Sam’s Ministrations on Life

Seattle Part 1

Day 1:
Land in Seattle… greenest and greyest place on earth…especially after coming from sunny Hotlanta where summer is in full swing, and getting here to see people in wool coats still. Went on a mini-tour of nerd headquarters, oops, uh, I mean Microsoft, where my friend Mike works. Every building is modern, they are grouped into “campuses” for different product lines… there are that many of them. I even got to see geeks in training when we ran into the new crop of interns at the Msoft store. Fought Seattle traffic back to pick up Megan. En route I noticed that it is actually quite hard to differentiate the homeless people from the left over post-Cobain grunge look… my personal opinion is that if they are carrying a large bag full of things that look like worldly possessions then they are most likely without permanent residence, otherwise they just chose to dress like they have just discovered their oversized pants, docs, and flannel in a dumpster behind the Spaghetti Factory.

Megan & Mike’s place is sooo grown up now. They went from totally rocking the Ikea style in Philly to a very sophisticated, modern chocolate brown theme here. Makes me begin to rethink my use of artificial vines and blow-up parrots I am currently using as décor. They have an amazing view of some or other body of water surrounding the city… too many to count and too confusing. So we meet Lauren and her hipster boyfriend for a bite to eat and to catch up on old times. This is followed by a bar where they serve Jello-tinis. At first I am apprehensive of a drink that has a gelatinous layer of green slime at the bottom, but once you get over it and realize you are supposed to take a big swig of vodka and a spoonful of Jell-O from the bottom and squish it back and forth b/w your teeth. I realize it is quite delicious and ‘Yes sir, may I have another.’

Day 2:
Early wake up to catch the ferry to the San Juan Islands in the Puget Sound where Mike’s fam has a vacation home. We stop at a gas station on the way up and hunger drives Lauren, Megan and I to the call of a microwaveable bean and cheese burrito at that hour of the morning… little did we realize that said Mexican delicacy would come back with a vengeance to later reek havoc on us… like we couldn’t have guessed with beans and a Velveeta-type cheese as the main ingredients. Enough of my woes. Anyways, we also stopped to grab some things so that I could make dinner for everyone… I know, don’t be shocked b/c by dinner I mean a salad with 4 ingredients. Anyway they had a fresh seafood market out front which wooed Mike with the smell of steamed musseld, while inciting the exact opposite reaction in myself… even though I am from New England I am a self-proclaimed hater of all thing ‘seafood’, my theory is that unless a cow has gone wandering into a body of water I eat nothing that can be found in more than a half-inch of H20. The grossest part though was that there was a whole octopus sitting there… the biggest one I’ve seen outside of the Aquarium. It was all squishy, veiny and pink looking… I will not state the obvious comparison. I still can’t figure how the first person coming along one of these looked at it and said, “Ya know, that would probably go great with some rice and a piece of seaweed.”

Decatur is awesome. We took the ferry up and talked about guy problems most of the way. We landed and after getting settled we went off on our biology adventure to the beach. Megan and Michael showed me that if you flip over rocks dozens of itty crabs will skitter out in all directions. I saw starfish and this strange creature that looks like elliptical lichen, but is actually some sort of suction type animal… which Megan proceeded to wear as an earring. I was a bit more wary as I didn’t really want to come home with a big ole hickey on some part of me and then have to own up to it not being from a guy, but from some sort of sea creature. We went on a hike and saw a river otter while Mike rowed the ladies around a lake. I got to have my fun while I rocked the boat back and forth and got to have Megan and Lauren scream… and eventually try to hit me with the oar. I got to chase the resident sheep herd, and much to Megan’s chagrin I had apparently scared the crap out of them, literally, and she stepped in it. We spent the rest of the time intermittently talking, reading Cosmo sex advice out loud, napping and eating… perfect.

That’s as far as I get tonight… I’m sleepy and have to wake up tomorrow for Memorial Day brunch.

That’s what I am right now. For some unknown reason I am just way too fidgety right now. Coffee? Lack of exercise? Too much sugar? Too little sex? The nagging notion that my apartment is quickly resembling the black hole? Your guess is as good as mine. So instead you get to read me spouting my ideas on the world.

1. People’s myspace top 8 fascinate me. It seems inevitable that whenever I get those random ass requests from guys on myspace you go to their page and their top 8 are always the most scantily clad sorority/stripper girls… maybe they threw in one male friend so that girls wouldn’t get the wrong impression. Too late. then there are the people that still have Tom as their number 1 spot… this also means that their top 8 means nothing, because they were too lazy to take off the IT guy, so their top are really just the first eight people they picked as friends. I won’t even get into the people that have actors/actresses/bands in their top eight. I would have Tom Brady (NE quarterback) in my top 8, but I grew suspicious when all of his friends were Asian 19 year olds. Top 8s always make me very anxious too, because it is the outwrite statement of who you consider your closest friends… or who you bullied into your top 8 (Derek). You don’t want to rank anyone too high that hasn’t ranked you that high… or worse, not at all. My top 8 was composed with the following in mind:
I had too many girls at first, and it looked like I was taking on some Wellesley ways in my desperation and swinging towards the lesbian side of things. Thereby the addition of Derek and John… even with the fro he’s still a straight guy and not related
For a while I had a friend that is on myspace through the character of a finger puppet… but that just made me look weird, like I was missing a dungeons and dragons party
I put the people who post the most
My best friend is second, because although I know she’s too lazy to ever post, it is requisite that she be in the top row… if only she would even get the momentum up to read this to know she is required to do as such… crappy friend, good thing I’ve known her since age 5
Rankings loosely follow the length of time I’ve known you
I don’t put relatives in my top 8, because they are family, and I therefore don’t have to waist precious space on them
In general no one that is cuter than me… although I am not holding to that too well, and so therefore anyone with a cuter picture than me who’s in my top 8 take notice because you will soon be forced to change it to a less attractive photo… that means you Megan, Lauren, Julia… but thanks Allison the snorkel is a nice touch.

2. A study came out today saying that Atlanta was voted the most courteous drivers in the country, and Miami was the worst. What? I take serious offense to that. Bostonians are clearly the worst drivers… okay, maybe we are in fact the best, but certainly the most aggressive. They don’t call us Massholes for nothing. Rock on New Englanders.

3. My use of the term bitch. So I often use the alternate form of the word bitch to refer to someone’s underling. As in “Since I am Liz’s bitch I have to run these copies.” We have a fairly loose office and I would say not overly PC. The term bitch gets used quite frequently. That is until someone complained that it was derogatory… not because he took offense to the word, but because he didn’t feel it was his place to do woman’s work like collating. As reference I was not the one who he was taking offense to. Now that I heard it through the pipeline though I have tried not to use it anymore… which just made me realize how much I use it and how many people I think are other people’s bitches. So from now on I shall switch to the more PC term of serf. It sounds a lot less cool, and may require some history references, but won’t get me in trouble. So,
You all is my SERFS! or
Man, he really made you his serf didn’t he, soon you’ll have to pick up his dry cleaning too.

Nope, just doesn’t quite work… suggestions are appreciated.

Cataract shades and hazard lights

Friday: Who knew that header would get anyone interested. Guess you have a thing for the elderly or something. So anyway, today was just not really my day. I left work for a lunchtime appointment with my new eye doctor as I am in desperate need of contacts.
Side note: As much as guys say they have all these fantasies about the hot librarian with the glasses I find I get a lot more attention sans frames. This means that usually when I go out I feel the need to pop a couple plastic slivers into my eyes as the final touch. Back to the topic, I’m pulling into the garage and I can faintly hear this woman yelling something. Being as I am in the big city, and am quite familiar with crazies yelling things out I just chose to ignore what was happening. I park my car and head for the lobby when this woman runs up to tell me that I have no brake lights and that she almost ran into me on Peachtree. This is concerning on several levels, the least of which being that I have no clue how long I’ve been without brake lights. It’s not like I’m just going up to people on the street going… “Heh, check out those brake light.” or “ Buddy, yeah you, does my rear end look okay to you.” This is not the sort of attention I want and I therefore do not actively seek it out.

Well, there wasn’t much I could do about it at the moment so I just said screw it and went to my appointment. The whole thing was very high-tech and cool… they even mapped the surface of my cornea like it was GIS layers or something. Right after putting a bunch of drops in my eyes the assistant asks me… “So, do you need to like, go back to work and do any reading or up close work?” What? You couldn’t have asked me sooner. I would also like to know who has jobs in this day and age that don’t require you to see anything up close. The only one that pops to mind is the guy that has the orange lights to help park the planes. Back to the point I ask, “Why?” Her response is “Well, I just dilated your pupils and they will be light sensitive and give you trouble up close for the next 3-4 hours.” Sure, I didn’t really have any work I needed to get done. Thanks for asking.

So, they give me these crazy ass temporary ‘sunglasses’. Now, I use that term loosely as they were really just a piece of plastic that I was supposed to stick between my face and my glasses. Of course any of you who have seen my glasses know they are just little frames, but these were clearly meant for those big ass cataract type glasses. So here’s me driving down the busiest street in the ATL with my flashers on and these totally awesome shades. I might as well have had a big neon sign flashing over my car that says ‘Look at the crazy girl driving the broke-ass car.’ My biggest concern was not so much everyone staring at me out of their cars, it was the fear that I would also get pulled over for looking crazy, then he’d make me take off my sunglasses, take one look at my fully dilated pupils and think I was some kind of crack addict too. Luckily I made it safely to Saturn and then had to wait for two hours for a damn switch to be replaced on my car. Normally I don’t mind waiting either, but in this case I couldn’t read my book (no close vision), and I couldn’t walk to the gas station oasis just across the parking lot to get a coffee, food, anything. It was only a few rows away, but I’d taken off the glasses and left them in the car and crossing the parking lot was like crossing the damn Sahara. Or like when you were a kid at the grocery store and you could only step on the white tiles because the black tiles were crocodile/shark infested. I hope that wasn’t just me anyway, but maybe it was since only children have to amuse themselves however they can.

Sunday: So what did I do the rest of the weekend? Well, for all of you who were concerned, I didn’t mope around my apartment and get drunk just because my ex-fiancé got married on Saturday. Not that I did anything terribly cool though, but I enjoyed my relaxing weekend of nothing. Let’s see I watched too many movies. Cocktail… classic chick flic with hot guy… this is of course pre-weird Tom Cruise. Maybe I’ll head down to the islands again… not that I didn’t just come back… but apparently I was supposed to go hang out by the bar and hunt for bartenders. Then I’ll admit I’m the lamest person on earth because I watched Pride and Prejudice at about midnight while polishing off a bottle of Lambic (raspberry beer), I’m not an alcoholic, and this was a special exception. The creepy part is that I got up and watched it again the next morning. Hah, I’m a sucker for romantic movies that make me feel bad about my love life. Watched marathons of Hogan Knows Best and the Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search (damn, had I known they were hiring…) I went riding… very nice stress break and a chance to be around my horsy Regina, who is like my little piece of home since I’ve owned her since I was 11. That’s what sucks about being so far from home/ old friends/ family because then when you really need it there is no one around to hug you… at least not one that wont try to bite you or sneeze on you because you didn’t pack enough carrots. I read three books… none worth mentioning and all along the same vein of making me feel bad about my love life. Looked at my messy apartment and did nothing about it. I actually worked out too, it’s part of my new Summer of Sam program I’m on… I’ll get to that in another blog at some point. Anyway, I’m working out at home now on the days I don’t ride, but I’m not sweating to the oldies or anything. Mixed in with normal Pilates I’ve started alternating belly dancing DVDs and Carmen Electra’s Striptease aerobics. I don’t know if it’s really toning, but it’s a good form of cardio, and I think my neighbors are getting a good show out of it. Hmm, maybe if landscape doesn’t pay me enough I’ll turn to the pole…

Warning! This is not a funny email… if you don’t want to know about my baggage don’t read ahead.

I have never hurt anyone so much. It’s not as if I’m an overly sweet person, and perhaps over the years I have maybe said or done some things that slighted a few people, but I have never truly hurt someone to their core until recently.

So for those that don’t know Brian, my boyfriend (now ex), and I were engaged to be married September 24th of this year. We’d been dating for almost 7 years. Much of our time together was long distance with him in the army and in school back in MA, and me taking off to France, Penn, and most recently moving down here to Atlanta this past August. He was my first real relationship and he will always be the first great love of my life. The first five years of our relationship were great. I will keep those memories with me forever. Had I done what was in my heart and ended it then I think both of us could have been spared a lot of pain. But who really knows when to end something. I think we both could tell, actually I’d rather not speak for him as I have no idea how he feels about it. So let’s just say that I could tell that the last two years we just weren’t good for each other. We both stopped treating each other well, there was no stand out moment which drove me over the edge, it was just all the little things adding up over time. We fought all the time, both on the phone and during our rare visits together. As I prepared for my wedding, and I mean prepared, dress, place, photographer, everything was falling into place, but I just had this nagging thought in the back of my mind that if things didn’t work out divorce was always an option. No one should ever approach a lifetime commitment with that thought in their mind. Okay, so now I started doubting… but how much of that is pre-wedding jitters I kept asking myself. To be honest I was petrified of so many uncertainties. We’d been together so long that I didn’t really know me from us… we started dating when I was a teenager fresh out of high-school. Things had progressed like they were supposed to and marriage just seemed like the next inevitable step. The other option, the one of being single, was terrifying to me as I watched my friends struggle to meet that special someone, all the while dating loser after loser. I needed time to think so I just told him this and then cut all communication for almost a month. I won’t rehash the details of it all because it is still too raw but I’ll just sum it up by saying that no heroic efforts were made by either of us to fight for the relationship. I’ll admit it, I did things in the shittiest way possible. I ended seven years over the phone. There was no other way open for me, I had just started working so I had no money and no vacation time. On top of that the holidays were fast approaching and I knew that if I didn’t get it over with it would drag out for more months. It was a bit like ripping off a bandaid, I knew I needed to do it, and once that thought was in my head it had to be done as fast as possible. There are few things I regret in my life, but the way I did that will always be one of them. There was no way the two of us could be friends afterwards, we weren’t even really friends when we were together if that makes any sense, and anyways things were said between us that can’t ever be taken back.

Since then, beginning of November, we haven’t really been in touch. I found out that he wasn’t able to finish his last semester of college because his reserve unit was activated. Other than that I just hoped that he was doing okay. It was really for the best that I had just moved to a new city, with a new job, that way I was able to keep as busy as possible and not dwell on what could have been. I would say it had even gotten to the point when I could go a few days without thinking about him. That was up until two weeks ago when my masochistic side got the better of me and I just had to find out when he was getting shipped off to Iraq. Because for all the hurt I’ve caused him and as much as I don’t think we were right for each other I still care about him. How can you not care for someone you’ve known for seven years, much less loved?

This all brings me to a chance discovery that as of two days from now he will be married. Shock is all I can say I feel. Not angry so much as hurt that he felt that he could hurt me the most by not ever telling me he was getting married. I won’t go into the details of it all, but they have only known each other for a few months. They are both in the same unit and will be shipped out to Iraq in a couple of weeks. I can’t say whether this is a good decision or not. Honestly and truly as long as he is happy that’s all that matters to me. I just hope that he still pursues all of his life-long goals, like finishing college, and seeing the world. I suppose one of the strangest things is that I feel like I am just starting to figure out who I am on my own, even if I’ve always considered myself to be very independent… and in the same amount of time he has met someone, fallen in love, and decided to spend his life with someone new. Wow, if that doesn’t finalize things I don’t know what could.

I’m only allowing myself to write this now as I feel like the chapter has come to a close in my life and I need to move on by putting thought to paper. I apologize for this being an unusually serious tone, but I think my friends need to know that I’m not always as chipper as they think, and I really do keep quite a bit bottled up inside. So my plan is to shut myself up for all of Saturday and drink heavy amounts of liquor until I’m sure the deed is done. Hopefully I can walk away from this a better person. I’ve already started my new life here in Atlanta, and now this is just another sign for me to keep moving ahead towards my own goals and dreams.

if that doesn’t sum up my trip to st. croix I’m not sure what will. seriously though, I’ve just spent the past four days in a little chunk of USVI paradise… although once you arrive it’s nothing like being in th states. immediatley when you step of the plane a blast of heat hits you… and I’ve spent two summers in hotlanta, I should be used to this by now… right? the rum punch that the tourism board gives you right away doesn’t hurt your outlook one bit though, and starts me at:

Day 1: my mom, gram and I all pile into my aunts car and hang on fear dear life as she begins to drive on the wrong side of the road… only it itsn’t, because in this one small, backward corner of the united states they drive southpaw style. we head to my aunts house which is this great place in the middle of the island with all kinds of crazy fruit trees growing everywhere (by and by this is making me very resentful of the three dollar mangos I buy at whole foods when they consider them more of a hood-denting nuisance down there). and there are GECKOS, so cute. I freakin love geckos. anyone that knows me well knows I like little reptiles (this of course excludes any genetically engineered aquaitc frogs my misguided friends made a birthday present of… which just will not die). we check in at the Bucaneer, argh matey… no, it’s not even slightly pirate themed, just very relaxing and tropical. more rum punch. dinner at a cute outdoor spot, where the romance of being nestled in a fern gully soon fades as something makes rutstling noises in the ferns the whole night… bigger than one of my cute gecko friends. and wonder of small wonders the guy that is serving us our meal just graduated with a degree in city planning from buffaloe, and is taking some time off in the islands. so I did a bit of networking and handed out my card. I should charge the company two hours to the marketing department. a drink called the painkiller. family tries to pimp me out to nice, but not at all my type waiter. then my 19 year-old cousin and her boyfriend agree to take my ass out (so sad that I have to tag along with a 19 year old who is porbably cooler than I am). so I get in the car and her boyfriend Julio starts talking to me in straight-up island speak… I caught maybe three words. so I do what I do best and fill the awkward silence with empty chatter. I’ll just briefly skip over the encounter with the cops which was only prevented from winding us in jail because there were two white girls in the girl (yes, in this case I am inlcudung myself as a white girl, although I know most of you don’t consider me as such). I tell you this only to segway into a side note about my cousin’s choice in men. Julio is a Puerto Rican, fisherman/cook born and raised on st. croix. he is for all intents and purposes almost the spitting image of my father when he was 22… minus of course the baggy pants and backwards baseball cap. for some reason though my grandmother and aunt… who claim they don’t see color… have a problem with my cousin dating a “colored” boy. uh, hate to remind you all, but my dad is also one of those dirty latinos. I think my gram had even tried to convince herself that a guy named Julio was actually an italian and not a puerto rican… I broke the news to her that no, he was hispanic… and my aunt chimes in with “but he’s very light.” Awesome. it’s not the quality of the guy, it’s what people he’s from. anyway, Julio is very nice and I later find that he will speak to me in perfect english but just wanted to test out how cool I was… apparently not quite cool enough to understand island speak. so, who knew that you could pretty much smoke pot anywhere in some islands, most I’ve been to are more strict, but here they do it everywhere. in fact there is an anecdote that the police finally arested a guy when he had gone just to far and was caught walking across the police parking lot while rolling a joint. hell yeah. these people live in paradise, with no open container laws, and their bars are right on the boardwalk… but in the end it is still just another towny bar in a small town in the US. night ends after too much reggae, too many vanilla rums and cokes (I though my cousin normally drank a lot and was trying to match her, she thought I drank a lot and was trying to match me), and me painting my nails when I got home… which I only discovered the next day when I noticed the color was different. WTF, who thinks of that as the wild and crazy think to do when your wasted. god, what a weirdo,

Day 2:
lazy breakfast. aunt tries to pimp me out to shuttle driver. lazy day at the beach. took my mom snorkeling, which would normally be fine, if my mom wasn’t actually petrified of the water. but of course she doesn’t decie this until there is a coral reef between us and the shore, we’re about 20’ deep and 100’ from the place where we can get back to shore. she had been swimming along holding me until she started getting a little water in her mask and all hell breaks loose. she starts saying “I want to go back to shore now.” “okay mom, calm down.” “I want to stand up now.” “okay, well it’s a little deep for that how bout you try and flip over on you back and relax for a minute.” in the process of rolling onto her back she also starts frantically grabbing for me and her mouthpiece at the same time. I’m trying to keep her calm and explain to her that when she is floating on her back the end of the snorkle is in the water and she’ll start breathing in salt water. this was making not a dent in her panic so I reach up and rip the mask off her and form a little throne for her to float on. finally this draws the attention of my uncle and he comes over and we have to swim the hundred feet back to the opening in the reef pushing my mom on her back like two tugboats. she apologizes for trying to drown her own daughter on mothers day and goes back to shore so I can really snorkle. I’ve come to find I’m a decent spotter of interesting sea creatures… I saw two flounder, a lobster and a puffer fish (yes, this was in the water and not at a legal seafood). I also saw what I can only describe as a water millipede. I could live without that one. strawberry daiquiri. gramma flirts with 20 year olds at the pool… and then attempts to pimp me out. fancy dinner. drink called the cruzan confusion. go to hotel bar afterwards to have drink called a bird of paradise. aunt tries to pimp me out to concierge desk guy

Day 3:
breakfast at the mermaid… of course the name of the restaurant at a place called the bucaneer. trip downtown for souvenirs. I got this sweet ass silver bracelet which is a version of the traditional cruzan knot… somewhat like a claddagh ring you were it one way if you’re taken, one way if you’re single. because a t-shirt printed up with I’m single and looking for love seems a little desperate… I know, I’ve tried. tour of the island. we end up at this place called the dominoe club up in the forest which is famous for two things… a beer drinking pig, who was sleeping at the time, and a local version of moonshine called mamma wanna… they wont tell you what’s in it, but you can bet it’s nothing good… hopefully nothing that would show up on a drug test either. it comes in shot form and that’s all it took. gramma gets pimped out by family to older genntleman hitting on her. dinner on the boardwalk. another painkiller. rum punch.

Day 4: woke to tan on private terrance and try to spot mongoose… like land otters with short legs. more snorkeling with mom. more of mom trying to drown me. last time I’m snorkeling with mom. home, without drinking at all today. although in hindsight that might have been a good idea, considering if anyone caught a view of my hind side they would know why. snorkeling for several hours brought my entire backside to a lovely firey red. who says that’s not fun on a 6 hour trip home. so I say good night to you all and prepare to douse myself in another layer of aloe and lanocain.

back to reality tomorrow.

I would not hit on a woman using the line “Um, heh, I just got hit on by a dude, and so when that happens I feel the need to double-check my sexual choices by approaching a woman and talking to her… yah know, just to be sure.” Gee, thanks, you really know how to make a girl feel special, basically all I needed was the right make-up of chromosomes and bingo you are allowed to keep you man certificate.

I would not hit on women when I was so drunk I couldn’t coordinate my hand-eye movement. Spilling an entire vodka and tonic… although clear… on a girl just doesn’t turn her on the way you might think. Add any other combo of juice, soda, or other dark colored liquid that will screw with her outfit and you can pretty much cross her off your list.

I would not ask questions when first meeting her that include… politics, religion, ex-boyfriends or any other controversial topics you might not like the answer to. This goes vice versa… I am not keen on hearing about how you had an epiphany in the shower when you were 19 and have since found your place with god. This includes any beliefs you made hold that the implicit reason God made cigars was for you to smoke them. Listen buddy, I don’t think you are nearly as important as you think, God is very busy, and as far as I can tell he certainly doesn’t care to see you naked, even if he made you in his form.

I would not underestimate the high-level of sarcasm with which a person can make it in their daily life. If they warn you ahead of time that they have a very ironic and sarcastic sense of humor maybe you should believe them… because I’m not rocking you to sleep if I hurt your feelings.

This is just a list of most recent occurrences to me and friends. I’m sure I can come up with more. I must also add that there have been a large number of very sweet guys doing sweet things lately, but frankly that just isn’t funny, and anyway I prefer to keep those moments private.

So, it’s been a while, but I’ve been muy busy. I just got back from helping run the daw’s second of four conservation symposium in conjunction with Urban Land Institute. Mostly it was set up for big money developers to sell the idea of green communities… ie. Prairie crossing in Chicago. it was an interesting two days and I got to rub shoulders with some of the biggest builders in the SE. this just confirms that I will have to get my LEED certification asap… once I consult with my new green friend megan. Now onto my musings…

Signs that I saw that were funny on my way to drop something off in Athens GA:
Coming soon (in big bold letters on the first billboard), and then a quarter mile later… Jesus
“Don’t make me come down there.” –God
“What part of thou shalt not, did you not understand.” –God
“If you think its hot now keep using my name in vain.” –God

Who knew the guy had such an aggressive marketing campaign. I find it all very amusing. IF only going to church were ever that funny. If they had a stand-up act at church I might really have to consider it.

Another thing I learned was what the land owner of most of the panhandle of Florida said to Walt Disney when approached as a potential site for Disneyworld.
“I don’t deal with carnies.”
I think what he meant is…
“We are destined for greater things than Disney… like spring break in Panama City.”

So, I met up with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while last night. He lamented my situation and told me that I used to be a lot more fun and outgoing… and now I was much too serious. Damn, is this true? Maybe, but at the same token I feel like I drove a great many people away when I was younger purely because of the fact that I was a bit boisterous and overzealous, and people often looked at me like the special friend that they let out for the day with supervision.
This leads to my confusion with what men really want. They say smart and funny, but in reality I think it’s more often sexy and mysterious. I seem to fall somewhere in between this in the leper, hunchback, social misfit category.
This then leads me into my next train of thought which was brought up on the radio the other day… what is your hotness number? For instance, if you think you are a 6 and you are going after 7s… not so bad… but what if in reality you are only a 4. This has caused me anxiety, because I would have put myself slightly above average (somewhere over a 5), but what if no one has told me I am actually only a 3.5. I would put this to a test and check the rate me box on myspace if not for the fear that the truth will be revealed to me. So, ignorance is bliss, I’ll choose to think I’m a smoking hot 9, and men are intimidated by my wry intellectual humorous sexiness, and that all my old fun energy is just waiting for the appropriate moment to be unleashed. Perhaps tonight.