New Year's Eve Confession

There are things that sometimes I want to write about yet I keep them mum. Mostly because if I never talk about them then I won't have to re-read entries and be disappointed that it might have gone wrong or embarassed at my feelings. But that is some sort of self-censorship that I think really might not do me any favors in the end. Perhaps I'm just feeling contemplative about everything since the new year is upon us. I tend to get a bit blue and sad around the new year. It is odd but every year starts this way and over the years I've just come to accept it.

I've been preoccupied lately and have found that I cannot seem to put words down onto paper. Instead I've caught myself staring out into space completely lost in thought without having done a single damn thing.

Right now I'm finding myself with a big ol' crush on a friend of mine. Luckily the feeling is mutual, but still a little scary and new and fluttery. The upside is that because of the fluttery stomach I've barely been able to eat and thus managed to avoid packing in the holiday treats. Although you know you haven't eaten much when your new soon-to-be sister-in-law comments that you barely have any Christmas dinner on your plate. And that really is a crime isn't it? All of that delicious turkey that I couldn't bear to eat.

I've been making a valiant effort at trying not get ahead of myself and instead just enjoy what we've got. But the scaredy cat feeling is still alive and kicking. Just under the surface.

Lately I've been listening to Dan Savage's podcast and he is a genius. Plus listening to his podcasts at work makes me feel a little bit subversive since no one else knows that I've got Dan Savage saying dirty, dirty things into my ear. I've picked up a few sayings from him, my current favorite being "Every relationship fails until the one that doesn't."

Which is so true and often so easy to lose sight of. If this goes downhill I'll do what I've done before...lick my wounds and then pick myself up off the floor brushing off the cookie crumbs, throw away the empty wine bottles, comb my nattered hair and give someone else a shot.

For now though I'm focusing on the soft little squiggly melty feeling I get when he asks to hold my hand after spending the night being run through the gauntlet that is meeting my friends.

In fact Holly over at Nothing But Bonfires wrote about a quote that really seems to speak to me. And since I know that I'll never be able to eloquently re-phrase what she has already put so well, I'll just link to it for the sake of saving you all from my attempt

Ali Smith "In the end, everything simply began."

I think that is the nice thought to begin the new year. Happy New Year to everyone!

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I'm back at work today, and oddly feeling very happy. The happy feeling has nothing to do with work but I'll take it none-the-less.

Yesterday on my drive back to Athens I was rocking out to some music and I know I was entertaining the guy behind me by playing the 'air drums'. Either that or he thought I was having a seizure.



I feel that rising panic inside, the kind that can only come from having entirely too much to do and too little time to accomplish it all in.

And yet, I still procrastinate and write blog posts about it.

I'm leaving tomorrow for 6 days spent in Cleveland, at the end of which I'm sure that I will be desperate to get back to my life in Athens. I still must clean my apartment, which of course was on the agenda last night but instead I baked brownies for the beer tasting I'm going to tonight. Because a girl needs to have priorities and a sink full of dirty dishes and pantaloons thrown onto the floor do not take precedence over beer and deep, velvety brownies.

Lets not even discuss the shopping bit of my week, since Athens is woefully lacking in places to shop besides BigLots or Wal-Mart I've put off shopping until I go to Cleveland. I had planned on going to Columbus this weekend to tackle it but then there was that massive storm they were calling for. The storm that never materialized, which in it's own way was probably a blessing because it allowed me to nurse that tiny hangover I had on Saturday with fountain coke and a nap.

So there is the cleaning, the shopping, the beer party, oh! and the blasted holiday cards. Cards that are so fucking hilarious and awesome I cannot wait to send them out. But one should actually order cards if one expects to send them. So instead I've revised the damn photo 50 times because I'm obsessive-photographer like that and still not sent them to the printer. People will get them late but they will laugh till they cry when they get them.

Of course my one coworker left for vacation and I'm literally left holding the bag of delicious baked goodies I made for him. I don't want these fucking cookies and must find someone else to pawn them off on. I'm sure I could shove them onto the overfilled table in the break room and they would disappear in a flash. Yet, part of me doesn't want to do that? Just chalk it up to my little Grinch-y heart.

And still my mind keeps shooting back to the sink full of dishes, an occurrence so rare in my apartment that it keeps filling me with panic. Is this really what my life has become? Have I fully turned into my mother? The woman who cannot stand a sink full of dirty dishes?

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No thank you.

I honestly never want to see another cookie ever again.

I took a day off work last week to make cookies and had a blast. It was so nice to be home in the middle of the week surrounded by the smells of cookies and holiday joy. By by the 3rd day of baking I'd decided that the smell of cookies is entirely overwhelming and awful. I cannot wait to get them out of my house, they will be delivered to their recipients tomorrow and then I will be free of the cookies for now. Although I do still owe my brother in law a batch for his birthday. But I think that for at least a couple of weeks there will be a cookie moratorium.

Of course I spoke with my grandmother on the phone on Sunday and she wanted to make me cookies. I begged her not too simply because I just couldn't possibly want to eat any after having been around so many.

Yesterday was a particularly hard day for me, I had such a perfect weekend that the crushing disappointment of a Monday was just too much to bear. But still I forced myself to go to spinning and eat a little bit of dinner (a lone baked potato with yogurt and hot sauce) before falling into bed at 9pm. I honestly could have gone to bed at 8 but was trying to refrain from acting entirely too geriatric.

Tonight will probably not be much better, I plan on doing the massive piles of laundry that have stacked up around my house and cleaning the disaster that is my kitchen (from all the cookie making). All this in preparation for leaving for the Cleveland for the Christmas holiday. I just don't want to arrive home after Christmas to a disaster and then feel I must clean and put away presents.

Lets not talk about the hat I'm supposed to have finished for my brother's fiance to match the scarf I made her.

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Not that I'm experienced with goat testicles. I love squash.

I've started a blog entry about my birthday 4 times now and have since abandoned all of them as being boring and lame. The one I really liked was eaten by the google servers so I've had to try to remember what I liked about it. Oh my god, like you all really want to reading this inane drivel about my attempts at posting because I'm sure you don't since I myself and even bored by it.

The reality is I had a very nice birthday, and the blog title was actually something that was utter by a friend of mine at my birthday dinner. It was all one thought, and so splendiferious that we all sat and laughed for a very long time at her. And is it really surprising that something as weird as goat testicles was discussed at my birthday dinner? Although now I'm sure that every freak on the internet who is looking "goat testicle birthday party" is going to be directed to my site.

Listen, if you are looking for freaky action of that nature you should just point your browser in a different direction, ok. I seriously need to get back to the topic at hand though...

I do feel a tiny bit bad for the relatively sedate party of 15 that was in the room adjoining ours at the restaurant. They had to listen to us braying loudly at nearly everything. Lots of bottles of wine and six usually rowdy ladies is certainly not a recipe for a calm evening. But I think the highlight of the evening for those trying to have a quiet dinner was when they heard me sing Good Ship Lollipop and Baby Got Back after I'd inhaled a lot of helium.

So really I spent my 28th birthday acting like an 8 year old at sleep over. But does the odd, chipmunk-like voice induced by helium ever really stop being funny?

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Two roads diverged in a wood...

Ok, I had to do it. Robert Frost created such a perfect metaphor that I (and of course everyone else who's ever heard the poem) just can't resist to use it when talking about choices. Trite and overused, just deal with it.

My choice last night was not of epic proportions, rather the decision to either have multiple glasses of wine and become slightly inebriated or go to the gym and sweat my ass off. Why would this be such an choice that could effect one's overall mood?

Oh, because I just got dissed by my date. Or dumped or however you want to phrase it. After he bailed on Saturday's date (it was to be our first official one even though we'd been sort of involved already) he then turned around and called me last night to tell me that he's been hanging out with someone else he really, really likes and wants to focus on that. Did he mention that he really likes her? Really likes.

Ok, dude, I get the message. You like this other chick, thanks for repeating over and over again that you like her

So then came the choice, drink or gym. The choice for me was fairly easy, I was going to go with the alcohol route. Then while trying to peel some hardboiled eggs, which I subsequentally mauled beyond all reason, I realized that I had some excess anger energy to work out.

So I threw on my gym clothes and over an hour later I felt so much better. I left the gym feeling clean and awesome. I was lighter mentally and knew that in the end it was the best decision I could have made.

Then to come down from the endorphin high I had several glasses of wine and eventually slept like a baby.

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So over the years I've developed several pre-date rituals. I'm calling them rituals because it sounds fancier habits, and I like fancy.

1. Polishing my jewelry.

Ok, so I know this may seem very weird but since I go on dates about once a month (on average, exempting that outlying period where I didn't date at all for a very.long.time. Which in retrospect seriously sucked.) it always seems like a good time to remember that I've not polished my jewelry. Not that I'm dripping in Zsa Zsa Gabor like accourtamonts but rather everyday I wear the same silver necklace and silver ring. They get very dingy over time since I never take them off so a good polishing is in order at least once a month. Also a sparkling silver necklace will bring my dates eyes to my cleavage and that is always a good thing, no?

2. Showering and Shaving.

I know this seems seriously obvious and one would hope that all your dates have showered recently, but really it's the shaving that is important here. Yes, I know that some women go in for the whole 'chastity pelt' to keep them from getting frisky on the first date. Simply taking the time to shave my legs insures that I will not be getting any nookie because fate is cruel bitch like that or there is always the chance that if fate does decide to play nice I'll be ready to go.

3. Pre-planning outfits.

Again, for some people this is a given. I tend to go through periods of seriously hating everything I own deeming it either ill-fitting or boring. This is not always successful because there are times where the pre-planned outfit just doesn't work for me. Those days are the worst, because I can manage to destroy my whole bedroom in matter of a few minutes. In fact just the other night I had a Fashion Show! Fashion Show at lunch! except you know, at night. I had my heart set on this adorable dress but in the end the store didn't carry a petite size and the regular was just too long and slightly too big. I was worried that after going through the whole Parkersburg mall, their Old Navy and TJ Maxx that I had just bought the least ugly outfit I tried on, which is why Kate so graciously let me come over and dork out with a fashion show to make sure I looked ok. Afterwards I was worried that her boyfriend might have made serious fun of me since he was a witness to the fashion show, Kate assures me that he did not.

4. Go to the gym

I always feel much more confident and pretty if I've put in a long hard session at the gym. It always does the trick, and I feel no need to expound on my love for working out since I've already done that in enough posts.

Unfortunately all this pre-date voodoo in no way ensures that your date won't call a couple of hours before meeting and beg off because he's not feeling well.

Then a whole 'nother sort of thing is called for, one usually involving a stiff drink and perhaps some bacon. Because bacon and alcohol are the best ways to get over a broken date, hell, I think they are probably a pretty damn good cure for most mental black moods. Maybe throw in a little Skeet Ulrich and I'll forget all about what's his face- even if just temporarily.

Or your friends will graciously allow you to crash their date night and ply you with champagne and pizza and trivial pursuit.