CSGL – More thoughts on Online Dating

OK – so I’m trying the online dating thing, again.  Why?  Well, two reasons, really.   No, scratch that – three reasons.   #1 – why the hell not.  #2 – Sitting around moaning about a guy who already has a girl isn’t getting me anywhere and #3 – more than one person recommended I give it another shot, just, you know, Not Craig’s List.    I’m also window shopping for kittens on the internet….. and honestly, those two things are virtually the same activity, except that the kittens have the common sense to avoid the following blunders:

  • “partner in crime” …. Don’t.  Ok?  Just….don’t.
  • People that say that they like all types of music, as in, “I like everything.  Really!” are just afraid of commitment
  • ooohhhh….you have a motorcycle.   Um, NEXT!
  • Why are you posing with a panther in your profile pic?  And also, why did it take me so long to figure out what it was?  (Is that a dog?  Is that a bear?  Wait, it’s a panther, isn’t it?  wow)
  • I get it.  You’re really into making the sexy with the women.   What else are you into, horn-dog?
  • You have more than one photo of yourself in zombie/skull make-up on your dating profile….. You have more than one photo of yourself in zombie/skull make-up on your dating profile ……
  • Punctuation is your friend.
  • Why are there so many pictures of guys on top of rocks on these profiles?   I guess every guy who goes on online dating is a rock climber.   I wonder what the cause and effect is with that?   Which came first – personality test or thrill seeking outdoors-manship?
  • You sent me a poem…a poem you wrote originally for some other broad.   And it’s not even good.   Ugh.

Shoot me.   Seriously.   In the head.

Just sayin’.

CSGL- Weird in the Water

I’ve had enough of this weekend.  It’s a good thing that it’s now going on midnight Sunday, so I can put it behind me.    Have you ever had one of these where everywhere you go, everyone seems to be under some enormous pressure to be as weird as possible?   Maybe one of you will tell me there’s some astrological event happening, and I’ll think it’s a coincidence…..or maybe not.

It all sort of started with me deciding to try to put Object of Crush behind me.  At this point, it seems pretty clear that it just ain’t gonna happen.   I’m ever more aware of the fact that he’s seeing someone else, and I just don’t do that “steal them away” thing.   So, Friday night, out with friends, seeing The Phenomenauts, and there’s this adorable guy that I’ve known for some time, and well, I went for it, only to be slapped with the cold hand of rejection.

SIDE NOTE: I would like to take this opportunity to tell all of my friends who tell me that I just need to let guys know more bluntly that I’m interested and I’ll suddenly be getting my pick of the litter to Eff Off Real Hard!   I now have proof that you are wrong.   I will now go right back to chatting with the bean dip.

Any rate, top that off with a dessert of old friend telling me that some day he wouldn’t be so wrong for me, and when that day came, he was going to come for me, and I better watch out.  (paraphrasing)  He was kind of very drunk, so I don’t know how much truth there was to that, but it was sort of adorable.    And then there was a whole lot of odd directed at Kayphore as well.

In between all these ups and downs, we danced, and that part at least was good.  I still say that dancing is my favorite thing ever.   Moving my body in a rhythm can almost always save me from anything.   Also, sometimes I forget myself, and I dance like no one is watching and that is probably the most free I have ever felt.

Anyway, as I was saying, the evening was weird, so Kayphore and I didn’t waste any time in Busting a Move out of there, and made sure to fall asleep back at her place before any more “fun” could find us.

Saturday evening was even more fun, and involved some serious forced attention on someone dear to me who didn’t want it, some false information being spread about me, and then some bullshit guilt trip forced on me because once again, I did not know where to stand or what to say to just about anyone.   I can’t say it was all bad.   That bit about comparing making out to me with my new braces (oh yeah, by the way, I totally have a mouth full of metal and look even more like I’m half my age now.  Score!) to kissing a toaster was genius.

So, today Kayphore and I decided to make that all up to ourselves with a shopping spree to Ikea.

And then we ate Indian curries, because that’s our idea of comfort food.

So, yeah, so glad that’s over with, and now I get to go back to work tomorrow.

Just sayin’.

CSGL – 30 Days of Summer

I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a narrator.   This voice in my head that tells me what’s happening to me, usually in real time.  (Is it just me?)   Most frequently the voice mimics Jane Austen.    One too many re-treads through Mansfield Park, I think, did me in.    However, the voice does shift from time to time from different influences.   A book I’m reading, a song I like, or a movie I’m watching.   Or, perhaps, the kinds of movies I’ve been watching.

Being as I am spoiled digital rotten, I have a Netflix account with a full DVD and Instant Watch queue.   Lately I’ve been trying to make my way through all the films that were nominated for Oscars that I never did get around to actually going out and seeing.   Also, I’ve sort of become obsessed with documentaries, because you have no idea how much stuff I don’t know.

So, I’ve been sitting here over the last few weeks – and by sitting here, I of course mean laying in my bed – watching lots of poignant shit.   All the while with this Object of Crush in my head  and all the ups, downs, and intrigues of a single girl’s life with single girl friends, and the well-intentioned but off-base remarks from male buds swimming in my overactive imagination.   Well, wouldn’t you know it, but that voice in my head, well it’s a mix of some sort of indie movie heroine and, well, Morgan Spurlock…you know, the guy from Super Size Me, except this is more like his television series 30 Days.

And it’s like there’s a hidden camera crew following me around for a month while I trip, stumble, start, sprint through my life, which though very mundane and not a very good plot for a movie, is somehow being turned into the next best thing since (500) Days of Summer.  (Similar sort of soundtrack, actually.)

But are you ready for the twist?   (There’s got to be a twist, right?)   In my indie-movie-life-documentary, my role….well, I’m certainly too clumsy to be the hip ingenue, aren’t I?    It’s like the bumbling sidekick suddenly became the focus of the film.

It’s totally whacky and zany.   It sure as shit ain’t gonna win an Oscar.   But maybe, just maybe, it could be a darling at Cannes.

Probably not though, I mean, shit the only thing that happens in this movie is the lead character lies in bed on a Tuesday night, while her friends are out bowling, and types on a laptop about the voice she hears in her head saying something like “For the Next 30 Days, PeggyLuWho will toil under the burden of infatuation and anxiety, lose sleep, write more numerous and self-deprecating, naval gazing blogs than she has in the last two years, while trying to keep up with the endless adventures of best mates.  Will she find true love and everlasting frienship?    Will she listen to Regina Spektor or The Shins or Vampire Weekend on her iPod tonight?”

Why does this all sound so much more lovely when it’s happening in my head than it does in black and white on my macbook screen?

CSGL – Girls’ Night Out

After everything that’s been going down, it was a fortunate thing that this last Sunday, Kayphore and Cookie and I had planned a little night out for ourselves.   Of course, we had the typical evening of female bonding and enjoyed the traditional entertainment for such an occasion  …  Professional Wrestling.   WWE Smackdown to be exact.

I am not a regular girl who likes regular things.   I attract other girls with eclectic tastes.   And by eclectic, I do mean, “of course I want to see overly muscled, nearly naked, poorly acting, greased up dudes roll around on the ground with other similar dudes.”   Because really, who doesn’t love that?

Now I know what you’re thinking.   I know because I hear it often enough.    And I hear it often enough that I usually don’t mention that I enjoy the wrestling, like, ever…. to anyone.   This has been a carefully guarded, deep, dark secret for quite some time.   I’ve decided to bring it out into the light and show it off a little, because it really doesn’t make any sense to me that anyone could be befuddled by my enjoyment of such a thing.  I mean, it’s gaudy.   It’s ridiculous.  It’s goofy.  It makes no sense at all.   It’s over the top.  It’s laughable.  It’s horrible.   And damn it’s funny!   I like professional wrestling like I like all those damn Bring It On movies.    And The Cutting Edge franchise, as well.   I’ve paid good money to go see Cool as Ice starring Vanilla Ice.    And I’ve read those damn Twilight books and seen the movies, not because I’m on Team Jacob, or like things that Sparkle, but because they’re just bad.

Why, you ask?   Because I’m a unique sort of person who gets enjoyment out of things that are, by definition, god awful.    I love the things that are so bad that they’re good.  I like not liking them.   I like not being the least bit fooled by the pratfalls of professional wrestling.   I like that Stephenie Meyer can’t  write her way out of a paper bag.   And yet, there’s something about it that’s sort of pure.   I think that what really draws me to Crap is its lack of pretension.    Bring It On is not aiming for high-brow, not trying to win a seat at the cool kids’ table, or looking down its nose at anyone.   It just is what it is, and its ease with itself is infectious.  When you’re watching WWE Smackdown at the Arco Arena, screaming at the Villains and hollering for the Good Guy, well, you can just be who you are.

All the better if you’re able to be with two of your best friends in the world, too.   Two girls who love me for who I am, all my imperfections, my insecurities, my loud mouth, or my quiet, bashful, and nervous times.   The ones who not only understand, but who share a few of my idiosyncracies.

And above all else, they can tell when I’m Acting Normal from when I’m being myself.

Of course I love professional wrestling.   It’s so fake that you can’t help but be yourself when you watch it.

Just sayin’

CSG has A Crush

When was the last time you had a crush on someone?  I mean, really legitimately had a Crush on someone?   Junior High or High School, perhaps?   Well, my 32-year-old ass has got one.  Got it real bad, in fact.

I’m sure this guy has no clue.   Also, I’m about 90% sure that he’s off the market.   And yet, I’m totally dumb for him, and I can’t stop my brain from wandering in his particular direction.   Unwelcome and unbidden thoughts popping into my little brain while I’m trying to go about my life, attempting to be a human being.   It’s really hard to look at HTML when your brain is flashing kissing scenes in your head.    Can I just reiterate that part where this person is oblivious to me?    Maybe if I keep reminding myself, it’ll all go away.  I don’t want to be this stupid.

The thing is, though, that all this stuff, for me, well it’s been awhile.   Let’s think about this.   I’ve been single for almost two years.  Actually, next Saturday will be exactly two years.    So, while I’ve stuck my pinky toe in the dating pool a few times in the last two years, mostly it’s just been a big fat awkward mess.   A mess that isn’t helping my confidence level at all.   I mean, how do I Do This?   How does a Crazy Single Girl let it be known when she wouldn’t mind too terribly at all if you brushed the hair out of her eyes, ran you fingers down her cheeks, lifted her chin…Oh crap.  I’m doing it again.

Anyway, so before a year and 51 weeks ago, I had been with the same guy for over two years.    We started dating a day or two after my previous boyfriend dumped me.  (I don’t recommend this, by the way)   So, in effect, it’s been almost five years, since I’ve played this game, and I am having trouble getting back into it.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, how do you let someone know that you have been thinking about him.  Thinking about him more than just a little, but rather a lot actually.   And I’d like to spend more time with him.  Listen to him talk about anything.   To sit him and stare into his blue eyes. (of course they’re blue)    How do you even begin to tell someone all that, you know, without sounding like a complete nutter?

The answer is, you don’t.   There’s no way to dive into all that without coming across as a stalker.   So, the question is, how do you start?  Where do you start?   What do you say that will eventually lead the conversation in that direction?   I wouldn’t even know where to begin.   And I don’t want to be an ass, assuming that I’m right and he is off the market.

And so, you see, I have a silly crush, and I don’t know what to do about it, and even if I did know, I shouldn’t do anything about it.

Just sayin’.

CSGL – An Evening of Little Disappointments

As I am a bit nutters and also completely single, I decided a while back that what I really wanted was to be left utterly alone on Christmas.   With a house full of housemates, it didn’t seem that would happen if I stayed home.   Going to my parents for the holidays was out of the question, as Washington between December and February is impossibly cold for me, and also, what I wanted was to get away from some of my responsibilities, not be surrounded by them.  So, I settled on spending just one night, Christmas night in a hotel.    And the more I thought of it, the more I thought that a rather nice hotel would be, well, nice.    And upon consulting my memory of some of the nicer hotels I had ever stayed at, only one stood out in the area.   This hotel was where a friend had been married several years ago, and I stayed over night, and thought it was very nice indeed.   I confessed my plan to this one friend alone, and she said she thought it was a lovely idea, and pointed out that they have suites with fireplaces and very yummy room service.   I began day dreaming of myself in pajamas and a robe, reading Austen in front of the fire, and ordering in a decadent dessert.   So indulgent, I know, but I rarely get the opportunity to really spoil myself.    And since my credit card is already straining under the burden of my new transmission, I figured a few more pennies worth of debt couldn’t hurt.   After all, the only thing I really wanted for Christmas was an exceptionally warm bath and bed for an evening.   To be left all on my own to read a book or three, and also to have a hot fudge sundae.    It sounds perfect, doesn’t it?

I arrived at the earliest check in time, eager for my leisure to begin.  I asked the desk person, as he was checking me in, about room service.  I suspected that there could be some issue with it, since it was a holiday, and all.   He said that they might be serving a limited menu, but he didn’t know for sure.   I thought it was odd that he wouldn’t know for sure.   However, it didn’t seem like it would be a complete lack of service, but rather that they might not be serving everything on the regular menu, so I didn’t think much about it.    He finished checking me in and gave me my keys and I was on my way.

I walked into the room, and set down my things.   I immediately went to the fireplace, and found on the mantle a framed note that said that the fireplace was out of service.  Oh no!   What the?   Why didn’t they mention this when I checked in?  I immediately called down to the desk to find out if there was anything to be done about that.   They said that they would send a service guy around to check it out.   He came in, took a look at the note, and declared that it must be out, but that he didn’t know anything about it.   He called the front desk to have them arrange to put me in a different room.   Then he handed me the phone.    I was told by the man at the desk, the same who had checked me in, that there was no other room available with the fireplace, and that the room they had originally planned to put me in was being occupied by another guest whose reservation had ended, but that had decided to extend.   So they got my room with my fireplace, and I got this one without.   I asked him if there was something to be done to make up for my inconvenience, a credit to be given or anything, and he said that since I got the room I booked, fireplace or not, there was nothing to be done.  He said it rather rudely, actually.

I was rather disappointed, but I didn’t know what to do.   I figured since I had already paid for the night, and was already there, I would go ahead and try to make the best of it.  I decided to take a hot bath and crank up the heat in the room to make up for the lack of fire.   I set the thermostat to 75 and took my toiletries to the bathroom.   I was really looking forward to the bath, since I don’t get to take them at my house, but that’s when I discovered, to my dismay, that the stopper in the bathtub did not work.   I suppose I could have reported this to the front desk, but after they were so helpful about the fireplace . . . .   I took a very long, very hot shower instead, put on my jammies, and wrapped myself in the hotel bathrobe.   I sat myself down in the chair in my room (no foot stool) and dove into the large stack of books I had brought along.

It wasn’t long before I realized that the room wasn’t really warming up like I would expect it to, considering that the heat was cranked, and I could hear that the fan was running at intervals.  I investigated the heating vent, putting my hand in front of it to see how warm the air was.   That’s when I realized that the vent was pointed up at the vaulted ceiling.   No wonder it wasn’t warming up!   All the hot air was being directed to the ceiling 20 feet above my head.    That’s when I found myself on a chair, redirecting the vent so that the air was blowing into the room.   I put the chair back, and then cranked the heater up even higher to about 82.

Then, as I was reading, I began to nod off.   I decided a nap was in order.   The bed, at least, was very comfortable.   It was a King, though, as that is the only size available with the fireplace.  I didn’t care in the least that it was a king sized bed.  I’m just one gal.  I would have been just as comfy in a full or queen bed, so the bed didn’t really make up for the other lacking amenities.

When I got up from my nap, I was getting a little hungry, so I decided it was time to investigate room service.   I called down, and was told that they were only serving the late night menu.   This menu consisted of a meat and cheese plate, a chicken caesar salad, a hand-carved turkey sandwich with applewood smoked bacon, or a trio of sorbet or ice cream.   Not only were they not serving any of their regular dinner menu, but also none of their regular desserts.    I wasn’t in the mood to go out, so I decided to just go with the turkey sandwich, since the bacon did sound nice.   I have recently begun eating bacon again without being overwhelmed by the flavor.   A short time later, my sandwich arrived.   It was indeed hand-carved turkey, but it was cold and served on a hamburger bun with lettuce and tomato only.  NO bacon.   Also it was served with Lay’s potato chips.   Lame.   And with tax and service fee, it came to $20.

I ate my sandwich, read my books, wrote in my journal, and then went to bed.    When I woke up in the morning, I decided to take full advantage of my time I had paid for, and to not check out any earlier than I needed to.   I took another long hot shower, and got dressed and ready.   As I was getting ready, I noticed that the bill had been slipped under my door, so I picked it up and took a look.   In addition to my $20 sandwich, there was also a $10 overnight parking fee, which I had not been told about when I checked in.    It just kept getting worse.

Finally, at about 11:30 I went down to check out.   I asked to speak to the manager.   Thankfully, as I was explaining how the desk attendant from the night before had said that nothing could be for me about the fireplace, she seemed mortified, and began apologizing profusely.   I didn’t even really get to the part about the bathtub or the bacon-less sandwich.   She took care of my bill for the room service and parking fee, but said that since I had booked and pre-paid for the room using Orbitz, there was nothing she could do about the fee for the room.   She offered me a voucher for breakfast in their restaurant.   At first I declined, but then the thought of some pancakes or hot oatmeal and tea did sound nice, so I accepted the voucher.

I took my bags out to my car and then went to the restaurant, where the hostess told me that they were no longer serving breakfast – no pancakes.   She said that she would check to see if they could get me lunch instead.   I waited in the lobby, and as I did, I noticed that the voucher said that it did not cover gratuity.   I really didn’t want to spend any money, even on a tip, at that point.   Then I overheard a man say to the hostess as he was leaving that his family had just received the worst service he’d ever seen in the restaurant.  That was the final straw for me, so I told the hostess that I was not going to have lunch after all, and I got the hell out of there.

So much for my nice little treat to myself.   I could have taken a bag lunch to the Best Western and had just as nice of a time for a fraction of the cost.

Just sayin’.

CSGL – Waking Up In Last Nights Makeup

I just got up about an hour and a half ago, with full shadow, liner, and mascara.   (Seriously, if you have issues with shadow wearing off or creasing, try Urban Decay’s Eyeshadow Primer Potion and also their eye-liner doesn’t budge.  OK – enough with the unsolicited cosmetics commercial.)  I tumbled straight into bed this morning sometime around 3:30 – exhausted, sticky, sore, and passed out.   So, as you can see, last night was epic.

Hepcat, one of the most amazing bands I know, played at Slim’s in San Francisco last night.   Despite the fact that they didn’t play my favorite song (again) their set was still beautiful and reminded me, as it always does, what love feels like.   There’s just simply no way for me to feel like there is anything wrong with the world while I’m dancing at a Hepcat show.  And boy did I dance.   And dance.   And dance.   Surrounded by so many of my friends and favorite people, such enthralling harmonies, heart stopping horn work, and a crazy laid back grove, how could I not.  Thankfully I had the right shoes on, and apparently the right make-up, as well.

Then we of course had to stop by Crepes-a-go-go.    It’s like the icing on the cake of a great show at Slim’s.   A handheld tomato, cheddar, avocado crepe at 1:00 in the morning is just the thing to set you right after hours of good times.    But the night didn’t end with my crepe.   We then made our way down the block to Ooh-La-La, a sixties DJ dance night.   More dancing!  We were also joined at the club by some of the members of Hepcat, and got to spend some more time with them.   I also ran into a friend who I  hadn’t seen in quite some time, and he did not recognize me – me and my silly ever changing hair color.  We danced until the music got weird, too psychedelic to really groove to.   Then we took what seemed like another hour to say goodbye to everyone.  Many hugs all around, before limping back to my car for the ride home.

We all made it home safe, and then I collapsed.

That was an amazing night, and I felt very happy to be there, to be dancing, to hug everyone, and to just be living my sometimes crazy little life.

Just sayin’.

CSGL – Still Stalked After All These Years

(I wrote this about a month ago, after I received a disturbing email.  At the time, I thought that acknowledging bad behavior would only encourage it.   Now, my thoughts have changed.  Enjoy.)

If we haven’t talked in almost two years, and you’re still using my name to get backstage at shows, well, that makes you a psychotic bastard, in my book.   You wanted out of my life.   Stay out.   Leave me alone.  Leave my friends alone.    Don’t lie to people and say that you know me just so that they’ll hang out with you.     That’s pathetic.   And considering that you already told the whole world that you never loved me via the internet, that you lead me on for years while I made my life around you, basically admitting you’re a worthless sack of shit and a miserable excuse for a human being, I wonder that you even bother trying to keep up appearances.

You’re a douchebag.

Just sayin’.

CSGL – Just Another Friday Night

Friday evening, Hepcat played with Flogging Molly at The Fox in Oakland.  It was my first time seeing a show there.   Kayphore came with me, and we spent a lot of the time during the opening act discussing our new band, what kind of band we want to be, and how we would like to get it off the ground.

However, before I had gone out on Friday, I had slipped into my I Don’t Give A Shit Attitude.   So I feel as though I may have some amends to make.

To the German girl who’s feet I absolutely clobbered while dancing to Hepcat – I’m really sorry.   I’m almost as sorry that I don’t speak a lick of German, and so couldn’t even express my regrets to you.

To all the people I wrote on – you’re probably realizing now that that was a medical grade marker that I was using.   I nicked it from the hospital when my dad had his surgery.   It’s not washing off is it?   Sorry about that.

To the guy who I made buy me that drink because he interrupted my conversation twice – your girlfriend didn’t seem to happy when she found us talking at the bar.   Sorry about that.    I hope you’re not in too much trouble.

To the guy I called “sweetheart” on the street – I don’t normally behave so informally towards strangers.   I’m sorry . ..  but seriously, call me.

Uh, and too anyone else who might have been offended or startled by my frankness, my verbal diarrhea, or my complete lack of any kind of internal censor, I apologize.

Just sayin’.

CSGL and the Chamber of Freakishly Weird Dreams

I’ve been at my parents’ house for a week now.   My dad is going to be having his tumor removed on Friday.   Since he’ll be in the hospital for at least a week, and my mom does not drive, I’m here to help out.   My company has graciously allowed me to work remotely while I am staying with my parents, which is very cool.   I’m not burning through PTO while I’m here.

So what am I up to?   Well so far I’ve just been working, driving my folks around, and reading.   Reading the tail end of the Chronicles of Narnia and starting the Harry Potter series.    I’ve also seen more than my fair share of ESPN’s various programs and many episodes of MASH.   What can I say, but it’s what Dad likes.

It’s pretty odd being here, at the folks’ place, as I’ve never lived here.   This is my parents’ retirement home in Washington.  They moved in about three years ago.   I’ve visited quite a few times, but it had been over a year since I had been here last.  So, while it’s my parents’ home, and I’ll always be welcome and free to make myself at home, it’s not my home.   I don’t know where things belong in the house, and I don’t know my way around the neighborhood very well.

So, I don’t know whether it’s the stress of the situation, the strange surroundings, or my reading material of late, but I’ve been having some very strange dreams.    Dreams about just about everything and everyone.   The happy couple redoing their wedding, because they decided they wanted a much more formal affair.   My house being home invaded while only myself and one roommate were home, and the robbery being done by a girl I went to Junior High with.    My teenage self being told by my parents that they were expecting another baby.  A friend’s bed being full of random strangers, one of whom was very angry with me for being better liked than her.   And finally last night, Nova doing everything in his power to try to keep me from going to sleep, even though I was really exhausted.

So, I wonder what I’ll be dreaming tonight.   But before I get to bed, I’ve got to find out what’s going to happen to Harry Potter next.   My guess is that there’s going to be some stressful scenario where he could either die or be expelled from Hogwarts.  I mean, as far as I can tell, that’s the whole plot of the entire series.   Of course, I’m only on the second book.   I’m not too fond of these constant traumas, though.   Why doesn’t that idiot just go tell Dumbledore?  Geesh.

OK, yes, I am a nerd.

Just sayin’.