The Royal We

This past weekend was interesting in that I hung out with a lot of people that I have never spent time with one-on-one. I always find that really exciting. Last year I was fortunate to have this incredible wave of brand-new friendships. I met and/or grew close with so many people who make my life better and I enjoy trying to return the favor. I really want to jump back into that – if that’s something you can even decide. Yes please?

I finally met AWESOME EMILY and she is just as awesome and fun as expected. It is so easy to spill my guts to her. I terrified wowed her with my incredible sense of direction and downtown driving skills. Also geography in general. She told me a story about New Zealand and for some reason my brain went straight to the Norway/Finland area. I asked, “Do they speak a lot of English there?” Midwest smarts, represent.

Food of the Month: Fried Alligator. Yum. What a tummy boner! I had this for dinner on Sunday and I forgot how delicious it is. Fried Alligator is different than most foods of the month as I can’t eat it every other day, just crave it 24/7. I can only find it at Broadway Oyster Bar and it’s 10 bucks a pop, so it will have to be a rarity.*

Today I missed Pat and Dan terribly. It’s a dumb thing to share – especially since they don’t read this – but sometimes I can’t snap out of a funk unless I admit it first. So… hi? I think I am just going through dudefriend withdrawal in general. Most of my dudefriends are either exes or married now, and either way it’s not cool to call more than, oh, twice a year. I’d like to think I’m independent and all that jazz, but life just feels safer when dudes are around.

Tony told me I need a puppy. He’s so right on. Oh that reminds me, if any of you are in the market for a dog, my friend Heather is always trying to find homes for the CUTEST strays and constantly tugs at my heartstrings by emailing me puppy pictures. Send me your e-mail address and I’ll pass it along.

My dad came home from the hospital this weekend. Finally.

Unfortunately I have to miss Squidball tonight. Jen and I are going to see a sneak peak of Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist. I should be sick of Michael Cera moping around in hoodies, but I have the feeling it will cheer me up pretty good.

I’m so glad I don’t know squat about economics, haha. I’ll leave that grown-up problem for the more grown-uppy grown-ups.

This entry is probably atrocious, but I can’t tell because I didn’t sleep at all last night (for fun reasns, not the usual reasons). I’m fasting from beer, smokes and all things bad (besides fried gator), so I am hoping after a week of chugging water I’ll relax a litttle bit. Baby steps, babies.

*Please DON’T TELL ME if there is a closer location for good fried alligator. We do not need a repeat of June’s disgusting Crab Rangoon bender.

DAMMITDAMMIT Edited to Add: We’ll pretend I didn’t just remember the Cajun place two blocks away from my apartment. Sigh.

Tomorrow’s entry: “That October When I Got Really Fat From Fried Alligator.”

Maybe Chivalry Was Just Hiding?

For the past three days – with the exception of my doors and Jen’s door – I have not had to open a single door for myself.* Men have been running to get the door for me everywhere I go and I have no idea what I’ve been doing lately to deserve such treatment. Is it the heels? Is it because I’m getting pale and therefore more delicate-looking? Who cares! I never expect stuff like that, so when it happens I think it is a such a marvelous hoot. Sometimes it’s so fun to be a lady!

Tonight is The Office premiere and my co-workers and I are SO PUMPED. This is how much – today when I walked into the Copy Cave, I found this stuff on my chair:

The Pam Beasley pen is cute but the Dwight Head stress ball is my fave. When you squish it, it smells like White Out. Happy Office Day!!

I went to my very first Squidball game on Tuesday. They are so cheery, fun and supportive of each other. It was a great thing to witness. I am considering playing Squidball next fall but at the very least I want to go to more games and cheer them on. Positive people are the best.

This week I have been a bad girl and have been eating Otis Spunkmeyer muffins for breakfast. TOTALLY WORTH IT. I like IMing Steve to brag when I am eating one. Back in London, Otis Spunkmeyer muffins were on our meal plan and my friends and I were 100% addicted. When 9/11 happened, all overseas shipping stopped for a few weeks and we were forced to eat the completely inferior “Bakin’ Brothers” brand of muffins. It was awful. And that is how 9/11 impacted my life. Squid stuff aside, could I sound like any more of an a-hole today?**

Unrelated to anything (as if any of the above was related at all): last night at Jen’s I watched part of The Wiz for the very first time. I saw Michael Jackson almost get eaten by trash cans, a bunch of red ladies dancing inappropriately, people getting sprinkled with PCP and then the lion tried to commit suicide by jumping off of the roof. Then Diana Ross sang a pretty song and it calmed down but SERIOUSLY WHAT ON EARTH.

*Okay, there were a few automatic doors at the hospital but a man probably built those; am I right or am I right?

** At least I am not sad about boys? Yay?

I Would Rather Have The Metaphorical Ones…

This weekend was pretty lovely… we had beautiful fall weather and I saw fireworks two nights in a row!

Friday night we went to the Balloon Glow at Forest Park. Every year, St. Louis has this fun hot air balloon race, and the night before it starts, all the balloons gather in the park to, well, glow. About every five minutes, this horn would sound and all the balloon guys would fire up their engines. It was magical. There were maybe 20 balloons and it was crazy to walk underneath them. Here’s a pic from 2006 – it looked exactly the same:

Jen and I tried to get underneath the Energizer Bunny, but just as we got there, they started deflating it and it started falling towards us while everyone around us yelled and ran away. Very Cloverfield.

My friends all fell in love with this balloon owned by a Dutch cheese company (and I suppose my Dutch ass did too; represent) because it had a giant cow on it. But my favorite was this tiny, colorful patchwork one. The colors aren’t great in this pic, but just staring at this balloon made me so happy:

Also, the whole time I was there, I kept thinking about the fact that technically, these balloons are transportation. That is so unbelievably weird.

Afterwards, fireworks. Compared to the balloons, they were only so-so.

Saturday night there were MORE fireworks right by Jen and Ron’s house. Me and 6 of my besties walked up to an elementary school and watched them from the playground. That was one of the best displays I’ve seen in a long time and it was neat watching them in that little tower at the top of the slide.

However! Surrounding myself with a bunch of snuggly couples is always a bit of a bummer. Maybe someday I’ll be able to watch fireworks without that suh-weet old maid feeling?

But after celebrating Guy Fawkes Night in England, I have been a die-hard believer in fall fireworks, so I’m glad Jen and I got a double dose this year.

Afterwards the boys sifted through 8 giant tubs of old vinyl records and the album art was beyond hysterical. My personal favorite was from the St. Louis band Head East:

Pancakes represent! Amazing close-up:

Sunday was a lazy, lazy, lazy Sunday. No pancakes, REGRETTABLY.

If ever a comic has described me, it’s today’s Dinosaur Comics. I’ve actually (surprisingly? Shut up?) never hooked up at a wedding – ill-advised or otherwise – but that last line. Wow. Brilliant. Ryan North is a genius and I heart him immensely. Do they have fireworks in Canada?

A quick Mean Girl-ish observation: have you ever noticed that the left mountain on the Busch beer can looks exactly like Rumer Willis?

Tonight – CELEBRATE THE RETURN OF HOT, STEAMY BROMANCE! YES.

On The Mend …

I’ve been feeling really depressed for the past month or so and I’ve been on this mission to figure out why. You would think it’d be obvious for any number of reasons:

1. My dad’s in the hospital for the fourth time in 3 months, on his second major operation.
2. I got my heart (admittedly only sort of) broken.
3. I quit smoking.
4. The DAY after I quit smoking it turned into fall, which is my favorite time to sit outside and smoke but also the time that reminds me of ex-boyfriends.
5. I lost two of my best friends.*

However, this type of sadness doesn’t seem like it was caused by any of those things. I”ve been through all of those things before. This feels different somehow… it just lingers there all of the time. For the past 3 weeks, I’ve been ready to burst into tears at any second. And I mean, I’ve been sleeping! I’ve been sleeping 7 or 8 hours a night and I’m still moodier than after an all-nighter.

So today I did extra research on lorazepam, the pills I’ve been taking to go to sleep. They’ve been working wonders, so I’ve been avoiding researching them because bad news is inevitable. And boy, did I find it: in addition to being EXTREMELY addictive, they’re also capable of triggering severe depression. So… I got that going for me.

I haven’t been taking a high enough dosage to experience the super-scary withdrawal symptoms (I hope), and hell, it’s nice to have a tangible, fixable reason for feeling this bad. When I’m this sad and I don’t know why, I usually end up sitting around thinking about all the things I should be sad about (see: reasons 1-5) and then crying about one or all of the above.

I mean, I love not smoking when I’m not drunk for the most part. I love saving money and smelling like Sweet Pea and having fresh breath and the such. And the fall is also my favorite time to run, and now I can run faster and longer (I’ve already broken 2 personal records since I quit!). My dad still has his leg and more importantly his life, and to be honest I worry about him less when he has 24/7 medical surveillance. Those two friends were bad for me, or at least that’s what everyone tells me. And honestly, there are so many logical reasons to not be sad about that break-up that I can usually reason my way out of being bummed after a minute or two.

So this week I’m only going to take half the dosage that I’ve been taking, and next week I’ll take another stab at falling asleep completely on my own. It should be much easier when I’m not busy crying about absolutely nothing, or virtually everything, or something totally dumb in between like One Tree Hill.**

And THEN, hopefully I’ll be back to the normal, happier, chattier, and sillier me. I would like to write more happy blogs about hula hooping and Squids and Thriller and new friends and other adventures. But I have to get back to living that way first. There’s still two weeks left of Superbabe September! I can salvage this!

In the meantime, if I look like I need a hug, go ahead and give it to me because more than likely, I do.

*I didn’t lose them like they died or moved – I’ll tell you what happened in person if you want (and giiiiirl, it’s a good story). But their houses were the best places to go when I was scared and I needed to feel safe. It was a big shock to my system to lose both safehouses during such a weird, stressful time. I hope they’re very happy together.

**I’ve never even WATCHED this show until last week. Maybe that is why I feel so bad?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Superbabe September took a slight detour back into Achey Breaky August and Jesus-F%#@ing-Christ June/July. Really, this summer has been such a roller coaster and I am absolutely exhausted. I am also considering bailing on Facebook and Myspace; those “newsfeed” things were not made for freaks like me who have a crisis every other day. I feel like such a jerk when I have to come back the next day and be like, “Just kidding! Everything’s cool! LOL.”

SIDENOTE: I am way too tired to spellcheck, proofread, or look for a picture I haven’t already used. You’ve been warned.

So on Tuesday my dad went in for that pinkie toe (that’s TOE mom, T-O-E) amputation, and the doctors told him that his arteries were so bad that they would have to amputate his leg. What’s more, his body isn’t strong enough to walk with a prosthetic. So that would be it. No more walking ever.

There was a tiny chance that they could work a Moses-ish miracle with his artery and get the blood flowing through his leg. Like, a 20% chance. But in this type of situation, amputation is inevitable. Most people opt to go ahead with it rather than facing countless operations, massive pain and intense nonstop recovery time.

So Wednesday I’m all “la la la”, still relieved about the pinkie “incident” and back to whining about boys and other nonsense, and my mom calls me and tells me that he decided to do it. “Do… what?” I asked. “Amputate his leg.”

CUT TO: me freaking out, worrying about my dad, worring for my mom, obsessive hula hooping, driving over to Jen and Ron’s, drinking, sneaking a cigarette, worrying some more, surprisingly little crying, sneaking another cigarette, drinking beers with my brother over the phone, basically passing out, leaving work early yesterday, calling friends all sad, racing over to the hospital, et cetera.

So I get to the hospital and my mom tells me that at the last second, my dad decided to do it. “Do… what?” I asked. “Try to save his leg.”

CUT TO: waiting room. 6 hours. LOTS of CSI.

And they did it. They actually saved his leg, at least for now. They have no idea if it will hold and we might be back in a week for all I know, but he’ll wake up tomorrow knowing that he can walk for a little while longer.

My dad knows damn well that he’ll have to go through about 3 more of these surgeries, but he doesn’t care. He fights so hard to stay alive and make life worth living no matter what and he amazes me so much. Don’t even get me started on how awesome my mom is; I’ll probably cry.

Me, on the other hand? I am ridiculous and a mess. You guys, I miss the Year of Awesome. The Year of Yay is a bust. I hate calling my friends with these emergencies and dumb-ass drama and all that stuff. I feel like such a tool. I wish I wanted a boyfriend so I could just call some dude freaking out, but it’s Superbabe September! You guys are stuck with me. But honestly, I don’t know what I would do without you.

I’m also on a rollercoaster healthwise. When it comes to situations with my dad, I waver between being too stressed to care (chainsmoking, drinking, Taco Bell fourth meals) and trying to appreciate my health for all that it is worth.

For now at least, I can go back to not smoking and eating the veggies and SLEEPING and stuff. I took the stairs at the hospital and walked up 5 flights, over and over. When you’re faced with someone losing the ability to walk, slumming around on the elevator feels sort of dickish.

Going Places

In about a month, I have to go somewhere that I never planned on returning . It’s a lovely place and I’m trying to be optimistic. A lot of friends and fun acquaintances will be there. I promised I would go, back when I thought he was going with me. He’s not anymore. I’m only planning on staying the first night. I’m hoping he doesn’t show up until day 2, or at least until after I pass out. Hell, I should pretend that I really want him to be there – that way he’s guaranteed not to show up at all.

The truth is, I have some painful memories involving that place. Not bad, just intense. They’re memories I really don’t want to go back to and I’m scared that going there will dig them up. I know that more than likely, I’ll have a great time when I get there and I won’t be sad at all. Even if do get sad, I don’t plan on showing it. I guess I’m just afraid that I’m walking into one of those situations where I’m surrounded by people and I still feel alone.

I mean, I’ve already had to revisit bad memories this past week. Here’s something that I don’t need to tell you but I will anyway since we’re buds: more than half of my life ago, I went through something incredibly violent and scary. I’m only telling you this because I had to develop this tough, no-nonsense part of my brain in order to deal with it and protect myself from going through anything like that ever again.

We all know that when it comes to boys, I am usually a total wuss. It takes A LOT to tap into that part of my brain and make me snap, but last week someone managed to do it. Want to know how? Act like you own me. Tell me how I’m supposed to feel. Tell me what I can and can’t do. Tell me that what I want isn’t worth it. Ignore me for years and expect me to love you. Try to make me feel guilty for things that aren’t wrong. Try to prevent me from being happy just because you can’t figure out how to cheer yourself up.

That’s what some dude – not the aforementioned he, but a different dude – did to me last week. And he managed to mess up something that made me really happy. And he did it for no reason. I don’t really know how to forgive him right now. And I’m really glad I have this part of my brain right now, because it reminds me that I shouldn’t feel bad about standing up for myself. It reminds me that I deserve better and that when I’m surrounded by people, sometimes being alone is actually the best thing.

~~~*~~~

I’m actually going to good places though, and I don’t even have to leave my room.

First up: 90210. I LOOOOOVEEE IT. Here are some reasons why you should, too: Ahndrea Zukerman’s baby is the school news anchor. Aunt Becky from Full House. Kelly Taylor’s drunk mom. BRENDA WALSH. A cutie patootie English teacher. That guy from the Peach Pit. Kids with actual backstories that (so far) aren’t a cliché for everything. Best of all Kelly Taylor’s mystery babydaddy – BRANDON OR DYLAN??? BRANDON OR DYLAN?? Or: STEVE?? I LOVE THIS SHOW.

Don’t get me wrong, I miss Peter Gallagher’s eyebrows like nobody’s business, but Rob Estes is surprisingly lovable and funny. And of course – the entire reason why I watch this show – the return of Lucille Bluth. I don’t even know what her character’s name is – just imagine Lucille Bluth got drunk and wandered over to someone else’s house. Her five minutes per episode make the whole thing worthwhile. God bless you CW.

“I have to finish my memoirs before my friend Virginia – we’ve slept with all the same people.”

I LOVE HER.

This is also taking me places:

Hula hooping is the closest I’ve come to meditating since I stopped meditating. I can’t describe how addictive it is or how great it makes me feel. I mean, I CRAVE IT. I carry my hoop around in my car. For the past two weeks I’ve been hooping for at least an hour a day and I can say with 100% certainty that it is changing my life. I tried some tricks the other day and whapped myself in the face, so I’m sticking to the straight hooping til I see Courtney again.

Next up: going to sleep. Hopefully now that I don’t smoke, I’ll be able to figure out how to get there on my own.

Drunksploitation

I know that as we get older, drunk people are more sad than funny. I know that it’s wrong to exploit alcoholics for their addiction. But I ALSO know that last weekend I encountered a drunk at a bar on Grand who was an absolute treasure. I shouldn’t be blogging drunken quotes but I have to. I HAVE TO.

TOP 10 QUOTES. I AM GOING TO HELL:

~~~1~~~

DRUNK: (to DATE) She reminds me of my sister. The one that goes to church ‘n sh*t.

~~~2~~~

DATE: She doesn’t like me.

(DRUNK puts his arm around DATE.)

DRUNK: I like you.

~~~3~~~

ME: (to DATE) Shut up. AND your fly is open.

DRUNK: Sh*t, I’ve been married 18 years I wish MY fly was open huhHAA!

~~~4~~~

DATE: I have to pee.

(DRUNK steals DATE’s chair.)

DRUNK: Babygirl, let me tell you somethin. Little boys pee. Grown men PISS – uh oh, here he come. (Runs away.)

~~~5~~~

DRUNK: (to ME) You remind me of a fine lady I knew back in ’71. Carol Burnett. SEXY AS HELL.

~~~6~~~

DRUNK: Hey. HEY! BARTENDER! CHANGE THE SONG!

ME: Man, I think this one is almost over.

DRUNK: That’s what she said. HaHAAA.

~~~7~~~

DRUNK: I love you… whatever your name is.

DATE: Her name’s Bianca.

DRUNK and DATE: (for 5 minutes, to ME) Bianca! Hey! Bianca! What’s wrong Bianca?

~~~8~~~

DRUNK: Beautiful, what was your name again?

ME: What do you think it is? Who do I look like?

DRUNK: (pauses, takes my hand) …The love of my life.

~~~9~~~

DRUNK: What was your name again?

ME: Stephanie.

DRUNK: Stephanie. Stephanie… you know I had a Ste… well she was a bitch…

~~~10~~~

(“Uptown” by Prince is playing in the background. BARTENDER cuts off DRUNK.)

DRUNK: (points finger at bar) You know, Barack Obama is going to be president. He’s going to be president whether you f**king like it or not. UP! TOWWN! (Dances away.)

Superbabe September

This summer has been pretty stressful. And man, you can tell by looking at me. Between all the worrying, crying, chainsmoking, stressing, hurting, drinking, etc., it has been the Summer of Fug, straight up.

Now that I have nothing to worry about and no boys to be sad about, it’s time to focus on myself. That’s why I’m declaring this month Superbabe September.

Every single day this month, I’m going to find some way to channel my energy. And more importantly, every day this month I’m going to do something to take care of myself. It could be anything, from major stuff like quitting smoking to tiny things like cucumbers on my eyes. My hair is longer now than it has been in years, so I’ve been able to do more fun stuff (including reviving the Baby Buns that make Pandy squee like a little girl). None of my clothes fit anymore, so I get to go shopping soon. I figure if I just actively seek out one tiny thing every day, I’ll feel it (and less importantly, look it) by the month’s end.*

A main point of Superbabe September is to not think or worry about boys at all… not in a chicks before d*cks kind of way, but more… me before he? I’m debating if I should date at all during Superbabe September. The thing is, when I am angry and heartbroken, it’s so easy for me to actively seek out distractions. But I’m not anymore, and now I have nothing to motivate me except self respect and curiosity, and it’s totally throwing me for a loop.

I want to amaze myself this time around. I want to find that confidence that I lost. I want to want to make out with the mirror. Starting with the inside and working out, I am going to be such a hot bitch come October, you’ll see.

*If I had come to this conclusion 6 months ago – and giiiiirl, do I wish I had – then this entry would have been called “Miss New Booty March”.