Memoirs of a (almost) Famous Rock Groupie
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: "Sour Girl", Stone Temple Pilots
Just call me the Penny Lane of the Suburban Set.
Today's entry is inspired by the news that a (former) best friend and sometime humper-bunny of mine is getting a record contract. As soon as I heard that, I thought "Fuck's sake, Queenie, you can say you had him before he was famous, among other things." Christ Jesus. But here's the story, see if it moves you:

I was in the navy, fresh-faced and wide-eyed, when I met him. He worked in the same shop as I, was in a matter of fact my BOSS, and I was smitten despite the fact that he was as far from my type as Kermit the Frog. He was built like a cross between a brick wall and a Sherman tank, but something about his carefree manner and flashing golden eyes did it for me. Being the only girl in the shop at the time, and being extremely svelte for one such as me, I was considered a hot property and all the boys were egging me on to ask him out because he had just finalized his divorce from a total psycho (who I learned a lot about later) and was in need of some lovin'. He was older, he was my supervisor, he was COOL, and therefore out of my league because of my oh-so-low self-esteem. (I found out months later that had I asked him out not only would he have responded with a resounding YES, but I would have saved him from a fate worse than death. oops.)
We went on a detachment down to San Diego, we got drunk together, and despite my attempts to remain lucid we ended up making out heavily in full view of, oh, I don't know, EVERYBODY. This was bad because he had found himself a girlfriend only a week after I refused to talk to him, and here I was flaunting my obvious attraction in the most painfully obvious way possible. Bad, bad me. Of course, once we sobered up we had a nice long talk about mutual attraction and the fact that he had a girlfriend, and that talk blossomed into a "omigod I'm friends with the coolest guy in the squadron!" friendship. Hour-long smoke breaks, slipping out to the parking lot to listen to music, blatant acts of work-avoiding, so on and so forth.
JUMP AHEAD TO:
My 21st birthday. What a fucking wash that was. The party that was thrown for me sucked and lasted somewhere between 20 minutes and a half an hour before I left my own bash and headed out to someone else's. We (me and my two girls) ended up at his house, where we had been told that his band was getting down with the sickness. But of course, this is ME we're talking about, so by the time we got there everyone had gone home except for him, because it was his house, and the drummer. His drummer proceeded to make drinks for everyone anyway, and wonder of wonders, we all got drunk. It's funny how most of my stories begin with alcohol and end with debauchery, isn't it.
So he takes me on a tour of his expansive property, and my drunk ass promptly falls into a four-foot hole in the floor of his barn. ooo fun. Once I'm out of the hole, he decides that every few feet we should stop walking and make out. The only issue I have with this is that he still has a girlfriend, who is at this point fighting with him (AGAIN) and has taken off for a few days. He says they're taking a break from each other, even though they're living together at this point, and the last of my resolve crumbles. blah blah blah several moments of intimacy later blah blah blah I decide that the party's over and head back into the house to grab my friends and head home because anything else would end in heartbreak for me if no one else.
MY FRIENDS ARE GONE.
GONE.
Not only that, they've taken my wallet and cell phone and cigarettes, effectively stranding me with no cash and just my ID card, a good two hour's walk from my warm and inoffensive barracks bed. Well, when life hands you lemons...blah blah yak yak several rooms and various furniture items later blah blah (edited for content) Once again, we have a long talk about what just happened. Nothing bad, nothing wrong, but I get the straight poop on the fact that we were good friends and that, you know, maybe we should be together, but there's that girl he's already with... He pours me into a cab and I go home, to face the third degree I will be subjected to whether I like it or not.
JUMP AHEAD TO
a year and a half later:
the coversations have gotten deeper, more unbelieveably meaningful, we've messed around several times behind the bar his girlfriend works at, and he tells me that he knows I fell for him. He is wrong.
That's not entirely true. I DID adore him, but the fact that he had a girlfriend who was insanely jealous and had already threatened to kill me more than once was a serious deterrent for any kind of love. Besides, it's not like my sexual adventures halted after I spent that night with him, quite the opposite. He would hear about someone and get "concerned". There were things that we couldn't talk about, that we WOULDN'T talk about, and we kind of sorted it away into a drawer called "shit we won't talk about". That drawer, ethereal as it was, must have been HUGE. His favorite quote was that he felt like he had two girlfriends, one that he told everything to and one he went home to. I suppose I must have been one, because I certainly was NOT the other.
He was one of my best friends, I will admit that, and we had LOTS in common, but there was no chance in hell we would have ever made it as a couple. Too much drama. You should've seen the look on his face when he found out I slept with his bassist... But I know what will work with me and what will not. He falls into the latter category.
I haven't heard from or seen him since he retired from the navy in the middle of 2002, but every now and then I hear about his band (which was REALLY good), and I have heard tales about how he never moved back to Michigan like he planned because he wanted to keep said band together, and now he's married to his insanely jealous and rage-ready girlfriend.
Does this make me a groupie? It does when you boink three-fifths of the band and show up to every show they do. Especially under threat of death from the girlfriend.
There's LOTS more to this story, but as I have written enough, I won't go into it. Tense moments, dramatic moments, things that float over your heads with the weight of unsaid words... Whatever.
I'm glad I never dated in the Navy.

Has It Really Been So Long?
Mood:  sharp
Now Playing: "As If", Blaque
7 1/2 years have passed, and the term has been served....
Mary Kay is a-headin' home!

Mary Kay LeTourneau, for those of yall that don't remember, was convicted in '97 for having sex with a 12 year old kid, one of her students here in Washington. Not only that, she had a BABY with him. I was in my senior year of high school in California, and I distinctly remember going off on the backwoods-ness of Washington state for one, and the positive points of prison-mandated hysterectomies. My moral outrage and crazy experimentation with Republicanism had finally gotten to me at that point, and I was quickly slapped and thrown back to the left by a communist friend of mine, but that's obviously another story.
So Mary Kay slept with a kid. The higher powers gave her probation with the promise to NOT contact this kid again, and a few months later she was discovered having sex with him in her CAR. Come ON, Mary Kay, in the CAR? Even a former slutty personage as myself would never resort to boinking in the car. Well, in retrospect I wouldn't.
And the best part is that she went back to jail and found out she was pregnant AGAIN. So now she's got two girls by this underage kid, and she went to jail for 71/2 years.
Early this morning she was released after serving her term. The kid, now 21, is unemployed and currently working on getting his GED. I guess his passion for learning went down the crapper when he realized his favorite teacher wasn't going to be there on Monday.
I just can't belileve that it's been over seven years. That makes me feel OLD.
Well, that and the fact that my birthday is next week.
The new kitty is doing badly on his second full day in the house. Both of the girls are hissing at each other, last night there was some great hoo-raw going on in the wee hours, and all the animals are basically on edge. The hub-unit's theory is that Augie is a boy, and the girls are competing for his attentions. They're all neutered, this isn't what's happening. He's worried that we'll have to take Augie back to the center if the kids can't start getting along. I told him that we'll give it till next tuesday, because really he's only been in the house for less than 48 hours, and there are going to be some fights when the girls realize that the weird-smelling kitty isn't going anywhere. Plus, they're not used to boy cats, so they have no idea what to make of him. I'd hiss and spit too if some weirdo kept trying to sleep on my bed and eat my food, let alone sniff my butt.
But then, that's just me.

The Neverending Battle Against CRAP
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: "Honestly OK", Dido
Mmmm, Jello.
Sugar Free and Fat Free, with ) carbs (not that I care about the low-carb revolution, but hey it's a perk), Jello has become my favorite snack. I'm having a bowl right now, and it's only 10 after 6 in the morning. Pots and pots of Jello. MM, flubbery! The only thing I can't figure out is how to do anything else with it. I tried mixing in fruit, I tried making it with sparkling soda, and now I'm stumped. The hub unit says he'll stop buying the Jello if I don't find something else to do with it besides filling up our glass baking pan. Any suggestions from the Tenants?
But on to today's topic.
AGAIN I went off on an organizing whirlwind this weekend, making the piles and piles of stuff more manageable by making smaller piles. I rearranged our bookshelves, purging again (I try to get rid of anything I won't ever read again) and dropping off a HUGE stack at the used bookstore. I decided that the pile of plastic, bacteria-farming cutting boards we owned could be disposed of with the purchase of two large glass cutting boards. I forgot what kind of noise the serrated knives made on glass. SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE---
Anyway. We basically went on a buying spree of plastic containers and better-quality knickknacks. I was fairly manic all weekend, due to the wind that unexpectedly sprung up which I was susbequently unprepared for. I couldn't sleep for SHITE. To make matters worse, I ordered Friday's dinner from P____ H__ as a special surprise ( I won't name names :)) for the hub-unit, and it gave me some SERIOUS intestinal problems. A full bottle of Pepto later, I was settled enough to lay in bed and stare at the fluid tree-shapes being whipped about beyond the thin glass. ICK.
And then...the biggest, bestest news...
NEW KITTY!!!!!
Yepper, our brood has increased by one. I hadn't PLANNED on another one, but here's how it happened:
We went to the waterfront to pick up an art glass cutting board, and on the way back to town I asked if we could stop and look at the dogs at the WAIF center. That's our version of a pound, but they don't kill the animals after a set period of time. I like that about them. Anywhoo, so we took the detour, and after slobbering on the dogs for a few minutes, I begged to go see the cats, and there he was.
Yes, I said HE. He was rolling about in his kennel, miaowing piteously, and he was beautiful.
They called him Ballou at the center, but we've changed his name to Augustus, Augie for short, and he's cool with that. He's pure white, with blue eyes, and a little tattooed "3" in his ear. The tattoo shows what year he was spayed. He's two years old, which makes him the oldest of our litter, and for his first day home he's doing okay. Pigwidgeon is a little apprehensive, she follows him EVERYWHERE, and the two of them are now locked in a power struggle over who rules the roost. Augie jumps on the bed and growls whenever the girls try to get up on it too, so we've had a chat about that. There's that general uneasiness between felines right now, but our girls have segued from the "let's kill him" stage to the lesser evil "if we ignore him he'll go away" stage.
It's kinda funny, when they're close enough to each other you notice that we've got the whole monochromatic spectrum covered: a white cat, a black cat, and a between black and gray cat. Hysterical. If only I could get a picture... If only they'd hold still long enough without trying to kill each other.
By the by, three cats in a two-bedroom apartment is FUN.

A Conversation of Kitties
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: "Magic Man", Herat
Feeling MUCH better now, thank you.
Anyway, I was watching the two cats this morning when they woke me up at 5, trying to figure out exactly what it is they discuss behind my back. I know it's probably not much, but for your consideration, as well as my own, I present "5 AM Shenanigans", starring the 15 month old Pigwidgeon and the 7 month old Hobbes. Bitches, both of them. :)

HOBBES: Pig, I'm bored. We've been asleep all day, and now MOM won't even look at us.
PIG: They're sleeping. They do it when it's dark because they're weird.
HOBBES: Do ya think we could get mom to play with us?
PIG: Well, I could get her to play with ME, you'd have to wait under the bed though.
HOBBES: Why?
PIG: Because you're fidgety. You start bouncing all over Mom and she's gonna pull out the squirtgun again.
HOBBES: What are you gonna do?
PIG: Same thing I do every night at this time. I'm going to sing in her ear until she rolls over and knocks something off the nightstand.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: Then you grab whatever falls off, and we can play soccer with it until Mom gets up and throws it for us.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: Then we bring it back so she'll throw it again.
HOBBES: She'll do that?
PIG: At least until Dad wakes up, then she'll just stare at us.
END

Okay, so those aren't really shenanigans. However, I may be giving them more credit than is due. It may also go something like this:

PIG: Wanna play a game with Mom?
HOBBES: SHOWME SHOWME SHOWME! How do ya play?
PIG: Okay, we've gotta find the dingle ball.
HOBBES: Which one?
PIG: Which-? The only one we have left, you dope.
DINGLE DINGLE DINGLE (they found it)
PIG: Okay, now you get on the end of the bed and stare at Dad until he starts making those honking noises, and I'll drool on the ball.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: And then I'll drop it on Mom's back.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: Whaddaya mean, then what? That's it.
HOBBES: THAT'S IT?
PIG: Well, I'll jump up next to her head and stare at her until she rolls over on it and it sticks.
HOBBES: Then what?
PIG: That's it.
HOBBES: Whaddaya mean, that's it? I stare at Dad and you drop a drooly ball on Mom? That's it?
PIG: What the fuck do you want? We can't do anyting else until the shower starts.
HOBBES: Fine. Just let me go jump on Dad's nuts first and see if he wakes up so he can play too.
PIG: You do that. Oh, this will be SO MUCH FUN!
HOBBES: Indeed it will be! Grab the dingle ball!
END

Seriously. This is what they do. I have now figured out that if Pig is staring at me when I wake up, she wants me to leave the drooly ball where it lies. If she's staring at the hallway, she wants to play fetch. If she's staring at the foot of the bed, it means that the hub-unit will soon be in pain and she's just waiting to give Hobbes the signal to inflict said pain.
They can't be THAT intelligent, can they?

For Lack of A Better Post
Mood:  not sure
Still haven't woke up fully yet, so I thought I'd just post some links that make absolutely NO sense. Give ma a few minutes and I'll post something more interesting.
Peter Pan's Homepage
I don't know if this should make me happy or not. It's kinda cool, until you check out the fashion page, and then it's just disturbing. My friend Jen swears unto God Almighty that he's gay, but then, what about the ad looking for Tinkerbell?
Freaky Paranoid Prophecy Shite
I was looking up on the Laci Peterson case, and somehow this showed up on my Google search. If you have the time, READ IT. Some people have too much time on their hands. Well, aside from us bloggers, of course.
Time Cubey Goodness
Ah, nothing like being told that youre being academically retarded. I LOVE finding these sights on the web!
Right, so today's a twofer. I just need to wake up....

Things That Frighten Me
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: "I'm The Mrs.", Buffy Soundtrack
Things That Scare Me:

1. The hub-unit dying before me, or just dying period. If he goes, not only will I be a catatonic WRECK, but I will be alone with no one to take care of me, and it's painfully obvious that I can't take care of myself.
2. Moving to a new town. I have serious panic attacks when I think about starting over somewhere that I don't now where everything is and I'm all by myself socially. Which segues into this next one:
3. Making new friends. According to the friends that I have now, I'm such a great person. However, it took them almost four years to figure that out. I'm one of those people that you either really like right off the bat or dislike IMMENSELY. And if I don't like you? Second chances are not an option. I'm bad at making friends, I'm content with the ones I have.
4. Having Children. The biological clock keeps ticking, and the IDEA of children is like socialism: looks great on paper...NOT so good when actually implemented. I mean, I forget to feed the cat-monkeys at LEAST three times a week, and the litter box? That's the hub-unit's job because the smell makes me vomit. Kids: good idea, bad reality. I get all skittery just thinking about it.
5. No one remembering me. I know this sounds silly, but come on, I'm bipolar. Silly things upset me. To wit: I am 24, soon to be 25, and I have done nothing noteworthy. Unless you're my mother, and then me getting married was the best news of the century, but I digress. I'm a housewife. I want people to be able to go back after I'm gone and be able to understand my motivation for everything I've ever done. I want people to know my story and be inspired or touched or disgusted or shocked or SOMETHING, because I believe everyone's story is unique and deserves to be told.
Those are the things that frighten me. The stuff that panics me is a HUGE list, and I don't even want to go there as of right now. Besides, the Devil Machine (ie, the workout apparatus) is a-callin'. Time to go hyper-extend my knees again.

Things I Realize Now That I'm Married
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: "Hero", Chad Kroeger and that guy from another band
Yesterday's entries were GINORMOUS. I apologize to anyone who was blown away and quit reading.
Back to topis, Things I Realize Now That I'm Married:
1. My mother, bitter and jaded as she is, now has something in common with me, which is better than when we were both single because that was GROSS. We now swap recipes that made me smile as child, and she gets to send baby pictures of me to the hub-unit where I look like I stuck my finger in a socket.
2. I am NOT the center of the universe. I have to take care of a man who is constantly falling apart.
3. If I run out of clean dishes, someone will suddenly call and want to come over for tea and biscuits.
4. If I have tea and biscuits for myself, the hub-unit will suddenly get to come home for lunch.
5. I have no more single friends, and I think that that's okay.
6. I couldn't imagine dating anymore, much less anyone other than the hub-unit.
7. All those bills I just didn't pay and moved away from no longer just concern me. I now have to worry about a credit rating.
8. The Bestest Best Friend will now call and we will discuss what her kids and my cats are doing instead of sex. When we DO discuss sex, it's always about doing it with the same guy, because we are both married now and have no more cool stories.
9. Cleaning the house is harder than I ever expected. MUCH harder. MUCH.
10. Laudry will not fold itself, nor will a man do it for me.
11. I will never get my 10 thousand square-foot compound filled with majestic dobermans and half-naked minions romping about by the pool after I sell my first novel. Well, I COULD, but then I'd have to buy Helen Hunt for the hub-unit.
I'm sure there are other things, but these and the Things That Frighten Me stick out the most in my mind. As a matter of fact, I think I'll post again after I get another cup of coffee...

The True Washington Story, Continued
Mood:  suave
So I'm back, with coffee and cigarette in hand, ready to paint The rest of The story:
Shark Week, 2003:
I go back to ASSMA's apartment every weekend now, but only as a pretense to hang out with her for five minutes before asking if her neighbor is around. He always is, and he's always glad to see me. We all play cards at his place, when he goes to buy smokes at The store he comes back with a pack for me even if I don't need one, he makes me a sandwich when he makes himself one and he even knows I hate mayonnaise, and even if he leaves The room for two seconds to go to The bathroom he comes back and gives me a quick kiss. For some reason, we're acting like a couple even though we've only REALLY known each other for a week, and for some reason, it feels like The most natural progression in The world. We spend The whole weekend lounging around his apartment, watching The discovery channel and talking (among other things), until I have to go home because to stay any longer would tell my roommates that I'm up to no good and not really just hanging with The girls. I don't know why I haven't told them yet about this guy that I'm seeing every weekend, it just feels like if I tell them, it won't be The same. Neighbor guy and I are spending all of our spare time together, whenever can, and then The bomb drops:
We are moving.
Well, WE really weren't moving, but The Bestest Best Friend is getting transferred to Florida, where her parents live. She'll live with them until her husband gets orders there, and then they'll get their own place.
I have bad credit. Seriously BAD credit. I have nowhere to go, but then The BBF drops The idea that maybe I should go with her to because hey, what's holding me here?
Good Point. I agree. So now The plan is that on my 24th birthday, only two weeks away, we will caravan across The country: Me, The BBF, The baby, and my cat in The Neon, and her dad (who flew up to help with The move) and our Pomeranian in The moving truck. The trip will take one week, and I would have to pay for nothing but The occasional meal. This is new, this is exciting, this is me moving across The country based on a snap decision. However, The irony does not escape me: neighbor guy and I are having so much fun together, and now that I'm content, I'm moving. But who am I to turn down such an opportunity? I have to tell neighbor guy. We exchange email addresses, only he writes it down wrong and every email he sends me I never receive. I tell him I will call him on my cell phone.
CUT TO- The Day Before My 24th Birthday:
ASSMA gives me a hug goodbye and sobs that she'll miss my bawdy stories and no-shit attitude. I am spending The night at neighbor-guy's for one last hoo-haw, and I feel fine.
My 24th Birthday:
He drops me off The next morning at The hotel that we're staying at, and tells me he'll miss me.
Okay, this is where I'll speed it up, because it gets even longer:
We start The road trip. We'll be stopping in Spokane for two days, so that The BBF and her dad can spend some time with BBF's brother and his family. I call neighbor guy via dialing ASSMA, and tell her that I was thinking of inviting him to Spokane until we leave, because really, who knows The next time I'll get laid? She hands The phone to neighbor guy, and without a second thought he says yes. 12 hours later, he's there, and I am happy. The second day, he spends an exorbitant amount of cash on me so that I can get my hair and nails done for a 'birthday present', and that night, when we finally go to bed, he turns to me and asks me to be his girlfriend. Bad timing. I hate to remind him, but I'm moving THREE THOUSAND MILES AWAY, starting tomorrow. He doesn't care, and tells me that he's taking leave The second week of September to go see his parents for two weeks, he'll just cut it down to one week and come see me for The other 7 days. His parents live in Arizona. I think it's strange, but okay. We're officially a couple, officially, but we've been together since Shark Week.
He leaves at 10 AM The next day, and we begin our trek to Florida, or "FLOIDA" if you want to be weird about it. Instantly, I begin to miss neighbor-guy. INSTANTLY. That night, at The first hotel, I find out that he's shoved several half-used phone cards in my purse, along with his phone number. And a hundred dollars for The trip.
The TRIP:
I call him every night, talking for three hours . The BBF finds it funny, because that's about as long as she talks to her husband every night. The conversation vary in their progression, but by The middle of The week we're talking about spending our lives together. Not getting married, mind you; just being together. And kids, we talk about kids. Bleah. Towards The end of The trip, we go broke. I don't want to ask him, so The BBF does, and he sends us 300 dollars by Western Union, and tells me that he can't wait to see me in September.
AUGUST 24th, 2003:
We arrive in , and I am in serious pain. My everything hurts. EVERYTHING. This goes on for two weeks, as does The nightly phone calls to neighbor-guy. I miss my period. Turns out, I am 2 months pregnant. I have only been with neighbor guy for a month, meaning that The first night I met him and went home with The mega-hunk, something happened that shouldn't have. I am hysterical, thinking that neighbor-guy won't want me anymore. He does, and he says we'll get through it. Oh god, I don't want to be single and pregnant 3000 miles away from my family and anyone I know. Neighbor guy tells me that he'll come to and take me back with him to Washington. He also tells me that he actually drove back to The house in Spokane looking for after he had left The first time, with every intention of packing all my stuff into his truck and taking me back then, but we were already gone. Of course at this time, I already know that he's leaving in October for a detachment to Japan, and I tell him it won't work because of EVERYTHING that would happen to me while he was gone, plus I had no medical insurance, no job, no money... more complications than I'd care to admit.
So he says that I would be well taken care of if we were married, because I wouldn't have to worry about any of that. He wants me in his life forever, and what better way to do that than get married. He wants to get back from Japan and have me at The apartment waiting for him.
And that's how it went. Chaos ensued. Suddenly I'm buying my own engagement ring with only a hundred dollar budget, a wedding dress with a hundred dollars, and I'm waiting for The 11th of September, when he goes on leave and starts The drive to . Neighbor-guy calls my parents and asks to marry me, causing panic and confusion in California, because no one even knew I was dating someone.
SEPTEMBER 11th, 2003:
He starts The drive.
SEPTEMBER 14th:
He shows up in , and I start to repack all my stuff in his truck for The trip BACK TO WASHINGTON. I have been in for less than a month. I look at it as a short vacation from The chilliness of Washington. We have decided to get married in Las Vegas, on The trip back. by The 22nd of September, neighbor-guy will become a hub-unit. There is much rejoicing as Me, him, and my cat take off on The 3500 mile trip back to The northwest.

And that's it, kids. I had to go cross-country to find love, only to find it back in The place I left. He drove there by himself to get me, and we went back together.
I think I'll talk about The trip home later, I've babbled on enough for today.
Cheers. Hope I haven't taken up too much of your time with these two posts.

The True Washington Story
Mood:  suave
Now Playing: "Texarkana", REM
So this week is Shark Week on the Discovery Channel....
No biggie, you might say, but for me it's HUGE. You see, I met the hub-unit during Shark Week. We liked each other so much that I ended up spending almost every night at his apartment, even though he had to get up at four in the morning to drop me off back at my place before heading off to work. Anyway, having said THIS, we've been together a year now, and I feel the need to celebrate said relationship with a retelling of the whole sordid mess that began a most interesting courtship and a 'movie of the week' everything else. Pull up a martini and sit back, I'll try to edit for television:
June, 2003: My savings are exhausted after only six months being out of the navy, and unemployment checks suck big time. I feel the need to for my first civilian job in five years. I apply to twelve places that I want to, and three places I don't. Guess who calls?
After one phone call and one conversation, I get hired as a housekeeper at the A____ M____ I__.
I will never do housekeeping again. I was attacked by someone's dog when I came in, I had to peel condoms off walls, I ruined two pairs of jeans from being on my knees all the time scrubbing floors, and I developed an obsession with figuring out how people got pubic hairs on TOP of the toilet. All this, in six days.
The roommates and I ran into some financial problems, and one day the water company called to tell us that they were shutting our service off at noon if we didn't pay up. We have a seven month-old baby in the house, this would not do. I called work, three hours before I was supposed to be there, and told them that I had to help scrounge cash an that I wouldn't be in till around noon. Having given them plenty of notice before hand, they still fired me, the bastards. I wasn't upset, not in the slightest. However, the assistant manager, who had taken a shine to me, invited me over to her place that weekend for a party. I have no life, therefore a party invite is MORE than welcome.
This was a bad idea for many reasons. (I also realize that this story is going to be in two parts.) I worked at the A____ M____ I__ for SIX DAYS. Bleah. Anyway, I show up at this party, and there are some strange people there, all telling me that they're taking me out to get drunk and possibly laid (WOOOO) so that I feel better. One girl, there with her incredibly hot boyfriend, tells me that her ex-husband lives downstairs and they wanted me to hook up with him. One look and I knew this would NEVER be possible. Then, the assistant manager's (Here forever known as ASSMA) next-door neighbor comes out. What a geek, and super-skinny. I introduce myself and them run inside to finish applying my makeup.
At the bar, I watch the ASSMA hit on male and female alike, and her friend try to organize a threesome with some girl that's at a bachelorette party at the same bar. Her super-hot boyfriend doesn't seem too interested, but...
I am sitting there looking stupid. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this mega hot (SUPER mega hot, if I may) chunk of man sits down next to me and starts applying the charm. Jackass that I am, I do not question, and him and a buddy of his follow us back to ASSMA's apartment. I get lucky, but only in the way that I got some, not in the way that I enjoyed it or anything. ASSMA's friend shows up at the apartment, sans boyfriend, proclaiming that her and super-hot are no longer together, and proceeds to make some of the MOST disgusting nookie noises I have ever heard not more than three feet from my head. Ten minutes later, she gets up and leaves, heading downstairs to crash at her ex-husband's place. Later that morning I find out that she slept with him too, which is inconceivably GROSS to me. Suddenly I'm glad I didn't hook up with her ex.
So I go home, disheveled and disappointed that the mega-hot chunk turned out to be such a dork ( I won't go into details), and as soon as I get home the phone rings and it's ASSMA, making plans for the next weekend. I decline, fearing another disastrous drunken hook up, and live the next month or so in blissful unemployment.
The Week BEFORE Shark Week, 2003:
I finally go back to ASSMA's apartment, having nothing else to do, and she has a date with the most fucked up grill I've ever seen. She says he has a great ass, but I can't stop staring at his teeth. She tells me to go get her neighbor to drink with us. Sure, why not, the more the merrier, right? SO I burst into the neighbor's apartment, and the first sentence I ever utter to him is "Get up bitch, I'm here and we're all drinking tonight!"
I suppose that's what won him over.
So we're all tanked, and I've spent the evening talking to ASSMA's neighbor, who turns out to be less of a dork than I thought. One thing leads to another, and I end, um, "elsewhere" than where I started.
Now, before I cut this short and continue later today, I will give a little side story:
ASSMA tells me that her and her neighbor have a mutual attraction. However, nothing will ever happen because they don't want to ruin their friendship. ASSMA weighs about 270, and at the time I was maybe 160. I figured that, while he was kind of cute for a dork, nothing would happen because I was obviously not his type. Later in the evening, when we were alone and somewhat sober, I told him this. He laughed his ass off and said that he was just being nice, and there was no way in hell that he would ever do anything with ASSMA because she was loud and obnoxious and slept with EVERYONE that came over to her apartment of the male persuasion. I figured if he wanted to fudge a little, it was cool because the two of US was never going to happen again Anyway.
So the neighbor drives me home in the morning, and I jump out of his truck before he even comes to a complete stop and run inside. I don't see him again for another week, when things got REALLY weird.
Til later, kiddies.

WHAAAAT????????
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: "Guilty", Gravity Kills
WHAT THE FUCK.
Weighed myself today, and I couldn't believe my fucking eyes. The last time I was hefted onto a scale I weighed in at 182, which was what I pretty much expected. TOday, hefted again into the sling, I gawped at the fact that I now cash in at 192. HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT WORK?
For the last two weeks I've been doing NOTHING but work out on that confounded Gazelle thing and take my pills. The appetite suppressant/metabolic enhancer has KILLED my food intake to an apple and a cup of coffee for breakfast, a tomato with bleu cheese for lunch, and MAYBE a small bowl of whatever for dinner. I pee constantly, good god above I SHIT twice a day, how the FUCK could I weigh ten pounds more than what I did in FEBRUARY??
This prompted a SERIOUS depression attack, and the hub-unit had to stay home from work for an hour trying to console me while I tried to beat him off with a stick becuase I didn't want to be touched. I'm surprised I didn't leave greasy fat-marks on his shirt. GRRRRR...
HIS reasoning:
How do I know that I haven't gained a lot of weight before I started working out, and how do I know that I also haven't LOST any, since I abhor scales? How do I know that I'm not just packing on muscle that will eventually kick my metabolism up a HUGE notch and then I'll just drop it all in a blink?
MY reasoning:
I AM A FAT COW THAT DOES NOTHING.
HIS statement on the situation:
I love you no matter what, and the working out must be doing something because the last time we had sex I was Super Stamina Girl.
JOY.
MY statement on the situation:
DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN OR I'LL POKE YOU WITH A SHARP STICK.
Can you tell I'm having a bad day? Shit...
And then, to make matters weirder,my mom drops all this crazy business about how I should have had a D&C after my miscarriage just to make sure everything came out. SHe says this because her rights to grandchildren fall solely to ME, because my little sister is a fucking jet-setting flake. I tried to explain that they just don't DO the scrape when you've only been pregnant for two and a half months, which prompted her to fly into a "I told you so" speech about sleeping around and putting the hub-unit under pressure to raise another man's baby. Hate to break it to her, but she's only half right. Yeah, it was another guy's baby (Christ, I was s slut), but me? A mom at 24? Her ass hurts. Things just got a little twisted.
But enough of that mess, I'm bitching about having a fat ass.
And I'm done bitching.