Hey - it's OK!

                I have decided that there are at least three days out of the month that I cannot trust myself.  I have never thought that I was a typically hormonal female, but there is something that triggers in my body…right about now… that is yelling, nay, hysterically screaming at everything within me to take some serious action in regards to my happily ever after. I am currently restraining myself from texting every past crush, romantic idea, or flirtatious pastime in my repertoire (I am going to make the list sound longer , and more elaborate, than it is for my own self esteem) and am also studiously avoiding my owned copy of Sleepless in Seattle as my evening companion; since I do not need to be dreaming of Tom Hanks at a time like this. 

 I have not totally succeeded in avoiding all the hormonally fueled ideas that have popped into my head as of late. Five minutes ago I arranged a coffee meet up (not a date, I swear) with a “past crush” for later this week. I just hope it seems like just as good of an idea then as it does now (doubtful, I know). 

I don’t know what it is between me and the boys that have crossed my path so far and why we don’t click. I have recently come upon the more radical idea that I have come to terms with the potential fact that I may never meet that someone, and may very well end up living the majority of my life alone. The radical part about this idea is that I am really OK with this, and most days it is not depressing in the least. Most days except for days like today when I can’t trust myself. So screw it, I’ll go to coffee. I might even take Tom Hanks for another spin if my fickle heart has its way.  I’ll worry about being OK next week.  

The Limit of an A** Hole

                First things first, one could easily argue that the definition of an asshole is someone who does not understand limits; or more accurately, chooses not to understand or respect those limits. Therefore, the limit of an asshole does not exist. 

                With that aside, I have learned that my asshole limit is five days. Day one with an asshole is shocking, but it is still a bit of an absurdity and you tell yourself that this cannot be how they are all the time. Day two you are beginning to accept that there is a definite part of them that must be permanently pertaining to that of an asshole (even you aren’t believing your excuses for them anymore). Day three it is finally dawning on you that yes, indeed, this person is an asshole. In truth you have never used this word to describe anyone before in your life, but you have always been a believer in using appropriate vocabulary, and realize that there is nothing more fitting. Day four you stop smiling and nodding politely to their obscene, crude, and racist jokes. If your wits are about you, you will feign a migraine and seek the solace of a quiet room where you can enjoy the more intellectual company of your laptop. 

 Day five is my limit to an asshole. 

There is no smiling or nodding or response of any kind to their irrational and immature antics, and every word that passes through their lips is just another crank in my tightly wound emotions. It is all I can do to restrain my natural instinct of pushing them in front of a moving bus, and gleefully drawing the chalk lines myself around their unresponsive body.

                Every day after the fifth day is pure, unadulterated torture. 

                If you have a way to escape an asshole, do it on the first day. If by some chance you cannot escape an asshole, may strength and peace be with you. While writing this I am on day six, and I have three more days of this inescapable torment of stupidity. 

                (help me)

Sand Between My Toes

     I have been in San Diego since the 11th. I am taking a spur of the moment trip with one of my best gal pals, and it is glorious. The weather here is like summer all year long. It is February and we are spending the majority of our days lying on the beach in much too little clothing. I can no longer go anywhere without leaving a little trail of sand behind me, and I just love it!
     The funny thing about going to different places is the attitude of the locals. Really, I have found for the most part that it is the same wherever I go; most specifically in regards to the weather. When our Moms taught us to only talk about the weather if there was nothing better to talk about, it would seem that we all took that very much to heart. I guess the part that is funny about this is that people say the exact same things, and have the exact same complaints as everywhere else when talking about the weather. Even in San Diego, the place with the most beautiful weather year round I have ever seen, people talk as if there is something to complain about when a cloud dares to come across the sky. I cannot help but find this amusing coming from a place with a very distinct four seasons, the longest season being a frigid winter, but I guess it is all what you're used to. For myself, this brings up the thought that we should all be more grateful for what we have been given; even if what we have been given is seemingly never-ending snow. At least the snow helps us appreciate the summer so much more.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/Impossible+Soul/3cdRhd?src=5
Impossible Soul by Sufjan Stevens
-The entire song is a work of art, but from minute 22 on is pure tragic bliss. I don't know if I will ever get enough of this song. (on a side note, seeing Sufjan live in concert should be added to your bucket list if it is not there already. Phenomenal. Just saying.)

Gypsy Spirit

     I have been a bit of a nomad as of late. I have always joked that if my chosen career path did not work out, I would choose the life of a gypsy; and I feel as if I have gotten a little taste of it now. This past year I moved over 1,000 miles from my small town home to the Big City. I found a reasonable place to live, and obtained the glamorous day job of a hostess at a restaurant not too far from my place. I slept on the floor for 3 months before I bought myself something of a mattress. It took me that long to buy a mattress because I felt hardcore, like I could write an epic biopic about the experience in years to come. Mostly I am flattering myself in my new brazen independence which is both exhilarating and terrifying, admittedly I feel a little high and mighty knowing I can fend for myself even in a world unknown (ie. the hustling and bustling of a Big City).
     My time as a Gypsy Spirit is coming to a close, however. I have one last whimsical hurrah coming at the end of this week - a whirlwind trip planned with my best gal pal to California where we are sleeping on her friends floor and planning on laying on the beach every day to soak up the golden rays- and then I am moving 1,000 miles back to my small town in the middle of nowhere. My sentimental heart is heavy for the friends and experiences that I will be leaving behind, but inside I know it is time to put an end to my wanderings and ramblings, and stay put for awhile. Hopefully I will actually pursue that chosen career path, maybe hit some of those important milestones, and then, if all else fails, resort to the life of a Gypsy once more.