Sharp objects

Now I’ve been trawling the Internet for years. I love all the hate and snarkiness. One of my favorite comments on forums is about skinny girls and their sharp knees. Bag of antlers is another favorite. I don’t know who came up with it but it’s great, have you seen those scrawny bitches? They really do look like a big skin colored bag was pulled over a plethora of antlers.

I like making fun of people that probably have eating disorders.

And this makes me quite the hypocrite. Because I’m 5’7” and barely over 100 lbs. I’ve always been tiny, but never thought of myself as a bag of antlers.

That is until this last week when proof was given to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt that in fact I am not a human female and instead I truly am a bag of sharp, pointy antlers.

I came to this conclusion because I don’t have any furniture, so I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress (yep I’ve been basically camping in the new place) and every night it deflates at least four times. My coworker, sick of me bitching about it, dragged my lazy ass to the bike shop and made me buy a patch kit. That was last Tuesday.

The mattress is now so covered with black patches it looks like it has the bubonic plague. And I’ve used up all the glue. I think I might have to switch to silvery, magical duct tape, because that fixes everything.

And still every night there has been a new freaking hole. So that means that at night some needle sharp appendage of mine punctures the mattress sending me slowly to the floor.

Every night.

Hence: bag of antlers. But I hear that look is hot so I’m good.

Mating habits of automobiles

For some reason I just haven’t been having the best of luck with cars this year. Maybe life is telling me I should ride a bike or take the bus. But within the last year I got stranded on the freeway at 2 a.m. (in complete zombie make up and no it wasn’t Halloween, why?) because something in the transmission sheared off and destroyed the drive shaft, killed the battery, I totaled my car (on the freeway yet again and they had to stop all four lanes of traffic too), bought a slightly sketchy used car, had the engine light turn on the next day, and got a flat on the freeway (for which I had no jack, I really seem to love these freeways).

So today as I’m headed to work I wasn’t totally shocked to see that my bumper was about three inches lower than it should be. It looked about ready to fall off; if I had some duct tape I would have used it. I’m guessing from the paint scratches on top of the bumper that some big truck or SUV tried to mount my little Honda in a fit of lust and proceeded to bang the bumper off.

So instead of buying shoes that fit I’m off to get my car repaired … again.

Who came up with line dancing anyways?

I went out with a couple of friends on Saturday night. They wanted to go country dancing and the only place even remotely in the area is the Saddle Rack (twenty minutes away, which means I have to drive, and can’t drink, much, which makes the country bar lame). It’s actually quite huge with two dance floors, a billiards room, two bars, a beer station and an oxygen bar (because when I think cowboy I think oxygen bar).

For about two years in high school I went through a country faze so I knew about every seventh song, but none of the synchronized dances. Although they did have the electric slide, which thanks to many weddings and school functions I still know. And the floor was packed, for some odd reason it was short person night so when I glanced around it was a sea of bad highlights and cheap cowboy hats. I got many glares because I have ADD and got bored with the electric slide about two steps in and just started twirling (towards freedom). This is not the thing to do, people their take their electric sliding very seriously.

The other thing about the bar was that they play slow songs, which sucks because then people ask you to dance. I had to turn down at least three AARP card carrying members, one of which I’m pretty sure was wheeling around his oxygen tank with him, as well as a guy that came up to my waist. A friend later said I was cold to do this, but I saw those guys going around to every girl in the joint with a pulse, I wasn’t special to them, and I’m looking for something meaningful not just once around the dance floor (total lie).

It did feel more like a high school dance than other clubs. When Footloose came on everyone ran onto the dance floor and proceeded to jump around all landing on my feet. Old Time Rock n' Roll was another favorite as was Ring of Fire, seriously people got extremely excited for badly sung Johnny Cash covers, I mean I think one guy was screaming and crying at one point. Everyone in there was part of a birthday/bachelorette/bachelor party, I have never seen so many sashes sans swim suit contest in one night.

The age range in the place was different than most places. There were people in their early 20s to late 80s (yep those were the bastards trawling for chicks too) there. I got ran over by some old man in his wheel chair on the dance floor. As I checked out the tread marks on my back I swear I heard him yell, “Get off my lawn!”

Tolerance and shoes

It’s official I have lost my once amazing alcohol tolerance. And by amazing I mean back in college I could put back a whole six pack (yep that’s right be amazed) within 6 hours and not feel ill the next day.

I recently found I couldn’t do that anymore. The other night I went out with a friend, I had one gin and tonic and another beer and a half, in the span of five hours and I was spinning. And the next morning I awoke to a pounding head and rolling stomach. What the hell?

But I’ve decided instead of getting upset about this and drinking myself into oblivion (half a beer), I will take this as my body’s way of trying to save money. No longer will I have to buy a bunch of beers to get a good buzz, nope instead I can just smell my friends’ beverage and be on my merry way.

Anyways on to the night of my pathetic showing. We started out at a rather trendy bar near my place, where a strong gin and tonic had me kind of wobbly (or it was the shoes that are smidge too big but super cute). We didn’t stay there long.

Then we were on to one of two decent English pubs in San Jose. The service there is horrible, but at least it’s consistently horrible every time we go and sadly I think it’s my favorite place in SJ. And I’m pissed because we saw what was the beginning of a good row, but had to move to the back because there was an open table and you can’t just pass up prime real estate at a crowded pub, and I’ve already mentioned that my shoes were too big.

Anyways we sat down and were joined by another friend, and then another and then by the band that didn’t open for the band that played music in the park but that was the second band to play, and then by the girl that goes around the country to different festivals doing henna tattoos, and finally by a really gay man that seemed to be hitting on every women there.

I was kind of stuck in the corner, and therefore couldn’t get away. Stuck in the corner across from the pseudo-gay man who kept talking about his art and how capitalism is ruining it for everyone and would I like to see pictures of some of his work? Dear God NO! I’d rather stick this hot-curry drenched fork in my eye and swirl it around.

“Um, OK” Wait what? That was not what I meant to say.

I mean who brings their portfolio to a bar anyways? So now I’m leafing through what seems to be a five year old’s finger paintings with wires stuck through them at random intervals.

“That one is a memorial to Sept. 11.” Pointing to what looks to be puked up blueberry jello and a butterfly. What the fuck was with the butterfly?

At this point I realize I’m about to start screaming, so I stand on the bench and vault over it just to get away. I give myself a 7.5 for creativity but I just couldn’t stick the landing (shoes again, not my balance). I’m not always that subtle. But realizing that might seem kind of mean I turn and say.

“Um, I need to find my friend.” Yes because that will fool him, what with the acrobatics and everything. Ok actually he’s an idiot and probably thought nothing of it.

Finally we left that den of retardedness and headed to more of a dive. Here there were a bunch of rockabilly chicks trying to look hard, hot and anti-establishment all at the same time while basically only pulling off the I-have-cleavage-please-stare-at-it look and the oh-so-popular no-that’s-not-a-tattoo-I-just-haven’t-showered-in-a-couple-of-days (yay hyphens!).

Then we headed home. At this part of the night I became very wobbly, I think my shoes were actually getting bigger. I finally made it home but I fell out of my shoes twice, I swear they basically fit when I left.

Downtown crazies

I’ve become crazy (ok a few of you might say the become part is redundant), but it’s out of necessity.

Living and working downtown I’ve gotten a lot more attention than I’m used to or that I want. It’s not that I’m anything special (no I’m special but it takes getting to know me to realize just how “special” I am), I think every woman that has stepped foot downtown gets it be she wearing a burlap sack or fishnet body suit. During the middle of the day I get catcalls or guys stopping their cars asking if I can join them. Ok that last one is only in a certain part of town where I was informed a lot of prostitutes hang out, but I mean what kind of prostitutes solicits guys on the street in business casual? Although yeah me on being mistaken for a whore!

The thing is I’m not really good at just ignoring people. If they talk to/email/call me I have to reply back, it’s this horrible need within me. So I’ll get a, “Hey gorgeous, how you doin?” and I’ll of course answer.

“I’m good, except I didn’t sleep so well last night because my air mattress keeps deflating so I have to wake up five times a night and refill it, but I haven’t found a bed yet and I don’t want to just go buy one because I’ll have it for awhile. How are you?” Wrong question to ask.

I had one guy say (in a deep rather disturbing voice, that sounded like he was about to have an orgasm) “Ooh yeah just keep talking, uh huh, oh yeah. Talk to me baby that’s right.” I had to go home and take a scalding shower I felt so dirty.

So I’ve finally found a way around this. I talk to myself. Whenever I see someone coming near I start to babble incoherently to myself, I also gesticulate wildly so it looks like I’m having a loud epileptic fit. Seems to work. I still get looks but now I find people walk a little faster to get past me and they don’t stop to chitchat.

Sure I’m now adding to the loonies found downtown but it’s kind of fun.

Snippets from the week

So this has been a rather weird week for me.

First off I learned that my x is moving back to Santa Barbara. This hit me a little harder than I thought it would and I ended up crying in the bathroom at work. But my eyes turn a bright green when I cry, much prettier than their normal hazel, although sadly people usually only notice the blotchy red face. And I ran into a wall on my way to the bathroom because I was trying to hide my face and I couldn’t see. Yelling “Aw fuck!” after making a banging noise against a brick wall does not lead to inconspicuousness.

Then, reunion boy who I haven’t spoken to in about two weeks asks me out. Feeling confused about everything I said yes. I got home late so we went to a brewery since that was the only place still serving food. Now when I get upset (I had been upset for a couple of days now) I can’t eat. Don’t know why I just can’t. So I tried to eat dinner but I mainly just pushed things around.

So when he suggested drinks afterwards I probably should have said no, but having had a few at the brewery I said sure. Once at the bar we switched to Patron and the night was basically over for me. I technically didn’t drink that much but mixing a few different beers and tequila on an empty stomach is never a bright move. Don’t think I made the best impression but meh, oh well. Previously I had thought he was rather boring, but on that night he was really fun and I had a good time.

Also I found that he subscribes to the Economist, one of my favorite magazines (I can’t afford it). I’m kind of a magazine snob so depending on what subscriptions you have kind of raises or lowers you in my opinion. He had a stack of different magazines on his coffee table and some were pretty decent.

Anyways I woke up with quite a hangover. Which was just dandy as I had to go over to A’s and remove the rest of my stuff. I think that’s basically karma: moving all the little pieces of a life you spent eight years building up (and which you knocked down in a day), feeling like you are going to puke at any second while thousands of tiny little men are banging away at railroad ties in your head, and the guy you hurt looks on. Ah good times.

The worst part is that it was so great hanging out with him. I didn’t want to leave. So yep I’m confused.

Monday I basically went bar hopping with a friend. We did quiz night and got 11 right out of 20 (shut up, highest score was only 15 so if you curve it we came out with a B), waited a good hour for food and decided that our bartender might just be the dumbest person in San Jose (and that is saying a lot).

We moved to another local bar to play some pool, but the table was taken so after a drink we moved on again. Now the third spot has a broken pool table so it’s free and PBR for only $2 (I know why didn’t we come here first?). But there is also always some drama going on. When we walk in the bartender, who’s smoking a cigar, immediately looks up and says “You guys aren’t cops right?”

Later in the evening two guys come in and start yelling at the obviously inebriated bartender, we guess they are management or something. Well it almost looks like something physical is about to happen, but sadly nothing does. But they kick everyone out of the bar anyways.

So since the night isn’t over we switch gears and head to the nearby “Ultra Lounge” which I’ve never been in. Karaoke was in full swing, and everyone looked like a tool. We stayed for a bit while every once in awhile every single patron in the place would join in on the chorus of some Shania Twain song or something equally lame.

I went home and fell asleep to the sounds of my neighbors’ loud, but very boring conversation about some party they had both attended, yay.

Morbid little thoughts

Oh the joys of being single. Basically what I’ve taken from it is that if I die, it will be the smell that eventually leads my neighbors to the reality of my demise. Oh sure I have some friends that might worry but they are out of town so it would take awhile. My editor (if you’re reading this then you suck Steve, and may you get stuck between a shark and an underwater zombie!) at work might wonder but he doesn’t have my address. And if it’s early in the week near deadline he’ll never even notice.

Thankfully my apartment thinks it’s in the Sahara so decomposition should happen pretty quickly. Yay for the little things. Oh crap what if I die in the winter?

I’m wondering if I should start some sort of phone tree just incase I die. Sure I talk to people online but I’ve been absent this past week (due to no internet in the new place) and no one has wondered if I’m dead yet. Ok I’ve been around during the day but still…

Sometimes you have to break a couple eggs

I’ve been in my place for about a week now but I hadn’t actually made any food there. So this morning I decided that it was time for me to make breakfast.

So I walked around the corner and headed in to some high-end market. It was one of those granola places where everything is a good 20 percent more than chain markets, but it’s so close and I wasn’t getting a lot.

I have only one frying pan and no baking sheet, so I decided to scramble up some eggs — even I can do that.

Well I also don’t have a bowl so I broke the eggs in the frying pan and put the rest on the back burner, as my counter is rather full of random stuff right now.

So I turned on the burner but noticed that nothing was happening. It sounded like the gas was going but I couldn’t see anything. I looked up and noticed bright orange flames working their way up the carton and starting to engulf my newly purchased eggs. Actually the eggs were starting to cook inside their shells so I mean, at least technically, I was cooking something.

Yep, I had turned on the wrong burner. After a lot of smoke and yelling I was able to get the fire out, and my neighbor was kind enough to give me a huge fan, (imagine the back of those Florida swamp airboat thingy) which was able to remove the smoke.

My first independent act in my new home and I’m a complete failure. I almost burned down my apartment of less than a week. There will be drinking tonight, thankfully I can open a bottle; I’ve had a shitload of practice at that.

Kickball

Although I have been going to school at SJSU for over a year I am still pretty new to the San Jose area. I have a couple of friends that I can bug but that's about it. So I decided it was high time for me to go out and meet some people. And where better to meet people than at a pickup kickball game?

The mixture of people was so random and the game itself was so fun. I met a bunch of cool people and there are even plans to go check out the free Flogging Molly show on Thursday. And really if you can't have fun playing kickball than you are dead inside.

We played at some elementary school, and one couple was kind enough to bring beers. Most of the people didn't know each other and it was just a great way to talk to people that are obviously as juvenile as I am. Although it was decided that next time more beer needs to be brought by all.

My kickball skills aren't up to par with what they were in the fourth grade but I got better as the afternoon progressed. I played pitcher, and my team one ... twice.

Afterwards we went to Aqui for some beers. I'm probably a little tipsy but oh well. It was fun and I would definitely recommend it to everyone. Where else are you going to meet a guy from Oklahoma who's twang only comes out after a few beers, a royally tatted up guy who teaches English to impoverished kids and a guy who is fanatical about kickball rules all in the same day?

And the best part was I met some cool girls who I can actually see hanging out with. I mean how can you not like a chick that's into kickball?

The whole time I was smiling and didn't think about the things that have been bringing me down lately. Maybe I'm starting to like San Jose?

Pampering

I got my first facial the other day. And it was great, but I also thought it was a tad bit on the odd side. It kind of seemed like the esthetician was trying to seduce me.

I mean I get there and they offer me a beverage. Then this woman with a sultry, low voice and perfectly coiffed hair leads me through a dimly lit labyrinth (which I became completely lost in), to an area in the back where I was told to strip and put on a robe.

After that I was led to another alcove where once again I was given a drink and then the lady (I forget her name so I'm going to call her Calliope because I like that name) came back and soaked my feet in some weird smelling bath.

Next we went into an even darker room, acoustic guitar music was piped in, where I was told to lose the robe and get under the covers. Calliope comes back in and starts talking in her hypnotic voice, I can't recall what she said but it lulled me into some sort of trance. Soon she started rubbing goo all over my face, before wrapping me up in a hot towel. She then gave me a neck, shoulder and arm massage before removing the goo and adding more goo but with a slightly different smell. I once again got a rub down (loved it), before she removed goo #2.

Finally she sprayed some mist on me and rubbed something else on my face. This was apparently the end of my session, and I must admit if she had been trying to seduce me I totally would have let her. Calliope, with sexy voice and magical hands, could have done whatever she wanted to me, I was so relaxed.

Of course when I left the spa and got into my car, my face was a scary, fire engine, splotchy red. But meh it was worth it. I will definitely have to do that again.

My castle

So I've got my shnazzy new place (shnazzy is defined as about the size of a closet but with a stove), and today I decided to clean it as my landlord's definition of clean and my definition didn't seem to match up. So I rented one of those lovely steam cleaners and dragged it up to the third floor, vowing to hit the gym so that I can carry slightly heavy items more than five feet without stopping and gasping for breath, when I finally got to my apartment I realized I had accidentally rented a place whose location randomly shifts to the surface of the sun.

After a few hours I think I lost 30 pounds of water weight and I get to repeat the process tomorrow. But at least now I can sit on the floor without feeling like I'm going to get hepatitis.

Now I just need to move all my furniture in, oh wait I don't have any furniture and I'm pretty sure when my friends see the stairs they are going to run for the hills (thankfully those are probably on fire so they will have no choice but to help me move).