HUNGOVER PORTLAND

Mood Swing Sunday with The National.

I'm continuing to experience a lot of personal stress which I try to keep safely bottled up.  I don't see much reason to have all of my relationships affected at this point - my poor boyfriend sadly can't escape the bulk of it.  I work really, really hard on putting on a solid game face when it is game face time. 

Today is a day for my game face.  A few people will be here to watch the Oscars later on and I would like to enjoy it.  I'm cleaning my house and head and for some reason asking The National to perk me up.

This is a mistake.

In earlier days, The National's "Alligator" was so often the perfect choice for thinking about, and regretting, drinking, partying, fucking, loving, etc.  They have lyrics about being drunk sparkling and running and laughing and feeling a little lost while trying to be great at mediocrity.  And it was poetic, so I could feel smart and pained simultaneously.  I loved it!

I just got the newer album "Boxer" and I realize that they have grown up, just like I have.  The lyrics are more about loneliness and faking it through stale expectations.  This song "Green Gloves" is a downer right now.  He sings:

Falling out of touch with all my
friends are somewhere getting wasted,
hope they’re staying glued together,
I have arms for them.

Okay.  That is not going to work for today.  I am turning off The National, but will keep it handy for when I am ready to mope, which will likely be soon.  Now I'm gonna listen to Vengaboys and TLC until it is time to watch television and be social.

It is possible I'll attempt a half-assed live blog later on.  I realize that the internet seriously lacks oscar coverage, and my legions of fans rely on me for news.  Delivering is a possibility.  I love you guys. xo.

A family hangover.

I debated how drunk to get when all of the folks came over on Saturday.  I was nervous.

We'd asked everybody to bring wine, but I smartly sipped beer.  I can sip beer without getting hammered for a lot longer than I can sip wine.  As such, I slowly and discretely got mildly drunk as the parents tensely stared one another down.

I'm exaggerating.  It was actually an okay afternoon.  But I am glad it is over. I have a very modern family situation, whereas Mr. Joneser's is more old-school.  Plus I've got divorced parents and step-parents, so we outnumbered them. (I was cool with that.)  Even though it went well enough, I am so fucking glad it is over.

The next day I was stupid from my slow, steady alcohol intake, and from having such a massive weight lifted from my shoulders, which resulted in a giggly day of rest and recovery.  I reminded myself that the rest of the wedding planning has got to be easier, and my headache didn't seem too bad.

Serious decision.

Tomorrow, both of my sets of parents will come to the city to meet Mr. Joneser's parents.  We will host them for dinner.  They have not met each other before.  I am nervous. 

And I wonder:

Should I get super drunk, or not drunk at all? 

I just don't know.

It is still winter, after all.

I don't write much about fashion on this blog because 1) it is boring to many; 2) a gazillion bloggers do it better, and 3) laaaaaaaaaaazy.  And if I did blog about fashion, I'd probably avoid Dolce & Gabbana, which is so not my style.  But the past few days have felt like dreary Portland winter again, and when I saw these runway pics on jezebel, I made a little squeal sound. 

I envision me and some girlfriends in a little cabin somewhere near nature.  It is stormy outside; we have several pillows and hot toddies....

There is a nice fire going.  We can smoke long cigarettes and share lots of wonderful gossip.  It may be gray outside, but here it is so cozy!  Oh, is the fire a little warm?  That's cool, let's just slip on the shorts version...

Sigh.  I want those ridiculous sweater jumpers too, too much.  This last month of winter lounging will suck because I know those outfits exist and I do not have them...

...and later on, she dumped him.

Thinking about my mom reading this blog got me thinking about one of the more embarrassing hangover experiences I've ever had.  It is exceedingly tacky.  Be prepared.

I used to be quite the party animal, and nothing sounded more awesome when I was hammered than making out with dudes.  Okay, sometimes nachos sounded better, but not often.  Anyhoo, some night a few years back I picked up a dude from a 3rd-tier karaoke joint.  La la la, next morning I kick him out of my apartment, and he wants to give me his phone number.  I put it into my phone, paused, and saved him as "Friday karaoke."  I had no idea what his name was.  I just couldn't bring myself to ask him. 

Gross, right? *  Well, it still made for a good story. which I shared with my friends right away, including a new dude that one of my besties had just started hanging out with.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks: I am enjoying an unrelated hangover and large bloody mary with said bestie and her guy.  I see one of my former bosses at the bar; she was hip and friend-like, but still definitely a professional, not personal, contact.  She came over to say hello, and somehow I stupidly said something about being single.  I don't know how it happened.  Bestie's dude, who by that point had showed signs of being crappy, blurted out:

Mom? Dad? Stop reading this!

My mom texted me the other day to ask if I have a blog.  I guess my brother's gf let is slip when talking about the blogosphere.  I told her yes, but that it is not appropriate for parents, and I hope that was enough to keep her prying eyes away. 

PARENTS: IF YOU ARE READING THIS, STOP IT!!  THIS IS NOT YOUR AREA.

I write semi-anonymously so I can keep my job and write shitballstittiefuckwhofarted as many times as I want without worrying who might avoid me at Thanksgiving.  It is enough to be friends with my parents on facebook.  The last time I mentioned a slight hangover on facebook my mom made me feel like a loser. 

But I am not a loser! And neither are you, readers.  We are all awesome, and our parents should remain proud of us; they don't need to know how irresponsibly you drank on a weeknight.  We like this place because we are not being judged for the weird thing that maybe happened last night or for barfing at your office this morning.

Hear that, mom?  Now leave me alone!

Hello, V Day. Hello, Frosting.

I didn't work in this office building last Valentine's Day, so I had no idea that they bring in MINI BROWNIES WITH PINK FROSTING AND SPRINKLES to celebrate this retarded holiday.  At 8:30 this morning, I found myself suddenly in the mood to celebrate. 

Then later, after I just finished lunch, and went into the office kitchen to wash up.  The skinny girl who always eats a salad for lunch was in there, next to the brownies.  "Excuse me, Tiny, " I said, "I need more frosting."  (I didn't actually call her Tiny, but I felt like it.  Salad? Every day?  Please.)

Anyways, this sugar coma reminds me that too much frosting in a bad thing, plus that pink dye probably gave me cancer of whatever body part processes feelings of hunger, confusion, and rage.

I fucking hate Valentine's Day. 

Last year I went to QFC alone at about 8pm on Valentine's Day evening.  I was headed to my boyfriend's house, but the people at the store didn't know that.  Anyways, I grabbed two party pizzas, a pint of ice cream, a huge bottle of wine, and a bag of Doritos.  (What.)  The looks that people gave me when they saw what I was carrying around...it's like I had some sort of terrible face rash, like sparkly scabs on my forehead that wrote out SINGLE AND UNLOVABLE.  I milked the pity.  I gave strangers half-smiles as I shuffled around alone.  "He still might call" I explained with my eyes.  "I might not always be alone."  I found a clerk and asked if the chocolate was on sale yet.  He couldn't even look at me.

That was an awesome time.

I plan on spending V-Day on the couch, with a hangover, watching Battlestar Galactica, like it is any other winter Sunday.  I'll avoid pink frosting until then; it is probably super gross to barf up after a bender.

Happy weekend, my Valentines!

So what.

I drank a whole bottle of wine last night, from start to finish.  I don't do that often enough anymore.

This kind of crappy mood calls for Subway.  There is a Subway about 3 blocks from my office.  But it is raining so I'm gonna drive.  I'm going to get chips, too.

Fuck it.  I just don't give a shit about shit today.

I have said it once, and I'll say it again: I LOVE THE INTERNET

Another day spent bleeding from eyes as I try to finish writing this thing that does not want to be written.

I take a breather on buzzfeed, and find the thing I never knew I needed to see:

It is Tom Selleck at a waterfall with a sandwich.  Everything will be okay; things around me are beautiful again, and I experience peace.

And there is so much more.

Geeky stuff that IS geeky.

I have this monster writing project going at work right now.  With my excessive wine consumption in its second week, the project is going slowly and I found time to catch up on some of my fave blogs.

Heartless Doll, recently put together an excellent list of things that people like to love because they think they are geeky but are actually cool.  Living in the crafty/cool nerd haven that is Portland, I lol'ed several times, because it is so fucking true.  I am sick of these over-self-identifying cool kids making the true geeks feel bad because, come on, they're still not gonna get a seat at the cool-geek table. 

I've composed my own list of stuff that is geeky that is actually geeky.  This is not comprehensive, or in any real order: