In other news

Oh my gourd, Internet, it has been two whole weeks since we last talked and so much has happened! I have no idea where to start so I guarantee this post will be disjointed, rambly, and altogether random.

Let's begin!

A few days ago, I almost died. For reals. And it was so scary that I cannot stop telling the story.

I was walking in a crosswalk in downtown Portland, on a green, clearly having of the right of way, when a big SUV barrels around the corner going pretty fast. Clearly they weren't looking and they weren't going to stop either. I had to run to get out of the way and they missed me by maybe a foot. And they just kept going! Never even paused. Probably never even saw me. If I hadn't been paying attention, I'd be roadkill right now.

On the upside, I am loving my new place! Hobbes is happier there and it's so nice to see him sitting all over the furniture and watching out the windows. I know the tension in my old place affected him too. Bitch roomie did try to fuck up my happiness again but it's all settled now. I don't even want to get into it, suffice to say she's leaving me alone for good and I never want to see or think about her again.

There is one major lesson I got to relearn because of all this though: One's happiness is the most important thing. I'm not talking about making sacrifices or doing what needs to be done, etc etc etc. I'm talking about not putting oneself into situations that are not only happiness suckers but unnecessary and I'm talking about setting aside one's attachment to pride and money and all those other things we place before happiness.

I am confident that had I had to go to court over this drama, I could have made a damn good case and I would have won. But did I want this to drag out months and months? No. I know I didn't have to pay any more money but did it make the problem go away? Yes. Sure, I handled it legally and covered my ass, but when it comes right down to it, money is just money. It's not worth as much as my happiness. And my pride? Not worth as much as my happiness. I don't need to prove I was right. I don't need to win anything. What I needed to do was walk away and put the whole thing behind me. Worth it.

So that's over. Hoorah! Let's all drink to that.

And I got my tax return so I have money again! I may have gone a little crazy at the grocery store buying luxury foods I've been denying myself for the sake of my measly budget. Hey, after weeks of baked potatoes (which I do love) and soup, how can a girl resist ice cream and chips and gluten free cookies? I guarantee it will all be gone in a few more minutes. And then I'll have to buy fat clothes.

Oh and I had the weirdest night the other night. So I'm hanging out at my new fave bar with my new friends and ex new guy is there, which was inevitable and which was also awkward awkward awkward as all holy hell. But that was okay for the most part.

But there's this other guy in the group that I am interested in so he and I are talking and flirting and that's all great. Then the roommate of an ex boyfriend walks in and he and I talk a bit and I'm looking around to make sure that ex isn't there too (wasn't, thank the lard), but it's just a bit weird and coincidental at this point.

THEN, this other guy walks in, a guy I went on a date with forever ago and it was NOT a good date. Like probably on the list of worst dates list ever in the world. But it doesn't end there. Turns out Bad Date is friends with my new friends. But wait. There's more. He comes over to me, sticks out his hand, and goes, "Hi, I'm Bad Date." (See what I did there?). And I go, "I know, we went on a date once.

You should have seen his face. It was like an episode of Friends. You know the one.

And, truthfully, it seemed like he felt really badly for not remembering me and to be fair, I look quite a bit different now. He was like, "I take it it wasn't a good date?" And I was like, "Yeahno." It took him all night to remember and he apologized and we had a good laugh. But holy fuck, people! Really?

So not only were all the men I've ever dated in Portland converging in one bar one night (that could be a good book plot) but one didn't even remember me. Awesome. Thank heaven that HP didn't walk in and complete the circle of awkward. Plus, now I'll have dated like 3 guys in this group. I'm that girl. Oh joy.

And yes, you read that right, I said 3. Which means it's going well with the other guy I was flirting with, who we'll call Eminem (even though he's nothing like Mr. Mathers in any way really). I'm gonna keep this under wraps for a while but I'll just say we had a lot of fun.

Oh and I cut off all my hair! I donated ten whole inches to Locks of Love.

Holding my locks

The stylist was super sweet too. He was like, "some bald kid is gonna look gooood now." Which is so wrong but so funny. I do have lots of hair, or, I did anyway.

Anyway, here's my hair now:

I realize I'm a huge dork. That's why I included an artsy shot too.

So I must stop myself there. How've you been, Internet?

this random girl

random
–adjective
1. proceeding, made, or occurring without definite aim, reason, or pattern: the random selection of numbers.
2. Statistics . of or characterizing a process of selection in which each item of a set has an equal probability of being chosen.
3. Building Trades .
a. (of building materials) lacking uniformity of dimensions: random shingles.
b. (of ashlar) laid without continuous courses.
c. constructed or applied without regularity: random bond.
–noun
4. Chiefly British . bank3 ( def. 7b ) .
–adverb
5. Building Trades . without uniformity: random-sized slates.
—Idiom
6. at random, without definite aim, purpose, method, or adherence to a prior arrangement; in a haphazard way: Contestants were chosen at random from the studio audience.

This week's word of the week is random. Geez, how the hail am I supposed to use that in a new way? I already have a random thoughts post that I churn out randomly (in keeping with the definition). I already pepper my speech with randoms, even when I don't actually mean it was random per se. I really mean it was unexpected or strange.

But then I remembered, I just watched Creation this weekend. That movie with Paul Bettany (swoon) about Charles Darwin. It's not what I thought it would be about, less about the science and more about Darwin's emotional and philosophical struggles when writing Origin of the Species. It was excellent, anyway, I mean Paul Bettany (swoon). 'Nuf said.

But the film has had me thinking about life lately. How up until 150 or so years ago (that rhymed. hehe), destiny was the name of the game. Darwin changed all the rules. Forget about killing god, or whatever, what it came down to was fate, destiny, a plan, versus the random. And for the last century and a half, it's been two camps: religion vs science. Yes? Still with me?

(Oh dear, I fear this post is turning into something frighteningly esoteric and maybe even a little preachy. Sorry about that. I'll try to make my point quickly. Also: I won't pretend to be a Darwinian expert. Just go read about him yourself.)

But religion is just a code word for the comfort of a plan. I'm not knocking that. It's appealing. We all know I don't believe in a god. But it's not about god, really. Whatever your beliefs, I commend you for sticking to them, but I can bet they contain some element of a plan. It's about not feeling alone in the universe. We as humans have a consistent need to feel safely on a preset path. Whether by god or gods or stars or simply fate or destiny.

(Here is where the believers start condemning my soul to hell. I know. I spent 9 years in a Christian school. And here is where I say: hey, if there is a god, color me corrected. But I prefer to live my way.)

Instead of randomly banging around the universe without any known course other than survival.

What's interesting is that I don't find the latter all that scary. I find destiny scary. I find the idea that everything is laid out before me and I need to read the signs or make the right decisions in order to stay on the "right path." Or whatever. The idea that my choices mean nothing other than deviating from my set destiny disturbs me. Makes me feel imprisoned.

Maybe it's my rebellious spirit, but I've always been drawn to ideas that color outside the lines. To birds outside of cages. To animals outside of zoos.

I like the idea of randomness. I like the idea that my choices mean something. That every step I take makes a change in whatever path I choose. That survival is the one major rule. That maybe survival includes societal mores or normatives, but that's what we work around. I like the connectivity of species and each generation of life affecting the next. I like to think that humans aren't preordained to survive on this rock, but each choice we make changes the next and the next and the next.

I've lived my life in that way, I suppose. On some level, I've bounced around, taking life, as random as it is, as it comes. When I feel the need for change, I decide to change. My personality be damned. I'm organized. Anal retentive. Detail oriented. I should like the set path. No random variables. No haphazard life for me. Right? Bullshit. I'm a complicated being. I'm changeable and moody. I like my clothes organized and my life a series of random events. I chart my own course and I'll deviate at will.

Who I was 10 years ago is not who I am today and who am I today is not who I'll be 10 years from now.

And who's to say that I'm making my own path? That I'm, as Nelson Mandela put it, the master of my fate, the captain of my soul? Who is to say? There's no way to really know. But I like the idea very much.

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