Monday Blues

This weekend:

• My old high school.
• Late night basketball.
• Flask of vodka.
• Neon tights.

• Bowling after.
• Struck out miserably.

• Consoled myself with beer.
• And the company of friends.
• Headed to the Hard Rock.
• Drank too little.
• Danced too much.
• Not enough of either.
• Found Bob Marley.
• Documented it.

• Headed home.
• Tossed and turned.
• Insomnia killed me.
• Morning came.
• Slept too little.
• Cleaned my place.
• Afternoon beers.
• Evening nap.
• Dinner at Mr. Chow's.
• Holy fuck, expensive.
• Took some pictures.

• Lychee martinis.
• Incredible food.
• Incredible bill ($300!?!?!?).
• Heart attack.
• Almost drowned here.

• Sunday came.
• Loved my dogs.
• A little much.

• Saw my parents.
• Then some friends.
• And their my munchkin. 

• Drank a little.
• Laughed a lot.
• Ruined my makeup.
• Half past midnight.
• Headed home.
• Feeling fine...

The Special Olympics

Me: I need to talk to you about something.

Ethan: Yes I'm okay with naked pictures via text.

Me: (laughing) Don't be ridiculous.

Ethan: Alright.

Me: So I’ve noticed my downstairs neighbors have been charging their phones on the outlet outside my front door.

Ethan: That doesn’t waste any energy.

Me: Can you let me finish?

Ethan: Yes.

Me: So… The other day I saw the little girl go in the house when I was coming home from the gym and it was pitch black. Like. No lights.

Ethan: You think they don’t have electricity?

Me: Well that kind of *proves* it. The question that I want to ask is… I kind of want to help but don't know how to go about it. I mean. Do I just outright go down there and give them money for electricity? Or do I leave an envelope on their door with no note? I don’t know.

Ethan: (shaking head) You're going to offend them.

Me: No I'm not.

Ethan: This isn’t the Special Olympics, Annah.

Me: Excuse me?

Ethan: (sighs) The other day you came over and dropped a receipt on the floor. On it, there was: one bottle of champagne, one bottle of orange juice, and a donation to the Special Olympics.

Me: What’s your point?

Ethan: The point is… You’re a nice person. But you can’t save the world. And paying for their electricity isn’t going to enable them to fix whatever the problem is. They live in a nice neighborhood. In a safe area. Electricity is a luxury these days. Not a necessity.

Me: (quietly sipping my wine).

Ethan: Do what you want. But you're going to offend them. In the meantime, I have something to cheer you up.

Me: Is that so?

Ethan: Check your email. I recorded this the other day while you were sleeping...

I kind of hate him.

Bucket Me This: Part II

Last year I mentioned my intent to jump on the bucket list bandwagon and compiled one of my own to finish before 12-12-12 (my thirtieth birthday and the beginning of the end).

Because it’s 2012 and January's almost done, I’ve become more proactive in checking off every item on the list with a goal of one per month. I hear that in order to succeed at these sorts of things you need keep it simple so here it is if you missed it last time:

1. Shoot a gun.
2. Get a tattoo.
3. Take Portuguese classes.
4. Skydive
5. Get a massage by a professional (preferably in a spa).
6. Rescue & find homes for 100 stray dogs
7. Learn to bake a cheesecake from scratch.
8. Go on a hot air balloon ride.
9. Return to my high school weight (ha ha ha. I’m a funny girl).
10. Go sailing.
11. Buy a pair of Christian Louboutin heels (do knock offs count?).
12. Go on safari.

Extra credit: Make passionate steamy love to my teenage crush, Josh Hartnett.

So this Saturday, despite my deathly flu-like symptoms and inability to breathe through my nose, I mustered the energy to check off item # 5 from my awesome and totally doable list.

When I walked into Evolution Spa that windy afternoon, a heavily tattoed girl escorted me to a dark lit room and the smell of mint and incense engulfed me. A beefy woman of about fifty who could totally kick my ass with her big hands if she wanted to introduced herself as Linda, my masseuse. After some small talk she asked me to get comfortable and said she’d be back in five minutes.

Because I’d never been to a spa before, I deduced “get comfortable” meant get naked and that’s what I did.

(Except my underwear, of course. What kind of creepazoid do you think I am, guys?).

When Linda returned to find me lying in the buff moments later, she laughed and asked me to get up so I could lie under the blanket. Weird.

For the next sixty minutes, Beefy and her big hands went to town on my body, rubbing me so hard my back is bruised and my hips hurt when touched. Occasionally I’d laugh and scream “ouch!” To which Linda would respond with a light beating of the shoulders and a “You laugh for anything, little girl.” She proceeded to tell me stories about all the weird people she’s offered her services to. How one guy walked around the room completely naked and refused to put his pants on. How she pepper sprayed him and called the cops. How he sent her flowers and an apology note the day after.

“There are some weird people out there, little girl,” she’d offered as she kneaded her fingers into the back of my knees. “Some weird, strange little people.”

I must confess getting beat up my Linda’s huge hands wasn’t my idea of fun. Then she brought out the hot stones and shit got interesting real quick. That feeling of a smooth stone against my skin with warm oil was exquisite. Maybe it was my masochistic subconscious speaking, but I found it as close to divine intervention as possible for a Saturday afternoon.

A little while later I fell asleep and awoke to the soothing sounds of wind chimes and Linda packing her materials.

“You sure do snore, pretty one,” she mused, then left me to get dressed without further warning.

I have never felt so used.

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All in all, I give this experience 9 out of 10 ninja stars. The only thing I would’ve changed was the pain factor and the “din dong ding ding ding” of Asian music for the sounds of Mozart but I’m peculiar that way. Until next item… The pleasure’s been all mine. 

The Year Of The Dragon

The weekend was spent sleeping obscene amounts of time as I attempted to battle the flu and lost miserably. After incubating myself to near death and growing to hate my bed and its NyQuil scented pillows, Britt came over Saturday night to state that a) she had broken up with her boyfriend and b) she needed to drink. I sighed and drank hot tea in a corner while she rightfully drowned her sorrows with this array of spirits:

When she finally convinced me to throw on a dress in an attempt to go out, I felt like death on a stick. My new phone isn’t the greatest at taking pictures but here I am anyway with my roommate before terrorizing Miami.

A great night was had by all and Colombian dogs were consumed by the tons at four o'clock in the morning. By Colombian dogs I mean “perros,” a delicious hot dog filled with sauces and tiny French fries, not canines from Colombia (that’d be weird).

Sunday I woke up feeling better and headed to the local pub with Britt, who bitched and moaned about her ex-boyfriend and why breaking up is hard to do, meanwhile I took a few Irish car bombs to the face and gave the best advice a single girl can muster in spite of her natural cynicism. Later on Ethan took me to see the Heat play the Bucks and of course:

He’s assured me he’s willing to take me to other games but no playoffs. “You’re bad luck," he says and laughs at me.

The Year of the Dragon has officially begun today and even though I’m not Asian I’m ready to set things on fire and eat some Chinese while we're at it.

By Chinese I mean greasy noodles. Not people with really nice hair.

The Golden Ticket

Sometimes when they drink, my friends achieve genius status.
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There's a cloud of disillusionment that suspends itself above me and pesters my existence when people deceive me in exquisite fashion, leaving me in the dark for no other reason than their own cowardice. There's a sense of resolution that follows once I realize others actions are not a reflection of my character, but simply a lack of their own.

There is a light... One that shines when the dust has settled and I realize that yes, I've dodged a bullet.

But before all that, when I'm deep in that tunnel and clarity has yet to set in, there's only one viable method of eradicating that knot in my stomach: real friends, introspection, and the golden ticket.

-------

It's no surprise writing a public blog about real life events gets me in more trouble than a diabetic child dipping his hands into a cookie jar after dinner. There's sadly no exception to this rule but fuck it, you can't really please everyone.

Last week I wrote about the perils of thinking too much while partaking in coitus with Ethan, a boy I've known since adolescence who's no longer a boy at all, but a man in his own right. When you're outspoken in public but wary of strangers in private, friends like Ethan are an essential part of life.

Yesterday he sent me a text:

Ethan: Um. You couldn't get wet?

Me: Hello to you too.

Ethan: Sorry. Hi. SO. YOU COULDN'T?

Me: Of course I could. When have you and I ever had problems in that area, Ethan?

Ethan: Never. But you always say your blog is 95% true. And my mind began to wander.

Me: Don't let it do that. Something tells me you'll need it. Sides... You're my golden ticket.

Ethan: Your what?

Me: Nothing. Just something Britt made up which I find hilarious but I'm sure you won't find half as amusing.

Ethan: I see. . . It's hard to stomach your honesty at times. You know that, right?

Me: So I hear. Maybe it's time for me to take another celibacy vow. Makes life so much easier.

Ethan: Nooooooooooo.

Me: I'm kidding. Speaking of... Is it Thursday yet?

Ethan: Not even in China.

Me: Patience is a virtue, I guess.

Ethan: In more ways than one.

-------

And so the cloud lifts and is slowly but surely replaced with the conviction that things happen as they should. That at some point like right now it's Thursday in Miami but also in China. That tomorrow will bring sweet endings to beginnings made bitter by people who don't know any better. That the world will continue to spin on its perfect axis despite every battle big and small taking place on it. And that I will return to the person I was before I almost lost my faith in love and the goodness in others.

C'est la vie, boys and girls.

And it's mine for the taking.

Awesome. Awesome. Awesome!!!!!

Guess whose friend adores her so that she gave her a brand new smart phone with internet?!!!!!!!!

Lola loves me to levels unimaginable by my rather small brain but I can still process the fact that hey! I will now have internet on my phone. And Facebook. And email. And Twitter, homies! This is radical.

I spent the morning elbow deep in paperwork and meeting room reservations. I spent the afternoon ankle deep in dog hair and Kibbles n' Bits. I spent the evening head deep in sweat and trying to avoid unleashing a fart festival during Zumba after a late lunch of Mexican and refried beans. Tonight isn't one of those nights where I feel like sitting on the floor connected to an ethernet cable so I can blog (hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me).

That and I want to mess with my new phone, obviously. And as I cleaned all the pornographic baby pictures Lola left behind, I found this!

(Nevermind I don't remember taking this picture or when it took place).

The phone remembers, guys. And that's why it's "smart."

Good times and rock n' roll.

Well That Would've Been Awkward...

If you've been reading RMG for more than a minute you know I've been pining away for literary famosity while juggling temp jobs and praying for a miracle every night before I go to sleep. Currently, I'm working in the administrative side of a political team and although I never thought it'd be my thing, I'm kind of in love with it. Because we're in the heated portion of a political campaign that'll reach its zenith this November, things around the office have been incredibly hectic with a side of stressful sauce.

This Friday my boss asked me to find a "nice resort" for three of our head honchos, who'd be coming down to South Florida for a company retreat this spring. After a few hours of research and some ridiculous prices (who actually pays $400 a night for a hotel these days?!), I found the perfect five star resort. I couldn't believe such a beautiful place could only be $189.00 a night and felt quite satisfied with myself as I copied the link into an email and forwarded it to my boss.

Five minutes later, she replied.

Her: Is this some sort of joke?

Me: What do you mean?

Her: Do you realize what you just sent me?

Me: The link to the Royal Palms Resort. It's beautiful, no? Five stars.

Her: Of course it's beautiful. But I'm certain top management isn't into *that* sort of ambience for their retreat. Go into the website and check it out.

So it turns out that the beautiful and economic Royal Palms is indeed five stars. And exclusively for the gay community.

Something tells me this isn't the right approach towards a permanent position.

Regular. Everyday. Ordinary Bullsh*t.

Oh you know... Just Ryan and I shooting the shit at work last week.

This Won't Stop 'Til I Say So.

Ryan: You need to stop being gay and post more fun shit, yo! <----- First text today.

Me: Good morning to you too.

Ryan: Quit the gayness.

Me: Gay?

Ryan: Your posts lately = Gay.

Me: I’m sorry, bubba. I write what I feel.

Ryan: So you feel gay.

Me: Gay is happy. And I guess I am, now that I think about it.

Ryan: Then write like it, damn it!

So how does one even begin to explain the clusterfuck of events that have taken place in the past month without sounding like a whiny little bitch? Impossible.

So I had a phone. Mostly got me in trouble but I loved the hell out of the stupid thing. It had internet and all sorts of cool applications I didn’t know how to use but that’s besides the point. I went to a party and the theory's that someone stole it. I secretly think my friend’s dog ate it but some things will forever remain unknown. My coworker had an extra phone lying around the house and gave it to me because she’s a wonderful and decent human being.

(I drowned it in vodka three days later.)

My dad then lent me another one that same weekend and said it was perfect for me.

Here it is for your viewing pleasure:

It has no internet. No apps. No Facebook. No nothing.

It has texting. And I can make phone calls. I'm dwelling in the land of the dinosaurs and it’s not as fun as it looks in the movies. Also? My wireless router broke before I left to Cuba so now when I want to blog I have to sit on my living room floor and insert a fat cable into my laptop (ugh, that doesn’t sound right).

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So there’s this ritual of writing posts in which I map out what I want to say and do little clusters like they taught us in elementary school and get my ideas together and sometimes strike gold. Then there’s this…

Between Cuba and work and the flip phone and no money for shampoo and looking like a beggar from time to time something funny happened: I began losing my hair.

(Down there)

I brought this up to Ryan tonight and he wasn't very helpful (as usual):

I don’t know if I should be alarmed or elated but I’ll go with the latter.

Silver lining? I think yes…

Deep In It

My friend Ryan has stated on various occasions that my biggest flaw is my brain and the fact it's constantly on, churning away thoughts and ideas likely to get me in trouble. “Brain off, Annah,” he tells me when he knows I’m over thinking things. “Just go with it.”

As mentioned previously, I’ve been pondering a little too much about love as of late. What is it? Does it really exist between two people? Is it possible to keep it alive without playing mind games? Is being honest about your feelings a dagger you throw that eventually turns to stab you in the heart? Are there people out there who actually mean what they say and follow through on it to the end?

And I wonder…

These thoughts have consumed me so much lately I’ve nearly lost my mind. And what do you think? I’d really like to know.

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I sit in a bar last night with a feeling so heavy it seems I’ve swallowed a bag of rocks. “Did you hear me?” She says, looking at me with a face of concern. “You haven’t even taken a sip of your wine and we’ve been here for hours.”

I lift the glass and examine its contents, no longer interested in numbing my thoughts momentarily with pinot. A vibration to my left startles me and I see my phone flashing. A ghost from the past comes to greet me just when I need it the most. He senses my sadness and asks me what’s wrong. I tell him I need a sign that states he’s out there. He laughs and tells me it’s not in the cards just yet. All in due time, he whispers. Hope is the last thing one should lose, remember?

And I do…

A couple to my left is on their first date. I’ve heard them talking in the background and shift my gaze in their direction. A good looking guy is doting on a girl three times my size. She tells him she’s cold and he drapes his jacket snugly around her shoulders. I watch in amazement and Britt taps my glass. This time I lift it and drink its contents without hesitation. The bag of rocks inside me has left the building, leaving instead a feeling of lightness and faith.

It’s the last thing one should lose... His words resonate in my mind and I turn them over for a minute.

I turn my brain off for the night and emerge hopeful. I think it's the only way to be. Even when thinking, is bad for my health.