Tags: george

Me pink

An update? From hopita? I don't believe it!

Hi all.

After having lunch today at Quiet Storm with ... hmmm ... this man needs a nickname. Um, um ...


After having lunch today at Quiet Storm with Fuzzy Wobbly (I may decide I hate this name and change it later), and discussing this journal, I figured it was time for an update already.

Life at The East End Food Co-op is good. I've been there nearly a month and am definitely getting the hang of it. Life is not so good for everyone, however. The guy who started there just before me (and who is friends with my upstairs neighbors, or opstairsnikers for you Yids out there) got fired the other day.

And this is why I never update my journal anymore. My life has become work, and who really cares about Co-op gossip unless they work there, right?

In other news, H.W.S.R.N. blew off our plans for the day, which is not sitting well with me. No, the plans were not solidified (as in we only said "Tuesday's good"; we didn't say "I'll meet you at noon at the coffee shop"), but still.

And I sat at The Storm and leafed through the pages in my (paper) journal and got all misty-eyed at the way H.W.S.R.N. was when he was sober, and at the way that we were when we were in communication. We're not fighting or anything now; we just never fucking see each other, never fucking talk to each other. I miss him like crazy. And more than the lover aspect of things, I miss my friend, the man who fucking understood me without my having to explain. The man who always asked such goddamn good questions.

Where are you, little man?


And I dropped off cigarette coupons for Hipster this afternoon and met his stepfather (who was much younger than I'd expected, but then again, Hipster is pretty young himself). And I saw Peezy and blew his mind when I remembered that it was his birthday.

So, OK, that's a whole lotta nothing. No clue if Togapalooza is still on for Friday -- George hasn't returned my call yet.

Friday. Friday is the one year anniversary of Bob's death. Not looking forward to that.

And hey -- I facilitated an email exchange between anjeelou and Hipster, even though I'm still not totally over him. How's that for biting the bullet and doing my good deed for the week?

So anyone wanna go out for a drink with me? H.W.S.R.N. is not materializing and I wanna do something fun.
Me pink

When the carpet's paid for, you can have a party

So last night.

I suppose I could write a huge entry all about last night -- about Steph and Kramer and all the bad decisions we three made yesterday morning and the night before, about dinner with lurpy, or the pre-party with lurpy and anjeelou.

Instead, I'll write about the end. About how I started crying after _ikeware left ... and I called him and explained why. First, over H.W.S.R.N., because he didn't show (and I knew he wouldn't, but when he emailed me on Friday for directions, I let myself hope) -- and actually, because BFunk didn't show either. Second, over Hipster -- over the fight we'd had the night before (one of the many aforementioned bad decisions), over the fact that he gave me a birthday present but wouldn't look me in the eye, respond, or even stop walking when I tried to thank him for it, but mainly because he brought a date to the party and was making out with her in the living room (after dumping me with the old "I'm not in the space where I can be involved with anyone right now" line -- and I was dumb enough to believe him).

But mainly, I was crying over _ikeware. I was crying because when he came to the party and saw what was up with Hipster, he instantly dove into a role he used to play for me sometimes at raves: Fake Boyfriend. He held my hand and kept his arm around my back and just generally made it look like "Hey Hipster -- she's got someone new too!" And I didn't ask him to do it or even say a word -- he just stepped up. So mainly, I was crying because it felt so amazing to know that I had a friend who would do that -- just step up to the plate and defend me, stick up for me like that.
Me pink

(no subject)

Well, well. Good morning.

Last night was ... colorful.

Highlights from George's party include George collapsing on the floor and getting very emotional (he was upset he was making a scene at his party; I told him it was his 30th birthday and he was supposed to be making a drunken ass out of himself), vegetarian burritos courtesy of Sara and Lucas at around 4 am, and the cup game (long story, but I got the cup that said "Monkey!").

I'm also pretty sure that I dropped trou in front of Michael Eyeballs. Actually, I'm pretty fucking certain. But in my defense, he dropped trou not once (to moon us) but twice (to show us his "mutant testicle" -- I was laughing so hard, I had to beg him to stop so I could breathe) before I did. And all I was doing was showing off a piercing (and what fun is a piercing if you can't share it with your coworkers? Um, no, wait ...)

So yes. Work tomorrow should involve several "Walks of Shame."

Also, George made me wear my leopard hat all night. It was hot as hell, but Tutu and Chris both said they were getting a "Janis vibe" off of me because of it. Not bad.

Eyeballs shared with me that he used to be a cutter, so I shared with him that I used to be a shooter. He said he liked that term -- "shooter." I told him that a lot of people referred to people who shot up as "bangers," but that I didn't like that -- I thought it made me sound like I was in a gang.

A DJ, a woman doing Mehandi tattoos, much alcohol and a good cross-section of people ... what more could you ask for from a Tuesday night in Pittsburgh?