Dude, where's my car? & other mishaps

Yes, so the reasons I haven't been blogging lately are manifold. One recent issue is my cat's determination to wedge himself between me and my laptop and my resulting time spent head-rubbing.

Oh well, here's an overview of my past six days here at home:

V-Day. Flew from Ireland to Atlanta, languished there in the arrivals lobby food court/smoking lounge by gate B21 for four hours, then got to Charleston in the afternoon, napped, then spent the evening sucking at anti-Valentine's bowling. Altogether considerably less than romantic, but far from a miserably single pity party.

Hmm. Let's see. My friend, we'll call him Boy Gouty, got a puppy and I was instrumental in the holding of said animal on the way home. I know this goes without saying as it's a puppy, but that thing is really, really fucking cute.

Friday, despite feeling strongly that I was again afflicted with a sinus infection, went to the Windjammer to see my friends' band Action City Blackout.

Saturday, I could be found wearing a jean skirt, black leggings with a skull on them, a ripped up t-shirt, plastic jewelry, way more blue eye shadow than necessary, and other noticeably tacky adornments. I might have to post a pic of this once I get one. Anyway, the point was to dress in 80's attire in observance of my friend Shannon's birthday, and of course I was one of perhaps three people that actually complied. You people that didn't dress up? For shame.

The really embarrassing part (yes, more embarrassing than several people approaching me and asking if I dressed that way all the time) was losing my car. It was actually parked in a fairly obvious location on King Street, but I decided it had to be on one of the side streets and relentlessly circled three different blocks for about 45 minutes in the bitter, bitter cold. All the while people were gawking at me in my crazy outfit.

Yesterday, I visited my mom in the less-than-sprawling metropolis of Orangeburg, SC. I mention this because as we were on our way to buy some groceries, my mom gave perhaps the most notable quote of the day, "I hope when we get to Wal-Mart, that one-legged man's not out there selling his pictures of Jesus." She then informed me that the guy doesn't even draw each one, he just kind of darkens the edges. Wow, Mom. The man's already down, let's give him his $1 Jesus portraits, shall we?

Anyway, after my friend and I decided to have a couple drinks last night, 4:00 in the morning found us at his house making eggs benedict. Damn.

And I still haven't done my taxes.

pilot strike, part deux

So the whole strike thing’s over, in an anticlimactic sort of way – rather in the vein of knowing all along that Rosebud is just a damn sled anyway. Yeah, yeah, things are fine. This snark was not so much a boojum as a highly exploited opportunity for drama in its most rampant, rumor-flinging form. I have to admit, though I am relieved to be keeping my cat in kibble for the foreseeable future, I’m slightly disappointed. If I’d been furloughed, I’d have been forced to pursue other avenues, while simultaneously being eligible for unemployment pay. I’d begun fantasizing about a master’s degree, the scintillating world of academia, student loans, the smirk I could sport whenever I told anyone I was attending grad school. I’m beginning to suspect that my greatest aspiration in life is just to attain more essentially useless knowledge.

I’ve decided to quit bemoaning the fact that I’ve been relationship-less for approximately two years, and content myself with being surrounded by books, cats and booze. I have this lovely vision of being some kooky, liberal, bike-riding college professor who carries term papers in her bike basket and extrapolates on the mysticism of Borges over coffee. Though I have to admit, part of this portrait would be to go home at night to someone who tolerates my idiosyncrasies in a bemused sort of way.

I’ve got coworkers who are furthering their educations via online courses and whatnot, but for me, I think that’d be like fat-free ice cream, not quite meeting the bare requirements of satisfying. When I go back to school, I’d like to really throw myself into it, and reap the benefits of a classroom setting. I like being surrounded by creative people, but right now I worry that I’m in danger of just being surrounded by (and becoming) creative types who never get it together to realize a vision. Seriously - the iceman cometh. I need a plan.