Laughing All The Way

Monday, June 20, 2005

I’ve never been good at sharing

I think that I need a nap. I haven’t been sleeping all that well recently. I have always had a hard time when I had to share a room or a bed with anyone else. After a few weeks I get use to his or her proximity and learn to sleep through the noise of someone next to me, but deep down inside I resent the fact that my sleep is being interrupted or modified to accommodate someone else.

This weekend saw J and me at the beach. He came to visit while I was staying at my Gram’s beach house and there were some comments made and resolutions formed. In no particular order they are:

He is not seeing anyone else.
He likes me.
He does not like his job.
He gets along well with his father.
He does not want to get serious yet.
He does not like the cold.
He does like red wine.
He would like to take his time getting to know me.
He cannot consider me a serious option if I continue to see other men.
He thinks I have snobbish tendencies.
He really likes me.

Some of this bothers me while some does not. I know I should have opinions about all of this, but I am so frickin’ tired I just want to cry.

Saturday night I think we went to bed at about 3 AM and were up and out by 9 AM. Then last night at his place we crashed before midnight and I was out of the house by 7 AM. I was sitting in a meeting from 8:30 AM until 12:30 PM. I already said I would see him after work and I just gave up the place at which I was staying to a friend who wants alone time with the boy he’s seeing. I’m still avoiding my own place so I guess I am going to have to spend the night with J.

Basically, I am a girl who needs 9 hours of sleep each night or I am completely unable to function the next day. As far as I can tell I am already down 5 hours of sleep, so unless I get 14 hours of sleep tonight, which means I go to bed at 6 PM and get up at 8 AM, I am never going to catch up on my sleep. Damn heavy breathing man who has spent the last three nights sleeping next to me.

Did I mention that he really likes me a lot?

So we are going to hangout tonight with a couple of friends, he has already said it’s no problem if I stay at his. I mean this is a whole bunch of closeness and togetherness for a relationship that is still in the “I am just getting to know you so I can decide if I really want to be with you” stage. I know that if I spend another night at his place he’s going to think that I am trying to get him to be my boyfriend but at this point I am so tired I am going to be asleep before any action is taken (i.e. an action to remove my clothing) and I cannot worry about what he will think.

Man, I need a new place to live. I cannot keep avoiding my apartment especially with the amount of rent I pay. Eventually I will be so tired from lack of sleep I am going to burst into tears, I am a weepy sleepy person, and J will be all confused and he will run away.

Enough rambling for the day, I promise tomorrow’s post will be intelligent, witty, charming and well put together with a sweater set and a strand of pearls.

Friday, June 17, 2005

I want the one in red

It’s funny how life folds in upon itself to create this messy existence held together with memories of high school prom dates, birthdays, broken bones, and broken hearts.

I have been so caught up in THE current BOY with potential, he who lives in the hottest place on Earth, that I missed noticing something going on in front of me here in Boston, or rather I should say, someone.

I first talked to J at the end of May. He emailed me via the online dating service. He had a funny hook and a great smile. I emailed him back. He emailed me back. I emailed him back (with my phone number). He emailed me back and said he’d call.

He did call. And call. And call.

I told him I was going to Texas, but wasn’t exactly straight about why. I didn’t see the need to tell him. As far as I could see, where and why I go somewhere was none of his business. We made plans to talk; I think he said he would call me to see how my vacation was going. I never head from him and when TcBwp was called into work one afternoon, I called him. Not nice, I know, but whatever.

J claimed that he never said he was going to call because, in his words, “when I say I am going to call, I call.” Hmmm. Not what I remembered, but maybe the heat has gotten to me. We make plans to talk when I get back. Monday afternoon, as I was lazing about the airport in Chicago, I check my messages and there’s one from J. I called him back and we chatted and made tentative plans to see a movie during the week.

Tuesday afternoon I call him and suggest we go see a movie that night. He says yes. Wednesday morning he drove me home so I could make it to work in time.

Yesterday he called and asked what I was up to this weekend. I said I was going to my beach house and asked if he wanted to come up for one of the days. He said yes. Then I asked what he was up to that night. He said nothing, just hanging out at home, watching TV. So I said, can I come over after I go out drinking with the girls. He said yes. I spent an interesting night at his place.

It’s all made me think about what I really want. I mean, at first I thought J was going to be THE BOY who fills space while I waited for THE current BOY with potential to come home. Now, I look back and realize a) J really likes me, b) all the things that make me like TcBwp are the things that I like about J and c) I really like J. I think that there is a shifting in attractions coming about.

Last night I told him about the trip to Texas, not in great detail mind you, just the gist of it all. He said that he knew. I don’t know whether or not I believe him, but I let it lay. He asked about the “competition” and I asked if he really wanted to know. He grinned and said of course not.

This morning, he kept making comments about Texas-boy couldn’t do this, and Texas-boy couldn’t do that, and Texas-boy will never be able to make you happy. Methinks that J is a touch jealous. When I mentioned that he seemed awfully concerned about Texas-boy, J tried to shrug it off and play all cool, but I think that J really likes me a lot.

Now all I have to do is figure out which BOY I really like a lot.

Oh shit, it’s the coming of the apocalypse

Tomkat. Why oh why?

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Like Vodka for Water

I love Thursday nights. Historically, I have employed Thursday night to being my binge drinking weekends. At the ripe old age of twenty-six, I can’t believe that I am ever going to want to change my habit of submerging my head in a vat of vodka. I know that it may change, I see my older sister toning it down a little, but then I see some of my older friends still living like I do so I know that it can go either way really.

Besides alcohol there are other signs of my lack of clean living. I may or may not have (this is called plausible deniability) participated in light and not so light drug use.

I have been known to engage in behavior commonly referred to as a one-night stand. There were also those two guys in one-night stands (not at the same time mind you).

I never claimed to be a paragon of safety and virtue.

So I want to know why, I am suddenly getting a lot of attitude from “friends” and my sister about my behavior. There have been comments about my flight to Texas (“It was so unsafe, you could have been killed.”) and my outlook on life (“Not everyone is as willing and able as you are to through caution to the wind and behave dangerously.”)

I started thinking about this, because this is where the previously mentioned roommate problems began. She thinks I am dangerous, rude and shady (her words, not mine). I think she’s nosey, jealous, and patronizing. Seriously, why should I be taking advice from a girl who got married at the age of 25 in secret? Yeah, legit, she never told her family, well, not until she decided to file for divorce. And I am the shady one. Right.

Back to my point. I started thinking about what was being said. I began thinking about college. How many times had friends or I gone home with some guy? When we did, no one ever asked for a phone number and address? If I even knew the guy’s real name as one of my friends tottered off in her stilettos and miniskirt, I had a lot of information. I am still living like this, as is one set of friends. We range from twenty-six to thirty and not a single one of us feels guilty or makes anyone else feel guilty. We’re not married and we live in a major city. This behavior is not scandalous or shocking. If my sister’s one-night stand in her sophomore year at college had not turned into a long-term relationship (she married him) she would be doing the same. Right, she had a one-night stand that worked out, but I go off and do the same and I am behaving dangerously.

Then I moved to London after graduation. I was there completing my Masters degree, but I was also living the life. I knew no one in the city; I had to make my own friends and my own life. I did so around alcohol. I would wonder off with strange men night after night and not a soul knew where I was or with whom I was associating. Sure I had friends who loved and cared for me, but the point is that they were smart enough to recognize that they could not pass judgment about the way I was living my life.

Moving back to Boston has put me in the grasp of my family. They know where I am and what I am doing and suddenly they are all so very concerned. Where was the concern for me when I was eighteen and being taken advantage? Where was the concern for me when I was twenty-two and getting wrecked on a Tuesday night? You can’t have it both ways, you can’t tell me that I need to lead an exciting and independent life and still expect me to conform to your boring ass rules. My saying is if you don’t pay my rent and don’t pay my bills you can’t tell me how to live my life.

That’s the thing of it all. I will never be the one to lead a nice, bow-tied life. I will not construct this cocoon of comfort created by living in the same city all my life. I will not define adventure by wearing white shoes after Memorial Day. I will not live this deathly boring facsimile of servitude to Puritanical morals.

It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I won’t. To do so would mean the death of my soul. I refuse to be one of those people who at fifty are sitting on a therapist’s couch talking about how unfulfilled their life is. If I am going to be in therapy at that age it will be for some hard core addiction not because I wish I had taken time off in my twenties to see the world and to behave as I want.

Bringing this all back to today, when I went to Texas I sent my sister my travel plans. I had my cell phone. I had plenty of money to get out if needed. More importantly, if I am at a bar here and go home with someone on a Friday night, no one would think to look for me until I missed work on Monday. Bad things happen everywhere. Most cases of rape occur between acquaintances. More women are attacked in their own neighborhood than in a foreign place. We don’t want to think about things like this because it’s unsettling; no one want to believe that they could be at risk in the place they feel most comfortable.

Ultimately, I took a risk. I believed in another human being. I believed that a stranger was telling me the truth. I accepted what he had to say and trusted that he would take care of me. I think that is the best part of my whole trip. For the first time in a long time I trusted and believed. Whatever the outcome of the relationship, it feels good to be able to see beyond suspicion and fear and find admirable qualities in another person. I think that should scare people more than anything else.

And One More Thing

A comment from Perl made me think. She said that she had a blog for a while but just couldn’ keep it up. For a while I wrestled with the idea of the blog. As capricious as I seem (jumping on a plane to Texas, yikes!), before I buy into an idea I have a habit of researching things. Bags, shoes, plane tickets, and haircut research have taken years out of my life and I have vowed to stop. Earlier this year, I lost out on this particularly perfect suede bag and something inside of me snapped. I realized that all my planning and hemming and hawing got in the way of my happiness.

I have been a writer all my life. I would get compliments from teachers and professors. I had one professor tell me I was off topic but the essay was so well written that he was going to over look my digression and give me a higher grade than I perhaps deserved. I have had friends forward emails to people I don’t know just to share a story that I encapsulated so well. I keep saying one day I will write a book; my sister says instead I should write a screenplay, as my stories will translate better visually.

When I was moving away to get my Masters I decided I should start writing formally. I bought a beautiful journal with the knowledge that I like pretty things and the hope that maybe having a nice journal would keep me on point. I knew that I couldn’t make myself write everyday, but that I needed to capture the essence of my adventures and interactions. Sometime I write regularly, at other times, there are months between entries. The fact that there is no one who knows about it and no one who can comment on it allows me such a huge freedom.

My biggest trepidation about committing to a blog was there are people in blogland with rules and regulations about what it takes to have a blog. I don’t know if you’ve read some of these sites, but the entries range from humorous to despotic. You must write everyday, never write off topic for your blog, don’t be creative with colors and fonts…and on and on and on.

If I want to plaster my blog with pictures of the Backstreet Boys (Google me what?) and use flowing purple font like so I will. I mean I won’t because it’ not in my nature to do so, but if I wanted to have my blog as a homage to all that is great and wonderful about that annoying Nick Carter boy, well I should be able to do so (am I going to get hate mail for calling Nick Carter annoying?). And stay with me, but if I don’ have anything fun, wise, or irate to say, then I am not going to post. Above all, if I want to go off topic or discuss exactly what I had for breakfast this morning, then god damn it, I will.

I know this all seems awfully fired up for me to be, especially as no one has actually talked any trash about me and my blog, but I think my biggest fear is not that I will get some mean email from someone saying that as a human being, I fail miserably, but that I have failed in keeping my blog current, on topic, and visually appealing.

Is that the saddest thing or what? I am more concerned with how people perceive my writing format rather than what they think of me as a person.

You like me, you really like me

Okay, I get it.

When I started this blog o’mine I promised myself that I would never give out the address to friends and family. I don’t have a problem with them knowing what trouble I am making, but I didn’t want them to feel they should comment. And I didn’t want them to tell my Grams. And they would. They totally would. At dinner. With guests. And they would be sober. Where was I? Oh yeah, so I had always assumed that I would never get any comments, and I was fine with that. Until I got comments. I LOVE COMMENTS.

All this time, people have been talking about getting comments, leaving comments, reading comments…comments, comments, comments. And I was all like: “What’s the big deal?” Well, people now I know.

When I checked my blog yesterday and I had one comment I was glad to know that I would not die a comment virgin but I just thought: “That’s nice, she stopped by.” Then this morning I checked and I had TWO more. TWO more comments. If this keeps up I will be a comment whore in less than a week. And the thing is, I was excited. I wanted to know what people thought about what I wrote. And I am now totally hooked. I want more. I crave the attention. I need to know what other people think about my little mental wanderings. I have to have…

Oh, my. Got a little carried away there. Whew.

Well here is my resolution. I, some girl, do hereby and herein promise on the fount that is blogger, under the threat of the pain of having ignominy and shame heaped upon me by all who know me, that I will de-lurk. I will continue to read tons of blogs everyday. In my reading I will enjoy what is written; I will laugh at the jokes; I will relish the achievements and victories; I will celebrate the joys and grieve for the sorrows. I vow that I will now become part of blogland by being an active participant. Even if I am just saying hi and that I appreciate a sentiment, I will comment. 

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

What I hate about you

Please learn the grammatical terms for the use of the words who and whom.

For example: To whom are you speaking?, For whom are you looking?, About whom are you dreaming?, Who are you?, Who is in the shower?, Who has been sleeping in my bed?

You do what to whom. Who can do what to whom. Whom cannot do what to who. (Just know that I wanted to chew off my arm for writing this sentence. I know it’s so very wrong, but I must prove my point.)

Thank you.

The Stars at night are big and bright

The Stars at night are big and bright
So my Texan adventure was everything that I wanted. I think I should start from the beginning.

I arrived on Wednesday night to Hobby Airport and THE BOY was there. With roses. Looking cute. My heart jumped a little. Just a little. I defy any girl to tell me she wouldn’t get all excited at the idea of a dozen roses (pink roses- how did he know I would want pink roses? I asked him, he said he had a feeling). And then he kissed me. On the cheek. What? Huh? I mean I had expected a little more. Something deep and sincere, but okay, on the cheek.

We go to this little Mexican restaurant to get me some eats; I forewent the food and headed straight for the Margaritas. I proceeded to get just this side of drunk, not so much that he would feel guilty about taking advantage of me but enough that I wouldn’t be totally mortified at the idea of getting down with a new guy. In the end it wasn’t so necessary. He decided that we should hold off on being “intimate” (he has the nicest phrases for things, I would have said something crude like the Horizontal Hokey-Pokey, whatever). After a little fondling we went to bed.

Next morning we woke up and he started making plans for our day (food, Museum of Natural History, hang out in the park, drinks, movies, dinner) all was fun. Well except for the part where I had to get into the BOX OF DEATH. That’s what I call cars in Texas. People, it’s hot in Texas. You know all those prison movies where the good guy is sent to jail even though he didn’t do it and the warden takes an instant dislike to this guy so the guy ends up in the BOX? Well in Texas every frickin’ car is the BOX.

Back to the story…

We get home and still nothing serious. I asked him about it, because I had expectations. Expectations that he had set. See here’s where things get weird and I still don’t know what to think. According to him, he REALLY wanted to but he just couldn’t, well you know, he just couldn’t. He said he thought it was a combination of nerves (understandable, I mean I am a hottie. What? Who said that?) and the fact that I reminded him of someone else. Get this, I look exactly like his best friend from High School who’s DEAD. How do you overcome that? I am never going to be able to change the way I look and she’s always going to be dead. Ack.

I figured that the best way to deal with this was to not deal with it at all. I spent Friday by the pool getting some sun while he worked. We spent Saturday at the Galleria shopping, I got me a cute shirt from Duo and some make up at Saks. When I say I got me, you should really read: “He bought me.” We spent most of the day there, people, Texas really does do it bigger, and that place was huge. I mean it had an ice skating rink inside and not a regulation hockey rink, it was bigger. Why? Because I just told you, in Texas they do it bigger. Pay attention. I got me some more Margaritas and as I proceeded to get drunkity-drunk on Tequila, he got paged and had to go into work. Damn sick people interrupting my alone time.

Sunday we headed out to Galveston. Okay, time for my disclaimer. I am from New England. I love New England. I will never live too far from New England. But if I had to, it would be in Galveston, so much frickin’ fun. Forget the touristy beach crap, I mean the real bits, the cute houses and the water and the sun and the sand. We went to some crab shack for lunch and did proper BBQ for dinner. I loved it.

Okay, so there may be little bits that I left out, like the great conversation. Sure he has said that he would love to be my boyfriend but that it (our relationship) is in my hands. Great, he would love to support me and agrees with me about the importance of the stay at home mom debate (I am for it until the youngest is in school) and the number of children he wants (three). It’s wonderful that he understands what I mean when I say, “No, but really, I have crazy people in my family, and my children will be genetically pre-disposed to crazy.” But I spent five nights in his bed and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.

He’ll be back in Boston in a few weeks to visit friends, and will be moving back permanently in August. He’s said that he knows he can’t ask me to wait forever and that if he were in my shoes he wouldn’t wait all that long. But I like him. I really like him. I like him a lot.

When I left I told him I would wait to see him when he comes up, hopefully the problem, whatever it was, would be fixed and YEAH life would go on, as it should.

Okay, see here, the problem with this; I have a very short attention span. How short you ask. Well, I came home on Monday night and I had a date on Tuesday night. Yeah, way short. Last night’s date was nice. Better than nice really. He was smart and funny and sweet and charming and deep and sincere and a great kisser. Tuesday’s date ended at 6:00 AM this morning. Yikes! I mean, really what’s a girl to do all excited and hot and bothered for almost a full week, when the opportunity arose, well let’s just say that the problem with THE BOY that I really like was not so much with the boy who was filling space.

Okay, I know it all seems kind of sluttish, I agree. And how was I telling one boy that I will wait for him and going on a date with another. Well, THE BOY knows. I told him that I had this date already arranged and he said that I should go. His words were, “He could be the one for you. Go, have a good time.” I don’t think this is what he meant by a good time. It was all compounded by the fact that I am avoiding my roommate; she’s getting all up in my grill about shit that has nothing to do with her. I was telling my date that I didn’t want to go home and deal with her craziness/jealousy and he said, “Well, come home with me, I’ll drive you home in the morning.” I said, “I don’t think that is a good idea.” He said, “Taxi.” I said, “Well, okay if you will drive me home in the morning.”

Well, that is the story of what happened when some girl went to Texas. I loved my time there, have a new appreciation for the many places from which the human body can sweat, hope to god I can figure out what I want before I hurt two really great guys, and maybe in the end I get to be happy with someone I like and who can take care of business.

Big ups to the Merry Widow (you get a straight up mention for being my first commenter) for the guide on things to do when you’re in Houston. If you ever come my way I will return the favor.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again, oh babe I hate to go

So my bags are packed, I have an appointment for a vigorous waxing, and all I have already hit the convenience store for last minute items. Tomorrow afternoon I will be on a plane heading to Texas to spend time with someone who has all the potential in the world. But that’s the thing. We all have all the potential in the world.

If George Bush and his son can become President of the United States, if Paula Abdul can make out with a contestant on her show, if Britney Spears can spend her days eating Cheetos and drinking red bull…I think you get my point. People have the potential to do amazing things with their life. Amazing here is not necessarily used to indicate great or wonderful. Amazing can be used to encompass the awesomely embarrassing.

How does this apply to me; the boy in Texas has great potential. He could be a psycho axe-wielding murder. But he could also be the love of my life. I think I just stole that line from Terms of Endearment. Hmmm.

Anyhoo.

We have taken to talking for many hours every night. He has already said that we should move in together. And of course we will get a puppy. All. So. Fast. So. Soon. I don’t know what’s come over me, because, and here’s the bit about my potential, I am considering it.

Me. The girl who has lost out on many a bag because I needed some sort of internal debate regarding my exact need for a new hand bag (I was so heart broken after I lost out on the sand colored suede bucket bag at Express that I swore never again). I am not a jump into hot water with no idea of the depth of the pool type a girl. I might seem like that, and I have had my fair share of adventures, but even my adventures are all well planned and dreadfully thought out.

The idea that this is a man, a good, caring, trusting man, who has already said that he enjoys my company enough that he would be willing to care and cherish my shoe collection sends me completely off kilter. I just cannot understand why someone who seems so nice would want to throw in with a girl like me.

A girl who has slept with more than twice the number of people he has slept with. Yes he told me his number, yes I believe it, and no I will never really tell him mine.

A girl who has at least three certifiable family members.

A girl who is mean and selfish.

A girl who self-medicated her way through a Bachelor’s and a Master’s degree.

A girl who will point out everyone else’s faults to make herself feel better.

A girl who knows all that is wrong about her and still refuses to make any changes, because as mean, selfish, crazy, drug dependant, hormonal, irrational, and rude as I am, I like me. I am happy being all those things.

As much as I want someone to love me for all that I am, I still have a hard time respecting anyone who sticks around because I am just not that nice of a person. Is that fucking sick or what?

So the point being, I am leaving tomorrow. I don’t anticipate writing while away, but I am sure to have something juicy when I get back.
 

Monday, June 06, 2005

The One Where I am Wonderfully Tanned

Things are moving along; it’s time to introduce THE BOY. To be accurate, I shall be calling him THE current BOY with potential, heretofore known as TcBwp. I met him online. I know, I know, crazy and unsafe. I needed to start dating and I joined an online dating service. I met just as many weird, scary losers as I did nice, sane, sweet guys. I think that I have perfected the getting to know you via email phase to such a point I can spot the crazies within a single email exchange. That is why I am confident about TcBwp.

He and I exchanged entertaining emails for about a week and a half. He called me on a Monday several weeks ago, and with a few exceptions we speak every night. For Hours. I find myself telling him things I have kept from some of my best friends. He does the same. A recent conversation included prostitution (not mine), yeast infections (not his), and the possibility of living together. This is huge. Put my head between my knees and breath in deep huge. I am always on the edge of hyperventilating just from the idea that this guy really likes me. I am the girl who never believed in love at first site. Hell, I didn’t believe in love at living together for a year. What am I doing going to visit this guy? Oh god, oh god, oh god…

Wait, I didn’t really finish the story. So he calls me and we talk, and talk, and talk. It’s good. I like that we have no lies, not even little ones. I think it’s the best way to start a relationship. This has the potential to be the best relationship I’ve never had.

The thing is, and of course there’s a thing, he’s currently finishing a medical internship in Houston, Texas. I live in Boston, which is where he will be returning to at the end of next month. It’s just a long time to wait to meet and I am far too inpatient to wait that long. I am all about instant gratification. In one of our conversations he mentioned that he wished I could come visit him. I let that thought germinate for a few days and I asked him if he was serious. Upon confirmation that he indeed wanted to see me, I booked a flight. I leave Wednesday. Oh god, oh god, oh god…. someone get me a paper bag.

I know that he’s going to have to work on Thursday and be on call on Saturday, but I can deal with that. I have already made plans to go shopping and sit by the pool. I have every expectation to come back to Boston tanned and relaxed.

I think that it’s about time in my life that I take a leap of faith. Trust in others is good, right?

Friday, June 03, 2005

And this is dedicated to the one I love

I have contemplated dedicating this here blog. I am aware that every funny thing I say or do, or everything that I do or say and I think is funny, is as a direct result of those around me who encourage me to act a fool.

While I would never say this to her, my Mom is one of the reasons why I am the way I am. I mean, if you have such a shining example of absolutely crazy, and I mean way-fucking nuts, then you really have a golden standard against which to measure yourself. By shining example of absolutely crazy I mean my Mom and by you and yourself I mean me and myself. It wasn’t the worst upbringing; it was just different.
Of course Mom didn’t become Mom without Grams. God help anyone who speaks poorly about Grams (or as I like to call her GramCrackers cause she crazy too but it’s said with all the love and affection that one can give to a crazy Grams) because I will cut you, but I think we can all admit that Mom got her crazy from Grams. They would never agree with that because they have different types of crazy that they don’t see the similarities, but trust me, it’s there.

Then there is the second tier of people: my sister Ri, and my girls, Melli, Bonnie, Carrie, and Fifi. All of them encourage and embolden me to be me. They laugh when I am witty and sarcastic. Oh, and they support me in my desire to drink all the vodka. They are all crazy but in a very supportive and loving way. They know that I will always sober up and apologize for being drunk and disorderly and promise to stop drunk shopping (but I always get such good deals especially at the Banana Republic in Faneuil Hall).

It is for these people that I write. It is because of them that I can write.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Rant

Why even bother trying to explain to me that because I am registered to vote in one town over, the City of Boston is completely unable to do one god damn thing for me.

Please stop using that annoying voice that is reserved for immigrants or people who look like they might be immigrants-I love it when I am all tanned up and people talk real slow like. Just say: “Look lady, I don’t care what you want or need, we can’t help you.” Let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be the first time this week that I heard those words.

At least then I could respect you and your bad attitude. I understand the words that are coming out of your mouth, but I just don’t care. That’s it, I am no longer paying taxes.

And then…

Welcome and salutations. This is the first entry of the rest of my life. I do have a flair for the dramatic.

So my blog is really just going to be all about me, me, me, a favored subject of mine. I figure it will include the tales of drunken disorderly behavior, THE BOY (of the moment), my crazy ass family, and hypothetical instances of work (I like my job enough to not want to get fired- lesson learned from others). Must go and begin doing what it is that I do for money.