Impending

I can feel it coming on again: The Slump. The Slump turns my sofa into my bed because something about my bed just doesn't feel right anymore. The Slump drops me a jean size because anything outside of water makes me feel nauseated. The Slump makes me spend hours a day writing self-indulgent crap about myself. Do you know I keep 3 journals? Sometimes I think if I just write enough, I'll be able to exorcise whatever is bothering me. In The Slump, however, it's hard to care about anything. The Slump gives me energy for only a half day at work.

The Slump woke me up last night. It was peeing on my kitchen counter. Again. For the third fucking time this summer. After they fixed it. Again. Last week.

I called him at 1 AM and he promptly offered his bed to me. I placed a container under the yellow stream of water pouring off my light fixtures and left the rest of the mess. I didn't care anymore; I'm not dealing with it anymore. I locked my apartment and I left.

Because that is what I do when I hit The Slump. I disappear.

Any date that includes making fun of people is an okay date by me

He's waiting for me outside my building. As usual, I'm running out the gate after making him wait entirely too long. I hop in his car, breathless.

"Hey, I have a surprise for you," he smiles.

I like surprises.

He pulls into traffic and navigates through Freedom Park. He makes a left onto Moreland Ave and heads towards Ponce De Leon. We get stopped at the light.

"There," he says, pointing across the intersection.

"Where?"

"There!"

"What?"

He shakes his arm for emphasis, "The guy standing on the corner."

"Oh is that Bicycle Shorts Guy?"

"Yup."

"He doesn't look like he's wearing bike shorts."

"Just wait."

He had told me about Bicycle Shorts Guy several weeks ago. He wouldn't give me any details about who he is or why he's famous, he just said that he had to show me.

The light was taking entirely too long, I reach in my purse and pull out my glasses so I could see him better.

"I don't see any bike shorts."

The light turns green and we pull through the intersection. Moreland Avenue just became Briarcliff Road. He slows down.

Apparently every afternoon since 1999, Bicycle Shorts Guy goes and just stands at this intersection during rush hour. Without a bicycle. The bicycle shorts are just the preferred method to showcase himself.

He was enormous.

He was enormous and squished down the silver spandex shorts leg. The outline of his cash and prizes reached midthigh. I couldn't decide what was bigger, the cash or the prizes. Surely this can't be all him.

I laughed so hard I lost my breath. Finally I was able in inhale a squeak while laughing and bury my face in his arm.

"Omigod!"

"I know!"

"He just stands there?!"

"Every day. I didn't think he would be out this late, but I saw him on my way to pick you up."

"Why does he just stand there?"

"I think he's just an exhibitionist."

"I think he's trying to break into porn."

Word on the street, though, is that he's a gigolo.

So welcome to Atlanta: home of Baton Bob and Bicycle Shorts Guy. I love it.

Look at me!

Every week I go to Unplugged in the Park. Every week. Regardless of rain or shine and whom is or isn't playing. Every week.

They also take photos for the website every week. I never make it on there. There could be 20 people in the room and I still won't make it on the website. Last night they took a picture of the waitress handing me a mojito, but not of me receiving the mojito.

I checked the website this morning and I finally made it on. This was for the Blue October show:



That's my back!

Cambell's Soup & Brisses

I know I'm... different.

A little outspoken, a little outrageous, a little audacious.

You either love me or effing hate me. I get a good mix of both.

I wondered where I got this personality from. I'm not like my mother or my brother at all. They don't get me and I don't try to make them understand. I always thought I was the way I am in rebellion to their lifestyles.

However, I learned I am exactly like my family. My other family.

One of my other brothers had a housewarming party and he got a keg. As a family we floated the canned beast, something I had only previously seen at college parties involving more people than my step-family.

My step-mother walks out of the kitchen and hands my brother a can opener. His other one had rusted so she bought him a new one. That must be a mother thing: the same thing happened to me when I moved in April.

He takes the can opener, opens it, and says, "Damn. You could circumcise someone with this thing."

Well no wonder.

I am exactly like my family. My other family.

Dooh-Dah

I woke up this morning feeling quite silly.

It seems like I always do after spending a night left to my own devices with an expensive bottle of wine.

I think I was quite silly last night if I remember correctly.

You know how it starts. You open the bottle with dinner and then you realize you're not very hungry and you have that second glass. And you have big fugging wine glasses. Then you realize you probably shouldn't put an open bottle of wine back in the fridge, so you keep on trucking. Before you know it, it's 1 AM and you've managed to drink an entire bottle of reserve that you had been saving for over a year and a half for a special occasion.

Uh, so anyways...

I was feeling quite silly this morning.

It was raining, meaning my apartment will still leak today without any progress made on the repairs. My bosses are out of town and I have a few small tasks to do, nothing big planned.

I walked into my Uptown office building this morning and greeted everyone as usual. They, however, just stared at me. Slowly they began entering my cubicle.

"Pigtails?"

"So what?"

"You have pigtails!"

"Yeah?"

"But you're not 8."

"I'm well aware of this."

Someone else filed in, said good morning without looking and continued to her desk. She stopped in her tracks and backed up.

"Pigtails?"

"You didn't even look directly at me!"

"I saw you in my peripheral. Seriously, pigtails?"

"I was feeling silly."

"Pigtails suit you."

Erin came to say good morning.

"Pigtails?"

"Yes! There are two of them! And they're are on my head!"

"You're wearing pigtails?"

"Argh!"

Back in the closet

So I found this shirt in the mall about a month ago and I had to have it.

I wanted it for the irony. I've had my blog for over three years. Although it's now drastically modified, this is my original template before CSS was even an itch a geek's untouched loins. I love my blog and the creative outlet it allows me.

I've worn the shirt out around town a few times: one happy hour and two concerts. Every time I wear it, I get the same reaction:

"I love your shirt."

This was my initial reaction:

"Oh, thanks. Do you have a blog?"

To which they would say:

"Oh God no! I effing hate people who blog."

Oh.

I didn't know there was such a hatred for my nerd-like tendencies. How have I offended you, Rocker Chick? How must my penances be repaid?

So when it happened again this week I was a little more prepared:

"I like your shirt."

"Thanks."

"Those people with blogs and MySpace accounts are such losers!"

"Yeah, I know!"

"Eff blogs!"

"Yeah, eff them!"

Dear girl with piercing in Little 5: I'm sorry I lied to you. But if you're reading this, then that means you lied too. Friends?

Sometimes you feel like a nut

Sometimes I say the perfect thing at the perfect time on a date. He'll look at me and smile and kiss my forehead as a reward:

Jamie: Whoops! Sorry I just stepped on your foot.
Date: That's okay.
Jamie: (Inspects his shoe) I'll tell you what: you wear out the bottoms and I'll wear out the tops.
Date: That's selfless of you!

Sometimes I don't:

Jamie: (Sipping on mango smoothie) I love mangos.
Date: Me too.
Jamie: You ever eat them dried? I could eat them like candy.
Date: Maybe in some trail mix once.
Jamie: They remind me of earlobes.
Date: ...

Dear Law of Averages,

I thought we've been through this before. You are not my friend. Okay you're my friend when something bad happens first and then something good happens, but you're not my friend when it's the reverse. We're not going to be best buds. I'm not going to braid your hair. You're the proverbial thorn in my paw. You're that kid in the neighborhood that nobody wanted to play with when we were younger.

Piss off,

James

The good: At Sunday night's Unplugged in the Park, I won tickets to see Candlebox tonight. Apparently all that thunder and lightning Sunday night was a good thing, because it kept most people from the outdoor concert. Only a few of us were brave enough to sit under an aluminum tent surrounded by tall trees. That increased my chances for being the big winner of the night. Well that and my "loudest person in a bar" call that worked so well at Wild Wings all those years.

My date for Sunday night selflessly accepted the invitation for the free show tonight, so that was good too.

The bad: At midnight last night I was hollering "Why, God, why?!" while I was placing my nice cooking pot under a stream of water in a completely new place in my ceiling. While I was positioning that pot, the original leak resprung and began to pee on my kitchen counter. This time, a plastic container went under that current of water. Slowly drips began in 4 other places. My apartment sounded like the rain shower from Bambi where each rain drop plays a different note. I called the emergency maintenance man who told me that I lived too far away for him to come out last night and that I needed to wait. I told him I would convey his message to management in the morning.

Dolores displays smoker's lungs

I hit my testicle quota for the year this weekend.

That's right, I went to the BODIES exhibit. In case you aren't familiar with the BODIES exhibition, they used unclaimed bodies from China and dissected them. One body would display the respiratory system. One would be dissected down to the bones. Another would be dissected down to the muscle. It's supposed to be educational.

Erin's and my reaction to the exhibit was one of comical fascination. We named all the bodies. Instead of reading "This dissection displays fat on the body," we would say, "Agnes displays fat on the body." Yes, we were those people.

We saw a lot. I held a human brain. I saw a brain after it suffered a stroke. Rectal cancer? Check. A uterus is actually much smaller than you think.

However, I present you with my list of

Things That Freaked Me Out at the BODIES Exhibition:

• Fingernails and toenails. All the bodies still had their fingernails and toenails, even if they were dissected down to their tendons. You could guess a lot about a person with the condition of his fingernails. Ones with bad fingernails was probably homeless, and therefore unclaimed.
• Bellybuttons. Even if they were dissected to show the digestive system, everything would be stripped away... except for their bellybuttons. The bellybutton would just protrude from the skin, well like a button. It was weird.
• Eyebrows. I swear they used one set of eyebrow hair for the whole exhibit. Each body had matching eyebrow hair.
• Eyelashes. The body had no skin, but he still had eyelashes. Gave me the heebie-jeebies.

On Dating

First dates can be a harrowing experience. People become nervous and they aren't sure what to say or how good of behavior they should be on. Because of this, they slip up and say things:

"You remind me of my ex, only you're taller and funnier."
"Your read? So are you, like, a nerd?"
"My mother says I should get out of the house more."

Not me. Conversation comes easy for me. As the youngest of six, I had to learn how to be extroverted fairly quickly. Without a voice and a strong identity, I'd still be lost behind siblings #4 and #5.

Well, that and I've been on 6 first dates in the last 30 days. So I might have a little more experience.

While my date usually stumbles over topics and finally settles on, "So what are your plans for the rest of the weekend," I'm pretty good at avoiding the conversation killers. Slowly the awkward pauses become few and far between until finally he looks up at me from his vegetarian plate and smiles. Not a word is spoken between us, but instead satisfied silence takes the place of awkward pause.

This is where normal people think, Wow, this date is going pretty well. However, I think, Wow, everything coming out of my mouth is pure genius. Even more confident, I lose my first date filter and whatever I'm thinking flies out of my mouth.

Some people ramble in the beginning of the date. Apparently I like to wait until it's going well to see how fast it can tank.

One morning I woke up hungover and my first thought was of sheer horror: Did I really talk about dysentery for over 10 minutes last night? Omigod, I think I declared my love for madras shorts on men...

For the record, I'm slowly improving on my mental notes, but I still have quite a few.

• Note to self: For the love of god, stop talking about porn.
• Note to self: When writing down a Jewish person's e-mail address and you're trying to get the spelling correct, don't say, "J as in Jesus."
• Note to self: Even though it's tradition for your family to declare, "Let's go home and puke" after a good meal, outsiders will be horrified.
• Note to self: Don't tell men you're "emotionally involved" with Gilmore Girls.
• Note to self: Stop demonstrating yoga moves while seated in a restaurant.

**This is the point where you assume that no one called me again. Amazingly enough 5 out of 6 asked for second dates. The dysentery guy did not, but who can blame him?**

Rock On

Friday night I drove up to Athens to watch Of Mirth and Matter at the GA Theatre (same place where John Mayer filmed his video "No Such Thing" in 2002.) It was the largest venue they have ever played, or more accurately the largest stage where I myself have never performed.

I'll admit it, I was a little pissed about having to pay to get in. But there's just something so pathetic wrong about paying to see your ex-boyfriend and friends.

I'm going to go figure out a way to charge my friends money to see me. In the meantime, I'll leave you with this commentary:

Hi! My name is Will. When I'm not writing sensitive blog posts about women and children, I rock. I rock so hard my entire head blurs from all the rocking I do. Seriously, that's not the camera or Jamie's shoddy photography skills. I blur in real life!

Sometimes I partake in random acts of assmonkeydom by copping out of going to see Butch Walker, but I blame that on my hair. You see, it's evil. The longer my hair gets, the more power it has over me, thus the more evil I become. When I stood Jamie up, it was at hair-eating length. Thinking ahead, I cut it before the show. That way I wouldn't be evil, I would just rock.

Sure, I promised nudity for the show, and no, I didn't deliver. But as you can clearly see, as the show progressed, so did the number of unbuttoned buttons on my shirt. Well gotta go, The Man calls.

Will is currently available for private shows for any ladies in the surrounding area. All applications for private viewings can be sent here.

Now tell me how you really feel

Sunday night I went to see the Blue October show. I was all prepared for drinking and men in eyeliner. Unfortunately, I got this:

I was standing in the crowd alone. I left my buddies back at our table so I could watch them perform "Hate Me." An overweight, Cheeto-stained finger D&Der approached me.

"You're not dancing."

"It's a show, you don't dance."

"Yes you do!"

"No one else is."

"Here." He puts his arm around my shoulders and begins to sway me in the gayest possible way. I imagined karate chopping him in the neck. "This is fun, right?" he asks.

Get your effing hands off me. "Yeah, this is great." I stop moving.

"I bet you're hard to please."

Way to impress a lady with these social skills you've got there. "I wouldn't say that."

"I bet you don't dance in the car." What is this guy's obsession with dancing?

I do actually, quite frequently when my Mint Royale is playing. "Um, no."

"You should."

"I drive Intown, everyone is crazy and you really have to pay attention not to get into an accident."

"Well you should take 75. That way you can dance while you're stopped in traffic!"

"NO! I WILL NOT TAKE I75 AT SIX FUCKING O'CLOCK JUST SO I CAN DANCE IN MY CAR. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?"

Whatever happened to PSAs?

Once again, I'm sorry I'm too busy to provide an actual post, but here's an update:

Last night I received two calls after 8 PM asking me out for this weekend. For my single male readers, I want to give you a PSA: Do not call girls after 8 PM on a Thursday night asking for a weekend date. You will get turned down. It's not because you're being inconsiderate by asking us at the last minute; it's because we legitimately have plans. Seriously, who waits until Thursday night to figure out the weekend?

I just violated every male in my office by openly declaring that I wanted "to have the babies" with someone. I thought it was funny. They, however, were mortified. I tried assuring them that not all women talk this way, only me. I think I just ruined at least six men from ever having healthy relationships.

Stop. Hey, what's that sound?

Wait a minute.

You mean we are at terror alert Elmo for flying and I had to come into work today? I work in a highrise in the city with the world's busiest airport! Shouldn't I have been given the day off to hole up at home with a bottle of Jack spend time with my family?

From now on he shall be called Tuna

For chuckieeverdapper I bestow you this little gem:

Date: So what did you have for dinner?
Jamie: (sheepishly) Hamburger Helper...
Date: Well Tuna Helper says hello!
Jamie: Is that what you had?
Date: No.
Jamie: Oh, so that was a joke?
Date: Yes.
Jamie: ...

What I've been up to

• Working like crazy. I've decided to get certified for my job, so in addition to my work, I'm taking a course and studying for the test in December.

• Appling for some freelance writing jobs. Nothing to note as of yet, but I'm sending in writing samples and updating the resume. I'm not leaving my job, just looking for some small work on the side.

• Writing. A lot of personal stuff that you'll probably never see. But it's good stuff, trust me.
  

• Getting my car fixed. Again.

• Dating. Good lord I'm turning into one of those people who needs a spreadsheet to keep everyone straight. This is not a brag because so far I haven't encountered anything great. Or worth mentioning.

• Cleaning the apartment. I have a friend coming in town this weekend and I think he'll expect things like not having dog hair fly in his mouth.

• Hanging with friends-- doing the whole social thing.

• Yoga, yoga, yoga. I somehow fell out of that because of the heat. Well that's what I blamed anyways.

Crap, gotta run. Have another date tonight. Let's hope this one doesn't suck.

Scenes from Sundays

I'm at the intersection of home and ghetto. Boulevard is the fastest way to where I'm going and involves the least amount of traffic lights. The speed limit is always higher in the ghetto. It's the street where I witnessed my first B and E. ("Did you call the cops?" "No, but I called my friends.") It's also the street where I was five minutes too late for the stabbing in front of the Family Dollar. I saw the tail end involving police reports and a stretcher being loaded into the ambulance.

At the intersection a sign demonstrates the street's priorities: "Lotto and Groceries." At the bus stop a homeless lady sleeps with her shopping cart next to her. These are not unusual sights and I've become desensitized to images that normally haunt other people.

Still waiting for the light to change, I catch a glimpse of a man in the gas station parking lot across the street. A large black man dressed in a cream colored linen suit. Linen has always impressed me because of the cost of the fabric and its propensity for wrinkles. It's not something you can just throw on, it takes time and preparation to wear linen. His suit was still pressed and didn't have a wrinkle in sight. In one hand he was carrying a Bible. In the other he was holding his son's hand, guiding him down the street.

I checked the time, church must be out. It wasn't him carrying the Bible that got to me, it was him holding his son's hand. However both sights are very rare for this street.

***

Leaving the dog park, I still had to cross the entire width of Piedmont Park. Nikita was on the verge of collapsing from the heat. Her tail, an accurate gauge to her energy level, was at half mast. The path curved and we saw a mud puddle and an empty big wheel to one side of the puddle. In the grass stood a man holding a leash to a very small dog. Wrapped around his leg was the man's son, obviously upset. The man was murmuring to his son while pushing his hand through the son's blonde hair. As we approached, I heard what the man was quietly telling his son:

"You don't worry about your shoes. We can always clean them when we get home. I think playing in the mud puddle would be much more fun. Don't you think? Don't worry about your shoes, I'll take care of that. You play in the mud puddle."

The small boy unwrapped himself from his father's leg and walked out into the middle of the puddle.

"That's it!" The father encouraged, "Now jump up and down!" The boy jumped once and made a small splash. His once white tennis shoes were now brown. "Don't stop at one! Really have at it!" the father continued.

I passed the pair and I smiled. Thank God for Sundays.

Click to enlarge

It may be a crap book, but at least I got a blog post out of it

So I'm reading this awful book titled "Magical Thinking" by Augusten Burroughs. This is the first book I've read from him. He's just like David Sedaris, except not funny. He and Sedaris both flaunt their flaws and they have some mutual ones at that: both are selfish and a bit prissy. However, Sedaris is completely forgivable and endearing because he's equally as meek as he is selfish and laughs at his own shortcomings. Burroughs does not. He's Jan "Look At Me" Brady of the memoir genre. I find him such an abominable person that I can't enjoy his writing.

However, this one part completely traumatized me so I have to share it. He finds a mouse in his bathtub and he can't figure out how it got there. So he called a friend. "Vermin sometimes climb up into the plumbing and get trapped in the showerhead," the friend says. Burroughs recoils, "I may have been showering, may still be showering, may someday be showering with piping-hot water filtered through a dead rat, without even knowing it."

Blech.

What he said for himself can equally be said for me: "I would think of it every time I showered for the rest of my life. I would be standing under the stream of hot water, and I would be checking my skin for hairs and whiskers."

Double blech.

This morning I pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the water. I spit out the toothpaste, stripped, and stepped in the shower. My eyes immediately trailed up to the showerhead, gauging the size of the pipe. The pipe is small, too small for a rat I decided.

The spigot, however, is another story.

Where were you?

The Challenger Explosion - January 28, 1986

I was 4 years old. I think my mother drove me up to my brother's elementary school where they were showing the launch on a big screened TV in the gymnasium. The school made a big to do about the mission because it was supposed to contain the first teacher in space. I think there were even local news cameras there to film us watching the launch. When it exploded, I didn't really know what happened. Teachers started crying and the students remained silent. The teachers took the news the worst. A few of the younger boys laughed and screamed, "Pow!" After a few minutes the principal appeared and shut off the TV. My mother had to explain to me that the teacher never made it to space.

The Berlin Wall Falls - November 1989

I always associated the fall of the Berlin Wall with the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. I finally got the explanation behind this when I looked up the date for the fall: November. It all happened at the same time. Being 8 years old, I had no idea there was a wall in Berlin. I remember watching it on our TV. People were standing on it and cheering. Everyone was picking at it with hammers and taking a piece of it home with them. That wall had a lot of graffiti on it. I remember liking how the people took it down. After that, the news was flooded with stories of families reuniting.

Atlanta Will Host the Centennial Olympics - September 1990

I was in the 4th grade and my parents had already been divorced for at least 3 years. Each grade got a TV in one classroom . We hosted the TV for our grade and the other 3 classes piled in. Then that foreign guy with the funny accent reads, "The city of Atlanta." Everyone started screaming and jumping up and down. Wait, you mean the Olympics won't be here for another six years? In high school, most of my friends would perform in the opening ceremony. The ones that marched in the band would be a part of the 100 and the colorguard would get new flags for the show. The friends that danced, well, they danced. I would watch it on TV.

OJ and that Damn White Bronco - June 17, 1994

This was when we all knew he did it. It was a Friday. I remember this distinctly because I was at my dad's house for our bimonthly visits and I was trying to watch TGIF on ABC. Where's my "Boy Meets World" and "Step by Step?" I watched all four hours of that chase, thinking that the minute I changed the channel, something exciting would happen and everyone would be talking about it. Unfortunately, I don't think that Bronco ever hit 45 mph and nothing of significance would transpire. I want those four hours back.

The Death of Princess Diana - August 31, 1997

I was a sophomore in high school. My parents had already gone to bed and I wanted to stay up and watch Saturday Night Live. SNL never came on and for the first time I saw the British news. I eventually gave up at 2 AM and went to bed, but I watched as they first reported the car accident. Then they said she was injured. She then went from seriously injured to we don't know if she's alive or not. Then the British newscaster touched his hand up to his right ear and said, "We've just received confirmation that Diana, Princess of Wales, passed away at" and then he gave the time. From the very beginning they announced that the limo was running from the paparazzi and you could here the anger in the newscaster's voice as he reiterated that after we knew she left us. The American correspondent, who came on every few minutes and announced that we were watching British news, was obviously torn over the announcement as well.

Massacre at Columbine - April 20, 1999

It was Hitler's birthday and the day after the anniversary of the bombing in Oklahoma City. I, a senior in high school, came home and immediately called my prom date to make plans. I was lying on my couch, talking to whatever-his-name-was (he would never end up taking me to prom). I turned the TV on and saw this image. The one of students running out of the school with their hands above their hands. "I think something happened," I remember telling him. It wasn't until 30 minutes later that I got off the phone to watch. I was so glad I was in my final month of public school because everything drastically changed after that. We even had optional days of school towards the end because of bomb threats. My mother, being a teacher in the same county, called me once and told me not to go to school that day because of something she had heard. It was every child's dream to have her mother call and order her not to go to school, but I was scared.


World Trade Center Attacks - September 11, 2001

I had gotten into the biggest fight of my life with my boyfriend. I got home in the early morning hours, tear-stained and emotionally drained. We had broken up. I was staying at my father's house that semester and he came in my room and woke me up (I didn't have classes on Tuesday or Thursday). "Wake up," he barked. "We're under attack. We're at war." Sleepy-eyed I stumbled into the living room in my pajamas. We watched the chaos and then the second plane striking. I don't need to go into the details. UGA closed it's campus that day and the following days were very strange. Everyone had a sense of commonality. The following day between classes I worked my way into the Coke room. Coca-Cola bought a room in the econ building and filled it everything Coca-Cola: 8 vending machines, comfortable couches and TVs hanging from the ceiling. We all smushed in and watched the president speak about the day before. And then my afternoon classes were cancelled because of a conspicuous U-Haul. The police thought the terrorists had placed a U-Haul outside of campus to blow up the University of Georgia. Turned out it was an abandoned vehicle. My boyfriend and I would eventually work things out and he would really explore his alcoholism for another year.