Shut up & drink: My first Blogger Happy Hour
I should have known the night was off to a good start when in the first hour a blogger proclaimed “Shut up and drink.” This was in response my declaration that he was trouble. (I was right.)
It almost didn’t happen. I almost didn’t go. It would have been a tragic mistake if I hadn’t. With a small kick from Arjewtino and a gentle shove from i-66, I stopped being lame and agreed to go to this meeting of the minds: this Blogger Happy Hour. I am not a prolific blogger, nor do I blog about anything mind shatteringly interesting. Such is my life, I suppose. Average. But the thing I heard more than once last night was “You’re anything but average.” The same goes for you all!
I tried to explain to a colleague this morning about this event. He said, “all I can think of are a bunch of emo kids hanging out and being all ‘in touch with their emotions’.” He was quickly and sharply corrected. Buffalo Billiards was privy to a meeting of the minds, last night. A group of brilliant, articulate, genuine people. Not to mention that they were a group of particularly attractive, snappy dressers.
I felt like a fish out of water amongst these amazing writers; these eloquent, deep, funny bloggers, well known in the DC blogosphere. Every time someone said “Oh, yeah! I’ve read you,” I felt like I was the butt of a joke until one blogger said, in essence, “Get over it! If they say they’ve read you, they read you. Get over yourself! Oh, and nice glasses.” Ahh, my glasses…
Lessons learned on the night:
- Remembering names is hard enough. Remember blog names is harder. (sorry!)
- I need to remember to write down what people tell me. Like blog names. See #1.
- I can still tie a tie like a champ.
- I can’t complain to other bloggers about living the burbs. Apparently they do, too!
- Not everyone I went to high school with is evil. As a matter of fact, some are downright lovely.
- If your handle has a name in it, and it’s not your actual name, this can be confusing. (sorry again!)
- I should drink more when drinks are offered to me.
- When three men stand around a bar and you hear “I’m trying to get laid”, make a mental note and adjust flirting techniques appropriately. *wink*
- Wear comfy shoes with no heels to blogger events. Seats are limited and bloggers are short. JOKES!
- I need to stop being a pansy and go out more often. Especially with amazing people like these.
Thanks again to everyone who was nice and welcoming to me last night. List o’ lovelies that I met last night are to come. As soon as I can sort them all out =)
In the comments: Feel free to cryptically identify yourself and your blog because I am, in fact, a big loser.
Excuse me, Sir?
OK. I need advice. Really, I’ll be passing this advice along to my gym manager, but I’m sure someone has some words of wisdom.
There’s a guy at the gym whose body odor is offensive. Eye watering, gagging, can’t breathe offensive. I started to notice this right around the time the weather passed 50 the first time. And by “I noticed”, I mean, the entire gym noticed.
It started to be an issue when I realized that his routine and mine align precisely. I’ve started to have to amend my routine, going downstairs to workout since he’s EXACTLY WHERE I NEED TO BE whenever I’m there. I tried rearranging the order of the machines so that I was doing legs while he was doing arms, but right between my shoulder press and bicep curl, I ran out of time and saw him approaching. I abandoned ship after holding my breath and exiting the area. And it’s not like you can get away from it, really. The fans blow his stink across the entire gym.
The gym manager approached me (the queen of couth) a few weeks ago about what to do. I went down my list of ideas:
- Offer him a special free offer of deodorant
- Tell him that he has a problem
- Ask one of your little worker bees to talk to him
- Whatever you do, do it on his way out so he can’t beat you up and then keep working out
In his infinite wisdom, he ignored me. Instead, he had an “anonymous member” write a note, and then he gave it to this member. They then had to go to the manager’s closed, no-windowed office to discuss. Poor manger.
Situation solved? Not so much. He was back the next day. And again a week later. And then yesterday. I walked upstairs from my altered routine to the smell of disinfectant? The manager had put some in a little bottle and was spraying it overtly in this member’s general area. I mean, COME ON! Take a friggen hint! How do you not know you smell THAT BAD?
So now, what to do? Tell corporate to revoke this guy’s membership? Do I change when I go to the gym to avoid him? Do I pass him a doctor’s name and number to get that shit fixed? I will not have this geiser mess with my gymming. NO WAY!
In the comments: PLEASE HELP!
Spring Cleaning
When people talk about Spring Cleaning, I guess I assumed they always talked about their homes. Tidy up the bedroom, straighten the closets, toss out old clothes, pack away the winter garb and break out the summer attire.
I never thought that Spring Cleaning meant cleaning out the people in your life, as well.
I was wrong. I have been cleaned.
Recently, a few people have chosen to tidy up their lives, and in the process of preparing for the spring, have tidied me right out. Swept me out with the winter blues, unintentionally (or intentionally) shedding light on all of my insecurities. Perhaps the clouds of winter cast a shadow over my imperfections, allowing me to live in a world that was almost surreal: where I had loads of friends, plans every weekend, men fawning over me.
In the warm air of early spring all of the skeletons in my closet have come out of hibernation including the oldest skeleton, “friends”. I haven’t had many. Not real ones. The ones I’ve had for more than 5 years I can count on one hand. And really, probably have some fingers to spare. Perhaps this past week someone finally had the wherewithal to tell me exactly what was wrong with me…
Dare I pull out the “when I was a kid” file? Alrighty then. When I was a kid, I was scared of clowns. And furry characters like Mickey Mouse and Chuck E. Cheese. Needless to say, I didn’t go to many birthday parties. My mom thinks this is why I never had many friends. Therefore I never learned how to be a friend. So at some point I tried to make up for it and became a people pleaser. In high school, I tried to be friends with everyone and failed. So come college I pierced myself up, died my hair black, and gave people a reason not to be friends with me. That worked for sure. Until I had to grow up.
So here I am. Trying to learn how to date, how to make friends, how to do “fashion”… all as an adult. And I am failing at most of them. Shockingly enough (ms. debra leigh) I am doing alright on the fashion front. Still tackling “cute shoes”.
To my friends: I hope upon hope that I have not pushed you away. I hope I have not been “too eager”. I hope that my attentiveness has been taken for what it is: a genuine concern; genuine care. I don’t care if you can’t hang out or need time away from me. I am not changing. I’ll always be a friend to you even when you may have a hard time being a friend to me. That’s who I am. Maybe one day you’ll need me, and you’ll come looking for me. Maybe you’ll be glad that I never gave up on you even if you gave up on me.
Spring cleaning may be about cleaning the clutter out of your life, ridding your life of excess… but in my opinion a person can never have too many friends.
Spring has springed
Yesterday (or the day before, or whatever) was the first day of spring. To that I say, “game on!”
Seriously, bitches… bring it on.
Yesterday morning, 7:45am or so, my dad wrote and just said “today is so beautiful”. (He’s in FL. Retired there. Come on, we’re Jews.) Coming from my dear father that could mean any number of things: “Wow, it’s so nice out! I think I’ll give your mom a particularly hard time today.” OR “The day is so lovely that I think I’ll run off and ignore my responsibilities and think of way to make your life difficult when I come to town for Passover.” The idea that he actually means that he woke up in a good mood is a hard to believe. But who knows…
Some days I, too, wake up, look outside, and revel in the beauty of the day. It’s not often. My reveling usually starts around 9:30pm after a nice margarita on the outside patio of a lovely Mexican (pronounced: meh-hee-can) restaurant. Or after a few shots of rum-and-something on the patio of my apartment. Then, I start reveling to anyone who will listen. And typically it’s not about the beauty of the day, but how lovely their bottom looks in those particular pants.
Spring is about rebirth, growth, and lots of horny people running around trying to get laid married together. I am personally for all three equally. My success in that particular trifecta is up for debate, but I am going to do my darndest to succeed in at least 2 of the 3.
Get out your score card, people.
What does spring mean to you?
Part 2 – My gut is my master, indeed
(Note: please read “My gut is not my master” before reading this. It’ll make a tick more sense)
3:00pm Saturday- Arrive for bowl-a-thon looking ultra cute in my mom’s bowling shoes and my team t-shirt.
3:45- Roll a rockstar 146 game and feel super duper about myself!
4:30- Roll a decidedly non-rockstar 112 and giggle because I sucked so bad.
4:45- Try to make plans with 123Valerie, Cute Laura, et al.
5:00- Get a really bad feeling in my gut that I try to use to get out of plans with the crew. I turn to Valerie, “Hey, Val. You know when you just don’t have a good feeling about something? Something just doesn’t feel right?” 123Valerie does know what I’m talking about but says I’m being silly. That I will have a fabulous time. And I do.
5:15pm- I sit in my car in the parking lot after finalizing plans for drinks. I think about calling mom. Decide against it. Not done being angry yet. Angry happens on my terms, right? We got in a nasty fight yesterday about my brother. That’s actually the only thing we fight about these days. I hung up on her without saying “I Love You.” My friend Lish told me NEVER to do that. She lost her mom to cancer. I think about it all night. But I never call.
8:30am Sunday- Find out from my father that my mom was in a “non-injury” car accident yesterday.
Why didn’t you call me and tell me, dad?
“I didn’t want to ruin your fun. She’s fine. No injuries but the car is messed up.”
When did it happen?
“Yesterday at 5pm.”
…
…
…
It’s happened before. Stomach aches. Queeziness. No one believing me that something is wrong. Then, car breaks down. Someone gets sick. I get left at a bar. Etc.
My gut is my master. My intuition is strong.
Trust.
Trust me.
My gut is not my master
This post is dedicated to 123Valerie but don’t tell her… she’s very humble.
This afternoon I had a “gut attack”. This is when my stomach gets all grumbly and my head gets all cloudy and all of a sudden the world seems like it’s out to get me. At this point, I convince myself that my “gut is trying to tell me something” along the lines of “go home and hide under the couch because something bad will happen if you go out”. This can also be interpreted as “don’t go out with these people, they clearly don’t want you there, you’re not welcome, so make up an excuse and GO HOME!”
I was about to go home, truly, tail between my legs, convinced that I was unwelcome amongst this particular group of people, when 123Valerie essentially told me to get over myself. In a really sweet and considerate way. I needed it.
See, despite my outward strength, quite frequently I have the emotional maturity of a 14 year old girl, desperate for acceptance. Coupled with my crippling anxiety, this can be disastrous. What I need at that point of no return is a swift kick in the pants. Very few people can do that. Most people just say “oh, alright, well, see ya later” but somehow Val knew.
With her vote of confidence, I ventured out. My tail remained between my legs until I realized that, just maybe, they did want me there. It ended up being a lovely happy-hour-type-girly-gigglefest at local bar. We talked about food and work and dildos. All the makings of a perfect day. However, at that point, I was still kinda miffed that my St. Patrick Day-Night plans were non-existent. My luck (o’ the oirish) was about to change…
Whilst there, I was called by The Princess who invited me to “games and fondue” night at her friends’ Brock and Josh’s where I won Trivial Pursuit (WHAT WHAT!) and had the most delicious fondue with itty bitty pickles and broccoli.
On the way home I got a call from an old friend. He was at a bar that I dared not go back to. And to be honest, given my history with this old friend, I probably shouldn’t have gone to see him either. But I have been stronger these days than I’ve ever been and so, on my way home, I stopped by this devil-bar, saw my old friend, and had a lovely time.
Disobeying my gut is not something I typically do, but I think, looking back on the day, its been a crutch. “No, I don’t want to try that new thing/go out with those new people/venture to that new part of town. I just have a bad feeling about it.” That’s a lot easier than saying, “I’m scared, I’m nervous, I don’t feel in control…”
Easy isn’t cutting it anymore. 123Valerie doesn’t like being called out for being a good friend. Humble one that she is. Today, she was more than a good friend… she was my teacher. She was the kick in the pants that I needed not just to go to get drinks with new people, but the kick in the pants that I needed to move on with my life.
Thank you, Val.
This year is my year, damn it.
The “Happy Blog” Challenge
Last night at approximately 11:30pm I was told by my darling best friend that my blog is a “downer” and that I should write a “happy blog” just for her, even if it’s just one line. She reminded me, bless her heart, that I have so many wonderful things going on right now, and to stop writing about depression because it’s, well, depressing. Touche.
But I am not one to write one line blogs, so instead, I decided to ask her about the “funnest” thing we ever did together. Turned out that I was surprised by the answer. It wasn’t the grand moments that were the most fun, but the little things.
Every time we drove to the mall was the funnest ride ever.
Every margarita we drank was the tastiest margarita ever (and the best of all was our MoCo margarita crawl).
Every song we belted out was the best song ever; bon jovi, of course, the funnest band ever.
Last night, for the first time in a long time, I thought about the good parts of high school. Of Tuba Christmas scarves and band trips. Of silly crushes (JPOP3) and stalkable substitutes (Mr. Hit-the-floor-again). I thought about our classes together, like spanish (RESPECT! I give it to you, you give it to me!), and band class with crazy bobby.
She told me last night that in her address book under my job title was “BFFer”. I told her the pay sucked. But I lied. The pay is great. I have memories that will last a life time. I have someone to remind me to stop being a downer, and to shut up and accept the fact that I’m happy.
Thanks, Deb.
Rove, Risa.
I am pathetic
This may come as a shock to some of you, but probably not for most.
I am a pathetic patient.
When I am sick, I regress to the equivalent of an impetuous teenager: defying all of the doctors recommendations, and desperately needing my mommy. Rather than taking the day off yesterday (having woken up with 100 degree fever) I went into work, but called my mom on the way to tell her how sick I was. “Well, go home and sleep!” No, I can’t, I tell her. I don’t have any sick time! So, after being sent home, I took a short nap, some tylenol flu, and headed back to work. Why, you ask? Probably just so I could call my mom and complain again about sick I still felt. After being sent home a second time, I took yet another nap and decided to prepare for today… back at the office.
It didn’t work. It’s now almost 1pm and I got sent home a third time. Yes, fine. I’m sick. Whatever. But who is here to make me soup? Prepare my tea? Get me my teddy-dog? Rub my tummy when it hurts? Stroke my hair as I sleep?
DON’T PEOPLE KNOW I’M DYING OVER HERE!
And by “dying” I mean not all that sick. Just sick enough to render me useless but not sick enough to be diagnosable. As a hyper independent woman who prides herself on not relying on anyone for anything… it makes me even more sick to think that all I want right now is someone… anyone…
I feel more lonely than ever when I am ill. It reminds me that I am, in fact, alone. And an adult. And that my mom won’t actually be there to make my soup or tea or fetch my teddy-dog.
*cough cough*
Man. I am pathetic.
The Shins (and why I hate most technology)
I used to be able to say that I don’t own a DVD player. I really wish I still could, but my lovely new laptop came equipped. It’s actually kind of hard to buy a laptop without a DVD player these days. I have had people tell me for years… “You don’t have a DVD player? How do you live? They only cost like $20! Hell, I’ll just buy you one.”
I am still waiting on about 6 DVD players.
Point being, technology and I don’t get along. Most new gadgets and gismos just elude me. Some just piss me off. That is where I find you today.
Technologies I hate, and why:
Palm pilots- The reason for this post. Last night I went to an incredible show. The Shins were at DAR and they put on a show that was powerful and perfect. Most of the time I was engaged in the band’s witty banter with the crowd, adding my own “TAKE IT OFF!!!!” at a few key moments. Other times my mind wandered from gentleman to gentleman, recent encounters, my friends and family… Would have been a perfect evening had it not been for the piercing glow of the palm pilot of the guy next to me. Much like a border collie (or a stoner) I tend to fixate on things, particularly shiny things, so despite my best effort I couldn’t ignore his e-mail checking and internet browsing that lasted approximately 20 minutes. Does he know that it’s annoying? Does the girl in the row in front of me know that her incessant texting is distracting me, and I paid good money (in theory) to be there, too? Am I just a Luddite who needs to get over it? It’s like when people go to a $9 movie and text the whole time. Just because the ringer’s off doesn’t mean the light is! *sigh*
Heelys- Because people are lazy enough as it is! I mean, come on. Kids sit at home all day playing video games, and then when their parents convince (bribe) them to go to the grocery store or the mall, they don’t even walk around. They roll around, and typically right into people. One day these punks will heely into oncoming traffic and I’ll giggle. And I won’t try to hide it either.
GPS- I know, I know. This one seems like it should be a no-brainer. I just think there’s something to following good old directions. And getting lost. I mean, now it even talks to you, interrupting whatever it is you’re listening to on the radio, or butting right into your conversation, like your mom calling up to you while you’re studying to remind you to clean your room… in .2 miles.
I don’t know… Maybe if I could afford this technology (or if I was a 8 year old boy) I wouldn’t be so mad. But it’s for completely selfish reasons that I hate these particular new technologies which negatively impact me, personally, and my enjoyment of the world.
There is one technology that I am all about. And I keep him in my dresser drawer. Oh, BOB.
wonderment
Driving home this afternoon, I thought about the weekend. How I haven’t smiled so much in as long as I can remember. My friends surrounded me. New friends, old friends. The love was warm; radiant almost. The sun was hot, reflecting the love I felt. Almost as though the sun was shining for me.
I thought about all the posts I could write. About how I came up with better pickup lines than Good Housekeeping. How I met Blelvis. I thought about how boys are impossible to read, and how girls say they hate it, but really, it motivates them to try harder. Maybe I could talk about how I read a postcard in a Post Secret book that I could have written (someone has my secret). I could have written about my day at Great Falls staring at the rushing water whisking branches downstream. So many things, and then I checked my e-mail.
My cousin Rick has cancer.
Kidneys.
Chemo. Soon.
And all of a sudden my weekend of wonder is…. less wonder-filled.
Now, I can only think about how I bet he is still smiling, laughing, loving. How he is still doing card tricks and telling bad jokes. How he is still living his life to the fullest even in this dark moment… and how he would want nothing more for me than to do the same.
That is the true wonder, isn’t it?
Average Jane 