The Bear

WOOF.

Je Suis Revenu!

I'm back! And with more insight than ever. A whole lot has been going on over the last couple of months. According the the boyfriend, I am "no fun anymore." I believe the situation is quite the opposite; things are looking up and I'm feeling much cheerier. Things are going well and life is good. Primarily because of this:

He's great. This is my little bear, Kodi. He's a 3 month old shepherd, chow, retriever, terrier, lab, everything under the sun mix. He's been keeping me pretty entertained. Especially since I'm living alone. Which, by the way, is something everyone should do. I don't know why I didn't do this sooner. Not having roommates is amazing. I'm never living with random girls again. 

I'll try and get back into a regular post schedule. 

xox

Picking Up the Pieces

I took the last two weeks off of school. This has been by far the most difficult, awful thing that's ever happened. But I'm trying to deal with it and get back at least some sense of normalcy. I still don't really have words for what happened, so I'm just not going to talk about it for now.

On another note, I moved out of my house. I guess that makes me homeless right now. Or at least homeless at school. I had enough of my roommates' bullshit. When I left school for two weeks, they broke my table, laughed about it, refused to fix it, borrowed my bras (!?!) without asking, ripped a door frame apart, and let weird people sleep in/get blood all over my bed. I was NOT happy. And I was in no mood for that shit, so I went over with a truck, packed my shit up, and got the fuck out of there. I've been couch surfing the last two days I've been back at school with a few friends of mine. It's definitely an interesting lifestyle... I LOOK homeless, hah. I have a ton of bags, random, un-matching clothing... and brushing my teeth and doing my makeup in the handicap bathroom of the student center. Not my proudest moment.

Oh, and I'm a brunette now.

I'll come up with more later. That's all my mind has right now.

Flowers

Flowers for no reason make me so happy. I think it's because my dad used to buy my mom flowers all the time. I think there probably was a reason, but I was little and I thought it was just because they were pretty, not because he'd played basketball every night that week or gone out with the boys for one too many. I was so happy when my boyfriend got me flowers yesterday. I went home to vote so I was home alone for most of the early evening. I cleaned our room for him, since I know he hates it when it gets messy (he hates it when I clean it, too, especially if it isn't my mess, but it makes him happy so I don't particularly care). When he came home, he had a handful of pretty, fall-colored flowers. 


They were absolutely beautiful. And he said, "Just like you, Seabiscuit." 


We all need to hear that every so often.

A French Maid and a Sexy Cop

As you know, it's Halloween! Usually one of my favorite holidays. Well, remember how I told you all that my life was like a weird sitcom? Ok, get ready for this one.


Our two friends from home came up to celebrate the holiday, along with my boyfriend. Everything was great; we went out on Friday night (boyfriend and I were "Swamp People..." If you haven't seen the show, it's on the History Channel and I highly suggest you watch it. I had a stuffed alligator and everything!), we went to the horse races again, and we even went roller skating (which was weird and awesome in every way imaginable).


After a lovely dinner of massive amounts of sushi, we decided to go back to my house, put on costumes, and start drinking. My friend and I got ready together. She decided to dress as a lady gangster (the classic, 1920's mobster, not the saggy-pants homeboy) and I decided to go with the ever-classic French maid. I had a fantastic getup and big heels on, and the four of us (us two girls and two boys) had a grand ol' time playing drinking games by ourselves and just hanging out. We had a few people over, and my roommate Carrie came home right as we were about to leave for another party. In the midst of the fog from the fog machine and the flash of the strobe light, I see Carrie freaking out. I asked her what was wrong, and she says, "You better clean this up." I look to where she is pointing. There is an open box of the game "Apples to Apples," the word game, with the cards on top and some on the table. We had played earlier in the night. Sure that a card game can't be the point of this freakout, I ask, "What?"


"The cards. It's my game. It's a mess. You better fix it."
"Ok, I will chill out. I'll get it later," I say.
"YOU KNOW I DON'T LIKE THAT WORD."
"What? Oh, Jesus, get over it, I just meant chill out."
"I don't like that word 'chill.' Don't say it."
"Well, you're gonna have to get over that. It's a damn card game."
BAM. And with that, I went down like Snooki from the Jersey Shore. Apparently, I enraged homegirl so much that she punched me in the side of the head. So I threw myself at her. I am bigger, I am stronger. She went down into the glass table and started punching my back and shoulders, kicking me with her high heels while I yanked her hair and punched her in the neck. Now, remember, I'm dressed as a French maid right now and she is wearing a sexy cop costume. Catfight?


The worst is that she was so shocked that I fought back. What, exactly, did she expect? Drunk or sober, you hit me in the head for no apparent reason and I'm going to fight back. I will never throw the first punch, but if you punch me, what do you expect?


Carrie has been in and out all day. She came in, said "Hi! I'm going out to dinner. Will you be home later? Ok, cool!" I'm curious to see if she remembers this spectacle at all. Last weekend, she got so drunk she stole a longboard and a deck chair. The weekend before, she cheated on her boyfriend and hooked up with my (weirdly unattractive) friend. So hooray for roommates...

Red Sky at Night, Sailor's Delight. Red Sky in the Morning, Sailor's Take Warning.

So, I may nor may not have been offered a free (or at least drastically reduced) tattoo by a very well-known tattoo artist. And I'm at a loss. I've entertained the idea of getting tattoos before, and there are a number that I really like. But I can't decide. My friend, Tattoo, who I think I will call Bombshell from now on, told me the person who offered to do it is more than serious. I met him at a party a few months back with Bombshell and some of her friends. She knows him quite well, and has worked for him before. Apparently he's quite expensive. I've always played around with the idea of getting a quote or two on me, since I love words. I'm quite partial to an Albert Camus quote that goes, "In the midsts of winter, I found within me that there was an invincible summer." I also am very partial to a quote by Hafiz of Persia, though, admittedly, it's a bit modified from the original (this is the format I found the original in, in a book on Tibetan symbols, and the quote stuck with me ever since). It goes, "After a million years of shining, the sun does not say to the earth, 'You owe me.' Imagine a love like this." I think it is absolutely beautiful. 

But I also think of my body as a work of art. And I am not opposed to putting a design or two on there, as well. I like a lot of classic flash, particularly some of Sailor Jerry's cowgirls. The one on the bucking bronco is one of my favorites. 


So: if you were offered a tattoo by a famous tattoo artist, what would you get?  

Adoration

I love being the center of attention. It's such a nice feeling to bask in the attention of everyone around you. I guess since the readers of this blog don't know me, it's hard to imagine what I look like. I don't really like describing my appearance; we'll leave it that I am comfortable with myself, I have worked as a model, and I am usually considered classically and universally cute. My current best friend, the girl who came to the beach house with me, is a completely different kind of beauty: she is petite, sharp looking, and covered in tattoos. She is beautiful, but in a very different way from myself. She has piercings and tattoos all over and is extremely involved in that scene: something that I know very little about, but find fascinating. 


Anyway, at the beach house this past weekend, we walked down the street for dinner with my parents when they got there on Saturday night. Of course, on the walk down, we run into our savior-neighbors, who proceed to try and push their son on us, insisting that we would make a good couple (the three of us!). Upon escaping them, we walked down the hill and into town to a fancy but low-key restaurant, one of my parents' faves. It's a bit pricy, but it's wonderful food in a relaxed atmosphere. 


We decided to all sit at the kitchen bar, where you can watch the chef preparing food behind the counter. Our waiter, who we will call Hotpants, looked rather like Tattoo's boyfriend, came to take our order, and as we're asking questions about subbing this and that and what this or that is on the menu, the chef, who we'll call Steve-O, leans over and tells us that he can make whatever we want. He says that "Pretty girls are no trouble; you can have whatever you like." So, of course, we modify the "wood-fire grill mix"into a surf-and-turf dish including fillet mignon, crab cakes, shrimp, risotto, rockfish, and fresh veggies. AHMazing. Throughout the meal, Steve-O, Hotpants, and another waiter will not take their eyes off us. Now, Tattoo and I both have boyfriends. Our boyfriends are friends; they introduced us. But that doesn't stop us from playing up to the adoring eyes of an entire restaurant.


Especially if it ends in free pumpkin cheesecake.