Late To The Party: March 2010

RSVP: In Which Phoenix Wasn't Totally Horrible

If you've ever read the blog before, you've probably come across Phoenix's name. Probably in connection with the word "scarf" or "douche." Now you're stopping by and there's a whole feature penned by this man whom you probably thought we hated.

Things happen quickly in Party Land. But here's the two main things you need to know:

1.) RSVP is another new feature. Just a little place for guest spots and blogs, which we will of course then respond to.
2.) This all unfolded quickly but was spurred on by Phoenix seeking out and finding the blog. And in the spirit of, "what the hey," we suggested he write something. And what followed is The Phoenix Feature. Go read it. It's sort of brilliant, in a Phoenix-y way.

And now, Roxanne and Lorraine respond to bits and pieces of The Phoenix Feature, because let's face it - it was pretty effin' long:
______________________________________________________

Sim-larion
Being the first (and only) Blog
From the Interminable hands of
that reviled Raconteur
Phoenix

R:

L: I've decided that I'm pretty useless throughout this post but I'm part of the packaged deal. If you write a blog about Rox, I'm gonna jump in with some "teehees" and other nonsense. It's to be expected. In this case, I will be doing one of 3 things: keeping the peace, perpetuating the Lor as a ditz stereotype or collecting evidence to prove my theory that Phoenix will always have a crush on Roxanne. And here we go:

Raconteur? I dunno... That does remind me of planeteers! You can be one too! 'Cause saving the planet is the thing to do! Phoenix, you can be Heart. No one liked that kid much anyways.

"I mean, what is there to say, really? “Hello, I'm Phoenix, I'm that moron who ruins things and pushes buttons and drinks martinis with olives (they're called gimlets, Roxanne);"
R: NO THEY AREN'T, Faux-nix! Wikipedia doesn't say shit about gimlets having ONIONS in them, which was my beef with the situation. Olives are classic martini fare - that's perfectly acceptable! However, ordering a martini with ONIONS in it is a horse of a different color. It's called a Gibson martini, you blockhead.
L: Roxanne that was horrible. You take that back right now, missy. And anyways, drinking free is the way to be.

"I don't particularly like myself. I never really have. I will be the first guy to admit that I'm smart as a whip, funny as hell, and possess an encyclopedic knowledge that amazes people as often as it annoys them."

R: Honestly, blogosphere, this is the smartest kid ever invented. I can understand the encyclopedic knowledge, as I once possessed something similar (but of a lower caliber). Being an only child, as Phoenix and I both are, really doesn't help the "nerd" thing that tends to happen when you have nothing to do but entertain yourself or go to summer school FOR FUN.
L: Phoenix is all kinds of smartypants. And once upon a time I was smart too! I wasn't an only child, but I was the middle child, which is basically almost the same thing. I happen to like Phoenix's intelligence. The gals sometimes say that I was cursed with a high Phoenix tolerance. Yay me!

"To the uninitiated, this comes off as brash bravado and needling narcissism."

R: I'm going to hell.

L: I will not join you there.

"I can't explain it. It was an epiphany moment, like when apes first hit something with a bone instead of a hand, or when Roxanne realized she was able to get away with being a bitch because of her looks"

R: What ze FUDGE? I'm a bitch because of my looks? No, dawg. I don't have enough looks to perpetuate such an unfounded and retarded claim. I'm not even really a bitch! Most people like me, actually. I'm pleasant. But YOU, just sometimes, piss me off. Jussst sometimes. Like when you make comments like that. Subtle digs - I wouldn't expect anything else from such a callow tree branch.

L: See, what happened was that Rox was once-upon-a-time sort of a bish. Like a little bit. But! She's reformed! She's awesome! And in an effort to keep the peace, I'll say that obviously Phoenix was referring to a time PRE-new Rox and that obviously- CALLOW TREE BRANCH?! Hahaha. That'll pair nicely with rotten wooden mixing spoon.

Zing, galore.

"The moment was inauspicious- it was pizza day at school- but I remember it to this day."

R: Regular pizza or Mexican pizza? Because if it was Mexican pizza, all of this makes sense. Mexican Pizza Day was always filled with magic and uhmayzingness.

L: Teehee.

"One fateful day, in 10th grade, I said the wrong thing to the wrong person. What followed was The Weeks of Hell, wherein I was chased, beaten, attacked, followed, and threatened. Windows were shot out. Houses were vandalized. My precious epiphany had backfired on me in ways I could never have imagined, and all because I forgot the original rule- never stop making fun of yourself."

R: I'd like to think that I always had a good hand on a lot of the gossip that went on at Horsey High, but I DO NOT remember hearing about this. Then again, "The Hill" wasn't exactly my scene. You see, during that fateful week when Phoenix and I dated, I thought it might be a good idea to wear blue striped toe socks with a pair of denim shorts and a shirt with "REBEL" bedazzled on it. That sort of solidified my outsider status at "The Hill". 616, who was merely my frenemy at this point, made fun of me mercilessly for being such a poser.

Anyway, like I said, I'm surprised that I never got wind of this. I thought you just spazzed out and stopped going to school or joined a cult or something.

L: I didn't know this until MySpace reconnected the Phe and me last year. I just heard he was so dang smart he dropped out 2 years early, got his GED and went straight to college. And oh jeezy the Hill. I have no effin' clue what I was doing in 10th grade, beside not going on field trips since someone *ahemPhoenixahem* ratted when I had a boy in my room during a field trip, but yeah the Hill. Not so much.

Crap, what was I supposed to be doing? Oh yeah. BE NICE ROX.

"Oh, also, Roxanne and I sort of made out."

R: This was definitely in 2005. It's almost cleared off my credit report.

L: It'll forever live on in his heart.

"What we do is, we scream at the world, reminding it with conviction that we're WHO WE ARE...while never really examining what the hell that phrase even means."

I have no idea who the hell I am. I know what I look like, what I'm wearing (sometimes), who my best friends are...but what does that MEAN?

L: A wise man once told me, we can only be who we are at any given moment. EFF that was Phoenix. A weird kid once told me, we can only be who we are at any given moment.

"She was the first person to approach me, and she was clever and funny and self deprecating and witty and beautiful."

R: For the record, I'm still all of those things.

L: Aw she is! Hence the on-going crush. Teehee!

R: Stop it! *swat*

"I'm pretty certain I was maybe the most awkward and ludicrous boyfriend-for-a-week in history"

R: We hung out on a playground, if that's any indicator. But I mean, what else can you do in 9th grade?

L: I will not say anything about boobs and Harry Potter. I will not say anything about boobs and Harry Potter. I will not say anything...

What?

"But we all know Roxanne is a lot smarter than she lets on. The question is, and always will be: Are you going to do anything about it?"

R: I HATE THIS QUESTION. You know, ALL my life, people have been telling me that I'm a disappointment. I had THREE people (including Phoenix) call me a disappointment in ONE DAY. Fuck this, fuck all of you people.

Also, I resent this EVEN MORE coming from Phoenix.

L: It's resented because, honestly, Phoenix, Rox and I are ALL disappointments. And we knew each other before, when that disappointment was potential. When we still had no effin' clue who we were, but were okay with hanging out on a hill and making fun of others, or wearing ridiculous things and dating ridiculous people or disappearing from the face of the earth and never truly being friends with anyone. And since Phoenix is in <3 with Rox, he sees all that amazing and wonders what the heck she's doing with it. Not that I'm asking that question, less she implode.

R: Don't get me wrong, guys. Phoenix and I are now more peaceful acquaintances, which is nice. We're sort of agreeing that we're both dramatically different people, and I'm very proud of the changes that Phoenix is making with his life.

It takes a lot of character to wake up one day and actively decide to not be a douchenozzle. I can respect that and appreciate that. But for the sake of art, I still have to keep my witty edge and opinion on all things Phoenix.

L: And really, any other portion not mentioned in this blog was rather genius. I mean humping change? Let's all get behind that imagery. And as quickly as we've all hopped on this whole "let's be friends" boat, it'll take a while to get used to the fact that we don't hate each other, and we could actually like each other...?

But as Phoenix himself reminded me as he talked about buffing up for his new friendship with Rox, he is after all, still Phoenix.

&rox
&lor

P.S - my cat is STILL yelling at me. What the fuck did I do?! WHAT ARE YOU, MY MOTHER? *bang. I'm dead.

Roxanne Says: Don't yell at me!

My cat has been yelling at me ALL day.

I have two cats - Pork and Tiger.
Pork is - as you can probably tell - fat. Fluffy, squishy, pudgy, rotund...whatever you want to call it. He's the younger of the two.

Tiger is probably 12 years old, has diabetes, and resembles what Montgomery Burns from The Simpsons might look like if he were in cat form. His aliases include 'Betes and Ol' Washrag Cat (said in a British accent, of course). I muse that he probably has some form of feline dementia as well, seeing as how he can often be found standing in my parents' shower, meowing helplessly from behind the curtain.

Anyway, Tiger has been stalking around the house, forcefully meowing at me all day.

Dear Tiger,
First of all, DON'T YELL AT ME, or else I might just forget where your insulin is placed, SIR. Second of all...just...don't yell at me. I keep thinking you're going to puke somewhere. Puke makes me vomit. *lurch.
kissies,
&rox

I'm glad I got that out of the way.

I'm six innings deep into a Red Sox/Rays game that's being broadcast on MLB Network. The sweet thing about Spring Training is that they show games from the local feed, so I'm actually listening to Jerry Remy butcher the English language, which is uhmayzing.

ballpark = ballpahk.
Dustin Pedroia = Dustin Pedroyer
Red Sox = Red Sawx
shop (could even be "sharp") = shawp

I'm always entertained by a flagrant disregard for the letter "R". I understand that it's by way of Massachusetts and other areas along the upper East coast, but it's still hella amusing to me. As a born and raised Floridian, I pride myself in having no accent at all, except for the ones I impart on myself - such as a Hispanic tinge or a slight country twang.

In other news, after that thorough blog lashing directed at the Teets, I was fired the next day. Yes, I'm happy and relieved, and can now stop bitching about injustice and hating life. Wah-wah-WOOO for eliminating shitty jobs. Unfortunately, I've taken to my new found free time by spending as much money as humanly possible. Sephora, Aeropostale, Frederick's of Hollywood, Target, Wal-Mart, Victoria's Secret, Macy's, more Sephora, even MORE Sephora, Forever 21 - you named it, I've been there...all over the course of the weekend.

Lorraine and I found ourselves buying a whole bunch of crap that we did not ACTUALLY want, which has resulted in a tentative trip to return lots of shit. In my room, you'll find:

An Aeropostale bag with a white tank top, a logo tee and a pair of jean shorts
A Sephora bag with a sample bottle of Thickening Styling Cream and a Laura Mercier Lip Stain
A Victoria's Secret bag with a pair of black lace shorties
An A'Gaci bag with a flowery tank top
A Frederick's of Hollywood bag with a black corset

all ready to be returned. This totals roughly $200 to recoup. That's my car insurance payment. Do I have a problem? Why yes, yes I do.

I've been exploring some of my curiosities lately and getting some direction. As Lor mentioned, we did the guitar lesson thing on Saturday. We know that she enjoyed it, which is excellent. How did I feel post guitar lesson?

I was irritated at my inability to bridge my fingers, I was irritated at our instructor (who, as Lor accurately described, was abrasive), I was irritated at having to get rid of my nails (OH HELLS NAW), and I was irritated with a note of finality when I found out my guitar was BROKEN. One of the tuner hickeys didn't turn anymore, thus meaning that my floppy string would stay floppy.

Fuck you, floppy string! How's the garbage taste? MEHHHH. I still have a desire to learn, but I don't think I want anyone to teach me but myself. I get less frustrated with my inadequacies when I'm the only one who knows about them.

I also am faced with giving my camera of amazingness back to Boyband so that he can sell it to a co-worker. While I'm sad to see the camera go, I'm realizing that I may not have been as passionate about it as I wanted to be. I kept promising to play with it, but never quite made the time. Something greater always happened - shopping, gymming, sleeping, RiSKing...the camera always got pushed to the wayside.

Maybe I really wasn't that dedicated to exploring my creativity? Or perhaps, like everything else in life, I need to do these things the difficult way - my way.

My Mom loves to tell the story about how I've always done things ass backwards, ever since the day of conception. Everything in life is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I tried to exit the womb breech and upside down, thus her theory on my ass backwards approach to life. I've always needed to do things the hardest way possible, and as much as I hate it, it's just who I am. I'm stubborn to a fault (thanks, sun sign...stupid Taurus stereotypes) and I fly by the seat of my pants. I'm a walking life liability.

Also, I just accepted a dinner invite from Swagger. I don't want to go, so why did I accept? I'm not going to go but I accepted the invite. I accepted the invite with NO INTENTION OF GOING. Why did I even say yes? Oh, that's right, because I'm a psycho. I'm in heart with RiSK but too chicken shit to have faith in the situation. I keep going back and forth between spazzy bouts of "I CAN'T DO THIS" and totally clinging to shards of hope. I don't understand the situation and it is killing me! My beef with the situation is that I don't know how he feels. I don't know how he REALLY feels about me, the situation, what he wants in a relationship - he won't tell me! I haven't directly ASKED - well, yes I have, sort of - but he hasn't told me, either. I need to know if he might want to be with me one day, I want to know how he feels so I should know whether to anticipate him cutting off ties when he finds someone who IS what he's looking for. But why wouldn't I be that girl? We talk constantly, we giggle and laugh with each other, we make each other feel like kids again. We have intelligent conversation, I'm doting to his needs, we have similar senses of humor, amazing sex...what would be stopping him from seeing me that way? Is it my past, is it his past, am I not what he's looking for?

I am NEVER like this. I'm not this girl, I'm not A girl, ever. This is alarming and it makes me want to punch babies.

I'm not looking for a ring or marriage or an "I Love You" - I want to know what to anticipate. I want to know what to plan for. I'm a planner, even if I don't execute. I want to know that while he's not ready for a relationship yet, that he's interested in me in that capacity.

I won't be like the other girls that he's dated and I know that he's not like the other guys I've dated. How do I get him to see that? Short of showing him this blog and all my inner-most girlie dramz, all I can think of is to be consistent and supportive. I'm just deathly afraid of getting hurt.

Dear RiSK,
Please don't hurt me. :( If anyone could do it, it'd be you.
skurred&waiting,
&rox

Well, that's enough from me for this evening. I think I'll go download some music and light a candle. I now have matches - NOM, MATCHES. My inner pyro is squee-ing like a six year old.

&rox

Lorraine Says: Generally, Sort Of, Maybe, Possibly and Perhaps

The end of a matter is better than its beginning.

Things have been slightly serious around the Party lately. We’ll blame it on some combination of Phoenix’s ~~love note~~, er blog, and Rox and I’s general lazy face, disjointed and directionless dispositions.

I suppose I could dive right into the pre-set mood, with some deep if slightly disparaging observations about exactly where Lorraine fits in it all. If nothing else, this weekend was just one perfect example after another of what’s wrong with me: awkward, horrible social skills, quits easily, afraid what she feels is uncalled for, says the wrong thing, emotional, and moody.

I suspect Phoenix and Rox can relate on a level of been there-tried that-now I want a change. I’m the solo occupant of camp never been there-never tried that-but I maybe sort of want to? Or as Penny likes to say, maybe just the tip, maybe for a little bit, just to see how it feels. And sometimes it feels like no matter how much I live or try, I've never done quite enough.

I’m afraid wide-eyed and awkward gets old for people, but we’ve discussed my abandonment issues.

I suppose, as Phoenix noted, it all goes back to elementary school. Pull up an old, dirty ABC carpet, sit next to the booger picker, and get ready for a story, kiddies.

“You all look back on those grade school days and remember your friends, right? They might not be your friends now, sure, but you can remember Suzy Daniels or Tom Alvarez or SomeIdiotWithTheFirstNameBarbri, and recall fond times, playing, having sleepovers, fighting over boys or friends or the last whatever on the plate. Right?”

Meh. I remember some friends. Mostly, I remember a revolving door of school chums I’d get close to for short spurts of time. There were no sleepovers, no invites here either. Half because they weren't allowed and half because their not being allowed made me a weird kid. In fact, all the way up through high school, I do believe Barb was the only school chum who ever got to see my house and that was for a math study session.

Rox and Pen were over on Saturday only for the first time and were generally afraid Jeezy or la Madre was going to strike them down, whichever came first.

Childhood for me was something eerily close to "an endless stream of faux pas, school yard fights, mistakes and insults." As I thought about it all, I remembered, how often in fact I was involved in verbal tiffs. My abnormal social development meant I was always, always pissing someone off. And my slightly above average intelligence meant that I’d lay into whoever tried to lay into me pretty effectively and ostracize myself from everyone.

Take third grade for example. Believe it or not, I was pretty active in my younger years. I’m talking, fastest runner to the gate and back, master of all things kickball, monkey bar completer, tree climber, lizard catcher and parallel bar hanger.

One day I was hanging upside down on the parallel bars alone when some fluffy kid Sabo and her band of Marshmallows approached me, kicked sand in my face and confronted me about some nonsense now lost to time and a horrible effin’ memory. I do remember my fury. By the time I was done with them, I was the only one not crying, despite the sand in my burning eyes. The PE whistle blew and we all trudged back up to class where the teacher immediately began investigating.

“I want everyone to write me an essay right now about how this entire situation could’ve been handled better!”

Fine, douchebag, thought I. I wrote a dissertation on how my actions were above reproach. About how sand in my very delicate eyes had upset my disposition and how at the moment we weren’t even under direct adult supervision (PE teach Ms. Mister had taken a pee break) and how I was accused and insulted and alone…

Needless to say, after everyone turned in their flimsy, “lorraine is mean. she is really bad to us,” essays and I’d turned in my masterpiece, the teacher was apologizing to me and reprimanding the class. It all seemed a sweet deal until Marshmallow #2 broke down crying, full on panic attack style, mid-teacher lecture. Everyone turned to her, wide-eyed, like dude, it isn’t THAT serious, but she was hyperventilating, nonetheless. She turned to where I was sitting, pointed and said, “She is a demon!”

I was friendless for the entire rest of the year. And thus went elementary school.

I could delve into those memories and explore my theory on how I’m only initially attractive to people, but I won’t. My job is to giggle and talk about roller skates and mall trips and Lazy Face weekend and oranges and my magical disappearing and reappearing heartache with lots of made up words, and “teehees” and qualifiers like generally, sort of, maybe, possibly and perhaps. Apparently, that's what Lorraines are good for.

I was almost going to censor myself here, but God I suck at that. I already have to watch what I say about crazy girlfriends and Stalkerazzi (whoops…) so I can’t also rip Magpie from the headlines. I can, however condense:

I asked to talk to him. He ignored me. I said, hey gee thanks for ignoring me all weekend. He said, I didn’t want you to apologize when I was being a douche. I said, being ignored by a douche is far worse. He said, :(. I said, Yep. He said, if it weren’t for all that extra bullshizz like your “family” and “church” I could just be with you and love you 4eva. I think, oh gee, well thanks. I said, everyone has extra bullshizz. I can appreciate that mine was not the sort you can deal with. That’s honestly got to be the best reasoning I’ve heard from you so far. He says, doesn’t stop me from loving and longing for you. I said, sorry.

I think, skjdflsjdfinfkdjslkfs.dsjlfdjsoifd..

What can I say? Sometimes it’s all about oranges and heartache, loves. Sometime we dwell on the sex that isn’t worth the trouble but that you keep having anyways, despite whether or not you’re blowing anyone’s mind or gaskets, despite if you can in fact have no strings attached, or despite the fact that you are broken up or despite the fact that they can’t decide whether or not they want you or despite the fact that they're emotionally scarred or despite the fact they got a ridiculous tattoo the size of Jeezy on their arm.

We all just keep screwing each other.

&lor

RSVP: The Phoenix Feature

Sim-larion

Being the first (and only) Blog

From the Interminable hands of

that reviled Raconteur

Phoenix

Originally I had planned to write something a bit light hearted, a bit serious, tacitly personal, and all of it terribly, terribly witty. But I figured that if I was going to invade the virgin soil of Late to the Party, it would do me some good to read through a few of the entries: get a feel for things, as it were. I mean, what is there to say, really? “Hello, I'm Phoenix, I'm that moron who ruins things and pushes buttons and drinks martinis with olives (they're called gimlets, Roxanne); or rather, I would be that moron that ruins everything, if I mattered enough to actually affect people in a significant way”. But that all seems awfully self absorbed- not to mention boring. So I read...and read...and came upon an entry of some merit and interest that I think we can all agree is pretty significant: RiSK, Life & Battleship.

Well, wasn't I surprised.

Here's the thing, readers. I don't particularly like myself. I never really have. I will be the first guy to admit that I'm smart as a whip, funny as hell, and possess an encyclopedic knowledge that amazes people as often as it annoys them. To the uninitiated, this comes off as brash bravado and needling narcissism. However, most of the people that actually know me- the ones who actually get a slice of Phoenix that isn't putting on a show for his own amusement- understand the truth as it really is: I am cripplingly insecure.

It goes all the way back, back to elementary school, in fact.

You all look back on those grade school days and remember your friends, right? They might not be your friends now, sure, but you can remember Suzy Daniels or Tom Alvarez or SomeIdiotWithTheFirstNameBarbri, and recall fond times, playing, having sleepovers, fighting over boys or friends or the last whatever on the plate. Right?

I don't. No one came to my house. No one invited me to their house. Childhood, to me, is seen as a series of embarrassments; an endless stream of faux pas, school yard fights, mistakes, and insults.

Was it my fault? Sure. I was a weird kid, and most kids don't like weird kids. I was loud, and I talked a lot. I don't begrudge any of them for not giving me the time of day, or not wanting to be around me- but I think you can imagine just how scarring it is to be in 5th grade and ready to jump into a new and scary school...and knowing that no one wants to have anything to do with you. You're going it alone.

Middle school was easier. I had my first girlfriend- well, the first that wasn't my next-door neighbor telling me that I “belonged” to her, and that she was going to have my babies (Yikes!).

At any rate, middle school was part of an important period in Phoenix's life I like to call “The Period of Enlightenment”. What does this mean, you ask? It means that one day I was sitting at the lunch table, being verbally abused by a few guys, one of which was SomeIdiotWithTheFirstNameBarbri's new “boyfriend”. They laid into me with the rapier wit and delicate observations that any boy in middle school (and even a boy today) who was dating SomeIdiotWithTheFirstNameBarbri could muster- something about my intellect and my mother's weight, no doubt, though these two matters are, ironically, the least of my worries. Jesus, imagine if they had the brain power to make an observation about my insecurity or my sallow upper body strength? I'd have imploded on the spot.

So ANYWAY, they laid into me and I just...went with it.

I can't explain it. It was an epiphany moment, like when apes first hit something with a bone instead of a hand, or when Roxanne realized she was able to get away with being a bitch because of her looks- suddenly I realized that if I made fun of myself, they would stop making fun of me. The moment was inauspicious- it was pizza day at school- but I remember it to this day.

By eight grade, I had begun to shift the insults from myself to others in such a deft manner that people naturally followed. Flash forward to Freshman year in High School, and I was on a teetering knife's edge of sorts- I was getting away with viciously tearing into my would be attackers, needling them over the most minute detail of their clothing, personality, anything really. It felt good...it felt damn good. For a while, I thought I might be able to join the ranks of full time pricks and assholes, delivering nothing but jeers and barbs to other, lesser people. Always though, there was a nagging feeling. A knowledge that it was somehow “not right”.

One fateful day, in 10th grade, I said the wrong thing to the wrong person. What followed was The Weeks of Hell, wherein I was chased, beaten, attacked, followed, and threatened. Windows were shot out. Houses were vandalized. My precious epiphany had backfired on me in ways I could never have imagined, and all because I forgot the original rule- never stop making fun of yourself.

Oh, and somewhere in there, Roxanne and I dated for like a week.

So I dropped out. And I lived. I traveled the country, working, going to school, meeting new people from all walks of life. First there was Los Angeles, then Bangor, Maine. I spent some time in Vancouver, and even a few weeks with family in Berlin. Then there was Texas, and finally Boston. By the time the old calender rolled into Two Thousand and Nine, and I was settled back at home, finally ready to go to college, I had developed a drinking problem, screwed around with every class of weirdo, served in a band, spent time in a cult, seen things in desserts and marshes and frozen lakes that deserve their own blog entry each of them, and had come no closer to liking myself one tiny bit.

Oh, and somewhere in there, I took a piss on the center of the universe. Long story.

Oh, also, Roxanne and I sort of made out.

Two pages, and I haven't said anything remotely interesting. I know, it's disgusting. Why oh why has Phoenix taken a big chunk of blog-space to ramble on about his own desperate problems and worthless endeavors. We're here for blood and guts and sex, aren't we? Broken hearts and adventures with oranges- the good stuff! Well I don't know anything about that. Sex is more trouble than it's worth. Blood is overrated. Citrus makes my lips ache. What I do know, however, is that some folks see the name Phoenix and they roll their eyes- “him again”. Phoenix is a name that's attached to a lot of ideas, like playing with heart strings and generally being a jerk-off. I only wanted to give myself a voice, and a past, a past not entirely defined by his interaction with L and R Industries. I strove, and maybe I succeeded a little in striving, to remind people that I do not simply boll over other people with a smile on my face and fire in my eyes. I worry. I doubt. And I am ashamed by my mistakes- even as I keep making them. I am, for all intents and purposes, just like the rest of you. I do not revel in my failures. I simply embody them.

RiSK, Life & Battleship. What a great entry. I've got to hand it to Roxanne- I was surprised to read it. The Phoenix today is a very different Phoenix from a year ago. His sexuality, for instance, is firmly established- Pussy. Yes, that most distressing of words. His mission is not entirely defined, but it involves moving forward, I can assure you of that. I guess my point is that what Roxanne seemed to be chewing at is something very dear to my heart- change.

Not the illusion of change. We all play with change like a boy plays with a butterfly, picking off wings. We change our hair color, for instance. We change where we live, for another. We shift our environment and our friends and our geography and our bodies to reflect a desire for change, while not actually changing at all. I can't even recognize some of the people from my past, through all those tattoos and piercings and child-bearing hips- but I'd recognize their silly sentiments and wild words any day of the week.

What we do is, we scream at the world, reminding it with conviction that we're WHO WE ARE...while never really examining what the hell that phrase even means.

But one day you wake up. It's a normal day, maybe, or perhaps a special one. But by the end of it, without even wanting to sometimes, we're different. Alcoholics call it a “white light experience”, but in my experience, it's more of a slow, yellow burn. AT any rate, by the end of my “special day”, I was fingering a plastic chip in my pocket and walking out of an AA meeting- to never drink again.

This didn't come on top of some horrific event involving a bottle of Jack Daniels and a run over tricycle, mind you. I simply woke up one day and said to myself “I need to stop”. Before that, I'd started a diet that dropped twenty pounds from my always suffering frame. I remodeled my room, too, but that's just an expensive hair color change. What matters is that change, real change, wandered up to me when the time was right and took me by the hand. I simply followed.

Roxanne talks about the things in her life she wants to spend time on. Photography, life, creativity. It sounds familiar, and it sounds noble. It also sounds tragic. It sounds, and pardon the boldness, but it sounds like a girl who woke up one day and realized she wasn't doing anything with her life. She was surviving, not thriving. It sounds like someone who took a good long look at their day planner, their Facebook buddy list, their room- and did not like what they saw. It sounds good.

Well I'll warn her of this- change is hard. That day at AA wasn't my first. Far from it. But it's the first meeting that didn't end with me heading straight for a liquor store. “Don't compare me wanting to shoot pictures with you drinking yourself into a stupor every day,” she might warn right back.

Yea, it doesn't sound like they're in the same league, right?

But the fact of the matter is that it's ALL HARD. Quitting booze is like...no longer procrastinating about writing that novel, or talking to your mother more, even if she only ever gives you grief: Change is the hardest thing you can ever do. It requires things from within that most people don't even like to think about, let alone act one. Like admitting you're wrong, for instance. Admitting that booze is killing you, making an already withdrawn and hard to like man even less worthy of other people's time. Or admitting that you feel a creative void in your life, and it's your own apathy that's gotten you there. Who likes to admit to being wrong?

Change requires you to not rationalize your way out of being less than. Less than what? Less than you imagined. Less than you hoped. Change requires that you admit to being as fucked up as Roxanne, or as fucked up as the gas station attendant, or as fucked up as the movie star or the business executive. Change requires you to admit that you're as in need of a tune-up as the rest of the world.

You are not an island. You are just a guy with good taste and bad manners. You are a girl that wants to do more with your time left on earth.

Change requires that you admit to wanting something, and that something is often indescribable and vague. Some people want just “change”, and that's a rough lover, because once you romance the idea of change instead of what it is you really need to do, then you're just humping an idea, and ideas never let you finish.

Change is good. Change is rare. Rare things are precious.

So we come to the crux of the matter, or at least the matter I wanted to address here: Why I don't like Roxanne.

Roxanne disapointed me.

She disappointed me in love, for one. She suffered through horrible smoke filled nights in my cramped little room, looming with antiques, and for a few tiny moments, seemed to really open up. She was dating The Cheat, and when the candle light hit her face in just the right way...she looked hurt. Tragic. Disappointed. I know the feeling.

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe what we shared those few nights of talks and laughter and the worst that Denny's can provide was not something deep and ephemeral and romantic. Maybe it was just raw honesty. The kissing sort of falls naturally into that cruel little valley.

She ran away from me then, and has never ever come back.

She disappointed me as a person, for two. I made a lot of friends, and frenemies as the kids would say, in high school- but I never met anyone like Roxanne. She was the first person to approach me, and she was clever and funny and self deprecating and witty and beautiful. I'm pretty certain I was maybe the most awkward and ludicrous boyfriend-for-a-week in history, and I don't blame her for walking away from that as quickly as possible- the relationship was no earth shattering tragedy for either of us. But can you imagine what it was like to be talked by a girl like her after 8 years of torture and alienation?

And who did she date? Who did she hang out with? Who was better than the likes of me?

The same brainless pricks who tormented me all those years. The same bastards who torment me today, just by opening their mouths.

So yea. Roxanne disappointed me. It's a selfish disappointment, I know this. It's the hurt that comes from a very unusual kid who wanted nothing more in his life than to find someone kindred. That kid just had to get over the fact that she's not so kindred. Or maybe...

But that was a long time ago. A Phoenix who found stretchy shirts the height of comedy. (Fan service!)

Now, I'm proud of Roxanne. From what I've read, she's ready to take the hand of change. Who knows where it'll lead her. Is it selfish to hope that it leads her away from cheese-ball men and ditzy gal-pals? Probably, yea. But we all know Roxanne is a lot smarter than she lets on. The question is, and always will be:

Are you going to do anything about it?

Some people, myself included, know you will.

We all will. But only if we want to. And only when we need to.

Now, as for Lorraine...well. That's another blog.

Sincerely,

With your approval,

Phoenix Dark Dirk

Roxanne Says: Rabbit Rabbit

Once again, I've been MIA. This blog turns into the Lorraine Show at times, which I really can't be upset about...she's an uhmayzing host. Her blogs are full of wit and thought provoking questions and powerful observations, whereas mine are...usually nonexistant. And when they do show up, they showcase my unhealthy affection for the ellipsis.

...weird.

In my defense, I've been working - still. What the fudge, Teets? What happened to looking forward to a mid-March fire date? This is absolute bullshit. Someone's really dragging their feet on this one. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH BASEBALL I'VE MISSED? I only caught two games! TWO! ONE TWO! I'm missing a potential trip to Sea World with Stimpy and Flavor 2, I'm missing my cousin's birthday party tomorrow night, and damn it, I'm missing baseball!

MAYBE tomorrow will be the day. I won't hold my breath.

It may seem peculiar that someone wants to get fired so bad considering the economy in which we're wallowing, but you must understand the extreme shittedness that I feel at the Teets. If ever there was a job to make me feel great and not good enough at the same time, it's this job. And frankly, it can go shove itself up its own ass. Graphic but satisfying.
Other than that, I've been being a really good FRIEND to RiSK. Lots of deets to share there but not quite the time to do so tonight. Let's just say that I'm a spazz and I've finally found someone to penetrate my otherwise impenetrable heart. In case anyone was wondering, it's a hideous feeling.

The last thing that's been consuming my time is reading. I'm balls deep (lovely visual, eh?) in a book called "Reedeming Love" that Lor recommended and supplied for me. It's a book loosely based on the story of Gomer and Hosea from the Bible. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm still in the process of sorting out my feelings on Jeezy and the Beeble, but I'm working on it. Books like this help me overcome some of my prejudice towards what (in my mind) modern religion has become. Besides, love stories - sw00n! There's something that speaks to me about a man loving a woman despite all odds that gives me hope that RiSK can look past all of my previous fuckheadedness and see me for what I CAN be or even for what I am now.

...did I just say that? *facepalm. This is BAD, blogosphere. Emotions? Me? *gulp.

Off to read! Early day at work tomorrow - a store meeting about promotions that I won't be around to sell! Just like the training that I went to yesterday, for the new phones that I won't be around to use! Idiots. I leave you with a parting gift, sort of a "Web Nom of the Week".

&rox

Lorraine Says: Hair Like Goats

Broken Lorraine is a quick fix.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. The alternative would be, “Lorraine is so damn moody that she’s incredibly chipper this lovely day, in contrast to the emo-mess she was yesterday.”

We can all agree that I r slightly broken, but at least I can take comfort in the fact that I am fixed easily, right? RIGHT. I’m like the cable in my room: it works!... You just have to jump around on the bed a little when the picture starts to get a fuzzy. Quick fix! (Everything I own goes ghetto, I swear. Future blog? Check.) (Dude, I’ve got to go back and look at all the stuff I say I’m going to blog about in the future and see if I ever do.)

I’m not sure what fixes me specifically, but I’ll give you a rundown of what happened between E:MO o’clock yesterday and W:OOam today:

After work and before church, I had about an hour and a half to spend and headed toward Pen and Rox. I invited Vyelit but she’s on a working out and losing 80 (80!) pounds by tomorrow kick. Anyways, we headed to Target because I needed more protein bars (iron deficiancy!) and Rox’s sucky-ass immune system needed Spiderman Vitamins and Pen’s Jew-Fro needed hairspray.

We giggled the entire car ride, about how Penny’s back-up at work Precious fails at life and about how the minute she’s fired Rox will be waiting outside Pen's job, Child Beater’s Anonymous, with a resume and “Will Work For Make-up” sign.
Once inside Target we realized we were too freaking hungry to really shop, which was amazing for our bank account. We didn’t really wander or browse; we more stared at things for long periods of time. Like shampoo. And candles. Hunger won.

We bailed after the necessities and decided to go to a local BBQ place where 80 (80!) people Pen and Rox know work. We all looked, ahem, plain, but hunger won. Again.

I broke out my Lil’ Jon voice (I sure hope I punctuated his name right!) and said ERRYBODY and it was a hit. Excuse me while I toot my own horn.

Toot.

During dinner we saw the melting of Rox as she swooned and spoke of RiSK. I’ve never seen Rox that way. She literally blushed and put her head down on the table and my God, there were thought bubbles with hearts and swirley-do’s growing out of her head. I’m so, so, so happy Rox is happy. She deserves swirley-do’s, contrary to her theories on fate hocking loogies at her. Gross. No thanks, madam.

OMG, I am probably too excited about this, but OMG, I really am too excited about this. I swear, this one thing made me feel more productive than anything else this week. Srlsy:

WE EXCHANGED OUR ISH. ALL ISH IS RETURNED TO RIGHTFUL OWNERS. AND ALL ISH TO BE BORROWED HAS BEEN BORROWED.

Ahem.

Translation: I remembered to give Penny her car charge and Panther’s hat back. I remembered to lend Rox the second Don Miller book and the Francine Rivers book, “Redeeming Love.” I got my car charger back from Roxanne and she leant me the first Don Miller book. Extra long woot, y'all: Wooooooooot.

Also, Penny said I can type “y'all,” as I’ve been doing a lot lately, but she banned me from ever, ever saying it, ever. That ain’t fair y’all.

In a less CAPS LOCK inducing turn of events, I’m pretty sure I left my drapey sweater thing at 80 (80!) People We Know BBQ. Or in the back of Penny’s car…? I win some, I lose some.
After dinner, Penny and Roxanne were going to pretend we live in Georgia, and go hang out at Wal-Mart. (Hi people from Georgia! Kisses.)

I went to church. Every month at church, we read a book of the Bible as a whole and the last Thursday of the month, the different groups (Men, Women, Youth) take turns presenting the book, picking out key parts, etc.

It was the youth’s turn to present Song of Solomon. There was a play about different types of love, and love a la High School and a gentle reminder about God being perfect love. It really was sweet and well done. And lately, I’ve been obsessed with the book of Proverbs. Solomon is one nifty writer because Song of Solomon, a book dedicated solely to love, is pretty awesome too.

Well… maybe a little outdated:

How beautiful you are, my darling!

Oh, how beautiful!

Your eyes behind your veil are doves.

Your hair is like a flock of goats

descending from Mount Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn,

coming up from the washing.

Each has its twin;

not one of them is alone.

Hair like goats! No missing teeth! Swoon. But, really there are some lovely parts:

Place me like a seal over your heart,

like a seal on your arm;

for love is as strong as death,

its jealousy unyielding as the grave.

It burns like blazing fire,

like a mighty flame.

Many waters cannot quench love;

rivers cannot wash it away.

Sweet. <3.

Anyways, after church, I went to Steak and Shake with Venus, Fetus, TingTing, CaliforniaTax and Vyelit. I think we've all kissed and made up.

It’s what Penny was saying about Anthology: the people you love the most have the most power to annoy you and make you angry. But they are still boyfriends and best friends and family, even if we threaten to break-up with them every other day. So we sip shakes and move on.

By the time I got home, I had such a burst of energy. I planned on using it to pack for this weekend, but instead took an extra long shower and read Blue Like Jazz in my underwear while I listened to Jon Foreman’s “In My Arms” over and over again, until I fell asleep.

And this morning? Energy! Chipper! I’m bouncing around in my rolley chair. I was a little worried because I have to leave work early today. I left two weeks ago for the Marlins game. I left last week for pedicures with the girls. I was scurred. But thank God, my boss didn’t even show and no one else cares/notices whether I leave, stay, fall out of my chair with giggles, bounce, hop, or emo cry into my coffee. (All of these things have happened before in my cube.)

Lesson of the day kids? If you feel sucky because you forget everything and never get little stuff done, buy protein bars, eat BBQ, borrow stuff, return stuff, lose stuff, read the Bible, have a milk shake, read in your underwear and sleep.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

&lor

Ask Rox and Lor: Check Yes or No

Dear Roxanne,

Do you think I will miss you lots when you leave me ???

Boyband

Lor: This isn't even addressed to me, but uh, hi ya'll!

Rox: HI EV-UH-REE-WON!

L: Can I just say how much this reminds me of those notes you used to get in school? Oh, come on. You know the ones...

R: Excellent artistic depiction, Lor!

L: Thanks Rox! I'm rather proud of it.
Anyways, this question is sort of EVEN BETTER than a note you get, because it's kind of addressed to self... will I miss you lots? Check one!

This seems like an excellent way to go about life. Especially for people (me) terrible at making decisions (me).

R: I wish I could make fun of you for your lack of decision making skills, but we're paddling this boat together, homes. I SUCK at decisions.

L: I had the pleasure of chatting with Boyband for a bit when I went to the Teets last Saturday. He has the best facial expressions, is very easy to converse with, and is funny to boot. He said I have a wonderful smile *blush* so you know what? He's sort of AMAZING. I think I'll miss him. *Tear.

R: Amazing is not the right word for this dear, dear friend. I can't say that I'll miss working with anyone nearly as much as I'll miss working with Boyband. He never fails to make me laugh or feel enlightened. Best person I met in 2009, hands down. ♥ you, darling!

Dear Boyband,

We think you will miss Rox lots. She's just the sort of person you miss having around; the sort of person you notice is gone. She will miss you too. And Lorraine will miss you because Roxanne will miss you. Plus, you complimented her, teehee.

We reccommend the following to recover from all of this missing-ness.

a.) Feel free to attend the Eff The Teets, Damn the Man bonfire
2.) consider getting Roxanne's profile tatooed on your body so that her face will never be far from you

3.) alcohol

d.) chocolate

e.) keep reading our blog or DIE!

cat.) don't be a stranger.

Kisses!

The Party Girls

(Yo, kiddies. Advice that good doesn't come along always. Need some advice of your own? Read something you didn't understand? Want to know something personal about Rox and Lor? Ask Rox and Lor, anonymously if you want, and your question could be answered on a blog. Holla.)

Lorraine Says: Like Gary Busey

When you've lived in South Florida most of your life, memories of hurricanes tend to run together. Fear dulls after a lot of close calls and hurricane warnings = munching on non-perishable food and sleeping in pitch black, thanks to boarded up windows.

In 2004 we had Frances. If I remember correctly, Frances delayed in the Bahamas for a bit, so that our house was boarded up, muggy and dark for a day or so before she ever made landfall. We were restless and very doubting of her strength. In fact, as the storm passed, I remember sitting outside, marveling at the grayish-yellow clouds speeding past us in the sky until power lines started to snap and the transformer on the corner of our house blew and started spewing green electrical sparks. We all sobered up and took our patio chairs inside.

While we were spared much destruction, everything was a gigantic mess: we had no power, gas lines were ridiculous, streetlights were in the middle of intersections, people were stealing stop signs, trees were uprooted, etc. I have a cousin who lived about 20 minutes west of us at the time, in a better part of our county. They still had power.

We drove there, dodging grounded palm trees. We found the one IHOP that had power and waited 80 years to eat. We found the one Wal-Mart that was open and bought 80 $5 DVD's to watch over the next few days in between cleaning out nature's mess.

I can't remember what other movies we watched, but I do know that we saw "50 First Dates" 80 flippin' times. (It's 80 day! woot) We'd watch it, someone new would get to my cousin's house and we’d ask, "you ever seen '50 First Dates?' No?" Rewind, watch again.

It's no wonder that by the time we went back home (equipped with a nifty generator) my sisters and I had memorized the "Forgetful Lucy" song.

Sigh. I’m Forgetful Lucy, ya’ll. I didn’t really crack my head like Gary Busey, and none of that other stuff applies, but I still forget everything!

Penny knows none of this story and she calls me Ten Second Ted, another character from the movie. No thanks, Pen, I prefer Forgetful Lucy. She gets a song.

I’ve been a tad down this week. And it isn’t even an unhappy down. I’m still happy, I’m just a little annoyed with myself for forgetting everything, and leaving things half done and never committing to anything and not listening to myself.

How does one live when one doesn’t even listen to the plans that one makes?! It’s as dumb as it sounds. And because you knew it was coming and I’m a predictable creature of habit:

Seven Questions I Asked Myself About My Life This Week.

Why do I forget everything? - My brand new car charge is sitting in Rox’s car because I keep forgetting I left it there. I’m going out of town for the weekend and I keep forgetting and making other plans. I’m always double booking because I can’t recall what I’ve already planned. I buy agenda’s and have a smart phone, but I forget to write things down. Rox has been trying to borrow two books from me since forever, but I always forget them at home. I owe Penny money for a concert I was volun-told to go to, and I always forget. I forgot like 90% of high school. IT SUCKS.
Why do I put the things I do remember off? – I’ve been going to clean out my car for like a month now. Renew my library books? I’ll do it later. Read a chapter for class? Later. Buy a SunPass? Later. Deposit my paychecks? Later. Hey, why don’t I live my life? LATER. -_-
Why am I so lazy, even for the things I want to do? – Hey, I want to blog! Sleep. I really want to go the gym tomorrow morning. Sleep. I want to keep reading this awesome book. Sleep. I want to go to the grocery store and buy food so I won’t starve. Sleep. Oh, look Lorraine! A million dollars! Come get it down the street! Sleep.
Why do I buy stuff I don’t use? – Have I mentioned all the money I’ve spent that I shouldn’t have spent lately? I have? Cool. ‘Cause I spent a lot of money I shouldn’t have spent. And I mean, it’s fine. No repo man is coming after me or anything, but I spend all this money on stuff I NEVER USE. I was cleaning a section of my room (more on that later) and I had: 5 half written in journals, two books on journaling, 3 steno pads, markers, colored pencils, 80-bajillion Post-it notes and SECRET DECODER PENS.

WTF am I, Harriet the Spy? Why did I buy invisible ink pens that aren't really that great because they write so hard, you can tell what someone wrote without the blue light. Can I have my money back?
Why do I leave everything half done? – Each of those journals had entries every few days for a month and then jumped a year to an entry that was like, “boohoo, I suck” and then I never write in them again.
Why can’t I make a decision? – I really don’t want to do Pharmacy school. I keep forcing myself to believe that I’ll just grin and bear it, all in the name of making great money once I graduate, but I’m only taking one class and lab and it’s killing me. It sucks the life out of me and makes me feel inadequate because I don’t jizz at the thought of organic chemistry. But I can’t decide what else I want to do. I can’t decide what I want to eat for lunch, or whether I want to stop in Chatanooga or Panama City during our road trip. How am I supposed to decide what I want to do forever?
How am I still this amazing with so much wrong with me? A whole list about how much I suck, I just had to remind you that I am still amazing. Amazing ham. Awesome bacon.

I’ve been trying little by little to take steps toward improvement.

Yesterday, I got inside my shower and was PISSED at all the salt scrubs/sugar scrubs/ body washes/ body milks/ moisturizes/ I had, that I was always to lazy to even use. So, I used them all. Seriously. I stood in the shower and used every single product I owned. I’ll let you know if my skin shrivels up and dies. Or if it shines like diamonds.

I’ve owned this Lemon and Pomegranate Lip Cream by CO Bigelow since November because I am a sucker for anything Pomegranate (or anything Mint Chocolate. I would say Rox is Vanilla and Coconut). I used it once. Well, really I tasted it once, thought it was nasty, and threw it into my black hole of forgotten lip-glosses.

Well, eff that! I picked it up and decided, I’m gonna use it, damn it! And my word. Sure it tastes a little weird (uh, lemon. Duh) but it’s so creamy and smooth. I use it in combination with Burt’s Bee’s Honey Lip Balm and it’s kept my lips awesome during this cold, cold Florida winter. (It was 61 this morning, still. Blech.)

I put the two books Rox wants to borrow in my car.

I started deep cleaning my room in sections. Not because it’s very messy, but because I’ve lost everything. I’m missing expensive earrings and my white gold necklace and my favorite group of pens and my Jars of Clay “The Long Fall Back To Earth” CD.

I’m writing this blog, even though I don’t feel it is particularly funny or witty because damn it – I can’t be too lazy to blog too!

Other Things I Must Accomplish within a Week’s Time

Clean out my car
Not buy any fast food for lunch
Go to the gym at least 3 times
Finish cleaning my room and recover all lost items
Engage in one social activity that requires me to *gulp* talk to *shiver* people.
Continue reading one of the three books I’ve started
Return library books
Study for my organic class
Finish the mix I’m making for Rox and Pen
Finalize Tampa-Ginia itinerary
Continue job-hunting and applying for everything
One hour of creative writing apart from the blog
Actually paint my nails with some of the new crap I bought

It all seems slightly inconsequential, when I think about it. But all that inconsequential built up against me and started yelling, “WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING SO MUCH?”

Okay, okay. I get it.

I was just telling Rox that I need a change. Perhaps this time around it’s less, “pack up all my stuff and move,” and less “cut off all my hair and bleach it” and more “hey douche, why don’t you stop lazying around and get the little things done.”

Let’s see how well this goes, eh?

Can you guys just pretend like this was funny and you’ll come back and read more if I promise the next one will (sort of) be funny?

Oh come on. It’s been a weird week.

&lor

Roxanne Says: Wiggle My Toesies

Actually, I didn't say that...RiSK did. But that's neither here nor there, right? I just realized that I do a lot of quote biting when it comes to my blog titles.

This is not unheard of from me - I have a whole note on my Blackberry called "Plagiarism" which consists of book titles that I've seen that I liked. Nothing disappoints me more than a great title and a shitty plot. The title is SO IMPORTANT.

Song titles, too. I have a lyric obsession - it's deep and serious. All it takes is one song for me to like an artist. After that, I'll usually go to http://www.azlyrics.com/ and check out their entire discography, consequently downloading songs if I like their lyrics. But what even draws me to check out the lyrics is the title - it can mean so much!

Something you need to know about me : if I could communicate solely through song lyrics, I would. I've written poems completely consisted of song lyrics before. I often use song lyrics as my Facebook status updates. Back in high school, when AIM was the rage, I often posted song lyrics as my away message - song lyrics usually conveying some type of message or emotional state. That is me - I am music.

That being said, I'm constantly in search of the perfect song to convey how I feel to a T. This is why I have such an obsession with song titles and lyrics - I want to know that I'm not alone in the things I'm thinking and feeling. No one wants to be the only asshole in lust* (or insert other emotion here).

Three things that are making me wiggle my toesies right now:

RiSK
music
music that reminds me of RiSK

First, let me clarify. RiSK and I are supposed to be in a "like-minded agreement." That was the deal. Here's how the situation unfolded:

RiSK and I have been friends via social mediums for years and years. RiSK is the roommate and former best friend of the infamous 616. YIKES, right? Anyway. RiSK and I had been friends on Facebook but not much more than that for last few years. I don't remember how it happened, but we ended up friends on BBM again. He BBM'd me one day asking me to look up a couple phone numbers whom he suspected was his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. One of the curses of working at the Teets - people think this is CSI or something. Anyway, we started BBM'ing one night about the prank calls he's been receiving, his roommate and what a slug he is, how life has been, etc. We didn't talk too much for a week or so after that.

Fast forward to the Chili Cook-Off, some "country tinged" festival down here where there's a chili competition and country music acts and BEER. Oh dear jeezy, the beer...make it stop! So, Penny and I wandered aimlessly around the Chili Cook-Off, half searching for and half avoiding my douche-flavor-of-the-month, Brown Bag. Later, we'll find out that Brown Bag was drunk and gallavanting around shirtless wearing a blonde woman's wig. Please don't judge me. Ahem. So while we're wandering, I think to message RiSK and see if he's there. We BBM tagged for about a few hours before we finally meet up (beer and its ability to make men forget how to work a phone.)

RiSK is drunk and flirty. I am sober and loving the attention. Brown Bag comes over while Pen and I are covnersing with RiSK and decides to basically mark his territory for all to see. RiSK rolls his eyes at this display of male douchedness, which he'll later refer to as a "penis measuring contest." This is how RiSK defines men who constantly feel the need to reassure themselves by doing passive aggressive things to other men.

Brown Bag leaves, RiSK and I flirt some more, Pen and I decide to leave. RiSK had made some pretty daresome comments about my breasts, my looks, etc - just generally hinting that he appreciated my packaging. RiSK was nom-ing with his words. This led to a few weeks of BBM flirting while I performance managed Brown Bag out of my life (and my bed).

The situation had been danced around between RiSK and I before - there had always been an attraction there, he had mentioned wanting to have sex with me in years past, we had always flirted as long as we had known each other...this progression should have been obvious. After Brown Bag and I split, RiSK and I made a date for drinks. TONS of sexual tension, but also lots of great conversation. Like minded agreement: locked and loaded.

Fast forward to roughly a week ago. Lots of fast forwarding here...I need a TiVo for the blog.
Last Saturday-ish, RiSK went to a concert with some friends from work. He calls me afterwards and he's tipsy. He wants to cuddle, INSISTS on cuddling. I giggle! He comes over, he's snuggling on me, talking about how he never thought something like this would happen, how he always knew that I was gorgeous but that I was also a fuckhead. "I really like you", he says.

So I'm not sure what's going on now, but all I know is that I like him as more than just a like-minded agreement. He's funny, smart, crazy, goofy, and straightforward. A lot of this is VERY pre-emptive, as I know that I'm still in the VERY VERY formative stages of this emotion, but I had to clear the air for the blogosphere, as Lor so obnoxiously outed me. HI LOR. -_-

The thing about me, interwebs, is that I'm inconsistent. My dad likens it to the formative stages of a bug. So I'm telling you all of this so that I can get the little girl "SQUEEEEEEEE" inside of me out without building the expectation to anyone around me, who will point and laugh and say "I told you so!" when I change my mind.

Man, I really needed to get all of that out. It wasn't particularly witty or funny, but I feel relieved none-the-less.

&rox

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