Just a ~smidge~ of rambling

So, last time we were here, I was getting ready to go to an art show that featured work by a woman I might still be in love with. (I can never really decide if I am Officially Over Her.) I did notice that I felt no joltsparkhuzzah! when I saw her at the show. Then again, being in the same room with her and her fucking girlfriend diediedie was making me anxious, so I didn't stay long. So many things went wrong with that evening, things that individually wouldn't suck, but piled together resulted in A Night of Suckassity. Let's review, shall we?

I couldn't find my makeup. I barely wear any and what little I wear I don't wear often, but I had been looking forward, literally all week, to sweeping some powder across my face and making myself look irresistible with my new purplish lipstick... only to find out those two components had gotten separated from my makeup bag. I made do with putting lotion on while mimicking the motions of putting on powder (Jedi mind trick), pinched my cheeks, and put on a different lipstick, but it didn't help. I felt exposed and ugly. Not ugly because I didn't have makeup on -- I think it was just one of those days. Blaaaaaah.

The shirt that I had planned (again, all week) to wear fit differently than I remembered -- namely, it had a band that stretched RIGHT across my belly. I was already feeling Not So Hot. That beacon across my midsection almost made me faint. All night long, I tried to surreptitiously tug at the shirt, reminding myself that I was likely the only person even remotely concerned about my belly and all others could fuck the hell off (inhaaaaaale) but that didn't really work and all night I felt Ugly and Double Fat. Bllllllllaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh.

After hightailing it out of the art show, back to the car I feared was going to get towed (this totally counts as its own bullet point, BTW), I went to dinner with friends at my favorite Greek restaurant. Unfortunately, it was a Friday night, it was crowded, we were seated in a corner, I had my back to the room (haaaaaate), and I was at the end of the table, sticking into the aisle. We also had the waiter who likes to touch me. He's a nice guy and I'm 97% sure he's just being friendly, but he brings the menu and places a hand on my back. Here's your water... and my hand. Everything okay for you here? Good. Oh right, there's my hand again. All. Evening. Long. I don't want to say anything lest I find out he's violated some Bad Touch, Waiter! rule I don't know about and he gets fired. I can't relegate someone to part- or full-time unemployment. But I'm skeeved out and have made plans to sit across the table from him next time I go to the restaurant... which means I need to say something. Fuuuuuck.

I'd been planning to go to a Vox-sponsored event at my favorite gay bar with a friend but found out at dinner she wasn't going after all. Suuuuuuck. I went to the bar but it was tragically early (8:30) and no one else from work was there. I realized I could be there waiting for someone I recognized until midnight because everyone is 24 and doesn't even start getting ready to go out until 11 p.m. I know you'll be shocked to find out I lasted about 20 minutes before I bolted.

See? Nothing tragically awful -- not hardly. No accidents, fights, crying jags, flat tires, or muggings. Just a series of mildly sucky events that toppled my fun good time evening like Pisa with a push when combined with everyone's favorite elixir, Anxiety Out of Motherfucking Control.

Also from the last time we were here, I was finishing up Nip/Tuck. Finished it, liked it, moved on to Weeds. Zipped through the first five seasons so fast the show should be about coke and be called Blow. It was really easy to just keep watching them because all the episodes are like 27 minutes long. Combine that with about four days of downtime after I was bested by a ridiculous cold that either found me slack-jawed and mouth breathing (yay, sinuses!) in front of Netflix or engaged in yet another coma-length nap. The only reason I haven't seen Season 6 yet is because I have to mail back the copy of Slumdog Millionaire that I've inexplicably been holding onto since December. In Netflix dollars, I've probably already purchased the film. Anyway, dragging that weighty little envelope ALL THE WAY to a post office will get the Weeds ball rolling once again. I'm probably also stalling because Season 7 has yet to finish, let alone hit DVD, so I'm prolonging the big (temporary) finish.

I talked to Supervisor yesterday and was told Vox can't afford to bring me on full-time for at least six more months. I have to find out if I'm eligible for more unemployment funds; they're scheduled to end next week. After two years of support, I can't imagine they'll say yes, but I'll find out. I have a few writing assignments that pay a little and I reopened my Etsy shop (with a whopping five-item inventory!), so there are possibilities around. I'm also still doing a little work for King V. Ideally I'll pick up something reliable to fill in about 10 hours of spare time I have now but I don't know yet what that's going to be. Maybe I can get work as a lab rat. I like cheese and mazes.

Annnnnnnnnnnd from the land of Twitter:

• Gua-ca-mo-le... *clap clap clapclapclap*
• My mother has selected the woman she wants me to date. Unfortunately, said woman is already dating a friend of mine. Mom seems unconcerned.
• Just found out there's an annual artichoke festival in CA. Highlights: Artichoke souvenirs & A PARADE. My post-visit blog is writing itself!
• Reading a Mental Floss article abt Snooki led to Amazon recommending several Jersey Shore cast "books" I might enjoy. No & never DIEDIEDIE.
• It's happened. I'm watching American Idol. The ppl who audition who CANNOT sing continue to floor me. I've been delusional b4, but... WOW.
• I have 208 movies in my Netflix queue. I must be drunk.
• The only thing that would've made that shower better would be personal bathers and a pulsating showerhead.
• I joined a 20-year reunion group on Facebook for my high school. Just the sight of some of my classmates' names is making my ass twitch.
• Being wrapped in a down comforter is perhaps the best feeling ever. Such squishy wonderfulness! ::poof poof::
• I AM AT A WRITERS' GROUP STRAIGHT OUT OF HELL.
• Fell back asleep and had a dream that I was oversleeping. Now that's just not fair.
• In order to pay off $allie Mae, I would need to sell my soul, but it's nice to know I'm caught up on payments. Mmm, rice & beans. Protein-y.
• I think the band just played a song about poached salmon. Or I heard wrong and need to drink more wine.
• Dear iPod: You have 900 songs to choose from. Have I told you lately that I love that you play the same 25 songs OVER AND OVER AND OVER?
• Doing laundry would be a lot easier if my basement didn't look like the place where Blair Witch's final scene was filmed. Run away!
• Working on an arts guide for work. Email: 'Enclosed pls find our season dates, ticket prices, & synapsizes [sic] of each play.' Hand to God.
• Spent 10.5 hrs at studio working on 2nd spoken-word CD. Finished co-writing 1st track. It's SO good. I sang & LOVED it. I am STOKED.
• Greatly looking forward to tomorrow morning's shower with my never-before-tried Dove CreamOil rosewood-and-cocoa-butter-scented body wash. [Verdict: Musky, heady, good for feeling luscious and supple.]
• Every time I drop the remote, the channel switches to The Weather Channel. EVERY. TIME.