This is a story that should be told from the beginning

I had a whole different blog post planned for this weekend. But then Life, that scamp, threw another wrench in my plans. Well played, Life. Well played.

Wait. I should back up.

I had planned on blogging about 2 things.

One, I've been having a really rough time in my living situation, which I've kept mum about for the last month or so because I was afraid of crazy bitch backlash, but I was feeling like I didn't let it out I might just explode. But for now, that post will have to happen another day.

Two, I've been feeling really good about completing my breakup recovery, but also feeling like I need some time to myself before really dating again. Truth is, even though I do want a positive, serious relationship which will lead to things like marriage, family, blah blah blah, I'm pretty terrified of getting sucked into another toxic relationship. And that's a good fear, methinks. I don't want to just jump into something blindly without doing a little work on why I let the last tool suck the life out of me.

Therefore I was fully prepared to take myself off the relationship market (though not the sex market. I'm not that much of a masochist anymore) for an indeterminate amount of time.

Cut to last night. Because of the aforementioned shit storm of a cold war at my house, I really wanted to get out of the house and have a little fun. But everyone I know was busy or not returning any of my advances (hehehe). And I may not have mentioned this, but I don't go to my old fave karaoke bar anymore. I'm fine with that. So many people have told me that's dumb because if I like the place, I shouldn't give it up because of one toolbag fucktard. But I really don't want to see the ex in anyway and I wouldn't have any fun there now, so why would I do that to myself in the name of taking a stand or something? I wouldn't have fun so why go?

I thought I'd go out on my own, which is something I never do because while I like doing things on my own, I'm always afraid of becoming that girl in the Date Rape song by Sublime. I am the product of my generation after all.

Anyway, there used to be this awesome lesbian slash karaoke bar by my old house, but last I heard it had changed ownership and names. Still, I thought maybe I'd venture over and see if the place was still cool and lesbian and maybe even sing a little karaoke, which, as you might have gathered, I totally missed. I do love my karaoke and have yet to find a new karaoke home.

But alas! I get to the bar and it's closed. Like gone. Like I'm pretty sure homeless people squat there now. Bum to the mer.

So I drive around for a bit, trying to figure out where to go. I decide to drive back toward my house in an area where I know quite a few bars are and I decide to stop at one I'd been to maybe once forever ago. But it's slightly familiar and I know they serve cider so it's the winner.

I take the only free bar stool and order a Strongbow (which are STRONG and therefore live up to the name and so are alright in my book) and proceed to just chill. Next to me is this very drunk, very loud dude who is reminding me so very much of my ex. Which doesn't bode well for him because I'm pretty sure he's interested in me.

But it turns out that he's there with a whole group of friends and, the next thing I know, I'm bonding with the lone girl in the group and she so gets me and then we're migrating to a karaoke bar down the street and I'm having a blast and I really like this new bar and I sing a couple songs and I'm talking all night to this really cute, sweet, smart, polite guy in their group (who is so unlike my ex in all the best ways) who I start to really like and we exchange phone numbers and he walks me to my car and gives me the best kiss I've had in a long, long, long time.

And I drove home on a cloud. Not literally because it wasn't that foggy last night. I had butterflies for the first time in a couple years. And who knows? Maybe this guy won't call. But I made new friends and found a new bar. And maybe he will call and maybe something great will come out of it. I just know I'm excited and I missed that feeling.

Well played, Life. 

Douches and Creepy Guys

Morgan and I did a girly night out last night. It was her last Saturday night in her apartment before she moves in with her boyfriend next week. So we girled it up. At karaoke of course, because we're not predictable at all. But, what can I say, I love the karaoke. It moves me in my soul.

Except I was all revved up to sing a Save Ferris song and they had not one Save Ferris song. Not one. Extremely disappointing. And I had not planned on a different song (poor planning on my part apparently. blerg.). I pinch hit with Four Non Blondes and I am here to tell you that song is effing hard yo! You don't think it is when you're wailing to it in the car in 1996, but it is. I think I rocked it for the most part, but it was tough. Think I will most decidedly NOT sing that song again. Like ever.

Here is one thing I hate though.

Wait, before I start, back story: you've got to know by now that one of the reasons we love karaoke so much is not just to rock the mic, which we do, but it's to make fun of all the colorful types who come out to karaoke. It's totally half the fun. And last night there was no shortage of new faces (among the regular freaks and geeks of course). My fave was this little guy wearing a backpack who looked like he'd just walked out of the 7th grade and who rocked that mic like nothing else. The whole place was chanting BACKPACK! BACKPACK! Pure awesomeness.

Back to what I hate.

You know when you're in the sight line of someone who is staring at you, how hard it is not to feel their stare and inadvertently catch their eye? Yeah, that happens to me ALL the time. If I feel someone staring, I look. And then they think I'm looking back and I spend the rest of my evening dodging stares. Awkward and exhausting.

So last night this odd couple, which we'll call Creepy Guy and 1982 (so called because she obviously stopped buying clothes after her prom) was a little too PDA for my taste (but whatever, do your own thing) and at one point we were a little frightened that he would just suck on her face so hard she would simply disappear into the vortex of his mouth. Or something like that. We had Scully and Mulder on speed dial at any rate.

But here comes the ick part: between makeout sessions, he'd stare straight at me and Morgan all lasciviously. Seriously, I cannot describe the utter level of creep in his stare. Like he definitely bowed his head a little to give us the maximum predatory effect and I don't think he possessed the ability to blink. And it was ALL NIGHT. I wanted to go tell 1982 to reign in her creep because his staring at us was SO irritating and I was feeling like I maybe needed a shower.

Then I got up to sing my last song (Zombie. And I ruled it, thankyouverymuch).

Wait, forgot one detail: at some point another guy joined their group that happened to look like a much younger version of Douche Who Dumped Me Over The Phone (DWDMOTP) and we dedicated a good half hour to making fun of his face. Good times.

And we're back. So while I was singing, apparently Creepy Guy comes over to talk to Morgan. He asks, "Is your redheaded friend single?"  And Morgan is like, "EXCUSE me?" Because clearly he's been making out with 1982 all night in our clear sight line. So he asks again, "Is your  friend single?" And Morgan (jeebus love her) is like, "No, uh uh, no, nope." And he goes, "Oh no! Not for ME!" No, no. It was for Younger DWDMOTP.

Yup.

Is that just fucking perfect?

First of all, just no. Not happening. Not ever. Not in any alternate universe where I hate myself and don't wash my hair. Second of all, did he really think Creepy Guy was a good ambassador? Thirdly, he sends an ambassador to talk to my friend? What was the plan then? That Morgan and Creepy Guy would suddenly see the brilliance of this plan and plot to hook us up for horrifying anonymous sex? REALLY?

Dudes: take notes. You want some tail? You are gonna just have to sack up and do the work yourself. Now, Younger DWDMOTP would have been shot down and rightfully so on SO many levels.

But the story doesn't end there. Nope. No it does not.

After Morgan tells Creepy Guy NO for the hundredth time,  he says, "She's dangerous. You can tell."

Now, when Morgan told me this story the exact second I sat down after singing, I could not control my peals of laughter at that. Me? I'M dangerous? BAHAHAHAHA! No. Way. did that come out of someone's mouth in reference to little ol' me. And what did that comment even MEAN? Really? Was that supposed to elicit some sort of primal response to get me to take off all my clothes? Or did my lack of effort in dressing up last night (white T, jeans, hat over my messy hair, and flip flops) imply somehow that I must have a dark side full of danger? Or maybe it was because I was singing the Cranberries. Everyone knows that if you sing about the IRA, danger must be your middle name.

What. The. Fuck?

Anyways, today is Mother's Day. Which puts me in a pissy mood. I know that makes me a bad person in society, but not all of us fit in the perfect mold of daughters and mommies and celebratory brunches. Puke. I may blog about it when I'm in a better mood. Or maybe I'll spare you more of my vitriol.

Stone Cold Fox

I am feeling good for the first time in days. I didn't this morning. This morning I felt like shit that had been trampled on by roadkill that had been run over by a dumptruck which then was hit by a train. And ultimately, I felt like the shit and the roadkill and the dumptruck. Just not the train. Fucking train. Fuck him and his train track. (Well, not actually, I won't be getting any action for a while.)

But that was mostly the hangover talking. Good god why did I drink that much? I do not even remember the last time I was that drunk and I'm reminded why I drink so minimally. And I suppose that's good for what I'm dealing with. I mean, I may eat my words tomorrow or in a few days. I may go back to weepy idiot woman again. But getting that pissed really got a lot of purging done. Sometimes all you need is a drunken cry to feel better later. Much later, after the hangover dissipates.

Because hungover me was just as shitty. I was cranky and miserable and the whole world looked like a rotating ball of shit. But, after walking to meet the friends at breakfast (because I wisely left my car at my friend's last night and hoofed it home), a painful grocery store trip, a little forced cleaning (more on that later), a subsequent nap which was pure heaven, and a long-needed phone convo with one of my favorite people on the planet otherwise known as a best friend (my lovely Lynn who just moved back to Oregon and I'm so happy for her!), meeting the friends at the farm again (god love them), and the gift of a very fantastical book from the effervescent Morgan, I'm feeling better. I feel tired, yes. Worn out, oh fuck yeah. But, better. Somewhat human.

And since this was intended to be a short post, I'll just quickly mention the cleaning. I LOVE to clean. I hate laundry and dishes, but otherwise love cleaning. It's relaxing, just focusing on the task of organizing and cleansing. It always calms me down and clears my head, not to mention that the clean space helps for a more sanctive (I just made that word up) living space. But, by my standards, my place is in squalor right now. Not by normal standards, mind you. Many people live much more disgustingly than this, but it's just not something I can handle. And I just have not had the energy to clean at all. I don't even recognize myself right now. So, I forced myself to do a little. Not much, mind you. I've been more in the mood for a pout. But, maybe tomorrow I'll be able to do a little more and a little more after that. Baby steps on the bus.

And speaking of Bob. Or not really, but what a great segue. I have to quote this great book Mo gave me called, "It's Called a Breakup Becaue It's Broken." You can find it here. And I'll keep you updated when I get further into it and have benefited from its infinite yet often acerbic wisdom.

My fave excerpt so far:

"But the flip side of breaking up - and here's the Best News part- is that you are also breakingfree from a relationship that wasn't working. Freedom means no more agonizing, no more drama, and no more time wasted on someone who wasn't appreciative of who you really are. Freedom means you can redesign your life and the sky's the limit - you can take all the things you hoped for in your relationship, all your dreams about what love should be and feel and look like, and find a guy who will actually make them happen. During this time when you feel decimated and powerless, remember that you are still in control of at least one thing- yourself...You get to decide whether to use this situation as a turning point, and be dignified in your grief, or let it overtake you and hold you back. So start now. Start today. Don't be a victim of heartbreak, be a take-charge superstar! (Yeah, that's kind of goofy, but you know what we mean.)"

And you know what else I like about this book? It keeps telling me I'm a superfox. And I just love that kind of affirmation.

And here's a picture of me being a superfox and rocking the mic at karaoke last night: