe. Fourth, I’d probably flaunt it, everywhere. I’d flirt with everybody. Oh, and just for a change of pace, I’d have a little a lot more sex.

How can we go about setting this charity up? I think we could, you know, help a lot of needy people with this.

A website insulted me yesterday. And I’m not talking about reading something someone wrote and being insulted by it. No, I’m talking about a website asking me questions about myself, judging my answers, and then making fun of me because of my responses! Unbelievable.

Let me tell you what happened: I was clicking around online and I came across a “How Girly Are You?” quiz. Well, I was curious, so I took the quiz and answered all their inane questions (Do you take care of your toes? Do you like puppies? GAGGGGG ).

So I submitted the quiz, and this is what that asshole website said to me about my answers:

You Are 16% Girly

Um… you’re a guy, right? If not, you’re the most boyish girl in the world. And for you, that’s probably the ultimate compliment.

See what I mean??? That is SO RUDE! I mean, I don’t care about the low score. I’ve gotten bad grades before. But what is their deal, putting some ugly chick with a skateboard up on my computer screen? And they called me a dude. Absolutely unforgivable. No, website, that is not a compliment.

I’m feminine! I swear! You can definitely tell I’m a girl from probably like… two miles away. At least. Girliness oozes from my pores. I just get made fun of because I’d rather invest my money than spend it all getting my nails done. Anyway, nail salons are ultimately a waste of money because I’d just mess them up rock climbing anyway. See what I mean? I’m just being practical!

So in retaliation, I’m going to make up my own version of the Girly Quiz. Take this if you dare:

The Ultimate Girly Quiz 

1. You own at least one article of clothing that says Princess on it. [1 point]
   
2. Your boyfriend is way lucky to have you. [1 point]
   
3. You have been in a fight with at least two of your close friends in the past month. [1 point]
   
4. You couldn’t lift anything heavier than shopping bags… even if you tried. [1 point]
   
5. You’re on your third box of Crest Whitestrips this month. [1 point]
   
6. It’s okay to wear Uggs with sweatpants. [1 point]
   
7. It’s okay to wear Uggs. [5 points]
   
8. You can’t live without your Tiffany’s. [1 point]
   
9. Your flat iron is your life. [1 point]
   
10. You’ll pay any amount of money for anything, as long as it has those Coach C’s. [5 points]
    
11. You can’t walk out of your house without at least a half inch of bronzer on your face. [1 point]
    
12. Everyone is jealous of you. [239487129176 points]

Now, add up your score. If you have two points or higher, you should kill yourself now.  And, no, you’re not allowed to go to the salon first.