my head is a box...

I am a writer. Occasionally by profession, sometimes by action, mostly for recreation, I am a writer. I can't predict if writing is going to have anything to do with whatever I end up doing when I become a grown up but I am a writer. As a very great man, Toby Ziegler once said, I don't need paper. Its true. I spend my entire day writing stories and blog entries and just crafting sentances that will someday come out of my mouth and awe the people around me, "So well-spoken," they'll say. Most of the time when I'm staring off into space as you talk to me its because I'm crafting a story of you. Taking the pieces of you I like and making them a better reality which will sit lodged in my brain for a few days until I either a)forget about it or b)write it down (which is super rare--because things rarely sound as good on paper as they do in my head).

So in the past week I had been crafting a sentance. It was a run-on to be quite certain--but run-ons are how I am. I crafted it with a person in mind. I saw his face, blurry in my memory but quite vivid in the reaction I wanted. I cradled this sentace for about 4 days, hoping the situation would arise when I would get a chance to present it to this person.

Fast forward to last night. We start celebratory drinking at 6:30. On an empty stomach. I find that margaritas are quite delicious. Then comes a small dinner, more drinks, a play (which I totally fell asleep during because I'm an asshole- shh, don't tell), more drinks and a stumble out into the street where I pronounce to those listening on this island that I am quite shitfaced.

Then he enters. And I stop thinking. Because that's what boys and alcohol do to me. They make my brain stop. And all of a sudden I'm saying it. My precious baby of a sentace. Its falling out like drool without the appropriate facial gestures or pauses for emphasis.

And he doesn't even react. Well, he does. But not how I want. He laughs at me, doesn't really hear it, brushes it off, argues with the factuality of it (!!!). He acts as though he hasn't heard one of the most well written sentances that are meant to tell him how it is.

Then hugs me, kisses my cheek and walks away.

This is not how I wrote it ending. Which is why you should never drink and write.


**has anyone seen the new dell commercial with the kid and he's picking out the stuff for his computer and there's the song (which is where the blog title comes from)...who sings that and what's it called?? I love it.

Its good to be back.

So, last week on orders from a doctor, I gave up drinking. Completely. Cold turkey. For a whole week and 2 days. When I annonced that this was happening there were a few nay-sayers who were saying...well, they were saying nay. They didn't think that this pint-sized-genetically-disposed-to-alcoholism-girl-who-likes-to-celebrate had it in her to lay off the sauce for a few days. I figured we should solve things like they do it on Nantucket: throw some money at the problem. And so a fifty dollar bet was made, people were thrown in puddles and I took my last sip of Corona in the wee hours of last Friday morning.

Unlike many people who don't drink, I didn't take this as a week where I should stay home and re-evaluate my life, I still wanted to be social. What I didn't take into account is that on Nantucket you're either drunk or you're at home. There isn't so much a crew that's like, "Hey lets drink Fanta and go bowling!" mostly because there is no bowling on this rock out in the ocean. And so I found myself a Sober McSoberson in a see of Drunky McDrunkards. While this made me pretty miserable for most of the week I did learn some things.

1- Drunk people always assume that you are either a)not listening when you ramble at them or b)too drunk to remember anything they say for more than 15 seconds. People will say aaaaaaaaaanything when they are drinking. And most drunk people forget that you are sober and just view you as another convientent sieve for them to throw all their problems in. You will learn many things when you are sober.

2- Drunk people make shitty backseat drivers. I apologize to anyone I ever yelled at when they were driving my drunk ass home because it's really obnoxious to be told you're going to slow. And that you stop too long at stop signs. Designated Drivers are good people. Shower them with love and affection or just sing to the radio real loud like a normal drunkard.

3- The song Sexy Back will make me dance like I am drunk even if I have not had a drink in 6 days. Even if I'm in a car. And driving on cobblestones.

4- Theme parties are really dumb and kind of lame unless you are totally shitfaced.

5- Bartenders give you ridiculous looks when you order straight diet coke. Particularly if they remember you as, "the girl that did 6 shots that one night and then threatened to do a cartwheel on the dance floor."

I am now back to my regularly scheduled program of drinking my brain cells off. Though I think that week did me good, its nice to remember exactly what you did for a full nine days.

please

Will someone please, please buy me this shirt.

Anything with a Saved By The Bell tie-in is really the way to go.

It could happen to you

Everything in your life can be going peachy keen sometimes. Maybe there are a few bumps in your road a few missed exits on your life map, but you can lay awake at night and think, "Yes, being in my twenties is kind of awesome."

Then it happens. It can be anything, a magazine ad, an off-hand comment, a story you hear, a text message... something.

And you realize that even though you can hold your own at the bar, can pay an electricity bill, cashed in your V card, owe money to the goverment, and not even have a curfew... you realize that you are the exact same person you were when you hated yourself the most.

You are the same person now you were in high school. Despite your new found confidence and ability to stand on your own two feet, you are still the acne-ridden, chubby, awkward girl who wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next 10 years.

People might say they grow. And maybe they do. But at some point all the self-loathing and the fear and the pit of your stomach disgust at the face staring back at you in the mirror could come back.

Then what do you do?

there is something wrong with this...

"So how many times had you seen him before that night?"
"Uh. Twice."
"Right, and that added up to..."
"Like 2 hours."
"Do you know his middle name?"
"No."
"Do you know his last name?"
"Uhhhh...no."
"And so you hooked up with him?"
"...he gave me a ride."