The Corpse Pose

beginning, middle, end, and begin again. part deux.

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Sun, 03 May 2009 23:05:00 +0000

there was a sudden fall of rain. there was a lot of rain. a warning interrupted the movie i was watching. Rachel Getting Married. but the sky here was clear. the rain was counties away. and then there was a lot of rain, and there were sirens. i live across from a fire station. there were sirens alerting the neighborhood that somewhere hearts were breaking.

i was safely inside. but my heart was breaking.

we tried again.

it took nine months. i wasn't sure i wasn't still mad. it was 3 am, and i was drunk. drunk at 3 am you can forgive most things. even forget about nine months, and the 5 before then. or the 6 before them. the chapters, i guess. or maybe a series. a trilogy. the raise, the fall, the aftermath.

and then there was the prequel.

it was like we were strangers. but we were also too familiar. we had seen the other three episodes, but we were starting at the beginning.

i had bad dreams that first night. wouldn't let you hold my hand. i put my hands in my pockets to keep warm. or out of reach. or both.

you paid for dinner. you gave me options, but you didn't make me choose. you knew i didn't enjoy being the one to make the decision. making the decision means you have the responsibility when the meal is bad. the service is poor. the bill too expensive. the decision maker goes home with the guilt.

i didn't make the decision a year ago either. you had to be the one to say it. the one to say it was over.

i kept calling. mostly i listened to your voice mail.

your voice mail greeting is still the same now. i hear it and it hurts my heart. you used to work late. you wouldn't answer the phone. sometimes i would fall asleep and wake up hours later, trying again. you wouldn't be working then. restaurants close at midnight. i accused you of sleeping with other women then too.

i don't remember the pain then. we kept in touch. you still called me beautiful. you told me you had loved me. i didn't want to hear that then.

you were coming to visit. every time we did talk, you would tell me you were coming back to visit. i mostly called when i was drunk. getting ready to go out, to meet someone knew, move on. i wanted to hear the way you used to run your fingers through my hair, tangling it, in your voice, the familiarity, before the strangers and the smoke and the vodka had their way with me. tossing me through another dark night of cold fingers and untangled hair.

you were coming to visit. it was july. you would come in august.

i was in California at the time. San Diego for my grandparents sixtieth wedding anniversary, steeling wireless internet from the neighbors. and then there were the photos.

there are some things a woman knows. there are some things a woman just knows. i knew.

i sent you a message. i needed you to know that i knew.

you didn't understand. and then you did.

there was a call. i hit ignore. i didn't have your number saved. even now, i don't have your number saved. you left a message. i was sitting on the back porch reading a book, looking out onto the charred side of a mountain from fires the fall before. i remember telling you about the fires. i remember being scared. scared for the memories, mementos, the vanity i wanted for my own house one day. but my grandparents were okay, safe. three houses on their street burned. i walked to the end of the block to watch the construction workers rebuilding what had been lost.

your message. you understood. you were going to tell me in august. while you were staying with me, in august, you were going to tell me about her. the other her. the new me. while you were staying with me in august you were going to tell me about the her that replaced me.

her ass was bigger than mine.

i hit 9. delete. the same for you. you stayed away.

nine months later i was drunk. i had been drinking and there is no good reason why i called you but i did. i was laying on Caroline's couch, no, i was passing out on Caroline's couch. it was 3 am and i felt like forgiving someone. there were only 2 options. you won.

i was full of Waffle House hashbrowns. the last time i at Waffle House hashbrowns was with you. maybe it was the smell of the grill, fried eggs, and the smoking section that put me in a forgiving mood. we had been on our way back from Auburn. technically we were broken up at the time. thanksgiving weekend. you met my mother, brought wine to the house, ate leftover sweet potatos.

so i called. i didn't have your number saved, except in my head. you didn't answer. i don't know if you were sleeping, awake, in or out, in someone else's bed, or your own.

i woke the next day, in my own bed, the sound of the phone ringing. your number flashing on the screen.

it wasn't good talking to you. you weren't happy to talk to me. you didn't apologize. you didn't tell me you loved me.

i was cold.

and then it was the beginning again. and i was going to be there anyways, for work. so you picked me up at the airport. you met me there, and we took the train into the city. i was nervous and you were wearing a leather jacket i had never seen before and didn't like. you looked foreign. i didn't realize i was nervous until i searched for the sign to baggage claim. but i wanted to be taken care of. i wanted someone else to make the decisions. i wanted you to make the decisions.

i didn't let you hold my hand, but i don't know if you wanted to, i didn't make it available. you pulled my bag behind you. carried it up the 3 flights to your apartment. there were hardwood floors and the couch i made you buy. the leather one, that looked like it wouldn't be, but was comfortable, even though the backs of my legs stuck to the leather with sweat. we'd sat there before, had a conversation about how you wanted to be something, but you couldn't be anything, to me. i helped you drive the couch to Chicago, where it sat now, on the hardwood floor.

we slept like strangers that night. me on the drivers side, you on the passenger. i drooled on your pillow. you got up early in the morning to pee. i rolled over to your side. the whole night i had dreams about you and other women. all of the other women who weren't me that had existed, lined up in a row. i had dreams of you with her. the other her you were going to tell me about when you were staying with me in august. i woke up and i wanted you to kiss me.

and then it was the beginning again. and you held my hand, even though it was cold.

but i was hurt. hurt by you and by things you never knew that had nothing to do with you. i cried most of the second night. cried hard. the white hotel pillow black with mascara. i left similar stains on your pillows before. i could never wash it off enough.

i didn't tell you, but i cried because i thought you were high. i still do think that you were high that night. you were acting funny and your eyes were red. i was sitting in bed. if i reached out my arm i could touch you. you were miles away. so i cried.

you apologized, for everything. told me you had made a mistake. that you didn't know then. that you know now. you were not very specific, but i didn't need you to be. at the time.

i told you i loved you the next night. i had six martinis. i only remembered saying it like you remember a dream. i had to ask you the next morning.

you are leaving again. selling the couch, the hardwood floors. you are leaving again. i told you i loved you and you said nothing back. i told you i loved you again in the morning so you didn't think it was the vodka. i told you more times after that. you said nothing back more times. and you are leaving.

you are leaving. i asked you to stay but you said no. you asked me to wait.

i want to leave with you. i am confused and lost and hate it here, where i am right now. you are not here, but that's not why i hate it. i want to leave with you in a hurry. let you make the decisions. let you run your fingers through my hair. you told me you didn't like my hair this way. you asked why i cut it when it was so pretty long. you said you wanted to have kids with me. you wanted them to have my eyes. and my hair, but only when it is long, i guess. i want them to have your nose.

i liked seeing the future. knowing what it could look like. knowing what it could sound like. and taste like. i wanted to dock my aimless ship onto your plans and let them carry mine away.

you asked me to wait. but i can't wait for you and you say nothing back.

april has been good to us and goodbyes.

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 12:48:00 +0000

it shouldn't hurt.

i didn't like him anyways. right?

but then he walked on the outside, the side where the cars come and jump the curb. he would get hit first. he had no reason other than something his father taught him as a child in Brazil, but he would risk his life to protect mine, given the choice. and he told me he hoped our kids had my eyes. i was ready to talk about the future like "we" would exist in it to escape the present, nothing but a waiting room for an appointment i haven't made yet.

i hoped our kids had his nose. and his skin, the kind of olive that turns bronze at the first touch of spring.

keyword: understated. courtesy of lepiaf.geo

he would take care of me. wash under my arms and put his hand on the place where my backbone was getting weak. run his fingers through my hair until he fell asleep first.

so instead, i got mad. because that's what i did before and it seemed to work. i got mad at nothing at all, but i was very hurt and offended by it. i made him feel small, because i felt smaller. he has the whole world in his purview. i have the distance between tear stained pillows and the office with a door and a window.

he said, 'wait for me,' and i am still considering complying. but only if he'll teach me Portuguese, and doesn't get mad when i leave my clothes on the bathroom floor or if i decide to keep my bangs through the summer.

here i am with a heart i never expected to be holding and another one broken. shattered a little bit more every time we've said goodbye like it was the last time.

april has been good to us and goodbyes.

presenteeism

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 04:11:00 +0000

its 12:11am.

i should be asleep, because right now is the time that i do the only other thing i do besides go to work: sleep.

in 6 hours i'll wake up and do. it. all. over. again.

i am completely underwhelmed by the fact that i am overwhelmed at work. there are not enough hours in the day, there are not enough hands, or brains, or gigabites in my memory card.

i am 23 burnt out, almost praying to be fired because i'm doing a bad enough job to warrant it, but so busy doing a good enough job is essentially impossible.

i am at my 'dream job', that gives me nightmares every night.

i have lost my personality to deadlines and crop marks and em dashes and inbox(234). lost my friends to line breaks and paper stock and typefaces. lost my passion to client feedback and re-grouping and getting on the same page.

i dream only of work, and the things i forgot to do yesterday, and can't forget to do today. i sit straight up from a dead sleep because of an e-mail abandoned in my draft folder, or a comma left out of a sentance.

i walk on eggshells and try to keep my game face on.

i avoid calls from my family.

i avoid the truth.

i should be thankful to be one of the few people employed. and not just employed. busy. but even writing this the words seem jumbled, trains of thought wandering back to production schedules and invoices and trying to keep everyone from realizing i have no effing clue what i'm doing.

i should be thankful for every day that i don't have to ask myself: what is it that i could be doing that would really make me happy? times and economies like these aren't about being happy.

they're about holding your breath as long as possible underwater so the pressure doesn't kill you before the smoke clears.

miss me?

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 20:58:00 +0000

1. yes, i am alive (read: barely alive)
2. i'll write something compelling and rich at some point this weekend since all of my plans for another invigorating weekend of physical activity outdoors has been waylayed by rain. it will be entertaining and will give you a renewed faith in me as a person on the planet (or something like that)

please standby. thank you in retrospect for your patience.

in the meantime, there are rumors that Joaquin Pheonix will be rapping at a bar nearby. if you're not busy doing anything else right now, pray that it's true. otherwise, get enough PBR tallboys in me and i'll be rapping.

the fall-out, or more specifically, the lack thereof

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 07:00:00 +0000

i spend a significant amount of time tonight trying to figure out how to follow up my previous post with some context. commentary on how i felt when i clicked over to the 'Google Mail - Inbox(1) - hoppsterblog@gmail.com' tab, expecting to find a compelling offer from AirTran Airways Net Escapes or Overstock.com, and finding that e-mail staring back.

but as hard as i've try to produce an emotion. i got none.

i'm all out.

i had thought of that moment, in passing sometimes. but never really expected it to happen. afterall, i put the full-stop on that relationship with 'please don't call or e-mail me anymore'. i never truly expected that would be interpreted as, 'e-mail me in 2 months on valentine's day, please.'

not that the particular e-mail in question was weighted with any emotion from which to conjure a response. i've crafted more thoughtful e-mails to get an appointment with my gynecologist.

i thought there would've been something. shortness of breath. tears welling behind my eyes. nausea. vomiting.

i could barely muster a pained look on my face.

even phone calls to my friends, trying to pull emotion out of them since my own reaction was seriously failing to live up to my expectations, left me feeling flat.

i was even bored by Hannah's suggestion to threaten a restraining order. clearly that isn't warranted in this situation, but i couldn't even get mad enough to want to.

i have literally nothing to say.

and i've never been so happy to be speechless in my life.

e-mail: archived.

the end.

Subject: Hey!

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 00:12:00 +0000

To: hoppsterblog@gmail.com
From: muscleman@douchebagonwheels.com
Date: Saturday, February 14, 2009, 11:37AM
Subject: Hey!

How are you? We ought to get together soon for lunch or something...

Hope you're doing great!

MM

sent from mobile device

...

discuss.

(i archived the e-mail immediately. have yet to respond.)

ode to both sides of my bed

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 06:45:00 +0000

today's blog post coming atchya with a side of bacon

i have decided i should start dating again.

i like how i say that like i made a conscious effort to not date. like opportunities presented themselves, and i was like 'naw, i'm cool.'

i have been single for pretty much 6 months now. albeit i was still accidentally sleeping with MM until 2 months ago, but its about time i stop pretending like i just got dumped and start acting like i'm ready to have my heart broken again.

i am not desperate for a relationship. i'm not on the prowl. i don't get all dressed up to go out hoping tonight will be the night i meet 'mr. right now'. i can barely convince myself to go out at all. i enjoy my free time. almost to an extent that is worrying. sometimes i go out just so i can come home an re-appreciate the quiet.

other reasons i enjoy being a party of one:

1. i have become fond of both sides of my bed, and now cherish each for there separate purposes: the right side for when i want to take sleeping very seriously; the left for early morning napping, dozing and reading.

3. i don't have to consider someone else's feelings before i change the channel on tv.

4. i don't have to make up excuses as to why i don't want to hang out with my friends in a way that doesn't make them think i'm becoming 'one of those girls' who abandons all their friendships immediately following the first date. (instead i have to make up excuses as to why i don't want to hang out with my friends so they don't think i've become a recluse. oh, but i have.)

5. i don't have to feel bad about expelling all of the deepest and darkest and most embarrassing parts of our relationship in my weblog to people all over the internets.

6. no one is a better driver than me.

7. it is perfectly acceptable for me to go to concerts and let strangers man-handle me (or lovingly stroke my hair)

8. i can donate the portion of my disposable income that was set aside for razors, shaving cream, waxing, etc. to all of my new hobbies (ie. the ridiculously expensive road bike i am about to buy)

9. if i feel like eating nothing but brussel sprouts for a full week straight, well by god i'm going to do it.

10. lady gaga 'just dance' is my new favorite song and i am going to play it on repeat for at least 2 car rides a day. if i trade it off with anything, it would be 'poker face.'

this song is what 'genie in a bottle' always hoped it could be

11. also, i won't have to avoid any of the songs i love right now later because they 'remind me of him' or 'that one time in the car when we drove to target so i could pick up the new Orla Keily plates but then we ended up getting a bagless vacuum for him instead.'

12. i can get have legit bangs. and even if i don't like them, and no one else really does either, other people will say they do, but no one will see what they really look like in the morning before 15 minutes with a flat iron and an exercise in patience.

13. the fact that i didn't have toilet paper (or kleneex) at my house for 3 full days is something that only bothers me. yes, i had to make the tough decision as to whether or not it was worth the risk of clogging my pipes and using paper towels or holding it until i got to the office, but at least no one else had to know about it.

14. i can spend a whole night recording my voice in Garage Band over 'instrumental' versions of my favorite songs, and then craigslist 'female vocalist wanted' like i have potential.

15. i have made it 6 months (or 2, depending on whether you go by metric or imperial) and i have neither shriveled up nor died of loneliness. if i have done it once, i can do it again, dammit. and that's something very few women in my family can say.

there were times back when i was making new years resolutions (which never happened, bee tee dub), that i said i would resolve to be single for all of 2009. turns out, however, that i am a girl that believes in fate. that people are brought together for a reason. and eventually that reason is for keeps. and who i am i to put on my hater blockers to fate?

...

in other news, my married-guy-friend at work is trying to set me up with one of his good friends. he's at least 10 years older than me. obviously, i'm interested.

harry potter and the chamber of full-blood princesses, part deux

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 06:19:00 +0000

so you met the characters in the following story a few days ago. and by now you on the edge. of. your. seat. waiting to find out what the heck is going to happen now.

will HP and Voldemort get into fisticuffs over Hermione, or even better, me? will Hermione grow a personality and become my best friend? will Volde take a shower? or clean his clothes?

all of the above are strong possibilities, but i guess you'll just have to read on to find out.

...

so obviously, HP and I had a great time that one night.

and then thanksgiving came. and went. exchanges between the two of us were cordial, flirtatious, light.

eventually he started talking about 'we'. 'we' saw that movie. 'we' started helping innercity kids at this community center. 'we' did this. 'we' did that. the only problem was, the other half of 'we' was not 'me'.

the more 'we-ing' that was going on, the more it was becoming the elephant in the room. clearly he was 'we-ing' out with someone else, someone that he didn't want me to know too many specifics about.

i finally asked one day.

'oh, just my friend Hermione' he said.

oh, okay. your friend. you have lots of friends that also happen to be girls. oh yeah, i remember her, from the 4th of july party you brought me to. the one where i knew no one, and there was a nazi with a clipboard bossing us through beer olympics until it wasn't fun anymore. wait, Hermione was the one with the clipboard? didn't she also have a whistle? man she was bossy. i mean...that's cool, she seems...fun.

after that her name kept coming up. with a frequency that was making me uneasy.

true, i didn't expect our one night make out sesh to turn into a 3 year LTR, but maybe i did. at the very least, i did not expect him to be full-blown seeing someone else. that would be ridiculous. anyone in a for-serious relationship would not take another girl to a show on a random thursday night. that simply would not make sense. if he was dating someone else he wouldn't be having nights like that with the likes of me.

and if he was dating someone else, he would at least choose someone that could match, if not beat, me in a witt-off.

i felt like an idiot. and mostly, a very silly girl. afterall, regardless of what i tell you or anyone else, that night meant something to me. and if it didn't turn into anything else, at least i wanted to hold that one night sacred. and i hoped that he would. after all, there were very good reasons for the story to end there, but i at least wanted it to end purely. perfectly. not knowing that at the same time as we were out choreographing dances...with our tongues...there was someone else, texting him, just to check in.

he probably told her i was Ron Weasley, when really i was me.

i put pieces together, from the fragments of understanding floating around the workplace. everyone knew they hung out in more-than-friends capacity. but everyone also new he avoided the g-word like the plague. regardless of the holes in stories and gray lines, i went ice cold. i took many steps back. i went professional relationship on his ass.

i felt betrayed. obviously. mostly because i thought the world of him. and didn't want to have to change my way of thinking. and because i thought he thought enough of the world of me to at least keep me out of a mess like that.

and then he brought her to the company holiday party (ctrl + f + 'bfwii'). slapintheface #1. but obviously me being the classy lady that i am (no laughter there please), took it all in stride. read: held dullest dialog in life - no really, i wrote about it there.

then he brought her to the sunday wedding of one of our coworkers (that was held at a bar, read: my ideal wedding). and invited me over to his new house beforehand to pre-game the wedding (afterall, it was at a bar). a pre-game of three - HP, Hermione and me. slapintheface #2. i was honestly relieved when Volde showed up to relieve the pressure.

to shorten the story, he spent the majority of the evening bouncy balling between the two of us. he would bounce over to her, and become uber-dull not-boyfriend. and bounce over to me and become uber-fun, dancing with me, taking a zillion photos in the photobooth with me, trying to convince me to Blue Light with him, etc. then bounce back. it went on like that until she decided he was too drunk, and took him home.

by too drunk, she meant kissing my cheek.

the photos from the night are priceless. truly. and only serve as evidence to the relationship that should be. and the one that shouldn't.

i have seen the look his eyes shone on me in those photographs only once before. MM looked at another girl that way. and that was when i knew before i knew that it was the end. 2 days later, it was over.

so why am i bringing this story out of the woodwork now? mostly because i am ready for some neutral party perspective (well, as neutral as a party can be after being won over the by the magic of the previous 1,000 words).

recently i have maintained a cordial distance. no one-on-one hanging out. no texting outside of work. minimal gchatting inside the workplace. etc. i guess you could say i am 'waiting it out'. 'letting him come to me'. 'going batshit crazy'. whichever way you want to phrase it.

but now what? the elephant is still very much in the room. and i can't stomach more faux friend outings or encounters with Hermione. i can't be the other girl. but i also can't walk away from something that is so right i can't understand why it isn't. i can't ignore the potential.

but i cant just stay in limbo either. i mean it happened. it is still happening, in little ways, all the time.

and the worst part is that i feel bad for the girl. because she is soooo to HP what i was to MM. easy. available. demanding nothing, but also getting nothing. sitting by patiently, thinking that just because he's got his arm around you, he doesn't mean it when he says he doesn't want to 'get serious'. and when he breaks her heart, he will break her. and he will never know the breadth or depth.

as much as the girl underwhelms me to tears, my heart can't help but break a little for her, every time he grabs my hand and runs off to do another keg stand at his Super Bowl party.

...oh wait...thats like chapter 3.

anyway, i think i brought this all up because i wanted your advice. so bring it on bitches. i'm not sure on what part really. but probably just waiting for someone to kick me in the babymaker and say 'eff HP, and his magic flying broomstick thingy' or maybe 'wait it out, if its meant to be, it will be', or 'wait, has Volde showered yet?' (answer: no).

....

in other news, i almost accidentally took a roadtrip to nashville on the tour bus of the opening band from the country concert i went to on saturday night. rock of love bus you've got nothing on me. i also let a stranger feel on my booty from the first riff of the second set to the last cymbal crash of the encore. i don't know his name. he doesn't know mine. i'd call that a first perfect date.

harry potter and the chamber of full-blood princesses, part un

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 07:35:00 +0000

my 14 year old sister is a) the light of my life b) reading shakespeare in her 9th grade english class.

as she was complaining to me over instant messenger, i was reminded of when my dad used to read the plays (macbeth, hamlet, much ado), assigned reading for my 9th grade class, aloud in the living room while i lay on the couch staring at the ceiling, struggling to pay attention on the words he was reciting, and not one or the other of the boys i was hopelessly crushing after.

but this only happened on tuesdays. tuesdays and every-other weekends were the joint parts of our custody arrangement.

that is a memory i don't want to forget. i'll keep it here, for now.

my sister is so lucky to have that man, full time. she probably won't realize it, so i will realize it for her.

...

so you may have noticed that there is a character that i made an embarrassingly big deal out of earlier in the life of this blog that has been absent of late. or more specifically, immediately following the really big deal was made.

(even going back to that post to link it made me cringe)

you know him as BFWII. i know him as Harry Potter - HP for short.

where did this new pseudonym come from, you ask? its simple really. so simple, in fact, that it will take me half this story to explain. but you will forgive, and follow along patiently, as always.

so, BFWI became a prominent subject of gchats between Hannah and I the past few months, but inconveniently, Hannah and BFWI share a cube, which means the likelihood him peering his beady eyes over her shoulder are high to incredibly likely. this made using his given name, well, not a good idea.

we tried on some other handles. he was Sweater for awhile. and Neighbor. and That Kid You Share A Cube With That Smells Like A Homeless Person. but none of them seemed to fit. until one did.

Voldemort. yes, as in Lord Voldemort, of the Harry Potter trillionogy*. the most fitting seeing as he is mastermind manipulative, has a scary rapist face, and could easily be referred to as 'the most powerful Dark wizard who has ever lived' (and i quote, thanks wikipedia-dot-org). long story short, we don't like him, much.

Volde for short.

so of course, since Volde and BFWII are s-mates and when you talk about one, you likely talk about the other. and since BFWII is just across the aisle there are also decent odds that he may walk by and see his name flashing on her screen. oh, and since i made out with him one night - you may or may not remember - he needed a codename as well.

since BFWII is gentler type of guy, a good wizard, i guess you could say, and has a scar that burns when evil is afoot, and a magic wand (or so i hear. ohh snap!), and is very agile in the quidditch pitch, Harry Potter seemed fitting. so for consistency's sake, and because these analogys are much more fitting/descriptive/etc. than "Boy From Work", i will use their new code names a la J.K. Rowling, if that is her real name.

since then more a few more characters have been added, who you will soon meet.

like, right now.

there is Ron Weasley, the nerdy, skiddish best friend and new roommate that HP just moved in with, and once tried to set me up with. he really doesn't have a place in this story since i've only met him in person twice, but HP tried to set me up with him once and i said i'd have to think about it because if memory served me right, he was too short. funny enough, he is taller than me. he's just one of those guys that will always be short in your memory.

and then there's Hermione. the forgettable, know-it-all, social climber lacking in witt and charm or any sort of desirable disposition that hangs on to Harry's coattails for dear life through all 7 books. yeah, sure, she is second-handedly instrumental in Harry's success at slaying dragons, etc., but the point is, as far as wizards go, she is by the book. (literally?).

in this story, since i can't speak for the books, remember i didn't read any of them (or see the movies), she also gets the guy...or does she....

so now that i've developed the characters. i'll tell you what really happened.

...in part deux.

later hater.

*note: i have never read more than the first 3 pages of a harry potter novel, nor have i seen more than a commercial break worth of any of the movies, so all my analogies are losely based on plot synopses from David Letterman interviews with the actors, and Inside the Actor's Studio with Daniel Radcliffe (who, by the way, totally wins, not because of his performance in that unfortunate 6-peat, but because his favorite curse word is 'bollocks'). forgive me. or admire me for all the time saved. either way.

i'm not sure where this came from, or where its going

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 02:50:00 +0000

it's been exactly 1 month since i went incommunicado with MM.

it scares me how much i still think about him. its a relief how fleeting these thoughts are.

and the tenor of my thoughts have changed. the weight. the substance. the content.

i thought i saw him driving in his car yesterday. passing me as i stepped out of mine and onto the street. i was hoping it was him. and at the same time hoping it was not. i was glad i had put on makeup. and done my hair. that i was wearing my fabulous blue winter coat. and had my shoulder bag confidently thrown over my shoulder. i looked...together. independent. like i was going somewhere and doing something, without him.

i never felt that way within any proximity of him. when we were 'together' i looked...frantic. reliant. like i was waiting for him to tell me where i was going and what i as doing there. and i was. restlessly checking my cellphone just in case, in a silent room, i had missed him ring. when we were in the same room together, monitoring my stance, my face, my disposition, my words, to leave myself available should he decide to take me on but also closed, should he decide not to.

i think more now of previous relationships. relationships that were reluctant to leave the cocoon of bed in the morning, preferring to spend half or full days entangled in sheets, fawning and adoring. relationships that were so open they were already a wound. but so beautiful, it didn't matter.

i don't remember it taking this long mend the break of those relationships lost. i don't remember it being this painful, or enduring.

when the end of those relationships came it was equal parts devastating and not. the pain was acute. but it was identifiable. there had been love. and it had been lost. it had been true. and honest. and you had both equally relied upon its existence to bring you breath in the morning and sleep at night.

when you know that there is love, and there was love, though it hurts - like hell - the not mourning alone part provides the dollops of solace you need to learn how to breath in the morning without it, and sleep at night.

i do want to find that again. that safe place to fall. where it is considered beautiful to be weak. where it is considered epic to be in the room. where considered it is important to just exist. at all.

i've recently considered re-opening one of those wounds. the one i cherish most. the one who has already forgiven me for the mistakes i will make, let alone the ones i have. crawling back inside the cocoon we built so long ago now (two years, and i can barely remember why. he can barely forget). reaching out and letting him take my hand, left, that i can feel him inching towards every time we're under the same air conditioner. spreading my arms and leaning back. knowing, like i know little else, what i will find when i land. and there is the comfort of going home in the knowing.

but i'm not ready, yet. not right now.

right now. i wake up easy. yes, sometimes my breath fails me. and sometimes tears find their way behind my eyes. but i roll over to the cool side, relishing the vacantness of that space. desiring not at all to fill that it with anything. least of all another human.

right now. i fall asleep with certainty.

corrections: 1 of 1

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 03:05:00 +0000

The Author, at this time, would like to note a correction. post entitled unshamless plug (or i love feathers) contained a gross miscalculation in lexeme. through the inappropriate usage of the prefix un-, meaning not or opposite of, a double negative thusly indicated that The Author held shame for giving 'props' to this blog. The Author would like to state that author carries no shame on the topic. in fact, The Author would likely shamelessly plug this blog with greater frequency, should more feathered prizes be offered.

...

and now back to regularly scheduled programing

unshamless plug (or, i love feathers?)

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 03:49:00 +0000

so i am back in 'inidadtay and obagotay' this week (still avoiding appearing on The Boss's google reader). with only a few minor to major mishaps including being a contributing factor to our party of seven missing the one and only direct flight down to this gorgeously challenging place until friday.

at least The Boss said he was proud of me yesterday. albeit it was for being wholly tactless in disagreeing with another co-worker, so i can't say i'm learning a lot about 'business edicate' in this job, but regardless the words 'i'm proud of you' did escape his fire-spitting mouth.

instead of turning more minute details into full paragraphs and catching you up on what the eff my new years resolutions are (read: buying time and/or avoiding making any), i am just simply going to unshamelessly plug one of my all time favorite blogs (and bloggers) and simultaneously enter to win an arrangement of fancy feathers to pin in my hair.

yeah, i gots no shame. what of it?

also, i like to win things. well, i would like to win things, if i ever did. but i can't remember the last thing that i won....maybe that bodes well for my chances here....

what i'm trying to say is, laurie is cool. so are contests. especially ones that don't require any particular talent.

okthanksloveyoubye

livers may come and go, but true friends never completely give up on you

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 01:42:00 +0000

for some reason, or other, i am having a really hard time having a sense of humor in the new year.

i am already failing new years resolution #24: no scowling

maybe it's because i totally missed the '5...4...3...2...1....happy new year!' part of the evening. how do you miss such a thing at a huge nye bash with 400 of your closest strangers? i have no idea. best guess: i was in the porta potty (would also explain why my shoes look the way they do...further description not required, all i can say is, even burning them is not a sanitary enough way to dispose of them).

missing the ball drop has really thrown me off. although it was fun sitting around the next day with 6 of my bffs pondering the options, it sorta delayed that whole 'i am going to be a completely different and better and different person when the clock strikes midnight' thing. by delayed i mean, permanently postponed.

new years resolution #2: keep a (any) resolution i make this year

but i have been seriously distracted since 01/01/09.

actually, i woke up day two in a severe depression. i pinpointed it to two reasons. 1) i woke up to the sweet sounds of my best friend packing her bags to drive back home and abandon me for th rest of the year. 2) i was supposed to go into work that day and get a jazillion things done so that i would be for-real organized for the shitstorm awaiting me. i was so depressed, in fact, that i could barely drag my hungover ass out of bed and drive myself to my therapist's office. in fact, the thought of going to the therapist made me cry. i just wanted to lay in bed and miss Laura, instead of facing the new year.

i was pulled out of my funk only after spending an hour at The Therapist's office doing the usual: making everyone else the bad guy, and having her agree with me/feel bad for me/not contribute anything valuable to my opinions on things except to tell me that i should go to the movies more often and find an extracurricular activity. not that i don't agree with her on the extracurricular activity thing, but that doesn't help the fact that my mom is missing the 'mother gene' and that our relationship works best when i mother her, rather than the other way around, hence why i give more than take in relationships.

new years resolution #9: join an extracurricular activity

i also spent 45 minutes at the office. sending one e-mail. deciding i could do all the other things i needed to do another day (that day being saturday, or sunday...yeah. right.)

the four remaining friends in town called to remind me, 'dude, you're a loser, lets go eat more, because we haven't done that enough in the past 4 days, and misery or not, you are definitely hungry.'

even if they didn't really say that, and they really just said 'biatch, meet us at the biscuit in 20,' it had the same effect.

rut = delayed, for the moment

belly = full

new years resolution #5: eat less food that makes me feel 'ugh' afterwards, and also contributes to the worldwide cellulite epidemic

the point is. i have really good friends.

with 6 of my besties in town for new years, 5 of whom had to travel either by car or plane for more than a single hour to find me, i could not have been happier. i could also not have been more hungover. or had more sore ab muscles, solely from laughing.

this is the first time in as long as i can remember that i didn't let a boy interfere with my enjoyment of the precious time i have with my friends. i wasn't going back and forth. or checking my phone incessantly for missed calls. or trying to teach a foreigner our native language, because seriously, my friends and i speak in a series of inside jokes, re-defined words, clicks and whistles. trying to acclimate any stranger into our atmosphere is a challenge, at best, only the strongest survive, i haven't found a strong man yet, i guess. let alone, straight up blowing my friends off for a boy (yes, i admit it, i tend to suck as a friend when i'm in a relationship).

i have never in my life had this many friends. that also happen to be girls.

new years resolution #1: be a good friend to the friends that are good to me

by the end of the weekend i had:

kissed 3 (or 4) of my closest guy friends, and then promptly failed to remember any of them
most likely spent midnight nye in a porta potty (i know i already mentioned this one, but its still funny, right)
drank enough alcohol to meet the dsm criteria for 'alcoholic'
found out that a kid we went to college with had a kid...in college (got that?, don't worry, i'll tell you that story, another day)
given a striptease to a complete stranger, completely (or almost completely) sober
a bruise the size of the top of my right foot, on the top of my right foot
a bruise the size, shape and color of a rotten grapefruit on my outer upper right thigh
a broken back
a liver functioning on 'low'
swore never to drink again (for the rest of the month...i mean week...till wednesday)
6 best friends, that were more bester, than ever. (i know i keep harping on this in an uncharacteristically cheesy way...but not admitting that you need and want and love and cherish your best girl friends is so 2008)

home is where the useless crap finds its way on to the walls

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Mon, 29 Dec 2008 03:04:00 +0000

i was happy to leave. i wasn't happy to be gone. i am even less happy to be back.

there are memories here. everywhere. memories that kick me in the stomach and right behind the eyes. that bite my lip and take my breath away.

a stop on the train. the wine glass in the sink. the corner of a bar. a corner of the city.

nooks and crannies that hold nothing i want to hold on to. but something i just can't let go.

i am suffocated by the expanse of this city. and starving for some place that isn't filled with reminders.

...

my name has been on this lease for nearly exactly 6 months, and i just finally moved in.

hammer finally hit nail. boxes finally found their way to more inconspicuous corners. carpets were vacuumed. clothes were folded or hung.

it's about damn time.

no, i am not nesting. i'm not trying to make this place my own.

i am having house guests.

and as much as the best friend that will be taking up residence in my 'new' apartment for the next few days loves me unconditionally, i still feel compelled to put up a front that i have made my first solo residence my own.

the last investment i made in this place was the living room suite i purchased on credit from one of the many super-cheesy big box furniture stores plaguing this universe. it was even from a too embarrassing to name super model's 'collection'. it, like the beige box that i live in, has no character.

accessorizing with my most prized doodles, craft projects, family photos, balls of yarn, bottles of lotion, channukah decorations as many months after the holiday as possible, etc. is the least i can do to make it look like i live here. versus every other elderly gay man or twenty-something biatch that lives in around me.

i will never love this place. but while i am here, i might as well make a go of it - or at least put on airs.

i made a tough snap-decision when i decided to rent this place. it had many of the amenities i was looking for:

safely above prowler level on the 3rd (sometimes 2nd) story
an oasis behind an 8 foot fence in the heart of the most city-ish part of this city
dishwasher, new carpet, washer/dryer, 9 foot ceilings, central air, reserved parking space, pool, tanning bed, 'fitness center'

it had enough security features to make me feel 'all grown up' without worrying that a stranger was peeking through my windows at night (something that did happen in my first college apartment), or that vagabonds were sleeping on my doorstep, or that i wouldn't have a place to tan in the summer. it also had many other interested potential tenants. and should i waiver in my decision, what could have been my 'perfect' place, would've gone to the couple the leasing agent thought i was a part of for the first 6 or more e-mail exchanges.

but it had no charm. no inspiration.

it is comfortable. but reminds me of my old apartment in too many ways (laiminate counters and floors, metal blinds, that horrible mesh shelving). and it reminds me that i took the safe road all too often.

so i can't get my mind off of the 1.5th floor registered historic apartment with the refinished hardwoods, updated kitchen, wrought iron framed balcony, and brightly lit dining area that would've served beautifully as an art studio? what of it? yes, i chose new carpet and an in-unit washer/dryer combo over a charming inspiring space across from a quaint park and inside of a neighborhood association. i am still learning.

sometimes, oftentimes, i don't give myself enough credit for being only 23 years old. i have never felt my age, and now i'm finally learning to tell myself that the mistakes that i am making, the snap decisions, the taking the easy way out, the jump at every impulse whether it will break my heart or worse, are okay. i am learning. i am, gasp, acting my age.

which isn't really so bad for someone who totes around her blackberry like a badge of honor, thinks being a work-a-holic who travels internationally on business is special and passes for 28 in bars.

it is unfortunate that i had to learn the lessons i am still learning this year. that i had to end one dead-end relationship, just to enter another, only a month later. that it is okay to just close the door. and not open it again. that walking away is sometimes the high road.

that 5 vodka drinks at altitude will give you a mean hangover, even if the same amount won't at sea level. that it's not that much fun to not remember the events of the night before, although it is funny, sometimes. anecdotally.

that sometimes a kiss is just a kiss. and sleeping on the couch is sometimes just a really good idea.

that there i no good reason i don't walk the mile and half to work, ever. even though i drive a hybrid. and no good reason i don't go to yoga/the gym/burn any additional calories, at all.

that my mother deserves to be forgiven. and so do i.

that friendships mean more than anything. ever. especially ones with people who don't stop answering your phone calls, regardless of how many times you beg for, and then ignore, their advice. that when you finally do listen, and it still breaks your heart, they will continue to answer your calls. or maybe even visit. and not judge you, even if you haven't hung a single thing on the wall in 6 months.

that a 9 year old will love you endlessly, regardless of how much of their life you spent across the continent. that a father knows the the depth and severity of a broken spirit, no matter how much a daughter refuses to give name to it.

i am 23, and i am still learning. but i for once my eyes are open to the process. i am participating.

there are many things i will (ugh, dreaded word coming up) resolve to accomplish/avoid in the coming year. i will make a list (to come) and i will fail to accomplish/avoid many, or all, of the bullet points.

regardless, i will learn. and start the cycle all over again next year.

as long as i am moving in the general direction towards the shape of the person i would like to consider myself in 2, 5, 10, years from now. i'm fine.

first stop: table for one.

...to be continued...duh duh dunnnnn

(p.s. i just realized i'm showing every resident of the building across the parking lot my britney, you're welcome building 4...wait...why are all of your blinds closed so tightly? wishing i chose housing option b? me too)

just your every day average company christmas party all-nighter

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 21:25:00 +0000

answer: yes, the gift exchange with MM was a disaster. no, i do not want to talk about it.

answer: yes, everything would've gone fine had i not insisted on drinking a whole bottle of wine by myself and crying on the street corner.

answer: no, as of 1236AM EST monday, i do not regret my decision to e-mail him at 630AM and instruct him to kindly cease and desist any and all communications with me, including but not limited to, deleting my phone number.

answer: yes, i do feel much better. and my relationship with my blackberry is much healthier now that i don't secretly hope that the 'random' number flashing on the screen is is. (as healthy as a relationship with a blackberry can be, which borderlines obesity on the 'healthiness' scale, in the best case scenario)

to celebrate, i got myself all dolled up in something casual i had laying around the house (read: bought one month prior and had laying out on the floor just so i could look at it admiringly) and took myself to the company christmas party.

i hope what you imagine when i say 'company christmas party' is something equivalent to episode 5011 of the office. because it was just like that. minus the morrocan theme. and instead of the intervention at the end, there was a group hannukah dance (led by yours truly. your welcome, company). there was also lobster dip, risotto balls, and seared tuna, so just a little bit classier in the hors dourve department. we did, however, run out of vodka before 10PM (and right when i had decided to switch from white wine to the hard stuff), which i'd say is pretty office-like.

major highlighs include:

me, forgetting my hand-made ornament for the christmas tree - a time honored company tradition - and harrassing the founder of our company all night about it, talking it up to be much much more than a paper cut-out version of kanye glasses (way to stay on a theme no one but me thinks is funny, huh?). i brought the wrong one of two identical envelopes and since the one that i brought had the new britney spears cd in it, i put that on the tree instead, as a placeholder.

me, surprising everyone during the 'white elephant except presents people may actually want' (insert cheesy proper name here) gift exchange, by donning 'dreidel ears' - yes, this was the first time anyone brought hannukah to the party in a variety of ways. not the least important being my hot jewish ass, my drunk face, and the forementioned dancing. dreidel ears, for the very few of you that won't know, are like alien antennae, except with upsidedown dreidels at the ends. i also wore them to the after-party. so did the bartender. i won a set of martini glasses in the gift exchange, btw. not bad. not bad at all.

my boss's wife getting 'shitfaced' (her words) and walking around petting people and saying either 'you're soft' or, 'you're not soft'. and then when given that 'i think you're wasted look' she would hold up her empty martini glass and say 'only one and three quarters!!!' luckily, some of her drunken debauchery was captuerd on my work voicemail when for some reason she accidently dialed my desk number from her purse. not that i would ever want to use that against her. but my boss....

small talk in painful excess with BFWII's on again/off again/will not admit to being on...again friend, that is a girl. tension here is obvious since a) he and i made out b) she sucks and i don't. and she knows that he knows that i don't suck, and later in the night will proceed to flirt shamelessly with me, in front of her. in a battle of wit, and charm, and attractiveness, i win. hands down. (ifidosaysomyself. and i do). he will later complained to me about her not being able to hold her liquor, which i interpreted to mean, 'she isn't nearly as wonderful in every way, as you'.

the after party. (continued below)

not only did i only knock over one beer with my high-waisted full satin skirt, but i also didn't make enough of an ass of myself to leave a permanent mark in the anals of company christmas parties past. i did, however, make myself a personality of consequence in the eyes of the company founder, which i'd say is a major accomplishment, since he only has eyes for those in our company with the title 'designer' after their name. with particular emphasis on 'incredibly talented designer' or 'undiscovered artist turned designer' or 'BFWI'. at least if my boss is too busy making me feel like an unskilled laborer to appreciate my charms, others at the party found themselves dazzled.

and now...the after party.

first of all, Caroline may never forgive me for not heading straight to her tacky christmas sweater/birthday party from the company christmas party, but i did try. i begged her friend, The Accountant, to come pick me up. and then i made my best case for why the taxi carrying myself, Hanna, and two guys from work (not either of the BFWs, new guys, well, new to this story), should take us to caroline's party. but alas, we instead, somehow, we ended up at the Sports Palace (real name), a bar that i spent many a classless night in during my college career. i went there so often, in fact, my senior year, that no one was surprised when i showed up wearing baggy sweatpants after a long night of studying.

it wasn't my idea. it was one of the guys we were with. for some reason i was not disturbed at all that he was familiar with the Sports Palace at the time. in retrospect, i am very worried that he and i may have met there in my past life as a co-ed. (i say that like i'm not too sophisticated to wear sweats to a bar. i am not.)

the decor was the same, as was the smell, but the crowd was lacking a certain something. that look of college-boy hook-up desperation, perhaps? yes, that must've been it. my costume had also changed quite a bit, seeing as i was still wearing the backless white short-sleeved angora sweater, black satin skirt, high-heeled mary janes, and dreidel ears. actually, the dreidel ears may have been the only thing that hadn't changed.

they checked our id's at the door. not that there was much fear of under-agers this time of year. Hannah thought it would be fun to play 'guess how old we are' with the bouncer first.

Hannah - guessed age: 24, real age: 27
Hoppster - guessed age: 28, real age: 23

i'm still mad.

do i really look 5 years older than i really am? if so, i need to reverse this trend immediately. or else imagine how busted i'll look at 30. damn. step 1: pretend its my 28th birthday for the rest of the night to get free shots from the bartender.

check.

by the time we got to the bar it was oh....2AM. the four of us had just enough time to drink 1 irish car bomb, 1 yager shot and 2 beers each (plus one that i spilled across the enitre table, including all over my new martini glass set, that i was making one of the boys carry after me all night) before last call at 3:30.

in the meantime there was good conversation, while i reminissced after the beep on every one of my college friends voice mails. i am told my messages went something like this 'you hear that? in the background? it's the smooth sounds of the Sports Palace. miss you, hooker'. typical.

my flight home to colorado for christmas was at 7:10 (or so i thought). which meant that i had just enough time for the cab to drop everyone off at their respective abodes, then keep the engine running while i packed the last of my necessities, throw my bag in the back and head to the airport.

to say that i played straight through would be putting it mildly. as i have no memory of a) checking in, b) purchasing a bagel in the terminal and c) going through security.

i woke up, quite confused, drooling on a army soldier's shoulder in the seat next to me. i also apparently bought some sort of egg sandwhich at the quiznos. the remnants of which were stuck in my sweater and the wrapper crumpled in my lap.

at least i had chewed and swallowed this time. last time i did something similar i woke up with large bits of carrot in my mouth. the mestication process clearly interrupted by alcohol induced unconsciousness.

it also turned out that my flight was not at 7:10 as i originally thought, but at 6:25am. i am told i arrived at the gate just as it was boarding. good thing i didn't dawdle any more to purchase food i wouldn't remember eating.

shockingly, i felt fine. i had also managed to buy myself a large bottle of water (post-security check) and drink the majority of it. so i was hydrated enough to at least get me to colorado, onto a shuttle, and up to meet my family at our condo in the mountains without being blindsided by a hangover. upon arrival at my final destination, yes i was happy to see my family, but the tears of joy were actually intended for the queen sized bed i saw calling my name. i sent everyone out to the slopes in positive 8 degree ferenheit weather, and proceeded to comatose for the next 3 hours.

all 3 of my drinking companions texted me throughout the next day to see if i a) was alive b) made it to colorado and c) enjoyed my 28th birthday celebration.

my response: barely, barely, and emmensely.

(sorry, no photos, at the airport on my way back to the dirty south and only have 27 minutes left on my battery...or before i board, whichever comes first)

action items

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 03:45:00 +0000

i have spent the majority of my evening making a 'goodbye' mixed tape for MM.

i had been doing so well. i exercises the 'ignore' feature on my blackberry no less than 6 times between the hours of 1 and 2 am sunday morning. i didn't really feel like catching up on current affairs at that hour. thats why he was calling, right? to discuss the latest headlines? gas prices maybe?

right?

of course i had resolved once again to put an end to this madness, starting with refusing to hit the green button saturday night, continuing with resisting ever urge i had to text him 'thanks for the booty call last night, consider me out of business for the rest of eternity', and ending with ignoring one last call tonight at approximately 703pm. that's an estimate.

so ignored it. great.

then i gave in. to be fair i had a long walk from my office down the block to the shell station where i had abandoned my car at lunchtime in hopes that they could disengage the 'maintenance required' light since they had performed said maintenance as required the week prior and none of my other friends were answering.

and he had left a message.

the first time, possibly ever.

(see, maybe if he had left a message saturday night, he would've been more successful with the penetration...i mean...)

so anyways, i called him, and whatever.

and we talked, i guess.

unfortunately, it was actually a very cordial conversation. and to say that he listened well may be a stretch, but he at least asked a few probing questions, which was a big change from interjecting with an unrelated story about how so and so is doing such and such that you don't really give a shit about, but will pretend to anyways, because you, hoppster, are a good friend. to a fault.

so i must have been so caught off guard by the fact that he was being sorta reasonably decent on the phone, and the fact that the shell station could not figure out how to turn my maintenance required light off and suggested that i take it to the dealer, that i agreed to meet him tomorrow night for a pre-holiday celebration. since i will be joining my family in a state far away from him starting saturday at 7am. and we don't hang out fridays, as a rule. also, i have my company christmas party. and the tacky christmas sweater turned caroline's birthday party.

moral of the story: if it was at all convenient, or within less than 30 miles from anywhere, i would've taken my car to the dealership in the first place. i'll just google it and get it turned off in three minutes or less myself. thanksbutnothanks.

moral of the other story: dinner tomorrow. me, staying up late to make a 'self titled' mixed tape full of songs he will never have heard of and will enjoy muchly, to prove how musically tasty i am. and how sweet and giving i am. regardless of how much of a d-bag you are to me.

just another low-point folks.

but, afterall, it isn't the new year yet, and after tomorrow i will have no more opportunities to break my resolution numero uno - really not talking to him, seriously.

so tomorrow, i will prove how charming and wonderful i still am. without being the total crass biatch i have been being. and then he will go his way, and i will go mine. me: emptyhanded. him: with an awesome new mix tape. playlist to follow.

i also turned the 'happy birthday' card i designed myself and had printed just for him and is so specific to him that i can't give it to anyone else into a 'happy christmas, and channukah, and new years' card. just trying to get rid of the little things around the house that remind me of him. a worthy exercise, i'd say.

...

the mix tape:
1. the re-arranger_mates of state
2. ur so gay_katy perry (ok, he won't enjoy this one, but i will enjoy thinking about his reaction when it comes on)
3. yea yeah_matt and kim
4. white winter hymnal_fleet foxes
5. you found me_the fray (a little wine with your cheese?)
6. circus_britney spears (it wouldn't be a mix tape without britney, no? no.)
7. inni mer syngur vitleysingur_sigur ros (that was a mouthful. thatswhatshesaid.)
8. the most beautiful girl (in the room)_flight of the conchords
9. paper planes_m.i.a.
10. pop lie_okkervil river
11. lights out_santogold
12. your new twin sized bed_death cab for cutie
13. kids_mgmt
14. the devil's tricks_lightspeed champion
15. skinny love_bon iver
16. if there's a rocket tie me to it_snow patorl
17. whatever you like_t.i. (yes.)

p.s. if anyone else would like a copy of this mix tape of all mix tapes, it could be arranged, if you ask nicely. or, if you be a dick to me for at a minimum 6 months, 9 max.

(most, though not all, songs were compiled from all songs considered year in music & listener's picks. support public radio.)
...

this week we have been celebrating the 'six nights of caroline's birthday'.

so far she has received from me the following:

night 1: a special insulated cup i stole from her apartment a month ago to fill with water and hydrate me while i drunk drove home from her house one morning.

night 2 (delivered on night 3): a box of candy cane joe joes i took the liberty of opening and eating half of in advance (to save her the added calories, of course)

night 3: a deck of 'maverick' playing cards featuring john mccain and his cronies purchased from the half off bin at borders

night 3.5: trogan ultra-thin condom that has been in my purse for no less than 6 months, and that i may have stuck a pin through for good measure. (all i want for christmas is a caroline baby)

if i could predict the future, and i can, here is what she will be getting on upcoming nights...

night 4: totally legitimately purchased copy of latest britney spears platinum album 'circus'

night 5 (her actual birthday): brand new copy of are you there vodka, it's me chelsea, by chelsea handler-the great (i added that last part, has a good ring to it, i think)

night 6 (the day after her birthday, because i can't count): advil, and plenty of it. also some tums, and maybe pepto. definitely a large bottle of gatorage or similar. if she is not deadly hungover all of saturday, i have not been doing my job as chief friend in charge.

...

i just started listening to the new snow patrol album. and i think i'm going to like this one, boys.

...

to answer the question on the top of all of your minds...

no. i was not sold into sex slavery last week. from which i escaped using only my cunning, wit, and girlish good looks. and a bobby pin and 3 inch piece of string.

i was just on a business trip. and although i really want to tell you a lot of boring details, i have been struggling with how to explain it all to you. mostly, i have been struggling with how to tell you where i was, without telling you where i was. because, if i just type it out, just like that, this blog post will inevitably end up in my bosses google alerts first thing tomorrow, and thusly, i will die/be fired/die.

but, i think i have found the solution:

pig latin.

p.s. did you know that just like google italy, google botswana, there is also a google pig latin? don't worry, it doesn't display your searches in pig latin. although it would be cooler if it did.

so, as it turns out, i was in:

inidadtay and obagotay

yes. the small, dual island nation. the one that's spitting distance from south america.

cool, huh?

yeah, sorta.

except, you know all those visions you are having right now of me holding 'meetings' with an umbrella drink in my right hand, my blackberry in my left, wearing nothing but a sundress and a large hat? well, delete them.

instead, envision me in interrogation room-like conference rooms that would be lucky to have air conditioning, not to mention a window.

so maybe i cried real tears when i returned home to 40 degree weather, what of it?

and yes, i did put my uggs on, just to go to bed. no big deal.

i am back now. but with the workload that was just dumped on us with a 16 week deadline, there is a slight to moderate possibility that they will just relocate me there for convenience.

in which case. i will be a) hiring a personal bodyguard b) never to be heard from again.

i'll keep you posted.

...

ok, snow patrol, you had me at hello...now what?

really good intentions turned into i don't know what

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 23:39:00 +0000

here's the deal.

i am going to step away from the office.

i am going home. its 6:40pm. i was here no later than 7:40am (with a dozen bagels for my co-workers to remind me why they missed me while i was 'away on business' last week, no less).

i accomplished less than 16.5% of the work i needed to today. which means i will be back at it again, same time tomorrow? yessir.

i intended to stay here late, now that i have this awesome new widescreen monitor that ideally will have been cheaper than the botox i would've needed for the crows feet that were growing around my eyes from squinting at the tiny screen on my ultra-portable work provided laptop. yes, it has a battery life of 5.75 hours (in use). yes, it fits in my handbag. no, it is not ergonomically sound or recommended by any optomotrist on the planet. (i just wrote opthamologist, now im confused which is correct, too lazy to google it, sorry).

anyways, point is, i was going to stay here late, and write one of my notoriously verbose posts about my wonderful advertures in the carribean isles (does that make it sound sexier? no? okayfine).

but instead, i spent the last 45 minutes trying to retrieve audio files off of my handheld voice recorder doodad so that i can re-live last weeks ultra-compelling meetings over and over again, and possible once more after they are transcribed in print.

lucky? youbetchya.

jealous? youshouldbe.

apparently, you have to have something called a 'cd' from which you must 'download' some 'software' and then 'do a back flip' and 'say the magic word' and 'jump through a variety of different colored and shaped hoops' in order to access your files. otherwise, no matter how many of your collegues machines into which you plug the damn thing, that is no larger than my middle finger (convenient, since thats the one i am aiming at it right now), or how many billable hours you waste, you will not be able to turn hours of titlating discussion on topics such as 'information technology' and 'should we use queens or amerian english spelling of centre in the brochures' into nice little mp3 files that you can share with your adoring blog fans later. (just kidding, i would never, i value our friendship too much).

so i'm going to dismiss myself right now, and leave you with this boring post where i complain endlessly about nothing in particular but mostly the job i should feel very lucky to have given the current economic climate and the fact that i have already been laid off once this year, and let you mull this over for a while instead.

enjoy, and maybe tomorrow good things will come to those who wait?

or, maybe not.

ttyl. byob. dot com. backslash. password saved.

molested

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 23:20:00 +0000

i meant to write a post before i left on this wild week-long business trip adventure, informing you that i will be fleeing the country for the week...

...but i didn't have time.

lame, i know.

so anyways, i dont have much time to write. but pretty much, i am miserable.

i am on a romantic business trip for two on an 'exotic' caribbean island. just me and my boss.

and since he doesn't have a whole agency to pick on throughout the day, he is picking on me, nonstop. lets just say all of the criticism is losing its constructiveness. even our driver for the week asked me 'hoppster, why does he molest you so much'

obviously he means 'harass', but seriously, i feel like i am being molested. and there is no way away from it, because its just he and i. twenty four hours a day.

i may lay myself off at the end of this.

or, i may have to move here for the next 3 months of my life.

i just needed to talk to someone other than my boss that doesn't cost $3/min, thanks blog, for having unlimited nights and weekends.

if your ego is not your amigo, you know it stinks

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 04:45:00 +0000

i want to post something, just because i have done such a good job posting more than never this week (up 300% from last week) and i love checking my google analytics to see that more than no one viewed my blog yesterday. but i just got done catching up on all the new posts from my favorite blogs that i usually read during business hours. i somehow turned into the most important person in my office today (by that i mean, minion) and was at my new 'extreme office makeover: hoppster edition' desk exactly never today. until 5:00 when i finally got to sit down and get the real work done (or, search online for non-engagement engagement rings for my sister's boyfriend to buy my sister and g-video-chat laura about trader joe joe's for 25 minutes). i was there until 7:36PM.

at least i can now pick out the face of the ipod headphone thief in a line up.

'yes officer, i am sure that's the one, that's the cleaning lady. just look at her, she doesn't look like the type that would replace the trashcan in its designated spot underneath my desk after she empties it, does she? nor does she look like the type to vacuum up the cheerio i dropped underneath my desk 26 weeks ago. yes, i am certain that is her, she's the one that purloined my ipod headphones'

in other news, please add 'thief' and 'purloined' to the words hoppster cannot spell without googling list. guess there is no mystery novel in my future.

sorry mom, i know that was your big dream for me.

anyways. i wanted to tell you some things. but now i am exhausted. it is tiring selflessly putting you guys first all the time first, even before my own blog (you=blogmates...sorta like cellmates, but people i chill with in the blogiverse*, and exatly like prison, i hang out with them, but they don't necessarily hang out with me back).

don't expect a lot out of me tomorrow, either. i expect a big promotion tomorrow (from minion to slave).

*yes, i am still doing that thing where i try to make new words that use 'blog' happen...i'll be writing a blogtionary soon

pay no attention to the blonde behind the blog

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 03:00:00 +0000

to all one of you has been waiting on pins and needles for my big surprise, prepare to be incredibly disappointed.

i have absolutely no idea what kind of controlled substances i ingested last night (read: red wine) but there is no logical explanation as to why i thought this big idea was so big, or even an idea at all.

controlled substances would also be the only reason as to why i used up far to many multi-syllabic words ranting about something i would wake up in the morning to realize i didn't care about at all.

so anyways, here goes...and i'm sorry in advance. no, it is not cake. although if i had been thinking clearly, it may have been candy cane joe-joe's, because those, well, win (rounding the bend to box #2 of the week, and the elastic waist pants aisle at kmart).

le grande idee...

the internal monoblogger.

...

underwhelmed?

me too. even a french introduction doesn't help.

anyways, the general idea of this non-idea is for google to invent a contraption...lets call it 'googles', that you wear around all day, and it dictates your internal monoblog. so all you have to do later is just edit out the erroneous bits (like the parts were you are actually thinking about work, or talking to your grandmother about her bunions, or standing in aisle 9 of the grocery store debating between generic or brand name milk).

how did you not think of it first?

i have no idea.

this is like the trillion attempts my childhood friend and i made at inventing a candy bar dispenser for the rear view seating in her mom's volvo - crafted only out of old electronics boxes we found in her basement, and scotch tape. shockingly, we were never successful. but became very skilled at cutting through cardboard with safety scissors.

back in those days we truly believed anything we needed to accomplish could be satisfied via scotch tape. including the time when we broke her antique bed when we were jumping on it, and instead of informing an adult, we put the footstool that helped us reach the sink in the bathroom under the frame, and wrapped three rolls of scotch tape around the two pieces of the broken leg. 'yes, that should do it'.

come to think of it, maybe if we had used name brand instead of generic, it would've worked. and saved a lot of tounge lashings, together, and then again in the comfort of our own homes.

anyways. i do have a trickle of a source for my (not so) brilliant idea.

essentially, i was laying in bed, doing everything in my power not to think about Muscle Man, and had a lot of other interesting thoughts that i may have wanted to blog about. but i was bound and determined to fall asleep. so i just mentally dog-eared them for later, and squeezed my eyes shut as hard as possible and rolled over.

i do the same thing in the shower

and while i am driving in the car

all of the brilliant trains of blogs that you could've been enjoying, rather than the dribble that comes out when i actually take the time to sit down at my computer and dictate.

topics like:

why i can't look pedestrians in the face after i almost run them over in crosswalks, and other ways i narrowly avoid killing blind people with my silent machine of death (formally known as prius)
getting a widescreen monitor improved my productivity at work by 12.5%: office feng shui, myth or miracle?
meatball sandwhich or trader joes frozen pizza round XXIVIIQ.3.5.01
how the rapid decrease in marketing budgets due to the great depression II has had a negative effect on my consumption, from a marketers perspective (white paper, coming soon to a blog near you)
101 ways to use the word blog out of context
juicy couture: neither juicy, nor couture, discuss.
etc.

compelling and rich.

i know.

not surprisingly, the same alcohol induced amnesia that i have for names and correct spellings of words attacks my memory for good blog ideas.

when i have a good idea and i am near an electronic apparatus, i do what any other normal person would do, and write it down. just kidding, i don't write. i type a blackberry note to myself about it. holding a pencil is for the weak.

and i don't know if this is listed as a symptom on webmd under writer's block, but when i hit the 'new post' button in blogger, every good idea i had up to that point vanishes completely. and i'm sorry brain, but it is way too soon in the life of this blog to be throwing the 'writer's block' card. i'm just not buying it.

so the only logical cure (besides just manning up and dragging my ass out of bed to hammer out the thought in print) is a completely impossible contraption, is of course brought to you by google, because only google can make the completely impossible possible.

exhibit a: google texting. only google could single-handedly make the yellow pages, weathermen, calculators and dictionaries obsolete by dialing 6 numbers into any mobile phone. (standard text messaging rates do apply).

i am still waiting for the breaking headline: 'december 26, 20xx: google santa delivers christmas gifts to christian childen worldwide'

if you are ever in a bind, screw mcgyver, or that other guy with the j name that i can't recall right now. just ask yourself, 'WWGD'

so there you have it.

blog it or not, here i come...

the one in which i contradict myself and don't know what i am trying to say

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 05:11:00 +0000

so, i've got it.

the next big thing to come out of everyone's favorite verb....

masticate.

no, wait, that's only my favorite verb.

right.

everyone's favorite verb: google.

i've come up with the next big thing to come out of google.

it came to me as i was laying in bed just now trying to get my mind off the telephone conversation i had only moments before with Muscle Man (yes, we're still talking. no, i don't want to talk about it, okay, i d0).

i didn't want to spend the next few hours tossing and turning in bed scheming my way back into his life and potentially heart (assuming there's one in there, big if on that one), not at all because i think that he's at all a decent person or even someone i would care to share an armrest with one a plane, let alone date/love/etc. but mostly because i want to prove that he was completely wrong about me. realize all of the value add i bring to his life. and then reject his attempts at winning me back. totally normal, totally healthy.

i come up with some very interesting ideas between visions of my grand overture (where i demand that he 'go all in or cold turkey' and he says 'fine, all in' and then i say, 'really? because i'm just gunna go cold turkey on this one' and walk away, never to be heard of again) and then flogging myself for:

a) continuing to answer the phone when his number appears (to be fair, last time i honestly didn't recognize his number, and answered 'this is hoppster' in my most professional business voice)

b) actually caring about what is going on in his life and then thinking long and hard for way past acceptable after we hang up about whether he should set up his office in the front room or spare bedroom of his new house (the front room, much better lighting, view, and what else would he do with that room? formal salon? yeah, right.)

and c) failing once again to honor my promise to myself and every one of my friends, family memebers, casual acquaintances, strangers, etc. to completely delete him from my life.

the problem is, that it is not my nature not to care. it is my m.o. in relationships with men (boys). and now i am where i am with MM, like it, or not. he calls, verbally blogs to me about his life, and then i post comments full of witty remarks, challenges his conventions, recommendations on how to proceed, reassurance, active listening noises.

i provide a service, free of charge. and he still manages to rob me blind.

it is soul killing. mostly because MM truly thinks that he holds up his end of the contract in conversations. i know this because we have argued about it, constantly. i normally give up because he actually believes that the apporpriate response to 'i had a really bad day at work today' is 'oh really? well then you wouldn't believe the day i've had...blog...blog....blog' rather than what i would consider the obvious follow-up: 'oh really? what happened?' insert active listening here.

i have tried in many different ways to just hit delete. end call. ignore.

i have made progress. there have been more than two times when i have been compelled to call him and tell him something particularly relevant to him that i think he would find interesting, or beneficial, and i have remained silent. told myself that he no longer gets those perks out of me. i have also been compelled to e-mail him. send him random funny thoughts that pop into my head during the day like i used to (always receiving disappointing responses). but i have restrained myself. physically, at times.

but i still answer.

and express concern at the cough that has lingered for over a month. and are you getting enough fluids?

it was glorious last week when he was out of the country and i knew with 100% certainty he would not call. i was not sad about that idea at all. and truly hoped that he would never call again. so why can't i just put my foot down?

i drafted an e-mail in my blackberry when my plane landed late sunday night, and it is still in my drafts folder, itching to be sent:

every time there is turbulance i think of the person in my life that i never said i love you to enough. that person was you, for a while.

please do not respond. please do not call me anymore. that person never existed in real life the way it did in my head. and it breaks my heart every time i hear your voice and am reminded.

in my head it is so beautiful and so romantic. just hit send and that be it. my last words. perfect. exactly what i want him to know, and exactly what i want to say. the end. no backwash.

but am i ready for the consequences? can i close the book on this epic waste of valuable brain space? not to mention, my heart.

and afterall, all this avoiding thinking about him does spurn some very clever ideas.

oh right, thats what we're supposed to be discussing, instead of Muscle Man. (guess my thought process in print is exactly the same as it is in my head)

my grand idea. (insert trumpet noises here)

...to be continued*...

*or, i wasted so much of your time lamenting, once again, about MM, that i am now going to test your patience by making you wait until tomorrow (on pins and needles) for the big reveal.

blue light, with a side of special

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 02:36:00 +0000

so i really left you with quite the intriguing cliff hangar in last nights post, huh? okay, so i probably just moderately piqued your interest. but i should pull you up off that cliff anyways, i suppose.

you have met the protagonist of this story before. he has appeared here, here and my personal favorite, here. by now you guys are practically old friends. just like we are. it's BFWII. (i am starting to hate that pseudonym, by the way, and am considering a change, especially if the likelihood of him appearing in more future posts continues to increase).

it all started the way every storybook romance starts. with a dirty rumor.

i had been out of touch with my former colleague and favorite designer friend. we hadn't exchanged communiques in over a month. i shot her a quick e-mail just to check in. the response i received was unexpected, to say the least:

to: hoppster
from: Design Diva
date: last tuesday

things are good. the baby is a wonderful terror. also, what is this i hear about you dating BFWII????? HMMMMMMMM? and you haven't told me? bad hoppster. bad bad hoppster. lets catch up, immediately.

design diva.

first of all, her baby really is a darling. and a terror.

second of all, excuse me??? since when has a few plutonic nights out equalled dating?

i called her immediately to get to the bottom of this. as it turns out, during coffee with another ex-colleague of ours, he happened to mention that he had heard BFWII and i 'were dating, but aren't anymore'.

dang, that's one mighty specific rumor. because not only does it refer to an imaginary relationship that i have not had, but to that imaginary relationship also coming to a very specific end.

i think i would've had a memory of a break up, if not the relationship itself, right? there would've been at minimum three blog posts related to being dumped by anyone, let alone someone i didn't even know i was dating to begin with. yes, i certainly would've remembered the break up, if not the relationship itself.

i quickly clarified with Design Diva that no, BFWII and i had not dated. and then started to consider where the heck this dirty little rumor that is now making its way around the 'biz' could have come from.

my first thought was, hmmm, maybe he considers the few nights out that we have had 'dating'. but when you are dating don't you like, kiss or something? isn't that one of the benefits of 'dating' versus being 'friends'. also, there's the matter of the 'break up'. yeah, we hadn't hung out in a little while, but there was no 'end of the relationship' talk or anything.

my second thought was, well, maybe BFW mentioned to someone that he and i had been hanging out outside of work. and someone misconstrued that as dating.

regardless of where it came from, this little rumor got into my head. i was suddenly disappointed not only that BFWII and i were not in fact dating, outside of the rumor mill, but i was even more disappointed that our not real relationship had ended.

why had it ended? what had i done? why was i not good enough? and wait, why aren't we dating?

we weren't dating. but the rest of that day we were certainly flirting. and the rest of the next day as well. including the part where he told me he won mates of state tickets on the radio at lunch, and would i like to come along? why, yes, of course i would.

so it was set. we were going out together thursday night. the rumor seeped even fruther underneath my skin. i spent the next 24 hours invisioning the night. there would be drinking. a good band (that i just discovered when i returned to my desk that day to find out what exactly i had just said 'yes' to, and so when i got to the show i could convincingly play adoring fan, but serioiusly, they are good, check them out, now, or later, when you're done reading this XL post). and there would be a kiss. i was certain there would be hand holding, and a kiss.

i promised my best friend aurora otherwise*. sitting in the car outside his apartment i was still promising her nothing would happen. it would be a horrible idea. afterall, we work together, in an office of less than 20. there would be no way to keep a relationship secret. it would quickly turn into a relationship with our entire office. and as fun as it would be to have our mutual boss mediating our first fight over whether we should rent iron man or made of honor on friday night (made of honor, of course, since i had suffered through journey to the center of the earth last firday), i don't really want to mesh church and state that much. or would i?

what transpired as soon as i knocked on his door turned out to be one of the best nights of my 2008, to date. no night i had ever had, and then remembered, with Muscle Man had ever been that fun. and carefree.

we got drinks and a basket of tater tots before the show, just to take the edge off. lets remember, i have never been to a show, and lived to remember it. so getting blackout drunk before a show is just my style. but i was taking it on the easy side this particular night. i had a feeling there were parts i would want to remember.

after being appropriately lubricated, we headed over to the show. the opening band was just starting. we had both just discovered mates of state that afternoon, so the opening band meant even less to us, but instead of just standing there at the bar sipping on drinks and staring blankly at the opening band. we took to the crowded and lifeless dance floor. and started dancing. we were the only ones. and we loved it.

we didn't stop dancing until the last chord of mates of state's encore. we even coreographed our own partner dance, that was made up of three steps: the shag, a spin, and me booty dancing up against him. we called it the blue light. i expect you'll be seeing it on dance floors across country any day now. seriously, its hot like 3rd grade square dancing, but hotter and more modern with the booty dancing finale.

i had a smile on my face the entire night.

we escaped just before the rush. i was driving (questionable decision, as always...dammit). i am not exactly sure how the topic came up, but i think it started like this:

him: stop it
me: what?
him: stop it
me: no, really, what?
him: you're just, too great.

yes, apparently even 28 year olds digress to middle school flirting techniques sometimes. okay, often. many times he has taken the middle school route. like when we were fake 'dating' for a sentance. and then we broke up. and then he was begging to get back together. all in one gchat. but i like it.

the conversation quickly turned to why it was a terrible idea for us to date. obviously the only reason being that we worked together. my response:

PSST. it's NO BIG DEAL. i mean, if we both like each other, why the heck not? we can keep it a secret.

convincing. really.

right?

by the time we got back to his house it was settled. dating was a fine idea.

so was making out. on his couch/fouton. for a while.

he tasted like cigarettes. i didn't mind.

even my hair and my fingernails were smiling.

at some point we broke ourselves apart enough for him to decide it was time for bed. not together. no, for me to sleep on his couch. and for him to sleep in his bed.

i tried to use my feminine whiles to coax him into letting me into his bed. but he held strong. i'm not really sure why. but he blamed it on his restlessness and that he'd probably kick me so many times during the night that i could check myself into a battered woman's shelter the next day. and neither of us would want that.

whatever his real reason. i finally gave in. and let him tuck me in on the fouton. i also made him lay down with me so i could kiss him for a few more minutes (hours, maybe?).

when he finally wrangled his way out of my choke hold (i mean, tender embrace), i quickly fell asleep (read: comatosed).

i fell asleep smiling, i awoke smiling.

i krept silently out of his apartment at 7. after all, i needed to go home and shower and change. couldn't very well show up to work in a shirt that smelled like a mixture between his cologne and an ashtray. not really the worst smell in the world. but definitely wreaked of 'walk of shame'.

i didn't wake him. i considered creeping into his room and climbing into bed with him to wake him up with loves tender kiss. but decided against it.

i got home and immediately got back in bed. for some reason, the usual anxiety and fear i have that i will never see the person again, that i will never hear from them again, that it will be super ultra awkward if i accidently run into him/her again, was completely absent.

i got to work before he did. he texted me a few times. asking when i had left. commiserating about his hangover.

when he got in he stopped by my office. and for some reason, it wasn't akward at all when he handed me the earings i didn't remember taking off, or leaving on his coffee table.

we gchatted, per usual, all day. mostly about how much fun the night before was. about how we could improve blue light in the future. and how i couldn't stop smiling.

no awkwardness. only more charm. and me, falling deeply, and dangerously, for this kid.

...

so now what? it has been 4 days since we boldy tested the bounds of the colleage/colleague relationship. and i'm not quite sure where we stand.

friday night he bailed on BFWI's birthday celebration that i was looking forward to seeing him at, claiming exhaustion from the night before.

fair enough. i was exhausted too. and really had to coax myself out of bed after my after-work nap. but i had promised friends i would meet them for dinner and forced myself out of the house.

saturday night i texted him to see if he wanted to go out with caroline and i. he bailed on that also, claiming insufficient funds.

also fair enough. he has been living practically paycheck to paycheck since our company pays its designers slave wages in exhange for resume building.

today at work was normal. ish. we didn't gchat at all. but i did go upstairs and chat with him casually for a bit. totally normal. i mean, we don't have to gchat all day, every day, right?

anyways. point is. i am confused. i meant what i said. but did he? or in the sober light of day did he realize that really, dating a colleague in the microcosom of our office was a very bad idea, afterall.

and as much as i am trying not to go all 'girl' on the situation. i can't help myself.

i know i need to be patient. that another opportunity will present itself. that i can't force this. if it is meant to be it will just happen naturally. or maybe it already is happening, and i just don't know it. maybe he thinks we are dating. now. or maybe he already thought we were dating before.

i don't know how this goes. this being casual stuff.

my last two relationships went from zero to a zillion overnight. we went from strangers to talking every day, multiple times a day, and spending every spare minute together.

it's okay if this is not like that. right?

it also needs to be okay if it really is nothing more than one night of bliss and kissing.

but i hope that it isn't. i really hope that it is more. and not only because i want to be the Pam to his Jim (except less frumpy, more season 5 than seasons 1-4). but because i haven't smiled more than when i am with him. and haven't been less worried about someone breaking my heart.

*by promised i mean, lied, through my teeth, fingers, toes, legs, and eyes crossed, winking uncontrollably

last time i saw you, wasn't your tongue in my mouth?

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 21:14:00 +0000

so last night i was out with some friends at the usual places (that currently bore the shit out of me) and a friend of a friend met us out for a bit, we'll call him Tall Cat (since he is 1. tall and 2. i don't really know much else about him to use as an identifier). i had met Tall Cat once before. at a bar across the street from where we were last night. his ex-girlfriend had been in town visiting him and their mutual friends from college, and staying at his apartment ('on the couch') and was out with us that night. i should also mention now that she was a pretty big fan of mine. i'm not sure why. but she liked me, when she first met me.

well, Tall Cat and i immediately took to each other. he thought it was cool that i was tall. i thought it was cool that he was tall. and he was drunk when he met me, so don't really need much more explanation than that.

we spent the whole night talking, i think. there was also some dancing. mostly me, up against him, while he just stood there, being semi-awkward. and at some point and after more than a few so-co and lime shots were passed around, he decided he was ready to leave, and was bringing me with him.

well by this point i was in no state to make rational decisions. nor was i remembering that his ex-girlfriend was a) right behind me and b) staying with him. i didn't remember, that is, until back at his house, when our make-out session back at his place was rudely interrupted by wild banging on his front door and then even more rudely interrupted by her storming in and screaming at him. then i remembered.

but, ever the peacemaker, i tried to reason with her. 'don't worry', i said to her, 'we're just having a sleepover, nothings happening, i don't even like him, well, i don't know if i like him, since i just met him. we haven't even kissed. it's no big deal, really. psh, no, that isn't his slobber all over my face.' for some reason, this wasn't very convincing. as i retreated back into his room, she gathered her things, continued screaming, then stormed back out, and made another one of their friends come pick her up.

surprisingly unphased by the whole scene, Tall Cat just watched her go, and then picked right back up where he had left off. unhooking my bra through my shirt. it didn't go much farther than that. the alcohol quickly took over and knocked us both out. completely.

i woke up the next morning in his wake forest themed bedroom, still wearing my jeans, top and unhooked bra, my neck hurting from sleeping, no passing out, on his arm and the entire right side of my body completely numb from laying on it all night. he had me in some kind of vice grip/choke hold that he would probably have considered cuddling, but could have been considered bondage, that i somehow managed to weasel my way out of and escape to the other side of the bed, to a cool pillow and free range of motion.

i expected the sober light of day to make things awkward and brief. surprisingly, the morning was much more romantic than the night before. first of all, there was no ex girlfriend screaming and throwing things, which helped a lot. instead there was cuddling, and kissing and more heavy petting and we chatted about our jobs, our families, his new iphone (which at the time was a huge novelty, and turn on). we just layed around in bed, giggling, and watching waynes world on tv.

it wasn't until around 11 that he finally decided it was time to return me home.

i hadn't brought my cell phone out with me that night. i had just broken up with the Brazillian, after a 6 month waste of time relationship, and didn't want to drunk dial him, or the random slew of boys i keep around just for drunk dialing purposes but never actually hang out with. instead, in the interest of safety, and due to my reputation to just randomly wanter off from my friends, i brought a notecard that read 'if found, please call (insert best friends phone number here)'. so i didn't get his phone number, but left mine in his iphone.

things had gone well, in the end. i could get over all of the college paraphenalia decorating his bedroom, and forgive the dirty clothes strewn about on all available surfaces, because afterall, he was tall, and a pretty good kisser. and he had nice eyes, and made me laugh, a little. i hoped he would call. i expected he would.

he didn't.

i didn't see him again until last night. but i did find out shortly after our little tryst that he started dating someone. actually, he may have rekindled with the ex, i'm not sure. but he certainly did not kindle anything with me.

it wasn't long after that i met Muscle Man and completely forgot the whole thing. but seeing him again last night, with only a quick and awkward 'hello' exchanged between us the whole night, i realized, i am no longer built for this 'one night stand' business. i had been a fool to imagine that one night, and morning after, of kissing and laughter would turn into a long term relationship. i possibly even burned that bridge by going home with him that night. it hadn't been the first time i had gone home with someone the first night i met them, which is certainly not something to be proud of, but it was the first time i was honestly disappointed that nothing more came out of it.

unfortunately, my relationship with Muscle Man started very much the same way. minus mutual friends, plus a call the next monday.

i realize now that is not how i want to kick-off my next relationship. i don't want the physical to come before the emotional. i don't want to be dropped off the next morning, setting low expectations to ever see this person again so as not to be disappointed when they really don't call.

i want to do things the old fashion way. maybe start out as friends. then realize our mutual admiration for each other is something more powerful. and then will be a kiss. maybe just one, for now. and a call the next day. and honesty. and respect.

which, by the way, may be just what is happening with BFWII and i. sort of.

(how's that for a cliff hanger?)

voyeurism: its all the rage

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 02:34:00 +0000

everyone i know, and even a few people i don't know, but who happen to appear on my gchat friend list, have discovered g-video-chat.

my friend anne, who doesn't even have a webcam, made me video chat her, just so she could watch me: have wet hair, type in my blog, gchat, look at engagement photos for our friends brother (i'm sure she got some good facial expressions out of that one...wtf is the deal with engagement photos anyways? hey, here's a good idea! lets put ourselves in many different contrived poses that show off both the huge rock i gave you, and our undying love for each other...no, thanks.), watch tv, probably pick my nose and scratch what could be fleas out of my hair.

now i am convinced that my computer is watching me. i shield the isight camera now every time i do something i wouldn't want anyone inside my computer to see.

so really, i put electrical tape over it. permanently.

sorry friends, unless i'm getting royalties for 'hoppsters wild n' sexy webcam' at something around $1026.79/min, you're gunna have to book a flight to watch me do every day things around my apartment.

...

my older sister may be preggers.

she says she has been 'under the weather' for a few days not. its not a cold. not the flu. not strep throat.

symptoms include:

frequent urination
increased hunger
insatiable thirst
fatigue
heightened sense of smell
strong nails

sounds to me like all that 'practice' is catching up with them.

she went in today for a barrage of tests. she probably could've saved the $30 copay in favor of a pee stick from the dollar store to get the info she needs. but don't take my well-informed medical advice.

guess we'll know in a week if i am the next 'worlds best aunt' or remain 'mediocre younger sister' for another few years.

...

speaking of aunts.

i just became adopted aunt to an adorable 8 month old boxer/basenji mix. my new work/soul mate hannah rescued little Goose from foster care this weekend. i went with her. and immediately fell in love with her.

i guess the feeling was mutual. because hannah later told me that Goosey cried when she dropped me off at my apartment later.

i have also apparently found my 'dog lover' instinct. which i didn't actually know existed inside me. until i saw Goose. and Pattie.

who's Pattie? you may ask.

well, Pattie WAS the puppy-love of my life. a 15 week old long-haired chihuaha. the cutest thing i have ever laid my eyes on (and i only saw one photo of her on petfinder.com). we went to find her on saturday also. only to discover that she had already been adopted.

i am unreasonably devastated by this news. especially considering the fact that i didn't even want a puppy until wednesday. there were real live human tears when i got the news. she was supposed to be MY puppy.

i had already planned our new lives together. she would come with me to work, and sit under my desk and play at my feet during the days, and then sleep on the pillow next to me at night. it was perfect.

and yes, i was going to put her in my purse. and carry her with me everywhere. even where it isn't really appropriate to bring dogs. like the mall, restaurants, gynecological appointments, etc. (yes, i am THAT girl, i know, i'm as surprised as you are, trust me).

i am heartbroken.

my mom told me to just keep looking. i will find another puppy. but every puppy i see doesn't quite compare to Pattie. who is still tiled on my desktop wallpaper, btw.

but i didn't want A puppy. i want Pattie.

so until i do find my Pattie, Goose is getting a lot of my new puppy affection. she may have given me fleas, and i'm not even mad. new leaf, consider yourself turned over.

but what about caroline's pitt bull mix that i lived with for a year, and promptly despised as soon as she, ohhh, peed just about everywhere in my room, including on my bed? well, i still despise her.

so maybe i don't all of the sudden love all dogs. but at least i love some. a few. okay, two. and only one that i've met in real life.

its a start.

maybe i do have a soul.

maybe not.

more company-sponsored alcoholic socialization

noreply@blogger.com (hoppster) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 01:50:00 +0000

there was a wedding shower on friday after work for a copywriter in our office. it was held at my bosses personal residence. there was a very classy spread and choice wines and beers. i filled up on mini sausages and brie. and s'mores. and spent the night trying to hold up my end of the witty banter about the struggles of finding babysitters and explaining the difference between male and female genitalia to a 4 year old with colleagues who are at a very different life stage than myself.

the more time i spend with married people with children, the more i am for sterilization and promiscuity.

also, should you find yourself invited to a similar type fete, i'll give you a tip: bring a gift of the registry, or none at all. an affordable bottle of red wine is apparently not an acceptable gift for a wedding shower, regardless of how little you know the couple (maybe you just met the husband 10 minutes before, maybe 15). but should you be a total deadbeat and bring no gift at all, odds are, no one will notice.

but let me digress for a second...seriously, is it absolutely imperative to open presents as a group at a wedding shower like its a 5 year olds birthday party? all that ooh-ing and awww-ing over gifts the bride and groom-to-be hand picked while hopped up on love and the power of having that little scanner thing in their hand (so who knows if they really do want that 'white salt pig with spoon'...wtf? btw). its quite disturbing, really. 'oooh, look, a hand mixer, wow, that will be so useful in the kitchen....or the bedroom' (wait, what?)

gift registries are only a step above gift cards, because at least you know you are getting the happy couple something they want/need/neither want or need but thought was cool at the time, so what the heck?

i despise gift cards. i have about 5 years worth of macy's gift cards my step-grandfather gives annually to all the grandchildren that have never been used. and as soon as the annual fees start piling up (betchya didn't know after your gift card reaches its first birthday the store starts taking like $2 a month back, thieves) by the time i get around to using them, there's maybe $7.25 left on a $50 card. and you never have them on you when you would want to use one, because you'd have to carry around a roledex in your purse to make sure you had all of your gift cards, loyalty cards, etc. on you at just the right time.

so anyways. i managed to drink just enough wine to keep things interesting, without doing anything embarrassing enough to have to wear a disguise to work on monday. ended up closing the party down. and falling madly in love with one of the web programmers who happens to be handsome in a 'i am the only 30 year old who can pull off a bowl cut' kind of way (trust me, its an attractive look, IF and only if you can pull it off). he also happens to be incredibly witty and charming. oh, and happily married with two small children*.

all in all, another successful work-sponsored social event.

company christmas party shenanigans...coming soon!

*don't worry, i'm no cradle robber...but the light flirtation does make things interesting...and he may have equally attractive, charming, and witty friends to set me up with instead.