blargh meng, dumb day. got paranoid that that dumb dude that i briefly dated here in marfa is saying mean things about me and then got down that all men are just terrible flirts, flirting with every girl on the planet, and that i’m not special, i’m just one in a billion chubby lonelyhearts walking around out there. gonna jam to some awesome rock music and shake the blues OFF.
life! put a tarp on it! just put a g-d tarp on it!
p.s. don’t see leap year. amy adams, i am sorry to say, but i am not sure if you are a good actor. and i might have to put a tarp on you.
ok, i’m at work. but i just realized — not to sound corny — but my life is pretty awesome. right now: i’m drinking a sessions beers, uploading images to our new web site, fairfax invited me over for dinner (postponed till tomorrow), i’m listening to terre t’s show on WFMU, and the most awesome japanther song is on (“she’s the one”) (not the most awesome in the sense of ALL TIME, but just awesome in this moment), i just ordered conrad and ashley’s wedding present, i’m going to austin in two weeks, i’m getting a massage on sunday (continued birthday celebrations), i have amazing friends (mostly in other cities) (small caveat), and i’m like, GEEEEEEEEEEZ. my life is awesome (even though i’m wearing a weird santa-fe shirt) (even though i’m at work at 9:45 pm). not to brag. but it’s awesome. it’s lucky. i’m lucky. but how do i sustain the luckiness?
the rest of my birthday: equally amazing. i started to detail it out, but it got kind of boring. highlights include:
friend crush text wishing me a happy birthday
going to central market and staring at the bulk candy section for 20 minutes
amazing delicious lunch with marianne, terry, eamon, amy, and toby — with a surprise visit from caroline and izzy. homemade margaritas! cupcakes! salad! soup! oh, just THE USUAL!
visiting the bar where teddy roosevelt recruited rough riders
fairfax sending cava and snacks to my hotel room (!)
not being able to nap for being so excited that it was my birthday and instead drinking cava and putting on eye makeup
drinking cava with my folks and brother and sister and opening presents
the decorations that my stepmom brought
wearing my new shirt from my mom
falling asleep to the wedding singer
my sister waking up in the middle of the night, seeing me, smiling, and saying “hi” sweetly
driving back to town and discovering that jd, fairfax, mike, and dan had weeded my WHOLE jungle garden, bought me new plants, and set up patio chairs. WTF?! totally made me cry. and promise to work for these people forever and do whatever they want and say thank you for the rest of my life.
36! i love you already! last night i drove to san antonio and checked into the hotel havana and woke up at 7:15 am and ordered the breakfast basket for one and took my picture and am listening to track #3 on chad’s mix and drinking cuban coffee and about to start watching “deadwood” in bed. great great birthday already. (and happy birthday to baby bee, my birthday twin) (minus 34 years)
just because this is awesome. grooveshark, that is. and the rolling stones. and the mamas and the papas. and drinking three michelob ultras with hilary to get over a day’s disappointments.
here are two pictures of me at work tonight: trying to get focused, feeling glad, shaking off the boys blues, having loco hair, having a little mouth, falling in love with grooveshark, trying to not think about eating potato chips (delicious, delicious potato chips). looking at these reminds me that i’m gonna be 36 on saturday. which makes me feel 10% yikes, 90% happy. or maybe even 2% yikes!!!!, and 98% happy.
all those highs of the past few days: CRASHED DOWN. crashing crashing crashing. as soon as i start getting too thoughtful about boys, my insides get all scrambled and i get sad and loose and BORING. so boring. it’s so boring to be so worried about dudes. so i had to write “lone wolf” on my arm to refocus myself.
it kind of came to a head last night, because i saw the poet on saturday, and i was like, HEY YOU! and he was like, HEY YOU!!!!! and he was like, can you hang out?! and me was like, no, my mom’s in town! and he was like, what about tomorrow? and he kept touching my shoulders, and i was like, yes! i’ll be working in the day, and he was like, i’ll come by ballroom! we’ll make a plan!, and i was like, awesome!, and i had this secret fantasy that he’d come by, and i’d be like, DO YOU WANT TO MAKE PIZZA?! and he’d be like, best idea ever! and then we’d go back to his house and make pizza and have a blast and then i’d go home.
you know how i was basically a nerd in high school? like, didn’t drink or smoke or date or do anything except study and have good wholesome fun with my friends and request songs on the oldies radio station?
somehow i’m experiencing my wild teen years NOW, at age almost-36. drinking all the time, destroying my eardrums, crushing on everyone, kissing guys with girlfriends, never cooking, etc. etc. not caring about any of it. just PARTYING. just basically totally partying all the time. (partying and working.)
i want to die in the same place i was born
miles from nowhere
i used to reach for the stars
but now i’ve reformed
ok, so now i’m secretly hoping that i run into the poet again. the identical twin poet. we had such a hilarious talk on saturday night and then i ran into him at the coffee shop and i apologized for using his icy cold and then we talked about eating all his granola and how he read a poem about fisting and he said, “if you ever want to get coffee or ice cream…,” to which i nervously said, “i don’t really eat ice cream,” by which i meant, i don’t really eat ice cream (in public) (or freezer-burned bluebell ice cream from this coffee shop), but i would LOVE to have coffee.
big weekend big weekend big weekend. wait, was it a big weekend? what did i even do friday night? something that got me home by midnight. no other recollection. besides falling asleep to deadwood. doesn’t sound like the world’s biggest weekend. but anyway. saturday night! i went to a reading by the poet michael dickman, i’d cut out one of his poems from the new yorker a while ago, so i was excited, and it was great, great, great, although i was sitting in front of these totally cute 24-year-olds, and no one was sitting next to me, and in fact, somehow i ended up sitting in the oldies section, and i was like, “do the oldies recognize a kindred spirit?” which made me feel kind of old. like oldies have real vision and could see my inner old person.
but the reading was great, and then i went to the lannan house for the dinner part, which was also great, i drank 2.5 glasses of white wine, which helped, and then we went to see the allen oldies band, which was also great, and then me and krista and adam and hilary drove in the convertible to michael’s house, and we drank tons of michelob ultras, which was also great, actually a total blast, although at one point, i was in michael’s bathroom, and i saw this stick of ICY HOT, and i was like, what’s this? and i just put it on. i just put on the man’s icy hot! i had to apologize today. because a human does not just walk into a man’s house and put on his pain relieving chill stick.
anyway. this is one of the poems he read, and the first line just hooked onto my brain.
