Ronda
OMG Ronda whatever you do "DON'T SAY CANDY MAN, CANDY MAN, CANDY MAN!"
http://www.sevenandahalfseals.com
On another random note:
The misadventures of a single gal trying to find the balance and humor in every day life.
His back was to the crowd and hers was to him. She looked at me as we gushed over the avocado dip. Smiling and laughing we noticed the pudgy man in the corner can juggle jello. He became aware of our lurking eyes and tossed us plastic containers. I barely caught mine, she laid her hand out as it swept past her fingertips heading for the floor. He was behind her and caught it. His laughter broke AT us as he handed her the jello and promptly went to get us some well needed water.
His eyes said it all and the way they touched, she never turned around, she knew he was there. Dating a year, yes the man should love the woman just a smidge more.
On to the pool 40 or so of us went. I am a hazard to myself - phi beta stupid moment as I dove in 4 feet of water. The scrape on my chin is horrific. I miss the skin, a drunken travesty I am slathering with Neosporin.
Sunday: Babe, it' 10:21 planes to catch and family to hug. Tierra's and boas for her birthday celebration for my niece. I had drunken baby syndrome. Happy Birthday - a year really does change everything.
Please update i have moved here
Sometimes your independent to a fault. She told me not meaning it as the compliment I took it as. I like to do things on my own and have a problem asking for help. Im not a soldier wounded in battle who needs others to lean on. I dont do victim. Its weak and causes people to look at you as though you need help. HELP! Sometimes its a persons weakness that endears you to them. Once their fixed they aren't as likeable. Im full of dysfunctions and weaknesses. I dont wear them on my sleeve like a badge of honor. They are the black tape on my arm like a platoon remembering a fallen hero. Dramatic, but not tragic.
The needy codependent gal is only satiated by him
I really like you
Dont tell me that
Why? I do
Ill run, its what I do. Show me dont tell me
Maybe it’s just me, but the place exploded like an atom sending dust particles of hem and haw. Drinks were poured and sloshed toasting. Like it was a fad going out of style, emphasis on the Daaaahhhhling. Glasses were broken as the free vodka ran out. A virus of knock off Louis Vitton and cheap Prada were the rage. Like I said, maybe it’s just me, but I prefer my sandals and flip flops to Gucci, Prada, or Louis Vitton it’s all so passé and easy. Like Tiffany jewelry. It’s a safe bet when all the chips are down place your money on the highest ranked. Over priced and unimaginative, but safe. The safety school of style – stick with the basics, even if it’s fake. And smile as the girl who’s dating your ex glares at you from across the bar.
I lied – which I rarely do.
“BABY – so good to see you! I saw your name on the evite. Did you see mine and know I was going to be here?”
Tapping my foot and feeling the breeze across my sandals, “Yes, baby I did.”
I lied
I wonder if we are ever really happy or if we look for the safety school. Sticking with the basics. I don’t like the basics, they are over priced and lack substance. Mom says, “basic is black and boring – anyone can wear black, it takes style to wear color.”
The routine of life as we strap ourselves in with a harness not taking the chance and betting on the lesser known. He may break my heart and I may not get into grad school but it won’t be imitation or lies. It will be all new full of color and tears, free falling baby – that’s what it’s about.
Don't call me Dahhling
Marginal utility of everything around him is deemed equal, conveniently, so that in that make believe equilibrium, it is justified for him to not sacrifice one thing over another, me over others.
For each moment I am spending wondering about what we had, between us I am over-drafting my bank of dignity and self respect. All the while putting it in a bottomless bag of love that I was dying to hang on to, scared to lose, unable to leave behind, and ready to share.
But in the world of love by the selfish and the weak-hearted, we will only be truly missed when we are gone, not being there when in demand.
"Whats your theme song?"
"My what?"
"Ya know your theme song, the song that describes you and always picks you up?"
Blankly, I replied, "You want to know what my theme song is."
I visibly rolled my eyes at her. I couldnt help it, it was inevitable. A theme song? Thats more cliché than identifying with Alley McBeal or Carrie Bradshaw. She waited, glaring at me as though it was a simple question such as, whats you favorite color?
"And
its supposed to describe my life and the life I want to believe I am living?
"Something like that."
Looking at her I knew she was serious and wanted an honest response from me. She was sincere in her question, any response I could give would have been grabbing at cultural straws trying and reaching for the answer she was looking for. I was not aware of this cultural phenomenon where I am supposed to allow a repetitive chorus followed by a few guitar solos to define my life.
"Come on now Ive read some of your blog, you must have a song."
I wanted to blurt out and say, Baby, I am a lot more than my blog and a fucking song.
Do most people have a theme song?
After going for my run this evening and realizing the one song I tend to loop on my IPOD is "Express Yourself" by Salt N' Peppa -its a little old but has lots of rhythm
It’s the start of spring and I am sick. My body is here attached to the keyboard while my head floats around the office aimlessly. I am pretty sure if I stare out the window long enough I will have an out of body experience flying around
I just touched my cheek, it brought me back to reality. I am no longer doing impersonations. It’s alive –mughhhahaha! Sitting at my desk, my eyes are so tired they are trying to hibernate while the phone keeps ringing and office mate won’t stop yelling. I want the comfort of my couch and my rose colored fleece.
Swallowing feels like a frog is playing ping pong with my uvula. When I talk my eyes droop and my head is hung low. I feel like a cross between yo sammity sam and bugs bunny. What’s up doc? The stuff isn’t working I feel loopy, cartoon like.
I am starting to be able to breathe out of both nostrils again but DQ, my boss, is heading this way and he might start to wonder why I am braiding the carpet and making rubber band balls. It’s the meds boss I swear.
I hadn't planned on blogging today a friend attacked me for being lazy when it comes to dating. YUP I AM - bored of it that is.
Email began:
HIM:
Dating does suck.. I agree with you completely or may be I am just your
being happy with yourself first which from the look of things you do (at
ME: (big sigh) We all have our own faults I know mine and wear them like a scarlet letter. Its the whole thing of trying to be whom we want others to see us as game. I dont put myself out there like I should, as a lot of us don't. Sometimes its easier to sit at home and read filling my head with useless knowledge than to play Paris Hilton.
We all have our ways of not dealing with dating, why didnt we talk to the person who was giving us the look from across the bar or the guy in the corner? Instead we are left with the perpetual "What if" and "I wonder". We shoot ourselves down before anyone else has the opportunity to. Its a sick and twisted game which is lazier than a man sitting down to pee.
Where are my caffeine pills?
Ever have one of those weekends where the whole thing feels like a brand new adventure? Only you are not paired up with one of your good friends for the journey. Every turn you take – you take alone. Instead of being timid or shy of what’s around the corner you charge full force ahead. Directionless – but laughing the entire time. Flashbacks of Goonies ready for the next challenge.
That was my weekend. Except . . .
I disappear on people –
It’s a habit I have always had.
I’m independent to a fault.
Friday started out simple enough going to a friend’s birthday party (Mom if your reading you should stop reading now before you start fearing for my safety). At the party, I ran into a good buddy of mine who was with 3 very good looking guys. Just by looking at them one could tell they were the right kind of wrong but with a Three Stooges personality. Fingers snapped and I was in a cab with them on my way to another bar.
I never said good-bye to the b-day girl
30 minutes later
My phone rings – hey it’s M – I am up the street a bar that just opened next to BW3’s
I can walk there right?
I never said goodbye and walked up the street
The layout was nice, clean wide angled edges with a crisp sharpness to the bar. I quickly found my friends but something was very out of place. My friend was wearing a shirt underneath a shirt. I like the layer look but - it was a tattoo shirt, the bottom shirt is supposed to make it look like you have tattoos on your arms (M – if your reading this – you’ll never live it down, your still a bad ass – minus the tattoos.)
After a good hour there I was outside making new friends when the birthday girl called. Feeling like a child who ran away from home, I hailed a cab and jetted back to the original bar.
I never said good-bye to M.
It’s dangerous to disappear. On the nights I perform my vanishing act I will wake up the next day to numerous miscalls and J – WTF – WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? Those that know me are accustomed to the tried and true ritual of me disappearing into thin air. I don’t do anything I shouldn’t do, I don’t go home with strange men and I’d like to think I could drop kick someone’s ass if they tried to hurt me,
(like to think).