ANGST!

I currently have a feeling of ennui.  A gentle, nagging feeling that the life I am currently living is not enough.  I live vicariously through others in the baby, travel, and grabbing life by the horn departments. I worry that I'm losing myself, in a job that's really just to pay the bills, in a new relationship, in friendships that are so comfortable it doesn't seem like any effort is needed.  Which can all be good things, because at least the bills are paid, and I'm dating a wonderful guy, and I don't need to be anyone but me with my friends.  But there is something severely lacking, and I think that thing is adventure. 

I traveled the world at 18 and got to be a brand new independent person overseas.  I came home at 19 and went right to college. I moved away from home and tried to make it as a performer. These things made me who I am today, and I don't regret a single moment. Well, maybe a couple of moments, but we all have those stories, don't we?  But I'm worried that I did too much too fast and now I'm the balding high school quarterback at the reunion who has gone nowhere but down since those bygone days.

I'm a thrill seeker stuck in a soccer mom's body. An adrenaline junkie stuck in a 9-5 job.  A jetsetter that flies West once a year for a comic book convention and longs for the sights and sounds of a new locale. I want to taste every single food ever made, regardless of if it's slimy and makes me barf like calamari. I want to smell the breeze in the Alps and buy handmade turquoise jewelry in Santa Fe.  And I also want to have a home that is mine that I have created. I want to explore and be a homebody at the same time.  And the conflicting desires are pulling me apart like string cheese wielded by an overenthusiastic toddler.

I recently became an adult at the age of 31.  Getting approved for a car loan was a giant leap from the broken 27 year old who fled Northern Kentucky with an empty bank account and a maxed out credit card to her name. That person is no more. But the girl who chose to take a chance on a new life is still inside of me, aching and calling to get out there into the world, to leave the safe and comforting behind and to make treks to places she has only dreamed about in the depths of the darkest night at her parents house.  Maybe that part of me should go away so that I can be content with the abundance that I am blessed with in my life now. Or maybe she needs to take over and allow me to stop being scared to take chances.

Stop or the wine gets it!

I haven't blogged in a while, as I have had little to say.  But at this moment, I say this.  I want more.  And I'm damn well gonna go get it. 

Blame the boyfriend.

 Hmm. How can I distract Lauren with my attractiveness and willingness to love her?

I haven't written here for a while. I told Jason that I was going to blog and blame the lack of entries entirely on him.  Because it would be fun and easy for me to blame the new boyfriend instead of a complete lack of creative energy.  Instead of blaming him, though, I'm gonna blame the real culprit.

Republicans.

I kid, of course. There's no problem here except for time management issues and a bevy of things to distract me. Marvel Avengers Alliance.  The firing and relocation of several co-workers.  Being sick for a week.  Being in a new relationship.  Stand up.  Singing. Writing other things.  Shiny objects. All seasons of Eureka on Netflix. Sloth videos.  Burning Love. Bleu cheese or blue cheese? I don't know.  But it's definitely a distraction.

I feel like I'm being pulled in too many directions. A visit to my doctor yesterday revealed that I have gained 4 pounds since my last visit on the 17th of May.  Penciled in workouts ASAP.  Work is insanely slow one moment, and then the next is busy and overwhelming with a lack of support that is astounding and frustrating.  It's often an indication that you should pursue different avenues when your staff of 30 is down to a staff of 10.

PMS is back up and running. YAY! The new artist is working hard, and I can't begin to express how amazingly awesome she is and how excited I am for the future of this weird little comic.  Already have a T-shirt on the way for Comic-Con, so my professional badge will not be squandered! On that note: My older brother, Dan, and I will be attending the Con this year.  It was a very last minute decision, and thankfully, everything fell into place.  We got a less expensive hotel about 5 miles from the Convention Center, so we'll be in for some shuttle shenanigans and a lot of nerding out.  He taught me everything I know about nerd-dom, so it will be amazing to get to experience San Diego with him, with a Professional badge around my neck and a Professional Guest badge around his. I told him that we should re-enact the road trip from Paul on the way home, but alas, we don't have enough vacation time accrued to do that right now.  Some day.

Needless to say, things get busy and sometimes a blog falls by the wayside.  Some people might comment that now that I'm in a lovey dovey, barfy relationship, maybe it's time to retire the Guarded Area.  Love should make the area less guarded, right?

To those people I say: I guess you don't know me that well at all. 

Until next time when I attempt to do a fiction Friday on my birthday after a late night opening for Adrian Mesa in Boca Raton. So. Drunken Fiction Friday.  YAY!
   

Fiction Friday-WOOOOO!

News: I  have an official boyfriend, he met the family, they love him, Bailee quit PMS, I cried and now I'm PMS'ing.

Now on to Fiction Friday.

I had a friend comment on a status update with "Mmmm, brains." So. That's gonna inspire today's Fiction Friday.  I hope you like it.

Brains

by This Girl

I've been sitting here, in this jar, for what seems like ages. Floating around in formaldehyde, with no stimulus other than the occasional mad scientist's assistant coming in to steal one of my neighbors for some crazy, misguided experiment. They never pick me.  They barely even glance in my direction.  I'm going to be honest and say that it's beginning to effect what was once a brilliant and somewhat egocentric mind.  I was never the last one picked. Always the first, always the best.  And now there is a film of dust covering the label on my jar that screams to the world two names that during my life were connected with the word genius.  I honestly couldn't tell you at this point of my death what those two names were, but I hope you'll forgive me as it's been years since this brain was actually inside a skull.

I can remember how I died. An argument with the wife distracted me whilst I was combining elements that required precision in measurements, and boom! My hands were blown to smithereens and I bled out on my laboratory floor while she screamed like a banshee for help that never came. Why I ever married that woman is a question I have pondered on countless occasions while on this shelf. I should have stayed in the lab when my dear mother told me to come upstairs for that ridiculous party.  I should have never bowed to societal pressures and began courting that ridiculous creature, and should definitely not have placed a carbon allotrope ring on her finger.  She was always nagging about how I loved my work more than I loved her, and she was right. That night she had gotten upset about my missing a dinner party. She claimed my absence caused her embarrassment.  Usually, her complaints fell on deaf ears, but the addition of flying missiles being hurled at me from the staircase caused my attention to wander.  I'm sure she has since remarried, or has died of consumption. I don't know and I don't care.

I long for the day when a hunchbacked Igor will grab my jar from the shelf.  When a Dr. Frankenstein will take my gray matter into his hands and plunge me into the cavernous skull of some patchwork cadaver, then animate me with the electricity of the gods.  The day will come when I will be able to walk and talk and create again.  My research was on the verge of completion when that harpy ended my life with her absolute idiocy.  An irony to die while researching immortality, but no one can say that I don't have a sense of humor.  Didn't have a sense of humor, as I can hardly laugh in my current state.

The day will come. I'll be plunked from the death I could not avoid and live again. My hands may be larger and rougher than my delicate, white hands with which I was born.  My gait may be lumbering.  My speech may be impaired, but the ideas and the genius behind them will be immediately recognizable.  I will outreach even my new master in regards to fighting and beating death.  I will conquer death and with it, the world.

If I had a mouth, I would maniacally laugh right now.

   

Fiction Friday, Finally.

To my few readers who enjoy the Fiction Friday Format, I apologize for the delay in postings.  New relationships are wonderful and all consuming, so here I am, a week late in continuing the story created two weeks ago.  I apologize to my dear readers, and hope you will stay with me on the incredible journey of love and blogging. Ewww. Insert barf noise here.

Hope Returns

by This Girl

(continued from two weeks ago)

I heard a rustle and realized that Ms. Adaams was making her way over to my table. The scent of cigarette and Jovan White Musk hit me first. I heard her take a breath to speak. My own breath sucked in, a defense mechanism from years of non-smoking. And she said, with a voice raspy from menthol's and screaming orders to the kitchen area, "What'll you have?"

Looking at the food smeared menu that served as a place mat, I pointed a shaky finger to a breakfast combo that looked large enough to feed a family of four.  Eggs, hash browns, bacon, toast...the standard diner fare.  After a series of follow up questions that I answered with one word sentences, she sauntered away to grab my  coffee and small orange juice.  Realizing that staring at the wall and identifying various stains was not going to amuse me for the entirety of my meal, I reached into my purse and snagged my dogeared copy of Jane Eyre.  Taking out the gas station receipt bookmark, I entered the alternate world of a down on her luck governess and her passionate affair with the lord of the house. Immersed, I barely looked up as Morticia dropped off my drinks, instinctively pouring suspect creamer and sugar into the coffee in the exact measurements required by my palate.  Morticia hesitated a moment, inhaled to speak, but seemed to realize that I was not in a talking mood and turned on her heel, squeaking her shoe as she walked away.

Ten minutes later, she was back and I took a break from the goings on of Thornfield Hall to gaze upon a mountain of breakfast food that had been placed before me.  As I unwrapped my silverware, Morticia spoke up. "That's one of my favorites, although my copy is a little worse for wear," she said, gesturing to the book that was now lying open on the chipped table. I was surprised by her comment, having made assumptions about her character and intelligence based on her profession and appearance.  "Really?" I asked. "What's your favorite part?"  Her face softened, revealing a hint of hidden beauty behind the cosmetic facade.  " The end. When Jane goes back to Rochester and he's been hurt. It's so romantic. Much better than that 'haunting the moors' nonsense of Wuthering Heights. Well.  Enjoy your breakfast."

She walked away as I sat, dumbfounded.  I had judged her harshly, given her surroundings and my own perception of societal norms. Given my mental state, I allowed myself a moment of indulgence that road weariness and my own life being so overwhelmingly shitty that I had merely transferred my negative emotions onto this poor woman who had done nothing to me but look differently. I dug into my meal, my book now laying ignored on the table as I ate with a gusto that had come from nowhere.  I swore to myself that the next pass the waitress took of the table would find me in a more talkative mood.

As she wandered over with a coffee pot to top off my cup, I finally looked into the face of the woman who was taking care of me.  The makeup was harsh, but underneath the eyeshadow were hazel eyes that shone with intelligence and life.  Her lips may have been crimson and over drawn, but there was a genuine warmth in her smile that reached two small dimples in her cheeks. I finally looked at her name tag, wanting with all my heart to know the name of the woman that I had given such a harsh nickname. "Hope," I said, glancing up at her face as she poured a fresh cup with an expert hand.  "That's my name," she said, "and what I believe in. Jane had it.  Rochester had it.  And I have it, in abundance."

As she turned to walk away, I reached out and placed my hand gently on her coffee wielding arm.  Without thought, tears welled up in my eyes as the words "Thank you" came tumbling from my toast crumb dusted lips. She stopped, turned towards me, and winked. Walking away, she called out to the boys at the counter, teasing a laugh from them with her words.  I didn't hear what she said.  I only knew that I would be leaving the diner with something that I had not come in with. And that was a big ole helping of Hope.

Wha ha happened?

I've been a solitary soul for the last two years.  I'm used to doing my own thing. To going on one date with a man and immediately knowing that it wasn't going to work out.  I've posted a number of blogs about horrible dating situations, and used my romantic escapades as humorous anecdotes to entertain my friends and family, and even strangers while performing stand up sets.  I hear sweet stories from friends about their significant others being romantic, and I awww while making puking sounds.  I guess, in a nutshell...I'm a 15 year old boy when it comes to matters of the heart.  So, I'm going to be honest and say that I am currently befuddled and maybe smitten.  Which to laymen would be really amazingly awesome, but to those who are acquainted with me know is slightly awkward and complicated.

I'm not gonna whine about how I got to this slightly off centered view of love and hearts and cupids.  I'm not gonna list the umpteen jerk faces that have damaged me.  We all have those, and we all deserve better. Done. Awesome. But I am gonna tell you a fabulous tale of two people becoming reacquainted and going on two very lovely dates.  And the reason I'm befuddled and maybe smitten.

The cute boy who asked me out on a date for Friday picked me up at 8, after I finally broke down and allowed him to know where I live.  Usually I meet someone out for a first date, but I thought, 'To hell with it.  My friends all know him so if I end up getting chopped to pieces, they'll know who to blame.' Yep.  I'm a psycho.  He picked me up in a convertible after I had just washed and styled my hair...AND I DIDN'T MIND. Usually, I'm a control freak, but it was just so nice to see him, and it didn't hurt that he had brought me a GRAPHIC NOVEL and a metal bookmark with an inspiring quote from Thoreau on it in lieu of flowers. SCORE!

We went to dinner and had sake, sushi, and some laughs.  Then came decision time...would the date be extended or would we part ways?  We ended up drinking half a bottle of wine on my patio until 1am. The first kiss was awkward, but amazing. (He said, "Gimme some sugar, baby" and kissed me. Swoon!)  I didn't fall asleep until 2:30, and had to be up and ready for a baby shower early the next morning.  I was in a haze. Chopping tomatoes for a salad, I was humming and cheerful...texting him with tomato gooed hands. I felt like I was 15, only a female fifteen year old who wanted to scribble his name on my notebook and be an idiot.  So, we made plans for later that day.

We went to the comic book store that I frequent, and wasted some time and money there. Then dinner, and  a kids dance show.  One of my favorite girls asked if we were dating.  I said yes.  She said she approved. Since then there have been a series of emails back and forth, and I'm starting to get the hang of it.  He's been so open about liking ME, for me, and I just really like him back. I'm still scared, and still worried about losing the fiercely independent me that I have grown to love over the past 2 years. Concerned with how I'm going to allow someone into the finely tuned scheduling that has been my romantically isolated life. But I'm willing to try it out. I'm pretty sure there has been a significant change in me from just two dates, so who knows what the future may bring.

Eh.  Three serious blogs in a row.  I'm slipping!

Fiction Friday Numero Seis

It's Friday, and I anticipate yet another late night posting, as I have a date, as you probably already know.  So, here I am, at the day job, ignoring actual work to bring you another Fiction Friday.  This one will probably reflect my current inner feelings which are surprisingly happy and hopeful.  Maybe my mom did the right thing when she gave me the middle name Hope.  So, here it goes.

Hope

By This Girl

Driving down the highway at 90 miles an hour with tears streaming down your face is never a good idea. Teeth chattering as the high speed created vibrations through the body of my beat up old Nissan, I contemplated driving into oncoming traffic, off the side of the road, or into the rear end of the tractor trailer in front of me. I imagined a Hollywood style fiery inferno engulfing the car, myself, and my problems.  Nothing would ever be right again.  I was running, running from a bad relationship, a crap job I had just been fired from, and a host of personal demons that haunted my days and nights.  I had no direction, no destination, just a full tank of gas and desperation.  I had no idea where I was, or where I was going, and I didn't care.

As the cracked open window allowed the warm air to dry the tears on my mascara smeared face, I looked at the destination sign on my right. My instincts had kicked in, as the next exit would take me home.  I didn't want to go there.  I blew past the exit and, on a whim, continued down the road as the sky and my mood continued to darken.   There had to be something else, somewhere else, a light at the end of this tunnel. So I drove. And drove.  I stopped at a rest area to relieve myself and grab a snack from ancient vending machines, and drove. I passed small towns and big, streets and lanes and just drove.

My eyes started to droop and my stomach started to growl almost simultaneously.   I stopped at a diner in the middle of nowhere with a 24 hour sign lit in the front window. A film buff, I anticipated a smartass waitress named Ethel, popping her gum while she asked me what I would be having.  Lined up on stools at the counter would be rough and tumble truckers who were sweet as pie on the inside and were fiercely protective of the employees and women in general. The food would be surprisingly good, and I would finish off my meal with a slice of Ethel's famous apple pie ala mode and a coffee.  All would be right again, thanks to the wisdom of Ethel and the boys.

My expectations, like always, were not met.  The interior of the diner looked as if it had never known the caress of a cleansing agent or washcloth.  A smoky haze permeated the air, the source of which was a chain smoking Morticia Adaams look alike with a sweat stained waitress uniform and putrid pink lipstick on her sheet white face.  Her hair, long and stringy with patches of gray, was swept into an updo that had probably required 3 bottles of Aquanet to obtain.  I hesitated on the threshold of the building, wondering whether I could slip away before Morticia noticed me. A loud BING-BONG sounded, alerting the entire room of my presence. 

All eyes were on me.  The sole occupants of the counter were rotund flannel clad road jockeys, slurping coffee and making remarks to each other while giving me the once over.  Feeling small and threatened, I sidled into the nearest booth and reached for the menu that was propped behind the sugar caddy on the table, with my back to the room. I heard a rustle and realized that Ms. Adaams was making her way over to my table. The scent of cigarette and Jovan White Musk hit me first. I heard her take a breath to speak. My own breath sucked in, a defense mechanism from years of non-smoking. And she said...

TO BE CONTINUED...

A short one.

On Monday, I received the best Facebook message ever.

On Tuesday, I received another message that trumped the other as the best Facebook message ever.

On Wednesday, I received an e-mail that had me beaming and acting like an idiot for the whole day. Up until 1am, when I finally fell asleep.

Today, I re-read that e-mail. Twice. And it's only 9:45am.

I'm  very much looking forward to tomorrow.