Ashes to Ashes, Funk to Funky, we know Major Tom's a Junkie...

I got a date. With someone who seems pretty cool. It's Saturday afternoon and we're going to see Ashes and Snow (his idea.) He's a make-up artist/drug counselor (not at the same time as far as I know.) We have tons in common and he's also has tattoos.

Which equals smiley Debbye.

Shoop, shoop-a-doop

Since I'm going back to school I decided that I should get my soft and flabby brain in shape. This means cutting way back on Us Weekly and cable television and start doing things that are actually challenging. So, I started reading Concepts of Modern Art, a series of essays on, well, modern art. I just finished Fauvism and on my way to Expressionism. Honestly, I am absolutely enthralled. I love art. I love talking, looking at and even making art.

Which leads me to a thought, how many people really want to talk about art? I am an online dater and on many profiles I see something like this:

"I love to talk about art, music, literature, blah blah blah..."

Can I really expect to discuss if the French Revolution had an impact on 19th century art? Or why Picasso's Les Demoiselles d' Avignon is credited with ushering in modern art? Most likely not. It's kinda like wine. Most people like to drink it but don't really want to know about the wine making process.

So fellas, just a warning, don't say you like art unless you mean it...

Walks like a woman, but talks like a man

This is as close as I have to a man coming over.

Well I do have a date this week.

We'll see...

I had this fella over...

I had this fella over...
Originally uploaded by Crimpop76.

London Calling!

It's a long story but my bed now has two mattresses and I literally have to step on the frame to get on. It's a bed only worthy of a princess and how I got it I don't know. I feel so lame and decadent sitting when I climb on top and look down over my spacial studio apartment. My fucking bed is as high as my hips! The sheer lunacy of my bed just reminds me of the attractiveness of the extraordinary. Don't you agree?

My parents delivered my mattress as well as the news that we are going to be spending Thanksgiving in England. I have to muster up the vacation days to spend a week in London, but I will find a way. I'm going to do all the things I didn't do when I was living there four years ago. Can you believe I didn't go to the Tate Modern? I know! There are a whole bunch of things I missed out on due to the depression that I will call my early twenties. Well, not this time!

Breathe some clean fresh air for a while...

Bagel's and Cream Cheese,

And Chocolate Candies

All very handy...

It is turning out to be a wonderful morning. First, see my little song above. It was inspired by the bag of goodies I bought last night and left on my kitchen counter. It also has a copy of Los Angeles magazine I will read later on my chocolate brown couch while watching a DVD and eating a candy bar (I like to multi-task on the weekends, something that will drive some lucky man crazy one day.)

Secondly, on the whole lucky man note, I have decided to start dating. I know I've been the Girl Who Cried Dating before, but I have a new resolve recently; namely, in May it'll be a year since I've bumped ulgies. Also, I want the whole companionship "thing" as well. I've even met a few guys who might have some potential. Hey, I have to work quickly, my anti-versery is coming up soon!

Which goes to my third reason I'm in such a grand mood this fine Saturday morning. Due to my lack of gettin' some and availability, I was contemplating doing something foolish. Then I talked to my friend Jen for about two hours last night and reluctantly realized that I don't really want to do what I was thinking of doing. I woke up with a twinge of doubt but soon recognize that my dignity is worth way more than a little booty (I think this little act of cognizance is the final cherry on my morning, in fact.)

So, I'm off! I have a clean apartment and maybe a trip to a coffee shop in front of me today. Don't hate; appreciate.

I want my MTV?

I have decided to cancel my cable television. It costs way too much money, takes too much time and I believe it's making me stupid. I used to be quite intelligent. Really. And, in my opinion, I was interesting. Now I'm a pop culture princess and rather boring. No hobbies or interests. This guy I met asked me what I do for fun and I didn't have an answer. I watch television? For fun?

My intelligence gave me a superior edge that I miss. I could have conversations about art, history and politics. Now I read Us Weekly and can quote South Park. When I'm not at work, I'm home watching television like most people in the US. I'm also overweight like most of the US.

Now, I don't want to blame TV for everything but it does keep me from doing the things I want to do like read, sew, draw, paint, study history and art, and exercise. I watch TV because it numbs me from the hardness of life. But what if it keeps me from feeling the joys of life? I want hobbies. I want to get to know who I am without the influence of modern media. I want to be able to write a paragraph and not have most of the sentences start with "I".

Plus I'm pretty poor and my dad is retiring next month which means less support. That means taking care of myself. I can't do that if I'm watching television.

But I'm going to wait until after the season finale of "The L Word" because I just love those wacky lesbians.

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?

I'm usually pretty tired most weeknights, but a combination of staying up late the last few nights and a venti mocha in the afternoon left me buzzing at ten last night. I decided that a cocktail might induce some sleepiness. So, I went over to my fridge and make myself a poorman's Cosmopolitan (cranberry juice and citrus vodka).

I must've misjudged the amount of vodka I poured because within twenty minutes I was drunkity, drunk, drunk, drunk. I'm not talking about tipsy, empty stomach, will wear off in thirty minutes drunk; I was shitfaced. Wheew! I remember buying the "Six Feet Under" soundtrack on Amazon.com because one of the songs made me cry. I guess I like to cry when I'm drunk.

Then I got really horny. I wanted a man. Right. That. Moment. I wanted to open my door and yell, "Bring out the men, lay them before me! You must serve my every need!" But I settled for flopping down on my bed and passing out.

What's even worse is that I was so hungover this morning. I didn't realize how bad it was until I got to work and almost vomited. It was very uncomfortable and my body was rather upset with me. And now I have to clean my apartment because it might be shown to perspective tenants tomorrow. The bastards.

Drinking is bad.

Unless there is a boy around and I can sleep in the next day.

Sometimes when I'm in bed I hear creaks and thumps and I forget I live alone. I think it's my mother or father walking around in the other room. I am filled with the familiar and feel no fear.

Then I remember that I do indeed live alone and I'm sad for reasons I don't want to acknowledge.

Superfreak

I have a slight hangover. Mike had a birthday party last night and I had a little too much beer. One of the topics discussed amongst my friends was my sluttiness. I guess I'm a bit of a slut.

Well, I'm a bit of a slut in comparison to my friends. One is a self-imposed non-religious monk, another a born-again fundie Christian, another has been in a monogamous relationship for almost six years. Some of my friends are very sexually active, but they are male so I guess they’re not really sluts. One is dating a stripper for pete’s sake!

My own sexual history started at nineteen, ended at twenty, started again at twenty-two and ended again last June. For that period between twenty-two and twenty-eight I slept with nine people and made out with many more. I also talk frankly about sex with my friends. I like flirting and teasing boys. I've made out with men and women, some who were quite a few younger than me, some I was attracted to, some I wasn't. A few times, three I can remember, I've fooled around (heavy petting) with someone while other people were in the room. I've slept with guys I've met online. I had a one-night stand, once.

But does that make me a slut? Really, I do find myself attracted to many men, but I've never just indiscriminately sleep with some loser who paid attention to me (make out maybe but not sleep with, well not since I was in my early twenties) I also know that outside my circle of friends I'm pretty normal, even prudish. So why this need to call me slutty? Even in jest?

I'm not mad or even hurt that I have this reputation among my friends. I know my friends are joking and I also like to joke about my amorous adventures. I think sex is funny. It's most certainly undignified. It’s easy to do. Sex isn’t the problem.

It’s more of a judgement of how a person should treat sex. I always feel that because I’m a woman I’m expected to have a reserved respect for sex. If it’s not love then it should at least be some emotional attachment. Even more so now that I’m quickly creeping towards thirty.

Things have loosened up since Erica Jong and her “zipless fuck.” Yet, in this day and age my sexual history is still considered rather slutty. And that is still a bad thing. I don’t want my sex life to be political. I don’t want to use it to push boundaries or open people’s minds.

But here I am, compelled to titillate, open up minds or just make people uncomfortable. Maybe I’m just trying to figure it out for myself. Maybe I just want to get laid. After ten months I must say, this slut is lonely.

My Future's so Bright, I gotta wear shades...

Okay, I've decided to go back to school. Not to finish my useless Theatre degree, but to get a BA in Psychology. Get this, I want to become a therapist. Yeah I know, I know, but I'm feeling half-way decent about this. I think I'm going to be rather good at it.

I think it's a good decision.

The more things change, the more they stay the same

NEW PASSION ALERT! NEW PASSION ALERT!

Lately I have been rather interested in Roman history. I think it's amazing how an empire that existed for more than a thousand years could be brought down by poor leadership, religious prosecution, the development of roads (which introduced new ideas and religions) and a few Visigoth who wanted a piece of the action.

Hmm...Replace the Roman interstate with the internet and Visigoths with corporations and things seem rather familiar.

Drinking Alone...

Drinking Alone...
Originally uploaded by Crimpop76.

No, not really. Just being artsy.

I just wanna celebrate, yeah, another day of living! Yeah! I just want to celebrate another day of life!!!

Okay, I've been a bit gloomy. A suicidal father might do that to a girl. Anyhoo, I talked to my father and he has some hope that he will be okay. So, I will keep the results of my dramatic declarations of introspection to myself for now (Please, you all can stop clapping and doing the wave.)

The title of my blog, "Big Time Grown Up Stuff" is a little joke I have about my life. I spent my twenties striving towards becoming a "Grown Up" and never quite feeling that way. But I think over the last year I have slowly become adult enough to make a list of the signs that you might be a Grown Up:

~You know that it best to stifle the urge to knowingly snicker when your boss says something that could be interpreted as innuendo.

For example, if you ask what time it is and she says, "4:20", don't say laugh and say, "Yeah it is!"

~You do something you loved (or focused a lot of time and energy on) at age 22 and find that a boring waste of time at age 29. And it doesn't really bother you.

This usually includes going to clubs ("Does the music have to be so loud?"), staying up all night 'partying' every weekend ("If I stay up past 2 am I pay for it all week"), obsessing over some crush ("If he calls, he calls")...

~Or the complete opposite.

The weekend with no plans means cleaning the house and catching up on your reading, keeping up with current events and reading the newspaper, dating someone in his or her forties doesn't seem creepy, (hey they have a job and can take you to nice places.)

~You stand in the kitchen of your apartment that you pay for with a job you get up for even when everything in your life sucks...

...Because sitting around on your ass in your parent's house would suck even more.

~You find you have to make an effort to keep in touch with your friends, but those you do, you love with all your heart.

Yep, and you hope you'll be friends until you are old and all botoxed up. Most likely you will.

~You learn from your mistakes.

Like not to mix beer and wine, not to date a guy who you're not attracted to because he's "safe", or not to settle for a life that will leave you suicidal and depressed at age 63.


Maybe it's just me.