Oh, the not really irony

Just when I started to feel like a grown up while grilling up some bratwurst for Sean and some Boca dogs for myself, I realized that Sean had plopped himself on the couch and was playing Super Mario Brothers. Not that I don't love the dulcet sounds of the Nintendo, but I did find it vaguely humorous that I was the barefoot girl in the kitchen to his video-game playing guy. He did appear to enjoy the bratwurst though as I found him passed out face first on my bed after eating dinner. I figured either he loved the food or I had killed him. Upon climbing into bed, I discovered it was the former.

The catch now is that I am waiting for him to call me, or im me, or text me because we are in the midst of an imbalance of free time. I have all the free time, he has none. This makes me want to contact him all the time because I can and I have the feeling that this is slightly irritating (ie obnoxious and stupid). Therefore, I am using my not so abundant patience to sit it out and let him call me even though I am DYING to know if he's coming over so I can figure out what to cook next. In the meantime, an ex I don't even like has imed me to tell me that he's hanging out with a girl I don't much like either.

He imed me, meaning I win at life.

When did I turn into such a girl? Vacation from school does strange things to my brain.

Duckfeet

I love my neighborhood. Right now, there are sparkly men in hotpants just marching their way down my street and I can hear singing and cheering from my window. Sure, I am in my room with soggy hair in a bathrobe after a post-work out shower, but it delights me that my neighborhood is swelling with gay pride...and bi pride...and trans pride. Pride for everyone!

This is a nice break from the media circus that erupted when Paris Hilton was released from jail and subsequently yanked back in by a pissed off judge. Doesn't everyone know that you don't go against a judge's orders? Come on, Sheriff Baca, even I knew that. Plus, after my 2 quarters of my masters program, if Paris is suicidally depressed, a stay in her own bed and a cupcake isn't gonna fix it (that's a big statement coming from a cupcake enthusiast). Mainly, my interest in this whole stupid debacle is that fact that I have been losing sleep due to the sound of helicopters buzzing around my neighborhood. Fine, I get it, Paris Hilton lives right up the street but that doesn't mean I want my walls to vibrate at 8am. I'm just glad she's back in jail so I can get some rest.

Now that I am on a brief break from school, I've been going on adventures. My favorite one lately was an early afternoon stop to the Treat Street roving Silverlake bakery. I had my very first praline and it was a-m-a-z-i-n-g. Check out their blog... Treat Street.

I've also realized that I have a few favorite homeless people in LA. This sounds strange and condescending at first but there are a few people that stick around in the same spots and become a part of the local scenery. For instance, I love the 80's acid-washed finger-in-a-light-socket-hair guy that is frequently on the payphone at La Cienega and Santa Monica Blvd. His leg scarves are hilarious and his outfits have become increasingly ridiculous. There is also the Roller-skating Dance Star on Robertson between 3rd and Burton Way. He is often found wearing lyrca with his hair in a ponytail and he shakes his booty to his boombox. Sometimes when he needs a change of pace, he skates in circles around the nearby gas station. What's not to love?

This is what I've been up to

Most adorable sleepysmile face...good lord. He even changes lightbulbs and smooshes spiders. Bestill my beating little cupcake heart.

Asterisks of enjoyment

*Played my first show with my amazing band and had the most fantastic time ever. Xylophone solo! Melodica solo! Banging out chords while people cheer!
*First therapy session for school. It went well but my god is it pricey It gives me hope that I am sane and that I will earn gobs of money for practicing therapy in the future which will get me over the psychological trauma of being a broke grad student with an entitlement issue.
*Started seeing a divorced man. This is a first.
*Got together with the ex from last spring. This is so not a first. We are made of awesome hilarity and awkwardness. He causes me so much joy and angst. Right now, we are in the joy zone so we're all good.
*Aborted dating a 6'5 guy because at first I felt like I was dating a tree. I later found out that he kissed like he was attempting to Hoover my face and that his manhood was smaller than some of my high heels.
*Drank absinthe for the first time. I only had two sips and felt like I was filled with the most amazing glowing goodness. A few friends had more and danced around the room then had no recollection of about half an hour of the evening.
*Got an acoustic guitar that smells vaguely like wine which makes me happy every time I play it. It makes me feel like Joni Mitchell for no good reason.

Angsty McStupidhead

The least palatable realizations come later in the evening, when I've had a good amount of time to stew alone. The revelation that I am in fact inessential to the lives of most, even those I care about, is deeply saddening and relieving all at once. There is nothing I can do to change this fact, which sets me into mild panic mode. There is nothing I can do about this, which instantly relaxes me. I cannot make him care about me. I can deal with it when he's calling me in the middle of the night. I can deal with it when he's messaging my dates online. I can deal with it when he's telling me I'm demanding. I can deal with it when he tells me he's busy. I can deal with it when he breaks my heart. I cannot deal with being ignored by him or by anyone else for that matter. The reason I want him to pay attention to me is because he's not, simple as that. It's vastly irritating that just when I think this stupidity is behind me then he appears and it's like just add water then *POOF* insta-lame-ass-drama. You know it's got to be lame with lame sauce because I am writing about it in my blog. It's not real angst unless it's on the internet.

Sasstacular!

No one is joining me in my friday night study party so I turned it into my friday night update my blog and futz around the house in an attempt to dodge homework party.
I found this clip and absolutely adored it. Who doesn't like snappy 8 year olds?

I'm a punk rocker, yes I am.

Band Practice is almost as good as Cupcakes

Everyone should join a band. It doesn't really matter if you have musical talent just trust me on this one and go for it. Sure, you may be the person playing the triangle but you are playing the triangle in order to help create a massive wall of sound that will temporarily engulf your very being. It's as good as eating cupcakes and I mean that. This isn't just the sleep deprivation talking.
Speaking of sleep deprivation, remind me to never ever book a show the night before a school day ever again. When I book a show the night before school, it apparently means that I will be going on an hour and a half late and thus getting little to no sleep before classes. This means that I will spend the first hour of class thinking about how I could potentially exit said class so I could sleep or how to discreetly sleep in class or how to kill myself becaue I'm not asleep. I will day dream about doing anything that involves sleep or making out because both of these things relax me. Talking about OCD while thinking about making out lends itself to great confusion.
Speaking of confusion, it's baffling when exes kiss you. Just when you thought it was safe to assume you were a rebound fling that inspired ongoing socially inept interactions, your assumptions are proven to make an ass out of you and....him. The whole situation is made tragically comical by the fact that you got multiple requests to sing the song that you wrote about your break up at the party he attended and so, with relative bemusement, you sang the lines "if this wasn't meant to be/then why do you keep kissing me" in front of him only to have him indeed kiss you. Is this irony or does my life just redefine sick humor? Don't try this at home, kids. Cape does not enable user to fly.