Hey, I may be godless ('cause we pagans are always running short on gods), but at least I write my own material.

My dad's annual summer pig roast was last Saturday, and I managed to make it home to enjoy the show, despite being broke as shit and still not fully recovered from camp less than a week before. Because I was so exhausted and cranky and wanting some crazy, I decided my goal was to drink myself into a stupor. I started with a string of beers, broke it up with a couple shots of Captain Morgan and the last half of a bottle of Blue Maui (because every year, there are more bottles of Blue Maui and I feel it's my duty to kill at least a bottle while I'm there), chased that with more beer, and topped it off with some Jack. I started on an empty stomach and was definitely warm and toasty by the time we commenced with the scavenger hunt (which involved wearing Depends on my head, in a hilarious homage to slumber parties of days gone by). I hung onto my buzz until kids and rain chased everyone home (much earlier than I would've liked, frankly).

The next morning, no hangover. I'm not sure why this pissed me off, but there you go.

It was good to see the family, good to hang and play and have a good time. It was also weird, because suddenly, there were a million kids. I don't mind kids, especially since I've become pretty good at not letting myself get sucked into playing pied piper and guardian of the flock....but there were soooo many young kids, running around in a pack, I had to resist the urge to scream. I adore my neices, and there are a few kids I really and truly enjoy, but pack o'kids, not so much. Reason number 471 I don't really want children.

Also, I got a nasty reminder that I'm an oblivious moron; I bug sprayed everywhere but my feet ('cause I just didn't even think about it). Now, I'm nursing literally (I am not exaggerating here) hundreds of mosquito bites on my feet. The itching is driving me slowly insane. It's torture.

I wonder if everyone has an Oversharing Barista in their lives. A friend suggested that maybe my oversharing barista knew me from my website or something....which I say is impossible, since I'd be surprised if the Oversharing Barista knows my name. However, Oversharing Barista, if you're reading this and know who you are, you should say so! Then it will be less of an overshare and more of a "Hey, I know you and stuff!"

Today, the OB and I talked about housing, and how the Brown Line is the most unreliable of all the el lines. And it is. I didn't want to tell the OB that I love the Brown Line anyway, and that I suspect it will get much better when the revamping is done in a year or two. Of course, the fact that my house will be within sight of a platform entrance doesn't hurt.

We also dished roomies, and how much they suck, and how it's hard to find good ones that can be friends as well as roomies. A depressing topic right now.

I found myself in the riches
(Your eyes, your lips, your hair.)
Well you were everywhere
But I woke up in the ditches.
I hit the light and
I thought you might be here
but you were nowhere.
You were nowhere at home.

As I lay me back to sleep
Lord I pray that I can keep

Sleeping to dream about you
I'm so tired of having to live without you
So I'm sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired

(It's just a little a lullaby to keep
myself from crying myself to sleep at night.)

- Jason Mraz, "Sleeping to Dream"

I'm feeling all warm and squishy today, for some reason. I'm sitting in this place where I recognize I'm quarter-life-crisis-ing hardcore, and I'm embracing the cliche of being the lonely chick who hasn't been laid in awhile (okay, way too long). Part of this is wanting the "usual" relationship stuff - someone to come home to, someone to wake up next to, someone to share the unbearability of life's uncertainty...someone to screw blind regularly. And part of it is just liking the possibility of feeling all those warm, fuzzy feelings....of actually getting totally high on pheremones while sitting beside someone in a dark theater, completely losing the thread of the plot because you're daydreaming about the texture of his mouth. Or the way your entire stomach melts when he threads his fingers through yours. Or toe-curling makeout sessions that don't lead to anything but more making out. I know that when I'm in it, I abhor the particular insanity of attraction and the way it twists my perceptions and my moods and my ability to use my brain....but it's also fun. There's a spectrum of experience you can only get in that space, when you've given up the fight and gone ahead and let the chemistry fizz.

Ugh. Part of me wants to just go out and get laid. The rest of me knows that won't scratch the real itch that's bothering me. If this is "growing up," I think I want to pass.

Recent entries...
27 December 2007: 2007: Finis.
17 December 2007: A ruse, a rant, and a poem. It's short.
11 December 2007: Music & falling....story of my life.
08 December 2007: Briefly...ish.
29 November 2007: A poem, a rant, a lesson.