Gmail is down and I feel like I’ve lost my puppy

I knew this day was coming.  The day when I’d curse my attempts at ‘maturity’ and ‘being a normal person’ by actually reading and responding to email.

A few short months ago, I was working on a study with a very respected prof – and after I failed to respond to an email of his in about two days, he phoned me on my mobile to ‘ask if I were okay.’

That was a definite “F” on the report card of life.

Thus, I decided that despite my desire not to be accessible 24/7 as our society seems to have deemed “normal,” I would have to start carrying my mobile and checking my email multiple times daily, etc.

At first, I was annoyed. I kicked and punched things a lot, and whined about how unnatural all of this really is.

Shortly, though, my love of gmail grew exponentially.  I learned how to filter things and tag them – such as emails of recipes from my crazy old aunt, and “make a wish” forwards from people who are clearly not biological relatives.

From there, I became simply enraptured – all of my contacts in one place! The ability to keep track of prior conversations! A calendar! Unlimited Space!

Oh, the joys gmail gives me are truly endless.

Until today.  Today is the day that gmail sent me hunting for Xanax and pacing around my parlor and chronicling for my roommate my struggle with nausea and my ever-growing desire to vomit.

Too graphic?  Too dramatic?

I’m not sure – but if you were moving shortly and needed to get in touch with movers, launderers, building supervisors, etc. you might be saying “FML” and writing a weblog about it, too.  Because clearly, that is a really f*cking productive move!

Oh Google, you are a heart breaker.

the puma chronicles?

So, I am spending a few weeks at my parents summer home, because, well, I don’t really have any reason not to, and who doesn’t love a good Hampton weekend – or week – or several weeks, as it were.

I have a 17 and 20 year old brother (at least I think those are their ages at this time?), and am generally sick of the people in my life – cut to me biting off my little brothers’ social lives and going to parties with lots of 18 year olds.

I’m not sure what has created within me this sudden need to act a fool, but I’ve been having a lot of fun.  Lover is pushing 30, and a lot of times I felt as though my 22-year-old-ness was being stifled – so, naturally, it only makes sense to get inappropriately drunk on beaches and make out with guys hella younger than me.

The sad part?  I’ve been enjoying it – a lot.  It seems like younger guys have a lot less general bullshit. And they remind me of the fact that I used to be fun…

I was sharing my new lifestyle choice – cougardom – with some pals and was informed that I am no cougar.  So, I’m trying to decide what to call it?

You may suggest the term “quarterlife crisis.”

I prefer something else – I am not sure what? Any suggestions?  I am leaning toward calling myself The Electric Eel. (Logo forthcoming?)

Today

Today, whilst engaged in a steamy dream about Chris Martin (this admission embarrasses my subconscious mind), I heard the voice of my father.  It said, ‘Do you want your margarita frozen or over ice?’

This roused me from my unconscious state, and I scrambled for my mobile to see the time.  It turned out to be noon.  The day of week appeared to be Monday.

“Uhhh…Dad, it’s Monday?” I responded,

to which my dear father said, ‘You know, you’re right – over ice it is!’

It turns out that my father has adjusted his frat-boy-o-meter in response to my mum being away.

So I am a bit tipsy, and simply must continue drinking – because if college taught us anything, it is that drinking in the morning will make you pass out before six if you don’t continue drinking at a rapid pace.

On the other hand, I fear for myself in a few weeks – when I’ll have to have coffee for my liquid lunch instead of tequila.  :(

anotha one bites the dust

Welp, I’m single.  I am pretty sad about it, but  alas, the Death Panel ruled a while ago that this relationship was not worth the expenditures!

That is kinda untrue though because I really miss and love Lover. (What I mean by that is that if you’re reading this, please call me. Now. :))

But, uh, yeah, I tend to get a little crazy after breakups.  I’m trying to figure out how long I have to behave in a generally absurd manner before I’m being Legitimately Crazy as opposed to Post-Breakup Crazy.  I was thinking a week or two?  I may need to reevaluate toward the end of this timeframe.

And just when I think my psychiatrist needs to up the dosage, I recall the fact that many people get a bit wonky after breakups. That is, my inappropriate behaviour, though certainly borderline insane, does not compare to the whack attack hijinks that have gone on in my friends’ relationships.

One friend of mine told me a tale of a drunken night when he phoned his ex-girlfriend TWENTY THREE TIMES, only to have her answer and say, ‘Do you realise that you just called me twenty-three times?’  Like, what?

One of my close girlfriends has a very dysfunctional on-again, off-again relationship with a man whom I’m 88% sure is gay.  Not only is she blind to this, but she seems to think others are as well.  By this I mean that she has been known to engage in behaviour that I would call STALKING ‘just to make sure he’s telling the truth.’  Um, he’s not going to cheat on you… unless it’s with a fucking MAN.

In general, I think I get over ex-lovas rather quickly – which I at least partially attribute to my excessively over-the-top behavior after the breakup.  I feel like once you’ve gotten way too intoxicated, showed up at your ex’s place, and um, barfed, it’s kind of hard to pine for them.  Hypothetically, of course.

‘No one goes to Jamaica to clear their head’

Hello my friends!

I have been neglecting this weblog in a big way.  I’m not sure if I am correct in thinking that I really don’t have a lot to say – because how sad is that?

Alas, I’ve been doing some random writing jobs.  Obviously for fun because as we all know, writers do not get paid with the baller-level salaries that they should.  Someday I hope to be able to generate an income.  But that’s beside the point – the point is, getting paid for writing has kind of soured me on writing for pleasure. “Writing,” I should say, as it is clearly mostly incoherent rambling.

But, yeah, things never seem to be as much fun once they progress from interests to something you get paid for  – I guess I just don’t like the notion of “work.”  Ha, ha.  Who does, right?

Where in the world have I been, you ask?  Or was that me?

I was getting a bit stir-crazy and needed to get away and clear my head.

I’m chilling out right now, trying to reach nirvana.  If only I could remember all of the solutions to cosmic mysteries I have been coming up with.

But, I feel a lot better now.  Sometimes I just REALLY need to escape the scene with all the same people and same functions – and of course, all of the same things being whispered about everyone.  I just wanna hug trees ‘n’ shit, you dig?

I’m not sure if I mentioned this, but I am resuming my study in the fall, and it’s really stressing me out, because I have become quite attached to straight chillin’ – as opposed to being buried under books and journals and more books.  To tell you the truth, I’m also slightly concerned that my brain has atrophied during the past year.

I’ve never really been the brightest star in the sky, and sometimes I feel as though I really don’t belong in a place where some of the nation’s (and world’s) best minds congregate.

But…I think it’s normal to feel insecure at times, right? And! I think I have found an extra way to boost my intellectual confidence : dying my hair brown.

Keep it real, blogmuffins!

x C

call off the intervention crew!

Sometimes I come on too strong.  Well, a lot.  Not as in “coming on” sexually. Just coming. on. really. strong.

So, I just want to say that as my dear friend once put it, ‘What people must understand about you is that everything you say is really tongue-in-cheek.’  Before this comment was made, the thought hadn’t really occurred to me, but it is indeed true – I am very rarely 100% sincere in what I say.  ‘Disingenuous’ ‘Sarcastic’ ‘Overly nonchalant’ – these are the things my DEAR friends love to say about me!  All so sweet too, don’t you think?

I don’t really think I am any of the above, but generally speaking, things I say and/or write are not meant to be taken literally.  Particularly with regard to this weblog, as I mostly vent on here in a manner that I find amusing…

The point is – I’m (relatively!) drug-free, not entirely obsessed with myself (though, mostly), etc. etc.

I also need to stop saying certain things on here because it has already gotten me into a bit of trouble!

I am now going to wipe the sweat from my forehead in a very theatrical and slow-mo manner, sigh deeply, and rejoice in how much better I feel now that this tremendous weight has been lifted.

Much love blogheads!

x C

a day in my life

I know you’re all just DYING to know what I am doing every minute of the day.  Well, do not fret!  I shall tell you!

8:00 am – Alarm goes off, I press snooze

8:05 am – 12:00 pm – Press snooze and grumble a lot, perhaps yell at my roomie for disturbing my sleep

12:00 pm – Scream angrily at the sun.  Drink red bull strategically placed next to bed to gather the strength to rise.  Rise from bed and contemplate putting on robe.  Walk to bathroom and admit self in several mirrors.

12:30 pm – Continue admiring self

1:00 pm – Shower

1:30 pm – Contemplate blow-drying hair and putting makeup on.  Choose not to.  Drink another red bull instead (or blow a line)

1:45 pm – Get coffee and newspaper.  Think about how the world is ending and cry.  Read “Dear Abby” column and think about how much people suck.

2:00 pm – Liquid lunch with friends

3:00 pm – Call trainer and apologise for missing my workout yet again.  Apologise for telling doorman not to allow him to enter.

3:30 pm – Pine for lover

3:35 pm – Think about weather

4:00 pm – Happy hour!  Meet up with people who have jobs/lives and talk about my day of productive writing, and how wonderful it was to spend the day creating something.

5:30 pm – Realise I have not checked email, etc.  Decide it’s okay because I checked it all last month.  Wander into stores, drunkenly.

6:00 pm – Purchase some type of ‘get up’ that makes me look like a weird hybrid of a vagabond and trust-fund baby

6:05 pm – Appreciate my crushing self-awareness

6:07 pm – Spot someone smoking, contemplate pulling a ninja move and stealing it, just for a few drags

6:09 pm – Resolve to drink a bunch of wine instead, opt not to chill with friends because I have ‘work to do’ and am ‘feeling inspired’

6:30 pm – Feel torn between watching pornography and the E network

7:00 pm – Choose E!, watch “Absurd White Trash – Dirty Jersey Edition”

7:04 pm – Loathe self

7:30 pm – Realise I haven’t eaten, munch crackers or something a la vodka

8:00 pm – Talk to lover, question my attraction to him, refuse to engage in cyber relations, deflect questions about my visit to see him

8:30 pm – More wine, more drunk-dialing

9:00 pm – Decide to get something done today, bust out laptop and stare at blank word processor screen

9:03 pm – Go on twitter/20sb/blogs/the superficial/ANYTHING instead

9:10 pm – Guzzle a few glasses of wine, wait for drunken inspiration to strike

9:15 pm – Roomie enters office with bong. Remind roomie, again, that I’m not smoking pot

9:20 pm – Write a sentence, feel accomplished.  Take break.

10:00 pm – Decide I should get back to work

11:00 pm – Open word processor again, stare blankly

12:00 am – Decide that writing random stupid sh*t is better than writing nothing at all

3:00 am – Realise everything I’ve written is drunken nonsense, give up and curse existence

3:30 am – Strip down, call lover, talk about the meaninglessness of life. Hope he gets that I mean our relationship is meaningless and will soon be ending.

4:00 am – Get in bed.

4:10 am – Curse aromatherapy and its purported ability to induce sleep, call cokehead friends

5:00 am – Take Ambien that cokehead friends have brought with them, thank them for their generous giving spirits

6:00 am – Hallucinate until passing out

Should I bring this to my next therapy appointment? ;-)

x C