Obligatory end of the year posting

Hey kids! It's NYE and I've been a total slacker on my postings. One of my resolutions is to spend more time thinking about how I ignore writing my blog. I figure that will get me off my ass and get me posting more. Riiiiight.

NYE is traditionally a booooring time around the Creative HQ. Usually I watch the ball drop on the DVR the next morning. But this year, guess who was the popular girl in town? Go on, guess. I'll wait... ok, it's me! I was invited to not one, not two, not three, but 1,467 parties! Alright, I was invited to four parties and 11 bars holding parties. But that's a lot of invitations, my friends and lurkers.

Since my other NY resolution is to spend less money on hooch (hey, stop laughing), I thought I'd get a head start by going to a house party instead of a bar. As Ace and I are both trying to spend less on hooch (see, it's less funny when my boyfriend is involved, isn't it? Well?) we nixed the idea of going to smanchy town bar parties and instead are going where everybody knows our names. I do have to take a dish, and a bottle of something. My friend R is hosting a Special Edition Supper Club (usually held on Sundays. Thursday is the new Sunday kids.). So I get to take food and a bottle of sparkling wine that someone gave me for my housewarming party. I'm taking Hoppin' Johns and peanut brittle. HJ is a southern thing. It's supposed to bring you good luck in the new year. I figured it can't hurt. Peanut brittle was made on a whim. I was ansy this afternoon and thought I'd see what kind of candy I could make if I didn't leave the house. Peanuts+sugar+heat and voila! My dentist loves me, bitches.

But all these invitations have caused considerable drama within my social circle. Two of my friends B and J called me non-stop today trying to coordinate the parties and events they think we're attending. I had to break it to them that I was going to stay at the house party instead of going with them to a swanky bar to toast the NY. B had already made reservations for us at said bar. J was nearly hyperventilating because she hates to have people unhappy. I was calm as I said to them: go to your crazy overpriced bar, I'm staying in and getting drunk on the cheap. It's all working out, but it was touch and go for a few hours this afternoon. (See brittle, peanut above.)

That brings me to my final resolution for 2009: be a better communicator about hooch and money. I just need to tell my friends clearly that I. Can. Not. Spend. Money. It's not personal, it's the bank. They expect me to have money in my account when I write checks. Whatevah.

Happy New Year lurkers. And you, too, friends.

More craptastic than this time last year.

Actually, that's not true. This time last year I was home alone, crying, drunk, with no one but the dawgs to mock me in their usual manner. I managed to set up the tree but couldn't work up the energy to put any decorations on it. This year, well, it's completely different. I'm still a little drunk. Not crying (much). Pretty happy. And looky! Oooh, ornaments somehow made it on my tree. Look close enough and you can spot my red wine teeth. Candid pictures are so much fun, non? You can thank Ace* for that.

But I'm happy. Really. Content. Fine with things. I'm learning to live in my own skin, my own way. Thursday night I set up all my online bill pay accounts and even paid a bill. It's true! I'm learning to be self-sufficient.

I discovered a few new friends. A new library. A new neighborhood. A new dive bar. And a new boyfriend.

Chief (the cook), me and Ace on his birthday at our newest favoritest dive bar, Sam's.

Things are slowly moving along. Still looking for a FT job. Still liking my PT job. Looking forward to what's next.

*Ace is the nickname bestowed on the boyfriend after a lengthy debate amongst my posse. He's the helpful hardware man. If you know what I mean. He helped with the tree. And hanging pictures. And fixing my interweb connection. And does dishes. And... oh you get the idea.

Secret Project

Because I just do not have enough to do with my time, I've started a secret project. Of course, by saying this on the interwebs, it will remain completely confidential, right?

What is my secret project? Well, it's a secret. I will tell you that it involves writing. A lot. A whole book's worth of writing, if you will.

I'm working on the outline this week and will start writing said secret project in the next few days. I've got a lot of words rolling around in my head and I want to get them on the 'puter before another bottle of wine swishes them out.

Chapter 1: It started with a text. (or txt)
Chapter 2: They aren't lesbians?
Chapter 3: About a boy
Chapter 4: The Yellowtail Incident
Chapter 5: Lactose is for lovers
Chapter 6: TBD

I'm looking for an agent or maybe I'll just self-publish. I've heard great things about options for wwwdotcom publishing.

Puppy tales.

Where did I leave off? Oh yes, puppies. Sorry Heather, they aren’t the puppies you’re thinking of. I’m talking about the male half of our species.

Gratuitous puppy pic.

Things with Bachelor #1 are pretty much over. Actually, saying pretty much is a nice way to say that we ignored each other for a few weeks and then we sort of broke up over the phone when he found out that I was on match.com. How did he find out? You already know the answer to that question. I say “sort of” broke up because we kind of did and I wanted to talk in person but then I got busy with school/life/puppies and forgot to get around to it. Shows you how much I was attached to the whole thing in the first place. It was a great relationship for the time in my life when I needed someone to distract me from the shit that was going on. For that I’m thankful. And over it. Because…


A few weeks ago I met a real young pup at Jordan’s (shocker, I was at Jordan’s). I thought he was 28, but turns out that he’s 24. He was cute and all but Jebus, the boy was 4 when I was in high school. That’s just so… wrong. But it was flattering to meet someone who found me attractive and wasn’t afraid to say it out loud. (Ahem, Bach #1) I’ve also met an elderly black man who said similar things. This was all starting to make me wonder about the puppies my age: what is it about these guys? They have an aversion to saying anything nice about a woman lest she think that he means “let’s get married and have six kids” when he says “you’re the hottest 34 year old I’ve ever met” (true quote of my 24 yr old puppy).

Alas, the timing wasn’t right with Jr. because, before it could go anywhere, he got carted off to the pokey for a mystery offense that equals 40 days incarceration. (Read: second DUI) Lord, he really is young.

Never fear, the puppy tale is not over yet… I told you about my GA who was trying to set me up with the older D.A.? Well he passed on my card and said D.A. made contact. Too late for the lawman because I met Someone. You read that right. That’s a someone with a Capital S. He’s so much a Someone that I don’t want to write too much about him. Except that he’s hott, can't stop calling me nice names, smart, can cook, does dishes!, and he makes me smile and giggle like a school girl. (tee hee) Time disappears when we're together.

Me and my girl posse are currently working on a nickname for The Someone. I'll take suggestions from the crowd just as long as they are clean.

Back to this match.com thing. So I’m on match and I paid for it... But I like this guy. A. Lot. Should I hedge my bets and stay on match? So far I’m unimpressed by the pickin’s. Maybe it’s because I met this guy offline. No computer aided dating required. We met the old fashioned way: at his ex-girlfriend’s house. The ex-girlfriend who is a friend of mine. (Awkward, non?) Maybe I’m just nervous that something this good could happen so soon. I’m kind of freaked out by the idea that I want to spend so much time with someone when I fought so hard to get where I am right now. Maybe I just don’t know anything at all.

I’m going with the last bit.