The reason I’ve been so quiet lately is that I’m currently stuck under my own personal rain cloud. I kind of hate the world right now, and I tend to shut down and seclude myself from, well, everything but sleep and reading, when I get like this.
No, it doesn’t happen often. No, it doesn’t normally stick around for weeks like this latest funk has. No, I’m not going to start cutting myself or wear all black and heavy eyeliner.
I wish I had something more interesting to share than the fact that I’ve turned into a brooding waste of space, but I don’t. And now you know why I haven’t shared much as of late.
It’s times like this I’m thankful I don’t have family and friends I see more often – I try to hide the funk, but seeing as I’m a wear-your-mood-on-your sleeve kinda girl, I’m never sure of how successful I am.
For my own reasons, I generally keep my interactions with co-workers related to work. Sure, I do some occasional socializing, but those occasions are sporadic enough that my brooding doesn’t raise any red flags. God, if I had to talk about my feelings with co-workers, I think I would cut myself. KIDDING.
Unfortunately for Rob, he’s subjected to a moody, hermit-wannabe for a wife. He’s been working a lot lately, though, so his forced interactions with me have also been sporadic and limited. I would think I was the reason he was working so much lately except for the fact that he is always busy as the month comes to a close and a new one starts.
I suppose it is unfortunate, though, that I’ve been able to crawl into my metaphoric hole. Something tells me increased, fun human interaction would have killed this funk long ago. It’s hard for me to stay curmudgeony with appropriate peer pressure.
And the reason for all this nonsense I’m confessing? I have a weekend of planned fun times with friends facing me, and part of me is scared that I’m going to ruin the fun with my mood. Another part of me is hoping this is exactly what the witch doctor would order, if I saw the witch doctor, that is (oo ee oo ah ah ting tang … Chipmunk movie, anyone?). Yet still another part of me wonders if I’ll be rid of that damned rain cloud this weekend only to have it return Monday when I return to my normally scheduled blather.
At least there will be cupcakes this weekend. That much is guaranteed.
(Damn, I feel like “Dear Diary,” is necessary for the top of this entry. Sorry, world.)
Soooo. I declared to Rob yesterday that I’m going to dye my hair a weird color before I turn 30. I’ll be 27 in July, for a time reference.
I don’t know if I’ll do it all one shocking color or if I’ll just do chunks of something fun (hot pink, purple, electric blue – something along those lines).
My reason is I’m your average goody-two-shoes-, All-American-, white-bread-looking girl. I’m a natural medium blonde and just finally took the plunge and went a decently dark brown (not close to black, still distinguishably brown) this winter. That was a Big Deal. But I’ve always been jealous of girls who could rock the hot pink hair.
The thing is, I think I’m going to need to prepare myself before then. Or something. I feel like I’d look like I grabbed the wrong dye-color box in the store if I just showed up for work tomorrow with pink hair.
Any suggestions or words of advice from anyone who’s done something completely different from their normal look is, well, exactly what I’m looking for. Help me bust outside my neat little box!
Erm, hi. I can’t really say I’ve been busy. Because I haven’t. In fact, I have no good reason to justify my neglect. Oh, well.
Things I’ve done lately, in no particular order:
I started reading Outlander. I’m a lame 100ish pages in, so I don’t really have much to report.
I made some kick-ass margarita cupcakes with pretty much the best icing (frosting?) in the WORLD.
I made a kick-ass “blood” punch (combined cranberry juice concentrate, pomegranate-blueberry juice concentrate, lemonade concentrate, ginger ale, club soda and grenadine. Don’t ask for measurements. I just guessed.)
I served said “blood” punch at a kick-ass Twilight DVD party I hosted.
I met yet another kick-ass Internet friend in person for the first time.
I discovered that I do like some new music.
I worked out for the first time since November. It was then I realized how badly out of shape I am. It was also then that I decided one should either be in shape or out of shape. This getting-back-in-shape nonsense is for the birds.
I spent quality time with some friends and family I haven’t seen in far too long.
Rob and I made plans to road-trip it up to Hershey, PA, in July to see the chocoalte city, Jason Mraz, Dave Matthews Band and my creepy Internet real-life friend and her husband. Woot!
And just now? I looked at the calendar and thought, “WTF? It’s almost April?” Time passing too quickly is also for the birds. SLOW DOWN, LIFE.
I’ve made a habit of Swiffering my floors every. single. day. Except the past two. Oops!
To do:
Get back in shape.
Pick up some new descriptive words.
Swiffer those damn floors.
Return the library books that have been in my car for too long. (I suck as a library patron here! Not my fault. The library is way-far out of my way.)
Figure out how to keep my dog from eating cat food. I’ve bought cat food once a month for the last however long it’s been. I don’t think I’ve bought a new bag of dog food since December. That says a lot, considering the dog food comes in a bag half the size of the cat food.
Buy tickets for the No Doubt/Paramore concert.
Write more.
Rob and I saw Billy Joel and Elton John in Charlotte last night. This our second time seeing the two together and my third time seeing Billy Joel. Elton was ehhh, Billy was phenomenal. There is nothing like seeing Billy perform live. His music is infinitely better in person. As always!
during “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant” – Elton on the left, Billy on the right:
during “It’s Still Rock And Roll To Me”:
A couple clips from the concert, taken with my point-and-shoot camera:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/v/GCarlZIk-zU&hl=en&fs=1=en]
When one accuses a Cleveland native of having an accent, the typical Cleveland native will respond with something like this: “Nuh-uh! Clevelanders don’t have an accent. Newscasters are trained to speak like us so they don’t have an accent.”
I’m pretty sure this is something they teach us in grade school in the Cleveland area, because it’s rare to hear a native not make the non-regional dialect claim.
However.
I recognize now, as I am older and wiser (and prettier, but that’s an entry for a different day), that I say some “A” sounds “funny.” That. Happy. Dad. Chapstick. All my “A”s in such instances come with built-in long-E sounds before I get to the A. Whatever. I like it. I’m not getting rid of it.
Because I’m a total nerd, I hit the googles with “Cleveland accent” and happened upon this gem.
My favorite tidbits from the blog entry:
“The Cleveland accent’s dominant note is outrage, underscored by a sharp tang of bristly disbelief, suspicion, and distrust. To ears of pretension it might sound slightly unsophisticated, uncultivated. Not corn-fed, but rust-fed. Pierogi-and-cabbage fed. There’s a definite note of ‘fuck you and the foreign car you rode in on’ there, too, and ‘you’re not going to pull the wool over my eyes, you bigshot bastard.’“
and
“And it’s my belief that, though it may be unfashionable to talk about national or regional character, Clevelanders are smart people who are used to sifting through heady promises and lies and who simply don’t have the patience to listen to anyone’s bullshit.”
Ahhhh, so that’s where I get it!
