Album of the Year

I know, it's a bold claim, it being July and all (well practically August but still), but I am in love. With an album. The album. It makes me feel funny. It makes my stomach flutter. It makes my eyes close. It makes my body full. And the worst of it is, it's old news--record has been out for a while now. But eff it, better late than never.

Since I can't post pics (and yes, I know it's possible but I can't download the software on this computer), you will need to click here to find out what the eff I am talking about.

You should leave your house immediately, go to the nearest music store, and pay any amount of money for this album.

You will not regret it.

So don't touch me, 'cause I'm electric

And if touch me, you'll get SHOCKED (shocked shocked shocked)
 
Last night was karaoke.  I hadn't been in a while, so I gave my friend Brendan a call KNOWING he would be there.  He sounded really pleased that I wanted to come up, and I realized later that I don't know who he would have hung out with if I hadn't been there.  Our circle of pals are just not god-fearing karaoke folk.  Bren opened with his standard Eyes Without a Face by Mr. Idol--my friend Rob sitting next to me pointed out that he kind of sounds like Bill Murray ala SNL lounge singer, and he's right.  I sang Don't Get Me Wrong by le Pretenders, which is fast becoming my signature song.  I like it so.  I kind of wish I would have more energy up there; it's weird, sometimes I get so nervous up there my legs start shaking.  I mean it's effing KARAOKE, and I did theatre for almost 20 years.  Freak.
 
On another note, going out with your guy friend alone probably backfires on the whole wingman theory.

SURPRISE

I went out last night after all.  We won second prize in trivia.  My contributions included identifying the Hispanola as the ship in Treasure Island, that Nolan Ryan had the most career walks, and remembering the cast of Sphere--the last particularly remarkable since I never saw that piece of shit.  It was fun, and I am glad I went.  Got home reasonably earlier, ate a small bite of din, and went to bed.  All in all, a fairly balanced night.
 
I'm going to make it after all!!!!

I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink

I'm soooooo tired, my mind is on the blink.  Hmm, realizing that I haven't listened to that album in a really long time.  No idea where it is.
 
Anyway, the point is that I am very tired.  This is because I have been running around like a madman for about 2.5 weeks now, and on top of that, socializing way too much.  But it's Summer!  So many invites and things to do.  Like tonight, for example, is trivia night.  But I should forgo it, go home and be sensible.  Jury's still out.  Last night was softball, and tomorrow night is softball.  Definitely nothing on Thursday night.  But then it's FRIDAY and the whole sordid lot of debauchery starts all over again.  And while I am having a good time, it's not very healthy, and I just feel weary a lot.  Tired and run-down.  But it's fun.  But tiring.
 
I'm going to have to further weigh the pros and cons and get back to you.

The lowdown on the DL in the ATL

First and foremost, Subway salads SUUUUUUUUCK.  I'm eating one now, and I am not having a good time.  It's watery and flavourless and just all-around crap.   But I was completely starving and I figured this would be better than any other junky shit I would cook up.  Hmm that bite just had a banana pepper in it--salad taste just improved 9000%.
 
So I had my dad in town over the weekend.  It was cool, and I very much enjoy having him around, but the emotionally stunted part of me begins to nic and DT out late night and I found myself ducking out not once, but twice to meet my smoky and drunky friends.  It made me feel like shit, but I did it anyway.  What is my problem?  I'm so effing lame.
 
Anyway, dropped my pop off at the airport and cried like a baby all the way back to the car.  Made the ditching him twice make me feel even more guilty.  Sometimes I think I may be a mental masochist.
 
So I ran into a boy I met a couple of years ago this weekend.  He is very nice and handsome and fun to hang out with.  I made out with him once when on a break with Kev, then got back together and never called him.  Because I am an asshole.  What, how could I be a bigger asshole?  Why, I'll tell you!  He has a kid.  And this is perhaps the most effective Eleanor-repellant around.  Because instead of being a fucking dick and ditching his responsibility, he owned up to his actions and has an active, mature role in his child's life.  And the fucking dick option frightens me less.  I don't know what to do, I had a really good time with him--but have since noticed that I have already thought up 83 reasons why it probably won't work.  K pointed out how difficult it must be for a single parent to date successfully.  So true.  I'm living proof.  God!  Why am I such a jerk?  Why do you even read this shit?

 

finding things in the strangest places

I'm having a bad day.  Last night I picked up my father at the airport, and his plane was late, and I didn't eat and was getting progressively more tired.  Anyway, we are almost home when my mobile rings twice in a row, odd given the hour.  Then a minute later the "check engine" light comes on.  In my brand.  new.  car.  Got home and pulled out the manual, couldn't find a reason why it came on, pissed because I have had the car for a FUCKING WEEK.  One week.  Check the missed calls on the mobile; it's some number I don't recognize.  Then my home phone rings; again, weird because it's about 11:40pm.  Caller ID says it is the same number from my mobile.  I pick it up, say hello, and there is a good 4-5 second pause before the caller hangs up.  But I know the call is meant for me because of the mobile phone calls.  We look up the area code:  Pontiac, Michigan.  The only fucker I know that is from Michigan is Tom, ex-boyfriend of 3 months last year that went freaky on me and stalked me for over four months.  I finally filed a complaint against him and it went to court and the judge signed an arrest warrant on the basis of harrassment.  I hadn't heard from him since January (maybe, I had a weird call in March/April once), and JUST YESTERDAY I was thinking maybe I should go to the sherriff's office to have the warrant, what, deactivated?  I don't know, but figured it had been long enough to drop it.  And then last night.  Plus the car fucking up just putting a glaze of shit over everything.  Not surprisingly, had fitful and unhappy dreams.  I just want it to be over.  I just want not to feel scared anymore.  I want the fist of nausea in my stomach thinking about that situation all over again to go away.  I want a man to be angry about this and protect me.  And I don't mean my dad, although I know he would do his best.  He was being really sweet to me this morning, and I felt like shit that I didn't buy any groceries or clean up the house.
 
Anyway, my HR colleague from Puerto Rico calls this morning about rescheduling a meeting, and I point out that the resked might be a blessing in disguise because of some resources that would be available to us later.  And she says, in her lovely heavy Puerto Rican accent, "You seeee?  Everything has a purrrpose."
 
And I said, "Yes, it does.  Yes, it does."  Now I just have to figure out what it is.
 
postscript:  Well, car dealership just called.  They want me to turn it in tonight, should have everything done by noon tomorrow.  They are going to loan me a Jetta.  Ew.  Sorry to all you Jetta drivers out there, but if you had a new car, you'd be pissed too.

seriously, ya'll

I've had this blog for a while now, but I still don't know in what direction I want to take it.  Up until now, it's been pretty sanitized.  The primary reason for this is that if I start to talk shit about people or post ahem the intimate details of my hedonistic ways, I will undoubtedly eff up,  delightfully drunk and slobbery one night and in a moment of poor judgment refer someone I really don't want to read all about my shizz to my. . . shizz.  On the other hand, it hasn't happened yet.  Not to mention that those events even occurring require quite a large amount of ego on my part, as though hordes of people are lining up outside the proverbial speakeasy to get access to MY BLOG.  Hmm.  That being said, I think I'm going in a different direction with this.
 
I kissed a married man this weekend.  I'm not proud of it, but it happened and that's that.  Actually, it's not.  We messed around, but no sex.  He said he wanted to see me again and asked for my number.  And I effing gave it to him.  It was 5am.  I was drunk.  Fuck!  I thought about this a lot yesterday, as I shuffled around the house in my robe all day.  I weighed the pros and cons, and obviously cons have it.  The pros are few, but I'll mention them anyway.  He is hot.  And funny.  And we get along extraordinarily well.  There is something undeniably romantic about a clandestine affair, bursting with behind the scenes passion and secret encounters.  That's pretty much it for the pro category.  Cons, hello so unbelievably obvious I won't bore you.  Basically, I boiled it down to this.  Not taking his call or returning any messages.  Hoping my passive-aggressive rejection will be enough for him and preclude the need to say something like this:
 
"I fucked up the other night, and I regret what we did.  If I was your wife, I would be devastated, and as a self-respecting woman I refuse to injure another woman any further.  Do not contact me again."
 
I still feel like shit.  I wonder what his wife was doing at the time he was kissing me.  I wonder if he smelled like my perfume when he got home.  I wonder if she knows or suspects.  They don't have any kids, which shouldn't but does make me feel well at least not any worse about it.
 
Well, if it wasn't definitive before, it is now:  I'm a harlot.

No time for the bullshit

First of all, for my WHOA!  Blogger totally changed up a lot of shit, now I have all these fonts and options and shit.  Hmm, can't let this waylay me from my post, since I have now 7 minutes to complete.
 
A)  For my misguided friends who can't stop partying, I offer you this advice.  Having said that, I will admit that I am always the one to quote Shaw with "We can sleep when we are dead."
 
B)  I got my car this week.  I love it.  I call it my baby.  Out loud.  I am very happy, so much so that I feel drugged because of the amounts of seratonin that have been released into my brain over the last couple of days.  Right now, I hear her calling to me from the parking lot:  "Drive me, driiiiiiive meeeee."  Here is what she looks like, but dark grey.
 
Shit, have run out of time.  More lata.
 
FRIDAY!

I hate myself for loving me.

I'm the worst--when people don't update their blogs, I feel let down. I think things like, "Don't they realize how bored and procrastinatey I am today? I need filler!" But then I go and ignore my own blog for 800 days. But you know what? Eat it. I'm not here for you, effers. I'll update my blog when I am good and ready. GOOD AND READY!

And that is we in the biz call a double standard.

Paging Dr. Jung. Dr. Jung, please come to Eleanor's brain. Thank you.

Last night I had a dream that I was driving on a high mountain road with my dad, and I looked over the edge and saw someone intentionally drive their car into a body of water in order to murder their family. I freaked out and said to my dad, what should we do? And he was like, there's nothing we can do, we're too far away to be able to save them or raise an alarm. But then my dream zoomed in on the pond, and the family members that the bad guy was trying to kill were climbing out of the water and turning into horrible monstrous creatures with long, pointy teeth. And I knew that they were going to get him, and I felt like it was deserved.

??????

And no my first name ain't baby.

So I think I'm kind of nasty. Definitely capable of some grossness. But then I read K's shizz and suddenly I feel positively virginal. If you think you can handle it, click here.

breakroom musings

I was just in the breakroom, popping some popcorn for a midafternoon snack. Above the mini-fridge, someone stuck a notice that says, "Remember: Did you put your food into the fridge a week ago? Is that why it is smelling now?" My first judgement was: passive-agressive muthafuckas! Just write, "Get your nasty shit out of the fridge because it be stinking it up!" But upon closer reflection, I know that there are a lot of international people working in that area, and that it is entirely possible that the notice was written on the ESL tip, what with the word choice and syntax and all. In fact, the more I think about it, it seems likely. I have my bets on this German girl I pass often in the hall. And then the passive-aggressiveness can be forgiven, for I am accepting of all types of intercultural communication techniques.

I also had time to clean out my Nalgene bottle, which had been positively stankified by water left in there since Friday. I drank like half of it and then thought, "What's that smell?" It was swampy. I thought I was going to throw up. My stomach did do topsy-turvy growlies about a hour later, but admittedly it could have been psychosomatic.

AND LASTLY. I burned the popcorn. It was weird, normally I set it for 3:33 and it still isn't even done when the time is out. So I put it on 4 mins and at 3:30 it was burning. I kind of like it that way, though, so what do I do? Open the bag and promptly place a burned ass piece in my mouth. It literally SIZZLES my saliva and begins to disintegrate at such a rapid rate that I can't get it out of my mouth quickly enough. I just leant over the trash bin and went ahthhhhh until most of it slithered out. It kind of grossed me out.

But not enough to stop me from eating the rest of the bag!