What's with those fancy talking pictures in the living room?

I give up. I'm running back into the cult and buying a TV. I've lived without one for 9 months. When people ask me how I live without one, I simply reply, I don't have time to watch TV. (Which is mostly true) The real reason? I didn't get one in the severance package.

But enough is enough. As an American I am, frankly, ashamed of myself. It's not that I haven't wanted one, I've just wanted other things more. Like trips to wine country. Or food.

It's actually kind of fun buying a TV all on my own. Kind of empowering and all that crap. I'm also going to get a home theater system. Because I have to. It's my duty as an American. Right?

I've got it narrowed down and should make the purchase in the next few weeks. (Squeal!) I just may splurge and get one of these.

Chocolate Covered Sunshine

I'm up late (or early, depending on your time zone) working on a project for work. It's a project that we've been working on for 1450 years, give or take a decade. Being awake when the rest of the world is asleep brings curious results. I've noticed how quiet the highway gets at this time of night. I've noticed that I have no willpower against the chocolate covered cranberries in my cupboard. I've noticed that while I *heart* my job, I can't help but day (night) dream about running away to the ocean and selling tacky tourist souvenirs.

I've also noticed that try as I might, my brain keeps straying to thoughts about Ace. Specifically, what to do about him. I'm nuttier than a Snickers bar over that man. But. (There's the but.) Now's about the time when things get difficult. Seven+ months in. My hetero man friend at work just broke up with his girlfriend of nine months because of unresolvable differences. He said it had been brewing for a few months.

Part of me wants to work through these difficulties because of the aforementioned nuttiness and affection. I adore so many things about him: He makes me giggle. He makes me melt. He makes me try new things. He makes me think I made the right choice.

But. (ah, there it is again)

Part of me doesn't want to be trapped in another relationship that one day I'll wake up, 15 years later, and wonder what the hell happened to me. The big difference then will be that I'll be 50 instead of 35. It's much harder to start over at 50 than at 35. (It was hard enough to start over at 35. I'm immensely proud of myself for not only being able to kill mice on my own, but be able to stay out of collections because I can pay my bills online. These are two skills little me didn't possess just 8 short months ago.) There are a number of things I can't stand about us: He makes me cry sometimes. He makes me wonder if it's not him, but me. He makes me feel like I've learned nothing from my failed marriage about sharing my feelings. (Yes, I know men hate the f-word.)

But. (this time for a good reason)

When I'm with him, when things are good between us, there's no other place I want to be or person I want to be with. When I'm not with him, even when times aren't good between us, I only want to be with him. I think about things I would have never thought of before I met him, like my previously-mentioned disdain for children. He's almost got me convinced that they'd make good day laborers. Almost.

But. (last time, promise)

It's far too dangerous to be thinking about this at 1:30 a.m. Especially when I've got work to do. And sleep to undertake.

Mascot update

I suddenly have a strong craving for peanut oil fried chicken.

London calling.

Some people may find it strange that I'm thinking of going to a foreign country with a woman I met once at a conference. Others might find it absolutely insane.

I'm sure it will work out.

Sweet Jebus, it's been a long time.

Oooh, look, it's a bar named after my alter ego!

What can I say? I've been a traveling/learning/working fool lately. Yes, since April 26, the date of my last post. Judge me if you will.

Class got out May 27 and I promptly ran away for the weekend to Eugene and West Salem, Oregon. What's in Eugene, OR, you may ask? (Don't you know me at all?) Wine. Of course. Ace had a work thing in Eugene which = free hotel stay. All I had to find was a cheap flight. My years of wasting time on the interwebs paid off and I found a last minute trip for less than $300 including rental car.

Ace and I'd already had a trip to San Fran planned for this past weekend. So two trips in two weeks with the boyfriend. I think we've survived. In between eating pricey San Fran style (everything is pricey in SF, people, everything), we went to see Wicked. It's a musical, but things blow up and there are car crashes and everything so it was cool for Ace to see it with me. (not really)

The food, while overpriced, was awesome. The people were pleasantly pleasant, with a few exceptions. But the rude ones were the exception, not the norm. The weather was fantastic and my legs hurt from walking too many hills. Ace is still speaking to me, although a little less than he used to, so I think it was a good trip. (All in all, he talks a lot less than he used to anyway. Sometimes I think he has laryngitis. Other times I think he's plotting of ways to get rid of me.)

In between trips I married my friends. You read that right: I. Married. My. Friends. Brian and Melissa wanted a secular ceremony and in Colorado anyone can do the deed, so they asked me. I secretly think they were trying to save the $400 officiant fee, but I was honored and pleased to marry two of my dear friends. Now I can add "Officiant" to my list of titles. I may even move to a state where same-sex marriage is legal so I can officate all over the place.

I also did a tri on a Friday night. It was awesome but hurt like hell because my training for this one consisted of running a few times and one bike ride a week before. I survived nonetheless and plan to do another one in two weeks, which should also hurt like hell because I've done little to no training. Unless you count climbing hills to my next meal in San Fran, then yes, I've done some training.

I ordered a book from the library which is supposed to translate boyspeak (or lack thereof) into English. Once I have a good translation, I can let you know how things are really going with the boyfriend.