I'm a ...

Nerd.
Music festival junkie.
Tacky fashion expert.
Recycler.
Music enthusiast.
Fangirl.
Camper.

Person.

A cloud shaped like Jesus eating a sandwich. Just laugh.

So, this guy. I got his phone number. Well, I give him mine. This one night. Nothing happened, well, nothing scandalous. And since this one night, he has been making my phone ring, texting me. But nothing scandalous. I'm terrible with my phone, with that technological communications skill most people have developed. I'm the type of person who reads the text, the message, the email, and will mentally reply, but never actually reply. And I am perhaps doing it more than usual with this guy. Maybe I'm terrible at the game. Never was into the game. I'm not competitive. The game, to me, well, its tiring. The image this guy has of me, it is not really me. Yes, I like cute skirts and hot tights, drinking cocktails, dancing all-hips-sexy...
But let's face it, me, anyone who knows me (eg: has lived me with), and anyone reading this knows ... that ain't me.
This guy probably doesn't think of me in any other way besides in those tights, mini skirt, and The Pretenders T-shirt. And who could blame him? Nobody images the cute person at the bar taking a dump.
Point is, being cute is exhausting. It's not me. Me dancing all-limbs-no-sexy. Me not wearing a bra all weekend. Me having an internal struggle for several days about whether or not to shower. Me having the same debate about doing the laundry. Me drinking out of the carton. the bottle. the can. Me eating out of the jar. the pot. the pan. (Seriously though, when you live alone, plates and glasses are a social convention you learn to go without. Less dishes is not a dream, but a possibility.) Me walking around naked (this guy probably likes this at first ...) after dropping a deuce (wait for it ... ) with the door open. (boom, not so sexy now, am I?)
All of this to say, yes, I sound bitter and jaded. But what counts is that I'm real and I have this sense of humor that keeps me in check. It makes me look at the silver lining on that cloud, you know, the one shaped like a dragon eating a donut. Or a chicken chasing a baby. Or any creature verbing a noun.
Just laugh.

Nothing

"The most real state, is the state of nothing. ... Pure means clear, void. ... Out of this void comes everything and you're it. ... Nothingness is what we want to talk about when we talk about the spiritual." -Alan Watts


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssf7P-Sgcrk

"Nothing I ever did happen on the safe side" -Metric

A bottle of Jameson
sits on my shelf
opened but not empty.
My glass, filled with
watered down whiskey,
an afternoon well spent.
Rain drops on my window
beg me to stay inside.
With my back to the wall, I slide.
The new year,
come and gone, resolutions checked,
and new ones created.
My weekend spills into the week,
No phone,
no television,
no noise,
I'm home.

That lease seemed too good to be true

I need me some gansta' rap, tired of this French paperwork crap

Lookin' for a place to sleep and eat, ain't no easy feat

Ready to make this world my hoe, but seems like I need mo' than two passports and some dough.

Ridin' high on my first pay, damn today was a good day

Made bank, sittin' pretty, ain't gonna let a shady contract take me.

An incomplete

So, I have traveled to somewhere new. I have a lease to sign when I get back, soon to have a place to paint and call my own. And a job still waiting for me on Monday (that job from the butterflies. After two weeks, I took vacation, it was already planned, I'm not lazy and needed a break after two weeks. Things are complicated to explain when you're posting on the interwebs, trying to be vague but sounding like an incomplete thought, an incomplete sentence and thing).

Things are thought and looking up. I sometimes find myself thinking it can't be this easy. But I'm not dreaming, I'm living, and it is all real. Bizarre how things find themselves, how things fall where they should.

Butterflies

I start tomorrow
A new job
Fresh.
Nerves, Worries, and questions.