Today, I've been trying to escape my nose.
Like somehow, if I run backwards fast enough, the stupid thing will forget to follow, and I'll stop sniffling.
Keeping a kleenex in my purse makes me feel like my grandmother, and every time I reach in to fish for keys or cigarettes, I have to shudder at what I could potentially be like in forty years.
Ee-gads.
My sovereign convict of a friend took me out for gelato tonight, which helped pull me out of my funk for the quick lick it took to finish my raspberry sorbet.
This funk though, goes far beyond a little bluesy cold. No, no, it's warped into the greater funk of jobless stress, boyfriend blues and lack of puppy dog kisses.
Something, much greater is needed than a quick cold confection.
I think possibly, a vacation.
Boy Wonder may have found a job.
This is kind of a stab, twist, repeat feeling. He called me somewhere past Victorville today, referring to the little town as his toilet. Why? Because that's all it's good for. He doesn't understand how they can't even have a movie theatre. Moments later, after my Victorville story, he replies "I could never date someone from Victorville."
I told him that secretly I live there.
Apparently, this is a deal breaker.
Anyways. He found a cushy job just outside of Mexico City, and is in the process of setting up a phone interview. This means he's leaving soon, and I would much rather have a few more months of settled dating before he's gone.
Oh well.
For a first relationship after Mac, I can't complain.
I can complain that I'm not going to be going to Mexico with him.
I'm going to go be a sad runaround girl.
Lately, I've been wanting a dog.
But not just any kind of dopey-eyed pup, no.
I've been craving that Border Collie I've always wanted.
It's completely irrational, and completely not possible with where I'm currently living...
But I think it would pull me out of my current funk.
I would name him Napoleon.
I think he could retrieve a man for me.
One who would stay in town.
McGyver wants to move.
I think I should join with him on this venture.
Get a dog, ship out of the city, and he and I could start a family business.
My dog would then wear a bandana.
*sigh*
I'm done blogging.
I'm off to go look in pet shop windows and think of thieving a puppy away.
Things here are a little weird. Busy with the runaround, and very strange.
I'm back to work on my novel-- making positive progress, which I adore.
Boy Wonder is still, well, there. The shine on his armor though is becoming a little dull, so I headed out for drinks & a movie and then to L.A. last week with this guy (whom we shall refer to as New York) I met last Sunday. He's a smooth-talking production manager who rubs the wrong way.
In fact, you could almost say he rubbed like a used car salesmen.
You could say that.
I won't.
But you could.
New York is taking me to the Del Mar Fair on Saturday.
I couldn't tell you why I agreed.
He's actively trying to steal my life.
Exhibit A:
I say: "I'm applying for this [insert job description here]"
He says: "Man. That sounds awesome. I think I'll apply for it too!"
I say: "Uhm.... excuse me?"
He says: "What, are you afraid of a little competition?"
Go get fucked.
Exhibit B:
I say: "Actually, I think I'm going to have to put in my 45 day notice to my landlord tomorrow."
He says: "Oh, really? When would you move out by?"
I say: "I'd be out by August 1st."
He says: "Hey, if you put in your notice, could you let me know? I really like your place, and think it'd be great to move in there."
Asshole.
Oh, and he calls me Pork Chop.
The good news is, he is once again making Boy Wonder look shiny new.
Today, "Julia"'s (I call her this for her own protection) uterus is feeling weird.
I'm not sure how this fits into my schedule of theatre, theatre, theatre this week, but I somehow need to arrange time to sit down over a coffee and a few cigarettes and ask the inevitable question "Just how exactly can you tell?"
I mean, I know I have one and all, but I'm not quite sure I'd know what to do if I woke up one morning and it suddenly was dressed in drag and dancing the Mambo.
Dressed in drag + Mambo is what I would consider weird and noteworthy enough for an early a.m. text message. Especially when I've had less than five hours of sleep after a ten hour workday and just before a twelve hour workday.
Oye vey.
Dave came over last night after he left the coffee shop. I thought it was going to be a quick, "hi, have a cigarette, get some sleep" experience, but we ended up hanging out until 3am. By the time I fell asleep, it felt like fifteen minutes had gone by before Matt texted "I'm here" at 8:30 in the morning, to crash out for a bit after work. I planned on going back to sleep, but he woke me up bearing pepsi and cigarettes and conversation, so I'm left a little drained as the productions drag on today.
Oh jesus.
I still wonder how a uterus could feel weird.
It's been two weeks since I looked at my bed and went "This isn't happening", grabbed my pillow and headed for the couch in the other room. Sleeping alone is fine. Sleeping in my bed alone is something I can't stomach. One night in my bed, thirteen on the couch. Or is it fourteen now? Twenty one, actually.I have the same stack of books sitting on my coffee table, unread. Realizing that I've turned into Natalie. The heat wave of the weekend is over, no more laying on top of the down-comforter and smoking cigarettes with Battlestar Gallactica on quietly at 4am. I've decided I've been ducking my head in a coffee shop for two years too long, and I should probably swing back into that socialite status I keep getting accused of. Maybe I'll start actually getting progress made. How lovely would that be?Indiana Jones tomorrow. I called that pretty love of mine, from way back when. Thinking that the best way to restart is to go back to where I left off before I met my coffee shop and my sad little two year relationship.So maybe this time I won't be insecure and impatient. It could be very interesting to see where this winds up.
My apartment smells like a weird mix of pot and curry, and it's coming from across the hall.
I find this to be odd, and I'm spritzing febreeze all over the place and its not helping. So I lit up a cigarette to help mask it, only now the whole thing is making me nauseous. I'd make a pizza, but I think I might throw up.
In other non-scented news, B.W. (Boy Wonder) and I have brilliant plans for our Thursday night: Nothing.
I think I'm going to change that to: Go grab dinner & gelato downtown, and then wander the streets for awhile.
But in the morning, we're going to wake up early, go play tennis, and grab breakfast, which I'm very excited about.
We only have one constant dilemma: his place, or mine?
His dog needs walking, and my cats need feeding.
It'll be a coin toss as to which set of pets feels left out.
Oh, and he's allergic to cats.
This usually helps in the decision.
I decided to bear down on myself a bit more than usual.
Now, every night at eight I have to practice my neglected flute for an hour a night.
This is fine with me, but tonight after not playing for nearly two years, I decided to attempt Bach.
Oh, how I miss the days when I was in symphony orchestras and simple things like "Boree" proved to be nothing more than a very good warm up.
Note to self: You were more accomplished at the age of 8 than you are now.
If my younger self met my current self, she'd hit me with a stack of books and say "you're a pussy."
Back to practice.
My embouchure hurts.
For those of you who are far away and missing the Up and Up of my runaround life, here's the update:
I'm dating Boy Wonder.
And I'm fairly certain he thinks I'm wonderful too.
I had to finally break down and ask him what the hell was wrong with him.
My imagination kept running to a wife, 2.5 kids and a golden retriever back in Boston.
He assured me that it wasn't the case. (Mainly because it was far too expensive.)
He loves politics and the Red Sox, and lectures on globalization.
Immigration laws, bear cubs, third world politics and Mexico.
Oh, and he genuinely loves the Classics.
He makes me look like a huge slacker, and I'm fairly certain that I'm one hell of an accomplished gal.
(I'm trying not to gush horridly here, I swear.)
The point I'm trying to work towards on this one is that I've spent the last two years giving away bits of myself to a boy who was never happy. And I'm now happily reverting back to the girl I was pre-Mac. You know. The girl that Mac has been trying to kill off and reinvent since the day he met me.
Have no fear though, my newfound love of nice shoes is staying with me.
Oh, and a tidbit for Steph to laugh about: He's white. Blonde haired, blue eyed. White.
How's that for irony?
Happy Birthday Steph.
I hope that D.C. is treating you well.
Love you!
Spring is having it's way with me.
All lollypops and roses and bottles of wine.
There have been Opera's, dancing shoes, late night rendezvous, and little work done.
L.A. trips and pick up sticks and board games galore.
How very fantastic.
Also very time-consuming, which means I accomplish next to nothing.
But it's fulfilling none the less.
Also, while I think my new beau is nothing if not fantastic.....
I saw the light at the end of the tunnel this evening.
Glaring, blaring and sudden.
Turns out the train is going to crash quicker than I thought.
I hope I get my bracelet back before the end of it. (Yes Steph, boy is holding the Costa Rica bracelet you got me as collateral for kisses. Smart man.)
I'm not terribly worked up about it, since my single-self has settled on yet another boy I won't have.
Obviously, I'm a big fan of denying myself the good stuff.
Neighborhood
Explore friends, family, friends & family, or entire neighborhood.
Recent Comments
-
Stephanie said:
oh dear, i really need to read your posts more....i really did enjoy that tidbit...so hilarious, irony is great. read more
on Boy wonder takes the cake. -
Little Miss Jones. said:
Oh man. Got my bracelet back from Boy Wonder. He was reluctant, thinking I'd take off on the next rainbow... read more
on Kill pussycat, kill kill. -
Stephanie said:
haha. collateral huh? how very business-like. you know, we could always just go find a better one..... read more
on Kill pussycat, kill kill. -
Little Miss Jones. said:
hah, yeah.... this is still one of the few photos I can show to the public off that shoot. And... read more
on On break from shoot
on Love-leaves.