Ok, I admit it

I remember living in our top floor apartment with a view (just the bay, not the mountains but hey, it was a view) and waking up at noon to the sun in my bright, large bedroom. Aarwenn and I came and went from that space in what must have looked like a tightly choreographed ballet. I had school and a demanding job as a bartender at an upscale restaurant. It seemed like I knew everyone in the world and no one could tell me what I should do. It seemed like I had so much time. In one day I would go to work, go to class, hang out at a coffee shop, have dinner with friends, watch Law & Order and still have the energy to go downtown for martinis or to 6th Ave. for Karaoke.
All day long I could be whoever I wanted. I could change my personality for every first date. At the same time I had rituals that grounded me in my life. Every Sunday I met a friend for Sunday breakfast at 11:00. About once a week Aarwenn and I would watch Law & Order to a bottle of wine.
It seemed that my life working hare at Evil-Doers-R-Us had become mainly routine but I realized that it is not about the routine or the rituals. It is not about the hours I keep or the alcohol I consume. I have been most afraid to become me. I have been most terrified of giving up the luxury of being whoever I wanted all the time.
As my life has calmed down, I have started to make choices; big choices about who I want to be and how I want to live. It is not that I am “finding myself” it is that I am narrowing down the path that self will take. As my one year anniversary with Boyfriend approaches, I have just become aware of the fact that I really like most of my life. I really like the fact that I am me all the time. I am accepting things about myself that I have rebelled against my whole life.
I am not spontaneous. I have always wanted people to see me as spontaneous because it is fun and so care free but I don’t do well with changing plans and I do even worse with a lack of plans.
I am not good with money. Money is strange because I like it but I seem to have an intense desire to rid myself of it as quickly as possible.
I cannot drive. I wanted to be that awesome chick who can just drive the shit out of any car but honestly, I am too ADD and I burn my clutch and kill my car at lights and I really just can’t drive.
The point is this: I don’t want to leave my life of gym appointments and Netflix. I don’t want to go back to working weekends. As exciting and interesting as my life would become again, I don’t want to give up the gentle security of my generally predictable life. Sometimes I am scared about how people I know will react to my less entertaining self. I still want to go out and have drinks with my girlfriends but some how the humor of Puking on the side of the road (Tacompton T, you know that I am talking about) seems to exist better in the past.

Let's hear it for unemployment!

So I have finally quit my job. (cue “Hallelujah” chorus) Tomorrow will be my last day. I must say that things are going better than expected. No one has threatened me and my supervisor said he was not surprised. Really, I’m not sure how anyone could be surprised seeing as how I am only the latest participant in the company’s growing “Jump Ship Now!” program. Still it is kind of eerie how little of an impact my departure is making.
I will be spending today and tomorrow cleaning things up. Fixing or passing off things in my long term “hold” box and updating people on my projects.
Hold the press!!!! As I am writing this I received an e-mail that our receptionist is leaving as of November. I am not making this up. This is ridiculous.
The point of all this is that you, my lovely internet friends, will no longer have to listen to me rant about my job. This might be a good thing but then again I have been told that I am at my most entertaining when I am angry. That is why I am warning you that, much like She Walks, I may become what some would call “less funny” in the near future. I will preemptively defend myself by saying that like Tacompton Tiffany, I am not here to entertain you. Oh, who am I kidding; I am here to entertain you but my first priority is me. That’s right; I am that selfish.
So I will continue to strive to bring you the best free entertainment I can. But you can expect to hear a lot more about my dog, car problems, job hunting fumbles, family issues, and general lack of skills and a lot less about my job and how much it sucks. See, I will still have plenty to say!

My Fulfillment Vacuum is on Full Power but I will Soon Have Access to a Lot of Liquor

There is the slight possibility that yesterday I got completely fed up with my job and the complete lack of fulfillment it brings to my life. It is actually not just a fulfillment-less area, it is a fulfillment vacuum; sucking up fulfillment from entirely separate areas of my life. Like I will be all happy and content watching Gilmore Girls reruns at 5:00 on a Thursday and Jason (remember Jason? I liked Jason. I kind of miss him and because Luke was already a character, I feel like there is a hole in the show but this has very little to do with me) anyway so Jason will be being all worked obsessed and I will think “why am I not more into my job” and I will answer myself “because your job is worthless. You spend ½ your time convincing your company not to rip people off and then, when you fail, you spend the rest of your time attempting to not feel immensely guilty about it.” So now, out of no where, I am all upset about my job and I have missed at least 3 lines of witty banter and the fact that I have already seen this episode is no consolation. If my job can suck the fulfillment out of Gilmore Girls, it really really has to go.
So perhaps I decided that I cannot wait for any branch of the government to go through its lengthy hiring process. Perhaps I decided on a whim to apply for a bartending job just to hear someone say they might like to have me in for an interview sometime before my ovaries shrivel up and die with a defeated and pathetic sigh. Perhaps I turned in my resume, got an interview, and was offered a job all in the span of 4 hours. Now that I can throw caution to the wind and just quit; now I am scared.
So here I sit, piddling away my conscience, integrity, time, and youth. I have a back up plan. I have applications in. I am really pretty good to go, so why can’t I just tell my job to suck it and screech out of the parking lot laughing hysterically? I think it is because I still want to fix it. I still want to make this place shape up and do right. I want to make a difference damn it! I am so mad that my motivation has died along side pride in my work. Maybe after lunch I will do something for the good of humanity. Maybe I will be inspired by something outside these walls. Maybe the ultimate good of the world will revel itself to me ant hope will be rekindled in my hart forever. More likely I will over cook my left over Mac & Cheese and burn my mouth causing me to cuss with a lisp for the rest of the day.

When you are done going poop, you want to go get some Guns and Liquor?

I may or may not have actually said that sentence to someone this past weekend. Sadly my diet is what has gone down the toilet. I was doing very well for quite some time and then came Halloween. Full of candy and liquor, it is Halloween, not Thanksgiving that leaves my good intentions passed out in a steamy pile of their own vomit. For this sweet toothed girl, nothing beats a good Carmel-apple-tini. It is not even Halloween yet and already I have paid for my numerous transgressions by washing my scale in a pool of my own sugary, alcoholic tears. By the time all the candy at the office is gone, I will in no way shape or form fit into my tiny costume.
I will have you know that I did go to a party this weekend. I did wear a costume. I did look great. I did not eat enough before I went. I did not drive. I did not feel well the next day. When you wake up and go to let the dog out and think you may have left your head upstairs you know it was an interesting night. When you and your friend agree that no more drinking should be done EVER for reasons no one wishes to discus, well then it is time for McDonalds.
I have McDonalds about 2 times a year. Something about the greasy nastiness of McDonalds drives the point home. The point being that I can no longer drink like I used to. The point also being that candy is the more enjoyable of the Halloween vices once you factor in massive hangovers. Lucky for me, I get to be DD for the next party. (Yeah, I know you aren’t supposed to WANT to be the designated driver but I am strange like that)
It is at this point in the post that I realize my Mother might read this. Sorry Mama.
Back to the candy. Fun sized candy really is fun. Anything that is smaller than normal is fun. Being small makes the candy seem less threatening; like your waistline will not suffer because you ate 3 small Snickers instead of 1 large one. The fact that this sense of security is an illusion really just fits into the whole Halloween theme. “It’s not real.” You can tell yourself. “Someone has rigged my scale in an effort to frighten the living daylights out of me.” (Discussion question: Are there “living nightlights” or “dying daylights”, or even “living day-darks”?) So now we have established that my Halloween will include more candy, less drinking and no scales of any kind. About the time I recover it will be time to take on Christmas cookies and hot buttered rum. Damn the gym for not being more fun.

No Parking

I would bet that the majority of you have not spent enough time lauding the abilities of those who design the parking lots you use. In fact, you are probably the kind of selfish inconsiderate people who occasionally bitch about the inadequacy of parking facilities you use on a daily basis. I would like you all to know that designing a parking lot is not nearly as simple as you think it should be. It involves the government for God’s sake! Yes you can add that to your list of things to blame Bush for, not because it is his fault directly but because he is an asshole and he looks like a monkey on crack that was just whacked upside the head with a lead pipe. I believe that may be an accurate description of his day-to-day brain capacity as well but I digress.
I have spent all morning and early afternoon attempting to design a parking lot for an office building. I cannot make it work. Between planting strips and drainage calculations and square footage requirements and retaining walls, and and and the whole thing is a mess. It is a big, scary, “Where are the weapons of mass destruction?” size mess. I want to run screaming from the gargantuan pile of scraped site plans that has taken over my desk (in the most hostile of ways I might add). The frustration was really getting to me by lunch. I went out to the bathroom and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked disheveled to say the least. Not in that sexy “I might have just rolled out of bed after a long night (and perhaps morning) of amazing sex without the energy or care to make myself any more presentable” kind of way. No, this was much more like I had just been run over by a street cleaning truck at the end of his shift when the street cleaning brushes were all full of stagnant beer, bum piss, and pieces of paper people used to get dog shit off of their shoe. It was at this point I realized that I have had lots of caffeine and nothing to eat all day so I went to lunch.
It is now after lunch and I have to say that while I might look a little less like mentally deficient squirrel on meth flattened by a semi desperately clinging to one of its “I heart hooters” mud-flaps I still feel a little like I might just snap. So next time you feel like complaining about the parking lot at Safeway or your doctors office you might want to consider that fact that I could be somewhere near by and I am way overdue for some more anger management therapy.

I may have inadvertently sent my hands free headset to a remote location in hell.

Never once in the entire time I have owned it have I cleaned my car. It is not that I have never cleaned OUT my car; I have. On occasion the backseat fills up and as I toss an empty soda can or superfluous stiletto into the back, it bounces off the massive conglomeration of consumer goods behind me and hits me in the head. At that point I know a purging of my vehicle is long past due. Within about a week of this realization, I will take an armful of belongings into the house and a few bags of trash out to the can. If I am feeling ambitious, I may hang a smelly tree from the rearview mirror. That is the extent of my car-keeping abilities.
Once it did occur to me to wash the outside of the car but then I realized that I have never done that. It seemed a shame to ruin that record so instead I tell people not to lean up against the car if they like their pants. I have become accustomed to the pine needles in every corner of the floor. I know where every sticky, oozing, pile of spilt Diet Coke sits as it refuses to decay at a normal rate. It may or may not be the case that I have on occasion found fries or ½ of a breakfast bar while I was searching for my checkbook or a Decemberist’s CD. I have so carefully cultivated my mess and now I feel rather attached to it.
But here is my problem, somewhere inside this previously unexplored 12th layer of hell, is the only thing standing between me and a fiery crash resulting in my own death; my hands free headset. Since Boyfriend gave it to me, I have had fewer brushes with death. In fact, I have not been honked at, yelled at, or flipped off while driving on the phone even once in the past 6 months. We had such a good thing going, me and the hands free headset. We were really getting to know each other and I’m not sure why he ran. The last time I saw him he was all tangled up with two of my scarves. I thought he may have run off with one of them but after tracking them down I discovered he had abandoned them too. After lecturing them on first date threesomes, I thought that perhaps he had left us all. Maybe during my last purge he escaped. Could it be that my earwax or breath had become unbearable? Or was I just o careless with him? So, hands free headset, if you are out there, please come home.

“Can I Just Watch the Movie?” or “Crazy Mad Bad Movie Ruining Skills”

The first time I knew that Boyfriend and I were meant for each other in that cosmic kind of way was when we watched XXX (a movie staring Vin Diesel not a movie staring Jenna Jameson) together one rainy afternoon. We had been dating for a few months and had survived the holiday season, but anyone with a decent IQ and some perseverance can do that. On this particular day we were bored and a bit crabby on account of being stuck inside. We decided to watch a movie. The video store was almost an entire city block from my front door, so we decided to go though my then roommate’s (Aarwenn) DVD collection. While it has been suggested that Aarwenn and I are not two separate people but in fact a single person trapped in two bodies, this theory is strongly discredited by the fact that we do not share the same taste in movies or music. Case in point: she owns XXX. Having nothing better to do, Boyfriend and I decided to watch the movie.
Before the opening credits were over Boyfriend had systematically picked apart every second of film we had seen. Pointing out logistical flaws, repeating the comically testosterone laden catch phrases with his own sarcastic twists, and emitting a barrage of general snide comments pertaining to everything from the costumes and acting, to the cinematography and plot. I was instantly in love.
It may or may not be the case that I have been banished from watching movies with certain individuals. Aarwenn, for example, once started a movie over because I was talking over the MUSIC during the opening credits. Extreme cases such as that aside, I admit that I have a tendency to ruin movies for every one who will watch them with me. This, like all things, is ultimately my mother’s fault.
My entire life my mother has spent our TV time pointing out the logistical flaws of bad movies and shows and predicting the plot twists of everything. Her sarcastic attitude and biting commentary were iatrical parts of my viewing experience. I learned from this master how to use generally ignored clues to increase the accuracy of my predictions. How much time is left in the movie or program? How often have we seen or heard about this character? What is the music like during this section? I have gotten good enough at this to be extremely annoying. I was actually kicked out of a theatre once. Still, my mad movie ruining skills are no mach for my mother’s.
Boyfriend is the only person who I am not blood related to that can rival us in this department. Not only has he out predicted or found more logistical flaws than me once or twice but his comments are funny and clever. Even better still, we work well as a team. Often we can predict every single plot twist in a move between the two of us. Together we are quite unstoppable and even my sister (who is not a stranger to picking apart movies herself) will sometimes get annoyed.
Together we will destroy the world’s enjoyment of mediocre films. We will fill every theater with dread upon our arrival. We will drive my Father to throw out the television in protest and my Sister to run screaming from the house at the sight of a Nexflix envelope. MWAHAHAHAH!

My Mastercard May be Bi-Polar But We Are Going to Work Things Out

Today I took a quiz about my relationship with debt. Now I will admit that I don’t really like debt all that much. Most people agree with me. Debt is not Mr. Personality. Still, I assumed that debt and I were in a pretty non-damaging holding pattern. Not so. Apparently I have a bad attitude.
The fact that I have a bad attitude about my job or decaf coffee or the mysterious comeback of the Mullet is no surprise but quite honestly, I had always thought that my problems with Debt were Debt’s fault. You see, he is very much like my ex who we will call James not only because that is his name but because he is such a worthless a-hole that he does not deserve to remain anonymous and if he knows about my blog and reads it, he deserves to know that I think of him as a slimy, soul sucking parasite on the ass of my personal history. You see, James and Debt are both bi-polar. Not in the way that I am bi-polar where I am either very hyper or very lazy and I use the phrase to exaggerate the actual intensity of my mood swings, but in the way where they need medication and have drastically different personalities when they are in a good or bad mood. When they are being personable they seem so wonderful. Debt is still Credit at this point. Credit is Debt’s alureing alter-ego. Credit will woo you with the promise of immediate gratification. Like James, Credit is charming and impresses your friends. He will buy all the drinks, he will get you into nightclubs, and he will take you on a Valentines Day vacation. You will feel happy, valuable, and oh so pretty but things will change.
Yes, one day you will wake up in the ghetto at 3 in the morning to a phone call from James’ lawyer telling you to clean out your bank account to bail him out of jail. One day Debt will start to pack on the interest and proceed to tell you how fat you are. One day these two will ship you off to the middle of the country with nothing and expect you to wait there while they get their shit together. They will be surprised when you tell them you are through with their BS. If you ignore them they will continually pop up and the whole mess will have gotten worse while you had your back turned. The only way to relive yourself of such ailments is to continuously chip away at destroying their power over you. If for one second you think that you could be just friends with them, they attempt to reel you back in and betray you. I think that this is a perfectly acceptable and healthy attitude to have. I think that after all the times I have let Debt get the best of me, the smartest thing to do would be to try and eliminate him all together. But apparently dealing with debt and dealing with the rank and rotting waste of oxygen you dated during high school and college require different tactics. Because moving to an entirely different state to escape Debt is not an option. Because Debt can do good things for you if you know how to coax it out of him. So I am supposed to improve my attitude toward Debt by getting to know him better. By understanding why I need him and what I can do to improve our relationship. Because unlike men, Debt can change. I read it on the internet. It must be true

Sick Week

I have been gone for a week and I know you are all dieing to know why I have been ignoring you. Well I have been busy being sick. For 3 days I tried to sleep it off and for the past 2 I have been trying to ignore the lingering vestiges of my killer cold. I reward for fighting off death, I get to come back to work.
I know when I promised to quit no latter than October 7th you all cheered, knowing that the endless griping would come to an end. I know I have mislead you all and let you down but hey, I need to make money somehow and the steady stream of rejection letters I have been receiving will not pay the bills. So here I am, at work. If only someone would offer to take me hostage and feed me maggots while making me listen to the original Backstreet Boys album, maybe then I would not have to subject myself to this kind of brain killing, soul sucking, vomit inducing, torture day in and day out. I once had a debate with Aarwenn about which was more effective as a form of torture, Christina Aguilera’s music or repeated, unnecessary Lasik eye surgery; clearly our imaginations were unable to grasp the true essence of torture. Torture leaves you dreading the prospect of living to see the sun come up.
Needless to say, I am ready for lunch.
In other news I am attempting to find something to be for Halloween. Boyfriend and I are at a loss. I think he wants to be something clever that might take you a few moments to get but is wildly entertaining once you do. I want to be something as a pair where I get to look hot and if it is entertaining and clever, well that would be an awesome bonus. Any and all ideas will be considered and appreciated.

I am It

In general I protest this tagging thing but because I am fickle and bored and because I really, really love music, Thanx for the tag KT! I also have been listening to the same 2 albums on repeat but mostly only in my car which saves boyfriend from my annoying obsessive behavior. Ok, it only saves him from the untimely death of his tolerance for the new Death Cab for Cutie or Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah.

And now THE RULES: List five songs that you are currently loving. It doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the songs in your blog, then 'tag' six other bloggers/friends to see what they're listening to.

Death Cab for Cuttie
1) Marching Bands of Manhattan
2) What Sarah Said

Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah
3) Let the Cool Goddess Rust Away
4) Gimmie Some Salt

Jakie Greene
5) A thing Called Rain

I am tagging anyone who reads my blog and has not been tagged.

Back to Where I Belong

I would like to welcome my boyfriend back to the World Wide Web. After a very long hiatus, during which he missed the entirety of my blogging thus far, he has taken matters into his own hands and gotten internet access. I am assuming that he read at least some of this drivel I continue to spew (Discussion question: can one actually spew drivel?) because last night he asked me what the URL for my blog was.
On to less important things. It has come to my attention that I no longer spend enough time in coffee shops. There was a time not too long ago, when I was considered a fixture at several coffee shops in the area. My pockets overflowing with tips that I should have been saving for the power bill, I frequented many Starbucks locations and a few independent shops. I knew all the employees and all of them (save the most stoned of the bunch) knew what I drank. In the past 2 weeks I have found that people I know personally work in coffee shops I used to practically live at and I had no idea.
I miss open mike nights. I miss eating carrot cake and vegan tofu scrambles with bacon for breakfast. I miss the perfect headspace for writing that one can only achieve by alternating pots of high caffeine tea and good glasses of wine for an entire Sunday night. I miss writing clever things on napkins to leave behind for the next customer.
From now on I plan on spending at least 3 hours a week in a coffee shop. Whether I read, write, participate in open mike night, or just generally spew my normal drivel I think I my feel better about my place in the universe if that place is more often in a coffee house. Besides, unlike myself, they have turned their heat on and it is getting cold out there.