Two for one: TMI and Thankful Thursday. You're welcome.

Among most of you who read my blog, it's TMI Thursday (which for those of you who live underground or maybe watch too much Sarah Silverman stands for Too Much Information). So, if you need to be grossed out on this fine Thursday, here goes:

The boogers I have had since moving to Minneapolis may be killing me.

I don't think I've used a heater in four years. I never needed it in Phoenix. Now I have a radiator. I live in a building that has two units on my floor and the lady in the other apartment controls the thermostat and keeps it set at 85 degrees. It's April and it's unseasonably warm so I find that I'm pitty by noon every day. AND it's causing hard boogers and bloody noses every morning. People may think I have a little nose candy (which is terrible slang because that sounds delicious. I wish I could eat candy with my nose) problem the way I rub my nose constantly and it starts bleeding all of the time. It's killing me softly. No, that's his smile? His eyes? I don't know. Is it possible to die of hard boogers? If I don't write for awhile, you all know what happened. Be outraged.

There's your TMI. Meditate on it.

Now, I've decided this Thursday for me is going to be Thankful Thursday and I'm looking at you blogoverse.

Most of you know about a month ago I moved from Phoenix to Minneapolis. I really didn't think it was going to be a big deal for a lot of reasons:

A.) I hate Phoenix. The city: Flat, brown, hot, and to me just not the right scene.
B.) Phoenix never felt like home. I'm from Ohio and I'm a Midwesterner at heart. I need hot dish and cheap beer to thrive.
C.) I'd been visiting Minneapolis almost monthly for a year and I loved it. The vibe. The weather. The people. Just the general feeling I got walking down the street.
D.) I already had some friends I was looking forward to hanging out with in MN.
E.) VC lives here and I was really wanting to spend time more regularly with him and have more of a "normal" thing happening. (LDRs are not normal even though I think we gave it an amazing go and I'm proud of us. More on this later.)

I've moved around a lot in life. Lived in lots of states. Spent a few months here and there. It's always been fun, not stressful. So, I packed up and moved with a "catch ya later, sucka" attitude. Um, yeah, that didn't really work out for me. I don't know why. Maybe it was too much all at once. Maybe I'm just really getting old and more needy of my routine.

I got here and the first few days felt like a party and it was wonderful. Then Martini (who helped drive my butt out here -- and I still owe you stories from that roadtrip) left and VC went back to work and normal life and here I was in an empty apartment (because I sold all my worldly possessions instead of moving them. I'm lazy.) feeling very alone and lost. And then I got up to go to work, except work was right here in the same empty apartment. I was sitting in my bed - because I had no couch - on my laptop all day, every day. No trip to the office kitchen for coffee. No gossip at the assistant's desk. No lunch dates with friends. I freaked out. I admit. I started second guessing my decision.

And I let on about it on Twatter. And a bit on Blip (which I lurve very much and if you don't Blip and you like music I highly recommend trying it.) And then this AMAZING thing happened. I was reminded that I wasn't alone at all. People were twatting me and writing me emails and helping me work it all out. They were helping me think through feelings and remember that I did an AWESOME thing by moving. A BRAVE thing. A thing that was going to be INCREDIBLE as soon as I adjusted. And they were all right. I'm totally settling in and loving my new home and neighborhood and my proximity to the BF (who, to his credit, was about as understanding as a boy can be through the worst of my emotional meltdown. He pretty much kicks ass as BF. Woot.)

So today I am shouting out to all of you. You're amazing people. Some of you I've met. Some of us are "in person" friends. Some of you I hope to meet some day (DC Tweet Up 2010 peeps!) But you've all been supporters of me in some way over the last year providing advice, laughter, or a just lending a friendly ear (or eye? that sounds gross) and I gots nothing but love for you babies.

Some people still don't get the power of online networking. To them, I say puh-lease. My mom met her (third) husband online 10 years ago. To quote the Greatest Movie Ever, Wayne's World: Get with the now.

I still have "real" friends - those I get to go to lunch with and stuff, but I consider you all my friends, too. There's been many a night when Jordan and I were both simultaneously drinking too much wine, surfing for kitten videos on YouTube and making jokes about it. And talking about it, just not in person, over the Twat. It's how we communicate now. And it's made my life better. So, there's your sappy from me. I hope you hug it and squeeze it and call it George.

And here are my Rock stars: (If I forgot someone I'm IMMENSELY sorry. Please don't hate me. It was a lot of linking and like I said above, I'm lazy. Purty please. I need acceptance. I'll buy you a pony. Or make you pickles. It's my new hobby.)

MyLittleBecky
PlushroomSoup
Shineoutloud
RSub27
JordanAshleighF
Mariechatters
DysFuncJunc
Renee_817
LivitLuvit
rjcannon85
HeySuburban
esketches
Lbluca77
Kernheidi
garciasn
jennamariebee
albertxii
doniree
greenstarstudio

And now you have to leave! And I have to live with a boy! (but not actually.)

OK kiddos. Tomorrow is the big move.

I’m not all the way packed. I’m certain what’s left is not going to fit in my car. Also, there is definitely no room for Barksdale who will probably have to ride in the IKEA bag with my sheets and pillowcases. Soooo, I’d say I’m pretty ready.

It hasn’t really sunk in that I’m moving. I think that will happen two weeks from now when I’m Overhunged and partied out and I just want to go home and sit on Martini’s couch and watch Celebrity Fit Club, eat tortilla soup and laugh uncontrollably when Tanisha Thomas starts screaming and runs into the desert for no reason except she just has so much anger because it’s really hard being part of the Bad Girls Club - and then I realize I can’t do that.

I mean, I’m very excited for all the “new stuff.” I’m an adventurer and an Urban Gypsy fo sho. And, I’m very excited to get to live in the same city as the BF – A guy I’ve “known” like three years now but never resided within 1,500 miles of.

Last night while lying in bed with my sometimes lover, Insomnia, I admit I did get sad about leaving Martini. I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I may never be ready. I’m much better with burying emotions behind bourbon and hot Cheetos than I am at discussing them.

For those who have followed this blog you know she and I have been through breakups, moves, illness, broken bones, and more together.

We’ve celebrated birthdays and new pets. We’ve taken trips, made fun of famous people – to their faces, been in movies, met new boys, skinny dipped, binge ate (and drank. Maybe. Nevermind), and countless other things. Really, we’ve practically lived together for the last year. People she works with think we’re dating. Which wouldn’t be so bad (Reason No. 341 why I wish I didn’t love the peen.)

Whenever I feel real emotions that aren’t happy ones, I usually pretend I’m a character from TV or a movie and react the way they would to a situation. Yes, that’s very normal. No, I’ve never talked to a shrink about it.

All I could think about last night was that line from Friends where Rachel has to move out so Monica can live with Chandler and they get in a big fight but really it’s because they’re both so sad and then Monica cries and says “And now you have to leave and I have to live with a BOOYYY!!!”

(I won’t be living with my boy, but still!)

So enjoy this because I’ve been feeling very Gellar today. I’ll see you when I get to Minneapolis.




P.S. It's my birthday today, so ... yeah. I'm 31. When did that happen? Will I ever stop sticking my face in birthday cake?

I'm stoic. I'm patient. I'm a rock. I miss my BF!

I don’t miss people.

That sounds awful to admit out loud, but it’s true.

As a baby, I’m told I wouldn’t leave my mother’s arms without screaming and crying and shrieking and balling up my fists and shaking them frantically until someone PUT ME BACK IN HER LOVIN’ ARMS, DAMMIT!

But after that yellow bus came to get me on the first day of kindergarten and I saw there was a new place, with new people, and fraking fingerpaints! And delicious cookies! And glorious song singing! And Jill, with the beautiful blonde pig tails! And Joey with the giant blue eyes and weird laugh!!! – Well, I just never looked back.

It used to hurt my mom and dad’s feelings that I could go away to camp or summer stock or, you know, go live in England for awhile, and when I’d come back they’d say, “Did you miss us?” and I’d say, “Nope, because listen to all the cool stuff I did! I was too busy to miss anybody.”

I’ve lived a lot of places and visited even more and been lucky to have an incredible life full of friends all over the world. Sometimes they say they miss me. Or they get teary-eyed and frownie when I leave from a visit. And I don’t GET it. I mean, I’ll see you soon, right? Or soon enough. And in the meantime, we’ll Twat and FaceSpace and I’ll send you emails with links to kittens frolicking in flowers with Star Wars music playing in the background. Or this.

AND in that same time, I’ll be busy making new friends and squeezing all the good shit out of life and collecting stories about weird Bulgarians I partied with who had gurneys in their living room and referred to people as “Fucking Cunts” as a term of endearment and drank cheap, piss-like champagne but insisted on squeezing fresh orange juice for the vodka so that the next time we get together over beers I’ll have awesome things to tell you about.

See?? There’s no reason to miss people, right?

That being said, I miss my VC.

In life, sometimes you say things, but you don’t really mean them. Like when I say your amorphous, hairy, drooly baby is cute. Or when I say I’d love to help you move. Or when I say I don’t know where I got The Herpe because really I’ve never put my lips on anything but my toothbrush. Wait ... that’s called Lying. My friends have been talking to me about this concept. (Oh, and I don’t have The Herpe. At least, I’m 99 percent sure of this. In case you want to make out. Which, I know you do.)

There were times during the last 10 months of this long distance gig where I said “I miss you” but what I really meant was, “I’d like to see you.” Or “I’d really like to have sex right now.” But I didn’t have a feeling of actually missing something. I didn’t even know what that feeling was because I don't think I had it before. I used to think it was about tears, and pining and all that stuff that's for the birds.

Well, now I know what it is. It’s still going to the party and still having fun but catching yourself thinking it would be more fun if that person was with you. It’s seeing that weird Bulgarian guy, wearing a shirt he’s cut the sleeves off of and drinking a drink he just found laying around and knowing that if that person were there you could just look at him in the eye and you’d both be thinking the SAME THING and that later you would sit on the couch and make endless jokes about it in bad accents. And that in the morning you’d wake up and get to have morning sex and all would be right with the world.

Someone has taught me how to miss things. Good work guy.

I'm ready to move.

Inner Mean Girl Smackdown

I have spent a lot of my life psyching myself out of doing things I want to do because I think I can’t. Or that I’ll be a big ol’ failure. Or that people will laugh at me -- which is a ridiculous thought for a lady who falls down as much as I do.

About two years ago, after some of those Big Moments that make the “Life is short” thing really sink in, I decided to stop that. I decided that, hell, if I wanted to join the roller derby, then dammit, I would. Yes, I’m barely pushing 5’2”. Yes, I’m barely 110 fully clothed in winter. Yes, I haven’t worn a roller skate since Red Red Wine was in heavy rotation on the radio (do people still say “radio"?) That adventure ended horribly, to be sure, but …

I digress. It hasn’t been easy to adopt this new attitude. Anyone who has made it to 30 with something of a perfectionist outlook on life looks at the N-word as the dirtiest one there is. And I mean “No.” Get yer mind outta the gutter.

Why is “no” such a scary word? Why can’t we just hear “no” or “I don’t agree” or “I don’t feel the same way” or “Your body will never be capable of doing that so please stop before you kill yourself,” process it and move on to the next thing?

My friend, Martini, likes to say that we each have an Inner Mean Girl who likes to tell us “no” or to whisper sweet nothings about how we aren’t enough – pretty, skinny, funny, smart, flexible, whatever. It’s the voice that tells you you can’t without a logical reason.

Well friends, I’ve been bitch slapping that lady around lately. This week we had our latest throwdown and I think I’m the winner. And it’s part of the big changes I hinted at yesterday.

Y’all know I have a BF, VC, who lives a real far way away. Well, that sucks.

Other things that suck: dirt, cactus, snakes, 127 degree weather, sweat, Scottsdale, endless suburbs, ruined high heels due to melted asphalt, astronomical rent, dry air, hipsters, $15 martinis, Ed Hardy, serious lack of decent music, people who take PTO because it might rain.

So, I started thinking about moving eastward. Because thems my roots and I miss them. But I wasn’t very serious about it. But then, I was. That was my 20 second recap of my thought process over the last four months. You’re welcome.

Job hunting should have been on my list of things that suck. I tried that. Again, wasn’t too serious, then was. (are we sensing a pattern?) Then I had a wild idea. I’m really good at my job. And my company really likes me. And I work on a computer and phone with so little face-to-face contact that sometimes I have whole conversations in my office WITH MYSELF and no one notices.

So, why couldn’t I do my job from Minneapolis?

Inner Mean Girl: Woman, that’s so crazy. Why would they do that? They’ll just find somebody else to put her lumpy butt in that chair of yours.

Me: Your mom!

So, after about a week of mulling it over and talking it out with my Mirror Self countless times, I went to my supe with my thoughts – AND she totally agreed. I am an asset! They would like to work something out!

So details are being worked out and I don’t want to be premature (and I’ll keep you posted!), but I feel this is a time of triumph over NO and I’m super excited.

I’m curious about your experiences with the N-word. Are you all as scared of it as I’ve been? And what have you accomplished when you’ve pushed past that fear??

Are we breaking up? And FRF comes a day early. Happy August.

For those of you who know me, you’ll know this news is huge.

For those of you who don’t, you may be able to relate.

I’m in the middle of a break up.

It’s really hard. I’m losing sleep. I’m eating too much junk food. I can’t seem to think about much else.

I have conversations with myself on the train on the way to work. I snap at people for no reason and then run to the bathroom, lock myself in the last stall and cry and cry.

Of course, I’m talking about my girlfriend, Hulu.

It’s not that I don’t love her, it’s just that I’ve realized she’s really not good for me.

I’ve been spending all of my time with her, losing track of my other friends.

I’ve found myself saying things like, “That was just like last week when I was on that canoe with Sawyer, Kate, and an unconscious Karl and Sawyer was singing while he and Kate rowed back to the main island and Kate was trying to convince Sawyer to turn around so we could rescue Jack but Sawyer said it was too dangerous because the Others would kill us …” and then realizing that never really happened to me.

When you date someone too long there’s always the danger that you will keep dating them out of habit, or nostalgia, or something, instead of doing it because it actually brings joy or meaning to your life.

I had a jarring realization that this was the kind of relationship H. and I had begun to have earlier this week when I found myself still wide awake, laptop on lap, at 2 a.m. watching episodes of My So Called Life.

That show is terrible. Claire Danes = enormous F. And yet, there I sat, episode after episode, taking it all in. Because I could. Because Hulu was there. Because it was safe and familiar.

It was the last straw. I may never get tired of listening to Dennis read Charlie’s campaign speech ("Hello fellow American. This you should vote me. I leave power. Good. Thank you, thank you. If you vote me, I'm hot. What? Taxes, they'll be lower... son. The Democratic vote is the right thing to do Philadelphia, so do.")

I also may never get tired of Kevin saying eating Pizza by Alfredo is like eating a hot circle of garbage. But I cannot spend vital moments of my life listening to Angela Chase whine through that terrible nose about how terribly terrible it is to be a teenager. And I have no one to blame but Winnie Holzman. I mean my mother. I mean, me.

I’m 30. The clock is ticking.

No more. I’m vowing to quit her. I don’t know if I can do it. I’ll need all of your support. Hold me accountable. Or just hold me.

Remind me that while I may know all of the words to the song about Jayne from the episode of Firefly where the crew returns to a planet and discovers that he's become a local folk legend, I have not seen a single episode of Entourage or Mad Men. And you have to pay for that shiz.

I know I can do this. I must be strong.

Tomorrow is Frightened Rabbit Friday, but I will be on an air-o-plane flying to see VC and many other wonderful humans. I hope to have stories to share. Ones that do not involve me falling down, crying in a cab or making new stripper friends. Nothing wrong with stripper friends. It’s just that I have so many and I’d like to broaden my horizons. Maybe get me a token accountant buddy or something.

So in honor of both my break up and FRF, I present you with this loverly video. Enjoy! I’m going back to my bathroom stall to cry it out.




(Picture Hulu with its back turned toward me and me reaching out to her and whispering “Oh Hulu …” It will make it so much better.)