I'm at least getting to dance around the issue
(I've got to stop using that word; I've used it like eight times in my last few emails, and my friends use it, and it's starting to stand out to me. I refuse over-use of any one word, unless it's ri-cock-ulous, that's just a good, daily word.)
Fortunately my legs heal quickly, because I cut myself every time I shave. For some reason my ankles and knees are not just the knobbiest part of my lower-body, they are also the hairiest. Yeah, the coarsest, too. I've got a beard on my ankles, for sure, so I can't get away with not shaving them, ergo, I can't get away with not cutting them. I'm not careless, I'm just maladroit. I can peal a potato exceptionally well, though, so maybe I'm having difficulty differentiating between the two tasks.
Do you all enjoy my ability to chat endlessly about completely irrelevant and substance-lacking topics? It must mean that I felt like shit yesterday and am hell-bent on not repeating it.
I wrote an email to a friend and made a stern effort to not discuss my whiny-ass problems with boys.
I'm sick of myself (could we get the official tally on how many of us girls have written that in the last couple weeks?).
While writing this email I starting talking about my youngest brother and damn it to hell I started weeping -- mid-type, I put my head down and shed lots of tears -- and I pretty much cried all the rest of the day. When I was around the family I just did the inhale:lip-tremble thing, but during my "tv-time" I intermitently trickled tears and giggles (NBC Must-See-TV Thursday is hilarious).
The email itself had no responsive nature to anything pertaining to the person I was sending it to, I just randomly picked a current event and began disclosing. It turned into one of those writing experiences where self-disclosure leads to self-discovery and BAM I'm crying.
Naturally, I changed the subject to Prince and hot, gay guys.
The pendulum didn't swing back, though, it just sat there in one extreme: the night brought on Halloween, one of the funnest nights ever, and I was alone. I mean it: the kids went to a dance. J didn't invite me to the shaving-cream fight, V didn't invite me to the pre-dance, girls-in-the-bathroom event, and I sure as fuck didn't have anything personal going on. So I remained completely exhausted with my own over-exerted sense of desperate plastic-ness the whole day.
Yes, plastic-ness, because solitude makes me feel inhuman.
I called people around ten o'clock, but of course no one was home. I didn't expect they would be. I wouldn't have been at home, either, if I still lived on 13th Street. Not unless I was serving jello shots off my tongue to other girls so I could make the boys hot and send 'em home wanting. (I got myself a fo'ty, I got myself a sho'ty, and I'm about to go get lifted...)
The party wasn't always at my house, though.
Anyone remember last year when I was the "Bling-blinga'" and I gave my phone number to Pee-wee Herman?
All parties aside, I definitely would have had chili with Dr. and Mrs. Burns, and perused the Dr. Dirksens' decorations, and made a loop around town before getting my dance on.
That's what I need, to shake my money maker. When was the last time I went dancing? Well... I sort of danced at Maggie's party, but no -- I think it might have been at Chael's bachelor party in June, at Alan Gold's. Yeah. ("I just can't get you outa my head, boy, your lovin' is all I think about -- lalala lala lalala.")
Two words: Milele Roots.
I wore my "Bone to Be Wild" shirt yesterday.
Friends, Scrubs, Will&Grace, and Goodmorning Miami made me laugh, though. Anyone remember Tuesday tv-night at Tylere's last year? Scrubs, Real World, Osbournes. Maybe Nancy is the only one reading this who remembers those nights, because, me, John, Jeremy, and Regan are all gone.
The parents of this family are leaving tomorrow on a vacation, and the grandparents will be here this weekend. I don't have any plans, but since the parents won't need it, maybe I'll take the car somewhere far, far away. I'll explore somewhere. Maybe I'll go to the zoo.
Thanks for having a cell-phone, Brandy, it was good to hear someone's voice last night.
And my mom sent me a card: she always sends me really cutesy, baby-girl cards circa 1958. This one had a big-eyed little girl with a black kittie and it said "Hiya pun'kin!" on the front. She told me to eat a lot of candy. I love my mother with my whole heart.
I'm going to shower, walk the dog, put on a little make up make up, try and show my good side good side, and then make a pork roast and acorn squash for dinner tonight.
P.S. I seriously DO call people every night (few exceptions) so if anyone has never received a call: I don't have your number. Either email me or put it in my guestbook, I'll give you a "holla." I'm cool like that.
