Did I jump the gun and get a bit snippy with that last post?

Well, yes. It's been a Hard Week for me. And I may be a bit oversensitive right now, sure, which leads to my overreacting occasionally. (Though it's gotten to the point that if you so much as make a face at me, or even in my general direction? I WILL CUT YOU.)

I find this recent bout of emotional instability (I've been rotating between sad, angry, nervous, disappointed, and worried, for the most part) quite unsettling. Up to this point I have generally floated through life on a cloud of unicorn dreams and fairy dust, pleasantly numb to a great majority of the drama, grief, and general crap that life throws at you. It was a good run while it lasted, but this year, this summer, and this week especially have seen sent me crashing down to reality. And reality? I don't care for it all that much.

This is not to make you feel sorry for me (unless that makes you want to buy me a drink, and then IT TOTALLY IS) or any such thing. It's just to explain why I've been uncommunicative as of late. Why I haven't posted much lately, except for my bitchy diatribe below. Why I haven't emailed you back. Or called you back. Or hung out with you the one damn weekend you were in town (dude, I will totally make it up to you).

Just give me some time. Things are starting to balance out, if a bit slower then I would like.

In the interest of not turning this site into the Place of Woe and Whining (oops! too late!), some good things:

• New super high heels! In plaid! And with peep toes! In other words: a total necessity!
• Beirut coming to town
• A friend, earlier this week: "Have you lost weight? But your boobs still look huge!" (New best friend? Oh yeah.)
• Finally being totally unpacked. 3 months after the fact. Procrastinate? Why yes, yes I do.
• The knowledge (and knowledge only, people) that this site is finally pulling its weight and could totally get me laid. Or kissed, at least. But I'd bet laid, too. Whatever.

If you don't like it, don't read it.

Hi!

What's that, you say?

No updates in quite some time?

(A whole 6 days, you impatient bastards.)

Well, I just don't have a lot to say. Or rather, I do, but to discuss it now would not be wise. So bear with me, please.

At least there's a small bit of news to rejoice over. In a turn of events that sounds unbelievable (a fashion designer purchased sports memorabilia?) Barry Bonds' record breaking home run ball will be donated to the Hall of Fame with an asterisk.

I'm taking this as a sign: things are looking up.

I would just like to take a second to thank CSI: NY for the excellent episode that aired last night. I'm not a huge fan of this show, or any television show for that matter (now that Gilmore Girls is off the air). I generally catch an episode here or there while I'm flipping channels, as was the case last night.

Though this time, instead of changing the channel at the first commercial break I sat down and stared open-mouthed at the television screen for the ENTIRE HOUR.

You see, there were all these ex-IRA bad guys in the episode. With Irish accents, of course

And at one point while trying to escape, they donned fire fighter uniforms.

And then they purposely set off the fire alarm, which turned on the sprinklers, which made the HOT IRISH FIREMEN all WET.

(It goes without saying that there was blood, too.)

This goes right up there with another classic television moment that occurred during the Black Donnelly's unfortunately short run. There was a surprisingly buff and wonderfully pale Irish man, a sledge hammer, blood, and a hose. I can't even begin to do the scene justice, so dear god, just watch (episode 102, chapter 4, at about 21 minutes in, you're welcome).

After watching an hour of such action last night I went to the gym for the first time in two weeks AND RAN THREE MILES STRAIGHT.

I think that I may be ready to up the ante on this whole dating thing.

I cringed (after laughing) when I typed the title to this entry, but left it up on the chance that some guy will lean in close and whisper that line in my ear while out at the bar tonight. Because that? That is how you start a night off right, my friends.

It's nearing the end of September, it's getting dark earlier, leaves are changing color, and here in Southern California I actually felt a breeze the other day (!), but it just doesn't feel like fall without a new season of the Gilmore Girls.

In memory of the BEST SHOW ON TELEVISION EVER I plan to stay up late tonight, drink a shitload of white wine, (so far this is no different from what I did last night) and watch every episode in which Rory and Jess make out.

(Dear lord, I'm never going to get laid.)

At least I'll always have Top Model. Because Tyra's brand of crazy? That shit never gets old.

(I'll just get a cat. ANOTHER cat.)

After all of my complaining yesterday, it turned out that staying in to do homework wasn't all that bad.

After the third glass of wine, that is.

Boy, I'm going to get an A+ on that assignment. I can just feel it.

Last night after getting off work at the library I got to speed across town and go to another library.

And tonight after leaving work (again, the library) I get to go to another (different) library. And from there? Yet another library. To do research. For a paper. For LIBRARY SCHOOL.

If you're counting, that makes 4 libraries in 2 days, and one of them twice, for 9 hours EACH DAY.

I'm sure all this non-stop library action should be serving some purpose, like MAKING ME REALLY SMART, but instead I'm just crossing my fingers (it's how I pray) and hoping to get involved in a nonfatal car accident on the 405 on the way to library #2 of 3 so that I can use it as an excuse to turn this assignment in late and go out tonight instead of working on it.

(Fuck. Me.)

This kind of thing gets me EVERY time. Something about "you should be eating one another, but you're not, so technically that makes you both really stupid because one of you should be running and the other should be enjoying lunch but instead you're CUDDLING and how FUCKING CUTE is that?" brings out girl in me without fail.

Even this one gets to me:

Though it kind of begs the question as to where exactly the piglets got those cute little coats from.

For anyone that ever finds them self in the horrible position of dating me, printing out these pictures would be an excellent tool for emotional blackmail during screaming matches. While fighting is normally one of things that I absolutely excel at, seeing one of these pictures for even the briefest of seconds would no doubt shut me down and reduce me to a blubbering pile of tears. In other words: OWNED.

Because we all know that in mature adult relationships? The first person to make the other one cry WINS!

And by now I think you all know that I really, really like winning.

Oh, and a Saturday post? You're welcome! I'm actually at work (which explains why I'm up before 4pm), it's quite slow, and well, I had to do something other than MY JOB. (Kidding, coworkers! You know I'm a paragon of productivity. Right? Guys?)

I'm working very hard, in fact, in the back room, sipping iced coffee, and being completely and utterly unable to stop listening to this song. (Yes, I just plugged this band yesterday, but some of you are so damn stubborn! Give a chance for the piano to come in. Wonderful, creepy stuff.)

Enjoy.

I am in love.

True love.

Let's get home from work and fix a cocktail/Stay in tonight/Forget about the outside world/Lounge around in bed for hours on end LOVE.

With The Handsome Family.

A husband and wife team, they write and perform some of the most hauntingly beautiful songs (covering such lovely topics as drunkenness, depression, murder, and suicide) that I've ever heard:

So Much Wine ( )

I had nothing to say on Christmas day
when you threw all your clothes in the snow

When you burnt your hair, knocked over chairs
I just tried to stay out of your way

But when you fell asleep with blood on your teeth
I got in my car and drove away

Listen to me, Butterfly
there's only so much wine you can drink in one life
and it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass

Where the state highway starts I stopped my car
I got out and stared up at the stars

As meteors died and shot cross the sky
I thought about your sad, shining eyes

I came back for my clothes when the sun finally rose
but you were still passed out on the floor

Beautiful.

I'm supposed to go out this evening, but I overdid it a bit last night (well into the morning - so that's what a sunrise looks like!) and I don't think I'll have enough energy to lift a cocktail glass to my lips, let alone enough to get all made up, go out, and be entertaining.

Instead, I'm thinking of heading home, drawing a bubble bath set to SCALD, putting on my Handsome Family play list (highlights: Weightless Again, The Woman Downstairs, Passenger Pigeons, and their cover of Famous Blue Raincoat), then settling under the sheets with a good book.

It really doesn't get any better.

Unless you want to come over and make me a Manhattan.

(Two cherries.)

Last night I had to take care of a mile long fix-it ticket (eyelash batting, you have failed me!) which included, among other things, a citation for a broken brake light.

Luckily one of great things about owning an older car is how accessible everything is; when minor repairs need to be made all that I need is a screwdriver, not a fully trained and experienced automotive technician with a certificate in computer diagnostics.

(Though I did have to call an car guy/old friend to ask him why the brake light wasn't working, even though the tail light was. He told me that it was THE BULB, DUMMY, and wouldn't you know it, it was! I've owned my car for over 7 years, have gone through one engine, three transmissions, five passenger side head lights [and never a driver's side one, odd] and 4,598 brake pads, and yet this single vs. double contact bulb thing? Absolutely clueless.)

The easiest way to change out a tail light bulb (bypassing having to unscrew a whole three screws from the exterior of the car) is to go through the trunk. But when I opened the trunk to get to the tail light assembly, it immediately became apparent that while it was extremely unlikely that a police officer would (try to) find a reason to look in there during the fix-it ticket inspection, there were several items that I should probably consider removing before heading down to the station, just to be on the safe side.

Some (the remote control race car, the sparkly hula hoop, the T-Rex kite) simply said "I'm not going to let a little thing like serious traffic or breaking down ruin my good time!", while others (the two flasks, the [totally illegal] pink switchblade, and the stainless steel knife/straight razor) practically shouted "Hey, if we're out in the open, just think about what she keeps HIDDEN in here!".

So some cleaning went down (the hula hoop stayed though, in case of emergencies), I went to the station and got the ticket taken care of, and I made it through this whole post without making a single "junk in the trunk" joke.

A success on all counts.

(And no, that's not a picture of my car. Though close [it's the same year, make, model, and color] my car also has racing stripes. The better to stand out and GET PULLED OVER FOR BULLSHIT REASONS, apparently. But hey, it looks nice!)

So I've been gone for a week and a half, some of which was spent on a cruise ship packed with drunk revelers and some of which was spent in a country (also packed with drunk revelers, I hear) which tends to turn a blind eye to certain things that would normally be considered oh-so-slightly illegal.

Oh, the tales I have to tell, RIGHT?!

Um, not so much, turns out.

It started out good.

I fell in love with Avalon, on the island of Catalina, and their teeny tiny cutesy library. I kayaked and snorkeled for over 3 hours, exposing myself to more sunlight than I have gotten in the past year. And (thanks to a long sleeve rash guard, a hat, and SPF 45) I did not go up in flames.

Later during the trip I danced, drunk (as if there's any other way to dance?) off of Manhattans, my favorite cocktail.

While wearing a sparkly gold vintage cocktail dress.

And 4 inch heels.

To "YMCA".

With the appropriate arm motions, of course.

Oh, and I was dancing WITH MY MOTHER.

Best part of the cruise? Most definitely.

So where did it go bad?

Mexico, of course.

This isn't going where you think it is. There was no tequila involved, no drug busts, no Federales. In fact, I didn't even get off the boat in Mexico. That's right, party animal that I am, I was too busy moping, feeling blue, and reading.

(Stupid hormones.)

I was downright teary towards the end of the trip, and returned home in a state that could only be described as FUCKING EMO.

There were some reasons for the blues, above and beyond me being a TOTALLY IRRATIONAL AND EMOTIONALLY DRIVEN FEMALE. And while I generally avoid discussing people in my life on this site out of respect for their privacy, it turns out that I am irrational and emotional, so fuck it.

Last week I got in touch with The Ex to say hi, I miss you, it would be nice to talk to you, and got a response along the lines of YOU ARE A VILE HUMAN BEING. GO DIE NOW, PLEASE. (Only without the please.) To say it stung would be putting it mildly.

I understand that everyone deals with things differently. Some people (ME) need to talk things through, make sense of things, and leave it on good terms. Other people (cough HIM cough) need to hate your fucking guts until there's no emotion other than PURE SEETHING RAGE left, and hey, at least that's easier to deal with than sadness, loss, or grief.

I get that. Deal with things as best you see fit. Just try not to rip me up in the process, ok?

(That being said, I know that I need to do my part and leave him the fuck alone. Losing him as a best friend was and continues to be one the hardest things I've ever gone through, but that's what happens. I'm trying to be respectful of the fact that WE CAN'T EVEN HAVE A TELEPHONE CONVERSATION MONTHS AFTER BREAKING UP BECAUSE IT'S TOO MUCH FOR YOU TO DEAL WITH, but it's hard. I'm sorry, I wish I were better at this.)

On top of that, I also fucked up my very first day of school over the weekend by mixing up dates and MISSING CLASS. Yes, on the FIRST DAY. And since this particular course is a hybrid on-site/on-line course there are only four in-person class meetings. So yes, I one fell swoop I missed out on 25% of the course. FUCK.

You know it's been a bad fucking weekend when you find yourself looking forward to Monday.

(Or when you use as many caps and say fuck as many times as I just did.)

The week has already begun looking up, though. For as much whining as I do on here (um, hi, that's why I have a website) I'm actually a pretty content person, satisfied with my life if not jumping for joy at all times (especially not before noon).

Sunday night I had some homework to do, but I wanted to get out of the house. I headed to a seaside cafe where a good friend bartends, and within an hour a bunch of friends had descended on the place, ensuring that homework time was over. Darn. The night ended at a bar in Long Beach, after which I headed home to watch endless Batman cartoons. Try telling your coworkers that when they ask why you're so tired on Monday.

Last night (Monday) I had a study date with another good friend, one with whom I've studied with varying degrees of success in the past. We started out fine. I had tea, was munching on an artichoke, and was 15 pages into my reading assignment. Somehow (it happens EVERY TIME) we ended up with beers, curly fries, and endless conversation. It was worth it, though. And I was home in bed by 1, despite her plans to foil my attempt at oh, sleeping, and keep me up all night.

So despite needing a nap, BADLY, I'm doing just fine.

But how about being an extra bit sweet to me anyways, ok? A lot of people are hurting today; a lot of people are hurting every day. I hate to get all hippie on you (baths and showers are a godsend, people) but being kind? Let's.

The massive rundown of the cruise, as well as the past weekend, is forthcoming.

Eventually.

I don't have the presence of mind right now (read: I was out until 2am last night, got maybe 2 hours of sleep, returned to work at 9am after having a week off, and this coffee is good but NOT THAT GOOD) to recap all of the events.

Besides, the entire week was less "party animal" and more "wow, I could really get used to sleeping 10 hours a day and ordering room service all the time" so you're really not missing much.

But I did have to update to share something that pretty much made my morning:

Colombia Arrests Cocaine Kingpin Wanted by FBI

"It's a big blow," Vice President Francisco Santos told reporters. "It's a blow that demonstrates the commitment of our armed forces in the fight against narco-trafficking. It's a blow that shows we're headed in the right direction."

Maybe it's the lack of sleep, maybe it's the cup of coffee the SIZE OF MY HEAD, but I couldn't stop giggling over the above quote.

Or maybe it's just me.