Elvis

This is something I've been wanting to post about for a while, but have been too afraid that I'd come off as crazy. But considering that a large percentage of my daily happiness is dependent upon this thing, not posting about it would be like not mentioning if I were an amputee.

How do I do it without sounding like a nut, though? How do I convey the fact that he's not like any cat I've ever come across? And that I swear he loves me...like really, loves me. How do I convey to non cat-people that he's more like a dog, and has a real personality? That he somehow knows the sound of my car from blocks away, and is already mewing his loud, funny Siamese mew before I even start up the walkway? That as soon as I walk in the door, he follows me around the house, chatting away, until I pick him up? That whatever bad day I had been having quickly dissipates as I scruff him, and he chatters at me?


Why am I so attached to him? I ask myself that a lot. Is it because he's totally scared of other people, and won't come out from under the bed until they leave, but with me, well he couldn't be more affectionate if he tried? Most mornings I wake up to find that I'm spooning him.

And that he lets me do pretty much whatever I want to him, just as long as I'm paying attention to him?

Have you ever had something in your life that you knew, from the minute you saw them, that you would love them?

Who you could tell exactly what they were thinking just by their posture?

Who made you laugh just by looking at them?

No matter how lonely I get, or how bad a day I'm having, or how crappy I look, there's always someone who's happy I'm home.

I know, know, know this part sounds crazy, but he makes me feel like I must be a good person...I have the most awesome cat in the world, so I must have done something right to deserve him.

Randoms

-Sometimes I wonder if I would enjoy my morning cup of coffee as much if I didn't have to wait 10 or so minutes for it to cool down enough to be drinkable. There's something so much more satisfying in that first sip when you have to wait for it...or maybe I just like depriving myself.

-My sister posted this really cool Georgia-centric picture on her blog, and I'm stealing it

Can you see the brusing on my toe from the fateful "broken toe incident"...or as I'm calling it "Georgia Dropped A Microwave On Her Toe '08". It's still not totally healed, although going dancing Friday night probably didn't help matters much.

-There are a ton of things I love about being single, having the entire bed to myself being on the top of the list, but two things that I found out recently that SUCK to do alone are watching Lost and taking a trip to the video store. I did both this weekend. Exclaiming "holy fuck!" at the end of the latest episode of Lost to an empty bedroom is a particularly isolating feeling...but then I remember that I get to eat a ton of brie cheese on sourdough with raspberry jam and half a bag of mint milanos without having to justify it to anyone or worry that it's going to make my ass fatter because there isn't anyone to see said ass, and I feel better.

Ghosts, Part II

The hardest and fastest I ever fell for a guy was when I was 19. Looking back at the whole situation, I realize that my being 19 and blindly optimistic had about 75% to do with me and my trusting heart getting crushed...the other 25% of the blame I place squarely on his shoulders.

The first time we hung out we went for a long, winding ride on his beat-up old Vespa. This was a first for me, and the exhilarating feeling of having my arms wrapped around the waist of this very attractive guy, the shocking freedom you feel being so exposed to the world, the envious and longing glances from the normal people, in their normal cars, living their normal lives...all these things conspired to make my heart race that much more when we later kissed on an empty beach in Malibu, his Vespa abandoned by the rode, waiting for us like a spaceship in the moonlight.

There were so many ignored warning signs...why can't I come to your apartment? who keeps paging you, and why don't you call them back? The constant look of tension on his face, and the slight hesitation every time we kissed should have been evidence enough...but I was young, I was trusting, and back then I believed in my daydreams and fantasies.

It doesn't matter how much more cautious and level-headed I am now, because back then, for this guy, I fell quick, I fell blindly, and most of all, I fell hard. I fell in a way that I sometimes worry I'll never be able to fall again. The pain, shock, and utter confusion you feel when the gauze you'd been metaphorically wearing over your eyes since you met him gets ripped off by an abrupt phone call, followed by a simple confirmation of your suspicions (yes, he has a girlfriend...they've been together for years). He did it in the worst way possible. I'm an understanding person...explain to me that you've made a stupid mistake, and while I might not like the outcome, I'm human enough to know that people make decisions they regret. But he was a coward, I realize that now.

The acute pain you feel when you get your heart broken...have you ever felt it? Oh my god, it fucking hurts. There was no escape from it...no amount of pills to help you fall asleep and have sweet, dreamless sleep once there...no amount of activities you can fill your day with (work, school, going out with friends), they don't block out the raw, constant pain you feel...it's physical pain, I swear. The tattoos (my first) were a welcome distraction. I'll never regret them, I'm sure of it...they took my mind off the emotional vacuum which my life had become, they were the first thing I had been excited about in months.

From there the pain slowly dissipated. I was able to make sense of it and see myself as the protagonist in the story, not as the stupid, foolish little girl as I had felt for months. I stopped looking for him in crowds, stopped dreaming of running into him and some magic bolt of electricity hitting his brain, causing him to realize the error of his ways. But to be honest, I never really got over it.

About a year ago we had contact for the first time since those awkward, tearful confrontations where I demanded an answer, an explanation, so many years before. By then I had gone through so many other things...the purchase of my own Vespa and the freeing experience of solo, early Sunday morning rides through Los Angeles...years of happiness, good friends, and a loving relationship...a better grasp of the world, and my place in it. I realized he was just some guy...that's it. I realized I was over it...I even said it outloud, which is something I do every once in a while (state something outloud, just to make it definte).

"I'm over Adrian."

The 19 year-old me that's tucked away in the recesses of my brain?...she giggled, I know it.

Holy.Fucking.Shit.

Out of nowhere...I'm taking Alie's place on this panel tonight:

"Sex, Life & Hannah" release and panel discussion

Why me? Uhhh...well why not me? Come, if you'd like to see me potentially make an ass out of myself tonight.

Randoms

I have somewhere around five posts started, but for some damn reason, can't seem to finish any of them. I'm not too worried, as I've had moments of brain power-outages when it comes to blogging topics before...but I hate letting a few days pass between posts.

I wanted to do another "Google Searches That Brought People To My Blog" entry...but seriously?, about 98% of them are either "IBTC", "gazongas", or some form of "being pants-ed" or "embarrassing story" searches. I'm serious. It's fucking ridiculous. Otherwise, my favorite is "big breasted women with really long finger nails".

I have an idea!!!! What do you think I should blog about??? Any questions you've been dying to ask me about my oh-so-fascinating life? Any dating quandaries or predicaments you've gotten yourself into that require the advice of a just-barely-holding-it-together (but making it look ever-so-effortless and fun) girl such as myself ? If so, email them to georgiaisyourfriend@gmail.com, or just leave them in the comments section (anonymity guaranteed, as always)

Links (aka Hey, Look Over There!)
*Beautiful, well written, heartfelt blog about a girl and her coyote.
*Drunk History - You like comedy? You like history reenactments? You like drunk people recounting historical events? Me too! [thanks Ben!]
*Not only do other people exist, it's also the name of a really funny blog.
*200 people frozen-in-place for five minutes in Grand Central Station. This video gave me goosebumps!

Quotes from Alie (aka Reasons I Love Alie Ward...Let Me Show You Dem)
*Only schizophrenics cross the street like this!

*If you get laid tonight, I believe in god.

*Was he like "Hey Fuckface. Lets make out, if you're not too stupid and smelly"?

*I was like "Who's that drunk douchebag trying to hug The Georgia???".

*Why don't you stick a crystal antler up your blowhole, gaytard.

Still Sick

I really want to update, I swear. But I'm still sick, I've barely left the house since Friday evening because of said sickness, my toe is still bruised and swollen, my cat won't.shut.up. which means I've barely slept in the past couple days, my head feels foggy, and my eyeballs hurt...seriously. So the only interesting thing I could possibly write about isn't all that interesting. My sister's coming to free me from my prison known as "my bedroom", Flight of the Conchords IS actually as funny as everyone has been saying....and I don't think that's due merely to the Robitussin haze I watched it in...for four hours, I'm caught up on Lost and, my goodness, I love that show, and being stuck at home all weekend effing sucks.
See? Don't you wish I hadn't updated?

Why Are You Hitting Yourself?

I guess the worst thing was my toe, and everything else was kind of "...and now this???!". I don't want to get into details cause it's a really stupid story involving me being idiotic, and the whole "broken toe" thing was really very avoidable. I'm not 100% sure it's actually broken (although Alie declared it to be when she saw it), and I've never broken any bones before so I'm not really sure if the initial wave of nausea that accompanied the overwhelming pain, or the subsequent swelling and dark bruising indicates an actual break. It only really hurts when I curl my toes, walk, put my foot in my shoe...breathe...look at it...and think about it.

The rest of the day involved little calamities; cutting my finger on a broken glass, a slight burn from hot soup, etc. By evening I was rethinking venturing out into the world to show Valentines Day that I didn't need man, dammit, as I was afraid of what other calamities would befall me. Luckily the string of maiming myself seems to be over, and I had an enjoyable evening. But to be honest, with getting sick, breaking my toe, and just generally hurting myself, I think I'm pretty happy to stay in this weekend...but we both know that'll never happen.

Randoms

-It started with my throat being a little sore last night. This morning I woke up coughing, and by noon I was nauseous and shivering at my desk. It's hard for me to admit that I'm sick, as I'm a very healthy person...but yeah, I'm sick. I haven't been sick in over a year...boo.

I'm staying home from work tomorrow, and I plan on staying in bed and watching the last two episodes of Lost, which I've missed due to a lack of a television. (you know what I hate?...people who say "I don't watch t.v" when you ask them if they've seen some television show or another. I'm not one of those people, I just happen to not own a t.v. at the moment).

I just took a shot of Robitussin...and now I'm feeling quite breezy. If anyone wants to bring me the first season of 30 Rock on dvd and a big bowl of matzo ball soup, please do. A big "thank you" to Alie for bringing me chicken soup in the form of McNuggets (or "McNuggz", as we refer to them)...she's the best surrogate boyfriend I've ever had.

-"Twitter my blog" is my new favorite saying, especially since Micah pointed out how dirty it sounds, and that the phrase wouldn't have made any sense 7 years ago. I have twitter posts on my blog now, btw...did you know that? I kinda love it.

-My hippie roommate moved out. The feeling of relief I have regarding her no longer living here is overwhelming. I didn't write about her and all the problems I've had with her in the off chance she reads this, but honestly, I think she's too self absorbed to give a shit about anyone's blog (says the girl who HAS a blog and writes about herself almost daily).

-Valentines Day...yeah. I think this year is going to be pretty damn good, actually. It'll be my first V-Day in, like, six years without a male companion, and I couldn't be more happy about that.

-Whenever I was sick when I was little, my mom would take a washcloth and run it under hot water, then lay it on my forehead. She would also make me hot water with lemon and honey. A little part of me wanted to call my mom when I went home sick from work today, just because there's nothing like your mother's sympathy...but then I remembered I'm an adult now. What did your parents do for you when you were sick?

Dirty Weekend

About my last post...I'm not depressed, I don't regret leaving San Francisco and moving to Los Angeles, I'm not pining for my ex. But, ya know, I spent five years of my life with the guy (the majority of my 20's so far), and sometimes I get a little nostalgic.

Moving on! This weekend was productive, fun, and hangover free (a hangover on Monday doesn't count towards the weekend, right?). After a lovely Friday-evening nap, I hopped on my bicycle and headed (with Joel) to an art show near the Sunset Junction. Although I love going to art galleries and museums, art shows bug the crap out of me. It's usually just a bunch of douchey people standing around in expensively disheveled clothing talking about how important they are. I also hate the eyes-glazed-over reaction I get when someone asks me what I do and I tell them I'm a court reporting student. And the lights are too bright.

I showed Saturday who was boss by finishing everything on my to-do list before noon, after which I met Shannon for the best latte ever at Intelligentsia where we sat in the sun and talked for an hour or so. On a side note: the weather this past week has been so amazing. I can't even express how much I love warm, even hot, weather. I know a lot of people who love when it's chilly and overcast, and throwing on layer after layer of warm clothes...and I do appreciate days like that every once in a while...but the feel of the hot sun beating down on my skin makes me giddy.

Saturday evening, after doing four loads of way-overdue laundry, I celebrated my grandmother's 97th birthday with about 20 or so of my family members at a Chinese restaurant on the west side. My adorable 8 year old cousin Eliza (who wants to be a tattoo artist when she grows up) outed me on the fact that I shop in the childrens section by wearing the EXACT SAME coat I bought in a child's large at Target. Oof.

When I got home that night, plans with Alie having been abandoned due to her not being able to get off her couch, I was happy to climb into bed with my freshly-out-of-the-dryer blanket and my book...but instead I was picked up at midnight by Tim and Dorian who took me to a party, plowed me with alcohol, and made me lol until close to 3 a.m.

Sunday consisted of a badly needed trip to Target (yay paycheck!!!), hanging out at the mall with Micah and Yuko, a huge and delicious lunch at Red Lion (aka the only place in LA that even comes close to being as awesome at Zeitgeist in San Francisco), and a mad dash to Forever 21 with Alie with the purpose of finding something to wear that night.

Which brings me to last night...
-caught a band or two at the Hotel Cafe
-blew whiskey all over my face when Alie made me laugh just as I was taking a sip of my drink
-awkward run-in with someone I'd rather not see ever again
-chatting with someone who I can't seem to keep my cool around (and I'm good at keeping my cool, for the most part)
-off to a Grammy party at swank Hollywood bar
-unexpected run-in with someone who I'd like to see more often
-piggy back ride to punk bar down the street
-giant slices of pizza
-giddy ride home in which Alie and I squelled and chattered about how awesome the night turned out to be, despite initial nervousness on both our parts

Although I'm running on nothing but four hours of sleep and two cups of black coffee, I'm quite happy.

Ghosts

We met at the Beauty Bar, of all places. I was with a group of friends and spotted you leaning casually in the hallway. I immediately thought to myself "I'm going to talk to that guy". I don't know if it was the couple beers I had already consumed, how attractive I thought you were, or if it was kismet...but knew immediately that I needed to talk to you.

The first thing I ever said to you was "what are you drinking?" Do you remember that? You were drinking a vodka/Red Bull, in case you forgot. You let me take a sip of it...it was the first one I had ever tasted. We talked for the rest of the night...three hours, I believe, until the bar closed down and we were kicked out. Your favorite movie was Jaws, mine was Bottle Rocket. You told me about how your mother had died a few months before, and that you had found her body.

You asked me for my phone number and also gave me yours. You invited me to come see your friends band play the following night, and the fact that I had recently ended things with a guy who wouldn't bring me around his friends, made the invitation that much more special to me. When I called you the next day, you were holding your phone, staring at the bit of paper I had written my phone number down on, when it popped up on your caller ID...at least that's the story you told me.

Do you remember the walk we took on our first date? I was wearing a leather jacket and my favorite stay-pressed pants...I put my foot up on a planter so I could lift my pant leg and show you the tattoo on my calf. I drive by that spot sometimes...it's weird that it was so unfamiliar to me then, and now it's my neighborhood.

Our second date was at All Tomorrows' Parties on the UCLA campus. We drank 40's in the parking structure before going in, and you were telling me a story about a friend's child. Something about the way you talked about this person's kid made me think to ask you if you had any kids. That's when you told me about Audrey, and the way you talked about her...well I just knew I was going to fall in love with you. I may have already fallen, actually. I think you had, too.

We weren't at the show for more than a half an hour, watching Peaches (who you had been really excited to see), when I had to excuse myself. The feeling was familiar, eyes watering and blinking uncontrollably, nauseous and lightheaded and suddenly overwhelmed...I was going to faint. This was back when I often forgot to eat. I was too excited, or too hurried, or just plain forgot.

I told you to wait there, I'd be right back...but you followed me, much to my embarrassment. I sat down on the steps and told you I didn't feel well. You ran and got me a pretzel...it was stale but I ate it, remember? You walked me downstairs to the cafeteria, which was thankfully empty. We sat at a little table, and I wanted to die of embarrassment. I swore to you that I wasn't anorexic...I don't know if you believed me. But it didn't matter, you said you already knew all you needed to know about me. That was almost six years ago...isn't that crazy? I feel like a completely different person now.

The Best Day of My Life

The best day of my life took place over ten years ago, which is mind-blowing to me. It doesn't make me sad that the best day of my life happened so long ago, and that no other day since has lived up to a Saturday I experienced when I was a teenager...I feel lucky to have had a day so important to me at all.

I was 16 years old and I was madly, hopelessly in love with the books of Ray Bradbury. My first Bradbury paperback was given to me by my 7th grade English teacher, who recognized that the assigned reading material was below my reading and comprehension level. I know this sounds like I'm bragging, but books had been a huge part of my childhood and adolescence...something which I credit my mother for, and appreciate immensely. I can honestly say that there has never been a time in my life where I haven't been in the middle of a book.

The book I was given by my teacher was Dandelion Wine...and I loved it. From there I read and reread any work by Ray Bradbury I could get my hands on. I don't know what it was about his books that enthralled me so, but I think it has something to do with the strange, mysterious, and fantastical plots seeming so much more feasible and realistic than everyday life did. Like at any point I could be zapped into another dimension, and it would be the most normal thing in the world and make more sense than my miserable, suburban life did. I've only ever felt that from one other author (Haruki Murakami). I've always been a daydreamer...these books just fueled that.

So at 16, when I read in the paper that Ray Bradbury would be speaking at the UCLA book fair, well I freaked the fuck out. Although it was weeks away, I didn't stop thinking about it once. I wrote a 3 page letter to Mr. Bradbury, detailing what his books meant to me, and how they affected me. Although I didn't have a driver's license yet, my mother agreed to let me take her car so that I could take the hour trip to Los Angeles alone. That was something I was adamant about: taking this trip by myself. My best friend offered to accompany me, but I knew I wanted to remember that day as a solo experience.

The day of my trip was sunny and beautiful. I wore my very favorite vintage dress, with my hair in two cute buns, and my sister's vintage platform wedges. I got to UCLA right as Mr. Bradbury's forum was starting. Although it was free, the hall was full and the security guard said he couldn't let me in. I felt my heart drop, then out of nowhere blurted "my mother is inside, I just need to grab something from her". He probably knew I was lying, but to his credit, he let me in. I sat transfixed as Ray Freaking Bradbury spoke about writing, sci-fi, his childhood, and answered questions from the audience. My heart was pounding as I knew I would have to build up my courage shortly to hand him my letter.
When the forum ended, and the hall had cleared out, I approached the stage where he was answering questions from a smattering of journalists. I waited patiently until he looked my way, and I handed him my letter with a huge grin on my face. He took it, thanked me, and I walked away. I carried my shoes and walked barefoot to the car, as my feet were killing me...but honestly, I was floating on air.

Two weeks later I received a package in the mail from Mr. Bradbury. Inside was a sweet note telling me he appreciated my letter, as well as a few books including his own Zen and the Art of Writing, in which he had inscribed "Onward Georgia!".