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Drunk Pictures:
Let's say one of your best friends is visiting from Iowa, and you are showing her around, because not only has she never been to Durham, she's never even been to North Carolina. You are trying to make a good impression. Despite the fact that you are incredibly happy that your friend is visiting, you are maybe not in the happiest frame of mind overall, for various reasons. And then you stop at a gas station to get your friend a Diet Coke, because the girl is addicted to them, and you go on back out to the car, AND IT IS DEAD. AS A DOORNAIL. (You have not ever really understood that expression, but you just used it anyway.)
The car is dead. You cannot help but chuckle, because if you don't, you will probably start to cry. You call your brother, because he is all into cars, and maybe he can help you out. He doesn't answer. You call your dad, who says you should call someone who cares. He is kidding, sort of, and he tells you you should really get Triple A. You tell him you used to have it, but then you moved back close to your family, so you figured that he would be there to rescue you. He says it would be a really good idea to get Triple A but comes to rescue you. He jumps the car. It starts. You turn on the headlights. The car dies again. He jumps the car again, and says you better come back to the house, you can leave your car at the repair place and then borrow your mother's car to go get it fixed in the morning.
You go to your parents' house. Your parents leave. Your brother is there. You are planning to take your mother's car and go home. Instead, your brother and your friend pull out some vodka. "You need a shot," they say. Suddenly, you are drinking your (underage) brother's cheap nasty vodka. You are also making cookies, because you bake when you are upset. (For some reason the cookies turn out sort of flat, although of course they still taste good.) Your brother is doing beer bongs, and your friend is drinking a bottle of wine. She has agreed to be the designated driver, since you are clearly allowed to drink, what with your fragile state of mind and all. Clearly, she will not be driving, given that there is now no more wine. ("I'll write your parents a check!" she says. Suddenly, you and your friend and your brother are getting drunk off your parents' Bailey's Irish Cream. You think, "Oh my God, my life is so pathetic, and I have to sober up so I can drive home before my parents get back, because they cannot find me like this." Your brother says, "You need to finish the vodka. I know it is nasty, but, here, I will mix it with orange juice, then it will be fine." It is still nasty. You drink it. Your parents come home to find you in a semi-conscious state on the chair in front of the TV. "I take it that's not just orange juice in that cup," your mother says.
"Your mom is so cute," says your friend. She turns to your mom. "Can I be your daughter?"
At least you were the only one with the camera, so you are the only one with access to all the pictures that were taken -- and most of them are not of you.
The problem with being a (generally) nice person and a (generally) good person is that you can't wish bad things on the people who have hurt you.
And if you should, by chance, become an "other woman" then you are really screwed. Because, in the absence of having met the first woman, you can imagine that she is an evil harpy who does not satisy her man, and so no one can really blame you for, well, anything that you do. However, you know that most likely this is not true. Most likely, she is a nice, normal person who for some reason has fallen into the same trap that you have, namely, falling for this man. Further, you know that he likes her better, because he is not actually with you, he is with her and just likes to "see" you sometimes. But even though you know it is wrong, you like it so damn much that you don't stop. And then eventually, for some reason or other, it ends, and all you can do is hope that either she is an evil harpy and she does deserve it, or that she really doesn't know what he's doing (because he won't change) and all you can think is, "I hope he doesn't hurt her the same way he hurt me."
Same goes if he's actually available...but it's because you are the "last woman," the last person he was with, the one that he screwed over, and you are still looking for the right person, but he finds someone new (which really is not fair; you should get to find someone first). You know he's told her about that psycho he dated, meaning you, even though you're obviously not psycho, just slightly addled because you at one point thought he was a good match for you, and she's sympathetic, thinking that she's found this great guy who's just had horrible luck, and instead of thinking mean things about either one of them, you just think, "I hope he doesn't hurt her the same way he hurt me." (And then you have a minute in which you think, "Maybe she will hurt him the way he hurt me, that would be cool" -- but then you shake your head and stop that train of thought.)
First: HB, AB. I just wanted to say that.
***
I got an "It's not you, it's me" yesterday from Banana Republic. Maybe you didn't catch that. From Banana Republic. I am one of those girls who does one of those thing you are not supposed to do when you are buying clothes: I will not buy above a certain size. I know in my head that brands are just different, and it doesn't mean anything, and anyway, no one will know, because it's not like we walk around with tags on the outside, but still, I know. So I don't do it. Usually I can stay within these parameters with little difficulty (...) but some styles just will not work.
Anyway, there was this particular style of pants -- the Ryan, it was called -- that was low-rise. Typically, this is not a good sign. (I did not notice that the fly was approximately two and a half inches. This is an ominous portent. No one should wear anything THAT low, although I suppose you can get away with it if you are a size 0. Which I am not.) So I grabbed the size that I would like to stay, and then I went above it, to the next size up, because, goshdarnit, they were on sale for $11.99. You do not get pants at Banana Republic for $11.99. Off I go to the dressing room. I try the smaller size first. The fit ... leaves something to be desired. *Sigh.* Next size up IS SMALLER. Feeling depressed, I head out. The fitting room attendant asks if I had any luck. I tell her that I do not think this style is for me. She says, in all seriousness, "It's not you, it's the pants."
This may be the lowlight of my year so far.
***
Also yesterday, I caught up on my girly-magazine reading. There was a bedside astrologer. The guy I lost my virginity to is my worst match by a long shot. (Heh.) My "sweetest match" is a Capricorn, example being Patrick Dempsey. (Why, yes, that seems right.) "Spiciest match"? That'd be my last ex. (Hmm. He was good in bed.)
Another thing that caught my eye: When he says, "My last ex was psycho," what he means is, "I treated her badly, so of course she got upset."
SO TRUE! And yet, even though you know this, every time you are in the situation, you think it will be different.
***
Best artichoke and spinach dip ever: Darryl's. For some reason the Durham restaurant closed, and I think there used to be one in Raleigh that also closed, but the one in Greensboro remains open. Go figure. That place is awesome, though.
***
"Winter weather" hit the Durham area on Thursday. Here is what it looked like from the fourth floor (where I sit) of the building that I work in:
an unpublished interview with a ballplayer from a long time ago
Molly: What's your favorite baseball memory?
Ballplayer: I guess when we made the playoffs in [year]. ... I started Game [x] against [future Hall of Famer]. I think we ended up losing that game, but yeah, I started it. That was probably the most exciting. ... [Are you wearing] a bra AND a tank top?
M: Well, yeah, I mean, it's not like I can NOT wear a bra.
BP: I know, you have to. Your boobs are too big. ... Maybe you need to get a thicker bra.
M: I don't like thicker bras. But I guess I needed one yesterday.
BP: Why? Were a lot of people looking?
M: I don't know. You were.
BP: Yeah. Well your nipples were really poking out.
M: So, moving right along. ... Best thing about [city]?
BP: Mmm...the park. Molly.
M: Ha, I'm not putting that.
...
M: Did you have a favorite player, growing up?
BP: I did. [Famous Shortstop].
M: So how come you aren't a shortstop?
BP: I was, until I got too big. Most of the guys here were shortstops.
M: But if they were all shortstops, then who played the other positions? [Haaaa I'm being stupid but he answers seriously]
BP: Well you usually put the best player at shortstop, or at least the good ones, and then you just move to other positions as you grow, or develop. So most of the guys who made it here were shortstops.
M: Toughest hitter you faced?
BP: [Steroid User]. He's hit me pretty good. I don't know if he homered or not, but he's hit me pretty good. I've walked him a lot. And that's when he was Regular [Name].
M: "Regular [Name]"?
BP: Yeah, you know, before he ... got big.
...
M: Okay, favorites. Favorite baseball movie?
BP: Major League. Does everybody say Bull Durham?
M: I don't know, it varies. Favorite non-baseball movie?
BP: Ghostbusters. I always say that.
M: Is it true?
BP: Yeah, anything old Bill Murray.
M: Favorite magazine?
BP: Heh. Uh... Penthouse. You can't put that, can you?
M: Well, I can. I mean, I don't mind. I'll put it.
BP: I bet you will. Yeah, I don't actually read many magazines.
M: You just look at the pictures.
BP: Sometimes I read the fantasies.
M: Oh, yeah, the fantasies, hmm.
BP: Do you read those? Playboy?
M: No, I, uh, don't really need to. I can get pretty far in my head. I don't have to read anything. ...SO! Favorite car?
BP: How's that working out for you?
M: What?
BP: The fantasies.
M: Um, well, it's kind of hard right now, actually. There was this guy, in Houston, and it would always be him, but then he left, that was about a year ago, and since then, I've ... it's been hard, but you know, I'm trying to broaden my horizons.
BP: Broaden your horizons, huh?
M: Yeah, it, uh, gets the job done.
BP: Gets the job done, hm?
M: Well it's better than the real thing at this point.
BP: Yeah, I'm right there with you on that one. It gets harder, you know.
M: What does?
BP: Getting it done, all the way. I mean, it used to be I could have the fantasy and masturbate and it would get me all the way off, but it gets harder, when you get older.
M: Huh. I wouldn't know.
BP: Yeah, that's why you get help. DVDs and stuff.
M: So...you have a favorite DVD then?
BP: (grins) Mmm...a couple...hundred. Yeah my favorite one is probably, what's it called, Pretty in Pink? No, that's the real movie. Pretty Pink, that's it, I think they called it that because, uh... I don't know what word to use... it's, uh, it's pink, usually ...
M: Ohh, okay. I gotcha.
BP: Yeah.
M: Uh huh. So, favorite car?
BP: Um, I don't know.
M: Come on, you've got to give me something.
BP: I've given you lots of good stuff.
M: Yeah, but I can't use it.
BP: But you'll remember it.
+++
That interview always amused me because it was so Bull Durham esque, and that wasn't even his favorite baseball movie. For shame. I'm now 10 years older than he was when we did this interview, and I still don't find that I need to use DVDs. Lol. ... I still think of "this guy, in Houston," even though he didn't always take his socks off, and do you think Dwight Gooden leaves his socks on?
I was with [name deleted :)], and we were in a hotel room somewhere, and he had me up against the wall and we were making out, and of course I was enjoying this, but then I was thinking, "I wonder if he has a condom. I will not have sex with him unless he has a condom." And then I had to go to the bathroom or something and when I got back, he was on the phone, and I was like, "Why are you on the phone? Is that a girl?" He said, "Well I was just telling the girls I met earlier that I wouldn't be able to meet up with them. You don't want me to meet them, right? They were just giggly girls." And I admitted that no, I did not want him to meet up with them, and then I asked him how many other women he had been with, and he said, "Well, I have been with four other women, and one turned me down, so four out of five." And I was so happy with this remarkably low number – he must want meeeeeeeeeee! – that I gleefully jumped on the bed with him. At which point he rolled over, took off his shirt and said, "I am going to seduce you," and grinned. And then he ran his hand up the length of my leg, because I was suddenly naked, and it got me so hot and ... ready, if you know what I mean, and I think you do, AND THEN THE DAMN ALARM WENT OFF. I WAS SO MAD.
***
I read something somewhere (that I do not really remember and can't link to; thus you cannot prove me wrong...heh) that "gifted" children are statistically more likely to turn into "normal" adults than "gifted" adults. As a former gifted child, I have been thinking a lot about this, and I think I will eventually write a post about it, but so far today I have been distracted by the Grey's Anatomy forums at Television Without Pity. So maybe later.
 |
| In an area of Elk Falls, not far from Campbell River, BC, Rod reflected back on childhood memories splashing around in the refreshing water chiselled into the local rock. A chiselled Brind'Amour holds the Stanley Cup. (Mike Bolt/HHOF) |
The caption? Hilarious.
Also, who knew that Mr. Universe was under the #17?
(From http://www.hhof.com/html/exSCJ06_07.shtml)
I was going to write a real entry -- really -- but that was on Thursday, and then I didn't, and now I don't feel like it.
The puck stopped dropping halfway down...which was the way it was supposed to be. And that was sort of disconcerting. Also, with a sellout crowd (okay, that was tickets sold, not actual fans, but still) DID I REALLY NEED TO SEE WHO I SAW? I think not. It has caused all sorts of angst. And it is not even someone who should cause angst. Very annoying. I mean, if I had not walked in that particular entrance, and then looked back just as I was starting to go up, I wouldn't even have known. Also, it would have been nice if the Hurricanes could have managed to win. Oh well.
Last year, I was very happy at New Year's. New Year's Eve was lovely, and I had stuff that I was looking forward to, and blah blah blah. And then 2006 kind of sucked, with the exception of those two PCL road trips in April and September. Hee! Those were fun! (And I got a decent job, but that sort of cancels itself out, since I HATE DOOK WITH AN UNHOLY PASSION.) So then maybe it is not a bad thing that the celebration to welcome 2007 was decidedly mediocre. Although I do have to admit, so far ... not so good.
This is a cool picture.
However, I call foul. (Or icing. Whatever.) The only people who should get their names on the Cup are the players. You could make a case for the owner, who (presumably) had a hand in assembling the team, but I still think it should just be the players.
Included on this particular list is the name of the media relations director, and I’m sorry, but his name should not be there. And I’m not just saying that because he graduated from Carolina with a journalism degree the same year I did and now he has his name on the Stanley Cup while I’ve been screwed over not once, but twice (at least), by baseball. Clearly I picked the wrong sport, but that’s neither here nor there.
Seriously, though. Just the players. They are the only ones whose names should be on there.
And finally, go Heels.
I think that it is funny there is a song about Tim McGraw, firstly because he's still a current figure, not a historic icon or something like that; and secondly because I do think of somebody when I think Tim McGraw.
-----
Continuing my "Being Meredith Grey" theme, I seem to have misplaced my black panties. The last time I remember having them was in the hotel room in New Orleans, but I don't think any of the guys who paraded through there (only one of whom I did anything with, thank you, except kissing, I did kiss two of them, although actually one I was really drunk and not aware of it, and HE STARTED IT) would have taken them. I'm not sure, though, and that sounds better than if I lost them somewhere boring, like in the course of doing laundry or something...
