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: ...