I don’t have the attention span right now (sugar! sugar! I’ve had A LOT of sugar!) to write about how this Halloween is already up there on the list of like, best days ever. Also, my hands are doing this shaking thing that makes typing like, way hard. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go snort some Pixie Stix before I start coming down.

The month of 30 (ideally!) consecutive posts begins tomorrow, so expect (maybe!) a recap of this week’s highlights shortly.

Cheers!

I promise not to make my dreams a regular topic here, because I know that shit is annoying, and I love you guys.

And since I'm all about learning things and growing as a person, I'm trying -for a change- to not totally piss off the people that I love and care about. Revolutionary idea, I know.

So, dreams. Awesome. (Thank you, NyQuil.)

Discussing dreams? Horrible.

It never fails to amaze me the lengths to which some people will go to convince you that last night? They had the craziest dream! Really, it was insane! I mean, just wait until you hear about it! Stop rolling your eyes! Let me tell you, it was so, so weird! And there was this really funny part; just wait until you hear the funny part!

I can't comprehend that people are so easily impressed with the fact that a lot of wacky fantastical shit happened IN THEIR HEAD. Really, how are people blown away by this?

Since I'm obviously not a huge fan of dissecting dreams, I found it a bit strange when my mother recently recommended a therapist to me (that's not the strange part - she's been doing that shit from day one) who specializes in decoding hidden messages from your dreams (strange part! strange part!).

I think going in for a visit would actually be funny, if it weren't such a colossal waste of a time. An hour? I could take a nap in that time. Read a few chapters of this freaking huge book that I just checked out. Get drunk. A whole bunch of much, much better things than looking for meaning in the jumbled wasteland that is my mind.

I mean, good fucking luck with that.

NaBloPoMo or, National Blog Posting Month, starts next week. Ideally, it starts off a month in which I will be posting on here, EVERY DAY, for the month of November.

This is going to difficult, as I find that lately I have less and less to say. (This may correspond to the fact that I have been staying in more, and going out drinking/carousing/toilet papering/general mischief causing much much less. May.)

So perhaps that strike on discussing my dreams was a bit hasty. Hey, you get 30 consecutive (again, ideally!) posts out of it, so I don't want to hear any bitchin'.

I'd hate to have you smack you, readers whom I love.

(But not as much as I love television.)

I woke up over an hour late this morning. I never do this.

I guess I should be thankful for the dream I was having, which woke me up.

In it I was wandering around downtown, doing a little shopping, and I looked up and saw The Ex standing in apartment above, looking down at me. In the dream I said "Oh, crap" turned around, and started walking the other way. And then I woke up.

I hate when dreams linger and refuse to dissipate. When a feeling that is senseless, that wouldn't come to me any other way, suddenly has weight and feels valid. When my emotions, my very tender, 8am, pre-coffee emotions are at war with the more rational side of me, the one that knows this is not the way things are anymore. But in those hazy moments, it doesn't feel that way.

"Oh, crap" is right.

I am at a complete and total loss as to what to write today. This does not bode well for NaBloPoMo.

It's not that I don't have any stories to tell, rather, I'm just having a hard time actually writing them. So instead I'm just going to steal an idea from Sarah, and words from my friends (suckers).

Text messages saved in my phone

I will say your second favorite is a comic book store or a porn shop.

You make me hate life.

Who's gonna get laid tonight?

Yum! Raspberry martini. I found you some really white powder.

But he's the Joker to my Batman. You can't just let that shit go.

You're gonna get punched.

How long had it been since you've kissed someone with braces?

I got sweet talk. We will get to that.

Fuck her fuck her fuck her.

No, I just want to see what you'll break this time.

I will miss you like I miss Xmas.

Is it a good sign when you're walking to the bar with your date and they stop to buy condoms?

I'm a little choked up, yes.

Is a bottle of wine in an hour a bad idea?

I got 3 numbers last night. Want to go eat with me?

He's wearing a white belt. Kill me now.

I miss your pretty voice. (And sweet, sweet ass, but that goes without saying.)

Shot number seven. It's lucky!

What?! Always bar ready.

A week straight? I'm blown away. I mean, whoa. That's some serious dedication to doucebaggery right there.

If you were looking to sabotage things, you succeeded.

So even though about a fourth of these people are total assholes (love you guys!), they saved me from having to do any real thinking today. So, thanks for that.

(And regarding number four: lest you think horrible things about my mother, take into consideration that she was at Sephora when she sent this. And recall that Caspar the Friendly Ghost and I share complexions, if not dispositions. See? It all comes together now.)

Also, to see this topic done much, much better, visit Sarah's site. Let me make it clear, however, that I take no blame for having been soundly beat here. Rather, I blame my friends and their lack of entertaining text messages.

Subpar, my friends.

Subpar.

Wow.

I mean, really, wow.

Last night was wonderful. It was one of those nights where everything goes so right that it's actually tangible and if anything had gone any more right it would have seemed oppressive, as though something bad would have to happen to shatter the perfectness of the evening.

The show was held at the Avalon Hollywood (formerly the Palace); this big, beautiful old theater with high ceilings, overhanging balconies, velvet drapes, the works. I love old buildings with a history, and this place has it. (Cool fact: the Beatles' first West Coast show was performed there.) It was the perfect spot to see a band like Beirut play; the romantic atmosphere was the perfect backdrop for the intense musical arrangements.

(And there were like, a ton of bars inside, so that was pretty neat, too.)

(And yes, I just said "perfectness of the evening" and "romantic atmosphere". And no, I am not drunk. Or on meds. It's just me. This freaks me out too as, you know, I'm normally dead inside and don't notice/say shit like this. I can only attribute these...these girly feelings to the fact that it's finally getting cold at night, or as cold as it gets in Southern California, and I am never happier than when I get to wear coats and gloves and scarves and stockings and can see my breath in the air and feel fragile and let whiskey warm me from the inside out.)

...And speaking of whiskey, I was two Jamesons deep when Beirut took the stage, which may have had a little bit to do with the fact that OH MY GOD this band is going to get me in trouble.

Let me explain.

Music, like many, many other things in life, is better experienced with a drink or two under your belt. And Beirut's songs? They make for some serious drinking music. My favorites (Mount Wroclai, Prenzlauerberg, Nantes, Bandenburg, Rhineland (Heartland), Guyamas Sonora) are dramatic productions that make me want to dance raucously on tables, drink my weight in something intoxicating, and hurl the spent glasses at the wall. Which I generally try to avoid doing. (But it is an effort, to be sure.)

There is nothing minimalistic or simple about these songs, nothing gentle. You don't sit around calmly while listening to them; there are bottles of wine involved, glasses full of vodka, laughter, shouting, and you can bet that someone will wake up with an injury that for the life of them they can't remember getting.

In other words: a really good time.

So if I act out of line, get loud, break things? I couldn't help it, the music made me do it.

(Some mother, somewhere, will totally buy that.)

The show ended around midnight, so I hightailed it back to Long Beach to meet up with some friends at the bar. I had to work the next day (today) though, so it was an early night (for me) but such a nice one that I'm having a really hard time not just driving up to LA after work tonight to see them play again. Because I don't know if you've noticed, but overindulgence? Something I kind of excel at.

However, as much as I would like to, chances are that I won't be going up to LA tonight since I have a 10 page paper due tomorrow. Which I haven't started on. Because procrastination is another thing that I excel at.

As are skee-ball, knot tying, and fish gutting, but those are all stories for another time.

So, in conclusion, go see Beirut. Get drunk. Get messy. Blame them. Thank me.

Cheers.

So I think we know by now that when things go badly for me, they go really, really bad. But did you know that when they well, they go really, really well?

Because they do.

That thing that I invested in awhile back? It was a lawyer. (Really, it was only a matter of time until I had one on speed dial. I'm just surprised it took this long.)

And while that whole investment (which included the single largest check I have ever written in my entire life) was more of a precautionary measure than a necessity and the situation has resolved itself entirely on its own, the end result is the same. And for that I am immeasurably relieved. That freak gust of wind that almost knocked you over on last week? That was me finally being able to exhale. I feel so much better now that I can, oh you know, breathe.

I'm staying mum about why I retained a lawyer, mainly because he told me not to talk about it and I am milking that guy for every last bit of advice he has because I have to make him earn his money some way. (And he's cute, but he's married, so that's out.)

But if you know me, chances are you already know a bit about what went down, and if you drink with me, chances are you know ALL ABOUT IT. The rest of you will just have to wait until this gets fully resolved. Or until the statute of limitations runs out.

(I kid.)

(Maybe.)

(Yes, definitely.)

(But then, I guess you'll never really know.)

(Hi Mom! Hi coworkers!)

So while the resolution of that whole snafu, for the most part, has been the highlight of my week, there have been several occurrences that have solidified the fact that my life right now? On an upswing.

Two weekends ago I had the best Manhattan of my life (ok, 3 of them) and was left the best voice mail message, bar none.

And this past weekend I saw an absolutely amazing musical performance in the back of a tiny guitar shop, drunk off of free art show wine that was snagged a block from the show.

Also last weeknd I bought a new car, one that I really wanted and initially tried to talk myself out of (I don't need a car that big, I should get something more practical, etc.) but ended up just saying fuck it and buying it.

This is big for me. I'm impressed with the fact that this new car? It has air conditioning! And a working radio! Since my other car? Going on 38 years old. I'm not getting rid of the Nova; rather, I'm planning on finally getting down and dirty and restoring her, which will be much, much easier when I'm not driving her 40+ miles a day, like I have for the past 8 years. A daily driver that gets 10 miles to the gallon? Say it with me: ouch.

So things have been swell, really. Fully expecting this trend of awesomeness to continue (Beirut tomorrow!) I'll be just a little bit disappointed if Saturday rolls around and I haven't yet been gifted a baby unicorn. Logical progression and all.

I was all set to post last week about how things have been going absolutely grand as of late.

But then I forgot to renew my domain, and as a result my site was down for a few days.

Oops.

But as you can tell things are back on track here (well, as much as they ever were) and posting, happy posting, not at all whiny posting, aren't you relieved posting, will resume shortly.

Cheers.