To begin with, I'd like to wish my older sister, Storm, a Happy Birthday! Yes, that's right, folks. We're all packed together pretty tightly on the ol' birthday calendar in my family. It really makes the four months or so surrounding Christmas a special kind of hell on the bank account. For her special day, I purchased Storm some really sweet-ass bowls from Crate&Barrel that she really liked. Unfortunately, they've discontinued the collection, so I hope she doesn't get too attached to the idea of a complete set.
Ha! Here's an interesting tidbit: remember back when Dolly attempted to suffocate me? Well yesterday, Miranda sent me out to her car with the promise that there were chocolate hearts prowling about in her trunk. As it turned out, I found no chocolate hearts (and believe me, I have a whole rant about that stored up -- you don't go around promising chocolate and then not deliver. It just isn't done), but I did find a bag of potpurri, a scented candle, and a dented canister of 'home fragrance' rolling around back there. That cracks me up.
Oh, and I get this phone call today, right? This ho is all, "What hotels are in the area?" Like, this isn't a fucking travel agency, sister. So I'm all, "Sorry, I don't know. Maybe you should try the Chamber of Commerce," and she's like, "Oh...do you have their number?"
Okay, what does she think this is? 411? "Of course I've got their number! I've got everyone's number! You need the public library in Akron? How about your best friend Susan from college? What about the Maltese Embassy or the Jamba Juice on 5th Avenue? Good thing I've got all these numbers just written down right here!" I was really tempted to give her the number of the phone company so she could order a frigging directory.
All right, I've tried about sixteen different times to write this paragraph, but it keeps coming out wrong. Every time I write it, I feel like one of those mall-circuit self-help gurus preaching about give and take to a bunch of suburban moms who are killing time while their kids are trying on whorey clothes at Hot Topic (and don't get me wrong, because I love Hot Topic; I just don't love it for kids like the eleven year-old girl I saw three weeks ago who was tricked out in knee-high boots and a lycra tank top that said Bad Girl in glittery red lettering). I've realized that I simply can't make the point I was going to make (about sacrifices and rewards and such) without sounding totally hokey, so I just give up. The point is that I had a really good night last night, and it kind of seemed like maybe that was my reward for my recent relationshit (not a typo) issues. Even if nothing comes of last night, it was quite an experience.
And frankly, I've realized that said issues are really all about me and not about The Guy, per se. Truth is, it's not so much that I liked him and he didn't like me -- hell, everyone goes through that shit all the time -- but it's that he did like me...until he got to know me. Or at least, that's how it seems. Not terribly reassuring. And maybe I'm being stupid about it and only seeing a few of the barest facts, which I've then wrongly interpreted in the most ego-damaging way possible (as is my wont), but then again, facts are facts. How can you misinterpret cold, hard facts?
Anyway, I think it's high time I moved on from that, because it's starting to annoy even me that I'm still dwelling on this shit. Two weeks, people. It doesn't deserve to be obsessed over like this. I seriously need to stop being so neurotic about everything.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go knock on wood, spit in the evil eye, and toss some salt over my shoulder. Don't want to jinx anything.