Life is currently this strange mix of busy and chilled to the point of comatose. The song of the long weekend is “Sentimental Mood” by St. Germain.
I went to The DJ’s party Thursday night. I’ve been running into him a lot randomly lately and I’ve been nice but cool. The boat has sailed big time on that one and he’s looking a little worse for wear right now. *cough*fuckingsniffer*cough* I floated, chatting with the usual suspects. I said to B, “I want to review your record!” and he was awfully excited. I tried to back pedal all “dude, I’ve never done a record review before” and shit, I can’t focus long enough to write a blog post…though these monsters are longer than any review might ever be, so that’s a bad comparison. I should look myself in my room today until I write something. Back in the day, that’s how I wrote my fucking senior essay and finished the damned yearbook: locked room, no food or distractions, worked until I felt faint. Desperate times and all that jazz.
There was the amusing interlude of sitting down on the couch minding my business when some random turned to me and was like “talk to me.” I gave him the patented “what, you fucking nutter?” look and replied “erm…why?” We ended up chatting about much of nothing, trading names and such on a low interest level on my part. Unless I’m pissed off, I’ll chat (most of the time). I’m usually solo and bored, so it passes the time. When he forgot my name, I sent him over to the one of the crew who I was certain didn’t know it (and he proved me right) and The DJ also fed misinformation. I was amused. Later on, I chatted with The Outer and he reminded me he is nice when he’s not making fun of me on GP. I popped off home and felt like a Mach truck had driven through my skull the next morning. I’m getting old. I can’t bounce back like I used to.
Friday, I felt achy and near vomit most of the day. Thank God for holiday half days! I had to go to a planning meeting for this party I’m throwing with the crew in less than two weeks. It’s got the potential to be awesome or a total disaster, but I’m erring on the side of awesome. All I’ve got to say is: art party with a band in a laundromat with free booze. Just on the randomness scale alone, it’s a winner!
Jay-V and I had our quarterly face-to-face meeting at this Cuban restaurant off Union Square. Cuban sandwich and a mojito…extra yum! In the first of many times that Mr. Sailor’s been mentioned this weekend (strange that…people don’t usually reenter the brain sphere as he has without some strange coincidence about to happen), I regretted the horrible breakup for a split second if only because I would’ve liked visitation rights with his mom and the occasional steak sandwich. I had it once on that Iowa visit, but Jesus, it might be the best sandwich I’ve ever had! His mom could cook her ass off and I felt connected with her being a New Yorker and a shortie with a shoe size that just does not compute. Too bad I can’t call all “hi, I dated your son almost three years ago and we hate each other, but I’d love to be friends with you!”
I gave Jay the shirt I procured for her with my hefty company discount, the rare perk. I’d be wearing it out if I was skin and bones like most of the other girls at my job. Teen catalogs don’t offer many options for someone with an adult body! Shocker! When I was an actual teen, I was all about their product though.
A mistimed nap later that night zapped whatever going out energy I would’ve had and I parked it, going to bed about 1am. Saturday had me up bright and early on some happy homemaker tip, doing laundry, sweeping, mopping, and whipping up meals all by lonesome. I raged against my neighbors who were blocking up the entrance because they had to lounge on the stoop and have their extended family for a cookout when I’m lugging a bag filled with what felt like every piece of clothing I owned up the stairs. Go to the park, assholes. It’s two blocks away. They refused to shift and I contemplating smacking them with the bag and/or cursing up a storm, but instead I seethed.
I watched TV for the first time in a long time while eating my dinner and caught the repackaged Live 8 show. How fucking disjointed that thing was! It was like American Bandstand (or Top of The Pops) for Africa! I’m pissed because I missed Pink Floyd while switching back and forth between that and Cry-Baby on Oxygen. Those Overstock.com commercials are bizarre (fucking Word keeps changing bizarre to bizarre. Spelling fascist program!), that woman acts like she’s shilling a Rabbit Pearl or something.
Later, I got into another convo about Mr. Sailor with my new friend from Canuckistan. We were playing the “Who’s Got The Shittier Ex?” game. Drudging up a heap of bitter feelings is definitely the way to start a night out! I guess all of that keeps coming up because I’ve been feeling like I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve burned off a lot of the really bad mental energy that was circling around afterwards. I made a bit of an unspoken note to do anything I could to avoid another relationship, from chasing after those I should’ve know better about to just destructively fucking with people because I could. I’m definitely not looking and I’m also not finding new and fucked up ways to fill an emotional hole. I’m just chilling’. It’s nice.
I finally left the house to do a drive-by hangout with Faiks before wandering the streets until I met up with C to see Adam F, our Miami obsession, spin. The first d’n’b party I’ve been to...since Miami probs. Our boy fell off big time! Back at the conference, he was tanned and fit, but last night, he looked like any old pale dude. I can only obsess over one pasty English dude at a time, so Fourtet is the one circa summer 05. We most missed his set, but ran into The Brit’s brother and his girl. (He’s another wasting away on the sniffer diet. Tsk, tsk.) He greeted me with this painful ass slap and I told him that just because his woman has no ass, doesn’t mean I’m up for abuse. I considered inquiring about the boy, but self-preservation (and pride) put a cap on that. Knowing the brother, he’ll hear about the sighting regardless and there is the chance for an actual awkward encounter at the big 4th party. I can’t say I feel one way or another about it, but I’ve got a soft spot for him, even if the reality is futile.
Some random who I saw looking on a room pan-scan popped up on me as I was strolling along. “What’s your name again,” he said and he got that look. Why do they do that?! Whoever put it in the flirting handbook that coming out with some non sequitur is a good look needs to revise…like post haste! I explained to him that it implied we’d spoken before and reminded him we had not, so what was his deal? God bless him though because he was cute, but I just didn’t feel like going there. He told me his name and after some hemming and hawing, I gave him mine, but killed the conversation to go back and dance. And yes, I’m well aware that it’s not the best tactic to meeting someone new and amazing being a difficult asshole, but hey, that’s me. Anything that’ll ever happen will probably be to spite myself and when I’m ready, it’ll happen. At the moment, I really just don’t care.
Posted by Candicissima at July 3, 2005 12:01 PM