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?

Grinning lobsters and Teeth Vomit (I have GOT to stop drinking before bed)

I may have had what qualifies as the WORST DREAM EVER last night.

I should tell you I have never been a good sleeper.

Between the ages of 8 and 13 I both walked and talked in my sleep regularly. I would scare my girlfriends by sitting up straight in the middle of the night and holding entire conversations with Abraham Lincoln with my eyes wide open.

Once, my mom looked out the window just in time to see me walking into the woods behind our house. When she got to me, I told her I was going to the Mother Ship. Then I started crying. (My grandmother filled my head with a lot of alien talk as a child. Don’t be jealous that I’m one of the “star people” chosen to leave the planet on a shiny space low-rider and lead a new planet of space people, who she always described as being something of hybrids between Lady GaGa and Noam Chomsky. No! Crazy does not run in my family…)

Now I have chronic insomnia. Which is OK because I can stay up late finding gem YouTube videos like the one above or playing Obechi and shouting things at my computer like, “Yeah bitch! Who’s a tricky little polka dot now?”

Apparently I have a lot of rage. AND I have a lot of bad dreams.

In this dream, I was prego. Like really gross pregs where your belly is so big and your skin is stretched so tightly it reminds you of that moment right before a marshmallow bursts because you put it in your microwave on a Saturday night because you drank too much wine and no one is calling and it seems like the only thing that can possibly fix the sadness of this situation is a s’more, but you just end up cleaning sticky sugar off of everything and sobbing a little, because really marshmallows have no business in the microwave.

Anyway, during this obvious night terror, my boss was telling me that she had talked to everyone in the department and decided that they wouldn’t be allowing me to move to Minneapolis. She was saying things like: “We just don’t see you as very valuable” and “We hate your clothes.”

And we were sitting in what I swear was a Red Lobster. And the lobsters in the tank were grinning at me. And I started crying and I couldn’t stop crying and I got up to use the restroom and kept banging this gigantic belly against tables and knocking over people’s fancy “table wine” and they would just stare at me like drones with crumbs of those delicious cheesy garlic biscuits all over their faces. And when I got to the bathroom I started throwing up teeth!

Awful, right?

What does this mean?? Discuss!