Lucid Dream

I Suck At Life

2006-01-25T00:57:00.000-05:00

Okay, that title may be a little over the top, but still. Look at me, fer christsakes! I read several blogs on a daily basis, and find myself mildly pissed when the bloggers don't update on a daily basis. And yet I barely manage to update every few months. Seriously, I suck.

Anyway, I have plenty to say about how much my job sucks and people piss me off and shit, but I've had about a bottle of wine at this point and I feel it would be a better thing for me to post later. When I'm sober. IF I'm sober. At some point. In the near future.

I apologize for totally fucking up my grammer and sentance structure. My freshman English teacher, Mrs. Bailey, is having a stroke right now. Seriously.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

2005-11-08T15:10:00.000-05:00

Oh my good lord I've been gone along time. "Gone" from my blog, that is. I don't know what happened, yo. Crazy summer? Frequent drunkeness? Brain injury that resulted in the loss of my ability to form complete words and/or sentances? Untimely escape of the house-monkey that used to write my blog for me? Well, half of those are true, anyway. I'll leave you to guess which two are correct.

So, let's see, where was I?

Everyone told me that summer was slow in Portland. The college kids are gone, and the weekend douche-bag crowd goes down to Old Orchard Beach to douche it up every weekend. Everyone kept telling me, but I didn't exactly understand how a bar in a city could ever reeeeeally be slow. Yeah, well. It was slow. Painfully slow. Get-out-of-work-at-7pm-on-a-Saturday-night-with-$30-in-your-pocket kind of slow. After spending my savings purchasing the new used car to replace the old used car, I pretty much thought I'd be living in said car before long. Summer was stressful.

But it was also a shitload of fun. I pretty much figured, "fuck, if I work I'm not going to make any money anyway, so I might as well take time off and enjoy myself." So I did just that, working more weekday shifts (when the small number of staff resulted in more money than usual) and took more weekends off (when the massive number of staff resulted in splitting three quarters, a fuzzy bit of pocket lint, and a wint-o-green tic tac between my fellow bartenders). I got to see my Boy every week and do lots of fun summery things. Although none of those things included my favorite summer past time, going to the beach, because the ocean water IS FUCKING COLDER THAN FUCK IN MAINE! Oooo kay. I feel better now.

The end of summer was not as terrible as it usually is for me, because I have been very much looking forward to fall and winter activities this year. When I think back to last fall, at how terrified I was about my move to Maine... whether it was a massive mistake.... whether my Boy and I were going to work it all out with the distance... what the hell I was going to do with my life... It all seems like some kind of unsettling dream that I can't shake off. It seems odd and out of place with the direction my life is moving in now. I'm in love and he's in love and we're in love (retch! retch! we're so gross! seriously.) I'm figuring a way into grad school next year for my masters and eventually, gulp, a real job. And I'm planning a move to somehow lessen the distance between me and the old man so I don't go completely insane and talk to my cats any more than I already do.

And most of all?

I'm getting a new fricken summer job.

I Hate Spam

2005-11-04T09:28:00.000-05:00

Spamming people's blog comments is ghetto, man. Don't worry, I fixed it.

And also,

Hi.

I think I might start writing in this thing again soon.

Sweet.

Long Time No Read

2005-07-10T20:59:00.000-04:00

Due to many life dramas, including a gut-wrenchingly painful loss of internet for a few weeks, I kinda fell off the radar huh? Well, long story short, life is good, Lucidgrrl is happy, money is tight, and loved ones are all good. I'll fess up more later, including a surreal trip to Vegas, but for now I'll leave you with this:

My friend Nick posted this on his LiveJournal, and I have been ordered to post it here, lol. I'm not sure whether I write one for him here, or on his page.. hrrm, I'm not good at blogger etiquette. In any case, here is what Nick wrote about me.

01. Reply with your name and I will write something about you.
Hard-crusted landpirate with a soft, squishy inside (Yarrr.)

02. I will then tell what reminds me of you.
A margarita sitting on a bar.

03. If I were to apply a song, it would be...
15 Men on a Dead Man's Chest

04. I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
Hmm...Crustacean.

05. I'll tell you the most memorable moment I've had with you.
That long walk home from cast partying. Whoo!

06. I'll then tell you something that I've always wondered about you.
Why you were the only girl who didn't flirt with me during Anne Frank. I mean,
honestly, what the hell. (See, this is how distorted things get in my head :-)

07. Put this in your journal.
(I guess you'd have to officially add me to your friend's list thingee, huh).

Upswing

2005-05-02T23:46:00.000-04:00

It seems like a million years has gone by in a week. This time last week, I was a big ball of confusion-- what the hell happened Saturday night? What did our conversation mean? Was he drunk and upset and saying things he didn't mean just to hurt me? Or was this just how he felt and it was finally coming to the surface? Last Monday night, while he was at work, I left him a message. "I have Wednesday through Saturday off, and there's a possibility I could get someone to work for me on Sunday too... but I'm not sure you even want to see me this week. I don't know what's going on." He called back as soon as he was done at work to tell me he did want to see me, and he was sorry about Saturday night. That he had no business calling me when he was that drunk and upset about something that had nothing to do with me. We agreed that with all the talking and not seeing each other over the past four weeks, that we needed to just see each other already, and the rest would work itself out. I got out of work on Tuesday night and I just couldn't stay away a moment longer. I broke my no-driving-at-night-in-my-beat-up-shitbox-that-could-break-down-at-any-second rule and drove up Nawth at 10'o'clock at night. He was standing outside the bar, smoking when I walked up around midnight. And I just melted into him. We stood on the sidewalk that way for a while, talking about meaningless shit and holding each other. He explained his drama. His eyes glistened with tears when he told me how far gone his grandfather was, what hurtful things the old man had said to his father. How he should have told me but didn't. How he shouldn't have let it effect us. He laid it all out there, and I knew from that instant, without a doubt, that things really were going to be different. And then we went home and made up for lost time. And I knew, for the first time, without having to be told, that he loves me. No matter what.

The rest of the weekend was ridiculously fun. We celebrated my 25th birthday in style. We went even farther up Nawth to his family's camp and went fishing. And the way he acted, the way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me... It was like he remembered how to be my boyfriend again. And it broke my heart to leave on Sunday morning, but I left with the warm security of us wrapped around me. No matter what happens, at the end of the day, we just want to lie down next to each other. And no amount of distance or miscommunication or hardship can change that.

And just as bad things happen in my life in groups, good things happen similarly. I'm finally getting the new car I so desperately need, and money's looking good for the time being. And, really, who can be down when spring is spinging and summer's on the way and you just got your Maine resident fishing license?

Certainly not me.
;-)

Click.

2005-04-23T11:23:00.000-04:00

It's amazing-- and amazingly simple-- the power of one little button. This morning I woke up and the only way I could make myself feel better was to press that little button and shut that cell phone off. To become unreachable. No one will call me with bad news from home. No one will call me pissed off at the drunken message I left at 2am. No one will be able to let me down any more than they already have. No one will be able to convince me they care and I'm important and things will be better, only to just disappoint me with their... underwhelming lack of gesture or action. I've severed my little life-line, and no one can reach me now. And I may be just technologically sticking my head in the sand. And it may be the least mature and adult thing I've done in a long time. But right now? Well, I really just don't give a shit. I'm hiding out. All with the help of one little button.

Reflection.

2005-04-11T18:20:00.000-04:00

I had some sort of mini-nervous break down earlier today, and for some reason it manifested itself in this oddly blonde hair. One moment, I was sitting at my kitchen table, head down, bawling my eyes out over my grocery list and then suddenly it was hours later and I was standing in my bathroom, staring at my (normally red) newly blonde hair. It isn't uniformly blonde, mind you, just all kinds of tow-headed chunks all over the place. It's not bad, just kind of.... disturbing? And I'm just, I guess, slightly puzzled as to why my extreme emotionally aggravated state resulted in blonde hair, is all.

It all started on Friday morning. I was already at 37 hours of work for the week, with two more grueling bar shifts to go, and still stressing about money and cars, etc.. Basically wrapped up in my own stupid problems. My mother called me to chit chat, tell me about the dress she saw for my maid of honor stint for Big Sis's wedding this June... and, oh by the way, your grandma almost passed away last night. On the night of her 95th birthday, my grandma's lungs were so full of fluid from an apparent case of pnemonia that she wasn't expected to make it through the night. They shot her full of morphine, and my mother sat by her bedside and held her hand until the next morning, listening for each ragged wet breath. She pulled through the night, but it's still touch and go. Mum has begun arrainging the Mass and cremation, fearing, I suppose, that she won't be able to pull it together if it's actually needed in the near future.

Saturday night, I got out of work relatively early for me, 7pm, and made plans to see a friend of my Boy's who was down from up Nawth on his way to Boston. He asked me what my Boy was stuck doing this weekend, since he wasn't down in Portland with me. And I had no answer. Why wasn't he down in Portland with me? His night class on Friday was canceled. He had no obligations on Saturday or Sunday. But he never even asked me what my work schedule was, or whether I could get out early or get someone to cover for me. He just sat around his house, hung out with his buddies, went fishing... There I was in a bar in the Old Port on a Saturday night, all of a sudden confronted with something that left me quite shaken. It's one thing, you see, when you keep those little things that bother you to yourself because you fear you might be overreacting... but when some outside observer touches that nerve at random... So I did what any other sane, rational female human being would do.. I got drunk and left him an angry message. I guess angry isn't the right word, though I was livid. I made every effort, even in my intoxication, to keep my tone and word choice in check. More of a, "Hey, I'm at a bar with your friend having a good time and he asked me why I'm at a bar having a good time with him and not you and I couldn't help but wonder.... why is that, exactly?" I left this message around 11pm, and by the time I got home, he still hadn't called me back. Here it is, Monday night, and he still hasn't.

Maybe it's my own fault. Maybe I've bent over backwards to accomodate his schedule so often that he doesn't even feel the need to try anymore. Maybe I make it too easy. Maybe I make it ok for him to grow complacent, knowing that all he has to do is go on about his business and live his life, and this girlfriend will fit herself in wherever she can. I call, I text, I send funny things in the mail, I suprise him with silly tokens of affection, I rearrange my schedule, I switch shifts, I work extra hours, I call in favors, I drive hundreds of miles, I never make demands on his time, I never ask him to not do something in favor of doing something with me, I don't even make the slightest attempt to conceal my feelings. I love him. And he knows it. ..But forget about putting forth the slightest bit of effort to even attempt to come and see me on a whole weekend he has free.. he can't even manage to pick up the phone and call me to see how I'm doing... if I'm ok.. If she's ok...

I suppose drinking beer with his buddies and fishing is more important that any of that.

So this was the state of mind I was in this morning when I found myself sobbing at the kitchen table.. when I was driving to the store, choking on my own tears whispering, "Pull it together, girl, you're in public." ...and here I am, hours later, staring in the mirror at a strange looking blonde girl.

And I feel oddly calm.

Sprung.

2005-04-08T15:19:00.000-04:00

There's a pretty sweet festive vibe in old Port-town today-- thanks to the lovely weather, shining sun, and Patriots parade downtown this afternoon. I even heard the first ice cream truck drive through my neighborhood. Maybe I'll flag one down and get a Screwball for old time's sake.

On my way to the bank this morning I stopped by a snuzzy little hipster coffee shop for an espresso-punch-in-the-face and parked behind a beat-up station wagon adorned with the usual collage of dumb bumperstickers. This particular lady had a combo of cat-themed (e.g "The more people I meet, the more I like my cat.") and gay-themed ones. But the one that really cracked me up was a cat-shaped sticker with the rainbow pattern on it. Now, is this in support of gay people who own cats? Or actual gay cats themselves? Curious. Mostly because pet cats are usually fixed, and seem to be pretty asexual. Also, I'm sure there's quite a difference between wild animals' and domestic animals' sexual behaviors-- gay versus prison gay. I mean, maybe Mr. Fluffywinks only starts lookin' awful good to Brutus when he realizes he's never going to see another vagina as long as he lives. Christ, my own boy-kitty tried to do it with his own sister before I had him fixed. I don't think I'm going to jump on the Gay Animal Rights bandwagon too quickly...

I just realized that the teller at the bank accidentally credited my account with $51,100 instead of $511. Think they'll notice? Or maybe they'll just let me keep it? I mean, in Monopoly you get those Community Chest cards that say, "Bank Error in Your Favor! $200!!" This is kinda like that. Right? Am I right?

I'll be sure to make this point with Bank America when they call me tomorrow.

Big Fat Failure.

2005-04-01T01:47:00.000-05:00

I got an F today, possibly for the first time in my life. I have a stable full of A's in everything from "19th Century American Lit" to "Law 101" to "Sociology of the Criminal Mind." I even managed to eek out a C+ in "Dealing With Evil In Ancient Babelon," and I never even went to class. Or learned how to spell, "Babelon."
But today, I failed.

My car inspection.

That's right, I am a failure as a car-owner. I failed to psychically know that there was a hole in my exhaust system and that the rod connecting my wheel to the parts that make it go is about to break. I failed to ask the mechanics the last half a dozen times it's been in the shop this year whether there was something else wrong with it. I failed, and now I have to wear my scarlett letter for all the world to see. They took away my pretty green sticker that happily proclaimed, "March!" and replaced it with an ugly red sticker with a big fat "F" in the middle that sadistically proclaims things like, "You suck!" and "You're poor, and you're about to get poorer! Haha!!!!"

I'm trying to make this all sound funny, because the truth is I spent most of the day today fretting and crying and thinking about things like getting rid of my cell phone, cable, internet, and left kidney in order to afford to A) get this piece of crap fixed or B) get a new piece of crap. I mean, really, what do I need? A roof over my head, a car, and food for my cats. I can eat free salads and rice at work. I can sell my blood periodically. I don't need electricity. I can read by candle light! It'll be quaint.

heheh. heh.

Christ.

To add insult to injury, the Fates decided that transportation and finances being in serious jeopardy wasn't quite enough. The new schedule went up today, and the only days off I ever have are on Mondays and Tuesdays. And managment at my Boy's bar just switched him to working Mondays from 2pm-2am. And he has class from 8am-8pm on Tuesdays. And unless some miracle happens, I have no idea how we'll see each other until, oh, like... the end of April? Yeah. A month. Well, I suppose I could work all day every day, seeing as how I have neither a reliable mode of transportation nor a reliable mode of Boy distractions.

Heh. Heh.

Fuck.

Where The Hell Have I Been?

2005-03-29T12:55:00.000-05:00

Everywhere. Last week was a mess at it's beginning. I picked up shifts and switched shit around and closed and finally managed to come up with a bunch of days off to go see my Boy. Wednesday was our one year anniversary, and I made it up Nawth in the afternoon while he was still at work. I sat at the bar and sipped beers and thought about how good it would feel to touch him after three weeks apart. And then when I was done with mulling over that romantic notion, I thought about how good it would feel to touch him after three weeks. (I might look like a sweetheart but I have a filthy, filthy mind.)

After he got out we cruised over to another bar in town (also known as, the only other bar in town) to watch mopey college students who take themselves too seriously wail away at their guitars and african drums at the weekly open mic night. I love live entertainment, so the open mic night works well for me: If the acts are good, I'm happy. If they suck, I can mercilessly make fun of them in my head and snicker. All the better when I'm with my Boy, because if anyone can out-mock me, it's him. So I'm sitting at the bar and my mister casually points out that I happen to be sitting next to Howie Day. To which I replied,

"Who?"

So apparently I've heard his songs on the radio alot and just had no clue who he was. He's from up Nawth, so he was visiting and allowing himself to be "convinced" to perform at this dinky little bar. So, he didn't look like any kind of rock star, not that I've seen one before, althouhg he did have "rock star" hair. I mean seriously, how do they do that? Clearly he's not famous enough to tote around a team of stylists to Way-The-Hell-Up-There-Maine. When you get a record deal or hear your own voice on the radio, do your hair follicles undergo some kind of chemical reaction? Anyway, eventually he got up to perform and-- in true rock star fashion-- appeared to have been crawling around the inside of a bottle of Jack Daniels all night. After five minuets of attempting to get his guitar in tune, he addressed the crowd:

"Heeeey everybody, how ya doin tonight? Y'Happy to be up here in Maine? Woo! Y'know, all those people in New York City think they're havin a good time tonight, but they're not havin as much fun as we are in Northern Maine! Woooooo! Yeah! Anyways, I just wrote this song last week, so I'm prolly gonna fuck it up alot. Here goes."

He then launched into some similar moody-touchy-feely bright guitar mope-rock like his other songs about depressed love or some shit. When he got to the line, And who was that number on your cell phone anyway? my Boy turned around and looked at me and I looked at him, and we turned and headed for the door. We can read each other's thought bubbles like nobody's business.

Back at home I had a suprise waiting for him-- Candlelight and a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. An ode to a night one year ago when we drank PBR at George's on Boyleston St. and kissed for the first time on an outbound Green Line train. I thought it was a fitting gesture, epecially for a couple like us-- a little bit of candle-lit romance, and the Wonder Bread of beers... But that night?

We never did get to the beer.

The Ghosts of Relationships Past

2005-03-20T02:45:00.000-05:00

If you haven't checked out The Tournement of Exes (at cruddyaward.blogspot.com) yet, you really should. We've all got our horror stories, I suppose, so it should be quite amusing to see which ones win. I sent in my own story a few days ago, and I'm not sure if it's the thinking process that's begun or simple timing, but all of a sudden, it's been a virtual parade of ex activity. One called me out of the blue after a looooong period of not speaking, one started IMing me out of nowhere after months of not talking to each other (because ex-related friendships always seem to take a dive for me when said ex gets a new girlfriend...who isn't too keen on her new boy having a relationship with an old flame, albeit platonic...) and today I could have sworn I saw another one in the parking lot of the grocery store. Exes abound these days, so in the spirit of this, I thought I'd revisit the ghosts of relationships past. Y'know, because I'm maudlin like that.

The Comedian: This was my first boyfriend. The summer I turned 14, my father's side of the family rented a house down the Cape, and my New York cousins brought the 15 year old boy that lived in their apartment building. They had babysat for him most of his childhood and he had become like part of the family. He was hysterical. We went to Plymouth Plantation and pretended we were British the entire time, harassing the "immigrants" at the plantation with all sorts of questions from "home." We got drunk on Malibu and watched Reality Bites and smoked packs of cigarettes and peed on the front lawn and fell down alot and giggled. He was my first kiss. And so what if he claimed he wanted to be my boyfriend and wrote me love letters and then got another girlfriend behind my back. It was a nice way to ease into dating hell. We made out on a rooftop for christ sakes.

The Big Man on Campus: Oh God, was this guy a pain in the ass. Apparently I was very shallow when I was a teenager or something, because I was always drawn to these BMOC type guys, even when I knew they were bad for me. This guy was star of all the school plays, class president, friends with everyone, etc etc. He was 18 and I was 15 (I know, sick huh? I went to a small school. There were slim pickings, okay?)He was a total jerk. One day we were making out in the theater and he stopped and said, "You know, I can't take you to the prom. I already promised some one else I'd take them." Even though my brain was all, "Hey! I'm you're girlfriend!! You take ME to the prom, goddamnit!!" my pride forced me to say, "Whatever. I didn't want to go to the prom anyway." and then continue the making out so he'd see how cool a chick I was. Yeah. Anyway, turns out this other girl was someone he cheated on me with throughout our entire 9 month relationship. Asshole. Although, I wasn't too broken hearted about it, because the winter of my sophomore year we were doing a play together and I met...

The Film Geek: He was frigging adorable. When the sparks started flying on set between us, I broke up with BMOC immediately. This was really the first time I actively persued a guy, and felt all kinds of tingly feelings for one. He was adorable and romantic-- which is quite impressive for a 15 year old. He was obsessed with Quentin Tarrantino and wanted to be a director one day. So many of our "moments" seemed like something out of a movie. Our first kiss, for example-- He walked me to the subway one afternoon. I went through the turnstyle and started towards the stairs when he called out, "LG, wait. I have to tell you something." I walked back to the turnstyle, and he leaned over and kissed me. I paused and looked at him and said, "I've been waiting to hear that." He was adorable. He used to bribe the office runners to deliver me little notes during class or slip things into my bag when I wasn't looking. But, I was going through some 16 year old angst at the time, and acted like a total bitch alot, and we stopped seeing each other. ...Though we revisited things briefly in college... I have a special place in my heart for that one, alright. He's one of the good ones.

The Pretty Boy: Okay, so we didn't so much date as go to the prom together and fool around my junior year. Here was another example of my attraction to shiny things-- He was class president, star of the school plays, popular, (is this sounding familiar yet?) aaaaand on the varsity soccer team. During the school year, I figured out his schedule so I could just "happen" to be around looking all cute and laughing with friends when he got out of class. I practically stalked the kid. (Did I mention he's a dead ringer for Tom Cruise? Seriously, it was necessary.) Anyway, I got up the balls to ask him to prom and he said yes and we made out copiously and then he never called me again. (Of course, I revisited things with him in college as well. Yeah, he's pretty, but shallow. Not much has changed over the years.)

The Musician: My first love, my first.... ehem. We dated during my senior year in high school and my freshman year in college. He hurt me pretty bad. I don't want to talk about it. We're friends now... when his girlfriend's not home and he can call or IM me that is. I don't think she likes me very much. Eh. It was six years ago, but it feels like yesterday sometimes. I guess that first love really stays with you. Funny that I'm waaaay more comfortable talking about the meaningless ones and cagey about the serious ones... hmm..

(Insert random hook-ups and dates with exes and high school flings)

The Psycho: He took hard core porn pictures and cut-and-pasted his ex-girlfriend's head on the women in the pictures. Then he threatened to kill himself if I left him. Then he made my life miserable sophomore year in college, calling me from Wisconsin and demanding to know where I was all the time and who I was with. Then he CHEATED ON ME WITH ANOTHER GIRL AND I ONLY FOUND OUT ABOUT IT BECAUSE HE NEVER CAME HOME FOR SPRING BREAK AND HIS MOTHER TOLD ME HE WAS STAYING AT HER HOUSE. And apparently, he kinda had a thing for sucking penis too. This was the story I submitted to the contest. Suprise suprise.

The Touchy-Feely Guy: We dated for four years. We lived together and adopted cats together and he wanted to marry me. He told me he loved me after like a week of being together. He constantly showered me with compliments and I never had to spend one single second wondering how he felt about me, because he always told me. He was safe, and I knew he would never fuck around with me like most of the other guys I had dated. He loved me so much he'd throw himself in front of a bus before he'd hurt me, and I knew it. But I don't think I ever really loved him. And it makes me sad when I think about it. It was a rough break up, he didn't take it well. He's doing alright now, and we talk sometimes. But over a year later, he's still clearly hurt by what happened, and I still hurt for having caused it.

(Insert random hook-ups with complete dickheads that I shouldn't have wasted my time with, but needed to get out and be wild after four years of monogamy with someone I wasn't in love with. Hey, don't judge me.)

And that about brings us up to present day and My Boy. I've been reflecting on these ghosts of relationships past for a while now. I've come to the conclusion that having experienced both ends of the spectrum, and having my heart broken alot in many fun new creative ways, I've become better equipped each time to handle the subsequent relationship. Yeah, I'm learning from this crazy thing called life. Stop the presses. But at least today I've been with enough shitheads to recognize a shithead when he comes along. I've learned that I can wait for the good ones, because they come around eventually. I've learned that the best thing I can do, no matter how hard it seems, is to lay my heart out there on the chopping block and hope it isn't cleaved. I've learned how to trust again.

I've learned how to love again.

Spring Cleaning

2005-03-19T19:28:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how much just moving your furniture around can perk you up. (And by "you," I mean someone like me who is all Martha Stewart Living with all the style and class and none of the jail time. Yet.)

I cleaned and rearrainged, and suddenly everything seems a bit brighter. I can get in a rut pretty easily, and I have been in a major one for the past six weeks. The psycological impact of never ending cold and snow, lack of face time with my Boy, and work work work was really starting to do a number on me. And moving my couch across the room made me feel better. Who knew?

I am profoundly less complicated than I appear at first glance. Getting me in a good mood is as simple as enticing me to exlaim, "Ooo! Shiney!"

Happy Amateur Night!

2005-03-17T00:20:00.000-05:00

Er, I mean, St. Patrick's Day. I'm closing at the bar tonight, so instead of getting wasted and barfing up Guinness and McDonald's Shamrock Shakes, I'll be hosing green spew off the walls of the ladies room. Sweet. Actually, I don't really "celebrate" St. Paddy's. I mean, I'm Irish every day of the year-- do I pick some random religious holiday from another culture to celebrate?

"Woohoo!! Kiss me, I'm Russian Orthodox! Pass the beer bong!!!"

Things I Did Today At Work:

2005-03-10T23:52:00.000-05:00

The service bar is not, unlike the main bar, usually a hot bed of excitement. Case in point? Thursday night.

4:30pm- Clocked in and began setting up

5:00pm- Went out to "move my car" to let another employee out. Smoked two cigarrettes.

5:30pm- Finished set up, turned on my printer, and waited.

6:00pm- Sent my boy a text message, which is a waste of time, as he is probably "napping" under a barstool in Savannah at the moment.

6:30pm- Finished reading "Mr.Boston's Bartending Guide." Learned how to make a "Pink Pussy" shot. Still no tickets.

7:00pm- Stared at the wall and daydreamed about my Boy kissing my neck.

7:15pm- Put an abrupt halt to said daydreams, because I'm not going to see him for another fucking two weeks, goddamnit.

7:15pm-9:15pm-- Stared out the window, watching employees from the bar across the street smoking cigarrettes. Became consumed with jealousy.

9:15pm- Paced.

9:16pm- Realised service bar is too small to pace in.

9:17pm- Stood still.

Oh yeah, and somewhere in there, I made a couple of drinks and cracked open a couple of beers. I get paid for this. I assure you, I too can appreciate the lunacy.

Syndication Is The Devil.

2005-03-10T23:47:00.000-05:00

There are so many things about Dawson's Creek that make me SO ANGRY! Kids don't talk like that. Kids don't think like that. Kids aren't that fucking self aware!!!!

But I watch two hours of it every morning on TBS.

Why?
WHY GOD?!? WHHHYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!

(Please, like Cape Cod EVER looks like that during Thanksgiving?!?!)

Calm, Lucidgirl, calm.

Oh, And By The Way..

2005-03-08T23:07:00.000-05:00

Things I am pondering at the moment:

-Isn't the premise of every episode of Law And Order: Special Victims Unit exactly the same? "Ooo! I'm a male cop with a teenage daughter and I hate pervy pervs who prey on teenage girls!" or "Ooo! Aren't people sick and loathsome and disgusting sometimes!" I mean, really. That show seems to be entirely about showing us how evil and twisted the molesters, rapists, and murders in some team of writers' minds can be.

-Am I alone in finding amusement out of the local news in a small market (like, oh say, Portland?) as opposed to a large market (like my hometown of Boston?)? I mean, if the top stories are about pizza delivery guys who have to drive around in the snow storm even though they aren't getting tipped any better than usual ("This just in: People are still doing their jobs, even though it's snowing!") or gas station attendants who are seeing a rise in people driving away without paying for their gas because prices have risen so dramatically this week ("News flash: Some people steal things that are expensive! Stay tuned!"), or the weather report ("If you haven't looked out your window yet today, guess what? It's snowing!"), then you can tell how small your city truly is. I'm pretty much sitting here waiting for the cow report. Ahh, Maine, how I love thee.

-Am I a complete nutcase for sitting my new purse down next to my old purse so they can bond, because I feel bad for my old purse and I don't want the transition from new purse to old purse to be that harsh?
Yeah, I thouhgt so.

-McDonald's new ad campaign for their Filet'O'Fish: Does it make sense that an Aquarium employee is eating a fried fish sandwich for lunch IN FRONT OF THE OTHER FISH?? I'm sorry, but that commercial is just creepy. Almost as creepy as that body wash commercial that pretty much insinuates that a young man is masturbating in his shower. If you don't know which commercial I'm refering to, consider yourself lucky.

In A Delicate Brioche

2005-03-08T22:18:00.000-05:00

Today was a day off. Today was a day off where I didn't have to drive to Boston, and I didn't have to drive up North. Today was the first day of a two day stretch of not working and not driving. Usually when these days pop up now and then, they signal boredom. No work? No friends? No Mum? No Boy? Whatever will I do?

Today, I decided to follow my every whim and treat myself. I woke up early craving maple syrup, so I braved the gathering snow storm and headed off to a little diner down by the waterfront. I read the paper and nibbled on a plate of french toast, eavesdropping on the conversations around me. There's something exhilarating about sitting for a spell in a public place, when everyone around you is distracting themselves with other people.

Next, I drove to my beloved Target and perused purses, clothes, books, and the dressers I might buy when I have the money to spend on "frivolous" purchases like things to put my clothing in so they don't get cat pee on them. I finally selected a cute little green bag, perfect for the spring that might eventually show up around these parts.

Then, for my final trick, I was off to the grocery store to purchase things that could actually be considered good for me. No more frozen dinners, no more days gone by with little to eat but a piece of toast and several glasses of wine. I picked up all the necessary items for a healthy balanced diet. I did get something a liiiiiiitle bad for me, but I felt like I needed a tiny treat-- a little bit of brie in a brioche crust. It was delicious melted onto french bread for dinner tonight. That spinach will still be around for dinner tomorrow. Hey, you gotta start somewhere.

2005-03-05T14:13:00.000-05:00

IT'S MARCH!!!

Sorry, had to get that out of my system. January and February are hard months for me-- If that whole "Seasonal Affective Disorder" isn't a complete crock of shit, then I'm pretty sure I have it. My Mum does too, so growing up we always popped in plant lights all over the house each winter to counteract the lack of sunlight. But March, oh March. A lot of people hate March the most, because it feels like spring should be.. er.. springing, but New England doesn't see truly nice weather until at least April, aside from the occasional fluke day here and there. "In like a lion, out like a lamb," is really quite accurate here. But for me, March is a promise. The promise that I don't have to endure the long cold winter again for the better part of the year. When I was a little girl, my grandmother always told me that the crocus was the first flower of spring-- a hint of what's to come. March means keeping my eyes glued to the ground, hoping to see that first little resilliant bud poking it's way out of the defrosting ground.

Shit, I'm in a good mood today. Sun shining, birds singing, all that crap. This past week was great-- Not seeing my Boy for three weeks sucked, but getting a week of virtually uninterrupted time together was great. Sure that first day back always reminds me how much I hate this scenario, how much I hate missing him all the damn time, how much I hate having to leave...

...how much I wish things could be different sooner than they probably will be. Ah, isn't that the issue du'jour... just about every "jour" for me. One afternoon last week we were sitting in a bar, having a drink, and the subject of housing came up. Not in reference to us, of course... My Boy was saying how after break he wanted to get started on finding housing for next year, though he won't be out of his current place until summer. Anyway, he wants to live with a friend of his who also has a girlfriend, and it seems to be fairly obvious to everyone but My Boy that there is a very good chance his friend will simply end up living with his girlfriend instead. He said something (jokingly?)to the effect of trying to talk his friend out of it and the words just boiled up out of my subconcious and leapt out of my mouth before I even knew what was happening.

"Yeah, well maybe that's what he wants. Not everyone wants to be a grumpy old confirmed bachelor like you."

For a split second, he looked like he had been slapped-- shock, hurt, and maybe even anger, and you'd miss it if you blinked. He looked away.

"It doesn't mean you want to be a confirmed bachelor just because you aren't ready to move in with your girlfriend."

And I know that.
I do. I know that we come from to vastly different levels of relationship experience. I've been through an equal share of flings, dead-end relationships, and serious ones. I've lived with a boyfriend before. I've been through enough of the spectrum to know now what I want and what I don't. What I'm ready for. Or for, that matter, what I'm not ready for, but am willing to take a chance on because it's apparently ready for me. I'm much more willing to take risks, because I've lived enough to know when something is a waste of time, and when it's something to sit up and take notice of. Those ones that make you sit up and take notice? They don't come around often. This much I've learned. And I'm not sure he has. And part of being with my Boy has always been that challenge. He doesn't have a vast amount of experience with relationships, or (as he puts it) "how to be a boyfriend." I know that he needs to move at a much slower pace than I do, and that's something I have accepted as part of being with him-- that even if it can be frustrating, that it's ultimately worth it.

But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

I never held out more than the tiniest little girl-fantasy that he'd want to be living with me next year instead of his boys. I let myself indulge in the occasional romantic daydream.. but when it comes down to it, I'm nothing if not realistic. We haven't even approached the subject of my considering moving up there and living by myself or with girls I know... and that's really a subject for another time. Truthfully, it's something that I need to think about a lot, because it's a big decision. Another day, another day....

What it boils down to, really, is fear. Under the right circumstances, I could live two hours away for as long as we needed to live this way and make it work and be happy. I think the reason this whole thing bothers me as much as it does is because I'm afriad. I'm afriad of what it might mean if he tells me he's perfectly content with me living two hours away. I'm afraid that one day he'll just decide to pick up and move to Chicago or Georgia or Alaska out of the blue, and I won't be a consideration. I'm afraid I'm too attached for not being entirely sure what I mean to him. I'm afraid of getting my heart broken. But I'm still here. Because, at the end of the day, every little mannerism that tickles me, every off-hand remark that makes me laugh so hard I cry, every moment of silly male posturing, every time he cracks a joke in a crowd and looks to see if I'm laughing, every spirited debate that makes me want to beat him with my purse, every morning that I get to feel him all warm and sleepy beside me... That's the stuff that makes it all worthwile. That's the stuff that makes you want to overcome obstacles. That's the stuff you wait for.

And with the ones who make you sit up and take notice?
It always come down to that.

Aww Sweet.

2005-02-26T18:22:00.000-05:00

Test results are in: You could say I passed. (If by "passed" you mean my results are normal and I only have to go back in four months for another round, just to make sure.)

Yay!!!

Much thanks to everyone who commented/emailed wishing me well over the past few weeks. I promise I'll shut the hell up about it now. ;-)

In other news, I am currently up Nawth with my, ahem, Gentleman Friend during his spring break until Thursday. Three weeks is an awful long time not to see each other, so I'm kinda O.D-ing on contentment at the moment. The fact that I don't have to work for days and days and days doesn't exactly hurt either. He isn't as lucky, unfortunately, and I'm hanging out watching reruns of America's Next Top Model (don't ask) while he closes the bar. Hey, whatever. I'm just happy to be here and be on vacation.

Speaking of which, I'm due for some serious bath-time-relaxation.

Hell ya.

"I Don't Fly. Too Dangerous."

2005-02-22T01:09:00.000-05:00

Yep, it's 1am and I'm sitting in my livingroom watching Roadhouse. Give me a break, man, I've had a long week. So as ridiculously busy as it was at the bar last night, tonight was the complete antithisis. Last night I made more money than I ever have in one bar shift. Tonight? Eh, not so great. So I guess it all balances out, except for the mental and physical drain of working 12 hour shifts open to close two days in a row. Tomorrow night I get a break: I'm only 5pm to close! Haha. Ha. Yeah.

I've been working other peoples shifts and wheeling a dealing all week to get a bunch of days off in a row for next week. My mister's on spring break next week and I'll have, like, days and days and days to see him! Yay! I'm tired as hell, but it'll be worth it.

So, a pitiful little entry, eh? Well, not much to report when you work all day and all night. Starting tomorrow I wait for test results. Fingers crossed? Check.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep talking, but Roadhouse is a pretty entertaining movie.

The Littlest Red Kettle

2005-02-19T21:38:00.000-05:00

I bought myself a little present today. Well, actually, I'm aquiring necessary provisions for my new Cook-For-Myself-And-Stop-Spending-So-Much-Time-And-Money-Gettin-Takeout program. I'm trying to revive my enjoyment of the culinary arts and remember how to derive pleasure from taking care of my hearth and home.

So today before work I took a few minutes to sneak off to my beloved Target and purchase a french press and the littlest red tea-kettle you ever did see. It looks so adorable on top of my oven. Now I can make my morning cup of coffee and have my ritual afternoon tea, all without the aide of Dunkin Donuts. Yep, you heard right, I'm breaking up with Dunkies. Stop the presses.
Except the french ones, but of course.

M.I.A

2005-02-17T22:34:00.000-05:00

Yeah, so I've been out of touch for a bit. Tuesday was scary-- all kinds of tools and machines and shit. The doctor said my cervix looked "really good" but took a few biospies to send off to the lab. I won't know anything for a week to ten days. Then I went over to my father's house to sign away my health insurance. Yeah. I wasn't supposed to lose it until I turned 25 this spring, but he can't afford to pay the next two months and neither can I. So he needed me to sign the forms to relinquish my right to health insurance. How fitting.

Anyhow, I did manage to make lemonade, so to speak. I got my hair cut and bought a few (inexpensive, of course) articles of clothing, and spent all day Wednesday in downtown Boston helping my sister shop for wedding dresses. So in the midst of all this mess I did have some pampering/shopping time to make me feel a bit better. Maybe you can't buy happiness, but throwing a little bit of money sure can help you feel good.

Not much is new, really. Same old same old. I'm worried about my health, I'm a bit bored with my life in Portland because all I do is work and drink. I miss my mister. It's funny how the mind can play tricks. It's only been a week since I saw him last, but it feels like it's been an eternity, only because I know it's going to be another two weeks until I get up there again. It sucks. On the one hand, I think.. we're better off than most couples our age because we're together not just because it's convenient, but rather in spite of the fact that it's inconvenient. And that's a credit to us, really. But it doesn't change the fact that I miss him all the goddamn time. That I wish I could see him any old time I wanted. That I'm afraid that when it comes time for me to renew or not renew my Portland lease that he'll trot out the old "I'm not ready," when I suggest my moving up there... and that I'll have to wonder why someone who is so important to me is happier when I live a hundred miles away...

Oh gosh, now I'm just getting morose. And probably unnecessarily. There's just so much going on right now, so many little things, that are making me feel all vulnerable and self concious about the things that are so important to me. I don't even want to go into detail, because what's the point? I've been sullen enough for one evening. Enough of that. A good night's sleep awaits.

V-Day

2005-02-14T11:03:00.000-05:00

It's Valentine's Day, and nothin' says lovin' like being up to your elbows in cat pee all morning, working a 10 hour shift, getting two or three hours of sleep, getting up at the crack of dawn, and driving to Boston for a Dr's appointment where they'll be doing painful things to my cervix.

Yesterday I had to work a 2pm-2am shift, and fifteen mintutes before I had to leave for work, I discovered that one of my cats had peed all over a pile of clothing in my room. See, I have all my clothes grouped together by category on the floor of my room because buying a dresser is one of those things I plan to do when I "have money" or "can afford" things besides bills and food. ("Ho ho! Hahhhhahahahah! Ooh! Good one!" ::wiping the tears away:: "Havng extra money?! Now that's funny.") So my boy-kitty expressed his displeasure at my long work hours and frequent trips by peeing right smack dab in the middle of my clothing. So, on the off chance he's done this before and I haven't noticed yet, I'm doing about 67 loads of laundry, bleaching the floors, and trying to find some nook or cranny to cram all the clothing in so this doesn't happen again. Seriously, I might have to put my clothes in the storage locker in the basement in order to keep them pee-free.

Yes, this is my life.

Oh yeah, then there's that whole my-boyfriend-lives-two-hours-away-and-probably-forgot-it's-valentines-day-anyway thing.

You know, most of the blogs I read have these "I am 21rst Century Woman! Hear me roar!" kind of postings today. You know, they're all, "I'm going to be upbeat and positive and take care of me on this holiday designed to make me feel like crap! I'm going out with the girls and eating chocolate and laughing and laughing and laughing!! Who needs men? Who needs romance? Not this Independant Woman!"

Yeah well, screw all that. I'm pissed off and cranky and I miss my boyfriend and wish he had one single solitary romantic bone in his body. Or, at the very least, had some kind of bone of his in my body.

So there.

Oh. My. God.

2005-02-12T01:23:00.000-05:00

Tonight I got my ass kicked. Royally. It started off as a ridiculously slow night, and we phased the first bartender (of four) after only an hour or two. I was next to go, and it seemed like I was only going to get in a few hours myself. Thanks, Nor'easter, I was really hoping to make 30 bucks on a Friday night. But then, all of a sudden, the people swarmed in. Slip after slip after slip poured out of the printer, and the crowd was three deep all around the bar. And it made me realize one thing-- I don't miss Boston for exactly that reason. In Boston, it was like that every night, Thursday through Saturday. Every shift was a battle-- a never ending on-slaught of people and tickets and dirty dishes. I'm glad I make the same amount of money (because on a Friday night in Boston there would have been five bartenders on instead of three) and these ass-kicking nights only come once and a while.

The good thing to come out of this evening is that I think I finally solidified my place in the bar line-up. One of the girls on tonight was a pro, and the the other girl was just dreadful. Seriously, me and the pro ran circles around her, and it probably would have been easier if she had just done dishes or plain left the building. After all these weeks of worrying about "proving" myself in this new environment with these new (to me) bartenders, I finally got my seal of approval tonight when the pro walked up to me and said, "I love that girl and all, but you and I were the only ones who could handle a busy night like this." I know this is terribly dorky of me, but I just have this thing about always wanting to be the absolute best I can be at whatever it is that I'm doing, even if it's just some dumb job in a restaurant. I take everything I do seriously, so it's nice to finally know I have a solid reputation around this place of being a really good bartender. That kinda thing matters to me, scoff if you want.

I'm tired, I'm sore, and I'm happy.
Ain't life grand?

What Would I Do Without TNT?

2005-02-10T17:03:00.000-05:00

By which I mean the television channel, not the cartoony dynamite. So many reruns of so many mediocre-to-horribly-campy shows. We're in the middle of a good old fashioned Nor'easter up here, and my shift in the dining room was cancelled, which is nice because I hate working in the fricken dining room anyway. Bartending tends to spoil you in that respect.

So I'm celebrating my impromptu day off with copious amounts of chocolate and bad television. (Case in point? I watched "The Next Karate Kid" today. Oh yes, you read that correctly.)And I got a chance to test out my new snow tires. I drove! In SNOW! My car goes and goes and goes in a forward and timely fashion. I'm just gonna bask in that for the time being.

So feeling a bit better today. Actually, I'm not sure if I feel better or if I'm just plain worn out from my lengthy cycle of worry and repression. But, Tuesday's the big day, and a few weeks from now I should have a better idea of what is or isn't going on.

In the mean time: less worry, more chocolate.

2005-02-08T01:29:00.000-05:00

I'm up Nawth at the moment, and El Novio is sleeping in preparation for class tomorrow morning, and I'm sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I made the mistake tonight of talking about (which, of course, leads to thinking about) my health situation, and I can't seem to pull off my not-thinking-about-it-and-putting-on-a-happy-face stance that I normally carry quite well. You see, I need to undergo some sort of proceedure next week, involving biospies and other such depressing things. My mother keeps telling me everything is going to be fine because, I suspect, she doesn't want to worry me. In moments of despair these past few weeks, I've called my friends. And they haven't returned my calls. Granted, I don't leave messages saying, "hey, I might have cancer and I'm practically shitting my pants with fear, call me back!!" But still...

The Boy is sweet and caring, but let's be honest-- this thing is big and scary and serious, and he doesn't exactly seem to "do" big and scary and serious with me. Besides the fact that after tomorrow, I'm probably not going to see him for quite some time... He has all this stuff he wants/needs to do... He works, he goes to school, has things he wants to do with friends.. In a normal week, he barely has free time to spend time together, let alone these next few weeks when our schedules just don't mesh... And I know he's only comfortable keeping things.... "low key," between us, if you will.. Don't get me wrong-- I know he cares about me, and I know he means well and has the best intentions...But I'm scared to try and lean on someone who seems to always have one foot out the door, no matter how I feel about him... no matter how strongly I hold out the hope that someday things could be different.

This whole health thing terrifies me, but I find myself trying to pretend it doesn't. But I can't keep it up the act all day every day. And it's times like these that I have to creep out of bed, even though I wait all week for the chance to sleep beside him, and go out on the porch and cry my eyes out. I need some kind of release. And it seems the only way it will come is from my moments alone, drunk, or blogging. I don't even want to rheuminate on how sad that sounds at the moment. It just is what it is. I made the choices that led me to this place and this time. If I'm lonely; if I feel alone, it's my own doing. And most of the time, I'm ok with that. But now and then.... I wish. I just wish... I wish I had the things that other people have. I wish...

I just. ....wish.
Especially on nights like this.

2005-02-05T13:37:00.000-05:00

Holy Shit! It's 51 degrees in Portland! Maybe I'll blow off work and go to the beach. (See? This is what living in Maine has done to me.) No no no, I have to close down the old gin mill tonight, which is good because I need the money.

Speaking of saving money, instead of going to the movies regularly, I simply read about them on themoviespoiler.com. Yes, I'm that kid that starts reading a book and can help but flip to the end to find out what happens. Hey, I still read the book cover to cover, I just have poor impulse control.

*sigh* I need to get out more.

Mostly all I do in Portland is work, drink after work with people from work, and go to the grocery store. Not because I have some sort of gluttony problem, but because I get everything there. Oh, and I'm not so good with the planning and list-making and getting-it-all-done-at-once type stuff. And the grocery is just about the only place in Maine that will sell me alcohol with an out-of-state ID. So I end up at the grocery store pretty often, and recently I've started noticing an alarming disparity between my purchases and the purchases of others. Last night after work, for example, the young woman in front of me was buying yams, oranges, and other assorted fruits and veggies. The guy behind me had a vast assortment of vegan products and brought his own cloth grocery bag. I had a bottle of wine, a frozen dinner, a jug of Gatorade, and a pack of cigarettes. Go ahead and paint yourself a picture of what my night was like.

The probelm with me is, I love to take care of other people. Consequently, when I live by myself and spend the majority of my free time alone, I don't take particularly good care of myself. In college I lived in a house with six other people, and the three of us that were good cooks took turns making dinner for "the family" every week. When El Novio lived in Boston, I used to love cooking for him and his apartment-mates, and now when I go up Nawth I look forward to cooking for him and whoever else is around the house. In good company, I eat well, don't smoke as much, get plenty of sleep... I drink alot either way, but still, you get the idea. On my own, it's Lean Cuisine, take out, a pack a day, a bottle of wine and four or five hours of sleep. I thrive around fun people, and when I'm alone it just seems like, "Aw hell, what's the point?"

I know, I know.. all the old Grandma adages like, "If you're bored then you're boring," and "Be happy with yourself," and blah blah blah. And don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly capable of entertaining myself. I love my alone time. I just don't love.... so much of it. I'm a social creature, what can I say? And a caretaker. And taking care of myself, alone, isn't nearly as fulfilling as taking care of the people I value in my life. Maybe it's buried in my genetic code somewhere, from generation upon generation of Irish women with a small army of children, aunts, uncles, neices, nephews and cousins.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's a beautiful day and the sun is shining and there's a glimpse of spring to come and I wish I was out doing something to enjoy it. Or had someone to enjoy it with.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm lonely.

Ode To A 24/7 World

2005-02-03T02:31:00.000-05:00

Tonight I worked 2pm-2am. From 10pm until close, I had two people walk into the bar. Both of them asked if they were "keeping the place open" by coming. Oh no no, I assured them. I'm there until 2am whether you are or not.

The middle aged man wearing lipstick, eyeliner, and gold hoop earings nursed his Heinekin, trying desperately to engage me in a round of bartender-therapy about his "new choices in life." I nodded and smiled and said encouraging words to the effect of "You go girl!" But all I could do was silently curse our late hours and lack of flexibility.
And envy his french manicure.
My nails always look like shit.

So I waited and cleaned and waited and cleaned and hauled heavy things up and down many many stairs and counted money and got in my little car. I walked into my apartment, fired up the old laptop and turned on the tv, as per usual. But instead of really bad late night television, there was a message on the tv screen instructing me to call the cable company.

Yeah, my cable/dsl got shut off. Because I may, in fact, be the most forgetful person on the face of the earth. Bills come, and I look and them and go, "Oo! I'll pay that bill!" And then I toss it in the back seat of my car and forget about it and am left with the most vague feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something. And usually I think it's something to do with leaving the coffee machine on.

So great, it's 2am and I'm wired from caffine and work and The Man totally shut me down. Just for the fuck of it, hoping my cable would be on by the morning, I called the number and paid the bill over the phone. "Would you like to speak to a customer service representative after you pay your bill?" it asked me. "Press nine!" So I press nine.

Rep: "How can I help you?"

Me: "Yeah, hey, how long will it take for my cable to---"

And just like that, The Ashlee Simpson show sprang to life on the screen.

Rep: "Yes?"

Me: "Er, Nevermind."

Rep: (clearly amused) "Ok, then, have a great night!"

Me: "You too, man.... You too."

2005-02-01T22:41:00.000-05:00

So, clearly I haven't updated in a bit. I'll admit, I've been wollowing again. *sigh* You see, when it rains with LucidGirl, it pours. And bad news seems to swallow me whole for a brief period at least once a year. And it always seems to be around this time of year. Last winter, I broke up with the guy I had been dating for four years and asked him to move out of my apartment and my life. Then I went through a sketchy, bad-decision-making period of too much drinking and too many drugs and flings with complete dickheads that weren't even remotely worth my time. I was suddenly single, without a car and walking to work in the middle of blizzards, putting myself in terribly dangerous situations... And then, as quickly as it had come, it left. I got my shit together, good things started happening, and everything was right as rain.

But here we are again, in my least favorite time of year... I've got terrible money problems, I'm worried about my health, I miss my boyfriend... Every day it seems like there's a touch of bad news... A week ago, in the midst of dealing with the flat tire debacle, I got the test results back from my last gynocologist appointment. The results showed cell-abnormalities and my doctor is refering me to a specialist. So, best case scenario? It's a false positive and I'm fine. Worst case scenario? I have cervical cancer. And, of course, there's a range of possibilities in between. And I won't know anything until I see this specialist and get my next results back. And I try very hard not to think about it. And everyone keeps telling me it's going to be fine. And it's probably just a coincidence that last month I found an unusual lump in my breast. And I'm going to live to be a hundred years old. And not to worry.

And I'm scared.

What Happened To Bed Time?

2005-01-26T03:29:00.000-05:00

Where oh where did it go?
I remember a time-- roughly all of high school and college-- when bed time was my favorite part of the day. Oh good golly I could sleep like a pro. I slept like it was my job. I woke up every morning, and my first thought was usually, "Oooo, how long until I can go back to bed?" Oh yeah, and napping. I was a professional napper in college. I majored in napping. Good times.

Now, I never take naps. I just can't settle down long enough. And bed time? Psshhht. Forget about it. I stay up waaaaay too late every night, trying to find things I "want" to do, in order to avoid going to bed. Except there isn't really anything I "want" to do. There's never anything good on tv, and even when there is, I can't seem to pay attention. There's not much to browse over the internet that captivates me once I've had my fill of my daily blog-reads. I just stay up too damn late, probably drink too much and smoke too many cigarrettes, and bascially kill time. And for what? Nothing. It just feels like the act of brushing and washing and turning off the lights and climbing into that cold and empty bed is something to be avoided for as long as possible.

What the hell happened to me?

Where Does It End?!?!?

2005-01-24T13:07:00.000-05:00

So I woke up on Sunday morning after my snow ordeal to find my tire flat. Sweet. Because I can really afford that right now. Fortunately, my mother took extreme measures of pity on me and insisted on paying for snow tires for my car. Unfortunately, I have to have AAA come and put the donut on my car and they've given me a four hour time quote. And I have to be at work in four hours. And life just really isn't fair.

The man at the tire department of the Whole Sale Club That Shall Remain Nameless said he couldn't tell me whether or not he even had snow tires in the right size. ("Um, I'm driving there on a donut and I want to make sure I'm not wasting my time, can't you tell what size tires I need based on the make model and year of my car?" Knowing full well that if the Sears automotive website can tell me such information, so could this yahoo.) "I'd really have to take a look at it to see what size tires to put on there, miss," he said. Liar.

So the shift I'm supposed to work tonight is a pretty unecessary one on a normal day-- let alone a day like this. And I told them my situation. And if I don't hear from AAA by 3:30, I'm going to have to cancel and take a cab to and from work. And if I get there and they say, "Oh, well, want the day off? We don't think it's going to be busy enough to need you," I'm going to be a little peeved. And out $10-$20. Oy.

Knock on Wood. Seriously.

2005-01-23T03:17:00.000-05:00

So you know that snow I was so psyched about the other day? Yeah. Fate? You apparently decided to consider yourself tempted.

I closed the bar tonight, and there was a massive dumping of snow on the fair city of Portland. It took my boss and I 45 minutes just to get my car out of the driveway at work. See, although I jokingly refer to my car as a "high performance machine," I refer to it as such JOKINGLY! (Ya hear that, Fate?!?) Basically, it's a go-cart with shitty tires. So getting to the top of the driveway at work was a battle in and of itself, and I had a relatively strong man there to help me out. Getting to my house was another story entirely.

I live on a pretty sizable hill, so planning my route home in bad weather is par for the course. But out of the three main-road ways to get to my street, I couldn't actually get up the hill on two of them. I stalled out, had to roll down the streets backwards, and manuever my car in the other direction. On the third try, I built up a shit load of momentum, threw it in 3rd gear, gunned the engine and hoped for the best. Well, apparently the best was me spinning out and slamming into the curb and a tree, but recovering nicely and actually making it up the hill. As if just getting to my neighborhood wasn't hard enough, my actual street is a fairly steep hill as well. Again, I gunned the engine and swung into the turn onto my street.

And my car stopped moving.

Oh, the engine was going alright. But my car became mired in 6 or 7 inches of snow, leaving me stranded in the middle of an intersection. And it was 3'o'clock in the morning.

A plow drove by. I yelled "Help me! Help me!" and waved my arms pathetically. He drove on by, turned around, and drove on by a second time. I called my boyfriend, but not only was he asleep, but well, you know, he does live 2hrs away, so that was a pretty silly idea. I crossed myself and said a few Hail Mary's. Nada. Finally, I gunned the engine, switching between forward and backward gears, and frantically turning the wheel like a madwoman. And finally, forward momentum!!

So, moral of that dilemma?
A) So much for Good Samaritans stopping to help a damsel in distress. Even though they're city employees. Paid with my taxes. To, um, you know, PLOW THINGS!!!!!!
B) My boyfriend lives too far away to help in typical every-day boyfriend ways. Which is bad news for me, because I suck at car things, heavy things, and scary things. I have no problem killing bugs though. No problem whatsoever. Check.
C) God hates me. And, apparently, so does the Virgin Mary.
D) When in doubt, just try random shit until something works. This is further proof that life is a series of accidents and chaos reigns. Yeah! Hear that, Fate?!? Ha! (Just kidding. Knocking on wood now. Sorry.)

I wish I could tell you it all ended with a happily ever after. But the truth is, the fuckheads I pay money to every month for RENT, which is supposed to cover SNOW REMOVAL, didn't even attempt to plow the parking lot. So I got stuck in the entrance. And had to go through my routine again. And once I got in, there were no spaces left, because said FUCKHEADS don't enforce the private parking. So I had to wedge myself in between two big trucks. and I didn't have room to turn around and point my car in the front-facing direction. So, basically, I won't be able to get my car out of that space until spring.

The moral of that little scenario? I made enough money to pay the cable/dsl bill I haven't paid since November. And I'll be saving a shitload on gas money. Weeeee.

I need a drink.

Snow Day

2005-01-22T01:34:00.000-05:00

I woke up on Thursday morning and the bed was empty. I hate it when he gets up before I do without waking me up. I figured he was at class already, and I'd have to spend the day finding ways to amuse myself while he was at school and work. Imagine my suprise when I looked out the window and saw a good 8 inches of snow piled on top of both of our cars in the driveway.

Snow Day!!!

Everyone in the house sat around all day-- drinking, eating, watching hour after hour of VH1's "I Love The 90s, Part Deux." It was a little slice of slacker heaven.

So, the big fluffy snow was quickly replaced by sub zero temperatures? So, today I had to get in my car and drive back to Portland and spend two hours thinking about how much it sucks that I always have to get in my car and drive back to Portland? So, I had to work all night slinging booze and knowing I'm going to have a hard time coming up with rent in this uncomfortably lean month?
So?
I had a snow day, goddamnit!

The Snowflakes Go On The Outside!

2005-01-17T03:26:00.000-05:00

I just got home from a 12 hour bar shift and realized that my underwear had, in fact, been on inside out all day. And though this really doesn't matter, though no one saw my underwear today but me, I have to admit I felt a little embarassed.

And what better way to deal with a minor, personal, private embarassment than by posting it on the internet?

Friday.

2005-01-15T01:01:00.000-05:00

Waking up at 9am for no apparent reason, I suspected that today would be an inauspicious day. Usually I'm jolted out of sleep by the rusted old hydrolics of the garbage truck that empties the neighbor's dumpster or the strains of Good Morning America and ambitious strides of the guy upstairs. You have to be ambitious to tollerate Katie Couric at that time of morning. Usually I am coerced into conciousness by cats pouncing on my head, purring in my ear, and drooling on my pillow. Today I awoke to silence. For a moment I forgot where I was. I sat around in my apartment all morning, finding things to keep myself busy and not really paying attention to any of them.

The bar was tightly packed and hot, the air choked with hostility and desperation. The crowd was immobilized; unwilling to be pliant, even for a girl in uniform. They planted their feet and stood shoulder to shoulder in cliques, talking too loud and laughing too hard. As if liquor and dim lighting would make them seem funnier, smarter, more desireable. And they had this all going on by eight o'clock. And that's a dead giveaway.

Here it is, barely past midnight. And most nights, I would just be getting out of work. Most nights, I'd be sitting down for a drink. But I can't shake the feeling that it's late enough to be considered morning, and that everyone is tucked away in bed except for me.

Things That Make Me Feel Old

2005-01-14T01:05:00.000-05:00

I adopted my two cats four years ago. That's longer than I tollerate most people. And I have been forced to be personally involved with their bodily functions enough to convince me that I will, in fact, be prepared to have babies some day. Case in point: I just had to wash my girl kitty's butt for reasons I won't even attempt to detail for you, because it's just plain gross.

All I can say is, there's no doubt this is love.

Boobs, Boobs, Boobs.

2005-01-12T16:09:00.000-05:00

So mine are fine. (And I mean fiiiiiiiiiine, aww yeah.) Okay, no seriously, false alarm. On the one hand, I now feel kind of guilty not having told my Boy-- when I called him yesterday and joyously chirped, "Guess what, I don't have cancer!!!" I realized that's not exactly the type of thing you just spring on someone who cares and worries about you. On the other hand, I told my mom the night before my doctor's appointment and within 24 hours she had managed to tell my sister, my psuedo-step-dad, my aunt in MA, my aunt in Texas and all of the women at her office. So there you go.

In other boob news, mine are too big. I mean, not too big for my body (well, maybe a liiiiitle teeny tiny bit too big for my frame but hey, that's nature's fault. I take no responsibility.) or too big for my personal taste (I like having enviable cleavage), but they're too big for all my bras. I wear a 34C, but my boobs fall out of them all the time. So I'm always walking around wrestling them back into my bra in a manner that's probably really inappropriate to do in public. Or at work. In front of customers. And their children. But I can't buy bigger one's because I'm not big enough to fit into a 34D. This problem has plagued me for most of my adult life. I mean, what's a girl to do? Then I heard about some brand that makes half sizes for women with non-conformist boobs like me. Except I forget what brand it is. My memory's real useful like that.

Okay, I think that's all the boob stuff I wanted to talk about. Oh except for this:

Heheh. Boobs.
Heheh. I said "boobs."
Weeee!!!!!

What's Up With That?

2005-01-10T13:34:00.000-05:00

Cat litter:

Why do I spend four dollars on something my cat's are going to poop on?

(Don't worry if you're stumped. The lady at the Rite Aid didn't have an answer for me either.)

Things That Make You Go, "Huh?"

2005-01-09T21:24:00.000-05:00

-JLo's new video is out and guess what? She plays all the principle characters in it. She is now, truly, the only person that matters in her universe. Congratulations, Jen.

-This new show on E!, "Love is in the Heir?" Is this for real? Can a tone-deaf, spoiled, vapid shell of a human being record an album simply because she's a princess?
Oh wait, there's already Paris Hilton....

-Will I ever be able to forgive MTV.com for royally f-ing up the Battle of the Sexes Fantasy Challange site, the consequence of which is my team being knocked from 3,000th place to 25,000th place overnight? I mean, WTF people?!? There are prizes and bragging rights at stake here.

-Should I be embarassed that I just said that?

So, not much going on here. I'm in my winter-funk in a real bad way these days, probably made worse by my unfortunate experience the other night. I've been moping around, stressing about money and life and the future. I'm 24, going on 25, and I can't just fuck around and be a bartender forever, y'know? And while I'm currently fucking around and being a bartender, I'm not making enough money to cover my rent/bills because of the lack of business due to the economy and our retarded president's disasterously mangled war attempt. So I sit around worrying and worrying and thinking about things like, "Christ, in August I have to tell my landlord whether or not I'm renewing my lease for next year. Am I? What should I do? Do I want to live in Portland for another year?" and blah blah blah. My one close friend in Portland is working all the time, and when she's not, she's all snuggled up with her (live-in) boyfriend, so my (local) social life is crap. And I'm not going to be able to see the Boyfriend for another week and a half... So I'm just bummed out from the weather, the lack of sunlight, the cold, the ridiculous worrying-about-things-I-needn't-worry-about-right-now.
I'm going to the doctor on Tuesday morning because I found a lump in my breast that wasn't there before. I haven't told anyone. I'm scared. And I'm trying very hard not to think about it.

I bought a pair of ice skates today at a used-sporting-goods store, because I want to get out there and try to enjoy the winter. We got an impressive amount of snow yesterday, so all the ponds are buried deep underneath it. No skating for me just yet.

I'm Mad As Hell And I'm Not Going To Take It Anymore.

2005-01-07T23:50:00.000-05:00

Okay, well, I am going to take it because I'm at work and I don't want to get fired over your lame ass.

So I worked the lounge tonight, and it was packed as hell. This one guy moved over to one of my tables from the bar, and having had god knows what to drink, and had a shot in front of him already. He proceeded to order two beers at a time, seemingly for his friends. The last round, I noticed he had pounded both of them himself. So when he tried to order a sixth beer from me, I politely told him I couldn't serve him anymore, our bar is really strict, blah blah legal intoxication blah blah blah. His girlfriend started bitching at me, and while I had my back turned, got another beer at the bar and brought it to him. I went over and told him that if he continued to try and drink after being shut off, he would be asked to leave. He pounded the beer, handed it to me, and said "Well, I'm done now." (subtext: "Fuck you, bitch.") I had my manager go talk to him and thought everything would be cool.

Now, for the purpose of this story, it's important to mention that the man was black. When I came back to my section, his (white) girlfriend was bitching about me to the complete strangers at my other table, one of whom was also black. I went over to this other table and asked them how they were doing, and the (black) girl at the table started yelling at me in front of the dozen or so people in my section about how I was a racist (What?) and had shut the guy off because he was black (Wait, What?!?!?) and she knew the owners (Oh yeah bitch, well so do I.) and I had better watch out and blah blah blah.

Oh did I have a few choice things to say. Oh boy oh boy you bet I did. But I bit my tongue and simply said, "Your accusation is completely offensive, and I am transfering you to another server. I'll send my manager over immediately and you can say whatever it is you have to say to him."

Then I went in the basement and bawled my eyes out for five minutes straight.

She Comes First.

2005-01-06T01:50:00.000-05:00

(Men should read that book, by the way.)

Have you seen this show, "Sex Talk With Sue Johanson," on the Oxygen channel???
Have you seen it?!?!?!?!

In the past five minutes, I have watched this sweet little old lady teach one caller how to "cuss like a dirty seaman" to his girlfriend to satisfy her desire for rough sex, instruct a 75 year old man on where his 45 year old "live in lady friend's" g-spot is (Wherein she cautioned him to "stand back, 'cause whooo-boy she's going to flood your bed when she comes!") and how to massage his prostate to stimulate his "a-spot," and then used a pair of small wooden dummies to illustrate the proper way for one married couple to have doggy-style sex because she's 7 months pregnant and he's enormously fat and their bellies get in the way (Precious quote from this call, when Sue asks the young lady why her husband isn't touching her clitoris when doing her from behind-- "Oh no, ma'am, my husband's not real romantic like? We been married for six months and all.").

Also, I have learned that tossin' salad "isn't gay," (Don't worry, Tony in Syracuse.) and that emetophilia is "becoming sexually aroused from being vomited upon."

Seriously, the funny quotes are coming faster (no pun intended) than I can type them:

"Why is it okay for him to put his penis in your rectum, and not okay for you to put your fingers in his? That's not fair!"

"You tell him, 'Hey big fella, you don't come near my rectum without a condom and lots of lubriacant!'"

This. Is. The. Funniest. Show. Ever.

Ever.

Well, You Know What They Say About Absence and Hearts All That Mess....

2005-01-05T13:11:00.000-05:00

"Baby steps to the front door, baby steps to the elevator...."

I'll admit, the two-hour-distance relationship situation seemed a little scary at first. Especially coming from working together and living in the same area for so long. Then there was a grace period (albeit involving a great deal of me driving up North) where I started thinking, "Aw hell, this isn't so bad." I mean, sure it's inconvenient. Sure it's not my ideal relationship scenario. Sure I still feel pangs of jealousy with the people I know who live with their boyfriend/girlfriend or even {{Gasp!!}} in the same zip code. But over the past four months, getting in my car and driving back to Portland each time has become less and less of a big deal. I don't get as jittery or sad or scared. It gets easier because I know it's not... (in an overly dramatic 16-year-old-girl kind of way) the end of the world. I'll be back next week or the week after that. And we'll manage. We'll more than manage. What we lack in time together we more than make up for in enjoying what time we do have. And it'll all be fine.

I realized this morning that I had, however, forgotten what it feels like for him to get in his car and leave Portland. All of a sudden it was September again and I was sitting in my apartment, moping like the aforementioned 16-year-old-girl that lives in a squishy little corner of my brain. Of course, this is completely normal for me: Progress..progress..progress..less crazy..less crazy.. approaching normal... approaching normal... Aaaaaaannnddd...... SETBACK! Stumble. Recover. Continue progression towards sanity.

I suppose it wasn't really the having to watch him leave that got me as much as the changes looming on the horizon. He starts school again this coming week, has class every week day, works weekends... It's going to be a lot of me going up there when he has something else he needs to do, or somewhere else he needs to go... And all of a sudden, it seems like the past few months I was pretty damn lucky by comparison.

Of course, it will be fine. We'll be fine. It's really not a big deal. Some weeks, spring break, some more weeks, school's over. Cakewalk. No problem.
(How's that for a healthy attitude, eh? Eh??)

I know it's do-able. ..Doesn't mean I have to like it.. grumble grumble grumble...
I don't like having to schedule time to see each other. I don't like the two hour drive. I don't like not being able to just stop by in the morning with coffee, or just meet for lunch during a hectic day. I don't like always having a bag packed. I don't like going to bed most nights and waking up most mornings without him.
I don't like missing him.
Especially when, despite my "the school year's over before you know it" ramblings, the fact is, there is no clear end in sight to having to live this way. Okay, the semester ends. Then what? Do I just stay in Portland indefinately because he'd freak out at the prospect of anything more? How long can I live like that and still honestly feel like it's okay?
I wish we could just be a "normal" couple.
It's not easy.

I think too much.

And I know that. I wish I could be naturally blessed with the male gift of living in the moment and completely avoid thinking about the future in any way shape or form. And, over the past four months, I've realized that I can in fact do this most of the time. Because 99.9% of the time I'm happy. 99.9% the time I adjust well. 99.9% of the time, I live in the moment and have a wonderful time and don't worry about whether I'm just setting myself up to get my heart broken.

But every now and then.... Well, I have my moments.

For all the complaining and pissing and moaning in this entry (An entry, I'd like to point out, is uncharacteristically about my relationship, thankyouverymuch!), I'm not trying to play the role of the maudlin 16 year old girl that you should feel sorry for. I don't need sympathy. I'm a big girl, and I knew what I was getting into from the beginning. This isn't something I'm forced to "put up with." This is a choice that I make. And though I may not be thrilled with the circumstances at the moment, I wouldn't have chosen differently. Not in a million. Because I love being with him. Hell, because I love just knowing him.
Because I'm happy.
And that, at the end of the day, is what matters.

"Baby steps in the lobby... Baby steps to the door..."

Well Hello There, 2005. Come Here Often?

2005-01-02T18:49:00.000-05:00

I swear, I'm a nutcase. The whole "new year" concept of New Year's sends me into a terrifying, panic-inducing, thought-spiral like no other time of year. I mean, a small part of my brain is still going,

"1998? What do you mean it's 1998?!?"

So you can imagine how much more difficult this gets for me every year. I'm not really the type to sit around and piss and moan about how little I've accomplished or what I haven't done with my life. (I do that in small increments throughout the year. Har har. Kidding. ..Mostly.) What I do is have a mini control-freak episode in which I force myself to become terrified by all the things I don't know about what the coming year will bring. And where I will, ultimately, find myself this time next year. At least I've adopted a coping mechanism. A very healthy, well-adjusted one too--

Excessive drinking.

By The By

2004-12-27T20:40:00.000-05:00

When I was at church on Christmas Eve, the little girl in the pew in front of me had on the red-glitter-pumps I lusted after at Target a few weeks ago.

I was sooo jealous.

Dysfunctional Family Christmas

2004-12-27T18:54:00.000-05:00

Usually my family gatherings put the "fun" in dysfunctional. We laugh, we cry, we fight, we drink, and then we get all sappy and talk about how much we love each other. We're Irish, after all. ("Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. And many stereotypes are based on actual fact.")

Sure, most people walking into a family gathering at my house are a little taken aback at first. My extended family is comprised almost entirely of women-- Most of the men involved have been liars and cheaters and drunks and were chased away long ago. Men are generally considered useless and unnecessary... and the bane of a woman's existance. As you can imagine, it's a fun place to bring boyfriends home to.... So we're all loud and all up in each others business and completely inappropriate. And though it may not be a "normal" family setting, there's alotta love in that room, folks. And that's something you're lucky to have.

This Christmas, however, I got to experience a real old-school dysfunctional family Christmas, thanks to my mother's boyfriend. Here are some of the highlights:

-Him showing up half an hour before we were supposed to go to Church, wasted out of his mind.

-Wandering out the wrong door at the end of the candle-light service and ending up in an empty Sunday school classroom, then getting mad at my mother for "leaving him behind."

-Going on a 20 minute rant in the car about how Unitarian Universalists were persecuted by the Catholic Church and "burned at the stake." (To which I replied, "I didn't realize they were still doing that in the 19th century....")

-Swiping a bottle of Jack Daniels from the liquor cabinate to "hide it" from his 15 yr old son.

-Returning said bottle filled with Jack Daniel's flavored water.

Oh shucks, the list goes on and on, but I think I touched on enough key points so that you get the idea.

"I'm...Dreaming...of a druuuuunk.....Christmaaaaasss."

Gone For a Minute

2004-12-26T19:51:00.000-05:00

Or, er, two weeks?
Well, tis the season and blah blah blah. I've been doing a lot of traveling.

For the past six years, I lived in a city right outside of Boston, and very rarely left the city limits. Shit, this time last year I would go from the bar to some friend or another's house to my apartment and back to the bar. Actually, most of the time I cut out the "apartment" part and went directly from some friend's couch directly back to work. Sometimes I even slept in my uniform. And not in the Iyanna, Real World/Road Rules Challenge "I slept in my uniform because I wanted to win today!" kind of way. I slept in it because I was very very drunk.

Now I moved to Maine with the idea that it would be easier for me to see everyone I wanted to see-- family, friends, boyfriend, etc etc. However, I'm starting to see a slight downside to my master plan-- I drive, like, a gazillion miles a week.

Okay, that's an exaggeration. ("No!......NO!!!") But these past few weeks have made it feel that way. Last Sunday, for example, I drove from Portland up north to see the Boyfriend. I drove back to Portland Thursday morning, worked all night, got up on Friday morning and drove down to Boston for Christmas. This morning I got up early and spent four hours making a two hour drive back to Portland in a snow storm, went to work, and tomorrow I will drive back up north to spend the rest of the week and New Years with the Mister. So, my shitbox car is creeping up on 167,000 miles ("See! I told you she was exaggerating before!"), my cats hate me, and I don't remember what my apartment looks like. I am having a lot of fun, but it appears that Portland has become less of a home for me and more of a hub city. Like Atlanta is for airplanes. And CNN. And "Dirty South" rap stars. Like Ludacris.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, I remember: Don't drink the holiday lattes from Dunkin Donuts. They taste like crap.

Happy Holidays.

My Life in Khakis

2004-12-16T15:33:00.000-05:00

I started attending a snotty prep school in 7th grade, and the dress code forbade jeans, t-shirst, and pretty much anything kids enjoy wearing to school on a daily basis. Since Monday was "Chapel" day (skirts for girls, suit-coats for boys), Tuesday through Thursday us girls pretty much lived in khakis and sweaters from Abercrombie & Fitch, or some such other mindless teen-driven suburban mall hell holes. I think I owned one pair of jeans for my entire high school career and, trust me, they stayed in pretty immaculate condition.

College was utter delicious freedom. I could wear anything I wanted, anywhere on campus. I could wear my pajamas to class and no one would even look twice. In fact, I rocked a set of plaid flannels from L.L.Bean and fuzzy bunny slippers for the majority of my freshman year. ....This may have had something to do with the fact that I had mono, and my professors were god damn lucky if I got out of bed at all most days but, there you go.

Now, for the past two years and for the forseeable future, I work at an establishment that requires light-colored khaki covering my ass at all times. Not only does it have to be light-colored khaki, but it may not have side pockets or any other kind of carpenter-like detail or anything that makes them look remotely young or hip. ANd I have to wear a belt.
And they have to be pressed or ironed.

Since my last year of bartending has resulted in "church-key" holes in the ass of most of my old khakis, I had to cash in my bucket of loose change at the CoinStar in order to buy new ones at Old Navy today.

There are a great many things I do not know: What do I want to do with my life? Where will I be a few years from now? Does that weird smell in the lobby mean one of my neighbors is stinky and gross? (And is it, as I suspect, the creepy one with the white-dude 'fro?) Do I want to go back to school? What do I want to be when I grow up? Will I discover radium some day? (oh shit, that's already taken huh..) ...But there is one thing I know with great certainty.

I will never choose to wear khakis again.
Ever.

I'm Baaaaaack

2004-12-15T13:33:00.000-05:00

Went up North to visit the Boyfriend this weekend. Still haven't been able to find a place to go ice skating. Waaaaah. I'm trying to get all enthusiastic about winter-things like football and snow/ice sports to stave off the old seasonal depression this year. Oh well, maybe I'll get really into ice fishing. From what I hear, it's mostly about drinking. I'm good at drinking.

Closed the restuarant last night-- I forgot what happens to my day-cycle when I get out of work at 1:30am... Namely, staying up until 4am to unwind and getting up some time around noon and feeling crappy and like the day's gone already. Who says that college students are the only ones who can lay claim to this fabulous lifestyle? Uuugghhhh.

Good news is, I have the next two days off to sit around in my jammies and watch reruns of West Wing and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Hand me a bong and a box of Easy Mac and I'm 21 all over again....

The Ways in Which I Embarass Myself.

2004-12-11T01:32:00.000-05:00

I've decided to include this as a weekly feature in my blog, because, well, it's pretty much a weekly feature in my life. When I was in college, I liked to imagine that I was cool and mysterious and well mannered. I wore lots of smokey eye make-up and corsets and big tall ass-kicking combat boots. I had a witty retort on hand at all times, and would know exactly what to do in every social setting. I listened to morbid music and wrote really, really bad poetry.

Keeping up that act was extremely exhausting.

At some point during my post-college, living-in-my-sweats-and-not-having-anything-even-remotely-resembling-a-job hell, I realized some very important things about myself.
I am clumsy, I trip and fall down and drop things a lot; I think lots of random and ridiculous things and occasionally let them slip out of my mouth; my sense of humor can be as juvenile and perverted as a 13 year old boy; I sit around and get emotionally worked up about scenarios that I completely create in my head-- "what ifs--" and, yes, shed actual tears; my brain has been put through some of the most rigorous and expensive schooling in the Greater Boston Area and I would secretly love to read US Magazine over War and Peace any day of the week.

In short, I'm a mess.

But the beauty of it all was that I decided to just go with that. Yeah, I'm weird. I do dumb things and embarass myself on a regular basis. I am as accident-prone as Lucy and Ethel rolled into one and not nearly as funny. But, whereas the thought of embarassing myself in grade school, high school, or college made me feel like I would, well, die of embarassment.... Now that I've come to accept that I am a ridiculous person, I feel quite relieved.

So, the week is not yet over (oh! but I have so many more chances to embarass myself before Sunday!), I'll be compiling the first list.

As far as I'm concerned-- people laughing with me? At me? Who cares, as long as their laughing.

City Sidewalks...

2004-12-08T23:31:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid, I couldn't wait for this time of year.
Not because of Santa or presents or sugar cookies, but because this time of year would always denote several trips into Boston. Mum took us to the Nutcracker. She took us Christmas shopping. She took us to First Night every New Years. We would stand on the platform at Park Street station and keep a sharp eye out for subway rats. First one to spot one would get a little prize. And bragging rights-- until our Spot-The-Sagamore-Bridge challenge each summer, of course.
Time of year, the city was always alive and bustling and magical and all those things about quaint old cities that turn up in stories and television shows and movies the world 'round. Pine tree garlands and twinlking lights and big red velvet bows everywhere. I grew up a mere 13 miles away from the big city, and yet it's lure was more attractive than whatever Mum.. er.. eh...em...Santa Claus was going to leave in my stocking each year.

During the summer, Mum would put me on the Red Line and send me off to Cambridge to stay with my Aunt Leslie. I felt like such a big girl, riding the train all by myself. I'd get off at Harvard Square and jump into Leslie's waiting car. We'd go to artist consignment shops and museums and lectures at Harvard on classical sculpture. We'd sit on the back porch of her turn-of-the-century triple decker and drink lemonade and talk about what plants she would grow next season in her co-op garden.

When I was twelve, Mum put my childhood home one the market. We looked at a lot of apartments and houses in town, and I would fall alseep at night and dream of city life and wish and hope... When we, for financial reasons, moved to a condo on the other side of the town in which I was born, I was crestfallen. I would not go to Buckingham Brown and Nichols. I would not ride the T from place to place with my friends after school. I would get dropped off at the movies or the mall by a parent. I would be completely dependant on adults until I could drive and had access to a car.

In high school, on the weekends I spent with my father, I would hop on the train at Quincy Center and wander around the city to my heart's content. Sunday morning services on Church street. Saturday afternoons with a cup of coffee and a newspaper on Harvard Yard. Trying to work up the nerve for another piercing at The Garage.

College ushered in a whole new city-chapter, because for the last half of it, I could drink. We'd take the free campus bus the 10 miles into the heart of Boston and bar hop on Landsdown Street. We'd get wasted on Scorpion Bowls at Hong Kong and one of us (never me, I'm proud to say) would puke in the back of the bus on the way home.

I always thought I'd miss it more than I do.

Testing....

2004-12-02T21:55:00.000-05:00

Blogger has been all sorts of screwy with my post recently... Just seeing if this one works...

No, Really, I Love Ramen Noodles.

2004-11-28T11:34:00.000-05:00

Am poverty-stricken. Severely, severely broke.
Thanksgiving was fun; getting all kinds of mail about all the money I owe and all the money I don't have in my bank account was not. Yesterday was a particularly low point-- I realized I'm several hundred dollars behind this months rent/bills, I need to make around $300 by Dec 15th to pay off mid-month bills, I need to make another $800 by the end of December, I haven't been able to get shifts at the bar yet, and oh yeah Christmas is around the corner. I was freaking out. So, I did the sensible thing that most mature grown-ups would do when faced with such financial adversity.

I got drunk.

Good plan, right? Well, at least it got my mind off my bills. And wouldn't you know it? The bar called me first thing this morning to tell me I could come in today figure out when I'd be working.
I spend so much time worrying about this or that, and yet things always seem to have a way of working out regardless. You'd think I'd learn my lesson eventually.
But you'd probably be wrong.

;-)

Ain't That Grand.

2004-11-24T01:53:00.000-05:00

I'm goofy.
I'm weird.
I'm a big, weird, goofy mess.

And he likes that about me.

Random Musings on a Recent Trip to Target

2004-11-14T15:46:00.000-05:00

1) You are probably never going to be a size 4 again. Stop thinking the size 8's look "a little too big" and silently thank JLo for her contribution to society.

2) Just because Target sells feet-y pajamas in grown-up sizes does not mean it's a good idea for you to wear them.

3) Target only sells those sparkley red glitter pumps in little-girl sizes. That should tell you something.

4) Buying a pair of gloves in November in Maine is not an extravagant purchase. No you should not put it off until you make some money and pay off your bills. It's only fifteen dollars, you ninny. That's a lot cheaper than prosthetic hands. (Though you could probably get a good deal on a hook... Weeeee! Pirates! You love pir--)
Snap out of it. Buy the gloves.

5) Sometimes it's worth it to just go ahead and shell out the money at Yankee Candle. Cheap ones smell like old ladies. Do you want your house to smell like an old lady? No, I didn't think so. Sure, you'd hang around your living room wearing feet-y pajamas and sparkley red glitter pumps..... but you've got to draw the line somewhere.

6) When you're in the home goods section (You know, visiting the cheap furniture you're going to buy someday when you "have money?") and you walk by the aisle that says, "juvenile Furniture" and giggle? Yeah. You're the only one who's doing that.

7) When picking out a birthday card for your mother, you must follow certain guidelines: birthdays cards should be funny cards, Christmas cards should be sappy and sentimental. Really, you'll have plenty of time to sit sobbing in the aisles to see which one makes you cry the hardest next month.

Oh My Sweet Jesus

2004-11-13T20:32:00.000-05:00

I-Heart-PBS.
I Heart them.

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/colonialhouse/index.html

I am in history-nerd heaven.

I've Been Up Since 6am, How Are You?

2004-11-12T07:07:00.000-05:00

I noticed I use the word "miserable" alot in my posts. Not saying that I'm miserable, of course, just desribing the things that would make or have made me miserable. I don't know where I'm going with this. It's very early and I haven't had any coffee.

In other news, it's still cold in Maine. Suprise.

Off to monkey job.

A Monkey Not Fit For the Circus

2004-11-11T20:45:00.000-05:00

So I hate my job.
Let me clarify:
I got this temp job working at a hostpital. I am not an idiot-- I can do what they ask of me. And I have the sneaking suspicion they'd like to hire me full-time. The cast of characters is great, truly, they would provide endless fodder for blog entries. But that's not enough to make Lucid Girl happy. Noooonononono.

You see, what with the boyfriend having to live 2 hrs north to go to school, I thought the magic answer to my problems would be to get a normal, M-F, 9-5 job and travel north on the weekends.
Then I started working at the monkey job.
It's a great office. The peolple are lovely.
I am miserable.
I work from 8am-5pm. I work in a windowless basement office. I perform monkey-tasks all day. I sit very still and am very quiet and very proper and answer phones all day.
And I get out of work, I sit in my car and chain smoke a pack of cigarrettes, sing at the top of my lungs, and generally act like a buffoon to unwind.
Then I go home and drink a bottle of wine and go ni-night pretty darn early.
Is this what I want my life to be like?
Do I want to be miserable, working at a job I hate, tied to a desk M-F, only to escape up to Northern Maine on the weekends for a rushed little let's-see-each-other-as-quickly-and-efficiantly-as-possible party with the boyfriend?
No..
So tonight, bolstered by the strength of my two best girlfriends, I went back to The Bar. The Bar where all my life-changing bullshit started. The Bar where I met the "two best girlfriends" and "the boyfriend." The Bar that has locations all over New England, where I always have a home and a job and a 'family' of sorts. I went back to The Bar,
And they practically begged me to come work for them.
Apparently, in my former life in Boston, I was quite a valuable employee. The Portalnd branch is psyched to have me, offering me shifts asap.
And I am psyched to take them up on the offer.
One thing I've learned at this monkey-job is that I miss bartending. I miss the hours, I miss the money, I miss the social life, I miss the flexibility. So what if my family thinks I'm a complete loser? So what if it's not a "career befitting a degree from a top-rated university." It makes money. And it makes me happy. And it allows me to do whatever the hell I want when I want to do it.
Honestly, if I were working a monkey job M-F and trying to scoot up north every weekend for The Boyfriend, when would I see my friends? When would I see my family? Just this side of never, and I would be miserable.
I've tried to walk the straight and narrow. I've tried to do what so many of my college/highschool- peers have done and get a job in the "real world." And I've failed. Miserably.
It's just not for me. Yes, my brain is worth about $200,000 total, considering preppy private highschool and college. Some of my former classmates and alumni are real movers and shakers in this world, doing great things with their big smart brains.
So what if I work in a bar?
If it's what makes me happy, if it's what allows me a flexible schedule to see the family and the friends and the boy, if it makes me money, who cares what people think?
I moved to this city to be happy, goddamnit. I moved to this city to be around friends, etc, that I care about. So why have I been trying so hard to secure a job that would make me miserable?
What am I trying to prove? When did I lose sight of my original moving-to-Maine goals?

Hello, my name is Lucid Girl, and I work in a restaurant.
That's what I do.
The End.
(For now......)
;-)

News Flash:

2004-11-08T21:31:00.000-05:00

It's cold in Maine.

On a side note, tomorrow I begin a two week temp assignment at a bona-fide monkey job.
Oh what I'll do for a paycheck.

So When Did I Become a "Frustrated Artist?"

2004-11-02T22:55:00.000-05:00

Beacuse I've been wondering about this for quite some time.

During my sophomore year in college, I had this epiphany. I had always wanted to pursue a career in the arts-- writing, acting, music, art, etc etc. I lobbied to leave my snotty prep school for a performing arts college and was quickly vetoed by my mother (which she will deny to this very day, of course.) My mother's point was this: it was okay that my older sister went to Berklee College of Music to persue a degree in Film Scoring because music was her life and, perhaps, one of the only things she was truly good at. But I had the grades. I was interested in and excelled at just about every academic persuit but math (seriously, I can barely add). So why should I "waste" my brain going to Emerson, etc. Being a confused and unsure 18 year old, I went along with my mother's logic and ended up going to a top-rated university to "study something practical." I quickly chose law.

I was miserable.

Don't get me wrong-- the law and I were a good match. I love to argue. I am intensely competitive. I have a gift for (an OCD) attention to detail. Did I mention I love to argue? I had a ball in my pre-law classes. I got A's in everything. I demolished my classmates in case-law debate.

I was miserable.

Because I wasn't listening to my intuition. Because I wasn't following my heart. And one day, on my way to my Con Law midterm, I sat down on a bench to study my notes and chain smoke. And I had an epiphany. The sky was that painful, cloudless shade of blue that only October in New England can produce. And all of a sudden I was hit with this sense memory. I could remember walking down the streets of South Weymouth with my grandmother on a similar fall day when I was very young. I remembered the texture of the white wool sweater she wore, and how her dry but warm 80-something year old hand felt in mine. And at that moment, I didn't care about the exam I had been studying for for weeks. I didn't care about making the grades to earn my way into the accellerated law school acceptance program that my univeristy offered. All I wanted to do was go back to my dorm and write. Just mine those sense memories, put them down on paper, create something that could make others feel what I was feeling in that moment. I was utterly overwhelmed.

So I stood up from that bench, walked to my Con Law professor's office, and dropped the class five minutes before the exam. And then I thought,

"Oh Fuck."

What had I done?
But it was the right decision. Even though today I stand unemployed, with only a few restaurant jobs on my resume from the past two years, I believe it was the right decision. But still, how did I become a "frustrated" artist?

All the theater geeks I knew in college went on to apply to grad school, move to NY/LA/London/etc etc etc to persue their acting/writing careers. And where did I go? Nowhere. I stayed in Waltham, to support the guy I was with while he finished school. And then all of a sudden, two years had gone by and I realized I didn't want to be with him and had wasted all that time focusing on "our" needs instead of mine. So I started working at a restaurant, again, and met people who changed my life for the better. But somewhere along the way, I lost touch with my dreams. I became so focused on paying the bills, I forgot about the things I love. And the people in my daily life now only know me from this period of time; they don't know me as an artist. And all of a sudden I've gone from being and actor/writer/musician/artist from being some girl who's a pretty good singer and can be kind of dramatic. The way the people in my life see me, the context they have, has changed things dramatically for me. So here I am, a frustrated artist who has moved even farther away from the geographic locations apt to further her career in the arts. Here I am, trying desperately to obtain a career in Corporate America so that I can pay the bills and have weekends free to see my boyfriend. Here I am, a frustrated artist.

And I don't even remotely know what to do with myself.

Still Lucid

2004-11-01T21:51:00.000-05:00

So, once upon a time I had a blog here under a similar name, and it turned out to be a massive disaster. It's all well and good to be goofy and vent and blather on about your daily musings under the snuggly blanket of annonimity. It's quite another when lots of people you know find your website. That's just creepy. I mean, granted, I post this shit on the internet, so there you go. But still, it still feels.... private? Well, time has passed, and I missed my blog and blah blah blah, here I am.
Howdy.