The story of the bartender who wouldn't keep his shirt on.

It was amusing as well as disturbing. I mean, on the one hand, Mr. Bartender was HOT! He looked like Jonathan Rhys Meyer, but you know, less "I'm a movie star" and more like, "I am the hot boy from next door."

On the other hand, he is a bartender. One looks at bartenders, one might even fancy a bartender, but one RARELY dates a bartender. Why. Well let's step back and look at our friendly bartender... You know how he always remembers your drink, and gives you that sexy wink, seems to look into your eyes and remember what you were talking about... yeah, he is doing that with every other girl (and sometimes boy) in the bar.

But I digress, this is a story about his shirt. The bartender was a nice enough guy, I suppose, but he had this weird penchant for lifting his shirt everytime I walked past him. I wonder if that is some bartender mating call... look be mezmerized by my abs, come to me, spend your money. Because if it was, it totally didn't work. I kept laughing at him, it just seemed so odd... like something a three year old would do.

It did impress the drag queen behind me though... so.

So...uh...

Honestly, it has been a week. A long week, that many strange conversations about relationships (not mine) and relational stupidity (often times mine) and I came to a strange conclusion about many MANY a guy I have liked/dated/been with:

I am the girl you got under to get over someone else.

Before my mom leaves angry comments... I don't mean LITERALLY... I mean figuratively. I am the quintessential transition girl.

Anyhow, I think all of my boys (if you are new, and I know you are Jody, my boys refers to a group of 3 guys whom I have known since College, and whom have been dealing with all my various girl breakdowns since then...they are the trifecta of awesome known as "my boys"-- see the archieves for further info) have collectively lost there minds.... is it because I haven't been checking in as regularly as I used to, I don't know.

But when you get a phone call that goes like this "Hey, it's me, remember that one girl I dated who was batish crazy and I made you fake being my gf/wife so that she would stop calling... I ran into her again and she is hot... I think I am gonna go for it" and then followed by "Cheating doesn't count if you aren't planning on leaving your GF" and "I think I love her... but this relationship is hard, and love should be EASY" and then finally "You are going to be so proud of me... I totally have not had any sex for like 57 whole days!"

Um.. yeah. What is that. WHAT IS THAT. (for the record I got various phonecalls like that from all of them at different times during the day... what can I say, it was an odd saturday) That my friends is the begining of Crazeeeeeeeee. I wonder if they have antibiotics for it. Because I wasn't aware a)not having sex required a plaque b) we've already discussed how crazee doesn't really go away and c) Cheating... self-explanitory and d) what sorta backwoods, stupid ish is a relationship should be easy... if by easy you mean like... I dunno taking a dollar and using your fist to squeeze pennies out of it.. then yes EASY.

I am taking opinions, but they might need to get checked out at their local physicians... I am worried.

- Meh

P.S. Remind me tommorrow, I am supposed to blog about the Bartender that just wouldn't keep his shirt down!

I fail at my own challenges

That last post was introspective me... then I got busy with work, which is why I have failed to update 4 times.... But I wanted to clarify. I am not and was not speaking about anyone who I KNOW reads this blog. Ahem, JACK, this means you; smooches kid, for being nice and responding just in case... Also kisses to Wilson, who was so concerned he called and then made me dinner.

The person I was refering to in the last post does not read this blog. Why, because they do not typically remember me unless I am right in front of them and even if they some how did stumble here, they are not really self-aware enough to consider that it is them I could be talking about.

In other news, I think I love James Morrison. Yes, you go buy his CD right now.

Worst Week EVER

I went to Kickboxing with one shoe and one sock.

Yeah, total metaphor for life here. I feel like I am one shoe short of an outfit. One gloriously stilleto away from perfection.

Today, I ran away from LA. You know sometimes this place sorta makes you wonder if you are sane. I mean, not like being in Indiana, makes you wonder if you are insane... clearly, you just are... hello Indiana, p.s. I still hate you. I mean that like LA literally takes everything that should be normal and inverts into an odd Alice in Wonderland mad tea party kind of way.

An example of this all happened this week when going through a conversation discussing friendships.

I have a friend whom I love. Whom I will defend to the death, and whose concept of viable friendships is just beyond all wrong.

I have given him my patented friendship dollar discussion. Which in short just says, relationships are like investment banking, one doesn't throw money into a bad fund and expect any return.... and that through calculated risk investment you can maximize your friendships and personal growth... I realize that this sounds super analytical... but if you think about it the question really is: How much time have you spent investing in someone who just doesn't give a crap about you.

And yet you do. Or at least I do. Because even as I gave the *patented Friendship dollar discussion* I know that I have spent an inordinate time this year concentrating on being friends with someone who probably could take or leave me. Even in my head today, I make the appropriate friendship overtures and I don't really know the point... is the point to be the better person or is the point to prove to them eventually that I am worth knowing. It is absolutely ridiculous. And I wonder, is an LA thing, where it seems better to have a surface relationship than none at all... or if it is just a thing that people do till they grow out of it. And when do people grow out of it, because I know people still struggling with this v. idea at 42 years old. Which seems like an age you should have most of your ish figured out.

Right, well so ends the introspective part of the evening.

Dear Fellow Americans:

Hello. Hola. etc.,

America, I think it is time we chitchatted. I am gonna need you to stop being stupid.

Yes, Stupid.

Granted, I know you sorta pride yourself on that renegade, we don't care cavilier attitude and the education system, is to say the least a bit lax, plus there is that ugly recent history we dare not speak of *skinny pants, britney spears* to distract you, but honestly, this is getting ridiculous.

Sending money to the FBI in NIGERIA, so that someone whom you don't know, have no record of, and have never met will let you have 3 million dollars for only $2,000 and your bank account information. Just cause Uh.

REALLY, America, REALLY.

First off, the FBI in Nigeria. THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION in NIGERIA! Pop quiz, what about that immediately says, "hey, something doesn't sound right?" Could it be. YES, FEDERAL. Let us define federal for you America, since you seem to be a bit confused: national; especially in reference to the government of the United States as distinct from that of its member units. Which means, they wouldn't have a branch office in Nigeria.

Secondly, when AMERICA, WHEN was the last time some rich person just decided to give 3 million dollars in return for $2,000. You know, because they are in Nigeria, and your rich unhearrd from Uncle that no one knows wanted you, just you to have it. Not your parents. Not your siblings. You.

I will tell you why he wants to give it to you, because you are a SUCKER. And you are about to get robbed.

I don't know what to be more disgusted about, the fact that you are stupid enough to fall for this FBI in Nigeria thing or Tom Brady knocking up half the eastern seaboard. It is a tough call. Which should tell you of my displeasure AMERICA.

We already have a bum rap America, the eighties ruined us in the eyes of the fashion world, and the last group of super smart people we got, were from India and Asia, etc.... (Before anyone yells, it is the google guys) Listen, we are the nation who developed the computer, Bill Gates and Warren Buffett (I FLOVE Buffy, Call me Warren! I love you! *) Can you guys get it together here. Come on.

xoxo-
Meh

Is this Blog Dead....PFFFFFFT.

No, I am not dead, in fact I have more stuff than ever to say, so this month, will be the month of BLOGGING, 4 days a week even.

So to start off, this weeks BLOGTASTIC MONTH: 5 things you may or may not know about me *The FOOD edition*, enjoy or don't, whatever.

1. I don't or won't eat animals that I like, deer-- no, bear-- no, and in fact I have a hard time eating beef... I usually just trick myself into thinking that hamburgers don't come from cows, but in fact come from god, specially wrapped in nice cellophane wrappers to be paired with cheese and ketchup.

2. I don't believe certian foods should cross cultural boundries... by which I mean, I don't think a chinese food place should serve "The Chinese Burrito" (Yes, I really saw that) or Chinese corn chowder.... when was the last time you saw the shots from Beijing of people chowing down on corn on the cob.

3. I have talked myself into believing I don't like muffins, fettucini alfreado, donuts or anything else super bad for you. Seriously, I have no reason not to like those foods except the calorie count makes me cry.

4. In my family, tea and toast is the medicine cure-all. Depressed, how bout some toast? Happy, lets make some toast? Jealous, let's talk about it over toast? Sick, Toast. You get the idea. It is the first thing my grandmother offers me when I get off the plane and the last thing she offers when I am getting ready to leave.

5. I can't bring myself to eat anything from the box of chocolates without A, having a map or B, cutting each chocolate in half so I can see what is in it, even if it is someone elses box.... none of the forrest gump ish for me, I wanna know what I am going to get, so I can avoid nasty chocolate covered cherry crap like the plague it is. This is probably a metaphor for my whole life, but I prefer not to think those things over to carefully.