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You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

Archive for the ‘it's all about me’ Category


Monday, September 1st, 2014

I went to karaoke on Saturday night.

First, I did Me and Bobby McGee, because that song is my jam, man. My lady jam.

Then, I was going for that song that goes ‘call me crazy, call me anything you want…’.


Because it’s not Crazy by Patsy Cline.

I don’t actually know Crazy by Patsy Cline. I found that out with a microphone in my hand in front of a room full of people.

I ended up calling for volunteers and this nice fellow who always had a least three songs in the queue (he liked to sing, I’m sayin’) jumped up and tried to help, but he didn’t know the fucking song either. I mean he sort of knew it, but it turns out there are parts that I sort of knew too.

It was a little rough, but I survived. The upside of karaoke is that the whole room is either a) hoping they’re next, b) hoping they’re not next, or c) trying to decide what to sing next. I’m not sure anyone but me and Mr Sure-if-there’s-an-0pen-mic-I’m-in even noticed anything.

Still. Not my finest moment.


Friday, August 22nd, 2014

Tonight after work I decided to stop and get a beer at a new brewery that’s not that far from home. I was alone, but Crockett used to stop for drinks by himself a lot and he seemed to gain a lot of friends out of it, so I figured what’s the worst that could happen. I’d spend half an hour, drink one beer, and then go home to my sweet little puppy faces.

So I get my beer and I’m wandering around trying to decide where to sit. I was originally thinking I would sit on the patio, but the furniture looked recently stained and I came from work in my very whitest of white skirts, so I hopped on a stool inside at the opposite end of an eight top from a guy with a computer. When I did it, I loosely gestured to the other seats to say ‘is it ok if I sit here’ and he said “Oh, yeah, go ahead. I don’t have this many friends. I really only have one friend.”

I smiled and looked at my phone because what? What do I do with that? Offer condolences?

His (only?) friend joined him and it turned out they are in a band, a fact I learned quickly because I heard them pitch it to the owner/booker/person who talks to bands at the brewery as ‘we do Lady Gaga with a banjo’. Apparently the owner/booker/brewery person thought that sounded swell, because they all went into a back room and Mr One Friend and his one friend left their beers on the table.

I don’t think many women would leave beers unattended like that, but that does not excuse what came next.

When Mr One Friend came back, he picked up his beer and looked right at me, and because I am a not funny dummy, I said ‘some woman came by and dropped a pill in there. That’s ok, right?’

I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THAT CAME FROM. He thought it was funny.

Then he came over and I had to talk to him and his one friend for the ten minutes it took me to finish my beer.

Turns out the band also does Marilyn Manson with a banjo, though, so at least I found that out.


Tuesday, August 12th, 2014

I met Crockett for delicious wine and a tasty lobster roll at The Empire after work today, because that’s kind of how we roll on Tuesdays post breakup. (Minus the lobster roll, because that’s a short term thing, per the head chef/owner (I asked)).

(I love lobster rolls.)

I wonder, now, what I would think of Crockett if we were going on a first date. When we met we were younger. (Duh, dummy, whatever.) I was coming out of a long period of time of being alone punctuated by really really terrible decisions. I dated that guy who was a friend’s younger brother, for example, that I barely exchanged words with and yet somehow we became boyfriend and girlfriend and then I kept canceling things and he got mad. Or those other guys. Whatever.  This is not that post. This is a post about me making new friends or failing to do so.

I started to make a new friend recently, but it didn’t go very well. In this case, I made some serious comments about the implications of men calling women they date crazy (actual mental issues are serious business and not to be made light of. ‘Crazy’ as usually used by men in that context means that a woman has wants and needs that aren’t in line with his needs or aren’t within the boundaries of what a woman traditionally expresses on a date) and the difference between that and women calling men creepy (also not particularly fair, but when a dude presents as putting his desire to be near you above your own desire to be not-near him, that can turn non-safe faster than most men would believe possible, so early labeling is to a large extent a safety issue for us) and it wasn’t received openly. My prospective new friend thought I was lecturing/yelling/something something and said that I would be more convincing if I WAS QUIETER ABOUT IT.

The thing is, I was totally lecturing/something something. (I was not yelling). These are things that I care strongly about, and things that I will never talk about the way that I’ll talk about TV or that tick that turns people into vegetarian zombies or whatever. There’s not a place in my future where I’ll stop lecturing/something something when I talk about that stuff.

I was a grown up when I met Crockett, but I became the person I am now while I was with him. (Most of that is documented here, actually.) I wonder, if I met him now, if we would even be friends. I think we would, but I also think he would say some things that would make me mad. And I would say some things that he would think were stupid. And I would make him mad. But I would see that he is smart and funny and currently underutilized in his whole life. And he might see that I’m …. whatever I am.

My work friend, Coastie (see the recent post where he laughed at my dumb joke and no one else did), is sort of an exercise in opposites when compared to the friend who thought I was a yeller. He’s not aware that women calling men creepy and men calling women crazy is even a thing. He doesn’t know what reddit is. I could explain the crazy/creepy phenomenon to him and he would agree, because he wouldn’t understand that there was a subset of people who think that doesn’t make sense. My across-the-hallway-coworker, who has been online dating a lot, would think I was making a big deal out of something that doesn’t really exist. We are not going to be real friends. My friend Chewbacca would not necessarily agree with me, but would engage in honest discussion and would never accuse me of taking it too seriously. Most of my other friends (girlfriends) just let me say things and nod and smile and sometimes ask me to intervene when some dumbass is saying things like ‘yo that girl I met last week was crazy’. I don’t know what Crockett would have done if he hadn’t grown into this version of me with me.

I’ve been watching too much Sex and the City. But the question is: when you’re a fully formed adult person (in as much as that’s a real thing which come on, we’re talking 50% fully formed for the best of us), how much compatibility can you expect from the people you love? How much are they expected to agree with you, how much to humor you, and how much can you disagree on?


ask me about my IUD!

Thursday, July 17th, 2014

Or don’t. I mean, you can, if you’re curious, but that was more of a lead in to the fact that …

Drum roll please…

Wow I just realized this sounds like I might be leading up to a pregnancy announcement. Since I moved in April … actually timeline wise that would kind of make sense for me to be announcing that.

Oh, no, totally not having a baby. I am aware of that because I have an IUD and more accurately because this week I was bleeding in a way that if my uterus had been a nose a doctor likely would have insisted on cauterizing it.

Yes, I know, gross. Whatever. It happens to half of us.

Actually. I just looked this up. Based on an average period length of 5 days, an average cycle length of 29 days, and periods from age 12 to age 50, roughly 334 million women are swimming in shark week at any given time. So there’s ‘it happens to half of us’ vs 4.7%  of the world like RIGHT NOW.

So, yeah, you can say gross but there’s a one in twenty chance that the person you’re talking to is bleeding from their girl parts.

(Yes, I went to grad school for stats. No, you cannot show that last statement to my advisor and insist that she confiscate my degree.)

The whole point of this meandering diatribe is that I wore a white linen skirt, on the heaviest day of my period. It worked out fine but I was never comfortable.

I’m a crazy mofo.


god just get something to say already

Monday, June 23rd, 2014

Note: I read this before I published it and am aware that it is self indulgent whiny bullshit. However, I don’t have anything else to publish tonight so – maybe just don’t read it?

Are you ever bored with yourself?

I’m reading books. I’m watching tv. I’m building a house and playing the guitar and buying ridiculous dog accoutrements.

I just don’t feel interesting.

Maybe it’s because I’m not dating. That sounds fucking terrible, I know, but maybe that’s why. Maybe having someone who wasn’t me that cared about my minutiae helped to validate that little crap. Can that be right?

There are not-big things that happen that I turn into anecdotes, of course. Like, going dancing on Saturday night and the dumbasses who talked about my tattoos two feet behind me but then had nothing to say when I turned around. Or falling off my bike today because some dumbass opened his car door into the bike lane. These are the things I tell coworkers and acquaintances when we need something more than ‘how’s it going, good, you?’

(Is it possible that all my anecdotes involve people I think are dumbasses? That seems boring to me, even. I should have some about awesome people.)

OH ACTUALLY. My one of my coworkers (I would say I have four that are varying levels of friend. She is at the we-talk-about-personal-stuff but would never hang out outside work and I don’t trust her with real secrets even a little bit level. Like, she knows what I do about my mustache hair) had to run this pain in the ass errand today because she does a lot of volunteer work and whatever. She ended up in line in a government office through no fault of her own for two+ hours in downtown Denver.

At about three, we needed to work on something together, and she came and sat in my cube.

She smelled like chlorine.

Now I have this idea that she actually did have an errand but powered through super quick and spent an hour sitting by a pool somewhere. It was beautiful here today.

I really hope that’s true.

And that’s the kind of minutiae I’m talking about. There’s no punchline. No big reveal. It’s a smell and I hope that I have that a nice person snuck a Monday pool visit for herself.